I'm pretty convinced that 60% of the residents of Illinois made a New Years resolution to go the exact speed limit. And - to get a head start - they began on New Years Eve. Here I am, driving along a pretty empty one lane road driving behind someone who appeared to set cruise control to 2 miles under the speed limit. I will give you that I have a lead foot and silent road rage, but I rarely express it. This was war, though - I had a New Years Eve party to get to and I was running late. Did I mention that I was going to the 3rd Annual Boring New Years Eve Party? I find that to be a minor detail. Out of blind frustration (or rage), I flashed my brights at the ignoramus in front of me to no avail. Lest you think that I always do this or I advocate dangerous driving habits, please understand that all bets are off if it's raining, snowing, or dark and curvy with no lights (I'm looking at your Northwest Illinois). I will also say that there are a number of roads where the speed limit doesn't make much sense, so I'm occasionally guilty of going under the speed limit. If, however, there is someone behind me, I do my best to go as fast as I comfortably can or pull over and let the person pass. I have anger issues - I get it.
I finally make it around moron #1 and drive along for a few minutes, grateful that I'm coasting at 5-10 miles over the speed limit (I'm not a completely crazy person, after all). Again, two lanes turn into one and I decide to let the driver in front of me (heretofore known as "moron #2") stay in place as we merge. Moron #1 and moron #2 were clearly communicating telepathically, because this dude was also going under the speed limit. Really Illinois? REALLY??!! In an unprecedented move, I flash my brights at this other guy - also to no avail. I curse loudly, remembering what my mother once told me about the car being the perfect place to express anger. Nobody can hear you scream and as long as you're not tailing people, no one really gets hurt: it's a win-win. If nothing else, I'll say my road rage is genetic.
45 painful minutes later, I got to the party and had a very nice time. I chalked the evening's crawl-a-thon up to general malaise in McHenry County. Over the next several days, however, I ran into this situation over and over again. Now January in Chicago is usually pretty icy and treacherous - Snowmageddon 2011 brought us 20 inches of snow in one day. People - it's 54 degrees outside. In January. In Chicago. Global Warming is not just a myth but I'm quite sure this sudden realization is not what's slowing people down on the streets. I'm not a fan of driving in ice and snow, particularly when it's dark, but let me reiterate - 54 DEGREES, broad daylight, NO CONSTRUCTION, what the hell is wrong with all of you?? We all know that quotas don't kick in until the end of the month - I'm pretty sure going 5 miles over the speed limit won't get you pulled over. On a major road. When it's sunny. And traffic is light. Seriously, people, it's the one on the right that makes the car go vroom. I suggest you make friends with your gas pedal.
That is all.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Monday, November 21, 2011
A Gleeful realization
I haven't written in a while because, quite frankly, there was nothing to write about. So now I must rely on my friends. I am publishing this with my friend's express permission - so there is no need to fear that I will use your foibles for my own entertainment (at least not publicly).
My friend Carol* is incredibly talented in more ways than I can count or imagine, but she hasn't had much experience with the television side of the technological revolution. She will freely admit that she hasn't really watched any TV since her oldest was born in 1999. There have been a lot of changes since 1999 . . . I quickly fell in love with Glee and knew Carol would too. Though it took awhile to get Carol up to speed (getting most of her DVDs from the library), I loaned her my DVD of Season One, Part One, and Carol was smitten, just as I knew she would be. So much so, that she put a date on her calendar to see the Glee movie and bought tickets in advance. Her goal this season was to actually stay on top of Glee as it aired, instead of catching up months or weeks later.
Carol invited me over to her house for Glee's season premiere in September. She said the show was starting at 8:00. I asked if she was sure (as we live in Chicago and it had always aired at 7:00), and she gleefully (ha - a pun!) said that they could pretty much put the show on at whatever time they wanted because it was so good and popular. I was skeptical, but also knew that Glee was perhaps the only thing that could take precedence over Carol's children (don't worry, girls, I'm totally kidding), so I believed her. As I drove to her house at 6:15, I thought I'd check the time on my iPhone, just in case. As I suspected, Glee was set to air the first episode of the season at 7. I quickly called Carol and she was dismayed - how could this be?! And then - it dawned on her - the show would be on at 8, 7 central. Yep - we're in the central time zone. In fact Carol's been in the central time zone for a full twelve years. I sped (as much as possible) to Carol's house and arrived at 7:02. The bizarre mix of technology alluded me, so it wasn't until 7:20 that I had Glee up and running. Carol felt defeated, but consoled herself with the fact that she could watch it on Hulu the next day, as she had done for previous seasons.
And then, there was a fly in the ointment. Hulu went back to its original method of streaming an episode 8 days after it airs on TV. Alas, Technology - 1, Carol - 0. Not to be deterred, Carol tried again the following week, but still could not figure out the TV. And then this email came very early the next morning:
Mike’s* alarm went off at 5:20 even though he is taking the day off from work. He is going to minyan anyway. I was annoyed for less than 15 seconds when I realized that means that I get to watch the first Glee episode! Yes, it is the first day it is available on Hulu, and no one else in the house is awake. Glee from last week is MINE! I have never been glad to have been behind on folding laundry before; I was looking respectably busy when Mike left for minyan and I am a happy woman. Me and Hulu, we’re like this (and I’d show you, but there isn’t a crossed fingers icon that I know of)
-Carol
The following week, I was helping Carol out with some other things, so I would be at her house watching the girls and could supervise the recording of Glee. Carol had set everything up so there was a tape, the TV was programmed, all I needed to do was press record at 7:00. Perhaps I should add that Carol and her clan are very environmentally aware and so have the TV and assorted devices hooked up to a power strip that is turned off when not in use. Thinking she was helping, one of the girls turned off the power strip, unaware of the recording plan her mother had so carefully put into place. A few minutes before the intended time, I went downstairs and panicked when I saw nothing appeared to be working. I hastily turned things on and attempted to figure out the various inputs and channels so Glee would be recorded. At least marginally familiar with the setup given the last attempt at Glee-dom, I was able to figure it out by about 7:02. I may or may not have raised my voice at the girls through this process, begging them not to touch anything or say anything so I could get everything setup. I pressed record (as originally asked) and left the TV to do its magic.
