Strongly Worded

Some Sources of Joy, for a Change

OK, so work is no cakewalk. I’m not married or in love (or even kissing anyone). Nor am I the owner of a condominium in a desirable neighborhood.

Still …

I own the cutest car of all time, which is an ongoing source of pleasure;

I’m rocking out to the Dixie Chicks’ new album, and it exceeds expectations, as does Kris Delmhorst’s new CD, which I’ve “broken in” and now love;

I’m having lunch today with Jassy at the lovely Japanese place we frequent;

In less than a month, I’ll be freed from the tyranny of my landlords and the owner of the new place is rewiring the apartment which means a virtual orgy of electrical outlets. (Also she’s putting in a new stove and kitchen floor.);

I just scored plane tickets to fly out to L.A. for R.B.’s wedding, and my dad contributed 25,000 frequent flier miles (so I only had to pay for part of the flight.);

I am hiring for a new staff member and I’m getting tons of applications, which is amusing and makes me feel important and presents me with the opportunity to be the Employer From Heaven. Thus, I respect applicants’ time and energy, and I immediately confirm receipt of their materials, keep them apprised of the process, and will never, ever leave them wondering whether the position has been filled or whether their materials were even considered. Because I’ve been there. Often. And it sucks;

I am sitting pretty in a new ergonomic chair at work, which is still off-gassing a disgusting chemical smell, but which is noticeably kinder on my body than the previous piece of junk; and

My household ant infestation seems to be well-controlled by the genocidal mechanism I purchased yesterday at the hardware store.

Hope your weekend is off to a similarly promising start …

Posted by Dori at 10:04 AM 3 comments

id definitely like 2 get 2gether with u

Breaking news from the JDate front, a message requiring no further commentary:

"i wanted to compliment you on your amazing profile. you are absolutely gorgeous and sound so fun. id be happy to send you pictures if you tell me where. i would love to meet someone gorgeous who is outgoing sexy and very open-minded like myself. i'm very excited to hopefully meet you but do want to be upfront about the situation i'm in. i am only in boston for the summer, at least as things stand for now. i was seeing someone incredible back home before i left - we left things open because she recently moved too but there is a chance we could get back together. she has been seeing other people and i really want to but haven't found anyone i want to hook up with yet :) so, in all honesty i am not sure where things can lead long term but i would love to meet you and am definitely open to the possibilities... and having fun for now. my brother and sister are in the area and i've always loved it here."

Posted by Dori at 5:16 PM 3 comments

I Am Truly Deranged: Reason #8014

Step N Sculpt is offered on Wednesday nights at my gym. I've missed the last two classes, and will probably miss tonight's. I love the class, and I love Toni, the instructor. Unlike the chick who teaches the Sunday morning Step N Sculpt, Toni means it when she says "8 more" or "1 more set". She keeps it real. Her routines are cool. She plays 80s music. Her pep is tolerable.

The problem? Toni comments on the turnout every week, while we're sitting outside the studio waiting for the oversubscribed Hip Hop class to let out. I know how she feels; I've led all kinds of workshops and classes and felt personally disappointed/hurt when turnout is low or nonexistent. So I get stressed at the beginning of each class, waiting for others to arrive. When I can't attend, I feel guilty about ditching.

For the last two days, I've been thinking about how to get to the gym by 8:30, which I don't think is possible. I'm going to miss Step N Sculpt tonight, and I'm worried that Toni will notice my absence. I'm worried that nobody else will come and Toni will feel bad. I'm worried that the class will be cancelled because of low attendance, and then I'll be relegated to my half-assed, self-designed "exercise" routines: 18 minutes on the elliptical machines followed by an equal amount of "stretching" on the mats while reading trashy magazines.

So. If you're free tonight, and you belong to my gym, you should definitely check out this class. It's 30 minutes of step aerobics followed by 30 minutes of weights. You know I'd be there if I could.

Posted by Dori at 1:39 PM 0 comments

Today, the World is Flat.

On Friday morning, R. and I ditched work to pick strawberries at a farm not far from the city. R. always brings me joy and comfort, and she bolstered my self-esteem by insisting that the guy weighing produce admired me, despite my unwashed hair and sweat-streaked T-shirt. It was so restorative to chat with her and hear the low buzzing of the lawnmower and watch kids on summer vacation toddle around with strawberry-stained fingers.

