[Dating Papers]

The other day, I told this guy, Wayne, in my office, who sits two doors down, about how I took a pineapple to a party last weekend and it was a big hit. Turns out he loves pineapples. I said, “I would get pineapples more often, but I can’t eat a whole pineapple before it goes bad.”

Wayne said, “If you need help with the pineapple, you can bring in half of it and I’ll take care of it.”

I said, “I wonder if you can freeze it. That might be good.”

“Oh, I don’t think you should freeze it. I can help you out.”

It’s worth noting that Wayne is the only attractive, single, age-appropriate guy on my floor. I chat with him a few times a week because I use his office’s microwave and fridge. He’s very friendly but I’ve rejected him as a boyfriend candidate because I think he’s too Christian for me (and, consequently, I’m too Jewish for him). Regardless, he’s a super nice, smart guy and we always have interesting chats.

The other day, I decided to get another pineapple and bring in half of it for Wayne. I even removed the core when I chopped it up because, in our previous discussion, he said he preferred not to eat the core. I was over in his office area this morning and he was there, headphones on (as usual) working away. I said, “I have something for you.” I grabbed the Tupperware container out of the fridge and plopped it on his desk. His face lit up and I could tell he knew it was pineapple. He very gently tried to pry off the lid, but he wasn’t getting anywhere. I asked him, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying not to make a mess.”

“Oh. Ok, do it like this.” I slowly eased the lid off to container, but a few drops of pineapple juice escaped to his (spotless) desk. “Sorry, I still made a little mess.”

“That’s ok.”

I said, “You better eat it quick; it’s going to turn.”

Wayne said, “That won’t be a problem.”

I went back to my office and a few minutes later he sent me a thank you email telling me it was very good and he’d already eaten it all. We had a couple of rounds of jokey pineapple talk. Who knew that was possible?

A little while later, Wayne came by my office to return the container. TR was helping me figure out something in SAS. Wayne stood in the door way holding the container. I said, “I gave Wayne some pineapple.”

TR said, “Why don’t you ever bring me pineapple?”

Wayne said, “I don’t give her a hard time.”

TR said, “You only give me babysitting. Oh. I guess that’s enough.”

I don’t imagine there is a romantic future with Wayne, but the idea of having another friend around the office is nice. I’m on civil, but not friendship, terms with the other single women my age in the office. My officemate is a sweet girl, but we’ll never be buddies, though I do find her less annoying these days. Work friend, MB, is great, but she’s super palsy with the women who are not my friends, which is awkward. Of course, Diego is a great office friend, and so is TR, but I wouldn’t mind adding one more person to the mix. And if he happens to be cute and single, I won’t complain.

Grateful for: pineapple.

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What am I up to today?

• Nursing some sore muscles due to rowing last night (first time back on the water, lo these many weeks). The river was full of CRAP: branches, logs, cans, and at least one bloated, smelly, dead rat.
• Avoiding all the reviews, blog posts, and general press about Superman. I want to be totally unprepared for what I see—or at least keep expectations low. I’m a Superman fan in a general way. I loved the first two movies (with Christopher Reeve), but skipped the last two. Back in the day, on the recommendation of my comic book store guy, I got the Superman graphic novel that came out in the mid-’90s, but that was the last time I read a Superman comic. (I probably still have it in that box in the backroom with the Spirit re-issues. Why don’t they make a Spirit movie?)
• Wondering at this absurd entry in my guestbook:
  

  eynwfsbu jpsybim ocnz mlidw afwrjolp oqxmin robswfiul

  from fzigrqpa mbgjzx

  Hey! Maybe it’s from Mr. Mxyztplk!

  The guestbook gets a lot of spam (which I delete) that usually directs you to the spammer’s website. But this is just gibberish. Email and URL are filled in (not shown here), but the email address is “test@test.com” and the URL doesn’t resolve. It’s so peculiar, I haven’t decided whether I’m going to take it down or not.

