Cuisine from Afghanistan
Based on advice from some of my loyal readers, I decided to go out with Mr. Ponytail to see if sparks might emerge on a second encounter. Since we first met, we've exchanged a number of nice emails regarding transportation issues (I experienced my first car-skidding-on-snow), the writing of proposals, and multi-media challenges. He proposed dinner, mentioning that he wanted to try a a slightly upscale, quite romantic Afghan restaurant. I encouraged him to consider a modified version of this plan, at a less upscale, much less romantic Afghan restaurant substantially nearer to my home.
He was punctual and polite. As I've mentioned, he is very, very nice. The food was fabulous. We discussed the tragedy of recent events, where-we-were-on-9/11, his trip to Cleveland's Hall of Rock and Roll Fame (or something), and some other OK but not scintillating topics.
We agreed to talk after New Year's and go see some
movie about a community's response to the Holocaust. I would really like to see the flick, and this guy seems like a good companion in general, but not a boyfriend. So the challenge will be to convey this without the subtext being "I am not attracted to you."
Sigh.
Posted by Dori at 1:09 PM
Let It Snow
Sunday night should be banned. There should be some kind of time warp between Sunday morning and Monday morning, I think.
Yesterday I went to see my friend A.'s new house. She and her husband just bought a real house. Not a condo. A full-on three-story house, with stainless steel appliances and a yard. I was so excited to see it, and wanted to bring salt and bread, which apparently is a traditional housewarming gift in the Jewish tradition (A. is an observant Jew). Because A. has absolutely everything (she is a gourmet cook and has all the acoutrements), I wanted to bring her French sea salt in a classy mill and an equally classy loaf of bakery bread.
Just as I was leaving, it started to snow hard, and thus my car was covered in snow, which I had to remove. I'm still not used to this whole snow-on-car phenomenon, and it sucks. It was getting dark and windy and snowy, and I became increasingly crabby as 1) I found the bakery closed, 2) the French salt with classy mill at the local houseware store was priced at $39.95, and 3) the supermarket was deserted, a real wasteland, with limp lame flowers, and a picked-over selection of breads.
I drove back home with irises, not-so-classy French sea salt sans mill from the supermarket, and a baguette. I was full of rage at the inconvenience of the snow, the cold, and the continued impact of Christmas.
And then, through my foggy windshield, I saw a child tumbling through the snow, wearing a red snowsuit and a blissful expression. And I remembered that snow isn't just here to inconvenience me ... that in fact, it's dusting the grey afternoon with a white, bright cover, exciting children, inspiring families.
Posted by Dori at 10:17 AM
$ilent Night
Yesterday while I was extremely bored at work--yes, gentle readers, I was at the office on Christmas Eve--I exchanged several emails with a new Internet dating prospect. His name is Alex, he's originally from Russia, his username is "smartinsightful", and his photo is very, very cute. Sounds good, right? I sent him what I thought were very comprehensive replies to his questions, and then headed out to a delightful Christmas dinner hosted by my friend Daria for Jews & People Who Can't or Won't Spend Time With Their Families. This morning, I checked email to find one more question from Alex: "I am assuming that since you work in nonprofits, financial considerations are not a priority for you?"
I was completely flummoxed! I was offended! First, by the presumption that nonprofit people choose to starve and live in squalor--all for the privilege of doing Good Work. While of course nonprofit work is not as lucrative as I wish it were, plenty of people in the field earn good salaries (especially people who do fundraising work and those who work at huge institutions like hospitals and universities). Second, how rude is it that someone I've never met is asking me about my financial priorities?
I debated about whether this question dignified a response, and about how hostile the response should be (e.g. "I'm assuming that since you work in consulting, and have asked me this question, that neither humanity nor politeness are priorities for you?")
I decided that I had to respond--this was a public-education opportunity. So I wrote, "while one can (and I do) make a decent living working in the nonprofit sector, I definitely prioritize interesting, rewarding work above financial returns."
