Strongly Worded

Not So Hot

So two friends of mine have been waxing enthusiastic about this guy they know, who is Jewish, sweet, and smart, and does cool progressive work. Apparently he is funny and delightful and they’ve thought extensively about matchmaking … except … both friends acknowledge: he is not hot. So far, I’ve punted the possibility of a set-up. There’s a difference between neutrality around someone’s appearance, and an active disclaimer. This guy, I’ve been told, is a little heavy and a little short, and I haven’t heard anything about his face, but I’m guessing it’s not super handsome, since it hasn’t been talked up.

A few days ago, I got an out-of-the blue JDate email. I’ve been on unofficial JDate hiatus lately, because my emotional energy was consumed with Mr. Entrepreneur, and because I’ve just generally felt out of commission with a wicked headache that seems worsened by acupuncture (if you can believe it), and perpetual sleep deprivation (due to my paranoia about mice scurrying around my dark apartment). The message came from a guy I’ll call Dr. MDPhD, who is conducting research on overcoming paralysis and works with survivors of traumatic injury. He surmised from my profile that I’m a “gifted writer”. Dr. MDPhD seems brilliant, he’s clearly kind, and he seems interested in me, or at least in meeting me.

But you know where this is going. He’s not hot. Not even a little hot. He is bald, and 5’7 (which means really he’s 5’5) and describes his build as “proportional” (which is marginally better than “cuddly”, but who are we kidding?).

Now, I am not a superficial person. In my long, long dating history, I have only dated two guys who I’d categorize as across-the-board hot, and only one had both beautiful features and a great bod (of course, I’ve dated plenty of reasonably attractive men, and several who became dazzling once I fell deeply in love with them). However, the prospect of dating someone who I know, right off the bat, is not the tiniest bit hot, concerns me. It’s not the same as getting to know someone over time and developing attraction based on percolating feelings. This is straight-up knowledge that physical attraction is not—and may never be—present.

I keep thinking about my friend Faith, who met a guy online who she openly described as unattractive, but they fell in love anyway and now they’re blissfully happy and have a cute daughter and live in an energy-efficient house that is built into a hill. Where would she be if she’d been deterred by these self-imposed barriers?

I emailed the guy back. I figure it’s worth a shot. And depending on the outcome, maybe I’ll follow up on that set-up. I promise I’ll keep you posted.

Posted by Dori at 12:10 PM 5 comments

The First upDATE of 5767*

So. I've posted sporadically about Mr. Entreprenuer, with whom R. set me up. This guy, as I mentioned, is exceptionally kind and smart and classy. During our (maybe five) encounters, he opened doors, walked on the outside edge of the sidewalks (to protect me from oncoming traffic), planned and sponsored fancy meals. He called when he said he would (I had a moment of panic about that, but Mr. E came through in the end). While we kissed on multiple occasions, and enjoyed delicious banter both electronic and in-person, the relationship seemed relatively spark free. Meaning: I would have happily made out with him, but he didn't make any overtures, and we just didn't connect on that level I am craving (you know--I'm looking for a Team Captain who listens to my problems and asks me questions, and Mr. E just isn't that guy).

Anyway. He came over for dinner last week. In Dori-land, having a guy over for dinner incorporates two of the very best things on earth: food and Action. And while the food was great, conversation was meh, and Mr. E left relatively early (he had to study for an upcoming grad school exam). We hugged, and I inhaled his lovely soap-y but not cologne-y boy smell for what I thought would be the last time.

A long lapse in communication followed. I figured we'd come to the same conclusion: we are both lovely people who enjoy eating fancy food and exchanging banter, but are just not a match. Because I am no closure-whore, I was OK with that. I contemplated sending him a friendly, neutral "Happy Rosh ha Shana" message, and then decided against it, because then he'd be obligated to write back and blah blah.

So today he sent an email entitled "Happy Rosh" (I'm telling you. He's funny). After initial pleasantries, he wrote (and these are excerpts from a pretty detailed and very, very lovely message): "Since we have never really talked about things between us I can only guess where you stand and vice-versa. Basically I am not sure why we haven't hit it off more ... You are such a smart, compassionate, genuine and endearing person, and with every value in the right place. Plus you are awfully cute ... As I said I can't know where you stand on things, but after the few dates we've had I think the lack of genuine spark was mutual."

