Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
I’ve had bad days. I’ve had good days. I’ve had in-between days. Life, you know? Ups, downs, middles.
But yesterday will go down as one of the weirdest days in my life thus far.
My boss loudly and publicly took credit for some of my ideas and then after basking in the “glory” and enjoy the pats on the back for “her” clever ideas, she very quietly, clandestinely, emailed me telling me to get to work on the projects. Instead of adding the work to my to-do list or replying to her email, I got up, walked to her office, kept the door open, made sure her boss was in the office next door and and said, “You took credit for these ideas, so you must think they’re good. Thanks, by the way, remember me and my bank account at review time. But since you were so eager to present them as your ideas, and as you know I’m really busy with a lot of other projects, how about if you do the work on these projects? How about flexing some of those skills you learned in your extensive collegiate career and previous jobs?
This was a major jab at the fact that I know she lied on her resumé and did not attend the college from which she claims to have earned an MBA, nor did she work in the positions she claims to have worked at the agency where she worked prior to getting this job. Yes. I know, people “fudge” on this stuff all the time. But. That doesn’t make it right, and it certainly doesn't excuse the fact that she’s completely incompetent and incapable of doing the job she was hired to do. She knows I know she lied about her credentials - because I innocently (yes, back then it was innocent chit chat) asked her about the people she would have worked with at her alleged previous job, and she didn’t know any of them. Since I do know some of them I bothered to ask them about her, and well, yeah. A huge, huge cat was let out of a bag. Ditto when I asked her about some of the classes she would have taken in pursuit of her alleged MBA. Her lack of knowledge and skill was already obvious, but when I asked her pointed questions about her classes she shirked it off with “that was so long ago, the program is all different now.” Maybe so, but I’m guessing even 20 years ago a major and highly acclaimed university was teaching marketing students basics about demographics. So. She knows I know. I don’t make a big deal about it, I don’t ridicule and mock her in the oh so many ways I could - she gives me so many opportunities on a daily basis - I just quietly do my job, avoid her as much as possible and live on the hope that at some point she’ll fall into the grave she’s dug for herself. Give her enough rope and all that.
Right. So. For some reason yesterday she pushed me over the edge. I am very busy. Extremely busy. And yes. I do have some serious personal stuff going on in my life. So, you know, I assume it’s me being sensitive and stressed beyond reason. Because I generally assume it’s me. No one else has a problem with her, so it must be me. Then again...she did publicly and loudly take credit and accept plaudits for my ideas. Again. For the bazillionth time. Was it the last straw? No. Not really. There wasn’t an award or national acclaim or money involved this time so, you know, kind of a minor incident compared to what she’s stolen from me in the past. I was calm. I was “rational.” I was nonconfrontational.
(Well. I mean. I suppose by definition of the fact that I confronted her with the truth about the ideas and subsequent work I was confrontational, but I wasn’t threatening. Passive aggressive, I think would be the appropriate term. Maybe a bit smug. The “we both know I know and if you’re smart you’ll roll with my suggestion so this doesn’t escalate into something really ugly” strongly implied. And no one, not one person in my department or even in my company, would refute the fact that I am extremely busy for the next month so she can’t make any protests against me about that.)
But she was nonetheless less than eager to take on the work. “Ha ha, that’s your job Trillian. You’re the expert on this. I can’t do that. I wouldn’t even know where to start!” Yes. She openly admitted that. Loudly.
“Maybe you’ll have to hire out the work because I can’t possibly manage this and keep on deadline with my other projects. Whatever the case, you took credit for the ideas, so you can go ahead and follow up with their completion,” I said and walked away.
Next thing I knew my boss’ boss was calling me into her office for a “chat.”
About my attitude. I’m insubordinate. There’s no I in team.
Yes.
Really.
The “there’s no I in team” platitude was used on me.
Me. The one who works long days and weekends for the greater good of the projects and clients. Me the one who brings in good treats for everyone. Me the one who always, always volunteers to take on extra work when someone has a family or social obligation and can’t work late. Me the one who makes sure other peoples’ efforts and ideas are credited and publicly noted for their brilliance. Me who bothers to ask the quiet ones in the office about their weekends or their children or their pets or hobbies or whatever I’ve bothered to get to know about them. Me the one who knows my boss lied on her resumé and about her credentials and yet says nothing and tries to pretend to respect her. Me the one who regularly goes above and beyond my job description for clients. Me the one who deals with “difficult” clients so other people in the department can be spared the stress. Me the one who (in real life) keeps her complaints to herself, doesn’t gossip and tries to find the positive aspects of even the worst projects. Me who keeps my personal life and problems to myself and tries not to let it interfere with work. There’s no I in team.
Swut.
What do you say when presented with a Successories platitude from your senior manager? I mean, what can you say? And still keep your job, that is.
“Okay, sorry. I’ll work on my attitude. I’m under a lot of pressure with these projects right now. I try to keep it in check, but I must be having a bad day. Sorry.”
An hour later I got an email from my boss. She signed my entire unit up for a three day seminar in marketing.
I’m not kidding.
Okay. First of all, four of us in my unit have degrees and several years experience in marketing. Two others (my boss included) have alleged degrees in marketing. Second of all, we’re super busy, like insane busy. Three days out of the office is, well, not appropriate for any one of us let alone the entire staff. Thirdly, the seminar is a beginning marketing seminar - I’m all for new ideas, but this is basic, fundamental, marketing 101 stuff. Marketing for people who are not in the marketing business. I mean, we’re the ones who could be leading the seminar, not taking it. Fourthy, it’s expensive. Really expensive. Instead of spending the money on a useless seminar, why not give us tuition reimbursement for a credible class in something actually useful?
If I were a conspiracy theorist I would say, “My boss is running scared and realizes she’s finally going to have to put up or shut up in terms of her alleged credentials.” But I’m not a conspiracy theorist. And that would also imply my boss is smart and ambitious enough to actually do something about her lack of experience.
Right. So. Boss. Senior manager. Really bizarre behavior, even for them.
So I took a much needed lunch break. My cruiser bike, my get around town bike, had an issue. A broken pedal. Which I suspected was more than a broken pedal. So at lunch I took it into my friendly neighborhood bike shop to see if they could help me either fix or replace the pedal.
Okay. My cruiser bike is not slick or expensive or whatever. I know this. But with the theft rate of bikes in Chicago (I’ve had two stolen) it doesn’t exactly pay to have a good bike sitting unattended all day while you’re at work. Even with mega locks. And I ride a couple of miles to work on city streets, not the actual Tour de France.
So there’s my justification and defense of my cheap cruiser bike. I am well aware that it’s a cheap cruiser bike. I’m well aware there are better bikes. And I even know why they’re better. I actually do know a thing or two about bikes. And I knew the pedal threads were suspect and that I would probably need to replace the whole crankshaft. Yes. I even know what a crankshaft is and why it would need replacing.
So I walked into the bike shop with the pedal and my bike and said, “Hi, I have a little problem here, har har.”
The über cool girl with a lot of tattoos and multicolored hair and really neato sneakers at the service desk (it’s a small shop but efficient - they have a service area) said, “Uh oh. That doesn’t look good. I bet your threads are stripped.”
“Yeah, I suspect that, too. What do you think? Can this bike be saved?” I asked.
“ha ha. Any bike can be saved but always at a price. Depends on what it’s worth to you. Hey Mick, can you take a quick look at this?” she called to the repair area.
Mick, an older guy who looks like the sort of guy who’s worked a lot of odd jobs in his life but has a keen ability with mechanical things, but not exactly a guy who looks like he spends a lot of time actually riding a bike, came out with a heavy sigh and said, without looking at the crankshaft or the pedal, “Have to replace the whole thing. It’ll take a couple of weeks for the parts. It’ll be about 50 bucks. The bike’s not worth that.”
Okay, dude. Let’s talk attitude for a minute here, shall we? Me: Paying customer. You: Middle aged bike shop repair dude.
I just spent an hour with my senior manager talking at me about my attitude and you have the nerve to blow attitude and offend a customer? A customer, a girl, with a problem with her bike? Okay, sure, I’m not exactly the damsel in distress type, but still. A girl with a problem with her bike willing to pay money to have it fixed. I realize working on my cheap cruiser is not exactly the pinnacle of thrills in the fast paced world of bike repair shops, but, c’mon.
Bike shop guys, record store clerks, waiters, art gallery receptionists...where the swut do these people, service people get off with their attitude? You work in a swutting service industry for minimum (or subminimum) wage. I realize income does not equate knowledge or skill. I too, am grossly underpaid, but, how about a little perspective on the situation and a little humility? Why would anyone pay money, sometimes a lot of money, to give patronage to a store/restaurant where they are treated badly by the employees?
Yet, we do it. We want to buy records, or bikes, or go out to eat or to galleries. So we endure often really, really bad attitude and denigration by employees at these places. Employees with a snobbery level unsurpassed for people who earn so little money. (Again, I realize money isn’t and shouldn’t be an indicator of grace or intelligence or manners, I’m just saying, for people who earn so little money in the service, SERVICE industry, they sure do have big ideas about their importance.)
The über cool girl also obviously felt repair guy was rude and said, “Mick, she’s in a bind, can you just throw it on the rack and help her limp home with it?”
“Naw. Not worth it. I’m busy anyway, and it’ll just fall out in a mile,” Mick said and went back into the repair room.
“Sorry,” the girl said.
“S’okay. I figured as much. Bike’s not really worth the repair anyway. Just thought I’d ask.” (why was I apologizing and downgrading my own bike? I have no idea - I had no reason to apologize for myself or my bike. And yet Mick invoked this humility in me. I wasted his precious time.)
Über cool girl then pulled out a catalog and flipped through some pages. “Hang on a minute, I think we can order a new crankshaft and hook you up with a cheap set of pedals, I mean, it won’t take that long except for the wait for the part to be ordered.” She ran the numbers. The estimate was $40 and two week’s wait for the part. “It’ll cost you less than having to buy another bike. Roll your bike back here if you want and we’ll have another guy work on it.”
Which was cool, you know, cool. Fine. Redemption for the friendly neighborhood bike shop.
But Mick, who is the kind of guy who always has to be right or noisy or obnoxious, said to the über cool girl, pointedly, on purpose loud enough for me to hear, “Don’t store that piece of junk where customers can see it.”
Thanks for the insult, Mick. Nice doing business with you.
Got back to work. Weirdness continued.
