February 27, 2003
I popped in to say hi to my favorite bartender tonight. I had a Fat Bastard chardonnay and the bartender introduced me to Ted. Ted had apparently been there drinking awhile. I asked him if he was having dinner and he pointed at the guy next to him and said, "No, we're just friends." He also burped every time he spoke. I tried to make conversation by asking about Mardi Gras in Seattle and he said it's quiet here because it's not a big national holiday like Independence Day or Apartheid Day.
I ordered a de-alcoholized wine and the bartender looked at me like "What the hell?" They don't carry it. Then people were making fun of me for saying "de-alcoholized" but I swear it's a real word. Pardon me for not wanting to end up like Ted -- burping and celebrating the Apartheid by 8 p.m. The bartender made me a truly awful concoction which included cranberry juice, sparkling water and an orange peel, but thankfully didn't charge me for it.
I met a woman who likes Friends, but doesn't rush home to watch it like I do, so I updated her that Ross and Rachel had a baby (she knew) and that Chandler's unemployed (she didn't).
I also randomly asked if anyone knew of a good co-ed soccer team I could join, and the other bartender -- who's from Europe, so I should have said football -- gave me the number of one. It was a good night.
February 25, 2003
Top 9 Drew and Mike/WRIF Detroit Listener Suggestions for Me to Make Money (in order of likelihood):
9. Put pictures on the site of you performing oral sex. As one email summarized: Drew blows, so you should too.
8. Put pictures on the site of you giving hand jobs. Psst: Ain't gonna happen.
7. Put topless photos of yourself on the site. This is my number one request and not just from Drew and Mike's peeps. Again, ain't gonna happen.
6. Give up writing and go intern for Drew and Mike. Then if that doesn't work out, go into porn. Interning for Drew and Mike or being spit out the bottom of the porn industry... let me think about that.
5. Put a bag over your head to create mystery. First of all, thanks a lot. Second, been there, done that with the original "head cut off" picture that I launched the site with. No thanks.
4. Re-do the entire site. "It really needs it," complained one design maven who offered to do it free of charge. I'd rather put up pictures of hand jobs than redesign the whole web site, frankly.
3. Put up lingerie shots. It's possible, but don't hold your breath -- you might die waiting. The guys at Michigan's own kurtsmithsucks.com even offered a lovely selection of panties and Ts if I reconsider.
2. Sell your panties on the Internet. Okay, now we're talking. Someone's speaking my language and I'm listening. When I left L.A. I joked that this would be my best option for money if I couldn't find a job in Seattle. There is truth in jest.
1. Hit up submissive men by promising to send them sexy pictures and not doing so while taking their money. A Drew and Mike fan explained: "When they start e-mailing and bitching that you haven't got naked...you simply remind them that you're the boss, that you never promised that you would get naked, and that you should spank them for having the audacity to assume that they are good enough to see your naked body!"
Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.
February 24, 2003
Blow jobs, topless photos and rumors about me and Jakob Dylan. I did my first morning-radio show interview today.
I thought that Drew and Mike of WRIF in Detroit would be raunchy along the lines of Howard Stern, but instead they peppered me with questions about masturbation, my cup size, what I'm like in bed and my views on the war with Iraq. They asked me if I drink, if I do drugs, if I'm horny and if I watched Joe Millionaire. They asked me if I'd go topless on the site, if I'd give hand jobs on the site and if I'd at least start describing sex on the site. They told me that I'll get nowhere with good writing, but that some nice titty action will take me far. It was like walking into a fraternity party in my living room first thing in the morning.
I've been in bands where I was the only chick, and the rapid-fire guy banter reminded me of that, only more condensed. They gabbed with me for almost an hour. It was fun to talk to the boys -- all of my press so far has been done by women.
I gotta give these guys props: They had obviously read my web site and were able to comment on lots of specifics. They asked what the "Beatles controversy" was and I said I went out with the guy whose dad introduced the Beatles to pot. They told me unless I was out with Jakob Dylan, that the guy was lying. They asked about Bill Gates' house and Kurt Cobain's house.
I heard they let people pick theme songs, so I told them I want mine to be either "And Your Bird Can Sing" by the Beatles or "Lithium" by Nirvana and they hung up assuming I was a bipolar lesbian.
February 23, 2003
In Seattle we call vagrants "bums" and treat them well. In L.A. we called them homeless people and tried to make them disappear. Last night a street guy asked if I was going somewhere as I walked by. I said I was. "Beautiful women are always going somewhere," he said, taking a drag of a borrowed cigarette.
The somewhere I was going to is a supper club that reminds me of Casablanca -- it's the most noir-ish bar in Seattle. Waiters in tuxedos carry glasses stacked like chandeliers, the chefs in the open kitchen move like choreographed dancers in puffy white shirts and caps.