Of course I'm so happy and relieved. I wrote back with a similar load of accolades and told him that I'm bummed that we never incorporated making out into our encounters. And he was all startled: "Had I known this, I would have put out for you on the first date! I thought you were sending red- or yellow-proceed-with-caution making out signals!"

And I'm thinking: what part of "do you want to come in?" -- whispered after a goodnight porch kiss--don't you understand?!

So, readers. Retroactive making out. A bad idea, right?

* That's the new year in the Jewish calendar.

Posted by Dori at 6:01 PM 10 comments

New Tricks for this Chick

My friend K. worked at a scrappy nonprofit for a while, and they used a tally system to track the number of packets they sent out. All the staff members would finish their mailings, and then stand on a chair to reach the upper part of the office blackboard, and make a mark on it. This system was in place for months and months. When K. started working there, she suggested that they devote the lower corner of the blackboard to the tally, thus eliminating the need to scramble onto the chair and flounder with the chalk. It was revolutionary.

Sometimes it just takes a fresh perspective. For the past two years, I’ve clicked on “send/receive messages” on the Outlook toolbar, to check email. It never occurred to me that there might be a setting that would automatically refresh the inbox, maybe even making that cute pinging sound I’ve noticed in other offices.

Alas. New Guy started joined our staff. Hours after setting up his email, his computer pinged. I was shocked. “I didn’t know our computers did that!”

And he came over to my space and spent approximately two seconds with my Outlook and ping! There you go.

Have a great weekend, dear readers, and happy Rosh ha Shana to fellow members of the tribe.

Posted by Dori at 10:59 AM 1 comments

Gratitude and Grousing

So all the hubbub about sustainability and making socially responsible spending decisions has really gotten me thinking. I realize I’ve gotten a little complacent about my small environmental concessions. I felt proud about my religious recycling of plastic shopping bags, but have realized that it would be even better to use cloth ones. So last night, after work, I shopped at my locally owned produce market, and I bought a canvas tote and some chicken breasts. I’m gathering that the chicken lived a full life, ate gourmet grain, and enjoyed retirement benefits, because I paid $9. I also bought (and peeled and diced) fresh native carrots, instead of those over-processed baby carrots from the supermarket. And so on.

I enjoyed browsing around in this market, which carries a lot of unconventional produce, and consequently attracts a wonderful multicultural clientele. I always peek into other people’s shopping carts and wonder what on earth they’ll do with batatas, prickly pears, and white eggplants. I bought a whole basket of Macoun apples, and they looked so tempting and pretty that I bit into one on my way to the car. The sun was setting, it was unseasonably warm, and I was wearing my favorite white summery dress (with brown—not white—sandals, because Labor Day has, after all, come and gone). I felt this rush of bliss, a total Oprah Gratitude Journal moment, in which I felt so lucky to live in a place that bears such delicious fruit (and this crop of apples is sublime—I can’t stop eating), and so lucky to be able to afford $9 chicken, as well as the cutest car of all time, which was bringing me joy along with the first disc in the “Off the Record” compilation from Signature Sounds. For a decent amount of time, I was able to push away dismay about work stresses and the lull in my love life, and just revel in goodness.

Then I got home and found tell-tale signs of the mouse whose presence I’ve suspected for ages. As I’ve mentioned, mice terrify and revolt me, and for the past few weeks I’ve left the lights on in the kitchen, the fan on in the bedroom, and the radio on in the living room, in an effort to drown out any awful mouse sounds and hopefully also convey to the mouse that my apartment is full of people and noise and just a bad place for it and its friends/family to hang out. On Friday I will install the pest-acator, a device which emits a high frequency noise that will hopefully convince it/them to relocate. I will be gone all weekend, so that aforementioned relocation will take place without me. I also bought a special covered mouse trap which I can’t bring myself to set, but I placed it in the kitchen, just so the mouse knows I mean business.

While I was peeling and slicing the aforementioned fresh native carrots, I was blasting NPR (again, to dissuade the mouse from making an appearance),and I listened to a piece about these crazy, crazy “Christian Zionists”, who support Israel because they believe that the end of the world is imminent, and that Israel should be in good (read: Judeo-Christian) hands well in advance of the second coming. The people said all kinds of hateful things about Muslims which appalled me and the radio host. I listened to another hour of deeply depressing world news, and then I left the kitchen (radio on, lights on), and failed to recall the good feelings I experienced earlier.

