September 23, 2003
I am actually planning my social life around prime-time television. See, when you're unemployed, television programs provide the only stability and consistency in your week. I mean, I can go to the gym at any time, but Scrubs and Friends have precise timeslots that need to be adhered to. Of course I don't do this for reruns, as that would just be pathetic. But the regular season is a different matter entirely.
The fall schedule isn't even a day old and it has already begun shredding my Day Planner while a laugh track mocks me in the background. Thursday night I am invited to a wine-tasting party. I can't afford it, but my real reason for not attending is that I want to see if Joey and Rachel are going to start dating for real. It's the last season; I can't very well give up now. A bit of rescheduling for tonight (moved drinks with friends from 7:00 to 6:00) will have me safely home in time for Frasier and that new show with John Laroquette that I don't know the name of, but am planning on becoming attached to. It's embarrassing to admit to such a low-brow hobby, so I will have to invent a respectable excuse.
I saw a navy ad on TV with the slogan 'If someone wrote a book about your life, would anyone want to read it?' I hope in my case the answer will be 'yes,' and am working on crafting a fascinating existence. Just not between the hours of 8 p.m.-10 p.m. Monday through Thursday. Because I have book club.
September 22, 2003
I don't know if brain cells are leaking out of my head as I get older or unemployment is getting to me, but tonight I watched not only the Emmys, but the Emmys pre-show. When I lived in Hollywood I was the only person in town renting a movie on Oscar night. When I was a music journalist I regularly blew off the Grammys. Yet there I was in my living room saying "Courtney Cox seems so down to earth" and "I love Sara Jessica Parker's gown" and "Well gray sure isn't Christina Applegate's color, now is it?" to the TV.
My Schwarzenegger imitation
was as successful as Amy is
I realized that my total avoidance of award shows is a survival instinct on my part. Something primal. Something clearly much wiser than I am. Four hours later -- hours that are now as dead to me as my leaking brain cells -- I looked on in horror. Not at the bad jokes or the hideous and unnecessary political impersonations, but at the gender of the writers during the really big awards.
They were all men!
Trudging up to stage single file, it was penises on parade. It looked like the Senate or a Mercedes dealership. It was like… well, actually it was like the demographic at the top of every other successful business in the U.S. They were obviously all white, too, which is less of an issue for me since I'm white and let's face it, my outrage has nothing to with a socio-political conscience, it's purely selfish -- they are working writers and I am not.
Oh, Jennifer Aniston and Debra Messing, your hair always looks amazing, but how ye must suffer! Resist the oppression of having men put words in your mouths. Rise up, young actresses, rise up, and have your people call my people! Humph.
September 19, 2003
I feel unprofessional saying this, but I'm so sick of dating. I love great restaurants and polishing off at least my share of a nice bottle of wine, but more and more, sitting across from a guy I don't see myself with long term is too expensive... even though I'm usually in the ladies room when the check comes.
I've had some great dates in the past year. Hell, I've had some great dates in the past month. But lately I'm longing to just hang out with someone. We had the sunniest summer in the history of Seattle, and then, as if someone turned off a light switch, it became fall overnight. The gray, misty weather makes me want to bake potatoes and put my feet in someone's lap. Wandering through crimson leaves, picking out a pumpkin, reading scary vampire books -- I can't do those things without a boyfriend. Well I can probably read the scary book without a boyfriend, but not the other stuff.
I've had a few weird glimmers of hope lately, though. Not actual bites, just the flash of a silver fishing lure in muddy water that sometimes happens right before you catch one. I met a man I was interested in in July, one a month later in August, one a week ago and another the next night. I'm not dating any of them, but the incidences of attractive men with whom things aren't working out are getting closer together, so that's got to be good.
September 17, 2003
Am I in the wrong for not talking at the movies?
The other day I was at a matinee of Cabin Fever, a bloody, gooey flick about a flesh-eating virus that afflicts good-looking people who are trapped together. Besides noticing that I really need to expand my viewing repertoire, since the last movie I saw, 28 Days Later, had the exact same theme, I noticed that once again I sat in front of talkers. It's a neat trick to even find talkers at a matinee, since most people arrive solo, but somehow I always manage. Yakkity yak. I'm sure what this couple had to say was much more important than the film's dialogue. They only said about 15 sentences, but that's more than some married couples say to each other in an evening. Maybe people like the challenge of having to shout over the sound effects; maybe it makes them feel important to be louder than the pre-recorded film.
Then it occurred to me: Like so many other areas of life, I'm the one in the wrong. Movies are a social activity, otherwise people could just stay home and rent DVDs. They feel cheated paying $10 for a ticket only to have to sit quietly for two hours.
I'm not like that, though. I really buy into what you're supposed to do and not supposed to do as if that is real life.
There was a time when it seemed that most of my close women friends were cheating on their boyfriends. I dreaded parties where I could suddenly be cut from the herd by someone's Border-collie boyfriend and asked about the plot of some movie I allegedly saw Tuesday night.
