February 25, 2004
My spirits were so low yesterday that I may as well have been wearing them as an ankle bracelet. I'm coming up on my two-and-a-half-year anniversary of being unemployed. Who has that kind of a money cushion saved? It's f-ing depressing is what it is.
Since I'm crappy company for myself even on a good day and I don't meet anyone sitting in my house writing, I went out to do my lunch walkaround. So named because I've been trying to get out and walk around at lunchtime. I can get a salad that's a full meal at the pizza place for $3 or sushi at the fancy grocery store for $4.50, although that's a little expensive for me.
In a pathetic, and in retrospect ill-advised, attempt to look festive, I wore some green Mardi Gras beads that Christmas Tree had thrown to me in happier days. (For those who are new, he's a snowboarder I dated last year). I was passing near his work and it occurred to me that the Laws of Nature dictate that not only should I run into him when my self esteem had cleared out like cars around a confused U-Haul driver, but that he would see me wearing the beads he gave me last year, not realize it was Mardi Gras and just assume that I wear them every day as a reminder of him. Like a hipper version of Miss Havisham with her wedding dress.
I saw no sign of him, ate my little salad and was thankfully almost home when I got stopped by a film crew outside my building. They were doing a man-on-the-street interview on what was basically a deserted street. The reporter asked me about some credit bureau thing I didn't give a damn about. I was distracted by trying to give a good angle to the camera since as the veteran of several interviews for my web site, I know how horribly wrong things can go on film. I gave an answer that in no way correlated to his question and he had to re-explain the simple premise. It seems that the credit bureaus are considering applying rent payments towards peoples' credit. I told the reporter that credit wasn't my biggest problem and I know as sure as I know that it will be dark tonight that he was thinking, "Yeah, being completely devoid of personality would be a problem for anyone."
As I limped away from the interview the cameraman snickered, "Nice beads."
February 23, 2004
One of the thrift stores I go to for my eBay goods is doing a '50s theme this month. Every time a customer spends $50, they get a Sockhop to Savings card which is good for a 30 percent discount on their next purchase. The card is then entered in a drawing for a $6,000 CD-playing jukebox that lights up in neon. We used to have one in the lobby of one of the dot-coms I worked for until some men in gray jumpers came and wheeled it away when we couldn't pay the electric bill that quarter. They're very nice.
To add to the malt-shop ambience, the thrift store has music you would find in a real '50s jukebox on an endless loop. It's depressing for me to hear chirpy Eisenhower-era optimism while I embody the Bush, Jr. era: unemployed, the smell of stale used clothing seeping through my surgical mask as I pick through other peoples' discarded shoes.
Then the tape gets to "Hound Dog."
The dingy store brightens a bit. I stand a little straighter. Maybe I will get a book deal. And hey, at least I am making money with eBay. It could be worse. It could be a lot worse.
While I have nothing against the Shirelles or Ricky Nelson, every time Elvis comes on he seems as bright and misplaced against his contemporaries as the neon CD jukebox does compared to those little jukeboxes you see in booths at rural diners. He just sounds so… charged.
That night I had a deja rock. Some friends of mine were having a party at the Hendrix museum. I stopped by -- just for an hour -- to talk to them about whether or not I should get advertisers for my web site. Three hours and two glasses of merlot later I was being chatted up by several swing-dancers while a local radio station was broadcasting their '50s music show Shake the Shack a few feet away from us. I was gracefully declining my second offer to join the few halfhearted dancers in front of the DJ table when Elvis' "Little Sister" came on. "Do you want to dance?" I shouted to the man next to me. A crowd suddenly descended on the tiny space. So it's not just me.
As the party was winding down, the guy I was talking to was itemizing the nine singles clubs to which he belongs. He has a lifetime membership to four of them. I realized I'd met him at a party in December when he was talking about the exact same thing.
Not only are the men I meet repeating themselves, the patterns of the men I meet are repeating themselves. Show some skin and the gorgeous, much younger guys with lots of money come around. Mention writing and guys dressed in black want to talk about art over dinner.
It occurred to me that my downfall has been to look for someone who doesn't fit the pattern. The Elvis song on a '50s jukebox. A relationship that's... charged. But that hasn't happened to me in years. Maybe as you get older it can't happen like that anymore? And I can be just as happy with Buddy Holly. Right?
