wanted: attitude adjustment

The week has been long, having begun with a slight case of flooding apartment, a wee bit more work-related pressure, and the stress of learing about (possibly) dying relatives. My usual way of dealing with stress - to internalize it - is backfiring (yeah, shocker) and my tummy is. not. happy. My new friend, the British Bombshell, and I hit up my stylist for a haircut tonight and then we shared a couple beers. This has helped, but what I really need is a massage and a couple xanax. And for some mork-licking (if you don't know, don't ask). Any takers?

when a trip home isn't a vacation

La Sister: Aunt C says that Aunt A probably won't make it through the surgery.
Me: Say that again?!
La Sister: Aunt C told mom that Aunt A is not in good enough shape to make it through the open heart surgery.
Me: Mom didn't tell me that. No wonder she's been so pensive/moody.
La Sister: She didn't tell you that either? [Don't even ask what the other thing was - too disturbing.]
Me: I must be on a "need to know" basis with her. Or she thinks I'm too fragile to handle the hard truth from so far away.
La Sister: Probably.
Me: Do I need to make plans to come home?
La Sister: Wait till they've scheduled the surgery - they're looking at least a couple weeks from now as other procedures will have to come first. Its possible that Aunt A will have improved by then, but her situation is pretty sticky. She looked very pale today. Cousin D looked very tired, but it was probably because she went to a concert last night and then worked till 2 am.
Me: She went to a concert while her mother is in the hospital and possibly near death?
La Sister: Yep.
Me: That is really screwed up. [She is freaking 37 or 38 years old and a total mess.]

Aunt A and my mom used to be as close as I am to La Sister. That was 20 years ago. Due to various sad circumstances, mom and Aunt A grew apart (Aunt A distanced herself and our cousin from the rest of the family). I don't know what I would do if anything came between me and my sister. I'm really sad for my mom as it seems like she's going to lose her sister twice. It can't be any easier to be semi-estranged from a dying sibling.

Also, this rain is soul-suckingly awful.

sangria and biblical floods

At least part of my evening was lovely. I went to dinner with a dear friend, the Portuguese Man-O-War (how ya like your new sobriquet?), and we drank a fair amount of sangria and ate tapas at Churreria Madrid. Their sangria is very subtle and fantastically cheap! PMOW fed me, entertained me, and made me feel all warm and fuzzy. How great is that?

Well, I'm beyond grateful for that lovely time since I had to come home and spend the past 2.5 hours bailing out my back room. God's wrath sent quite the deluge on us this evening, and it seems the back wall is having some issues. The landlords and I spent a while trying to dry it out - we borrowed a wet-vac around 12:30 am from a neighbor - and boyfriend of landlady spent some time drilling different holes outside to try and coax the water into following a path that did not lead inside my apartment. He then applied some sort of epoxy cement that expands instead of contracts. Boys are so handy! I believe we were successful. But I'm supposed to get up in a bit and check on it. Blech.

current dating position: sweeper

I haven't played the field in a loooooong time. There was that summer between the sophomore and junior years of high school where I dated six guys at once, and they all knew about it. I think I've relayed this story before, but at the end of that summer, one embittered and culled beau asked a friend of mine, "Who won the {WP} lottery?" Ah well. The game of love tends to bring out the poor losers in all of us.

Online dating has brought greater attention to the use of multi-dating. Prior to all these damnable dating sites, it was much easier to be discreet about dating several people at once. Now, it is much simpler to keep track of one's beaux and their level of interest as you need only go online and see how recently they've checked their dating profiles. And vice versa.

There are some people out there (I'm not naming names) who need to keep better track of their dates. The incomparable Nunzio (I so need to go see his show - he's in Assassins at Signature Theatre right now and is getting rave reviews) once teased me that he maintained a spreadsheet of the women he dated and kept track of what was done/said so he wouldn't make any errors in conversation. In retrospect, he wasn't teasing me and was demonstrating serious genius. Well, maybe not so much by sharing that bit of intelligence with me (as it can backfire), but definite organizational genius.

The spreadsheet approach does allow one to keep track of what one has done with different dates. Here's a mini case-study:
Me - Yes, I've been wanting to see that movie.
Guy - Didn't we see that together?
Me - Nope. Must have been some other girl.
Guy - Oops.

A spreadsheet might have helped this lad avoid making this sort of error.

