He's not bad looking, he's a nice guy, and he seems to adore you. And yet, you can't help but treat him like an irritating cowlick -- always in your hair and unable to do anything right. You find yourself making fun of his friends, his clothes, his hobbies and his habits and you hate yourself for it. What's going on? You're dating a "Doormat Man".
Most everyone finds themselves in one of these relationships at some point in a dating history. It starts like this: an arid, dune-filled dating landscape stretches before you when a guy whose best virtue is that he's available turns up. As he's courting you by reciting the story line from last night's "Seinfeld", you're playing badminton with the idea of going out with him. "Maybe," you think. "Naw. Well, maybe. Naw!" Prospects look otherwise grim and hey, at least he's not married you think. So you give him your number, half hoping he won't use it, but knowing that within 72 hours, you'll get that call.
Getting the first call from a new man is one of the most exhilarating experiences in a woman's life -- most of the time. But when this guy's voice comes over the line, all that goes through your head is: "what was I thinking? Should I pretend that whoever he thinks he's calling moved out, why, just yesterday?" But you're a "nice" person. You can't do that. So you settle in for ten minutes of hemming and hawing on his part (you're filing your nails) before he can get to the BIG question. If you're in a charitable mood you might offer, "Yes, actually, I like Jonathan Demme movies too." While he takes that opening and runs with it though, your idle mind turns to thoughts of good old Aunt Tillie who, as family lore has it, was saved from spinsterhood when she unexpectedly fell in love with dull, reliable Ralph (now "Uncle" Ralph), a somewhat lumpy suitor who pursued her relentlessly for years until he finally won her heart. And then it occurs to you that Aunt Tillie was 2 years younger than you are now, when it finally happened.
"O.K.," you interrupt, "Sure. I think I'd enjoy that," you say to whatever he's come up with. And even as you hang up the phone, you wonder at the mysteries of womankind who accept dates from men they really don't want to go out with.
Women are by nature, charitable, sympathetic, nurturing creatures whose first instincts are to soothe and comfort. So it must be said that when we accept that first date from someone who we know is never going to win our heart (nay, not even score too well against it), we always have THE BEST INTENTIONS. Perhaps our first impression was wrong, we think, giving the fellow the benefit of a host of doubts. Maybe I'll learn to love him, we speculate. Maybe he's got a sense of humor á là Billy Crystal in "When Harry Met Sally". Maybe he'll gain more confidence when he sees me in broad daylight.
And sometimes, we're evil and think: Maybe he's got a brother...
"Gee, you look great," he offers hopefully when you open the door, and the strangest kind of irritation wells up in you. It's not that you don't appreciate the compliment (any compliment), it's just that you really want to tell him, "Please don't try so hard!" But he doesn't know how not to try so hard. And you, with nothing better on your dance card, fighting your crawling skin, see him for the second time, and then a third, and soon, you find yourself transformed from mild-mannered nice girl into SUPER WITCH.
He's created a monster and you are she. You find yourself committing every crime in the Code of Dating Ethics and inventing a few new ones. You don't ever really listen to him (and yet you've always been such a "good listener"). You don't bother to conceal flirting with virtually anyone else who might be handy. You drop the phone three times per call because you're juggling two other tasks while he hangs on the other end. You've been "too tired" to have him up to your apartment for the last two months.
Strange, petty things about him drive you nuts. "Do you always have to blink that way?" you ask him, not really as a question. But instead of calling you on it: "And how would you like me to blink, your highness?", he apologizes. "Gosh, sorry!" he offers. "I'll try not to blink like that anymore." And now, for some reason, you're really mad.
When you socialize with a couple like this, you spend all your time cringing. Out for dinner with the gang, they sit across from each other, he, staring at her adoringly, reminds you of a lovesick seal. Meanwhile, she's flirting madly with the men on either side of her, and the 16 year old bus boy. Her date asks a question in an attempt to join the conversation and she rolls her eyes. He laughs at one of her jokes and she rolls her eyes. You haven't seen so much eye-rolling since Linda Tripp said she was "just trying to be a friend". You can't help but wonder why he puts up with it. It's almost as if she (or we, if we're in such a relationship), is purposely being outrageous, trying somehow to provoke him into... something! Defending himself, yelling at her, walking out and slamming the door.
On the surface of our thoughts when we're the ones doing the eye-rolling, we're thinking, "What does it take to get this guy to tell me to jump off a cliff?" But deeper inside us, in that reasonable self hunkered down in social hibernation, another voice asks, "Why am I being so mean?" Every evening we say goodnight to this guy with a sigh of relief and an hour later, the bad feelings start rolling in -- guilt for treating him so badly, and anger, at him, for letting us. The truth is that we're angry at him for letting us be the worst we can be, instead of the best.
