Online Dating

Now, I understand that some people have success with online dating.

I'm not really one of those people.

The problem for me is two-fold. On the internets, you're making your decision based on snap judgments. And I'm a pretty big judger. Things that I'm not into whilst online dating: fatties, 40+, generally unattractive people, and people that aren't able to write a profile without using "txt". RU the 1 I WANT? Nope. Because I would probably punch you in the face the first time you sent me a "UR A QT" text.

I'm turned off by the following things:
1. In your headline: "We can tell people we met on the el." Yawn. There's really no stigma attached to online dating anymore.
2. In your headline: "Christian Lawyer." Don't get me wrong, I like both Christians and lawyers, and hope to someday use both of those descriptors for myself, but I don't think anyone should define themselves with their religion and their profession.
3. In your profile: "I've realized that I'm not going to meet the one I want to marry at a bar." Really? You just now realized that? Because according to your profile, you're 27. I realized that when I was 22.
4. In your activities: "Wine bars," "Networking Events," "Yoga," "Climbing." To me, that combination equals douchebaggery. Especially the "Networking Events." Gurl Please. You just like open bars and rubbing elbows.
5. Saying that you "Work out 4-5 times a week." Don't get me wrong... my match.com profile says the same thing. I also put that on there when I did work out 4-5 times a week. I'll get around to doing it again sometime.
6. Seeming like a normal person in your profile when you're actually a total creeper.
7. Sending a "wink" to someone who clearly states that they're looking for someone in a 10 year age range, and you miss that age range by about 15 years. Really? Are you that full of yourself? If I say I don't want to date someone who was 45, I probably don't want to date someone who's 45. They let you pick that.

All of the above are true scenarios I've found. About #6. I went to college with this guy who, while a nice guy, is no one I'd EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER in a million years be alone in a room with... much less on a date. He's just kind of a creeper and, in my opinion, kind of psychotic (just lets you know how weird he really is), but a nice enough guy to be in normal society.

HOWEVER, his match.com profile made him seem like a normal guy. Reading it, I was kind of like, "Oh hey, he's not bad." And then I scrolled back up and actually looked at his picture and thought "Oh holy --- whew. Dodged a bullet on that one."

That was when I realized that online dating and all that was a scary thing. You can end up with real creepers that you might never know are creepers had you not gone to college with them.

Maybe I'm just annoyed because the match.com people took my money-- and I serious hopes of finding some normal people. I've been out twice. Once with someone I went to college with and whom I exchanged messages with about how awkward it was that we were both on match.com. Then he told me that the girls he works with just use it to meet random hook-ups.

The second date I had was with a man my mom called "the cat man." Yeah, he had cats. He winked at me, I winked back, we messaged, I got a little drunk one night and sent him my number. He called. We went on a date. He was dull. And we went halfsies. Worst. Date. Ever. Especially when I said, "We should do this again sometime." (Which, as we all know, means, "We should never do this again.") He replied, "Yeah, you're free on Friday, right?"

The problem of online dating is that you can see who's looked at you and think to yourself "meh" or "booyah." And then you think of all those profiles you've looked at and people you've winked at once you've said "booyah." And that you haven't gotten that many winks. Apparently your profile isn't that great, after all.

Trying to be witty or cute in your profile is a hardship. Here you're trying to do all the talking you'd do if you were at your best. [Oh, yeah, I work retail, but someday, I'm going to be a lawyer. I like to sew and cook and be real domestic. I like cats and dogs. I like the water but I don't like mean people. I think I'm kind of funny and cute.] But let's face it, you're on an online dating site, and you're clearly not at your best.

I know a few people that have had success with these things. Again, I'm not one of them.

So that is the first problem with dating websites. The second is this:
In real life, I've not conformed to any of my snap judgments in dating. Appearances have very little to do with how I feel about a person. The fun part about starting a new relationship is finding out all of those good things and bad things. Actually meeting a person and getting to know them.

To me, its not about the profile picture you put up or the headline you post. Its not about your profound musings in your profile, or your interests, or the fact that you are a professional poker player.

Its about the conversation, the smiles, the way the person looks at me and makes me feel.

You just don't get that on the interwebs.

In closing: I will not be renewing my subscription to match.com.

There are several total weirdo dating websites like:
beautifulpeople.com (which kicked a bunch of people off once they gained weight after the holidays... you have to meet a certain standard.)
eharmony.com (which doesn't allow non-Christians or the gays in, and would have been a good place for my "Christian Lawyer" friend)
jdate.com (for those of the jewish persuasion)
and my favorite:
ashleymadison.com (the online dating site for people who are married and looking for an affair. seriously.)