• Translating a letter into Spanish, with work-friend Diego’s help. Perhaps you remember my “little sister” (not my actual sister)? I haven’t seen her for weeks (months, really). It got harder and harder to make plans with her and I finally called the Big Brothers/Big Sisters coordinator to tell him that I didn’t think things were working out. I said I would make time for her if she still wanted to get together, that less frequency was fine (preferred, actually), but that I didn’t have time to take on a new kid. He said he’d talk to her, but I never heard back from him. That was in May. Recently, I’ve been missing the little sister and wondering if I should get in touch with her. A friend suggested, some time back, that I resolved things with her so that she didn’t feel abandoned. I decided a letter would make more sense than a phone call because 1) it is devilishly hard to raise her on the phone and 2) my Spanish is so-so at best and much worse over the phone. Today, I asked Diego if he would help me translate a letter into Spanish. He agreed and I think it turned out well, but it was hard work (for him). Some English phrases don’t translate well, but he figured it out and the final result is short, kind and to the point. Want to read it?
  

  Querida [little sister],

  Hace mucho tiempo desde que te he visto. Perdóname por no haber comunicado más seguido. Le pedí a Jorge Bustios que te platicara para saber come estés, pero no me contestó.

  Parece que estás muy ocupada en estos días con tu iglesia y con tus amigas—me parece muy bien. Estoy muy contenta ver que estás disfrutando de la vida aquí en los E.E.U.U.

  Me ha gustado mucho conocerlo a ti. He visto mucho en ésta ciudad que no hubiera visto sin haberte conocido. Por ejemplo, cuando paseamos por los jardines de la Casa Blanca o cuando vimos el barco militar en Alexandria.

  Si te gustaría reunir en el futuro cuando sea, me encantaría. Pero si sigues ocupada, entiendo perféctamente. Cuando te guste llamarme, el número es 202.555.1212.

  Con cariño,
  Jamy

• And last, but not least, I am not getting much work done. Shocking, I know.

Grateful for: slow days.

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I have to add a preface to this week’s “Dear Jamy” (and I know it’s not Tuesday, but I hope you can live with that), because this question comes from my real life friend, Amanda. When we first met, Amanda was dating my best buddy, Mike. Even though Mike and Amanda’s romantic relationship ended after a month, she and I continued to be friends.

Amanda and I shared an apartment (with a third friend) for about four months when we were 18. When we were living together, we would stay up late talking about all kinds of things. Sometimes, I would lull Amanda to sleep with my ramblings. When she went away to college a few years later, she asked for a tape recording of me telling stories, to help her sleep. She was worried that I would be insulted, but I laughed and took it as a compliment (though I never made the tape). Hey, at least my stories were good for something!

Without further ado, here is Amanda’s question:

Dear “Jamy,”

Amanda

Dear Amanda,

I’m honored that you asked for my advice since you actually know me and, therefore, know the depth of my inexpertise (not that it’s ever stopped me from giving advice or generally expounding). However, our friendship ensures that you will be able to take this advice with the proper perspective (i.e. not too seriously).

First, my guidelines are just that, guidelines, not hard and fast rules. I’d say that as with all other things dating (and human and life) related, you have to trust your gut. And if I could pick one word to describe internet dating, it would be “exhausting.”

I recommend minimizing both emailing and phone conversations because you have to make the dating decision in person. If the fellow is not setting off any alarm bells, get to the in-person meeting as quickly as possible. (I agree with you!) I have had interesting email conversations with internet guys (e.g. Kyle), but these rarely led to a successful anything. And they have a way of raising expectations, perhaps to the point where meeting becomes intimidating. (The exceptions are those people who live across the country from each other, meet online and conduct a long-distance courtship before ever meeting. I assume this is not what you have in mind.)

