Not been feeling 100% the past week or so, and have been on penicillin for strep so have been walking around in a haze. Fluorescent light, in particular, is tripping me out these days. I can't explain it.
Anyway....pretty much all I feel like eating is grilled cheese sandwiches. I'm very particular about the kind of bread and the kind of cheese and, after making one such sandwich last night for dinner, I ran out of cheese.
So, as part of my epic Errand Running today, I managed to squeeze in a trip to the grocery store to buy more cheese.
Came home, put said cheese in refrigerator for future sandwich making.
This afternoon- went to pull cheese out of refrigerator.
Brand new package.
I opened it and was hit with a smell so foul that I gagged.
The cheese was not only moldy, it was completely rotted away inside the package, which I couldn't see in the store because of the wrapper.
Even my cheese is moldy.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Dating Disasters- Episode Two: Get Your Story Straight
As it turns out, I kind of suck at dating.
I say this only because I find the whole thing so inherently awkward. Dating is fraught with moments of checking in with oneself only to find, lo and behold, a veritable well of self-loathing and insecurity. It doesn't matter if you're on a date with someone you wouldn't normally share a bus seat with; if you do even the slightest embarrassing thing, its echoed violently around in your psyche until you can't forget it, ever, and you're pretty sure your date won't either.
And pretty much everything is embarrassing on a classic first date.
One epic weekend last spring, I went on three first dates. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. I scheduled them all accidentally for this particular weekend, realizing only on Thursday what was spread out before me. Instead of being thankful at this bounty of possibility, I freaked out.
"I can't do this," I said to Snap.
"Of course you can," she said and reiterated her "Girl's gotta eat" mentality that propelled both of us through last winter. "This is what people do. It's called 'casual dating.'"
"But three in one weekend?" I balked.
"Epic." she said.
Now, before any of you guys speaks up with something to the extent of: "OH SURE, 'EPIC' FOR YOU, MISS 'I GET THREE FREE DINNERS AND DRINKS IN A WEEKEND.' IT'D BE A WHOLE LOT DAMN DIFFERENT IF YOU WERE THE ONE PAYING!!!!" let me interject here and say that I aggressively attempted to pay during those dates. Normally I offer, pull out my credit card, and then smile when it's pushed away. No; not only did I actively and firmly attempt to, at the very least halve the bill, but I did in fact pay for several rounds of drinks that weekend. Sure, I could have insisted, but nothing says "This isn't going well and I probably don't want to see you again" like a girl insisting to pay on the first date. Let's be honest here.
So Friday began the Weekend of Epic Dating. Drinks, conversation, nothing too intricate. Strained moments of trying to connect, pulling at anecdotes that had nothing to do with anything, and the sure knowledge within the first half-hour of the date that this would not be a repeat event.
Saturday brought a more complex situation: drinks, appetizers, dinner, more drinks, more drinks. And it involved travel because it was in Annapolis. But it turned out to be one of the better dates that weekend; good conversation and attraction (which is obvious since I wound up dating this individual for the next four or five months.) Still, after two days of introducing myself, explaining my life's goals and ambitions, trying to sound witty and interesting and trying to get to know my dates at the same time, I was completely and utterly burned out by Sunday.
Sunday. Third first date. Dinner and drinks.
And I started panicking during the appetizer.
I couldn't remember basic facts about this person. After two days of awkward boozing and conversation-making, I was maxed out. Had I already told this joke? Did I mention this to this person before? Wait, is this the guy with the sister in California? Or was that....crap.
I most likely made an epic ass of myself.
My brain was fried.
I went on second dates with two of those individuals from that weekend and further buried myself.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember having this conversation," one date told me, a few days later. "Did you tell me about this?"
Shit. No. I'd told one of the other guys from that weekend. And now I have to awkwardly backtrack and try to make my now-completely off-topic story fit in somehow.
"Yeah, you already told me about that," the other one said the following weekend. Had I? I didn't remember doing that....oh crap....I did. Shoot.
And then there's the moment when you've narrowed all of your potential dates down and decided that one in particular is worthy of your exclusive attention. And then comes the awkward phone conversation, or text message, or whatever.
"Yeah, um, I can't go out because I kind of already have plans? I've kind of been seeing someone else? And I kind of want to see where that goes? But thanks for all of the awesome conversation?"
When everything comes out as a question, you are essentially communicating the following: I feel like a complete ass but apologizing sounds weird in this situation so I'm going to imbibe each sentence with an air of hesitancy so it sounds like I'm questioning my own decisions thereby giving you the impression that I'm not so strong on this choice in hopes that you'll feel let down a little easier.
Or you just sound completely stupid.
My money's on the latter.
Snap was good at Epic Dating, but then she's not an outgoing "OverSharer" like I am. Jaunt christened the term "OverSharer" and it's a very good term to have handy. She is a chronic "OverSharer" but an aware one, which sort of negates the initial awkward-factor of an "OverSharer" in the first place. She'll say something clearly TMI and then immediately apologize and say, in a casual, off-hand manner, "Oh, I'm an OverSharer." As though it forgives anything she might have blurted out. And it usually does.
I am an outgoing "OverSharer," and I tend to be pretty genuine in my affections when I like people. And it is possible for me to like more than one person at any given time. But, unlike most normal single people out there, it's incredibly difficult for me to withstand this situation for any lengthy period of time. Especially with three first dates in one weekend. It's like being on-stage for 48 straight hours. Eventually you come home, the mask slides off, and you find yourself beyond exhausted.
I don't recommend it.
Not that there's anything wrong with dating multiple people. Just that you should spread it around your calendar a little better.
I say this only because I find the whole thing so inherently awkward. Dating is fraught with moments of checking in with oneself only to find, lo and behold, a veritable well of self-loathing and insecurity. It doesn't matter if you're on a date with someone you wouldn't normally share a bus seat with; if you do even the slightest embarrassing thing, its echoed violently around in your psyche until you can't forget it, ever, and you're pretty sure your date won't either.
And pretty much everything is embarrassing on a classic first date.
One epic weekend last spring, I went on three first dates. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. I scheduled them all accidentally for this particular weekend, realizing only on Thursday what was spread out before me. Instead of being thankful at this bounty of possibility, I freaked out.
"I can't do this," I said to Snap.
