Strongly Worded

Finally! An Big Bad Blogroll!

Stronglyworded is evolving. With my friend R's help, I have delved into some HTML and put up some links.

Allow me to introduce you to two people I actually know IRL (that’s In Real Life to the uninitiated) and a slew of people who I don’t know but admire from afar.

Anything Said is penned by my lovely friend Melinda. She is hilarious, brilliant, and pregnant. In fact, she just "popped".

Extra, Extra! A Canadian career-driven-party-girl becomes a drool-drenched new mother. Debaucherous and Dishevelled is the most honest blog I've ever read, and I love it because for once some of the tough realities of coupledom are explored in full force.

Krissa is a New Yorker married to a British guy. Her blog, Le Petit Hiboux, is an homage to hip urban life, and to writing professionally.

Madness is an artist and a mom who has just moved to CA. She writes a lot about her ass-kicking martial artist daughter, and includes beautiful and intriguing photography almost every week.

Marigoldie describes herself as a "Southern writer in the West living in sin with harried medical". She's been going through some tough times lately, and she's awesome.

Maven is a singer with a very interesting work history. Her writing is tough and funny.

Librarians and other quirky literary people should check out Lacroix's blog. She identifies as "a bad poet, pierced, inked, afferent, a Leo, subversive, rapacious, salacious with addictive tendencies". Her insights on work life are particularly funny.

Quarter Life Crisis is one of my oldest blog-loves. I've been reading it since I started blogging myself. Jenifer (one n!) has written about her wedding planning, her move to Seattle (from SLO aka San Luis Obispo). If you're interested in food, exploring a new city, and beagles, you will love QLC.

Hilary, of Superfluous Juxtaposition, is wicked smart and cool, and includes frequent updates on her baking, friendships, and yes, romance. Wish her well, because she just had a birthday. She personally knows Tamara, the chick I mentioned a while back who met her boyfriend via his blog. They both live in L.A..

Sophie describes her nursing adventures and her move to Houston in The Redhead Has Spoken. She shares my love of Kris Delmhorst.

I wish Julia, who is also a nurse, would post more often, because I love it when she rages against the medical profession and describes her wacky experiences.

I will add two more blogs to the roll once I get my act together. In the meantime, behold the lovely, funny, and compassionate sex therapist Jassy, (who I know IRL) and the equally funny sex-educator "Teacher Lady". Also, I'm linking to a as-yet-anonymous-blogger, an anthropologist chronicling a month on JDate, who may or may not take down the blog once her membership runs out.

Enjoy! I do!

Posted by Dori at 9:39 AM 3 comments

The Dust (Literally) Settles

I'm newly installed in my new apartment, which is still undergoing renovations. The last of the kitchen flooring was being installed literally moments before the (courteous, punctual) movers brought in the fridge on Monday. On Tuesday, the shower and sink became functional. On Wednesday, electrical work and plastering occurred. Yesterday (Thursday) the construction equipment was moved out of the entryway.

Aforementioned repairs were conducted by a guy we'll call Peter. He's a potter by day, and a handyman/property manager by night, working in sporadic bursts of industry. He believes in experiential learning.

On Tuesday, as I was frantically unpacking, supervising/helping a cleaning crew, dealing with the Internet/phone installation, and having my washing machine repaired, Peter approached me at frequent intervals, inviting me to learn how to solder pipes (with a blowtorch), wire grounded outlets (During his youth on a dairy farm, his friends would grab electric fences, just to see who could stand the most "juice".), and install lighting fixtures (two really cute sconces).

Peter also shared a great deal of his philosophies about birth order, assimilating information ("Your discomfort with electrical work is just initial resistance to new knowledge. My 7-year-old daughter can solder. Don't you think you should try it?"), and the Landmark Forum, a cult-ish organization, which sponsors manipulative "info sessions" to which I was dragged years ago by an acquaintance.

The apartment is massive. I'm about 70% unpacked, and still wandering around, befuddled. While my old place flowed awkwardly together (so I could basically see every room from almost every vantage point), this one consists of a bunch of different rooms arranged around a huge living/dining area. The office (I have an office!) is "far" from my bedroom. I heard a crash the first night and wondered if someone was stealing my laptop. I asked myself if I should get up and investigate, and concluded I should stay in my room. It's that far away. There could be theft (God forbid) and I wouldn't see it, could stay away unscathed.

The other weird thing about this place is the number of windows and the dearth of curtains and blinds. It's like exhibition space around here. There are curtain rods and window treatments in my future. I'm getting Pier 1 nightstands from Craigslist tonight. Things are looking up.

