Meg and Mom Mull Over Your...Questions (Damnit)

Hi Mom.

Hi Meg.

So the first item on today's agenda is actually from me, and it's not so much a "question" as something I want to show you because it's going to blow your mind.

OK.

So, I watched Valley of the Dolls last night and was completely distracted the entire time by how much Barbara Parkins, aka Anne Welles, looks like Becca. But exactly like her. Like in a sick, disturbing freak show kind of a way. Look:

Yeah. She does in that picture.

..........That wasn't the reaction I was going for at all.

Well. She does.

'Eh. Put Dad on the phone. I want to hear his reaction.

[Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle; pleasantries, pleasantries, pleasantries]

Dad: Oh! SHE DOES look like Becca! That's crazy! That's crazy talk right there!

THANK YOU! That's what I'm saying! It's insane, right??

Dad: It's the eyes. And the nose and the mouth. And the chin. Basically it's everything. Wow. You'll have to show her. Ooo, Evie's tail just got closed in the computer! She just said, "Damn technology." She's sad we're not looking at pictures anymore. I think she was hoping one of them would be of her. Ah! Now she's scampered back into the family room to finish watching Interview With the Vampire.

OK, just put Mom back on. None of this worked out how I thought it would.

Question #1!

Dear Mrs. McBloger,

My friends and I have been in a debate about this since we've graduated from college last year.  Is it better to be in a job that you love, but a location (geographically) that sucks, or to be in a location you prefer with a job that pays the bills/is at least tolerable?  From my personal standpoint, I am currently in a job that I love, but I live in the middle of nowhere, Midwest USA.  However, I don't mind because I know this location isn't permanent, and the job I love will be a great resume-builder for when I want to move on to a "better" location.  What are your thoughts?

Sincerely,

Hope to be Movin' on Up

My first instinct is to say that the longer you work, the more important it is to be happy with and enjoy what you do. I think when you're just entering the work force, it's easy to say, "I have to love where I am and be surrounded by all sorts of amazing social opportunities," but remember, the majority of your time is spent at your job and it's been my experience that if you're not happy there, nothing else really works out.

Based on New York, I completely agree. [I've always wanted to live in New York City. After I graduated college, I finally moved there and got what was supposed to be my dream job in magazine design, but it turned out to be the job from hell and one by one, everything else fell apart until my dad had to come up and physically remove me by the scruff of my neck because I had turned into a giant, self-destructing, hot-ass mess. It was a time. One day* it's going to make a really entertaining memoir.]

[*Probably not, but it's so cute that I still have dreams.]

I think it's something of a personality difference too.

What do you mean?

It's like the old saying, "some people eat to live, others live to eat". If your job is just how you pay the bills and your social life and where you live are more important to you, then go for it. But having observed people who have been in jobs that they're miserable in, it's my opinion that your job affects everything else in your life. When you hate your job, you rarely stop to say, "But God damn I love this neighborhood!" What about you and New York? Would you have put up with anything to stay there? Well, obviously not; you left.

Yeah. ["Yeah." Christ. I'm sorry I wasn't very vocal on this one. It hit too close to home. And by "home" I mean an incredibly disturbing part of my life. This took me to a place and all I wanted was a Xanax, but I only had pizza. So here we are: three slices to the wind and feeling emotional. Thanks, guy.]

I think this guy has a good long term attitude. He's saying this isn't where he wants to live forever, but this is a job that he could do forever and he can eventually do it someplace else. And when you're just out of school, you need experience. Not too many people have the luxury of being able to say, "That's a great job and it's exactly what I want to do, but no thanks—the location isn't to my liking." Because you don't have to stay there. You'll eventually have a great job and live somewhere you love, but you have to make compromises along the way. And personally, I'd rather make compromises to have a job I like, than live somewhere exciting. I'm sure there are people who do odd jobs just to live somewhere really beautiful on the west coast or something, and that's fine, but over time, that'll get old. Your job is eight hours or more of your day. I just know when I had a job that I didn't like, I was living someplace beautiful, I was happily married, and I was completely miserable.

What job?

Bank teller. It wasn't so much the job—I had worked at banks before—it was my boss and the entire situation.

Asshole?

Uh, real asshole.

Where was this?

New Canaan [Connecticut], which I love, but that didn't mean I didn't get a stomach ache every Sunday night. And we all know the Sunday night stomach ache.

PREACH. I still get the Sunday night stomach ache and I don't even have a job, technically.

Well, that's probably just your IBS acting up.

OK! OK! OK!...Moving on. Question #2:

OK, I need dating help. I think I am coming off as prissy or sheltered and I don't know how to fix it.

I keepdating men who won't swear in front of me. Like, none of them, not even "damn." It's starting to freak me out. GODDAMNIT, I AM NOT THAT  KIND OF GIRL.