No reply thus far.
Posted by Dori at 10:47 AM
Bachelor Number II
Last night, during the tropical storm that hit Greater Boston for some reason, I went out with Mr. Ponytail. Before I go on I have to say that Mr. Ponytail wrote the sweetest, nicest post, excerpted below--it was titled--"Who I'd Like--and Hopefully Love:"
"basically: A Jewish woman, late 20s to early 30s, easy going, considerate. intellectually: Someone who complements, or contrasts, my way of thinking. Someone who can open my eyes wider. Someone who'll nod along to my rambling about computers, geography, how I felt about the movie, whatever. Someone who is left of center, but not unrealistically too left, or more importantly, too right. Someone reasonably aware of currrent issues, enough to know her rights are now being threatened. emotionally: Someone who wants to be emotionally monogamous with me (aside from physically). Someone who accepts that I can communicate more eloquently in writing rather than verbally. Someone who can appreciate that I can admit this fault (and others) about myself. Someone I can be supportive of, and she of me."Because this is so profoundly enchanting (and he had additional headings: "same-pageically" and "physically"), I overlooked the fact that the writer's photo depicted him with a ponytail.
Prior to the date, I mentioned this, in an agonized voice, to my friend R.. She said, "I didn't know that was a deal-breaker for you, but now that you say so, I can see it."
Ay. I wish I didn't care, but I really, really hate long hair on guys. Hate it. I also hate what it suggests in my prejudiced little mind: slovenliness, lack of fashion sense, lack of maturity.
But I felt like I had to meet the author of this fabulousness, and I thought I could always encourage him to cut his hair if things worked out.
So, back to the date. It is--literally--a dark and stormy night. My umbrella buckles in the wind as I stumble to the car. I drive to the same cafe where I met IGA-boy last week. I arrive wet and windy and dissheveled.
And there he is, looking exactly like his photo (at least--no disappointment) with his long (past shoulder-length) hair in a ponytail. He is wearing a button-down shirt (in contrast to my jeans and a not-very-lovely top. I'm telling you, I really wasn't making an effort). He is nervous, and very, very nice. He has reread our correspondence to refresh his memory.
He asks me questions about my work, my upbringing, and other assorted topics (rare and nice). We discuss our respective plants (he has a harvest of hot jalapeno peppers, which he discovered, are inedibly spicy--I have an emerging herb garden). He describes in great detail the virtues of Tulsa, OK, where he spent a few days with a relative (apparently it is a really beautiful city--who knew?). And so on. He is very, very nice and trying hard not to be shy. I feel for him.
But at the same time I am a little bored, and kind of wanting to go home. Around 9:30 I say something about having to get back, and then I immediately feel bad. I say, "You have my email, feel free to get in touch" by which I mean, "I am not going to contact you or give you my phone number." And he is pleased, and I get the sensehe interprets this as a suggestion to get together again, and I nod (because what else am I going to do?) and we hug awkwardly, and then I go home feeling mean, and guilty, and obligated to see him again.
Which I tell myself, I am not. I feel guilty because I have no concrete reason not to like him (other than the ponytail). And who knows, maybe we just need to get to know each other, and then maybe there will be chemistry. But I just don't want to. Even though he's really, really nice.
Posted by Dori at 8:13 AM
The Longest Night of the Year
So ... last night I was casually reading (
Uphill Walkers, by Madeleine Blais, which I highly, highly recommend) paying no attention to the fact that IGA-Boy has not yet fulfilled his promise to call me and arrange a time to see a movie. Because I am so cool and casual, I was barely aware of this, which is why I just happened to position my cordless phone within arm's reach, and to check the clock periodically and assess how many minutes remained before the end of Acceptable Time for a Phone Call (in my estimation, between 8:50-10:45 p.m.). Of course, around 11, I just rolled into bed without giving a thought to Mr. IGA, and checked email this morning in a similarly cavalier manner. And then, because my week is just filling up with alternate plans, I sent an extremely breezy, casual email remarking on the ice on my car and my finance committee meeting. I inquired about the movie idea, giving ample room for him to outright reject me without it seeming like outright rejection ("I remember you said you had out-of-town friends visiting this week, so if it's too hectic, I totally understand--just let me know"). To which he responded:
"Hey Dori,
Lock de-icer is another handy tool you may want to consider as you tackle this car business.
