Ugly duckling syndrome

Last night, I was talking to the roomie about dating. I told her that when I get dressed up, put on makeup, all that jazz, etc., I know I look good–to me. I’m satisfied. I look in the mirror and feel pleased. But I’m always shocked–shellshocked! that men find me attractive as well. I’m rather astonished by this phenomenon.

Ugly duckling syndrome, she said. Let’s face it: I was not a looker in high school. Acne, extra weight, no concept of hair products or makeup…a lot of studying and nerdy pursuits. It was a fun childhood, though; an extended childhood, really, because she and I spent high school innocent of dating and its vagaries.

Then, I had a period of blossoming in college; lost some weight, started wearing makeup, learned the secrets of hair gel. Boys were interested! And I felt flattered…but I also felt contempt. Wasn’t I the same person, after all? Only the packaging changed.

So, post college, gained back some weight (ah, grad school). Now, it’s coming off again; I’m down about 25 lbs. And I’m just not used to the attention again, and it’s discomfiting. A bit foreign. For all his faults, my ex (Mr. P), loved me and my body even at its highest weight; I feel, then, vaguely suspicious of men who are interested in me now. Self-defeating? Yes, enormously.

This is going to take some time to figure out.

Why do I sound like a complete, blithering idiot, even to my own ears?

I hate talking on the phone. Actually, upgrade that to “loathe.” I LOATHE talking on the phone with strangers, particularly if I must first sit through a long and muzaked waiting period.

I loathe it even more if the situation I’m trying to explain is particularly complicated. Today was a painful day with three of these phone calls. Two to some community organizations which may have some sources I need for my research. Those went fairly well, to my surprise; although my request was unequivocally denied by one, both were pleasant and civil.

The third one I have been dreading for days, because I knew it was going to be a doozy. I had transferred my prescription from my SoCal pharmacy to a local one. And now, because it would be $25 cheaper per month, I wanted to transfer my prescription to mail-order. But it was complicated: my doctor’s name wasn’t coming up on the transfer website, so I finally gave up and called customer service. After being repeatedly told that my call was important to them, I spent the next 10 minutes sounding like a COMPLETE AND TOTAL MORON to some poor man named Fred. At one point I just heard this awful, painful sigh. “Msssss. Apricot. Do you know what a prescription is?”

And you know, I actually don’t. I mean, was it the little slip of paper I got from the pharmacy? What? He explained it as an actual written form. But I haven’t seem those in years–my prescriptions were always electronically transferred from my doctor to the university pharmacy. And prior to college, I had never handled one of my own prescriptions. Soooo. I was blushing furiously as I realized how stupid I sounded.

It’s precisely because of situations like these that I absolutely despise making phone calls to strangers. Agh I hate the telephone! HATE!

Watch out, men of the world! pt. 4: Meh

So I have been on a few more dates since my last update. And, I have to say…meh. Just meh.

Went on a 2nd date with Adams. It was…ok. I had already decided by the beginning of the date that I didn’t want to see him again, at least not romantically. Why? His outfit. I know. I shouldn’t be shallow. But who wears a faded black tshirt and khakis (the same outfit as the 1st date, actually) to a 2nd date? I wore a nice green dress with pretty scarf and heels; we looked mismatched, I must say. The whole thing stank of apathy, and I was quite happy to bid him adieu.

Then there was Madison. Now, all my life I have suffered the moaning of self-identified nice guys: girls are shallow! All they want are the hot guys! What about us nice guys? We never get a chance! In the interests of bucking the trend, I guess, I went on a date with Madison, who was not my type. Short, plain, slightly rotund, mousy, but with a really interesting, well-written profile. So I figured, hey. You never know, right? So I went on a date with him. And it was…everything I expected. He was obviously intelligent, well-spoken, a nice guy, clearly; but there was zero chemistry. None zip nada. He was also fixated on online gambling (he was currently unemployed). Also, I got the sense that he had father issues. And all this on the first date! He did dress up, I think–a button down shirt and clean pants–but he coupled that with sneakers. Sneakers! I shook his hand and told him I’d see him around.

