Who has two thumbs and had the best concert experience of her life last night?
THIS GIRL.
The Lincoln Center Atrium has free performances on Thursdays, and last night the ticket was the Fish Police and the Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt! (the exclamation point is part of their name). The ... Other Musician (the ... friend-who-I-guess-I'm-kind-of-dating-now? the ... fuck it he's the Dükling for reasons of an inside joke that I might explain later if this entry doesn't get stupid-long) and I went in to check it out, expecting the usual nonsense you get at Lincoln Center (opera! smooth jazz! mariachi!) but instead we got the TERROR PIGEON DANCE REVOLT!.
Honestly everything was so awesome that the music was almost incidental. I was describing the show to my roommate this morning and he was like, "sounds like a two year old's concert," and my response was, "SO?!" because, well, SO?! So what if we were encouraged to put on the costumes they brought! So what if the set was those hokey flags people hang outside their summer homes all sewn together! So what if there were thirteen blazers all strung together with Christmas lights and we put them on and ran around the atrium holding hands while the lights blinked in time with the music! SO IT WAS AWESOME.
"It was the happiest I've ever been without chemical enhancement. I felt so happy that it was like I was rolling, but I was completely sober," the Dükling told his roommates last night. I was still bouncing. Totally sober! Totally joyful! Fuck irony and detachment and being above it all; I had the time of my life.
They're performing again somewhere in the city on Saturday and I am trying to collect every single person I know to go see them because fuck, man, it was transcendentally ecstatically fantastic.
Also the Dükling is pretty great but we've been friends for like a year so I already knew that.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Restructuring.
So it's been a while since my last update, and a lot of things have happened. Externally and internally.
Externally, I've gotten some flak for my last blog, the majority of which is valid -- that I shared things that should not have been for public consumption, and which I regret airing. It was, as my ex said, "not classy." Other criticisms are less valid, but I won't get into that now.
Additionally, I'm learning the value of having secrets. I always thought that there was something wrong with having secrets, that it made you dishonest in a way to not share all of who you were with those closest to you, but I've learned the difference between having secrets and being secretive. I've also learned that it's not a pleasant feeling to walk into a room and feel that you're living the nightmare of walking into your high school classroom butt-naked. Sharing your secrets makes you vulnerable, and being vulnerable is something you must choose to be on a person-by-person basis.
Finally, I have learned that the value of a Saturday night on the couch with whiskey and friends and bad network procedural dramas is impossible to overestimate.
So, moving forward, I will endeavor to be open but not vulnerable, to be honest but not to pull open my ribcage, to tell the truth but not to open the truth up for public debate. And to always take time out for Makers Mark, friends, and Castle.
I guess it's my resolutions, two months ahead of time.
Externally, I've gotten some flak for my last blog, the majority of which is valid -- that I shared things that should not have been for public consumption, and which I regret airing. It was, as my ex said, "not classy." Other criticisms are less valid, but I won't get into that now.
Additionally, I'm learning the value of having secrets. I always thought that there was something wrong with having secrets, that it made you dishonest in a way to not share all of who you were with those closest to you, but I've learned the difference between having secrets and being secretive. I've also learned that it's not a pleasant feeling to walk into a room and feel that you're living the nightmare of walking into your high school classroom butt-naked. Sharing your secrets makes you vulnerable, and being vulnerable is something you must choose to be on a person-by-person basis.
Finally, I have learned that the value of a Saturday night on the couch with whiskey and friends and bad network procedural dramas is impossible to overestimate.
So, moving forward, I will endeavor to be open but not vulnerable, to be honest but not to pull open my ribcage, to tell the truth but not to open the truth up for public debate. And to always take time out for Makers Mark, friends, and Castle.
I guess it's my resolutions, two months ahead of time.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Scrambling.
Things have been kind of ass-over-teakettle for the past few weeks. My office is going through a "restructuring" (read: trying to weasel out of paying half the contracted workers while begging the other half to stay for reduced pay) and since I saw the writing on the wall as soon as that particular meeting ended, I've been taking a scorched-earth approach to interviewing for new jobs. I even interviewed to be the office manager of a Michelin starred restaurant, so admittedly that was pretty cool.