It was fun meeting you too, not too sure about next couple of nights, probably catching up with out-of-town friends. I'll be in touch, enjoy your meeting tonight."
I interpret this is as polite and semi-outright rejection, and I have to say, it really sucks. Also, it comes right on the heels of the semi-outright rejection by Dr. Surgeon, who emailed greetings upon his return from Michigan, and something about his exhaustion and horrible call schedule. The subtext: "I am not a jerk, see? I contacted you as promised. However, I do not wish ever to see you again. " This eliminates the need for a weird phone call, but again, my pride is a tiny bit wounded. I wish I was the one to send that dismissive message.
I am a little disenchanted with my latest foray into the dating scene, and may retreat again for a while. But then, what would I write about?
Posted by Dori at 9:27 AM
The curtain, the window, and the banister
Have I mentioned yet that I live in an owner-occupied house? I have the apartment on the ground floor, and Mary and Chucky, a retired Greek couple, live upstairs with their two grown daughters (how the grown daughters can endure this is beyond me). While I know "owner occupied" is usually considered a good thing, since the landlords are usually attentive and close by, in my case the owners, while extremely attentive, also provide a level of surveillance for which I was not prepared.
Case in point: just as I emerged from the shower this morning, I heard a knock on the door. I found Mary (in a housecoat and fuzzy slippers) and Chucky (in paint-splattered overalls) wanting to "talk about a few things." Mary has this extreme, loud, nasal Boston-accented manner of speaking, and Chucky has a booming Greek-accented voice ("we talk strong" he said today, "because we European.") Both of them always sound like they're yelling.
The impetus for their visit was the fact that my front door was slightly ajar, and therefore they could see into my bathroom, which is straight across from it. As I mentioned, I'd just come out of the shower, and therefore the bathroom curtain was still partially extended. Recently, I'd been instructed to leave the curtain bunched up ALL THE WAY on one end, because the pipe in the other corner froze last year, and the former tenant "went three days without bath." Because I am a compliant person, and because I don't want to go "without bath" I have always pulled the curtain away as instructed, but at this MOMENT the curtain was still wet, and so I had not yet bunched it up, and at that moment they happened by.
After I apologized for the lack of curtain extension, and demonstrated the wedge that keeps the bathroom door open to allow for warm air circulation, which I have demonstrated on each one of the 16 times Mary has mentioned it, we moved on to a discussion of the window.
"We like you" said Chucky, "We're like your parents, we want what's best for you. Don't hate us, and we won't hate you. So, another thing. We have steam heat, and ... [long explanation of steam heat vs. forced air] if it gets too hot, call us. We won't be offended, we'll turn down the heat. Or, you can turn off the valve [demonstration of valve-turning]. But do not open the window ... [long explanation of why opening the window is a bad idea]."
I swear, I swear, I opened the window for FIFTEEN minutes on Sun. night when I had friends over for fondue and it was getting too warm. It's a little uncanny and unsettling that they noticed, and are bringing it up.
After I agreed to keep the windows closed at all times, we moved on to discuss the extremely icy, extremely steep, extremely treacherous driveway, and the need to hold on to the banister EVERY time I leave the house, because ... [long description of the potential for bodily harm]."
In conclusion, Chucky said, as they retreated upstairs, "as long as you cooperate, we all be happy."
Yes, I am very happy with my owner-occupied apartment. Especially when I pay $1175 in rent, when I'm roasting down here breathing stale-air, and gripping on to the banister each and every time I leave the house.
