He's So Vain

When I was in college I met David. He had a winning personality and it didn't hurt that he was attractive. Gregarious is an understatement. He can schmooze the pants off of anybody, and small talk is most definitely his forte.

We were initially attracted to each other way back when and he asked me out. We had one date.

Since it was so long ago, the only part of the evening I clearly remember is him inviting me back to his place (I'm assuming he took me out to dinner somewhere first) to show me "Bambi Meets Godzilla," an animated short, in which after just a few short minutes our beloved Bambi gets squashed by Godzilla. David thought it was hilarious and I remember how excited he was to show it to me. I have to admit, I thought it was pretty funny.

That was over 20 years ago. In fact, it was nearly 25 years ago. Gasp. Where in the world has the time gone?

Because I was young and stupid, I agreed to David's request to become friends with benefits after he decided he wasn't interested in dating me. I put up with it for a while, until I decided that the person this relationship was benefitting was him and I removed sex from the equation. Our friendship didn't suffer or falter, and we were the best of friends. The best of friends, I suppose, that a man and woman can possibly be. We've all seen When Harry Met Sally. He would talk about his subsequent girlfriends and I would listen. I supposed I talked to him about the men I dated, but really, I can't remember.

What I can remember, is there got to a point in our friendship, about a year after I graduated that I decided I was through with the friendship. It wasn't serving me at all. In fact, I felt like the friendship was on his terms entirely and I was tired of the dynamic. While I wasn't overly familiar with the term narcissistic or Axis II personality disorders back in 1994, I knew I needed a break from David.

He was obsessed with women, and not just any women. He was always looking for a woman who was the best in at least one area i.e. the smartest, best looking, most accomplished. You get the idea. While I was rather average, or maybe above average, in most areas - I didn't come close to the perfection he was seeking. Perhaps that's why he wasn't interested in dating me. I was just your run of the mill nice girl who wasn't bad to look at. Mind you, I'm not knocking myself. It's just that what David was looking for was always a superlative and that was not me.

Ten years after I ended our friendship, I started looking back at our relationship through rose colored glasses and wondered if he was the one that got away. Silly me. Time can be sneaky that way. After not being able to shake the thought of him for a month straight, I remember the day like it was yesterday - at month's end - and will never forget it, because frankly it was spooky. I was standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom in my apartment thinking: "I'd really like a boyfriend." Then, boom, the phone rang. It was David. We hadn't seen each other or spoken in 10 years and he said he'd found me online.

I couldn't believe it. My therapist at the time, who would turn out to be a complete idiot, encouraged me to get excited over David and even suggested that he could be the one. He and I chatted on the phone for a while and then he suggested we meet for lunch, soon. He bragged about owning his own advertising agency as well as his brand new BMW.

When I arrived at his office for lunch, on time, he kept me waiting for half an hour. I was pissed. I was tired of waiting and had been licked to death by his dog and thought it rude that he kept me waiting for so long. I made a semi-snarky remark that since he'd kept me waiting, I was expecting he'd take me to Spago for lunch. He laughed and said no, we'd be going to an Italian cafe down the street and we'd be taking the dog.

So, me, David and his gargantuan greyhound traipsed down the street to an outdoor cafe in which there wasn't enough room for the dog at all, but that was classic David. Over lunch, he reminded me why I ditched him as a friend 10 years prior. To make a long story short: it was all about him, ad nauseum. He bragged over lunch about the 21 year old Asian girl he was banging and he didn't lower his voice at all. I was supremely embarrassed and couldn't wait for lunch to be over and escape back to my life which all of a sudden wasn't looking so bad.

For some reason, we are Facebook friends. Yesterday, I noticed it was his birthday so I wished him a happy one. He just turned 46. I know this, because I'll be 44 later this year. When I went onto his profile page to respond to his response to my Happy Birthday message, I nearly fell over. There was a photo of him. His hair is long and his muscles are so pumped he looks like he's on steroids. And, that's not all. His girlfriend, who's in the photo with him, doesn't look legal.

I really needed to vent today. It's been rough. While I know that nobody loves the idea of aging, I mean really?? Where is the sense of propriety?

Oh, right. I guess there isn't any.

