back on the dating horse again

I've tried just about every online dating option out there, barring three major competitors. And since a good friend of mine recently met a great guy on chemistry.com, I figured I'd give it a try. (And it didn't hurt that they had a 3-months-for-the-price-of-one thing going on.)

It's been, well, interesting.

The site works like eharmony does; you take a test and they send you guys based on your results. And then they send you to different guys -- presumably the same guys they send to you, although it's not seeming like that's the case, and the truth is, I can't figure out what the hell's going on.

All I know is that it's not working very well.

I've set some pretty clear parameters. Things like "no kids," "no smoking," and "must have bachelors degree or above." I've been generous with my physical requirements, simply asking that they be taller than I am, and active/fit. And I keep getting guys who smoke, or live deep in New Jersey, or neglected to mention that they have kids. There's the one guy who was drastically overweight but claimed he fell into the category of "a few extra pounds." (Sure, if we're counting it as a few extra pounds for each extremity!)

There are guys who are clearly foreign and leave articles out of their sentences. ("I go to gym and I go grocery store.") There are guys whose profiles are written IN ALL CAPS AND WITH ABSOLUTELY NO PUNCTUATION AT ALL. There are guys who have 11 pictures of themselves posted and each one is fuglier than the next.

But for me, the kicker was the guy whose profile read:

I am divorced. I don't have any kids . I have a very healthy lifestyle. I try to get the best of my day , and to fully enjoy it. I love to prepare myself . I belive education is something that nobody can take away from you. I am looking for an inteligent person with a lot of common sense and a good heart.Just write me an email let's meet and take it from there.

I'm an inteligent person. And I'm staying away.

rejected facebook status updates

Facebook status updates I decided against recently:

Too provocative
Kate Surgeon showered this morning with a dirty Venetian. Oh, no wait. She showered with her dirty venetian blinds. Same thing, right?

Kate Surgeon took a pole dancing class last night and, though there were no mirrors in the studio, she's pretty sure she looked like a deranged cat in heat.

Too Much Information
Kate Surgeon has three zits she'd like to introduce you to: Snap, Crackle, and Pop!

Kate Surgeon wonders if you ever wonder, after looking at a poop, what you ate.

Too Sappy
Kate Surgeon misses him. Like crazy.

Kate Surgeon liked his imperfections best.

Kate Surgeon is pretty sure she was the only one crying at pole dancing class.

Kate Surgeon wants to shake him, and then smooch him, and then shake him, and then smooch him.

Too Vague
Kate Surgeon believes in avocados.

Kate Surgeon eats too much dried mango.

Kate Surgeon is crossing her fingers.

Too Work-Related
Kate Surgeon would like the receptionists at work to follow her around everywhere. They think she's HILARIOUS!

Kate Surgeon regrets to inform you that her office crush has found another job. Flowers may be sent to her at the office.

Kate Surgeon now has only two bottles of wine in her bottom drawer. The others have found their way home. (And by "home," she means her innards.)

such wrongness as has never graced my inbox

I woke on Saturday to a situation that yielded three major complaints.

First, I checked my email, only to find a message from a stranger criticizing my resume. Rude! Not only did I not ask for this person's opinion, I didn't do anything to solicit it. Take note, readers: just because someone has a LinkedIn profile does not mean that someone wants your critique of it. (Especially if that someone is me!)

Peg Crits (sounds like a pseudonym to me!) told me that my vocabulary was boring, I had a spelling or grammar mistake (but she wouldn't tell me where), and that I would never ever get anywhere in life... without spending $399 to have a professionally designed LinkedIn profile!

(Did I mention RUDE?)

Second, I got a new message in my dating profile, so I logged in there to check it, and what did I get? A fifty-something guy in Florida who has a need to show me something INCREDIBLY WRONG:

Yeah, that's right. I got a schlong picture. (Or, as my mother pointed out later, it could be a "schlort" picture.) Please note the festive location, the looking-like-black-business-socks effect of the water, and the PIECES OF TAPE ON THE EDGE OF THE PICTURE, INDICATING THAT THIS WAS TAPED TO SOMETHING!

So wrong.

So very, very wrong.

The other picture he sent me had balloons tied to his schlort, and a kitty cat who was very confused.

And, what, dear god, was the third wrong thing? Nobody was awake or around for me to complain to!

p.s. Normally I would be kind enough to censor the face of someone posing in a photo like that, but my theory is that if you're sending around schlort pictures, you should expect them to end up on the internet.

crumbled cookies and spilt milk

So I met somone, as you may or may not have guessed. And in three weeks, I learned more about beauty and value than I may have ever learned before.

The man I met, who, in keeping with tradition, I'll call Frank*, was one of the sweetest, most thoughtful guys I've ever met. He was present, grounded, generous, and ninja-funny -- quiet most of the times, his jokes would sneak up on me from a dark corner and karate chop my funny bone. He made me smile with my heart. And my liver. And my tummy.

