Eeeeeeeeeee (And Other Hypocrisies)

I can wax lyrical about how much I adore practical gifts and how romance on Valentine's Day is overrated, but at the end of the day I'd be a total hypocrite if I didn't admit that I SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'd when The Gentleman surprised me with flowers yesterday. Tulips. My favorite.

Because sometimes, you find a perfectly impractical gift that's meant to be nothing more than beauty to be a powerful statement about how well someone knows you, deep down. The deep down part of you that cries at antidepressant commercials and takes pictures of sunsets and sometimes thinks Taylor Swift might be a really great lyricist. OK, not the last part. But seriously - what an awesome surprise. And they smell delicious.

(SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!)

The Receipt

I think only when you truly respect and care about someone can you drive them to the utter edges of insanity...and find it entertaining.

The Gentleman and I were in CVS, waiting for our digital photos to be processed. We needed two of the standard-issue passport photos to obtain our international driving permits so that we can rent a car in Amman. It was a Saturday, and we'd just come from brunch where, naturally, there were...ahem...beverages consumed.

In that effortlessly-charming-and-endlessly-annoying way, he casually crumpled up the receipt for the photos and leaned forward, slyly stuffing the trash into my sweatshirt pocket. And thought himself a genius, no doubt, for not only depositing of this detritus but also now complicating my life. All while smiling so dazzlingly at me. What a nice thing to do.

I decided that throughout this day of running errands and completing chores, what might liven things up a bit is if I declared this receipt the thing that would ultimately send The Gentleman over the edge of sanity. And so I just smiled, removed the crumpled ball of paper from my pocket, and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans, unbeknownst to him.

A few minutes later, I made a very touching gesture of slipping my arm around his shoulders, my hand dangling right next to his ear. And I began squeezing and crumpling the receipt at a rapid pace. Which isn't, naturally, anything heart-stopping. Unless you're not expecting it. The grotesque facial expression that snapped out of his features was so satisfying, I was instantly both pleased and proud of myself for thinking of this game.

Later, we were in the car, heading to Triple A to pick up the licenses. I leaned over as if to whisper a secret and crumpled the receipt next to his ear, making sure to brush the paper just inside the ear so as to elicit the maximum response.

"WHAT IS THAT?!"

"Nothing."

"IT'S NOT NOTHING WHAT IS THAT?!"

"Don't worry about it."

I did it again, and again, and again. Always when he had his guard down, when he was looking away. Over the course of the afternoon, the receipt lost its crinkly-ness and became worn. Instead of snapping and crackling in his ear, it began to whisper the sweet hush of demonic, tortured gargoyles crying up from the gates of hell. Each time, his face contorted a little further until I began to gleefully imagine it getting stuck that way.

Serve him right for putting trash in my pocket.

He cracked that night. After the millionth time of me crumpling the receipt in very close proximity to his ear, he turned on me, and I spied the green rubber band that had been residing on his wrist had now migrated to the cocked and loaded position between thumb and forefinger. The very stance that boys used to torture me in years past: the rubber band finger gun.

Paper might cover rock, but it's powerless against scissors and completely useless against the rubber band finger gun. That is the end-all to all annoying behavior conversations; the trump card of mischievous activity. One cannot compete.

Game over, I sadly tossed the now-shredded receipt into the trash and declared my surrender against the rubber band finger gun. I will admit when I'm beat.

However, I've been to Whole Foods twice since that day, and have started stockpiling those green rubber bands.

Because the only thing that beats the rubber band finger gun is dual draws on both hands.

The Most Awkward Date Ever

We met for coffee after work, one of the most benign scenarios I could conjure. I only agreed to meet him because he'd cut right through all of that emailing-back-and-forth song and dance that is apparently "the process" of online dating and just simply came out with, "Your profile looks interesting. Meet for coffee?" Thank you for your directness; to reward you: yes. Besides, he seemed marginally interesting. PhD candidate, didn't look like an insane creeper in any of his photos, and didn't throw off any inherent red flags like, "Married," or "Sex Offender."

