Seriously

To maintain my streak of cheerful blog entries that so far have ranged from biting self-deprecation to pessimism, I must ask the question: is it me, or is it tacky of MSN Hotmail to have on its splash page (or whatever you call the page that appears when you first log in) a link to an article, "Men's deadliest health threats," on Father's Day of all days? Now I realize I may be somewhat sensitive to this because my father and both my grandfathers have all passed away. But still. Today is Father's Day, we're supposed to be celebrating our relationships with our dads, grandpas, uncles, etc.--not discussing the various ways they can kick the can. I'm all about maintaining health, but really, it's a bit tacky to say the equivalent of, "Happy Father's Day! Now here are the ways your dad can croak."

Then again, the titles above the how-your-dad-can-croak article are: "How to dress like Madonna" and "Celeb kids & famous dads." So if I want to be dumb and overanalytical about it, I could interpret MSN Hotmail as first giving suggestions to Dad on how to be a drag queen, then letting Dad know how he falls short of male brats and their bratty offspring, and then enlightening him on the most likely ways he'll kick the can.

Okay, so maybe the MSN Hotmail webpage developers did not sit in a circle and deliberate on how they could be tacky on Father's Day. They probably instant messaged. Just kidding, but seriously though, I think I have a point here. There's room for improvement in the Tact Department. Posting the above article on Father's Day is akin to displaying an article on Valentine's Day, "The conclusive link between marriage and suicidal depression." Seriously.

Who's a cynic

They say that what goes around comes around. The theory is, whatever evil you do to others will come to you. Let's say a guy cheats on his girlfriend. Her friends tell her, "What goes around comes around." And somehow, this is supposed to make everyone feel better because the universe or higher being(s) will do unto the guy what he did unto the girlfriend. And maybe later on in life, the guy's wife cheats on him. "What goes around comes around," everyone surmises, and somehow, that shows how everything came full circle.

But if what went around really came around, then Hitler wouldn't have gotten off so easy, innocent children wouldn't be forced into labor, and murderers and child molesters wouldn't be acquitted on a technicality. Now if you ascribe to a religion or faith, then yes, Hitler and child molesters will go to Hell or the equivalent thereof in other religions. Yet in this life, there are people who do lots of bad things and go on to live perfectly happy lives, without guilt, shame or punishment.

Let's face it. Shit happens. There is no rhyme or reason. I suspect that, for the most part, people tell themselves "what goes around comes around" to justify or rationalize the bad events that seem to happen for no reason. This goes hand in hand with the saying, "everything happens for a reason."

In my life, I certainly don't think that all the people who've mistreated me will have bad things happen to them because of what they did. And if bad things did happen to them, it wouldn't be because of their bad acts. Bad people and bad things just sometimes exist and occur. It's a part of life. They serve no purpose. They just sucked. Maybe they made me tougher, wiser, and more self-reliant. But I don't think you can tell a girl who was abused when she was 8 that her abuse "happened for a reason." Given the choice, I think she'd rather that not happen at all. And I don't think telling her that "what goes around comes around" assuages the trauma of her abuse. Especially if her abuser has a good defense attorney and is subsequently acquitted.

Perhaps I'm being too harsh. Maybe, if we try hard enough, we can see the silver lining in every shitty thing that happens. And even if there is no silver lining, maybe some people just need to believe that there is something or Someone out there who will right all the wrongs. We all need our beliefs, don't we? Otherwise, we just might have to relent to a fact so unbearable, so unimaginable, that we concoct religions and one-liners to circumvent it: that sometimes, life just sucks.

Tuesday

"Wake up," it said.

"No," she replied.

"Do you know what day it is," it said.

"No," she replied.

"According to your birth control dispenser, it's Tuesday."

"Okay," she said.

"Why do you take birth control if you don't have sex?"

"To stay regular," she replied.

"Isn't it sad that the only way you know what day it is today is through your birth control pill dispenser?" it said. "And you're not even getting any."

She threw her pillow over her head.

"You can't block me out," it said in her ear.

"I know," she said, "but can I pretend?"

"No."

"Please, stop talking to me."

"I can't stop because I won't stop."

"Fine."

"Do you know who I am?" it asked her.

"Yes."

"Who am I?"

"You are the Voice," she said, "the Voice in the Back of my Mind. The one that tells me after I've left the house that I can't pull off that shirt. The one that says he's probably too good for me. The one that tells me I'm dumb, fat and ugly and will therefore die alone."

"Ah, so we've met."

"Yes, Voice, we have. Now please, leave me alone."

"Not until."

"Until what?"

"Until you convince me otherwise."

"Convince you otherwise what?"

"Until you convince me I'm wrong."

"Is that how this works?"

"Yes," it said. "For example, whenever I say you're fat, you take it, instead of having a comeback."

"Okay."

"Hello -- the proper response is, 'I'm not fat. I'm hot.' "

"That's supposed to be my response?"

"Yes," it said.

"Why are you giving me advice on shutting you up?"

"Because," it said, "you need it."

"Okay."

"Plus, it's kind of boring to kick someone while she's down."

"Right."

"So the next time I say you're dumb, you say...?"

"I'm smart, not dumb."

"Good," it said, "and...?

"Um," she thought a bit, "I wouldn't have been able to go to the schools I did, get the results I did, and get to where I was if I were dumb."

"There you go."

"Some people use sex or nepotism or connections to get to where I am now."

"Uh huh."

"And I worked my ass off."

"Right."

"Ergo, I'm smart, and, with all due respect, you need to shut the fuck up."

"Yeah, there you go," it said.

"No really, shut the fuck up."

"Okayokayokay. I'll go," it said sheepishly. "But you get the idea. Just remember this the next time you hear me."

"What I just say? Did I stutter?" she said. "Shut the fuck up."

"All right. I'm out."

She waited a minute and, after hearing nothing, pulled the pillow off her head and opened her eyes. There was nothing in the room. Nothing but silence. Sweet, serene silence. And it was nice.

An exercise in decorum

Another inevitability of ending a non-relationship is that all the people you gushed to about it will inevitably ask you about it. Then you have to come up with a nice, diplomatic spiel.

Last night, I had dinner and drinks with a casual friend. I wouldn't say she's a good friend, but a newer friend with whom I have had dinner and drinks a handful of times. She inevitably asked, "So how's it going with Your Man, GD?"

My Man? How about my Non-Man. I sighed and said, "It's not."

"What?! What happened?!" she asked, her eyes widening.

Now, to discuss someone behind their back (or, to put it more diplomatically, talk about someone when that person is not present) is a delicate matter. It's best to assume that every word you say will probably get back to the person. Last night, I hadn't properly rehearsed my recap of the non-end of the non-relationship with my non-man. So I think I blabbered a bit more with the casual friend more than I should have. I said it bothered me how it ended but overall I'm okay about it. She kept prodding more and more, "So you're really okay? How do you feel? You're okay?" And after a couple drinks and continual prodding, I relented and told her I thought it was kind of lame of GD to purport to be an upfront person and then engage in the opposite behavior. She responded, "Oh. You're very sensitive."

Not really sure how one responds to that. I deduced from her complete lack of sympathy that she disagreed with my assessment. Also, is it ironic if you're sensitive to the fact that someone called you sensitive?

Anyhow, I know she has a friend who's friends with a friend of GD. That's the great thing about living in a large city. You are lulled into this illusion that everyone is disconnected because the city is so big. But they're not.

I mitigated my blabbering by repeating to her, "GD is a good guy. I genuinely believe that." And I'm hoping she was too drunk to remember anything I said. Which wasn't even that bad to begin with. I just like to minimize damage, minimize potential damage, and minimize potential potential damage.

So tomorrow night, my guy friend is throwing a little soirée. I will for sure bump into people who are acquainted with GD. So this is how I'm thinking I should handle the inevitable question: "So how's it going with GD?":

Me: "Oh, we're not dating anymore."

Inevitable response: "Ohhh, why not?"

"Oh, we just decided to go our separate ways."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. We just went our separate ways. It's cool."

"Are you okay??"

"Yep. [smile and nod] Totally."

Then in my fantasy, they'll leave it at that and we'll talk about the finale of "Grey's Anatomy" or some other random chit chat.

I have a feeling though that it will not be so cut and dry and that psychological prodding will occur. I will just have to remind myself to be nice and diplomatic. Assume everything I say will get back to him. And most of all, look happy.

It's not me, it's you

When you stop dating someone, a fascinating, almost supernatural phenomenon occurs. Suddenly one third of the population begins to drive the same car he drives. The same make. The same model. The same color. Like somehow, there was some cosmic flyer that went out to the universe that said, "Please buy/rent this car and drive it around this person as much as possible."

So GD drives a black Lexus. And I'm serious, everywhere I go now, I suddenly see these black Lexuses. I go to the supermarket. Black Lexus turning into the parking lot. I walk from the train station to work. Black Lexus humming at a red light. Jogging by the water. Black Lexus parked by the sidewalk. And I'm not talking about just any Black Lexuses, I mean, identical or nearly identical model and year. It's frigging freaky. And it doesn't help that many car manufacturers mimic Lexus's design.

So whenever I see these Black Lexuses, I tend to undergo the same three physical reactions. First, I panic: Crap, I'm wearing my reject clothes that I should have donated to the homeless but I can't because today's a laundry day! Second, I peer into the Black Lexus to investigate. Third, I sigh of relief when I inevitably see a woman or geriatric man.

Yesterday, after a nice long jog, I was walking home in my drawstring pants and sweat-stained t-shirt when I saw the Black Lexus. Oh another false alarm, I tried to assure myself as my heart palpitated. But as I commenced physical reaction number 2 and peered inside, I noticed the dark hair, the smooth jawline, the assured right hand placed at 2:00 on the steering wheel.