Frank and I met online, and he emailed me a couple of times, but, in truth, I kind of blew him off. Something about his messages didn't quite catch me -- and he didn't get around to asking me out for way too long -- so I let it go. But two weeks later, he was back again, following up on our conversation, and I decided to meet him.

The first time we talked on the phone, I had been working on the outline for the next seminar I'm teaching (about eliminating negative self-talk), and my conversation with Frank, from no effort on my part, went straight to the topic I had last been writing, about how you have the choice to believe whatever interpretation of what other people are thinking pleases you, since you'll never really know the truth of what's on their minds anyway. I saw that as a sign.

We agreed to meet that week, and on Saturday he was waiting for me near the Marquis de Lafayette at Prospect Park.

Did I mention that he's gorgeous?? Dark fluffy hair, tall, thin, beautiful blue eyes, muscluar... in a word, Yum.

We spent the day together, telling stories, laughing at jokes, wildly flinging frisbees, and eating some tasty fish on Flatbush Avenue. I had plans that evening, so we parted company early. There was a little bit of smooching, after which he looked kind of funny. I asked if he was ok, and he said, "I'm fine. I'm just a little breathless."

(Swoon.)

Anyway, several more wonderful dates ensued, and I was treated to a man who was patient, affectionate, gentle, and who taught me how to juggle! ("No!" I hear you saying, "It's too good to be true!" And alas, you're right.)

Frank is Jewish (raised-Orthodox Jewish) so my not being Jewish, in the end, was causing him trouble. It's not that he is religious, it's just that he's so committed to the Jewish community and culture that there are things he wants for his future, he told me, that I'm not in a position to give him. (You know, like Jewish babies.) And while it's too bad that I won't be spending any more quality, intimate time with him, I am so grateful to have met him, to have learned that there are men out there who are this amazing -- and who are still single! -- that I had to share my story with you.

So if you are sick of douchebags, think you are asking for too much, wish you didn't have to work so hard, or generally settling for less than you deserve, knock it off! Guys like Frank are out there, and are just as unhappy that they haven't met you as you are about not having met them.

And if you're Jewish, I know the perfect man for you!


*the funny thing about calling this guy Frank is the joke my family was making over Easter about how my brother in law wanted a hot dog with a natural casing, like the ones made by Hebrew National, which then morphed into jokes about him not being the only one eating a Hebrew National these days.

dating suggestions (no, really!)

Attention single ladies! I have a great place for us to move to: Manville, NJ! (Come on, how much fun would it be to say "I'm a single girl from Manville!")

Actually, no, what I do have is two great suggestions for a date: first, go to Chelsea and wander around looking at galleries (especially the Agora Gallery* which is showing work from Nathan Sawaya, a guy who depicts human conditions in Legos). You'll get a sense of what your date thinks about art and what his relationship to it is, and, if you play your cards right, you can stumble into a gallery serving wine and cheese, and get a free snack! (What I don't recommend is selecting the celery and pretzels, as chomping on those while meandering through other galleries is, well, noisy.) Yeah, ok, some of the art is ugly crap that looks like a shellacked version of forgotten goods from my vegetable drawer, but the Chelsea galleries are all free and have some amazing natural light and wood floors, too... if you're into that kind of thing. And, if need be, there are lots of nooks and crannies that I imagine you can smooch in, as long as you're fairly decent about it.

The second place to go was suggested to me by my Saturday date (or, "Saturdate," as I like to call him), and when he said it, I was worried that he was a little bit gay: Crate and Barrel! It's a great place to go sit on some comfortable sofas (not the wicker ones, they're ugly) and to just hang out. The staff encourages you to sit around -- thinking, of course, that you're there to register for your wedding when, in fact, you're on your fourth date -- and you don't have to buy anything or even look at anything. And it's a great place to see how into home stuff your date is. If you're me, and looking for a new spatula (to replace the one that broke its neck) and he's looking for an apple peeler/corer or excited about the mini salt and pepper grinders, you might just have a match.

(Sidenote -- there's a funny piece of furniture for sale in Crate and Barrel. It's smaller than a love seat, but bigger than a chair. It seated me and my date quite comfortably, but we're two slim people. Crate and Barrel calls it a "Chair and a Half"; we call it a "Like Seat.")

*don't follow the link if you're going to the exhibit. It'll ruin the surprise.

how to schedule a good date

If you've got a date planned for one in the afternoon, you'll need a schedule to prepare for it. Here's what I did on Saturday. Given the outcome of the date, I'd highly recommend it. However, you might want to try it yourself before advocating it to others:

9:30 Wake up, eat toast, hang out. (You'll want this time to start doing dishes, since you have about sixteen million in your sink.)

10:15 Meet your neighbor, Jimmy, for kickboxing from 10:30 to 11:30. Wear your new tennis skirt, because, well, it's cute.

10:23 Swing some laundry by Lisa's house, which is across the street from the gym. (Two birds, one stone.)

10:30 Sweat your ass off in your new tennis skirt and wonder how cute it is when you're doing push ups and your butt hangs out. Reconsider future use of tennis skirts.