Side note: last summer was the one and only time in my life I attempted online dating, and I did so primarily out of curiosity, and because I was encouraged by friends who thought I would get some good story material out of it. Apparently, I did. I didn't write about it at the time, however, partially because I was still psychologically rattled by it (see story below) and partially because I lived in fear of one of the dudes somehow stumbling across my blog and reading scathing commentary. At this point, it's been a year, I think statute of limitations is up on that.

So, this guy was new in town and asked for a suggestion of where we should meet, stating that he didn't know the area very well. I suggested a date and venue, he accepted, game on. I met him there after work, and he was sitting, sort of defeated-looking, on the steps outside. Not a great first impression. Apparently, the place I had suggested was closed. This, apparently, had thrown him entirely off. Or so I thought at the time. Perhaps he was the kind of person who becomes rattled when wrenches are thrown headlong into plans. I could understand that, to a certain extent.

"OK, well, do you have any ideas of what you'd like to do instead?" I asked. And in that split 10-second window where we both realized the plans would have to change, I engaged in the sin of Instant Judgment.

The guy just STARED at me. Not in any nice, flattering kind of way. In a blank, passive, "please tell me where to go" kind of way. Lights were out.

Now, granted, this guy was new in town. So, a little forgiveness was in order for him not knowing where to go. But my main concern was this: within the span of a minute of meeting this guy, he had already proven himself to be Not A Problem Solver.

Which is a huge problem.

Jaunt once used that phrase, "Not a problem solver", to describe a co-worker whom she had correctly ascertained within moments of meeting that he would do nothing but create more work for her. Non-Problem Solvers are the bane of any workplace, let alone romantic dating situation. You can't do for yourself--don't expect me to, either. I've got enough on my plate without having to worry about you, too.

So, this dude had already identified himself as a Non-Problem Solver, which was a huge strike mark in my book. I have dated, worked with, and in general interacted with infinite numbers of Non-Problem Solvers, and I do not play nice with these people. My patience is very quickly stretched very thinly if I have to do too much for you, and that includes thinking.

Still, I had agreed to the date and was willing to let the awkward moment pass and even going so far as to assume that, perhaps, I may have rashly judged him. Perhaps he was simply thrown off and needed some time to recover. Dates are weird anyway. Let's all give ourselves a break.

I located a new venue, we went inside, and the Non-Problem Solver proceeded to make the next five minutes of my life excruciating as we were faced with the daunting and overwhelming prospect of "Seat yourself."

Don't just stand there and look at me. And when I ask you where you'd like to sit, don't just shrug. If you really don't care, then just sit somewhere. Don't stare at me, waiting for me to run down the list of possibilities, and passive-aggressively shrugging at each one.

Finally, I just sat. Thankfully, he followed suit.

At this point, I had already made up my mind that this was going to be a "coffee only" date. I couldn't imagine breaking bread with this dude, and the thought of watching him roll through menu options seemed overwhelming. It was difficult enough when the server provided us with two options on coffee. You'd have thought she'd said, "Columbian Fair Trade, French Roast, Ethiopian Harrar, French Vanilla, Turkish, Guatamalan, or espresso?" Instead, she said, "Decaf or regular?" I thought his brain would explode, working overtime.

It got worse.

If there's anything worse than a wishy-washy Non-Problem Solver, it's a Non-Conversationalist. I wish I had somehow recorded the interaction, but, as it's burned painfully into the recesses of my mind for all time, I'm fairly certain that what is written below is an accurate representation of what panned out over the next fifteen minutes of hell.

"So, you're new to Baltimore, where are you from?"

"St. Louis."

"Oh, nice. How do you like Baltimore so far?"

"It's alright."

"Ok, and, um, how long have you been here?"

"About three months."

"Ah. And your family is...still in St. Louis?"

"My parents are. My brother's in DC."

"Oh that's cool, so you have a relative nearby."

"Yeah."

"Do you see your brother often?"

"Here and there."

"Ah. And, um, is he older or younger?"

"Older."

"Ok. Cool."

Awkward silence.

"So...um...do you have any hobbies? Your profile said you were into music."

"Yeah, I like music."

"What kind?"

"Pretty much everything."

"Have you...been to any shows recently?"

"Not really, been really busy this semester."

"Oh. So, you're getting a PhD in music, that sounds interesting."