Carol came home, went downstairs, and saw that nothing had recorded. What?!?!?!?! I pressed record! I saw it recording! Let me reiterate - What?!?!?!?! I felt so bad about this, but there was nothing I could do. Fortunately, it turned out that the episode was just later in the tape, so a few minutes at the end had been cut off, but we could call it .75 for 3 on Glee recording. We had a full month hiatus for the World Series. Finally home at 7:00, Carol was understandably frustrated at the lack of Glee. Or, as she put it, "It's been awhile, but even I know that they don't sing the National Anthem at the end of a baseball game". When Glee was finally back on the air, I got the following email:
My friend Carol* is incredibly talented in more ways than I can count or imagine, but she hasn't had much experience with the television side of the technological revolution. She will freely admit that she hasn't really watched any TV since her oldest was born in 1999. There have been a lot of changes since 1999 . . . I quickly fell in love with Glee and knew Carol would too. Though it took awhile to get Carol up to speed (getting most of her DVDs from the library), I loaned her my DVD of Season One, Part One, and Carol was smitten, just as I knew she would be. So much so, that she put a date on her calendar to see the Glee movie and bought tickets in advance. Her goal this season was to actually stay on top of Glee as it aired, instead of catching up months or weeks later.
Carol invited me over to her house for Glee's season premiere in September. She said the show was starting at 8:00. I asked if she was sure (as we live in Chicago and it had always aired at 7:00), and she gleefully (ha - a pun!) said that they could pretty much put the show on at whatever time they wanted because it was so good and popular. I was skeptical, but also knew that Glee was perhaps the only thing that could take precedence over Carol's children (don't worry, girls, I'm totally kidding), so I believed her. As I drove to her house at 6:15, I thought I'd check the time on my iPhone, just in case. As I suspected, Glee was set to air the first episode of the season at 7. I quickly called Carol and she was dismayed - how could this be?! And then - it dawned on her - the show would be on at 8, 7 central. Yep - we're in the central time zone. In fact Carol's been in the central time zone for a full twelve years. I sped (as much as possible) to Carol's house and arrived at 7:02. The bizarre mix of technology alluded me, so it wasn't until 7:20 that I had Glee up and running. Carol felt defeated, but consoled herself with the fact that she could watch it on Hulu the next day, as she had done for previous seasons.
And then, there was a fly in the ointment. Hulu went back to its original method of streaming an episode 8 days after it airs on TV. Alas, Technology - 1, Carol - 0. Not to be deterred, Carol tried again the following week, but still could not figure out the TV. And then this email came very early the next morning:
Mike’s* alarm went off at 5:20 even though he is taking the day off from work. He is going to minyan anyway. I was annoyed for less than 15 seconds when I realized that means that I get to watch the first Glee episode! Yes, it is the first day it is available on Hulu, and no one else in the house is awake. Glee from last week is MINE! I have never been glad to have been behind on folding laundry before; I was looking respectably busy when Mike left for minyan and I am a happy woman. Me and Hulu, we’re like this (and I’d show you, but there isn’t a crossed fingers icon that I know of)
-Carol
The following week, I was helping Carol out with some other things, so I would be at her house watching the girls and could supervise the recording of Glee. Carol had set everything up so there was a tape, the TV was programmed, all I needed to do was press record at 7:00. Perhaps I should add that Carol and her clan are very environmentally aware and so have the TV and assorted devices hooked up to a power strip that is turned off when not in use. Thinking she was helping, one of the girls turned off the power strip, unaware of the recording plan her mother had so carefully put into place. A few minutes before the intended time, I went downstairs and panicked when I saw nothing appeared to be working. I hastily turned things on and attempted to figure out the various inputs and channels so Glee would be recorded. At least marginally familiar with the setup given the last attempt at Glee-dom, I was able to figure it out by about 7:02. I may or may not have raised my voice at the girls through this process, begging them not to touch anything or say anything so I could get everything setup. I pressed record (as originally asked) and left the TV to do its magic.
Carol came home, went downstairs, and saw that nothing had recorded. What?!?!?!?! I pressed record! I saw it recording! Let me reiterate - What?!?!?!?! I felt so bad about this, but there was nothing I could do. Fortunately, it turned out that the episode was just later in the tape, so a few minutes at the end had been cut off, but we could call it .75 for 3 on Glee recording. We had a full month hiatus for the World Series. Finally home at 7:00, Carol was understandably frustrated at the lack of Glee. Or, as she put it, "It's been awhile, but even I know that they don't sing the National Anthem at the end of a baseball game". When Glee was finally back on the air, I got the following email:
TV is on the right station-check
VCR tape is in-check
Everything works when it is turned on-check
It is actually taping Fox-check
Rewound tape after test-check
Now I just have to remember to turn it back on and push record in 6 hours. I don’t want to even consider the learning curve in programming it to tape at a specific time. : )
I can’t wait!
:-),
Carol
My dear readers, you know my writing style enough to figure out that I wouldn't have included the above email if Carol was successful. Sadly, it was a no go. Still no Glee. A very well-meaning friend sent Carol a device that would actually set the TV up to record at a certain time without her needing to do anything else. Knowing Carol (and her TV setup), I was confident this would make no difference - as the issue wasn't necessarily the timing of the recording as much as some pretty old equipment paired with some rather bizarre and new equipment - adding in Carol's luck and penchant for missing Glee just to make things more fun.
The following week (as we all suspected), Glee was, yet again, aired but not recorded.