11:30 Drinking copious amounts of fluid, swing by Lisa's again on the way home. Realize, sadly, that all your good clothes are dirty (or currently in the washer) and wonder what the hell you're going to wear today.

11:47 Get home, sweaty and disgusting, and resume doing dishes.

11:57 Wonder how the hell you used so many dishes this week and managed to not do ANY of them.

12:01 Try to think like Thich Nhat Hanh and be present to your dishes. Instead, daydream about your date and how cute he is.

12:14 Add the tupperware that breaks the camel's back to the pile next to your sink. Start piling clean dishes up on the stove.

12:27 Finish the dishes and take your pruny-assed hands into the shower. Your date is meeting you (at one) on 10th street, so it should only take you five minutes to get there, even though "there" is easily ten to twelve minutes away.

12:31 Decide to shave your legs. You know, just in case.

12:35 Add special conditioner to your hair that, unbeknownst to you, will make it look all flat and lame.

12:38 Dry off, and put on outfit numbers 1-6. Answer your phone. (Your date is calling.)

12:43 Renegotiate the 1pm meeting time, while putting on outfits number 7-12, deciding on outfit number 13, drying your hair, putting on makeup and packing snacks for your date, all at the very same time.

12:53 Head back to Lisa's to make sure that the clothes in the washer don't sit there all day and get funkified. ( It's ok, her house is on the way.) Consider switching outfits to that cute, plunging-neckline sweater you're throwing into the dryer, but realize that you're already late and it just won't dry in time for you to look like anything other than a wet cat.

1:01 Feed Lisa's cats.

1:05 Head out the door. Call your date and tell him you're on your way. Hear him smile over the phone.

1:15 Arrive at 10th Street with a big, fat smile on your face. Have an amazing date.

(To fully follow this schedule, be sure to schedule a 3:30 am return home. Wheeeee!)

from the department of what you don't need to know

From the department of WTF, Yahoo:

Really? You think I'm a codgy old guy who looks like he's faced with a choice between a poke in the eye and a poke in the fannyhole? And what, exactly, does this have to do with my going back to school? You need better ad servers.

From the department of good quotes:

"In the end, I'm only really looking for a one life stand." -- Hot Chip

From the department of fictional characters that should exist:

Fernando wants to create a Roman epic based on everyone's favorite hero, Neosporin! He could slay lions and infidels, and then come home and make everything heal without scarring!

From the department of online dating:

I've noticed that the quality of a guy's profile and looks are inversely proportional to his height. Guys over five eleven have profiles that say things like "I want to meet you if your smart," and "And Jay Kay from Jamiroqaui...I would definitely do him. But I'm not gay, or anything." Guys under five seven want to discuss fine literature while giving me backrubs and flashing their adorable smiles at me.

Tall guys send me emails that say "OMG!! u r so CUTE. I want to take u fold u up and put u in my back pocket and take u home to my mom," while short guys say "Every few years I'll add a new word to my repertoire of 'how I want to live my life.' In the past I chose Taoist influences like 'simplicity,' 'compassion,' and 'patience.' My newest contribution is 'authenticity,' which is a way for me to live honestly through my core beliefs..."

It is just painfully too bad that I would TOWER over these sweet, thoughtful, authentic guys, making me feel awkward and doofy, likely leading me to write in text speak and say stupid things.

et cetera, et cetera, et cetera

1. Online dating handles that do not appeal to me:

(These are, in fact, the actual handles of users who can be found on okcupid. Feel free to look them up. Perhaps they appeal to you...)

beardinyourbush

iamtoowildforu

thatfukinguy

nudeslutm

warlockflash

mstluvoral

rolly_tacco

2. Amusing things that were said at my birthday party:

"'The Most Wonderful Thing I Did with my Futon' would make a great name for a musical."

"I didn't mean to hit your boobs. They just stick out."

"If I give them cake, do you think they'll stop making out?"

3. Have you ever noticed that when you're really exhausted, it seems like there's never enough time in the world to get done the six million things you need or want to get done? But when you get some sleep, and are on your game, not having finished this week's New Yorker doesn't seem like such a crime?

4. Rapping vs. Crapping

A coworker of mine recently complained that it was quiet in her office and that her officemate was "practicing his rhymes." In response, I sent her this message:

Why are there no new matters?

'Cuz they're all as mad as hatters

And they climb up crazy ladders

Where their minds just shatter.

a-bump-cha-a-bump-bump-cha!

Fernando then sent this:

So today was slow

The firm didn’t grow

What could be worse??

Listen to me flow….

My coworker then responded with:

I sit in chair

At Elite, I do stare

Why don't no one care??

Cuz the D-man doth Scare

boom-chi boom- chi boom

I wasn't ready for the day to end yet, so I sent back:

Nando and me

We're as sad as can be

Cuz you're snarkin your tea

And stuck there with D

But Nando's so funny

I'd pay him some money

He ain't my big honey

But I won't trade him, sonny!

ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chOW!

Fernando was finally the voice of reason, pointing out that our rhymes weren't bad, but our beat boxes sucked.

s-s-s-s-s-s-s-su-su-ucked!