And my beloved Macbook, Stephen Fry bit the dust. Hopefully not permanently, but we'll find out on Thursday.
Last Friday was my birthday, and I celebrated by spending six hours on a bus to Syracuse to visit a bunch of family. I'd tried to keep it a secret from my mother, since anytime she gets wind of me spending more than fifteen seconds in the company of my father she throws a massive shitfit, but that didn't work and she threw a massive shitfit. And then my cousin dropped my phone in the bathtub. So that was fun.
This Friday also involves a trip upstate with the delightful and delicious Miss Calico. Cannot wait.
Things with the Musician are ... progressing. I am seriously struggling with the conversation I need to have with him about ... you know ... how I'm not poly but I have friends who are also my kinky play partners and while there isn't sex involved with most of them sometimes it's more than a little sexual and hey, Musician, I know you're a nice normal vanilla dude who's totally cool with me being a pervert but maybe you won't be so cool with it after you learn about this but I would feel dishonest if I didn't tell you that there are some other dudes and ladies in my life and ... crap.
This kink nonsense feels like I'm just throwing a wrench into an engine already brimming with them.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Crank.
Short update, since I'm frustrated and tired and don't want to accidentally start venting.
Date with the Philanthropist was really quite fun, but we had a nice talk at the end of the evening and agreed that neither of us was feeling any romantic spark. No disappointment or surprise there. Kind of a relief, actually, since it made me feel better about being so excited about the Musician (from last weekend). But since he was my first real "hey I met you online" date that had progressed to the second date, I was like, "Progress!"
On the job front, things are less exciting. I got called into work on my work-from-home day yesterday. Turned out to be a company-wide meeting to discuss how we are much deeper in the shitter for this fiscal quarter than anyone anticipated. Long story short, two people are getting laid off (NOT ME, THANK GOD) and the rest of us have been furloughed on pay for the next two weeks. At least.
Frick frick frick frick frick. Having a regular paycheck these past two months has been really nice. I've done things like paid off credit cards and put down payments on my student loans. I haven't done things like ... put money into my savings account. I've mostly just been playing catch-up from my months of unemployment.
I spent the rest of the day at work browsing Craigslist and updating my resume. Frick.
Date with the Philanthropist was really quite fun, but we had a nice talk at the end of the evening and agreed that neither of us was feeling any romantic spark. No disappointment or surprise there. Kind of a relief, actually, since it made me feel better about being so excited about the Musician (from last weekend). But since he was my first real "hey I met you online" date that had progressed to the second date, I was like, "Progress!"
On the job front, things are less exciting. I got called into work on my work-from-home day yesterday. Turned out to be a company-wide meeting to discuss how we are much deeper in the shitter for this fiscal quarter than anyone anticipated. Long story short, two people are getting laid off (NOT ME, THANK GOD) and the rest of us have been furloughed on pay for the next two weeks. At least.
Frick frick frick frick frick. Having a regular paycheck these past two months has been really nice. I've done things like paid off credit cards and put down payments on my student loans. I haven't done things like ... put money into my savings account. I've mostly just been playing catch-up from my months of unemployment.
I spent the rest of the day at work browsing Craigslist and updating my resume. Frick.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Facepalm.
I'm going clubbing tonight. I have never been clubbing.
And the place I'm going to be clubbing for the first time?
Why, the same lounge where the monthly Suspension parties are held, of course.
Why am I going clubbing for the first time at the same place where I have been and will continue to be a crazy freakshow pervert for my own delight and pleasure, of which the Philanthropist has no knowledge?
I offered.
It's the second date with the Philanthropist. It was my turn to pick what we did. I asked him what music he liked, thinking "classic rock, right, I'll go some place with a great jukebox." He does indeed like classic rock, but he apparently also likes electronica. So I offered a couple of options, since I hate making final decisions in anything other than my professional life. #1: Go to my favorite Lower East Side dive bar with an awesome jukebox, play skeeball and Big Buck Hunter, enjoy cheap beer, and actually be able to have a conversation. #2: Go to the Delancey for their electronica party (it was the only place I could think of, okay) and accompanying burlesque show.