A good relationship provides more than companionship. The best of them make us feel good about ourselves, glad to be with someone who is, in many respects, the half that makes us whole. Those cheery older couples who refer to one another as "my better half" are speaking of a symmetry in their lives that calms them when they're threatening to strangle the neighbor; that offers an objective opinion when the handmade birdhouse turns out looking more like a dish drainer; that reminds them that they're more wonderful than they know, or not as wonderful as they think, whichever they need to hear.
When a prospective partner can't provide that symmetry for us, our inner ogre comes out, beats up the Helen Hunt side of us, and turns into the playground bully. Oddly enough, bullying makes such men try even harder. They become kinder, even more gentle and more obsequious than ever. They turn into "Doormat Men". Exactly the wrong approach. When you look at them, all you see is a quivering dessert. You find yourself humming "J-E-L-L-O" during conversational breaks. What self-respecting person, you marvel, would allow his girlfriend to treat him so, well, disrespectfully?
Therein lies the answer. A man (and of course, this applies equally to a woman) who "takes" such treatment, probably does not have much respect for himself. He may feel he deserves to be treated like a sock hamper because he thinks he's somehow unworthy. He may have grown up in a household where he became the whipping boy for an unhappy, angry parent. Or he might have been the always unfavorably compared brother to a sibling who was the "star" of the family. Sometimes just having been largely ignored during childhood shapes a personality that expects to be ignored; an invisible person for whom any attention, whether positive or negative, is better than none.
So now we find ourselves in such a relationship, and wonder about our options. We can end it and throw ourselves back into the pool of wandering, dispossessed single women, staggering through cities, arms upraised like something out of "Night of the Living Dead", or we can stop and reevaluate. Life is short (as women who have wondered if they'll have one more date before they die are well aware of). If we meet someone who cares for us, this is a good thing. A real thing.
Think once again of "Aunt Tillie". She lived the dating life that, demographically doesn't look likely for this generation of women. And yet, she settled for good old Ralph. Take a second look at your boring beau. What would happen if you treated him honestly, told him what you were thinking, kindly? You know, a bird in the hand... might just be the falcon we're searching for.
If after reconsidering him and being honest with him, he still wants to bring you your slippers in his mouth, maybe you should bail out while his ego and your image of yourself as a "nice person" are still intact. But perhaps you can forge a new relationship. After all, something about him made you say yes to that first date (apart from the fact that he asked you!). And maybe someday, in a not too distant future, Aunt Tillie and Uncle Ralph will be dancing at your wedding!
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Sunday, October 25, 2015
Horoscopes For September 2015
HOROSOPES FOR ALL THE GODDESSES THAT WE ARE
By DEB VICTOROFF
#36 in a series (Oct. 2015):
1) ATHENA - the Smart One Who Never Got The Guys Until She Got Contacts (March 21-April 19)
It’s the end of the summer and you find yourself obsessing about the 14 pounds remaining from your goal to lose 15 when you started your diet in June. Your exercise sessions with your personal trainer did not go as expected (he expected you to show up: you did not), and so a new plan is in the works. You resolve to watch what you eat, and this does not mean, as it has in the past, watching how high you can mound your plastic plate at the few remaining barbecues left this season, nor adding up the slices of pizza and dividing the number of people to determine how many slices you can take and still be invited to the next kid’s birthday party. Losing weight takes only two things: determination and unfiltered cigarettes, so get yourself a pack and get to work.
2) JUNO - the One Who Says She's Happily Married (April 20-May 20)
September brings the lower humidity that Juno loves, as well as a hairstyle that doesn’t require she turn sideways when entering or leaving a room. Seriously; how much product can one put in one’s hair before becoming a fire hazard? This summer was particularly bad, when Juno was invited to a party and retreated to the bathroom to look in the mirror after one guest attempted to put his glass on her head and play her teeth, thinking she was a piano. A short haircut might be just the thing for next summer or perhaps a wig made of fiber optic cable.
3) APHRODITE - the Impossibly Thin-Thighed (May 21-June 21)
September is the time of the year that the kids return to school, unfortunately right on a path that runs through your backyard. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were quiet and respectful but kids these days are loud and armed and will kill you if you ask them to “keep it down”. In fact if you try to be subtle by putting a finger to your lips and saying “shush”, a 3rd grader will launch a rocket-propelled grenade into your garage. You might try to fence in your back yard or perhaps dig a deep hole and fill it with sharpened stakes but the last guy who did this had an unflattering movie made about him and had to move anyway. Patience is a virtue, as is having a big mean dog.
