UpDATE #501,214
First, I want to thank all of you who've backed/encouraged me in the matter of Dori vs. Evil Trade Association Members. My sense is that I've been dealing with a few isolated crazies, and must become productive and thick-skinned and finish this puppy up.
Probably more interestingly, I went on a good date last night. The guy (who I met online) sent me a hilarious initial email, but by Friday, I had major reservations about him. He'd signed off subsequent emails with "Ciao, Marco" (for this purpose, we'll call him Mark). WTF? That seemed weird and un-funny to me. I envisioned a painful encounter in which I'd have to pretend to be charmed by a goofy and overly cheerful sense of humor. (In case it isn't obvious, I prefer a
dark sense of humor. Cheerful humor does nothing for me.)
Anyway. So I forced myself to go to the date (dinner at a neighborhood restaurant, which I chose for its proximity to my house and its generally speedy service.). I was sitting there in a bad mood, trying to wipe the disgruntled, unenthusiastic expression off my face. Then "Mark" arrived. He wore jeans and cool shoes and a striped button-down shirt: trying, but not trying too hard. He wears sexy edgy glasses, and is attractive in that wiry-nerdy-Jewish way that I (but perhaps not so many members of the general population) find hot. He told me funny stories, praised my smile and personality, and generally entertained me for almost four hours.
As for his stats: He's 30, (actually 3 weeks younger than me), really interested in wine, well-traveled (even did a stint at a Thai cooking school), and he's a designer/entrepreneur.
So there you have it. After dinner we had dessert at
Rialto (I had the very weird "lemon panna cotta with limoncello and sparkling watermelon"), and then he drove me home (which I allowed given the pronounced non-stalker vibes I got from him).
There was no kissing or anything, but it still seemed like a promising start.
Posted by Dori at 11:09 AM
Perhaps the Squeaky Smoke Detector Should Get the Olive Oil
One of the billions of things that sucks about being single is the lack of access to height/strength/technical know-how.
A few weeks ago I bought $22 worth of olive oil. It came in a huge, heavy metal container. I ripped off the cap, and it got stuck. I pried at it with a hammer and a screwdriver. No go. Then I stood there, enraged and impotent, in the face of a half gallon of olive oil that I would never be able to use. Had I been in love, you see, the object of my affection would have handily gotten that sucker open. (Though in the end, I was able to do it myself.)
Two nights ago, I got home to the high-pitched squeals of the smoke detector--the battery needed to be replaced. But there are three smoke detectors within a 10 feet area, and I couldn't tell which needed to be replaced (and I only had one fresh battery). I also couldn't reach the detector without standing on a stool which I'd situated on a chair, and this was so terrifying that I eventually gave up. So I asked our building's "handy man" to come by and help. It took him more than a day to get to it, but after 48 hours of incessant squawking, my home is now quiet.
I have two dates this weekend, am not excited about either one. But I will be sure to assess indicators of both guys' olive-oil-opening and smoke-detector-battery-replacement abilities.
Posted by Dori at 9:07 AM
Under Hostile Fire
So for the past six billion years I've been working on this nightmarish consulting project for a trade association. Basically I'm writing profiles of their 50+ members. I tried to interview many of their PR representatives over the summer, and many of them failed to return my calls and behaved in extraordinarily unprofessional ways. On one occasion, I interviewed a woman and was impressed and pleased by our conversation. She was kind to me. She was pleasant. After I left, she called my client (the trade association) and freaked out because she was so enraged by the premise of the project. I experienced shock and awe at her two-facedness, which made me wonder,
who else hates me/this project and isn't saying so?
I shook off this bad experience and continued interviewing. Because I suck, I waited until now to do most of the interview write-ups. What
really sucks: interviewees' responses to my drafts. I've been writing and then giving people one week to get back to me with changes. I expected that most people would be happy with what I wrote, that some might send back minor edits.
But no. One guy responded immediately:"I won't sugarcoat this. Your draft is so deeply flawed on so many levels, and I simply do not have time to make the major modifications that would render it institutionally acceptable. Please advise on how our company can be included in the report despite time constraints." And I met with this guy weeks ago! And he was friendly! And his was one of the most interesting and well-written profiles, in my opinion!