I hosted a dinner party on Saturday night, and I executed the menu successfully, especially the leek and celery pie. The lovely guests included E. and A., along with two new friends, and A.'s husband, who has just started a blog which I will link to once it becomes public. This sparked one of many hilarious and intriguing conversations. The dinner took a long time to coordinate, because we are all busy and overscheduled, and I'd been looking forward to it for ages.

Then, on Sunday morning, R. and J. and another new friend came over for brunch, which had also taken weeks to schedule. And that was hilarious, too. We talked about our public restroom habits, Americans' use of foaming bath products, and marriage. R. and J. brought me fresh herbs from their garden. Arranged beautifully and tied with a maroon ribbon.

On Sunday afternoon, my mom arrived for an overnight visit. We went out for Ethiopian food, watched Transamerica, and spent this morning condo-shopping. We saw a $259,000 unit in a brand new development. According to the developer, the microscopic bathroom sink (seriously, six inches across) is "European-style", and the narrow hallway that goes nowhere (but is counted as part of the 550 sq. feet of livable space) is a "gallery". The condo has no closets because "stand-alone wardrobes offer so much more flexibility". Plus, upon closing, the developer explained magnanimously, the buyer gets a $100 gift certificate to Ikea. Then he pointed out the skylights. My mom got all Israeli on him; she asked whether his own house has closets, or whether he has personally opted for stand-alone wardrobes. "A skylight is very nice," she said, "but it doesn't make up for the fact that there's nowhere to put a TV, a coffee table, or a bottle of shampoo."

She left town after we saw five places, and we were both convinced that it will take a very long time before I find something both affordable and acceptable. So now I'm sitting here all tired out, all flat, and sad that my lovely, social, 4-day weekend is almost over.

Posted by Dori at 4:59 PM 2 comments

Doggone It

So. Mr. Canine and I saw quite a bit of each other over the last week. On Sunday we walked Spot. He shared some Deep Stuff about his family. But when I probed for some Deep Stuff about his breakup with his long-term-live-in ex-girlfriend, he completely clammed up. Later, he called to explain that he did not like to talk about the breakup because he worried that it cast him in a bad light. I was impressed by his pro-activity, but also mystified. A devastating breakup seems like a pretty normal (and fascinating) topic to me. Pain and suffering? Nothing to be ashamed of.

After we cleared the air, he came over for dinner, and we had a pretty good chat, and we even kissed. (It was good, cute kissing, but it made me anxious afterwards, and I had this weird dream in which he called me "hon” on the phone. I was so unnerved. When I woke up, I replayed his voicemails to ensure that he had not, in fact, prematurely used a pet name.) The next day he was in NYC for work, and he bought a bottle of cool wine, and invited me over to drink it.

I looked forward to it all day, because dating and cute emails have a way of inflating a prospective mate’s loveliness and compatibility. I had visions of making out with him on his Italian leather sofa. I wore a cute outfit and matching underwear (A mistake. Good underwear jinxes things). He prepared a very luscious dinner. I sipped the fancy wine even though I’d told him obliquely about my neurological issues (eliciting no concern or response). I tried very hard to introduce topics of conversation that invited follow-up: a weird meeting at work, my teenaged longing to attend prep school, my hatred of New Year's, racial diversity. He listened attentively after each of my comments and then responded with something tangentially related. Then we talked about un-meaningful things (piercings, squirrels).

I realized this was not OK and not going to change. We met about a month ago, and since then I've really, really wanted to make out with him on his Italian leather sofa. I've really, really wanted him to come to R.'s 4th of July party and have Spot romp around in her yard with her labradoodle. I've really, really wanted us to go swimming in Walden Pond, and go kayaking, and decorate my new apartment. But I can't do those things unless I can also spill my guts about my life; engage in charged, spark-filled chats; and feel like I can be me in an authentic, non-dog-loving way.

So after dinner I told him that even though I genuinely admire and like him, I feel we haven’t developed a close connection and we would have by now, if we were a match. And that was that. He was very gracious. We were both disappointed.

Afterwards, I felt relieved but also disheartened. I just want to fall in love.

Posted by Dori at 10:47 AM 5 comments

Some Like it Hot

Finally, it is hot. It is over 90 degrees outside, and to that, I say, Hallelujah!