Smelly Coffee Woman. Ye gads. Smelly Coffee Woman. Well. She’s got problems. Issues. Medication. Smelly flavored coffee. She came into my office, I guess just to say hi. I can’t really call what came next a conversation. It was more random words thrown into the air. “Ooooh, I like bananas.” (there was no conversation about bananas, there were no bananas in my office, no photos of bananas, no monkeys, nothing to elicit a remark about bananas.)
“Really. Huh. High in potassium,” I said.
“Oooooh, this book looks interesting! Look at all those pretty colors! What’s Quark?!” she said as she gazed at my book shelf and reached for a copy of a Quark user’s guide.
“Um, layout program,” I responded, shortly, hoping she’d get the hint I was busy and that she’d take her smelly flavored coffee and leave my office.
“Oooooh, I’m so glad they fixed that clock across the street,” she said, floating, yes, floating to my window.
“Um. Yeah. That’s cool,” again, short, concise, get the swut out of my office tone implied.
“My skirt is ready for Spring! Flowers! I love flowers!” she said.
Okay. I was seriously getting concerned for her health. She can be sort of flaky but even for her this random dispensing of weirdness was weird.
“Yeah, it’s finally Spring. I tulips are poking up, daffodils are out, you’re wearing your flowery skirt, yep, Spring is in the air!” I said trying to keep the attitude light.
“I’m having pizza for dinner,” she responded.
Yes. It was like talking to a four year old. Random thoughts flying all over the place - short statements about, well, not much of anything.
“Huh. Pizza. Yum yum. I think I saw some coupons for Gino’s in the breakroom,” I offered, hoping maybe she’d chase up the coupons and leave my office.
“I was five minutes late this morning,” she responded.
“Well, you know, I don’t think that’s a big deal. I bet no one even noticed,” I assured her.
“OOOOooooooh! Pez! Pink Panther Pez! I could never get the candy loaded in Pez!” she said, eyeing and then grabbing a Pink Panther Pez which has been on my desk for at least two years, a Pez she has undoubtedly seen on every trip into my office with her smelly coffee, and yet acted as if a) she’d never seen it and b) that she was examining a Pez dispenser for the first time in her life, like a baby discovering its hand.
Then, in a baby voice, held the Pink Panther Pez to my ear and said, “I wuv Twiwwian, she’s my bestest friend in the worwd.”
Okay. Not that I don’t goof around and do stupid stuff, because I do. But. This was beyond weird and not exactly in keeping with her usual personality, and certainly not in the context of our normal dialogs.
“har har, um, look, Smelly Coffee Woman, I am smack in the middle of a couple of big projects, so, um, maybe we could talk later?”
“Right, okay chief,” and off she went, singing.
Okaayyyyyy.
So, should I do something about what is obviously bizarre behavior, possibly and quite probably a medication reaction? If so, what? Call her supervisor or someone in HR and say, “Smelly Coffee Woman’s floating around my office and talking baby talk?” I mean, if there’s a problem (and obviously there is) I want to help her, but, on the other hand...describing her behavior to someone else, and explaining why it might be indicative of a problem, a mental or medication problem, is not exactly easy. And telling her she’s acting weird didn’t seem appropriate, and besides, whatever’s giving her that high on life buzz is obviously making her feel really good. For all I know she’s drunk or stoned, in which case I don’t want to get her in trouble. And I don’t want to kill her buzz. If she’s found a way to cope with our office, I mean, good for her. Maybe she had the “no I in team” lecture, too, and adjusted her attitude accordingly.
I seriously pondered what, if anything, I should do about “her” for the rest of the afternoon. I checked in on her before I left the office and she was cutting out flowers from colored copier paper. She seemed, you know, happy. I told her to be careful going home and to enjoy her pizza. She just stood there in the copy room singing and said, “Okeeeeee dokeeeeee Twiwwian!”
Yeah. Gimme some of that. I want to be comfortably numb, too.
Right. So. I left work at a regular person time because my bike was now in the shop and I was meeting a guy for drinks at this place by my compartment. I wanted to get home, change and get there in time so I took the bus.
I rarely take the bus. Because whenever I take the bus something happens. You meet the most interesting people on the bus.
It was starting to rain, it was rush hour, so the bus was packed. I shuffled to the back and stood, holding the overhead hand rail. There was a woman to my right and a guy to my left. I had the Pod engaged. I was in that bus rider zoned out zone. Aware but tuned out.
And then I felt someone touching my wrist. Okay. Not touching, more like caressing. Lingering. Not like, “oops, the bus is really crowded and my hand brushed against yours,” but like, well, lingering, purposely caressing my wrist.
I yanked my hand away and pulled out the Pod ear bud in one swift motion. And looked at who was caressing me. It was the guy next to me. A regular looking guy. I didn’t say anything, but gave him a “what the swut?” look.
The bus jerked to a stop and I reached for the railing again.
The guy said, “I’m sorry. I was just standing here staring at your wrist and it just looked so beautiful I had to touch it. I’m sorry. I don’t usually touch people on the bus. It’s just, your wrist, I dunno, it, well, look at it,” he said, motioning to my wrist. The woman sitting in the seat below us and the woman standing to my right both craned around to get a look at this guy and then at my wrist. They gave him “you weird freak” looks and clutched their purses tightly. I looked a the woman next to me. Someone behind us exited the bus. We both made a dash for the empty spot.
Okay. It’s not every day I get compliments about body parts, or compliments in general.
So. You know. I guess I should be “happy” there’s a guy on the planet who finds my wrist attractive, caress inducing attractive, no less.
But.
Um.
Okay look, as much as I really want a man in my life, and as much as it would be nice to have a man in my life who finds at least one thing about me attractive, a guy who just goes ahead and reaches out and caresses complete strangers on buses is probably not the guy for me. Call me a snob, call me paranoid, but let’s just say I did (freakishly) hook up with this guy. Every time he got on a bus I’d be wondering if he was caressing other women's’ wrists. I don’t need that complication in my life. And besides, who said anything about him being interested in anything more than caressing my wrist on a crowded bus?
Right.
So.
I got home, changed and went on a date.
With a guy who seemed you know, okay. Ish. Sort of. You know. For me.
We had a drink and conversation was going okay. Not sparks and chemistry and all that stuff, but no awkward pauses and hey, he showed up and stuck around. Those constitute big improvements in my love life. Combined with the earlier stranger on the bus caressing my wrist I think we can say ol’ Trill is back in the game.
But then conversation turned to restaurants in the area. I mentioned a particular restaurant I like. He then told me, in way too vivid detail, what biological function happened after the last time he ate there. Including gestures indicating size. “...I mean, it was like THIS long and like this big around, like giving birth!”
Yes.
He was discussing what you’re thinking he was discussing. On a first date.
Okay. I’m no prude. Really. I’m not uptight. I’ve taken care of young children. And an infirm mother. And a cat. These things are facts of life. You know, “everyone poops.” Which is why unless you’ve got a health problem and are talking to a doctor, there is no need to discuss it. At least not on a first date. When you’re contemplating going to dinner. Kinda lost my appetite. I’m guessing this guy was “just not that into me” because I’m thinking no man over the age of 12 who wants to have sex with a woman will break into a conversation about poop. His poop. Yeah. Real class act.
I thought, you know, maybe he’s just really comfortable with me. Maybe he thought it was funny. Maybe he thought I might be able to offer insight into his experience. Maybe he thought I’d share one of my experiences. Who knows? Are you a guy? Have you ever discussed your bowel movements with a woman on a first date?
I’ve met a lot of men. Dated a lot of men. I’m no Spring chicken. I’ve been around a few blocks. And yet, this guy managed to give me something no man has ever given me on a first date: Intimate details about his intestines and bowels.
I was speechless. Really. I just sat there trying to not look shocked (I’m no prude, it wasn’t the graphic subject matter, per se, but the fact that he was talking about it on a date that “shocked” me and I didn’t want him to be confused at the source of my surprise.) I sat there wondering what to say. I didn’t want to encourage more of this conversation, but then, how do you segue into another topic when a person is recounting a bathroom tale with such enthusiasm? “Huh. Wow. Huh.” was pretty much what ended up coming out of my mouth. Which he must have taken as encouragement because then, then he went on to tell me about other dumps he’s had after eating at various other restaurants.
Yes.
This is apparently his version of Zagat’s. This is apparently how he rates restaurants.
Call me picky. Go ahead. Really. Call me too picky. But I don’t want to date G.G. Allin and there is no way I can reasonably consider this man as a viable dating option. Right? The guy is fascinated with his poop. Or, well, at least he was during our date. That’s not good, right?
The guy gave me one of those sort of weak hug/not hug things at the end of the date. (arms around me but not quite touching me, which was totally fine with me. There was nothing to indicate he was, um, “unclean” but, well, you know. The visual of his gestures indicating size and, um, diameter, was firmly planted in my retina and, well, yeah. I’m a visual person and thinking about those hands making those gestures and then touching me, well, okay, maybe I am an uptight prude, but, well, ewwwww)
Fortunately I was in my ‘hood so I walked home. Got there and guess who had already left a message? Poopyhead. Shitz Ewww. Him.
Yes. He’s interested in me. By golly, we’ve got a hot one, here! Why am I not surprised by this? It was the weirdest day in a long time that’s why. It stands to reason I’d meet a guy who discusses his personal, well, that on a first date and that he’d be into me.
The icing on the cake of this great day? Furry Creature “missed” his box and there on the floor was a reminder of that great guy I’d just met.
Which pretty much sealed the deal as a weird day.
Here’s my question, though: So there’s this guy who likes me. But he appears to be fascinated with, well, poop. Other than that he seems, you know, okay. Ish. Sort of. For me. Did I mention he likes me? Right. So. Should I see him again? Give him another chance? I’ve never been in this situation. I see it as an indication of his lack of maturity, but maybe it was nerves or an offbeat sense of humor or, well, I don’t know, should I cut him slack?
If you want to make a good impression on a woman, you know, if you really like her and want to see her again and maybe even have sex with her, do not discuss bodily functions on your first date. Oh sure, she might seem cool and laid back and you might feel really comfortable around her and you might think, "hey, she might as well get to know the real me right up front" but if the real you is fascinated with feces, you might want to reconsider sharing that with her. She might not be uptight but it will make her think about what you might say in front of her friends or parents who might be uptight or at least old school in the taboo topic area. And, well, it's not exactly a turn-on for women. She's going to assume the belch and fart jokes are going to come next. And. Well. Even if this is your true nature, and even if she's cool with it, let her make the first move in this area. If she makes a joke or remark about, well, that then you've got your all clear for discussing that topic. Congratulations, you've met your match. If she doesn't bring it up or even remotely allude to it, and you really like this girl, control yourself man, control yourself. Save it for the night out with the guys. This is one area where an air of mystery is a very, very good thing.
