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.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
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.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Why I'm Angry - or why the other stages of grieving are irrelevant
I warned in the description of this blog that some of the posts would be serious. I think we all know that I possess a quick wit, so there may be a funny moment or two, but for the most part, this is no laughing matter.
I was hurt very deeply by someone I'd grown quite close to last week. Our relationship was precarious from the start, but the potential for growth, both personally and professionally, was too much to pass up. So I continued to stay in this relationship, often against my better judgment. After putting an ungodly amount of work into a particular project, I was unceremoniously removed from all aspects of it. Passwords were immediately changed and there were some words spoken that were both untrue and uncalled for. I was devastated. The accusations against my character were pretty ridiculous and left me questioning all I had finally learned to love and accept about myself. What up with that b*tch?
Which I think brings us to my current state in the grieving process - this was a loss after all. I know more than enough about the stages of grieving, which is an unfortunate circumstance of the events in my life. But hey - if I can help others, power to me. I even did a webinar in April, thereby proving that I know what I'm talking about. In this webinar, I reiterated what many will say - which is that the stages of grieving are not necessarily experienced in order and not all stages will occur for every person and/or every loss. I can safely say, therefore, that I was never in denial about the loss. I started off at sad and went straight to angry - rather quickly actually. Frankly, I have every reason to be angry. I did everything to the best of my ability, took accountability for the things I could have done better, and was still told - in different words mind you - that I suck at life.
So now comes the what to do about it part. I've realized that I have a hard time being angry when there doesn't seem to be a "reason" for it, which is likely why this didn't come up earlier. Scratch that - it did come up earlier, I made the same mistakes, the same things happened - sounds like a pretty damned good reason to me. So do I send the (admittedly long) email I composed - explaining why I was upset? I'm thinking . . . no. I'm going with calling friends and sending an S.O.S message to a few people:
"It's been a pretty rough week and I could definitely use some time with caring, awesome people. Guess what? You guys are all caring and awesome!! Not sure what your plans are for the next few days but I'd love to hang out. Feel free to invite other caring, awesome people. "
I'll tell you that nothing beats a night of Mitsuwa, "Hamburgers", and a random Blues Brothers drive-by. Some of the residents of Mount Prospect may have been confused, but the three of us sure enjoyed ourselves. I will admit that the anger has waxed and waned over the last few days. There have been a few emails working out some logistics and there's still a part of me that gets that crappy feeling in my chest when this person's name pops up on Facebook, Twitter, or the Instant Messaging client du jour. Mostly, though? I'm dealing. And if that doesn't work - hey, that's why God invented kickboxing!!
I was hurt very deeply by someone I'd grown quite close to last week. Our relationship was precarious from the start, but the potential for growth, both personally and professionally, was too much to pass up. So I continued to stay in this relationship, often against my better judgment. After putting an ungodly amount of work into a particular project, I was unceremoniously removed from all aspects of it. Passwords were immediately changed and there were some words spoken that were both untrue and uncalled for. I was devastated. The accusations against my character were pretty ridiculous and left me questioning all I had finally learned to love and accept about myself. What up with that b*tch?
Which I think brings us to my current state in the grieving process - this was a loss after all. I know more than enough about the stages of grieving, which is an unfortunate circumstance of the events in my life. But hey - if I can help others, power to me. I even did a webinar in April, thereby proving that I know what I'm talking about. In this webinar, I reiterated what many will say - which is that the stages of grieving are not necessarily experienced in order and not all stages will occur for every person and/or every loss. I can safely say, therefore, that I was never in denial about the loss. I started off at sad and went straight to angry - rather quickly actually. Frankly, I have every reason to be angry. I did everything to the best of my ability, took accountability for the things I could have done better, and was still told - in different words mind you - that I suck at life.
