[Dating Papers]

What can I tell you about my weekend? It was long, tiring and fun.

First, some business. A while ago, I submitted my site for review. It feels like a bit of hubris (?) to ask to be reviewed, but I was curious to get a new reader’s opinion. The site makes a point of not pulling any punches so I was surprised, very surprised, at the extremely nice things that were said about the blog. Give the site a look and maybe volunteer to write a review and help some bloggers out. (Don’t read about me, it’s too embarrassing.)

Now, to the weekend. I talked to Owen on Thursday and we planned to meet Saturday at 1:00 and go the Freer. He’d never been and I like it fine, so it seemed like a good idea. It’s worth a visit for the Peacock Room alone.

On Friday, I’d thought about going swing dancing because I’m feeling better (not perfect) and I haven’t gone dancing in ages. I also had a work happy hour option. Pele expressed an interest in the happy hour so I decided to go to that. She met me there and we enjoyed talking to my co-workers (including Wayne). Pele had a nice connection to him and another woman due to a mutual love of the Steelers. Pele is not from Pittsburgh and the other two are, but she pointed out that neither asked her why she was a fan (even after she said she was from North Carolina). Steelers fans figure everyone loves the Steelers. Hey, I do too–unless they are smacking Seattle in the Superbowl.

After happy hour, Pele gave me a ride home. We sat and talked in the car for a while, as is our wont. Usually, one of us talks about an issue and the other gives feedback. This time, we both had (boy) issues to talk about and we traded stories back and forth. It’s been a while since we were both dating at the same time…and there is a lot to tell, especially since we don’t see each other as often.

I woke up on Saturday in time to make it to yoga at 9am. The class was a lot of stretching, but I needed it and it felt good (mostly). I need to do the yoga thing more consistently. After yoga, I stopped by the farmer’s market near my house. I got some vegetables and bread. I hadn’t seen the bread guy in a while and he said, “We’ve missed you! Where have you been?”

“Oh, just busy. Busy.”

“Busy, that doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, social busy, not work busy.” I said.

“Ah. So it’s good.”

“Yes, it is.” For once, I didn’t feel like flirting with the friendly, married bread guy and I headed home.

Around 11am, Owen called. “I’m running late and they’re doing some track work on the metro…can we meet at 2pm instead?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“See, I am good at this!” He said.

“You rock. You are awesome!” We laughed and got off the phone.

I puttered around, doing laundry and watching DVDs. I ate some breakfast (a banana/strawberry/yogurt smoothie and bread). I thought I’d leave at 1pm and walk to the museum. I let the time get away from me, as I seem to do often, and it was 1:40 when I left the house and I knew I would be late–even if the buses cooperated. I sent Owen a text, “I’ll be about ten min late.” I was right.

(Later, Owen said, “I was worried you’d be upset when I called and rescheduled.” I said, “Really? Nah, it was no big deal. Anyway, I was the one who ended up being late.” He said, “I know. That was awesome.”)

When I first saw him, I was a little nervous. Last week was a bit of an emotional roller coaster for me. And I don’t like roller coasters. All week I was saying to myself, “you just have to ride it out.” That thought was comforting. Even before I heard from Owen on Wednesday, I’d regained some perspective. Knowing that there are potentially other options didn’t hurt. When I start dating someone who I really like, I can get a little gloomy. I start to feel sure I’ll screw things up and end up all alone. It’s silly to think that way because I was (relatively) perfectly happy being alone. Damn, wasn’t I planning to take a break from dating when I met Owen? Ok. So, when I thought about it, I didn’t doubt that Owen would get in touch. I never doubted that I liked him. I never thought I wanted to date someone else.

When I saw Owen, I was happy, but not overly excited. I wondered what would happen. We would talk, that’s for sure. We went into the museum and looked at the displays, with a few quiet comments exchanged. It’s how I like to see a museum and I was pleased. He was in a good mood, but not very chatty.

