Strongly Worded

Turning 28

So on Saturday I will be 28. Meaning: two years shy of the big 3-0. I am OK with this. I was definitely not OK with turning 27, because somehow it marked a transition from "mid twenties" to "late twenties" and I was not down with that. Especially since my life really sucked at that time, and everyone was getting married, and I felt despairing, single, and bitter. Right around my last birthday, my friend R. predicted that 27 would be "my year."

And I have to say that maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of some kind (she doesn't even remember saying this), because it has been a pretty good year. Soon after I turned 27 I met a great guy, and we were blissfully happy together for several months, and then decreasingly happy after that, but it was ultimately OK, and we broke up with absolutely no drama. I finished my master's at age 27, and that was pretty great (even more great in retrospect). I moved into a lovely, lovely apartment. I started a new job that has thus far been a very mixed experience, but overall a good opportunity, and a source of financial security. Also this year I spent many happy weekends in Vermont with the aforementioned boyfriend, and 10 days in Italy. And tonight I am being whisked away on a mystery-date by the Guy I am Dating currently. And on my actual birthday, my parents are coming to town and we are (hopefully) having brunch at this very amazing French restaurant.

I am very, very pleased about this (and of course in a cautious way because I'm crazy and always worrying that I will screw things up by looking forward to them). Thus I have been reminiscing about birthdays past ...

Last year's celebration was lovely (brunch at one of my favorite restaurants, followed by bookstore browsing and a romp through the Gap). It did, however, include a dead mouse. During brunch, my friend Stef tried to discreetly get the mouse removed without my noticing, but there was no ignoring a revolted waiter and a quick intervention with a dustpan. All we got was an apology from the manager: "many restaurants struggle with this problem." This is a hilarious memory.

In college, I had one of the saddest birthdays ever, when none of my friends rallied, and the only plan was dinner and a rented video in the dorm, which was standard weekend order of business. I had brunch (notice the theme?) with my mom, and we went shopping for a graduation dress, but we didn't find anything and the whole encounter was depressing. This was an improvement over my birthday during my junior year abroad. It fell right around the Easter holidays and nobody remembered, not even the program staff, who celebrated everyone else's birthday with banners and gifts (OK, souvenir trinkets, but still). I vividly remember spending the evening at a lame bar drinking warm beer and feeling miffed. Senior year of high school I had a lovely birthday plan that included ballet and strawberry dessert, but I had a horrible migraine and almost threw up.

I'm finding that I cannot write about birthdays without including my best birthday ever thus far. When I turned 25, A.P. whisked me away to New York City to see Rent and eat at this amazing romantic restaurant. We stayed in a hip boutique hotel (with a four-poster bed) in Greenwich Village. We also ate at Cafeteria, the hippest restaurant I had ever been to, at 2:00 a.m. after the show. And in addition to all this goodness, I got a present: a collection of every single one of Dar William's CDs, and the Rent soundtrack.

So I feel very good because I think this current celebration plan might approach that magnitude of greatness (between my family visiting and the surprise sponsored by the Guy I am Dating, and an upcoming outing with primary friends).

I feel very lucky (touch wood).

Posted by Dori at 3:03 PM 0 comments

The Relationship Threshold

So things are going very well with the Guy I am Dating. I have made him dinner twice. We have exchanged CDs. We talk on the phone every night. We've been dating for a month. I concur with my wise friend D.M. that our first kiss marked his transition from the Guy I Like to the Guy I am Dating.

So we're clear on that. But now things become even murkier. When does Dating become a Relationship? In high school, dating and boyfriend-and-girlfriend status were pretty much interchangeable. In college, my sense (based on watching Felicity and talking to friends who went to co-ed schools), is that college students gradually transition from friendships to relationships because they're constantly bonding over late night pizza and they essentially live together already.

As adults, there are all kinds of other indicators with varying degrees of validity. There is the exclusivity clause; two people are a couple (aka "in a relationship") if neither one is seeing anyone else. That works fine if you live in a world where people have the good fortune to see multiple people at once. That is not my world. I'm not surrounded by guys that I must reject once I become someone's girlfriend.

There is the Need to Know clause. Meaning: two people are a couple if their exes and/or admirers Need to Know about the situation.

Case in Point #1: I just got an email via Friendster from a very cute guy who expressed intimidation about writing to me but also a desire to get together. (This is not my world either. I never, never get approached in this way. This just happened randomly and strangely today.) So. Do I write back and say I'm dating someone? Do I change the toggle on my Friendster profile to indicate that I'm "in a relationship"? When do all the thousands of people in my extended techno-network Need to Know about this?

Case in Point #2: A close friend spent some time preseverating recently because her ex is coming to town and she is now in a new (great) relationship. We had an extensive brunch discussion about her approach. So she sent him an email--equal parts kindness and breeziness-- that conveyed the information: Dear Ex, you Need to Know that we are not going to hook up during your next visit (or ever again), because I'm now in a relationship.

There is the sexual intercourse clause (not very common in this day and age); two people become a couple once they have slept together. That works fine if the physical relationship happens to develop at the same rate as the emotional one, but I find that is rare. Also, plenty of people sleep together with no intention of ever becoming a couple.

Then there are all the other indicators. The frequency of phone calls. The allocation of drawer/closet space. The assumption that weekend plans will by definition include both parties. The incorporation of pet names. The friend debut. The acknowledgment of imperfections. The (gasp!) usage of the word boyfriend or girlfriend.

Case in point: just today I bumbled into a casual conversation that somehow overlapped with the experience of the Guy I am Dating, and I struggled with what to say: "Oh, how funny, because the Guy I am Dating shares your affinity for X." or "Oh, how funny, because my friend shares your affinity for X." OR, "Oh, how funny, because my boyfriend shares your affinity for X."

Eek! There is no easy answer to this. I'll get back to you*. Please stay tuned.