When I was young and naive, and oh say 20, I wondered if we might wind up together. Today's reminder while walking down memory lane was a rude awakening that not only will it never happen, and really, I'm okay with that, but also that some men just don't grow up. While whining to my friend Sharon today, she reminded me that I could play the Cougar card if I wanted to. Uh, no thanks. For me, it's just too distasteful. I can't do it. I'd rather wait around for an older guy. Hopefully, there's one out there for me who isn't too decrepit. God, can I just meet him while I still have my eyesight?

Oh, and if you're wondering, like the song, if this blog post is about you? Yes, it most definitely is.

Boo Hoo, He Was Too Good To Be True

Originally posted on skirt!

A few months ago I was at an audition, when lo & behold - there he was.

The man of my dreams. Most definitely. Perfection, for an older guy, in human form. He looked pretty darned tootin' good. As in, he could be a model, which I would later find out he happens to be.

We chatted, but not for too long since we were there for the business at hand: the audition.

My memory retained every moment of my time with Mr. Perfect and even replayed the interaction over and over again in my mind and enjoyed watching the movie. I decided if it was meant to be, that I would see him again. And just for fun, Universe, wouldn't it be jolly if we were to meet in the same place we met the first time?

You can imagine the thrill when he who will hopefully not remain nameless appeared. My prayers had been answered. Literally. When he walked into the foyer, ready to embark on what would turn out to be a shady sales scam, I was ecstatic.

I wasn't going to let this precious and most perfect opportunity slip away and I confidently seized the moment. After some initial small talk I asked if he remembered me. He said, "Oh, yes, you were the one who was annoyed with that guy." He was referring to the idiot Director from the project we'd previously auditioned for who didn't know what he was doing and who had zero time management skills and kept me and several other actors there for hours. We then took our seats and our conversation had to come to a halt.

After the sales pitch was over, he and I both ran out of there while everyone else went back in to prove why they were right for the job. I told Mr. Dreamy that I hope he didn't think I was a bitch the first time he met me and he laughed and said "No, I thought you were right." We were now on a roll and it felt like we were starring in a Katharine Hepburn/Cary Grant romance.

Then I took a chance. I told him that I don't know a lot of other actors in town (this is true) and asked if it would be okay if I gave him my card.

That evening he sent me a friendly email saying it was nice meeting me again and how he couldn't believe what suckers the other people were at the sales pitch. I was hoping he'd want to get together.

You know, for a cup of coffee at the very least.

He didn't ask. So I did what any other well meaning 21st century woman would do: I cyberstalked him.

And guess what...???

I came across his wedding registry. To a man. Larry. There was a reason it was called Rainbow Wedding Registry. He and Larry are getting married in Maui.

Good for them. But wait, why is it that gay men are my crack cocaine? Not just any gay men, but gay men who are straight-seeming, good looking and well dressed. If they smell good, it not only doesn't hurt, but only adds fuel to the fire. Why can't I be attracted to slovenly straight men? I'm sure I'd get a lot more dates.

That is not a rhetorical question.

The Audition From Hell

Look, don’t ever go to an audition drunk. It’s not like I was drunk, drunk. It all happened innocently enough.  You see, I was at the ballet, Don Quixote, in fact. Sitting next to me was a six year-old hellion who wouldn’t shut up. No one had taught her to use her ballet voice, you know, whisper? Her grandmother was very nice and said, yes, the little dear was rambunctious and longingly gazed at the perfect child sitting in front of us and asked why her grandchild couldn’t be like that?

             

By the second intermission I couldn’t take it. Oh, and did I mention that the two women sitting behind me were also going at it as well? Talking, that is. They wouldn’t stop. The lights go up after the second act and I make a beeline straight for the bar and order a glass of champagne. By the time I got back to my seat, everything was all right with the world. The little cretin’s voice didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I just laughed. Everything was so much better.

            

 After the ballet, I left McCaw Haw and crossed Seattle Center to where I had an audition for a short-film. This director was supposedly a big deal for Seattle. Even though he was originally from New York, he had attended Evergreen State College where he befriended Kurt Cobain. He befriended him, not the other way around. And we all know Kurt Cobain was a drug addict. Maybe this director was no great shakes after all. One thing I should mention, though, he was the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship. That’s a big deal. This was someone I want to know, right?

