It Doesn't Matter What You Wear
So I went to a dinner party this week and did not look cute. It was hosted by two female friends and I was expecting to hang with them, some of their generally very casually dressed peeps, and some assorted offspring. In other words, there would be no dating prospects in attendance. Now almost always, I strive to look cute at parties, because You Never Know. But this time I did not look cute. I wore my glasses, my hair was meh, and I wore jeans and a boring top.
So I arrive at my friend's house and am immediately introduced to "
Mark." Remember "Mark"? The guy with whom I went on some lovely dates last year, and then had some excruciating moments? Well, it's a small world and "Mark" is now dating "Ella" who is friends with "Jesse" (we'll get to "Jesse" in a minute) who went to grad school with the hostess. It took me a minute to place Mark, and then we both realized that we had dated briefly, and both considered whether to acknowledge this, and then both decided to be adults and said breezily, of course, we've already met, how are you, good to see you! Which for the most part was true, because Mark is hilarious and smart. Things didn't work out for us, but I harbor no ill will. I just
really wish I had looked cute at the party.
So. The evening goes on. The food is tasty. "Jesse" is toeing the line between outgoing and domineering. He talks about books: "I just finished this amazing novel about refugees in Hungary. It's by Jane Doe." There's a pause because no one has heard of the author Jane Doe. "You know, the sister of Jim Smith. He wrote
Famous Novel." No one has heard of Jim Smith or his allegedly famous novel either, but we all nod and try to feign intelligence. I'm thinking Jesse is a snobby arrogant jerky jerky, but he's hot. And he kind of grows on me over the course of the evening. He discusses his membership in the gastronomic history club of Harvard, his love of all things culinary, and the recent banquet he prepared for loved ones. I'm really wishing I looked cute but am trying to make up for it by being charming.
After a while the conversation turns to ice cream makers and he says, all off-hand, "my girlfriend really wants me to get one, but the really high-quality ones are very expensive."
You really just can't win. Cute outfit or no.
Posted by Dori at 9:41 AM
Thanks for Coming Out: UpDATE #500, 233
So the guy I sensed wasn't into me? The Jewish lawyer? The one whose dream job would be chief counsel for the Sierra Club? The one who loves his nephew and is close to his family? Who proposed a second date in a cool, under-the-radar authentic Brazilian place? Who is super funny? Who wrote a novella in college? Who believes Bill O'Reilly is the Enemy of All that Is Good and Righteous? Who donated a zillion dollars to the Obama campaign? Who has the same Working Assets credit card that I do, which benefits progressive causes? Who seems emotionally intelligent, and, during Date #2, remembered things I had said during date #1?
Remember that guy?
Well, after aforementioned date #2 I dropped aforementioned guy off at the subway. After an agitated hug which was constrained by the seatbelt (which recoiled somewhat violently after he unfastened it, and hit the side of his face), he turned to me and said:
thanks for coming out.
I guess it is further evidence of his awesomeness that he didn't even lie and said that he'd contact me, or that he'd like to see me again. Since I already put myself out there by asking him out on date #2, I am not going to follow up. The ball is entirely in his court.
And
thanks for coming out? Is like putting the ball back in the can, putting the can in a smelly gym bag, stuffing the gym bag into a locker, and then buying a smoothie for the hot tennis instructor in the cute white pleated skirt.
Posted by Dori at 6:16 PM
Being Good
So it's Rosh ha Shana, the Jewish New Year (Shana Tova, fellow members of the tribe!). This kicks off a period of self-reflection. Last night I went to a friend/co-worker's home for an improvised celebration which included
taschlich. This is a ceremony in which you cast off your sins (symbolized by bread crumbs) into a body of water. It was a beautiful evening and the sun was setting over Spy Pond, and I ripped up a slice of bread and thought about what I could have done differently this year, and the main thing was snarkiness and laziness in various manifestations.
By snarkiness I mean impatience and lack of gratitude and just general disregard for all that is good and right and valuable, in favor of constant obsession on what is going wrong. I cannot begin to describe the amount of snark I emit at work. Seriously. Torrents of complaints and sarcasm. Admittedly much of what I say is true, hilarious, and encouraged by co-workers (after all, we egg each other on in the snark department), but still. I
longed for a job like this. I
ached for such an opportunity. I love many aspects of it. So the snark? Must be tamed. And I need to reduce bitching and moaning on other fronts as well.
The other thing is laziness, and that, too manifests itself in many ways. And by this I mean not making enough of an effort to reach out (like actually calling people who are on my mind instead of constantly thinking/worrying about them), being lame about my health (like taking folic acid which I have been meaning to do for a zillion years now, and tracking my constant headaches), and being even more intentional about my purchasing decisions (buying organic, etc.), and maybe (maybe) even trying out composting.