Monday, March 27, 2006
UPDATE: Mother
The nursing home sucked. Big time. But it was short lived. My mother developed another health issue which required emergency transport back to intensive care. More emergency procedures. More required surgeries. More morphine. More doctors. More specialists. More tests. More confusion. More anxiety. More helplessness. More fear. More paranoia. More stress. More tears. More wondering how much more she's going to be made to suffer and fearing the answer will come with either more suffering or an abrupt end. But hey, at least she's not in a nursing home.
That's all I have to say about that without going through an entire box of tissues and banging my head against a wall and cursing life, the Universe, God and anyone else I can think of for putting my mother through this.
UPDATE: Lower paying job.
I was very tempted to take that job. But. I couldn't find a less expensive place to live, a way out of my current lease or anyone to sublet my compartment. And I couldn't see any of that happening in the next weeks. And after going over my budget, again, I reached the conclusion: There's nothing left to cut. I won't get into the realizations I discovered when I looked for ways to cut expenses. But let's just say I'm already living on the edge of reality with my finances. I haven't owned a car for years, I rarely spend the money to take public transportation (the bus is a luxury for when I'm feeling flush and it's raining and my asthma's acting up), I have medical expenses, I pay a lot of income taxes, I have next to no social life, there is at least one week in every month that I fast one or two days so I can feed my cat, yet I have permabloat because I'm living on pasta and beans (store brand), when the tea gift basket I received as a gift runs out I'll be drinking nothing but water. I rely on friends' cast offs for clothes, books, movies and magazines.
I know, I know, I dug myself into this hole. I'm not blaming anyone but me - it's all my fault I broke my ankle and got in a car accident and cracked a tooth and had pneumonia which made my asthma worse and racked up thousands of dollars in medical and dental expenses. It's my fault I moved to a compartment I can barely afford even though according to the Chicago Tribune I'm actually paying the low end of the rent scale in the city.
So. Trying to live on $666.666666 less per month: Not feasible. And really kind of stupid to consider. Oh sure, the whole idealistic thing. Peace of mind. Happier mental state. Change is good. All true. But. Change for the worse is not good. I've become so accustomed to making do and doing without that I didn't realize just how meager my needs have become. Oh sure, a pair of shoes on sale now and then, a drink after work once a month or so...but as I took a good look around the compartment I realized: Everything I have is old. Most everything I own is more than five years old, much of it a lot older than that. If it's less than five years old it's either cheap, a gift or a castoff from a friend or relative. No big deal, my needs are small. But. Where in that equation is there room to cut $666.666666 per month from my budget? I pay rent and bills. Whatever little bit is left after that is used to feed the cat and transport myself to visit my sick mother. How's that for sounding pathetic when put in writing? But, there you have it: My life. So no. I didn't take that job. And for the most part I don't regret the decision. I regret that the job didn't pay more, but I don't regret my decision to not take it. Though it does make me shut myself up when I feel angry/resentful/fed up with my boss and job because, you know, hey, I had a way out, another opportunity, and I didn't take it. I chose to stay.
I have a lot more to say about that but I won't because it makes my head hurt.
UPDATE: Blind date guy.
Called to apologize for not taking me to dinner when he said he would. Note that he didn't apologize for being a rude, inconsiderate jerk. Note that he didn't offer to take me out again. But he did apologize for not doing what he said he would. This is called: Trying to assuage his guilt. He now feels absolved of guilt because, hey, he apologized. And then went into a lengthy and very detailed explanation of why it's really all my fault. Yeah, but, he's the one who kept calling and emailing and said he really like you, Trill. How is that your fault?
He explained that to me. "Women like me" need to wake up and realize men don't want us. "Women like me" should get married when we're very young because youth is all we have going for us. "Women like me" need to find satisfaction and fulfillment in their careers and volunteer work. Because "women like me" will never be what men want. Why would a man over 30 date me when there are much prettier younger girls who are just as smart or smarter than me who want to date older, mature men, "like him?" And he went on to point out that even though I'm nice and funny and intelligent (awww, gee, thanks), I'm not good looking or wealthy, (here he made his point by pointing out that I rent a tiny apartment and don't even own a car) "You're in marketing and design, Trill, c'mon, you should know better than anyone that you're not exactly marketable. You're not the product men want." He surmised that if I were dumber or more mean that would help, too, because there are men who have needs to take care of dumb girls or like the abuse from mean girls. But I'm not either of those things. His advice, well intentioned, of course, "friend to friend," is that I find a job I really like and throw myself into that, concentrate on making money because that's all "women like me" can hope for in life - make their own way and find satisfaction from that.
"Women like me" are too nice and too intelligent to date stupid guys or jerks, but we're not pretty or wealthy enough to date men of equal mental caliber. "Guys love to work with 'women like you' but they don't want to date or marry you. You're business associates, that's how they see you. Confident in work, nice people, good source of ideas and creativity, but not datable." He told me that's my niche in life: Work.
Husband, children...nope. Not my niche unless I find some "low class jerk who's too stupid to be intimidated" by the fact I'm smarter than him. But, he cautioned me, I'll be miserable and bored with a guy like that so really, that's not my niche. Better to focus on work. No disappointments for me. And that's his point. "Women like me" need to deal with our reality that we're not young and pretty and that men do not want us. Once we accept that and forget about it and "stop whining about no decent men out there" everyone will be a lot happier.
"There are lots of decent men out here," he said, "we just aren't interested in 'women like you.' You never hear pretty, young intelligent women saying there are no decent men. They always have plenty of decent men to date and marry. That leaves the men who are jerks and losers out there looking, and that's who 'women like you' meet. Then you assume there are no decent men. But in reality you just can't compete with better women." He then told me I owed him an apology because he had his hopes up, he really liked me, invested a lot of time and emotion with me leading up to our first date and I disappointed him.
See? All my fault. No, I didn't ask him to call me and email me. No, I didn't ask our mutual friend to set us up. No. I pretty much did nothing because I was a bit preoccupied with my mother on life support. But. Somehow I let him down, disappointed him because I'm not younger and prettier. (And no, I didn't lie about my age and he's the one who wanted to be set up with me after seeing me in a photo with our mutual friend.) But still, apparently, it's all my fault.
Oh yes. It was quite a phone call. He's a real pal. And a swell guy, too, what with the apology and everything.
And yes. I know he's right. I've heard it all before from other men. So no. I wasn't hurt. A little surprised he'd bother to tell me all this, but not hurt.
And that's all he had to say about that and I agree.
UPDATE: Mortality
I used to fantasize about ways to kill myself which would look like an accident. Now I spend my days thinking of new ways to make my suicide look like an accident at work. If it happens while I'm working my family gets a much larger settlement. So every day I fantasize about the possibilities of death at work. I've hit upon a few possibilities which seem like genius in their simplicity. I'm really looking forward to it. I focus on all the things my family will be able to do with the insurance settlement and that makes me really happy.
UPDATE: Everything happens for a reason
I met a guy through a friend who liked me but then didn't like me because I'm not young and pretty and his advice was that I find fulfillment in my career because that's all I'll ever have. I then get offered a lower paying job which makes me realize I have nothing. My mother's health takes a turn for the worse and I realize life is fleeting and fragile and pointless. I remember I have a nice life insurance policy which pays out in a hefty sum if I'm killed while working. I spend my days at a job I hate devising ways to kill myself at work so it looks like an accident so my family can have more from my death than I ever had in life. And there it is, full circle: Fulfillment from my job because I have nothing else.
Friday, March 10, 2006 Gone in 120 Seconds
Right, so, my mother’s doing better which is really great. And that's the only thing which matters to me, you know, keeping things in perspective.
But now that I'm not camped out in ICU or racing between work and ICU, I've got some breathing space to catch up with my life.
I’m trying to focus on my life which has lacked even less than usual focus over the past two months.
Work’s work. It hasn’t changed except that it’s more nausea inducing than ever. A couple of people have become engaged to be married so there’s a lot of talk about weddings which never fails to a) annoy me and b) upset me. And someone else quit, got a great job as a VP at another company. You probably already assume this, but I’ll say it anyway, just to make myself feel even worse about myself: This person is several years younger than me, several years less qualified, and no, not bright and clever. In fact this person is kind of stupid and dull. So they should fit in really well in the executive lounge at the new place. I’m not jealous of their title, I’m jealous of the salary I’m quite certain this person is now bringing in over there at the new place. I’m jealous that they got out of my company. I’m jealous that they're moving on with their life in a positive direction. This person got married last year and they have a tiny condo and this new job will help them move into that dream house of theirs. Yeah. Good for them. Excoworker is stupid and dull and is now a VP and making a ton of money, they have two SUVs now, and house with a yard and room for all those little tax deductions they want to have.
Envy is really ugly, isn’t it?
I try to avoid it.
But.
You know.
I mean, kind of difficult to avoid it when everyone around you moves forward, onward and upward, doing all the things people do in life. Fall in love, get married, buy a house, get a promotion/better job, buy a bigger house, have children, get another better job, retire with a place to live which is paid for except taxes, be able to afford health care, you know, all the normal steps through life.
It’s all so normal that it’s not even worth mentioning. Unless you’re not moving through life like a normal person living in a developed nation, in which case if you’re not taking those steps forward through life you are considered a failure.
I finally finished my taxes. That was fun. Lessseeee. Deductions....hmmmm. Mortgage? Nope. Children? Nope. Income high enough to bother with a tax shelter or itemized deductions? Nope. Single. Zero. Single zero. Paying those mandatory federal, state and local taxes of 33.7%! Single and loving it! It’s comforting to think about how much I mean to my government on those long, lonely single zero nights. “Alone. Single. Zero. Nobody loves me, but that’s okay, it makes me more valuable to my government.”
