dating
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts

How We Met: A Love Story for Our Wedding Day

Saturday, November 11, 2017

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This is a pre-scheduled post because today I am very busy getting married. That's right, today is our wedding day! You can probably find photos soon on Instagram. I hope they're flattering.

This seemed like an appropriate time to share the full story of how Mike & I met. If you're a long-time reader, you may recall that he just sort of appeared on this blog, quietly, around the same time I shared a post about my uncommonly honest online dating profile.

Indeed, I like to say that Mike & I were introduced by our close mutual friend, the Internet. Though online dating has long been associated with weirdos & creepsters, we somehow managed to find one another through all the mess.

Mike messaged me after reading my profile on OKCupid, the free online dating site for people who want to find love but aren't willing to pay for it. After six months on the site, Mike was the first nice, normal guy to message me... so naturally, I didn't respond to him.

When a friend asked me, a week later, whether I'd responded to the cute guy with the glasses, I admitted I hadn't & said it was probably too late.

"You don't even know him!" my friend insisted, "What do you have to lose if you message him & he thinks you were too late?!"

Good point. I responded, spending more than an hour crafting a one-paragraph response.

Our first date was in April 2015 at The Treehouse, which Mike chose because he thought I would like the Tremont neighborhood, having recently moved back to Northeast Ohio from the East Coast. We shared a meal of loaded tots & had our first kiss outside the Tremont Lofts building, where my car was parked.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

I moved to Tremont three months later, & Mike soon moved in with me - just three blocks from The Treehouse! Mike was right: I do, in fact, love Tremont... but not nearly as much as I love him.

Ani l'dodi, v'dodi li, I am my beloved's, & my beloved is mine. I cannot wait to be this guy's wife, starting... now. 
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My 9 Single-Lady Behaviors When I'm Home Alone

Monday, April 3, 2017

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 Last week, Mike went out of town for five days, something he rarely does without me, & while he was away, I realized that, when I have the apartment to myself, I revert back to a few elements of my singledom. Here are just a few of the ways my lifestyle temporarily changed while he vacationing & I was solo in the CLE.

1. Jump at every little sound

Every time I heard the downstairs door slam, I thought, "Mike's home!" before realizing, nope, that's someone else. Only two other people live in our building, but when I'm home alone, every little noise makes me nervous, & there's a lot of lock-rechecking.

2. Order delivery, like, daily

Mike does the cooking, & I do the cleaning. Iam capable of preparing food, & when he goes out of town, he tries to set me up with some options for his time away, but still I usually end up ordering Indian food from GrubHub & vegan pizza from UberEats. Oops/yum.  

3. Clean like a madwoman 

I know, I get wild & crazy when I'm home alone! Mike has a tendency toward messiness, so when he's away, I take the opportunity to go a little nuts with the cleaning. I feel like I have more time to do it when it's out of town, & I know it won't get messed up again right away. I love having a few days of my preferred level of neatness. 

4. Wear pajamas all day

I can get away with this because I work from home, but usually I at least make an effort to look nice, knowing Mike will be home at the end of the day. I put on real clothes, do my hair, wear lipstick... but when I get a few days to myself, I'm known to wear comfy, cozy clothes, like, the entire time.

5. Get gross

When I have the house to myself, I burp as loudly as I want & revel in the freedom of peeing with the door wiiiiiide open. Ain't nobody here to see or hear or be disgusted by me! Um... wait, please tell me I'm not the only one who does this?

7. Indulge in long self-care routines

Mike falls asleep fast, so if I want to head bed when he does, I don't have much time to spare. When I fly solo, though I take long showers, do face masks, put on argan oil & body lotion, breathe in essential oils, wear my robe around the house, & in other words become a total hippie. 

6. Go to bed super late

I tend to lose track of time in the evenings; I've never been a morning person, but I could easily stay up until 4am if it were acceptable at age 32. When Mike's home, I try to go to sleep when he does, but when he's away, the clock ceases to exist. I intend to go to bed by 10:30pm & usually hit the 1:00am mark instead. 

8. Pray (or something like it)

When I was a kid, I talked aloud to God every night; now I mostly just talk to the universe - a "just in case" kinda thing, like being my own therapist. I'm agnostic these days, but on nights when I fall asleep alone, I still sometimes whisper up a quick conversation to the universe.  

9. Sleep like a freaking rock

I don't sleep very well these days, in part because Mike snores. He feels terrible about it, I know, & earplugs usually help mitigate it, but when he's out of town, I confess, I sleep like I've been drugged, minus the drugs. It's a beautiful thing.

Your turn! If you live with your significant other, I'd love to hear what single-lady (or dude!) behaviors come out when you have the house to yourself. 
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Believeland

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

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I am sitting in a bar called The Treehouse in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, drinking beers with a guy I met on OKCupid. This is where we had our first date, but now, a month later, we're on date I-lost-count, & we've taken a $13 Uber here so we can both have more than a few PBRs in a can while we watch the Cavs dominate (please, please, please) the Hawks in game three.

We talk through most of the game, distracted by the company, but in the last seven minutes of this battle for game three of the Eastern Conference Finals, we turn our attention back to LeBron & the boys. The bar filled up while we weren't paying attention, & it's now teeming with Clevelanders donning their wine & gold, all eyes turned toward the TV mounted in the corner. We were lucky to have arrived early enough to score prime seats at the bar in what has become a standing-room-only space.