At first I thought that having amoral friends, much like the sitting near Chatty Charlies at the movies, was a matter of my own bad luck. Then I realized: No, my friends aren't rare bad seeds; screwing when you're not supposed to, like talking when you're not supposed to, is just the way people behave. Statistically, over half of men and women cheat. So they're the majority. I've found that majority tends to rule, so it's me who is in the wrong. Maybe not the wrong that gets lip service, but the wrong of the clueless minority. Funny graphics tell me I'm not supposed to talk in the movies, so I don't. Morality tells me I'm not supposed to cheat and lie, so I don't.
I don't think I'm brave enough to go against the pretend grain, though. I couldn't stand the look in the eyes of a betrayed lover, or from the people two rows in front of me who didn't hear what Tom Cruise just said.
September 16, 2003
I'm having a good luck streak the past few days, but it's really mild. Like if it were an earthquake it would be about a 3.3. The two big issues -- no job, no guy -- remain, which sucks.
Some little good things are happening, which, while not that exciting on their own, would be just more little bits of crap if they weren't happening.
First, I got a letter from the IRS saying that it's cool that I file my taxes late, which is good because they would have been due before the postmark on the letter if my application had been rejected.
Then I voted in my first Seattle election. The only initiatives on the ballot had to do with two items of crucial import to the city -- pot and espresso. Both initiatives went the way I voted -- thumbs up on cops making busting people for marijuana their lowest priority and thumbs down on an extra tax on espresso drinks. I don't like pot and I don't drink anything but drip coffee, but the items were silly not to do and silly to do, respectively.
So that was part of my middling luck. I was supposed to be at a party tonight and I blew it off. I know I'm going to pay for my laziness, though, because I don't have a long line of men waiting to date me right now… just one lucky guy later this week. My mild streak continues.
September 12, 2003
I was a Rules girl before there even was such a thing. "Let the man do all the work while you don't return his phone calls" is my natural state of being, so it may as well have a name, and Rules Girl is better than That Bitch Who Never Called Me Back.
Last night I went to a big party a friend of mine was having. I came in through the back way and took a perch at the bar without even saying hello to anyone. Still stinging from the Rob Lowe Voice experience and burnt out on dating in general, I honestly didn't even feel like talking to anyone last night, but I wanted to conduct an experiment. If I do absolutely nothing -- no mingling, no introductions, no eye contact from across the room even -- how many guys will approach me?
Rule #2: Don't Talk to a Man First
I was instantly approached by a close-talker from Romanian who asked me what I think of sex at first sight. He explained that he has had bad experiences with women getting upset that he doesn't want to have sex right away and that he was willing to change.
Rule #13: If He's Seeing Others, You Should Be Too
I excused myself and stood up, but hadn't traveled more than a few feet when I ran into Nice Breath Guy -- a fellow dating analyst. He told me he's dating someone he likes, but as a man he has to "spread his seed," even if it's just socially. He said that men have to hunt and women have to nest. I told him I force myself to hunt, but am liking it less and less. He applauded that and asked if I had given anyone my number that night. I told him I wasn't going to, for once.
Rule #11: Show Up Even if You Don't Feel Like It
The hostess introduced me to the two cutest guys in the room and although they were both great, I wasn't interested in either of them. I couldn't help but think how much better meeting men in real life is than online dating, though. If I had just seen pictures of them, I would have had my hopes up for weeks instead of minutes.
Rule #30: Rules Girls Don't Get Hung Up On Men Who Reject Them. They Carry On.
I was in the midst of complaining about my unemployment with a guy who works in PR when I saw him. There was Rob Lowe Voice chatting up a short woman with glasses. I was struck by how cute his profile is and floored by the fact that not only is he not calling me, he is avoiding me completely and I have no idea why. We never did talk. We never will again, I guess.
I'm not feeling too optimistic about anything lately, but like Woody Allen once said, 80 percent of success is just showing up. I hope he's right. Not sure I should be taking relationship advice from Woody Allen, but then not sure I should be taking advice from the Rules ladies, either. Six of one...
September 8, 2003
I wanted to share the following email with you all:
Date: Thu, 28 Aug 2003 22:45:23 -0700
From: "Robert _" <@.com>
To: datingamymail@yahoo.com
Subject: dating
Amy, you suck. Dating is for losers. It's like a job interview. If you can't hang with someone in a comfortable, real way, you have no business going out with them. I sense a strong fear of social intimacy from your writing, as if you have to put up a front. It's a waste of time to fear people won't like you for who you are, because they see you anyway, even if they pretend not to, just as you're seeing your "dates." Better that you put your energies into something creative, then the rest will fall in place.
All the best,
Robert
I love it when someone writes me a mean letter and then signs off in a sweet way. I have no idea what "social intimacy" is, but it sounds like a contradiction in terms. If putting up a front means someone who wears makeup or shoes, that's not me. My buddy Robert had one thing right, though. Dating really is like a job interview. A job interview where you don't get hired if you don't put out on the second date.
I never did hear from RobLoweVoice after those two dates, but he and some middle-aged man almost ran me over in a convertible BMW on Friday night. Yesterday I agreed to go out with that feng-shui author who's been trying to get a date with me for a month. He wanted to clarify one thing before we met for coffee though: That he wants a real relationship. Now. I told him I didn't even know him and he said he was hoping to "get the hookup." He barely speaks English, but he knows "hookup." Jeez. When I told him I couldn't guarantee an insta-relationship, he said goodbye and hung up.