5. Friends don't let friends drink and cook.

Tonight I was making dinner tipsy. Which means that I almost strained my noodles by pouring them into the sink.

Wheeeeeee!

on singleness and chocolate

A vegan chocolate cake recipe that is surprisingly good:

1 1/2 cups of flour

3/4 cups of sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon of baking soda

3 Tablespoons of cocoa

1 teaspoon vanilla

1/3 cup vegetable oil

1 Tablespoon vinegar

1 cup water

Mix them all together and bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

(I bring this up because the odds are good that you have all these ingredients at home, sitting there waiting for you. And you don't need any of the fancy ones, like butter, eggs, milk, pudding, etc. I'm just saying that, in a pinch, this satisfies one's need for chocolate.)

------------------

I would like men to come with manuals. (Ha! MAN-uals!) They think we're confusing, but if we're confusing, it's only because they're bewildering.

------------------

Names I never want to scream in passion in the heat of the moment:

Harold

Howard

Norman

Walter

Horace

Herman

Mohammed

Luigi

Jesus

Big Papa

------------------

One problem with being single and living alone is that if you buy a bag of chocolate chips, accidentally open them, and then proceed to eat the entire bag, you have no one else to blame but yourself. Nobody came along and ate "just a handful." Sure, you may have dropped one or two, but not three hundred calories' worth.

Nope, you (and you alone) ate that whole bag. (It's amazing, though, how they can cram such a small bag full of 1400 chips -- knowing that each one only has one calorie...)

less content, more fluff!

I was on a date a while ago and the guy I was with said something deep and profound and prefaced it by saying something like "Well, you know what de Tocqueville says... [insert deep and profound thing here.]"

I looked at him, smiled nerdishly and said, "You've been waiting all day to quote de Tocqueville, haven't you?"

He looked at me, smiled nerdishly and said, "I paraphrased him, I didn't quote him."

Touche, date, touche.

---------------------

Overheard at work recently:

"Don't let the door hit you where the good lord split you."

"Nut up or shut up"

---------------------

The heat came on in my apartment recently. For a whole day, my home smelled like hot dust.

---------------------

So there's a great DIY arts and crafts organization called Etsy. (I think it's short for something, but I don't know what.) They have a whole website where you can buy and sell homemade stuff. And this, of course, has spawned another fabulous website... have you seen regretsy?

---------------------

Fernando got two enormous boxes of something delivered to the office recently. So of course, I had to climb into one of them and pop out and shout "SURPRISE!" when he came back into the office. Yes, he knew I was in there. Yes, he laughed anyway. (I love this guy.)

---------------------

"I will continue to microwave halibut in the company lunch room every single day until such time as you sign all of my expense reports." (Awesomeness.)

on chickens and eggs (but mostly eggs)

I've been a vegetarian for over a year now, so if there's one thing I know how eat, it's eggs. A major source of protein in my diet, these small ovules are delicious, nutritious, and constantly available in refrigerators near you. (And, of course, when I say "you," I mean "me.")

So when a suitor sent me a link on how to cook the perfect boiled egg (telling me, strangely, that the article made him think of me), I figured it had to be funny or particularly well written (since the topic was less than scintillating). Because it's really not hard to boil eggs. To quote a GEENYUS, "it's not rocket surgery."

Sadly, the article did not rock my world. (No offense J. Kenji Lopez-Alt.) I thought it would suggest hard boiling eggs with rocket fuel or in the microwave or something new-fangled and exciting. Instead, it merely proposed not bringing the water to a boil when hard boiling eggs, providing lots of attractive scientific method to prove the goodness of this idea. So, even though it seemed painfully counter intuitive, I was willing to try J. Kenji Lopez-Alt's method. (Because, realistically, I liked the suitor and thought it would give us something to talk about.)

I have had the worst week of hard boiled eggs in my life.

The method of hard boiling the eggs proposed by J. Kenji Lopez-Alt did not get my eggs cooked all the way through. So while the yolk is less dry and more appealing, THE WHITES ARE GOOPY.

Nobody likes goopy whites. Nobody. Homeless people scoff at goopy whites, and even Sally Struthers' starving children are skeptical. Chickens will drown themselves in a rainstorm before claiming to have produced a goopy-whited egg. So needless to say, I've been miserable.

The other problem is that the shells stick to the whites. And to a hungry girl in the middle of the afternoon, there is little more frustrating than taking an item of food that is a mere two cubic inches and trying to peel away a fraction of a millimeter of that food, only to have about a cubic inch of food stuck to the peelings.

I am not pleased, J. Kenji Lopez-Alt. Not pleased at all.

(And things didn't work out with the suitor, either.)

I have a new chiropractor...

I'm in love.

Again.

With a back-crackin' fool.

(Will I never learn?)

I'd been seeing my regular chiropractor for quite some time, and the pain in my shoulder subsided enough to be bearable, but the pain in my lower back was increasing to Grandma-ish levels, so I went to the health fair.