So now comes the what to do about it part. I've realized that I have a hard time being angry when there doesn't seem to be a "reason" for it, which is likely why this didn't come up earlier. Scratch that - it did come up earlier, I made the same mistakes, the same things happened - sounds like a pretty damned good reason to me. So do I send the (admittedly long) email I composed - explaining why I was upset? I'm thinking . . . no. I'm going with calling friends and sending an S.O.S message to a few people:
"It's been a pretty rough week and I could definitely use some time with caring, awesome people. Guess what? You guys are all caring and awesome!! Not sure what your plans are for the next few days but I'd love to hang out. Feel free to invite other caring, awesome people. "
I'll tell you that nothing beats a night of Mitsuwa, "Hamburgers", and a random Blues Brothers drive-by. Some of the residents of Mount Prospect may have been confused, but the three of us sure enjoyed ourselves. I will admit that the anger has waxed and waned over the last few days. There have been a few emails working out some logistics and there's still a part of me that gets that crappy feeling in my chest when this person's name pops up on Facebook, Twitter, or the Instant Messaging client du jour. Mostly, though? I'm dealing. And if that doesn't work - hey, that's why God invented kickboxing!!
Friday, July 8, 2011
'I forgot Todd' a comedy of errors - or Four Weddings and a Funeral
So technically, this post has nothing to do with the four weddings I'm attending throughout the summer and fall, it's actually about the funeral part. Perhaps some explanation is in order.
My childhood best friend's father passed away between Christmas and New Years of last year. Though he didn't have a will, he did have an advanced directive - requesting a party be thrown in the event of his death. Additionally, the directive was marked with a happy face. The party was thrown back in January and, unfortunately, I was unable to attend. It was especially important to me, therefore, to fly out for the ceremony at the cabin in Northern California where we were going to spread his ashes.
I'll spare you the details of the flight, as, all told, it was not terribly eventful, particularly considering my affinity for messing things up while travelling. The flight was delayed, so I didn't get into San Francisco until about midnight - 2 AM to my sleep-deprived body. I waited patiently for Becca (yes - my best friend's name is Becca) to pick me up. We got in the car and I noted that the heat was on full blast. Granted, it does get cold at night, but this seemed excessive. Becca explained that - despite getting a full tune-up on her car - it was acting kind of funny. We got to her place in San Mateo and quietly carried our - well *my* - stuff upstairs so as not to disturb the family Becca nanny's for.
I don't remember if it was in the car or in the house, but Becca told me her mother had called in a panic - "I forgot Todd!!". Becca's immediate reaction/response was that he didn't need to be fed or anything - seeing as he's dead. Then she realized - oh, you forgot Todd/Dad, his ashes need to make it up to Pinecrest. Umm, oops. Given that it was pretty late and we were both tired, we were kind of punch drunk for the evening and I was tasked with remembering several things that needed to make it up to the cabin once we stopped at Becca's parent's house. Dad, Salmon, Ice, Cake, Pillow. I sort of feel like the ice wasn't in the initial list, because I would have made a much better anagram/acronym if there was a vowel, but whatever. We got to sleep pretty late - I would guess 1:30 - with the intention of leaving by 6:00 AM. We were both aware that it would be a great success if we made it out of the house by 6:30, which is why we were quite pleased that we were in the car by 6:10. Becca brought out bottles of water, which I assumed were for us to drink on the drive up. She turned on the car and noticed that the heat was up incredibly high. She knew she needed to put water in one of the tanks, but was a little unsure as to which one. With my handy iPhone and iPad, I was sure I could find the manual for her '97 Honda Civic. In case you're curious - it's virtually impossible to find - particularly in a format that can be read on a mobile device. She eventually decided that her initial guess was probably right, and we headed to the house. I remembered the fish, she remembered the pillow, we were basically good to go.
We got to the house, went inside, and saw the list on the table of what we needed to bring. It was placed on top of the urn - so as to make sure it wasn't forgotten. It occurs to me now that I'm not entirely sure how the list was there in Eve's handwriting and yet the contents of the list were not, but I digress. First on the list was 'Daddy', which made me laugh. We had all the necessary items, went out to the car, and noted that it was still overheating. We decided, again, that this was a bad thing. I looked up a list of mechanics and determined nobody would be open before 8:30 anyway. Figuring we both needed to eat, we went to breakfast at a place within walking distance. After breakfast, we got back in the car and drove it to the nearest mechanic. He looked at the car, determined everything looked as it should but the car was clearly not acting correctly, and apologized that it was a holiday weekend and no other mechanics were available. Being the calm people that we are, Becca and I freaked out a bit.
