It’s just like e-harmony, without the creepy people who paint

“But with your literary prowess, I’m curious for further descriptors.”*

Here’s an oldie, but a goodie.  Kind of like the author.

*****

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t seeking something.   Aren’t we all?

Maybe the ad would look something like this:

Female professional, 35, seeks partner(s) for fun and perhaps a little frolic.  Note the “(s)”. If this bothers you, please don’t bother reading the rest.   The “(s)” does not signify threesome (sorry, fellas) or polygamy (sorry, Mormons).  It means that I am not actively (nor frantically) seeking an exclusive engagement.   However, like most things in life…everything is negotiable.

Wait, did I say that everything is negotiable? I misspoke.

In the interest of full disclosure, here are some important things that you should know:

(1) Although I will fight to the death to ensure that everyone has the right to it, I have no personal interest in the institution of marriage, and I do not measure my self worth by its presence or absence in my life.    If marriage is your only goal, move along.

(2) At the tender age of 35, I recognize that I am reaching the far side of my years as a child-producing entity. However, I feel no particular urge to have children, and will not view my life as a woman a failure if I never reproduce. If your only plan is to impregnate me in the next five years in order to ensure your legacy, please look elsewhere.

(3) I may have the random urge to kiss you passionately while walking down the street.  I rarely suppress these urges, especially in the evenings when a light snow is falling.  Or in the summer after a pitcher of margaritas on a patio. If you can’t handle being kissed in public, you should find another woman.

(4) I enjoy a glass of red wine after a long day at work. I like to take my shoes off, wiggle my toes, and feel the explosion of a big California zinfandel on my tongue. I hate drinking alone, and quite frankly, I view the dislike of red wine as a kind of character flaw.  As a side note, please don’t hold back if you feel the need to massage my aching feet.   If you cannot appreciate red wine, you and your bottle of Pinot Grigio should go home.

(5) The chances are good that I earn more money than you.  This doesn’t bother me, but it bothers some people.  If it hurts your ego when I pick up the cheque, I’m not interested.   Alternatively, if you always expect me to pick up the cheque, don’t count on hearing from me again.

(6) I endeavour in all instances to be reasonable and not make excessive or outrageous demands on the people I care about, and I understand that time is a precious commodity.  I’m busy, you’re busy, everyone is busy, all the time. However, I do expect the same courtesy from lovers as I do from colleagues, friends and family – return my calls, reply to my emails, and show up on time.   If you cannot reciprocate the courtesy and respect that I show you, or don’t understand why it’s important, you definitely should not have wasted your time reading this list. And you need to grow up and stop being such a narcissist.

(7) Sometimes my best endeavours fail.  Occasionally, I have passive-aggressive tendencies (thanks, Mom!), and I may argue with you over the most unimportant of issues (thanks, law school!).  I may hold a grudge, or pout like a child.  Sometimes wit devolves into sarcasm.  But I promise that I will always apologize, and I will never stop trying to correct these faults.   If you cannot forgive my carelessness from time to time (as I will with you), it would be best if you walked away now.

(8) As for frolic**, it will be prolonged, playful and passionate.   Time of day is not important. Locations are not limited.   However, I do have a preference for long, slow and tender over frantic and punishing – with the recognition that sometimes urgent fumbling can lead to the sweetest of pleasures.   If this sounds in any way distasteful to you, apply elsewhere.

Unfortunately, as stated explicitly up front, I cannot guarantee exclusivity, or length of commitment.  But if you enjoy the finer things in life and want to share some time with a more thoughtful companion, for a drink, for a meal, for a weekend in bed, for a week in London, or maybe even for a lifetime – perhaps this offer merits more serious consideration.***

*****

* For a further explanation, please see yesterday’s post.

** When originally published, I took some ribbing over the use of the word “frolic”.  But I kinda like it.

*** Offer not valid for married men, politicians, restauranteurs, blonds under the age of 30, Bay Street lawyers, men who take pictures of their genitals with their Blackberries, regulars of the Spice Route and anyone who lives within a 50 mile radius of the White House.

Unroll your Jump to Conclusions Mat

“So, how was your date on Friday night?”

I pause.  Rifle through my Monday morning-addled brain.  This should be filed under “Friday, night of”. Think, think, think…

“My date?”

“We saw you at Oliver and Bonacini’s on the patio.”

Finally, the file appears. 

Friday, night of: 6:00 to 7:00 p.m., Oliver and Bonacini’s:  Drink with ex-colleague to catch up on life.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

My current colleague has a huge grin on his face, as though he’s finally caught me. 