My health insurance company loves me, too. The bills are coming in almost every day for three doctor visits, six prescriptions, two chest x-rays and an EKG. I have no idea why I had an EKG, in fact I’m really not certain I had an EKG. But the administration office at the hospital says I did, and the insurance company says I did, and insurance companies are always right, so I’ll just pay the $165, the portion of the EKG I don’t remember having not covered by my health insurance. So far the total I owe, the portions not paid by my (allegedly “very good,” “very comprehensive”) health insurance company is $485. That does not include what I paid for a co-pay on those prescriptions, $150. Asthma’s on the rise, people are being diagnosed in staggering numbers. Isn’t it interesting that the two most effective and commonly prescribed medications for asthma are not counted in health insurance “formulae” and are not available as an unbranded generic medication? I would never insinuate there’s a correlation between one of the fastest growing health issues and the price of the medication to treat it, and I know my government has nothing to do with my healthcare, so I’ll just happily pay the price of the medicine and thank the Universe for giving me a job which affords me the luxury of healthcare and the income to pay for the expenses my health insurance doesn’t cover.
We had a retirement preparation seminar at work. I don’t plan on ever retiring. I’m going to die before I’m 67 or 70 or whatever the new retirement age is, or, I’m not going to be able to afford retiring and will be working until the day I die of old age or whatever ailment I can’t afford to treat kills me. I know this. I’ve made peace with this. I’m hoping, daily, for an early death. But just in case that doesn’t happen, and just in case I got hold of some silly notion that I might not want to work until the mortician appears at my door, I decided to take the charts and pamphlets on planning for retirement.
Single. Zero. Loser. The adage that $1 million is not enough for most people to retire on is true. I did a couple of cost projections. If I stay in my compartment and the rent increases at a rate of 4 - 5% annually (normal rent increase), $1 million will cover about three and a half years of rent in my compartment by the time I’m 70. All the more reason to buy real estate! they say. True enough. I couldn’t agree more. But. How the swut is a professionally employed lower - middle -middle income single person with no dependents supposed to afford a down payment, much less even qualify for a mortgage on one salary that’s taxed at almost the highest rate when they can barely afford the cost of going to the doctor and subsequent medication? Anyone else figured out a solution to this? And by the way, I don't have a $1 million. I can see no way that I will have $1 million saved by the time I'm 67 or 70. After much going over the budget and doing my taxes, projecting cost of living expenses (rent increases, health care expenses, fed, state and local taxes) and salary increases based on the typical 2% - 4% I get as a "far exceeding, exemplary" worker, taking an extra job to put money in the ol' 401K, I'll be feeling lucky and smug if I have $200,000.00 saved by the time I'm retirement age. I'm going to have to work til the day I die anyway, so better to die sooner, not spend years working and struggling to keep a roof over my head and paying for prescriptions my health insurance doesn't cover. That's not my idea of living. It's: Work, work, try to sleep for a few hours, work, work. With a second job that'll be the routine 7 days a week. Until the day I die. Sorry. I don't think so. Not for me, thanks. The "system" doesn't work for educated professional middle incomed people who are not married. And, we get the bonus of paying a high rate of tax, taxes which are ironically used to fund housing, medical and education programs for low income citizens, taxes which are used to fund schools for children we do not have. We are penalized for getting an education and working and for not getting married and having children.
Gee, it’s great to be back to my life. I did so miss it.
“Trill, old girl,” I thought as I sat looking lovingly at my shiny new asthma inhaler, “you need more money. You need a better paying job. You need to buy real estate. You need to get married.”
“By golly, you’re right. This single zero life is going nowhere but to a homeless shelter.”
So there’s this guy. A friend of a friend. She’s been trying to get us together for a while. His long time girlfriend broke up with him last year. Our mutual friend showed him a photo of me a few months ago. He asked her for my phone number. Yadda yadda yadda, after several phone calls and postponed meetings, we finally met in person.
I thought this guy might be different. When we talked on the phone, several times, there was no awkwardness. We got each others’ sense of humor. Heck, he has a sense of humor and is, you know, a nice guy. He left me a couple of really nice messages when he found out about my mother. He sent me a couple of nice emails. So I thought, “Hey, he does seem sincere and nice and all that. He’s seen photos of me and he’s still nice to me, he’s the one who wanted my phone number after seeing a photo of me, so maybe he really is interested in me. Maybe my luck’s changing.”
Yes. I was uncharacteristically optimistic because it seemed like there was a solid reason to be optimistic.
Big mistake.
I bothered for the date. Fresh haircut and color, had MAF do my make-up. Borrowed a friend’s alluring but not overtly sexy top. Nice heels. I put real effort into it because it was a date and because I wanted to make a good impression on him. I was a little nervous, but more the excited kind of nervous than the afraid kind of nervous. He offered to take me out for an evening of fun because of what I’ve been through in the past two months. “You need a break, a night out, some fun, and I’m just the guy to give it to you,” was his actual line.
Guys, advice, please: Where in that statement is there any clue that I should not have been optimistic or excited about this date? What clue did I miss that things were not what they seemed to be on the surface? I’d really like to know because I really do not want to go through what happened next ever again.
We arranged to meet at a restaurant/bar. We arrived at the same time. We met-up on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant/bar. I recognized him from the photo our mutual friend showed me, and by the clothes he was wearing which he described to me on the phone a few hours prior to the date. We never stepped foot inside the restaurant/bar.
Because he was gone in 120 seconds.
Here’s a slow motion replay.
“(Blind Date)?” I asked as he approached the restaurant bar from the opposite direction a me. (saying his actual name, by the way)
“Yes?” he responded, somewhat surprised.
“It’s me, Trillian!”
Silence.
Pointed, scrutinizing look up and down my body, a head to toe evaluation.
“Huh. You don’t look like the photo (mutual friend) showed me,” not trying to mask his disappointment, in fact showing signs of irritation.
“Oh. Erm. Sorry? (har har)”
“I'm not attracted to you. Let's forget this ever happened and go home to salvage our evenings. We'll just tell (mutual friend who introduced us) there was no chemistry and leave it at that. 'Bye,” turns and leaves me standing there in front of the restaurant/bar as he heads the other direction, gets out his mobile phone and walks into the night.
Um.
Okay.
I’m really good at handling rejection. I’ve had a lot of it. We’re old pals, rejection and I.
His honest and up front nature is nice, I suppose. No hidden agenda, no wondering what he’s thinking.
Shallow? Superficial? A jerk? I don’t know. I didn’t think so before those 120 seconds.
We talked on the phone a lot, he seemed nice, thoughtful, considerate. He talked about the things that mattered to him and never once did he mention anything about looks. He was hurt about his last relationship which ended because his long term girlfriend didn’t want to get married and have children. He said he values intelligence and compassion and sincerity and wants to meet a woman who is those things first and foremost. He said he cared about personality in a woman because he wants to find a lifelong partner. Nothing in there about looks being top on that list. He was understanding and supportive regarding what I was going through with my mother. He respected and liked that I made my mother my priority. He kept calling me. I was not chasing this guy. He was chasing me, albeit by phone. He’s been friends with our mutual friend since college. She speaks highly of him. She’s a nice person. She is a good judge of character.
And yet "I'm not attracted to you. Let's forget this ever happened and go home to salvage our evenings. We'll just tell (mutual friend who introduced us) there was no chemistry. 'Bye."
Disappointed? You bet I am. Hurt? Not really. I was, during my long walk home. In heels. Professionally applied make up running and hair curling in the rain. I was hurt because I tried, I really made a lot of effort for him. Apart from the weariness that showed through the make-up, I looked as good as I can possibly look for a guy who seemed like he liked me. And yet, "I'm not attracted to you. Let's forget this ever happened and go home to salvage our evenings. We'll just tell (mutual friend who introduced us) there was no chemistry. 'Bye."
Humiliated? No. I've been rejected, insulted, mocked, ridiculed, teased, laughed at, and generally criticized about my looks since I was old enough to care about my looks or what anyone thought about my looks. So much so that I have no pride or dignity when it comes having criticism about my looks thrown at me. It's impossible for me to be more humiliated than I already have been. Once you have to tell people the wedding's off because you've been dumped because you're ugly humiliation becomes a way of life. Every day you're "the girl who's fiancé dumped her." So no more humiliation than normal, in fact even less by comparison to some of the other criticisms I've endured.
He was right, the best course of action regarding our mutual friend was to tell her there just wasn’t any chemistry. It’s not her fault any of this happened. I don’t want her to feel bad about it, for his sake or mine.
No big deal, right?
It was 120 seconds out of my life. Better to find out now, before I even took off my coat, rather than after an entire life has been planned and a wedding dress purchased. I should know, I had that experience, too.
But hey! Spin it positive! Turn that frown upside down! It pushed me into getting a much needed hair cut. And it gave me a free evening to finish my taxes.
One of the down sides to being a person type of animal is that we’re capable of reasoning and capable of making choices. And we’re capable of choosing to behaving badly, to treat our co-humans badly.
I’ve long suspected it’s me, that I bring out the worst in people.
That otherwise polite and well behaved people are moved to strong (negative) reactions to me.
If it’s not just me, if I’m not responsible for bringing out the worst in people, there are a lot of really horribly rude and bad behaving people sharing our planet.
Oh sure, even if I do bring out the worst in people there’s no excuse for some of the behavior I have thrown at me, but if it’s my fault I have to take rudeness assaults in stride. And I usually do. It’s a way of life for me. No, I don’t feel victimized. I feel that peoples’ natural reaction to me is rudeness. No, I don’t go around bullying or purposely inciting angry mobs. I try to keep as much to myself as possible and when I do have to interact with other people I try to be as polite and friendly as I know how to be, I’ve been known to paste on a happy face and smile like I really mean it in a lot of situations where other people would not even consider it.
I was raised to be polite. Which is fine. I have no problem with that. Because being rude or mean never solves anything but almost always makes things a lot worse. I’m trying so hard to feel nothing, no emotions, but I still care about other peoples’ emotions. I don’t want an emotionless society, and I don’t advocate going commando on the emotion front for most people. I want other people to feel emotions. I want other people to be normal. So yes. I go around faking a lot of emotions lately. Smile like I mean it, pretend to feel an appropriate feeling and consequential reaction. I even fake cried a few weeks ago. It didn’t feel good and it didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel any way at all. Maybe deep down in there I was upset and the tears were a physical response to some deeply buried emotion. But in my conscience they were crocodile tears. I felt nothing but I produced tears. Which is fine, the situation warranted tears and so I performed the expected duty of response. I dunno. I don’t like who I’ve become but I didn’t like the old me, either, so really, at least I’m not crying real tears over upsetting facets of my life anymore so for me that’s an improvement. I like not welling with tears every time I think of HWNMNBS. It’s a huge improvement for me. I think it’s a good step down the road of apathy. I only well with tears over him sometimes now. It used to be all the time. Any thought of him, no matter how good, bad or fleeting, would produce watery eyes. Period. I just typed that, thinking of him, and my eyes are only slightly more fluid than usual. I still have problems with the bigger stuff, the memories or thoughts which still cause my heart to skip a beat and then ache still produce major tears, oops, right there, like that. Oh brother, here we go. I don’t know why I do this to myself either. I’m an idiot and a stupid girl, too. The whole thing is still, always, I guess, overwhelmingly sad for me. And you know, I miss him a lot. Oh be quiet. It’s my baggage and I’ll carry it until it kills me or gets lost.
