Dutch and I had breakfast the other morning. He accused me of being “too nice to men.”
“Jane, you need to stop striking up conversations with complete strangers. When we go out and you pay any attention to a man, he thinks you’re hitting on him. You’re giving him mixed signals and he thinks he has a chance. It’s a cruel trick… you need to stop.”
I was floored. “Dutch, that is ridiculous! Men do not think I’m flirting with them, just because I’m friendly and nice!”
He shook his head and finished sipping his coffee. “Yes they do.”
I thought about this for a minute while I drank my chocolate milk. There might be something to what he said. It could explain what happened to me at my part time job earlier this week…
It all started a few weeks ago, during the primary elections for mayor in St. Paul. I had rung up a transaction for a gentleman at the register. As he paid for his items, he vaguely mentioned that he was a vote counter for the City of St. Paul. That sounded interesting to me, and I asked him a little bit about his job and what the final results of the election were. He looked a little burned out, but perked up when I expressed interest in what he did. (I can always find something to talk about with a stranger.) We chatted for a few seconds. Then he kept standing in front of my register trying to remember the exact results, but… he couldn’t. (People were starting to line up behind him.) I needed to hurry him along.
“Thanks so much. Have a great evening, and don’t work too hard!”
He moved towards the door, “I’ll find out those results for you.”
I had moved on to the next customer, looked up, smiled and said, “Great!”
Yeah, it was an insignificant moment in my life. But apparently, it meant a little more to him. Two weeks after the election, I was again working at my part time job when I turned around. I was standing face to face with the same gentleman. (It took me a few seconds to place him.)
“Hi Jane!” He looked down at my nametag. (I’m never sure if customers are looking at my nametag or my breasts. I always assume it’s the nametag, because I have a hard time believing my breasts draw much attention.) “I have those election results for you.”
What is this nut talking about? Oh my gosh! He actually came back to the store to tell me the election results he couldn’t remember two weeks ago!
He seemed so proud as he rambled off statistics of the votes counted. I already knew which candidates won… everyone knew. Why was he telling me this?
“Um, wow that’s great. Was there anything else here in the store that you needed help finding?” I tried so hard to muster up some enthusiasm or to sound genuinely interested in what he had to say, but I was really creeped out. (And, I think he sensed it.) This man had tracked me down two weeks later just to tell me something that meant nothing to me.
He shifted on his feet, “Oh yeah, well I was here at the store for something else. I just saw you and thought you’d like to know. So, yeah… have a good day.”
I tried to remove the freaked out and horrified expression from my face and be polite, but it was difficult. “Um, okay, well thanks.”
He quickly scurried off. The meeting had become uncomfortable for both of us. (Eeeek!)
As I sat in the café with Dutch, I realized that maybe he might be right. However, what am I supposed to do? Change my personality? I can’t help that I’m a perky person. I like talking with people. Why… I don’t know!
I pondered a little longer. It’s definitely my parents’ fault. (I blame them completely.) I inherited the ‘friendly/strike up a conversation with a stranger gene’ from my father and my mother drilled it into my conscious and subconscious that I needed to be kind to ‘boys’ when they make an effort to talk to you. I remember her lecture well:
“Janie, it takes a lot of courage for a young man to talk to a young lady, especially when they like you. You should be polite even if you aren’t interested. Girls can be very cruel when they dismiss a boy. Don’t be like that!”
So, I received one message from my mother and now a conflicting one from Dutch. This is so confusing! Arg! (Dutch also informed me that we had missed “National Talk Like A Pirate Day”. So we proceded to make up for it the rest of the morning…)
Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Definition of Dating
There has been some discussion (or debate) among my friends and readers as to whether I am actually dating again. I would like to set the record straight. I am still in my “time off” stage. I realize that Josh distracted me somewhat, but I was only phased for a moment and I did not by definition date him. Nor am I currently dating him. Some of you would argue otherwise, but I’m about to prove you wrong!
According to the 2005 Rules of Dating (Jane Dater Edition), Title 1.Rule 2. Subdivision (a). Definition of Dating. The term ‘Date (verb)’ is defined as: all of the elements included in Subdivision (b).
Subdivision (b). Elements.
i. One person invites a second person to an event or activity;
ii. The person who invited the second person to the event or activity, pays for any costs involved in participating in or attending those events and/or activities; and
iii. The person who invited the second person and the invitee partake in mutual and non-obligatory activities of affection, including, but not limited to kissing.
Based upon the above-mentioned definition, I did not ‘Date’ Josh. I only met one of the three necessary elements. I paid for myself (In fact, I insisted on paying for myself). I never kissed him (Marvan, I know you have a hard time believing that). Therefore, I did not date Josh.
According to the 2005 Rules of Dating (Jane Dater Edition), Title 1.Rule 2. Subdivision (a). Definition of Dating. The term ‘Date (verb)’ is defined as: all of the elements included in Subdivision (b).
Subdivision (b). Elements.
i. One person invites a second person to an event or activity;
ii. The person who invited the second person to the event or activity, pays for any costs involved in participating in or attending those events and/or activities; and
iii. The person who invited the second person and the invitee partake in mutual and non-obligatory activities of affection, including, but not limited to kissing.