* Hi Melinda!

Posted by Dori at 9:56 PM 2 comments

Literary Saturation

As I look over my credit card bill, I see, as I do every month, the $23.50 charge that I get from the New York Times. When I was younger, hipper, and less financially secure (meaning, last year), I used to go to my favorite cafe on Sunday mornings and drink a small coffee (for $1.00) and read the Sunday Times, which costs $4.50 if you officially buy it, but is free if you don't. So in those days I was saving $3.50 and being young and hip in the process. However, the choicest morsel of the Sunday Times is the magazine, and there was no guarantee that I'd snatch it out of the withering, coffee-stained pile, and also, even if I did score it, I'd have to devour the whole thing right there in the cafe, since neither the paper nor the magazine belonged to me.

Last year for my birthday, my friend N. got me a gift subscription to the Times, such that, for a year now, I've gotten a bundle of joy on my doorstep every Sunday. This has fostered a lovely ritual. I "make" Pillsbury cinammon rolls and coffee, and then, I parse out the paper. The business, sports, and book review are diverted immediately to the recycling bin. The magazine is lovingly set aside. Then, in an array across my bed: the Arts & Leisure section, the Week in Review, the Sunday Styles (particularly the "Vows" column), and finally, the Travel section. In a nod to being informed as well as cultured, I also keep the first page and the actual news.

To be frank: I rarely read the actual news, and I wish I could just subscribe to the magazine, because that is the part I love, and the part that I reliably read, because it's so interesting and beautifully written, and also because it's in a format that is amenable to the subway or bus or gym (unlike the huge unwieldy sections of the actual paper). I have a rule that by recycling day all the unread portions of the paper must be gone, because it gives me guilt to have them lying around all week. And I have to say, that the last few weeks, with all the work and visitors and shopping, have not afforded me much time for my Sunday morning ritual. And therefore I have two weeks of newspaper in my living room, and also Gourmet and Cook's Illustrated, and several books I just got from Amazon, as well as a memoir about a British guy's childhood in an Indian cult which I started on the bus back from New York.

It is too much! I love all of this stuff, and I really do want to read it, but lately my attention span has been waning, and it's great to read all the magazine articles (especially the ones about food) but it's been weeks and weeks and I still haven't read the entire Times explanation of why Social Security isn't really in jeopardy, even though I have it hopefully and prominently placed it at the top of my intended reading pile.

I'm wondering whether I need to relax more on the weekends or cancel my subscription ...

Posted by Dori at 9:39 PM 0 comments

Sex and the City, Without the Sex

I am back from a long weekend in NYC, and I am full of shame because I do not have much to report, much less really witty observations. I am worried that this blog is becoming one of those boring accounts of my daily activities. You'd be amazed how many blogs just cover day to day events and are deadly for this reason.

But I've been out of the loop for a while, so here are some fascinating highlights of the last few days:

Thursday night: implementation of a stressful, somewhat-high-profile work-related event that I planned. I had to moderate a panel discussion and get the higher-ups to say impressive things about our work. I prepared elaborate talking points for all involved, "planted" questions in the audience, and STILL people said what they wanted to say and did NOT say the things I wanted them to say. In general it was as succesful as it could have been under the circumstances (meaning: my controlling tendencies were curtailed by other people's self-determination), but I wasn't so delighted with it, and afterwards I was told that I "winced" during some of the discussion period, AND that a black couple (big supporters of our work) were denied access to the event by some fascist person standing near the door, so that sucks unbelievably.

Friday-Sunday: a trip to New York City with my mom, aunt, and cousin (visiting from abroad). The trip included a total of about 10 hours in transit, on the lovely Peter Pan bus, which was made bearable only by the best CD I have acquired in a really long time, Hurricane, by Kris Delmhorst. My favorite tracks are 1 and 7. I pretty much listened to these tracks for the first four hours of the trip.

The trip mainly consisted of wandering around various neighborhoods and eating extraordinary amounts of food, including grape gelato at the Laboratorio del Gelato. We also went on a tour of the Lower East Side's Tenement Musuem, which could have been great, but was ruined by "educator's" horrible, horrible narration; the entire tour was essentially a guessing game:

[about hazardous working conditions in the garment industry]: "anyone know why it would be dangerous to lock all the workers in the workshop?"

[about home piecework]: "anyone know why it would be dangerous to operate a hot iron for 12 hours every day in an unventilated apartment?" At least I got a sense of tenement hell.

That's it, really.

When I got home there was a message from the Guy I am Dating: "just wanted to say hi. I know you won't get this until you get back on Sunday, but we met a month ago today, so I'm just remembering that." Sigh. How sweet is that? And yet, also, a little scary: a one-month anniversary is a little like a "first annual" event. We really hope it will become annual.

Posted by Dori at 7:01 AM 1 comments

Anti Planner

My life, in many ways, is guided by my blue planner, which spans the academic year (August to August), has a waterproof cover, and two pages for every week. It is just the right size and weight, and there is ample space for contact information in the back. Also, it has a U.S. map with demarcated timezones, and random student-oriented factoids, including a list of key mathematical formulae. I love this planner, and I carry it everywhere. Every year in August I buy a new version of it, and I spend a blissful hour transferring all the names, addresses, and birthdays onto the pristine new pages.

The pristine quality of the planner erodes roughly around the time that said planner is no longer sold in stores. I should really buy two every August, because one barely makes it through April. The edges start to curl, and take on a dull color, and then the spiral binding gets crushed, and my resolve to write neatly and coherently ends. The book quickly becomes tattered, fills with illegible writing. It does not inspire confidence among colleagues. When we plan ahead, and I whip it out, I get subtle but derisive looks from the owners of palm pilots and slick day runners.

As the book itself becomes sloppy, my planning does as well. I frequently will read a notice or flier and transfer the time and address of the event into my book. Then, weeks later, I find myself, as I did today, with a vague directive: Training. 180 Cambridge St., 4th Floor. 10-4 p.m.