My friend N. moved into a new apartment about a month ago. She had co-owned a condo before that, and been basically forced to sell in the downturned market. She handled the difficult situation with grace and good humor, even when the sale threatened to go sour and she couldn't find a rental she liked. On her last night in the condo she discovered several pails of latex paint lying around in the basement. Latex paint can be safely thrown out, but it's supposed to be dry first. I know this, and yet on the few occasions when I've disposed of latex paint I've just tossed it into the trash assuming it would dry out sooner or later. But N. is a truly good person. It was her last night in the condo. All her stuff was packed. She was hot and tired. But she fired up the computer and learned that to safely dispose of latex paint one needs to dry it out with kitty litter, so (owning no cat), she went to PetCo, bought the litter, sopped up the paint, and threw it out.
I aspire to that level of Good. Maybe this year, I'll get there.
Posted by Dori at 3:18 PM
Week: Yuck. Date: Uncertain. Stock Market: Evil.
I had a very crappy week. Crappy and exhausting, so I couldn't even wring a snarky post out of it before now.
Basically I had to deal with a car thing (warranty-covered and now solved, but requiring a deeply annoying and time-consuming trip to the dealer); several irritating work commitments (including the observation of a 2-hr long sports practice that was supposed to impart lessons on leadership to our students, but to me imparted only the lessons that: 1) sports are boring 2) bleachers are uncomfortable 3) the aforementioned lessons, plus any leadership-oriented ones, could have been imparted in 30 minutes or less; the onset of a sore throat; a great date with a meh outcome (more below); and a foray into the callous world of investment (more on that as well).
So about the date. I went out with a cool guy from match. He's a lawyer and his dream job is to be lead council for the Sierra Club, which is so incredibly sexy. Also he is hilarious. Super, super funny. We had a really good conversation which really made me think, we got equally keyed up about the travesty of this election, and we parted with the customary "it was nice meeting you, we should definitely get together again," which, for those of you lucky enough to be unfamiliar with online dating, means: "goodbye. I may or may not have any desire to see you again." After 24 agonizing hours of not hearing from him, I sucked it up, proposed a second encounter, and about 16 hours after that (not that I'm counting or anything), he agreed, said the weekend was booked but suggested Wednesday. His response was brief and neutral. I was hoping for more enthusiasm. I think I may have been cuter earlier in my life. I used to get enthusiasm.
So about the stock market. My employer matches the money we put away into 401K (up to 5%). So I need to put away money into it, and that means setting up a portfolio, and when I met with the Fidelity guy in his extremely messy office and told him I was comfortable with an aggressive, growth-oriented portfolio but wanted to ensure it was socially responsible, he showed me this lame ass spreadsheet with like 12 socially responsible funds (of which ten are under-performing) and then encouraged me to buy into the 2 decent ones and round out my portfolio with stuff that I (and I gather he) knows nothing about.
I was feeling shady when he called up some of the FOUR THOUSAND non socially responsible options, and recommended some, but when he got into the "emerging markets" and talked about manufacturing operations in China and Indonesia, I got all tricked out and asked if there was any vetting of operations in terms of labor conditions or anything like that, and he practically patted my hand and actually said,
"you can't get too hung up on this stuff. You have to do what you can here, and act locally. Fidelity does a ton of good work in this and other communities." Which is true - I know they underwrite lots of arts and other programs. But I work hard for my money and I want a happy retirement that is NOT built on the backs of exploited people in sweatshops. I signed up for the stocks he recommended, and then I thought more about it and canceled everything.
So now I have to do some serious research and start from scratch, just when I thought I was done with my self-imposed assignment of dealing with my retirement planning. Whine, whine, whine.
Posted by Dori at 4:26 PM
All Work, No Play
My boss is a self-professed workaholic. I won't get into how extreme this is: her daily emails that come in at 3:45 a.m. and 5:14 a.m. and 7:02 a.m., her daily reports on whether she is in the "orange" or "red" zone of sleep deprivation, her exhilarated Monday morning reports on how she had a fantastic weekend because she got "
so much work done" and worked 18 hours on each day. She claims she is trying to cut down her hours to 40 hours a week, and wants all of us to do the same.
Her extreme dedication to work brings out all kinds of weirdness in me. On one hand, I have flickering feelings of slackerdom. I work 9-6ish, for the most part. My work involves many, many evening events and those last until 8 or 9. I stay for those, of course. On the other days, I go home on time. I Don't Do weekends and when I'm on vacation, I do not check email. I will make heroic efforts and work crazy hours during crazy times, when there is no other choice. But voluntarily? No. I don't roll that way.