With the car parked at the gas station, we frantically made phone calls to everyone we knew who might be willing to lend us a car for the weekend. My rabbi - who was on his way to shul - recommended we just rent a car, as he and his family had three drivers and two vehicles. My credit card didn't have a ton of money available and Becca didn't own a credit card, so we were at a bit of a loss. After searching through Enterprise's website, I came upon Hertz. Thankfully, they were able to accept a debit card, so we got the address and drove over. Refer to previous posts about my sense of direction and note that Becca was relying on her iPhone - not necessarily a wise choice. We drove back in the other direction and I had the bright idea of looking at the numbers on the buildings, until we eventually found our destination. After several mishaps involving a credit check I wasn't sure would go through, we managed to put the rental on a debit card and make a decision of which car to use. There was an economy car of some sort and a bunt orange convertible. Ah - the age old question of substance or style. Naturally, we chose style.
We (again) drove to Becca's parents house, rearranged the luggage and such, and quickly realized that the convertible didn't quite accommodate the makeshift cooler required to transport the cake and the fish. Back inside we went, until we came upon a small bin that seemed to be fine for the task at hand. Inside the green bin were at least seven Apple keychains (the rainbow kind from the 80s and 90s), and I begged to claim one. Becca said she would ask her mom because she wasn't entirely sure who they belonged to and didn't want to make assumptions. I pouted, but we got in the car, packed things quite well, and went on our way. I should note that I had to be careful to not put my seat all the way back so as not to crush Dad (in the wooden urn). Top down, sunscreen applied, we were finally on our way, albeit four hours later than planned.
We drove for quite some time, realizing that putting our hair up was a wise decision, and eventually landed at the half way point. In Oakdale, we stopped for lunch and enjoyed the bizarre local community and the cop on a horse. A man in a banana suit tried to get us to buy fireworks, but we both have a policy of not buying explosives from people dressed as fruit. I stand by this decision. Realizing that were were transporting rather a lot of dead things (her Dad, the fish, something else I can't remember), we wondered why that wouldn't qualify as enough passengers to go in the carpool lane. Thankfully, it wasn't an issue. After being on the road for five hours, we finally made it up to Pinecrest, unloaded the car, and called the cabin to let them know that a) we arrived safely and b) we needed the boat to pick us up.
We arrived at the cabin, settled in, and attempted to figure out where we would sleep. Mind you, this is not so much a cabin as a five bedroom house, but still. When we arrived, there were five people under the age of 16 and five people over the age of 30 sleeping in the cabin. The beds were, therefore, all taken. We attempted to setup a pop-tent (that was missing pieces) that seemingly was made during the Vietnam War. Eve (Becca's mother), said that she had a big pop-tent, but we're pretty sure it only seemed big the last time it was used, because Becca was likely 7 at the time, so it wasn't as challenging to fit the family inside. Three of us were required to assemble the tent, and a few not-quite power tools were involved. Thankfully, my tent was pretty standard and had all the required pieces.
Accommodations setup, we decided to go swimming. I should mention that it snowed over Memorial Day, so the lake was only slightly above freezing. Becca and I took a complete lapse of sanity, and slowly made our way into the rocky lake. Thankfully, I remembered that there were several parts of the lake that seemed like they should be open water, but in fact had giant rocks. I consider it a miracle that I made it out without breaking skin. After a long day of travel, we ate dinner and went to sleep.
