March 28, 2003
When I started the site, one thing I promised myself is that I would not talk about politics. That Dating Amy would be a place where people take a break from serious world issues. Much like Lloyd Bridges in Airplane, it looks like I picked the wrong week to quit talking about politics. But seriously, you all know my opinions on the war in Iraq.
The reason I haven't been updating (or dating!) lately has nothing to do with political consciousness. It's because I am turning Dating Amy into a book. Too bad it looks like I am going to have to actually write it, though. It's a lot of work! I've been distraught and unable to sleep and I keep re-editing the same pages. I'm exhausted and traumatized. Of course I haven't lost my appetite or taste for wine at all.
I think spring is finally here. I've gone coatless (but not topless) for the past two days. The pink blooms of the cherry trees looked so beautiful against the steel-gray sky when I was walking home from the market today.
March 26, 2003
I had an experience on Saturday morning and that was either inspiring or horrifying.
I was getting coffee at my favorite haunt. It has crystal chandeliers, romantic antique paintings and charming artist types behind the counter. A policeman all decked out in black riot gear said hello to me. I suspected I had called their clubs the wrong thing in the previous entry here -- dummy stick couldn't be right -- so I asked him what the proper name was.
He said, "I'm not a policeman, I'm going skiing!" He had a yummy Irish brogue and told a funny story of an incident in Dublin pub where he and a friend were mistaken for policemen. He was tall, strapping, black hair, blue eyes, pale skin -- not gorgeous, but the kind who becomes handsome because of his personality. No wedding ring, either.
I told him I'm a writer and he told me artists of all kinds don't pay taxes in Ireland.
It was a fun, lively conversation -- It was one of the best first meets I've had in years.
I put milk in my coffee and sat down at a big wooden table for The Wait. That crucial time between making what you think is a good impression and seeing just how good, based on whether the guy asks for your number or not. I tried to think positive thoughts as he ordered his coffee -- make that two coffees. Bad sign.
He left without a word.
In five minutes he had wiped out years of me convincing myself that I have to settle for the unattractive, those with poor social skills, the bad conversationalists and the unfunny.
But I still don't know what those wooden clubs the police carry are called.
Enjoy some Liberty Korn™ while you watch the war on CNN!
March 21, 2003
I love the names Bush and his handlers make up to describe war operations. Last night I was Shocked and Awed that the news kept interrupting Scrubs and Will & Grace. As you all know, I'm a peacemonger. I can't believe we're at war. Actually, I don't think we've ever stopped being at war since 9/11, it's just a very slow war -- massive attacks every few years.
I had a tentative date for tonight, but then my date said that since he hadn't heard from me, he assumed we were not going out. I always suspect that when a guy keeps trying to get me to call him, it means that there's another woman. Then if he's caught, he can say, "I can't help it honey. She keeps calling me."
Since I was experiencing Operation Freedom from Any Plans, I went downtown to look at books. The protesters were rallying as they so often are. The mood was darker and more tense than usual, though. The police were in black riot gear and had billy clubs -- usually they are in blue shirts and have coffee. The Kettle Korn stand had popcorn dyed red, white and blue. They are calling it Liberty Korn. Bush must have been here.
March 19, 2003
Right before the Hollywood studio exec kills him, the screenplay writer in The Player says, "I can write. What can you do?" I'm starting to wonder that is even a relevant question. I'm not F. Scott Fitzgerald, but I've been published 1,000 times, if you count CD reviews. Where's my book deal? Or even just a good writing job?
I find myself tossed in with B-movie actresses and reality television stars. Web sites want to profile me along with the stars of movies like The Dentist 2: Brace Yourself. People say they have their fingers crossed that Fox will turn my love life into a reality show. I told a longtime ex-boyfriend that I want a classy publishing deal and he suggested I get in touch with a friend of his who wrote a book about her experiences having sex with aliens. Surely I deserve better?
I've taken to asking random strangers if they know of writing jobs. Most people are really nice about it.
March 16, 2003
In my newfound quest to meet guys with whom I have more in common (musicians), I headed out to see a band. I meant to go to a particular club, but saw a long line at a different one down the block. I got my wrist stamped and popped in there instead.