"Of course you can," she said and reiterated her "Girl's gotta eat" mentality that propelled both of us through last winter. "This is what people do. It's called 'casual dating.'"
"But three in one weekend?" I balked.
"Epic." she said.
Now, before any of you guys speaks up with something to the extent of: "OH SURE, 'EPIC' FOR YOU, MISS 'I GET THREE FREE DINNERS AND DRINKS IN A WEEKEND.' IT'D BE A WHOLE LOT DAMN DIFFERENT IF YOU WERE THE ONE PAYING!!!!" let me interject here and say that I aggressively attempted to pay during those dates. Normally I offer, pull out my credit card, and then smile when it's pushed away. No; not only did I actively and firmly attempt to, at the very least halve the bill, but I did in fact pay for several rounds of drinks that weekend. Sure, I could have insisted, but nothing says "This isn't going well and I probably don't want to see you again" like a girl insisting to pay on the first date. Let's be honest here.
So Friday began the Weekend of Epic Dating. Drinks, conversation, nothing too intricate. Strained moments of trying to connect, pulling at anecdotes that had nothing to do with anything, and the sure knowledge within the first half-hour of the date that this would not be a repeat event.
Saturday brought a more complex situation: drinks, appetizers, dinner, more drinks, more drinks. And it involved travel because it was in Annapolis. But it turned out to be one of the better dates that weekend; good conversation and attraction (which is obvious since I wound up dating this individual for the next four or five months.) Still, after two days of introducing myself, explaining my life's goals and ambitions, trying to sound witty and interesting and trying to get to know my dates at the same time, I was completely and utterly burned out by Sunday.
Sunday. Third first date. Dinner and drinks.
And I started panicking during the appetizer.
I couldn't remember basic facts about this person. After two days of awkward boozing and conversation-making, I was maxed out. Had I already told this joke? Did I mention this to this person before? Wait, is this the guy with the sister in California? Or was that....crap.
I most likely made an epic ass of myself.
My brain was fried.
I went on second dates with two of those individuals from that weekend and further buried myself.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember having this conversation," one date told me, a few days later. "Did you tell me about this?"
Shit. No. I'd told one of the other guys from that weekend. And now I have to awkwardly backtrack and try to make my now-completely off-topic story fit in somehow.
"Yeah, you already told me about that," the other one said the following weekend. Had I? I didn't remember doing that....oh crap....I did. Shoot.
And then there's the moment when you've narrowed all of your potential dates down and decided that one in particular is worthy of your exclusive attention. And then comes the awkward phone conversation, or text message, or whatever.
"Yeah, um, I can't go out because I kind of already have plans? I've kind of been seeing someone else? And I kind of want to see where that goes? But thanks for all of the awesome conversation?"
When everything comes out as a question, you are essentially communicating the following: I feel like a complete ass but apologizing sounds weird in this situation so I'm going to imbibe each sentence with an air of hesitancy so it sounds like I'm questioning my own decisions thereby giving you the impression that I'm not so strong on this choice in hopes that you'll feel let down a little easier.
Or you just sound completely stupid.
My money's on the latter.
Snap was good at Epic Dating, but then she's not an outgoing "OverSharer" like I am. Jaunt christened the term "OverSharer" and it's a very good term to have handy. She is a chronic "OverSharer" but an aware one, which sort of negates the initial awkward-factor of an "OverSharer" in the first place. She'll say something clearly TMI and then immediately apologize and say, in a casual, off-hand manner, "Oh, I'm an OverSharer." As though it forgives anything she might have blurted out. And it usually does.
I am an outgoing "OverSharer," and I tend to be pretty genuine in my affections when I like people. And it is possible for me to like more than one person at any given time. But, unlike most normal single people out there, it's incredibly difficult for me to withstand this situation for any lengthy period of time. Especially with three first dates in one weekend. It's like being on-stage for 48 straight hours. Eventually you come home, the mask slides off, and you find yourself beyond exhausted.
I don't recommend it.
Not that there's anything wrong with dating multiple people. Just that you should spread it around your calendar a little better.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The Wall
Nothing great has been and nothing great can be accomplished without passion. -G.W.F. Hegel
There are certain people in my life that I go to for specific things.
I call Lee when I'm hysterical or when someone/something around my house needs to be fixed.
I call Whack for psychological analysis, either of myself or someone else.
I call Stupid for, well, pretty much everything.
I call Snap for FML moments.
And I go to Mr. Spaz for "You've Known Me Since I Was Sixteen And Kind of Goth And You Married One of My Other Best Friends and I'm Feeling A Little Untethered and Lost So Please Give Me Guidance" moments. He's also about to be a father, which somehow, in my book, makes him wise and introspective. I think he should grow a very long mustache and sit cross-legged and refer to people as "My Son" and "My Daughter." He could probably get away with that.
Yesterday I was accused (ACCUSED!!) of having become rather.....lazy about blogging. This isn't the case or, rather, the things that are going on in my life have much less to do with laziness and much more to do with sensitive issues that I just don't feel belong in the public sphere. Personal problems aren't always to do with boys being assholes or quarter-life crises. As much as I lay it all out here, I am intensely private when it comes to other issues either because I know I'll fail to articulate them properly or because I simply can't get a handle on them yet and am not ready for public analysis.
So I write funny things. Things that skirt truths.
And I send emails with the truths to Mr. Spaz and hope that he understands.
And he does.
He sent me this picture. With an explanation.
The attached picture may not make a lot of sense at first, so let me explain. The figure at the bottom of the picture, that's me. I'm holding a blue and orange NERF basketball that doubles as "bomb" used to score points in the game. In the center of the shot, that's a player on the other team. He's hunting for me. He has no idea that he's an arms length away from stopping me. Here's my point about the picture: It's often difficult to see just how close you are to where you want to be.
To tie all of this in, Whack and I are still obsessed with "How I Met Your Mother," and doubly-so obsessed with this scenario:
There's a scene where Ted; the insistent romantic who wants nothing more than to find The One, get married and live happily ever after; is talking with his exgirlfriend (played by Sarah Chalke from 'Scrubs') who left him at the alter. He says something to the extent of, "I want to know what it's like to find 'The One,'" and Sarah Chalke tells him that old joke about officers and speeding tickets where the cop says to the speeder, "I've been waiting for you all day," and the speeder says, "Well, I got here as fast as I could." "She's out there," Sarah Chalke's character tells Ted. "And she's getting here as fast as she can."