Please check out Sarah Haskins' (my most favorite lady comedienne/feminist cultural commentator) episode of Target Women from Current TV related to online dating, called coincidentally enough, Online Dating.
http://current.com/items/89810919_sarah-haskins-in-target-women-online-dating.htm

Her other episodes, (especially Yogurt and Barbie) are pretty fantastic also.

That being said:
If you're single, don't fret. The times, they are a-changing. We're single longer; we try to do it all, all at once. Its just the way we live (way to go, women's lib! you screwed us on that one! [or did you?]).

If you've met your soulmate on match.com, well, you're a lucky mo-fo. Most of us are just shallow enough that it gets in the way of actually meeting someone.

Sexfist (Bluegrass at the Red Line Tap)

So, tonight I had the pleasure of going to listen to a really tremendous bluegrass band which plays regularly about 6 blocks from my house. Tuesday nights, a band called "Sexfist" or ("Hen House Prowlers" for you family minded folk) plays at the Red Line Tap, conveniently located next to (and owned by the same folks as) the Heartland Cafe, which is one of my favorites. :)

I just have to say that bluegrass is my most favorite kind of music, even above Scandinavian angry pseudo-pop. I think the first time that I was actually exposed to bluegrass was while my family was visiting my god-parents in up-state New York. We randomly had the opportunity to go to an outdoor festival. I was eleven, and far too cool to appreciate any thing, much less tremendous musical talent. However, I distinctly remember being eleven, sitting on and pulling out the grass, and suddenly realizing that I actually like the music.

Over the years, I've had an increased appreciation for good musical talent. I love to go and see live music played well. I like to see the musicians play their instruments and see the technique and the precision of their talent.

Since I've started "playing" the guitar, I've realized the incredible confidence and actual talent it takes to go up in front of an audience. I played the clarinet in the high school band, and I wasn't all that bad, but it's definitely not the same sort of performance experience as playing an instrument with a small ensemble and singing along; having an actual stage presence, making it seem as though the instrument is second nature. That's where this bluegrass ensemble really seems to excel.

I've seen this band a few times. The bass player has the best voice, by far. The banjo player has mad finger skills. The fiddler pops in and out of solos and vocals like it's nothing.

Tonight, we were discussing the incredible talent of this band. Someone said, "I've never seen a bluegrass band that wasn't super talented... do you think its a prerequisite of being in a bluegrass band?" I'd have to say yes.

Bluegrass music is the most hopeful music in the world. Here you have the steady and deep measure of the bass; the constant cheer of the banjo; the melody (which no one can distinctly pick up) of the guitar; the singing voice of the fiddle. The words they may be singing are those of sorrow. They harmonize, and suddenly the words are no longer of any substance. Its only the sound of the voices coming together that you hear.

I suppose that if there was one fault of bluegrass its that the actual musical quality of what you hear supersedes any of the lyrics.

Tonight we were especially lucky. One of the fellows who was sitting at our table is in the Navy band. He mentioned to one of the guys in the band that he was from North Carolina (the same as the fiddler). He came back to the bar with his soprano sax. He got up on stage (no rehearsal at all!!) and took on half of the banjo solos with his sax. It was SO incredible!!

My favorite instrument is the banjo. I have absolutely no desire to learn how to play it (as I find finger plucking on the guitar to be challenging). I love watching it and hearing it. You give me a banjo, and I am there.

Another one of my favorite things about seeing Sexfist at the Red Line Tap is the crowd it draws. Hippies, sorority girls, folks like myself, older people, and the general Rogers Park crowd (which we'll get to soon in this blog).

If you're in Chicago and looking for an amazing time on Tuesday night, I just have to say, make the trek up to Rogers Park. It's incredible. And after shouting "Sexfist" 21 times, they'll come out to do an encore.

On Cake

Last week, a friend asked me about the origins of Cake Sunday.

The concept is pretty simple: on Sunday, we eat cake.

However, I suppose its meaning is a bit deeper than that. During the spring of last year, I decided to make some positive changes in my life (See: Being Awesome). Somewhere along the lines, I made a cake. I was sitting in church that Sunday morning, and I thought, gosh, I could really go for some cake. That first cake was my rendition of a Black Forest Cake. It's made with a boxed chocolate cake, a can of cherry pie filling, and Cool Whip.

