Strongly Worded

The "O" In "We're Done"

I promised Mr. O that I would not malign him on my blog.

This is not hard. First, because I strive not to malign anyone (blog-wise or otherwise), and secondly, because he's a perfectly lovely guy who was nothing but kind to me.

I will say, however, that Mr. O was weird on Christmas. He was edgy and over-the-top and tense. After the dim sum and the movie, he declined my invitation to come over and talk about how Little Children might have made him feel about his divorce (the movie is about the darkness behind seemingly perfect marriages in suburbia; he can relate). I felt a sinking sense of impending doom. Since the beginning, I have definitely had my own reservations about "us", which I have not expressed here because of the whole maligning thing. I sensed that Mr. O was done, and this made me feel more anxiety than heartbreak. I wanted to know.

Things were weird all week. In the past (and by which I mean, the first five weeks of our six-week-long "relationship"), Mr. O emailed and called me every day and initiated plans. This week he was vague and reticent. It sucked. I talked to a million friends about it. I thought maybe we were just experiencing "the Switch", which, according to Dr. Judith Sills, the brilliant author of A Fine Romance, is what happens when the "pursuer" in a relationship backs off and the "pursued" freaks out.

Everyone was supportive and kind and said versions of: He gave you an iPod. Last week. How could things possibly change so much, so fast?

Well, last night he called and we had an awkward conversation which included the phrases: "We need to talk", "You deserve better than me", "You're an amazing person", and "We can still be friends".

I can say, with all honesty, that I am not upset about him. Yes, he was sweet and great and optimistic and I've had an awesome six weeks. But there were truly many fundamental mismatches. What sucks is that this has to end now. I'd be up for another month of fun, fine food, and furniture assembly. Maybe two months. OK, maybe three. Anything to prolong the inevitable return to dating.

Last year, at New Year's, I resolved to find the love of my life. You all know I made many valiant attempts. I dated a whole lot of nice (but ultimately inappropriate) guys. Code Boy wrote me a macro. Another guy bestowed flowers and pharmaceutical pens upon me. I learned some military stuff from a guy with the same full name as another guy I dated. And I had prolonged encounters (by which I mean multiple dates that included kissing) with Mr. O, Mr. Canine, Mr. Entrepreneur, and Souffle Boy.

It is deeply discouraging to work so hard for something and not get it.

Maybe my 2007 resolution should be to stop caring so much.

Labels: dating

Posted by Dori at 9:07 AM 10 comments

I Got Nothing

For the past few days, I've been trying to drum up ideas for a scintillating post-Christmas blog update. Something pithy and funny, or deep and contemplative, that is not about my work, my nascent "relationship" or my family.

Thus far, I have failed.

Here's all I got:

I had a good Jewish Christmas weekend. I spent Friday with Mr. O, and we hit Ikea, where I would have bought this coffee table (which has a leaf!) and this cool chair, had either fit into the car. I was super disappointed, but bought enough other random stuff to console myself.

I spent Saturday-Sunday with my family, which was nice, apart from vexing family dynamics.

On Monday I (along with Mr. O and assorted friends of mine) saw Little Children (fantastic movie) and threw down some serious dim sum.

Today was slow and quiet at work. I did not get funding for a project after spending weeks on a proposal.

And the only mildly interesting thing I have to report?

I applied for a credit card a few weeks ago (because I lost the one I have, and I preferred to start all over with a new card/better interest rate instead of just replacing it. Also I had this notion that I could start fresh and avoid the evil all-merging Bank of America/MBNA outfit, but there's no escaping those guys. I got a Working Assets card (money to charity with every purchase), but the card is still managed by BOA). The customer service person pronounced me credit-worthy within minutes, and my new account showed up online. The only problem? No physical card materialized on my doorstep. Not for weeks.

So today I called to check in on that. Turns out (and I only wish I were making this up) they ran out of plastic, and I should get the card once they've restocked (within 7-10 business days).

Ho ho ho.

Posted by Dori at 7:05 PM 1 comments

Into the Light?

I had a nourishing chat with A. on Monday night. I updated her on the situation with Mr. D (who still needs a new name—please send suggestions, people! I SEE YOU through my blog traffic tracker—where is the comment love?).

A. noted that I was smiling for the first time in … I don’t know … eons? And she pointed out something literally illuminating: despite my propensity to dwell in the darkness, I am dating an optimist. My past relationships have all involved a lot of angst. I’ve always loved people who enjoy staying up in the middle of the night to discuss their/my painful pasts. Past boyfriends have shared my appreciation of music that celebrates heartbreak, agony, and longing. For the most part, they have professionally committed to Fighting the Man or Fighting Disease or Fighting in some form or another.