However, since some alarm bells can only be triggered by speaking with someone, I a phone call is a good idea, if not required. It doesn’t have be long. As you say, it can consist mostly of making plans, since logistics are easier via phone, but even a short conversation will add another dimension to what you know about this stranger, and that can be helpful. So, yes, my recommendation for “one or two phone calls” does include the logistical chat. (I like to talk on the phone and I find it’s not a bad way to get to know someone, but it’s best to save the “getting to know you chats” for after the first meeting.)

I have met several guys after email interactions only and no one ever murdered me (though there were a couple of bozos I wanted to sock), so I don’t think it’s a terrible idea. It’s a fine a idea, as long as you are comfortable with it.

Regarding screening profiles, try to be as open as possible, but keep an eye to your deal breakers. There are some really stupid things that drive me crazy in online dating that I can’t let go of—for example, a guy who lists an age range with his age as the maximum. For example, a 34 year old guy who is willing to date women between the ages of 24-34. He won’t even consider dating someone who is 35? What’s that about? I would never contact a man who did that, even if he were my age or older. But who’s to say that is a good call?

The examples you give are related to smoking. Is smoking a deal breaker for you? Because Mr. Trying-to-Quit is still a smoker (all smokers are trying to quit) and you will have to deal with some smokiness. How much will that bother you? Or, put it another way: if he were perfect for you, but he smoked, would you go out with him?

Following up on what you said, if you are willing to overlook something in good circumstances, you should leave it alone. If you think you want to see the guy again, that’s when to talk about it. Unless you are afraid of falling in love at first sight and don’t want to take that risk with a cigar smoker. Ha ha!

In general, I don’t think it’s a good idea to gloss over negatives, because things that strike one as negative are often symbolic of something larger that really matters. But, if you go looking for negatives, you are sure to find them. Every profile you read will have negatives and can be thoroughly and unflatteringly dissected (particularly after a bad date!). Don’t look too hard in the profiles for the negatives; focus on the positives. The negatives will come to light quickly enough when you talk or meet the person.

Actually, we should ask Pele your question (maybe she’ll have a good comment to add), because even though I think she’s gone out on fewer internet dates than I, she’s met many more boyfriends and likeable guys than I have. It seems to work for her in a way that it doesn’t work for me. I wish you her kind of luck!

Later,
“Jamy”

Grateful for: Amanda.

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I got another email asking me to promote a product on my site. His approach was subtler than usual, opening with, “As a dating blogger, I’d love to get some of your advice.” He then described the product (a “disposable phone number”) and closed with, “Is there anything I haven’t thought of? Any suggestions?”

Honestly, I was charmed. Though I had no intention of posting a link to his site, I wrote back with my opinion of the service (it’s too complicated for me, possibly appealing for others).

In his next email, after thoroughly answering my questions, he made the direct ask, “Let me know if you feel like blogging about us, always appreciated!”

Maybe I didn’t have to, but I felt the need to tell him that I wouldn’t be linking to him and why:

I’m not going to blog about the service because I don’t promote for-profit sites. If you want to pay for an advertisement, I might consider it. But I don’t make money from my blog–why should anyone else?

Do you see where I’m coming from? I don’t have ads on the site. I don’t need the money. And if I were to have ads, I would want to have control over the content. I would have to be willing to promote that product.

Why would I promote something just out of the goodness of my heart? I may be a socialist, but I’m not stupid. I’m not much into buying and selling and commdifying, but I live in the real world. I’ve always thought that the best way to make money from a blog would be a subscription model. You want to read the full entry? You must pay! But you need a much larger audience than I have to make that worthwhile and I like providing free content. What if you were too poor to pay? Hmm…maybe I could have a sliding-scale subscription model.

At any rate, I’m not quitting my day job and the blog will remain free to read and free of advertising for the foreseeable future. Though, if there were a way to make a living from the blog, I’d be on that in a heartbeat!

Grateful for: freedom of speech, baby.