This morning I found myself on the way to 180 Cambridge St. with no idea what I was in for. I had some recollection of registering for a training on asset building, but since I get so many notices and emails about professional development opportunities, I really didn’t know for sure. As I checked in at the entrance, I heard another participant mention a training, and so I followed along, expecting that the topic of the training would become clear momentarily. At the end of the labyrinth of hallways was a table with nametags and a sign-in sheet, so I affixed a nametag and entered the training room, settling in at a table with a cup of coffee.

A woman with wild hair approached. Her nametag said “Hickory Institute” so I asked her about that, and she very enthusiastically talked about how her company hadn’t yet worked for us, but would like to. I was very surprised by this, because I had no idea that Hickory Institute even existed, much less that they aspired to work for us, but I smiled cordially anyway. As the participants introduced themselves, I observed that almost everyone represented a municipality, and worked in departments of environment and energy. I also observed the high incidence of organic-looking outfits and natural hairstyles. I realized that, along with one other guy, I was the only non-municipal representative, and that the training would focus on private-public partnerships for green construction initiatives.

I was surprised at myself for signing up for a 6-hour training on green construction when that topic is not really relevant to my organization or my career interests, but I figured I would leave at lunch and spend the rest of the day downtown, and then maybe work from home in the afternoon. The mismatch between the training goals and my needs seemed pronounced enough to warrant an afternoon off.

At the break I hovered around in the hallway and noticed a sign next to an adjacent room. It read ASSET BUILDING TRAINING. I had gone to the wrong room. I had spent an hour learning about green construction instead of the much more vital information I actually need—because I didn’t write the details in my planner. You’d think that I’d learn. But I do this all the time—maybe it’s an effort to add spontaneity into my life? To be surprised at what will await me at “Foundation: 2:00” or “Consortium, Framingham”? Does this tendency originate from my evil twin, the “anti planner”?

Posted by Dori at 11:18 PM 0 comments

A Funeral in my Brain

I am in  poor form this morning, having woken up at 5 a.m. with a migraine
headache. I got up and took my meds, but my head still hurts.

I have suffered from migraines since I was about 14, and they're awful.
When I have one I feel like a lead bowling ball is rolling around in my head.
I have tried various remedies such as relaxation and "ice massage" (in which you rub
ice directly on one side of your face until the area is numb, and this supposedly
trains your brain into coping with extreme discomfort--I did this faithfully for
about two weeks and then I couldn't stand it anymore). I also did physical therapy
at the Headache Center's Pain Management Program (all kinds of stretches
and exercises meant to reduce tension in the neck and shoulders). I have
also tried all kinds of drugs (namely Maxalt, Imitrex, and now--best drug ever--
Amerge).

Migraine drugs (at least the really good kind) cost a fortune--Amerge costs $19 per
tablet. Luckily, I now have decent health insurance, and can financially afford to
have migraines, but while I was in grad school I had to battle the school's plan so
they would cover it, and they were so stingy with the pills that I often debated
whether it was "worth it" to take reduce my stash and get rid of the headache.

Anyway, this is fascinating, I know.  When I was in college I studied American
poetry and learned that Emily Dickinson also had this condition. Some people may
interpret the following poem differently, but my professor (and anyone who
has ever had a migraine) will know what's what.

Gentle readers, I give you an excerpt from Emily Dickinson:

"I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading -- treading -- till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through --

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum --
Kept beating -- beating -- till I thought
My Mind was going numb --

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space -- began to toll"

Posted by Dori at 8:03 AM 1 comments

Whirlwind Weekend

Gentle readers, I am so sorry to have been out of the loop for so long. These last few days have been unbelievably busy, such that in the span of three days I have:

-Watched four episodes of the L Word (to which, thanks to M., I am have become addicted).
- Dined at a Brazilian barbeque place where waiters walk around with "skewers of dripping flesh." This was the tempting introduction provided by R.B. (my grad school friend), who initiated the outing. The evening included us and four of her gay guy friends. I was the only heterosexual. At some point a question emerged about women's anatomy and reproductive functions, and everyone looked at me as if I had some kind of insight into childbirth just because I do men. I had about four slivers of dripping flesh and lots and lots of salad, for which I paid the set price of $22.50 plus tax and tip. I did, however, have a fun evening despite the lingering nausea.
- Had dim sum with my parents in celebration of my brother's birthday. Picked out new eye-glasses with the guidance of my mom and brother. (My old glasses, according to my old boyfriend, were "heinous.")
- Experienced a violent allergic reaction to aforementioned dim sum, about an hour before I was supposed to visit the Guy I am Dating. I had been looking forward to this visit all week, because it involved no eating, and no outing, just vegging at his apartment, which is exactly, exactly what I wanted to do. I was hoping that the hives popping out of my every pore would go away before date time, but soon realized that this was unlikely (The last time I had this reaction was on New Year's Eve of 2001, after eating crab cakes for the first and last time. The rash didn't go away for days). I called the Guy, despairing. Because of his brilliance and expertise with all things medical, he told me to get me some benadryl "stat" and I took it and within 20 minutes the hives were gone and I felt fine. I'm telling you, he's a genius. And I'm going to be all gushy shortly, so get ready.
- Experienced the most blissful, lovely, and romantic evening with the Guy, which I am not going to get into, because, as several of you have pointed out, at some point he will read this, and he (very reasonably) won't want any intimate details to be broadcasted over the Internet (not that I would do that anyway. But still.). This evening was the best of "Phase I Relationship"--that sort of langor which allows you to be completely satisfied and delighted with four hours of kissing intermingled with emotional bonding and conversation. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. The next day he sent me an email with a link to an article about immigration in Spain (which I studied after college). He should get the Nobel Prize for Sweetness and Thoughtfulness. Sigh.
- Spent about nine hours total with K., W., and R. shopping for bridesmaids' dresses. As I may have mentioned, R. is getting married in July, and I am totally honored to be a bridesmaid. Also I am so excited about R. and her fiance because they are the paragon of a loving couple and I was personally there to witness the day they met. Being a Democratic Bride (as opposed to a Controlling one), R. wanted us to choose our dresses, and find something that we all liked, would all wear again, and that wouldn't be insanely expensive. Said dresses were the first ones we tried on, these adorable mauve sundresses with satin trim, that looked great on all of us and were incredibly marked down. (We found these at Anthropologie, a very upscale store). However, as R. pointed out, these mauve numbers are made of cotton and not ultra elegant (satin trim only goes so far). She was envisioning something a little more formal. And we all agreed we should keep looking. We put the dresses on hold and then tried on probably about twenty others at Bloomingdales, Macy's, Lord and Taylor's, and Filene's. We also visited J. Crew, David's Bridal, Ann Taylor, and probably several other stores at a total of three different malls. And ultimately (around 5 p.m.) we decided on the mauve dresses. I think that with cool shoes and jewelry and us looking all gorgeous with our hair and makeup done, they will look elegant; I also think that because they were so inexpensive we could spring for some alterations that might incorporate more satin and therefore more elegance. But anyway. We three were pretty thrilled. Those dresses are adorable.
- Fell asleep for about an hour. Had a great phone call with my friend in CA, who I love so much, and who is also getting married relatively soon.

