Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Best. Birthday Present. Ever.

This weekend I received the Best. Birthday Present. Ever.

Some of my past presents from boyfriends have included: wire cutters, metal shears, flowers, dinners, a previously done painting, cartoons cut out with funny captions, cds, and a bag full of of about 80 blue blow pops. Before this weekend, I thought the blow pops, a 20th birthday gift from, oddly enough, Drew, the subject of my last post, was the present to beat. At the time, I la-la-la-loved blue blow pops and nothing pleased me more than flitting around bars, parties and friends' apartments doling out the artificial treats, bestowing stained teeth and extra dentist visits to all.

But 30 is a big birthday. And Matt was up to the task. In addition to dinners, flowers and a DVD player (he was covering all the bases), he took me to Barbados. Barbados!

For those of you following along with the Belize posts, you might recall that Matt and I seem to have bad luck on vacation--not so this weekend. The weather was perfect (no rain!!), the scuba diving was great (Matt finished his certification and wasn't ill), and the sunning and swimming were stree-free (no canoeing allowed). All in all, it was a lovely trip. So lovely, in fact, that not only do I have no stories, I have nothing to complain about.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

The Big Three-Oh

Happy birthday to me!

I'm not going to write about how much I don't want to be turning 30. Depressive ranting about unacheived goals and general failure are no fun to read, so instead, I'll write about an ex-boyfriend from college, Drew, who never forgets my birthday.

My relationship with Drew was one of those fairly undefined things--while we were together I don't think I ever called him my boyfriend, but since we stopped seeing each other, he's most certainly an ex-boyfriend. Funny how definitions work.

Anyway, Drew and I met in a Women's Studies class. Classic! He was one of 3 guys and since he was cute and nice, I made a point of sitting near him every day. So did most of the rest of the 30 girls. But somehow we ended up talking and going to the park (my standard college first date) and making out and then we were dating.

Considerate, sweet, and pre-law, Drew was unlike anyone I had ever dated, and until Matt, the nicest guy I had ever been with. And although though he wasn't Jewish, even my grandmother, my Bubbie, was in love with him. Since KU was only about 45 minutes from my Bubbie's house, we had dinner with her one night. Drew listened politely to Bubbie's discertation about a squirrel who had followed her on her daily walk because he was really my grandfather's ghost (this was about a month after my grandfather had died, when Bubbie was prone to inappropriate bouts of laughter like the time during the Passover seder she started laughing so hard at the rabbis' names that she peed on the dining room seat a little). Not only did Drew give validity to the grandfather-squirrel idea, but he also sent Bubbie a thank you note for dinner. A thank you note! That was it--he could do no wrong in my relatives' eyes.

After we were together for about three months, Drew graduated. I was 20 and remained at KU in order to receive the two most worthless degrees on the planet (English and Metalsmithing, anyone?).

That year, Drew emailed me to wish me a happy birthday. Do you want to know how old I am, dear reader? So old that I didn't have a computer. So old that I checked my email account every few weeks, whenever I had to go to the Campus Computer Lab to type or print something.

For the last ten years, Drew has continued his tradition of emailing me. Over the decade, he's gone to law school, gotten married, and moved to India, but every May he remembers to send me a note. It makes me smile. And when you've spent the last 2 weeks dreading something, a smile counts for a lot.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Things I Don't Understand (part 1)

How is it that women, nay businesswomen, leave office bathrooms in complete disarray? The bathroom on the floor of my office features unflushed toilets, urine splattered seats, and overflowing trash cans. Why? Who does this?

Not only are we on the sixth floor, but bathroom is locked--no one is wandering off the street to foul up the bathroom. Last week, someone posted a sign saying "Safety is important. Please be sure to shut the door behind you." Here is the sign I posted in response.


Let’s forget about safety and focus on sanitation. This is not a bar; there is no need to hover over the toilet seat for fear of a drunken, darkened plummet into territories unknown.

Stop peeing on the seats!!!

Thank you.

I AM a cranky old lady. And I'm still 2 days away from turning old.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Dating sucks my ass (part 1)

Before Matt and I got together in July, I dated a lot and I came to several conclusions, the most important being: dating sucks my ass.

Here's an email I sent about a guy I went on three dates with last year.