For me, I wrote to Mr. Spaz, it's not just about love or relationships or any of that. It's also a destiny thing. A job I love, my books/writings taking shape, my art growing, opportunities for growth and travel. I seek these things just as readily as any desperate single woman seeking a husband. And your picture reminds me that there are tangible, palpable experiences and opportunities already existing in the world, and may even be just on the other side of a flimsy wall.
Throughout the last two years of my life, I've undergone a major reinvention. When Robert Goulet and I broke up, there was a lot of red tape, and a lot of personal growth that needed to be addressed and dealt with. Once I found some steady ground on that, there was professional growth that needed to happen. And once both of those things were beginning to feel more solid and a little less fuzzy around the edges, both fell apart. I lost my freelance work, I went through two more rather dramatic and draining break-ups, and at the end of it all I found myself gripping onto some barely-tangible things to keep myself upright. At 27, I could hardly say that I was the person I had hoped or expected to be.
But that's the thing. I am who I am, and I wouldn't trade any of these experiences for anything. And, as Mr. Spaz's picture and HIMYM illustrate, my future careers/cities/plans/art are already existing in this world. Somewhere out there is a desk chair where I'll find confidence, success, and new worlds of opportunity. Somewhere exists the combination of letters and words that will eventually form the stories I'll write and continue to write.
The seeds for every great thing I've ever done or experienced have always been there. Every moment of my life that lead to something great was a moment that surprised me, that came at exactly the right time, and that had to have a whole lot of other things happen first. I can't despair about finding the "right" job or the "right" city or the "right" person because these things are already here, somewhere; perhaps less than an arm's length away on the other side of a plywood wall. My perspective, currently, prevents me from seeing it. But it's there, and it's real, and at the right moment I'll discover it.
The Hegelian dialectic states that the universe is "[...] a giant network connecting everything. Therefore, every person, object, or idea that has ever existed is part of a greater whole, known as the Absolute spirit." It's all already in existence. The seeds are already there.
I illustrated it as such to Whack last night: every day, for almost a year, I walked past the bar where I currently work. I walked past it on my way to work; on my way to a job that made me want to end it all. On several occasions, I even had dinner there. In fact, on the night before my twenty fifth birthday, I took a book and went and sat outside and had myself a prime rib dinner alone. I never once thought that the restaurant would someday become my second home, my primary source of urban family and income. I never thought that I would move in around the corner with one of my best friends.
It was already there. And I was already there. We just hadn't found the connection yet.
Anyway.
I think that the best thing I can do right now is to just keep on keeping on. Get up in the morning, go to work, be grateful that I have a job, say yes to new experiences, and let the universe tick forward however it needs to. Everything I've ever needed and wanted has eventually shown up, right when it's most desperately needed, and I believe in that. I believe in accidents that become destiny, I believe in destiny that looks like accidents. Snap believes that all of us are doled out a quota of bad shit to happen. I don't necessarily believe that, but I do think that you become better at bouncing back eventually. So maybe, in that sense, we're both right.
Your future is there, somewhere, and there's nothing you can do to make it happen any faster than it already is. Sure, you can be proactive and make decisions and, if it's right, it'll progress. But you have to feel your way through it. And sometimes, just sometimes, be still enough to stand and listen for the slightest sound of movement on the other side of a ten-foot wall that's thin enough to knock right through.
Plus, I have really smart friends.
There are certain people in my life that I go to for specific things.
I call Lee when I'm hysterical or when someone/something around my house needs to be fixed.
I call Whack for psychological analysis, either of myself or someone else.
I call Stupid for, well, pretty much everything.
I call Snap for FML moments.
And I go to Mr. Spaz for "You've Known Me Since I Was Sixteen And Kind of Goth And You Married One of My Other Best Friends and I'm Feeling A Little Untethered and Lost So Please Give Me Guidance" moments. He's also about to be a father, which somehow, in my book, makes him wise and introspective. I think he should grow a very long mustache and sit cross-legged and refer to people as "My Son" and "My Daughter." He could probably get away with that.
Yesterday I was accused (ACCUSED!!) of having become rather.....lazy about blogging. This isn't the case or, rather, the things that are going on in my life have much less to do with laziness and much more to do with sensitive issues that I just don't feel belong in the public sphere. Personal problems aren't always to do with boys being assholes or quarter-life crises. As much as I lay it all out here, I am intensely private when it comes to other issues either because I know I'll fail to articulate them properly or because I simply can't get a handle on them yet and am not ready for public analysis.
So I write funny things. Things that skirt truths.
And I send emails with the truths to Mr. Spaz and hope that he understands.
And he does.
He sent me this picture. With an explanation.
The attached picture may not make a lot of sense at first, so let me explain. The figure at the bottom of the picture, that's me. I'm holding a blue and orange NERF basketball that doubles as "bomb" used to score points in the game. In the center of the shot, that's a player on the other team. He's hunting for me. He has no idea that he's an arms length away from stopping me. Here's my point about the picture: It's often difficult to see just how close you are to where you want to be.
To tie all of this in, Whack and I are still obsessed with "How I Met Your Mother," and doubly-so obsessed with this scenario:
There's a scene where Ted; the insistent romantic who wants nothing more than to find The One, get married and live happily ever after; is talking with his exgirlfriend (played by Sarah Chalke from 'Scrubs') who left him at the alter. He says something to the extent of, "I want to know what it's like to find 'The One,'" and Sarah Chalke tells him that old joke about officers and speeding tickets where the cop says to the speeder, "I've been waiting for you all day," and the speeder says, "Well, I got here as fast as I could." "She's out there," Sarah Chalke's character tells Ted. "And she's getting here as fast as she can."
For me, I wrote to Mr. Spaz, it's not just about love or relationships or any of that. It's also a destiny thing. A job I love, my books/writings taking shape, my art growing, opportunities for growth and travel. I seek these things just as readily as any desperate single woman seeking a husband. And your picture reminds me that there are tangible, palpable experiences and opportunities already existing in the world, and may even be just on the other side of a flimsy wall.