The following day was filled with activity, as a bajillion more people came in for the memorial service, including several children and a dog. As we setup the table, we quickly realized that 30 people would not fit, despite our attempts to make the table as big as possible. Thankfully, the owners of the cabin next door had a table that we were able to setup and cram the remaining occupants around. We noshed on snacks and admired the craftiness of the family, including the lovely viking ship made of twigs. One of Eve's friends came out and assembled a sandwich, telling us that Eve was pretty sure she had eaten several, but didn't actually have a full recollection of doing so. Anthea (the friend) would therefore witness the act, just to be sure. Eve came out and ate another sandwich, explaining that the boat was in the oven. Thinking we misheard her, Becca repeated - "The boat is in the oven?" Why yes - is that a bad thing?
Alright, so a boat made solely of twigs and now wet (from making sure the boat would float in the water) was in an oven, being watched over by a woman who couldn't remember if she had eaten a sandwich. There was epic fail potential EVERYWHERE. We were assured that other people were supervising the endeavor, but that only made me question the sanity of the others who seemed just fine with putting a wooden object in an oven. Thankfully, all the pieces made it out alive, nothing burned down, and the ship was assembled and lovely. We ate dinner, spoke wonderful words about Todd, and prepared for the service. The occupants of the cabin next door joined us on the rocks overlooking the lake. Though it was a challenge, we did manage to fit 37 people on a rock that probably should have only held 15. Not that we questioned the sturdiness of this rock - it certainly wasn't going anywhere - but there didn't seem to be enough nooks and crannies to ensure everyone would stay put.
Thankfully, we all managed to find a place to sit, brought the citronella candles in a feeble attempt to avoid mosquitoes, and watched Becca, her sister, and her mother, carefully climb into canoes, being handed candles, a lighter, the boat carrying Todd, and the papers and other items assembled for kindling. The three of them set out on the water and made feeble (and unsuccessful) attempts to light the flame to give Todd his final resting place in the lake. We all remarked that Tood was probably laughing from heaven at his three girls trying to make this beautiful memorial come to fruition. Next thing you know, Eve leaned a little too far over and flipped the canoe over - still holding Todd. The 30-some of us panicked, realizing that the water was freezing and praying that Eve would be able to come back up to the surface. Eve eventually bobbed up and we heard the uproarious laugh distinctive to Eve. A few people had the bright idea to get into the boat and save Eve, though she refused the ride and chose to swim to shore instead. Several people grabbed towels, robes, and blankets, hoping that Eve would not suffer hypothermia. We all remarked that this was probably the most fitting memorial for such a wonderful man.
Indeed Tood, you will be missed, but will always be remembered with a laugh and a smile.
My childhood best friend's father passed away between Christmas and New Years of last year. Though he didn't have a will, he did have an advanced directive - requesting a party be thrown in the event of his death. Additionally, the directive was marked with a happy face. The party was thrown back in January and, unfortunately, I was unable to attend. It was especially important to me, therefore, to fly out for the ceremony at the cabin in Northern California where we were going to spread his ashes.
I'll spare you the details of the flight, as, all told, it was not terribly eventful, particularly considering my affinity for messing things up while travelling. The flight was delayed, so I didn't get into San Francisco until about midnight - 2 AM to my sleep-deprived body. I waited patiently for Becca (yes - my best friend's name is Becca) to pick me up. We got in the car and I noted that the heat was on full blast. Granted, it does get cold at night, but this seemed excessive. Becca explained that - despite getting a full tune-up on her car - it was acting kind of funny. We got to her place in San Mateo and quietly carried our - well *my* - stuff upstairs so as not to disturb the family Becca nanny's for.