After we had our fill of the Freer, we went to the Hirshhorn sculpture garden and looked at the Calder for a while. We started to get hungry and I suggested we go to Teaism for a bite to eat. After that, we walked over E Street to see what was playing. All along, we chatted and goofed and enjoyed ourselves. On the way to E Street, Owen started play-boxing with me (for no reason that I can think of) and I couldn’t stop laughing. I said, “What are you doing?” He said, “I am the greatest!” (Which is particularly amusing coming from a very tall, very thin, very pale white guy.) He backed me up against some of the closed storefronts and a few passing pedestrians gave us concerned looks. I laughed all the more.

We got to the theater around 6pm and nothing was showing until 7pm. Owen said, “I was thinking about going to some parties or something later on…so this might be too late.”

I said, “Ok. We can do something else. No problem.” I thought, “What the heck is that about?” We walked up 11th street, aimlessly, and I said, “So, am I invited to these parties and stuff?”

“Well, I don’t really know what’s going on. But are you sure you want to go? Aren’t you still sick?”

I pondered that for a moment, “You mean, you think I don’t want to go because I’m sick?”

“Well, you say you’re sick, and I know you’re sick, but you don’t seem sick. But maybe you need to rest?”

“Look, I’m feeling fine. Better, I think. It’s just that I can’t eat!” We laughed. “Look, I’d like to come out…I feel ok.”

“Then you should come! Let’s go back to my place…I’m meeting my roommate and we’ll go from there.”

We got on the train and headed to Arlington and Owen’s place. We hung out, watching tv, mostly college football, until his roommate, “Barry,” arrived. Then we watched more college football. My stomach was bothering me a bit (will this ever end?) so while the guys had brats, I asked Owen to make me some pasta. Ah, plain pasta–dinner of champions. They also knocked back a few beers but I only had a couple sips of Owen’s. After a bunch of calling and texting by Barry our agenda was finally determined: The Big Hunt followed by Adams Morgan. And we were off.

We met a few people at The Big Hunt and stayed for one round, though I declined to drink. Owen laughed at me while everyone talked about how they were born in the ’80s–with the exception of one woman who was born in 1978. She declared, “I’m a child of the seventies!” Owen gave me the raised eyebrow at that. I stayed silent, but I couldn’t help a few eye rolls in Owen’s direction.

After The Big Hunt, we went to Adams Morgan to meet a friend of Barry’s at a rather upscale club. Owen and I were dressed in jeans and fleece jackets, almost guaranteeing that we couldn’t get in. Plus, there was a line and a $10 cover. Call me crazy, but I’ll never understand why one would pay a cover for the privilege of drinking. For a band, sure, but just to get in? We decided to skip it. We went across the way to Millie and Al’s, probably the least pretentious place on 18th St. Barry got us the first round of drinks (he surprised me with something) and Owen got the second round. Barry was a little frustrated because he wanted to see his friend and he never did get a hold of him. We sat in the window, watching the crowds go by, and drank. Barry said, “I hate to be the third wheel…”

Owen said, “You’re not the third wheel–Jamy’s the third wheel!”

I said, “That’s right! I’m the third wheel! Don’t be crazy.” Barry laughed and I thought it was hilarious.

Owen left to use the rest room and Barry asked if I were having a good time. “I sure am.” He said, “Did you like that drink I got you before?”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“I figured I’d get the first round, then Owen would get the second…”

“And I’ll get the third!” I said.

“No, well, I didn’t mean…sure, you can get the third, if you want.”

When Owen came back, I asked what he wanted and I went to the bar for the third round. You should have seen the looks on those two’s faces when I came back with the drinks. It was as though a woman had never bought a drink for them before. They still paid for more of my drinks that night, but they appreciated the gesture. (I think I had a total of four alcoholic drinks and a coke, so I didn’t come out too far ahead.) Around this time, a bunch of their other friends showed up and things got even livelier.

Barry looked at Owen and me and said, “This is good. I haven’t really seen you two interact.”