That's it, guys. I crashed right after a brief chat with the Guy. And now it is Monday morning.

Posted by Dori at 6:38 AM 0 comments

And Hours to Go Before I Leave

So I've got this intern, which is paradise. He is ultra responsible, smart, and efficient, and he cheerfully and thoroughly does both boring and substantive work. Next week is his last week, and I will miss him.

However, at this moment, said intern is preventing me from doing some things I would like to do, namely, call my friend N. and/or my mom, make my eye doctor appointment, and then stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and obsess about my hair/lipstick. All this before I leave for dinner with the Guy I am Dating. (Is it upgrade time? When exactly does the Guy I Like become the Guy I'm Dating? And then when will he become my Boyfriend?).

There is absolutely no privacy in this office, and when the intern was here on Monday my mom called, and he got an ear-full about our trip to NYC and also heard my one-sided vague update about the Guy, which, afterwards, made me feel very unprofessional. So today I feel I need to set a professional example and at least appear to be doing work (I stopped doing work at 5:00).

Alas. He is making leaving noises. Bring on the lipstick!

Posted by Dori at 5:37 PM 0 comments

The Alumni Survey

So on Saturday I received a large and fancy packet from my alma mater. It was from the Department of Institutional Advancement. It included a letter that explained the purpose of the enclosed survey: to compile aggregate data about my alumni from my college and "selected" colleges across the country. In a nutshell: it's been five years since I graduated, and they want to know what we're all doing, and whether it's any better than what the people at other schools are doing.

I have to say I was excited about the survey. First of all, I want my college to win out, and I appreciate the opportunity to contribute to that (after all, I have my master's!). Secondly, I thought it would be a good opportunity to take stock. I went to a very intense college and I was a "striver", meaning, I sometimes did homework on Friday nights to get a jumpstart on the weekend. I took modern dance pass/fail so the grade wouldn't affect my GPA. I cried when I got a B plus. With a few exceptions, I found my classmates overly intense, constantly offended, and profoundly unlike me. While I did have some very lovely picturesque experiences at my school (which had many fun and old-fashioned traditions), I didn't overall enjoy college. But despite this, I really did get a great education, and the alumni network has definitely helped me in life.

OK, so the survey. Most of the questions were what you'd expect (how much do you earn, are you married, how much debt are you still paying off, what is your job, etc.) But allow me to show off some of the gems:

If you were employed for pay in the years following graduation, what were your reasons for making this choice?
a) was eager to apply my skills in the workplace
b) wanted to begin to influence people and events directly
c) desired the income associated with employment
d) tired of being in school
e) an advanced degree involved too much debt

Hmmm ... I think C? Given I'm not a lazy heiress?

While you were an undergraduate, did you ever seriously question or rethink your values? You need not have changed your beliefs or values in order to answer "yes" to having questioned them in a fundamental way.

Hmmm ... I think yes? But what does that mean, exactly, and does it reflect poorly or well on my school?

Overall, are you happy with your life?

Complicated question! I'm not sure about its relationship to undergrad life. I can see it in the catalog: "78% of our graduates are happy with their lives, in comparison with 42% of our rival school's graduates."

Oh! And I need to ponder the extent to which a "healthy lifestyle" is important to me, and to what extent my college made a contribution towards that. Similarly, I need to assess how much my college has helped me to "identify moral/ethical issues", "understand myself" and "use computers" ... and to rate the importance of these skills on my current life.

Posted by Dori at 7:44 AM 0 comments

Terrible, Horrible, No Good ...

So yesterday sucked. I had a quasi-panic attack and almost threw up in the parking lot outside my office.

Said quasi-panic attack was brought on by:
a) a most wretched, cruel, and hateful funding requistion
b) my six-month performance evaluation; and
c) the most comprehensive and detailed and important funding proposal I have written in a long, long time.

First, let me describe the requisition process, and if anyone out there wants to say anything about the amount charitable groups spend on overhead, THIS IS WHY. Basically, in order to get the $24,000 the government owes us, I have to submit a copy of every single expense paid during the (six month) requisition period as well as every single paystub, timesheet, and paycheck. This SUCKS, and takes HOURS, and is so confusing with all the papers and the copies that it literally makes me nauseous. Also, I FORGOT about this $24,000 requisition until our accountant noted some cash flow issues, so I feel guilt and pressure on top of stress.