I never in a million years thought he'd pick #2, especially since in my description I said, "Option #1 affords the opportunity to have a conversation, whereas option #2 affords the opportunity to witness my awkward dance skills." Isn't that a red flag of "I AM OFFERING THIS TO BE NICE, PLEASE PICK #1." Also maybe his choice is a red flag of "I don't really want to have a conversation with you." Ugh ugh ugh face in palm.
Oh, yeah, did I mention there'll be burlesque?
I think I'm even acquainted with a couple of the girls in this troupe.
Why do I do this to myself. I am such an idiot.
And the place I'm going to be clubbing for the first time?
Why, the same lounge where the monthly Suspension parties are held, of course.
Why am I going clubbing for the first time at the same place where I have been and will continue to be a crazy freakshow pervert for my own delight and pleasure, of which the Philanthropist has no knowledge?
I offered.
It's the second date with the Philanthropist. It was my turn to pick what we did. I asked him what music he liked, thinking "classic rock, right, I'll go some place with a great jukebox." He does indeed like classic rock, but he apparently also likes electronica. So I offered a couple of options, since I hate making final decisions in anything other than my professional life. #1: Go to my favorite Lower East Side dive bar with an awesome jukebox, play skeeball and Big Buck Hunter, enjoy cheap beer, and actually be able to have a conversation. #2: Go to the Delancey for their electronica party (it was the only place I could think of, okay) and accompanying burlesque show.
I never in a million years thought he'd pick #2, especially since in my description I said, "Option #1 affords the opportunity to have a conversation, whereas option #2 affords the opportunity to witness my awkward dance skills." Isn't that a red flag of "I AM OFFERING THIS TO BE NICE, PLEASE PICK #1." Also maybe his choice is a red flag of "I don't really want to have a conversation with you." Ugh ugh ugh face in palm.
Oh, yeah, did I mention there'll be burlesque?
I think I'm even acquainted with a couple of the girls in this troupe.
Why do I do this to myself. I am such an idiot.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Being a dick does not get you dates. Until it does.
So I met this guy who just moved to the neighborhood, and fuckin' A. I can't stop grinning something fierce.
Here's the thing I hate about dating: it makes me feel boring. I'm not a boring person. I do exciting shit all the time; unfortunately, half this exciting shit is not first-date-appropriate (politics for starters, my crazy/freaking-me-out-a-little family for middlers, and the BDSM/kink/fetish/sick fuck nonsense for THE END OF THE FUCKING DATE IMMEDIATELY). I make really immature jokes and then laugh at them. My friends and I are obscene. I love my job but my job is not my life and I don't want to sit there and talk about work work work work with some be-suited Manhattan asshole (actually if he's wearing the suit that's totally awesome; I have a sick kink for business suits).
I like talking about writing but the unfortunate thing about being a professional writer is that everybody thinks they can write and I have zero tolerance for listening to someone rabbit on about their bullshit idea for a screenplay unless they are also a professional writer/studied it in college/sold a script for a million dollars/whatever. It feels disrespectful to the sheer amount of time and effort and money and tears and studying and writing writing writing I've done in my life to compare my career as a screenwriter to your aspirations. This is not something I'm going to change my mind about. This makes me an obnoxious dick.
I've been told that I'm intimidating. Sorry? I don't know what to do about that. If you're intimidated by me, I really don't know why. I'm not mean and I won't fuck your shit up just for the hell of it. I won't even fuck your shit up for a reason -- see previous post where I attempted to be nice to a fucking intolerant asshole because I hate being rude. I guess there are elements of my personality that are kind of obnoxious -- my roommate points to my tendency to go from reckless enthusiasm to near-fatalistic cynicism in 4.7 seconds; he says it gives him conversational whiplash. I think it's funny but my sense of humor is weird. Maybe my sense of humor makes me obnoxious; I could just be a dickhead dude-bro in a lady-suit. Straight men -- adult men -- probably don't want to date a dude-bro in a lady-suit.