4) DIANA - the Bargain Hunter (June 22-July 22)
The 9th through the 24th will be mild with winds from the northeast causing unseasonably cool weather and the occasional freak rain of frogs. This will be of little note or concern to Diana unless of course she’s the meteorologist for the local news in which case, she’s got a lot of explaining to do. For the rest of the Dianas, the abundance of frogs will simply make their kids’ science projects a delightfully simple proposition, testing the theory of the number of frogs it takes to fill up a convertible if the top is left down, which was a trick question on the early version of the SATs if we can recall. Use this opportunity to learn more about the natural world and prepare for the “end of days”.
5) DEMETER - the Condom Bearer (July 23-August 22)
A distant relative asks you if he can borrow money. The wisdom of loaning money to this guy who throws money away the way Rush Limbaugh does words, in his attempt, like a boy with a crush, to get President Obama to look his way, is questionable, even if you are a Republican and have a lot to spare. There will always be some people who cannot handle money and should be kept to an allowance, or penned in a small room where they are fed and watered and watched by benevolent hosts. You may recall the last time you lent money to a family member, they said they were using it for school and ended up buying a 62” flat screen TV and they still won’t invite you over to watch “Mad Men”. Practice saying “No” or “Yes” with 15% interest.
6) VESTA - the Lover of Laundry (August 23-September 22)
This month brings a health crisis you were not expecting and which is both painful and painfully embarrassing. Since you live in the United States, you most likely don’t have a job, and also since you live in the U.S. you also don’t have health insurance. Head over to the local emergency room, or if that hospital has closed (due to bankruptcy as a result of free treatment of those without insurance), there’s always the free clinic, or if that has also closed (due to bankruptcy), then ask one of your friends if she has any left-over penicillin from that time in Cancun. Cooler heads prevail in the Health Insurance debate and you can rest assured you will be covered in time for your funeral.
7) PERSEPHONE - the One Who Never Wears White After Labor Day (September 23-October 23)
Happy Birthday Persephone! In this day and (your) age perhaps it’s time to give up on your archaic stand against wearing white after Labor Day, particularly since the public is just grateful when women wear clothes that cover their lower abdomens and men wear clothes that cover their lower extremities. You never thought you’d see the day when young men who wanted very much to be considered “tough” would actually pull their own pants down and wander the streets as if they’d been recently humiliated at the playground or were trying to get into a fraternity with an especially cruel initiation. What happens when these young men go dancing you wonder, let alone climb stairs or retrieve objects on top shelves? You become intensely grateful that you are as old as you are and that the men in your age-appropriate category still keep their underwear an uninvited guest until you request its presence.
8) LEDA - the Wearer of Tu Tus (October 24-November 21)
The 10th through the 17th offer a window of opportunity in which to make amends for an overreaction to a friend’s irresponsible act. Even though that friend continually leaves you standing on street corners waiting for them, their cell phone ignoring your rings until it starts raining and you don’t have an umbrella and the place you guys chose to meet doesn’t have an awning or anything so you’re not only wet, but freezing and still she doesn’t pick up and then you think maybe she got into some terrible accident or met foul play because that could really be the only reason not to pick up her phone when you made plans tonight, for God’s sake, and so now you are thinking maybe you should call her parents, but you don’t have their number, and you think the battery on your phone is going to die anyway, so after 45 minutes on the corner you head home, in a state of deep anxiety and don’t hear from that friend until she calls you a day later, and says, “Hey, how are you?” and you say, “Where were you last night” and she goes, “Oh, I must’ve forgot, I was cleaning my apartment.” If you want to make amends it’s up to you, but just to let you know, the 18th through the 28th are for building additional deep and seething resentment. Your call!
9) ECHO - the One With All the Good Gossip (November 22-December 21)
Keep your dreams alive by acting on them. Whether your dream is to meet that cute guy in your writing class or to sleep with that other guy you met earlier in the writing class; whether you want to finish your PhD or finish vacuuming up the kitty litter in the bathroom, you should be able to fulfill all your dreams with hard work and perseverance. Your mother always used to tell you this, but who listens to their mothers, and she had no idea when she said that, that you were thinking of getting your tongue pierced, and brother did she change her tune when you fulfilled THAT dream! But whether you dream of scaling Mt. Everest or climbing a step-ladder and finally figuring out what the hell’s in that box hidden in the back of the closet, don’t let anyone say “no” to you. Unless of course that particular box is in your boyfriend’s apartment, in which case we predict that fulfilling this particular dream will turn into a nightmare.
10) PANDORA - the One Who Always Overpacks (December 22-January 19)
Your job has got you stressed out and filled with anxiety. Although you asked for this position last year, they’ve only just now decided to give it you, after slashing the budget in half and laying off about 2/3rds of your co-workers, especially the ones who were really fun and who knew all the best YouTube videos which everyone used to send to each other and sometimes would gather around one guy’s desk to watch together after lunch. Have the higher ups recognized you as the responsible one, who was often the first to say, “Hey, maybe we should finish that report…”, or the unpopular one, who no one would ever listen to when you’d say stuff like that? You should realize that whatever your boss sees in you, your co-workers resent the fact that you got the promotion. No more “Wedding Dance” videos for you!