Watching the TV intently, some girl has her arm draped over the back of my chair, & I accidentally knock it off when I swivel for a better view of the screen. "I'm so sorry!" we exclaim in unison, laughing & giving each other the go-ahead to claim the spot. It is a comedy of polite errors, each of us out-friendlying the other. "You & that girl are exactly the same person," my date laughs, "so you should probably be friends with her." I look around the bar & think of all the people here who are like me, like us - gritty, gregarious Midwesterners with nasally A's who say "pop" instead of "soda" & wear their love of their state on their sleeve, often literally. (Truly, I've never seen a city full of so many people wearing hometown swag on an everyday basis - not just on game days.)

The end of this game is getting tense, & there is shouting, the bad kind, after a missed basket. There is hand-wringing & mouth-covering & profanity-muttering as, for a moment or two, the game becomes close & it looks like the Cavs might not pull it off - you know, as is customary. Briefly, I wonder what it will be like to be in a bar full of hopeful Clevelanders during a big loss, to start to grumble, "Hey, maybe next year" before this year has even finished; that's what we do, after all. But then, in the very last seconds of the game, there is victory. There is yelling & cheering & clapping & toasting & high-fiving with strangers.

And it is in this moment, surrounded by strangers & drunk on possibilities & PBR, that I realize: To be at a bar in Cleveland for a major Cavs win is the best possible reminder that home is exactly where I'm supposed to be, where I'm supposed to go, where I always knew I would end up. We call this "witnessing," but I guess you probably just call it "winning." And whether the Cavs do it this time or not, I feel like I already have.
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Why My Online Dating Profile is Incredibly (& Perhaps Even Detrimentally) Honest

Monday, May 11, 2015

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I don't like dating. I mean, does anyone like dating? I guess some people do, people who are extreme extroverts or sex addicts or both. Actually, a friend was just telling me about someone she knows who, upon being asked what she does for fun, responded, "I date."

I am not one of those people. I really like spending time alone, for one thing, & I find it difficult to convince myself to sacrifice an evening of Netflix & blogging to go out with a total stranger with whom I may or not get along. I'm also a nervous talker, which means that I will fill any void with my own chatter, just so we don't have to do that thing where one of us trails off & everything gets quiet. Unfortunately, the things I say when I'm nervous-talking are often the conversational equivalent of blacking out while drunk & later wondering, "What did I even do last night?"

Dating just makes me anxious, & on the whole, it seems like a waste of time, if only because it's never worked for me. All of my past relationships have sprung from existing friendships, & now that's my dating comfort zone - but also, I've run out of friends to date, & eventually that makes fun awkward social circles, anyway. I'd like to avoid that, if possible.

So, like every single millennial with love to give & dreams of finding The One (eye roll), I have asked my best friend to set me up. My best friend, of course, is The Internet; maybe you're acquainted?

Specifically, I rejoined OKCupid, that free online Rolodex of single-&-ready-to-mingle dudes within a 50-mile radius. I first opened my account in 2007, while I was living in D.C., & though I spent a significant amount of time browsing potential matches & answering the site's myriad personality questions, I only ever set up one date through it. (It went well, but it obviously didn't go anywhere, because here I am.)

Recently, I was poking around my profile & discovered this section where OKCupid tallies all your quiz responses &, I guess, pits you against other OKCupid users to tell you how you differ from them. Here's what it told me about myself:


I know the words are tiny, but I had to zoom way out to get a screencap of all the many things OKCupid had to say about my personality. Let's recap: Based on my answers to its quiz questions, a free dating site has determined that I am "more aggressive," "more sloppy," "less friendly to strangers" & "worse mannered" than its average user. To add insult to injury, it has deemed it appropriate to put such information in my profile so that potential dating prospects can see exactly how terrible I probably am. Oh, heyyyyy, fellas.

Seriously, what is this? I have smoked exactly two cigarettes in my entire life, so I'm not sure how that qualifies me to be "more drug-friendly." And does it actually call me "sexperienced"? I take umbrage with that, OKCupid. I'm a 30-year-old woman, damn it, stop making me sound like a sorority girl on spring break. And "less kind"? I mean, if I'm "less friendly to strangers," I guess it follows that I'd be relatively unkind, but neither of these things is true, I swear. Hot damn, I would never ask me out on a date based on this.

Yes, I am pretty independent (except for living with my mom right now...), & yes, I am pretty bad at math - OK, like, really bad. I'll give you those, OKC. But pretty much everything else is questionable.

I think the crux of the issue, though, is actually this: I am probably not this much worse than the general population of ladies looking for love on OKCupid. I think the real difference is that I am probably way more honest than the general population of ladies looking for love on OKCupid.

I know, you're supposed to put your best face forward on your online dating profile, right? Sure. And I do! I mean, my profile doesn't admit that I eat crackers & Brie for dinner three times a week or that I'm probably the worst driver you've ever met. It doesn't reveal that I can probably only accurately identify half of the U.S. states on a map, or that I sleep in torn-up Guantanamo Bay sweatpants. (Again: Heyyyyy, fellas.) Like everyone else on the Internet, I've tried to highlight my best attributes & use photos in which I do not look like a hideous demon.

But here's the thing: I also don't want to waste valuable could-be-spent-alone time going on dates with guys who are a total mismatch, guys who are expecting some version of me that doesn't exist. That's why my profile includes at least one requisite full body photo, so that if you're looking for a Victoria's Secret Angels body type, you know I'm not your girl. And it's the same reason that I answered the site's questions honestly - because I want to find somebody who's interested in going out with actual me, not a whitewashed version of me that pretends to be flawless so that you think I'm your ideal match until you meet me & realize you've been duped.