Oh! And I'm getting my full security deposit back from my former evil racist landlords. We walked through the apartment on my last day, an event I'd been dreading for about a year. They pointed out nicks and scratches but concluded I'd done no major damage. I don't want them to know where I live, so I asked them to send my security deposit check to my lawyer ex-boyfriend at "The Law Offices of ...".

Message: Don't fuck with me, people. I have big bad legal representation. Goodbye, and good riddance. And have fun with the forthcoming mail ...

Posted by Dori at 4:21 PM 1 comments

The Progressive Taste of Revenge

So tomorrow is moving day, and I've been plotting what kind of goodies to leave for my evil racist landlords. I considered putting some potatoes behind their washing machine, which will eventually start to rot and emit hideous odors. I snicker to myself when I imagine the landlords sniffing around everywhere, trying to find the source, and then yelling at each other, laying blame.

I am too nervous to do that. I'm worried they would figure out it was me, or they'd catch me in their laundry area with the potatoes.

I couldn't think of an alternative idea that wouldn't be too mean or end up hurting the hapless future tenant.

But then on Friday night, my brilliant friends came up with the perfect solution. I will make donations on my landlords' behalf. Thanks to my own generosity, those conservative, small-minded, greedy, and racist people will receive a flurry of thank you letters from Planned Parenthood, MassNARAL, the NAACP, and the Freedom to Marry Coalition. Then they will receive a deluge of action alerts and follow-up solicitations, since the aforementioned organizations will surely want to stay connected to their generous donors, donors so committed to their missions that in fact they'll surely enjoy getting solicitations from other progressive groups with whom they share mailing lists. [Evil chuckle.]

Also! A Good Vibrations catalog is on the way to Mr. & Mrs. Racist, soon to be followed by one from Babeland ...

Posted by Dori at 11:40 AM 3 comments

What kind of blog is this, anyway?

For the last few weeks, I've been contemplating what I perceive as the dearth of male equivalents of blogs of this ilk: chatty, reflective posts about life as not-yet-coupled 20/30-somethings. Many of us female bloggers write about dating, and while I would never pigeon-hole stronglyworded as a dating blog, I do acknowledge that, of late, I've been writing a lot about my quest for a guy who is brilliant, hilarious, kind, and interested in me. I've observed that I get the most comments about dating-related posts. We are all intrigued by love (and the pursuit of it) because it is inherently fascinating; most songs, movies, TV shows, and books are about love (to some extent).

I do consciously try to mix up stonglyworded content, because I like to think of myself as a multi-faceted person, and not a JDate whore. Still, the level of analysis that I and you guys devote to my love life makes me curious about male bloggers and what they are thinking and writing about. I've been wondering: where the hell are they?

So the ever-resourceful JDater Girl hooked me up with some guys. There's Chronicles of A Bachelor. There's Joe, who just bought a calphalon pan and identifies as a SJM. There's also the
"single men" links section on grinsnlaughter (which is written by a chick).

Also very kindly, Tamara pointed out that, like a surprising number of couples, she and the Canadian love of her life "met" in the blogosphere.

In case you haven't picked up on the theme, this latest rash of links all send you to Jewish bloggers. Several of their sites link to a "Jewish webring", which I contemplated joining. It could increase traffic and connect me with my community and all that.

And yet I’m hesitating, because, much as I think that my blog conveys my Jewish identity, I don't think of it as Jewish foremost. It's not "Jewish" blog, per se, and if I joined that webring, wouldn't people expect kvetching and noshing? That's just not me.

Similarly, I share Hilary's aversion to the genre of "dating blogs". Yes, I date, and yes, it's entertaining to read and write about my exploits. But when I was in a relationship, I still had plenty to write about, and when, God willing, I fall in love again, I intend to keep you upDATED, just in a different way. So: reading or writing exclusively about dating? Not me, either.

And so I guess that's my conclusion. I would like to read about guys' perspectives on dating, absolutely. But I'm not necessarily looking for a male-authored "dating blog". Not a male-authored Jewish blog. I wouldn't ultimately be very interested in it unless there was a fair amount of content about other topics, and the author came across as a likeminded and cool guy.

Especially since, by definition, he'd be doing 100% of the "talking", and we all know how I feel about that.

Posted by Dori at 5:46 PM 9 comments

A Photo-Homage to My Current Apartment

I'm sorry to report (and I'm sure you're sorry to read) that my evil, racist landlords still haven't found a tenant for my apartment. Please join me in wishing that nobody takes it until September and they lose $1300 plus the cost of the realtor; and that the new tenant has loud parties and pays the rent on a sporadic basis.