11) PSYCHE - the Headcase (January 20-February 18)
The 23rd is a great day for finding love; whether it means rekindling an old romance or initiating a new one, keep your eyes open for the signals that mean you are about to make a connection. Sometimes we’re blind to the signs that others are sending to us, whether those signs involve shy glances or loud explosions in which all the windows of the nearby buildings are blown out, one must always be aware of the ways in which potential mates try to claim our attention. Perhaps the guy who just dropped his whole plate of pasta on the way back from the buffet meant for you to look up, particularly since he dropped the pasta on your head. Now’s the time for you to wipe the red sauce out of your eyes and exchange a soulful glance with him, unless of course he meant to impress the girl with the enormous breasts sitting behind you, who seems to be laughing a little too hard for someone with such a flimsy bra.
12) PHOEBE - the Unlikely Sit-Com Star (February 19-March 20)
Phoebe is stunned when this month, a Republican Senator says something that makes sense, offering it up in a professional and courteous way, listing his reasons in a polished and cogent argument that reflects a good deal of research, solid facts, and an admirable grasp of the issue. His stand is something that is both intelligent and forward thinking, as well as clearly aware of years of American history on this topic… oh, wait a minute. Saturn and Neptune are totally fucking with us. This is about as likely as Phoebe having sex with George Clooney, and Phoebe is not even interested in George Clooney! Saturn and Neptune have got to come up with a new bit. Seriously you guys. No one was ever gonna fall for that.
Bonus Horoscope (for those who didn't like their own sign)
13) THALIA - the Upper West Side Theater (aka the Leonard Nimoy)
This month, the chickens come home to roost. This doesn’t necessarily mean you have to get a permit for a chicken coop but is just a figure of speech and refers to what happens when you fool around with your tennis instructor without finding out that his wife is the one who sets up the automatic ball feed thingy. You might want to wear a helmet to your Saturday session, and by the way, if in fact the chickens have come home to roost, and your instructor’s wife is in charge of the henhouse, what’s going to be coming at you from the ball feed won’t be tennis balls.
By DEB VICTOROFF
#36 in a series (Oct. 2015):
1) ATHENA - the Smart One Who Never Got The Guys Until She Got Contacts (March 21-April 19)
It’s the end of the summer and you find yourself obsessing about the 14 pounds remaining from your goal to lose 15 when you started your diet in June. Your exercise sessions with your personal trainer did not go as expected (he expected you to show up: you did not), and so a new plan is in the works. You resolve to watch what you eat, and this does not mean, as it has in the past, watching how high you can mound your plastic plate at the few remaining barbecues left this season, nor adding up the slices of pizza and dividing the number of people to determine how many slices you can take and still be invited to the next kid’s birthday party. Losing weight takes only two things: determination and unfiltered cigarettes, so get yourself a pack and get to work.
2) JUNO - the One Who Says She's Happily Married (April 20-May 20)
September brings the lower humidity that Juno loves, as well as a hairstyle that doesn’t require she turn sideways when entering or leaving a room. Seriously; how much product can one put in one’s hair before becoming a fire hazard? This summer was particularly bad, when Juno was invited to a party and retreated to the bathroom to look in the mirror after one guest attempted to put his glass on her head and play her teeth, thinking she was a piano. A short haircut might be just the thing for next summer or perhaps a wig made of fiber optic cable.
3) APHRODITE - the Impossibly Thin-Thighed (May 21-June 21)
September is the time of the year that the kids return to school, unfortunately right on a path that runs through your backyard. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were quiet and respectful but kids these days are loud and armed and will kill you if you ask them to “keep it down”. In fact if you try to be subtle by putting a finger to your lips and saying “shush”, a 3rd grader will launch a rocket-propelled grenade into your garage. You might try to fence in your back yard or perhaps dig a deep hole and fill it with sharpened stakes but the last guy who did this had an unflattering movie made about him and had to move anyway. Patience is a virtue, as is having a big mean dog.
4) DIANA - the Bargain Hunter (June 22-July 22)
The 9th through the 24th will be mild with winds from the northeast causing unseasonably cool weather and the occasional freak rain of frogs. This will be of little note or concern to Diana unless of course she’s the meteorologist for the local news in which case, she’s got a lot of explaining to do. For the rest of the Dianas, the abundance of frogs will simply make their kids’ science projects a delightfully simple proposition, testing the theory of the number of frogs it takes to fill up a convertible if the top is left down, which was a trick question on the early version of the SATs if we can recall. Use this opportunity to learn more about the natural world and prepare for the “end of days”.