My metabolism (or something) makes me constantly, chronically cold; in winter, I keep my coat on indoors, and I startle people who shake my hand because my blood gathers around my vital organs, leaving my extremities all icy. I'm coldblooded, like an iguana. Now I'm basking in the heat, storing up on sunshine.

On Saturday, I experienced about half an hour of pure joy, sitting outside an awesome local bookstore, reading The Position (which I completely recommend, and which I finished by midday Sunday) while sipping iced coffee. Two women sat at the table next to me, each with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and a Krispy Kreme donut. They praised their own decision to pay $2.99 at the supermarket for a whole pint of ice cream instead of patronizing the chi-chi ice cream store across the street, which charges $3.85 for a cone. Indeed, very smart.

While I have an air conditioner that my buff brother will soon bring up the narrow stairs from my basement (whether he knows this or not), I've been A/C-free for the last few days. Yesterday, I finally broke out the fan, because, at night, there is nothing more soothing than the soft whir and breeze shooing you off to dreamland.

The other huge benefit to heat and sun is the opportunity to wear sundresses, which were pretty much designed for ladies like me who are curvy around the thighs and ass and prefer to keep the upper legs out of sight (and thus, ideally, out of mind). So I this year I have the acquired two new adorable sundresses, such that I have a total of five that are appropriate for work (and two more that aren't). So really, I have no need to wear pants for the next two months, and that brings me joy.

Posted by Dori at 6:39 PM 4 comments

Be Careful What You Wish For

So. Remember how I thought that Mr. Canine was coming on a little strong? And I was a tiny bit skeeved at the frequent workday emails and the phone call?

Well, fuck that.

After two days of lovely, all-day e-banter, I came into work on Wednesday and there was NO reply to my most recent email. Well. The guy is busy, after all, with his cool creative job. It's not like I spend every day in front of my computer checking email every five minutes or anything. (It's every five seconds, OK?)

By the end of the torturous workday, I'd heard ZIP.

After I checked nonexistent email at 9 p.m., 9:13 p.m, 9:28 p.m., and 10:01 p.m., I started swearing out loud. (This is something I really hope happens in other one-person households). The wheels of obsession churned. I decided that he'd found my blog. I read it like four times to see if there was anything insulting in it, and concluded that the only negative c0mmentary had to do with his nascent listening skills, and if he took offense at that, well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Then I imagined him walking in the park with some chick with a poodle. Then I imagined him coming to the conclusion that his "visual orientation" precluded dating a girl with bad hair (which I finally cut yesterday at a chi-chi salon recommended by R.) and skin that might be a good candidate for dermabrasian.

Of course, I reminded myself about twelve times (in between the swearing), that I myself had some reservations about our constant contact, which just might be a little too much, too soon.

I obsessed some more. I imagined my future as a JDate pariah. I imagined a future akin to that of Jennifer Aniston's character in Friends with Money.

Then I checked my email one last time, and opened a hilarious message from Mr. C that did not include the phrase "we need to talk" nor "you seem really great but ..."

This is the problem with dating and with e-banter. You can drum up an image of someone (hilarious, brilliant, and kind) and harbor it while your hope flutters around in your heart. Even as you tell yourself that there is an infinitesimal chance of falling in love and getting married and living in a condominium in the desirable neighborhood near where you live, you just can't help wishing and wanting and responding to emails as harbingers of happiness.

Posted by Dori at 10:03 AM 2 comments

Miscellanea

An assortment of updates ...

I went to a community meeting last night about the intersection of two major thoroughfares near my neighborhood. Pedestrians must navigate eight lanes of traffic and poorly enforced “no turn on red” situations. A dozen community members delivered impassioned testimonials about their near-death cross walk experiences, and then the director of the highway department hemmed and hawed in front of the 40+ people in the audience and agreed to come back to them next month with “recommendations.” Power to the people, yo!

Mr. Canine is coming on strong. We had a long date on Sunday, then he emailed me Sunday night with a follow-up one-liner, and then emailed again on Monday asking me to dinner, and then CALLED me on Monday night. I love all our email banter (We talked about GRE words during our date and so he wrote this RIOTUS message last night using all this funny vocab. Very, very cute.). But he needs to ask me some questions and demonstrate capacity for intimate dialogue. I really hope this happens because, thus far, there’s nothing else wrong with him. Also I remain scared about the kissing, and am feeling very Minnie Driver-ish (remember how in Good Will Hunting she kisses Matt Damon very early on in their relationship, just to get it over with?).