Over drinks a couple weeks ago, my date (got one!) noted that I actually look like my profile photos, which is apparently a somewhat uncommon online dating experience. "I don't want to trick anyone into going out with me," I told him, & he responded, "Sadly, I don't think a lot of women on OKCupid share your perspective there."

And that is sort of sad, really, because those women are end up going out with men with whom they have nothing in common. If you lie on your profile, you're going to end up on dates with people who are interested in a false version of you. That's fine, I guess, if you're just in it for awkward small talk & maybe a free dinner or two - but I've got Netflix to watch & crackers & Brie to eat, so I don't play that.

Now that I think about it, maybe OKCupid got something else right in its analysis of my personality: Maybe I am "more honest" than its average users. I swear I'm not, like, that aggressive or anti-exercise, though. Quit trying to ruin my game, Internet. I never had any game to begin with, so the joke's on you.

But I have another date tonight. So there.
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10 DC Guys We’ve All Dated, Seriously

Friday, August 23, 2013

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The DC blog Cloture Club (sweet Lord, is there a more DC name for a blog?) recently posted a piece called "10 DC Guys We've All Dated." Though I only lived in the District for three years & haven't lived there for nearly three years (oh my God), this piece gave me a laugh. I never felt like I dated much while I was living in the capital, but... 10 DC guys we've all dated, for real, including me.

I blogged last spring about "my now-defunct little black book," giving you an overview of what my DC dating life looked like pre-Nathan. All five guys profiled in that post will make an appearance in this one, so go check out that prequel if you want more backstory.

Without further ado:

  1. The Chill Republican Dude: At a birthday party at Vegas Lounge, I met Alex, a vaguely yacht-clubby Harvard grad who asked me to dinner. Over Thai food, he revealed he worked for the McCain campaign but was "mostly just a fiscal conservative" - who seemed appalled that I worked on LGBT issues & gun control. He also qualifies as #10, Really Important Guy, or so I know he thought, because name-dropping abounded. A close liberal friend later told me he knew Alex from college but didn't warn me away because he wanted to let me make my own decisions. Thanks?
  1. Gone-Every-Weekend Guy: Curiously, I didn't know any Gone-Every-Weekend Guys. Is it because everyone I know was really committed to livin' the wild & crazy D.C. life? Probably that.    
  1. Closeted Type-A Guy: The Non-Boyfriend was absolutely Closeted Type-A Guy. He was so laid-back! One time we made out on a dance floor! How Type-B of us! But also, he was more than a little OCD about everything (maybe in a clinical way) & often made me feel crappy about not being OCD about everything (or, well, anything). Basically, the Non-Boyfriend was far too intense to be a non-boyfriend but also far too intense to ever be my real boyfriend. And he worked on the Hill, so he definitely thought he was #10, Really Important Guy, too.
  1. Enigma Guy: Oh, I have two of these, does that count for double? The Bike-Riding Hipster & the Stoner-Turned-Soldier were both Enigma Guy! The former owned a house & had a great job but also had a tattoo of his home state & possessed a touch of wanderlust (in the middle of our possible interest in one another, he went to, like, Turkey or Hungary for a month). I'm pretty sure the latter, Stoner-Turned-Soldier, had a girlfriend the entire time we were hanging out, which would explain why he was a bit of an enigma. He was also the only one who was legitimately #10, Really Important Guy, because it's possible that he works for the FBI now? I sure dodged that weird life bullet!
  1. Outside-the-Beltway Guy: I wouldn't say I "dated" this guy, per se, but we were, uh, friends. He lived in Alexandria, came into the District on weekends, & repeatedly insisted that Old Town Alexandria was "cool" & worth visiting. To this day, I've never set foot in Alexandria, though I'm happy to report that this guy, now happily married, lives in Columbia Heights. Upgrade!
  1. From-Here Guy: The Wise Man was a From-Here Guy, though he was legitimately from there, not from some nearbyish part of Virginia. He, too, is now happily married & still lives in the District & still likes to rage about people who aren't from there & is still my friend, so I can't accuse him of (m)any of the shenanigans Cloture Club says should apply, but still. He's from there. 
  1. Lost Southern Guy: Johnny Fajitas, the boat-shoes-wearing Alabama grad with the perfect hair, has dual citizenship as Lost Southern Guy but also as From-Here Guy because, though he loved his adopted home in the Deep Douth, he was originally from Maryland. He was also a Chill Republican Dude, as he, too, was horrified by my chosen field (& by the fact that I'd once shaved my head - which told me plenty about him). His identity as Lost Southern Guy prevails, though, I believe he has since re-relocated back to the Heart of Dixie. 
  1. Clarendon Guy: I don't understand how Clarendon Guy & Outside-the-Beltway Guy are any different. This is the exact same person, at least in my book. 
  1. Organic Kale Guy: Come to think of it, Organic Kale Guy has definitely never been my type. Whew.
  1. Really Important Guy: I've mentioned at least three of these already, but let me simplify this one for you: Every single guy in the District of Columbia believes he is Really Important Guy. Nearly all of them, except for one, are wrong.
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Life Is Like a Box of Chocolates, Or Something: The Story of My First Kiss

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

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Sort of like this except not at all...
(Love you forever, JVDB.)
Technically, my first kiss came during a game of Truth or Dare after a friend's bat mitzvah. I don't remember the details because I got into an argument with my mother almost immediately afterward (such is the life of a 12-year-old girl)
& yelled something like, "If you'd just been nice to me, I would've told you that I had my first kiss tonight!" Alas, I was so angry about however the night ended that I seem to have forgotten everything else about it. So it doesn't count.

