So a few weeks ago when I was trying to add a hits counter back to the blog, I accidentally screwed up the template. I was heartbroken as my good friend Blogmonkey made this template especially for me. It's true that I want to change my template (and I know what I want and just have to actually, you know, contact certain friends of minions of other assorted demons to GET ON IT ALREADY), but I didn't mean to change it THEN.

Well, I just now figured out how to change it back and as I was looking at the sidebar...well, to say it's out of date is kind. So over the next few weeks I'll be updating sections (like where you can find my spanky new horror film reviews) and reconfiguring old ones (like the blogroll, which I'm sure needs a massive overhaul.) As a result, the posts themselves may be light but rest assured soon there will be some truly hawt Halloween pics to distract you.

Oh yes, there will be blood. (wink)
The last two weeks have been an epic shitshow. The type of shitshow where if I had to pick between having my spine removed without novocaine and living through the last two weeks, I'd be spineless right now.

So this week didn't exactly inspire me with hope. Except.

Yesterday I didn't want to wake up. I could sleep late with my cat. We snuggled, her purring loudly, despite the work men literally feet from my sleeping body until around 10:30. Even with the loudest of drills inches from my head, I didn't want to get up, but finally I roused myself. I made it, barely, to therapy. Afterwards, now awake and hungry, I decided to venture into Eric Kayser the new authentic French bakery. I fell in love the moment I walked in. CHOUQUETTE! THEY HAVE CHOUQUETTE. Chouquette are a mad obsession of mine because I believed that no place in NYC would ever make chouquette.

I stand, happily, corrected.

And Paris-Brest that tastes like divinity itself. Despite my fatassery, I bought both managing to resist the financiers and madeleines.

I'm sure Proust would be proud.

I walked down the sunny street, happily munching on buttery, sugary, airy chouquettes until I got to the park.

I sat down and just enjoyed the sun and the people. It's not often I think nothing.

I thought nothing.

I watched a bit, but mainly I just felt the sun on my shoulders.

It's not often I don't feel lonely.

But I felt completely happy. Sitting. Alone. Not checking my phone. Not grading. Not talking. Not having to be anywhere.

I kept telling myself I should go. I had papers to grade. Handouts to write. An apartment to tidy. But I just sat watching the turbulent water. Enjoying the sun. Listening here and there to dogs yipping and children playing but mainly just being detached from everything, achieving that rare nirvana like state that only french confections on a perfect fall day can instill.

I was perfectly happily.

For a moment, I thought of David. Of what he was missing. This perfect happy day. I wasn't missing him. No. He was missing it, wherever he was.

And whether he knew it or not meant nothing to me.

It's a little known fact that Optimism was actually a philosophical system based on the idea that if God is all knowing and beneficent this must be the best of all possible world for he could create no other. Most days I find that the most ridiculous, insulting belief.

Yesterday, I thought it was possible. 

Labels: david, french pastry, happy, optimism

I want to start this out by saying that I thought until Saturday the things I'm about to tell you are such common sense that even 11 year old Amish children know not to do them on dates. And yet. Never underestimate how 1 amazingly clueless people can be 2 those people will also find me. Not necessarily find me, but I'm more forgiving than most because I know how much more competitive it is to date in NYC is especially once you get to a certain age. Dating when I was 26 was not a problem.

I'm 37. (I want to say "No, I'm not." But yes, yes I am. I may not LOOK 37 but I am in reality 37 years old.)

I digress.

So, this person chatting me up by email seemed like a decent person and so we moved to text messaging. And here began what should have been warning signs. The guy was CONSTANTLY texting me. This steady stream of really eager to please and amuse texts that did nothing but make me think 1 this dude is desperate and 2 he doesn't date much.

What should have been the kiss of death is when he asked me by text if any of the photos on my profile were doctored. I replied that they weren't because...well they aren't. His response? "Oh because, and I'm sure you know this, you have really nice knockers."

Now I know from the word choice this was an attempt at a humorous compliment. It made me want to punch him in the cock. One thing I truly hate is men asking or complimenting me on my breasts early on. Where you all raised in a Hooters? Seriously. I know I have the body of a pin-up model. And yes, there are times it's appropriate to compliment me. First meeting? No. Before the first meeting? No. Sure you compliment my appearance, but don't go into sexyland straight away.

The reason why this comment didn't get him fired is he offered to take me to dinner at Po, a Mario Batali restaurant in the Village. For some choice vittles, I'm willing to forgive a crass statement. Still the text messages, which seemed increasingly shrill and desperate, worried me.

When I met him on the date it was clear he didn't really understand where to take a date. We met at a kind of Irishy sports place downtown to "Get to know each other." He, almost immediately, unasked told me intimate details about his relationship with his ex-girlfriend including such stellar details as "She was more into me" and "she wasn't always clean in certain places, which wasn't pleasant."