"Yeah, it's pretty nice."

"Do you want to teach?"

"I guess."

"So, just...music you're into? Any other hobbies?"

"I run sometimes."

"Me too! I have a 5k this weekend, actually! Do you run races?"

"No."

"Oh. So, where do you like to run?"

"At the gym."

At this point, I'd drank about four cups of coffee. Because I didn't know what to do with myself. I was that bored. He was volleying back one word answers, not asking a single question about me or seeming to generate any interest in this date whatsoever. Which is why what happened next shocked me.

There was another very long, awkward pause during which he simply stared at me. Again, not in an "I'm intrigued" or even an "It puts the lotion on it's skin" sort of way. In an empty, glassy-eyed, almost serene sort of way. Whatever was going on in his head (which I imagined to resemble a lava lamp in doctor's office colors) was so damn Zen, I speculated if he even had a heartbeat.

And no, he was not under the influence of anything. Believe me, it would have been far more entertaining.

And then he said: "So, you want to get some dinner or something?"

Whoa, dude.

You just sat there and fed me one-word answers for fifteen minutes. I cannot imagine spending any more time with you than I already have and, in fact, I'm so bored with this conversation that I want to cry. I would rather be waiting at the MVA or on hold with customer service. Those are infinitely more interesting activities than this date.

And so, forgive me, but I pulled a Bitch Move.

A mature, responsible, Zen adult would have said something like, "Thank you, but I believe I'll pass. I have enjoyed talking with you, but I am not feeling a connection here. It was very nice meeting you, and best of luck in Baltimore."

Instead, I panicked. I sort of fumbled around in my bag for awhile and produced my phone.

"Oh, um, look, um, I have a text from, uh, my friend and, um, I need to go pick her up."

Horrible behavior.

I couldn't get the two dollars for my coffee out of my bag fast enough, and I was nervously spewing forth verbal diarrhea the entire time.

"So, this was awesome, and, yeah, I'm so sorry I have to go, um, but yeah, maybe we can, you know, do this again and maybe the place won't be closed, ha ha, or you know, whatever...."

"So I should email you?" he asked, and suddenly sounded so hopeful that I felt horrible. This kid was new in town, he was clearly lacking in outgoing social skills, and his first online date was making up excuses to leave after a twenty minute coffee date that had to be at least slightly awkward for him and was downright painful for me.

And, because I am a glutton for punishment and, at times, a push over who cannot find it anywhere in her being to be rude or straight forward or even honest in certain social situations, I stupidly said, "Oh yes, totally, definitely."

WHY DO I DO THAT?

I couldn't leave the place fast enough. I think I burned rubber on my tires pulling out of the parking space. My brain felt so numb from trying to carry on a one-sided conversation that I couldn't even turn the radio on during the drive home. It was so excruciating that I went home, stormed up to my room, slammed the door, and proceeded to lie in the dark for an hour until my brain had cleared.

This is what's out there, I reasoned. This is what I have to look forward to. It was an incredibly depressing moment, thinking that the rest of my adult life might be sprinkled with painful dating situations like that one. I began to climb the ladder of doom and gloom, imagining endless coffee dates with strangers who would simply stare at me and offer nothing to the conversation.

Thankfully, that was the most painful date I'd ever experienced. They got better, I got more discerning, and I canceled my online dating account reasoning that I do better with people in person than scrolling through a catalog of men that might sound good on paper but offer little to the real world, or at least to me.

He did email me, a few weeks later, but thankfully it was only to ask if I knew of any decent running trails in the county. I sent him a website with a map, wished him the best, and blissfully blocked his profile.

Canceled

I canceled all of my online dating profiles awhile back, in an uncharacteristically quiet and drama-free sweep of cleaning some clutter out of my life. But I've recently found myself in conversations in various venues where I've started opening up about the whole online dating thing: why I did it in the first place, the successes (0) and failures (multiple), and why I am no longer a proponent of it PERSONALLY but can see how it might work out for some people in general.

In order to understand my reason for canceling the profiles, I guess I should first state my reasons for signing up in the first place. They are, in this exact order:
1. For interesting stories.