It was GD. Now what dumpee wants her dumper to see her looking dumpy? I immediately looked away and skirted into the nearest edifice. Which would have been fine had it not been a sex shop for gay men. As I stood by the doorway near an assortment of edible paint, I waited for a minute to pass, waited for him to pass, so I could emerge from this shop in which 90% of the equipment were incompatible with my machinery. Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate (ironic, isn't it). It was a text with a simple question: "Having fun in the sex shop?" I felt my heart stop. A minute later, he texted, "Hello to you too." And that was it. I never responded. I simply stood paralyzed in the doorway, watching the male clientele look at me dismissively. Too frumpy and flat to be a drag, they were probably thinking.

. . .

OKAY. I'm kidding. Nothing in the previous paragraph actually happened. I'm good at inventing worst case scenarios because I frequently am living one. No, what in fact happened was, I looked away and took a side street and kept walking, hoping he didn't see me, and if he did, hoping he didn't see me see him and take a side street. Chances are, it probably wasn't GD. I mean, never mind the fact that he lives literally half a mile from me.

My message is this: People of the world, stop driving Black Lexuses. It's freaking me out!

Good morning

There are many things a person can do at 4:20 in the morning. A person can go for an early morning jog. Perhaps watch an infomercial on TV. Or surf the web. Maybe eat some chocolate chip ice cream whilst reading a book.

This morning at 4:20, one person, whom I shall now refer to as Annoying Dumbass, went outside into the alley outside my apartment building, took with him a baseball bat and large empty plastic water cooler, and began beating the empty water cooler with the bat as loudly as he could.

Okay, I don't know for a fact if Annoying Dumbass was actually beating a water cooler with a baseball bat, but that's what it sounded like at 4:20 am when it woke me up. As I threw my pillow over my head, wishing myself to sleep, I involuntarily began fantasizing about owning a BB gun and transforming into a military level sniper that could shoot the bat out of Annoying Dumbass's hand and reduce the empty water cooler into tiny bits. And with each subsequent ear-splitting, mind-numbing thud, my fantasy evolved. The BB gun turned into a handgun. The a handgun became a rifle. The rifle morphed into a bazooka.

Just as the bazooka was about to transform into a missile, a neighboring woman screeched, "HEY CUT THAT OUT!"

The beating of the empty water cooler ceased and a young male voice sheepishly called out, "Sorry." Annoying Dumbass sounded like he was 20 years old.

Now seriously. When you're a 20-year-old dude and it's 4:20 am, shouldn't you be playing Wii or Sony Playstation or getting stoned or trashed or banging some chick(s)? Why on earth would you be beating a water cooler with a bat?

It makes no sense. I suppose this is just another question I can throw into my ever growing repository of Unanswerable Questions About Males.

I speak English

The English language is very interesting. It's so elastic and evolving. There are the different regions of America that've developed their own accents and words. Is it "soda" as they say in New York or "pop" as they say in Michigan? And there's the inevitable mixing with other "immigrant" languages in America, resulting in Spanglish or Chinglish.

And it doesn't end there. It goes beyond U.S. borders. For example, when I first watched the British version of "The Office," I didn't know what "whinging," "bender" or "tipple" meant. When I was in London a few years ago, I learned that the Brits actually did use the words "bloke" and "fancy." I like "fancy" because it is a nuanced version of "like." For example, I usually say, "Does he like her or like-like her?" Now I can say "Does he like her or fancy her?" Though it sounds terribly British to me.

I've heard Canadians say "bloody" (like "give me the bloody keys!") and "mum," which both sound very British to me.

Out of all the English-derived accents, the South African one sounds the most foreign to me. It sounds kind of British, but with a Southern accent. Like someone from London lived in Mississippi for a while or something. I think it's the way they pronounce their a's or i's, it's a bit more drawn out than the standard British accent. I think.

I really like the Scottish accent. It's almost lyrical. I remember listening to a rural Scottish radio station on my walkman, marvelling at the way they said their sharp o's and i's.

But alas, I'll resign to my standard American slightly northeast accent. That is, unless I get the case of the Madonna's.

Look & listen

My boss once told me, "Never listen to what a guy says. Watch what he does." Like you people, he has pretty much endured my GD saga in full detail. He said this in response to the hamster incident, when he remarked that GD was jealous. "But GD never gets jealous," I insisted, "That's what he told me."

"Look at his behavior," he said. "Look at his actions, not his words."

Then he started rattling off examples of other things less than savory men have said:

"She's just a friend."

"It wasn't me."

"Don't worry, I'll never cheat on you."

"I won't ever hit you again, I swear."

Some lies are certainly worse than others. And I think women believe the lies, despite conduct indicating otherwise, because we want to believe them. We want to believe the best in people, and especially in men we're already emotionally attached to.

I'm feeling much better about things, because I can sigh of relief that I at least know that it's done. The lie-rebutted-by-conduct GD told me time and time again was "I am open and honest about things" and "If I have a problem or an issue or have something to say, I'll say it."

I ignored the passive aggressive behavior, the evasiveness, and the fact that I had to force literally him to tell me every problem he had with me. Oh yeah, and the fact that's he's ending this non-relationship by never contacting me again. I clung to his touted philosophy of being open and honest because I wanted to believe it.

Lesson learned. Look at how a person behaves. Not what he says. Easy way or hard way, you'll learn. It's just harder learning the hard way.

Musings of two gals

My girlfriend and I were chatting on the phone about the guys in our lives, how they weave in and out of our lives, how weird and surreal it is that a man can be such a fundamental part of a gal's everyday life, from waking up in the morning, to coming home from work, to spending every weekend minute together -- and then poof, he disappears.

I speak more for my friend than myself, as she actually got to the boyfriend stage, and really began to fall for him. Then, they broke up. And now he's no longer a part of her life. It's like this entire person somehow just disappeared. And all she's left with is these memories of lazy Saturday and Sunday mornings, movies they watched, and lingering emotions. Other than the memories, it's as if he never existed.

Strange, isn't it? An entire segment of one's life, emotional and physical, is just gone.

But I suppose we all move on. Such is life. I think someone said life's a journey. Can't wait 'til we get there.

All day long,

the song, "Sweet Thing" by Rufus, has been in my head. If I liked GD more than I did, it'd be so apt. The song is so melodic, soulful and longing. The lyrics, without music accompaniment, don't do the song justice, but here they are:

I will love you anyway
Even if you cannot stay
I think you are the one for me
Here is where you ought to be
I just want to satisfy ya
Though you're not mine
I can't deny ya
Don't you hear me talking baby?
Love me now or I'll go crazy

[CHORUS:]
Oh sweet thing
Don't you know you're my everything?
Oh sweet thing
Don't you know you're my everything?
Yes, you are

I wish you were my lover
But ya act so undercover
To love you child my whole life long
Be it right, or be it wrong
I'm only what you make me, baby
Don't walk away, don't be so shady
Don't want your mind, don't want your money
These words I say, they may sound funny, but

[CHORUS:]
Oh sweet thing
Don't you know you're my everything?
Oh sweet thing
Don't you know you're my everything?
Yes, you are

Yes, you are

You are my heat
You are my fire
You make me weak with strong desire
To love you child my whole life long
Be it right, or be it wrong
I just want to satisfy ya
Though you're not mine
I can't deny ya
Don't you hear me talking baby?
Love me now or I'll go crazy

You're the heat, you are the fire
You're not mine, I can't deny ya
Don't you hear me talking, baby?
Love me now, or I'll go crazy

This is what I'm working with

I know one day, when I'm 70 years old, I'll look back fondly at some of the bad opening lines I got in my teens, twenties and thirties, and reminisce.

But that moment is not now.

I feel obligated as a concerned citizen, as a concerned human being, to apprised the public of what constitutes a bad opening line. A few recent examples:

1) A couple weeks ago, I was at a bar with another yellow gal. I was talking to a white guy who tells me he's a third year law student. "Cool," I think to myself, "he must have some modicum of intelligence." As we chit chat, he asks me my favorite question, "Where are you from?" Except, it's not just "Where are you from?" It's "Where are you from? You must be from California because there are a lot of Asians in California."

"No," I said. "I'm from the East Coast."

"Oh," he said, "I thought you were from California because there are a lot of Asians there."

Is it just me, or did that not make any sense? If I'm not mistaken, New York City has the 2nd largest Asian population in the U.S., after L.A.

If my life were a movie, this would be the part where I would turn to the camera and say, "Seriously? This is what I'm working with? This is my dating pool?"

2) Friday night, I get on the subway to meet up with a friend at a bar. I am semi-hooched out since we plan on clubbing - black halter top, jeans, black heels, silver hoop earrings. I soon learn that one of the good things about looking like a hoochie is that you get attention. One of the bad things about looking like a hoochie is that you get attention.

The subway car is virtually empty, so I choose the window seat of a two-seater-row. It's hot and muggy and I am fanning myself with a piece of paper. Then, a guy sits next to me. Which I think is weird because there's about a hundred empty seats in the rest of the car.

So I'm sitting there, praying that he won't start talking to me, already recoiling as I sense him looking directly at me as I fan myself and stare intently out the window.

"Wow you must be cold," he grinned, "you must be cold because you're fanning yourself."

I tried my best to stifle a grimace. "Um, no, actually, I'm hot," I explained, "that's why I'm fanning myself."

"Oh yeah, ha ha."

Okay, seriously? This is what I'm working with? THIS is my dating pool?

I had a whole train ride to go (thankfully only three more stops), so I opened my cell phone to fiddle with my texts and contacts list, anything to show this guy that I was too busy to converse with him. My stop came up and I thankfully was able to avoid speaking with him any longer.

3) I meet my girlfriend's guy friend Friday night. She insists that he likes me. I don't find him that attractive, but he's not bad. Then he opened his mouth.

"How old are you?" he asked me. Isn't there a rule that a guy is not supposed to ask a girl this question?

"29," I said.

"Oh I'm 28."

"Okay," I said.

"So why are you still single?"

"Um," I said, "because I haven't met the right one yet." What other answer did he expect? Because I'm psycho and clingy? Because I have intimacy issues? Because I just finished my 10-year prison sentence and just got out?

