Not a Match

Loser. Tool. Socially awkward and destined not to be happy with a normal girl.

Any of these would describe the guy I just spent 37 painful minutes on the phone with. Harsh, you might say? No. I'm being kind; we were on the phone for 41 minutes. I'm being kind about the first four.

Social networking and online dating have become such an everyday part of our lives that the concept of me talking on the phone with a guy I've never met, in lieu of a first cup of coffee, or a walk around town or even, if I was feeling daring, a drink together, isn't really that daring at all. For me, perhaps it is. I don't date online that much! But in this case it happened. It happened sans emailing, sans texting, sans any other communication - the fella and I shared a wink, followed by him asking me to talk on the phone, so we did. And it was painful. 40 minutes of a mild jerk with mildly creepy things to say to me, including that my bangs turned him on and that I look like no one he's ever seen and would I like to now compliment him? Would I now like to share a couple of compliments about him?

Is he freakin' mentally retarded??

Yes. I believe he was. As such, when I told him I felt no chemistry with him he incredulously retorted "None? You feel none?!"

*Sigh.*

Good night, Mr. Nottamatch. And please don't call.

What Did You Say?

Tonight I invited a guy to see a screening of The Social Network. Excellent movie, by the way. Fascinating performances. Anyway, I have with the guy a casual friendship made long ago on set and kept up via the previously mentioned social network. I had an extra ticket to the screening and we'd just chatted via said network last night, so I asked if he wanted to go with me and voila, there it is. After the movie we went to a diner he recommended and there shared what truly were the world's best pancakes.

Before I get to the closer here, I'll clarify what you're probably wondering... I'm not sure if I'm into him. Therefore it's pretty safe to say I'm not into him. I am into his brain, and I've always enjoyed conversing with him. But you know what did it for me tonight? His scent. It did... nothing for me. No pheromones pushing me to press my arm against his or linger an extra moment when we hugged as we greeted one another. His cologne was nice. But his scent, meh.

So we finish our pancakes and walk out to our cars and as we're standing next to mine there's a brief pause in the conversation, which I'm secretly hoping will precipitate the "good night!" exchange so I can go home to bed. And he says... "Would you like some company tonight?"

Say WHAT?

I just stared at him for a moment while my head replayed the message and my neurons tripped over each other trying to process what he meant. 'Cause when a man asks if you'd like company, that usually means the kind best kept in a sweaty horizontal tango... and I was not having that with him, not tonight and probably not in the future.

"Oh! No, I'm really tired!"

He back-stepped a little and said "I'm having such a good time hanging out with you, just didn't want the evening to end" to which I gracefully replied "Well let's do it again, then!" and strategically pulled out my car keys, preempting what would have been an awkward goodbye at best. I unlocked my door and got in unabetted, driving off in a groggy, unexcited haze.

Tonight instead I have the company of my dear friend Ted. He's exactly the company I want to keep at this hour: cute, dark and silent.

I'm Sorry, Lizzy

I was just reading an article that brought back some old, less than savory memories. A college freshman who had accused a Notre Dame football player of sexually assaulting her has killed herself. She told her friends that she wasn't raped; the attack had been interrupted by a knock at the door (http://aol.it/hqHf4n). It seems she suffered from depression and this event may have pushed her over the edge.

My freshman year of college I attended a large school known more for its partying and football team than its educational merits. I was a wide-eyed freshman girl who wasn't used to the attention I got from the opposite sex there. I mean, it's not like I didn't date before then. But freshman girls got labeled "fresh meat" and boy, did the boys treat us that way. I was also too insecure to know the difference between good attention and the dangerous kind. One night at a frat party my friend and I went upstairs with a couple of the brothers to see their room and have (more) to drink. I got separated from my friend - I can't remember how, but do remember that separating from her hadn't been my plan. Yet there I suddenly was, alone with this upper-classman in his barely-lit bedroom. He was sitting on his computer chair and I was standing a couple of feet away from him. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor - he had literally leapt out of the chair and lunged at my waist, wrapping his arms around me as we landed on the floor. His hands and mouth were instantly all over me. I remember feeling like I couldn't protest because after all, he was older and what did I know? Wouldn't it be really uncool for me to tell him I didn't like what he had just done, and was doing? Wouldn't I seem like a baby if I disagreed with anything he said (or did)? God, the dangerousness of those insecurities...