Looking at Owen, I said, “Well, we don’t really interact that much.” We both cracked up. I said, “You know, talking is really overrated.”

Owen said, “Damn straight!”

A couple of very funny things happened in the line for the ladies room. The first was that a guy standing in the men’s line, opposite me, introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“I’m Jamy.” He was wearing an Ohio State sweatshirt so I said, “Your team did well today.”

“We kicked some ass! So, you were watching college football?”

“Yep.” And I gave him some highlights of the other games I saw.

Ryan said, “Who were you watching the games with?”

I said, “Um, with, uh, a couple of friends.” I considered saying, “with my boyfriend.” But, you know, I’m not ready to go there yet. (Later, I told told Owen the story and he said, “He wanted to know if you had a boyfriend.” Heh.)

The other thing that happened was a woman “excused me” her way to the front of the line and no one stopped her. But someone in the back of the line notice and shouted to those of us closer to the front, “Did you just let her break in front of all of us? Not cool!” The woman in front of me said, “I’ll say something to her when she comes out! I can’t believe she did that.” When the line breaker came out, the next woman in line accosted her and asked who she thought she was. I thought, “Let us take care of her and get in the stall!” The line moved slowly forward and the line breaker kept saying, “Do you know who I am?” I leaned towards her and said, “Who are you?”

She said, “If you don’t know, then you can stand in line.” Damn, bitch! She waltzed out as though she owned the place and our exchange rippled down the line. “No way she said that! ‘You can wait in line’? Bitch!”

When I got back to my group, it was time to move to the next place. One (hopefully sober) fellow had driven and we piled in his car to go to Dupont. I was done drinking by then and only had a coke. I was asked to dance by a very drunk man and Owen encouraged me to accept. I did, the fellow spun me around a few times, and returned me to my stool. It was fun.

Owen also started talking to me in earnest. He said, “I’ve been thinking, it would cool if you could meet my mom. What are you doing in December?”

“In December? Well, I have to go to the West Coast at the end of the month, around New Year’s, but that’s it.”

And he invited me home for Christmas. He said, “I was thinking about inviting you, but I just decided today.”

“Really. When?”

“It was about the time you laughed when I was boxing with you this afternoon.”

(The next day, I reminded him of this conversation and he slapped his head. “Oh, drunk Owen, what were you thinking?” I just laughed. “Don’t worry about it.” He said, “I was thinking about it…but I hadn’t decided!”)

Pretty soon after that, we headed to the metro with Barry. He went back to Arlington and Owen and I went back to my place. You might find this surprising, but it’s not the first time Owen and I have spent the night together. It’s not even the second time.

On the way to my place, Owen started talking. I learned some important things about his past relationships and more. He kept talking the rest of the night (morning?) and we didn’t fall asleep until 4am. Unfortunately, I still woke up around 8am, not much later than on a work day.

Sunday was a haze, but it went something like: wake up, read, try and fail to go back to sleep. Shower, make tea. Drive the flexcar to Arlington with Owen and get breakfast (lunch, really). Spend as little time as possible buying a new DVD player (the old one broke). Amaze Owen with my speedy purchasing. Drive Owen home and go in to watch football for a while and fall asleep on the couch. Get covered with a blanket. Rouse myself by 6pm in order to drive home before dark. Get home, eat unhealthy dinner of fried chicken (so good) and go to sleep before 10pm.

It was one of the better weekends I’ve had in a while and that’s saying something.

Grateful for: a great weekend.

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I did not like this movie. I only went because one of the folks in my group insisted. The acting was fine–Forest Whitaker, as always, was excellent and, chillingly, quite convincing as Idi Amin. I recalled him, dimly, from my childhood and that he was a very bad man. In at least the first half of the film there is quite a bit of humor. But, do we need another film about Africa from the perspective of a white guy? For the most part, while I didn’t like the white guy hero very much, I bought the story. However, the end of the film, which hinges on the raid on Entebbe, was preposterous. Completely unbelievable! Argh. Also, even the humor is hard to enjoy because, knowing that this is Uganda, under Amin, nothing good is going to happen. In fact, only bad things are going to happen–to everyone except the white guy hero. (Note: the film features an almost unrecognizable Gillian Anderson in a substantial supporting role. She sports blond hair and a most convincing British accent. Turns out she’s a natural blond and lived in England from age 2 to 11! Who knew?)