Next came Monroe, with whom I went on not one but two dates. There’s a bit of a story behind this one. The first time he requested a date on chemistry.com, I turned him down because I was meeting up with a friend who was headed to Africa for a year. So we finally made arrangements for a date at a local cafe. So come last Saturday, I showed up (about 5 minutes late) to a cafe, looked around, didn’t see him. Hm. Then I realize that I am at the WRONG CAFE. Realize also that I don’t have his phone number. Call roommate frantically, ask her where the cafe is. She gives me directions for a place that’s about 20 minutes away, walking. I run in my heels towards it, thinking, oh my god, I turned this guy down once and now he’s going to think I stood him up. I am a bastard! I get there, blisters forming on my toes, and realize that it’s another WRONG CAFE. I call the roommate and demand that she actually google the name of the cafe this time. Turns out the cafe is actually close to back where I came from–another good 20 minutes away, or 25 if you figure in time for the hobbling that will ensue from the blistered feet in heels. (I am also caked in the grime of my own sweat and melted makeup by this point.) She logs onto my email account and emails him that I’ll be late. I make it over there at last, and the first thing out of my mouth is: “Hi! There’s only one word for what just happened, and that word is FIASCO.”

That date actually went very well; he didn’t want to leave, although an hour later all I wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. We made arrangements to see a movie, which we did this past Saturday. Final verdict: a nice guy. Fun. But a little too young for me; he didn’t catch the slightly provocative flirts I passed along, so I didn’t feel any interest along those lines. Maybe he was just dense. There was an awkward moment in the car at the end of the date when I think he wanted a kiss, and I threw my arms around him and said: “you deserve a hug!” And that was the end of that.

A world of hurt; or, it’s amazing what the human body can do

Had been planning to go to Lines’ Dance Center’s all-you-can-dance ($5 for 4 1/2 hours!) with Lisa for a few weeks now. Sunday was the big day. Unfortunately, Saturday, I made the poor decision to down a 6 oz. serving of chai at about 4PM (I am extremely caffeine-sensitive), which resulted in me staying up for pretty much the ENTIRE NIGHT. I mentioned it to her as we were headed to Lines on Sunday that I had stayed up all night–oh, was it a hot date? No, I didn’t have a hot date. But my intestines had a hot date with my toilet.

So, on two hours of sleep, I barted over to SF with Lisa and stepped into class.

1. Hip hop. I am not hip, and I do not hop. It was really enjoyable, though, despite the fact that the sight of myself in the mirror attempting to “look cool” was horrifying. Am soooo not a hip hop dancer, but it was super fun!
2. Modern. Well, supposedly the day was geared towards beginning dancers, but this class was definitely much more a fast, fast, complicated intermediate, replete with slides and falls. It confirmed my hatred of floor work and therefore my firm commitment to ballet.
3. Absolute beginning ballet. Not quite a real ballet class–no barres etc. Fine.
4. Break! We actually munched on our sandwiches and bran muffins and chocolate in the conference room…it was kind of neat to try and imagine what kind of amazing, famous choreographers and dancers may have once graced that room…
5. Musical theater. Fun!! Easy, not terribly strenuous except for the butt and thigh-murdering warm up routine, but cheesy. Very cute instructor with a beautiful tush.
6. Flamenco cancelled…boo. But instead, a 45 min Chinese folk dancing class, which was really interesting. Not much in the way of explaining the steps…it was very much a follow-the-teacher-monkey-see-monkey-do class, which I suppose is quite right for these sorts of short, sampling type classes. Low impact, except for when I (accidentally) punched myself in the left leg.
7. Jazz. I did maybe half this class, but was finally feeling the effects of no sleep and minimal food. So I sat down with Lisa and stretched for the second half.