Mr. D, in contrast, is a fundamentally happy and well-adjusted person. He is not interested in discussing—much less dwelling on—the tragic aspects of his past. (And I don’t think he’s repressed, just resilient.) He likes upbeat music. (He finds James Blunt’s stunning homage to suffering (“You’re Beautiful”) annoying. How is that possible?) I have thus far refrained from making him a mix CD because I couldn’t find enough happy songs to fill it up. And his job does not involve martyrdom or suffering. When he has a bad day, he prefers not to complain about it.

We have discussed this, because complaining is one of my favorite activities, as is analysis of adversity in all forms. Mr. D did not express concern (shocking, I know). He said a mind-blowing thing: “I don’t think that you’re really so dark. I think your darkness is just covering up the lightness underneath.”

WHAT?! Could I have light within the depths of my soul?

Posted by Dori at 9:38 AM 5 comments

A Surprise Culinary Triumph

On Saturday night, I hosted a hard-core dinner party for eight. I made several new dishes, a variation on this Hannukah menu.

I found the leek and walnut fritter recipe particularly beguiling, because I love leeks. They are a huge pain to prepare (with all the rinsing and chopping), but this makes them all the more appealing, in a special-occasion way. I refused to make fritters, however. I am not one for the deep frying, with the lingering smell of oil and the stress of the last-minute prep. I thought about making Leek and Walnut Patties (baking the fritters instead of frying them), but then that concept seemed too latke-like, and I was already serving latkes.

Undeterred, I decided to make Leek and Walnut Dumplings. I boiled some water to test the notion. I formed three little balls of leek and walnut goodness and dropped those babies in. They immediately disintegrated. I added an egg and chilled the batter. Still no go.

Still undeterred, I decided to make Leek and Walnut Loaf. I put the batter into a loaf pan and baked it for a while. The result looked unattractive, but I figured I’d serve it in slices on a bright red platter, and call it a cool riff on vegetarian meatloaf.

When I deemed the loaf sufficiently baked, I removed it from the pan, and it crumbled into bits. It resembled cat food. I debated whether to toss the whole mess in the trash, then asked Mr. D and my friend E. to sample it. Both liked the flavor. So I shrugged and mounded what had become a Free Form Leek and Walnut Extravaganza onto the aforementioned bright red plate. I liberally garnished it with parsley.

The guests deemed it terrine and gobbled it up, nominating it for Best Dish of the Evening.

Posted by Dori at 12:55 PM 2 comments

Progress Report

Mr. D and I exchanged Hannukah gifts that were of comparable (albeit sliding scale) seriousness. I got him a huge fancy hard-covered dictionary and inserted post-its with words that we’ve agreed should exist. The gift isn’t really that random: he was complaining about his crappy abridged collegiate dictionary, and then I shared the stonglyworded glossary with him, and since we’ve been exchanging all kinds of neologisms. For example: “off-registry” (adj.). Spontaneous, creative. Origins: increasing dependence on wedding/gift registries. Usage: “You painted it fuschia? Wow, you really went off-registry there.”

Of course, I was worried that he wouldn’t get me a present at all, or that he’d get me something in the scented candle category. But no. I am the joyful recipient of a pink version of this. (On our first date, I mentioned all your endorsements of it, and he went to town.)

Mr. D also knows about the blog, because he asked me point-blank if I have one. He doesn’t want to read it, which pleases me. But he knows he’s been called Mr. D, and has requested a name-change. If any of you have a good alternative, let me know. Otherwise we may have to switch to “The guy formerly known as Mr. D.” We’ve talked about how to handle his presence in the blogosphere, and basically all he asked was that I refrain from naming his workplace, using his real name, and sharing intimate details. No prob, because my general blog guidelines already include: 1) not to using any identifying details about myself or my people 2) not to write anything about anyone that I wouldn’t say to his/her face and 3) not to write anything that would horrify higher-ups at work, if, God-forbid, they stumbled across this. Fellow bloggers: I’m curious about your limits and boundaries—please share.

Another triumph: Mr. D debuted at my Saturday night dinner party. He performed well. He helped me with the dishes afterwards (and there were a lot—8 people and no dishwasher). Most importantly: we engaged in a long debrief.

If I weren’t the world’s most superstitious and paranoid person ever born, I’d say things were going well.

Posted by Dori at 1:11 PM 4 comments

So Slow

A few days ago at lunch, someone observed that“doing nothing makes you really hungry.” I wanted to add that doing nothing also makes you really sleepy.

Because I am very, very tired. It has been really slow at work lately. REALLY slow. One of the thousands of hard things about my job is the pace. They’ll be periods of intensity: phone ringing constantly, piles of mail, back-to-back meetings, looming deadlines. Then there are boring periods where my only tasks are unappealing and non-time sensitive. I need to do some stuff, but really, do I have to do it today? Or tomorrow, really? Next week seems reasonable. (So does never, actually.) It embarrasses me that I have so little to do. When people schedule meetings with me, I try to act all busy even though I could meet pretty much any time next week or the week after.