Good movie. It’s true: Martin Scorsese is back to form. I was very surprised to find myself liking the Leonardo DiCaprio character better than the Matt Damon character–even though you’re supposed to. I just like to look at Matt Damon so much more than Leo! I see it as a testament to good acting on both their parts that they were able to shift me my from my initial preferences. Also, (my boyfriend) Marky-Mark is fantastic in this film. It was almost a throwaway part, but boy does he chew it up! The hair? Awful! The dialog? Foul! The character? Hateful! But you completely respect him and buy him in this part. It does help if you like Boston (South Boston?) accents. The natives (Damon, Wahlberg) do it better than the rest of the cast, but they’re all in there pitching. Last, but not least, the “old heads” in this picture are fun to watch, in particular, Jack Nicholson. I am crazy about Alec Baldwin these days and he is fine here. Martin Sheen? Perhaps dialing it in a little, but nothing too terrible. His accent is a weak point. I do like that EVERYONE in the picture is supposed to be from Boston and that local class differences turn the plot. This attention to detail makes us suspend our disbelieve enough to enjoy the preposterous stuff in this picture. Some gruesome violence, not for the faint of heart, and a little too much humor at the expense of corpses, but, still, a good ride. Oh, and, for once, a love story that is essential to the plot and pretty well done. I recommend it.

Aside: if we could have a picture with as many interesting roles for women of as many different ages and degrees of beauty…that would be something!

On my last visit to New Jersey, my sister-in-law, Ilena, gave me a copy of a book she edited, “I Married My Mother-in-Law.” It’s a collection of essays by some great writers–most of whom she has worked with as an editor. The book is good. I wonder, how did Ilena get this group of diverse, excellent writers to deliver amazing, well-crafted non-fiction essays on the touchy subject of in-laws? She shares some of her experiences in the introduction, but it can’t be the whole story. Whatever she did, it worked.

When we talked last, Ilena was wondering how to get the book out there, to book clubs and new readers. I mentioned that I’m approached occasionally to review books on the blog. That’s when she realized she hadn’t given me a copy. B1 (my brother, her husband) said, “Jamy can buy a copy!”

Ilena said, “No! She’s not buying a copy.” She turned to me, “I’m giving you a book as soon as we get home.”

I was concerned that the book wouldn’t appeal to my readers. But a good book is always appealing. I happen to know, dear readers, that you enjoy reading non-fiction–and this is some of the best non-fiction I’ve ever read. It covers some of the most intimate and tricky relationships that exist—those we have with our in-laws–with great depth and variety. There are so many different kinds of relationships with in-law represented; I had no idea so many variations existed. The book is an engaging read. Surprisingly (or not?) many stories deal with death. In addition, they all deal with negotiating complicated and unexpected relationships. The stories are fun, interesting and provocative–it’s a great read.

Click here to get a copy. (Out in paper, January 2007.)

And, listen to Ilena on the radio! She didn’t even tell me about this. I’m so out of the loop. I found it amusing that when asked about her relationship with her in-laws she says it’s a boring story because they are delightful people and respect boundaries. That’s good to know! At least that’s one thing my future potential husband doesn’t have to worry about.

Grateful for: my in-laws.

Drop me a line.

First, thanks for the all the friendly and thoughtful comments on yesterday’s post. I was also tickled that many of you commented on “The Candy Economy.” Maybe I should write about candy more often.

Before I get to the meat of today’s post, you should know that the “five-date guy” from yesterday’s post was, indeed, “Owen.” The second guy was “Wayne,” a fellow from my office.