Based upon the above-mentioned definition, I did not ‘Date’ Josh. I only met one of the three necessary elements. I paid for myself (In fact, I insisted on paying for myself). I never kissed him (Marvan, I know you have a hard time believing that). Therefore, I did not date Josh.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Email Scandal
Two weeks had passed since Josh, Bob and I went to the movies. My schedule had been insanely busy and between my two jobs (and hanging out with other friends), I was spent.
Last week Tuesday was my first night off in nearly five days. I was in the middle of doing my laundry when Josh called. He didn’t call for any particular reason, just to talk… for two hours.
I stood in the Laundromat folding my clothes as our conversation became more and more flirtatious. By the time we hung up, there was no doubt that he was hitting on me. (Hmmm)
We had exchanged email addresses and the next morning I checked my account and found a blatantly flirtatious message waiting for me. (I am not disclosing the contents of the message at this time, because my mother reads this blog.) I sent a rather flirtatious email back to him and he replied with a scandalous message. Then, I pushed the envelope and sent a legitimately racy email to him. He never responded. (Oh my goodness, I went too far!)
I would find out later that night, when we went to ‘Sweeny’s’ for drinks, why he never responded. He picked me up and it felt awkward in his car. Once we sat down on the patio with a roaring fire in the background we began to open up.
I started, “So Josh, you never replied to my last email.” Every once in a while, I’m overcome with bluntness and just put it all out there.
He laughed and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that he blushed. He scratched his head, and looked down at his glass, “Well Jane, I didn’t dare answer it, because I knew it would take us down a road I can’t go down.”
I played dumb so that he’d come right out and say it, “What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean… Uh, you know… because I have a girlfriend and all. We’ve been together for a year.” (Ouch!) There, it was out there. She wasn’t just ‘the girl he was dating’. She really was his girlfriend and has been for a while!
“You see Jane, things have been strained between us ever since I spent the week by the lake shore with her and her family. It’s just really hard being separated…” (Blah blah blah, my A.D.D. took over and I began to zone out.)
I spent the next 30 minutes listening to him go on about his problems with his girlfriend. Then I spent the next 45 minutes counseling him and helping him understand his girlfriend’s perspective and concerns with their long distance relationship. I reassured him that everything was going to be fine and that the only reason their relationship was strained was because they never saw each other. (Why do I have to be so nice?)
“Josh, it’s impossible for long distance relationships to succeed with one exception. If there is a set period of time that you are going to be separated and that set period of time is less than one year, then you can still make it. Otherwise, if the separation is indefinite or too long, then you might as well call it quits. So you see, since your separation is only six months, you and your girlfriend are going to be fine.” (I patted myself on the back.)
By the time we finished our pitcher of Summit Oktoberfest, he felt much better and I felt much worse (even though I did the right thing).
It was getting late and he had to get up early. So we went our separate ways.
I got home and there was a message on my voicemail from ‘Cali-goose’. He had left me an extended lecture about how I need to let this thing with Josh go. “Jane, don’t waste your time. You’re just going to get hurt.” He was right, but I didn’t call him back to tell him that.
I’m no angel. I’ve cheated on a boyfriend in the past, but it was an accident. I forgot I was dating him… twice, and made out with other boys. (It’s just that he was kind of forgettable.)
I’ve also kissed a boy or two that had a girlfriend. But, it all came back to bite me in the bum a few years ago when I was on the receiving end of the cheating. It didn’t feel good.
And so, Josh is off limits.
(On a side note, 40 Year Old sent me a bunch of emails today. Apparently he finally remembered that I existed. I’m embarrassed to say that I was glad to get them. I hate him.)
Last week Tuesday was my first night off in nearly five days. I was in the middle of doing my laundry when Josh called. He didn’t call for any particular reason, just to talk… for two hours.
I stood in the Laundromat folding my clothes as our conversation became more and more flirtatious. By the time we hung up, there was no doubt that he was hitting on me. (Hmmm)
We had exchanged email addresses and the next morning I checked my account and found a blatantly flirtatious message waiting for me. (I am not disclosing the contents of the message at this time, because my mother reads this blog.) I sent a rather flirtatious email back to him and he replied with a scandalous message. Then, I pushed the envelope and sent a legitimately racy email to him. He never responded. (Oh my goodness, I went too far!)
I would find out later that night, when we went to ‘Sweeny’s’ for drinks, why he never responded. He picked me up and it felt awkward in his car. Once we sat down on the patio with a roaring fire in the background we began to open up.
I started, “So Josh, you never replied to my last email.” Every once in a while, I’m overcome with bluntness and just put it all out there.
He laughed and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that he blushed. He scratched his head, and looked down at his glass, “Well Jane, I didn’t dare answer it, because I knew it would take us down a road I can’t go down.”
I played dumb so that he’d come right out and say it, “What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean… Uh, you know… because I have a girlfriend and all. We’ve been together for a year.” (Ouch!) There, it was out there. She wasn’t just ‘the girl he was dating’. She really was his girlfriend and has been for a while!