Right. Okay. No emotions allowed.
I’ve had a hole in my heart for so long I try to fake it and just smile along.
Big stuff is still an issue but the rest of time I’m doing pretty darned good at feeling nothing and faking it when necessary.
Which is where being raised with good manners comes in handy. I know how to be polite which even for normal emotion feeling people often requires a great deal of faking it and smiling like you mean it. In fact being polite at it’s core is nothing more than smiling like you mean it. Faking it.
Because that’s what you do when you’re polite. You don’t hurt other peoples’ feelings. You act and react in the least offensive and most kind and caring way you can muster. Save your true feelings for behind blogged doors where you only offend or upset people who willingly choose to read what you honestly think.
Wanted to say....Said instead...
See? I’ve been faking it a really long time.
I’m not saying that’s good or an aspirational pinnacle of emotional health, but, given the choice of being polite or rude, the polite high road is almost always the better way to go for me. I don’t get what I want anyway, so, better to walk away politely than being rude. The only who looks and feels bad is the person who’s rude. If nothing else being polite should score karma points and judgment day points for those who worry about scoring those kinds of points.
I know. So enlightened of me. Such a good Girl Scout.Not really. When I’m bad I’m awful. So I try to make myself behave properly, politely, as a way of keeping the awfulness at a controllable level when it does rear it’s ugly head. There again, the lack of emotion is helping with that, too.
Smile like I mean it.
There’s this girl/woman/person who lives in my building. She and I have a schedule thing going where we cross paths a lot. I see her at least a couple of times a week. I’ve lived in my compartment for a year. Every week for a year I’ve been crossing paths with this girl. And every time, yes, every single time our paths cross she’s on her mobile phone yelling at the person on the other end. The person on the other end is often her mother. I know this because at a very high volume my yelling neighbor will say things like: “MOM! YOU’RE NOT HELPING THE SITUATION! THAT’S A STUPID IDEA! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS GIVING ME SUCH STUPID ADVICE?! BARK BARK BARK GOD YOU’RE HORRIBLE! BARK BARK BARK! SHUT UP, MOM, JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE! BARK BARK BARK! YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT! YOU’RE STUPID AND UNHELPFUL! BARK BARK BARK!” One day several people were waiting for the elevator. Yelling girl was naturally on her mobile yelling. “NO MOM! I’M NOT DOING THAT! THAT’S THE DUMBEST THING YOU’VE EVER THOUGHT OF, GOD YOU’RE STUPID. BARK BARK BARK NO THAT’S DUMB JUST SEND ME THE MONEY. BARK BARK BARK I NEED IT NOW NOT NEXT WEEK! BARK BARK BARK! NO! F#*K YOU MOM, F#*K YOU!!” Most of us were trying to busy ourselves with whatever we had available to busy ourselves. I found the new postal meter stamp very interesting for a very long time. One of the other people waiting for the elevator was an older lady. When the offensive swearing occurred some of the other people and especially the older lady were shocked and offended. I wasn’t. I’d heard this from yelling girl in the past. I knew it was probably coming and was braced for it. The older lady who probably doesn’t hear that sort of language very often stood there gape mouthed and wide eyed. The yelling girl said, “MIND YOUR OWN F#*KING BUSINESS!” to the older lady. One of the guys waiting said, calmly, “We’re trying to mind our own business but It’s impossible with you yelling and swearing in the lobby.”
‘F#*K YOU TOO!” she responded.
Older lady, just now able to speak, said “You should be ashamed of yourself. No one should speak to anyone like that, especially their mother.”
“I TOLD YOU TO MIND YOUR OWN F#*KING BUSINESS! F#*K YOU B!TCH!”
“Okay, that’s it, I’m calling security,” the calm guy said, motioning through the lobby to the door man.
At that point the elevator arrived and yelling girl sped onto it and started jabbing the buttons. Another woman jumped into the elevator and hit the “hold door” button. Another elevator arrived. The door man arrived. Calm guy relayed what had occurred. The door man said, “(Yelling Girl) come on, I have to write you up again.”
Again.
Ah. Okay. It’s not just me who finds this woman intolerably rude and offensive.
And yet she continues to go around being rude and offensive.
I know she’s like this outside the confines of our building, too.
One evening I stopped at the grocery on the way home from work. The grocery door is kind of weird. It’s not automatic open and there’s a gate type of thing to keep grocery trolleys in the store and off the street. (For the unurban dwellers: shopping trolleys are high theft items in cities. Stores take great pains and expense to keep the trolleys in the stores and off the streets.) This particular door is particularly weird and difficult to navigate. There’s almost always a line of people waiting to get in and out of the door. Not a huge deal. Really. One evening I was waiting to enter the store behind another woman. There were several people waiting to get out of the store.
I heard her before I saw her.
“GET OUT OF THE F#*KING WAY YOU STUPID C%NT!”
Ahhh. Just like home. Yelling girl.
Sure enough, plowing through the otherwise patient lines of people at the door was my yelling neighbor.
As she cut through the line and reached the door, the woman ahead of me made the near fatal mistake of reaching for the door. Out burst yelling girl. She looked the woman ahead of me straight in the eye, made serious eye contact, and said, “YOU STUPID B!TCH GET OUT OF THE F#*KING WAY!” and whipped her plastic bag of groceries over the trolley gate really fast so that they whipped the woman ahead of me in the arm. Yes. Yelling girl accosted a complete stranger with a bag of groceries. And stormed off yelling profanity at all of us.
The woman was thankfully okay (I, being polite, asked her if she was okay). We all waited our turn entered the store and that was that.
Yes. Yelling Girl is a case of rudeness on steroids. Clearly there are anger management issues there. I can see why people would react rudely to her. I can see how she could incite angry mobs. I can see how she could bring out the worst in a person. I involuntarily physically tense up the second I see her or hear her voice. She’s not only rude she’s unpleasant and causes negative responses. Heck, she’s apparently routinely written up by building security.
And yet she continues to behave this way. I’m sure she doesn’t see herself as rude. I’m sure she pins adjectives like ‘take charge’ and ‘bold’ and ‘confident’ onto herself. She doesn’t see a difference between assertive and aggressive. It’s her problem but she makes it other peoples’ problem.
She’s rude.
But I regularly see her bringing home a bevy of handsome and seemingly well adjusted men. And no, she’s not on good behavior around them. She’s yelling, swearing and screaming on her mobile phone in one hand and draped around these men with the other arm and hand. And the men are passively walking along with her as if she were behaving politely or at least normally. Oh sure, I rarely see her with the same man twice, and frankly I’m a little concerned with what she might be doing to them behind closed doors. Darnedest thing, I never see her with a man leaving the building. But she’s behaving that way and still managing to do quite well for herself on the man front. I will not connect dots about this, I’ll leave that up to you and your own opinions of men and what part of their anatomy controls their lives.
If behaving like Yelling Girl is what it takes to interest a man, that’s not the sort of confidence I want. I’ll happily spend the rest of my life alone before I behave that way. Swut. I try to be on my best behavior and I bring out the worst in people. It scares me to think of what might happen if I behaved like her. Then again, who knows? Maybe people would be so afraid of me they’d treat me really well.
But somehow I doubt it. What is apparently working for her would never work for me.
So, I met this guy. We’ve been emailing and talking on the phone. Don’t get all excited for me. He’s not Mr. Right for Me, but he speaks in complete sentences sometimes containing words longer than one syllable and seems to be in possession of a sense of humor. Hmmm. Maybe he could be as close to Mr. Right for Me as I’ll get. The first in-person meeting has been dragged out longer than I like, but he travels a lot for work and I’ve been really busy at work so, you know, it’s just taking a little longer with him.
We had a date set for a few nights ago. I was looking forward to finally meeting him in person so he could reject me on sight so I could move on with my life without the false hope that this guy might be different. I don’t like to invest too much time with men before meeting them in person. Getting to know them and starting to like them before meeting face to face makes the rejection a lot more difficult to take.
The day before our first in-person meeting I had one of those drop everything and run phone calls. No, the long arm of the law or the ASPCA didn’t finally catch up with me. (Furry Creature’s fur is fine and you can hardly tell where he was waxed.) There was one of those family emergencies where you don’t think, just go.
Unfortunately for me, I did think about a few things while I was mad dash panic packing. One of them was my date with Mr. Not Quite Right.
I bothered to do the polite thing and took the time to call him to cancel the date.
“Hi Mr. Not Quite Right.”
“Hi Trillian, I’m just standing here wondering what to wear tomorrow. I hope you’re not calling to cancel our date, har har.”
Why, oh why did he have to choose that line?
“Oh dear. Well, erm, um, I’m sor—”
“Oh no. If you’re canceling you can forget about me and don’t bother to email or call. We’ve had this planned a long time.”
“There’s a family emergency and I have to leave town in about an hour, I’m really sorry, Mr. Not Quite Right, really. My mother’s in intensive care and I have to go to be with her.”
“You expect me to believe your mother’s in intensive care and you’re bothering to call me to cancel a date? You’re either a saint or a horrible liar, and I don’t believe in saints so that makes you a bad liar.”
Me, pondering if it would be better or okay with him if I were a good liar. “Look, I’m really sorry to cancel on short notice and I’m really sorry you think so little of me that you think I’m lying.”
“Forget it Trillian. Go take care of your mother. Don’t give me a second thought. Seriously. Don’t bother to think about me again because I’m not interested any more.” click.
He hung up on me.
Now.