I sat at the small table next to the shiny black grand piano. Waiters scurried by with cosmopolitans and I ordered my usual chardonnay. I glanced at the drink menu and saw that they had Courvoisier L'Esprit cognac for $450. I asked my waitress if that was per glass, she said it was per shot but that she's never had anyone order it.
I saw a couple of lone wolves at the bar checking me out, but I'm tired of being sweet and flirtatious toward men I'm not that interested in just for the sake of the web site. I watched, fascinated, as two forty-something guys who looked like they were ready for a fishing trip tried to pick up two waiflike blondes in their 20s. The women put their arms around each other and said "We're together," and I was thinking, yeah, hinting at lesbianism is always a good way to get rid of horny guys. The men finished their martinis and left.
As I sat there alone, the pianist played "Lady is a Tramp," which I consider one of my unofficial theme songs and "Someday My Prince Will Come," which was just flat-out depressing.
February 22, 2003
Just like the stock market, dating has its up cycles and down cycles. I'm definitely experiencing my own personal bear market and not feeling too bully about it.
I haven't had a date in almost three weeks.
Is it the dismal Seattle weather? The fact that I have to wear my Eddie Bauer parka everywhere? Have I already dated the dozen men in town who are interested in me and now it's time to sell?
The weird thing is I'm attracting an inordinate amount of male attention lately. Mysterious dark-haired men can't take their smoldering eyes off of me. The other day a wannabe swain was so upset by the competition that he accused me of coasting on my good looks (obviously he hasn't seen my Total Money page).
The dividends I've earned from all of this? None. No dates. (Well, actually I have one next week, but I want to be dramatic.)
One of my past dates told me that Seattle has dating seasons and that winter is a tough time of year here datingwise. Since the common lore is that summer doesn't start until after the Fourth of July, I find little comfort in that.
February 20, 2003
I had dinner in the bar of a restaurant near Pike Place Market. I know I should have sat at the bar next to the Freddie Prinze, Jr.-type sipping scotch, but I took a table by myself anyway. In what has become an unfortunate trend in my life, Freddie kept looking at me, but did not approach. I can't decide if it's because really good-looking men know they don't have to make much effort with women or if they aren't available and I'm just eye-candy.
I had a burger, but it was a nice burger, like not fast food or anything. It had red onions and green leaf lettuce and I put tons of catsup on it. Plus it came with steak fries. Yum. I also had a chardonnay.
After I was finished eating, I went up to the bar to get a glass of water from the cute bartender. All the bartenders in my life are described as "cute," have you noticed? We were talking about the weather or something and I said my last locale was Southern California. The guy sitting next to me said he's from Thousand Oaks (a place in LA) and is moving back. He was going on about how the people are so much nicer there. I always have tension with people who are invested in liking Los Angeles. First of all, if you thought it was so amazing, why'd you move to Seattle? I tried to make a joke about how I meet people who say they're moving to LA and are "just going to work in commercials." This guy said, "Well that's easy to do." Um, yeah, dude. I know very fine actors who've struggled for years in Hollywood and are lucky to get work in commercials.
I guess I'm invested in not liking LA. Plus, one of my only friends in town, Sabrina, is moving back there next week. I have so much fun with her here and now she's going back to the land of silicon breasts and relentless traffic! You're on my list, LA.
Seattle's Finest Horses
Make Coffee Not War
February 16, 2003
I participated in the peace demonstration yesterday. It was my first. It was a lot of people's first. I really don't know anyone who's saying, "Yeah, let's go to war!" Well, I know of one person, but he and I don't run in the same circles.
I stopped in at the coffeeshop where Channel 5 filmed me last week and it was filled with chattering protesters fueling up before the rally. "No Iraq War" signs were propped against the walls. The line for coffee was too long so I stepped outside. A dozen motorcycle cops led a group of marchers from various Seattle neighborhoods. People joined the parade as it passed, singing "Give Peace a Chance." I followed them to Seattle Center. More and more and more people came. Singers sang; speakers spoke.
It was pretty amazing, actually. I felt far more empowered standing there in the drizzle than I ever have casting a vote.
Happy V-Day!
February 14, 2003
Beautiful flowers and an early night. It was a gorgeous, spring-like day, and even though I had no date, I couldn't help but be in a good mood. I stopped by my aunt's, brought her some daffodils and visited for awhile. On the way to her house I ran into a few men I know casually, and they volunteered that they didn't have plans for tonight. It was great talking to them but no date came of either conversation. After I got home, another guy I know from the neighborhood stopped by and asked if I could do him a favor. He had a dozen roses and asked if I could please take them off his hands. Sweet! He also told me he didn't have plans and then proceeded to not ask me out. It didn't matter. I was content to stay in. I've given up trying to figure out men anyway. Later someone buzzed me from downstairs, but I didn't answer.