Posted by Dori at 9:53 AM
The Bad Date I Mentioned Earlier
This is the feedback I wanted to give Dr. Surgeon (the guy I dated briefly, who works at a local
prestigious medical institution). DISCLAIMER: He is actually a good, menschy guy, who treated me very nicely and kindly on other occasions. I attribute this particular bout of bad behavior to his lack of awareness and his inexperience.
1) When you said "I'll call you when I know when I'm leaving work" it does NOT entitle you to
call WHEN you're leaving work and expect me to depart instantly for the hospital (your soul-sucking workplace that has drained your life of all joy). When you said yesterday "I probably will be done around 7:00" that pretty much ensured that your 5:15 call would be somewhat unexpected. SO, don't be all annoyed when I arrive 45 minutes after your call. I had to wait in the rain to take a bus that was stuck in traffic, then I had to switch to the subway,
and then cross highway hell to get to your workplace.
2) OK, so now I'm at the hospital for the first time, and excited to get a tour, after hearing so much about it. And when I suggest it, you say "No tour today. I just want to go home." In a tone that makes me feel evil for asking.
3) We arrive at your house, and you collapse immediately, feeling so glad to be there after such a long day. OK, that works, as does the tender hug that expresses (even though, heaven forbid, you could actually say this) that you are glad I am there to take care of you.
4) This goodness is overriden by the request that I start dinner. Since we had planned to make dinner together, my starting dinner while you shower is not at all unreasonable, however, the cursory crash course introduction to your kitchen, and the tone in which you admonish me for matching the wrong pot with the wrong lid, is TOTALLY uncalled for. You do get some points for your fridge, which is stocked with four imported cheeses, fresh alfredo sauce from the gourmet store, parsnips, persimmons, and Odwalla orange juice.
5) OK, so you come out of the shower and you look hot and smell freshly bathed--good work.
But please do not berate me for the state of the pasta "this is done already. This is overdone already" which is such a lie because it's perfectly al dente. AND I feel strongly that if you wanted a huge serving of pasta, you should have said so, thus it's too late to complain about the insufficient quantity. I won't even get into the wine discussion--but, suffice to say that I ALREADY SAID that white wine would go better in the sauce, so get over yourself.
6) So now we're on to dinner. Candle lighting, nice touch. So, now is the time to talk and relate.
If you don't feel like chatting yourself, then you should ask me questions. I'm trying here--bringing up today's trip to the office furniture liquidator (I think a rich topic of conversation), my odd quasi public high school, the latest update on a work project from hell. But whatever. Fine. Be that way. Chew in silence.
7) But DO NOT get up and start crashing around in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher, and then say "you can bring the dishes in now", like I'm waiting with bated breath to hand you a scalpel.
8) OK, so we finish the kitchen dishes, retire to the living room couch, at which point I could not feel less affectionate, and I'm still trying to conjure up some more interesting conversation, and finally succumb to your inherent cuteness and your request that I cuddle up to you. And because I am feeling so profoundly insecure by our interactions thus far (this is date number five), I say, "I can't read you. I can't tell if you're tired and crabby, or if you want company, or what. I know that the hospital sucks out your soul, but I know it's in there somewhere, and I want to find it." You say something about your soul revealing itself in spurts, and I can't tell whether I have just offended you; again, you're so hard to read. I say a few other dumb things, and you draw me closer into the sweet-smelling, warm place between your neck and shoulder, and this somehow leads to your proposal that we retire to the bedroom. Again, I have no idea why I agree to this, mainly because you're hot.
9) But whatever, we've got tonight, who needs tomorrow. Your kissing skills surpass your conversation skills by far. Yum.
10) So we're in this mode for a while, and suddenly you look at the clock and abruptly point out that it now 9:30, which is when you turn into a pumpkin because you have to be at work tomorrow at 4:30 a.m. OK, fine, I don't want to be the cause of endangering the health of the local metro area. I will absolutely be out of your hair momentarily. I just need a moment to get closure, to get collected, such that it is RUDE when you then just dash into the bathroom and emerge, all fake-cheery, and make some joke about something, pretending to be all casual, and promise to call me when you get back from Michigan and your sister's graduation.