My real first kiss was with that same boy, who I had a crush on all through my time in religious school. All of the kids in my Sunday school & Hebrew school class were from different schools because each of us was from an area mostly devoid of Jews. Two of the boys, Jeff & Harrison, went to "real" school together, as did two of the girls, Jen & Amanda. Initially, there was another Jewish boy from my middle school in our class, too, but he dropped out somewhere along the way, & so I repped my hometown alone on Sundays & Thursdays when we all got together for pre-b'nai mitzvah training. There were other kids, too, but those four were my closest friends; our moms were friends, too, because that's how we Jews roll. Our time together, though often stressful & dramatic in its own way, was a welcome respite from the everyday stress & drama of being in seventh grade.

I won't embarrass any of the aforementioned individuals by using their names in the rest of this story, but suffice it to say that I had a fairly unrelenting crush on one of the boys in my class, the kind you have when you're 13 & have a diary & a lot of colored pens perfect for doodling your future married name on notebooks. I also had terrible self-esteem, convinced he was too cool for me & that no one of his caliber would ever think twice about me, much less want to kiss me, so there was much moping involved on my part. Somehow, though, because middle school is a wacky, miraculous place, we eventually started "going out," whatever that means. ("Where are you going?" my mom would ask. "You never go anywhere together!" Goshhhh, parents, they just don't get it, amirite?!)

The only place we really went was to his basement, but because we were 13 & "going out," we were of course not allowed to hang out solo. This means that although my first kiss took place in his basement while he & I were watching Forrest Gump together, it also means that two of our mutual friends were present, as well. After half a movie spent in the dark with his arm awkwardly around my shoulders, he leaned in & just sort of... went for it. Like, full tongue & everything, while our friends sat right in the same room, so enthralled by the talented Tom Hanks that somehow neither of them noticed what was happening. And in case that isn't impressive enough, consider this: I was wearing light khakis & an argyle sweatervest, & somehow, a cute boy still wanted to kiss me

I suppose it was a decent first kiss, as first kisses go, though largely without the magic & fairydust that I imagine is supposed to accompany them; it is perhaps for that reason that our game of tonsil-honkey was a one-time event, never to be repeated, & we broke up shortly thereafter. Though we are currently Facebook friends, we rarely interact, & there is no doubt in my mind that he has no recollection of this monumental occasion in my young life, because I don't think boys remember such things. Do they?!

As a post-script, my second (third?) kiss took place in the dark, twisty hallway of a haunted house with my first high school boyfriend, a Bolivian foreign exchange student who was a senior when I was a freshman. It was the first time I ever really swooned, which may have something to do with my lasting affinity for South American accents & Halloween.

This is the only picture I can find of me in middle school.
Sorry, Mom/self. You're welcome, everyone else.
______

This month, I'm participating in a writing group that Kristen of Aw, Shucks invited me to. Each day, we receive a writing prompt to follow, or not. I'm not doing all of the daily prompts, but I'm doing the ones that appeal to me. This prompt was "Write about your first kiss." 
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My Now-Defunct Little Black Book

Friday, May 25, 2012

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I told you guys you could ask me anything (you still can, BTW), & man, you really went for the juicy stuff. At least three people asked me what my dating life was like before Nate, & while I briefly pondered whether that was too personal & in the past, I ultimately decided that my stories were worth telling, if only because feel a lot of it is really relatable & rather funny.

I used to be fond of saying, "I don't date." I even wrote a whole blog post about it. Though I dated someone for six months in my mid-20s (which is a significant enough period of time that we were labeled by nearly everyone as "dating"), I refused to call him my boyfriend or to let him call me his girlfriend. For whatever reason, I always felt uncomfortable in relationships & using the terminology that accompanies them. And yes, I recognize that perhaps I need therapy.

Anyway, "I don't date" was mostly a lie. I felt convinced it was true, but in retrospect, I did a fair amount of dating. There was one bad JDate.com outing with someone who reminded me of my pal @MisterDisco but way gayer, & there was a friend with benefits who remains a friend but without the benefits. In fact, there are lots of stories to tell, many of them ending with my being unspeakably awkward. With my lovely boyfriend's blessing, let's recap some of the notables, complete with Tucker Max-style photos!

  • The Non-Boyfriend was a friend of a friend who I initially met through work. When I won a free happy hour at a skeevy bar on Valentine's Day of 2007, that mutual friend invited him to join us, & we kissed on the dance floor, which was plenty embarrassing because, hi, you're not in college anymore. Though he had very well-coiffed facial hair & was very nice, he was also very boring, & I stayed with him only because I knew we probably wouldn't ever speak again if we broke up, & I liked spending time with him. When I broke it off, though, he somehow turned the tables & made me feel like I'd been broken up with, telling me I was too distant & that he just wanted someone to, like, hang out in pajamas & watch movies with. The one time I saw him after that, he was with his now-fiancee (who has the same name as him) on the Metro, & he pretended like he'd never seen me before. Also, I later found out that none of my male friends liked him.

  • The Stoner-Turned-Soldier worked at my college dining hall & used to wink at me from across the room in our psychology class. We went on a few dates, whatever that really means in college, & then I became too unspeakably awkward for any of it to continue. Like, literally. You know how some people are so cool that they intimidate you such that you become unable to be yourself around them? We tried again when he moved to D.C., where I learned that he'd morphed from a pot-smoking hippie into a suit-wearing Patrick Bateman type, though just as charming as he was before. He wasn't interested in being in a relationship so much as he was interested in being aloof & stringing me along & pretending like he didn't have any idea that I was super into him. When he deployed overseas with the army, I wrote him a long, rambling letter detailing All Of My Feelings, & he never spoke to me again because I was a creeper.