“You see Jane, things have been strained between us ever since I spent the week by the lake shore with her and her family. It’s just really hard being separated…” (Blah blah blah, my A.D.D. took over and I began to zone out.)
I spent the next 30 minutes listening to him go on about his problems with his girlfriend. Then I spent the next 45 minutes counseling him and helping him understand his girlfriend’s perspective and concerns with their long distance relationship. I reassured him that everything was going to be fine and that the only reason their relationship was strained was because they never saw each other. (Why do I have to be so nice?)
“Josh, it’s impossible for long distance relationships to succeed with one exception. If there is a set period of time that you are going to be separated and that set period of time is less than one year, then you can still make it. Otherwise, if the separation is indefinite or too long, then you might as well call it quits. So you see, since your separation is only six months, you and your girlfriend are going to be fine.” (I patted myself on the back.)
By the time we finished our pitcher of Summit Oktoberfest, he felt much better and I felt much worse (even though I did the right thing).
It was getting late and he had to get up early. So we went our separate ways.
I got home and there was a message on my voicemail from ‘Cali-goose’. He had left me an extended lecture about how I need to let this thing with Josh go. “Jane, don’t waste your time. You’re just going to get hurt.” He was right, but I didn’t call him back to tell him that.
I’m no angel. I’ve cheated on a boyfriend in the past, but it was an accident. I forgot I was dating him… twice, and made out with other boys. (It’s just that he was kind of forgettable.)
I’ve also kissed a boy or two that had a girlfriend. But, it all came back to bite me in the bum a few years ago when I was on the receiving end of the cheating. It didn’t feel good.
And so, Josh is off limits.
(On a side note, 40 Year Old sent me a bunch of emails today. Apparently he finally remembered that I existed. I’m embarrassed to say that I was glad to get them. I hate him.)
Background Noise
Josh called me three times in the next two weeks after our dinner/date. I didn’t return the first phone call. The second phone call I told him that I was busy (which I was… I was scheduled to work at my part time job). The third time, I agreed to go out with him and his roommate Bob (that was safe enough). We went to see “The Wedding Crashers”. It was a great flick.
However, my infatuation with Josh began to crack (just a little). As we sat in the movie, he kept leaning over and making comments.
“Jane, what song is that playing in the background? I really like it.”
I leaned over and whispered (the emphasis is on ‘whispered’), “It’s Coldplay.”
He leaned over and said (the emphasis is on ‘said’), “It’s Coldplay? Is it new or something, I’ve never heard it before?”
I leaned over closer and whispered even more softly, “It’s off their first album, Parachutes.”
He replied (in his normal talking voice), “Are you sure? I guess I didn’t listen much to their first album.”
He looked at me for a response. I needed to wrap this conversation up. “Josh, trust me. It’s off their Parachutes album. We can download it and listen to it after the movie.” He nodded. The discussion was over. (Phew!)
I was annoyed and amused at the same time. Not because he was talking during the movie (I do that all the time), but because it seemed that (despite all of his other charms) Josh was incapable of whispering. He has one of those deep resonating voices that carries above (or below) all other background noises.
After the movie, the three of us went to ‘The Groveland Tap’ and had Juicy Lucy’s. Josh and Bob have taken it upon themselves to eat at every restaurant in St. Paul that serves Juicy Lucy’s. I wanted to spend more time alone with Josh, but his roommate prevented that (which is probably a good thing).
We ended the evening early and the two residents went home. I grabbed my purse and hopped in my car. Bridget was in town for a job interview. I was on my way to hang out with her for a few hours.
I thought to myself on my way to Bridget’s hotel. “My god, Josh has a loud voice.”
However, my infatuation with Josh began to crack (just a little). As we sat in the movie, he kept leaning over and making comments.
“Jane, what song is that playing in the background? I really like it.”
I leaned over and whispered (the emphasis is on ‘whispered’), “It’s Coldplay.”
He leaned over and said (the emphasis is on ‘said’), “It’s Coldplay? Is it new or something, I’ve never heard it before?”
I leaned over closer and whispered even more softly, “It’s off their first album, Parachutes.”
He replied (in his normal talking voice), “Are you sure? I guess I didn’t listen much to their first album.”
He looked at me for a response. I needed to wrap this conversation up. “Josh, trust me. It’s off their Parachutes album. We can download it and listen to it after the movie.” He nodded. The discussion was over. (Phew!)
I was annoyed and amused at the same time. Not because he was talking during the movie (I do that all the time), but because it seemed that (despite all of his other charms) Josh was incapable of whispering. He has one of those deep resonating voices that carries above (or below) all other background noises.
After the movie, the three of us went to ‘The Groveland Tap’ and had Juicy Lucy’s. Josh and Bob have taken it upon themselves to eat at every restaurant in St. Paul that serves Juicy Lucy’s. I wanted to spend more time alone with Josh, but his roommate prevented that (which is probably a good thing).
We ended the evening early and the two residents went home. I grabbed my purse and hopped in my car. Bridget was in town for a job interview. I was on my way to hang out with her for a few hours.