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Saturday night, I went to a party. I drove to the party and practiced NOT swearing at idiotic drivers. I need to get into the habit of letting these things go.

I haven’t been to the store since I got home but I didn’t want to show up to the party empty handed. I stopped by my local store, Murry’s. I may have mentioned before that Murry’s carries every type of frozen meat imaginable: t-bones, New York strip, hamburger patties, turkey burgers, chitlins…I could go on. They also have Murry-brand flour, sugar and corn meal.

I planned to pick up a bag of Murry-brand hard candy—it’s tasty. The produce is near the entryway and pineapples were on sale. I grabbed one then found the candy. I got out of there for under six bucks–can’t beat that!

The pineapple was a big hit; the people ate it up (literally). It turned out to be perfectly ripe—we were lucky. The only reason I don’t buy pineapple more often is that I can’t eat the whole thing quickly enough. It needs to be shared.

I talked to almost everyone at the party, including a small number of single, age-appropriate men. That made me happy.

Afterwards, I went with the hosts (C&C, the best catsitters in the world), DV$, and one other friend (I don’t know his blog nickhame) to IHOP. This crew all went to college together and I felt like I was reliving those days with them. Besides, who didn’t go to IHOP at 2am after college parties? I sure did. I used to live across the street from IHOP when I was 17 (and in college) and the only time we ever went there was at 2am. I had ice cream, as did CSO (the other gal). The boys had full meals. Oy.

Softball was cancelled on Sunday, leaving me free to sort out my junk piles. That will make four games in a row that I’ve missed. And we’re off next week for the Fourth of July. My teammates must love me.

Grateful for: late nights at IHOP.

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Today, I started to sort through some of my junk drawers. I like to save cards—from acquaintances, restaurants, and shops. I also save matchbooks, ticket stubs, discount cards and multiple copies of credit cards. I have old IDs (anything with a picture) and transit cards from other US cities (San Francisco, Chicago, New York) with money on them. I save fortune cookie fortunes, international bills and change and sugar packets (why, lord, why?). I have a lot of coupons I never use.

Most of these things I will keep, but I tried to at least get like with like. I put all of the ticket stubs and discount cards in the same place, the electronic auxiliary stuff in the same area. I put all the matchbooks in the same holder. And I threw away duplicates.

I found some extra copies of credit cards. Gone. Little bits of paper with numbers and names of people and businesses that I don’t recall. I threw those away. I found numbers for my old cell phone carrier were hiding in the kitchen drawer. Trash.

Amusingly, I found four Safeway club cards with four different numbers, none of which matched the number for my current account.

I found several ticket stubs for baseball games:

1. April 18, 2001: Orioles vs. Indians at Baltimore
2. August 26, 2001: Mariners vs. Cleveland at Seattle
3. September 2, 2001: Orioles vs. Mariners at Baltimore
4. June 10, 2005: Nationals vs. Mariners at Washington.
5. June 11, 2005: Nationals vs. Mariners at Washington
6. September 6, 2005: Nationals vs. Marlins at Washington
7. September 20, 2005: Nationals vs. Giants at Washington
8. April 29, 2006: Orioles vs. Mariners at Baltimore
9. May 27, 2006: Nationals vs. Dodgers at Washington

You’d think I took a three-year break from baseball, which is not the case. Why do I have these and not others? Who knows? Why do I keep them? You got me there too.

Once I got started on this cleaning kick, it was hard to stop. I went through the drawer in the kitchen and then storage bin in the back room and then the drawer in my bedside table. I had many, many bus schedules—some from over six years ago. I had maps in the back, maps in the kitchen, maps in the bedroom. I had many New York subway maps, Amtrak timetables, NJ transit schedules. I had US maps (NC, Chapel Hill, Ann Arbor, SE US) and several menus. I took everything into the dining room and started sorting.