"See, it's okay for me to be single and 28, because I'm a guy," he explained, "but you're a girl and you're 29. So it's weird for you to be single."

Okay, seriously? SERIOUSLY? This is what I'm working with? Can you believe that these words actually came out of his mouth? Can you believe that after saying that to me he tried to ask me out the next night and then got miffed when I blew him off? Seriously?

So yeah. That's my report on Bad Opening Lines for now. This report will continue to be updated. It's sad because I don't think any of these guys are actually bad guys or anything. They just need some guidance. I can only hope that by spreading the word, we can stave off this epidemic of Bad Opening Lines.

Until then, this is what I'm working with.

Just pull the plug

Don't worry people. My GD preoccupation will soon be over. Not now. But soon.

GD hasn't contacted me in a few days. Instead of playing the waiting game, I called him and left a message. He hasn't called me back.

Now I find all of this amusing. Not only is he being MIA all over again, but he's doing this after I had confronted him about his MIA behavior. It's funny that he's doing it again, knowing full well it bothers me and fucks with me.

I was blabbing to my ex-now-friend about GD. My ex paused for a second and said, "Yellow Gal, he's just not that into you. Come on, isn't it obvious?"

I closed my eyes. "I guess," I grudgingly admitted.

"This might be hard to hear," my ex continued, "but if you pulled the same shit on me you pulled on him, I'd never call you again. And I think most guys would feel like that."

"I guess," I said. "But even if I apologized?"

"Sorry, it's hard to just gloss over, especially so early in the relationship. He doesn't know you that well."

"Fine," I said.

"It's his loss," he added.

"Right," I said. Nothing feels as low as having an ex tell you that another guy's dissing you is that guy's loss.

"Hey maybe he's acting like this again because he wants another confrontational interrogation that ends in tears," he said, dead pan.

"No I just think he likes me a lot," I said, also dead pan, "so much in fact, that he won't call me, text me or ask me to hang out. He likes me that much."

So I feel like this non-relationship GD and I have/had is like a pet hamster we both own. In the beginning, the hamster was happy, fun, and furry. We played with it and all was well.

Then one day, I got drunk and dropped the hamster into the toilet to see if it could swim. A few hours later, GD discovered me passed out on the floor and the hamster floating face down, and rescued it. The hamster was in a coma for three days afterwards and suffered extensive injuries.

Since then, I've apologized several times for the hamster incident. And I, desperate to bring back the old hamster that GD and I once knew and loved, took it to the best veterinarian, paid for its physical therapy, and even visited a pet psychologist and pet psychic.

The hamster has its good days, but mostly bad days. It usually lies in its wheel, one eye half closed, the other eye looking perpetually in the upper right hand corner of its head, as if some food pellet were suspended mid-air right above it. Patches of its fur are gone. It's losing weight. It has a twitch in its left hind leg. Soon, I have it on hamster life support.

GD meanwhile doesn't look at the hamster the same way anymore. He forgets to feed it. He'll throw in a vitamin or two once a week. But it's not his hamster anymore. And as I shove a tube into yet another one of the hamster's orifices to have a machine artificially perform yet another necessary bodily function, I realize with some sadness that I too don't look at the hamster the same way anymore.

It's just a different hamster now.

So the hamster's on its way out. The damage appears to be irreparable. It takes both of our efforts to keep the hamster alive, but if GD won't help nurse it back to health, it will die. Soon.

So my last phone call to GD is my last ditch effort to keep the hamster alive. As each passing moment that GD doesn't call me back expires, I realize with some sadness that the hamster's days are numbered.

I think I once heard a saying that hope is man's greatest and worst trait. Hope is what kept alive all those Holocaust survivors and victims of abuse. But hope also prolongs incredibly unhealthy delusions. There are stalkers ("maybe she'll come back to me") and dictators ("maybe burning books and murdering people will persuade the masses"). Here's to hoping I have the good kind of hope. Not the bad kind.

We'll see.

23 minutes

It was 4:25 pm, and I had some time to kill before my flight to Minneapolis. I decided to venture to the airport bar and have a drink. As I walked into the dim bar, I espied an empty stool between a couple of men. I sat down, ordered a Jack and Diet Coke and perused the ten televisions in front of me displaying different shows. The most interesting program appeared to be "Tombraider" with Angelina Jolie and her digitally enhanced boobs.

As I sipped my drink, the guy on my left said, "Wonder what movie that is. I can't figure it out."

"I think it's 'Tombraider,' " I nodded. "Angelina Jolie plus gun holster."

"Oh yeah," he said.

I wasn't feeling particularly chatty so I didn't follow up. After a minute or two, he said "So where you off to?"

"Oh I'm going to Minneapolis. Visiting an old buddy of mine. What about you?"

"Cedar Rapids, Iowa."

"Ah, I see."

We then began chatting about the Midwest, the cities. I told him what I did for a living and surprisingly he continued to talk to me. He was an MRI engineer or something or another and he was just getting back from a seminar he spoke at. As we chatted, I noticed that he was actually not bad-looking. He had light brown hair with a tiny bit of gray. Clean cut. I guessed his age to be about 35-36-ish. And perhaps it was his friendly demeanor or the Jack but I found him to be quite pleasant-looking.

As we chatted about the Midwest, the conversation turned to the East Coast. He did not seem to like it.

"People in the Midwest are friendly, polite. But out East, they just say what's on their mind. Whether it's rude or not," he remarked.

"True true," I said. "People in the Midwest are definitely more laid back. New York's a bit more neurotic."

"Yeah, they're all just too abrasive," he continued. "I have a friend from Philly. She's just unbearable. It's that East Coast thing. They are too much."

I laughed and nodded. "Yes, they can be a bit much. So where did you grow up?"

"A tiny town outside of Cedar Rapids." He told me the name of the town, but it escapes me at this moment.

"Cool," I nodded.

"What about you?"

I smirked and said, "If you had to guess, where would you guess?"

"I would say...California?"

"Oh really?" I asked, genuinely amused, given that, first, it wasn't the first time someone had guessed I was from Cali, and second, I find it flattering that someone would think I'm Californian. "How so?" I asked.

"I don't know. The way you speak. The way you carry yourself. Your attitude. It's hard to explain." He paused. "You just seems very California."

I laughed again. I was glad to know that my laid back demeanor so successfully concealed my bustling neuroses.

"So...where are you from?" he asked.

I took a sip and smiled. "East Coast."

I wasn't sure if I could discern his smile falter just a bit but I was greatly amused. Plus I was drinking on an empty stomach. Then I suddenly remembered I had a flight to catch. "Hmm, what time is it?" I asked. I looked at my watch and dangit, while the numberless face of my watch is very pretty, it's sometimes hard to read when you're slightly buzzed in a dim airport bar.

"Why, when's your flight?"

"4:50."

"My watch says 4:48," he said, looking up from his digital watch.

"Woah. Looks like I gotta run," I said, pulling out my wallet. As I fished out a ten dollar bill, I smiled at the Iowan and said, "Hey it was really nice talking to you."

"It was nice talking to you too," he smiled.

"Bye!" I said as I scurried down the airport lobby.

As I jogged to my gate, I wondered if the Iowan thought I was running away because he had dissed the East Coast before learning I was from there. I genuinely found it amusing and flattering that I seemed very West Coast. Like everyone outside of California, I have delusions of how cool and "laid back" California and its inhabitants are.

Anyway. I wasn't offended at all. And if he had asked, I would have given him my business card. And if he lived in my town, I would have met up with him for coffee or something. Seemed like a pleasant guy. I never even got his name. But oh well. I had a flight to catch. Places to go. People to see.

Achieving normality

So GD and I had it out. It was a typical tiff. I started out interrogative and yippy, demanding to know why he was being MIA, to know why he screened all my calls and returned zero of them, to just tell me if he's mad at me, and to dump me if he wants to dump me. Clearly, not my best leg plan.

Instead of arguing back, he got annoyed and non-responsive, and eventually informed me that he was frankly turned off by my previous misconduct, was busy, and wasn't even sure what he "owed" me given that we never defined the relationship. (Was that my cue to jump in and define the relationship? I didn't.)

At this point, we were both irate and annoyed. And then, I felt the weight of all the emotions from the past few weeks--the anger, the guilt, the confusion--just buckle under their weight.

"It's just that," I said quietly, "you ignoring me these past few weeks--" and I realized with horror that my voice was starting to shake "--I was hurt. That's all." I felt my face flush, and damn it, the more a girl tells herself not to cry, the stronger the tears press against the back her lids. I frigging hate that.

I suddenly looked away from him and feigned fascination with my hands folded in my lap, because as we all know, a person can't tell if a girl is crying if she looks down and away. Well, I made the unfortunate mistake of blinking, which of course sent the tears down my face.

I closed my eyes and felt his hand reach for mine. "Sorry," I said, wiping my face. I felt so stupid and so embarrassed. Why am I such a GIRL? I thought to myself.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. Okay people, seriously, I was not trying to cry to elicit sympathy and guilt him into apologizing. I frigging hate crying. I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate looking vulnerable.

Anyway, we talked a bit more. And it feels like we're back to normal. Okay not completely normal. But semi-normal. It should all go back to normal. Provided nothing out of the ordinary occurs.

Right?

Right.

Last night, approximately 11:45 pm, I was sitting in the backseat of the Naysayer's car. The Naysayer and his girlfriend were in the front, and I was chatting happily in the back, when I received a text message. I flip open my phone and check it. And I see that IT'S NON EMAILER.

Non Emailer who never contacted me.

Non Emailer who I revolted with my reeking desperation.

Non Emailer who clearly did not like me.

The text said, "Hey, what are you up to?" After hyperventilating for a few minutes, the Naysayer and his gf asked me who it was.

"Non Emailer," I breathed.

"Don't respond," the Naysayer said.

"What?" I said as I stealthily texted "Where you at?"

"Don't respond," the Naysayer repeated.

"Booty text," his gf said.