It gets worse. This guy then calls a competitor in another city and gives the competitor (who until then had seemed content with what I'd written about his company) the head's up about my utter failure as a writer/interviewer. An hour later I get a call from Company #2's PR department (who ignored my multiple calls over the summer). Suddenly they want to be involved in the revision of the 3-page piece that was mostly culled from their website and is going into a long, boring compilation of profiles that no one will ever read. We're not talking the
New York Times.
The thing is, that this type of hostility unnerves me. I brace myself each time I open my trade association email account. What nastiness is headed my way? What disgruntlement awaits? What intolerant person has decided to hate on me for a small error or omission? And worse: I've started to question the quality of my work. I reread the "deeply flawed" piece and I still contend that it's not only nicely written, but that every single fact is traceable to something he or his website said. If there were inaccuracies, blame their webmaster.
But now I'm paranoid that perfectly nice-seeming people are in fact hate-filled, underneath it all. And that rather than making connections, I'm burning bridges.
Posted by Dori at 8:42 AM
Wedding Belles
On Saturday night, I performed "emergency date duty." My friend R. was planning to attend a wedding with her husband, but when he was called away to deal with a family issue, she asked me to fill in. I was more than thrilled because a) I love weddings, and this one promised to be stylish and unique; b) the couple consists of two lovely people who seem genuinely made for each other; c) the couple consists of two women, and their
ability to legally wed makes me proud to be a Massachusetts resident.
The wedding was at the
Algonquin Club, which is much more elegant than the photos suggest. Everything about it reflected the brides' personalities (from the Red Sox-inspired seating plan to the customized mix CDs they gave out as favors). There were 60 guests, which was perfect; it felt festive but also intimate, and the guests were super friendly. This wedding was the only one I've attended in which people actually mingled. I chatted with the very cool and down-to-earth director of
The Center for the New American Dream (a progressive but intimidating environmental group), and a clutch of lesbians from Fort Worth. One of the aforementioned lesbians inquired about my sexual orientation because she found me cute. I attended a women's college, and throughout the four years I got absolutely no same-sex attention (and very little opposite-sex attention, I should probably point out); so I was hugely honored by this. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that I rocked last year's version of
this dress, which proves that it really is possible to wear a bridesmaid dress more than once.
The beautiful ceremony, throughout which several people sobbed unabashedly, included an a Capella rendition of the Dixie Chicks' "Lullaby", and the reading of this most adorable poem by Taylor Mali.
Check it out. And join me in wishing E.W. and K.P. all the happiness in the world.
**
Falling in Love is Like Owning a Dog
First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.
Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.
Posted by Dori at 2:12 PM
Sigh
My posting has slowed lately, which bums me out. For some reason, I am feeling uninspired, and I've been busy with the foster job, my consulting project (which feels endless and insurmountable), and Round II of the online class I taught over the summer. I have a crazy student this semester. She has emailed me maybe six times already with various concerns/demands, and has completely dominated the first week of discussion with her long, rambling, and somewhat inflammatory "contributions." I am worried that direct feedback (in the vein of: "enough with the conspiracy theory, already, stick to the
topic and stop posting three times more than what is required") will only provoke further rants.
I have also been cooking up a storm for various entertaining engagements, and this has generated leftovers that remain in the fridge and taunt me. There is only so many times one can consume enchiladas stuffed with potatoes and peppers.
Also, the comedian did call a few days after I pondered loss of mojo. We had an upbeat, funny conversation after which he did not ask me out. I was not that into him, and would not have gone out again had he asked; perhaps he sensed this. My friend E. gives him credit for that, so I will too. Join me in sending virtual props to Mr. Hilarious.
Other than that, no upDATEs. I got an email from a guy who seemed OK, but he signed his message "Buster." This is his
name, not his username, and I can't go out with someone named Buster, I just can't. I also got two messages from someone I ignored during my last bout of online dating. He has sent several entreating notes, despite my lack of response. This is annoying.
That's pretty much it. I wish I had a dash of perky wit to insert, but I just don't right now.
Posted by Dori at 2:16 PM
Foreign Territory
So I'm phasing into my foster job at the Very Prestigious School (VPS). I am working with science majors on career-related things. My first project consists of debriefing with students who just completed summer internships.