Well, we were all set to record. TV on? Check. Box on? Check. Blue light on the box on? Check. Tape set up and checked? Check. Timer set to remind everyone to hit the record button? Check. VCR on? Check. But for reasons which escape us the blue light turned off at some point during recording while I was at a meeting and Mike was at minyan. You’d think that my pagan musical meeting and Mike’s davening would cancel each other out, allowing the taping of a pagan show, but no. In any case, I get to see last week’s tomorrow and then I’ll get a teaser of last night’s and maybe the blue light stayed on for a good, long, lovely time.
Sigh,
Carol
I piped in and figured out (by looking at the manual online) that the sleep timer on the converter box just needed to be turned off and it would override Al Gore's carefully devised plan to save energy. As we all might expect, Carol would, again, be away from the house when Glee aired the following week. And so . . .
I will leave bedtime routine instructions and hope that [the babysitter] can turn on our high maintenance box at the right time. The weirdest babysitting instruction ever: at 15 minute intervals, check to make sure the blue light is on
We seemed to have triumphed over technology. At last, Glee would be hers! (Or ours - we had all invested a lot of time at this point). Could it be that the sixth time was the charm? Well . . .
I know you’ve all been breathlessly waiting: Did Carol Fly (record) or Fail? Is she caught up?! Well, yes and no. Yes, folks, we have a winner! I actually recorded (I think) an entire episode of Glee all by myself (by proxy). I set everything up and then set a timer and told the babysitter (who laughed really hard) and my children to push record. I just now finally checked and did see that Glee recorded. But, no, I’m not caught up (so I don’t know for sure that I got the whole episode, but the blue light was on when I got home, so there’s at least a good chance). Alice* and I had a laundry party at her house today and watched the very sweet West Side Story “First Time” episode, but now we have to find a time to watch “Mash Off” together. Can’t wait to see the next episode, whenever that is. . .
How many clicks does it take to get to the Glee-filled center of a successfully recorded show? The world may never know . . .
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Shana Tovah!
I'm sure those of you religiously following my blog (no pun intended) are curious as to the outcome of the dating olympics over a longer period of time.
Well - George (Jesus) and I went out on a few more dates and had a generally good time. We'll certainly see where it goes, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Besides, he can totally save on the dinner tab by turning water into wine.
On the first day of Rosh Hashana, I was helping out with youth services at my friend's shul (synagogue), so I spent a considerable amount of time in the back area of the building. While my friend was deep in the throes of a conversation with someone, I wandered the halls and spoke greetings to congregants who crossed my path. Suddenly, Ringo (Obama is a Marxist guy) walks by. I give the standard acknowledgment nod and greeting only to discover that it was not a random congregant walking by. Oh no - it was bachelor #4 in all of his gangly, obnoxious glory. Now, I'm not sure if he recognized me or put two and two together, but I most certainly recognized him and just about peed myself. All I can say at this point, is that it made for a very interesting beginning to my new year.
Well - George (Jesus) and I went out on a few more dates and had a generally good time. We'll certainly see where it goes, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Besides, he can totally save on the dinner tab by turning water into wine.
On the first day of Rosh Hashana, I was helping out with youth services at my friend's shul (synagogue), so I spent a considerable amount of time in the back area of the building. While my friend was deep in the throes of a conversation with someone, I wandered the halls and spoke greetings to congregants who crossed my path. Suddenly, Ringo (Obama is a Marxist guy) walks by. I give the standard acknowledgment nod and greeting only to discover that it was not a random congregant walking by. Oh no - it was bachelor #4 in all of his gangly, obnoxious glory. Now, I'm not sure if he recognized me or put two and two together, but I most certainly recognized him and just about peed myself. All I can say at this point, is that it made for a very interesting beginning to my new year.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Dating Olympics - a Recap
I hesitate to publish this post because I don't want to run into the same dilemma as the writer behind the awesome blog Searching for Prince Charmingstein. And yet - here I am - posting anyway. So, here goes . . .
I competed in the dating olympics over labor day weekend. With four dates in three days - I had an awful lot of dinner, coffee, and small talk. I would say the gold medal goes to Bachelor #3 who we will call George. Though not impressive on the phone, he had a good showing in person and performed an excellent routine. The silver medal (which really should have been a tie for bronze) will go to John (Bachelor #1) - an overall good guy but lacking in the personality department. The bronze medal will go to Paul (Bachelor #2) - a great talker on the phone - and an incessant talker in person. This leaves us with Ringo (Bachelor #4)- who really shouldn't have made it past the trials, but I suppose everyone deserves a shot at representation. I think this is also why there were only three bachelors in The Dating Game, but I digress.
Here's a brief summary of the contestants. For the full story, scroll down to the **
John is an IT professional who looks good on paper (well - the web) but should likely stay there. He was a tad on the shy/dull side and was probably best represented in a photo of what I'd assume is a Halloween costume. He may not have the personality of a 1940s mob boss, but he's got the look down pretty well.
Paul is an aspiring attorney who had a life/career change after a divorce. His potential success in the courtroom will likely be the result of talking for so long that the judge and jury forget the opposition's arguments. He might also cause a diversion by asking the defendant to identify and justify his favorite food.
George is a former engineer whose main physical trait is that he's a Jesus model. No - seriously - he posed for those paintings . . . A bit soft spoken, he has a good heart and is a true intellectual. He's a recent convert - so he certainly fulfills the requirement of not living at home with his mom.
And then there's Ringo. An attorney who believes Obama is a Marxist, what Ringo lacks in tact, he makes up for in height. He claims to be a pure capitalist and will gladly tell you about the failings of socialist government, the demoralization of school children caused by a 'strict interpretation' of the separation of church and state, and the many reasons that the theory of evolution is bogus. If you want to date a pompous asshat - he's your guy.