5) DEMETER - the Condom Bearer (July 23-August 22)
A distant relative asks you if he can borrow money. The wisdom of loaning money to this guy who throws money away the way Rush Limbaugh does words, in his attempt, like a boy with a crush, to get President Obama to look his way, is questionable, even if you are a Republican and have a lot to spare. There will always be some people who cannot handle money and should be kept to an allowance, or penned in a small room where they are fed and watered and watched by benevolent hosts. You may recall the last time you lent money to a family member, they said they were using it for school and ended up buying a 62” flat screen TV and they still won’t invite you over to watch “Mad Men”. Practice saying “No” or “Yes” with 15% interest.
6) VESTA - the Lover of Laundry (August 23-September 22)
This month brings a health crisis you were not expecting and which is both painful and painfully embarrassing. Since you live in the United States, you most likely don’t have a job, and also since you live in the U.S. you also don’t have health insurance. Head over to the local emergency room, or if that hospital has closed (due to bankruptcy as a result of free treatment of those without insurance), there’s always the free clinic, or if that has also closed (due to bankruptcy), then ask one of your friends if she has any left-over penicillin from that time in Cancun. Cooler heads prevail in the Health Insurance debate and you can rest assured you will be covered in time for your funeral.
7) PERSEPHONE - the One Who Never Wears White After Labor Day (September 23-October 23)
Happy Birthday Persephone! In this day and (your) age perhaps it’s time to give up on your archaic stand against wearing white after Labor Day, particularly since the public is just grateful when women wear clothes that cover their lower abdomens and men wear clothes that cover their lower extremities. You never thought you’d see the day when young men who wanted very much to be considered “tough” would actually pull their own pants down and wander the streets as if they’d been recently humiliated at the playground or were trying to get into a fraternity with an especially cruel initiation. What happens when these young men go dancing you wonder, let alone climb stairs or retrieve objects on top shelves? You become intensely grateful that you are as old as you are and that the men in your age-appropriate category still keep their underwear an uninvited guest until you request its presence.
8) LEDA - the Wearer of Tu Tus (October 24-November 21)
The 10th through the 17th offer a window of opportunity in which to make amends for an overreaction to a friend’s irresponsible act. Even though that friend continually leaves you standing on street corners waiting for them, their cell phone ignoring your rings until it starts raining and you don’t have an umbrella and the place you guys chose to meet doesn’t have an awning or anything so you’re not only wet, but freezing and still she doesn’t pick up and then you think maybe she got into some terrible accident or met foul play because that could really be the only reason not to pick up her phone when you made plans tonight, for God’s sake, and so now you are thinking maybe you should call her parents, but you don’t have their number, and you think the battery on your phone is going to die anyway, so after 45 minutes on the corner you head home, in a state of deep anxiety and don’t hear from that friend until she calls you a day later, and says, “Hey, how are you?” and you say, “Where were you last night” and she goes, “Oh, I must’ve forgot, I was cleaning my apartment.” If you want to make amends it’s up to you, but just to let you know, the 18th through the 28th are for building additional deep and seething resentment. Your call!
9) ECHO - the One With All the Good Gossip (November 22-December 21)
Keep your dreams alive by acting on them. Whether your dream is to meet that cute guy in your writing class or to sleep with that other guy you met earlier in the writing class; whether you want to finish your PhD or finish vacuuming up the kitty litter in the bathroom, you should be able to fulfill all your dreams with hard work and perseverance. Your mother always used to tell you this, but who listens to their mothers, and she had no idea when she said that, that you were thinking of getting your tongue pierced, and brother did she change her tune when you fulfilled THAT dream! But whether you dream of scaling Mt. Everest or climbing a step-ladder and finally figuring out what the hell’s in that box hidden in the back of the closet, don’t let anyone say “no” to you. Unless of course that particular box is in your boyfriend’s apartment, in which case we predict that fulfilling this particular dream will turn into a nightmare.
10) PANDORA - the One Who Always Overpacks (December 22-January 19)
Your job has got you stressed out and filled with anxiety. Although you asked for this position last year, they’ve only just now decided to give it you, after slashing the budget in half and laying off about 2/3rds of your co-workers, especially the ones who were really fun and who knew all the best YouTube videos which everyone used to send to each other and sometimes would gather around one guy’s desk to watch together after lunch. Have the higher ups recognized you as the responsible one, who was often the first to say, “Hey, maybe we should finish that report…”, or the unpopular one, who no one would ever listen to when you’d say stuff like that? You should realize that whatever your boss sees in you, your co-workers resent the fact that you got the promotion. No more “Wedding Dance” videos for you!