I don't remember if it was in the car or in the house, but Becca told me her mother had called in a panic - "I forgot Todd!!". Becca's immediate reaction/response was that he didn't need to be fed or anything - seeing as he's dead. Then she realized - oh, you forgot Todd/Dad, his ashes need to make it up to Pinecrest. Umm, oops. Given that it was pretty late and we were both tired, we were kind of punch drunk for the evening and I was tasked with remembering several things that needed to make it up to the cabin once we stopped at Becca's parent's house. Dad, Salmon, Ice, Cake, Pillow. I sort of feel like the ice wasn't in the initial list, because I would have made a much better anagram/acronym if there was a vowel, but whatever. We got to sleep pretty late - I would guess 1:30 - with the intention of leaving by 6:00 AM. We were both aware that it would be a great success if we made it out of the house by 6:30, which is why we were quite pleased that we were in the car by 6:10. Becca brought out bottles of water, which I assumed were for us to drink on the drive up. She turned on the car and noticed that the heat was up incredibly high. She knew she needed to put water in one of the tanks, but was a little unsure as to which one. With my handy iPhone and iPad, I was sure I could find the manual for her '97 Honda Civic. In case you're curious - it's virtually impossible to find - particularly in a format that can be read on a mobile device. She eventually decided that her initial guess was probably right, and we headed to the house. I remembered the fish, she remembered the pillow, we were basically good to go.
We got to the house, went inside, and saw the list on the table of what we needed to bring. It was placed on top of the urn - so as to make sure it wasn't forgotten. It occurs to me now that I'm not entirely sure how the list was there in Eve's handwriting and yet the contents of the list were not, but I digress. First on the list was 'Daddy', which made me laugh. We had all the necessary items, went out to the car, and noted that it was still overheating. We decided, again, that this was a bad thing. I looked up a list of mechanics and determined nobody would be open before 8:30 anyway. Figuring we both needed to eat, we went to breakfast at a place within walking distance. After breakfast, we got back in the car and drove it to the nearest mechanic. He looked at the car, determined everything looked as it should but the car was clearly not acting correctly, and apologized that it was a holiday weekend and no other mechanics were available. Being the calm people that we are, Becca and I freaked out a bit.
With the car parked at the gas station, we frantically made phone calls to everyone we knew who might be willing to lend us a car for the weekend. My rabbi - who was on his way to shul - recommended we just rent a car, as he and his family had three drivers and two vehicles. My credit card didn't have a ton of money available and Becca didn't own a credit card, so we were at a bit of a loss. After searching through Enterprise's website, I came upon Hertz. Thankfully, they were able to accept a debit card, so we got the address and drove over. Refer to previous posts about my sense of direction and note that Becca was relying on her iPhone - not necessarily a wise choice. We drove back in the other direction and I had the bright idea of looking at the numbers on the buildings, until we eventually found our destination. After several mishaps involving a credit check I wasn't sure would go through, we managed to put the rental on a debit card and make a decision of which car to use. There was an economy car of some sort and a bunt orange convertible. Ah - the age old question of substance or style. Naturally, we chose style.
We (again) drove to Becca's parents house, rearranged the luggage and such, and quickly realized that the convertible didn't quite accommodate the makeshift cooler required to transport the cake and the fish. Back inside we went, until we came upon a small bin that seemed to be fine for the task at hand. Inside the green bin were at least seven Apple keychains (the rainbow kind from the 80s and 90s), and I begged to claim one. Becca said she would ask her mom because she wasn't entirely sure who they belonged to and didn't want to make assumptions. I pouted, but we got in the car, packed things quite well, and went on our way. I should note that I had to be careful to not put my seat all the way back so as not to crush Dad (in the wooden urn). Top down, sunscreen applied, we were finally on our way, albeit four hours later than planned.
We drove for quite some time, realizing that putting our hair up was a wise decision, and eventually landed at the half way point. In Oakdale, we stopped for lunch and enjoyed the bizarre local community and the cop on a horse. A man in a banana suit tried to get us to buy fireworks, but we both have a policy of not buying explosives from people dressed as fruit. I stand by this decision. Realizing that were were transporting rather a lot of dead things (her Dad, the fish, something else I can't remember), we wondered why that wouldn't qualify as enough passengers to go in the carpool lane. Thankfully, it wasn't an issue. After being on the road for five hours, we finally made it up to Pinecrest, unloaded the car, and called the cabin to let them know that a) we arrived safely and b) we needed the boat to pick us up.