February 13, 2002
The TV program I taped for NBC last week, Evening Magazine, aired tonight. It was only shown in Seattle. My segment was short and sweet, just like me. (Actually I'm 5'7" and kind of bitter, but still.)
They cut out the whole embarrassing scene at the coffee shop, so I was glad. They left in the part where I said that some individual would probably send me the whole $50,000. I'm guess I was feeling optimistic that day. The whole thing was fast-paced and well done. I was pleased.
The Captain Kirk pants
Feeling brave, in part due to two glasses of merlot, I forced myself to watch the tape of Northwest Afternoon, the live talk show I did in December for ABC. Seeing yourself on TV is really the good, the bad and the ugly. There were times when I thought I looked great and seemed intelligent (mostly when I was not talking) and times I was cringing a bit (like when I was talking). At one point I said that if any guy was going to love me he had to love my web site. I was also wearing the Captain Kirk pants and they looked pretty funny.
February 12, 2003
Went to my old standby, the pricey downtown restaurant, for happy hour. I go there probably once or twice a month, but I guess I consider myself a regular. The tall, cute bartender with a shaved head remembered me and asked how my day has been. I told him I was starving and ordered a chardonnay. He gave me a menu in what can only be a token gesture or wishful thinking, as I never order anything but their cheap, cheap happy hour fare. I had the jumbo prawns and three baby roast beef sandwiches with au jus. I asked another cute bartender for horseradish sauce.
A girlfriend of mine came over last night with a video and wine (an indie film about temps, Haiku Tunnel, and a sauvignon blanc from Washington) and asked me how I meet datable men so easily. I was thinking of her question as I looked around the bar tonight -- there were probably 50 men there and maybe 10 other women.
For one thing, I'm not afraid to go out by myself. This is key. It makes me approachable. I also consider location: Frankly, the more crowded, the better. Standing alone in impractical heels while being jostled by strangers as you try to balance a plate of hors d'oeuvres and a cocktail will almost guarantee that some chivalrous gent will ask you to join him. Third, I know the bartender is my friend in so many ways. He is my host and my date when no one else is talking to me. He can also subtly warn me away from not-so-great guys who are chatting me up.
The prawns were so tender and thick. The horseradish on the sandwiches stung my nose. As I was leaving, the tall, bald bartender took my hand. He said, "You're in here every day(!) and I don't know your name." I told him I am most certainly not there every day and that my name is Amy. He said he could remember that because the book Congo features a psychic ape named Amy and she made a big impression on him. Normally people just mention the Pure Prairie League song. He is an odd man. And he's single, too.
February 11, 2003
I was having a crisis of faith today, so I decided to go sit on a mountaintop, and by that I mean I walked around downtown and got a Mrs. Fields milk-chocolate-chip-and-walnut cookie.
There were lots of people lined up at See's Candies buying red heart-shaped boxes of dark chocolates or truffles, big pink hearts full of milk chocolates with nuts. Hallmark had red paper hearts in the window saying that Valentine's Day is February 14. Women at the grocery store were buying several dozen roses each -- reds, pink, yellows, silvery lavender ones trimmed with lilacs.
Sure Valentine's Day is a totally commercial, made-up holiday used to sell greeting cards, but why don't I have a date for it? How is it possible that I don't have a boyfriend? How can I have a dating web site and no date for the biggest date night of the year?
I checked my post office box, which contained a letter "for the safe driver at…" instead of candy and gifts. I listened to the crazy man who stands at various places around 3rd Avenue ranting about politics and thought that maybe I'm the one who's insane: I should be writing things that actually bring in money. I should be working on deepening a relationship with one good man, not trying to go on 50 dates.
February 9, 2003
Last night I saw How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. In it, a columnist for a Cosmopolitan-like mag (Kate Hudson) tries to captivate and then drive away a guy (Matthew McConaughey) in a week and a half, so she can write an article about what not to do with men. She calls his mom after the first date, fills his apartment with stuffed animals and busts in on his weekly poker game with cucumber sandwiches. He puts up with it because he has a bet on their relationship, too.
It reminded me of my site because she didn't tell him what was going on with their dating life for the sake of her writing. (Though, honestly, if I knew I was going to screw up a romance, it wouldn't be one with Matthew McConaughey).