I coerced Adam into coming over with the prospect of cake. We sat and reflected on the past week. I congratulated myself on being awesome.

Let's be frank. I went through a rough patch and wasn't taking care of myself in any of the necessary ways, physically, mentally, emotionally. I was able to pull myself out of that with the help of my dear friends and cake.

I know that I'm putting a great deal of stock into this idea of Cake Sunday, but if you think about it, it's really pretty amazing. All week, you're awesome, and then you celebrate on Sunday with a cake.

Making the cake is an art in and of itself. I use 9" round cake pans. I always make a layer cake. Sometimes, I make it from a box, but I much prefer making my own frosting.

There's something to be said of the whole procedure: cracking the eggs, buttering and flouring the pans, smelling the cakes bake, letting them cool, and my personal favorite: frosting the cake.

Sometimes I get crafty with my cakes. I make a wicked (fake) Boston creme pie (yellow cake, vanilla pudding, chocolate frosting), and of course there's my awesome black forest. I once made a red velvet cake with a cooked frosting (you can't use cream cheese frosting on red velvet. I'm sorry), and a carrot cake (which MUST have cream cheese frosting).

Part of the whole deal is figuring out what to make. Its a process: what am I in the mood for? Should it be fruity? Chocolate? Spicy? Then finding a recipe: do I really want to use carob? No way am I putting applesauce in this chocolate cake? Then finally, buying butter.

Butter is the most key ingredient in cake. I learned this the hard way when I was a vegan. Butter-cream frosting cannot be made with margarine. Margarine-cream just doesn't have the same ring. Unfortunately, my brief flirtation with veganism sort of ruined Cake Sunday.

With all that said, I suppose that Cake Sunday is really a celebration of all of the good that has happened in the past week. The learning, the growth, the awesomeness. Spending time with friends, eating something delicious. I got a piece of cake tattooed on my arm as a reminder of the good things to come and to remember how far I've come.

In closing, an added perk of Cake Sunday is that the leftovers lead into "Cake Week." I lost 30 pounds the first time we did Cake Sundays. Go figure.


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Sink or Swim

Well, its a good thing I've started training for this triathlon now, several months out, I can already tell you that.

I vaguely remember taking swimming lessons when I was small. Probably through first or second grade... maybe less, maybe more. I remembered really hating it, but over the years, I'd chalked it up to already feeling awkward around other people in a swimming suit.

I decided to put away my insecurities regarding my current skin condition (which is not contagious, nor has it resulted in open sores) and just go for it today. I knew that the gym I've had a membership to for probably 6 years has a pool, but I've never been.

I packed my new Speedo, goggles, and swimcap and headed to the gym. I had to awkwardly ask if there was access to the pool through the locker room, which I figured there was, but at the same time, I didn't want to wander aimlessly around the locker room or the gym lobby in my swimming suit.

So there we were, me and the pool. Me and my Speedo gear, looking swell. Believe it or not, this suit is probably the most flattering I've worn in years, probably because it isn't exposing my ridiculously pale and unattractive stomach. Spandex is, for the one time in my many years, a dear friend of mine.

Among the rules and regulations includes the following: Those who are unable to swim one lap must stay in the shallow end.

Ha! Hahaha! I thought to myself, "Those fools! Unable to swim a LAP!"

Getting into the water, I put on my goggles, securely suctioning them to my head. I stood in the shallow end and harnessing my chi, I paused for a moment. Then I pushed off.

Aah, how nice and relaxing! Like getting on a bike! No probl- oh goodness, this is kind of difficult, OH GOD MAKE IT STOP!

I made it from one end to the other and then back again, grateful to be not swimming. I stood panting on the side of the pool.

No problem. I could totally do a lap. Doing another, was a horse of a different color.

Girding my loins, I went for it. Each lap kicked my ass more than the one before it. After about 5 or 6 of these, my whole body was crying out for me to stop. The lifeguard, I'm sure, was being given the most excitement he'd encounter all day, probably very sure that I would drown.

So, that being said, I smell like chlorine, and am very tired. But also sort of pumped! I mean, it can only get easier, right?

Twice a week, I'm going to work on this swimming thing. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to do more than one lap at a time in the next few weeks.

Looking back on it, I think the reason I hated swimming lessons so much back in the day was that it sucked. And unfortunately, I wasn't old enough to like it.

Being Awesome

So, last year, I went through what I referred to as an "existential crisis." It was basically a wake-up call that the way I was living my life wasn't conducive to "living."