This post does not have a deep philosophical message. It’s just what happened yesterday.

Posted by Dori at 4:44 PM 2 comments

Home Alone

As I grow older, and come to terms with my quirks and qualities, I've come to understand that I need to intersperse my generally busy, social life with periods of quiet and solitude. I've also come to understand that (at least my) life is characterized by the "when it rains, it pours" phenomenon. I experienced back-to-back-to-back errands and socializing before, during, and after my trip to California. Work has been busy and stressful. I've been feeling tired and overstimulated. So I responded to those feelings and planned a quiet weekend that incorporated alone time. I hosted a brunch on Saturday morning, and stayed in on Friday night caramelizing onions. I made no other plans, other than exercising and pitching in for a few hours at the local campaign office (the election primaries are on Tuesday--rock the vote!).

Sounds fine, right?

Not so much.

I listened to the radio while caramelizing onions on Friday night. And the broadcast included ads for two different dating services and some cult-ish-sounding anxiety-management program. Clearly, these services are marketed to people who are not pursuing glam plans, but are home listening to the radio--and thus likely to be single and/or anxious (and OK, I fall into both categories, so maybe they're on to something). I told myself again and again that caramelizing onions on a Friday night was a choice, that I could be out socializing but I chose to stay in. But then my nasty inner adolescent got all riled and taunted me (as it is wont to do): maybe I didn't make any plans, but nobody made plans with me. It's not like I turned down any opportunities to caramelize onions.

I'm even embarrassed to write that. What if you all read it and mutter knowingly to yourselves? Those of you who've never met me might go "oh, so she's an unloved social recluse. No wonder she has so much time to blog." I'm shuddering at the thought.

Another issue: when I deliberately opt for quiet time, I often ricochet around from activity to activity, frenzied. The options become overwhelming. I could take a walk! I could go to the gym! I could paint the ugly brown hood of my stove! I could watch a movie! I could straighten up the mess in my enormous hall closet! Too often, I choose none of these options and end up in front of the TV channel surfing and then my nasty inner taskmaster taunts me: are you going to waste what's left of your 20s flipping between a poorly censored version of Cruel Intentions and repeats of Project Runway that aired just last week? This is the last 9/15/06 that you're ever going to get. Is this how you're choosing to spend it?

Of course, eventually these feelings pass. Because at some point I realize that the weekend is more than half over, and then it's time to start agonizing about work.

Posted by Dori at 10:01 AM 3 comments

Meeting Minutes

For almost a year, I've served on the advisory committee of a Jewish Women's Professional Network. I joined the network seven years ago (!), when I first moved to Boston. I was matched up with Dana, a plain-spoken and wonderful mentor. We met once and corresponded via email about my disappointing-first-job-out-of-college, and then she moved to California and we lost touch. I was subsequently matched with another mentor. We had coffee once during my pursuit of a less-disappointing-second-job-out-of-college. Soon after we met, I unrelatedly found a job, and Mabel assumed that her work was done, even though I could have really used a mentor at that time, to help me navigate the madness of the human services field.

Because I have now realized the professional aspirations that I huffed and puffed about during my seven-years-ago meeting with Mandy the Mentoring Specialist, I've become a kind of program poster child. Mandy asked me to serve on the advisory committee, which is loosely charged with "providing oversight" for the program. Thus far, the committee work has consisted of planning an event about women in the arts (completely unrelated to professional development), standing behind tables at various Jewish events, and attending the same committee meeting over and over again. Read on.

First, let me first say that the "light dinner" at this meeting is no good. It's always tuna salad, stale pita, and grapes. (Always grapes. Always, always grapes.)

Every meeting begins with the distribution of a carefully printed agenda, which comes with two other pieces of paper (a separate "report" page and then some clipping or other) in a file folder. This mystifies me. Since when do three unnecessary sheets of paper merit a file?

Rina, the committee co-chair, is one of those bitter women whose unhappiness permeates her being. She opens every single meeting with a torrent of complaints about the thousands of inquiries she fields every day from clueless young people who want her help finding a job. Young people are so inappropriate, so self-absorbed, so unfocused. All she does, all day long is give, give, give. Rina is just exhausted from all the informal mentoring she does constantly. In fact, showing up at networking events just completely sucks out the energy she needs for her Hugely Important Career.