We arrived at the cabin, settled in, and attempted to figure out where we would sleep. Mind you, this is not so much a cabin as a five bedroom house, but still. When we arrived, there were five people under the age of 16 and five people over the age of 30 sleeping in the cabin. The beds were, therefore, all taken. We attempted to setup a pop-tent (that was missing pieces) that seemingly was made during the Vietnam War. Eve (Becca's mother), said that she had a big pop-tent, but we're pretty sure it only seemed big the last time it was used, because Becca was likely 7 at the time, so it wasn't as challenging to fit the family inside. Three of us were required to assemble the tent, and a few not-quite power tools were involved. Thankfully, my tent was pretty standard and had all the required pieces.
Accommodations setup, we decided to go swimming. I should mention that it snowed over Memorial Day, so the lake was only slightly above freezing. Becca and I took a complete lapse of sanity, and slowly made our way into the rocky lake. Thankfully, I remembered that there were several parts of the lake that seemed like they should be open water, but in fact had giant rocks. I consider it a miracle that I made it out without breaking skin. After a long day of travel, we ate dinner and went to sleep.
The following day was filled with activity, as a bajillion more people came in for the memorial service, including several children and a dog. As we setup the table, we quickly realized that 30 people would not fit, despite our attempts to make the table as big as possible. Thankfully, the owners of the cabin next door had a table that we were able to setup and cram the remaining occupants around. We noshed on snacks and admired the craftiness of the family, including the lovely viking ship made of twigs. One of Eve's friends came out and assembled a sandwich, telling us that Eve was pretty sure she had eaten several, but didn't actually have a full recollection of doing so. Anthea (the friend) would therefore witness the act, just to be sure. Eve came out and ate another sandwich, explaining that the boat was in the oven. Thinking we misheard her, Becca repeated - "The boat is in the oven?" Why yes - is that a bad thing?
Alright, so a boat made solely of twigs and now wet (from making sure the boat would float in the water) was in an oven, being watched over by a woman who couldn't remember if she had eaten a sandwich. There was epic fail potential EVERYWHERE. We were assured that other people were supervising the endeavor, but that only made me question the sanity of the others who seemed just fine with putting a wooden object in an oven. Thankfully, all the pieces made it out alive, nothing burned down, and the ship was assembled and lovely. We ate dinner, spoke wonderful words about Todd, and prepared for the service. The occupants of the cabin next door joined us on the rocks overlooking the lake. Though it was a challenge, we did manage to fit 37 people on a rock that probably should have only held 15. Not that we questioned the sturdiness of this rock - it certainly wasn't going anywhere - but there didn't seem to be enough nooks and crannies to ensure everyone would stay put.
Thankfully, we all managed to find a place to sit, brought the citronella candles in a feeble attempt to avoid mosquitoes, and watched Becca, her sister, and her mother, carefully climb into canoes, being handed candles, a lighter, the boat carrying Todd, and the papers and other items assembled for kindling. The three of them set out on the water and made feeble (and unsuccessful) attempts to light the flame to give Todd his final resting place in the lake. We all remarked that Tood was probably laughing from heaven at his three girls trying to make this beautiful memorial come to fruition. Next thing you know, Eve leaned a little too far over and flipped the canoe over - still holding Todd. The 30-some of us panicked, realizing that the water was freezing and praying that Eve would be able to come back up to the surface. Eve eventually bobbed up and we heard the uproarious laugh distinctive to Eve. A few people had the bright idea to get into the boat and save Eve, though she refused the ride and chose to swim to shore instead. Several people grabbed towels, robes, and blankets, hoping that Eve would not suffer hypothermia. We all remarked that this was probably the most fitting memorial for such a wonderful man.
Indeed Tood, you will be missed, but will always be remembered with a laugh and a smile.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Disaster Date
Last night I went to a speed dating event in Wrigleyville. I went to a couple of these about a year ago with mixed results - so I thought it was worth another shot. As the title of this post would indicate, it did not go well.