Also, I don't recommend pointing out all the women/men that one has asked out while on a date, or mentioning the profiles of women/men who have recently responded to one's profile. I think it is safe to assume that you have already been found attractive enough for a person to accept a date (or multiple dates), and to point out what a Super Dater you are is akin to braggadocio. Subtlety, my dear readers, is far more effective.

I do think sharing dating foibles can serve as a nice icebreaker - but don't belabor the issue. Too many dating foibles = undateable.

To recap: take appropriate precautions; prepare by doing proper research; try to remember who you're playing; stay hydrated; and if you must play the field, be good sports about it.

eat my shorts, blogger template code!

It took a night of steady drinking and very little sleep (do they make Breathe Right strips for dogs? because I know a pup in DIRE need...), but I believe that the comments function has been fixed.

how ya like me now?!?

La Chewy did a little work on the template (neither of us realized that the text and columns weren't lining up on everyone's screens till way after the fact) and it should be fixed. If it isn't, please let me know.

Unless, of course, I haven't actually fixed the haloscan comments issue. in which case my inner Scarlett O'Hara is all, "tomorrow is another day!" and you all are all, "you really suck at this, WP."

On a separate note, I'd like to send good karma in the direction of my brother-in-law as he has stopped reading my blog as I requested. He's a great guy and all but he cannot keep a secret to save his life. And there are lots of things I'd rather my and his family just not know about me...

i like my men clean shaven

I'm not a fan of goatees. They're okay on men I'm not dating, but hell on the ones I am.

The deal is that I have rather sensitive skin and most facial hair is rather abrasive. Have you ever spent an hour or so kissing someone only to have to go home and coat your face with neosporin and then have the tip of your nose peel the next day? No? You lucky bastards.

Also, the bristles completely throw off my kissing game. I can't concentrate on (my usual mad) kissing skills or if I even like how the man is kissing me because I'm distracted by the intense exfoliation being tendered by my date. I have kissed a couple men in my life who had fairly well-maintained goatees or beards - the bristles were longer and I think they actually used conditioner on them - and it wasn't awful. I can handle this guy's look.

I'm really not into facial hair fashion at all. Moustaches creep me out. Beards seem dirty (unless you're Santa Claus). And what is up with those long straggly chin-only beards that young bald men are into?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with my tweezers.

Oh dearie dear

The Slama forwarded some modern dating etiquette tips to me today (from New York Magazine's Urban Etiquette Handbook), fully aware that I have been remiss in regard to some of these, now, commonly held tenets. I'm not telling which ones I've gotten wrong recently...

What obligations does one have after a one-night stand?
They correlate directly to the expectations raised the night before. If you wooed your one-nighter to bed with promises of Central Park picnics and weekends in the Hamptons, you are obliged to follow through. But if you made no false promises in order to close the deal, then you simply need to be polite. If the liaison takes place in your own apartment, let your new friend stay the night and offer to cook/pay for a quick breakfast, but don't dilly dally in your effort to get to that place you "need to be" the next day. If the tryst is at the other person's place and you wish to depart, engage in light caressing and conversation for at least twenty minutes. If you decide to sneak out at 5 A.M. instead, leave a YOU WERE GREAT LAST NIGHT note on a Post-it or napkin. Don't ask for a phone number if you have no intention of dialing it, and don't leave yours if you plan on accidentally making the "6" look like a "0."

If you start dating someone you met online, at what point should you take down/hide your personal ad?
Taking down your personal ad, like referring to someone as your "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," is a step that should be taken once you have reached Mutually Acknowledged Monogamy. You can't make any assumptions until you've had The Talk: Until you utter or hear the words "Let's be exclusive," you can't expect your partner's ad to come down.

How do you respond to an online personal message from someone whose picture you don't like?
If you've established an e-mail connection before seeing the other person's photo, which then reveals a mullet or other disturbing feature, you must suffer the consequences of jumping the gun. Set up a very brief coffee date and hope that the person doesn't photograph well.

Who pays the bill on a date?
The asker pays, unless the woman does the asking—then the man should pay. If the check is on the table and her suitor hasn’t moved for it, a woman should allow him a one-bathroom-trip grace period. If it's still there when she comes back, she should split the bill but is entirely free to silently ruminate about what a cheap jerk he is. (For same-sex couples, the asker really does pay.)