          

 So, I go to my audition and while I wasn’t anywhere near drunk, I was, let’s say, a bit more relaxed and exuberant than usual. I was friendly. When I walked in the director mentioned that I had impressed him by sending him a headshot for the part of the nurse where I was dressed, well, as a nurse. That’s where the compliments started and that’s where they ended. It all went to hell after that.

             

He gave me some direction and when I went in to deliver my line (which involved me moving, walking actually), I didn’t cheat the camera enough and I wound up with my the back of my head facing the camera. You know, the kiss of death for an actor. We all know that’s the #1 think you don’t do. Ever. That’s the first thing you learn in Acting 101 for crying out loud. Shit, I knew better. Luckily he let me do a couple more takes, but the damage was most likely already done. Fuck. Just shoot me now.

Feeling Like A Heffalump

My friend Navjit just launched her fabulous new website, and her new company Tenderlogic and she is offering a challenge which also happens to be a contest. If you know me well, you know how I love a contest. But that isn't why I'm entering. I'm entering because one of her questions spoke to me. And it didn't speak to me in a friendly sort of way. In fact, it haunted me.

The question is this: What habit or behavior is blocking you from your higher self?

Initially, I thought I'd answer the easy question: Do you think you're funny? Well, of course I'm funny. I'm sure if I decided to put the time and energy into answering that question I could have come up with something hilarious. Heck, I could have even written a new knock-knock joke, the likes that no one has ever heard before and know that my dear friend Navjit would be roaring with laughter. While I do enjoy making people laugh, (and who wouldn't want to make Navjit laugh?), that would have been the easy answer and honestly, the thought of answering that question didn't make me feel funny at all. Had I decided to answer that question, it probably would have had some ego attached to it.

So, instead, I'm choosing to answer the difficult question. The one I don't want to look at. It surrounds an issue that gnaws at me on a regular basis, weekly in fact. I enjoy writing down goals each week, more specifically the things I've accomplished after I accomplish them. Each Sunday starts a new week. I'm a doer. But not in the area I'm having trouble with. That area is exercise.

If I could only just get my butt to the gym!

I have a membership at a swank club and each week I imagine that I'll go there, take a yoga class, go for a swim, maybe even take a zumba class.

But I don't go. I have gone to the Saturday yoga class before, but it's been months and it's been even longer since I've gone during the week after work. I've thought about canceling my membership, but I don't want to. I don't want to give up on myself. The thing is, I know that if I just show up that the exercise part will take care of itself. It will happen because I'm there. That I know. However, getting myself to the gym is the tricky thing. And because I live in the Pacific Northwest where it rains 10 months out of the year, a gym membership is a great thing to have because of the weather.

If I could just get there once a week I'd be ahead of the game. Three times a week and I'd be ecstatic. Five, and....oh!!! Stop! Let's not put the cart before the horse. See, I can easily work myself up about my fantasy workouts and get excited just by thinking about them. While I'm sure if a trainer showed up at my house every day and forced me to exercise I wouldn't like it. In fact, I'd probably resent it. I want the freedom to choose when and how to work out. I just need help getting there. Getting to the gym that is, and just getting started. It's not like I don't exercise at all. I do. Sunday mornings I walk with friends along the Burke-Gilman trail, no matter what the weather, and then take a yoga class. On Saturdays sometimes I'll hike. What I want to do, is not let my gym membership go to waste.

The Seattle Freeze

Seattle, you're not as progressive as you think you are.
Oh, you compost and you recycle...
But what about the gay men who come here and hide out in marriages to women? Hey, Mister, you're much more transparent that you think you are. I see you.
With the Subaru being the state car, you're much more conformist than Portland and not that creative.
While it's admirable that most of your citizens are card carrying library members, and walk around with a book in hand, would it kill them to open their mouths and speak to a stranger? Just because?
The chill infuses everything and everyone.
Oh, and I've heard different excuses: the constant rain, that the city was founded by Swedes. Boring, boring.
Unfortunately the Seattle Freeze is real and people think it's okay to act that way. Even if they were friendly at first they eventually succumb and conform. It's not okay.
What makes a city is its people.
Smiling and looking someone in the eye doesn't happen here.
And that's what it's about, for me anyway. Connection. The older I get the more I want to be a part of something.
Perhaps I need a smaller town in order to feel a sense of community.
Seattle chose me for various reasons and I obliged.
Perhaps, the next time, I'll choose differently with what's important in mind.