I dumped the out of date bus schedules. Crazier than that—I stopped checking to see if the bus schedules were current or not. All of the ones in the back have sat there for at least three years (when I moved in) without ever being consulted. I put the current bus schedules, menus and local maps in the kitchen drawer. I put all the NY/NJ info in the back room. I found a spot for the random US maps (there is another box of those in the back too—which I didn’t bother to sort).

Why did I do this to myself? Maybe it was a reaction to helping my mom move and unearthing all of her dribs and drabs—all the CRAP. I still have a lot of crap and I wasn’t even trying to get rid of things—I just thought it would be nice to get to the bottom of the drawers and see what was in there. Now, I have ONE spot for most things and I know where to find them.

I also have a dining room table covered in crap.

Grateful for: sorting.

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No one can say that today has been boring. And there’s even more to come.

The day started slowly. I skipped the walking tour and opted to do laundry, watch a movie and repair my bike (I replaced the fender stays that were damaged when the car hit my bike a few weeks ago).

The plan was to ride to Home Rule (a very cool housewares store) on 14th Street and pick up a folding shopping cart for my mom. After that, I’d go to Tryst for the best cappuccino in town and a bite of lunch. Then, back down the hill to my friend’s house for World Cup Soccer watching party.

I got started late and didn’t get to Home Rule until after 2pm. Unfortunately, they didn’t have what I wanted. I was on my way up the hill to Tryst when I rode right past Busboys and Poets. I haven’t been there yet and it was hot and the hill was not looking attractive. Also, while I like the atmosphere at Tryst (beat up couches, free wifi, cooler than thou servers) I’ve always found it impossible to settle the bill there in a timely fashion. Since I only had an hour to eat, I anticipate a long, painful and annoying exit from Tryst—that is, if I could even find a place to sit.

I ate at Busboys and Poets. The food was ok, the latte was over priced and the place was hoppin’. The staff was extremely nice and sufficiently attentive. They have free internet and I’d go back with the computer another time.

It was past 3pm when I finished lunch and the party started at 2:30pm. No problem. I’d find a store alone the way and pick up a six of something.

For the rest of the story to make sense, I need tell you a bit about my approach to biking in the city. Generally, I follow the rules of the road. Sometimes I bend the rules. I ride in the street, but, if it is dangerous, I will jump temporarily to the sidewalk. I stop at stop signs (sometimes I slow way down and then ride through). I stop at traffic signals (sometimes I ride through when the opposing light turns yellow). Late at night when there is no traffic, I will run lights and stop signs, if I’m confident there are no cars, bikes or pedestrians around. I ride with traffic and I stay as far to the right as possible, but out of the way of car doors. When I get to an intersection, I move to the middle of my lane so that cars turning right don’t hit me. I consider myself a good, if not perfect, bike citizen. I try and act in a predictable manner so that cars have no excuse to hit me and are inconvenienced as little as possible by my slow speed. And you better believe I ride slowly.

I was riding west on R ST NW and had just crossed 16th, slightly ahead of the light turning green. There is a bike line on R, making it a particularly dangerous spot for getting slamming by a car turning right—they can cut into the bike line, but the cyclist can’t claim the lane to get out of the way. My solution was to cross the intersecting one beat before the cars.

Just as I got through the intersection, someone in a large, black SUV yelled at me, “You can get a ticket for that!”

I answered as they passed me, “Give it to me then!”

I should also note that when I’m on bike I get as foul and aggressive as the worst car driver.

The young women in the SUV yelled something else, which I can’t recall.

I answered, “F*ck you, bitch!” Stupid, rude, idiotic. What can I say?

The SUV slowed down and a young woman moved close to the rear passenger window and turned back to look at me, “What did you say? Say that again.”

I was only a few yards from the woman and I said, “The light was just about to turn green, that’s why I rode through. ”

“That’s not what you said.” I could see that there were three or four young women in the car. They were well-groomed, black and in their mid-twenties. They laughingly conferred about me.

I said, “I always check first. Then I go through.”