Up to this point Mr. Not Quite Right had not displayed any signs of rude, selfish or childish behavior. But in not giving me the benefit of doubt he gave me benefit of huge insight into his personality. Which is ultimately good. Disappointing, but good. It’s probably me bringing out the worst in someone again, but better to find out now than after life commitments have been made, emotions invested, an entire future life not to mention a wedding planned.
(Smiling like I mean it, smiling like I mean it, smiling like I mean it...)
Weird and bizarre stuff happens to me. I am plagued with bad timing. I know this and accept it. Everyone who knows me soon realizes this and either wants nothing to do with me or sticks around for the comedic aspect of the weird things that happen in my life and the bad timing bestowed upon my trips around the Sun. Anyone who gets involved with me has to learn to live with it. On the plus side, never a dull moment. On the negative side, well, never a dull moment.
And my family is really important to me. Um. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong, but isn’t family supposed to matter? Aren’t we supposed to care about our family? Isn’t that normal? If it’s an issue for him and if his family isn’t important to him we’re better off apart. I mean, who wouldn’t do everything possible to rush to their ailing mother’s side in intensive care? Who the swut is he to not respect my feelings about my mother and, who is he to not respect my mother and her health?
Don’t believe in saints, eh mister? Yeah, well, you never met my mother. And I’ll tell you another thing, she wouldn’t like the way you talked to me and the lack of respect you showed for me and my feelings. (She doesn't know I'm voiding all emotions from my life because she's in the inner circle where I allow emotions, but that doesn't invalidate her assumed opinion.)
Rude, inconsiderate, hurtful and just plain weird. That’s what my saintlike mother would think of him. Raspberries to him.
Speaking of childish behavior.
Still. How can he be so rude? I know, I know, I’m so much better off learning this about him now. And he and his behavior are meaningless, insignificant, in my life and the much more important issue of my mother.
I didn’t give it or him too much more thought.
I’ve spent the last few days in a hospital with my mother.
Then I checked my email. What to my wondering eyes should appear but three emails from Mr. Not Quite Right.
“Ah. Well,” thought I, “Okay. He’s calmed down and realized he was a gross selfish jerk. I can forgive him. He was disappointed which after all is sort of a compliment. He was actually disappointed I canceled the date and he couldn’t meet me in person. I mean, the disappointment says something about him.”
Email 1, sent shortly after The Phone Call, contained a few brief sentences dripping in sarcasm about my mother’s health and some rude name calling.
Email 2, sent the day after The Phone Call, was a lengthy rant against me and all women. He’s glad he found out “about me” now (gee, you too?), that I’m (get this) “just like every other woman” because I’m “lying, manipulative and controlling” and “just like every other woman” I put my “family ahead of my relationship with my boyfriend.” (Boyfriend? I have a relationship and a boyfriend? Wow. I had no idea seven emails and three phone calls constituted a relationship and boyfriend. Even though we never met in person. I’ve had lots of boyfriends and relationships over the past few years if that’s the case. I’m doing a lot better than I thought!)
Email 3, sent the day after email 2, told me that he was going to block my email.
Um, isn’t that just assumed? Still, he’s being polite and letting me know I needn’t bother sending all those emails I was writing begging for forgiveness and another chance. Offering myself to him if could just help me not be like every other woman. That I’d completely disown my family altogether and make him the center of my Universe if he’d just give me a chance.
But since he’s blocked me I can go along attending to my mother’s health crisis.
I don’t have to worry about not doing whatever I did to bring out the worst in him. And he can consider himself lucky to dodge a fatal bullet with another woman, like all the others, who lies, manipulates and controls him.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
You know how you go along through life observing, maybe doing a little reporting here and there, taking it all in, learning, eventually realizing people, individually and as a species, are really weird? And once you realize this you sort of feel kind of enlightened because you naively believe, "hey, I've seen it all, or at least a lot of it, and I've learned that people are weird. And so having come to that realization, nothing a human does can surprise me. Not really. Not in that big, shocking way because I know that fundamentally people are weird. Ergo, they will exhibit weird behavior. Huh. Enlightenment. Wow. I'm so enlightened. Life's going to be a lot easier now. Terrific. Here we go then."
And then you decide to give online dating a try.
And you learn that everything you thought you could handle because of all that enlightenment and the acceptance of the realization that people, individually and as a species, are weird, confounds you. Leaves you stymied. More convinced than ever that humans are very weird, but stymied and confounded nonetheless.
Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing you could observe in life which can fully prepare you for the weirdness you may encounter if you give online dating a real and serious try.
Yep.
I've been out of commission for the past week-ish. Out of town. Under the weather. Certainly in no position to be giving 50 First Dates any effort. When I finally had the time and energy to deal with, erm, I mean, eagerly open the email from my online dating sites I found: A lot of the usual, scads of "clearly did not read my profile or would have known I don't date smokers, underaged boys, retired men or taxidermists," a few "hey, maybes," and this guy.
Normally I would have deleted him upon first glance of his basic stats: Way out of my age range. Many years older than the age I post as my max age. And yet, like so many other divorced guys hopped up high on Cialis, he sent me an email anyway.
(That behavior would fall into the "normal" weirdness for which life has actually prepared me. People are weird, therefore they will ignore basic facts presented to them and believe themselves always to be the exception. Which I find interesting and proof of the weird human thing because everyone feels they are the exception. We can't all be the exception because that would make the exception the norm. Exceptional means better than normal. We're not all better than normal. Most of us aren't even normal. Many of us peak at normal on a really good day and flop around in the below normal unexceptional gene swamp the rest of the time. That's part of the path to enlightenment: Realizing people are weird and since you're a person you, too, are therefore weird. And probably unexceptional. If you'd just apply yourself you could really do well. You're capable of so much more. Your third grade teacher told you so. She was right.)
But something caught my eye.
There was something familiar about him.
Something very, very familiar.
I took a closer look at his profile photo. I looked at his city. I looked at his other profile photos...
...and that was where I was hit with the realization of several things.
(insert Psycho shower scene soundbite here)
The things I realized were:
A) People are swutting weirder than I ever could have swutting imagined.
B) He is the father of a woman in my office.
You heard me. The father of someone I know, a man I have met a few times and clearly knows who he's emailing, contacted me for a date via an online dating site.
A woman I actually like. A woman in that gray area between coworker and friend. I like her more than I generally like coworkers, I mean, I've met her father for crying out loud. He works in town and sometimes stops in the office. I always chat with him and once I even showed him how to use iTunes. He's, you know, nice, in that father of a friend kind of way. Not in any way other than that, though.
I have several photos posted on this dating site so I am 100% certain he knew who I was when he emailed me. However, he didn't actually mention this fact in his email.
Not surprisingly, his email was short and rather cryptic. "Hi there. I know I'm older than you want (so why are you writing me?) but I think if you take a minute to look beyond our age difference you'll see we have a lot in common. (Yeah. We both know your daughter, for a start.) "
That was it.
I read his profile several times and fail to see what we have in common other than the fact that we don't smoke. (I know, I know, that's a huge start, I know. I shouldn't be so picky.) He doesn't like cats or dogs. (I can vouch for that. He made a sick dead cat joke when he saw the photo of Furry Creature on my desk.) He likes riding his motorcycle. (I can vouch for that. I had to hear the story of his near death crash experience.) He doesn't "spend much time reading" because he'd "rather have fun than sit around reading." (I can vouch for that. He didn't get a joke I made about Haikus. "What's a Haiku?") He describes his sense of humor as slapstick. (I can vouch for that. He is fond of Stooge-a-palooza on a local network.) He is not looking for a serious commitment. (I can vouch for that, too. I've heard his daughter's (my coworker) lament about his post mid-life crisis and her worries about what will become of him in his old age.)
Let's just pretend we have a lot in common. Just for the sake of me trying to not be too picky about the men I date. Let's say apart from our age difference we really were good for each other.
I swutting work with his daughter.
wavy dream sequence screen to the image of me going to meet my new boyfriend's family who is my coworker and her siblings. "Surprise! I'm dating your dad!" Then a few weeks later, me coming into work on a Monday morning. As I walk past my coworker's office I say, "Hey, Coworker, how was your weekend? Mine? Oh fantastic. I'm walkin' a little funny today but it was worth it if you know what I mean, nyuck nyuck. That dad of yours is incredible. Give him a Cialis on Friday and he doesn't stop until Stooge-a-palooza on Sunday afternoon!"
Back to reality.
A) I do not discuss my sex life (or lack thereof) with my colleagues or coworkers.
B) She's his daughter.
C) There's a rule imprinted in human DNA that states people do not want to know about their parents' sex lives.
Let's just pretend I don't work with his daughter. Just for the sake of me trying to not be too picky about the men I date. Let's say apart from our age difference and the fact that we have nothing in common, I don't even know his daughter and therefor he's "datable."
wavy dream sequence screen to the image of me trying to read with the Three Stooges blaring in the background and this guy laughing and guffawing, "hey, sweetheart, you'll never guess what Moe just did to Curly! Sheesh, he never learns!"
"Um, let me guess, slapping, punching and stupid vocal sound effects?"
Back to reality.
Okay. Leaving the Stooge Factor out of the equation, we're just not a good candidate for couplehood.
And then there's his daughter.
My coworker.
A woman I like and respect.
Whom I have to face every day from now until as long as I work with her knowing that her father tried to pick me up on an online dating site.
Now, more than ever, I really, really have to get a new job.
But until then, what?
So far I've simply ignored his email. I haven't responded. (I'm invoking cooling off period so no one gets hurt.)
The next time he stops in the office is going to be beyond weird. I'll duck and hide, but I can't live in constant fear of this guy showing up in the office. Some day, some time, I'm going to see him. And it's going to be really weird.
Although not as weird as trying to pretend that a coworker's father didn't hit on me online.
She must never, ever know. She's already got some issue regarding her parents' divorce. The last thing she needs to know is that her father is not only hitting on much younger women, but women who are her coworkers as well.
Maybe I've got her all wrong. Maybe she'd be cool with it. Heck, maybe she even encouraged it. But I doubt it. I like this woman. She's not weird like that. She's capable of thinking far enough ahead and reasoning that a coworker dating her father could potentially be a seriously bad thing.
The question this week is not should I date this creep, but what, if anything, should I say to him? I'm thinking maybe something like, "Hi Coworker's Dad. I'm going to assume you meant this as a joke. Ha ha. I think it's best of Coworker doesn't know about this, even though it is a really funny joke. Ha ha. She might not see the humor in it and we do have to work together. Good luck out there. - Trillian"
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Rough week. Lots going on in Trillian’s life.