There is a leak in one of my office walls and the water is staining the plaster. I hope that property management will paint it. The wall was rather dingy before the leak, so this might be a blessing in disguise. Unless they do nothing and I have to live with the stain for the foreseeable future. There was peeling moulding above my desk for A YEAR AND A HALF before they fixed it.

I’m worried about: my mysteriously malfunctioning DVD player; the location of my latest Netflix DVD (did my evil landlords steal it? Hasn’t it arrived yet? Is Netflix going to CHARGE me for the loss of a DVD I never received); the holes in the walls of my apartment (are the evil landlords going to take “repairs” out of my security deposit? How do I spackle and cover up picture-hanging holes when the walls are yellow?); the last-minute work-related screw-up and various other work-related quandaries; my headache which refuses to quit and has been paining me on-and-off for about a week; and progress (or lack thereof) with Mr. Canine. Other things, too; those are just off the bat.

Happy Wednesday!

Posted by Dori at 10:34 AM 5 comments

Puppy Love?

So today, for lack of a better way to update and upDATE you on fascinating developments of my life, I'm copying Hilary's "Weekend Wrap-up", but I'll mix it up and work backwards.

SUNDAY
I went on date #4 with Mr. Canine. After weeks of rain (seriously, I was looking out for an ark), the sun finally deigned to shine a little in the afternoon, and we took Spot for a ramble in the woods at a nature reserve outside the city. My beloved dog-owning friend R. taught me the name of Spot's particular coloring: apparently he's a brindle. I also learned that it's part of dog owner culture to describe dogs in terms of weight. I demonstrated fluency in dog-owner-ese by naming Spot's coloring, and asking after his weight (60 pounds, FYI). I'm not sure he was so impressed by this, but I tried. I'm still waiting for Mr. C to ask me questions and demonstrate listening skills, but he has this soothing presence that I really like, and, after we spend a number of hours together, we get punchy and flirty and funny (this happened both this Sunday and last. It did not happen during our mid-week date, which was weird and ended abruptly, and which was followed by a wonderful debrief with my friends who just happened to be at the bar where the weird encounter took place).

Also! I got to see his loft, which met my expectations for coolness (he's a designer by trade, so I expected to be dazzled), and exceeded my expectations for cleanliness (truly impressive, especially since he'd hosted a gathering the night before). ALSO! He doesn't let the dog on the bed or on the couch. So if we fell in love and I slept in his bed with the chic coverlet, there'd be no danger of licking. (From the dog, anyway). Today we engaged in email banter. We have not had any physical contact yet. Well, other than his holding my ankle in a tender and cute way when I helped him hang a picture. Kissing! Such fear it instills.

SATURDAY
I went to Craft Night at R.'s, and I worked on organizing my recipe clippings (basically, I get all these cooking magazines, and I clip out the recipes I like and then sort them into categories and stick them into photo albums for eventual easy and splatter-free retrieval). Craft Night was generally lovely and it was so good to see R. and E. and their loved ones. Also E. laughed when I described her and her loved one as "blissfully happy". Apparently that's an illusion only harbored by single people.

FRIDAY
I spent the morning with residual heartache over my old boyfriend and his surgery and suffering. The whole experience just jumbled me up and brought up all these issues I have with health and love and team membership. I was too distracted to work so I hightailed it out of the office and ate Friendly's grilled cheese for lunch (my favorite). Then I drove to my hometown and saw the lovely Kris Delmhorst in all her glory. The venue was incredibly crowded and I could only see a tiny sliver of the stage--between a railing and the head of another audience member, but it was still great, and worth the drive and the stiff back I got twisting around trying to see.

[Also I cleaned and did laundry.]

Posted by Dori at 5:18 PM 4 comments

Ex-tra, Ex-tra

My old boyfriend needed me yesterday. He had a medical issue and I spent the day with him dealing with it. I expected him to be pained and crabby all day, but in fact he was very chipper. We spent about 12 hours together, lounging around and talking while he recovered. It was quite fun. I’m not sure why that surprises me. I have good relationships with all my ex-boyfriends (well, except for the one in Spain, with whom I have totally lost contact). In general, when I see them I enjoy it. I am reminded of how lovely they are, and then affirmed, because whatever incompatibility that eventually drove us apart is underscored in the interaction. Right now all my exes are in various stages of coupledom, and I experience some serious jealousy on that front, but I’m not jealous of their girlfriends, I’m jealous that they’re coupled and I’m not.