I quit my vices: drinking, smoking, eating meat, and all the bad things that go along with those things. I took the LSAT, I ran a 5k, began playing the guitar. And oh yeah, looked awesome. Indeed, I believe I referred to myself as having a "rockin' bod."

So, that being said, I've had a bit of a slide back to my "old self." I guess its time to get back on that old wagon. Start back up where I left off.

Tomorrow morning when I get up, I'm going to begin a concerted effort once again to jump on the "clean living" wagon. I honestly enjoyed the runners high, the self-righteousness that comes with depriving oneself and pushing oneself.

I've already decided that I'm going to do a triathlon sprint, and I've been waiting for my skin to get better before really actively training. But. At this point, I'm not sure that waiting is going to be an option.

I want to start right now.

Tonight, I had a conversation with someone I used to date, who has recently been on a mission to get into shape. While we were talking, I realized that I missed all of that... the exercise, the eating healthy.

I want to feel that sense of accomplishment that goes along with being awesome.

I have this piece of cake tattooed on me for a reason. Its so that I won't forget how awesome I can be. It's time to earn that cake again.

So. Adam: Cake Sunday is back on. Neil: You can't get out of this one. Mom: Ask me about my workouts.

It's awesome.

I think magic's in the learning...

Good bye 2009. You kind of sucked. There were a lot of good parts, and a lot of crappy parts. From most people's Facebook status updates, I'm guessing that it was the same for most people. What was it about 2009 that sucked? Well for me, the crumminess affected all of my interpersonal relationships: familial, romantic, work. However, I also accomplished a lot! I ran a 5k, quit smoking, applied for law school and went on an AMAZING roadtrip (see blog).

That being said, I'm going to propose a toast to the New Year:
Let us remember the past, but not dwell upon it, for it will bring us wisdom.
Let us remember our indiscretions, so we do not fall victim to them again.
Let us remember that there is always tomorrow, and that will bring us gladness.
Let us forget the bad times, and cherish the good times, for yesterday comes too soon.
Here's to family, friends, love, happiness, health and wealth, and good fortune.
The present is the only time we can live in, and for that, I'm grateful.

(wow. i sound so philosophical and articulate.)

2010 will be full of good things. Family, friends, new journeys, new adventures, new love and new life.

I feel like it must mean something that here I am at the precipice of a new chapter and it's New Years, AND it's a full moon. This is a time for change. I know with all my heart that it will be good change. I won't accept anything else.

I'm ready 2010. Thanks for the memories 2009, but I won't be missing you.

Home for the Holidays

Christmas. It can evoke a great deal of emotion. For example, for little kids: excitement; for grown adults: merriment; for other adults: depression; and for families: either anxiety or a warm feeling of love. It's really hit or miss.

Personally, I had a fantastic holiday. I was off from work, which meant that I had three glorious days to spend with family and friends.

Adam was supposed to pick me up around noon. Which he didn't, of course. He's really not one for following an actual schedule. Adam time has a formula: take the time he says he'll be there, add two hours. If its an important event, expect to be there +/- 10 minutes of start time. Generally the latter.

If there was one benefit to his being late, it was that I was able to have someone forcibly removed from my store. Twice. Merry Christmas.

The drive home was pretty frightening at times. The snow was coming down heavy and wet, making it difficult to see the road at times. However, we arrived in our lovely hometown around 8 pm.

I celebrated the impending holiday (as it was just Christmas Eve) with a beer. And some cookies. And then we went to church.

There is nothing like going to an upper midwest Lutheran church on Christmas Eve. The elderly, white choir always seems to find a new and interesting way to sing new-age Christian songs with the influence of either the classic "negro spiritual" or calypso stylings. Always a real treat.

Years ago, we used to be able to have candles for the closing hymn of "Silent Night," but after a few disasters involving candle wax and the new pew cushions, one of the many well-intentioned committees decided it would be for the best to completely avoid open flames. Now the choir gets battery operated light-bulb candles. They surround the congregation, the light of their 10-watt bulbs illuminating the church.

After the service, we returned home and went to bed. I couldn't wait for Santa! Lol cats. Actually, I was just really tired.

The next morning, I woke up and went to the living room where my mom had started a fire. On the TV, that is. WGN plays a loop of a fire all Christmas morning, which seems to be a bit of a tradition in my home now.

Santa brought me a toy polar bear which POOPS CANDY. Sometimes, things don't get much better than that. I got every thing I wanted, including a polar bear that poops.

