When Dreamy and his friend Brian made reservations for the symphony six weeks or so ago, Dreamy optimistically told him, "Maybe by then you'll be dating someone and can invite him." So they both went ahead and bought two tickets for Mahler's 9th last night, one for me and one for Brian's future boyfriend.
Unfortunately, that's not the way things worked out. Brian did go on a few promising dates, was very excited and, I'm sure, the thought crossed his mind that he could put his spare symphony ticket to good use. But after date #2 his suitor got in touch to say he had just gone through a breakup, wasn't ready, blah blah blah.
It was only two dates, but Brian was crushed. He's been on many, many dates over the past few years, and hadn't felt this excited about anyone. We've all been there, in one form or another, realizing too late that we've gotten ahead of ourselves in our hopes and expectations.
This happened several weeks ago, but I'm sure last night was a reminder of his disappointment. Brian brought along a good friend, but it just wasn't the double date he had been hoping for. After the symphony, his friend headed home, complaining of a head cold, and the three of us made our way through the cold and snow to the nearest bar, where we guzzled down a few cocktails to warm us up.
When Brian headed to the bathroom, Dreamy turned to me, gave me a sweet smile, and started to kiss me. "Why do you keep looking off to your right and squirming around?" he asked. "Because Brian is coming back soon!" I reminded him, and sure enough, just then I spotted Brian, barely in time to distance myself from Dreamy. Later, during a conversation about baseball in which I mostly let my mind wander off, I tuned in briefly to make a disparaging comment about the Yankees. (Really, I'm only marginally more interested in the Red Sox than in the Yankees, but don't tell Dreamy that.) "Isn't she wonderful?" Dreamy asked Brian (a Yankees fan), leaning in to give me another kiss -- with tongue! I elbowed him in the ribs, hoping that my gesture would give him the "be sensitive to your friend" message he clearly needed.
Dreamy has many wonderful qualities, but sensitivity to other people's feelings is not always among them. He certainly feels for his friend, and dropped his plans to head to a bar with Brian when he received the breakup email. But by now he had forgotten that Brian might still be feeling the sting of rejection and might not appreciate being the third wheel to a pair of lovebirds who couldn't keep their hands off each other. So when he headed to the bathroom a second time, Dreamy again edged closer and started putting the moves on me. "Sweetie, we really need to be more sensitive to Brian. He's not going to want to hang out with us anymore if we keep making out while he's in the bathroom," I told him, pushing him gently away.
After one more round, we headed out into the snowy evening and said our goodbyes to Brian. Dreamy and I walked off hand in hand, and after a few minutes he turned to me and said, "Finally, now we can make out!" We stood on the snowy, silent street, and it was very romantic. Romantic, that is, until a car slowed down and honked next to us. "Night, guys!" Brian called out through his open window.
D'oh. Really sorry, Brian.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Rebellion 2011
There wasn't much to rebel against this year, since Camping Snobs, my sister and dad's exclusive (read: they did not invite me) cross-country ski trip was kaput, but Rebellion 2011 was a resounding success anyway. Here's my top 10 list of great things about Rebellion:
10. It's so far from school in every way that I couldn't possibly think about work even if I tried.
9. Mom flailing like a cockroach on its back when she falls over. Big letdown this year: she didn't even go down once. I sure hope you don't disappoint next year, Mom.
8. Hot cocoa with a little special something after a long day of skiing.
7. Mushing. This year we got to watch two dog sled teams but didn't get to do any ourselves; I'm considering adding a mushing component to Rebellion 2012.
6. Arriving in camp to a cozy fire burning in our cabin's stove; and, to go with that,
5. Saunas with a woodburning stove and easy access to the out-of-doors where you can grab chunks of icy snow to rub on your aching muscles. And, um, parents who remember to keep their towels wrapped securely around them in the sauna. (Good work on that this year, guys. Much better than last year.)
4. Baby back ribs. And waffles, bacon, split pea soup, and abundant (real) maple syrup.
3. Those nice, easy downhill sections where you glide right along and there's no stream at the bottom that you risk falling into.