I thought to myself on my way to Bridget’s hotel. “My god, Josh has a loud voice.”
Monday, September 26, 2005
10,000 Spoons Continued...
I left off with the voicemail from Josh, the resident. I returned his call and our conversation ended with plans to meet for dinner the next night.
Josh picked me up at my apartment and we drove to Punch Neapolitan Pizza, my favorite pizza place in St. Paul. He was thoroughly impressed with my choice of restaurants. It was the one of the most pleasant evenings out that I’ve had in months. The conversation was genuine and indepth. We shared a half carafe of wine on the minuscule deck and talked for hours. We talked about... well life. Towards the end of our conversation the subject came up that I had been avoiding… his girlfriend.
He brought her up in passing and referred to her as “the girl that I’m dating”. I didn’t mind when our conversation changed direction and the mention of her was quickly forgotten.
We split the bill (at my insistence) and we left the restaurant. I was feeling hospitable and had him drive around Highland and Merriam Park. I showed him the Frank Lloyd Wright house. I showed him Izzy’s Icecream and Legacy Chocolates (my favorite chocolate shop!). I felt at ease with him and I was sad when he dropped me off.
As I walked up my apartment stairs (alone); I decided to leave him alone. But, I couldn’t help but be excited about my fantastic evening out. I thought to myself, ‘He has a girlfriend… He’s only in town for a few months. Why in the world would I want to get involved with a man who’s leaving?’ I already tried that once and got burned (by 40 Year Old). I was a tortured woman!
I sat in my apartment and psychoanalyzed the situation. In particular, I psychoanalyzed myself. Maybe I only fall for men when I know that they are either physically or emotionally unavailable? (Hmmm, that sounds deep…) Maybe I like the challenge? (That’s actually true, I’m mannish that way.) Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment? Whatever the explanation, by the time I went to bed, I resolved that Josh is off limits.
Josh picked me up at my apartment and we drove to Punch Neapolitan Pizza, my favorite pizza place in St. Paul. He was thoroughly impressed with my choice of restaurants. It was the one of the most pleasant evenings out that I’ve had in months. The conversation was genuine and indepth. We shared a half carafe of wine on the minuscule deck and talked for hours. We talked about... well life. Towards the end of our conversation the subject came up that I had been avoiding… his girlfriend.
He brought her up in passing and referred to her as “the girl that I’m dating”. I didn’t mind when our conversation changed direction and the mention of her was quickly forgotten.
We split the bill (at my insistence) and we left the restaurant. I was feeling hospitable and had him drive around Highland and Merriam Park. I showed him the Frank Lloyd Wright house. I showed him Izzy’s Icecream and Legacy Chocolates (my favorite chocolate shop!). I felt at ease with him and I was sad when he dropped me off.
As I walked up my apartment stairs (alone); I decided to leave him alone. But, I couldn’t help but be excited about my fantastic evening out. I thought to myself, ‘He has a girlfriend… He’s only in town for a few months. Why in the world would I want to get involved with a man who’s leaving?’ I already tried that once and got burned (by 40 Year Old). I was a tortured woman!
I sat in my apartment and psychoanalyzed the situation. In particular, I psychoanalyzed myself. Maybe I only fall for men when I know that they are either physically or emotionally unavailable? (Hmmm, that sounds deep…) Maybe I like the challenge? (That’s actually true, I’m mannish that way.) Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment? Whatever the explanation, by the time I went to bed, I resolved that Josh is off limits.
Amish Friendshit Bread
Well, ten days into the Amish friendship bread recipe and I have failed… yet again, at another attempt to bake. I forgot to split the recipe into four parts before adding all the rest of the ingredients. (Despite the fact that I had step by step instructions sitting in front of me.) I’m stuck with a huge bowl of brown batter. Since only the Amish know the secret to the starter mix, I’m shit out of luck. I can’t pass along the bread batter to any of my friends. I’m not even sure if the batter will rise. (Marvan, I know you aren’t surprised by any of this.) I just popped it into the oven… I guess I’ll know for sure in about one hour.
Update: The bread initially looked successful. However, after tasting a slice, I’m confident that it is a failure. The initial flavor wasn’t terrible, but the bread has a distinct and vaguely familiar aftertaste. It leaves the same acidic burning aftertaste as vomit. I may never bake again!
Update: The bread initially looked successful. However, after tasting a slice, I’m confident that it is a failure. The initial flavor wasn’t terrible, but the bread has a distinct and vaguely familiar aftertaste. It leaves the same acidic burning aftertaste as vomit. I may never bake again!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
I Don't Bite
Last night I stood in my tiny galley kitchen in my quaint Saint Paul apartment mixing ingredients to a batch of Amish friendship bread that I received from… who else but a friend. I was chatting away on my cell phone and headset (as I normally do) with my friend Bridget. I was really distracted, but Bridget was extremely patient with the long pauses that kept creeping into our conversation. To be honest with you, I’m not very talented at talking and baking at the same time. Okay, correction… To be totally honest with you, I’m not very talented at baking PERIOD and it is utterly impossible for me to talk on the phone and do ANYTHING else at the same time. (The truth comes out!)