And there he was. Right next to the skeleton.

Our eyes locked, and it was as if the sky opened up and angels started singing.

"Would you like to make an appointment?" he whispered into my half-opened mouth.

"Yes, YES, YES!!" I screamed with ecstasy, tossing my hair from side to side, and ripping my blouse from my shoulders.

His assistant (who is way prettier on a regular day than I was at prom -- and younger, too) handed me a card and a smile and sent me on my way.

All I had to do now was wait three days. (And wipe the drool from my chin.)

I felt bad cheating on my old chiropractor, but, truth be told, he wasn't really helping me all that much and I was just going back because it was free. The new chiropractor, though... yeah, he's free, too. (And he offers massage!)

"Dr. Jack," as Cutesy McGee at the front desk calls him, is probably all of 30, if even that. He looks dapper in his black scrubs, and has the harried look of a guy who is trying to do seventy five things at once. (Probably because he is.)

He took x-rays of my back and it turns out that my right hip is (to use a technical term) "all cocked up." And my lumbar spine is crooked. And my neck is curved the wrong way. And I'm single.

Oh, wait, that just slipped out.

To fix my hip, Dr. Jack will actually slam his body into my bent knee. I'll admit it, it's hot. I try to simply exhale, but, well, it comes out as more of a gasp. And (this is the sad part) I want him to think I'm awesome, so I relax my neck as much as humanly possible before he cracks it -- and I want you to know, not everyone can do this. I developed it through years of trust-building exercises in acting class. I doubt he even notices.

Tommy, the massage therapist, is an enormous muscle with hands that turn my back into pre-cooked meatloaf. Sweet as hell, but if you didn't know it, you'd be scared. Especially if he was taking his fist, jamming it into your hip socket, and swiveling your leg around. (He's good at what he does -- and likes Sinead O'Connor!)

It's the highlight of my day, going to the doctor. Which, now that I've written it down, makes me kind of sad.

why online dating is so much FUN

I'm on a dating website that will, based on the questions you answer, match you up with potential mates of your preference. They'll give you a match percentage, a friendship percentage, and an enemy percentage. Some people pay attention to these things, and some people simply pay attention to BOOBS. (Not that I display any on my page. It's just that I have them.)

Thou shalt not mock thy suitors, but with suitors like these, who needs enemies?

A sampling of my inbox of late:

From otherguy832* (52% match, 62% friend, 36% enemy)
Subject: I know your ex!

The subject line was only to peak your interest in my fascinating e-mail. My name is Roberto, found your profile to up beat and positive all qualities that I look for in a woman. How was your weekend ? I spent Sunday skating the line of heterosexuality by going on a fall hike, with a guy friend of mine, to see the leaves. Topped off with a picnic at the summit. I did get some great pictures, while I am secure in my manhood this story should remain between us! Talk to you soon.

From LawGuy1 (78% match, 87% friend, 17% enemy):

(no subject)

geek.

From guythree111 (83% match, 84% friend, 15% enemy)

Subject: Erudite Epicure seeks Sexy Svengali for Succor and Sin

"Keats was wrong. The art of the urn is maybe superior to real life because in most cases, the anxiety/excitement leading up to an event far exceeds the event itself. The images depicted on the urn are frozen in that moment of anticipation: the lover anticipating the kiss, the tree hovering between summer and fall. While that prelude to a kiss is often superior to the actual kiss, we cannot deprive ourselves of the potential satisfaction. Is that why the persona chooses reality? Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth."

"Shut up and kiss me, you fool…"

Howdy. First, I must beg clemency for I am relatively new at this. Second, your profile, while more expressive than most, is still vague enough to beg the questions: no sarcasm or smarminess? Just sheer spirited and sanguine sincerity? What the hell's her deal? Fret not, young lady, mystery and candor can be very big turn-ons (or turn-offs, depending on how one plays his or her (in this case, her) hand and with whom one is playing. You're in luck). You've cast a rather wide net, so I'll try and be brief:

[Then he spends fourteen paragraphs explaining himself.]

p.s. - You had me at "I'll make you laugh. I'll make you think. I'll make you think about laughing. Then you'll laugh more. (Or your money back!)". you win. No refund necessary...

p.p.s. - Hit me with your number when you mail me back - better yet, just call me - I'm much better on the phone. In person, well, forget about it, you can't even imagine…

p.p.p.s. - I lied. You really had me at "You're the guy for me if you are super-duper smart, with a terrific sense of humor and a passion that drives you to your own definition of greatness. You're self-aware and thoughtful, and not too smelly (I'd eventually like to sleep in your shirt)"...

p.p.p.p.s. - [in a remarkable turn of events, he continues.]

p.p.p.p.p.s. - [then he asks me about Greece]

p.p.p.p.p.p.s. - [and then, at this point, I fell asleep]

And my ABSOLUTE favorite...

From JuanCarlosDos (0% match, 1% friend, 65% enemy)

Subject: I love you!

A nice woman equal to you only so if you want to marry me

Tell me, how did I get so lucky??