And let me tell you, it's foreign territory on so many levels.
The students are the children of soccer moms, and thus have been doing work/school/activities since they began preparing for college, which was shortly after preschool. When I asked one student whether her internship supervisor gave her adequate orientation, she rolled her eyes and said that the supervisor tried to teach her how to use a pipette [whatever that is], which,
duh, she's been doing since ninth grade. In
my college days (1995-1999), internships were still somewhat novel, and involved making copies and going to meetings and maybe kicking around a project or two. They were generally non- or low-paying and required little or no prior work experience. An internship was one of many acceptable summer options, which included lifeguarding or waitressing or camp counseling or activities that did not necessarily engage one's intellect or improve one's professional prospects.
Those days are gone. Now, internships are vital to one's professional survival, and the process is competitive. The science students at VPS (who admittedly comprise an elite cohort of the general population) apply to multiple internships. Some of them get multiple offers. Big companies
fly them across the country for interviews. On their first day on the job, the interns receive "welcome baskets": fleeces, alarm clocks, messenger bags. They get mentors and substantive projects and tickets to sporting events and
$12-$18 an hour. ($18/hr is the equivalent of $37K a year - and these are
college sophomores.) One kid actually had his own assistant.
Adding to my culture shock is the fact that these students speak a different language. I ask them what they did over the summer, and all I can glean, even after their patient explanations, is that they did something nano-bio-chemical-technical, either in a lab or in a big company. The instant they get into detail, I glaze over.
And the last bit of evidence that I am a stranger in a strange land: their fixation on their work. A few students mentioned that internships had slack periods. When I asked what they did during those times (suggesting that perhaps they engaged in IM, email, blogging, online crosswords ...) they were genuinely surprised at the notion.
Obviously, they read industry journals and science articles. Because they are genuinely passionate about nano-bio-chemical-technical topics.
I get wistful about all this. Upon graduation, many of these students will make twice as much as I do with my ten years of work experience. They will not have to endure demoralizing job searches; employers woo them. Society bestows prestige and respect upon them. And even better: they find their work completely fascinating.
I'm telling you, it's a whole other country, and I'd like to apply for citizenship.
Posted by Dori at 1:29 PM
upDATE #501,213
So my lovely and well-connected friend E. set me up with the son of her boss' boss. E. was encouraged to date the aforementioned young man herself, but decided that he was "too hilarious." Mr. Hilarious is a creative type who moonlights in the comedy world, so we're talking
professional hilarity, which he may or may not be able to shut off (perhaps
Hilary can attest to this--she lives in LA and has dated at least one comedian). He called me on Monday night and we had a lively phone conversation, in which he did indeed say funny things and asked me many questions (yay for questions!). We made plans for the following night (yesterday) at a hip bar.
I was not so stoked for said date, mainly because I've been in a pissy mood lately. And my mood was not enhanced when I interrupted "date prep" by taking out the trash. A vile fluid leaked out of the bag, onto my Date Jeans, and then created a sticky and smelly trail between the kitchen, the porch, and the sidewalk, which I scrambled to mop up before departure.
Mr. Hilarious arrived late, but he behaved in a polite and attentive manner. We ordered drinks. I really wanted the house specialty fancy fries, because my car is mangled and thus I haven't been grocery shopping, and thus my home-cooked pre-date dinner was ultra lame. Also, dating sucks so I
deserve fries. But Mr. H demurred, so we ordered perfectly executed but boring (
deeply boring) bruschetta. And for the next two hours I had to watch everyone else in the goddamn bar eating crispy salty French fry goodness. Torturous.
What else can I say? He seems like a really nice person. The convo was pithy and banter-y. He joked a
lot, which I'm sure is part of his personality and part of his date schtick.
We parted ways and he didn't even lie and say he'd call. He just bid me goodnight. It's not like I was all smitten (not even a little--he's 39, which is on the mature side, and he lives with roommates, which is not so cool when you're 39. Much more importantly: no sparks despite his obvious menschiness).
But I may have lost my mojo. I have concerns.
Posted by Dori at 4:08 PM