“That’s not what you said. Will you stop and say that again?” Her tone was taunting and aggressive.

“No. I won’t stop.”

“That’s right, you won’t.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I bet you don’t!”

I shook my head and they sped up and made it to the end of the block. And stopped. And waited for me. There was no way I could get past them without riding by their open windows and I didn’t trust that they wouldn’t get out of the car as I passed. I turned into a driveway, made the sidewalk, and rode down the block in the opposite direction. I looked for an alley to duck into, but no such luck. I got to the next block and turned left, staying on the sidewalk. I hate riding on the sidewalk, but the pedestrians kindly let me pass. I said thank you to one man who stopped and let me get by a narrow spot by a tree. He said, “You’re welcome.”

My heart was racing. I wanted to get inside somewhere as soon as possible. I rounded the block, still on the sidewalk. There was no way they could have followed me since the streets were one way.

I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. What was I doing picking a fight with SUVs full of people? Was I a coward for not stopping? What a joke. Stopping to fight? About what? Swearing at them? I didn’t have any face to save, that’s for sure, since I’d already made a fool of myself. I guess those young women wanted to show me who was boss. Since I turned and ran, they won. Good for them!

You’d think that I’d learn my lesson. But on my ride home, when a woman in a red car crowded me out of my space in the lane and made a right turn in front of me, neatly cutting me off, I swore at her, “Goddamnit! You’re crowding me out!” The volume was lower than earlier in the day, but I’m pretty sure she heard me. At least I was 100% right, but I don’t think that’s the point.

Grateful for: not getting myself killed.

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Options for tonight:

• Swing dancing.
• Improve comedy show.
• Dinner and a movie.

All would be solo activities—well, not the swing dancing so much since CK would probably be there and social interaction with either her or fellow dancers would occur. I’ve never been to an improve comedy show, but I think it is only mildly interactive. The movie thing, though, is certainly the least interactive of all. Guess which one is my top choice?

Now, before you go calling me anti-social, I should tell you that I have two parties to go to on Saturday (one afternoon, one evening), one neighborhood business “opening night” to attend and a morning walking tour. That would be four social events in one day, which is about three over my limit. I may drop the walking tour, but the other three are firm.

So, as much as I want to go swing dancing, the thought of being friendly and dealing with the scary guys and possibly having sore feet (everything is a little sore since stopping the super-duper anti-inflammatories) is a bit overwhelming and I’m voting for the movie tonight. A couple of hours alone in air-conditioned bliss, eating candy or popcorn and enjoying a really stupid movie? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.

Want to hear a funny story?. Last night, in an effort to be social, and take advantage of my week off from rowing, I went to a happy hour. (The week off from rowing was self-declared. I decided I needed a week of restful inactivity to recover from my vacation. My general achy-ness, and a plethora of social options this week, made it an easy decision.) You know that story where someone shows up at a party the night before or the night after or a week later? That’s what I did.

I arrived at the happy hour location at 7:30pm, an hour after the start time, when I figured things would be in full swing. I walked into the Gallery Place venue, searching the faces at the bar for a familiar one and BAM, the lights went out. You may not know that there was a blackout in the Chinatown area Thursday night from sometime after 7:30pm to 1:15am. I stuck around a little longer, since the emergency lights came on, looking for my friends. I couldn’t find them so I thought, “time for plan B!” and I hoofed it to the movie theater. But guess what? The power was out there too. I gave up and got on the bus home. About five blocks away we were out of the dead zone and there was plenty of power in my neighborhood.

I sent the hostess of the happy hour an apologetic email for missing her and today she wrote back, also apologetically, that the happy hour is scheduled for NEXT Thursday. Whoops. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. I had to laugh.

Hmm, maybe after my movie adventure tonight, I’ll stop in at one of my new (sort of) neighborhood bars. Could be interesting.

Happy weekending, everyone.

Grateful for: Friday nights alone.

Drop me a line.