"Really?" I asked as I clicked the "Send" button.

"Woops, I already replied," I said.

"WHY," the Naysayer said. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT."

"What?" I feigned as I flipped open my phone again.

Non Emailer replied. "I'm at a bar. What about you?"

"It's 11:45 pm, Friday night," the gf said, "clearly, a booty text."

"OKOKOK," I said. Ultimately, I never responded to Non Emailer's text. One, because of GD. And two, because there was no point. I just couldn't help but laugh that Non Emailer had chosen this moment, this day, this time, to contact me. I mean, two months ago, I would've been all over it. But now it just felt...wrong.

Life's funny like that. Isn't it.

Ok now I'm fine. Really I am.

I think I am done. Done worrying about GD, that is. I can't control what or whom he does. I can only control my response. So I am deciding to just stop. Because really, that's how the human mind works. You tell it to stop fretting. And voila, it stops. You see, people, we have more control over our minds than we give ourselves credit for.

Okay even I can't tell if I'm being sarcastic or serious. Anyway, I really do think I'm done. I'm kind of glad I took to heart some of the advice my boss had given me last year and the recent iteration from Yellow Lawyer about not depending/focusing on guys too much and focusing on things I enjoy. So as I reflected upon my upcoming schedule this week, I began to feel a bit perked up and less anxious about GD:

Monday night (tonight): Dinner with a gal pal.
Tuesday night: Baseball outing with a group of folks including two other gal pals.
Wednesday night: Dinner with yet another gal pal. (Okay this is tentative.)
Thursday night: Benefit dinner for non-profit organization
Friday night: Flying out to Minneapolis to visit the Naysayer and part-ay it up all of Memorial Day weekend.

It's not like I planned these in a row. The game, the trip and the benefit dinner were set in advance. And the gal pals just happened to ask me to dinner. Somehow, knowing I'm not waiting hand and foot on GD is sort of liberating. I hate that waiting-by-the-phone feeling. Hate it! So why wait and hate? Liberate!

Anyway, I'm sure GD will continue to not-call me and send me half-ass lame emails. I was pretty irked earlier. I'd almost rather have him bite my head off than engage in this lame behavior. But I'm done. Cuz I got things to do and people to see.

I'm fine. Really I am.

A common complaint among men who date women is that a girl will say "I'm fine," when in reality, she's not. The scenario usually involves a girl getting mad at a guy. The guy, realizing the error of his ways, apologizes. The girl gives the guy a hard time. The guy again apologizes. After chastising the guy and verbally ripping him a new one, the girl relents and finally accepts the guy's apology. She says she's over it. Water under the bridge. She's not mad anymore.

"You sure everything's okay?" he asks her.

"Yes," she says, "everything is okay."

"So you're fine?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, "I'm fine."

Okay, he stupidly thinks, everything is fine.

Of course, everything is not fine. She's still pissed. While she has received her rightfully due apology, and while she knows the guy is truly apologetic, she is still pissed. This is evidenced by her subsequent behavior. Her aloof demeanor. Her snippy one-word responses. Her displeasure at the coffee ring he left on her countertop.

This infuriates guys. They hate the fact that a girl will say everything is okay when in fact, it's not. Recently I have to come to realize that girls aren't the only ones who engage in this frustrating behavior.

So I apologized to GD for my behavior from over a week ago. I apologized to him on two separate occasions. The latter of which I almost began to cry. I was and am truly contrite. And he says it's cool, that I shouldn't apologize anymore. "So everything's cool?" I asked him. "Yes," he lied, "Everything's cool."

Everything is not cool. After pissing someone off, I realize that as the transgressor, I must, in addition to apologizing, make affirmative efforts to make amends. So I took the initiative to ask him to hang out, to text him, to email him, to call him. Don't worry, I didn't do this all in one sitting. But over the past several days, I have been.

Back in the day, he would have responded to my emails/texts immediately, picked up all my calls, and if not, return my calls immediately. Now days, he hasn't. He screens my calls. He ignores 2 out of 3 of my emails/texts. For the one-third he does respond to, he sends half-hearted responses. And he probably auto-deletes my voicemails. All the guys I've conferred with confirm that while he says everything's fine, it's not, and he's still resentful.

It's frustrating. Yes, I deserve to be punished. Yes, I know I probably bruised his ego and pride a tad. Still though, it's frustrating. I think I've had more meaningful conversations with his voicemail than with him. And tonight, when he deliberately sent my phone call to his voicemail for the umpteenth time this weekend, the insecure crazy side of me wonders if he's with some other gal right now, a nicer gal, a gal who appreciates him more, to "punish" me more. After all, we never established exclusivity.

Nothing I can do about it though, right? Just take my punishment "like a man" and pretend I'm fine with it. Even though I'm not. The consensus among friends though is that if his resentful aloofness continues, then it's indicative of something larger--i.e., an inability to let things go or to forgive--and that I should probably reconsider whether or not I want to continue this.

I suppose we'll see.

Doh.

It takes a certain amount of integrity, honesty and character for a gal to admit that she erred in her characterization of recent events and to retract that characterization.

That being said, I recently spoke with GD. I called him after he texted me. I decided to play it diplomatically. Start by chit chatting. Then ask what's up. Then wail on him. So I called him up, we chit chatted for a bit when a nice little lull in the conversation arose and I asked him, "Is everything okay?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, you've been a little distant--"

"--why didn't you call me all weekend?" he asked.

"What?" I said, "Why didn't you call me?"

He didn't have a perfect explanation for it. But he had a feasible one. Now one may wonder, what is an imperfect but feasible explanation for not calling a girl for several days? If it's not a death in the family with a funeral in Patagonia, or the destruction of his cell phone and land line, or the dismemberment of all four of his limbs and subsequent 6-8 week waiting period for his prosthetic hand to come in so he can dial his phone, or a coma or death, then I assume that it's because he is dumping me. Because that is usually the case. Well it turns out there's another explanation: He was mad at me. YES I know, ignoring someone for several days isn't the most mature or diplomatic way to handle anger. But when he told me why he was mad at me, I realized I was in no position to lecture on maturity or diplomacy.

I am actually a bit ashamed to write this now but I feel like I should. Because if I have the audacity to assassinate someone else's character, I should have the balls to own up to my own b.s.

The last time I had seen him, we were among friends at a bar and I was ... drunk. Wasted, in fact. And during my wasted state, I misbehaved. Essentially, I was that girl: the drunk-ass, crazy, obnoxious girl who was all over everyone and their momma. That one you kind of feel sorry for because it's really sad. Yes, that was me. And it really bugged him and it embarrassed him, not only for me, but also in front of his friends. Not only was I all over everyone, including his friends, but I ignored him.

I didn't remember any of this because duh I was drunk. But when he refreshed my recollection, I did have a hazy recollection of being very flirty and dancing crazily. So while I had been dying to know why he never called me, once he got started, I was suddenly wishing he would stop. I wished he'd stop telling me how stupid I looked, how gross my behavior was, how unpleasant it was for him to answer questions from his friends that night and all through the next day about "that girl." I literally shielded my face while on the phone, cringing, uttering apologies in between. I felt really ashamed.

Now for the not calling me part, I told him, "Look, I really appreciate you telling me all this and being upfront. But why didn't you tell me this earlier? If you have something on your mind, tell me. I'm not psychic."

He repeated, "Why didn't you call me?"

"Well, even before that night, you seemed more distant. You were taking longer to respond and weren't picking up your calls as much. So I wanted to give you space."

"If that was the case," he said, "then I would have told you that."

"But phone call frequency is not a concrete issue you discuss -- it's just something you fall into."

Blah blah blah. I'm sure all of you care about the intricacies of our little tiff. In the end, we sort of mostly resolved it. I am not to be a drunk skank, and he should be more communicative. At least those appear to be the goals.

Oh and he brought up the clothes that I had left at his place. "Are they still there?" I asked hesitantly, "or are they smoldering somewhere in the corner or being picked through by a bum in a dumpster somewhere?"

"Yes," he replied a little too quickly.

"Fair enough." Fair enough.

As for my other concerns re: GD aside from this whole debacle, my one girlfriend says that the dynamic involved in deeper conversations and banter comes with time. "Give it a chance," she had emailed me, "and try it out for a while longer. =)"

I suppose we'll see.

The mens

Last night I had a dream I was a lesbian. Okay, not a lesbian. I was "with" a girl in that way. It felt pretty real. Yes, I know that sexual behavior in dreams rarely means that you actually want to have sex with the person you're dreaming about. I suppose all the love and comforting I've been getting from my gal pals manifests itself as sexual intimacy with a female in my dream. But still. I wonder if things would be easier if I were a lesbian. If I dated chicks. They'd be sensitive and emotionally supportive and cognizant of certain...needs.

It reminds me of the movie, "Kissing Jessica Stein," where a straight, single, slightly neurotic chick in New York gets sick of dating dumb guys and decides to answer an ad from a bisexual chick. They hit it off, fall in love, and even move in together. But in the end, Jessica realizes she is still hetero, and still likes the mens.

Man. Too bad being gay isn't a choice. Too bad I'm hopelessly attracted to just men. And no doubt, dating women is probably fraught with its own set of games and issues and drama.

But still. I feel like I'm running out of options here!

Tying up loose ends

So I had called the Naysayer, probably five times in the last 24 hours, complaining about the guy formerly known as GD. (I guess I can still call him GD because our first date was still a great date.) After listening to me wallow in self-pity and self-doubt, he said, "Yellow Gal, you were beginnning to not like him anyway."

I paused and thought about that. Granted, there were a couple times when I mentioned to the Naysayer that GD didn't have that witty slightly sarcastic sense of humor that I love so much. And I may have mentioned that GD and I didn't seem to have that many deep, profound conversations, which I suppose is somewhat important to me. So maybe there were warning signs in the horizon that this was not going to work out.