After class we had a fabulously starchy dinner at a Chinese restaurant–three different kinds of noodles! Mine had roasted duck skin in it! Decadent and wholly satisfactory. I was flexing my legs under the table and thinking, gee, if I’m sore now, I’m going to be hurting tomorrow.

Today I feel like I have been run over by a garbage truck. Everything hurts. Still, I went to ballet this morning and am planning to go to class Tuesday and Thursday as well. I can’t even imagine how professional dancers do it…they do more than twice the hours we did, at a much much higher level. That, my friends, is why a few of my ballet teachers are still dancing and teaching class in their 80s.

Adult ballet: dancing ballet with a mullet

Getting back to my series of posts on adult ballet…hooray!

In a spurt of it’sgottocomeoffrightnowRIGHTNOW, I went to the local cheap salon last Sunday and got 6-7 inches chopped off of my head, and had bangs added. What I forgot to consider is that now I am consigned to attending ballet class with a mullet, thanks to the layers on the back of my head. I also have about 5-6 small hair clips gathered around the front of my head, in a futile effort to keep the bangs in place. There are little tufts of hair sticking out all over the place.

A few years back, when I was also dealing with a relatively short ‘do, my ballet teacher told me: there is a little curl on the back of your head. By the amount it bounces around at barre, I’ll be able to tell whether you are actually holding your upper body correctly or not. The moral of the story is that short hair/layered hair/bangs don’t make for the best ballet ‘do.

Some advice for gentlemen seeking love online

First order of business: Washington. A good guy, clearly respectful and decent, no complaints here. But there was NO spark. Not even a sad little fizzle. He just seemed…old. And actually, he was no older than anyone I’ve ever dated, but he was just…so…fixated on how old he was. And he clearly wanted to just GET MARRIED AND GET IT OVER WITH which is not very attractive. But he was nice. The final but: but I think neither he nor I want to take this further. It was an amicable date. And that’s all it was.

Roomie has been prodding me regularly to keep going with it, though I have taken 3 or 4 day breaks from checking my account. Having been at it for almost a month now, though, I would like to submit a few suggestions to men attempting the rather chancy venture of online dating:

1. Have a photo on your profile. I mean, not to be shallow here, but why would I show you my photo and then be OK with no photo on yours? Fair’s fair, right? I also understand that there is a high correlation between a lack of photo on dating profiles and that person being involved in infidelity.
2. In said photo, avoid: pictures where half your face is covered by a beer bottle, beer mug, or other alcoholic beverage. Where you are clearly drunk. Pictures of you with your buds, being manly. No cross-dressing…it troubles me. And cats. I have come across a shocking number of pictures where men have posed with their cats. Occasionally the cat is being cuddled…other times the cat is…just there. Plopped on the couch, clearly disgruntled. Is this supposed to be some sort of clever innuendo about vagina? Why are there no dog/fish/turtle photos? What’s with the cats? Are you trying to get in with the future cat ladies of the world?
3. Be more specific in your self-description. “I’m a fun guy looking for a nice girl” is not going to get any responses, especially if it’s coupled with no photo.
4. Don’t put yourself down in your profile. Such as, “I could stand to lose a few pounds” or “I’m not having much success out there.” And saying that you’re cynical and sarcastic 3+ times in one profile might worry a prospective date. On the other hand, baldly declaring that you are handsome and attractive with no modest qualifier is also hrm-inducing.
5. Be unique; pretty much everyone will say that they like to travel, like to go out and try new things, eat, yadda yadda yadda, but what makes you unique? Anecdotes are great here. “Once, while I was tagging caribou in Siberia…”
6. Spelling. Grammar can be tricky, I grant you, but SPELLING. How hard is it to spell “beautiful”?

Alright, I’ve said my piece. Back to sifting through the profiles…not that I’m a great catch at all, but I don’t believe the people who say that chemistry.com doesn’t hook you up with enough matches. There are 60some sitting in my account. And I’m quite ordinary, in appearance and presentation. So overall this is working out well, in terms of options. But I’m still going to give Plenty of Fish a spin, once this subscription runs out.