Below are some photos they took without my permission, when they entered my apartment illegally a while back. I have to say, it's a pretty cute place ...

Posted by Dori at 4:40 PM 5 comments

UpDATE #4 Billion

So. Approximately five million years ago, I posted on Craigslist personals (whereby I met a few guys including Mr. Ponytail and the Civil Servant That Spurned Me. My post was entitled: "Are you Brilliant, Kind, and Jewish?" And believe it or not, I got about a dozen responses, including a few nasty ones (one guy actually titled his email:"I'm Dumb, Mean, and Catholic").

One of the legit emails was from a guy who responded "My grandparents think I'm brilliant and kind". Nice touch of modesty, I thought. He included his (high) SAT scores (kind of abashedly) and mentioned that he was valedictorian in high school. I thought this was so funny. We had a hilarious email exchange but it turned out that he lives 1.5 hrs away in CT. I didn't have a car, and didn't have any intention of moving there (ever), so we nixed the idea of an in-person encounter. He seemed so great that for ages I checked my "dating" email account periodically, thinking maybe he'd come to his senses and move here.

On Sunday, I find an email from him. He wrote that perhaps we gave up too easily, and am I still single and open to meeting? I was delighted. How cute a story would that be? If he came to Boston and we fell in love years after our initial contact? I sent an enthusiastic reply and he sent a reply back from his real email. His name is Josh D. Greenberg (well, not really, but for the purposes of blogging, it is). I have a flash of horrible recognition. I briefly dated an economist named Josh D. Greenberg, who was from CT, and attended the same university as this guy. Josh D. Greenberg II is an engineer, but it just seemed too uncanny.

Josh D. Greenberg II confirmed that he is in fact "Engineer Josh" and not "Economist Josh". Apparently both guys grew up in MA, have the same name (although the middle initials are David and Don, respectively), went to the same school, and live in different parts of CT. And they occasionally got each other's emails in college, but they never met. To further confirm his identity, Engineer Josh sent me a not-hot photo, and I was *so* disappointed, because in Dori's Dreamworld, the coincidences and second chances involved in this story were already gracing the New York Times Vows column, alongside an adorable photo of us. Since looks aren't everything, I mustered the courage to call Engineer Josh (I hate calling people, and normally don't do it, but this situation traversed State lines, so ...). He was totally nebbishy on the phone and turns out his work is related to war-mongering. So: game over.

Similarly, I just returned from my second and last date with Mr. Ivy, who talked only 75% of the time during this encounter. He smelled less naturally lovely and more cologne-y this time. We saw Wordplay which is a hilarious movie about crossword puzzles. Then we ate greasy homemade chips at a nearby pub. He walked me to my car, asked about my weekend plans, and I said vague things about my upcoming apartment move and resulting madness. In other words: another one bites the dust.

Posted by Dori at 7:50 AM 5 comments

Yet Another UpDATE

Gentle readers: you’re in for a treat. I think people love reading about other people’s dating adventures, hence the plethora of dating blogs and dating TV shows. I’ve noticed that the “dating blog” genre is (at least to my knowledge) completely dominated by women, so if any of you know of a male equivalent of superfluous juxtaposition, or amonthofjdating, or this here stronglyworded stuff, please pass it on.

Perhaps the absence of male dating blogs is a reflection of the fact that dating guys do very little reflection on dating.

Behold the following:

I recently went out with a guy we’ll call Mr. Ivy, since he graduated from an Ivy League university and has mentioned the name of said university at least four times in our email/in person “conversations”. (I put conversations in quotes because I think when one person speaks for 98% of a 3-hour encounter, it’s more accurate to call it a monologue or soliloquy, but in his follow-up email, he claimed to have enjoyed our conversation, so, OK, no need to split hairs.)

I have no problem with people owning their brilliance and I hate false modesty. So feel free to name the prestigious place you went to school. But you don’t have to refer to anything remotely related to college as “Yale/Harvard/Etc.”. It’s show-off-y unless it comes up, or if it’s relevant to the “conversation”. I have to say that I was dying by the end of the “conversation”. We were sitting on this hard concrete bench, I had a pounding headache, and I kept trying to wrap up the “conversation” but there was no window. Finally I took my keys out my purse and jangled them and that stopped (well, I should say paused) the onslaught of extraordinarily detailed and comprehensive information about himself, his work, his (multiple) hobbies, his living situation, his family (two sisters, one of whom just graduated from aforementioned Ivy League school; his parents; his grandmother whose birthday he recently forgot; and his 7-year-old cousin recently called to discuss robotics) … You get the picture. Mr. Ivy was incredibly nervous, so I’m giving him another chance. Also because he is incredibly cute in an earnest nerdy way, and I can totally imagine kissing him. PLUS he smells awesome: like laundry and soap (not gross cologne).