Yesterday, however, was different, and perhaps markedly so in light of recent dating disappointments. My old boyfriend and I broke up almost a year ago, and it was deeply devastating. He is brilliant, hilarious, and kind, and I still have deep feelings of love and respect for him. Being the “responsible adult” that signed him out of the hospital was a profound experience. I felt so special, being trusted not just by him but by the medical community that released him into my care (OK, they didn’t know me from Eve, but still). It felt natural to play that role, but it made me ache, because I was playing it for a friend and not a boyfriend. Then, in the ensuing hours of lounging around, we engaged in that even more natural conversation that comes about when two people know each other really, really well, and have the same sense of humor. He is so fucking funny; and described some substandard matzoh balls as “things anti-semites would hurl at Jewish people.”

Our Issues were definitely still apparent in the conversation, but I still kept thinking—maybe I made I mistake? Maybe we could change? Especially now that this health hurdle has been surmounted? We talked about dating prospects and how neither of us have yet felt the instant connection we felt for one another when we met.

I still felt attracted to him, and felt a sharp stab of indignation when he said his new love interest is “insightful”. And he expressed reservations when I told him about Mr. Canine.

Over the course of the day, he took a virtual X-Ray of my soul. He knows me so well. I felt acutely the boyfriend void that gaped open when we broke up, and daunted by how hard it will be to find someone as amazing again.

Posted by Dori at 1:07 PM 2 comments

Completely Deranged: The Landlord Saga Continues

This is so, so outrageous.

The last few weeks I've been coming home in the evenings and noticing small changes in my apartment. One time the blinds were open (and I never leave the blinds open when I'm out). Another time a window had been left partially open. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but then I realized that my landlords/realtors have been showing my apartment without my permission and without advance notice.

Because I don't want to interact with my evil, crazy, racist landlords, I haven't said anything, even though such visits are illegal at worst and disrespectful at best. I figure, the sooner they rent the godforsaken apartment, the sooner this will end.

Then last night, I found a pair of eyeglasses on my kitchen counter. They were definitely not mine (although I checked, because it just seemed too insane that anyone would leave their eyeglasses in my apartment, especially when they're not supposed to be there at all). I debated briefly how to handle this egregious invasion of privacy (What's next? Will I come home to candy wrappers? Used condoms?). Because, as I mentioned, I don't want to interact with my hateful, spiteful landlords, I wrote the following note: "I assume these belong to someone who came to look at the apartment. I found them in the kitchen." Then I put the glasses on top of the paper and left them on the steps along with my rent--second to last installment of the $27,150 I will have paid them for the privilege of two years of tenancy.

Within minutes, the landlord storms downstairs and screams: WHAT IS THIS NOTE? I explained that I found the glasses in my apartment and am returning the. I re-read it for him. AND WHAT IS THIS? He pointed to a tiny smudge of salad that had affixed itself to the note, probably from his own counter, but possibly from mine. Apparently he'd perceived this as an insulting gesture, like blowing my nose on the note or something.

Once he confirmed that I had not, in fact, topped the note off with snot, he rustled up some serious, mentally ill chutzpah and yelled, oh-so-brazenly: THOSE GLASSES ARE MINE. I WENT INTO YOUR APARTMENT TO TAKE PHOTOS FOR THE INTERNET REALTY SITE. IS THAT A CRIME?!

I was shaking with outrage. While busting into my apartment without permission isn't a crime, it is totally illegal, and he totally knows it. When I told him politely that he should have given me notice, he screamed back: OVER THE LAST TWO YEARS, I NEVER WENT INTO YOUR APARTMENT, NOT ONCE.

Then he proceded to yell at me about the rent, which is too boring to get into. But bottom line: my landlord did something egregiously illegal and disrespectful. I took the highest road possible (I mean, it was Alpine). And I still got screamed at.

Posted by Dori at 10:33 AM 2 comments

So I went out on a 2nd Date with Mr. Canine ...

... and ...