How do you end an exchange of witty, flirtatious e-mail banter?
The exchange of witty, flirtatious banter is admittedly the e-mail quagmire with the fewest number of obvious exit strategies. Nonetheless, it should be resolved like real-time witty, flirtatious banter: with one party either summoning the courage to ask for a date or ending the quasi relationship by means of unexplained unresponsiveness.

When is it acceptable to Blackberry during a conversation?
When it's a "conversation' in the sense of "The New School Presents a Conversation With Harold Bloom" and you're there. Otherwise, never. This remains one of society's most frequent breaches of basic human decency. Seriously, what is wrong with those people?!?

Funny stuff. I definitely recommend reading the entire piece.

Also, my nerve horoscope cracked me up today, but is completely off-base (although, I think I've found my newest catchphrase):

Libra (Sept. 22-Oct. 22) You need to stop yelling at your lovers, "Get down there and lick my mork, goddamn it!" Upsetting sex-organ euphemisms aside, this demanding demeanor is off-putting. This week, practice generosity. Pleasing someone else in bed is half the pleasure of sex, and good karma to boot. Don't be afraid to get down on your knees - submission can be its own reward.

rode hard and put away wet

I'm too damn old to be having non-stop fun on the weekends. The only thing that's going to save me is the fact that the bosses will be out of the office for most of this week. And that I have Friday off.

Meeting Velvet was quite fun - it is so nice to be able to pair a face with the excellent prose. But my Saturday started far earlier than usual so that I could accompany TMS to get her wedding gown fitted and for a marathon trip to Ikea. I was able to sneak in a 45 minute nap before going out with a new friend (courtesy of the Brooklyn Freckler), who shall be named The British Bombshell. I lovelovelove this girl! She's teensy and can drink most men under the table. And, for some reason, tales of (near) incest don't seem so dirty when told with a British accent. How great is that?

The weekend was rounded out with brunch with a gentleman we shall refer to as the Chauffeur of Dogs. We're continuing to see other people, but you'd never know it by little love bite he left on my neck today. Now I understand why the guy at the supermarket was so smiley as he was ringing up my groceries. Shame on you, CoD! To do that to a girl in 90 degree weather is really unforgiveable.

friend date

Despite the steady stream of complaints, online dating has definitely made my life more interesting. I met the Thirsty Bunny, he introduced me to blogging, I introduced him to TMS, they are getting married, and now I have a friend date with a another blogger. I've never been on a blind friend date, but it cannot be any less awkward than a regular blind date. Right?

So what happens when you put two clever and profane 30-something online daters (former and current) in a dive bar and add booze? I dunno. Should I bring my camera?

the awkward years

Oh, the 80's. I really don't miss them. At this point, my sister was all arms and legs, and my boobs were pretty much non-existent. We're still sporting bangs as well as some serious feathered hair. At least I had the, er, good sense (what?? you got something to say about it?) to wear a hat. You can blame Duran Duran for the hat. Actually, you can blame Duran Duran for lots of things.

So, I got called out for the post where I questioned my sanity for having sent the Whisky Pants linky-loo to a beau... (In all honesty, it happened by accident during a very blonde moment and I don't really regret the error.) It was suggested that I could simply request that he discontinue reading the blog. Pish! As if I could be so cruel to deprive him of such pleasure!

Now things are going to be really awkward. 

riches of embarrassment

Christmas, 1977. The year of the Green Machine. Briefly, I was so much cooler than the other kids on the court who only had Big Wheels. (Check out the look on my face. I'm all, "the neighbor kids are owned.")

But what is going on with our hair? (Also, what is my sister doing with her hand? Is she doing the I'm a Little Teapot dance? I think she is.) I've looked back at the photographic evidence (the carnage, really), and our bangs are always too short. I guess Mamasan got tired of taking us to get our hair cut so often.

I'm contemplating a post on adolescence. It would be truly awful: braces, Kristy McNichol haircuts, my sister's spiral perms and her Michael Jackson dance moves (she was good)... 

do you ever wonder, "what were we thinking?!?"

Yeah. Me too. [It was called the 80's. I take no responsibility for anything I was made to wear or hairstyles prior to 1980 as I had rather limited control at that point.]

In this vein, have you ever sent someone a link to your blog only to realize that this would inhibit your ability to write about certain aspects of your life?

No? Oh. Uh... Me neither. 

TMS - I found your wedding band!