2. To meet men in Baltimore that:
a) are not someone I've already dated
b) are not friends with someone I've already dated
c) are not currently dating or have ever dated any of my friends
d) do not frequent the same places I do thus raising the chances of awkwardness (I like a little geographical separation, if only from one neighborhood to another)
e) have tastes/interests/hobbies similar to mine.

I'm not going to regale you with stories of some of the creepsters who sent me hilarious, sad, ridiculous, and sometimes downright pervy emails. We all know they're out there, and it's a stale story that (SHOCK! SURPRISE! AWE!) there are people with less-than-average social skills crawling online dating websites. To be fair, there are people with less-than-average social skills also crawling the bar scene. They're just sometimes a little easier to spot on-line.

I will say this: it's too much information. Pulling up someone's profile and seeing all their deets in black and white, perusing their interests/hobbies/family structures/pet peeves and getting all of this information upfront is definitely one way of weeding out individuals. The power of information is not to be belittled. I sure as hell don't want to meet up with the guy who has publicly posted on his profile the fact that he got a vasectomy at 21 to avoid contributing to the overpopulation of the earth. More power to you, Dude- you weed through a substantial population of females who might want to think about procreating someday that way. And I'm not particularly interested in striking up a conversation with a hardcore right-wing Republican who attends anti-choice rallies on weekends.

But all of this works against you as well. I've been on so many dates with guys who, on paper, are my Gemini twin: same likes, dislikes, upbringing, wants, desires, views of the world. And I meet them in person and, I've discovered, having 500 things in common with someone is absolutely no guarantee of any chemistry, spark, physical attraction, or even that you'll LIKE this person. I'm well aware that one of my most insufferable habits is correcting peoples' grammar. I get this trait from my mother (who emails me when there are errors in my blog- which I have learned to love to hate.) I don't need to date someone who has this similar burning desire for grammatical correctness. It would drive me insane. I also don't need to date a guy who loves Chick Lit. Some interests are mine, should be mine alone, and are not for sharing.

And, in my day, I've fallen for guys who are virtual opposites of me in every way. It's just a matter of what works and what doesn't and no online dating profile is going to give you that particular stat upfront.

Mostly, thought, there was something very significant lacking for me with online dating, and this was the thrilling sense of an organic situation arising out of chance meeting. There is something so very intoxicating about dating that derives from everyday or random situations. Whether it's suddenly seeing a friend in a different light, or chancing into an unparalleled conversation with a stranger at a bar, or having someone answer your Craigslist ad for a roommate and subsequently dating this individual for three months thereafter. It's all about the story.

I'm not saying there's no magic to be had in online dating. I know so many people for whom it's worked out, but I just never had any luck with it and, after awhile, I started getting annoyed with it. It was one more thing to check, one more set of emails to weed through, and one more spot of homework to be done in my otherwise busy life. Then there was the attempt to set up dates. Apparently it's a pretty big turnoff when you say to a guy, "I'm pretty busy this week and next- could we meet for coffee three weeks from Tuesday?"

So maybe I wasn't really all that committed to the process to begin with. I mostly signed up out of curiosity, really. And for the stories, of course.

Example: Record for shortest date- 25 minutes. I spent 1 minute sizing up the situation and the next 24 wondering how long I had to stay before it wouldn't seem so completely rude to leave. One cup of coffee later, I was out the door dropping the totally lame coup de grace of "Oh, my friend just texted me...she needs me to pick her up." Even I was ashamed. But this date was literally painful. We had absolutely nothing to talk about, and there were actually long periods of silence where we just sort of stared at the floor or the ceiling. We couldn't even grasp at straws and talk about news headlines. It was THAT. BAD.

Mostly, though, I've found that I vastly prefer to spend my time in the company of friends and doing things that I actually like doing as opposed to going to dinner/drinks/coffee/whatever with strangers. Perhaps if I were older and had been single for longer it would be different, and I would be more interested in meeting new people online. But, for now, I'm pretty happy with where things are and much more interested in meeting someone organically as a result of all of this time spent doing things I actually like doing.

Although I have some damn good stories. Saving it for the novel that I'm going to write someday. There's a statute of limitations on certain things.