February 22, 2004
I just had to come on and say Wow! about Sex and the City. Just like the Beatles, the show went out after a six-year run while it was still wonderful. At the very end, the women are shown happy in their relationships -- Charlotte and Harry adopting a baby from China, Miranda taking her love for Steve to a whole other level by letting his Ma move in and Samantha and Smith of course having sex.
As she is strutting down the street in her beloved NYC, Carrie voices over that there are many different kinds of relationships, "but the most exciting, challenging and significant one is the one you have with yourself." Then her cell phone rings and you see the name John. It's Big. Telling her he's moving back to New York to be with her. His name is John! Perfect. I'm tearing up. And my justification for having HBO is gone. Uhhh!
February 18, 2004
I feel bad for some of my eBay bidders because they seem to lack an identity of their own.
If your handle is xavierswife or momofsteveandkimmy, what does that tell me about you? Do those in cyberspace, and indeed the world, have any new insight into your interests?
Who are you, ralphsgirlfriend? Are you clopping along the Information Highway in a horse and buggy while wearing a bonnet? I think you may as well change your handle to stepfordwife and be done with it. Why don't you have a name that shows us your internal landscape like roswellanalprobe or crazyforporn do?
I don't just want your Instant Payment when my auction is done, I want to know you. More importantly, I want you to feel good about yourself and I need to see that reflected in your eBay name.
Sure, I've always been too independent. That's probably why I'm still single. It's probably why I take my eBay-purchased Bed and Bath Burnt Vanilla bubble baths at $7.99 by the light of votive candles for $5.99 a dozen alone. Still, I believe that having an eBay handle that is all your own is not just empowering, it is crucial.
I may not have a job or a home or any money or a husband or even a boyfriend, but when dating_amy bids on your discount perfume or visualization audio tape… you know that she's dating. And you know that she's Amy.
February 14, 2004
Yesterday I wanted to get sort of a "street buzz" on Valentine's Day. You know, to see if it had good word of mouth this year.
I saw a trail of conversation hearts -- some crushed -- on the sidewalk, but the metaphor was a bit too literal for me. I told myself that whichever one I picked up would be true for me. I selected a green one that said U R Kind, so so much for that experiment.
I fed my eavesdropping habit at the bus stop. A young guy with bleached-blond hair was having a warm conversation on his cell phone. "You should listen to track 4 on the CD I burned for you. It will get you through this, I swear. I'll be home in a minute anyway. I love you."
"That was a nice conversation to have with an ex," he said to me. "I mean what am I supposed to do?" he continued, with no encouragement on my part. "We've been together for three years. That's forever in gay-men's time. Am I supposed to just move my stuff out? I hate moving, so we keep just getting back together."
"And you're really young," I ventured. "Three years is probably a big chunk of your dating life."
"You're right," he said. "I should probably get back out there while I still look good."
February 13, 2004
Are you sick of Valentine's Day yet? I bet those of you who work in offices are. Some of the women can get so weird and competitive about who got what kind of flowers. I miss having co-workers. What fun are flowers, stuffed Teddy bears and Velcro balloons if you can't make people feel inadequate with them? If any of your office mates is especially obnoxious today, please email the gruesome details to me and we will all have a good laugh at their expense next week. Yay!
February 11, 2004
Just breezing through to order you around... I hope you single people are going to take full advantage of going out on Valentine's Day. It's the only night of the year that pretty much guarantees that anyone you meet will not be married or in a serious relationship, because those people are not allowed out of the house alone that night.
February 10, 2004
My latest eBay auction:
I Will Build You Up Like the Guys from Swingers Item=2986577607
Description:
Are your friends fun, hip and unbelievably supportive? When you're at a party or getting psyched to go out, do they tell you how great you are and that there's no way gorgeous women won't be totally into you? Or are they always on the computer and wouldn't know what to say to a woman even if they did get invited to a cool party, which let's face it, they're not going to.
You may not be lucky enough to have friends like the guys from Swingers, but your luck's about to change, baby.
I will send you a personalized e-mail telling you how great you are. It will be well-written and general enough so that you can save it to read whenever you need it.
I will tell you some version of: "You're so money and you don't even know it...you've got these big f-ing claws but you don't know how to use 'em... she's this cute little bunny rabbit, and you're just batting it around but you don't know how to kill it... with these big claws."