I obsessed less about my hair/skin knowing that I didn't utterly revolt him before, but ...

... I still obsessed about my outfit. It was rainy and nasty yesterday, and I was trying to look rugged and low-maintenance and (in keeping with what he wore last time). I was also striving to appeal to his artistic side. So I wore my most flattering jeans, my beloved Steve Madden sneakers, a striped knit top, and a red cardigan (which I hoped would infuse an Audrey Hepburn aura into the mix). He wore loafers and a nice blue shirt. I was underdressed.

I hugged him warmly at the subway where we met, and where he was on time and I was just a tiny bit late. He really hugged me back--this was no wishy-washy shoulder/arm brush. And that was nice.

He asked me about the bachelorette party I attended on Saturday night, and I told him about the mild debauchery and the discussion of sex toys. His response was appropriate--not all prudish and scandalized, but not all expository on the theme. That would have been weird. And he got points for remembering what I'd done the night before.

We went to the art museum. We checked out a large landscape photography exhibit, and he was appropriately interested but not trying to be deep, and he made fun of the artist's statement (a predictor of Edge!) and we admired the art at a pace which I found perfect. There was no gazing at the meadows and trying to sound smart. Which is lucky because Mr. Canine is a creative guy and knows a lot about art.

It was a long date. We met at 2:00 and I didn't get home until 8:30 p.m. The time really did fly by. I had fun. And I did a lot of pro/con mental calculation. For example:

Participation in "Bike for the Cure Ride Across Massachusetts"
Pro: Cares about causes, buff enough the get cycle his ass across the state.
Con: Scary genetic background--his mom is a cancer survivor. Could our potential offspring be at risk?

Long-time, live-in, multi-year relationship
Pro: Commitment capacity. Strong predictor of relationship skills.
Con: Potential for drama; she still lives in the city and their current relationship is "painful."

Divorced Parents; raised by mom and sister
Pro: Understands and respects women. Experienced suffering during divorce. Strong predictor of sensitivity and maybe cramp-alleviating massage.
Con: Potential for scarring and psychic damage and bad perceptions of marriage.

Eight year age differential (nine years in July)
Pro: In boy years, he's really close to my age. Two of my close friends are blissfully happy with significantly older love interests. And his oats are sown.
Con: His oats are sown. He wants to have babies. Probably soon.

Assertive desire for more contact; daily emails and plans for next weekend
Pro: He's proactive and not engaging in "the rules" nonsense. (Also, probably he likes me!).
Con: It's a little much, a little soon. I'm afraid of the implications of upcoming date #3. The end of date #3 rivals the beginning of date #1 in its promotion of excruciating anxiety. I've been nauseous all day thinking about it.

Lack of Cable TV
Pro: Cultured and high-brow.
Con: Will not share--and may sneer at-- my (admittedly) horrifying fascination with-- the incredibly poorly conceived relationship of Surreal Life alums Chris Knight and Adrienne Curry.

And perhaps most importantly! He has demonstrated brilliance, humor (thus far not hilarity, but it's early, still), and kindness. And clearly he's interested in me as a romantic prospect (unless he just wants to do me, which I guess is possible too). But I'm looking for the interest in me and my personality and all my fascinating multi-facetedness. The conversation has thus far been extremely Mr. C-centric. When do I get to talk at length about my work, my evil racist landlords, my latest professional stress, my family and my relationships?

Is this just boy/dating behavior, or is this a predictor? How does one ever know?

Posted by Dori at 3:46 PM 2 comments

L'eggo my Eggo!

I can't begin to describe how much I love waffles. I have eaten two Eggo waffles for breakfast for probably 95% of my adult life. That's almost 7,000 waffles, by my count. I like the banana bread flavor, the cinammon toast flavor, and I used to like the blueberry flavor, until they changed it and it became cloying. I don't do the buttermilk, either, or any of this new-fangled chocolate-chip, jelly-filled nonsense.

Mostly I like plain old original waffles. I buy them in 32-packs. I'll have them either with real maple syrup (I pour a puddle of syrup on my plate, and rock it fondue style, without a fork and knife). Lately I've been on a peanut-butter-and-banana jag. I discovered that if you microwave sliced bananas for about 15 seconds, they carmelize, and make one pretty amazing addition to a hot crispy peanut-buttered waffle. Can't beat a peanut-butter-and-banana-waffle sandwich for a meal on the go. I also find that Eggo waffles also make a great base for ice cream sundaes, and for combinations of jam and fresh fruit.