I’ll cut straight to the issue.
Like that? Should make it easier for those of you specifically hunting for for the Creeps of the Week.
Or: All indications that we would get along on a date or form a relationship are negative. But maybe I’m wrong and being way too picky so you tell me. Should I give this guy a chance?
So far most of you have been less than impressed with the Creeps of the Week. Which helps me with my concerns about my potentially “too high” standards. Some people have been hinting that perhaps I’m to blame because I’m too picky about what I want in a man. I didn’t think that was the case but then I thought most people probably don’t realize how picky they are. I thought maybe I didn't realize I was being too picky. I thought maybe I should be more open to different types of men. Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to dismiss the men who seem completely wrong for me, or me for them.
Apparently not. Apparently I'm not being too picky. Some of you even suggested that I'm not picky enough.
So thanks for validating my belief that I am not, in fact, “too picky.”
If you were to read this week’s Creep’s profile, especially his “in his own words” section, you would probably think, “OMG! Trillian! He’s perfect for you! After all this time, at long last, the perfect man for you!”
You would probably think that because you haven’t read my “in my own words” section.
If you were privy to my “in my own words” section you would probably not think, “OMG! Trillian! He’s perfect for you.”
You, like me, would probably think, “OMG, Trillian, what a jerk! What the swut is he thinking? Gotta be a stalker...or just really, really, really stupid.”
You would think that because if you read my profile statements you would realize he copied my “in my own words” section verbatim. Cut and pasted my words into his profile. Not once, but in three areas of his profile. All he did was change the gender pronouns where appropriate.
No. This is not mere coincidence.
I put thought and effort into my “my own words” sections of my online dating profiles.
You read the blog. Based on that, I think it’s fair to assume what I wrote is rather unique and original, if not in thought at least in style.
So I’ll go out on a limb and say there’s no way, no way at all, anyone could come up with the exact words and style as mine in their online profile. Maybe, maybe cutting a huge amount of slack, one section might read similar or even almost the same. But not three areas. Word for exact word.
This is called plagiarism. Stealing. Deceiving. Lying.
So what this guy did was, a) find my profile, b) apparently liked it, c) cut and pasted my words into his profile, and, here’s the weird bit (at least to me) d) swutting sent me an email saying he’d like to meet me because we seem perfect for each other.
Naturally, before I saw his profile, I thought, “huh, okay, not much substance to his email, but nothing stupid or rude or weird, either. Let’s check out his profile.”
You know what’s weird? Seeing your words describing yourself and who you’d like to meet attributed to someone else.
I know writing these things is difficult. I had trouble getting started, too. The difficulty for me is not writing words, but writing words enthusing about myself. It seems like bragging which, as you know, is not exactly my strong suit. Which is why I cut a huge amount of slack for men who don’t write exactly scintillating or even mildly interesting profiles. No one expects Hemingway prose on these things.
And yes, I know, I know. I’m sure there is a lot of plagiarism out there. I’m sure a lot of people read something in someone else’s profile which appeals to them and then “borrow” it for their own profile.
I’m not saying I condone this behavior. But I know it happens. And I can even understand why some people who are not very good at expressing themselves in written word might resort to borrowing a line or two from someone else's profile.
But this is how clichés become cliché. Someone comes up with the original thought, it strikes a chord with someone else, and so and so on and so on...the next thing you know “runs with scissors” and “comfortable in jeans or tux” or “I like your smile and eyes” are such common vernacular they’re no longer funny or cute or complimentary. They’re just stupid, meaningless clichés. It’s how language and ideas evolve.
If you’ve read it on a t-shirt, bumper sticker, email joke or Successories poster it’s a cliché. It’s unoriginal and has no business in your profile. It not only makes you look unoriginal, trite and cliché, it insults the intelligence of anyone you pursue who reads your profile. If you’re not great at writing, just be honest: “I suck at writing so this is difficult for me. I’m a research physicist. I’m kind of nerdy. I have two cats. I like parachuting. My hobbies include rock tumbling and caber throwing. I do not have a criminal record. I passed my last physical. My blood pressure is 110/80, my cholesterol count is 145 mg/dL. I’d like to meet a woman without a criminal record who likes cats and has hobbies, too.” There. See? Was that really so difficult? No. It wasn’t. Grant you, it’s not the best marketing prose, but it’s sincere. If you write a profile like this, be sure you respond to all, and I mean every question the site offers. If your site has a personality profile “test,” do it. It will be insightful for you and potential dates. It will fill in a few blanks where you were at a loss for words.)
But to swutting plagiarize, word for word, someone else’s words and put them in the “in my own words” section? Ironic, yes, but dishonest and insincere.
But what puts this in the creepy weird category is to then email the person from whom you stole the words and say you have a lot in common and want to meet them.
I know, I know. Imitation = flattery.
And I do get a lot of compliments on my various profiles. More than half my email is from men who say, “I’m not who you’re looking for, but I had to write to compliment you on your profile and wish you luck in your search.” Awww, gee, thanks, guys. I also have people, men and women, ask me to write their profile statements for them because they like mine. Ever read Cyrano de Bergerac? See the movie Roxane? This sort of thing always ends badly. Sure, I could probably write some bang-up sales copy for you. It’s all marketing. But you’re the one who ultimately has to deliver the goods. You want to find dates and ultimately a partner who likes you for you. And if you’re not great at writing, find someone who likes you because you’re not great at writing. You could say, “I’m not good at marketing myself so online dating might not be a good idea for me. Unless you’re someone who appreciates that I’m not good at marketing in which case this could be the start of something big.” Just be swutting honest.
Back to
I’m at a complete and total loss as to if or how to proceed with this guy. Mainly I’m angered, confused and little bit scared about his intentions. Obviously he copied my profile statements. Obviously he knew I’d see that he did this because he swutting emailed me and said he thought we’d be perfect for each other. Obviously he knew I would look at his profile. Obviously he wanted to get “caught.” Or, even scarier, weirder, thought I would be impressed that he copied my words. Or, weirdest of all, thought I wouldn’t notice he copied my words.
But wait, there’s more. If he hadn’t copied my three “in my own words” sections I probably wouldn’t give this any thought.
But since he did, the rest of his profile is suspect.
Sure enough, he answered every question, every single question posed by the site the same way I did. It’s as if he sat next to me and copied my answers on the final exam. Except there was no exam and the subject is me.
Some of you, the more forgiving, less cynical among you (who let you in here, anyway?) may be thinking, “Sure, it’s a little weird, but give the guy a break, Trill. He’s obviously impressed with your profile and wants to meet you and he got caught up with your profile and in the moment it seemed like a good idea to him. He’s trying really hard to meet you. And maybe you are a lot alike and he thought, ‘Wow! I could turn everything she says around and it would match my outlook exactly!’ so he did. Maybe it’s even his idea of a joke. Maybe he thought it would be funny to you.”
Maybe. So. What do you think? Weird, lying, plagiarizing creepy jerk (stalker) or misguided guy trying too hard who deserves a chance?
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I like looking at a naked man as much as the next hetero woman. Maybe even more than some women. But. I'm not keen on seeing a guy I'm potentially going to date naked before we even meet in person.
Guys, here’s some advice from me to you. Free of charge. Just because you want us girls to post topless photos of ourselves online doesn't mean we want the same from you.
Let's say you’re a guy who spends a lot of time at the gym and you look like one of those old Mr. Atlas ads. Hey, whatever dude, you might want to cultivate a hobby other than the gym. Maybe something a little less self involved...little less brawn, little more brain...anyway, you've got a muscled body. You spend a lot of time working out and you want to show off the results. A lot. To all the world and every woman on online dating sites.
That’s cool. I guess. There are probably girls who will find the photos of your naked physique hot. They might want to meet you. But don’t count on them liking you for what’s inside. But then, maybe that’s not an issue for you. Or them. Paris Hilton’s available again...
But let’s say it is an issue for you. You want a woman who is "thoughtful, caring, intelligent and romantic" Maybe someone like that girl who’s temping down in accounting.
You really need to think about what you want in a relationship and what sort of woman you are hoping to meet. Think about the sort of girl you're hoping to meet. Got a good idea of the sort of person she is? Maybe a mental image or two? Great! Now tailor your profile to show off your qualities which will be interesting to that sort of girl looking for that kind of relationship. I’m not saying lie about yourself. I’m saying highlight your personality qualities and interests which will be of interest to the sort of woman you’ve decided you want to meet.
Posting a half (or near full) naked photo of your muscled body will attract Paris Hilton types who will find your naked muscled body hot. They will seek you out for some gettin’ freaky with Jello-O shots in the hot tub action. And if that’s what you’re hoping to achieve, great. Good luck with that.
But. If you want someone who is "thoughtful, caring, intelligent and romantic" you might want to reconsider your photo options. And you might want to highlight some of your interests outside of the gym. If you don’t have any interests outside of the gym now is the time to spend some time developing something other than your body. Perhaps you could spin this in your profile. “I’m currently exploring some of my interests like geode polishing and touring the Amish country. I’d like to meet someone to share in new experiences and interests” might pique the interest of a "thoughtful, caring, intelligent and romantic" woman who also has interests and hobbies. A photo of your naked body will pique her interest but it won’t be your mind or interest in the Amish country she finds interesting.
And here’s my issue. You’re a buff, muscle bound, gym four hours a day every day kind of guy. Nowhere on your profile do you hint at anything about yourself other than the gym, fitness and your body. You have one (or usually several) half or nearly full naked photos of yourself posted. You’re proud of your body and your muscles. You spend a lot of time with yourself and your muscles. And you want to portray this on your profile. Fine. Cool. Whatever, dude, good luck.
But why the swut are you writing someone like me? Does excessive sweating and weight lifting kill brain cells? Can you actually read? I spell it out for you in my profile. I say I have a demanding job, intellectual hobbies, and I volunteer. Nowhere in there does it say anything about me having the time or interest in spending four hours a day at the gym. Nowhere in there does it say I value buffing up my body more than anything else. Nowhere in there does it say I'm looking for a guy who spends every spare moment in the gym or in the pursuit of his idea of a perfect body. No indication whatsoever that I'm interested in you or seeing your half naked body in my face when I innocently open your profile. Unless you are in fact a personal trainer, and even then...not only is it intimidating, it's weird that you think posting a photo of your half naked body is impressive and a good way to meet women who want something from you other than gettin’ freaky in the hot tub with Jell-O shots.