We spent the rest of the watching TV, eating food, having a rockin jam session. The fam and I decided that it was by far, the best Christmas ever.

Christmas day night is reserved for the annual pilgrimage to the Dome Lanes. This remarkable bowling alley is the one drinking establishment that is open on Christmas Day in the tri-city area. Friends who I haven't seen in years, and some that I hoped I would never have to see again gather in a festive spirit for pitchers of Miller Lite, darts and pool. We laugh, catch up, and drink far too much. Also, did you know that you can still smoke in bars there?!? Uncanny!

The next morning, I decided that next year, I wouldn't be so festive at the Dome Lanes, as my judgment became impaired mid-way through the evening. The whole family got together to make eggs benedict, which as you know, has become my new specialty. Then I laid on the couch and cursed my poor reasoning the night before. The bloody mary which accompanied our benedicts had done nothing for me, though as I stated to my father, "I need this." That hair of the dog thing is a bold-faced lie.

Adam had gotten a slow leak in his tire on the way home, and on Christmas morning, discovered that he had a flat from where a nail had punctured it. He called all of the auto shops in the tri-city area, which is many more than you might expect. Because it was a holiday weekend, many of them were closed. Finally, he got a hold of someone. That person wanted to charge him $300 to patch the tire. Adam finally found someone who would do it for $20. We went to get the tire patched and then headed to Burger King and Walmart.

I went home and feeling much better, sat with my parents for a bit. It was their anniversary. 39 years! Whoa. It sort of makes me think that love is still possible in the modern age. Or perhaps my parents are outliers. I'm more apt to believe that.

We went out for dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, because it was a very special occasion! I got surf and turf. YUM. I'm fancy.

That day, which you Brits know better as Boxing Day, was very snowy. Very, very snowy. Christmas had been all melty and rainy, but Boxing Day was snowy. Which meant that the roads were now very icy. Home in pjs, laying on the couch, nursing a 7up, we watched a movie. At 10:30, Adam texted me saying that he would be at my house in 5 minutes and that we were going out to an ugly sweater party. Mom was not pleased.

I put on a dreadful puff-paint sweatshirt from the 90s. We drove off to the "fancy" bar in town, and after 20 minutes, went to the "dive" bar in town. I was tired and kind of crabby and was not in the mood to be drinking after the prior night's escapades. The bar smelled awful. Like poor choices and regret.

At 12:20, I reminded Adam that we would be going home now. He was distracted by a girl who now worked in Vegas as a hair stylist. They didn't speak, but he sent her a really creepy facebook message when he got home.

He dropped me off and began to get philosophical. I was too tired, and we would be in a car together for 5 hours the next day. I made him get out of the car and have a snowball fight. Because even though I was tired, there was beautiful fresh fluffy snow all around us. He nailed me. With a snowball. Sorry. I felt there needed to be clarification.

Hitting the sack was delightful, and all too brief. My mother sent me a text message at 7:15 and put the crazy dog in my room. We were going to shovel the snow. Yay!

Some good Samaritans came by and snow blew the worst of it. I shoveled some of the walks and then threw a snow ball at my mom. She threw a shovel of snow at me.

After the shoveling and the church, we went out to breakfast. Sunday mornings we go to the Serving Spoon, which is a delightful little cafe on the bay. We usually sit at the same large table and all sorts of people join us. However, some STRANGERS were sitting at our usual table, and as such, we had to squeeze into a couple of little tables.

Back at home, we changed into pjs again, and watched another movie. And ate some Mickey Lus. Now, if you're not from my hometown, you may not understand the glory of this cheeseburger. Its small, has a crusty bun, and "the works," which includes onions, ketchup, mustard, a pickle and a pat of butter. Best burger you'll ever eat.

The fam and I sat down to play some cards and then had another remarkable jam session. Adam and I postponed our trip back until 6. Which allowed for a little more family time.

When he came to get me, we gave him an encore performance of "Who dat baby," a song my father wrote in response to being subjected to years of awful choir performances. He'll be singing it at church on Sunday.

There's something really special about having a weekend like this with your family and friends. It's the sort of thing that while you're living it, you know that its a time you'll look back upon and think, "those were the good days." You have way too much fun, good quality fun, dull periods that are still fun and most of all, you just feel loved.

Now I have to go to work again. Literally, now. And as such, I'll leave you with a bit of wisdom: keep Santa in Christmas. And cherish the good times!