Last night, Wayne and I went to the movies. Before the “date” I’d decided, on the advice of real-life friends Nancy and Pele, to casually introduce the information that I’d “just started seeing someone.” There were good reasons to do this, not the least of which was that I realized, after a long talk with Nancy, that the “not calling” was more an indication of a pacing difference between Owen and me than a rejection. I could not imagine that I would never hear from him again. When we’ve been together, there is NOTHING rejecting in his behavior (actions or words). I was freaking out because such a long silence takes me out of my comfort zone. It may be a deal breaker for me, eventually, but I’m not willing to give up yet. Given that, and that I know I like Owen a whole bunch, and that I don’t know Wayne very well, and we work together, and I don’t want to lead him on, I decided I would try and drop the “seeing someone” info in a conversation, if it were not impossibly awkward. Unfortunately, it made me a little nervous, thinking about it, but we met at the theater (he left work much earlier than I did) and went to see the movie almost immediately, not leaving much room for talking. Isn’t that the best thing about the movies ever?

Then, with impeccable timing, Owen sent me a text at 9:15, just as I walked out of the movie theater with Wayne. The phone beeped, I saw it was him but I didn’t read the message. Wayne said something like, “I’m not even checking my phone.” Which was meant to be a joke.

I said, “Oh, it’s the MIA guy I just started seeing.” Because I’m smooooth like that. His reaction? A little surprised, but he rolled with it well. There was a very short discussion of the non-caller and I said, “He’s better in person.” And then we changed to other topics. I actually perked up quite a bit and I realized how uncomfortable I’d been carrying around my deep, dark secret.

Wayne waited for the bus with me, and we chatted happily until it came. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I do hope we can still be friends.

The text from Owen said, “Want to do something this weekend?” I replied with a long-winded “yes” but didn’t hear back. I’ll call him tonight.

I got a friendly email from Wayne today and it spurred a discussion of the finer points of the movie. I hope this means our friendship is on track.

Grateful for: text messages.

Drop me a line.

When I was a kid, I hoarded candy. All my money, allowance, spare change, etc., went for candy. Around age 11, I started to want other things—like records—and my spending habits changed. I’m not sure when I started spending my own money on clothing, but I did spend plenty on records, books (mom did not approve—that’s what libraries are for), and toys. I wasn’t much for buying make-up, ever.

I would save my Halloween candy (what I didn’t eat the first night) in a special metal box. If we had dessert that night, I had one piece. If we didn’t, I’d have two. I would keep this up for a few weeks and break down and eat it all.

When we lived in Ft. Saunders, in Knoxville, I’d make a weekly trip to a corner store (aka candy store) a few blocks away. I kept those trips a “secret” from my parents. They must have known what I was up to. I would carry my cash, reserved for a candy purchase, and carefully weigh my options. Each week I engaged in a value-quality trade-off. I would examine the candy packages to see which treats weighed more and incorporate that into my decision making. There was also the chocolate vs. fruity dilemma, usually resolved in favor of chocolate.

Some of the candy I bought in those days doesn’t exist anymore, even in my memory. And there were the things that taunted me like Almond Joy and Mounds which sounded good but didn’t taste good. Or Chunky. Remember Chunky? It contained raisins, anathema to me, but surrounded by an enormous piece of tempting chocolate. But so full of raisins! Impossible.

I talked to my dad recently about candy and how important it had been to me as a kid. Not that I still don’t love candy–I do. But it doesn’t rule my world. Sadly, it’s no longer a luxury. In the middle of my candy reflections, my dad got this far away look on his face and said, “You know, there used to be this terrible tasting candy I bought when I was a kid. But you got so much for your money, that I would still buy it. It was bunch of these hard, flavored disks. What were they called?”

Necco Wafers! You bought Necco Wafers?”

“Yes! Necco Wafers. They were terrible.”

I said, “That’s hilarious–especially because I did exactly the same thing. There were just so many of them–they lasted forever!”