  • I met Johnny Fajitas at a bar after an inauguration party. I was wearing a dress & everything! His friends & mine initially began chatting about a bear-sized man passed out on a barstool between our two groups, & we hit it off from there. He was far too attractive & vain to be interested in the likes of me, but we had similar senses of humor & endless conversational topics because we had just about nothing in common. He was essentially a southern frat boy - tan skin, boat shoes, Nantucket red pants, & all. We never identified as anything but people who hung out together on weekends, & when he learned that I'd been seeing someone else at the same time, he left my apartment in a fit of rage at 4am & never returned. No, really - he moved to Utah the next week, & I never heard from him again. He's now a successful TV news anchor. I told you he was attractive.

  • The Bike-Riding Hipster is the only guy I ever met from OKCupid in real life because I am too afraid of being abducted to trust Internet people. We went on The Best First Date Ever, to a bar & then to an impromptu Wheat show, but after a few dates, I did that thing where I became unspeakably awkward thing (see above), & he was like, "OK, no." We tried again one other time, but he was always out of the country for work, & eventually I started dating Nathan & moved away. I also forgot to mention that he looks a lot like my dad did in the '70s, so that's weird.

  • I approached The Wise Man at his birthday party, which I attended with our mutual friends, & the next day, he proudly told his friends he'd gotten my number, when really, it was the other way around but he had been too drunk to remember the details. He was way into me, & I was way awkward, & though we literally tried to date for maybe three years, it just never worked out. One time I broke it off in an email because apparently I am a cowardly asshole. The night of my going-away party in D.C., he told me that my inability to accept affection & be in a normal relationship taught him that he is, essentially, capable of better & more. I cried myself into dehydration when I got home that night, & he proposed to his girlfriend the next week.

If you read all of that, congrats: You have a champion attention span & are now an expert on my D.C. dating days. I should note that I still count those last two, The Bike-Riding Hipster & The Wise Man, among my current friends, because I'm a firm believer in hanging onto good people when you find them, even if not in the way you initially thought you might.

And hey, did I mention that I'm really lucky these days?


I believe it was John Mayer who said, "And when I look behind on all my younger times, I'll have to thank the wrongs that led me to a love so strong."
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Adventures in Speed-Dating

Friday, June 11, 2010

I went speed-dating.

Look, I'm not even going to preface it with anything, with some special, witty intro that makes you guess what weird & daring thing I did. Because you couldn't guess. Why would you ever guess speed-dating? Who actually goes speed-dating?

Me, it seems.

A friend got an email about it, an event sponsored by Politics Under 30 & Generation Obama for young Democratic adults, & ultimately, we decided there was no harm in trying it out - & that even if it went terribly, we'd get a good story out of it.

It wasn't that bad, honestly. In fact, it could have been kind of perfect for someone like me, someone who's not that fond of talking to strangers. You only have to talk to people for six minutes before the organizers ring a bell (or, in this case, dinged two teacups together) & you scoot on down to the next strapping young man (or, in this case, an array of mostly-entirely-unstrapping ones). Conversation goes a lot like this: "What do you do? .. Oh, cool, where are you from? ... Nice, how did you end up in DC?"

Even I can manage six minutes with a stranger who I'm guaranteed never to have to speak with again if I don't want to. I wish all of life worked like that.

Notice that I said "could have been kind of perfect," which is an indicator of what, kids? If you answered, "That it wasn't perfect," you'd be correct. Sadly, I ended up with a group of duds, including two guys who were too creepy in their compliments (please do not call me beautiful upon our first meeting), two who were recent college grads (cougartowwwwn), a few who were at least three inches shorter than me (I'm 5'5"), & a pair of less-than-conversational identical twins. I was relieved when I'd finished with the first, then two stops later, all I could think was, "ARE YOU KIDDING? I JUST DID THIS." Ding, round two.

If you're not familiar (& you shouldn't be), the way speed-dating works is that before you begin, you're given a number & a sheet of paper. After each six-minute conversation, you mark "yes" or "No" next to the number of the person you've just met with to determine whether you're interested in sharing your email address with them.

I marked yes for two people, but I've not gotten word from the organizers that anyone is interested in sharing their email addresses with me. I am either A) slightly disappointed, or B) massively relieved, though I haven't yet determined which.

Choose your own adventure?
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Kicking the Heart Out

Sunday, February 28, 2010

No one wants her blog to become a dating blog – unless it’s meant to be a dating blog, of course, which mine isn’t. And even then, no one wants her dating blog to become a woe-is-me blog. And no one, blog or not, wants her life to be viewed as some lonely, sad, desperate search for a significant other. All these in mind, you'll please forgive me for a minute if I unload on you; I suspect a few of you can relate, which feels reason enough to write.

I firmly believe, as many other do, that you shouldn’t necessarily go out searching for "significant others" (a phrase I despise because a lot of my life's others feel fairly significant). Sure, maybe you should ask your male friends if they know anyone with whom you might be compatible, or give OKCupid a whirl, or do a whole host of other things I’ve certainly never tried before… Ahem… Where was I? Oh. There’s nothing wrong with taking a look around, but finding the Beckham to your Posh Spice should not be so essential or so trite that you should – or should be able – to force-find it. It’s not soul-searching; it’s actual person-searching, & too many people settle for people who aren’t their person just because they’re so caught up in the looking.