Last night I went out with an Israeli guy. He sent me four-word email. His profile was really short and unrevealing. If he were American I would have just deleted the message, but because I know Israelis can be outwardly rude/cold while being inwardly nice and warm, I thought, what the hell. I called him to set up the encounter and he sounded rude on the phone, but I unhappily agreed to go. I decided that he was definitely paying for dinner at the somewhat upscale restaurant that I tried to deter him from choosing (he said we needed to go there because of his severe food allergies). It was crazy painful at first, but he warmed up and I gave him some honest feedback about his communication skills, which he appreciated. It would be fun to have an Israeli guy friend. I don’t think we’ll fall in love or anything, because he pretty much dislikes Americans, but he said our encounter was “lovely” and I know he wouldn’t have said that if he didn’t mean it. Because of his heritage, you see.

That’s it for now. I have some other irons in the fire and will keep you posted.

Posted by Dori at 12:19 PM 10 comments

Twelve Glasses of Tepid Water Later ...

... my headache returned with ravaging force on Saturday afternoon. After a few miserable hours, I caved and drank all kinds of cold caffeinated beverages (which have helped in the past). I took $8 worth of meds. Thank GodI felt fine on Sunday.

Apparently acupuncture only seriously kicks in after six sessions.

Posted by Dori at 12:45 PM 1 comments

An Open Letter to Prospective Candidates for the Opening at my Workplace

Dear Candidate,

Thank you for your interest in the open position at my workplace.

Please don't:

• Address me as Sir/Madam, when the posting clearly asks you to send materials to Dori.
• Spell Massachusetts in three different ways and then go on about your detail orientation.
• Send me a poorly photocopied writing sample about honky-tonk music and its effects on Nevada's pop culture.
• Assert that things at your current job are "relatively slow" and that you are "looking to supplement" your income.
• Put a "career objective" on your resume that states your desire to procure a "position in legal advocacy". Did you notice? This job has nothing to do with that.

Please do:

• Include your email address--pretty good evidence of your "strong computer skills".
• Tell me where the hell you heard about the job. And why the hell you want it.
• Include a resume, cover letter (yes! a letter!), and a writing sample (yes! you should have an electronic version of a memo, a paper, or some document that demonstrates your ability to communicate via the written word) per the very clear application instructions.
• Fucking spell check your stuff. Seriously.

Good luck in your search!

Dori

Posted by Dori at 12:43 PM 1 comments

Seven Glasses of Tepid Water

I never thought I'd say this, but I just experienced acupuncture.

You all know that I've suffered from migraines since I was 14. My migraines aren't extremely severe, but they're wicked frequent. Usually, I have two a week. The pain is well controlled by medication, so when the bi-weekly migraine comes on, I pop some Amerge, and usually feel immediately better. If I don't, I take another pill. And that is almost always the end of it.

This was an acceptable state of affairs until the evil health insurance company tripled the co-pay for this and all comparable medications (and yes, I had a stronglyworded but fruitless conversation with the insurance people). So now my 6-month co-pay is $225, and each pill costs me four dollars. That means that most weeks, I'm spending $8-$12--the equivalent of a movie or a nice lunch or a Netflix subscription--on drugs.

As much as this sucks, it doesn't suck as much as the migraine that has dogged me, on and off, since mid June. I've been taking my exorbitantly expensive drugs, feeling better, and then coping with the same pain the next day.

Before you go there, I have tried almost everything to prevent/address this problem. I did a six-week course of physical therapy, which included jaw exercises, biofeedback, ice massage, and relaxation tapes. I have tried craniosacral therapy, herbal things, and a plethora of prescription and OTC drugs. I have also been seen by neurologists, holistic practitioners, osteopaths, pain specialists, and psychiatrists.

Yet. I have always studiously avoided acupuncture, not because I am afraid of needles/pain, but because the voodoo-doll imagery completely skeeves me out. Many of my friends swear by acupuncture and have recommended it over the years, but I couldn't bear the thought of it, until recently, when desperate times called for desperate measures, and a $75 appointment became cheaper than dependence on these pills.