**
My date with Paul started out in a somewhat bizarre fashion. I got my hair done Saturday morning and was running rather late to meet him near my friend's house a mile or so away from the ball park. We chose to walk instead of taking the bus and had some nice banter along the way. Once we got to the game, though, it went downhill. By the time we made it to our seats, it was probably about 1:30 and I hadn't eaten anything of substance yet that day. He kept asking inane questions like my favorite food and my favorite color - clearly talking just to talk. There was a rain delay in the 7th inning, so we were at Wrigley for six hours. We walked back to my friend's place and stopped at a Starbucks not far away. I was relying on my friend to text me so I could meet her and get the hell out - but that never happened. That probably didn't bode well for John as it colored my opinion of the day and the date. Additionally, he plans on living at his parents house while he studies for the bar - figuring he'll rarely be home anyway so it doesn't matter. In case you missed it - that one's a deal breaker.
On Sunday, George and I went to brunch at a nice place in the city - a date that almost didn't happen because I was exhausted and angry from the previous days events. I'm really glad that it did work out, as we had great conversation and he was the only guy I didn't have an overwhelming desire to run from at any point during our date. The best part about George is that he's a dead ringer for Jesus. I wasn't sure how I felt about the scruffy look, but it ended up working out for him. We talked about his conversion to Judaism, his views and hopes for the education system, and the ever-entertaining antics of an organization that lacks - well - organization. The primary reason our date ended was that my car was parked in a two hour zone and I didn't want to get a ticket. Date number two is already scheduled and looks promising.
Monday afternoon, I met Ringo for lunch at a pancake house. I'm pretty sure if was doomed from the beginning, but I felt he deserved a fair chance. After taking our seats, we started talking about iPhones and a sense of ineptitude from users. Though he is an attorney, he apparently assists with computers at his father's law firm and faults the users for not being able to effectively diagnose their issues. My opinion on the matter is that I'm paid rather specifically to do the troubleshooting for the users, so I don't really care if they're able to help themselves. I ordered my coffee (praying caffeine would have the same effects as alcohol) and Ringo (always tolerant of other people's thoughts and feelings) stated that he didn't understand why people would drink coffee. Especially if you were just going to add all that cream and sugar to it - why not just have a soda (ok - he probably said pop - but I refuse to concede that part of my good California upbringing). I explained that I (and likely others) in fact like the taste of coffee - but sometimes want a different flavor, so I add things at will. Now, of course, I think of the analogy of putting salt, pepper, and spices on food - but that didn't occur to me at the time. He also said that he didn't like chocolate - particularly dark chocolate. That comment was below the belt, so I think we started to talk about something else at that point - I sort of blocked parts out - but I mentioned that we ought to leave because it was a busy day and someone would probably want our table. He seemed not to care, but agreed. As we (he) went to the counter to pay, the cashier asked how everything was. Now any decent human being knows that the appropriate answer to that is either wonderful, good, or ok. It's like when someone asks "How are you?" That person doesn't want to know about your dog's latest ailment or your mother's worsening asthma - they're just going for 'good' or 'fine'. Ringo, however, said that the potato pancakes were sort of over done and that the applesauce was runny (or something similar) but the spinach crepes were great. I attempted to communicate my horror and apology to the cashier simply through my eyes, but I'm not sure she got the message.
As I'm a glutton for punishment and we were in the midst of a conversation that deserved finishing, we went to a coffee shop to continue the horror. I know a lot of you are going to blame me for the rest of the date, and that's fine, but if you know me at all, you know I can't leave a good debate without some level of closure. I don't remember the order of events, but the conversation turned to politics - a dangerous topic on a first date. This is where Ringo earned his nickname "Obama is a Marxist guy". He droned on about how Obama is a Marxist (hence the nickname), socialized medicine and government were doomed to fail, how the separation of church and state had been taken too literally and lead to the demoralization of American culture. Of course that lead to conversation about school vouchers and how evolution shouldn't be taught in school because it was an erroneous theory. He cited the many studies that show that Darwin's theories were bunk and made some comment about a bird that migrated to a different island, thereby proving that evolution was as made up as Santa (he didn't actually use that analogy, but still . . . ). No first date could be complete without talking about distributing condoms and schools while preaching abstinence. At one point, he looked at me and said I had a funny look on my face. I told him "Yes, that's because I disagree with everything you've said in the last five minutes". I went on to explain that he had absolutely no room to talk unless he had actually applied for Medicaid at any point in time, lived in an area with a combination of good schools and crappy neighborhoods, and had ever been denied insurance coverage. So, you know, a typical first date. We left it with "See you around". You know what, Ringo - I hope you find someone who is as pompous as you are - she will be significantly crazier than I have ever been - and that's saying something.
I went on my second date with John later that evening, figuring that the attire for miniature golf was slightly different than what I'd worn to my previous dates. We played a round of mini golf - stopped keeping score after the second hole - and made idle chitchat about our combined suckiness at the game. We then went to a pub for dinner where we made more idle chitchat. We went marginally deeper, talking a bit about family and such. I would say the most memorable story of that encounter (which actually happened on the first date a week earlier) was how he managed to end up in Ohio when trying to get home from New Trier. I will mention - I was not involved in this - the story took place when he was in high school - more than ten years earlier. For those of you in a different geographic location - the distance between his home and New Trier high school is about ten miles (at most). He apparently got onto the highway (not a good move) and kept driving, hoping to eventually reach his destination. How he managed to cross the Indiana state line (or drive for more than thirty minutes) without thinking that something might have been amiss is beyond me. He did manage to prove, however, that I do not have the worst sense of direction in the world. All in all, it was a nice time, but my John was nowhere near as interesting as the John for whom his pseudonym refers to. Then again, I'm no Yoko Ono.
In summary - there was one definite yes (which lead to a second date), one definite no (which didn't) and two Eh - at least they're decent guys. Tonight (attempting to top my dating record), I am going to a speed dating event, where I'm hoping I don't run into any of the Olympians.
Until next time, this is your dating diva, signing off.
