Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Daffodils Should Be Available Year-Round

And carnations should only be used for funerals. Here's a hint, by the way: don't give me a carnation. (My mom's family has a big ol' superstitious aversion to carnations, and while I may not believe in heaven or purgatory or ghosts or seven years of bad luck, I do believe in family superstitions.)

(One day I will might write a book about my family. And there will be a chapter devoted to these superstitions.)

Today proved that 24 hours can make a big difference — as can a change of scene. After nearly four days cooped up by myself in my apartment, wallowing in my sorrows, violently coughing up phlegm, watching Veronica Mars and eating pancakes, I was near ready to ... well, joking's not a good idea, but I was in a pretty bad state of mind. I have two paragraphs of a depressing blog post started in my "Draft Posts" file, and thankfully I don't feel like finishing it.

This tells me I really should get out more, if a day at the office and then an hour spent punching things at Krav can give me a complete 180 on my mood. That's all it takes? Imagine what something fun and indulgent can do.

By the way: I am trying. I promise. It's just hard because, dammit, I know the difference.

And there's a quick burst of rain passing by my window, telling me it's time to shut things down and lie there listening until I fall asleep. I'm coming, Tlaloc.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Let's Up the Dose of NyQuil

Bachelor Number One in my Quest for Three Jews by Sunday made it easy, sort of.

I forced myself into the office on Thursday, in part because there was a meeting I wanted to make, and in part because I wasn't completely convinced that I was actually sick. You know how it is: you're feeling ick, but you can still see straight enough to iron your work pants, so you force yourself to go. I made it a whole hour-and-a-half before the mental fog sent me stumbling back to bed.

Stopped by the computer on the way between the medicine cabinet and bed, and must have left the JDate window open, because when I rolled out of bed five hours later, I had an email saying I'd missed an IM. A very brief, simple, almost sweet: "bonjoutr [sic]" (My profile says I speak some French.)

Okay, then. Points for trying, not everyone can spell French, anyway, and his profile read as ... well, not perfect, but a little zany. Couldn't hurt to try. So I type up a little note, along the lines of "my apologies for missing your message. You seem interesting ... yadda yadda". I bring up a question about where he lives - his profile says "San Francisco", but he mentions living in the "burbs". Basic stuff, hopefully opening up the lines of communication, whatever — hey, it's been a long time since I've actually had to do this. Exciting, I'm already one-third of the way to happiness for the week (or, at least, fulfilling my homework) and maybe I'll have a date for Sunday? Who knows, with this crazy internet dating phenomena?

Today I make it into work, stay the entire day (unproductively), jet back home for more pajamas and comfort bedding, and I have a message in reply. Eagerly, I log back into JDate — was my opening successful? What hints into the depths of his soul will I be getting with this response?

I'm sure most of you by now can see the set-up I'm leading you towards. But for those who can't, and those who don't know me, here's a little bit of information: I edit for a living (it says that in my profile). And I've been trawling the Internet for somewhere around 15 years now, starting back when there was still a little bit of etiquette to be picked up from those around before the Eternal September. I do my best to write in proper English, my grammar tends to be more-or-less correct, and using ALL CAPS is just rude, especially in an email. I like to give the impression that I give a shit when I write to someone.

So what's the entire response from my beau-to-be?

SUNSET closer to SF STATE"

Wow. I totally need a cold shower now.

Next, please.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Drugging Up the Courage

I've had better days. This one involved coming straight home from work, crawling into bed, and passing out for two hours.

I may, how you say, be sick.

So now I'm sitting online, waiting for the NyQuil to take effect. And hoping it will instill some courage in me. My friend/coworker Elsie has issued me a challenge: message three guys on JDate (I finally gave in and bought a month membership, just to see what would happen) by end of day Sunday. All right. I guess that's the purpose of paying the $30 or whatever it is. But once I find someone, I realize, I have no idea what to say. I hate being the instigator. I'm old-fashioned (also, fearful of rejection), and like a man to come up to me. It shows confidence. It shows a bit of presumption (if you know me, you know I have a taste for arrogant egoists). It shows ... well, it shows I have an air about me that invites someone in.

Plus, then I don't have to think of an opening line. How do you guys do it? What can I say that doesn't sound pathetic or over-eager? Would "Hey, you seem nice, want to talk?" be enough to pique interest? Gah. This assignment is harder than I thought.

Maybe NyQuil's not strong enough. Might have to hit up the bourbon.

Sunday, March 21, 2010


I've been pretty quiet the last couple of months. I looked in my "Edit Posts" section of my Blogger dashboard, and there's a lot of unpublished posts, half-finished. Mid-thought. Likely never to become public.

It was a hard couple of months. Go ahead and roll your eyes (my friend Laura already did), but I had a difficult time coming to terms with the whole turning-30 thing. (My birthday was last weekend, by the way, in case you were wondering.) I'm not exactly sure why I couldn't come to grips with a number — and, admittedly, not even a very large number. I'm guessing it has something to do with my New Year's resolution number 2, because all things considered, my life is pretty much on track. I've got some wonderful friends, who actually call me out and forgive me my sins, and all that. I've got a job I absolutely love, with a company that, despite its sins, I'm still happy with. My family has gone through massive drama and survived, maybe stronger than ever. I am an aunt. I live on my own, and am pretty clear on who I am as a person, and where I want to take myself. And I actually have a finger on what's missing from my life.

Now to fix those potholes, so I don't keep tripping over them.

Today, Tamica and Michelle, two friends from my high school days, came into town for brunch in celebration of my birthday ... and, of course, a chance to catch up, since with Tamica living in San Jose and Michelle in Sacramento I don't get to see them that often. We did the hour-and-a-half wait at Brenda's (which I feel was worth it, might have to write up a review at some point), and then spent a few hours walking around the city, ending up at Bi-Rite Creamery. The walk was long enough that the conversation eventually turned to lifestyle. I didn't realize it, but apparently my friends see me as a sort of Carrie Bradshaw (Sex and the City). I'm not sure if that's a compliment (I think they intended it as such) or if I should feel disturbed by this. But it reminded me of two things:

1) I have a blog. This one, in fact.
2) I started my blog with the intention to write about my life adventures. Specifically, my adventures as a (now 30-something) single woman living in San Francisco.

I don't think I have the most interesting of lives, and I'm not exactly looking for fame, even of the Internet kind. But every blog needs a focus, and apparently I have one. And every blog needs people who would be interested in reading it, which my friends apparently are, vocally so.

If that's not incentive enough to come back and start writing more, I don't know what is.

So expect me around a bit more. And please leave comments on what you'd like to read more of: dating failures? Good food and things to do around the city? My awesome knitting and ceramic prowess? I'm all eyes.