I don’t usually like to write about colleagues here, but since he put me in a brutally awkward position last Christmas by asking me if I would like to be featured on a “matchmaking” website he was building, I feel as though I can loosen my nearly-airtight bands of discretion in this instance.* 

“Oh, that wasn’t a date.”

His face falls a little, but I sense that he doesn’t believe me.  Because, of course, I need to lie about these things.

“That was me having a drink with an ex-colleague to catch up on things.”

But thanks for starting a rumour. That’s just swell.

You see, I’ve had this argument repeatedly with others.  “A woman cannot engage in business development in the same way that a man would, because everyone will always assume that the woman is coming onto the man, or vice-versa,” I would say.

“Wow, someone’s got a high opinion of herself,” I could hear them thinking. “Why would she think that anyone would care if she’s dating or not?”

Well, score one for me in the “I told you so” category.

And people wonder why I like to keep my personal life out of my office.

This is why.

* At the time, I couldn’t tell if it was an elaborate way of setting me up with one of his friends, or an actual attempt to pimp me out like a prostitute.  Clearly, the look of disgust on my face as I handed back his business card wasn’t pronounced enough to scare him completely.  NOTE TO ALL MALE READERS:  Do not ask your female colleagues to join your escort service.

You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry

Angry.  Mad.  Indignant. 

All of those things.

When I woke up this morning, I felt like this:

"What do you mean, this sweater makes me look PREPPY?"

I was going to write some kind of carefully crafted piece about immaturity, but really, I’ve just had it.  There’s no disguising it in pretty prose.  There’s no hiding it behind perfect metaphors.

Maybe it’s an indicator of how far I’ve come that I am able to identify truly immature behaviour when I see it.  Since I’m guilty of all of these things, let’s just start listing them for those who may not be aware that they are complete fuckwits.

1)  If you decide that your time has come to move on from an organization, it’s in your best interest to leave it stronger than when you entered it.  At the very least, you probably shouldn’t soak the place in gasoline, light a match and go on vacation for a couple weeks.   50% of your colleagues will think you’re a “maverick” and 50% of them will think you’re a complete fucking nut.  Chances are the latter 50% will somehow control your fate in the future.  Trust me on this one.

"Oops, sorry I left that big pile of poop on your desk. Gotta go!"

2)  People who continuously concoct alternate endings to situations they have handled poorly, but stubbornly refuse to change their behaviour will die alone.  And no one will come to your funeral, except for that one friend who thinks that you are “principled”.

3)  The phrase “friends with benefits” contains two parts:  1) Friends.  2) Benefits.  In fact, the phrase implies that the friendship part is the most important part of the relationship.  Stop using the phrase if you only want to get laid.

4)  No one over the age of 25 should ever use the phrase contained in #3 to describe any of their relationships at any time.

5)  People who rage against the machine need to present an alternative to the machine, or they can just shut up.  Yes, I’m looking at you, the “down with capitalism” crowd.  I’m sick of always having to give respectful equal time to other points of view, but never being given the same respect in return.  I don’t think we’re headed towards the perfect utopian future where everything is shared anytime soon, so let’s work reasonably within the existing boundaries.  A good starting point is for everyone to work hard, play hard, and give a little bit more to those less fortunate.  From what I know of revolutions, they are bloody and they rarely produce good results.

Even the anarchists want free phones, eh?

Oh yes, I am guilty of committing all of these crimes, some very recently.  There are some people reading this who could no doubt knock off a list of stupid, immature, selfish things that I’ve done.

But some of us learn. 

And some of us, clearly, do not.

Reality Monday

[Dramatic music plays.  The tribe members file into the Council area, looking dirty, malnourished and flea-bitten.  Our fearless author, A, is wearing the immunity necklace.]

If you think I'm a bitch in real life, you should see the way they edited me on the show. Source: MSNBC.com

PROBST:  Welcome to Tribal Council, Survivors.  [Insert profound comment about fire representing life, etc. etc.]  Since this season is all about A, she gets to wear the immunity necklace to every Council, and unilaterally decide which one of you is having your torch snuffed.   And no, that’s not a euphemism, so don’t get all excited. 

Let’s start with you, A.  Can you please explain to me why you let this band of jokers onto your island in the first place?  Are you some kind of sucker for punishment?

A:  Well, Jeff, I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly stupid woman…

[snickers and eye-rolling  from the rest of the tribe]

PROBST: It doesn’t look like they agree with you.

A:  [agitated]  Alright, alright, so I’ve made some bad choices.  Who hasn’t made bad choices?