Times Like Th(e)se

times like those
a low-land home
heaven and earth filled the room
'til the windows broke
children rose

J. Tillman, Marked In the Valley (Year In the Kingdom)
Special thanks to Jackal who has always provided me with uncanny soundtracks for whatever thoughts I'm presently chewing upon.

One Week

July 17, 2009
I am always so homesick for a place that doesn't exist.

Leaving for New Orleans next week, and found myself smack in the middle of a sleepless night last night.

I couldn't tell you exactly what set the thoughts to percolating and spinning around (Maybe the Oscars? Sorely disappointed in the Martin-Baldwin pairing. Had expected so much more.) but I found myself staring at a re-run of Big Love at three am and thinking about things that happened years ago and wondering what it is that has me so anxious about this trip.

I think, mostly, I've come to view my week in New Orleans as the parenthetical end to a distinct period of my life that's been characterized by a lot of uncertainty, doubt, and anxiety. It caps off my 3-year mark in Baltimore, and I think back to the girl who swept the sand off of the doormats and unpacked boxes of Cuban seasonings and a shared DVD collection after the two-day drive in a U-Haul from Florida and I find great disjoint.

Not that this is a bad thing.

The thing that has set this period of my life apart from any other is my ready acceptance of the mantra "all I know is that I know nothing." Because, mostly, I knew everything before. I knew exactly where I was going, one foot in front of the other, one box checked and on to the next. Diplomas in hand, wedding plans sketched out. I knew what I would be eating for dinner each night, and made plans six months in advance. I followed all of the stepping stones thinking they were laid out for me and not realizing that they were laid out for others, and that I was just following along without ever questioning if there were alternatives.

And then, one by one, I strayed from the stones. First it was the job, then it was the long-term relationship, then it was every idea of who I was and who I wanted to be. I pierced my nose, cultivated a new identity, dated interesting people, and tried on one persona after another. I cobbled together a haphazard existence of vampire hours, exotic foods, fascinating hobbies, and enviable day trips. I don't regret a thing.

But, as I threw all of these ideas against the wall, one by one they began to slide and nothing seems to stick. There is nothing of permanence in the life I built and this was in direct re-action to the seemingly permanent life I'd previously thought I had.

I wouldn't even buy fresh produce because my dinner plans were so likely to change, most of it went bad before I got around to cooking it.

But, as these things tend to do, my priorities have shifted again and I find that my incessant seeking of new and interesting stimuli has me looking further into the future. What sort of identity do I wish to eke out that can encompass all of my interests and yet still have some semblance of stability and permanence? How can I find a way to take everything I like about both worlds and create a new one that will leave me creatively fulfilled, a little less selfish, a little more aware, and with a larger world view?

"I think you need to not look at this trip as the be-all, end-all," Snap cautioned me during one of our phone conversations (our heart-to-hearts now limited to digital voice transmission since she's relocated to San Fran.) "Just go." She's right- I do have a tendency to assign more meaning to things then is necessary, but I can't help but intuitively feel that everything has been culminating for some time and that, somehow, this trip is going to be a catalyst of some kind for figuring some shit out. I don't know how I could spend a week helping other people, listening, being present, and leaving all of my petty shit behind me and not come out of it with some different ideas or opinions.

That's not to say this will happen overnight. I need time to process, of course.

I stopped blogging awhile ago because, contrary to the idea that I no longer had anything to say, I now have a lot to say, but I also have a great deal of respect and sensitivity for my thoughts and feelings and do not wish to share them so readily. To embark on this trip, and to commit to sharing it with you via this blog again, is an act of courage that is also daunting for me. I'm opening myself up again, however briefly, and so felt the need to share these thoughts publicly to set the stage for the next couple of weeks.

I'm not saying that anything brilliant will emerge. It could be a very long and boring account of what I ate on the job site or the weather or a bunch of dry statistical facts. Who knows. But I'll be here, and I hope you will too.

Every time I think that I am stagnating again, I think back to the last few years of my life and see the violent twists and turns, upheavals and revolutions, radical changes of thought and ways of being and doing, and I realize that I'm still on the journey. Still on the road, on board the train, in the car, headed somewhere. I know not yet where, but somewhere other than here.

"Are You Going To Blog About This?"