But still. Ignore me? For several consecutive days? Especially the entire weekend, when for the past few weekends we've been spending virtually every waking second together? This is particularly surprising since he's the type of guy who, if he has a problem or has something to say, he will say it. Not be passive aggressive. Not play games. So what gives?

Part of me is tempted to call him and just say, "What is going on? Call a spade a spade. Tell me what's up." Two girlfriends are in favor of this cut-the-bullshit approach. While the Naysayer and another girlfriend are not. The last couple of times GD and I had contact, it was I initiating contact (me calling him, me texting him) and him passively (perhaps reluctantly?) responding. I had mistakenly thought that oh, we both like each other, we know we like each other, F the Rules, I can just call him.

But he's not contacting me. So I guess he's just not that into me. Now that's solved, there are a couple of sticky things: (1) his best friend and one of my best friends are siblings and live together, no less, and (2) I left some of my clothes at his place.

Do people just let it go? I really like the clothes I left there. I wonder what he's done with them. Hide them away from other girls he invites over? Burn them? Stow them with the collection of other girls' items left over fom previous non-relationships?

Anyway, for some reason, I suspect that I will hear from him sometime next week. Perhaps Monday or Tuesday. At that point, I'll just casually ask for my stuff. We'll see what happens.

Am I wrong?

If we could harness all the intellect and energy that women put into analyzing men, dissecting their psyches and interpreting every act or non-act men have engaged in, we probably could figure out the identity of JFK's assassin, Osama Bin Laden's whereabouts, the cure for cancer, whether or not there is a god, and the square footage of the Universe.

Seriously.

Sitting at my computer

So I am sitting at my computer and ask myself a question. What is a man? Is he sum of his parts? His arms, his skin, his lips, his back. Maybe a man is a bundle of mannerisms. The way he laughs, his meticulous hair combing, the way he holds his fork. Or maybe he is a collection of memories. The movie the both of you never finished watching, the song he played in his car the first time you kissed, the day you sat by the river and talked about nothing all day long.

I tell myself, a man is just a person. One person. So then I wonder, how is it possible that just one person, one man, can make a girl feel so bad about herself? Negate everything. Reduce her to nothing. He's only one person, after all.

I don't think men fully grasp the effect they have, or rather, the effect that women allow men to have on them. Does a man know that if he messes with her mind or her heart, he'll always win? Does he know how easy it is to make her feel weak and pathetic? Can he even imagine what goes through her mind when he tells her he really likes her and then ignores her for five days?

No, I don't think men know any of this. They couldn't, because if they did, it would make them cruel. And men can't be cruel.

So I am sitting at my computer and tell myself, this is not happening again. Not. Again. Because I don't want to be jaded anymore. I don't want to be unhappy. Really, who does? Don't we all deserve to have at least some hope that something good will come? Don't they say, 'good things come to those who wait'?

So I am sitting at my computer and wait. Wait for something good to come. Wait for a couple girlfriends to call me back. Wait for him to prove me wrong.

hellogoodbye

is an indie group from Cali I hadn't heard of 'til they popped up on my Yahoo! radio station. Their song Here In Your Arms reminds me of GD (available for listening on their myspace page).

Incidentally, this is my 400th post. Dang!

Le Freak

I try really really hard to be normal and to seem normal. Normal to my friends. Normal to my bosses. Normal to GD.

The thing is, I don't think I am. I have issues. And I think everyone, on some level, has issues. In other words, everyone is fucked up in some way due to some experience (example: having been cheated on) or predisposition (example: having a history of depression).

Right now, I am trying really hard to be normal, and to not let my insecurities or neuroses ruin my thing with GD. A girlfriend and I once joked that in the beginning of a courtship, a girl has to hide her craziness. Act normal, easy-going and collected. Lull him into a false sense of security. Once the guy becomes hopelessly attached and/or in love, then the girl can reveal her true craziness, and by then, it's too late for him to "escape."

Not that I'm trying to "hide" my craziness. I'm trying to just stop it. Erase it. Make it go away. But after numerous failed relationships, a gal will inevitably accumulate certain irrational fears. Right now I'm afraid that these irrational fears--i.e., the things that make me not perfectly normal--will sabotage any relationship I have. And even if they don't sabotage the relationship in the first place, later on they'll be revealed. Then GD will see my flaws and imperfections and freak factors in their naked glory, shake my hand, say "it was nice meeting you," and bolt. It's probably analogous to the horror of a child witnessing Mickey Mouse take off his costumed-head and see that it's just a 43 year old man beneath the suit, that there is no Mickey Mouse, and that it was all a colorful illusion.

Like I said, I have issues.

A couple friends have said to me "Just calm down. Chill out. Be 'whatever' about things." In other words, "Don't get crazy." That's probably as effective as walking into a psych ward and announcing on the P.A.: "Okay schizophrenics, manic depressants, bipolars and multiple personalities: Stop being crazy."

I guess there's no point in mulling over it. I can only do my best, right? Right. I'm just hoping that'll be good enough.

To be real

Funny. GD and I recently talked about our first date, and he said he wasn't sure if I liked him. He said he wasn't getting that "vibe." Isn't that hilarious? So funny how gals and guys never know what the other side is thinking.

He hashed out a couple of theories on my dating patterns, which I found amusing. One thing is that he suspects that I'm a player. A player. At first, he seemed to be joking about it, but then he brought it up a couple more times. I laughed and asked him why on earth he thought that. Apparently, the fact that I hadn't been in a long-term relationship in a few years struck him as odd. It seems that the only logical explanation was that I was not looking for a relationship and that instead I was looking to play the field.

I think my blog clearly evidences the fact that for the past couple of years or so, there have been no dateable men. The guys I've met have fallen into one of three categories: (1) normal guys with whom I had no chemistry, (2) lamos, or (3) players. "Finding a great guy to date is like finding a needle in a haystack," I explained to GD. He didn't seem to buy that explanation. He really thinks my being woefully single for the past few years was a conscious choice.

Another observation he made is that I seem jaded about guys. To some extent, this is true. I do hope for the best, but every time I meet a seemingly nice guy, something goes awry. He'll try to get me drunk and screw me on the second date. He'll bite my face while kissing. He'll have no respect for women.

GD observed, "Hmm. It'll take some time before I'll earn your trust, huh?" At first, I didn't think so. But I have to admit, one of the scariest things is to be vulnerable. To put yourself out there and have faith that the guy will not break your heart. I've luckily never had my heart truly broken. But I've been hurt, and it sucks.

So far, GD seems great. And it's weird. I mean, really really weird. He calls when he says he will. He asks me to hang out regularly. He'll offer to pick me up from work just to see me. He has not tried to get me drunk to get into my pants. Plus he's very good-looking and likes to cuddle. I mean, what the hell is going on here?!

So I'm not sure. Either he is an ingenious, crafty, diabolical player. Or he's for real.

Romance is in the air

I was sitting in GD's car as we drove down the freeway. The sunroof was open, the windows were down, and I sat there, basking in the warm weather and the feeling of GD's arm resting next to mine on the armrest. His stereo was playing a mix CD. After hearing Smack That by Akon, 99 Problems [but a Bitch Ain't One] by Jay Z, and then Shake that Ass by Eminem, I turned reverently to GD, placed my hand on his, and said, "These lyrics are so romantic." What girl can resist the eloquent poetry of Akon, who assures his bitch that he will "Smack that, til you get sore," or Nate Dog's proclamation, "I get more ass than a toilet seat"?

GD laughed and said, "Yes, I'm trying to win you over."

As Eminem lilted, "Looking for a couple bitches with some double D's," I clasped GD's hand and sighed, "Oh yes, you are winning me over."

He immediately changed the CD.

Meeting the friends

So I had another great date with Great Date. We pretty much spent all of Saturday together, where I met a bunch of his friends. One of my cardinal rules is to be friendly and easy-going towards a guy's friends. Too many times I hear of girls who are standoffish towards their guys' friends, and then the guys' friends end up not liking the girl, which of course causes problems. This is particularly true with the guy's gal pals, where a girl will be bitchy towards the gal pals, and all conclude that the girl is catty.

Of course, I don't sit at home and strategize on how I can manipulate people into liking me. It's just a general policy of mine to be nice to people, especially to a guy's friends.

I already like meeting new people, so it's not so much of an effort being friendly towards Great Date's (GD) friends. And like GD, his friends were pretty funny and easy-going, so it wasn't hard at all chatting and joking around with them. GD told me later on that evening that at one point, when I went to the ladies' room, he asked his boys what they thought of me. They said they liked me and told him to "go for it." While I know that I shouldn't put too much stock into what a guy's friends think of me, I have to admit I felt both flatttered and relieved to know they liked me.

Later on I met GD's other friends, including some girls, and again I chatted away with them. One girl, after she and I did a shot together, leaned behind me and said to GD, "I like her!" which of course made me laugh.

Meeting GD's friends and just seeing how cool they all were somehow made GD look all the more attractive to me. Can you tell a lot about a guy from who his friends are? I'm not sure. But if his friends are any indication of what kind of guy GD is, I'll have little to worry about.

My phobia

Many people suffer from the debilitating effects of phobias. Symptoms include sweating, shortness of breath, and chest pain, to name a few. Fears can range from Arachnophobia, the common fear of spiders, to Arachibutyrophobia, the more obscure fear of having peanut butter stick to the roof of your mouth.

I think I have a fear of very attractive guys, which apparently is missing from the Phobia List. There is the fear of staying single, Anuptaphobia, and the fear of the opposite sex, Heterophobia. But no fear of very attractive guys.

I experience the debilitating symptoms when near a very attractive guy. Sweating, shortness of breath and chest pain. I mean, I literally feel my throat dry and my chest tighten. "He's just a person, a human being," I have to remind myself, "he blinks, he yawns, he brushes his teeth...he is human!"

So I have been in contact with Great Date since our great date, and maybe it's precisely because of the great date, but I perceive Great Date to be one of those very attractive guys. And that makes me nervous. Thus far, I've had negative experiences with very attractive guys. They all know they're good looking, they know they're rare, they know they can get virtually any chick they want, and they know they can get away with having little or no personality.

