Monthly Archives: November 2010

Are You a Good First Date?

Ooo! Ooo! A dating quiz. I did not score as high as I would have thought – though I disagree with some of the answer ratings. Go home to shower, change and unwind after work? Prolly not. But I don’t think I should be marked down for that. I’m just sayin’. The quiz is for dudes, too.

Biggest dealbreakers according to the matchmaker Michelle Jacoby:

For men – A women’s weight

For women – A man’s height

Tsk tsk. We are so superficial!

Hard to Get. It works!


Sucker? Or just persistent? Shoot. I woulda married him.

At least for Franz Kafka. From The Writer’s Almanac:

Kafka wrote a despairing letter to his girlfriend Felicia Bauer, in which he swore to write her no more. He was in the midst of a five-year-long effort to woo her, and it was an endeavor conducted almost entirely by letter-writing. He wrote to her more frequently that she to him, and this sometimes sent him into the throes of anguish and so he would send her letters like this one:

Dearest, what have I done that makes you torment me so? No letter again today, neither by the first mail nor the second.
You do make me suffer! While one written word from you could make me happy! You’ve had enough of me; there is no other explanation, it’s not surprising after all; what is incomprehensible, though, is that you don’t write and tell me so.
If I am to go on living at all, I cannot go on vainly waiting for news of you, as I have done these last few interminable days. But I no longer have any hope of hearing from you.
I shall have to repeat specifically the farewell you bid me in silence.
I should like to throw myself bodily on this letter, so that it cannot be mailed, but it must be mailed.
I shall expect no further letters.

As it turns out, his farewell of silence did not last long. A few weeks later, the insomniac Kafka wrote to her in the dead of winter’s night:

Well dearest, the doors are shut, all is quiet, I am with you once more. … I was after you continuously this afternoon, in vain of course. As a matter of fact not quite in vain, for I constantly kept as close as possible to Frau Friedmann, because after all she was close to you for quite a time, because you say Du to each other, and because she happens to be the possessor of letters from you, which I certainly begrudge her. But why doesn’t she say a word about you while I keep staring at her lips, ready to pounce on the first word? Have you stopped writing to each other? Perhaps she knows nothing new about you? But how is this possible! And if she knows nothing new, why doesn’t she talk about you, why doesn’t she at least mention your name, as she used to, when she was around before?

But no, she won’t; instead, she keeps me hanging about, and we talk about incredibly unimportant things, such as Breslau, coughing, music, scarves, brooches, hairstyles, Italian holidays, sleighrides, beaded bags, stiff shirts, cufflinks, Herbert Schottlander, the French language, public baths, showers cooks, Harden, economic conditions, travelling by night, the Palace Hotel, Schreiberhau, hats, the University of Breslau, relatives — in short about everything under the sun, but the only subject that has, unfortunately, some faint association with you consists of a few words about Pyramidos and aspirin; it is cause for wonder why I pursue this subject for so long, and why I enjoy rolling these two words around my tongue. But really, I am not satisfied with this as the sole outcome of an afternoon, because for hours on end my head hums with the desire to hear the name Felice. Finally, by force, I direct the conversation to the railway connections between Berlin and Breslau, at the same time giving her a menacing look — nothing.”

Franz Kafka and Felice Bauer were engaged twice but never married. Kafka would once say: “Letter writing is an intercourse with ghosts, not only with the ghost of the receiver, but with one’s own, which emerges between the lines of the letter being written … Written kisses never reach their destination, but are drunk en route by these ghosts.”

Letter writing = intercourse with ghosts. I feel the same exact way about online dating.

Ditching the Date (on the date)

Sometimes it's an emergency: Scope out potential exits when you get to a date. (And if it goes that bad, don't be above crawling out a window.)

Normally, I would never condone peacing out on a date before it’s over and while he/she is in the bathroom. BUT, then when it comes to dating and everything else in life, never say never.

A friend was telling me about an impending date. She was worried about the guy not having a beard  because she’d seen him once with facial hair and another time without and, well the stubble seemed crucial. I started my nauseating preaching about overlooking the superficial stuff. “He can always grow it back!” I told her. And then this happened (in her words):

OMG – the date….ugh….ok so at first it was great. He was super chatty, HE GREW THE BEARD BACK (haha), asked me a lot of questions about myself and THEN he dropped a major bomb.

We were talking about the show Eastbound & Down and I said that a lot of people tell me I look like April and he was like ‘wow, April’s really hot, that’s a huge compliment’ and I could sort of tell he didn’t agree. So I pushed him a bit and said ‘oh so you don’t think we look alike?’ and he said ‘well, theres a resemblance, but shes just way tanner….and she’s prettier than you.’  Can you imagine how fast my jaw hit the floor?!??! Like, WHO SAYS THAT?! On a first date nonetheless!? So, of course he realized what he had said and tried to justify it by saying that she’s an actress, not a real person and I would never say that he was hotter than Brad Pitt blah blah blah. Whatever. When he was in the bathroom, I peaced out. He txtd me and apologized, and then today he g-chatted me and apologized profusely and said he didn’t remember saying that ‘she was prettier than me.’  Ughhh, another one bites the dust…. 😉

Apparently, I was talking to the wrong person about superficiality. Actually, I don’t think he was being superficial at all. Just stupid.

There are lessons here:

1. Guys, Never, ever, ever EVER tell a girl you want to date, woo, get in the pants of, that someone, even a celebrity, is hotter than her. (This is not a “never say never” situation. Err on the side of caution.) In fact, don’t admit to thinking anyone is hot except for your date on the first few dates.  Women aren’t like men. We don’t care that April is an actress and therefore it’s ok for her to be hotter. We want to be the hottest to you. Period. This is one of those things that you don’t actually have to understand. You just do.

2. Ditching a date when you’ve been thoroughly insulted is ok. Ditching a date while the date is in the bathroom after you’ve been thoroughly insulted is ok. I was on a terrible date once and when the guy went to the bathroom he actually said, “I’ll understand if you’re not here when I get back.” I stayed. And he became “Vagina Guy” to all of my friends — “CarrotTop” in The Science of Single. You can read all about him and other miserable, funny, silly, awesome dates I went on starting Jan. 4. (Shameless plug over.)

Dysfunctional Relationship Style: Fish v. Monkey

hanging out

Are you a fish or a monkey?

I’m both, which is fitting since humans evolved from fish and monkeys. One sort of leads to the other, dontcha think? Probably monkey then fish. Am I right or am I right?

hooking up

Darn it if I don’t like a little wordplay with my greeting cards.

Fall Poem II

When I’m in uncertain romantic scenarios, I write songs. In dating dryspells, I write poetry.

In Standard Time

The golden leaves clapped
Once I rose from
A roiled slumber that housed worry and concern.
A muted applause from behind the glass
And behind the now-naked Elm,
My usual greeter.
The Elm and I have a seasonal pact
Of weather intel
Until November when it goes to sleep
Sapped of life from my neediness.
So the golden leaves tell the story.
Now, they’re waving.

Top 3 Dating Tips. Ever.

On the Ideal Mate

My friend’s horoscope for the day applies to just about everyone, I think.

“Poet Paul Eluard frequently fantasized and wrote about his dream woman, but he never actually found her. “The cards have predicted that I would meet her but not recognize her,” he said. So he contented himself with being in love with love. I think he made a sound decision that many of us should consider emulating. It’s a losing proposition to wait around hoping for a dream lover to show up in our lives, since no one can ever match the idealized image we carry around in our imagination. And even if there were such a thing as a perfect mate, we would probably not recognize that person, as Eluard said, because they’d be so different from our fantasy.”

Right. On.