*names have been changed to protect the innocently guilty.

the things I can't say

Sadly, the beau and I broke up recently. And one of the hardest parts of breaking up, for me, is figuring out what to do with all the little winks I've gotten from the universe since then that he would find apt or funny or cute. Things I want to tell him, but can't.

So I'm telling you instead. Because, well, they're apt and funny and cute and that's what you don't pay me for.

Thing 1:
A little over a week ago, the beau and I walked into an American Apparel store and I saw this adorable turquoise checked shirt (that would really only look good on a Super-Hipster -- or perhaps my extremely metrosexual boyfriend from five years ago), and pointed it out to him. He scowled (rightfully) and said, "only a Super-Hipster would wear that."

Now, secretly, if the shirt had been cut for a woman, I might have bought it for myself. Except that I look corpse-like in turquoise, and really don't need another blouse.

That foray into American Apparel sparked an argument (which I won't go into here) that essentially culminated in the unraveling of our relationship. The funny part is that this morning, on the subway, I sat next to a woman wearing the female version of that shirt.

Thing 2:
Eddie Izzard has been on my radar a lot lately. A friend emailed me today to say that a friend of hers had never seen Dress to Kill (arguably the funniest thing since sliced bread) and so my friend reported remedying that situation immediately. Then, my coach emailed me and prescribed a viewing of Dress to Kill so that I could get out of my head and into my belly(laughs). And THEN, my boss sent me a link (which neatly wraps this whole thing up in a bow) to an article about Eddie Izzard running 43 marathons in 52 days.

Did I mention the beau is a marathoner?

Yeah. Winking. I'm telling you. The whole universe is just winking at me. Like it's got galactic Tourette's or something.

know your blogger: a quiz for the dedicated reader

Directions: Using a number 2 pencil, mark the correct answers on the screen. (If you're blonde and make a mistake, feel free to liberally apply white out to the screen, but only if you've ever been to Disney and seen the sign "<-----Disney Left" and gone home.)


1. What has gotten your favorite blogger up onto the roof four times already this summer?
a) the regional tour of Riverdance
b) blocked gutters that, when they overflow, make a really loud splash against the fire escape and wake her up at four in the morning
c) a cadre of noisy squirrels having sex
d) how would you know, you're not my favorite blogger!


2. When recently hard boiling some eggs, what did your favorite blogger do?
a) join the regional tour of Riverdance
b) start juggling the raw eggs and not the hard boiled ones
c) not scorch, toast, or merely burn her potholder, but aim for more of a potholder flambee, requiring a festive dance while putting a flaming piece of fabric into the sink
d) See d, above


3. What did your favorite blogger's date say as he ascended the stairs to her apartment?
a) "Nice ass! Do you Riverdance?"
b) "Geez, this is the ugliest apartment building color scheme I've ever seen."
c) "Come here often?"
d) "Hi Jesus, Hi Tiger!"


4. What would you say if you saw this in the hallway of your date's apartment building?

a) "Nice ass! Do you Riverdance?"
b) "Geez, this is the ugliest apartment building color scheme I've ever seen."
c) "Come here often?"
d) "Hi Jesus, Hi Tiger!"

5. Your favorite blogger recently celebrated her half birthday. What did her date bring her?
a) half a birthday card, reading "You'll need it when you're swinging on the chandelier by your ass," prompting her to wonder what in the hell the other half said
b) half a book of Tom Robbins short stories and one organic cotton legwarmer
c) half a vegan cupcake that was shockingly delicious (and animal free!)
d) all of the above

6. How many runs did your favorite blogger score in her kickball game today?
a) 0
b) 1
c) 2!
d) she plays kickball? Isn't that kind of, well, athletic?

7. What was the highlight of the kickball game?
a) your favorite blogger's chocolate-coconut cupcakes
b) the way your favorite blogger caught the kickball and made the out, even though it may well have broken her left boob
c) when your favorite blogger did a cheerleading kick that took her foot over her head and somehow knocked her other foot off the ground, causing her to land on her ass and exclaim, "Ow! My pride!"
d) all of the above

8. Which words best describe the weather your favorite blogger has been living with?
a) summery, delightful & lovely
b) June-like, dry & breezy
c) clear skies, fresh & salubrious
d) none of the above (see question 1)

TO SCORE:
The best way to score is to be your favorite blogger's date! (Ba-dump! I'll be here all week; tip your waitress!)

Another way to score is to be on your favorite blogger's kickball team, as they beat the black team 10-6 today.

Or, you could just add up all the correct answers. (There should be 8 of them.)

consider a cucumber cheerleader

It seems I've been dating for a hundred years now. And I had dinner with a friend last night who made the point that when one bad date follows another (or a good date never follows up), it's hard to stay positive about being single and continuing to meet people.

I took this to heart, and I offer all my single readers this advice:

Consider a Cucumber Cheerleader.

One of the opportunities dating affords us is the chance to change. To look at our behavior, identify habits and trends that aren't working for us -- in an arena where the stakes can be considerably high (depending on how much you want a partner) -- and make active choices to change those habits and trends. (Sounds simple, at least.)