Throughout the last two years of my life, I've undergone a major reinvention. When Robert Goulet and I broke up, there was a lot of red tape, and a lot of personal growth that needed to be addressed and dealt with. Once I found some steady ground on that, there was professional growth that needed to happen. And once both of those things were beginning to feel more solid and a little less fuzzy around the edges, both fell apart. I lost my freelance work, I went through two more rather dramatic and draining break-ups, and at the end of it all I found myself gripping onto some barely-tangible things to keep myself upright. At 27, I could hardly say that I was the person I had hoped or expected to be.
But that's the thing. I am who I am, and I wouldn't trade any of these experiences for anything. And, as Mr. Spaz's picture and HIMYM illustrate, my future careers/cities/plans/art are already existing in this world. Somewhere out there is a desk chair where I'll find confidence, success, and new worlds of opportunity. Somewhere exists the combination of letters and words that will eventually form the stories I'll write and continue to write.
The seeds for every great thing I've ever done or experienced have always been there. Every moment of my life that lead to something great was a moment that surprised me, that came at exactly the right time, and that had to have a whole lot of other things happen first. I can't despair about finding the "right" job or the "right" city or the "right" person because these things are already here, somewhere; perhaps less than an arm's length away on the other side of a plywood wall. My perspective, currently, prevents me from seeing it. But it's there, and it's real, and at the right moment I'll discover it.
The Hegelian dialectic states that the universe is "[...] a giant network connecting everything. Therefore, every person, object, or idea that has ever existed is part of a greater whole, known as the Absolute spirit." It's all already in existence. The seeds are already there.
I illustrated it as such to Whack last night: every day, for almost a year, I walked past the bar where I currently work. I walked past it on my way to work; on my way to a job that made me want to end it all. On several occasions, I even had dinner there. In fact, on the night before my twenty fifth birthday, I took a book and went and sat outside and had myself a prime rib dinner alone. I never once thought that the restaurant would someday become my second home, my primary source of urban family and income. I never thought that I would move in around the corner with one of my best friends.
It was already there. And I was already there. We just hadn't found the connection yet.
Anyway.
I think that the best thing I can do right now is to just keep on keeping on. Get up in the morning, go to work, be grateful that I have a job, say yes to new experiences, and let the universe tick forward however it needs to. Everything I've ever needed and wanted has eventually shown up, right when it's most desperately needed, and I believe in that. I believe in accidents that become destiny, I believe in destiny that looks like accidents. Snap believes that all of us are doled out a quota of bad shit to happen. I don't necessarily believe that, but I do think that you become better at bouncing back eventually. So maybe, in that sense, we're both right.
Your future is there, somewhere, and there's nothing you can do to make it happen any faster than it already is. Sure, you can be proactive and make decisions and, if it's right, it'll progress. But you have to feel your way through it. And sometimes, just sometimes, be still enough to stand and listen for the slightest sound of movement on the other side of a ten-foot wall that's thin enough to knock right through.
Plus, I have really smart friends.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Weekend Update
(Thanks.)Another action-packed weekend.
In the headlines:
I saw A Serious Man on Saturday night after a delicious dinner of pizza and some ridiculously decadent risotto at Joe Squared. It was amazing. I love the Cohen Brothers, and the movie was the perfect blend of build and the mundane. I'm not Jewish (last I checked) and the film was still wholly relatable. It was a classic reminder that you can do everything "right," follow all of the right paths, climb all the right ladders, sign on all the corresponding dotted lines, and still feel as though life is coming crashing down on you, haunting you, chastising you, threatening you, and even (particularly) mocking you.
I'm dating a blogger. Taste of my own medicine. At least he's not apt to say things like "I don't get what's so hard about writing" or even (as Jaunt reminded me, and I completely forgot this particular gem of a first date when a guy actually said this to me) "It's easy for women to be artists because they're not pushed to earn a living the way men are." Instead, he mostly says things that are interesting. And he's an excellent cook. With great taste in music. These are good things.
I saw New Moon tonight with a gaggle of Book Club girls. FINALLY, I KNOW. And, to be honest, it was a damn good movie. Full of camp and circumstance and underage hotness, but still, all in all, a good film. Better than the original Twilight, I think.
Spacefoot continues to hinder my every move, but we have learned to live in something of a harmony. It's not so heavy these days, and the rest of my skeletal structure has mostly figured out how to get around fairly smoothly, so we're in a better place, my Spacefoot and I. Three more weeks. For Christmas this year I'd like my bones to knit.
Christmas. I haven't even thought about that yet. Crap.
In other headlines:
I'm pretty much done with 2009.
2010 is going to be epic. I know this because Snap told me so, and she is generally right about predicting the epic-ness of certain things. Like years. 2009 was slated to be better than 2008, and it was, but it certainly was never meant to be epic. And it wasn't.
(Why did she have to move to San Fran?)
(I digress.)
The job market still sucks, but I have plans afoot. Sneaky, sneaky, delightful, clever plans afoot.
(When did it become December? Seriously? Wasn't it just my birthday? Didn't that just happen? What happened to June, July, August, September, October, and November?)
It snowed yesterday. Gross snow. Big, wet, depressing snowflakes.
Spacefoot doesn't like snow.
I'm running out of headlines.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Great Rejection Letter Mad-Libs Contest Winners!!
I could go ahead and recite the same old speech. You know; the one City Paper prints every year along with their list of fiction contest winners (which, once again, did not include the brilliance of either Lee nor myself despite our obsequious attempts to cater to the more esoteric audience) about "We received so many entries that are all so full of talent, and it saddens us greatly to have to choose 'winners' and 'losers'," and blah, blah, blah.
I could do that.
Or I could just list the winners.
Here goes:
Via a completely random and arbitrary judging process in which I slated each letter by some secret and completely non-logical numerical alphabetical system, the winners are as such:
FIRST PRIZE: Kid. For his gratuitous use of YouTube references.
Dear Tiger Woods Slow Jam, This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of Most Viewed at YouTube Incorporated. The Fat Kid Dancing to "Numa Numa" would like to thank you for your recent interest in the lonelygirl15 position with the Evolution of Dance department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although Charlie The Unicorn cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check AllYourBase.com periodically for future employment opportunities with Leave Britney Alone! On behalf ofDick In a Box Industries, I wish you much success with your job search and with all of your professional endeavors.
Sincerely, Leeroy Jenkins Employment Coordinator
SECOND PRIZE: Robert Goulet. AKA The Ex, whose legendary reference to Las Vegas bachelorette party shows secures the Second Prize slot.
Dear Night Train,
This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of Hype Man at the The Thunder Down Under Christmas Show.