So, because I am a nice person, and because I still have some of my own issues with love and romance, I feel bad. I feel like I should have been more sensitive, or generous, or something. I worry that I am revolting in some way, or that I made you uncomfortable and caused the weirdness that we cannot now ignore (actually, it appears I am the one who can't ignore it). So I have just outlined the 10 steps that caused a bad and weird evening. Please take note for the future.
Posted by Dori at 11:14 PM
UpDATE
So, last night I went out for the first time with a guy I was actually excited about, who I encountered on the Craigslist personals. If you don't already know about this site, you must click
here immediately. Through Craiglist, I have acquired: a Crate and Barrel dining table for $100, an aerobed, two very lovely roommates, and, during times of need, much comfort from the members of the Women's Forum. I have also expressed my rage and frustration on the Rants and Raves page. AND, I have met several (for the most part normal and interesting) guys through the personals.
Last night I had coffee with someone who responded to my recent post titled: "Are you kind, brilliant, and Jewish?" K. is a civil rights lawyer whose messages were smart and intriguing. It became apparent in our correspondence that he does noble work for an Important Government Agency (IGA), and this was proven by his real email address (I have created a faux email address solely for e-dating).
He arrived on time to our date, even though he walked right by me to claim a table and therefore we didn't actually meet until 15 minutes later. I have to say, as an e-dating veteran, that those moments before you confirm that the person in front of you is actually your date are truly harrowing. The worst part of the whole thing. Invariably the guy looks different (usually in a disappointing way) from his photo, and I worry simultaneously that he is thinking the same about me. Plus, there is this fear that I might approach a random guy, the potentially-Internet-date, and say "Bob?" and discover then that he's in fact, not Bob. This has never happened to me before, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about it.
Anyway, so K. looked almost totally unrecognizable from his photo, and is not hot by any stretch of the imagination, but neither is he unattractive. He was dressed in a preppy and appropriate way, for which he gets points. We met, per my recommendation, at a local cafe that I rarely patronize.
My rules for Internet dating are:
- Use a faux email. You never know what kind of stalker is writing to you, who could overrun your inbox with spam, or, worse, find out googled-details about you based on your actual name. My faux account has just my intials in the "from" field.
- Meet for coffee. It's cheap, thus, no weirdness about the check. It's quick, so it doesn't overrun actual plans with friends, and, if it sucks, it's over in an hour.
- Never meet at a place you normally frequent, again, because, if the date sucks, it could tarnish the place. Also, you don't want to run into people you know and have to explain what you're doing.
- During the date, I am friendly and warm and try very hard to make the guy feel OK even if he's super, super nervous or unattractive or awkward. I strive also not to mention (or inquire about) any other people we may have met in this way.
- After the date, I put forth very clear anti-kissing body language, and, if I don't ever want to see the guy again, I say "well, it was nice to meet you. You have my email address, if you feel like getting in touch." I NEVER give out my phone number. I NEVER let anyone drive me home (both because he could drive me somewhere scary and assault me, and because I don't want him to know where I live). If I like the guy I will email soon after and express this, and propose another get-together. At which point I usually progress to real email and normal conduct.
My general dating M.O. is pretty much encapsulated by the
Barbitches, deemed "the Emily Post of the new milenium." They offer excellent, super funny advice about dating and mating and bediquette. Highly recommended.
Anyway, so all this is context for my recent date with IGA-Boy (remember? He works at an Important Government Agency)?.