As Bridget and I attempted to converse while I spilled flour all over the counter, I heard a strange muted noise… (Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz) I thought to myself, is it the fan on the power source of my computer going out again? I walked over to the PC and put my ear up to it… nothing. But, now the buzzing was getting louder. Was it my ceiling fan? (I knew that it wasn’t bolted securely to the ceiling, because it had already shook the globe loose from the fixture two months ago.) I stood underneath the fan and listened… nothing. But, still the buzzing persisted.
Then the buzzing became intermittent and was loud enough that I could recognize the sound. Bzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Someone was standing outside the front of my building, buzzing all of the apartments!
I was still on the phone, when I threw my shoes on… “Bridget, some idiot is buzzing all of the apartments. I’m going to go downstairs to see what the problem is.”
When I got to the front entrance of my brownstone building, there was a man standing outside the door, shaking it, and trying to get in. I stood about six feet inside of the door. Before I had a chance to say anything to the man, he yelled from the other side, “Let me in!”
He was a larger man in his fifties, with a tight white wife beater t-shirt accentuating his large pregnant beer belly and his well formed breasts. (His breasts were bigger than mine… which isn’t saying much… But he had to be expecting twins.) He was clean shaven with long white hair, but was completely bald on top. By my estimates he was a Grade A, First Class Weirdo. I looked at him and yelled back, “Stop buzzing the buzzers!”
He yelled back, “Let me in!” (Dealing with weirdos is one of the drawbacks to living on the bus line.)
I yelled louder, “You don’t live here! I’m not letting you in!” He looked at me (with a glazed over expression) and buzzed the buzzers some more.
By this time my neighbor Shayna opened her door and some dude I had never seen before emerged from the basement studio apartment (where it’s rumored they deal pot). I looked at both of them and said, “Do either of you know this guy?”
They looked at me like I was crazy… of course they didn’t.
He was still buzzing when I yelled, “What’s wrong with you? We’re not letting you in. Go away!”
Then things got weird. He put one hand on his hip and his spare palm on the glass door and (if I’m not mistaken, I thought I heard a southern drawl) he said, “I don’t bite.”
I looked at Shayna and she shot me a look back. We both understood, yeah, this guy is nuts. I looked back at him and he repeated, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” His hand was still on his hip and his palm still on the glass. (Weird!)
I yelled at him, “Get the hell out of here, we’re calling the police!” He just kept staring at us and repeated, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.”
It was at this point that I realized I was still on the phone with Bridget. “Oh my God! Bridget, are you hearing all this? This guy is crazy. I’ve got to let you go. I’m calling the police.” I didn’t give her time to answer… I hung up and tried dialing 911 (which is actually rather difficult on a cell phone.)
It didn’t matter. While I fumbled with my cell phone and the weirdo outside kept repeating, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” Shayna had successfully called 911 and asked them to send by a squad car. The dude in the basement studio (that I had never seen before), disappeared back into his smokey den. The man outside was still repeating, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” (He had probably said it 15 times, by the time I walked away.)
I finally turned around to go back upstairs to my apartment, but not before Shayna and I chatted for a few minutes in the hallway. I had never really talked to her before… just a wave here and there while coming in and out of the building. She’s a sign language interpreter. (How cool is that!)
It’s funny how all it takes is a weirdo saying, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” for neighbors to come together! Maybe I’ll pass along a batch of the Amish friendship bread to her. Yeah, that’s a nice thought!
As Bridget and I attempted to converse while I spilled flour all over the counter, I heard a strange muted noise… (Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz) I thought to myself, is it the fan on the power source of my computer going out again? I walked over to the PC and put my ear up to it… nothing. But, now the buzzing was getting louder. Was it my ceiling fan? (I knew that it wasn’t bolted securely to the ceiling, because it had already shook the globe loose from the fixture two months ago.) I stood underneath the fan and listened… nothing. But, still the buzzing persisted.
Then the buzzing became intermittent and was loud enough that I could recognize the sound. Bzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Someone was standing outside the front of my building, buzzing all of the apartments!
I was still on the phone, when I threw my shoes on… “Bridget, some idiot is buzzing all of the apartments. I’m going to go downstairs to see what the problem is.”
When I got to the front entrance of my brownstone building, there was a man standing outside the door, shaking it, and trying to get in. I stood about six feet inside of the door. Before I had a chance to say anything to the man, he yelled from the other side, “Let me in!”
He was a larger man in his fifties, with a tight white wife beater t-shirt accentuating his large pregnant beer belly and his well formed breasts. (His breasts were bigger than mine… which isn’t saying much… But he had to be expecting twins.) He was clean shaven with long white hair, but was completely bald on top. By my estimates he was a Grade A, First Class Weirdo. I looked at him and yelled back, “Stop buzzing the buzzers!”
He yelled back, “Let me in!” (Dealing with weirdos is one of the drawbacks to living on the bus line.)
I yelled louder, “You don’t live here! I’m not letting you in!” He looked at me (with a glazed over expression) and buzzed the buzzers some more.