So I turn it off on a date. I turn off the things that I feel make me interesting or give me any kind of personality whatsoever. (Great. My personality is undateable.) I'm faultlessly polite and I never make a dick joke and I don't even talk about what books I'm reading because one of them is The Ethical Slut and that is one title that when dropped into a conversation will cause the universe to spontaneously make that needle-scratching-on-a-record noise that no one under the age of 40 save vinyl-listening hipsters has ever actually heard in person. So dating makes me feel stifled, and boring, and a little dishonest because what is this be-suited Manhattan asshole going to do when he discovers the dude-bro inside the lady-suit?
But yeah, so I've been cranky about that lately (two stupid-awful dates in a row will do that, I guess). And then last night, a new neighbor who I met a few weeks ago at a Writers Guild lecture texted me to see if we could hang out kinda late. I was more than happy to meet up and I'd poured myself a whiskey-on-the-rocks upon getting home from the aforementioned stupid-awful date (yes, I'm an angry drinker) so I was feeling a little bit of that recklessness.
I wasn't thinking of it as a date. I was thinking, "sweet, new friend!" So I didn't really, you know, dial it down.
And I had a blast. He had a blast. We met up at 11pm and closed out Beauty Bar because we talked for five hours. He walked me home and yeah, there were make-outs and damn he's a good kisser. He texted me at 11 this morning to complain about the slow-ass hipsters making his sandwich at Little Skips -- something we'd joked about the night before. And he told me he couldn't wait to see me again -- that he was tempted to ask me out to dinner today even though he knew he was supposed to feign disinterest. I'm a little freaked out by how much I enjoyed myself, and how much he seems to enjoy me. And it all seems totally honest.
Apparently my personality isn't as poisonous as I'd thought. Sweet. There's a lesson to be learned here.
Here's the thing I hate about dating: it makes me feel boring. I'm not a boring person. I do exciting shit all the time; unfortunately, half this exciting shit is not first-date-appropriate (politics for starters, my crazy/freaking-me-out-a-little family for middlers, and the BDSM/kink/fetish/sick fuck nonsense for THE END OF THE FUCKING DATE IMMEDIATELY). I make really immature jokes and then laugh at them. My friends and I are obscene. I love my job but my job is not my life and I don't want to sit there and talk about work work work work with some be-suited Manhattan asshole (actually if he's wearing the suit that's totally awesome; I have a sick kink for business suits).
I like talking about writing but the unfortunate thing about being a professional writer is that everybody thinks they can write and I have zero tolerance for listening to someone rabbit on about their bullshit idea for a screenplay unless they are also a professional writer/studied it in college/sold a script for a million dollars/whatever. It feels disrespectful to the sheer amount of time and effort and money and tears and studying and writing writing writing I've done in my life to compare my career as a screenwriter to your aspirations. This is not something I'm going to change my mind about. This makes me an obnoxious dick.
I've been told that I'm intimidating. Sorry? I don't know what to do about that. If you're intimidated by me, I really don't know why. I'm not mean and I won't fuck your shit up just for the hell of it. I won't even fuck your shit up for a reason -- see previous post where I attempted to be nice to a fucking intolerant asshole because I hate being rude. I guess there are elements of my personality that are kind of obnoxious -- my roommate points to my tendency to go from reckless enthusiasm to near-fatalistic cynicism in 4.7 seconds; he says it gives him conversational whiplash. I think it's funny but my sense of humor is weird. Maybe my sense of humor makes me obnoxious; I could just be a dickhead dude-bro in a lady-suit. Straight men -- adult men -- probably don't want to date a dude-bro in a lady-suit.
So I turn it off on a date. I turn off the things that I feel make me interesting or give me any kind of personality whatsoever. (Great. My personality is undateable.) I'm faultlessly polite and I never make a dick joke and I don't even talk about what books I'm reading because one of them is The Ethical Slut and that is one title that when dropped into a conversation will cause the universe to spontaneously make that needle-scratching-on-a-record noise that no one under the age of 40 save vinyl-listening hipsters has ever actually heard in person. So dating makes me feel stifled, and boring, and a little dishonest because what is this be-suited Manhattan asshole going to do when he discovers the dude-bro inside the lady-suit?