At some point, though – maybe a few points – every single woman gets a wee bit introspective. At some point, you notice that about 85% of your friends are coupled up & going on quadruple dates that you’re not invited to because you fly solo. At some point, you start to wonder whether life will look the same at 35 as it does at 25, if you’ll be forever looking & looking & looking & never finding. You start asking yourself questions like “Why haven’t I found anyone?” and “What’s wrong with me?” Luckily, my answers to those frustration-induced questions tend to be fairly rational & not all that depressing – I haven’t found anyone because it’s just not my time yet, and nothing is wrong with me. In fact, I think I’m a catch, a list of adjectives I could tick off touting my own glowing attributes.

Still, all this waiting is getting to be a drag. People come & go – friends are here & then they’re not, & I have a particular predilection for losing touch & fading into the background of people's minds. There are so few consistencies, & inconsistency is, frankly, lonely.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly off-kilter, I get nostalgic for the "olden days" of dating. Gone are the days of passing notes & hand-holding on the playground & "going out" with someone you never go anywhere with because you're 10. Gone, too, are the days of homecoming dates & first kisses & blind, angsty faith in love. And gone are the frat parties & college crushes & walks of shame. Now, the new normal is... well, a whole lot of nothing. I've been single for nearly four years, with a few time-killers in between that led to nothing but my re-realizing that I hate dating & that it feels like a waste of my time. The new normal is a lot of sitting, waiting, wishing, & doubting that legitimate butterflies actually exist past the age of, say, 20.

I've never been a girl particularly prone to falling in love. I'm not a romantic; I am not mushy. I never thought love would save me or change me or fix my problems. I don't believe in soulmates or "Love Actually." I believe that people give up, people leave, people change, people become something else, something unrecognizable, and I am forever skeptical of long-term love & my ability to be in it or on the receiving end of it. But I believe that there is someone out there, somewhere (hopefully somewhere geographically convenient & not in, like, Sochi or Turkmenistan) who will look past my bullshit cynicism & insist that I look deeper; someone who will be not only interested in but insistent upon loving me, & I him.

I want to end this on some complete note, something that leaves you saying, "Great! There was a moral to this story!" but I don't have one. This is it, this is all. I'm fine, I'm just feeling a little tired - tired of looking at the world through only my eyes, without anyone else beside me to teach me new perspectives. I'm tired of feeling perpetually second-fiddle, never meaningful enough to be anyone's first choice; similarly, I'm tired of meeting people who are never my first choice. My needs are simple: I want to mean the most to someone who means the most to me. And I want to know how long it's going to take to get there.

“When will then be now?”
“Soon.”

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It's a Small City, After All

Friday, June 12, 2009

4 comments
As of July 2008, the Population Division of the U.S. Census Bureau reported that 591,833 people inhabit the District of Columbia.

That's a lot of people, right?

So tell me why it's so damn easy to run into the handful of folks I don't want to see? Actually, scratch that. Why is it so easy to run into anyone? If they live next door to me or something, OK, I get it - I'm gonna see 'em again. But folks who live in different neighborhoods should have a fairly low chance of running into... well, folks who live in different neighborhoods!

I'm always amazed when I end up on the same train car as anyone I know. Of all the lines, of all the trains, of all the cars, of all the moments, what are the odds of bumping into somebody you've got ties to? It's a big city, & I'm inclined to feel like the odds should be way lower than they are in my mini-city of an Ohio hometown, where I'm likely to run into my entire 383-person graduating class on a single Friday evening spent on the Riverfront.

Yet it happens all the time here. Sometimes it's a positive thing: "OMGZ, Girl-I-Used-to-Intern-With, I haven't seen you in forevs, let's be BFF, kthxbai!" or "Heyyy, Guy-I-Took-to-My-Sorority-Formal, fancy meeting you at the Big Hunt on a Tuesday eve!"

And sometimes, well, it's not.

Take today, for example. I'm running a little late, which is par for the course of my life, yet I am fortunate enough to hop onto a Metro train within one minute of my arrival upon the Cleveland Park platform. Jammin' out to my newly made "Stuff No One Knows" mix on the old iPhone, I take a seat & am headed for work.

But now, I retract my usage of the word "fortunate." Sitting directly across from me is a couple, holding hands & talking cute & nuzzling a little bit. Not one for PDA, mine or yours, I sort of roll my eyes & go back to the indie rock - but wait! I know one half of that couple.

My ex-boyfriend. And his presumably new girlfriend.

"Oh, hey," I say. He nods. She does not acknowledge my presence; she also probably has no idea who I am. Can I even use the term "ex-boyfriend" if, for six months, I refused to use the word "boyfriend"? Oy.

I return to the music, for realz this time, but with infinitely more awkwardness.

Big city, indeed.
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The JDate Disaster: My $120 Mistake

Sunday, May 31, 2009

16 comments
Back in December, I was feeling slightly sad & single. Like many sad, single folks around the holiday season, I began to lament my singledom & as a result fell prey to an offer from JDate.com, the Jewish dating website, which is fairly popular (though I use that term loosely) among Jewish young professionals, especially in big cities. Anyway, they offered a "one week free" special over Chanukah, & I took the bait.

But then I remembered a few things:
A) Online dating is lame.
B) I personally confirmed that online dating is lame by going on one JDate date last summer; it was a huge bust.
C) I hate small talk, which is an online dating staple.
D) Most guys on JDate are schmucks. Or I am a schmuck.
E) And so on & so forth, all the way through the alphabet.
Thus, I opted not to renew my "subscription" to JDate, if you can even call it that, canceling the auto-renew function, which is a bullshit function to begin with. I didn't think about or log in to JDate again for months.

In April, I logged into JDate again & was surprised to find that the email feature worked (one that's only available to paying members). Figuring it must be a glitch, I utilized it to read old messages random Jew-boys had sent me, & then I didn't log in to JDate again. Now, a month later, I still haven't.