The bar has sort of a fun hillbilly theme and the most insipid bathroom graffiti this side of a high school yearbook. (Although "Live every day like it's your last" is a sentiment I secretly love.)
I had no idea what to expect, but the band was called the Shitkickers, and did countrified covers of REO Speedwagon's "Take it on the Run" and Elvis' "One Night with You" with a fiddle and banjo. I stood way up in front with the rest of the groupies, and everyone danced. Seattle clubgoers are so polite. The dancing and the niceness are a big departure from the L.A. live music scene.
I waited around for the headliner and it turned out to be the same band doing covers as a lounge act. It took me a second to figure out it was all the same guys (they changed into suits and now had a sax). I was probably one of the only people there not in on the joke. I didn't meet anyone -- it was so crowded -- but there were tons of interesting-looking men there.
March 14, 2003
It was almost like spring today, so I knew lots of people would be out for happy hour. Went to one of my usual haunts and plunked myself down at the bar. You know you've become a regular when the valets say, "Hey! How've you been?" and you don't even have a car. I tried to get the bartender to remember my name. He guessed something exotic that starts with an "A", like Analiese. I shook my head.
I ordered a Mac and Jack's beer and some prawns. I pulled out my notebook -- I'm always intending to write -- and the men next to me said, "No press, please!" They were sharing a bottle of what looked like a really nice cabernet and talking about wine, so my interest level went way up. The bartender came by and tossed me a small paper plate with AMY written on it. He said he had trouble remembering as it is too short and simple of a name for me and that I should be named Natasha or something.
The two guys next to me started in. The one on the far side whose cell phone was always ringing said that if I didn't have a date he'd like to take me to dinner, but joked that I wasn't allowed to write about it. I told him that I write about all of my dates. He ordered another bottle of the wine that looked good and included a glass for me. He introduced his friend as The Crazy European. I kinda liked the Crazy European. He owns a wine business and I had just read an article on Argentinean vs. California wine this morning, so we discussed that. He asked if I would date him and I gave him my number. I started to pay my tab and the men chided me that in Europe it's an insult to a man if he shares wine with a woman and doesn't pay her bill. Crazy European paid my bill and left.
Cell Phone Guy told me he wanted to take me to dinner right then. I considered going because I hadn't been to the Italian restaurant he had reservations at, but he was drunk and obnoxious and I thought better of it. Also, he corrected my grammar incorrectly. I said "I feel bad" about something and he said, "No, it's feel badly" and told me I would feel like a fool when I went home and looked it up. Since I didn't feel like a fool just then, I passed on any further conversation with him.
March 13, 2003
I had plans to go to a boring art film with BirthdayGuy tonight. He begged off and I was pissed, but he promised to make it up to me with a day trip this weekend. I loathe being cancelled on, but I was secretly happy to stay home and watch must-see TV rather than some movie starring Glenn Close that got mediocre reviews.
Friends was actually funny tonight. Ross posted on their college web site that Chandler was finally out of the closet (and Photoshopped Chandler's head onto gay porn) so Chandler posted that Ross died. Chandler got 60 messages; Ross got none. Chandler was like: Don't feel bad, the gay community is closer than the dead community. They also had the graphic artist from Andy Richter, who I love, in a scene with Monica and Phoebe. (Okay, so it's not as exciting as Elizabeth Smart being returned to her family, but still.)
March 12, 2003
Spiritual leader Shakti Gawain says that your life is your work of art. I've noticed that my work of art is lacking color. And by that I mean music. And by that I mean musicians. I used to only date musicians, but swore off them a few years ago -- and haven't really felt connected to any guy since.
Lately I've seen them lurking around the periphery of my life. They were at the Cobain photo exhibit; they were at the Pretender's concert. Lean, long-haired men with intense stares. Cuddly, tousled guys with guitar cases. Tattooed boys making my 6-inch turkey sub at Subway.