11) PSYCHE - the Headcase (January 20-February 18)
The 23rd is a great day for finding love; whether it means rekindling an old romance or initiating a new one, keep your eyes open for the signals that mean you are about to make a connection. Sometimes we’re blind to the signs that others are sending to us, whether those signs involve shy glances or loud explosions in which all the windows of the nearby buildings are blown out, one must always be aware of the ways in which potential mates try to claim our attention. Perhaps the guy who just dropped his whole plate of pasta on the way back from the buffet meant for you to look up, particularly since he dropped the pasta on your head. Now’s the time for you to wipe the red sauce out of your eyes and exchange a soulful glance with him, unless of course he meant to impress the girl with the enormous breasts sitting behind you, who seems to be laughing a little too hard for someone with such a flimsy bra.
12) PHOEBE - the Unlikely Sit-Com Star (February 19-March 20)
Phoebe is stunned when this month, a Republican Senator says something that makes sense, offering it up in a professional and courteous way, listing his reasons in a polished and cogent argument that reflects a good deal of research, solid facts, and an admirable grasp of the issue. His stand is something that is both intelligent and forward thinking, as well as clearly aware of years of American history on this topic… oh, wait a minute. Saturn and Neptune are totally fucking with us. This is about as likely as Phoebe having sex with George Clooney, and Phoebe is not even interested in George Clooney! Saturn and Neptune have got to come up with a new bit. Seriously you guys. No one was ever gonna fall for that.
Bonus Horoscope (for those who didn't like their own sign)
13) THALIA - the Upper West Side Theater (aka the Leonard Nimoy)
This month, the chickens come home to roost. This doesn’t necessarily mean you have to get a permit for a chicken coop but is just a figure of speech and refers to what happens when you fool around with your tennis instructor without finding out that his wife is the one who sets up the automatic ball feed thingy. You might want to wear a helmet to your Saturday session, and by the way, if in fact the chickens have come home to roost, and your instructor’s wife is in charge of the henhouse, what’s going to be coming at you from the ball feed won’t be tennis balls.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
I like him. Him? Not so much. Pt. 2
We were awkward, but me more than he. He only seemed to be playing the part of the awkward guy for my benefit. In fact, I felt that he had reviewed me, found me acceptable and was settling in to see how I did for the rest of what he needed to evaluate. Would I be smart and sassy? Clever and quick with a comeback? Would I be too sweet? Or too forward? Would I touch him too soon, or seem repressed and reserved – too prim? What was he looking for? I could be nothing but myself because as intuitive as I am, I didn’t know. I started asking questions because his online profile was too vague to get a handle on him. What had happened with his wife? I knew he was divorced. He’d been married for 28 years. 28 years! What had I been doing all that time? Dating, going to grad school, working, dating, moving, dating, writing, dating. Lots of men, so few I cared about that I’d begun to think there was something wrong with my heart.
Friday, October 16, 2015
I like him. Him? Not so much. Pt. 1
I stumbled across him online. He came up on "match" after I responded to someone else. I couldn't believe how cute he was. We had a playful back and forth email correspondence, very brief, the way I like it. I really, really wanted to meet him, not write to him, and his notes: flirty, brief, forward but polite, indicated the same.
Our first date was one of those let's-have-a-drink-and-see. I wore what I'd worn on another date during which the guy told me how attracted he was to me, and how much he wanted to kiss me (I didn't want to kiss him or even shake his hand frankly), but because the outfit seemed to be a success, I would wear it on all my first dates.
I got to the bar first, walked halfway in, looked around and didn't see him, but when I turned to look back at the door, there he was, not a foot behind me. I was startled and stepped back. I may have inwardly gasped; I hope I wasn't uncool enough to actually gasp aloud. I was startled partly because of the suddeness of his appearance, but more, at how attractive he was. (I have to say, I don't know that he would be attractive to all, but to me, there was that chemistry that hits you hard and makes you immediately nervous and unsure of yourself... that primitive excitement that comes from being naturally thrilled by a man.) A head taller than me, with a perfect swirl of mostly salty colored hair. A look on his face of utter confidence; of knowing what you want.
I took a step back and looked down to recover a bit, and then back up. He was smiling and did not step back. "Hi." he said. It was the sexiest single syllable I've ever heard uttered. "You're Bette?" he asked. And for once in a long while I was so glad that, yes, I was. "You wanna sit up here, or in the back?" Frankly I wanted to stand and just stare, but I said, "Let's sit up here..." up at the front of the rustic, cozy bar (the "All State", a great place to meet someone for the first time by the way, now torn down and an empty lot, soon to be condos I assume).
We pulled two chairs up to the bar that ran against the wall, two of only 4 chairs up there, which is why it was so perfect... no one could sit too near us to listen to the inevitably awkward conversation of two complete strangers trying to make a romantic connection. I was nervous, but the good nervous: the excited nervous you get when something good is happening, or about to. I relished the feeling.