PROBST:  Soul Patch, would you agree with that?  Did A make a bad choice by keeping you on the tribe?

SOUL PATCH:  Huh? [startled out of a daze]  Who me? 

PROBST:  Have you been smoking the jungle plants again?

SOUL PATCH:  Hey, I’ve only been arrested once.  Twice.  No wait, once.  What year was that?

PROBST:  Just answer the question.

SOUL PATCH:  A is definitely not making a mistake by keeping me here.  She needs my supersperm to re-populate this island.  Besides, I don’t have a job to go back to if she decides to kick me out.

PROBST:  Brilliant answer.  What about you, Playboy?  Why should you get to stay?

PLAYBOY:  Because I’m a well-endowed smooth talker.  And I like to wear a tie.  Isn’t that enough?

PROBST:  That may be the most… narcissistic…answer I’ve ever heard.  Don’t you bring anything else to the table?

PLAYBOY:  I’m good at making up stories that aren’t true.  Especially about my sexual exploits.

PROBST:  Charming.  And how about you, Cheater?  Is there any reason why A shouldn’t just feed you to the sharks?

CHEATER:  I swear, this is the only time I ever cheated on my wife.  Well, except for that other time.  And that incident last summer.  But other than those…three..well…four times…I’ve been completely faithful.

PROBST:  Ouch.  You’re so sleazy, I’m not sure a shark would actually eat you.  But, I think we’ve heard enough. 

A, can you give us any good, sensible reason why these creeps are still hanging around?  Isn’t it obvious that they should have gone a long time ago?

A:  Well, Jeff, I guess I figured that if I kept them around, they might eventually show some redeeming qualities.

PROBST:  Oh come on, really?  Didn’t your friends warn you?

A:  They tried, but… I voted them out so that I wouldn’t have to listen anymore.

PROBST:  Smooth move, Little Miss Smartypants.  Love is blind and dumb.

A:  Watch it, Probst.  This is still MY show.

PROBST:  Good point.  Time for you to cast your vote.

[A walks around the fire to the voting area.  The music plays.  She writes and deposits the slip of paper.]

PROBST:  I’ll tally the…uhhh…vote.  The tribe member who is voted out must leave the Tribal Council area immediately.

[Probst opens the container, unfolds the paper and starts to laugh.]

PROBST:  A has decided to vote herself off of the island.

A:  Can you blame me?  What are you doing tonight, Probst? [wink]  Wanna grab a burger?

[Cue closing music and credits.]

Nobody snuffs a torch like Peachy. Isn't he dreamy? Source: MSNBC.com

The shallow end

I was very excited to see a message on OK Cupid that included capital letters and punctuation:

“You seem like one that appreciates humour and laughter. You mention red wine – any recommendations? I’ve been enjoying the Fuzion and Croc Crossing Malbec lately.”

I deleted the message without even looking at the profile.

Honour amongst thieves

Dear friend.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for you tonight.

I lied to you.  Instead of helping you, I decided to take a chance and open my heart to someone who probably never deserved it in the first place.

As expected, he ripped it out and left it lying on Yonge Street, somewhere between Wellington and King.  If you go there, you may still see the bloodstains.

Because you love me, I know that you will understand.  And I know that if you were here right now, that you would comfort me, because that is just the kind of person you are. 

Actually, you would probably order me a glass of wine, and tell me that I’m gorgeous, but my sweater isn’t made of cashmere.  That’s why I love you so much.

I wish I had made a different choice, and I know that I will never be so foolish again.

Forgive me.

To whom it may concern

Thank you for dinner last night.  I’m not sure that an appetizer and a bottle of wine can be called “dinner”, but let’s go with that nomenclature for the moment.

I probably should have insisted on only having a glass after such a long day.  I probably should also have insisted on going home, instead of meandering through a couple of free pints at the Adelaide Street Pub and then more drinks at the Horseshoe.

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming.  But I was having a good time, and I let my guard down.  I knew that I gave you enough rope, but I didn’t think you’d actually put it to any use.

To answer your question, I’m not sure where “this”  is going.  And yes, I’m perfectly comfortable seeing you once a week, as long as it’s enjoyable.  

But thank you for letting me know that once a week isn’t good enough for you, and for making me fully aware that you’ve never been in a relationship where the woman hasn’t wanted to be with you all of the time.  Where she hasn’t wanted to stay over for breakfast, and just couldn’t get enough of you.  You’ve never had to juggle schedules, and send texts.  If a woman is serious, of course she’ll make all the time in the world.

Well, lucky you.

Let me get this straight, then.