By this time my neighbor Shayna opened her door and some dude I had never seen before emerged from the basement studio apartment (where it’s rumored they deal pot). I looked at both of them and said, “Do either of you know this guy?”
They looked at me like I was crazy… of course they didn’t.
He was still buzzing when I yelled, “What’s wrong with you? We’re not letting you in. Go away!”
Then things got weird. He put one hand on his hip and his spare palm on the glass door and (if I’m not mistaken, I thought I heard a southern drawl) he said, “I don’t bite.”
I looked at Shayna and she shot me a look back. We both understood, yeah, this guy is nuts. I looked back at him and he repeated, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” His hand was still on his hip and his palm still on the glass. (Weird!)
I yelled at him, “Get the hell out of here, we’re calling the police!” He just kept staring at us and repeated, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.”
It was at this point that I realized I was still on the phone with Bridget. “Oh my God! Bridget, are you hearing all this? This guy is crazy. I’ve got to let you go. I’m calling the police.” I didn’t give her time to answer… I hung up and tried dialing 911 (which is actually rather difficult on a cell phone.)
It didn’t matter. While I fumbled with my cell phone and the weirdo outside kept repeating, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” Shayna had successfully called 911 and asked them to send by a squad car. The dude in the basement studio (that I had never seen before), disappeared back into his smokey den. The man outside was still repeating, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” (He had probably said it 15 times, by the time I walked away.)
I finally turned around to go back upstairs to my apartment, but not before Shayna and I chatted for a few minutes in the hallway. I had never really talked to her before… just a wave here and there while coming in and out of the building. She’s a sign language interpreter. (How cool is that!)
It’s funny how all it takes is a weirdo saying, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” for neighbors to come together! Maybe I’ll pass along a batch of the Amish friendship bread to her. Yeah, that’s a nice thought!
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Cougar Bar
I was recently informed by my new friend "Richie", of a phenomenon known as a ‘Cougar Bar’. Before Friday night, I had never heard of the term.
Richie, Amelia, Billy, Jessy and myself (Jane, if you hadn’t figured that out already) had been enjoying a late happy hour at Bellanotte in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. They have a great patio and it’s possibly one of the best places to 'people watch' in the Twin Cities. As we jabbered away and soaked in the fabulous later summer weather, Richie paused, looked around the expansive patio bar and got a funny grin on his face.
He leaned into our circle and said, "Have you guys ever heard of a Cougar Bar?"
Amelia and I shrugged our shoulders, and I said, "A what bar?"
He repeated, "A Cougar Bar!"
We shook our heads no, and Richie began to explain. "When I used to live on the West Coast there was a bar down the street from my house. It was a great place to hang out and have a beer until later at night. Then, it turned into... a Cougar Bar."
Amelia piped in, "So what’s a Cougar Bar?"
Richie said, "It’s a bar where single (typically) divorced women in their forties come to prowl for younger men."
We began to laugh, not because of his explanation of what a Cougar Bar was, but because we realized what Richie had already realized. We were sitting in a Cougar Bar.
Over the past few hours on Bellanote’s patio, the crowd of people had gradually changed. There were no longer groups of coworkers having a Friday afternoon happy hour nor were any couples scattered about having romantic dinners. The atmosphere and the crowd was notably different. We were in the midst of a Cougar crowd! These women were perched on their high stilettos peering out beneath their thick dark eye makeup, over the herds of people, waiting patiently to pounce.
Sure... there were plenty of creepy old men hitting on younger girls. But there was a definate remnant of Cougars on the loose in Bellanote... waiting for their prey. (Meow...)
Amelia wasn’t sure that they were all women. She was convinced that a few of them were actually men. I had to agree with her in a few instances.
The next day I attempted to do some further research of the phenomenon of "Cougar Bars" I found some other varied definitions of what a "Cougar" was. The following description I liked in particular:
"Cougars are single, slightly-older women, who go out, dressed like they’re in their early twenties and get really really drunk while trying to meet (i) Young men or (ii) Rich older men. Cougars who, unlike women in their early twenties that are not extremely aggressive in their courting practices; are predators, which is a learned behavior they acquire in order to get the attention of men, who traditionally prefer to date younger women."
Now that I know that there’s a name for this behavior, it makes me wonder… Am I on my way to becoming a "Cougar?" (Dun, dun dun... forboding music....) If so, the bars of First and Hennepin Avenues... Beware!
Richie, Amelia, Billy, Jessy and myself (Jane, if you hadn’t figured that out already) had been enjoying a late happy hour at Bellanotte in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. They have a great patio and it’s possibly one of the best places to 'people watch' in the Twin Cities. As we jabbered away and soaked in the fabulous later summer weather, Richie paused, looked around the expansive patio bar and got a funny grin on his face.
He leaned into our circle and said, "Have you guys ever heard of a Cougar Bar?"
Amelia and I shrugged our shoulders, and I said, "A what bar?"
He repeated, "A Cougar Bar!"
We shook our heads no, and Richie began to explain. "When I used to live on the West Coast there was a bar down the street from my house. It was a great place to hang out and have a beer until later at night. Then, it turned into... a Cougar Bar."