YES HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT.

Let me take a moment to address the ex-girlfriend issue. If you're like me and dated roughly half the male population of NYC, it's hard not to mention ex-boyfriends. And yet I don't. The only time I mention an ex-boyfriend on a first date is if specifically asked a question like "Why did your ex dump you?" (Which you shouldn't ask but people do.) But even if an ex-boyfriend story slips, there are two things you don't do 1. talk negatively about your ex 2. talk about him or her intimately. First off you don't talk about their sex life or hygiene or whatever because ewwww I don't know this person and I don't need to know that. Second, being intimate with someone makes one vulnerable. Even if there is no love. Even if it's a friends with benefits deal. There's still a vulnerability there that deserves to be respected. No woman, or hopefully man, wants to be with someone who would so cavalierly mock a lover particularly a long term one. Not to mention,what the hell does that say about your self-esteem?

I told him, point blank, that he should never talk about me that way. He didn't seem upset by the comment, but I don't know if he heard me either. I don't think he quite got it.

For dinner, he chose the exceptionally small, crowded, and loud Po, which had wonderful food, but was not a good getting to know you place. Another indication of his low social IQ, but even more worrying was his statement half way through the meal "Either you're hanging on my every word or you're drugged." This was the height of the dinner crush at Po and I just didn't feel like yelling casual conversation. At that point I knitted my eyebrows and explained that if I tried to casually converse in that din I wouldn't have a voice. A few minutes later he made the same admission it was too loud. OK genius if it was too loud, then why the accusation? When I tried to explain I had an analytical mind that looks for patterns he responded "Oh you mean like OCD." NO NOT LIKE OCD AT ALL. OCD is about trying to impose order on a disordered universe. Being analytical is looking for patterns that actually exist and figuring out what they mean. In other words, it's called BEING SMART ASSHAT.

He also shared with me stories about two previous dates that week. The first one, a week back, he took to Red Lobster. After which, they went back to his car, she took his cock out, but then refused to go with him to a hotel.

YES HE TOLD ME THIS.

The second date, the night before, he took to Gray's Papaya because "That's where she wanted to go."

Whether your date takes your cock or not, recent dates are also not appropriate topic for first dates. But yeah, telling me about your post Red Lobster crotch fest is definitely right.fucking.out.

At this point, I.was.done. After dinner, we walked to yet another crowded cheap dessert place. We sat outside and by this time I was done with it.He made yet another negative comment and I replied " You do really like to pathologize all my responses to you." At which point, I brought up that he had called me mentally ill and accused me of drug use. I totally flattened my affect. My face and voice gave no indication of any emotion, either pleased or pained. Suddenly he felt "Uncomfortable." I told him it was interesting that someone who was so comfortable being negative about others had such a low discomfort threshold himself. After all, he spent most of the night talking, and what little he said to me was not complimentary (although I don't think he thought of it as insulting). In fact, when he tried to get me to talk about myself he could not come up with ONE QUESTION to ask me. NOT ONE. He basically just said "Tell me about yourself." I asked him what he wanted to know and he simply repeated the question. He actually couldn't come up with a question because the only thing I'd really said about myself was to talk about my job early in one. His response? "You seem really passionate about that. Let's change the subject."

I'M SORRY WHAT?

Showing interest in things IS GOOD. If someone is passionate about their job and you don't feel anything say something neutral like "I wish I enjoyed my job that much" or "It must be wonderful to be that motivated/involved in your career." It's not trying to solve cold fusion people. It's basic manners. Basic.

Finally, he couldn't handle being uncomfortable and wanted to end the date without waiting for us to order dessert at which point I got up. He went to walk to me a cab at which point I told him in no uncertain terms I did not WANT him too. I stalked off to a cab.

Later that night I got this text message, "I would not feel right if I went to bed tonight without saying this; I had a very nice time with you! I just think that your intellect maybe just go [sic] the better of me! It was really awkward for me! I really cannot let you think I'm a total creep! I did not want you to get up and walk away unescorted! I am sorry! Good night, and I hope you find a more compatible person to be with!" Now first of all no one, not even 14 year old girls who are still upset with Kristen Stewart on behalf of Robert Pattinson use that many exclamation points in a single text. I explained to him that I didn't think he was a creep, just someone with very low social IQ who has no idea what he sounds like to the outside world. I further informed him that I DID NOT WANT TO BE ESCORTED, which I made clear. No apologies for actually respecting my wishes, but lastly I didn't accept his apology because I believe it was motivated by his discomfort and not any genuine concern with my upset as his apology in no way addressed the topics it should have. That, of course, was confirmed by the response to text. Finally, I was reduced to texting him this. "Stop texting me. Just stop."

The response? "Out!"

All I can say is I've never been out with a 14 year old girl before, but I bet they are less annoying and fragile than that dude.

Labels: dating, idiocy, idiots, online dating