...Because I don't want you to be the guy in the PG-13 movie everyone's really hoping makes it happen. I want you to be the guy in the R-rated movie we're not sure we like yet.
Ladies, please see my companion auction, I Will Tell You You're Fabulous Like the SEX & THE CITY Girls.
February 6, 2004
I've slipped into a habit that lots of freelancers -- let's be honest, unemployed people -- take up. No, I don't mean shoplifting. I mean that I've arranged my schedule to avoid crowds at all costs. When you've got all day, there's really no need to go to coffee before 8 am or the bank after 5. For example, I go to the grocery store at 2, happy-hour dinner at 4 and then I'm home by 6. I don't ever have to wait for a table or speak with anyone. It dawned on me that while it makes sense to avoid any unnecessary human contact if you're married with children, it's social suicide to do so when you're single and looking.
I don't have a lot of money for dining out, but I was going to get sushi at the grocery store for lunch anyway, so I decided to eat it there in their cafeteria. The few times I've been there it's been just me, a few senior citizens and someone with all of their belongings in plastic bags nursing a black coffee for what I assume is hours, especially if it's cold out. Today, as I expertly worked my chopsticks -- learning to use the eating utensils of at least three cultures was mandatory at my house as a child -- I noticed how many cute guys were around. It dawned on me that they probably belong to this work force I keep hearing about. My usual schedule only puts me in contact with those under the age of 18 or over the age of 55, so this was eye-opening.
I was feeling pretty optimistic as I threw out my plastic sushi container and its fake grass when suddenly I froze and tried to blend in with the women standing next to me like a deer tries to match the sun-dappled shades of a forest.
It was one of my Dates.
He took me to the Pretenders concert last year. I haven't seen him since he awkwardly made excuses to get into my apartment and I just as awkwardly made excuses for him to leave it.
After the initial jolt, I decided I was being ridiculous. Why just this morning I was desperate for more of a social life and here I was avoiding one of the only people I know who hasn't given up on the job market in Seattle and left town. I blew past the buckets of pre-spring tulips and tripped up the stairs to see if I could catch him. He was gone, but I did realize that lunch at half past 12 is definitely more interesting than lunch at 10:30.
I felt my heart open up and embrace the new era shining before me. An era where I wait in line. An era where I have to sit at the bar since there are no tables. An era where I can't tell if the man passing behind me is touching my bottom on purpose or not.
I celebrated by going to happy hour. And it was 5:30.
"I can't believe Amy hasn't called that guy."
"I know! It's very revealing."
February 4, 2004
Some of you really have your man-skirts in a bunch over the fact that I didn't call that artist guy I went out with (Date #36). Apparently you are clinging to the shred of interest he showed when he said, "Call me." You guys would not last as women for five minutes, because anything in reference to calling at the end of a date (specifically, "I'll call ya") has to be tuned out faster than a smooth-jazz station.
As pleased as I am to see my readers using words like antiquated correctly, do you really I'm wrong not to call a man after a date?
Let me give you a little science refresher. There are two chemical compounds that make men chase women: testosterone and alcohol. If men don't have enough of one, they can always rely on the other. Women only have one of those options, and even then we just look sloppy and pathetic. Anyway, I don't think men are that meek when they're interested. I've seen a clinically diagnosed social phobic call a woman to ask her out -- it took him all day, but still.
Is there really a person out there who thinks that this guy is sitting at home desperately wanting to ask me out, but not doing so because I didn't call him? That he is fretting "Why, why did she not call? Why?" Not unless he's secretly female. Sorry, but until he's really involved, even the nicest guy usually views women as interchangeable.
"I dig Asian girls." "I like redheads." "I only date blonde model-types." Have you ever heard a woman utter this kind of crap? She'd be laughed out of the Secret Chicks Society Where We Decide Who We'll Sleep With.
I thought my eBay auction I Will Ask Someone on a Date for You was so sweet, so awww-inspiring. I asked one of the guys what happened on the dream date I set up for him.
"She had her friend call me and cancel for her at the last minute," he said.
"Oh God, how awful!" I thought. He's been pining for her and was willing to pay someone from the Internet to ask her out. I thought he must be crushed.
"It was no big deal," he shrugged. "I just went out with the friend who called instead."<<< home >>>