For our third date, I headed to his place in Greenpoint. Why he thought it would be ok for me to come over is beyond me. You know how some people decorate in themes? Well, his thematic motivation could be summed up in one word: toys. Yes, I was (briefly) dating the 40 year-old virgin. He had literally hundreds of toys covering EVERY surface in his living room and bedroom. He had small toys, toys in boxes tacked to the walls, toys you could paint yourself, 12" doll toys, and 2 large stuffed toys on his bed. All of these were arranged by theme, genre, and further, by company (Pixar, Disney, Japanese Comapies, etc). This does NOT include the curio cabinet that was specially made for and dedicated to the little figurines--each shelf had 5 mini-levels so that each toy could still be visible. The cabinet was about 4 ft tall and mounted to the wall. In addition to the toys, his library of DVDs betrayed his weakness for anime and all things sci-fi. Oh, the nerds love me, don't they?

After we went to a party at a friend's house, I came back to his place with him (yeah, yeah, I knew I shouldn't but it was late blah blah and we barely made out blah blah). In the morning he walked me to the train station and I thought about how/when to tell him that it wasn't going to work. Turns out I didn't need to worry about it. He called me an hour after I got home saying he wanted to come over to "chat about us" Dude! We had 3 dates! We met 2 weeks ago! So I convinced him to tell me what he was thinking on the phone and affirmed that yes, I didn't like him the same way he liked me. Fine. (oh, I forgot to mention that he had already bought me a toothbrush?!). I thought things were done and over with. But then on Monday, I get an IM from him. "hey" he writes. Confused, I write back "what's up?" Turns out he's bored at work and just checking to see what i'm up to. What?! No. No no. This is not allowed after you stop seeing someone. Especially when you stop the day before.

Amete thinks it's hi-LAR-ious that I hate the guys who are SUPER freaking into me. He says he loves how much I hate it when they're into me. He says I'm going to die alone and the cat is going to eat my face. Yes, I know this is from the guy whose Saturday night consisted of going on a jdate, then meeting up with some girls, sticking his hands down one of the girl's (21!!) pants at a bar, then going home with someone else. I just don't want the cat to eat my face.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

8 Days and Counting

Remember when I said I was looking forward to my 30s?
Because it's the time when so many women seem to reach their stride and come into their own? That by the time they reach their third decade, women have gotten over dating jerks and are marching down their career path. That they've learned the best way to apply make-up, the clothes that flatter them most, and the colors that work for them?

Yeah, well I was lying.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Did I just get hit on?

I think one of my clients hit on me today at a Very Important Luncheon, but I'm not really sure. I still can't really tell when an adult is flirting with me. An adult? What's wrong with me? I'm nearly 30 (horror of horrors--less than 2 wks!) and I still don't consider myself or my contemporaries adults. Since this line of thinking could very well lead to its own post (or book), I'll return to the matter at hand.

Here's the background info you'll need to know:
1) About a month ago, I inherited a new organization as my client. I report to about 5 or 6 people at the organization--"M" is low on the totem pole, but still someone I need to impress.
2) M is attractive, in his middle-to-late 40s, and married.
3) I have met M twice before at meetings -- each time I was wearing something office-appropriate and nice.
4) At the luncheon I wore a dress with a cut conservative enough for the office or meetings, but figure-flattering enough--a lovely combination.

Back to the luncheon.
As I was walking past him, M called out my name, and I spun around to greet him.

"Hi, Jen," he said, all smiles, "it's so good to see you here."
"You too," I agreed.
"And you look so pretty!"
"Thanks," I said smiling, but feeling a little odd. I look so pretty? As he gazed down at me, I felt like I was 12 again, at my Bat Mitzvah (where I certainly did not look pretty).
"Wow, you've got a great smile!" He exclaimed.
"Thanks," I said, the smiling now contagious.
"I mean, really, your smile just lights up your whole face. You're just glowing and lovely."
"Um, thanks." I really had nothing to say at this point. And I felt like my smile was lying--I didn't feel glowing.
"I guess you get told that a lot, huh, that you've got a great smile?"
"Actually, yeah, I do." Was that bitchy of me to say? The thing is, when I get compliments, It's usually about my smile, my eyes, or my breasts. Thank God he didn't veer into really inappropriate territory, but yeah, I have heard it a lot. Plus I wanted him to stop.
"Well, you just look really great. So good to see you."
"Thanks -- great to see you too!" I said, still smiling, as I moved on to chat with someone else.

So was he flirting? Or just overwhelmed by my beauty? *sigh* Being this desirable is oh so taxing.