Next, allow me to describe the performance evaluation, which I have been stressing about for months, mainly because we don't actually have a formal performance evaluation process. This meant that I had to ensure the fairness of the process that developed. The first version presented by the higher-ups mostly addressed regulatory and financial management issues (see above ... ) and so I spent a lot of time and energy enlightening them about all the other things I do (and especially the things I do well). We went through several iterations of evaluation criteria and finalized the form. So I prepared a 4-page report of activities and filled out a 4-page self-assessment. We sat down to talk about their assessment and mine, and it pretty much matched up, except that they scored me even higher in some areas, and plus they acknowledged that my job is impossible, so that was nice. In fact, one of the evaluators actually called me beforehand and told me that, during my hiring process, she considered not voting for me because she felt it would bring on suffering, and she wanted to spare me.

And finally, let me describe the proposal which is due by 5 p.m. today, and which I finished writing over the weekend, but which requires THREE YEARS of budgets and budget projections, which our treasurer promised to deliver by the end of yesterday, and did not. He came by at 8 P.M. to BEGIN doing these projections and by the time I got everything ready to go it was 10:30. I had to make two copies and Staples, it turns out, IS NOT OPEN 24 HOURS. So I went to Kinko's where they only had two functional self-service copiers, and all these frazzled doctoral candidates copying their long, long theses. I experienced an attack of rage and frustration. I got home at 12:11 a.m..

I need to go to a spa.

Posted by Dori at 7:29 AM 1 comments

... And We Have Lift-Off!

I am full of joy this morning depsite the fact that I have a huge grant proposal to finish, I have to stay at work until 7 p.m. for my performance review (which is fun at any time of the day), the movie I'm supposed to watch for my Spanish Cinema class sputtered and died in the middle, and I have no food in my fridge because I procrastinated this weekend. Also I just got my period.

But I digress. I am full of joy because date #4 with the Guy I Like went swimmingly, and resulted in some very excellent kissing. I am so proud to report that not only did I peg him for a One (see earlier post about the Enneagram), but I also assessed correctly and favorably his kissing abilities!

So: details. We met for an early dinner at my favorite Thai restaurant in Boston, which, conveniently, is right around the corner from his apartment (this, in itself, actually sucks, because it's a not-so-great neighborhood and also on the Green Line, and I hate the Green line.) We had this fabulous meal, and about halfway through he cringed horribly and looked unbelievably distressed, and it emerged that a woman he dated briefly and badly had just entered the restaurant with a guy. It was one of those situations where both parties have seen each other but neither is going to acknowledge it, and so he kept his gaze very focused on me and our table. It was kind of funny. Boston may be a city of about 1 million people, but it can still be pretty damn small sometimes.

Anyway. So after a three-hour dinner, we headed out, and started walking, and it became apparent to me that he was walking me towards the subway, which meant I had two options:
a) going to the subway and having another weird kissing opportunity OR
b) going to his apartment and snuggling on his couch.

I debated whether it would be whorish to suggest the latter, but I decided to go for it anyway.

His apartment is just like he described it. He has a bunch of photos of friends and family stuck to the wall, and they've all curled over time. That is the only decoration. His futon is covered with papers, his carpet may never have been vacuumed, and there are jeans on the floor of the living room. But I've seen worse, and I am pretty good at home make-overs, so whatever.

I perched on the couch while he fluttered around awkwardly trying to find something to show me, and I could tell this is going to take a little finagling on my part, so somehow I drew him onto the couch, and we debriefed the awkwardness of the last subway kissing attempt, and how he talked to about seven co-workers about it, and most of them concluded that he had botched it irreparably. He said he felt so, so bad all week (him? I was the one who acted strange and spooked ...).

I reassured him that it was all fine, and drew him into an amazing kiss (so, so, so much better than it would have been on the subway platform). And we sat kissing and talking on his couch with his high-quality music playing for a long time, just feeling happy and blissful and so relieved to have all that out of the way.

As my friend E. recently observed, that fabulous excitement of Phase I relationship is only delightful in retrospect. While it's going on, it can be pure torture.

So I think the torture is over. I think he is so, so great, and he meets all my criteria so far (Jewish, brilliant, ambitious, well-employed, cute, hilarious, kind, edgy). And he thinks I'm pretty and smart, which makes me feel good, because I'm a Three and am obsessed with what people think of me.

So. Will it jinx things if I say IT'S ALL GOOD?

Posted by Dori at 8:04 AM 1 comments

Type-ing

The Enneagram laid the groundwork for my long-ago love affair with A.P. (my boyfriend in 2001). We were work colleagues, and A.P. asked me out for coffee soon after we met. I wasn't exactly sure why A.P. from work wanted to have coffee on a Sunday, but there we were, and then suddenly he started drawing these lines on a napkin and asking me probing questions about myself, and thus he introduced me to the most brilliant mechanism for understanding people: the Enneagram.

The Enneagram system has some kind of psychological basis, and perhaps some Sufi origins (go figure). Essentially it's a personality inventory like Myers-Briggs (the one which classifies you as ENTJ or INFP or permutations of those letters), but it's much better. The Enneagram has nine numbered "types", and you can do a quick and surprisingly revealing self test to find out yours.

I am a Three ("the performer"). That means I am energetic, optimistic, self-assured, and goal oriented. And also driven in a not-entirely-healthy way, and competitive, and over-assertive sometimes, and obsessed with other people's opinions of me. It helps me to know this about myself. A.P. is a Six ("the questioner"). This means he is loyal, honest, and trustworthy but also anxious, inwardly-focused, and sometimes dismissive of people who don't "get it". In our relationship we used this as shorthand: "you're being so threeish."