That's all. Just thought I'd share.

Posted by Dori at 10:57 AM 2 comments

If We Went Out On a Date ...

... then ...

• I'd try to figure out the wardrobe the day before, given weather conditions and date constraints. Outfit would need to be clean, cute (but not trying too hard), casual (but not sloppy), flattering (but not slutty), and sweat-disguising.
  
• I would change my mind at least twice on the day of the date, and decide that some element of the new outfit needed ironing. Then I'd stand around in my underwear ironing more wrinkles into the garment. I'd swear in frustration, while acknowledging that nobody fucking cares about ironing.
• After bathing and obsessing over my skin, I'd put on boring underwear since you are definitely not going to see it (probably ever, and definitely not today), and because cool underwear is a sex-repellant (as is having birth control on hand). I'd debate whether to put on lipstick or other makeup, and conclude that someday you might see my real face again, so why set the bar high?
• Then I'd obsess for a while about whether I look uglier than my photo.
• Then I'd obsess for a while about whether you will look uglier than your photo.
• About an hour before departure time, I'd start cleaning feverishly, reminding myself all the while that there is no chance in hell that you're going to see my place (probably ever, and definitely not today).
• About 45 minutes before departure, I question why the hell I am doing this. Given all the pre-screening involved in us mutually deciding to go out, there's probably a 5% chance that you will be brilliant, hilarious, kind, attractive, and interested in me. Would I enter a contest with a 5% chance of winning? If I had a disease and was told I had a 5% chance of survival, wouldn't I despair? Isn't this a stupid, painful enterprise?
• About 30 minutes before departure, I'd start to harbor a wild hope that you are in fact brilliant, hilarious, kind, attractive, and interested in me, and that this will be the last first date I ever endure.
• After about 15 minutes, I'd try to squelch this hope, and then dash around the house again ensuring its pointless spotlessness, and then freak out about the location of my keys/cell phone/directions, which would definitely already be in my pocket/purse. Then I'd take one last look at my face to ensure pristine teeth, and check for deodorant marks/errant stains/other embarrassments. I'd experience dismay about my skin and hair.
• I'd arrive at our pre-determined destination about 5 minutes late, even if this meant sitting in my car for 15 minutes or walking around somewhere (far from our meeting place, so I don't appear psychotic), because I wouldn't want you to think I am uptight and I wouldn't want to arrive first and sit, agonized, waiting for you to show up.
• I'd see you and be all friendly and either shake your hand or hug you, depending on how cute you were and how friendly you seemed. I'd overcome my extreme discomfort by being uber-talkative for the first five minutes.
• If we were getting coffee or ordering food, I'd stress about who would pay, and I would have already ensured that I had small bills on hand to reduce awkwardness. Because I would have chosen an inexpensive date situation, I would allow you to pay and then thank you sincerely.
• During the ensuing conversation, I would try to assess whether you were brilliant, hilarious, kind, attractive, and interested in me. Then I would try not to assess this. And fail. I would be pleased if you asked me meaningful questions, said something insightful/funny and/or indicative of your strong family ties, meaningful friendships, liberal political orientation, professional stability, impressive educational background, or desire to remain in the Greater Boston area for the foreseeable future. Bonus for: interest in food, similar musical/cinematic tastes, intriguing hobbies, international experiences.
• I would say some smart and funny things and some stupid things, and obsess quickly but periodically about my conduct.
  
• I would notice some dumb unattractive thing about you (like untended fingernails), and then acknowledge (and then recoil inwardly) that you have noticed at least one dumb unattractive thing about me.
• Upon the closure of the date, I would enthusiastically respond to your proposal that we get together again. Knowing that whether either of us actually intends to get together again would be determined later.
• I would leave, and give myself big props for Putting Myself Out There and Actively Pursuing Love. I might get a special snack as a reward.
  
• When I got home, I would mess up my hair and take off my clothes before looking in the mirror, so that if I'd been sporting a cowlick/clothing stain/smelliness, I wouldn't have to experience retroactive humiliation.
  
• Then I would obsess about whether/when we will be in contact again.

Sounds like fun, no?

Posted by Dori at 3:22 PM 4 comments