What ever happened to the three-date rule? Where you date someone three times before you decide to screw them or dump them? I know, it's probably just my fear of social intimacy talking.
September 7, 2003
When it first started, online dating had the stink of desperation.com about it. Then it became more mainstream. Like all good pendulums, this one has swung back.
I myself have tried Match, Matchmaker, Salon, Yahoo and JDate, even though I'm not Jewish. I've had everything from coffee at Starbucks to dinner with wine and roses. I should have ordered a side of chemistry.
Here's why I don't like online dating:
1. Some men view the Internet as a magic portal that will transport them out of their league. You would think a guy who can't attract perky girls in slinky dresses in real life would figure that he can't attract them with his computer. But that is not the case.
2. That cute guy has shaved 10 years off his age, although his picture will accurately reflect his lie, because it's 10 years old too.
3. You will lose all of your real-life social skills and pretty soon the only way you'll be ABLE to date is online.
4. If you're just looking for sex, it's inefficient. Better to go to a bar and choose from lots of people instead of meeting them one at a time over the Internet when you most likely won't have chemistry anyway. Don't worry, someone at the bar will have your same kinked-out perversions.
5. My girlfriend met a guy online and started dating him. She wondered why he had an apartment with almost no furniture since he was a CEO. She checked real-estate records and found out he did have furniture… at his house, where he lives with his wife and kids. About half the guys online are married.
6. The same guy will answer your ad every time you unhide it and never remember you. If you ever do meet him, it will just be at Starbucks, because that's the only place he can afford to take 15 women a week. The other half of guys online are professional daters.
7. If he's someone you would never in a million years date if you hadn't accidentally met him through the Internet, he will keep calling you.
8. If you can't believe your good fortune because sweet, funny, good-looking guys who have lots of money NEVER ask you out in real life, you will not hear from him again.
9. Those witty, effortless emails are fourth drafts. He will not be able to produce anything close to them in a real-time conversation.
10. He does not have anywhere near the salary it states in his profile.
September 4, 2003
My crappy job search has become as much a daily ritual to me as methadone and orange juice are to a recovering heroin addict.
The application for a well-respected department store asked the question: Have you ever had a customer interaction that resulted in kicking, screaming and punching? How could there be a good "yes" answer for that? Yes, but we settled out of court? Yes, but if the cops hadn't shown up it could have been so much worse? Yes, but you know how once-a-year sales are?
I'm fighting for jobs that pay one third of what I was making at my last two staff jobs, and still no takers.
I have an idea, though. It's called the National Unemployment Training and Jobshare Plan. Under this plan, people who haven't been laid off in the past two years would give their jobs to those of us who have, so we have a chance to work and catch up on bills. The newly laid off would collect unemployment and also learn valuable skills like how to stake out a table at Starbucks all afternoon for the price of just one coffee and how to make laundry into a fulfilling all-day event instead of a quick chore. It would be like the whole country having a time share in Aspen together, but with jobs instead of a chalet.
After a year, when their savings are drained, the forced-layoff employees would be able to go back to their old jobs all refreshed, and the others would be eligible for unemployment and Starbucks duty again.
The NUTJob would continue until the economy gets better. Or until he is voted out of office.
September 1, 2003
One thing I've learned from dating is that I should probably be with a man who is more practical than I am. Someone who doesn't answer "Fingers crossed!" when the exasperated mechanic wonders if they expect the car to run without oil. Someone who talks about the 401-K plan rather than the office-lighting scheme at a job interview. Someone who makes wise investments rather than just visualizing rolling around in a room full of money.
For some reason it is controversial for a woman to admit that she wants to date a man who has it together financially. Traditionally, a man wanted a woman who was attractive; a woman wanted a man with means. While it is still perfectly acceptable for a man to lust for a silicone windup toy, if a woman mentions she's interested in dating a guy who doesn't live with his parents, she's suddenly a heartless gold-digger. Men are looks-diggers, but call the average guy on this and he'll say, "But wanting a gorgeous, big-breasted woman is biological." Blink, blink.
I don't think the desire for a man who's a provider has disappeared, it's just gone underground. I'm digging it up. I want a guy who can keep me in oxen and chickens. And it's not just about dollars. There's a confidence about a man who is able to make money. He does not put up a picture on Match.com and hope that a woman emails him for a date; he works a room. He does not nervously say "I'm very nervous about the economy. It makes me nervous." If he loses a job, he replaces it with a better one. He is able to use Mapquest.
It's not one-sided. I bring a lot to a relationship, too. I can cook things. I grind all my own coffee. I almost always do the dishes when they start to smell. I am a good conversationalist who is up-to-date on current events. I read all the headlines on Yahoo! News and if it's about a celebrity, I'll sometimes read the whole story.
Also, the Dating Amy might make a lot of money someday. Money which I will happily share with my mate. I may have to keep it in an account in just my name, though. For tax purposes.<<< home >>>