Even though it was pouring out tonight, I had to get out of the house. I resisted going to hear a band (too much temptation) and instead went swing dancing. I danced with a cute, peppy guy who was shorter than me and a slinky, polite guy who was from the Czech Republic. Both had black shoes with white tops. I can't really swing dance, but they each taught me a few steps and turns. I saw what good dancers they were when they moved on to dance with other women.
I was feeling kind of down about my dating life, so I left. It was still raining steadily and the streets were starting to swell with water. I caught a bus home and a guy with dark eyes and shoulder-length hair was the only other person on it. He was really cute and I was wondering if he was a musician. The buses never have music piped in, but tonight, not only was there music, but the song was "In the Air Tonight." We could have re-created that scene from Risky Business, except we were on a bus, not a train, and Tom Cruise wasn't a musician in that.
March 6, 2003
I went to my first Seattle art gallery reception tonight because they were showing photos of Kurt Cobain. The exhibit went from Nirvana's first photo session in 1989 -- a rather nondescript 22-year-old with dishwater hair past his shoulders, to Nirvana's final concert in Seattle a few months before he died -- the trademark platinum pageboy, a wedding ring and looking considerably more drawn. My favorites were of him at Pier 63 in Seattle with Christmas tinsel around his neck. There's a shot of his daughter, Frances Bean, in Courtney's arms with more red eye in the picture than the shots on my web site -- when you're famous these shots go for $1,200.
As I was making my third round of the pictures, I sensed a rush of emotion behind me. A tall man and a short man met. The tall man said: "It's been a long time. (really uncomfortable pause) Congratulations on the book." He continued on, "I have a book [of rock & roll photos] coming out myself next fall." There was tension between the two men, like the tension of running into someone you have a huge past with -- like ex-lovers have. It quickly became apparent that the short man is the guy who wrote the best-selling Nirvana tell-all based on Cobain's diaries.
I turned to the men and chirped, "I'm a writer too. I'm the author of DatingAmy.com!" Really I didn't, but how cool would that have been?
March 4, 2003
I get tons of letters and also questions from real life friends about the different guys I date. Did he call? Do you want him to call? Would you go out with him again? Since honesty is the unofficial theme of Dating Amy, I feel I should come clean with all of you. People -- especially other women -- weigh in on who the best guys I've dated are and which dates were the best.
Here's my own personal recap: I was having fun when the site first started in October, largely due to the fact that it was fall, which is so gorgeous here in the Pacific Northwest I can't even tell you. I basically let Indentured Cats and Ed Harris Guy go after few dates. Looking back, that was quite a decision. I had some good dates with them and, especially in EH's case, some woman -- but not me -- will be lucky to have him.
Monastery Guy and Writing for the Enemy were the best on paper for me, but neither asked me out again and for whatever reason I wasn't interested in either. Mouse King was one of my nicer dates, but it was weird since he met me through the site and he hasn't called again anyway.
I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I haven't recovered from things not working out with Christmas Tree. I met him the night of the first date on this site and I truly thought that he would be my leading man here. When he just showed up with that bottle of wine rather than take me out, it took the wind out of my sails. I know it's so pathetic, but I haven't recovered dating-wise. He knocked me for a loop. He kicked the stuffing out of me. He didn't take me out for a chardonnay like he promised.
March 3, 2003
When I know I'm gonna like something, like really, really like something, I try to put it off for awhile. I don't kiss a guy until I can't stand not kissing him, I don't visit a rock & roll landmark until I'm so excited I can't think of anything else and I didn't see Adaptation until today.
I totally related to Nicholas Cage as the tormented, innovative writer who was too insecure to talk to a woman. I also related to him as his own brother, the "oblivious" hack who didn't let what others think get in the way. The film was a really cool study of the creative process, plus good acting by Cage, Meryl Streep, Chris Cooper. There are also scenes of the filming of Being John Malkovich which were fun.
It made me miss and loathe L.A. at the same time, but then what doesn't?
As much as I love being able to skip out to catch a matinee -- the decadence of settling into a seat in a darkened theater for two hours while most people are at work -- I hate being unemployed and I hate grappling with the unemployment department. I really need a job. I applied for a copyeditor position this morning and put DatingAmy on my resume for the first time. Wonder what that'll get me?<<< home >>>
