Monthly Archives: November 2009

Don’t chug your date.



whisky-tasting-seminars

See how the man in the skirt keeps a distance from his beloved Scotch?

I was at a Scotch/food-pairing thing recently. The lovely people of The Balvenie partnered with the lovely people at PS7′s for a truly lovely evening of Scotch-inspired food and drink. (Oh, the roasted Cinderella pumpkin soup. Oh, the Fiji ice cubes and infused pear. Oh, the 21-year Portwood.) It would have been even lovelier had I not been a mobile Petri dish of swine flu. Let me be clear: I didn’t tough it out because I love Scotch so much. I just figured a little distilled beer (because that’s what Scotch is — who knew?) would kill whatever bug was infesting my being. And I think it would be fun to like Scotch. Or at least know a little about it. And dinner was provided. You get what I’m putting down here.

Anyway, Dr. Whiskey, as he likes to be called, instructed our table, which included mixed martial arts fighter named Rocky, on the topic of getting to know your Scotch. You hold it at arm’s length to understand the color; don’t get too close. You swirl it to check the legs. You pass it by your nostrils to get just a fleeting whiff (if you feel the prickle, pull away). Then I think you’re supposed to stick your nose in the glass and sip. I’m fuzzy on that part. But that’s not the point. The point is, I like the idea of the slow reveal that is the process of nosing and tasting Scotch–and how it can apply to dating as a way to avoid the prickles associated with getting to know someone a little too well a little too soon. Beholding from a distance, checking things out. Then getting a little closer. Taking your time. Savoring. Definitely not chugging the Scotch (or your date). Sometimes chugging is a necessity, in both instances, don’t get me wrong. But I’m into the idea of patiently peeling back the layers. Not rushing the feast. Reminds me of an Edwin Morgan poem. Strawberries. It’s a good one.

The Noontime Swoon

Ask Moi

red-herring_color

I’ve always wanted an advice column. It’s fun to come up with solutions to problems — albeit solutions I most likely wouldn’t act on myself. (That doesn’t mean the advice is bad. It just means doing the right thing is the hardest thing.) Anyway, I do get asked for my advice on dating a lot. Mostly because I wrote a book about dating. So I will post some of the questions and my answers here. Because I can. If you would like to submit a question about dating (or anything else for that matter (I’m really smart)), I’d love that, because clearly, I’ve run out of things to talk about in my own dating life and have resorted to these “Swoon” music posts, mostly because that’s the only thing making me swoon lately. (Even the new Anthropologie catalog left me cold. What?)

Here’s a question posed to me from a lovely friend:

Problem: I wound up landing in bed with a friend of mine that I’ve had a thing for since we met years ago. Oops. I was schwasted. It was weird. We made out, and that was it. And then we woke up and didn’t cuddle, didn’t anything, and lay in bed and talked for an hour and he drove me home. It was the least awkward wake-up ever, but weird that we didn’t wind up doing anything in the morning. I sort of compartmentalized it as, “Oops, we’re just friends, we made out, and here we are, but for our sake let’s not make it anything it’s not and confuse it by doing stuff while sober in the morning?” But then he texted me an hour after he left me, and then just g-chatted me today, randomly. I mean, it had been a long time coming, but I’m almost going to guarantee it’s not going anywhere. But that’s okay.

And I said: I think you are trying to talk yourself out of wanting more. You also sound like you are confused about whether you’d even want more from this guy. One thing I do know: hook ups are hook ups and even if it’s been a long time coming, its still just a hook up. Whether it becomes more is a whole other conversation you’d have to have with him (not in your head). Hook ups don’t necessarily lead into dating and/or a relationship. They can, but again, that’s a whole other conversation you’d have to have.

Another thing I just learned is that guys are really afraid to make the first move, and my whole theory of if he likes you, he’ll call might be bunk. I mean, it’s true in the sense of he’ll call if he likes you. But if he likes you, he won’t necessarily call. (Did that make any sense.) Why? Because a. He’s afraid of rejection, b. He’s afraid of rejection or c. He’s afraid of rejection.

And then she one-upped me: I don’t think I want more from him, he just happens to have a fantastic body and is a really good kisser. [Insert me: The worst of the red herrings - hunky biceps and an understanding of art of kissing.] Also, I ended up asking him what we were doing, and he talked around it for a while, so finally I said that I think he’s massively confused about his life and he’s not looking for a girlfriend. And he was like pretty much, yeah, and gave me all the standard lines about wanting to be a good guy. And I was like, “yup, okay, sure, no worries, whatever, I just wanted to know where we stood.” It was the wondering that was bothering me, now that I know it’s not gray and I’m not trying to read his signals, I’m fine. So we had a lovely time, and it all worked out well, and now I’m not trying to decipher boy-speak, which is always good for my sanity.

And, yes, rejection. Don’t you think guys are built to deal with rejection better only because of society’s “rules” – I’m sure dudes I date have been rejected far more than I have, because they put themselves out there more? BUT ALSO, on the other hand, being a strong, straightforward woman, I think that I need a guy who is confident enough to not really care about rejection to ask me out. A screening process, if you will. If a guy is so afraid of rejection that he can’t make his intentions clear to me, then I’ll probably eat him alive, what with all this sass and bold-headed-ness I got going on. Maybe? That’s just one theory.

And I say: WORD. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

Sunday Swoon

There are no words…

The Noontime Swoon

Oh, Janet with your first slim down and amazing cleavage. Oh, early 90′s synthesizers and male ballet dancers. Oh, Antonio Sabato, Jr. with your dimples and quirky Italian way. Oh, Djimon Hounsou with your hunky biceps. The song stands on its own, but the video puts it in Top 8 best. Ever. (Rough calculation.)