I love learning people's types. My last boyfriend is a Seven ("the adventurer") which explains a lot. He was worried about it when I made him do the test soon after we met. He asked me, "Do I pass? Are you OK with adventurers?" I was. Because of him I climbed Mt. Monadnock (the whole thing! On the steepest trail!) and I kayaked. And camped! Ultimately, though, my threeishness doomed that relationship. It bugged me that he didn't care much about work or his career, that he could spend inordinate amounts of time doing nothing. And this made him feel judged and consequently resentful.

All this leads to the recent development I would like to share with all of you. Per my request, the guy that I like has completed the enneagram test. I had him pegged already, but wanted to confirm my suspicions. I was RIGHT! He's a One ("the reformer") with strong Two (the "helper") overlays. Being as exhaustive as he is, he did it on three different sites and got the same results. Hmmm... Interesting... This is new territory for me.

Posted by Dori at 8:28 PM 4 comments

Love in the Age of Email

So yesterday I emailed the Guy I Like. We saw each other on Sunday, talked on the phone on Monday night, and yet, somehow, I couldn't get enough. I remembered that he had some kind of professional development exam yesterday, so I sent him a good luck email. This, along with a recent conversation with a friend, has prompted some musing about technocourtship.

Since we stopped passing notes and giggling in the halls of junior high, and grew up and began actual “adult” relationships, the advent of technology has heralded in a new mechanisms to assess, obsess, escalate, and downgrade romantic (or potentially romantic) relationships.

In the seventh grade, when we developed a crush, we did preliminary background research by asking our friends and his friends (and any potential overlap) about his availability, interests, sexual orientation (if we were savvy enough) etc. The friend intelligence-gathering mission yielded valuable information, occasional orchestrated outings, or “chance” meetings in the hallway or the library after fourth period.

In adulthood, new romantic prospects are often unknown to our friends. Maybe we meet them through the Internet or work functions or the Appalachian Mountain Club. Thanks to Google, a whole new realm of cyberinformation gathering is possible. Type anyone’s name in quotes, and you get back information about where (s)he has worked, studied, volunteered. You also get back random bits and pieces about him/her. If the name pops up in the “engagements” section of their hometown newspaper, that saves us some heartache. Or in a list “most wanted misogynists”. Trolling for this information is as satisfying as it is vexing. We can’t actually use it to start a conversation once we actually hang out with the person, because then we’d be guilty of “googling” or “cyber stalking” and this habit, is like many others: everybody does it, but nobody wants to admit to it.

Hopefully, after the initial research has happened, an excuse will present itself to make contact with the other person. Thanks to email, it’s easy to forward some article “you might be interested in” or information about a mutually interesting event. This is a low-risk way to make a move, there’s none of that anxiety about sounding stupid on an answering machine or the risk of catching someone while (s)he’s in the shower or something.

Crafting the wording of this email is a delicate matter. It must be breezy, brief, but offer an opportunity for followup. The issue of the signature must be handled with care. “Cheers”? Too British. “Take care”? Too mothery. “Talk soon”? Risky if you might not.

After this email is sent comes the dreaded LAG. Will he write back right away? Within 24 hours? A few days? The timing of the response seems correlated with the level of interest. Whereas a phone call can go unreturned for days (he’s busy, he got home late), email is available 24 hours a day, and almost everyone checks email multiple times a day (or even an hour). A lack, or lag, in response must mean something

During the lag we check email obsessively and invariably only get a reply once we’ve given up. Then we are full of delight, and Phase II begins: Interpretation. How long is the email? Does it have potential for follow up (aka "are you planning to go to aforementioned mutually interesting event")? Is it signed "hugs" or "see you soon" etc? Is it, God forbid, terse? Is it terseness or just email style? What does it all mean?!

Then of course comes Phase III. We have to craft a reply consistent with the tone of the correspondence thus far, and consistent with the time elapsed between communications. This too, is a very delicate matter, because we want to convey interest but not overzealousness.

In the case of the Guy I Like, the email exchange went swimmingly. He responded within 12 hours, thanked me for my thoughtful good luck wishes, wrote several paragraphs about recent work developments, and concluded with "I'm excited to see you this weekend." Also he attached a link to an article he'd mentioned about our fascist government's assault on reproductive freedom.

Posted by Dori at 8:17 AM 0 comments

Since I Have Nothing to Report

It's freezing cold, I'm stressed at work, my writing workshop was cancelled last night, I have to ditch my Spanish film class again tonight because I didn't watch the movie ...

So ...

I don't have much to report. But I'm sending some action your way--these are four blogs I check out regularly. Some blogs have a "blogroll" right on the site, where you can refer visitors to other good places, but I have not figured out how to do that, so I'm hooking you up right here. But first promise you'll remain a strongly worded reader, OK?

Life's Rich Tapestry is a cool account of Jilly's life in Britain. She has a spinal cord injury but is very caustic and perky regardless.

Jen writes about her Quarter Life Crisis with humor. She is engaged and having a mole removed from her back today. She lives with her fiance and beagle in California.

Jay's Party is a hilarious, often-obscene account of Jay's life with his pregnant (and beautiful) wife Jasmine. He hates Jasmine's sister and once tried to defile her wedding dress. This blog gets a lot of traffic and makes me jealous.

My friend Melinda's blog, Anything Said, is so good that I check it constantly. Her blog is wryly funny, and has a cynical feminist bent.

Posted by Dori at 12:28 PM 1 comments

More Tension

A gentle reader has recently suggested an alternative to Harvard Square's Grossest Bathroom Ever, and I'm very grateful. It's great to have a posh place to pee in every neighborhood (in downtown Boston it's the Parker House, or alternately the Ritz). Whenever I successfully get by the front desk in such a place, I feel good that I'm perceived as high-brow enough to be there, but then I also feel sad because I know that there is definitely not equal pee-ing opportunity, and that if I looked poor, or maybe even if I were black, I might not have such easy access.

But I digress. The same gentle reader remarked that I seem tense lately, which is an interesting observation because I think I am always tense, and have been pretty upfront about that. I also think that if I just wrote about how calm and great I feel, this blog would make for fairly dull reading, but in any case, I'm tense again this morning.