I love that my father and I, with childhoods separated by 37 years, had exactly the same attitude about candy when we were kids.

Grateful for: candy.

Drop me a line.

I’m still sick. The good news is that I have my appetite back. The bad news is that I can’t eat anything. Because I can’t eat much, I’m exhausted, even when I do nothing. Which means I can’t go to rowing, since I don’t have the stamina for it. I could go, but I think the risk of injury is rather high in my weakened state. I HATE this.

I went to the grocery store tonight and I bought: chicken, yogurt, pasta, bananas, and chocolate sorbet. This is just sad.

I poached the chicken, cooked the pasta and made some hard-boiled eggs. I’ll eat an egg for breakfast tomorrow and bring chicken and rice for lunch. Tonight I ate some pasta. Maybe I will sample the sorbet. Will the eggs and chicken agree with me? What about the sorbet? Anyone’s guess, but I’m hoping.

I will also go to the gym and try and build up my strength so I can go back to rowing in another week. The end of the season is soon (mid-November), so I won’t have much more time on the water, but I don’t want to miss the whole thing.

It’s harder to be sanguine about boys-who-shall-remain-nameless while feeing sick and pathetic, but I’m doing my best.

Ugh.

Grateful for: that I’ll get better, eventually. It could be worse.

Drop me a line.

Who remembers the story from way back in January when Kristin and I went to an engagement party and stayed until 5am? This week, I got an invite to a party from John, the host of the previous event. I couldn’t place his name at first, but when I put it together, I laughed and immediately sent Kristin an email. “What do you think of this? Want to go?”

We decided not to decide, but I was pretty sure we’d end up there. It was also one of the reasons I told Owen about the blog–I invited him to join us and I thought there was a chance people would call me “Jamy” and I had to explain that to him ahead of time. Kristin thought it would be funny if I just introduced myself by my real name and see if anyone remembered.

Owen didn’t join us, but after a nice dinner and good parking luck, Kristin and I arrived at John’s fantastic apartment at 9pm. John greeted us. He remembered our faces, but our names? They were not spoken. It was somewhat awkward. John handed us wine glasses and Kristin and I stood in the dining room holding empty glasses. A woman who looked familiar came up to me. I couldn’t place her right away–did I know her from the other party? And then it hit me–as she was saying it, “Hi [Jamy’s real name]!” She turned to Kristin, “She’s basically my boss. I just wanted to clear that up.”

Ah. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m blanking on your name.”

“Stephanie.”

“Right. Of course. What’s wrong with me?” I spent a couple of days with this woman in California back in June on a site visit. I know exactly who she is. She is my contractor. In a way, I am her boss. Odd.

After Stephanie went back to her friends, I said to Kristin, “Well, I guess we know what name I’m using tonight!” And I introduced myself by my real name to everyone else I met. No one blinked, including a few people we’d met previously.

It wasn’t a hilarious good time the way the first party was. Some of that was due to my extreme tiredness. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I drank one glass of wine on top of an actual meal and it’s been a few days since I really ate and more than a week since I had a drop of alcohol. That wine hit me like a ton of bricks. My stomach seems to be in good shape, though.

Just as we left, the party started to perk up. Kristin and I talked about the two good looking guys we’d had our eyes on when we walked back to the car. “The one with the curly hair was cute.” Kristin said.

“So was his friend, in the jacket.”

“They were both cute.”

I said, “I wondered how long they were going to stand around talking to those other guys.”

“They didn’t mingle at all.”

“They were just starting to move around when we left. That was our chance. Sorry I dragged you out.”

Kristin said, “No worries.”

“You know, I wonder, I’m supposed to be doing that? What are the rules?”

“I have no idea!”

I said, “Me neither. Flirting is fine, I’m sure.” But I didn’t flirt. I still had a good night. Wish I’d been a little perkier, though. Nothing could have topped the first party–and we knew it. I didn’t manage to lower my expectations enough. But isn’t that the hardest thing to do?

Grateful for: reasonable expectations.

Drop me a line.