Then an angel appeared. Or as it appeared at the time, came a knock at the door. One of the other frat brothers opened the door, saw us and said "Oh, sorry. I thought no one was in here." As he started to back out of the room I said "NO, no, you didn't interrupt anything. I was just leaving." And with that, I swiftly picked myself up and stumbled drunkenly out the door. I found my friend and told her we had to leave and I was going to be sick.

That night I was was endlessly thankful for the clean toilet bowl in my dorm bathroom. Tonight as I read about Lizzy Seeberg, I am endlessly thankful to God for the near-miss of my own those many years ago. College guys in groups like sports teams and fraternities can lose all sense of individual responsibility and in some cases make the wrong choices based on false entitlement.

I wonder if that asshole in the frat house ever thinks about that night. I doubt it.

Where Is the Life That Late I Lead

My brain is fried, my eyes are heavy and my breathing is slow and steady. I already almost fell asleep once tonight, at the kitchen table. Now I'm happily in bed and fighting off the moment when my lids start shutting on their own and I lose the battle to fatigue. Welcome to "Life, 2010 Edition." A Fall that showed promise of so many good things has turned into one over-committed exhausting week after another. I barely see my friends anymore and I haven't had eight straight hours of sleep in longer than I can recall. I don't like this... my life has run away without me. I see it ahead of me somewhere, probably about a half mile down the road. I'm running as fast as I can to catch up with it. But it keeps running.

I miss my life. I'm going to figure out how to get it back, starting now.

Starting tomorrow morning. My eye lids just won the fight.

Just in Time for Carnival

I am happy to report that relations between the US and Brazil are positive and all signs point to continued diplomatic exchanges. The State Department has even passed a resolution requiring that all Ambassadors in Brazil enroll immediately in samba school.

This week coming holds much promise, little of it sleep. I am booked, double booked, and waiting to hear when I will be booked for more. In the last few months I've made some shifts in my professional life with the intent of moving upward and consequently have ceased working on set full-time so I can have the freedom to nurture my career as needed. I found a new day job that has flexibility... fell into an additional job that really appealed to me, though it is very part-time... enrolled in a class joined a drama group started up again with my choir ohmygodwheredidthetime go??? Suddenly my season of building my career has turned into juggling day jobs and sleeping very little and that socializing thing that I like to do sometimes? That went out the window. And don't get me started on the political crap I now deal with working in a very small office consisting of me and three other women. That is another post entirely.

So now I'm working on paring down some of the less important things that I have going on; pruning my tree of life, if you will. I will let you know how it goes. As of now I have 3 scratches and one mystery bruise from racing past that tree of life and getting tangled in the branches. Well, the scratches are from that. The bruise may be from rolling around on the forest floor. OK, I may have been doing the samba. Horizontally. Whatever.

Tall and Tan and Dark and Lovely

"Mmm."

What does one normally associate with Brazilian men? Something about a beach and very little clothing. And I am happy to report that this generalization holds true. This evening I find myself at the apartment of a very sweet and very lovely [Editor's note: "lovely" has been substituted for a vulgar word deemed inappropriate given January's very recent return to the blogosphere] Brazilian guy, someone I met through a mutual friend some time ago. He's an actor, not the least bit shy about his body, and has readily shown me pictures and footage of himself in various states of undress. He helped me with some video editing today and our conversation has rolled quite comfortably all afternoon. I find myself so comfortable, in fact, that I showed him this blog. And after reading many of my posts he promptly challenged me to write another one right now. This despite my recent extended absence. So does this mean, per the post directly preceding this one, that I'm now feeling inspired?

Umm, there is a hot Brazilian man lying on a bed not four feet away from me. What do you think?

Hi, Old Friend

Hi. It's been a while. As someone suggested to me, perhaps I should explain my occasional extended periods of absence with "I needed some time off to find new inspiration."

Yeah. What he said.