Let's begin with the events leading up to the date. I apparently chose not to read the email sent to me 3 times stating the speed dating starts at 7:30, so plan to arrive at 7:00. According to JST (Jewish Standard Time), people should begin strolling in around 7:20 - so the fact that I was running a bit late was not of huge concern to me. I wasn't thrilled that my GPS was telling me the travel time was just over an hour, as the radio said it would be looking more like 30-45 minutes - but I pushed through. I saw that my GPS and Google Maps were leading me in the same direction, so I had faith I was going the right way. I ended up here not so much here. If you bothered to follow the links and do the math, you would see that the distance between the two by car is only about four minutes. Let's remember, however, that this is me. After going the wrong way on Clark St, ending up on Broadway, and making my way through Boystown during what is essentially rush hour - in addition to circling for a good five to ten minutes to find a place to park - I was about 30 minutes late. So Iwalk run into the bar to find out that the dating only started ten minutes prior (I told you it was JST).
Once I finally settled in, I had my first date who asked me if he missed something during the setup or if I was just late. I explained that I was just late because I had gone to Lakeview instead of Wrigleyville. He told me there are devices that can assist with that. I laughed and made a mental note to circle 'no' on the HurryDate form. We talked for another few minutes before it was time to move on. The next guy came and I made the immediate observation that he was awkward, smelled badly, and seemed kind of out of it. We made marginally idle conversation until his nametag was found and then it went downhill. He asked me how I would describe myself religiously and I told him I most enjoy the music and traditions of Judaism. He told me that he doesn't care about tradition and lives his life directly by the scriptures. Let's jus say that it was an incredibly painful four minutes of my life that I will never get back.
There was a bit of a break so I looked at the rest of the tables and immediately spotted a guy I went on a date with a month or so ago. I neglected to call him back and could tell that an epic fail was imminent if I didn't get out of that bar as quickly as possible. I shielded my face a bit as I walked toward the bathroom, asked the leader if there was anyone worth sticking around for, and hightailed it as quickly as my kitten heels could take me.
Lessons Learned:
Let's begin with the events leading up to the date. I apparently chose not to read the email sent to me 3 times stating the speed dating starts at 7:30, so plan to arrive at 7:00. According to JST (Jewish Standard Time), people should begin strolling in around 7:20 - so the fact that I was running a bit late was not of huge concern to me. I wasn't thrilled that my GPS was telling me the travel time was just over an hour, as the radio said it would be looking more like 30-45 minutes - but I pushed through. I saw that my GPS and Google Maps were leading me in the same direction, so I had faith I was going the right way. I ended up here not so much here. If you bothered to follow the links and do the math, you would see that the distance between the two by car is only about four minutes. Let's remember, however, that this is me. After going the wrong way on Clark St, ending up on Broadway, and making my way through Boystown during what is essentially rush hour - in addition to circling for a good five to ten minutes to find a place to park - I was about 30 minutes late. So I
Once I finally settled in, I had my first date who asked me if he missed something during the setup or if I was just late. I explained that I was just late because I had gone to Lakeview instead of Wrigleyville. He told me there are devices that can assist with that. I laughed and made a mental note to circle 'no' on the HurryDate form. We talked for another few minutes before it was time to move on. The next guy came and I made the immediate observation that he was awkward, smelled badly, and seemed kind of out of it. We made marginally idle conversation until his nametag was found and then it went downhill. He asked me how I would describe myself religiously and I told him I most enjoy the music and traditions of Judaism. He told me that he doesn't care about tradition and lives his life directly by the scriptures. Let's jus say that it was an incredibly painful four minutes of my life that I will never get back.
There was a bit of a break so I looked at the rest of the tables and immediately spotted a guy I went on a date with a month or so ago. I neglected to call him back and could tell that an epic fail was imminent if I didn't get out of that bar as quickly as possible. I shielded my face a bit as I walked toward the bathroom, asked the leader if there was anyone worth sticking around for, and hightailed it as quickly as my kitten heels could take me.
Lessons Learned:
- Confirm the time of the event before planning transportation
- Prepare for running into someone I've dated and/or talked to before
- Have an escape route ready
- At some point in the process, consume lots and lots of alcohol (as needed)
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