Amelia piped in, "So what’s a Cougar Bar?"
Richie said, "It’s a bar where single (typically) divorced women in their forties come to prowl for younger men."
We began to laugh, not because of his explanation of what a Cougar Bar was, but because we realized what Richie had already realized. We were sitting in a Cougar Bar.
Over the past few hours on Bellanote’s patio, the crowd of people had gradually changed. There were no longer groups of coworkers having a Friday afternoon happy hour nor were any couples scattered about having romantic dinners. The atmosphere and the crowd was notably different. We were in the midst of a Cougar crowd! These women were perched on their high stilettos peering out beneath their thick dark eye makeup, over the herds of people, waiting patiently to pounce.
Sure... there were plenty of creepy old men hitting on younger girls. But there was a definate remnant of Cougars on the loose in Bellanote... waiting for their prey. (Meow...)
Amelia wasn’t sure that they were all women. She was convinced that a few of them were actually men. I had to agree with her in a few instances.
The next day I attempted to do some further research of the phenomenon of "Cougar Bars" I found some other varied definitions of what a "Cougar" was. The following description I liked in particular:
"Cougars are single, slightly-older women, who go out, dressed like they’re in their early twenties and get really really drunk while trying to meet (i) Young men or (ii) Rich older men. Cougars who, unlike women in their early twenties that are not extremely aggressive in their courting practices; are predators, which is a learned behavior they acquire in order to get the attention of men, who traditionally prefer to date younger women."
Now that I know that there’s a name for this behavior, it makes me wonder… Am I on my way to becoming a "Cougar?" (Dun, dun dun... forboding music....) If so, the bars of First and Hennepin Avenues... Beware!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
A Narrow Escape From Mr. Chuckles
What does one do, when they are no longer dating? Or rather, what does Jane do when she’s no longer dating? (Please don’t ask me why I’m writing in the third person.) Anyway, the answer is… I work. I work a lot!
I worked this evening at my part time retail job (my 2nd job). As much as it stinks having to put in 10-12 hour workdays, I really enjoy the people I work with and I don’t mind the work. There’s always something interesting going on. Today was no exception.
It was getting close to the end of my shift. It was 15 minutes before closing time, when I saw him. It was the same guy I had helped on two previous occasions over the past three weeks. He was back again. I would describe him as a nerdly fellow that took good care of himself. He wore pressed khakis and a blue dress shirt. It was tucked in and finished off with a belt. (It says something about a person, when they wear a belt. I’m not sure what… but it says something.)
I was busy straightening up my section of the store. I briskly walked by him and made a comment. “Are you back again? I’m not sure if there’s anything left in the store that you haven’t bought.” I had a teasing and sarcastic lilt in my voice.
He chuckled (I’m not kidding, he really did chuckle), “I just never realized how much stuff you guys have in your store. Every time I come here, I see more stuff that I need.”
We both chuckled… I was inadvertently mimicking his laugh. (A bad habit that I have to stop.) I think it’s a subconscious sales technique.
“Jane, that’s your name right?” As he looked down at my name tag. “You must work here a lot. All three times I’ve come into the store, you’ve been working. Is this your full time job?”
I chucked. (I really have to stop mimicking the customers’ laughs.) “No, no… I’ve just been working a lot lately.” (I didn’t tell him that it was a substitute for not dating.)
We bantered back and forth as I hurried him through picking out bathroom accessories. I found out that he worked in IT at Northwest Airlines. I told him what I did for a living and… he chuckled (again). We discussed the mechanic’s strike and his employer’s pending bankruptcy as I walked him to the front of the store to check out.
I knew what was coming as I scanned the items and started bagging his purchases.
“So Jane, are there any good coffee shops around here, open this time of night?” I could tell he was trying to be subtle, but I was two steps ahead of him and played dumb.
I didn’t want to be mean, but I just wasn’t interested. I’m seriously done with dating. “Well, there are some coffee shops, but not any good ones. You’ve always got Perkins to fall back on.” I chucked. (Crap, why can’t I stop mimicking… it’s really getting annoying.)
“Isn’t there a Starbucks down the street?” He was putting himself out there and I respect him for it, but I wasn’t budging on my position. I’m really seriously done dating.
“Yeah, there is, but it closed already. All the businesses near the mall shut down between 9:30 and 10:00 p.m. It’s already closed.”
“Oh, um, that’s too bad.” He said softly. He didn’t chuckle this time. I finished his transaction and told him to have a good night and that I’d probably see him around again.
I had shut him down. I felt bad, but my adventuresome dating spirit has vanished. My interest in the activity… is simply gone. Not even the promise of good conversation with this nameless nerdly guy (that shall henceforth be referred to as ‘Mr. Chuckles’) could motivate me to accept his invitation of coffee. I felt like a bizzo for brushing him off, but I need some time off from the sport.