The advisory committee includes both "seasoned" and "young" professionals. After Rina finishes her rampage, the other "seasoned professionals" cluck in sympathy. They all must say something about their own Hugely Important Careers, and about the clueless young people they've also come across. At this point in the meeting, the young professionals in attendance (and there tend to be very few) exchange uncomfortable glances and slouch down in our chairs.

Mandy the Mentoring Specialist runs through her report. Her itemized event budgets include a "toothpicks" line item.

There is discussion of whether the time- and resource-intensive events serve our mission.

Rina et. al. talk about how so many people attend the events with the sole objective of leeching onto a "seasoned professional" and extracting scarce professional wisdom, just taking, taking taking. Rina proposes that we require that young people "do something to earn" the valuable advice and expertise imparted by the "seasoned."

A few "young professionals" make half-hearted suggestions about program ideas.

Mandy the Mentoring Specialist halts the discussion, since time is running out, and Rina is yawning and has to get up early tomorrow for a Hugely Important Meeting.

We spend a long time choosing a follow-up meeting date that doesn't interfere with a Jewish holiday, a national holiday, or a Hugely Important Work Commitment.

We argue about where to hold the meeting. The young professionals advocate for downtown, or somewhere near public transit. The "seasoned professionals" dismiss us, deciding in favor of a synagogue deep in the woods of suburbia. They offer to drive us home afterwards.

The meeting is adjourned, and we scurry out into the night.

Posted by Dori at 5:09 PM 1 comments

Who's the Most Progressive of Them All?

As I may have mentioned, a new staff member has just joined our team. New Guy (NG) is young, smart, and progressive. In our office, we've developed a daily coffee break ritual, in which one of us goes out to Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks, to satisfy the individual cravings of all. On his first day, NG demurred when I offered to pick up some joe for him. "There’s no independently owned coffee shop around here, is there?” he asked/lamented. I myself have complained about this, but I’ve found that the Dunkin' Donuts literally steps away from our office meets my needs for caffeine and ghetto coffee so effectively that it trumps my desire to support small locally owned businesses. But I digress. NG proclaimed that Dunkin' Donuts is part of the fast food industry, and therefore he abstains.

My hackles were raised. Because excuse me? Who's the chick who lugs home all our recyclables because the city doesn't pick up commercial recycling? Who's the one who buys all post-consumer waste office paper and Energy Start light bulbs? Who's the chick who ditches work on election day to poll-watch, who gives a decent amount of money to charity every year, who buys cage-free eggs and hormone-free chicken, who shuns fast food and big box stores (except for Dunkin' Donuts and Target, because nobody's perfect?). Um, that would be me.

I told NG that I would fully reimburse him if he brought in fair trade coffee to the office and brewed it. Hell, I'd even spring for re-usable mugs. But when NG whipped out the organic ketchup come lunchtime, I knew I’d lost my status as Office Sustainability Queen. I spent some time on the web trying to exonerate Dunkin' Donuts (and, surprisingly, have found almost nothing about them or their parent company online). Then I headed across the street for my fix.

Yesterday night, Mr. Entrepreneur came over for dinner and date #6. (I expected this might be The Night We Make Out, but little physical contact occurred, which might be for the best—upDATE forthcoming—this is here is a serious post.) I related the NG incident, and the shame I now experience during Coffee Break. Mr. Entrepreneur was mystified. “What’s wrong with fast food?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “If you’re in a hurry and you need to eat, it’s super convenient. OK, it’s greasy and salty, but that doesn’t mean the whole industry deserves to be boycotted.” In fact, Mr. Entrepreneur has never boycotted any business, and was not even aware of the evils of Wal-Mart.

I started to talk about the company’s egregious breaches of fair labor practices, its devastating effects on locally-owned businesses, its censorship of music, and the way it limits consumer tastes and choices. But then I admitted that I love, love, love Target, despite the fact that its company donates zillions of dollars to Republican leaders and its pharmacists can purportedly refuse to fill prescriptions for the Morning After Pill if doing so offends their values.