Johnny "The Big Dingo" Thompson would like to thank you for your recent interest in the Hype man/ Flex and flow position with the Making it sexy department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although The Thunder Down Under "Holiday Show" entitled "I'll tell you who will stuff your Stocking" cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check www.thunderdownunder/
On behalf of Ceo Tim "Crocidile Hung Dee" Goldberg, I wish you much success with your job search and with all of your professional endeavors.
Sincerely,
Hillary "Sexually Frustrated" Miller
Employment Coordinator
Dear Ms. Snap, This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of resident overenthusiastic, overeducated, overqualified, overly flexible overachiever at ANY F***ING JOB IN SAN FRANCISCO. Toothless Joe would like to thank you for your recent interest in ANY F***ING position with the SELL YOUR SOUL WITH A SMILE department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although ANY F***ING JOB IN SAN FRANCISCO cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check doyouevenrealizehowmuchtimeyou
Sincerely, Dr. Heroin Harriet, PhD Employment Coordinator
And, of course, what would a contest be without runners-up and winners of weird categories I made up?
HONORABLE MENTION: for Best Use of Late-Night Radio Show Audio Clips
Dave "Teddy Pendergrass"
Disclaimer from Teddy: Must be recited out loud in a deep Barry White, turn the lights down low kinda baritone.
Dear Baby,
This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of supplier of sweet, sweet love at my chalet in Chamonix, France.
Love Incorporated would like to thank you for your recent interest in the most sensual and lovely of all lovemakin’ positions, the missionary position with the Love Your Daddy department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although my sweet, hot lovemaking love rocket cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check love.com periodically for future employment opportunities with Love Incorporated.
On behalf of lovers everywhere, I wish you much success with your job search and with all of your professional endeavors.
Sincerely,
Mr. Barry White, Love Daddy Supreme CEO, Love Incorporated
HONORABLE MENTION: for Best Incorporation of JD Salinger, children's fairy tales, and overt sexual innuendo regarding said fairy tales.
Goes to Jaunt!
Disclaimer from Jaunt: My students just had to rewrite a fairy tale in the style of J.D. Salinger (think "Three Bears in Search of an Author"). Sadly that led to this awful thought.
Dear Goldilocks,
This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of “porridge eater” at The Home of the Three Bears. Papa Bear would like to thank you for your recent interest in the swallowing position with the blow job department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although Bearly Satisfied cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check babybearwillgrowup.com periodically for future employment opportunities with this fine species.
On behalf of all wives disgusted by fellatio, I wish you much success with your job search and with all of your professional endeavors.
Sincerely,
Mama Bear
Employment Coordinator
Cheers. Bumper stickers for everyone!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
TRIVIA LADY ACTION FIGURE!!
Just in time for Christmas! Thanks, Kid! And thanks, also, for including my choice of Worst Christmas Song Ever in your Mixtape Mondays Remix: Music We Aren't Thankful For. Seriously, that song sucks.
My only complaint about this: I'm pretty sure I'm on Team Jacob.
My only complaint about this: I'm pretty sure I'm on Team Jacob.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Great Rejection Letter Mad Libs Contest- Inspiration!
First of all, let it be known that Kid drew a picture of me as an action figure at trivia last night that is just hilarious. Particular attention was paid to Spacefoot, and a note at the bottom indicated that my wife, Whack, is sold separately. Which is a lie: we are a package deal.
"I was going to put that BFF Lee is also sold separately, but I ran out of room," he said. It is on my list of things to do today to take a picture of said picture and post it here. We'll see if that gets done.
Although I am, mysteriously, wearing a cropped belly shirt in the picture. I don't recall ever having worn anything of the sort. Ever. Not even in the mid-1990s when Kelly Kapowski made it look semi-OK.
I digress.
So, the Great Rejection Letter Mad Libs Contest deadline is some time tomorrow (I am declining to post exact times, because knowing me, I won't get around to taking care of bid-ness until like Friday) BUT, in the mean time, I leave you with some inspiration. Josh has already told me that he plans to just insert "KITTENS" into every line because I neglected to indicate whether the blanks should be filled with (verbs)(nouns)(adjectives) the way a TRUE Mad Libs game is laid out, but I felt that this might serve only to stifle your creativity. I left them gloriously blank for a reason.
So this inspiration comes from various sources (it's all over the Inter-webs), but I blocked out some of the details anyway. It is, apparently, a real letter though I've read that this particular gentleman still did not get the position which is just BUSH-LEAGUE. Such creativity and hilarity should be rewarded.
Without further ado:
"I was going to put that BFF Lee is also sold separately, but I ran out of room," he said. It is on my list of things to do today to take a picture of said picture and post it here. We'll see if that gets done.
Although I am, mysteriously, wearing a cropped belly shirt in the picture. I don't recall ever having worn anything of the sort. Ever. Not even in the mid-1990s when Kelly Kapowski made it look semi-OK.
I digress.
So, the Great Rejection Letter Mad Libs Contest deadline is some time tomorrow (I am declining to post exact times, because knowing me, I won't get around to taking care of bid-ness until like Friday) BUT, in the mean time, I leave you with some inspiration. Josh has already told me that he plans to just insert "KITTENS" into every line because I neglected to indicate whether the blanks should be filled with (verbs)(nouns)(adjectives) the way a TRUE Mad Libs game is laid out, but I felt that this might serve only to stifle your creativity. I left them gloriously blank for a reason.
So this inspiration comes from various sources (it's all over the Inter-webs), but I blocked out some of the details anyway. It is, apparently, a real letter though I've read that this particular gentleman still did not get the position which is just BUSH-LEAGUE. Such creativity and hilarity should be rewarded.
Without further ado:
H A. M
Chair - Search Committee
41 C Hall, W University
C Hill, MA 34
Dear Professor,
Thank you for your letter of March 16. After careful consideration, I regret to inform you that I am unable to accept your refusal to offer me an assistant professor position in your department.
This year I have been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually large number of rejection letters. With such a varied and promising field of candidates, it is impossible for me to accept all refusals.
Despite W’s outstanding qualifications and previous experience in rejecting applicants, I find that your rejection does not meet my needs at this time. Therefore, I will assume the position of assistant professor in your department this August. I look forward to seeing you then.
Best of luck in rejecting future applicants.
