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.

facebook statuses I opted against this week

Kate Surgeon...

... pretty much thinks tonight's cab driver was not, in fact, the man in the picture on the license

... would like you to see the bruise on her foot that she got by jamming a big metal sign into the open part of her shoe this morning

... secretly likes the way Trader Joe's soy sausage makes her farts smell

... is scared to open her heart

... could eat dried mango forever

... wants to be on the Biggest Loser, just to see how hard it is

... knows a secret and hasn't told anyone -- not even people who wouldn't care one way or the other!

... is worried that she makes it too easy to date her

... has easily consumed 3,000 empty calories since Friday

... hasn't picked her face since she got that new soap

... sometimes hates selling green energy

... felt like a sherpa today and now has a better appreciation for her brother-in-law

... vetoed the names Henrika and Fredrika for her potential niece, citing child abuse laws in the state of Massachusetts that would make it illegal

... is convinced that the IT department at her office is turning into the Jackson family -- you only ever see two of them at any one time

... knows that George Michaels was right, but she's having a hard time developing that faith-a-faith-a-faith-a-faith-faith

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!)

it's noisy in here...

Fernando's on vacation. And before he left, he was trying to figure out the most annoying song he could sing during karaoke. Unfortunately, he found one:


So I had to learn it, too.

("Movin' my hips like yeah"? What does that even mean?)

Meanwhile, I've been taking a mantra and meditation class, and have learned a really cool mantra:


For fun, press play on both of them. Because that's what's been happening in my head all week.

Wheeeee!

I share because I care

1. My friends' kids crack me up. Witness why here.

2. I was typing an email the other day and instead of saying that I would process someone's orders, I said I would "process their odors." I am fascinated by what that would entail, much the same way I am fascinated by that experiment they tell you about in college, where people who are related to one another smell the same. It involves ziplock bags and button down shirts worn continuously for six days or something. Stinky!

3. I told a co-worker recently that I was losing my mind. That my sanity was slowly leaking out through my freckles.

4. I know I've mentioned getting a sponsor for my blog -- ideally these guys (ohpleaseohpleaseohplease!), but after seeing this, I'd take Pedigree as a second choice...

treats for the tricksters

(I'm not sure what I'm saying about you by calling you "tricksters" but I think you can handle it.)

First: Did you know you can turn your favorite youtube videos into ringtones? I know! Quickly, before they get shut down, go here! I'm currently rocking "Cat, I'm a kitty cat" as my ringer and "it's just like a mini... mall!" as my text notification.

Second: From Dorothy Parker:

I like to have a Martini,
two at the very most;
three, I'm under the table,
four I'm under my host!

Third: Apparently it's going to snow again AND WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! Actually, we're supposedly getting a snow hurricane, a truly odd natural phenomenon my friend Lisa has re-dubbed a "SNURRICANE!"

Fourth: Little Miss Monkey Mind (that's me) has signed up for a six week mantra and meditation class. In truth, I'm terribly afraid it will turn me into someone mellow and weird, and that I'll completely lose my sense of humor in a great upswelling of peace and understanding. In the meantime, I'm hoping that it will teach me how to not feel so panicky when I sit still with my thoughts. But all of this thinking about meditation... well, it's kind of ironic, isn't it?

Fifth: I think Aksel Lund Svindahl is ADORABLE. And he totally should marry me so I could be Katherine Lindahl-Svindahl. That would be super-adorable.

(Actually, there's also a Catherine Lindahl on the Swedish curling team. Here I thought I had such a unique name...)