Now, I've certainly heard JDate horror stories before, but they typically involve sketchy boys & bad sex. This, however, is a nightmare of a different variety: Today, I spotted a $39.99 charge on my debit card. The money-taker? Why, JDate, of course! I immediately put in a call to corporate, where I was told that because I logged into my account in April & didn't call to ask why I had access to premium features, I wasn't eligible for a refund of any more than one month.

After much anger on my part & much patronization on the part of Amanda, the JDate supervisor I spoke with, I haggled my refund up to two months. But:
A) That's not good enough. They should at least refund me until I first logged into JDate in April.
B) This is highway robbery. It was clear to them I had no idea I'd been subscribed to their services for five months.
C) This woman literally played into every nasty stereotype about Jews & money, but I couldn't bring myself to say so.

I'm going to call back tomorrow to speak to someone else about getting the third month back, someone who I haven't already lost my cool on. I requested that they cancel all my JDate affiliations, deleting my account in its entirety, & I have now committed myself to proclaiming the ills of JDate to every single Jew I've ever met. Either maintain a free account or go out & meet some people in real life: Do NOT give these jerks your credit card information!

And yes, I realize that the OTHER moral of this story is that I should monitor my bank statements better. As JDate Amanda so kindly reminded me, "It's your own responsibility to keep track of your financial activity." Thanks, Mom. Actually, even my mom wasn't that obnoxious when I told her the story. But you can bet I'll be keeping a much closer eye on my meager finances from now on, lest JDate or any other auto-renew criminals try to pull one over on me again.

If only I could put as much passion into trying to find my besheret as I have into being furious with JDate...
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TMI Thursday: This City is Full of Ugly People in Excellent Relationships

Thursday, May 21, 2009

7 comments
I'm giving TMI Thursday a try, though I refuse to be wholly embarrassing, at least not yet. I will, however, try to stretch my limits a little bit by blogging about things I wouldn't typically say.

First things first: I attempt not to discuss my love life here. That's partially because I have absolutely no love life to discuss & partially because I'm not much of a public sharer, despite my penchant for tweeting, talking, gossiping. Yes, I recognize that all aspects of my personality ought to point to my being a public sharer, but it's simply not the case. I did talk about my Johnny Fajitas fling, if only briefly, because the nickname "Johnny Fajitas" was way too good to keep from you guys, but that's been the extent.

Anyway: I'm also not big on vulgarity. I like to swear when it gets the point across, which is fairly often, but I tend to shy away from words that reference genitalia. They feel inappropriate & make me uncomfortable, & I assume they make my grandmother & my boss uncomfortable, as well - & as we've determined in past posts, both of those folks read this blog. That said... god
damn it, do I love Speak On It's blog post today, genitalia vulgarity & all, about why she's still single in this city. Not for the faint of vocab, she writes:

When I look at people all bunned up in a relationship with baby #3 on the way that are 4 years younger than me, there are a few thoughts that run through my head.

1 - Well goddamn who the fuck decided to stick their dick in that thing at least FOUR FUCKING TIMES to make a NEW PERSON?
2 - How in the hell did they land a husband and I’m still single?! It must be the head. She HAS to be giving good head. Because duh.
3 - Aw, I want a husband and a house and 2.5 kids with a dog and a yard with a garden and the picturesque bullshit idea of a family life that we all love to cling to.

This is typically my train of thought upon running into young couples, as well, though such thoughts increase exponentially upon my encountering couples that don't seem to match. You know what I mean. This week, for example, I met a really unattractive woman. I also met her particularly attractive husband. And listen, don't give me your "It's not always about looks!" bullshiz. What are you, my kindergarten teacher? I know looks aren't everything. I get that. I'm down with that. And as a fairly average-looking individual myself, I very much rely on that cliche principle to assist me in landing hotter-than-average members of the opposite sex.

That couple I mentioned meeting, though, is, interestingly, not an anomaly here in the District. In fact, this city is teeming with mismatched couples just like them. Couples that are half Angelina Jolie & half Drew Carey. Half Pierce Brosnan & half Susan Boyle. Half Carrie Prejean & half Skeletor. (On second thought, I'll take the Skeletor half of that combo, please. This is one example in which the "personality trumps all" card really comes into play). And every time I spot one of these bafflingly mismatched couples, I have to admit that my thought process is typically as follows:
  1. "Wow, that attractive [insert gender here] must be really open-minded, accepting & kind."
  2. "Wow, that brutally unattractive [insert gender here] must be really effing charming and/or manipulative."
What are these attractive folks thinking? And what are these ugly folks doing to land them? More importantly, which side do I take advice from? And WHY ARE THEY ALL IN D.C.?
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My Blogskillz Bring All the Boys to the Yard...