As I was saying, we kind of stumbled across each other in the coffee shop, and I really liked him! He was instantly funny in a not-trying-to-be-funny way, and we chatted for over an hour about substantive things (our families, our work, roommate-free apartments, movies). He asked me questions, and expressed compassion and interest in general, which is a HUGE plus in a guy and all too rare. He was also impressed by my work and complimented my haircut. (Which is cute and quirky, I thought. Who does that?). He had to go meet friends, but as we were getting up he suggested we go to the movies this week--a CONCRETE PLAN to get together, and said he would call me to figure out specifics. So this pleases me, I really liked him, and liked his whole civil rights lawyer thing. Now I have to NOT obsess tomorrow about when/whether he calls. AND I just realized I am supposed to work late on Tues., so I hope we can amend the concrete plan. Anyway: it was a GOOD date. In sharp contrast to last week's terrible, horrible, no-good very bad date. Read on.
Posted by Dori at 11:38 AM
My Love Life: An Abridged History
So before I get into the details of my recent romantic exploits, I will provide, for context,
a quick timeline of my history:
Junior High: romance mainly limited to obsessive crushes interspersed with bizarre liasions with Youth Group kids. There is really no reason to get into that.
High school: year-and-a-half long love affair with a “wrong side of the political spectrum” type; he owned a gun, leaned Republican, and had posters of naked women on his walls. I loved him anyway, he was my First, and he was the type that left roses in my locker and drove me to the prom in his '67 GTO (which, I learned early on, is a very, very cool car).
(Women’s) College: breakup with aforementioned Republican, summer fling with fellow camp counselor, then serious relationship with a Spanish guy during my junior year abroad in Cordoba. We stayed together after I went back to the U.S., but then broke up on day 3 of our 5-day spring break in the Dominican Republic.
Life since:
2001: Brief courtship with Brazilian-American friend of a friend.
2001-2002: Very intense, beautiful, and passionate relationship with a co-worker. Dramatic breakup. We are now finally friends in a wistful way. Very, very long story.
2002-2004 Generally fruitless dating, obsessing, and wretchedness.
2004: Great six-month relationship with delightful guy who I just can’t see marrying. We met on JDate.
Now: Quest continues for my Jewish soulmate (kind, brilliant, sweet, ambitious, and hot, in case you know of anyone). Recently briefly dated a surgical resident at a prestious local hospital (a dazzling but ultimately very disappointing experience). I will include my feedback to him in one of my subsequent posts.
Posted by Dori at 11:20 AM
Strongly Worded: Origins
If you've just happened on this blog for the first time, you're undoubtedly wondering -- why "strongly worded"?
It comes from a phrase coined by one of my former classmates (a Basque guy, who survived the facist California school system and made it to Dartmouth College, where he was known as the "Latino Rage Machine." He lost the election for Student Council president because he ripped down his opponent's fliers. He was ordered to replace them, but was so financially strapped that he had to provide sexual favors to the woman at the copy place in order to get the new fliers made up. This is really true. He told me.). Xavier is constantly enraged, and thus he writes what he calls "strongly worded" letters about everything. During our grad program, he wrote about the faculty's lack of cultural competency, the injustice of the grading system, the insufficient access to the computer lab, and, most memorably, the premature closing of the campus vending area.
During our summer semester, we had night classes twice a week. Most of us brought dinner from home, because the student cafe closed every afternoon at 4:00. There were also some vending machines nearby, but, as Xavier realized on one unfortunate evening, these also were closed off, and he had to suffer through Stats on an empty stomach. So wrote a strongly worded letter to Facilities about how this endangered the health of hypoglycemic and diabetic students, who might need to maintain blood glucose levels, and about how imperative it was to have access to vending machines at all hours.
Facilities responded with some coupons for free candy bars.
Since then, I have written (and, admittedly, meant--and failed-- to write) many strongly worded letters of my own, and therefore my warm and loving friends now ascribe the term to me. R, one of my most especially warm and loving friends, set up and named this blog as a Hannukah gift. So before I take any more steps on this blogging journey, please know that the forthcoming Strong Words are dedicated to her.
Posted by Dori at 3:18 PM
My first post
Welcome to my blog. I promise it will include many strongly worded posts.
Posted by Dori at 2:15 PM