So, OK, work is slow, but what about the madness of the holiday season?

Not so much in the madness department. I ordered all holiday gifts online. My tiny office staff will go out to lunch to celebrate, during the day, thank you very much. We will not dress up or involve our significant others or get drunk or exchange inappropriate office gossip. I’ve been invited to only two holiday parties: one was cancelled, and I couldn’t make the other one. Some peeps came over last weekend for a holiday meal, and this Sat. I’m having a mini Hannukah dinner. That’s it.

I don’t mind. I finished watching the entire first season of Big Love. I’m into the third season of the L-Word, (though I have to say it sucks, big time). I’m volunteering on two task forces (neither is labor intensive). I’m striving to spend time with Mr. D, and hope that we’ll share Jewish Christmas, which would really help to ameliorate my dread of the day. It would also be really amazing to spend New Year’s together, ideally doing nothing, but that’s more than two weeks away. Now that I really like him, I’m worried that by 12/31 he’ll have realized who/how I really am, and kick my ass to the curb.

[Yawn.]

Posted by Dori at 2:45 PM 2 comments

Lady Luck

So Mr. D went to Las Vegas for the weekend with the boys. I was all blasé about everything (when he said that he’d miss me, and I thought to myself: please, how could you miss me, we’ve been together barely a month and you’re going to be surrounded by strippers?). Yet I was, and remain, unhappy about the trip because:

1) It illustrates fundamental (or maybe not-so-fundamental?) differences between us. The people in my circle do not go to Vegas “to party”, nor do they use “party” as a verb. If I went to Las Vegas with my people, we wouldn’t succeed in getting on the VIP list for clubs featured in the Real World. We wouldn’t even try.

2) I didn’t want him getting with a stripper in celebration of his new-found, no-longer-married freedom, and then deciding that said freedom was too tantalizing to give up. (Also, if “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”—does that include exposure to STDs?). I felt a wave of possessiveness: I didn’t want him getting with a stripper at all.

Turns out my blasé was totally skin deep, because turns out I missed him, a lot. I woke up at 4 a.m. and thought about where he was and what (who?) he was doing. I dreamt that we had a date and he failed to show up. I checked my email obsessively, hoping that, as promised, he’d send me a photo of his meal at Nobu.

And Mr. D totally came through. He sent me a camera-phone photo of the view from the hotel, and he called me from the airport on his way home. Also he emailed me first thing this morning so we can find a time to get together.

Who the hell knows what will happen with us, but at least right now, I feel quite lucky indeed.

Posted by Dori at 6:37 PM 2 comments

It All Comes Down To Christmas

As many of you know, I despise the holiday season. As soon as the turkey is cleared away, I descend into the darkness, bracing myself for the pounding assault on single Jewish people everywhere: Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day. I have no problem with Christmas itself, and I wholeheartedly wish my Christmas-celebrating friends and acquaintances all the joy that the holiday entails. My rage and disgust is aimed at the relentless commercialism; the incessant, saccharine music; and the self-congratulation that accompanies the sudden surge of philanthropy (people who pride themselves on their toy for a tot purchase, even though they do nothing else to advance social justice, forgetting (or denying?) that needy tots need adequate food, shelter, and education way more than they need My Scene Barbies.)

But this post is not another scrooge-fest. This post is about the starring role Christmas plays in our love lives. For many of us non-observant “cultural Jews”, marrying within the faith has little to do with religious practice. It’s more about common ground, and shared heritage, and guilt about not propagating a religion that so many have tried to eliminate for so long. It sucks to want to marry a Jewish guy, since there’s a small pool to begin with. Within the pool there are a lot of really nebbishy guys, and many of the other hotter ones end up with non-Jewish women.

Case in point: my progressive and attractive acquaintance, who is a Member of the Tribe (MOT) and engaged to a Christian girl. He knows about my hatred of Christmas (and maybe my frustration with his defecting from the tiny faction of hot Jewish guys), and thus hesitated before telling me about their Christmas tree shopping.

It all comes down to Christmas. When talking about intermarriage, "cultural Jews" often talk about how, if they married outside the faith, they could compromise on many dimensions, and supplement or modify Jewish holidays to incorporate the customs of their partners. Then they almost always add a big BUT: "I could never have a Christmas tree in our home." And that is when the non-Jewish people blanch, and ask: "what's the harm? It's not really a religious symbol; it's just festive, and pretty, and fun." For many "cultural Christians" (who identify as Christians but limit their observance to Christmas and maybe Easter), the Christmas tree is it, a central touchstone, a fixture of their childhood memories and family life.* For Jews it's the opposite. Whether you celebrate or not, Christmas is everywhere. For Jew, not having a Christmas tree is the most obvious indicator of our identity.