Unlike many people, I kind of love these meetings: I'm good at them, I like people, I am amused by the whole process, and I am always so hopeful that whatever guy I'm meeting might be a guy I could like, or at the very least, with whom I could spend an hour practicing flirting. 6 out of 10 are of these guys are "OK". 3 are “eh” or worse. Sometimes right off the bat you realize the guy is a numbskull, or 30 pounds heavier than his photo, or older than his photo or has grown a moustache in which you see an embedded crumb. Some of them try too hard, or are too nervous, or perhaps already an asshole, looking over your shoulder or figuring out if they should buy you a drink or not. Buy the drink, jerk! you think. It's the very first, easiest and most obvious way to show that you're not a loser! If it's after 5pm and they order ice tea or a Diet Coke, I know it's not going to work out. To get through this, we need some alcohol!
He immediately asked what I was drinking - as always, white wine for me. It gets into my blood system faster than beer and for some reason, I always associate it with socializing, relaxing, opening up. He walked over to the bar and in those moments I looked down at myself. Am I attractive? Should I fluff my hair? Why didn't I look in the mirror one more time before I got here? Is my eye make-up smudged? Could he possibly be half as attracted to me as I am to him? Oh please, I hope so. Half as much would be enough. I had just enough time to slip off my coat before he was back with two glasses. Did he look at my body as I was taking off my coat? Does it look ok? My body isn't one of those that knocks guys over... it's average. I wished it was great. I wished, for him, that he was as excited as I was. He smiled at me. God - that smile.
Our first date was one of those let's-have-a-drink-and-see. I wore what I'd worn on another date during which the guy told me how attracted he was to me, and how much he wanted to kiss me (I didn't want to kiss him or even shake his hand frankly), but because the outfit seemed to be a success, I would wear it on all my first dates.
I got to the bar first, walked halfway in, looked around and didn't see him, but when I turned to look back at the door, there he was, not a foot behind me. I was startled and stepped back. I may have inwardly gasped; I hope I wasn't uncool enough to actually gasp aloud. I was startled partly because of the suddeness of his appearance, but more, at how attractive he was. (I have to say, I don't know that he would be attractive to all, but to me, there was that chemistry that hits you hard and makes you immediately nervous and unsure of yourself... that primitive excitement that comes from being naturally thrilled by a man.) A head taller than me, with a perfect swirl of mostly salty colored hair. A look on his face of utter confidence; of knowing what you want.
I took a step back and looked down to recover a bit, and then back up. He was smiling and did not step back. "Hi." he said. It was the sexiest single syllable I've ever heard uttered. "You're Bette?" he asked. And for once in a long while I was so glad that, yes, I was. "You wanna sit up here, or in the back?" Frankly I wanted to stand and just stare, but I said, "Let's sit up here..." up at the front of the rustic, cozy bar (the "All State", a great place to meet someone for the first time by the way, now torn down and an empty lot, soon to be condos I assume).
We pulled two chairs up to the bar that ran against the wall, two of only 4 chairs up there, which is why it was so perfect... no one could sit too near us to listen to the inevitably awkward conversation of two complete strangers trying to make a romantic connection. I was nervous, but the good nervous: the excited nervous you get when something good is happening, or about to. I relished the feeling.
Unlike many people, I kind of love these meetings: I'm good at them, I like people, I am amused by the whole process, and I am always so hopeful that whatever guy I'm meeting might be a guy I could like, or at the very least, with whom I could spend an hour practicing flirting. 6 out of 10 are of these guys are "OK". 3 are “eh” or worse. Sometimes right off the bat you realize the guy is a numbskull, or 30 pounds heavier than his photo, or older than his photo or has grown a moustache in which you see an embedded crumb. Some of them try too hard, or are too nervous, or perhaps already an asshole, looking over your shoulder or figuring out if they should buy you a drink or not. Buy the drink, jerk! you think. It's the very first, easiest and most obvious way to show that you're not a loser! If it's after 5pm and they order ice tea or a Diet Coke, I know it's not going to work out. To get through this, we need some alcohol!
He immediately asked what I was drinking - as always, white wine for me. It gets into my blood system faster than beer and for some reason, I always associate it with socializing, relaxing, opening up. He walked over to the bar and in those moments I looked down at myself. Am I attractive? Should I fluff my hair? Why didn't I look in the mirror one more time before I got here? Is my eye make-up smudged? Could he possibly be half as attracted to me as I am to him? Oh please, I hope so. Half as much would be enough. I had just enough time to slip off my coat before he was back with two glasses. Did he look at my body as I was taking off my coat? Does it look ok? My body isn't one of those that knocks guys over... it's average. I wished it was great. I wished, for him, that he was as excited as I was. He smiled at me. God - that smile.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Looking For Peter Mehlman, serialized, Pt. 1
Like most struggling New York writers, I'm far more interested in reading about other struggling writers who have somehow "made it" (ranging from landing a villa in Tuscany to landing a studio apartment with heat) than actually writing anything.