Last week, my boss was trying to schedule an evening event with students, and she sent them some possible times that included three weeknights, and then a Friday night and a Saturday brunch. She did not consult with me and just assumed I'd be a) available and b) OK with those options. I told her I'd be OK with doing a
weeknight evening event
if I knew about in advance
. When she looked puzzled, I explained that I
do things after work. Then I broached the topic of the weekend, and suggested that we not propose any weekend dates unless absolutely no alternative existed. She seriously asked if the reason for that was the Sabbath or some Jewish religious observance.
And I was all, no, it's just, you know,
the weekend? That thing the Labor Movement fought for? Two days in which we hang out and do our own thing without talking about work or seeing our co-workers? She was seriously taken aback.
Anyway. So this morning my mind was swirling with work and I sent her an email at 8 a.m. with some leftover stuff from last week. And she responded later in the day: "I'm taking the rest of today off and will respond to your email on Monday." As if
she's the one suddenly setting limits and boundaries and
I'm crashing her weekend!
But maybe it's a good thing and I'm rubbing off on her. I should look at it that way, no?
Posted by Dori at 9:49 PM
The Day Before 9/12
My cousin was in town last weekend, on 9/12. She had landed in NYC on 9/11, where she had actually spent several 9/11s over the last few years, because she travels a lot for work and frequently ends up in New York around this time of year.
Because she doesn't live in the U.S., she has commented frequently about how odd it is that on Memorial Day, rather than remember fallen soldiers (actually, I think the PC term nowadays is "service members"), Americans go shopping for discounted summer clothing and/or attend barbecues. Where my cousin comes from (Israel), Memorial Day is a very sad, very serious deal, because in Israel a lot of people have lost loved ones to wars and acts of terrorism. The losses are recent and real.
The losses of 9/11 are similarly recent and real, and yet there is no holiday at all. My cousin asked me if I thought that soon 9/11 will become another Memorial Day, and schools and post offices will be closed, and there will be 9/11 sales and maybe picnics. She noted that even in NYC, there is not much doing to commemorate such a recent tragedy, despite the amount of air time the event gets in the political climate and popular press.
It's an interesting question. Nobody even mentioned 9/11 last week. To me, it was just Thursday. The day after my mom's birthday. I went to work, came home. I did laundry, had dinner, forgot.
Posted by Dori at 9:34 PM
I Wish I Could Hate Sarah Palin
My friends, I am obsessed with Sarah Palin. I'm an SP junkie. I troll the web for Colbert and Stewart spoofs of her, I've watched the ABC Gibson interview and then trolled the web for analyses upon analyses of how the interview went. I listen to NPR in the morning and sit, rapt, by the toaster waiting for SP coverage. I hungrily read Slate (and I loved
this cool article about how Biden should kick her ass in the debates and
this one about what Charlie Gibson should have asked in the interview.). I read Salon. I check out
NY Times online multiple times a day. I take great delight in trading outraged outbursts with co-workers about the rape kit scandal, the book banning scandal, troopergate, and suspicions surrounding Bristol's 5-month absence from school last year due to "mono" which coincided oddly with SP's invisible pregnancy and her water breaking and then her 8-hr flight to a secluded hospital. True, this latter "investigation" was conducted by
Us Weekly, but I just can't get enough.
We all know this woman is a liar. We disagree about probably every single major issue. I have real contempt for her beliefs and her hypocrisy and especially her delusional notion that she is qualified for the VP role (Would a
true patriot accept a job she for which she is so clearly unprepared? Wouldn't someone who
really loves her country say "thanks but no thanks" (she seems to have that phrase down already) to the position, get some actual political experience, and then run in a few years when she really has something to contribute?).
But here's the thing. Even when I hear her ricockulous blunders and scripted responses and appalling declarations, I find myself unable to say "damn her." When I hear thunderous applause of the legions of idiots who think that being a hockey mom is good preparation for leading the free world, and I feel scorn and profound despair. But it's not at SP, it's at the brainwashed crowds who are enraptured by her, and by the manipulative assholes who had the (admittedly brilliant) idea to get her on the ticket. I hate, hate, hate to say it, but SP herself does not come off as a bitch, and I have this flickering respect for her ambition, and for ability to score an A+ in the 2-week political crash course she just underwent, that allowed her to pretty decently hold her own in the ABC interview. Her answers were sneaky and blustery, but not much different than any other slimy politician's. So I guess that's where I come down. I hate everything she stands for, and I hate how her people are turning her into a monster. But I just can't bring myself to hate the woman herself.
Posted by Dori at 3:51 PM