And ballet…yes, still going. More ballet posts soon.

Watch out, men of the world! pt. 3: a date, a date, a very important date

The 1-2-3 process in chemistry.com is somewhat cumbersome, I think, but necessary. I do like being able to draw the process out, to get a sense of where this person is coming from: first, a survey of general criteria of what he/I value in a relationship, then short answers (“what would you take with you to a desert island?”), and then email and a meeting. So I worked through it and met my first match today for tea!

Men of the world, watch out! pt. 2: Chemistry.com survey

After my dismaying encounter with eharmony, I went to chemistry.com, which I understand to be an offshoot of match.com. I have heard mixed things about match.com itself; I do know at least one couple that met on that site, but it seems rather meat market-ish. I understand it’s more inclined towards casual dating than serious relationships per se, and so chemistry.com is match.com’s bid to take over some of eharmony’s share of that “serious relationship” market. So I gave chemistry.com a shot.

Watch out, men of the world! Also: eharmony fail

I have always been a climb-back-on-the-horse person. (Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So says Einstein.)

So: at the urging of two of my closest, oldest friends–one of whom is in a happy relationship because of this–I am giving online dating a shot. My expectations are actually quite low. Non-existent, really, in terms of real romance and a real relationship. At this point in time, I still can’t imagine anyone but you-know-who in my life. On the other hand, I am still hesitant about accepting his overtures of restarting the relationship. So my mental interest in finding a new boyfriend or man-love is…low. To nil. But, as my friend and advisor (let’s call her Belle) suggests, it’s a good way to make friends, and it’s better to go into it hoping to make friends than to find a soulmate.

Two nights ago I gave eharmony a spin. I had given a gift membership to my mother a year ago, and she did not care for it at all (“too many ugly people”). But I liked their whole compatibility business, and it seems like a very earnestly put together enterprise, although I find their model couples in their commercials kind of annoying. So I sat down and with the help of my roomie finished their hour-long survey. And out of 12 million members? I had seven. Seven matches. Seriously? I had heard that if you are a highly educated woman, eharmony can be rough on you. Very rough. But…seven! Deleted my trial run account. Stat.

Roomie also observed that it seems like eharmony is trying to find a match who is as much like me as possible. This is bad, very bad.

Moreover, one thing that I thought was interesting was that eharmony matched me with all Asian men; I like Asian men well enough, but…really? ALL of them were Asian? Weird.

Next post: tentative success, in finding a decent dating site.

p.s. I found a good ballet teacher! Huzzah!

The slough of despond

And he said unto me,  ‘This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended: it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin doth continually run; and therefore it is called the Slough of Despond. For still, as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there arises in his soul many fears and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settle in this place: and this is the reason of the badness of this ground.’

Paul Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress

I am in the slough. The slough of despond. Whither has all my motivation gone? To do anything but the lamest of household chores? The most I am attempting to get accomplished today, it seems, is to not take a nap. And then sleep another 9 hours.

Outside of a LOT of family and relationship drama, also feeling a bit glum about how much my dance skills have regressed in just a few weeks. Well. Back to the studio, I guess. How else do I know that I am in the slough? I am reading Star Trek novels. Yessss. My guilty pleasure from my teenage years. Am about halfway through Diane Duane’s Bloodwing series, ordered for a buck off Amazon. But the sequel, The Empty Chair, is only available as an ebook…curses!

Actionable action plan? Avoid nap. Cook shrimp with lemon for dinner. Study Chinese for an hour. Go for walk/jog with roomie. Shower. Scope out sources for research next week. Look up info on photography courses. Finish Eudora Welty’s The Optimist’s Daughter.

Actually, the slough of despond is quite comfortable. It has the consistency of a soft and luscious pudding, with all the guilt that usually accompanies such confections.