I competed in the dating olympics over labor day weekend. With four dates in three days - I had an awful lot of dinner, coffee, and small talk. I would say the gold medal goes to Bachelor #3 who we will call George. Though not impressive on the phone, he had a good showing in person and performed an excellent routine. The silver medal (which really should have been a tie for bronze) will go to John (Bachelor #1) - an overall good guy but lacking in the personality department. The bronze medal will go to Paul (Bachelor #2) - a great talker on the phone - and an incessant talker in person. This leaves us with Ringo (Bachelor #4)- who really shouldn't have made it past the trials, but I suppose everyone deserves a shot at representation. I think this is also why there were only three bachelors in The Dating Game, but I digress.
Here's a brief summary of the contestants. For the full story, scroll down to the **
John is an IT professional who looks good on paper (well - the web) but should likely stay there. He was a tad on the shy/dull side and was probably best represented in a photo of what I'd assume is a Halloween costume. He may not have the personality of a 1940s mob boss, but he's got the look down pretty well.
Paul is an aspiring attorney who had a life/career change after a divorce. His potential success in the courtroom will likely be the result of talking for so long that the judge and jury forget the opposition's arguments. He might also cause a diversion by asking the defendant to identify and justify his favorite food.
George is a former engineer whose main physical trait is that he's a Jesus model. No - seriously - he posed for those paintings . . . A bit soft spoken, he has a good heart and is a true intellectual. He's a recent convert - so he certainly fulfills the requirement of not living at home with his mom.
And then there's Ringo. An attorney who believes Obama is a Marxist, what Ringo lacks in tact, he makes up for in height. He claims to be a pure capitalist and will gladly tell you about the failings of socialist government, the demoralization of school children caused by a 'strict interpretation' of the separation of church and state, and the many reasons that the theory of evolution is bogus. If you want to date a pompous asshat - he's your guy.
**
My date with Paul started out in a somewhat bizarre fashion. I got my hair done Saturday morning and was running rather late to meet him near my friend's house a mile or so away from the ball park. We chose to walk instead of taking the bus and had some nice banter along the way. Once we got to the game, though, it went downhill. By the time we made it to our seats, it was probably about 1:30 and I hadn't eaten anything of substance yet that day. He kept asking inane questions like my favorite food and my favorite color - clearly talking just to talk. There was a rain delay in the 7th inning, so we were at Wrigley for six hours. We walked back to my friend's place and stopped at a Starbucks not far away. I was relying on my friend to text me so I could meet her and get the hell out - but that never happened. That probably didn't bode well for John as it colored my opinion of the day and the date. Additionally, he plans on living at his parents house while he studies for the bar - figuring he'll rarely be home anyway so it doesn't matter. In case you missed it - that one's a deal breaker.
On Sunday, George and I went to brunch at a nice place in the city - a date that almost didn't happen because I was exhausted and angry from the previous days events. I'm really glad that it did work out, as we had great conversation and he was the only guy I didn't have an overwhelming desire to run from at any point during our date. The best part about George is that he's a dead ringer for Jesus. I wasn't sure how I felt about the scruffy look, but it ended up working out for him. We talked about his conversion to Judaism, his views and hopes for the education system, and the ever-entertaining antics of an organization that lacks - well - organization. The primary reason our date ended was that my car was parked in a two hour zone and I didn't want to get a ticket. Date number two is already scheduled and looks promising.
Monday afternoon, I met Ringo for lunch at a pancake house. I'm pretty sure if was doomed from the beginning, but I felt he deserved a fair chance. After taking our seats, we started talking about iPhones and a sense of ineptitude from users. Though he is an attorney, he apparently assists with computers at his father's law firm and faults the users for not being able to effectively diagnose their issues. My opinion on the matter is that I'm paid rather specifically to do the troubleshooting for the users, so I don't really care if they're able to help themselves. I ordered my coffee (praying caffeine would have the same effects as alcohol) and Ringo (always tolerant of other people's thoughts and feelings) stated that he didn't understand why people would drink coffee. Especially if you were just going to add all that cream and sugar to it - why not just have a soda (ok - he probably said pop - but I refuse to concede that part of my good California upbringing). I explained that I (and likely others) in fact like the taste of coffee - but sometimes want a different flavor, so I add things at will. Now, of course, I think of the analogy of putting salt, pepper, and spices on food - but that didn't occur to me at the time. He also said that he didn't like chocolate - particularly dark chocolate. That comment was below the belt, so I think we started to talk about something else at that point - I sort of blocked parts out - but I mentioned that we ought to leave because it was a busy day and someone would probably want our table. He seemed not to care, but agreed. As we (he) went to the counter to pay, the cashier asked how everything was. Now any decent human being knows that the appropriate answer to that is either wonderful, good, or ok. It's like when someone asks "How are you?" That person doesn't want to know about your dog's latest ailment or your mother's worsening asthma - they're just going for 'good' or 'fine'. Ringo, however, said that the potato pancakes were sort of over done and that the applesauce was runny (or something similar) but the spinach crepes were great. I attempted to communicate my horror and apology to the cashier simply through my eyes, but I'm not sure she got the message.
As I'm a glutton for punishment and we were in the midst of a conversation that deserved finishing, we went to a coffee shop to continue the horror. I know a lot of you are going to blame me for the rest of the date, and that's fine, but if you know me at all, you know I can't leave a good debate without some level of closure. I don't remember the order of events, but the conversation turned to politics - a dangerous topic on a first date. This is where Ringo earned his nickname "Obama is a Marxist guy". He droned on about how Obama is a Marxist (hence the nickname), socialized medicine and government were doomed to fail, how the separation of church and state had been taken too literally and lead to the demoralization of American culture. Of course that lead to conversation about school vouchers and how evolution shouldn't be taught in school because it was an erroneous theory. He cited the many studies that show that Darwin's theories were bunk and made some comment about a bird that migrated to a different island, thereby proving that evolution was as made up as Santa (he didn't actually use that analogy, but still . . . ). No first date could be complete without talking about distributing condoms and schools while preaching abstinence. At one point, he looked at me and said I had a funny look on my face. I told him "Yes, that's because I disagree with everything you've said in the last five minutes". I went on to explain that he had absolutely no room to talk unless he had actually applied for Medicaid at any point in time, lived in an area with a combination of good schools and crappy neighborhoods, and had ever been denied insurance coverage. So, you know, a typical first date. We left it with "See you around". You know what, Ringo - I hope you find someone who is as pompous as you are - she will be significantly crazier than I have ever been - and that's saying something.