So: to recap. After my embarrassing moment on the subway platform, in which I chickened out in the kissing phase of my date with the Guy I Like, I felt ridiculous, and realized (as I "tensely" described) that my behavior (and specifically my direct question about sexuality) my have been off putting, so I wrote a cute little email reiterating how my weirdness and shyness had nothing to do with anything, etc. etc. He wrote back really quickly, this completely sweet and reassuring email, which ended with "I'm a very patient man, and if you're not comfortable, then I'm not." And also he wrote that he finds my shyness "endearing." Sigh. So everything felt fine, and I spent the day smiling to myself and imagining myself successfully kissing him in the near future.

Then at 10:42, he calls. This is a pleasant surprise. I love it when boys call me, especially when it's soon after we've seen one another. We talk for over an hour. OK, but here's the source of tension: mainly he talks. It happens that I love listening to him, and he's fascinating, and funny, and he uses words like acoutrement and ossified, which is so hot (I know some girls are turned on by brooding eyes or great asses--and I'm all into political conviction and vocabulary).

So of course, being me, I am sucked into the spiral of stress, meaning, what if he's not a good listener after all? What if he thinks my job/family/inner life is boring and pointless in comparison to his? How will this play out? WHAT WILL HAPPEN?

Of course, of course I know that I don't know what will happen, I can't know what will happen, because I've known this guy for less than two weeks. I also remember that my friend, who is in one of the most blissful relationships ever, noted at the beginning that her man did a lot of the talking. So it doesn't bode badly, necessarily.

But I'm me, and I'm tense, and so I'm going to worry about this for a while. Hope you can bear with me.

Posted by Dori at 8:34 AM 2 comments

The Third Date

Beloved readers! I have just returned from a blissful four-hour date which began at a very cool museum and ended at Au Bon Pain ((aka ABP--which is one of my favorite places--I love the whole service concept and the happy music they play and especially the raspberry cheese croissants).

This is my third date with this guy, who is such a sweetheart, just one of those people you instantly know you can trust--an obviously good person. With edge. With a sense of humor. And with a kick-ass vocabulary. Also, like me, he hated Pride and Prejudice and the movie Closer. Like me, he likes to write strongly worded letters (and when I googled him I found out all these brilliant progressive letters he wrote to various publications). He's like me in about a thousand other ways, too, but too boring to get into at this point.

So we had this fabulous date, and suddenly it was 6:00 p.m., and I desperately had to pee, and the bathroom at this particular ABP is renowned for being disgusting, so I got up and made leaving movements, and we bundled up and headed for the subway. Even though we were going in opposite directions he stood with me on the platform and we chatted a little and acknowledged how well we were getting along, and how much fun we were having, and how we both were feeling a little awkward, neither of us having dated much lately. Meaning: we like each other! Wow!

I said several Supremely Stupid things, one of which was, "you're not engaged or anything, or coming to terms with your sexuality?" Meaning: let's eliminate these heartbreaking possibilities right off the bat. I think he got it, and he assured me that he's very straight and very single, and I explained my psychosis around this.

But THEN, in Supreme Stupidity part II, after he asked if he could kiss me, I succombed to a wave of shyness, because I didn't want to kiss him on the subway platform with coffee breath and desperately, desperately needing to pee. And so I said that I felt too shy. Meaning: I definitely want to kiss you, have thought about it extensively, but am choking at the bat right now. It was fine, and he got it, and we made plans to talk soon and get together this weekend.

So of course I raced home, ran to the bathroom (this was a really urgent situation), and felt (feel) profoundly ridiculous ... like why can't I just be happy like any normal person and not sabotage things? And why am I going around asking people point blank about their sexuality? And why am I already worrying about what my mom will say about him? And whether his room decor will be a deal-breaker (he described his room in very non-decor-friendly terms)? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???

Posted by Dori at 7:41 PM 2 comments

A Delightful UpDATE

OK, so yesterday involved three terrifying experiences: driving to two different suburbs AND going out on date #2 with the guy I really like but will not name (since our last date we have exchanged adorable emails and a very lovely phone call).

As I've discussed, I have a mortal fear of driving, particularly driving in unfamiliar places, and even more particularly, when I have to do so on a deadline. It's too boring to get into, but I had a minor panic attack on my way to the first suburb (for a work thing, for which I was late--because of mapquest's confusing lies). Travel to the second suburb was fine.

But the third terrifying thing was date #2 with the guy I really like, which, combined with the prospect of all the driving, made me sleep horribly the night before.

BUT, it all was lovely in the end, and this guy gets an A plus AND a gold star for this date:

1) It was concretely scheduled well in advance (none of that annoying "well, I'll call you on my cell and we'll figure our what to do ...")

2) We met at the designated place and he arrived on time.

3) We ate dinner at a restaurant he had chosen specifically because he thought I would like it (and I did).

4) He asked me questions about myself and was genuinely interested in what I said.

5) He was funny and charming and we talked for about three straight hours without any moments of weirdness.

6) He paid for dinner, which is classy. (I allowed him to pay on the condition that I sponsor the next meal. Although I don't expect it, I do appreciate when a guy pays for dinner.)

7) He is detail oriented! He remembered all these things about me. When we ordered, our entree had to be peanut-free, because he is allergic. He said: "it's like you with your crab." Meaning, he remembered a week after we met that I have a crab allergy! How adorable is that?

8) He ALSO remembered that I like baby food (this is one of my weird quirks) and apricots. So CUTEST THING EVER: at dessert time, he presented me with a little container of organic apricot baby food in a FINDING NEMO BAG! This is because we had discussed earlier my affection for Dory (the fish in the movie)!

9) You can't really top that, but he also wanted me to listen to this song that he loves on his iPod, and was all cute adjusting the headphones for me.