I'll leave you with this thought: If the best (or only) thing you can say about yourself is that you have an awesome body, you might want to look up the definitions of narcissism, vanity, arrogance, pride and conceit. Going to the gym, working out, trying to be healthy is one thing. Making your body your only source of entertainment and interest is another completely.
Now. Before all you jocks or "naturally buff" guys start saying I'm fitness bashing, get off your bruised ego and realize I'm not anti fitness and health. If you go to the gym a few times a week or play sports or have a physical job, you know darned well I'm not talking about you. And I'm also hoping you have enough of a life outside of the gym to realize posting a half naked photo of yourself is not the way to make a good first impression on that potential "thoughtful, caring, intelligent, romantic" woman you claim to be hoping to meet online.
On the other hand, let's say you're not really the Mr. Atlas type. Let's say you're just, you know, "regular." "Regular" is good. I like "regular." Most women do. "Regular" can be very sexy. Non threatening. Unnarcissistic. (Those are good qualities, by the way.) So why spoil it, why make us think you're egotistical and weird by posting a photo of your half naked self online? Perhaps even worse than the Mr. Atlas types, you've got seemingly no particular reason for showing off that shag carpet you call a chest.
It's not that most of us prefer the Mr. Atlas types, it's that we prefer a man who has more than an ounce decorum and self awareness. Guys, this is first impression time. Whether you're buff, cut and waxed or dull, soft and hirsute, this is not the time or place to reveal that aspect of yourself. If that's the best presentation of yourself you can think of to give to potential dates, you might want re-think your strategy.
Are you honestly trying to find that special someone or are you hoping to get noticed by a producer of low budget porn?
Because that's just it, guys. These half naked snapshots (or worse, ye gads, the "professional" glamour shots of naked men flexing...ewwwwwww on a hetero dating site? ick) rarely give the impression that you're a confident guy comfortable in his skin. They almost always have a very, very seedy quality to them. They almost always make men appear to either be auditioning for porn or looking at it. (You know what I mean, I’m not going into details, but more often than not these guys also sport “something” obviously going on “down there.” Did you hear me say ewwwwwwww? This is not erotic. This makes most of us think, “Why is he sitting around half naked in a state of arousal, and worse, why did he take a photo of himself like this, and worse, who took the photo?)
And then there are the really special cases. Guys, take note. You or someone you know is probably one of these guys. I say this with a high degree of certainty because I see a lot of this type of photograph. I’m especially talking about the guys who post a photo of themselves, half (or maybe more) naked sitting in front of their computers, the phosphorus green/blue glow of the monitor illuminating their chest hair. EWWWWWWWWWWWWW. You know what this says to me and most other women? "Hi, I'm a perv. I spend a lot of time online. Alone. Naked. In a dark room. And I take photos." See where I'm going with this? Do I need to connect the dots for you? Bad imagery all the way around. Bad, bad, bad connotations. Especially when combined with the weird grins most of these guys have on their faces. Double EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
It occurred to me maybe some of you don't realize the bad connotations these photos emit. Maybe you think, "I wish women would post photos of their boobs. Why don't more women post half naked photos of themselves in their profiles? Don't they know us guys like boobs? Maybe if I do it, set an example, and then email thousands of women, a few of them will get the hint and follow my half naked lead. Men around the world will hail me as a hero and I'll get to see more boobs! It's all good!"
Dude. They make internet porn for this very reason. Go sit in a dark room naked in front of your computer and leave the dating to the other guys.
This is about dating. Not about seeing boobs before you even meet a woman.
And that's my whole point. Regardless of the state of your physique, save something for later. I personally like to know a bit about a guy before I want anything to do with his body. Call me a prude. Call me weird. Call me whatever you want. But. Also call me speaking for a lot of women in this respect. We do not have the same sort of fixation on your chests as you do with ours. We just don't. Yes, we like looking at men. A lot. But when it comes to men we date we want to know they have a sense of decorum. We want to know they respect us and themselves. We don't want our sisters, best friends or coworkers stumbling across our date's half naked photo posted online. Get it? It's embarrassing. It's weird. It's so unnecessary.
And I promise you this: Just because you show me yours does not mean I'll feel obligated or compelled to show you mine.
And you just know that this is all leading up to this week's
I took a break. Left the email alone for a few days. I didn't want to see or think about anything even remotely date related. I was in a sort of licking of wounds state and not in a "hey! Let's meet dozens of new guys who are online right now and waiting to chat with me!" mood.
When I finally opened the mail box, oh man. Oh man alive. I didn't even send any winks or smiles or emails. And yet. My box was brimming with them. That new dating site is full of very, very eager men. Too eager.
Way, way, way too eager.
So eager they obviously didn't read my profile. I waded through hundreds, yes, really, hundreds, of men who were at least 10 years older than my stated desired age range. Most of them 15 years or more. Many more. I swear I'm going to sue the makers of Viagra, Cialis and Levitra. Guys, men, seriously. Leave. Us. Alone. Pick on someone your own age. There are senior dating sites. Use one of those. I thought maybe I innocently stumbled onto one of those "for active mature daters" sites. I even checked to be sure I wasn't misled about the clientele on the site. Nope. It's geared for all ages over 18, nothing about senior dating listed in their “about us” section. And when I search for men in my age range there are plenty there. Yet who contacts me? Men getting ready to retire all hopped up high on Cialis. Can't blame a guy for trying, you say? Bah. This didn't happen before ED drugs were available. Damn you Bob Dole.
Right. So. A bunch of "mature" men.
And this guy.
I read his email twice before checking out his profile. He seemed, you know, sort of okay in his email. He wrote that he likes music and going to concerts and outdoor activities and travel. Hey cool! Me, too! In fact in the last week I’ve listened to music, gone to a concert and traveled to go hiking in the woods! Wow! It’s fate!!! Oh sure, the part about his liking to fish concerned me, especially because I specifically say: No hunters or fisherman, please. But he said he liked my sense of humor and that I look friendly. Okay. See? Now we're getting somewhere. No cliché "I like your smile and eyes." He was able to identify an actual adjective for his perception of my looks. I was sitting there thinking, "Okay, that's it, I'm marrying this guy. As long as he doesn't bring dead fish into the house or insist on telling me about his killing sprees otherwise known as fishing trips I can deal with it. Great. Fine. Job done. Let's check out his profile and email him.
And then I saw "it."
"It" is the photo he chose to use as his profile photo. The image of himself he chose to present to the world and potential dates.
I'm not going to humiliate the guy (or any other guy) by posting his photo for you to see. I'm not trying to humiliate these guys. I'm not on a personal vendetta or rampage against them personally. Well. I mean. Not really. Yes I'm picking them apart in a public forum but I'm leaving out specific details which could in any way narrow down the suspects to him. I’m hoping they, and others like them, will learn from this.
His photo. Oh, where to begin.
There’s no good way to tactfully discuss this. Best to just have out with it.
In his main profile photo he’s: Naked. Not exactly buff. Very hairy. Standing in front of what appears to be one of those metal storage sheds where most people keep their lawn mowers.
With what I calculate to be a 15 foot python snake draped around his neck with him holding the head of the snake in front of his penis.
With me here? The effect I believe he was going for was to imply things like, well, snakes, hands, force and jerking off. Oh. He's also wearing a wide grin. And appears to have some sort of gum disease.
Once I got past the initial "ick" and "please let this be a bad joke" phases I noticed the wood burned cypress sign on the metal shed. You know the kind of signs the retired guys at craft fairs at the mall will make for you, all lacquered and personalized? The kind people have on their cabins and motor homes usually proclaiming "The Andersons" or "Cabin Sweet Cabin?" Well, his said "**'s Snake Shack"
Still clinging to the hope that this was a bad joke, a very bad joke, I read his profile. Yep. There it is:
Wavy screen segueing into vision of the future: The sweet little face of Furry Creature caught in the jaws of that python, his eyes scared and confused, imploring, inferring, why, Trillian, why? I know you were lonely, I did my best to keep you company, really I did. I tried to be a good feline companion. You didn't have to let it come to this...I would have gone back to the shelter...why did you let him feed me to the snake? And naked hairy chest guy standing there grinning.
No. Just. No.
And then I checked out the rest of his profile. Not much there. Not much on details, this guy. However, apparently he feels photos are worth thousands of words. Because he has the maximum amount of photos allowed posted. All featuring his Snake Shack, snakes, fish and him naked or half naked with snakes or dead fish. Apparently he's big on scaly things. Apparently he likes the way scaly things feel against his naked flesh. (that sentence is going to be a hit with Google) Apparently he likes spandex, too. Several of the photos feature him wearing nothing but python and flame decorated spandex, um, "leggings." Yes. As in hair band spandex, erm, those things.
Okay. You know, great for him. He knows what he likes, he's comfortable in his skin and that's all really cool. He's got interests and spends a lot of time pursuing them. Take your passion, make it happen. Great. But maybe not exactly a great match for me.
And after seeing his photos, I found his comment about me looking "friendly" a bit odd. Here's a guy who obviously spends most of his time hanging out with menacing snakes and killing fish. Either he needs a break from all that scary business and found me to be a friendly, non threatening, non carnivorous oasis in his otherwise snake eat man eat fish world or he's thinking I'd be easy prey for the python.
Or, maybe, I've got him all wrong. Maybe he's just new to online dating, got a bit over enthused and carried away with the photos, couldn't decide which ones were best, and well, yeah. Maybe I've got him all wrong. He did write an okay email. He is my age. And once you get past what appears to be gum disease he has a big grin in every photo. He seems happy. Dating a happy scaly creature loving guy with gum disease would be a change for me. Maybe I should give, him, us, a chance. I am trying not to be quick or harsh to judge. I’m trying really hard to meet different sorts of men. Well, he’s different all right. But maybe he’s a really nice guy. Maybe he’s got a good sense of humor. Heck, he grins a lot. Maybe I shouldn’t look the gift horse, or in this case, snake, in the mouth. He thinks I look friendly. That must be important to him. Maybe he doesn’t care that I’m ugly, he just wants someone who looks friendly. I mean, hey, there are worse things than being with a guy who thinks you look friendly, right? I spent a lot of years with a man who thinks I look ugly and that ended badly for everyone. So maybe me and The Snake are onto something good here.
If the naked photos, snake and fishing things are all that’s keeping me from considering meeting this guy, am I being too picky?