Thursday, October 16, 2008

1 comment
The glory that is Google Analytics allows me to browse the Google keywords that cause people to stumble upon my little blog. Some of them are, frankly, incredible. I love it. Ready? Commentary included, of course!
  • "jdate" (Lonely, single Jews searching for their soulmates.)
  • "sara jay" (Fans of the porn star I met on my birthday hoping for nudie pics)
  • "1 br dupont circle" (Folks looking to move into one-room shacks like mine)
  • "bar-b-quin with my honey" (Someone looking for Rap Snacks!)
  • "bow tied men" (A lady interested in classy gents)
  • "bow to men" (Some subservient woman?)
  • "buckeyes for boobies shirt" (I HAVE NO IDEA. How is this relevant to me?)
  • "cinematic concepts in goodbye lenin!" (College film major)
  • "city wife" (How did you get to ME? My apologies.)
  • "class of spiders daddy longleg where dose it hange out" (Some poor arachnophobe)
  • "day time hooker" (Governor Elliott Spitzer)
  • "feel the power between my legs" (Armageddon fan... or huge perv)
  • "four and a half punctuation" (A grammarian led astray)
  • "glenmont metro and tow" (Some sad Marylander with a broken down vehicle)
  • "is there a city name sweetheart" (Someone hoping I constitute an entire city)
  • "metacarpal contusion" (Some sad sack with a broken hand who hopefully has quieter neighbors than I had)
  • "musical metro" (Not sure... but they no doubt ended up with the story of my attempted murder last autumn)
  • "my sweet babe" (Sweet-talker)
  • "navy wife" (Again with the wives flocking to me for reasons unknown...)
  • "ohio porn stars" (More Sara Jay seekers?)
  • "palin" (There's no way I'm even in the top 1,000 results for this, so someone was REALLY dedicated in terms of vetting their Google results on this one.)
  • "porn star jan b" (PERVS LOVE ME)
  • "sex" (See my comments for "Palin," incidentally)
  • "she makes the city seem like home" (Anberlin fan! Emo kid!)
  • "sole decision" (Someone looking for shoes?)
  • "sweetheart coffee cincinnati" (Beats me.)
  • "sweetheart cupcake i'll be there for sure" (Beats me, part two.)
  • "the machinist schizophrenia" (Christian Bale fan. Or someone with a mental illness. Whichev.)
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The Opposite Sex and the City

Monday, October 6, 2008

3 comments
Things I do not like about the District include the level of difficulty of meeting people in "the real world" that is this city. Don't get me wrong, I'm blessed with some really great friends -- but I'm mostly a hermit in my small, kitchenless apartment (the Unabomber's shack is looking more & more luxurious every day). I mean, how's a girl supposed to meet anyone, much less a suitable suitor (redundancy?) in a city like this?

In typical Jewish mother fashion, my Jewish mother says I made a smart choice in moving here rather than to the Big Apple because some news article (that I've yet to read, so it may not exist) told her the District is a better place for young adults to meet their soulmates or something. Now, while I agree that I am not a New York City kinda gal (for many reasons, not just its inability to provide me with the future love of my life, but including & not limited to the presence of the Mitzvah Tank), I've gotta say -- this is a load of crap. Who wrote that? And how did they research it? And what uber-social, well-connected individuals were they interviewing? Because as a D.C. hermit with questionable social skills, I find the results of this poll or experiment or whatever it was to be highly unbelievable.

As a sidenote, if anyone responds to this post by telling to join JDate, I will kick you in the fingers so that you can no longer leave comments here. Seriously.
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Overzealousness & Unreturned Communications

Saturday, September 1, 2007

1 comment
Federalism Boy has called me three times & texted me four.

I don't know why I expected big-city dating to be any easier than small-town dating.


(PS: I accidentally wiped out my whole formatting. Does anyone remember what color any of my shit was before? Everything looks ugly now! Help?)
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Unwanted Compliments & Phone Numbers I Will Never Dial

Friday, August 24, 2007

1 comment
I am on my way to the Metro, walking past the CVS in Dupont Circle, & I am not dressed in any particularly spectacular way - skinny jeans that sometimes make me look fat, with a lacy white top & a black "vest" & Chinese Laundry heels. I wear massive, cheap sunglasses that overwhelm my face & carry a massive, utilitarian bag that overtakes my body. A man in jeans & a paint-splattered T-shirt is walking my way, a nondescript man I wouldn’t have otherwise taken note of if not for this: As our paths cross, Average Man lowers his sunglasses, tipping them at the bottom so he can look me in the eye. I avoid his gaze, but as he passes me, he quickly says, very loudly, “Niiiice, baby.” And then it’s over, & I have passed this Average-Yet-Creepy Man, who has somehow made me feel exceptionally ugly & violated using only two words.

Outside my rail station, I ask two conversing bus drivers which port I ought to be waiting at if I want to catch bus 51. “Down that road, honey, that way,” says Light-Eyed Hispanic Driver, who is probably not much older than I am. Middle-Aged Black Driver says no, LEHD is lying, 51’s port is right in front of me, & am I new in town? Yes, I say, from Ohio, & they both recount to Ohio towns they've visited – Youngstown, Cincinnati, Warren, Orville. They know Akron; LeBron has turned the Rowdy into something legendary, for now. Middle-Aged Black Driver tells me he wants to give me his phone number, & when I ask why, he says something unintelligible, something about CDs. For some reason, I record this in my phone under the label “CD,” although I’m never going to call this random, middle-aged bus driver who is old enough to be my father, if my father were, you know, black. As long as MABD doesn’t ask for mine, I figure this is an okay situation; I’ll never call anyway, & if he asks for my number, I will lie. If he calls it while I’m standing there, I will be screwed. I mentally cross my fingers against this potential occurrence; he gives me his number & walks away to take a phone call.

Light-Eyed Hispanic Driver tells me his name is Hector, & do I like clubs or bars? Not clubs, I tell him, but I do bars sometimes. Nothing is open in Maryland late at night, he tells me, and weekends here suck – you have to go into the city for a good night out. If I want to go out sometime, to a bar & not a club, Hector says, I should call him. He gives me his number &, like MABD, doesn’t ask for mine, thankfully. And just like MABD, he walks away to take a phone call, waving at me as I head off to port 51, confused by this entire encounter.

I need to learn to avoid strangers. Entirely.
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