It was better than my site because she was so out there. I mean, really, how much more entertaining would it be if I were one of those chicks with no restraint with men? Wouldn't you love to hear about me sleeping with a guy on the first date and then fretting over why he wasn't returning my calls? Or jumping into "I'm so in love" after like a week of knowing someone? It would be taxing for me personally, of course. I'm just not sure if good boundaries equal good entertainment?
February 7, 2003
I was at Starbucks this morning and this great-looking young business exec was checking me out. He took the table in front of mine and sat facing me. He was eating this hot cherry-cheese pastry. Yum! to both the guy and the pastry. He reminded me of Joey from Friends, except he was in a nice suit and tie. Our eyes locked a few times and I had to laugh because he caught me looking. He didn't say anything to me, and I always feel like if they don't approach, they're not interested.
I don't think I have the right look for that kind of guy anyway. My whole appearance just screams "unemployed artist," from my scruffy backpack to my just-rolled-out-of-bed hair.
February 5, 2003
For the past few days, I've been thinking about television and the truth.
I was surprised to get my knuckles rapped yesterday because the previous entry in this section isn't completely factual. Yes, I know that one interview is not really a "media frenzy." No, people did not literally flee from the camera at the coffee shop -- a few people got up and moved so as not to be filmed. Sheesh. I currently have something on the home page referring to myself as a princess. Note: I am not actually royalty.
I would hate to think that I have to put a disclaimer on my site stating that it is for entertainment purposes only and not a news source. (Besides, everyone knows that TheOnion.com is the only worthwhile place to read about hard news.)
Monday night I watched my first-ever episode of reality TV. It's weird that I've never gotten into it before, since my site is kind of reality TV. The show that reeled me in was Joe Millionaire. For those who aren't among the record-breaking audience for this FOX spectacular, Evan is a construction worker who makes $19K a year; 20 women have been told he's worth $50 mil and is looking for Ms. Right.
I was late to the party, so Joe was already down to three women. The French Riviera episode was 10 times funnier than my web site, and it was mostly unintentional. Evan is gorgeous. I'd date him even with just the construction worker job, but then I'd pretty much date anyone, my situation being what it is. He's dumber than sawdust, so he thinks women who say things like: "I don't like wine that's too grapey" are sophisticated. He has tremendous angst that these women are just interested in him for his money, but psst, Evan, sweetie: You don't really have any.
Anyway, it's just good comedy and it's being repeated on Thursday if you want a good laugh.
My question is, does FOX prioritize accuracy with their dating shows? And must I do so with mine?
February 3, 2003
KING 5, the local NBC affiliate, interviewed me at my apartment today. They sent a cameraman and a reporter. She asked me some basic questions about the site, including, "Aren't you embarrassed?" The truth is, I'm more embarrassed by my television appearances than I am by the web site. While I was talking, the camera was on me. Then they switched the camera onto her and she asked similar questions that I could answer or not. When it's edited I guess it will look right.
They filmed me (pretend) working on my site and had me read a date aloud. It was pretty cringe-able. I realized how bookish my writing is and that I must never, under any circumstances, try to read anything aloud in public ever.
That was nothing compared to our trip to a local coffee shop (the same coffee shop where my girlfriend Sabrina wanted me to have a pretend list of dating questions like "Are you single?" so she could meet a snowboarder). They filmed me walking in and ordering a latte. Of course in true Dating Amy fashion I didn't have enough money, so I whispered to the guy behind the counter, "Dude, I don't have enough money. I'll pay ya later." He said not to worry about it and handed me back my $2 as if to give me change.
Meanwhile, the reporter was telling any man who would listen about my site. I swear, people were fleeing to get away from the camera. I sat by myself at a tiny table feeling like Gulliver and tried to look like it was natural to have a camera glued to me.
I went back later to pay for my coffee as I had promised. The guy who made my latte said he had heard of Dating Amy before. I told the woman he was working with that I'm going on 50 dates and she said, "Wow. Are you disillusioned yet?"
February 1, 2003
Just got back from eating really good, very spicy chicken curry at a Thai restaurant with a girlfriend and I wanted to update you on the telling-my-date-about-the-site-because-of-the-TV-show thing.
First I left him the message: "I need to talk to you about Sunday and you're probably going to want to cancel on me, so call me back." Smooth, huh? A full day later, he did call back and I gave a charcoal sketch of the web site -- I said I have a sort of Sex and the City-type column on the Internet and that Channel 5 is doing a story on it and can they send a camera crew to film us having a drink?
He said a big fat "No" to the date being televised. I kinda respected him for that.
I called Channel 5 and broke the news. They asked if I'd call him back to see if they could come on the date and they would just film the back of his head!
Anyway, they're taping the segment with just me at my apartment, and I'm keeping my date, which will remain forever undocumented.<<< home >>>