So far, Great Date seems like a genuinely nice guy. And I'm bracing myself for something bad to happen. I worry as to whether Great Date actually likes me or if I turned him off by some inadvertent faux pas. The Naysayer assures me that Great Date does like me (unlike Non Emailer); otherwise, GD wouldn't be calling me and asking me to hang out like he is. Still though. A nagging thought persists: He is just too attractive for me. He could get any girl, specifically girls ten times prettier than I am. Now I know I'm not an abomination of nature, but I ain't Jessica Alba. Why me? Could it be -- he likes me for my personality?

No, can't be.

Maybe it's like that Twilight Zone episode where there's this alternate universe where all the beautiful people were considered hideous and all the people you and I would perceive as deformed were considered beautiful. Maybe Great Date is from that universe? I can hear the Naysayer voice right now saying "You're being stupid."

Anyhow, I'm going to just go with the flow and not worry about it. Because, as everyone knows, I never worry.

Sad headline

So I am reading all the headlines on the Virginia Tech killings, and it just makes me really really sad. I was on the Times' website and I saw the "interactive" page they made on each of the victims. I clicked on the first one, Ross Alameddine, and as soon as I started reading about him, I started tearing up and immediately clicked on the "Back" button of my browser. There's a difference between reading the words "33 victims" and seeing a picture of a 20-year-old sophomore and realizing that this person had a whole life story and was shot to death two days ago.

I also note that every headline on the incident makes reference to the shooter being South Korean. I have to admit, I got a little scared after noticing that my brother bears some resemblance to the shooter--this, in addition to the notion that "all Asians look the same." Given the retaliation against any remotely Arab-looking person after 9/11 and even the stupider incidents of murdering stingrays after one stingray killed the Crocodile Hunter, I worry for the bespectacled Asian guys out there who may seem on the quiet side, like my brother.

Margaret Cho, in her blog, asserts that "so much attention is focused on the Asian-ness of the shooter." I don't know if I would go that far. Granted, no one just says "shooter." They say "South Korean shooter." That's probably because the default race in America is white, unless otherwise noted. But (so far) I haven't yet seen discussions on limiting immigration or quarantining Koreans; if anything, it reignites the discussion on gun control. At any rate, I hope that people don't retaliate against Asians, especially given that some of the victims were of Asian descent.

It's just a very sad incident. I can't even imagine. My condolences to the bereaved.

Going down

The elevator doors opened and I walked in. A blonde woman stood on my left, and a young man stood in the corner on my right. I walked to the back left corner of the elevator as the doors closed. A few floors later, the doors opened and another woman walked in. I noticed she was a redhead. So three women, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, occupied three corners of the elevator. The young man stood alone in his corner.

Then I thought of the question that any girl who hasn't gotten any in a really long time would think of: Could we take him?

I mean, not literally sexually attack him. Okay yes I do mean that. No, just kidding, what I mean is, could we take him? Could we stop the elevator, jump on top of him, pin him on the ground, and laugh at him because three chicks just took him down? The greatest weapon against an opponent--even greater than sheer force--is the element of surprise. At least that's what they said in that movie "Air Force One."

As the elevator descended, I looked to Blonde and Redhead, but neither returned my glance. I could sense the uneasiness of the guy next to me. Perhaps he could sense his impending demise. Perhaps he became aware of the fact that he was outnumbered and that no one would hear his cries for help in the long cavernous elevator shaft. Or maybe he was just weirded out by this Asian chick staring at him maniacally.

Lucky for him, we reached the ground level before my mind could plot further. And not surprisingly, he scurried past us three ladies before any of us could even move. Either he's incredibly ungentlemanly, or he knew he was going down.

Girls girls girls

Some girls and I will be having some bachelorette festivities for a college pal this weekend. She is not the party-type of girl, so we'll be doing the elegant classy city thing, such as having tea and biscuits at a tea house, getting manicures/pedicures, and dining in a nice restaurant in the aptly located meatpacking district. These activities are then followed by renting girly girl movies such as "The Notebook" and "Pretty Woman." Unlike my other college friend's bachelorette party, debauchery, vomit-inducing intoxication, and scantily clad men will be kept to a minimum.

It's been a while since a bunch of us got together. There's perhaps nothing like having a bunch of girls together to celebrate a friend's departure from singlehood into the state of matrimony.

Though I have to admit I wouldn't mind receiving a lap dance or two.

Random quotes

For those of you who hate "Sex and the City" and/or are sick of me quoting from it every other day, my apologies. I do realize that there is a world outside of S&tC, that it is indeed a fictional television program, and that my life is not nearly as glamorous, as sexually exciting, nor as stocked with Manolo Blahniks as the girls on that show.

That being said. For some peculiar reason, the following S&tC quotes come into my head at the moment:

"It's like the guys you have the great second date with and then never hear from again. I pretend they died."

and

"And if he never calls me again, I'll always think of him fondly...as an asshole."

Totally random, I know.

Great unexpectations

They say things happen when you least expect it. Falling in love. Winning the lottery. Finding a ten dollar bill in your coat pocket.

For me, it was having a really really really good date. This was last night.

No, it wasn't Consultant. And it definitely wasn't Non Emailer. It was another guy I happened to meet at the friend of a friend's friend's get together. Clearly, I had no big expectations regarding this guy, so little in fact that I neglected to even mention him in my blog. At the get together, he asked for number and later on called me to ask me to dinner. I needed something to take the edge off of my self-induced obsession over Non Emailer, so I said sure. And I ended up having one of the best dates in a really long time.

A few key traits:

1) He had initiative.
He called me only a couple days after I gave him my number. He asked me to dinner. None of this "Can I get your email and I may or may not email you" bull ish.

2) He was a gentleman.
He opened the door for me when we went to the restaurant. When we walked to his car, he would walk ahead so he could open my door for me, wait until I got in, and close the door for me. He always asked for my opinion before ordering an appetizer or dessert. I know this seems like common sense, but sadly, it isn't.

3) He was a good conversationalist.
He did not recite his resume to me or dominate the conversation about how this one time he and his buddies toilet-papered this dude's house. It was an engaging conversation. He asked me questions about myself and actually listened and followed up with more questions. And we talked about silly things (e.g., how our alcoholic beverage of choice depends on whether or not we want to remember things the next day) and more interesting things (e.g., traveling in Latin America). There were very little, if any, awkward pauses.

4) He was, and made me feel, comfortable.
I really felt like I could be myself. I didn't need to get buzzed to feel comfortable. I didn't worry over whether he was a playa. I didn't get any sketchy vibe from him. Most importantly, I didn't feel like I had to be "on." I could just be, and he could just be, and it felt great.

5) He made me laugh.
'Nuff said.

During the date, he had asked me if I wanted to go to this thing with him on Saturday, but I already had plans with some girls. Otherwise, I would have been totally down with it. The thing is, if this had been any other guy, the notion of seeing a guy twice in one week after just meeting him would suffocate me or creep me out. But with this guy, I was thinking, sure, why not? It'd be fun. And I know it would be.

So yes, needless to say, I was (and still am) incredibly shocked at how well the date went. It ended pleasantly. We gave our little "I had a great time"-spiels, and I (perhaps out of nervousness) just nodded, said goodbye, and just hopped out of the car. Is it bad if there's no hug or kiss? It's only the first date!

So we'll see what happens. It's only been 1 whole day since I've seen him, and I'm wondering if/when he's going to call me. I mean, chemistry can't be one-sided, can it? I don't think he'd suggest meeting up again unless he was mildly interested in me.

It's quite interesting that having a good time with a normal, nice guy is so rare and most of all, unexpected.

Adding insult to injury to insult to injury

I'd like to delve into all the details of Saturday night's party, but I won't. Suffice it to say that, in direct violation of the Naysayer's order that I not pay any attention to Non Emailer, I did. A lot of attention. But only in response.

I had every intention of staying true to the course. Play it cool yet friendly. But every so often during the evening, I'd end up chatting away with Non Emailer, just me and Non Emailer. At one point, as we sat alone in someone's room, he asked me if I was interested in Consultant. It turned out that Non Emailer and Consultant knew each other and were friendly acquaintances. I of course evaded the question by asking him why he was so curious. He said he "just wanted to know." I asked him if Consultant put him up to this. And he said no, he was just curious. I commented that Consultant "seemed like a nice guy." Yet Non Emailer insisted on a yes or no response. After a while, emboldened by Jose Cuervo and feeling particularly flirty, I jokingly asked him if he was jealous. This time he evaded the question.

That evening we covered a sleugh of topics. We talked a lot that night alone, and as the night progressed, we did get a bit affectionate--he put his arm around my waist, he rested his head on my shoulder, he threw his legs over mine. In case anyone is wondering, nothing substantive happened in the end, i.e., we didn't make out or hook up. (Admittedly, this may have been because I had to get a ride home with my gal pal.)

The next day, I speed-dialed the Naysayer to report the details of that night's events. At which point, I could literally discern the sound of him smacking his forehead.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO FLIRT WITH HIM!" he said.

I was confused. I thought the Naysayer would be happy for me. Delight in my newfound attention from Non Emailer. "I know, but he was being flirty back, see?" I said hopefully. "He put his arm around my waist--"

"He doesn't like you!"

"But why was he flirty with me?"

"Because he just wants to get LAID."

"What-what?"

"Yellow Gal, you need to move on. The guy has more than one occasion expressed a complete lack of interest in you. Come on!" To the Naysayer's credit, this is true. I haven't reported all incidents of humiliation on my blog, which I know is hard to believe. But there have been others.

Apparently, according to The Game, one of the tactics a guy can use to bed a chick is to pay absolutely no attention to her for the first twenty minutes of meeting her, and meanwhile pay attention to her friends, the homeless lady on the sidewalk, the two-headed monster at the bar, everyone except the target fuck. During those twenty minutes, the target will wonder, "Why doesn't he like me? What's wrong with me? Am I ugly? Guys usually like me. Wow he's so elusive..." At which point, the guy suddenly begins to pay attention to her. This new attention is then well-received by the chick, which she misinterprets as being well-earned attention from an elusive guy, and the guy gets laid.