2. Coming home to my two sweethearts, Dreamy and Persil. (Yes, Persil is still alive! Dreamy didn't kill him.)
1. Composting toilets! I know it doesn't sound very luxurious, but believe me, after a day (and night) of using outhouses in subzero temperatures, it sure feels it. Of course, it's still a long way to get to the Clivuses in the main building from the cabins, so in the middle of the night either peeing off the porch or just holding it start to seem like better options. I went for the latter, and my bladder may have expanded to twice its former size in the past week.
Looking forward to Rebellion 2012!
10. It's so far from school in every way that I couldn't possibly think about work even if I tried.
9. Mom flailing like a cockroach on its back when she falls over. Big letdown this year: she didn't even go down once. I sure hope you don't disappoint next year, Mom.
8. Hot cocoa with a little special something after a long day of skiing.
7. Mushing. This year we got to watch two dog sled teams but didn't get to do any ourselves; I'm considering adding a mushing component to Rebellion 2012.
6. Arriving in camp to a cozy fire burning in our cabin's stove; and, to go with that,
5. Saunas with a woodburning stove and easy access to the out-of-doors where you can grab chunks of icy snow to rub on your aching muscles. And, um, parents who remember to keep their towels wrapped securely around them in the sauna. (Good work on that this year, guys. Much better than last year.)
4. Baby back ribs. And waffles, bacon, split pea soup, and abundant (real) maple syrup.
3. Those nice, easy downhill sections where you glide right along and there's no stream at the bottom that you risk falling into.
2. Coming home to my two sweethearts, Dreamy and Persil. (Yes, Persil is still alive! Dreamy didn't kill him.)
1. Composting toilets! I know it doesn't sound very luxurious, but believe me, after a day (and night) of using outhouses in subzero temperatures, it sure feels it. Of course, it's still a long way to get to the Clivuses in the main building from the cabins, so in the middle of the night either peeing off the porch or just holding it start to seem like better options. I went for the latter, and my bladder may have expanded to twice its former size in the past week.
Looking forward to Rebellion 2012!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Whoopsies
My archnemesis and jerky ex-boyfriend, La Moustache, has returned recently from his quixotic, 15-month trip around the world. Congratulations on driving your gas-guzzling vehicle an astonishingly far distance, Moustache! How do I know this? No, not because I've been googling him or reading bad articles by him (thanks to the Sensitive Bostonian for bringing that one to my attention), but because I've been in touch with him quite a bit since his return to New York.
It turns out that that nagging feeling I had in the back of my mind that I should return my car's New York license plates to the DMV was correct. (Mental note: pay attention to nagging feelings.) Because the car was registered in Moustache's name, and because I stopped paying for my New York insurance but did not cancel my New York registration, they revoked Moustache's license and slapped him with some heavy fines, thinking he had a registered vehicle that he was driving uninsured. (How does this work in other states? Do you always have to "unregister" a car when you move? Seems like kind of a crazy system.)
While some might say this is karma for being a jerk, it actually feels less than satisfying to be furiously angry with someone and then be responsible for causing them a huge inconvenience and major expense. I've been working hard this week to right my wrong, Fed Exing the plates back, making up a bill of sale, and photographing documents. Still, I appreciate the irony that the man who is now notorious for driving around the world no longer has a valid license and can't even drive down the block in Brooklyn.
P.S. Tomorrow is the 6 month anniversary of my first date with Dreamy :) Time flies when you have a nice boyfriend.
It turns out that that nagging feeling I had in the back of my mind that I should return my car's New York license plates to the DMV was correct. (Mental note: pay attention to nagging feelings.) Because the car was registered in Moustache's name, and because I stopped paying for my New York insurance but did not cancel my New York registration, they revoked Moustache's license and slapped him with some heavy fines, thinking he had a registered vehicle that he was driving uninsured. (How does this work in other states? Do you always have to "unregister" a car when you move? Seems like kind of a crazy system.)