But yeah, so I've been cranky about that lately (two stupid-awful dates in a row will do that, I guess). And then last night, a new neighbor who I met a few weeks ago at a Writers Guild lecture texted me to see if we could hang out kinda late. I was more than happy to meet up and I'd poured myself a whiskey-on-the-rocks upon getting home from the aforementioned stupid-awful date (yes, I'm an angry drinker) so I was feeling a little bit of that recklessness.
I wasn't thinking of it as a date. I was thinking, "sweet, new friend!" So I didn't really, you know, dial it down.
And I had a blast. He had a blast. We met up at 11pm and closed out Beauty Bar because we talked for five hours. He walked me home and yeah, there were make-outs and damn he's a good kisser. He texted me at 11 this morning to complain about the slow-ass hipsters making his sandwich at Little Skips -- something we'd joked about the night before. And he told me he couldn't wait to see me again -- that he was tempted to ask me out to dinner today even though he knew he was supposed to feign disinterest. I'm a little freaked out by how much I enjoyed myself, and how much he seems to enjoy me. And it all seems totally honest.
Apparently my personality isn't as poisonous as I'd thought. Sweet. There's a lesson to be learned here.
Pull the rip cord.
Dear Lazyweb (tm Doctor Memory);
What are your best ways to end a date early? I've had two dates recently that have been so excruciatingly awful that I had to awkwardly cut them short. (I've taken to heart what Pink Sweater Girl said to DateMeDC on her bad date: "Your time is precious and you deserve not to waste it." Why endure unnecessary awfulness? Why make him waste his time too? [Also, I love that girl's blog. She does date-blogging right.]) The first guy was quite nice and I had a good time exchanging e-mails with him before meeting, but unfortunately his written vocabulary was about 10,000 words larger than his spoken one. Language barrier ... insurmountable. The second guy does not bear thinking about. (Short version: extremely insensitive-bordering-on-intentionally-rude to a transgendered woman. IT'S 2010, ASSHOLE.)
I got out of the date with the first guy by pleading exhaustion. The date with the second guy, I was actually in genuine pain from a terrible sunburn I got on my chest while in Tampa, so that wasn't so much a fake excuse as a convenient reason to GTFO.
So what are good ways to end a date without being unnecessarily rude? I don't want to hurt a guy's feelings (though Intolerant Jerkface probably warranted it) and I don't want to come off like a douche-bag (though I am).
Either way, I'm so happy I ended both dates early, because rather than coming home late, grumpy and annoyed at my time being wasted, I salvaged both evenings and had a good time. (Great time, last night. I'm actually kind of giddy just thinking about it and have to keep pulling back the reins on my excitement. More on that later.)
Any advice, Lazyweb?
What are your best ways to end a date early? I've had two dates recently that have been so excruciatingly awful that I had to awkwardly cut them short. (I've taken to heart what Pink Sweater Girl said to DateMeDC on her bad date: "Your time is precious and you deserve not to waste it." Why endure unnecessary awfulness? Why make him waste his time too? [Also, I love that girl's blog. She does date-blogging right.]) The first guy was quite nice and I had a good time exchanging e-mails with him before meeting, but unfortunately his written vocabulary was about 10,000 words larger than his spoken one. Language barrier ... insurmountable. The second guy does not bear thinking about. (Short version: extremely insensitive-bordering-on-intentionally-rude to a transgendered woman. IT'S 2010, ASSHOLE.)
I got out of the date with the first guy by pleading exhaustion. The date with the second guy, I was actually in genuine pain from a terrible sunburn I got on my chest while in Tampa, so that wasn't so much a fake excuse as a convenient reason to GTFO.
So what are good ways to end a date without being unnecessarily rude? I don't want to hurt a guy's feelings (though Intolerant Jerkface probably warranted it) and I don't want to come off like a douche-bag (though I am).
Either way, I'm so happy I ended both dates early, because rather than coming home late, grumpy and annoyed at my time being wasted, I salvaged both evenings and had a good time. (Great time, last night. I'm actually kind of giddy just thinking about it and have to keep pulling back the reins on my excitement. More on that later.)
Any advice, Lazyweb?
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