Sincerely,
He Man
( Master of the Universe )
( Master of the Universe )
Monday, November 30, 2009
A Year Later
(New Jersey, January 2009)I've been going back through my blogs recently (in part trying to find that damn "Holidays=Family" post that Mochi was looking for...I have no idea where it is. I deleted some old entries for various reasons, but I have all of them saved [somewhere] in the bowels of my hard-drive. I have got to be more organized about these things) and had one of those "Oh if only" moments.
You know. Where you look at where you were a year ago (mess), or five years ago (mess in first semester of graduate school in Florida), or ten years ago (mess in my senior year of high school), and wish that you could tap your Year-Ago or Five-Years-Ago or Ten-Years-Ago self on the shoulder and whisper, "Wait 'til you see how this turns out! It's so....interesting!"
And it is, you know. One year ago: Snap, Whack, Gitanes and I all found ourselves in various stages of fundamentally crappy break-up and/or life situations. And, to be honest, I think there's something so incredibly magical about timing and universal identities and all of those things. We were all miserable, sad sacks who could make each other laugh, and we got through it.
Snap met Sweet Tea, who I adore and who I love not just for being awesome but for loving Snap the way she deserves. They moved to San Francisco, which completely broke my heart, but they're happy and on an adventure and everything has turned out exactly where it needed to be.
Whack is working her way through her first semester of grad school, which is empowering and scary and a new adventure in and of itself.
Stupid, I think is the Queen of Turn-Arounds. Crappy break-up, then she met her husband six months later after saying, "Screw it, I'm done." Laid off from her job, saying "Screw it, I'm done," and then applying and getting into grad school and getting another job in tract that she actually wants to pursue. Stupid wears Turn-Arounds the way people wear a great jacket: you can't help but want to ask her where she got it, how much she paid for it, and where you can find one just like it.
I just can't help but look at everyone and think that the most heart-wrenching and rock-bottom of moments always leads to these fantastical shifts in peoples' life stories. They get laid off and discover a new passion. A diagnosis can lead to a complete paradigm shift of religion or love or forgiveness or any combination thereof.
In this economy, with so many people losing their jobs, my friends are given ample opportunities to reinvent themselves, and I feel that this is critical especially during these potent late-twenty, early-thirty-something years of our lives. I see how so many of my friends have turned their lives around, taken on new challenges, and how, in the end, none of us can see our lives without these hiccups and falls and bounces-back.
I have always said that attempting to isolate and pull at a single thread of your history leads to a complete unravel. You can't pick and choose experiences to remember or forget, you can't regret a choice or a path taken, because to do so means the whole picture falls apart.
I feel as though I'm at some unprecedented moment of my life. I have no idea what the future will bring and, for the first time, I'm not sweating it. I've spent the last five years freaking out every single damn day about "Where is this all going" and "what am I doing with my life," and I'm just over that now. I have learned that instead of aggressively attempting to force meaning out of every moment and every interaction, if I am quieter and more open to "whatever happens, happens" then the meaning comes much more organically.
I'm not sure if that makes sense here the way it does in my head.
I guess I just spent so much of the past year fretting over who I am, and where I'm headed, and how this is all going to pan out. And, at the end of it, I find that while a certain level of anxiety is good (wards off complacency), there's only so much you can control. You think you have it all figured out, and then you break your foot. And you deal with it, and you move on, and you tell yourself that this is temporary, it will heal like anything that's been broken, and you'll remember it as the impetus you needed to get on with some other aspect of your life.
We were all so panicked last year, my friends and I. But, as Snap said, "My feet are moving forward. one then the other. one then the other. one then the other."
And that's life. You just go, and as you go, you learn that, ultimately, you're not in control. What you can control is limited and subject to a thousand different things. But, in my experience, almost always, a year later you say "Well, it all turned out OK."
Or, at the very least: "Well, it all turned out."
CONTEST EXTENDED!!
The entries I've received so far have been award-winning. Apparently some of you out there saw this as an opportunity to unload some angst, which is always appreciated. I am a firm believer in the idea that if you have to be angsty, at least let it be funny.
But others of you (JOSH) have complained that I set my contest deadline for a holiday weekend and, as such (JOSH) I am extending said deadline (JOSH) until WEDNESDAY. Yes, that's right (JOSH), three whole extra days. So keep 'em coming. I will mention that the Ex (the funny one- I really feel like I need to come up with some other name for him, because I frequently mention some of my more batshit crazy exes, and this is the one who is still one of my favorite people so it doesn't seem fair to lump him into that category, BUT I DIGRESS) is currently leading the proceedings with a whopping 10.5 points for originality, creativity, and thinly-veiled innuendo. Setting the bar high. Snap's was also hilarious. GET ON IT (JOSH.)
Anyhoodle. Just in case you forgot, here's the outline for the Great Rejection Letter Mad Libs Contest:
FORMAT:
Dear ____________,
This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of _______________ at __________________________.
_____________________ would like to thank you for your recent interest in the __________________ position with the _____________ department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although ______________ cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check ______________.com periodically for future employment opportunities with ____________.
On behalf of____________, I wish you much success with your job search and with all of your professional endeavors.
Sincerely,
_____________
Employment Coordinator
Anyhoodle again. In other news, I'm pretty sure that the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is, quite possibly, the worst time to be job-searching. But I will also note here that "Job Searching" is a term that is now nearly as socially-acceptable as "going to night school." It implies that you are, in fact, doing something with your life. Everyone I know, including people who are currently gainfully employed with benefits that would make a Google exec swoon, is job searching. I don't think any of my friends see themselves in their current jobs more than three years out, some even have it down to the six-month mark, and whether this is a sign of a rough economy with non-complacent employees or the trademark of an over-stimulated generation constantly seeking new challenges or if this is just how the world works and I'm just now tuning in to something that's been going on for millenia has yet to be seen.
But I suppose most of what this whole "Job Searching" ridiculousness has brought me is a sense of peace. "Job Searching" implies that wherever you are, currently, is temporary. That it's parenthetically bound by some great opportunity out there that you just haven't stumbled across yet. "Job Searching" implies "Eventual Job Finding" which implies "Moving Forward With Life." I've felt stuck where I am for awhile now (though I'm fully aware that inaction is also a form of action) and looking for Big Changes, and somehow donning the cap of "Job Searching" becomes an acceptable substitute for any actual career. When you tell people that you're waiting tables, they start to ask more questions. No one believes that waiting tables is a long-term decision and, for many people, it isn't. But when you say that you're "Job Searching" and "waiting tables," suddenly the picture becomes much clearer. They nod, sagely, and think of how responsible you're being- searching for a career while still scraping together enough moolah to pay the bills. It's so....stoic.
