Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Dlo 2.0

Prepare yourself: the following information is going to shock you.  You may want to take a seat.

My parents are now both on Facebook.  We have achieved Dlo 2.0.

At first they were tentative... My father reluctantly joined; he didn't want too much of his personal time to be sucked into the computer.  I think he may actually believe his computer monitor has metaphysical properties that might one day actually suck him in if and when he exceeds his allotted web-cruising time.  My mother joined months ago, but didn't do much with her account at first.  Now all that has changed, with the rise of the geriatric population on Facebook.  Both Mom and Dad have found many friends, former classmates and co-workers to connect with.  My mom seems to really like it.  I mean, she likes it a lot.  As in, Likes everything on it.  My mom clicks "Like" to every post she reads, from what I can tell.  At first I thought to mention proper web etiquette and suggest that perhaps Liking everything wasn't exactly an efficient or honest use of the button.  But I resisted, and in fact her perennial Liking has grown on me.  After 38 years of trying to please my mother, I have finally gotten it right.  She Likes everything I do!

Thank you, Facebook.  Here's to the aiding of family relations.  I Like!

Monday, March 28, 2011

A Tragedy in Two Lips

Imagine the perfect evening... a fine-mannered waiter crossing your private dining room, silver tray, glasses and wine in hand... and as he approaches your table, he trips on his shoelace and there goes the 1945 Chateau Mouton Rothschild, splattered all over the beautiful marble floors. So close. Could have been a great evening! Alas, some things are just never gonna be.

Like a bad kisser becoming a good one. Ain't gonna happen.

My neighbor Philippe thinks it could happen. I think at 40 years old, there's a snowball's chance in Satan's pizza oven he'll ever be more than an insipid tongue-prodder. I know what you're thinking. "Teach him! You can show him how to be a good kisser. It's such a small thing." After all, he is lovely. He's kind, fun to hang out with and easy on the eyes. But that's where it stops - once my lips have been penetrated by his tongue, the cold reality that this man doesn't have a clue what he's doing and likely would jab me like a jackhammer were we to turn our vertical flirtation into a horizontal event hits me like a big, frozen icicle. He can't kiss for beans. I'm turned off immediately. I don't find the bulge growing in his pants to be anything more than an annoyance and I want out of there tout suite.

May some other woman conquer this insurmountable challenge. These lips have better places to explore.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

It Puts the Lotion on Its Skin

I know you remember that line. From Silence of the Lambs - remember? Buffalo Bill has his latest victim in the pit and he's lowered a bucket with lotion for her to run all over her soon to be filleted plus-sized body. Ick, gives me the willies just thinking about it! Alas it's all I can think about with the peculiarities of a former friend. Or should I say, future former friend. He's not taking the break-up very well and I'm running all kinds of scenarios through my head... like, I'm Ronald Regan and he's John Hinckley and everything's moving in slow motion while Secret Service men knock me to the ground, shouting "Gun!"

This particular friend came from a bible study this particular heathen used to attend. He was always odd but well-intended, and while awkward and possessing poor social skills, once he got over his discomfort around you (God forbid he be around people) he could be funny and caring. He did have a lot of anger - it would bubble up on occasion, always carefully, tightly contained. It was like you could see the steam coming out but he never let the lid off the pot. I think in my naivete I figured some good old fashion friendship and support would help him. He became a movie buddy. We'd connect every so often and go to a screening together. And once, when he had no place to stay before his next apartment came up, he crashed with me for a couple of weeks.

Some kind of scandal arose at the bible study a few months back surrounding him and his seeming refusal to accept the end of friendship with a young woman at the study (are we seeing a pattern emerge here?) and he eventually was asked to leave it. By that time I had felt the flames of eternal hellfire licking at my heels too frequently to continue with the study, lest I infect my more Christian brethren with my sinful ways, so I never caught all of the drama. But I did hear from him that he was asked not to attend. I heard it every time we talked. Every time he called, whether we spoke or he left me a voicemail, the message started off something like this "Yeah, so I got some interesting stuff to tell you..." As in, I've got more angry gossip stuff to spread all over you and drag you down into my self-angry hellhole with me, bwaa ha haa.