You want to date an attractive, fiercely intelligent woman.  She should be witty, charming, and creative.  Successfully employed.  Sexually empowered.  Emotionally stable.  Respected by friends and colleagues.  Healthy.  Well dressed. Funny. Independent.

You want her to be available when you’re available.

At your beck and call.

She should desire nothing else but you.

Be witty, but not too witty.

Intelligent without being too challenging.

Have friends, but only see them sporadically.

Right.

In case you’re still wondering, that was the moment when I thanked you for the drinks and walked out of the bar.

 

***

ETA:  If you don’t read Steam Me Up, Kid, you should really start.  This may be the funniest damn post I’ve read in a long time.

The Five Minute Post

Here we go.

The Five Minute Post.  Can I do it?  Yes, I can.

I always turn on the TV in the mornings while I am going through my morning rituals.*  Apparently, CBC Newsworld (and/or their ad agencies, etc,) believes that the only demographic watching at 7:00 a.m. on a weekday are adults over the age of 55.

If I see this commercial one more time, I will pick up my TV and toss it off the Shoebox’s cozy (read: tiny) balcony.  It’s a flat screen, so don’t think that I’m not capable.

Yeah, that one.

Safer drivers, huh?  Maybe no one knows the statistics on the collision rates of older drivers, because they don’t realize they’ve hit anything and just keep driving.**

Wait, where was I going with this again?

Oh yeah.  Because of the constant playing of this charming ad and the one for the CHIP reverse mortgage program (with the annoying “Wouldn’t it be nice” song…ugh), I’m starting to think that CBC is trying to tell me something.

I’m getting old.

Pass the Geritol, please.

 

*  Drinking the blood of children to stay young, of course.

** No, Mom.  You’re a great driver.

Admission of guilt

I can’t stand you.

I’ve tried to get to know you, to see what the others see in you.  But I just can’t.

I see this as my own shortcoming, my own failing as a human being who considers herself to be fairly easy going and tolerant in this respect.  This is my flaw, somehow.  I should be better than this.

Every time I see you, I want to tear down that persona, rip off the mask and scream out “Aha!  Did you really think you were fooling anyone?”

Not me.  I can see right through you.

I could rationalize your outward behaviour as a protective measure, as some kind of annoying armour covering the vulnerability beneath.

I have yet to uncover any layers.

Veni, Vidi, Visa

I enjoy the musings in Torontoist, but this post slagging the Visa Screening Room at the Toronto International Film Festival takes the proverbial cake.

I will state unashamedly up front that I have a Visa Aerogold, have used it to purchase week long passes to the Elgin Theatre during the Festival, and yes…I have been in the “Special Lounge”. 

There were no flamingoes.

Once, I even lent my credit card out to a friend to whom I had given tickets so that she and and her boyfriend could get into the lounge on what turned out to be rather rainy September night. 

Let them eat cake, right?

Besides that, a few other thoughts came to mind while reading this article.

First, events like TIFF need sponsors.   Visa has been sponsoring the viewings at the Elgin (and the Festival generally) for years, and it’s a promotion that works.  Cardholders feel as though they’re getting a valued perq, Visa gets a good bang for its promotional buck, and the TIFF can continue to function.  Do we want Visa to pull their promotional dollars because a few people think that it’s somehow defiling their “dignity” to be seated after Visa cardholders?

As this woman pointed out in a pithy comment a few weeks ago, some people have skewed ideas on what constitutes an “indignity”.  Standing in a lineup for bread or clean water or toilet paper is an indignity.  Standing in line to see the latest Colin Farrell flick?  Debatable.

Second, in contrast to most TIFF events, at least one knows the price of admission to the Visa Screening Room, and the Super Not-So-Secret Lounge.   Go to one of the galas at Roy Thomson Hall and see how easy it is for some to enter while the public line is still on the street.  There are patrons, friends of patrons, hangers-on…and this is just for the film.  Try getting into one of the parties.

My point is that this is a film festival, not an election.  Not everyone is equal, and not everyone gets to play.  It’s a bitter pill to swallow, I know, but we can’t all be the cool kid.

Visa doesn’t care if you’re pretty or well-connected.  All it cares about is whether you have a Visa card.  If you take the Film Festival that seriously, you know this and you probably already have one.

I could go on and on about how much I would love to be able to take time off work and stand around in lines for movies all day, and about how much I like that the Lounge protects me from listening to some of the pretentious filmie prats who hang about on the city’s streets all day, but instead I’ll finish with one final thought.

What a fucking bourgeois complaint.  If this is the most injustice one experiences in a lifetime, what a charmed life one must lead.