For example, I tend to rush things. (Just ask the last six guys I was serious with.) (Well, no ask the last three. The previous three liked to rush things, too.) I have a good date and want to hear from the guy the next day. If I don't hear from him in two days, I start to panic. Three days and it's a coronary. Four days and I've burnt the coaster he gave me that ended up in my bag as a memento from a good date. Five days and I've voted him off the island of my love, never to return. So when he calls me six days later, it's too late. He's already ruined everything.

This seriously doesn't work for me. It bends me out of shape and makes me angry. It makes me feel desperate and unlovable. And while I believe that after a good date, follow up will happen within one to four days, just because I haven't heard from a guy in six days doesn't mean he won't call, or that if he does call, I can't enjoy his company again. All it means is that he hasn't called. I don't know why, I don't know if he will, I don't know anything.

Prior to working with my Cucumber Cheerleader (which I'll get to in a second), at this point, I used to call him. Feeling antsy, feeling like I wanted Mr. Gooddate to be my boyfriend, I'd call him and follow up myself. Sometimes he'd respond, and sometimes I wouldn't hear from him. And while equality between the sexes in terms of phone contact is fine, I (personally) was ignoring the fact that he hadn't demonstrated behavior that I had clearly identified as desirable in my next boyfriend.

I was sabotaging myself by being willing to ignore behavior I found uncomfortable, just because one date felt good.

During all this time, I was always calling my sister. "Just stay calm," she'd say. "Be a cucumber. Cool. Totally cool." I didn't listen to her at first, thinking that her way was "following the rules" and "game playing" but what I learned over time was that she was totally right. That if I could turn down my anxiety and desperation and become more like a chilly little cuke, I could see behavior more clearly. Both good and bad behavior.

After working with my Cucumber Cheerleader (who would call me on the weekends after dates and say "were you cool? were you a good cucumber?") I started to be more patient. I remember I was dating a guy for a few months who never told me that he cared about me. And I started to get sick of it, but because of all my Produce Practice, I waited before I said anything. And the day I wanted to bring it up but didn't, he called me to tell me how much he cared about me and how happy he was that he'd met me -- things he wouldn't have said if I had confronted him about it.

Another time, I met a guy and had what I thought was a great evening together, and he completely disappeared, never to be heard from again. I knew I had finally achieved Real Live Cucumber status when I never called him or contacted him at all. I wanted to, don't get me wrong, but because of my Cheerleader, I was now trained to focus on my worth, and not to waste my energy on people who didn't share the same opinion of it.

I'm truly blessed to share so many genes with my Cheerleader. My sister has helped me to practice being patient and staying calm. She's encouraged me to focus on things outside of dating to make me naturally more cucumberish. She's given me support when I've needed it the most. And without her, I'd still be behaving desperately. And not getting what I want.

I still believe that the right man for me will find me, have a great date with me, and follow up in four days. But until he does (or if he doesn't), I'm working to improve myself so that I bring the best package to the table.

It's not easy, but it's worth it. And luckily, I'm not doing it alone.

ok, universe, you have my attention

Weird Thing One (that probably won't seem weird until you get more Weird Things)
Friday night I went to a Yale event for Yalies of All Ages. It was a fairly posh affair, with an open bar and tasty catering. Since I'm on antibiotics for the second round of plague that I'm suffering from this winter, I got there early (so I could go home early) and I didn't drink at all.

After several minutes of interesting (if not somewhat forced) conversation with Phil, class of 1820, I wandered off to get more seltzer. When I came back, I discovered a couple in the corner of the room, and one of them looked familiar.

"Do I know you?" I ventured.

"Maybe. You look really familiar."

"I'm Kate," I said and shook their hands. (They were Matt and Lauren.) Matt and I didn't overlap at college at all (and he was the one that looked familiar) but Lauren and I both graduated in 1998. Except she went to Harvard.

Dead end.

We were joined by a former member of my comedy group, who also knew Matt, and the pieces instantly fell into place. Matt and I realized that we had met at the New Year's Day party thrown by an ex-boyfriend of mine, who also happened to have been in that comedy group.

We all swapped info and agreed to keep in touch, as funny smartypantses are sometimes hard to find.

(See? Not very weird yet. Stay tuned.)

Weird Thing Two
Five or six years ago, I was in a relationship with the ex-boyfriend who used to throw New Year's Day parties. Things weren't working out at all, and I was feeling more and more pressure to end the relationship. Unfortunately, the day I picked as The Day I Could Do It No Longer happened to be Valentine's Day. So I dumped my boyfriend on Valentine's Day at the Tea Lounge in Brooklyn.

It wasn't pretty.

Saturday, as you all know, was Valentine's Day, and, being single, I had no plans, so I ended up scheduling an alumni interview for an applicant to Yale. We agreed to meet at... the Tea Lounge. I'd like to say that going back there on Valentine's Day five (or six) years later was spooky or loaded or whatever, but really, it wasn't. I just noted it and interviewed a great kid.