I had read The Game when the Naysayer brought it along with him when he visited me. I only understood it in the short term context, not the long term context. But it kind of made sense. A guy shows no interest in a girl for a while. It's patently painfully obvious the girl likes him (again, humiliating incidents omitted from my blog). Later on, the guy wants to get some. Here's an easy target. It's so simple.

As the Naysayer pounded this into my head, I began to feel deflated. And so stupid. Yes, a part of me clings to the hope that he likes me, that I did "win" him over with my witty personality and hip-hugging jeans. But I have to admit, if he did like me, he would have called me, emailed me, asked me out--something. Because, well, that's what guys do when they like girls. Especially when the girl gives the guy a blaring, blinding green light.

But he hasn't. So like the Naysayer said. It's time to move on. And I'm on it. Really, I am.

Parties are fun

So it appears that Non Emailer and I run in similar circles of friends. Friday night, a friend of a friend's friend had a get together at a bar. As soon as I walked in the door, I saw him standing there, a brown bottle of beer in his hand, donned in a white button-up shirt and grey slacks. He seemed to be laughing at a joke that was very very funny. I closed my eyes and thanked god that I decided to blow-dry my hair that morning and wear a push-up bra.

As I made my way around the party, I chatted away with everyone, gals, guys, the host, the waiters. Eventually, I deigned to chat with Non Emailer. He was his usual friendly self. At one point, during our platonic prattle, a guy I had chatted with earlier--a cute consultant who also worked downtown--approached me.

"Hey there," he said, smiling at me.

"Hi," I said, smiling back, turning slightly from Non Emailer. I could see Non Emailer look to me and then to him. Consultant didn't notice Non Emailer.

"Look," Consultant said, "there's something I want to ask you."

"Okay," I said.

"I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner some time," he said.

I kind of stood there for a second, stunned, because I had never had a guy just ask me out like that so unabashedly, so openly.

"Um," I stammered, "Sure!"

"Cool, can I get your number?"

"Sure," I said. Consultant flipped open his phone for me and I entered my digits as a new cell phone entry. Out of the corner of my eye, I could discern Non Emailer drinking his beer.

"Cool," he said, "I'll call you."

"Great," I said, smiling, and turned back to Non Emailer.

Now the questions on everyone's mind are: Did Non Emailer fly into a fit of jealousy? Was he utterly offended that Consultant disrespected him like that? Did he confess his undying like for me, admit that he had that epidemic fear of intimacy and that he was scared, especially of me, because I was so different from all the other girls, and that was the true reason he never emailed me?

Or, did he blink blankly and drink his beer the same way he would observing a fly buzz around a piece of bread?

The answer, unfortunately, is obvious.

Now despite the fact that Non Emailer has absolutely no interest in me, I still couldn't help but feel a teeny bit satisfied that a guy hit on me in front of him. And Consultant was cool in his own right. He was certainly a notch above the recent batch of guys who have shown any interest me, which include various homeless people, construction workers, and the seventy-year-old janitor who works on my floor.

Anyhow, it ended up being a late night. Towards the end of the night, Non Emailer mentioned to me and my gal pal a party his friend was throwing. He invited us along, and anyone else who wanted to come. Ironically, the next day, for the first time ever, he emailed me at my personal email address--along with my friend--the party details. Well, better late than never.

So we're going. I suspect that Non Emailer will be surrounded by his entourage of "boyz" and lipsticked girls, while I stand on the periphery, trying to play it cool and pretend I'm interested in other guys.

It'll be fun. I'm sure.

Strange strangers

One of the great things about living in a big city is the running commentary you receive from complete strangers. They vary greatly in substance, yet little in eloquence.

For example, this morning I left my apartment to go to Starbucks, when I beheld an old homeless lady ahead of me mumbling nonsensically. As I walked right by her, I heard her say something scathingly to me that ended with the words ringing in my ear, "you damn bitch." I continued to walk, and came to a traffic light that just turned yellow, which I always interpret to mean "run before the light turns red." As I ran across the street, an irate cab driver leaned on his horn at me for about ten straight seconds (his light was also yellow). I held my hand up as I ran in front of his car and he leaned out of his window to inform me that I was a "fucking bitch."

All of this occurred in the span of ten minutes.

Of course, I consider these comments with the other commentary from complete strangers, the kind that any female with two legs and a pulse will receive walking down the street in a large city, ranging from "How you doing, sexy?" to "Damn girl I wanna eat you up!"

What is it about the city that disinhibits people to be so candid? Is it the close quarters that lead to an openness that allows bums and cab drivers and construction workers to comment on whether you're a bitch or damn fine? Perhaps the excess carbon monoxide from all the traffic has an effect on people's social boundaries. It's a very interesting phenomenon, one that I suspect doesn't exist in suburbs or small towns.

At any rate, while I grow more and more desnsensitized to the randomness of strangers, I will be rest assured that I'm somewhere between a fucking bitch and a sexy fine thing.

Guys 101 - revisited

A guy recently gave me and my gal pal a primer in Guys 101. She and I are both in our late twenties and certainly not dating novices. So it shocked him when he discovered that we weren't privy to one of the most fundamental tenets of human nature:

A guy is never nice to a girl for no reason.

which is a corollary to:

A guy is only nice to a girl because he has some interest.

[This is similar to my previous entry on the theory that guys and girls can't "just be friends."]

This rule was of course met with reactions like "Oh COME ON!" and "Yeah right!" But he stood by it. And he conceded that there are exceptions to every rule including his, but more often than not, he was right. So we started throwing examples at him.

"A guy asks a girl for her email address?" [Yeah that was me asking about Non Emailer. I'm over it, really I am.]

"Interested."

"A guy asks a girl to have after-work drinks?"

"Interested."

"A guy who's already spoken for asks a girl to have after-work drinks?"

"Interested."

"Even if he's taken and they both know that he's taken??"

"Yes. Think about it, would he tell his woman that he's having drinks after work with a single girl?"

"Maybe...?"

"No."
___________

Side note: I think a lot of girls think that a man's status as "taken" acts as sort of a buffer. In other words, if a taken guy asks a girl to drinks or dinner, it seems innocuous because the guy is presumably devoid of interest in the girl because - "duh" - he's taken.

Another side note: A lot of girls are sometimes wrong.
___________

My friend and I mused over his seemingly glib assessment of all men-kind. I furthered, "But there've been times when I thought a guy liked me, and I was totally wrong."

He responded, "Sure, once in a while, a guy will be nice to you simply because he's just nice. But playing the probabilities, guys are never 'just nice.' "

Afterwards, my friend & I discussed this. I suppose a lot of girls like to shy away from assuming that any/every guy nice them is looking for more. First, it just seems plain arrogant to assume a guy likes a gal on the sole basis of him being nice to her. Second, as I mentioned above, some gals have thought guys liked them--and were wrong. Third, girls are nice to guys just to be nice, nothing less nothing more. So perhaps they assume the same in reverse.

At any rate, the Professor of Guys 101 just couldn't believe that my friend and I were so naive. A part of me resists his black-and-white rules. While another part of me kind of wishes that rules could be that black and white, especially those pertaining to the mysteries of the male mind.

Unlikeable

I recently met a guy my friend is dating. I do not like him. Now, I like to think I generally like most people. They usually have to do something to make me dislike them. In my friend's guy's case, he said, among other things, "I don't like Jews."

Now, everyone harbors some racism. And perhaps I should give the guy credit because he openly acknowledges his own racism while others (myself included) like to pretend we never see color, just people. The thing is, if I am racist, if I harbor negative stereotypes about groups of people, I despise that about myself. With him, he seemed to feel justified in his dislike of Jews.

It started when I said I had a thing for Jon Stewart.

"But he's a Jew," he grimaced.

I looked at him. "So what if he's Jewish?"

He repeated, "He's a Jew."

"What do you have against Jews?"

"Oh I'm just kidding around. I joke about disliking Jews sometimes."

I was like, Oh-kay... But he later again said how he didn't like "the Jews" and how "they own all the banks."

"Well," I responded, "some of them own banks because, um, they are smart and worked hard to get to where they are."

Instead of addressing my response, he simply continued his original line of conversation. At any rate, it was clear I wasn't going to persuade him to be less anti-semitic.

So how to answer the question my friend posed to me later: "So what do you think of him?"

I know that a girl will pick the guy over her friend when given a choice. I don't want to jeopardize the friendship by calling the guy a Nazi/Klansman/racist bastard. So I took the easy way out and said "Oh, he sounds...interesting."

Still, I feel like she should acknowledge the fact that his blatant anti-semitism is a problem, that it should be at least a factor in her assessment of their long-term potential. Perhaps because she has no Jewish friends or connection with Jews, she feels that his anti-semitism is irrelevant. It doesn't affect how well he treats her.

But it really bothers me. And it bothers me that it doesn't bother her. So I'm considering bringing it up with her. Nicely. Like, "Does it bother you at all that he doesn't like Jews?" I know what the answer is, and I run the risk of antagonizing her, but maybe it'll get her thinking.

On the plus side, the guy did mention that he thought Hitler was a bad guy for murdering millions of people. At least he drew the line somewhere.

Wake up

I had a dream that Non Emailer emailed me. Several times. The emails were in 24 point font, bright colors, comic sans. He was asking me questions about myself.

Some people dream about transparent birds flying out of rainbow lakes. I dream about Non Emailer emailing me.

Yep, dreams can be pretty fantastical.

Coffee between friends

"Guess what Tom did for me today?" Aly gushed.

"I don't know, what?" Beth said as she sipped her coffee.

"He sent roses to my office every hour, each hour with a different colored set of roses!" she squealed. "And for no reason except to say that he loves me!"