10) And he walked me to my car, which was in the opposite direction of where he was going, despite the freezing cold.

11) AND we made concrete plans to see each other soon.

Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

Posted by Dori at 9:20 AM 1 comments

Offended Yet?

I simply must respond to the "Long Lasting Axe Effect" ad campaign that is literally plastered all over major transportation hubs lately. If by some reason you have missed it, you should really check out the link. Essentially, it's a series of ads for men's "body spray" (or cologne or whatever) indicating that whoever wears this product will have so much sex that he needs: a whole fridge full of whipped cream, hundreds of cups of water by his bedside, a couch mounted on springs, and a "take a number" dispenser on his door. All over the subway station (in addition to photographs of the aforementioned sex supplies) are warnings: "A transportation message from Axe: one passenger per seat" or "Writhing between subway cars is prohibited."

I have to admit this campaign is very clever, and I also have to admit that I didn't immediately see the connection between the hundreds of cups of water and the "Axe effect." But, as a woman indoctrinated in feminist theory, I have to consider that an ad campaign directed at women would never, ever even suggest that using a product would result in the need for a "take a number" dispenser. Because if a woman had this, or a couch on springs, she would be considered a slut and/or a prostitute, and that is not a compelling sales message.

Does that mean the Axe campaign is offensive to women? As someone pointed out, it doesn't presume (outright) that the people taking a number or bouncing on the couch are women. Potentially the "Axe effect" could work its magic for gay men. However, the ads are still directed at men, and they perpetuate the notion that random sex is a desired objective, and that it's studly, and manly. I strive not to be judgmental about this stuff, but I do think that this message has resulted in considerable damage to our culture, and particularly to women. So I guess I'm not offended by these ads, but I don't approve of them.

Glad I got that out in the open.

Posted by Dori at 9:21 AM 1 comments

Just So You Know, I Have My Master's!

OK, so in a rash of stupidity I designed postcard-invitations for a work event. I thought it would save time and effort and money (no folding, no stuffing, 22 cent stamps).

I did NOT anticipate that printing two cards on a page would involve using a paper cutter (aka guillotine) to make TWO HUNDRED POSTCARDS. (I knew it would involve the paper cutter--I didn't know how long it would take.)

I remember when I first moved to the city, I had a hilarious temp job at B.U.'s theater department (where Rosie O'Donnell studied), and my boss was an actor-cum-academic director, which involved a little acting, some teaching, and a lot of random work like cutting curtain materials and moving boxes of props. Every time he completed one of these menial tasks, he would shout: "Just so you know, I have my master's degree!"

Well, I now have my master's as well, and yet I found myself at Staples yesterday afternoon, seething, because I spent thousands of dollars and hours of agony on post graduate education, and yet I was STRAINING my back and shoulders cutting fucking postcards. I was also enraged because while I was doing this, I had to endure the conversation of two Harvard Business School students, who looked about fourteen years old, and who were talking loudly about JP Morgan and networking and their big bad careers, and assessing the time value of money as it pertains to a four-year Bally's gym membership (I kid you not).

I have an intern who will, by God, finish this horrible task, and he will also affix mailing labels to the invitations and stamp the return addresses. But it is a sad state of affairs for me to realize that I have the same degree as those fourteen-year-old Harvard guys, and yet they will probably earn about twice as much as I do, and they will have assistants and receptionists, and never have to stand, despairing, at Staples.

Sometimes I REALLY resent my social conscience. And I wish I could say, well, I could work at JP Morgan if I wanted, but I'm choosing to make less money and make more copies because I love the rewards of doing Good Work. And while this is true to some extent, I have to admit that JP Morgan would never hire me, mainly because I would never survive the case interview process, and also because I can't remember how to calculate the time value of money even though I learned how to do it just months ago. Who would ever hire me to make widgets or sell things? What do I know about that?

Posted by Dori at 8:14 AM 1 comments

Parking Nazis

OK, so today is March first: important date since it is the birthday of K., plus Allan Thicke (from Growing Pains), Ron Howard (of Happy Days), and Ralph Ellison (of The Invisible Man). Also today in 1692, the three women in Salem, MA were charged with witchcraft--kicking off our proud tradition of witch hunting.

But March 1 is also important in that it's the day in which new parking passes go into effect in my beloved city of residence. Yesterday one could park on the street with a blue visitor's pass--today, the pass has to be red. In anticipation of this, I headed down to the Traffic Commission office, which is conveniently open from 9-4 every day, with "late night hours" (until 6 p.m.) on Wednesdays. On February 28th, when the city's 77,000 residents were undergoing the blue-red transition (kind of symbolic, I am just realizing), there were three clerks at the Traffic Commission office. I arrived at 9:01 and the line had already twisted all around the room and out the door.

My theory is that this is a conspiracy, and that the city does not want people to have valid visitor passes, nor to comply with parking regulations. A large part of the city's revenue must come from parking tickets. I believe this because the only way to discern what the parking regulations are is to download (and theoretically read) a 64-page PDF file that is buried in the City's website.

The enforcement of said mysterious regulations is also cruel and unusual. Example: you can park without a visitor's pass on Sundays. I left my foster car on the street one ill-fated Sunday night. On Monday morning I found a ticket on my dashboard (written at 6:48 a.m.). Meaning: the parking people are out trolling before dawn, nailing people while they're innocently asleep in their beds. I considered appealing this ticket, but I had absolutely no case--my car was illegally parked for 6 hours and 48 minutes.

I wanted to pay this parking ticket yesterday while I traded my blue passes for the red ones, but I realized that I had two pieces of mail with me (to prove residency) but that the mail must be a utility or cable bill (not a credit card offer from Capital One). Thus my time (and aggravation) was wasted, and I trooped out of the office. I'll have to go back. And meanwhile, I'm at the mercy of the parking nazis.

Posted by Dori at 9:25 AM 1 comments