Anyway. It's a terrible economy, it's the holiday season, I'm exhausted from dragging Spacefoot around all the damn time, and all of these factors are contributing to my belief that my goal to find a job by the end of the year is slowly but surely dwindling. 2009 may have brought a lot of much-needed growth and introspection, but it didn't deliver the career goals I had in the beginning and, surprisingly, I'm OK with this right now. It'll happen when it happens, and if I just continue to be open and aware I trust that something will come across my path.
SEND ME YOUR CONTEST ENTRIES. IT MAKES ME FEEL USEFUL AND NECESSARY.
But others of you (JOSH) have complained that I set my contest deadline for a holiday weekend and, as such (JOSH) I am extending said deadline (JOSH) until WEDNESDAY. Yes, that's right (JOSH), three whole extra days. So keep 'em coming. I will mention that the Ex (the funny one- I really feel like I need to come up with some other name for him, because I frequently mention some of my more batshit crazy exes, and this is the one who is still one of my favorite people so it doesn't seem fair to lump him into that category, BUT I DIGRESS) is currently leading the proceedings with a whopping 10.5 points for originality, creativity, and thinly-veiled innuendo. Setting the bar high. Snap's was also hilarious. GET ON IT (JOSH.)
Anyhoodle. Just in case you forgot, here's the outline for the Great Rejection Letter Mad Libs Contest:
FORMAT:
Dear ____________,
This is a follow-up regarding your application for the position of _______________ at __________________________.
_____________________ would like to thank you for your recent interest in the __________________ position with the _____________ department and appreciate your patience while the search process proceeded. The search has now concluded, and another candidate was selected to fill our vacancy. Although ______________ cannot offer you a position at this time, I encourage you to check ______________.com periodically for future employment opportunities with ____________.
On behalf of____________, I wish you much success with your job search and with all of your professional endeavors.
Sincerely,
_____________
Employment Coordinator
Anyhoodle again. In other news, I'm pretty sure that the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is, quite possibly, the worst time to be job-searching. But I will also note here that "Job Searching" is a term that is now nearly as socially-acceptable as "going to night school." It implies that you are, in fact, doing something with your life. Everyone I know, including people who are currently gainfully employed with benefits that would make a Google exec swoon, is job searching. I don't think any of my friends see themselves in their current jobs more than three years out, some even have it down to the six-month mark, and whether this is a sign of a rough economy with non-complacent employees or the trademark of an over-stimulated generation constantly seeking new challenges or if this is just how the world works and I'm just now tuning in to something that's been going on for millenia has yet to be seen.
But I suppose most of what this whole "Job Searching" ridiculousness has brought me is a sense of peace. "Job Searching" implies that wherever you are, currently, is temporary. That it's parenthetically bound by some great opportunity out there that you just haven't stumbled across yet. "Job Searching" implies "Eventual Job Finding" which implies "Moving Forward With Life." I've felt stuck where I am for awhile now (though I'm fully aware that inaction is also a form of action) and looking for Big Changes, and somehow donning the cap of "Job Searching" becomes an acceptable substitute for any actual career. When you tell people that you're waiting tables, they start to ask more questions. No one believes that waiting tables is a long-term decision and, for many people, it isn't. But when you say that you're "Job Searching" and "waiting tables," suddenly the picture becomes much clearer. They nod, sagely, and think of how responsible you're being- searching for a career while still scraping together enough moolah to pay the bills. It's so....stoic.
Anyway. It's a terrible economy, it's the holiday season, I'm exhausted from dragging Spacefoot around all the damn time, and all of these factors are contributing to my belief that my goal to find a job by the end of the year is slowly but surely dwindling. 2009 may have brought a lot of much-needed growth and introspection, but it didn't deliver the career goals I had in the beginning and, surprisingly, I'm OK with this right now. It'll happen when it happens, and if I just continue to be open and aware I trust that something will come across my path.
SEND ME YOUR CONTEST ENTRIES. IT MAKES ME FEEL USEFUL AND NECESSARY.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Dating Disasters- Episode One:The Guy With No Interests
Recently, several of my friends have accused me of censorship on this blog. To which I say: correct. Some things, sensational though they may be, are not mine to tell.
Both Josh and James have outed themselves as pivotal players in the Strip Club Incident (and watching one of your guy friends get a lap dance is something I wish I could forget), that kind of censorship is not what I mean.
I'm talking about the stories that get told over cocktails, in bars or over dinner, late at night, with friends interjecting color commentary. The kind that keep getting me this comment: "WHY HAVEN'T YOU WRITTEN ABOUT THIS?!?!"
And there comes a time when some stories need to be told.
And so, I believe that certain statutes of limitations have expired and, therefore, it's time to drag out some of the incidents that occurred during my epic Dating Period of Spring 2009.
Episode One:
I have heard a multitude of embarrassing first date stories. I have heard of people saying awkward things, of misunderstandings involving different bars with similar names, of running into exes, of things being spilled. But going on a first date with someone with whom you have absolutely nothing in common has got to be up there on the list of Painful Social Interactions. And I'm a bartender: I can pretty much hold my own on a vast spectrum of conversational topics. This, however, was a challenge.
A guy I went on one date with who happened to be from the same town in Alabama as one of my exboyfriends (which should have been a sign right there, although of what I'm not entirely sure- maybe just that the whole thing was doomed from the beginning?) He worked in a profession that involved math and the government, two things that are as foreign to me as the NFL. I didn't know this when I gave him my number in a bar and he'd called a few days later and asked me for drinks.
It was clear, early on in the date, that we had absolutely nothing in common.
This is why meeting people in bars and giving out your number is not a particularly good idea about 99% of the time. You know only that you have at least one thing in common: that you like to drink in bars on occasion. It's like finding out that you're both human beings who didn't die in infancy. I believe they call this "grasping at straws."
"So, what kinds of movies do you like?" I asked, trying not to chug my second of what would turn out to be about seven vodkas that night. The conversation was already stifled, the basic pleasantries of "So what do you do?" and "How was your day?" already covered.