While some might say this is karma for being a jerk, it actually feels less than satisfying to be furiously angry with someone and then be responsible for causing them a huge inconvenience and major expense. I've been working hard this week to right my wrong, Fed Exing the plates back, making up a bill of sale, and photographing documents. Still, I appreciate the irony that the man who is now notorious for driving around the world no longer has a valid license and can't even drive down the block in Brooklyn.
P.S. Tomorrow is the 6 month anniversary of my first date with Dreamy :) Time flies when you have a nice boyfriend.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Persil: Dead or Alive?
Longtime readers of this blog will recall that a year ago my family was split asunder for February vacation. My father and sister headed off on a cross-country ski trip entitled Camping Snobs 2010, which they neglected to invite my mother and I on. Hence, Mom and I planned our own trip, Rebellion 2010, which was a resounding success.
So successful, in fact, that this year my entire family is embarking on Rebellion 2011. That's right, Camping Snobs is officially dead, and since Mom and I are welcoming, non-exclusive types, we've decided to allow the former Snobbers to join us.
All of this leaves me with a familiar dilemma: Who will take care of the apple of my eye, my helpless little lovebird, Persil? Dreamy has become quite fond of Persil, and now insists that he be present when we Skype. He plays birdcalls to watch Persil's reaction, and when they shower together, I often hear peals of laughter coming from through the bathroom door. As soon as we enter my house, Dreamy asks, "It okay if I let P-Diddy out?" When we first started dating my sister expressed surprise when I mentioned that Dreamy liked Persil, and the Sensitive Bostonian's brother commented that, if he were Dreamy and he liked me, he'd like Persil, too. At this point, I think it's safe to say that Dreamy likes Persil for his own sake, not just mine.
So Dreamy immediately offered his services in caring for Persil when I'm gone. Then I had a conversation with his friend Brian, who pulled me aside and whispered to me, "You might want to leave Persil with me, not Dreamy. I wouldn't want anything to happen to the little guy."
So, is Dreamy responsible enough to keep my bird alive and happy? In his defense, he did successfully turtlesit over the summer, and as far as I know the turtle in question, Franklin, is still alive and healthy. Moreover, a couple of weeks ago, when I got the flu, I asked Dreamy to feed Persil one night when I felt so exhausted it seemed impossible. But as I was heading into my room, I got worried: Would Dreamy remember? I turned around and filled his bowl, only to berate myself for my lack of trust when Dreamy poked his head into my room as I donned my pajamas to ask where his food was.
On the other hand, this weekend I asked Dreamy if he'd mind waiting till after I showered before I heated up our leftover boeuf bourguignon Valentine's dinner for lunch. He answered, "Get in the shower! I can heat it up, silly." I followed his instructions, telling myself there was no reason to feel nervous, only to emerge a half hour later to a merrily boiling "stew" that was no longer quite so stew-y, with at least an inch of boeuf glued to the bottom of the pan. "Oops," Dreamy said, "I got involved in my work and forgot about it." Will he get involved in something and forget about Persil??
Nonetheless, Dreamy is my boyfriend, and if I'm going to do this thing I'll have to trust him at some point. So I've decided to entrust little Persil to him, and to tell Brian that I think he can handle it, although I'd love to use Brian's birdsitting services at a later date. And maybe I'll send a few text message reminders.
'Cuz seriously, if he kills my bird, I will be PISSED.
So successful, in fact, that this year my entire family is embarking on Rebellion 2011. That's right, Camping Snobs is officially dead, and since Mom and I are welcoming, non-exclusive types, we've decided to allow the former Snobbers to join us.
All of this leaves me with a familiar dilemma: Who will take care of the apple of my eye, my helpless little lovebird, Persil? Dreamy has become quite fond of Persil, and now insists that he be present when we Skype. He plays birdcalls to watch Persil's reaction, and when they shower together, I often hear peals of laughter coming from through the bathroom door. As soon as we enter my house, Dreamy asks, "It okay if I let P-Diddy out?" When we first started dating my sister expressed surprise when I mentioned that Dreamy liked Persil, and the Sensitive Bostonian's brother commented that, if he were Dreamy and he liked me, he'd like Persil, too. At this point, I think it's safe to say that Dreamy likes Persil for his own sake, not just mine.