My despondency about being a bizzo to the ‘nameless nerdly guy’ a/k/a ‘Mr. Chuckles’ was short lived. As I walked out to my new long term German boyfriend ‘Arie the Audi’ (Yes, I named him.) I saw a praying mantis sitting on the roof of my car. It was the largest praying mantis I’ve ever seen. A couple of my co-workers and I played with it for about 10 minutes. We poked at it with sticks, blew on it and took its picture with my phone. Eventually, we pulled a branch down and let it crawl back into the tree it dropped from. That mantis must have been 6 inches from end to end! It made me chuckle.
I worked this evening at my part time retail job (my 2nd job). As much as it stinks having to put in 10-12 hour workdays, I really enjoy the people I work with and I don’t mind the work. There’s always something interesting going on. Today was no exception.
It was getting close to the end of my shift. It was 15 minutes before closing time, when I saw him. It was the same guy I had helped on two previous occasions over the past three weeks. He was back again. I would describe him as a nerdly fellow that took good care of himself. He wore pressed khakis and a blue dress shirt. It was tucked in and finished off with a belt. (It says something about a person, when they wear a belt. I’m not sure what… but it says something.)
I was busy straightening up my section of the store. I briskly walked by him and made a comment. “Are you back again? I’m not sure if there’s anything left in the store that you haven’t bought.” I had a teasing and sarcastic lilt in my voice.
He chuckled (I’m not kidding, he really did chuckle), “I just never realized how much stuff you guys have in your store. Every time I come here, I see more stuff that I need.”
We both chuckled… I was inadvertently mimicking his laugh. (A bad habit that I have to stop.) I think it’s a subconscious sales technique.
“Jane, that’s your name right?” As he looked down at my name tag. “You must work here a lot. All three times I’ve come into the store, you’ve been working. Is this your full time job?”
I chucked. (I really have to stop mimicking the customers’ laughs.) “No, no… I’ve just been working a lot lately.” (I didn’t tell him that it was a substitute for not dating.)
We bantered back and forth as I hurried him through picking out bathroom accessories. I found out that he worked in IT at Northwest Airlines. I told him what I did for a living and… he chuckled (again). We discussed the mechanic’s strike and his employer’s pending bankruptcy as I walked him to the front of the store to check out.
I knew what was coming as I scanned the items and started bagging his purchases.
“So Jane, are there any good coffee shops around here, open this time of night?” I could tell he was trying to be subtle, but I was two steps ahead of him and played dumb.
I didn’t want to be mean, but I just wasn’t interested. I’m seriously done with dating. “Well, there are some coffee shops, but not any good ones. You’ve always got Perkins to fall back on.” I chucked. (Crap, why can’t I stop mimicking… it’s really getting annoying.)
“Isn’t there a Starbucks down the street?” He was putting himself out there and I respect him for it, but I wasn’t budging on my position. I’m really seriously done dating.
“Yeah, there is, but it closed already. All the businesses near the mall shut down between 9:30 and 10:00 p.m. It’s already closed.”
“Oh, um, that’s too bad.” He said softly. He didn’t chuckle this time. I finished his transaction and told him to have a good night and that I’d probably see him around again.
I had shut him down. I felt bad, but my adventuresome dating spirit has vanished. My interest in the activity… is simply gone. Not even the promise of good conversation with this nameless nerdly guy (that shall henceforth be referred to as ‘Mr. Chuckles’) could motivate me to accept his invitation of coffee. I felt like a bizzo for brushing him off, but I need some time off from the sport.
My despondency about being a bizzo to the ‘nameless nerdly guy’ a/k/a ‘Mr. Chuckles’ was short lived. As I walked out to my new long term German boyfriend ‘Arie the Audi’ (Yes, I named him.) I saw a praying mantis sitting on the roof of my car. It was the largest praying mantis I’ve ever seen. A couple of my co-workers and I played with it for about 10 minutes. We poked at it with sticks, blew on it and took its picture with my phone. Eventually, we pulled a branch down and let it crawl back into the tree it dropped from. That mantis must have been 6 inches from end to end! It made me chuckle.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Dating Boycott
I’ve decided to stop dating. It’s not so much a decision as I’m simply bored with it. I’ve lost interest. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Things were progressing with Keith and I’m still having a good time getting to know Josh (in a plutonic sense only), but I’m bored with dating. I’m tired of the time investment. I barely have enough time to hang out with my friends and when you throw a dating relationship into the mix… well, it completely consumes my schedule.
My boycott on dating started a few weeks ago, when I was planning my class reunion. I was consumed with preparations, calling people and making arrangements to get back to my hometown. I just didn’t have time for it. After I got back from the reunion, well I just didn’t feel like it. I started declining Keith’s T.V. dates (which really annoyed him) and every time Josh called me to hang out; I had something else going on.
Dating has lost its excitement… I need to find a new hobby.
My boycott on dating started a few weeks ago, when I was planning my class reunion. I was consumed with preparations, calling people and making arrangements to get back to my hometown. I just didn’t have time for it. After I got back from the reunion, well I just didn’t feel like it. I started declining Keith’s T.V. dates (which really annoyed him) and every time Josh called me to hang out; I had something else going on.
Dating has lost its excitement… I need to find a new hobby.
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