Well, he's not so much a band, but he's got skillz. The Bunny will LOVE him. And he's only 14 so you know you can get him cheap! (Link obtained via DC Bachelor.)

this time, with feeling

So, in re the last post, the answer was "ex parrot". I know that some of you knew the answer, but were simply afraid of appearing like the wonky-assed geeks you are. Own your love of the Pythons, bitches.

Let's try this again. "What were the three, four, no, five weapons of the Spanish Inquisition?"

The new job is going well. I'm busier than I have been in a long time and am surrounded by some really bright and dedicated civil servants. The downside of this is that my surf time has seriously degraded. But have you seen the Daily Show's coverage (via Wonkette) of Zarqawi's death? Also, it seems I wasn't the only one who thought the professionally framed death photo was a bit strange.

give us this day our daily python

The Freckler gave me a belated Christmas gift of a Monty Python trivia calendar. The geeks at work have now annointed me their queen. It gets me an unlimited supply of peanut m&m's so I'm cool with it.

In any case, here is a favorite sketch. Now, guess the punchline.

Mr Praline enters a pet shop, complaining that the parrot he has recently purchased at the location is, in fact, dead. The shopkeeper denies this and points out the beauty of its plumage, further suggesting that the bird is merely asleep. Praline is unconvinced, especially when shouting and the offer of a lovely fresh cuttlefish fails to evoke a response from the bird.
Praline takes the parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter ("Hellooo, Polly!"), then tosses it up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor without reacting in any way. The shopkeeper remains unconvinced, claiming that it is now stunned, and that it is "pining for the fjords."

Praline points out that the only reason that the parrot had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been nailed there. The shopkeeper counters that it was simply to stop it escaping. Praline disagrees in these words:

Mr Praline: It's not pinin', it's passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! This is a late parrot. It's a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace, if you hadn't nailed it to the perch it would be pushing up the daisies! It's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! This is an _______!

The shopkeeper admits defeat, claims that he is right out of parrots, and offers a slug as replacement. The dialogue continues:
Mr Praline: Does it talk?
(pause)
Shopkeeper: Not really, no.
Mr Praline: Well, it's scarcely a replacement then, is it?

i thought i would be more tired

A weekend in review starting with most recent events:

1. toy shopping at Babeland (NSFW - especially if you work for Big Brother - but a tasteful adult toy boutique);
2. brunch at the famous Balthazar (I had the eggs Bella Donna and they were fantastic);
3. saving of the Alabama Slama's soul via the sacrament of baptism (sarcasm implied as I don't think that one has to be "saved" in order to go to heaven, but spirituality is a good thing);
4. drinks and baseball;
5. excellent sushi at some hole in the wall near the Slama's;
6. mani's and pedi's
7. eyebrow threading (first time - I hope it's not a nightmare to maintain) at a little place on Murray Hill called "Thread";
8. shopping;
9. beauty overload at Bergdorf Goodman (Laura Mercier and Prada products purchased);
10. brunch (French joint named Fada) with the Slama and the Brooklyn Freckler in Billyburg;
11. dinner at Noodles on 28th; and
12. happy hour at Makers.

The train trip up was more interesting than usual as I sat next to a chatty young woman on her way to meet her biological father's family in MA. I must appear to be really trustworthy as some people will tell me just about anything - she was rather sweet and vulnerable so I won't go into details. The train trip back was blissfully quiet and allowed me to reflect upon what was a wonderful weekend.

More on spiritual issues later.

thank goodness for ability to doctor photos

Because this one was really awful. It was extremely overexposed, so I had to do a good bit of tinkering.

El Nephew Supremo graduated from Kindergarten this week, and we took this photo right after his class presentation. He starts first grade in July. It is just shocking.

I have a relationship with him that I never had with any of my aunts or uncles because they all had families already. Being a singleton has allowed me to develop an incredible bond with my nephew and niece. 

you get what you pay for

This photo was taken with a Polaroid 5080. It has 5.1 megapixels and a whole lot of other stuff that I barely understand. However, the flash usually ends up completely whiting out the photo's subject, and the color is iffy. It is possible that I really just need to study the instructions. It is also possible that the camera kind of sucks.

But that baby is so beautiful, that she doesn't need an expensive camera. (The foot in the background is mine.)

We are renaming the niece. She will heretofore be referred to as "NO FEAR" for the surprise stage dives she likes to take off various pieces of furniture. She is the stealth kamikaze baby. She is awesome.