So. I winced a little when my progressive and attractive acquaintance got that tree. I understand that he and his fiance are celebrating together, and that there's absolutely nothing wrong with embracing her traditions. I also know that the rate of intermarriage among Jewish men is only slightly higher than among Jewish women (33% vs 29%, even though it seems much higher). And I definitely get that my disapproval/disappointment may be politically incorrect and is definitely pointless.

I've mulled this over for days. And I've listened to Carnie Wilson and one of her former Wilson Phillips bandmates (I forget which one) extolling Jack Frost and his sleigh bells. And I've breathed in overwhelming pine fragrance at Linens N' Things, and been pleasantly blinded by my neighborhood's famously tacky holiday displays. And thus I've been looking forward to a Jewish Christmas, the cliche of movies and Chinese food that is my touchstone, part of my family life, a tradition I want to pass on to my future kids with my future partner.

Here's hoping.

* Obviously, I'm making huge generalizations here--there are plenty of people of all religions who observe holidays and traditions in all kinds of ways, I'm speaking for myself, reiterating conversations I've had many times.

Posted by Dori at 5:07 PM 7 comments

High and Dry

The air in my house is wicked dry, way beyond the powers of moisturizer, lip balm, and eye drops. So I bought a humidifier at Target. That puppy sputtered and gulped all night and was wicked high-maintenance—requiring"scale removal", disinfecting, breakfast in bed. Also it conked out at after nine hours when it was supposed to go for at least 12. I was quite pissed when I returned it after a week of substandard performance.

Then I did all this research online, and bought a higher-end model at Home Depot. You get what you pay for, right? Now this is a Cadillac of humidifiers. It has a “moisture-stat” that assesses the humidity of the air and adjusts output accordingly. There are settings to control the thrust of the fan (seriously—this thing has jet-style propulsion—it rustles the bedskirt and the curtains) and the length of operation (up to 48 hours!). EVEN BETTER, it comes with a special built-in disinfecting gizmo and it has a replaceable filter which supposedly cleanses the air.

But it blows anyway. The stupid moisture-stat is so sensitive that the fan goes on and off all night. The setting shifts just as soon as I’m getting used to the white noise or the silence. Also it leaked Lake Cadillac onto my bedroom floor.

The kicker? Yesterday the whole $89.99 kit and caboodle just up and quit. I adjusted the settings, read and re-read the manual, turned it on and off, plugged and unplugged it—nothing worked.

So I’m back to Home Depot, and square one.

Posted by Dori at 4:10 PM 6 comments

TMITS?

A few days ago, Mr. D told me seriously that he wanted to tell me something. "I'm debating whether to tell you this, but I think you'd want to know." And I assumed the worst: AIDS, criminal history, worship of Rod Stewart. It turned out I had something in my teeth.

There comes a moment in the early stages of any relationship (or at least any of my relationships), during which confessions are exchanged. It often follows a prolonged cuddle-fest, or some other relaxing and intimate experience. Usually these disclosures have to do with current or former mental health issues, lingering aftermath of family drama, or love gone awry. Afterwards, you know what you're getting into, and can stop being polite, (as they say on a certain rapidly deteriorating "reality" show), and Start Getting Real. Or, if you're not up to the challenge, you can opt out.

On Friday night, Mr. D finally divulged some stuff I'd been wondering about (mainly family and relationship stuff--nothing at all shocking), and he seemed unburdened and also startled by my neutral and accepting reaction.

He ended up sleeping over, which was somewhat of a big thing for me, because I occasionally have nighttime hallucinations, an incredibly weird side effect of the medication I take for my seizure disorder. It probably would have been a good time to discuss said affliction, especially since we'd been talking about my headaches and how they relate to my unrelenting anxiety. But I didn't go there. I mentioned anxiety in a general way. (I didn't share my Friday night concerns, which included, but were not limited to: Would Mr. D be revolted by my less-than-perfect thighs? Did his ex look like a supermodel? Would my neighbor object to his blocking the driveway? Would she call at 8 a.m. and ask him to move the car? Would she surmise that I'm a tramp, harboring a BMW-driving Internet date in my home? What would happen in the morning? Would I get my prized "weekend alone time"? Or would the weekend be consumed by shared activities? And was that a problem? And if so, why? Why? WHY?)

I'm perplexed, gentle readers. I know not whether the seizures and my other lovely neurological eccentricities need discussion, or whether divulging them would be giving out Too Much Information Too Soon.

Posted by Dori at 4:37 PM 5 comments