I went on my second date with John later that evening, figuring that the attire for miniature golf was slightly different than what I'd worn to my previous dates. We played a round of mini golf - stopped keeping score after the second hole - and made idle chitchat about our combined suckiness at the game. We then went to a pub for dinner where we made more idle chitchat. We went marginally deeper, talking a bit about family and such. I would say the most memorable story of that encounter (which actually happened on the first date a week earlier) was how he managed to end up in Ohio when trying to get home from New Trier. I will mention - I was not involved in this - the story took place when he was in high school - more than ten years earlier. For those of you in a different geographic location - the distance between his home and New Trier high school is about ten miles (at most). He apparently got onto the highway (not a good move) and kept driving, hoping to eventually reach his destination. How he managed to cross the Indiana state line (or drive for more than thirty minutes) without thinking that something might have been amiss is beyond me. He did manage to prove, however, that I do not have the worst sense of direction in the world. All in all, it was a nice time, but my John was nowhere near as interesting as the John for whom his pseudonym refers to. Then again, I'm no Yoko Ono.
In summary - there was one definite yes (which lead to a second date), one definite no (which didn't) and two Eh - at least they're decent guys. Tonight (attempting to top my dating record), I am going to a speed dating event, where I'm hoping I don't run into any of the Olympians.
Until next time, this is your dating diva, signing off.
Monday, August 29, 2011
To JDate or not to JDate - part shtayim (bet)
Bonus points if you get the pun in the title of the post. Just saying . . .
At this point, I have chosen not to JDate, though I highly recommend going to this blog:
http://www.searchingforprincecharmingstein.com (note that the link above takes you to the first post, which certainly helps to explain every post thereafter.
I have, however, joined a site called OkCupid! - recommended by my college roommate (incidentally - also named Becca). I was initially skeptical, but the site is free, and we all know free is my favorite number. So I signed up last Monday and I've already had one date and have two more pending details. I must say that there are a number of questions I never considered when choosing a potential life partner.
For example:
or
There were also a variety of ethical and social questions such as whether or not contraception is morally wrong and if women have an obligation to keep their legs shaved. I certainly have opinions regarding both topics, but must say, it's never come up on a first date. Or a second date. Or in any previous relationship. But it's an interesting set of questions, nonetheless.
Piece of advice for those looking to woo me - you won't get very far if you ask me how to fix your iPhone in your first communication/message with me. Let's just say - decline to state . . .
At this point, I have chosen not to JDate, though I highly recommend going to this blog:
http://www.searchingforprincecharmingstein.com (note that the link above takes you to the first post, which certainly helps to explain every post thereafter.
I have, however, joined a site called OkCupid! - recommended by my college roommate (incidentally - also named Becca). I was initially skeptical, but the site is free, and we all know free is my favorite number. So I signed up last Monday and I've already had one date and have two more pending details. I must say that there are a number of questions I never considered when choosing a potential life partner.
For example:
STALE is to STEAL as 89475 is to...
- 89457
- 98547
- 89754
- 89547
Without using a dictionary or other tool, can you choose the commonly misspelled word? Don't cheat! It's okay if you don't know.
- 1. separate
- 2. definate
- 3. committee
- (Not sure / dumb question / who cares)
Piece of advice for those looking to woo me - you won't get very far if you ask me how to fix your iPhone in your first communication/message with me. Let's just say - decline to state . . .
Monday, August 22, 2011
To JDate or not to JDate?
I was talking to a friend at the pool this weekend who has tried some dating sites without success. She frequents Plenty of Fish and has not been particularly lucky in finding a man who uses the head on his shoulders and not - well - the other one. I mentioned that she might have more luck on a paid site - because at least these people have invested $30/mo to be less of a douchebag, so the prospects are probably better. Which brings me to the subject of this post. I, like many of my people, am - how should I put this? - thrifty. My mother owned a resale clothing store and I follow in her frugal footsteps. I have a hard time, therefore, putting money I don't have into a dating site that may or may not yield results.
Though there are always success stories, I challenge you to find a nice Jewish girl (or boy) who doesn't have some JDate horror story. Yes, it is certainly helpful to find someone who finds marginal value in a shared faith, but that does not rule out the weirdos, ass hats, and elitists. In the suburban areas, there's a particular problem in that the pool is just not that large. Almost every friend I have who has frequented JDate will go on a few years later - look at a profile picture - and try to figure out why that person looks familiar. Aha! Because you dated him four years ago. I will say, it does not inspire confidence that this has happened to me several times as well. But I'm not getting any younger and haven't met someone new in a really long time.
Let's be honest, after college, exposure to a large group of like-minded people (who don't work with you) is hard to come by. There's also the generally safe assumption that college students aren't married - and those who are will probably be divorced in five years anyway. I'm six years past my Hillel days and have gone on only one date in that time period that was not initiated online. It's the world we live in folks. It sucks, but hey - it's where we are. Sure - there's the bar scene, but A) I kind of hate bars, B) The likelihood of the man chugging the Heineken being one of the chosen people is pretty slim, and C) I'm not sure I want my first encounter with my future companion to occur in a dark area where neither of us is operating on all cylinders. So I'm left with the question of what to do.
I tried speed dating - which didn't exactly work out the last time. At my friend's bachelorette party, I managed to sit with an entire table of 30 year old (theoretically) single Jewish attorneys and didn't get a single phone number (thanks for the Conga line timing Heidi). I also went on Birthright with about 15-20 guys (some of whom were unattached) and came up empty. I feel like I'm left with no other choice than to give the J-site another chance. So I will say there is a high likelihood that I will sign up during their next 'savings event' likely to occur over labor day weekend.