However, upon poking around for information about this, I could find no reputable coverage of the Target vs. Reproductive Freedom debacle. AND I found an article about how Target gives millions of dollars to education-related causes, including Planned Parenthood. When I looked up indices of socially responsible companies, hoping for some objective information, I found various sites, such as Responsible Shopper, the Calvert Social Responsible Investment Index , and Social Funds. But the ratings were inconsistent, and I couldn’t find citations of what the reports are based on.

So. If any of you have some thoughts on this, or ideas on how to make rational choices about what to boycott, based on verifiable facts, please let me know. Until then, I’ll be guiltily sipping my DD coffee, and nudging NG to hook us up.

Posted by Dori at 10:29 AM 7 comments

I Looked Ravishing, Dahling

One of the most curious aspects of my friend's L.A. wedding was the beautification process that preceded it. As I may have mentioned, the bride procured the services of professional hair and makeup artists, two women who work for “Idol” (that’s American Idol for us East-Coasters), one of whom actually did the makeup of a bride who was featured on the reality show Bridezilla, in which self-professed bitches exert nuptial tyranny on national television.

Anyway. So Tiffany and Heather are gifted women. They charge a pretty penny to transform ordinary-looking women into movie stars. The bride’s mom generously funded the makeovers, but before I learned this, I had to decide for myself what services to choose. Heather charges $40 for a “blow out” and $60 for an up-do. Tiffany charges $60 to for an eye-makeup-job, and $120 for a full face of makeup. I thought a lot about this. $160 could buy a lot of fancy food, some pretty nice clothes, several months of utilities, three acupuncture sessions (and yeah, yeah, hours of childcare for battered women and food for the homeless and I know.) So the question remained: did I want to spend this amount on the application of some products on my face, to look beautiful for a few hours at an event where I knew basically no one? After all, it wasn’t my wedding. What difference would it make if I looked merely nice or totally fabulous? How big a difference could these “artists” really make?

I doubted I will ever again have the opportunity to have my hair and makeup styled in L.A., by people who routinely work with the rich and famous. I concluded that a wedding is a big deal, even if I’m not the bride. I noted that photos would be taken by a remarkably talented photographer, and my loveliness would be captured for posterity. So I went for it. I turned myself over to Heather and Tiffany and sat in their chairs for about two hours total, and people, let me tell you, they did some amazing work.

In general, I am not a vain person, and I rarely wear makeup in my everyday life. I do not devote much time or energy to my appearance, especially since I work in a small office full of clueless older men who never comment about my clothes/hair/face, no matter what I look like. In dating situations, I have stopped wearing makeup as well, because I look how I look and am not going to trick a guy into thinking I’m more polished or pretty than I actually am.

However. I don’t think I’ve ever looked so ravishing before, and I may never again, even at my own wedding, because I don’t live in L.A. and I don’t think they perform that kind of magic on this coast. Once Tiffany and Heather had done their work, I was mesmerized by my appearance, and I kept checking out my reflection in the windows/mirrors/ elevators/glassware, and having curiously depressing feelings about the utter pointlessness of wearing $160 of product on my person, knowing all the while that there would be no opportunity to attract a husband (there were no single guys at this event, and had there been any, they would be from L.A./Mexico).

Other members of the wedding party commented on my loveliness, but their compliments didn’t matter as much as they would have coming from either a prospective or actual love interest, someone who might be hilarious, brilliant, kind, and interested in me; and who might whisk me away onto the roof-top and shower me with admiration.

So I became (and remain) puzzled. What, exactly, is the point of looking ravishing, if not to affect some outcome? Why do women pay all this money and conduct all this labor and suffer to look great? Is it for ourselves? For others? Would I have been so excited about looking ravishing if my beauty weren’t going to be immortalized in photos, to gloat over during sad times? If I were already married and had nothing left to prove to the world about my worthiness of love, would I have cared so much about it?

While I ponder these questions I am thinking about whether I might actually override my photo-free blog M.O., because really, it will pain me to keep those photos to myself.

Posted by Dori at 11:33 AM 4 comments

Wedding Weekend Wrap-up (A week late)

So it's been over a week, and I have yet to debrief my friend's wedding in L.A.. (I will now refer to said friend as Mrs. S., just because it's hilarious.) The weekend was packed with activities--the MOH (maid of honor) picked me up at LAX and we headed to Home Depot, then the party store, then we cooked for the shower (held on the following day), then on Saturday we did more cooking, attended the rehearsal, the shower, the rehearsal dinner, and then on the wedding day, engaged in about six hours of beautification before the event itself (more on that later).