Weird Thing Three
On the way home from the Tea Lounge that very night, I ran into said ex-boyfriend's old roommate. We chatted about him and how the economy's affected him, and I wanted to ask about my ex-boyfriend, but we parted on such awful terms and I'm afraid that he hates me so much that I feel like it's not even my place to ask after him. So I didn't.

But that actually was weird.

Weird Thing Four (oh yes, there's more)
On the way home from the grocery store the next day, I ran into said ex-boyfriend's OTHER old roommate. I was so weirded out I didn't even stop and chat with her.

So Ex-Boyfriend (and you know who you are), if you're out there, I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean to do that to you, and I hope you're well.

greetings from dumpyville

So I've been a little down in the dumps lately. Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's my job, maybe it's [insert variety of possibilities here].

Regardless, a few things have managed to make me smile lately.

1. The surety of my PT aide.
She knows. Period. No questions, no gray areas. It's black or white and she'll tell you which one it is. And that's the one it will be. (At least for the 35 minutes you're working with her, anyway.) And if you don't like it? Well, those 8 pounds on your gimpy knee might just turn into twelve.

(No, I'm kidding about that part. She's great. I envy her clarity. I wish I could see things so simply and easily. And also believe that they are, in fact, simple and easy.)

2. Car hats.
When it snows, cars that have been parked on the street get these nice four inch hats on their roofs. (rooves?) My favorite is when they blow off in feathery little streams or massive polar ice chunks.

3. Candid emails.
On a dating website, I received an email from a guy saying "I read your profile, or at least the first three sections of it, and I think we'd really get along."

My whole profile is five sections long, and while I decided not to write him back, I was sorely tempted to write only 3/5 of a message.

4. Spanish emails.
On the same dating website, I list that my Spanish is ok, so I got a message from a guy telling me that he sees love and sincerity in my pictures and that he would love to win my heart if I would let him. In Spanish. Luckily, "no" is the same in both languages.

5. Missed opportunities.
I had a date with a guy who was fun and with whom I would have gone out again if he hadn't disappeared into the great hole that is internet dating. We joked the whole time on our date in the park that I was luring him into the woods to kill him. He argued that I should kill him back at my house in the bathtub, where it was warmer and I could linger over the task longer but I said that would take too much clean up (I mean, have you seen my bathroom lately?) The woods would be cleaner, easier, and yes, colder, but better in the long run.

The date ended (sans murder) and we exchanged half-hearted emails for a week or so and then he disappeared. Which is really too bad, because I'd like to send him an email saying "See? I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

It occurs to me that this was the date I was telling the PT aide about...

tune in

Go here and fast forward to minute 44.

Thank me later.

(you can listen to the whole episode, if you want to. It's very entertaining. But the last 16 minutes are really unbelievable.)

my brain runneth over

The collected (recent) thoughts of one Katherine Surgeon:

1. Are you familiar with the phrase "Angel's Share"? I know it's a bar in NYC, but a friend explained it to me as a drinking tradition whereby you set aside a small amount for the angels to drink. (Kind of like Elijah's plate at Passover.) On further exploration, I discovered that traditionally, the Angel's share is the amount of alcohol that evaporates in the oak barrel aging process. So it's kind of like the angels get in there and drink their bit before you can even pour it out for them.

Sneaky little angels.

2. If you're going to hang a sign from your rearview mirror that says "I heart My Penis" are you really going to drive a Subaru Forrester? I think you might want to rethink that one, neighbor.

3. The new, Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt not bathe in cologne and then ride the MTA, especially when thou art covered in a prime vintage eau de diarrhea. (Have you no nosehairs, man?)

4. I found out that if your clementine has seeds (as I have made rules that it shouldn't) that means the bees have been at work cross pollenating your clementine with someting else. Which is to say, your clementine is all sexed out!

(stupid lucky fruit.)

5. I was recently at a meeting in the brand new New York Times building (the one the guy climbed up the outside of) and it's a gorgeous building. Lots of stunning views, enormous windows and ample sunshine. The toilets, however, scared the shit out of me. They are those automatic flush toilets, which we have in the Chrysler building, and which I've gotten used to over time. However, the NYT toilets do something ours don't: they sound like an angry cat lives under the seat and barkingly meows at you before it flushes. Like a catty toilet troll.

Which is just creepy.

6. My friend, Robbie Gil, has some amazing new songs you can download for free on his MySpace page. I totally recommend doing so. They're really great.

7. A while ago, I was seeing a guy who was very supportive of me and all the craziness I have to go through while trying to change my life. He wanted to be there for me and take care of me, which was very generous and lovely of him. He put it this way (paraphrased, of course):

Him: Did you know that they often stable racehorses with cats?
Me: No. Why?
Him: Because the cats keep the horses calm. They get rid of all the mice and rats and things that would otherwise spook the horse. I want to be the cat to your racehorse.

(Beautiful, no? We split up, though, because I felt like the relationship was unbalanced.)

What, I asked, did the racehorse do for the cat?