I’d read a lot about writers who had gone to LA and were suddenly being paid to write, which seemed like such a great idea, and I began experimenting with the idea of being not a New York writer but an LA writer, that is; someone who writes sitcoms. This means you have to write sitcoms of course, but more importantly, it means you have to include a third party into your solitary life: the “agent”.
As a matter of fact I’d been lucky enough to get not one, but two agents and fairly quickly; it’s just that they were perhaps unlucky to get me. The first one died shortly after she signed me (she was, I’d been told, a living legend in the business and then evidently decided to become just a legend) and then tragically, the next agent who agreed to represent me lost her husband in the World Trade Tower disaster and left the business. I felt a little depressed about these encounters and tried not to feel personally responsible, but another part of me wanted to avoid dragging someone else into this most personal endeavor, and so I decided to forgo the agent thing, and just keep writing and hoping someone read my stuff and liked it.
I knew this was in fact possible, having heard of the success of a once-struggling Manhattan-based writer who started out writing humor essays (like myself), and who had written one especially hilarious article that convinced Hollywood he was funny enough to let in the "We'll Pay You For This" Club. This tale was one that fledgling writers had been passing around for years and so, one day, I decided to track the apocryphal article down. What made this urban legend particularly intriguing was that the writer who had made it "really big" (meaning that now people write about him) was Peter Mehlman, one of the original writers of "Seinfeld".
Having exhausted by phone all of the tips that a fellow humorist had offered ("I think it was sometime between 1982 and 1988, in the 'New York Times Magazine'. No, it was the 'New Yorker'. No, no wait, it was the Op Ed page of the 'Times', that's where it was. No, wait a minute, now that I think of it...."), and unable to compose a concise or coherent question to submit to Google (I tried: “Peter/Mehlman/article/got/job/Seinfeld” and “Peter/Mehlman/hired/Seinfeld/basis/one/essay/funny” and got subjects ranging from admiralties on British ships to the entire oeuvre of Julia Louis-Dreyfuss.), and wanting to see if I could track down the actual article using the skills I’d learned watching “Law and Order”, I hit the street to begin my investigation.
I decided to start at the landfill for all written words in Manhattan: The New York Public Library.
I’d read a lot about writers who had gone to LA and were suddenly being paid to write, which seemed like such a great idea, and I began experimenting with the idea of being not a New York writer but an LA writer, that is; someone who writes sitcoms. This means you have to write sitcoms of course, but more importantly, it means you have to include a third party into your solitary life: the “agent”.
As a matter of fact I’d been lucky enough to get not one, but two agents and fairly quickly; it’s just that they were perhaps unlucky to get me. The first one died shortly after she signed me (she was, I’d been told, a living legend in the business and then evidently decided to become just a legend) and then tragically, the next agent who agreed to represent me lost her husband in the World Trade Tower disaster and left the business. I felt a little depressed about these encounters and tried not to feel personally responsible, but another part of me wanted to avoid dragging someone else into this most personal endeavor, and so I decided to forgo the agent thing, and just keep writing and hoping someone read my stuff and liked it.
I knew this was in fact possible, having heard of the success of a once-struggling Manhattan-based writer who started out writing humor essays (like myself), and who had written one especially hilarious article that convinced Hollywood he was funny enough to let in the "We'll Pay You For This" Club. This tale was one that fledgling writers had been passing around for years and so, one day, I decided to track the apocryphal article down. What made this urban legend particularly intriguing was that the writer who had made it "really big" (meaning that now people write about him) was Peter Mehlman, one of the original writers of "Seinfeld".
Having exhausted by phone all of the tips that a fellow humorist had offered ("I think it was sometime between 1982 and 1988, in the 'New York Times Magazine'. No, it was the 'New Yorker'. No, no wait, it was the Op Ed page of the 'Times', that's where it was. No, wait a minute, now that I think of it...."), and unable to compose a concise or coherent question to submit to Google (I tried: “Peter/Mehlman/article/got/job/Seinfeld” and “Peter/Mehlman/hired/Seinfeld/basis/one/essay/funny” and got subjects ranging from admiralties on British ships to the entire oeuvre of Julia Louis-Dreyfuss.), and wanting to see if I could track down the actual article using the skills I’d learned watching “Law and Order”, I hit the street to begin my investigation.
I decided to start at the landfill for all written words in Manhattan: The New York Public Library.
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