"Wow, that's great," Beth replied, trying to smile. "That's almost as sweet as a guy showing up an hour late on a first date and calling you the wrong name."

"Oh forget about Mark! Sorry you had such a crappy date."

"It's okay."

"Don't worry," Aly replied. "You'll find someone," she added with a knowing nod.

For a moment, Beth remained silent. "Umm," she said slowly, "Yeah, I know I'll find someone, but thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that," Aly replied. "I mean, you're smart, funny and cute. You're a catch! You deserve so much better than that Mark. One day you'll find someone as great as my Tom!"

Great as my Tom? Beth glared at Aly. "I really appreciate your condescending pep talk, really I do," Beth replied, "but spare me your pity. You're actually making me feel worse."

Aly sighed and looked at Beth in the eye.

Beth looked back at Aly. "What?"

Aly shook her head and said, "I can't win with you, can I?"

"You always win," Beth replied, her voice grating. "That's your shtick."

"Look, just because I'm in a relationship and you're not doesn't mean you can be bitchy to me," Aly said, blinking thoughtfully.

"Wow, you're funny."

"Face it," Aly sighed. "You're jealous."

"Like I said, you're funny," Beth replied deadpan. "Truly."

"I'm not going to feel bad because I have a boyfriend and you don't. And I don't need to apologize for being happy."

"Excuse me," Beth said, "I don't believe I asked for an apology for you being happy."

"You didn't need to. Your bitterness says enough," Aly said, raising her chin and narrowing her eyes.

Beth couldn't help but laugh. "You're so sad."

"Excuse me?"

"You sit there, so smug. All because of Tom." Beth stood up and threw a ten dollar bill on the table. "Your self-worth and superiority all hinge on Tom."

Aly continued to stare at Beth.

Beth continued, "I'd hate to see what happens if that ended. What will you have then? Certainly no friends, given the way you're acting."

Aly rolled her eyes.

"While I appreciate the gesture, you can't pity me," Beth declared. She swung her purse over her shoulder and smiled. "I hope you and Tom have a happy life together. The alternative would be--" Beth searched for the right word "--pitiable."

So you think you can dance

To ensure that I have hobbies other than analyzing how I turn guys off, I signed up for a cardio class at a local dance studio. It's a "cardio striptease" class, where you learn "sexy moves" in the form of a cardio workout. No, you don't actually strip and yes, you actually do engage in a cardio workout, as I learned in the first class this past Saturday.

It was around noon and I walked into the studio and tentatively placed my purse on the window sill. I surveyed the other girls in the class. They looked to be yuppies or yuppies-to-be, in the twenty to thirty-something age range. The instructor, a professionally trained dancer and a former cheerleader for the city's NBA team, walked in with a cheery air of confidence, tossed her long blonde hair behind her shoulders, and beamed at the class. Her fitted turquoise tank top and black tights did little to hide her well-earned athletic physique. I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but feel frumpy in my baggy sweatpants and billowy t-shirt.

Before we learned our routine, we did a warm-up. One of our less modest moves was literally lying on our backs and thrusting our pelvises up and down. In other words, humping the air. As I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, humping the air, I mused over the vision this would be for some random guy if he were to walk in. A bunch of twenty/thirty-something year old girls wearing tank tops on their backs, fornicating with the air.

But not every exercise was a pornstar-in-training move. There were sit-ups, leg lifts, push-ups. The most arduous part was extending our arms sideways and moving them in little circles. Sounds so easy, but it was sucking my will to live. Some girls had to stop after a while because it was so hard.

After our warm-up, we learned our dance routine. At first, I was totally lost, trying to keep up with all the seemingly complicated dance moves. But after a while, I sort of got it and, with the dance music playing, got into it. The swishing of our hips and calculated head tilts became fun.

Okay so it may be a while before we become the newest version of the Pussycat Dolls. This morning I woke up in pain. My entire body -- my legs, back, stomach, arms -- ached. I can barely walk without looking arthritic. Still though, I must admit it's a satisfying soreness, the kind that tells you that you had a good workout. I know that eventually the soreness will go away, and soon all of us will be athletic dancing sex goddesses. That, or at least in better shape.

Mirror mirror on the wall...uh, nevermind

Whenever a guy does not like a girl back, a girl tends to blame at least one of two things: (1) her looks, and/or (2) her personality. Because men are such visual creatures and our culture glorifies appearance over substance, I think most girls tend to blame the former: their looks.

I was chatting with the Naysayer the other night, contemplating over the Non Emailer debacle, and couldn't help but succumb to that 12 year old insecurity. I resisted at first, but I had to ask him: "It's not because he thinks I'm ugly, right?" and "I'm not ugly...am I?" -- to which he yelled at me, "NO."

Yes, I'm well aware I broke "The Rules" and hence that may be why Non Emailer is revolted by me. But come on, if Jessica Alba or Angelina Jolie broke the Rules by calling a guy instead of waiting for him to call her, I don't think the guy would be revolted by her un-ladylike forwardness. Let's face it, the Rules are different for the truly beautiful women, as opposed to the not-bad-looking, sometimes-looks-cute-in-certain-lighting girls.

So I told the Naysayer that a lot of girls (at least in my case) can't help but think, "Oh if I were only prettier, then he'd like me back." His response: "That's probably true." But he added: "With Non Emailer though, I don't think that's the case. It just wasn't there."

Yes, I know that personality accounts for a lot, but I think having the prettier face gets your foot in the door, so to speak. Having a prettier face softens a guy, weakens his defenses, and opens him up to the possibility of liking you. While those of us with a less-than-gorgeous mug face an uphill battle.

Not that I'm butt. (Or am I?!) I just wouldn't mind being that effortlessly gorgeous gal.

Then again, a downside to being effortlessly gorgeous is that a gal will attract too many guys, so many guys that it's a task to weed out the undesirables and to ascertain whether or not a guy likes her for her, or her breasts.

I suppose either way, it's tough.

Like I said before, it's so fun being a girl.

Don't try this at home

Some would say spontaneity is a positive quality. A spontaneous gal will go on a last-minute weekend trip to a nearby lake or impulsively walk up to a group of people at a party and say "hi" without worrying over what to say and just wing it. I am occasionally spontaneous, and in most instances, a fun time ensues.

I've recently discovered however that there is a downside to having occasional bouts of spontaneity. Spontaneity necessarily involves lack of premeditation. And so sometimes, this "positive quality" will induce the holder of it to do something stupid, like, for example, throw all The Rules out the window and on a spur of the moment click on the "compose" button in her email program to write a stupid email to Non Email Guy under the pretense of some professional objective.

Yeah.

As soon as I sent it, I internally screamed. All those suggestions from some of my friends sprung to mind: "Men like the chase," and "Don't you want a guy who has the balls to pursue you?" blah blah blah. But then I thought of the other adages: "If a guy likes a girl, it doesn't really matter who does what," and even more compelling, "Fuck 'The Rules.' "

So what happened? Well he replied. I thought and hoped, "Oh, if I get the conversational ball rolling, he'll see I'm totally interested and suggest hanging out or something." And so we emailed back and forth several more times, where I segued the conversation from professional pretense to more friendlier topics. And then...the emails just ended. No dates lined up. No follow up questions. Just silence.

When I reported this to the Naysayer, he first yelled at me for not giving Non Emailer more signals (I apparently was not "suggestive" or flirty enough), and then wavered in his explanation as to why Non Emailer didn't ask me out: Either (1) he doesn't like me, or (2) he's a wuss. "So even if he does like you," the Naysayer reasoned, "do you want to date a guy who's such a wuss?"

Guess not. Though of course that ball was never in my court.

While I admit, this may not be the End of the Saga of the Non Emailer, I can't help but feel deflated. Ah well. I may be good at tempting fate. Just not men.

Well

After consulting 5 guys and 4 gals, and reading comments from Loofa & Anonymous, I have come to the conclusion that Non Email Dude more likely than not has some modicum of interest.

Armed with this newfound knowledge, I will now...continue to sit by the computer waiting for him to email me.

It's so fun being a girl.

Waiting by the computer (a.k.a. musings of a stupid neurotic girl who may or may not like a guy who may or may not like her back)

I had met you a couple weeks ago at a business event. We’ve hung out (in a group of course) a couple times since. We chatted a bit; we seemed to connect pretty well. I thought you were cool and so I gave you my business card.

I’m not sure as to whether or not I like you. And so when you followed up the following Monday with a short friendly email to my work address to just me, not the group, but just me, I thought, well, maybe. You asked in your email for my personal email address. I responded accordingly and quipped about the weather. You responded and – unsolicited – volunteered your non-work email address. We shot a couple emails back and forth. And that was it. All of this occurred on Monday.

Today is Friday. Why the hell haven’t you emailed me yet?! Why would someone ask for a spoon if they weren’t going to use it? Similarly, why would you ask for my personal email address if you weren’t going to email me? Am I supposed to email you? Both guy and gal pals advise against my emailing you. “Let him come to you,” they tell me. “But he’s not!” I insist. “He will,” they say.

But you haven’t. Like I said, today is Friday.

So the question on my mind is, was your email a purely professional gesture? According to the Naysayer, guys don’t affirmatively “follow up” with girls asking for their personal email addresses unless there was some modicum of interest (hopefully non-professional, if not unprofessional).

But then again, maybe you’re one of those guys who go above and beyond to extend your network of business contacts. You like to garner the personal email addresses of all potential clients because it establishes camaraderie, rapport and all that other bull shit.

Yet, if it was purely professional, then why, after already having my business email, would you ask for my personal email?

It is this tiny thread of logic upon which I hinge my hope that you may like me back. Pathetic, I know.

So I am meeting up with my guy friend later. I keep imagining that he and I will bump into you while we’re downtown and that once you see me with this strange gentleman, you’ll be overcome with a fit of jealousy so unbearable that you will have no choice but to do what you haven’t done all week – email me.

So let’s cut all this nonsense out. Save some room on blogger.com. End the speculation.

Email me.