"I don't really see that many movies. I guess I like Star Wars."
Strikes one and two.
"Oh, um, ok. What about music? What do you listen to?"
"Yeah I don't know, I guess whatever's on the radio."
Strike three.
"Do you like to read?"
"Haven't read a book since college."
Strikes four, five, and six through eleven.
"Ok, ummmmm.......well............" I slammed back the rest of my drink and, before I could protest, he ordered me another.
"So you're a writer," he said, finally, after a very long, awkward silence.
"Yes, yes I am."
"Yeah." He said. Long silence. Awkwardness ticking up a few more notches. "And how's that?" he said, finally.
"Good, I guess. I mean, it's hard. Finding freelance work, trying to keep the creativity in it, you know. Like any art that you're trying to do professionally, I guess."
"Yeah," he responded, "I don't really get what's so hard about writing. I mean, it's pen and paper, right? Not that complicated."
Strikes twelve through five thousand four hundred seventy six.
I wish I could say it ended there, but it didn't. More drinks were had, I have no idea what we talked about (but I know that it was boring) and then, finally, I excused myself and said that I needed to get home.
Outside of the bar, he suddenly grabbed me and kissed me. It was a desperate attempt, and while I'm sure he'd intended for it to be romantic, it had about the same effect on me as a bucket of cold water.
"Do you want to come to my place? I could make us drinks," he said in what I can only assume was some attempt to salvage what had been, for both of us I believe, undoubtedly the worst first date either of us had ever been on. I simply cannot understand why he would think that a kiss and an invitation to spend more time trying to think of things to talk about would be the appropriate end to the last two hours that neither of us would ever get back.
"Um, yeah, no, I should probably get home," I said.
"Ok," he said, casually shrugging his shoulders. "Have a good night!"
And left me there.
To walk home by myself.
Late at night.
In Baltimore.
With no cabs in a ten-block vicinity.
He actually wound up texting me a few weeks later looking for a repeat date. I have no idea if he'd worked through his roster of bad dates and landed on my number again, or if he still thought there was hope, or that I'd somehow be interested.
Regardless.
Dating pretty much sucks.
Stay tuned for future Dating Disasters, and await Episode Two: The Dangers of Dating Too Many Different People At Once.
Both Josh and James have outed themselves as pivotal players in the Strip Club Incident (and watching one of your guy friends get a lap dance is something I wish I could forget), that kind of censorship is not what I mean.
I'm talking about the stories that get told over cocktails, in bars or over dinner, late at night, with friends interjecting color commentary. The kind that keep getting me this comment: "WHY HAVEN'T YOU WRITTEN ABOUT THIS?!?!"
And there comes a time when some stories need to be told.
And so, I believe that certain statutes of limitations have expired and, therefore, it's time to drag out some of the incidents that occurred during my epic Dating Period of Spring 2009.
Episode One:
I have heard a multitude of embarrassing first date stories. I have heard of people saying awkward things, of misunderstandings involving different bars with similar names, of running into exes, of things being spilled. But going on a first date with someone with whom you have absolutely nothing in common has got to be up there on the list of Painful Social Interactions. And I'm a bartender: I can pretty much hold my own on a vast spectrum of conversational topics. This, however, was a challenge.
A guy I went on one date with who happened to be from the same town in Alabama as one of my exboyfriends (which should have been a sign right there, although of what I'm not entirely sure- maybe just that the whole thing was doomed from the beginning?) He worked in a profession that involved math and the government, two things that are as foreign to me as the NFL. I didn't know this when I gave him my number in a bar and he'd called a few days later and asked me for drinks.
It was clear, early on in the date, that we had absolutely nothing in common.
This is why meeting people in bars and giving out your number is not a particularly good idea about 99% of the time. You know only that you have at least one thing in common: that you like to drink in bars on occasion. It's like finding out that you're both human beings who didn't die in infancy. I believe they call this "grasping at straws."
"So, what kinds of movies do you like?" I asked, trying not to chug my second of what would turn out to be about seven vodkas that night. The conversation was already stifled, the basic pleasantries of "So what do you do?" and "How was your day?" already covered.
"I don't really see that many movies. I guess I like Star Wars."
Strikes one and two.
"Oh, um, ok. What about music? What do you listen to?"
"Yeah I don't know, I guess whatever's on the radio."
Strike three.
"Do you like to read?"
"Haven't read a book since college."
Strikes four, five, and six through eleven.
"Ok, ummmmm.......well............" I slammed back the rest of my drink and, before I could protest, he ordered me another.
"So you're a writer," he said, finally, after a very long, awkward silence.
"Yes, yes I am."
"Yeah." He said. Long silence. Awkwardness ticking up a few more notches. "And how's that?" he said, finally.
"Good, I guess. I mean, it's hard. Finding freelance work, trying to keep the creativity in it, you know. Like any art that you're trying to do professionally, I guess."
"Yeah," he responded, "I don't really get what's so hard about writing. I mean, it's pen and paper, right? Not that complicated."
Strikes twelve through five thousand four hundred seventy six.
I wish I could say it ended there, but it didn't. More drinks were had, I have no idea what we talked about (but I know that it was boring) and then, finally, I excused myself and said that I needed to get home.
Outside of the bar, he suddenly grabbed me and kissed me. It was a desperate attempt, and while I'm sure he'd intended for it to be romantic, it had about the same effect on me as a bucket of cold water.
"Do you want to come to my place? I could make us drinks," he said in what I can only assume was some attempt to salvage what had been, for both of us I believe, undoubtedly the worst first date either of us had ever been on. I simply cannot understand why he would think that a kiss and an invitation to spend more time trying to think of things to talk about would be the appropriate end to the last two hours that neither of us would ever get back.
"Um, yeah, no, I should probably get home," I said.
"Ok," he said, casually shrugging his shoulders. "Have a good night!"
And left me there.
To walk home by myself.
Late at night.
In Baltimore.
With no cabs in a ten-block vicinity.
He actually wound up texting me a few weeks later looking for a repeat date. I have no idea if he'd worked through his roster of bad dates and landed on my number again, or if he still thought there was hope, or that I'd somehow be interested.
Regardless.
Dating pretty much sucks.
Stay tuned for future Dating Disasters, and await Episode Two: The Dangers of Dating Too Many Different People At Once.
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