The comments section is completely open for alternative suggestions. I will give the caveat that I reserve the right to openly mock/categorically reject the suggestion - but still - I'm open . . .
Though there are always success stories, I challenge you to find a nice Jewish girl (or boy) who doesn't have some JDate horror story. Yes, it is certainly helpful to find someone who finds marginal value in a shared faith, but that does not rule out the weirdos, ass hats, and elitists. In the suburban areas, there's a particular problem in that the pool is just not that large. Almost every friend I have who has frequented JDate will go on a few years later - look at a profile picture - and try to figure out why that person looks familiar. Aha! Because you dated him four years ago. I will say, it does not inspire confidence that this has happened to me several times as well. But I'm not getting any younger and haven't met someone new in a really long time.
Let's be honest, after college, exposure to a large group of like-minded people (who don't work with you) is hard to come by. There's also the generally safe assumption that college students aren't married - and those who are will probably be divorced in five years anyway. I'm six years past my Hillel days and have gone on only one date in that time period that was not initiated online. It's the world we live in folks. It sucks, but hey - it's where we are. Sure - there's the bar scene, but A) I kind of hate bars, B) The likelihood of the man chugging the Heineken being one of the chosen people is pretty slim, and C) I'm not sure I want my first encounter with my future companion to occur in a dark area where neither of us is operating on all cylinders. So I'm left with the question of what to do.
I tried speed dating - which didn't exactly work out the last time. At my friend's bachelorette party, I managed to sit with an entire table of 30 year old (theoretically) single Jewish attorneys and didn't get a single phone number (thanks for the Conga line timing Heidi). I also went on Birthright with about 15-20 guys (some of whom were unattached) and came up empty. I feel like I'm left with no other choice than to give the J-site another chance. So I will say there is a high likelihood that I will sign up during their next 'savings event' likely to occur over labor day weekend.
The comments section is completely open for alternative suggestions. I will give the caveat that I reserve the right to openly mock/categorically reject the suggestion - but still - I'm open . . .
Monday, August 8, 2011
I fought the law(s of physics) and the law won . . .
This is the last disclaimer I'm going to give about the length of a post. You can see the scrollbar on the right and read at your leisure. Just sayin . . .
I've spoken extensively about my battles with geography. The planet pretty much wins every time, compass in hand or not. It turns out that I also battle with bedding. I fought with my new duvet for 3 ½ hours on Wednesday night - for the record - it won. In case you're wondering (which - really? things that I say and do surprise you?), yes - I lost a battle with a blanket. In my defense, I was tired and physics was not working in my favor. Perhaps I should explain . . .
My cat, Hayley, though very cute, can be a giant brat. When she feels I have failed her in some way, she expresses her displeasure on my clothing and bedding. After learning the hard way several times, I became expert at making sure no clothing stayed on the floor when not in my direct line of sight. Unfortunately, Hayley is very aware that my comforter will be on my bed at all times and I will most certainly notice the unpleasant smell. Though I'm not a terribly fast learner, after the second ruined comforter, I learned to only get bedding that is machine washable. My (now former) comforter served me pretty well - lasting about a year and a half - but its' seams were not so much sewn together anymore and the beautiful stitching and delicate sequins were but a memory. Fed up with constant trips to the laundromat in order to use an industrial-size washing machine, I figured there must be a better solution. Which brings us to the predicament with the duvet.
I went to Bed Bath and Beyond and explained my dilemma to the highly knowledgable people in the bedding department. We came up with a solution involving a queen sized down comforter, a king sized waterproof mattress cover, and "easy to use" comforter clips. Here's a tip - anything that is marked 'easy to use' is inherently going to require a PhD in Useless Skills (yay Liberal Arts degree!). I also bought a duvet cover there that I liked but wasn't in love with. I found a different duvet on Target's website later that evening, so ordered the Target one and returned the original purchase to B3. I'm always hesitant to buy things online that require adequate sizing/color matching, but I went with it cause it was so darn pretty. The package arrived at my office, I opened it, and I immediately noticed that the colors did not translate well online. There was more yellow and orange than I expected and it was sort of a bust. To shorten the story, we'll say that I shopped online for several more days, and trekked to Macy's, JC Penney, and Kohls. In case you find yourself in a similar situation - I will caution you that none of these stores have much - if any - merchandise on site. Almost all duvet purchases seem to occur online because those of us in the market for a duvet clearly don't care about the color or texture of our bedding. Even the beloved B3 has a limited selection in store. One of the employees at Kohls made a passing remark that Ikea seemed to have a great selection of duvets.
Those of you familiar with the behemoth that is Ikea know that no trip there is short or simple. Three floors of every imaginable product found in a home/apartment/condo/dorm/tent spread out for eternity do not make for a quick shopping experience. I hadn't had dinner at this point, so was grateful that it is entirely possible to quite literally live in an Ikea as they also have a cafeteria. Once I'd had sustenance, I trekked on and found myself in the bedding department - surrounded by a seemingly endless selection of duvets in every color and pattern. Let us please remember that I am a) indecisive, b) easily distracted, and c) all about texture and feel, so this was quite a feat. I narrowed it down to two that I liked (in a mere 90 minutes), searched endlessly for the right sizes and managed to also pick up several organizing baskets. I made my way to the self-checkout after last call and drove the ten-ish minutes home to finally assemble the duvet that had been sitting in my living room since the previous Friday.