The beautiful ceremony was held on the rooftop of a local hotel, with panoramic views of the whole city. Despite lots of worries about wind, cold, and heat, the weather cooperated: perfectly warm and sunny, with a few seagulls flying by us at opportune moments. Mrs. S (who was, at the time, still Ms. B) looked stunning and happy throughout the beautiful ceremony, as did her now-husband. Everyone kept remarking about the destiny that brought them together, and how they perfectly complement one another. The wedding was exceptionally elegant--stunning flowers and decorations, tasteful music--and exceptionally happy--throngs of guests on the dance floor, warm and abundant toasts, lots of laughter.

Some highlights of the weekend:

- Dinner with the bride, the night I got in, at the Urth Caffe, where we had some quality bonding time and glowed in the light of our friendship and the little votive candle at our table.

- The most incredible filet mignon at the rehearsal dinner. Yes, I had filet mignon. It's not PC or progressive but it was fucking delicious.

- Tina, the hotel's event planner, orchestrated the event with military precision. She wore a walkie-talkie headset thing throughout the evening, and when we were queuing up to walk down the aisle, she sent the rabbi down, then proclaimed "rabbi in position, cue music, cue MOH, cue bridesmaid #1 ..." Later on, when a makeup touch-up was needed, a walkie-talkie-d staff member somehow identified me and pulled me out of the cocktail reception and ushered me down to the bridal chamber where I dutifully blotted the bride.

- As I mentioned, I was a ketuba signer, which meant that I signed not only a binding Jewish legal document (but also the couple's civil marriage, which is no small thing).

- And of course: witnessing one of the loves of my life find the love of her life.

Posted by Dori at 10:47 AM 0 comments

Clarification

Thanks everyone for your kind words and input--I just wanted to clarify that I have initiated the last few encounters with Mr. E. We'll exchange messages, and then eventually I'll say something like, "what's your week looking like?" which then morphs into a plan. I'm generally not the kind of chick who waits around passively. In fact, I usually do take the proverbial bull by the horns.

I'm just wanting him to initiate this get-together to rule out the possibility that he is just looking for a pen pal, which I am most definitely not.

Posted by Dori at 8:59 AM 2 comments

A Dispatch to Some Saints--and an UpDATE

Like the good Jewish girl that I am, I'm putting in a call to St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things. Are you listening, man? Because since my whirlwind trip to California, (left Friday at 5 a.m., returned Monday night at midnight), I have misplaced my credit card and some prescription medicine. Rest assured that my credit card is lurking somewhere in my immediate environs. I keep checking online for activity, and there is none, so I'm fairly confident that it hasn't really been lost. The last purchase made online, for a work-related thing, which leads me to think it's on my desk somewhere, mocking me from under a pile of paper or from one of the countless pockets in my dizzyingly complex "Get Organized by Nine West" work bag. Enraging.

Similarly enraging is the vial of meds that I swear I put in my top dresser drawer after misplacing it a few weeks ago. Despite a frenzied search through my apartment, I can't find it for the life of me.

While I'm soliciting advice from the heavens, I would like some input on some extremely puzzling male behavior, perhaps from you guys, perhaps from St. Agatha, patron saint of single women. (If you want an itemized list of issues and their respective Saints, check this out).

OK, so the guy I've been seeing (let's finally give him the name Mr. Entrepreneur), have gone out four times. As I may have mentioned, romantic (waterfront) kissing occurred on Date III, and perfunctory kissing occurred on Date IV (a short power breakfast before I left for California). I was very stressed out for various reasons, and Mr. E followed up that evening with a caring and funny text message (my first ever!). I composed my first-ever text message response, and then when I arrived in California I found another message from him, wanting to ensure that I'd survived my liquid-free flight. SO CUTE.

As promised, I emailed him today. We traded more cute messages. But he did not propose another get-together. I don't understand this at all and am reluctant to initiate one myself, because what if, as I suspected, He's Just Not Into Me and is engaging in cure email behavior as a diversion? WHY does all this have to be so mysterious?

Readers? St. Agatha?

Posted by Dori at 5:41 PM 9 comments