So Dreamy immediately offered his services in caring for Persil when I'm gone. Then I had a conversation with his friend Brian, who pulled me aside and whispered to me, "You might want to leave Persil with me, not Dreamy. I wouldn't want anything to happen to the little guy."
So, is Dreamy responsible enough to keep my bird alive and happy? In his defense, he did successfully turtlesit over the summer, and as far as I know the turtle in question, Franklin, is still alive and healthy. Moreover, a couple of weeks ago, when I got the flu, I asked Dreamy to feed Persil one night when I felt so exhausted it seemed impossible. But as I was heading into my room, I got worried: Would Dreamy remember? I turned around and filled his bowl, only to berate myself for my lack of trust when Dreamy poked his head into my room as I donned my pajamas to ask where his food was.
On the other hand, this weekend I asked Dreamy if he'd mind waiting till after I showered before I heated up our leftover boeuf bourguignon Valentine's dinner for lunch. He answered, "Get in the shower! I can heat it up, silly." I followed his instructions, telling myself there was no reason to feel nervous, only to emerge a half hour later to a merrily boiling "stew" that was no longer quite so stew-y, with at least an inch of boeuf glued to the bottom of the pan. "Oops," Dreamy said, "I got involved in my work and forgot about it." Will he get involved in something and forget about Persil??
Nonetheless, Dreamy is my boyfriend, and if I'm going to do this thing I'll have to trust him at some point. So I've decided to entrust little Persil to him, and to tell Brian that I think he can handle it, although I'd love to use Brian's birdsitting services at a later date. And maybe I'll send a few text message reminders.
'Cuz seriously, if he kills my bird, I will be PISSED.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
A reappearance
I received the following message last night from Le Canadien:
Salut Heathen,
I hope everything is going well on your end and you're enjoying the winter. I would really like to stay friends. Let me know if you ever feel like grabbing a "casual" beer!
Hope all is well,
LC
Hmm, feeling a little lonely at 10:30 on a Saturday night, are we? Here's the reply I've drafted him:
Dear LC,
It's nice to hear from you! Since we last spoke in July, I've become acquainted with some excellent bourbon. I now drink bourbon on a very regular basis; my bourbon and I are quite inseparable. As a result, I've lost my taste for "casual" beer. However, if you'd care to indulge in a non-alcoholic beverage, possibly some coffee or diet Coke, I would be happy to do so.
Take care,
Heathen
I might send it just for fun. But then again, what's the point, really?
Salut Heathen,
I hope everything is going well on your end and you're enjoying the winter. I would really like to stay friends. Let me know if you ever feel like grabbing a "casual" beer!
Hope all is well,
LC
Hmm, feeling a little lonely at 10:30 on a Saturday night, are we? Here's the reply I've drafted him:
Dear LC,
It's nice to hear from you! Since we last spoke in July, I've become acquainted with some excellent bourbon. I now drink bourbon on a very regular basis; my bourbon and I are quite inseparable. As a result, I've lost my taste for "casual" beer. However, if you'd care to indulge in a non-alcoholic beverage, possibly some coffee or diet Coke, I would be happy to do so.
Take care,
Heathen
I might send it just for fun. But then again, what's the point, really?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Disappointment
First, Unilever bought Ben & Jerry's, and their ice cream never tasted quite so creamy again.
Next, Colgate-Palmolive bought Tom's of Maine, and my toothpaste started tasting more like Crest and less like fresh, spicy cinnamon sticks.
Finally, Match.com, hangout of boring, generic men (sorry to my friends who met their husbands/boyfriends there -- the exceptions to the rule, obvs), bought OKCupid.com.
What will be the next victim of corporatization?
Guess I better not break up with Dreamy now.
Next, Colgate-Palmolive bought Tom's of Maine, and my toothpaste started tasting more like Crest and less like fresh, spicy cinnamon sticks.
Finally, Match.com, hangout of boring, generic men (sorry to my friends who met their husbands/boyfriends there -- the exceptions to the rule, obvs), bought OKCupid.com.
What will be the next victim of corporatization?
Guess I better not break up with Dreamy now.
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