And I am proud to say I made an appointment with the lovely Valerie at the Japanese Acupuncture Center. I read her bio and was impressed and comforted by all her impressive credentials: certifications not just in acupuncture, but in massage, (including hot stone massage!), yoga, and acupressure. She was wearing a pretty lavender top and I instantly liked her. Her soothing-but-professional approach was just right for my combination of nerves and skepticism.

So. We talked for a while about all my health issues, and then I lay on a table under a sheet. She closed her eyes, leaned over me, and felt my pulse ("it's a pain pulse," she said sadly). Then she gently examined my back and torso and concluded that I have a textbook migraine body.

Believe it or not, I was mellow by then, and I encouraged (!) Valerie to insert these tiny, tiny needles (which they should totally rename--because they're really more like wires or filaments, and they're not hollow or sharp like real needles) into my feet and hands, and I felt virtually nothing, and then she massaged my neck, proclaiming it extraordinarily tight. Apparently the massage releases toxins from my unhappy muscles, so she suggested that I drink lots of water to flush out my system.

After some lovely hot stone massage, Valerie left me to rest for a while, and let the treatment work its magic. She positioned a heat lamp over me, and I felt all warm and restful.

When it was finished, I set up another appointment and agreed to do the "homework": tons of tepid water (cold water works against my already cold system), ten "belly" breaths a day, protein at every meal. I drove home with weird tingling in my hands, and twinges in my stomach. I felt like I'd worked muscles I hadn't known about before. I ate some chicken (gotta get that protein!) and took a nap.

After a quiet evening (which included seven glasses of tepid water and frequent bathroom breaks), I went to bed. I'm almost too afraid to write this, but I woke up feeling fine.

Posted by Dori at 10:09 AM 2 comments

They're Showing my Apartment

WHAT THE AD SAYS:

Great deal with new hardwood floors and bright natural light. First floor of a two-family home with an eat-in kitchen, porch and yard. High speed Internet accessible and easy street parking. Heat and hot water are included. Walk to the T in under 10 minutes. Sorry, no pets.

WHAT IT SHOULD SAY:
Moderately priced ($1300 plus $650 finder's fee) apartment with new hardwood floors and bright natural light that you won't see because the apt. is on the first floor and the interior is visible from the street. First floor of psychotic-racist-owner-occupied two-family home. Poorly configured kitchen with inadequate counter/storage space; room for only a tiny table; and an ancient, undersized stove. Cement porch festooned by the landlords' tacky seasonal decorations. Disgusting backyard which is overgrown with weeds and full of discarded plumbing supplies. High speed Internet accessible, just like any place you choose to install your own cable modem and router and pay for service. Easy street parking, which is lucky because the landlords furnish no access to the gargantuan driveway. Occasional, inadequate heat is included if you beg for it. Bring your own fridge, washer, dryer, space heater, and tenant's rights manual. Walk to the T in under 10 minutes.

Posted by Dori at 11:45 AM 2 comments

The City is Silent

There is something virtuous and liberating about working today, pre-July 4. (In Spain, many holidays "happen to fall" on Tuesdays/Thursdays, such that 4-day weekends ensue. The Mondays/Fridays are called puentes -- bridge days -- vacation days).

This morning, I turned off the alarm, smirking. Who cares if I'm late, or if I show up to work at all? Nobody at work cares about my punctuality, ever, and especially not today, because nobody else will be there. Similarly pointless: the fixing of crazy hair. I went to bed after washing (but not drying) it, so I woke up with multidimensional cowlicks, which I subdued with Product. All the while, knowing: nobody at work cares about my hair, ever, and especially not today, because nobody else will be there. Then I then donned the Cutest Sundress of All Time, and my brand new circle necklace. I admired myself in the mirror while thinking about the futility of the whole enterprise--nobody at work cares about my wardrobe, ever, and especially not today, because, as I may have mentioned, nobody else will be there.

Alas. I got into work in record time (because the city is silent and there is no traffic). I fired up the computer and read one lone work-related email. Although nobody at work cares about my productivity, ever, I feel much more free and guiltless about conducting Dori-centered activities today, since nobody else is here.

I got my blog groove on, turned on the A/C (it's supposed to be 94 degrees today!),
got my iced coffee fix, turned off the A/C (since iced coffee and A/C is overkill), mapquested Cold Stone Creamery (lunch), answered the phone (because, you see, my organization is staffed today), checked out Kenneth Cole tote bags online, and then started this post.

There is no rest for the weary, my friends.

Posted by Dori at 10:48 AM 2 comments