This is where physics and I battled it out. I suppose you could also say that I fought geometry, but I think my general lack of spatial skills is all-encompassing, so draw your own conclusions. I'm sure you asked yourself the question earlier, why get a mattress cover instead of a duvet cover? This was the only option I had. No duvet cover that I could find (online or otherwise) appeared to be reliably waterproof, or even water-resistant. So I fought for an hour and a half with the comforter and the mattress cover, trying to figure out how to effectively clip the corners of the down comforter to the non-existent corners of the mattress cover. Of course, as I think on it later, it seems pretty obvious. Stuff the damn comforter in the cover - take advantage of the giant zipper, and clip the corners of the comforter to either the top or bottom part of the mattress cover. My response? Bite me! Where the hell was that answer at 9:30 on Wednesday night?? I'm sure you've done the math and realize that I fought with the duvet for an additional two hours after finally getting the stupid comforter into its cover. Let me also pre-emptively say that I considered (multiple times) throwing in the towel and just using the comforter as it was - with the intention of trying again after a good nights sleep. As is my way, I told myself I was almost done and to just finish the process. Then it was 11:00. Then it was midnight. Then this whole 'turn the duvet cover inside out, clip, and flip' concept made me want to commit mayhem. Then it was 1:00 AM and I had finally managed to effectively clip all layers together and place the duvet on my newly made bed.
I now realize that I probably should have gotten a king size duvet cover instead of a queen - but that's going to wait for another time. It was also brought up to me that this much trouble went into putting a duvet cover on that will (by design) be coming off, so perhaps I should reconsider. Here's my response: if you would like to pay the tab at the dry cleaner - have at it.
In conclusion (as expected) Physics: 1, Becca: 0.
I've spoken extensively about my battles with geography. The planet pretty much wins every time, compass in hand or not. It turns out that I also battle with bedding. I fought with my new duvet for 3 ½ hours on Wednesday night - for the record - it won. In case you're wondering (which - really? things that I say and do surprise you?), yes - I lost a battle with a blanket. In my defense, I was tired and physics was not working in my favor. Perhaps I should explain . . .
My cat, Hayley, though very cute, can be a giant brat. When she feels I have failed her in some way, she expresses her displeasure on my clothing and bedding. After learning the hard way several times, I became expert at making sure no clothing stayed on the floor when not in my direct line of sight. Unfortunately, Hayley is very aware that my comforter will be on my bed at all times and I will most certainly notice the unpleasant smell. Though I'm not a terribly fast learner, after the second ruined comforter, I learned to only get bedding that is machine washable. My (now former) comforter served me pretty well - lasting about a year and a half - but its' seams were not so much sewn together anymore and the beautiful stitching and delicate sequins were but a memory. Fed up with constant trips to the laundromat in order to use an industrial-size washing machine, I figured there must be a better solution. Which brings us to the predicament with the duvet.
I went to Bed Bath and Beyond and explained my dilemma to the highly knowledgable people in the bedding department. We came up with a solution involving a queen sized down comforter, a king sized waterproof mattress cover, and "easy to use" comforter clips. Here's a tip - anything that is marked 'easy to use' is inherently going to require a PhD in Useless Skills (yay Liberal Arts degree!). I also bought a duvet cover there that I liked but wasn't in love with. I found a different duvet on Target's website later that evening, so ordered the Target one and returned the original purchase to B3. I'm always hesitant to buy things online that require adequate sizing/color matching, but I went with it cause it was so darn pretty. The package arrived at my office, I opened it, and I immediately noticed that the colors did not translate well online. There was more yellow and orange than I expected and it was sort of a bust. To shorten the story, we'll say that I shopped online for several more days, and trekked to Macy's, JC Penney, and Kohls. In case you find yourself in a similar situation - I will caution you that none of these stores have much - if any - merchandise on site. Almost all duvet purchases seem to occur online because those of us in the market for a duvet clearly don't care about the color or texture of our bedding. Even the beloved B3 has a limited selection in store. One of the employees at Kohls made a passing remark that Ikea seemed to have a great selection of duvets.
Those of you familiar with the behemoth that is Ikea know that no trip there is short or simple. Three floors of every imaginable product found in a home/apartment/condo/dorm/tent spread out for eternity do not make for a quick shopping experience. I hadn't had dinner at this point, so was grateful that it is entirely possible to quite literally live in an Ikea as they also have a cafeteria. Once I'd had sustenance, I trekked on and found myself in the bedding department - surrounded by a seemingly endless selection of duvets in every color and pattern. Let us please remember that I am a) indecisive, b) easily distracted, and c) all about texture and feel, so this was quite a feat. I narrowed it down to two that I liked (in a mere 90 minutes), searched endlessly for the right sizes and managed to also pick up several organizing baskets. I made my way to the self-checkout after last call and drove the ten-ish minutes home to finally assemble the duvet that had been sitting in my living room since the previous Friday.
This is where physics and I battled it out. I suppose you could also say that I fought geometry, but I think my general lack of spatial skills is all-encompassing, so draw your own conclusions. I'm sure you asked yourself the question earlier, why get a mattress cover instead of a duvet cover? This was the only option I had. No duvet cover that I could find (online or otherwise) appeared to be reliably waterproof, or even water-resistant. So I fought for an hour and a half with the comforter and the mattress cover, trying to figure out how to effectively clip the corners of the down comforter to the non-existent corners of the mattress cover. Of course, as I think on it later, it seems pretty obvious. Stuff the damn comforter in the cover - take advantage of the giant zipper, and clip the corners of the comforter to either the top or bottom part of the mattress cover. My response? Bite me! Where the hell was that answer at 9:30 on Wednesday night?? I'm sure you've done the math and realize that I fought with the duvet for an additional two hours after finally getting the stupid comforter into its cover. Let me also pre-emptively say that I considered (multiple times) throwing in the towel and just using the comforter as it was - with the intention of trying again after a good nights sleep. As is my way, I told myself I was almost done and to just finish the process. Then it was 11:00. Then it was midnight. Then this whole 'turn the duvet cover inside out, clip, and flip' concept made me want to commit mayhem. Then it was 1:00 AM and I had finally managed to effectively clip all layers together and place the duvet on my newly made bed.
I now realize that I probably should have gotten a king size duvet cover instead of a queen - but that's going to wait for another time. It was also brought up to me that this much trouble went into putting a duvet cover on that will (by design) be coming off, so perhaps I should reconsider. Here's my response: if you would like to pay the tab at the dry cleaner - have at it.
In conclusion (as expected) Physics: 1, Becca: 0.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)