The other day I ran into his former roommate and we chatted about the study drama and our mutual friend.  Former roommate confided in me that my future former friend is a (closeted) transvestite, something the roommate stumbled upon by accident. Closeted, for sure. You think I'm a sinning heathen? Slap a woman's dress on a Christian man and you've got one FastPass to Hell, coming right up! So he's a transvestite. Rock on, baby! Do your thing. Be the most beautiful woman you can be, hairy legs and all. But to hide it from me - to be secretive and deny that you're doing it, even when I, a very open-minded and trustworthy friend shared deeply personal stories with you... that doesn't sit comfortably with me. And then I thought about his anger, the rage I often sensed was just below the surface, and I started getting freaked out. Anger, awkward social interactions, secretive, deeply rooted issues... more than I can handle in a "friend" who will not address or admit to his rage. He's got a timer just ticking away inside and given my new found understanding of the depth of his issues, I just thought... Not me. You're not making an all-weather wrap out of me, 'Bill. I'm out.

Finally the other day came the voicemail from him I knew would arrive one day, the angry, I-don't-know-why-you're-blowing-me-off message, with the end tag "If I don't hear from you I won't call again" ...followed by an email today saying "Just want to make sure you got my phone message? If not, call me. If so, you can just ignore this email."

I don't want to engage him any further. How do you tell the rational truth to an irrational person? "You have a lot of anger issues and I'm concerned everything that's been building since you were a boy in a very abusive home is going to come up one day soon and explode. You'd benefit from professional psychological help. What do you say?" Yeah. And then he hands you the bottle and tells you to start spreading the lotion.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

I'm Dating Benjamin Buttons

Sometimes it's easy to think that I am neurotic, paranoid and wildly insecure when it comes to relationships. But then someone I'm casually dating will have a freak-out moment whereby he stresses that he's very busy with work and life and not sure if he's ready for a relationship right now, despite being attracted to me, thinking I'm the bees' knees, etc., and inside I'm going "You know we're dating other people, right? That I went out with someone else last night? That we've never been exclusive??" while outside I just smile and say, "I really hadn't thought about it - I just enjoy spending time with you" prompting a big sigh of relief and a "Oh good, we're on the same page."

And thus, man becomes boy.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Men Are From Mars

I'm on a date tonight, date number two with Seth, a date that took over two weeks to put together because Seth's been so busy at work doing depositions and preparing for a big case yadda yadda. We get together tonight somewhat last minute, since no other time during the week was available and tomorrow I've got other plans. Since this is a Friday night, I'm thinking, heck. We should have a drink! I sure could use one after an abysmal work week. When I suggest this to Seth, he says, "I was thinking Starbucks. I'm really not familiar with the bar scene."

This was the camel's really heavy straw number one.

But I say, sure, let's do Starbucks (again! Date number one was at the very same Starbucks!) We meet and I enjoy a good solid 25 minutes of Seth talking... about... everything in the world... and nothing of personal value relating to him or me. No second-date "So where'd you go to college?" or "Ever do anything kooky you wish you could take back? Really, a tattoo of Hello Kitty ?! Where??" This is a very intelligent man, to be sure. A former professor, on our last date we discussed his former subject - film - at length, and it was an enjoyable evening! This time, not so much. Our date started with an awkward hug that illuminated for me a lack of chemistry between us.

This was straw number two.

So we - or rather, he - talk for an hour and half or so. He's obviously tired from the week (as am I); I can tell this by his large open-mouth yawn. I stifle mine. Seems the polite thing to do. And finally he says "Are you really tired? You seem really tired." I reply that I am and do not add "I've been lulled to sleep by your incessant chatter." We wrap up shortly thereafter. We walk together to our cars and I simply say "Well, goodnight!" and go to give him a hug. He catches me off guard with a peck on the lips. I make it quick and get in my car.

Really, Seth? You hug like a man bound permanently in a backwards white buckled jacket and have made no progress in making a personal connection with me... but you're giving me a goodbye kiss on the lips?

Men are weird. Or rather, Seth is from Saturn.