I'm doing online dating, so I'm pretty much running the gamut of neverending rando dudes, and it's starting to get a little weird. EXAMPLE: Last night I went out with this burly construction worker who was all, "And then I told that motherfucker to - oh, wait, I should watch my language. Sorry." It was charmingly polite at first, but now I'm starting to get paranoid. I mean, fifteen out of fifteen guys all do it. I actually confronted one guy about it, and he said I gave off a "professional vibe" so he was on good behavior. I'm a lawyer. I assume he means that kind of professional, not, like, professional streetwalker...  I hope. Anyway, since it hasn't worked out with any of these men, who all become disinterested with time, I am wondering if I am unknowingly giving off some kind of stern librarian vibe? No one stays interested in the stern librarian! The burly construction worker actually shook my hand at the end of our date, but confusingly enough has since asked me out again.

SO. Is this is a symptom of an overarching problem with my image, or should I just take this as guys trying to impress their date with their politeness? Should I just start swearing immediately upon meeting these guys? Maybe do something really badass, like rip the head off of a small bird with my teeth as I open the door to say hello? (I would use a fake bird and stage blood. Obviously.)

Can you help me, Mom McBlogger?

-Don't Ask Me Nothin' (DAMN)

Well, I think she should start by looking at things like how she's dressing. Making sure she's casual enough, you know? A business suit isn't exactly date appropriate.

I like imagining her as a high-power female executive in 1986. Big shoulder pads, plucky attitude, pantyhose that aren't quite her natural skin tone, modest pumps. Basically this woman:

Do you think she's leading with the information that she's a lawyer?

If she's doing online dating, I'm sure it's in her little "about me" thing.

Well, maybe she should check her profile and make sure that isn't giving off a prim and proper impression.

It's weird because her writing is really funny and gives me the impression that she'd be laid back. I don't think her profile is the problem. I think that some people just naturally give off an extremely professional vibe and truthfully, it can be a little off-putting. Maybe this girl is just one of those people.

If she has some good friends who will be honest with her, I'd ask them.

So let's say she asks her friends and they're like, "Oh yeah, totes, you've got a great big stick up your ass," what does she do then? Call the waiter a cunt and challenge him to an arm wrestling competition?

I don't think she should do anything she normally wouldn't, because obviously the way she acts, dresses and talks is a big part of who she is. But if she wants to seem more approachable, she's going to have to make small changes.

What kind of changes?

Well, like the way she dresses.

So, what, she has to go out on dates with a pair of big 'ole tiddays swingin' every which way?

No, but she also shouldn't show up dressed like the female Perry Mason. Just dress down a little and let her sense of humor show. Why, do you think she should let a "damn" or two slip?

I think it can't hurt. Chris and I were on this really tense conference call last week and somewhere along the line, I made a little joke and dropped a casual F-bomb and it totally lightened the mood. Everyone's tone noticeably shifted and it became more like a conversation and less like, BEEP-BOP-BOP-BOOP—WE ARE ON A BUSINESS CALL. SYNERGY. BOT-TOM LINE.

Well. I guess she could pretend to drop her knife or something and be like, "Oh, damn!", but I don't think she should come flying out of the gate with, "SO ANYWAY, THIS FUCKING JOB..."

No, that's not what I'm saying. I just think that peppering in a little profanity here and there reminds people that you're human. And as I said, that can't hurt.

What did she say this guy was? A truck driver?

A construction worker.

How realistic does she think a lawyer having a ton in common with a construction worker is? Not saying that she's above him, but they live in two different worlds. If she's dating guys with less education and a lower income, maybe they're thinking, "Oh shit, I have to act like I'm on her level" the entire time.

So, what, just because she's a successful woman, she can only date successful, yuppie douchebags? That's bullcorn. Take me for example: you know there's nothing I love more in this world than a good old-fashioned redneck. I mean, I live slightly below the poverty line and I'm not that successful, so maybe that wasn't the best example, but still. She shouldn't be restricted as to who she can date just because she's a successful woman. STOP GENDERING THE SPACE, MOM. Gawd. Go back and learn your Herstory.

I'm not saying she has to date on her income level, but I am saying that she should understand that her success could be intimidating to some men, and that intimidation might be what's affecting their behavior.

I can buy that for maybe like the first 10 minutes of a date, but this sounds like she's going on dates plural with each of these guys.

Well, when a date swears in front of her and excuses himself, does she say, "Oh please, that doesn't bother me," or something? But then again, if this is happening over the course of more than one date, it's got to be something that's built into her, you know? Otherwise they'd just get to know her and become more and more comfortable. You'd hope someone who feels comfortable around you can at least swear around you after a few dates. I think either she's just got that professional vibe or she's not being herself.

That's a good point. Maybe she's not comfortable, so she's not being herself, which in turn is making them uncomfortable. I can see people interpreting her nervousness as being uptight.

Oh, absolutely. That always happens. Shy people are easily perceived as snobs.

So what are your tips to loosen up on a date?

Get drunk before.

HAHA, right?

I was kidding.

Oh, I wasn't. If I had a nickel for every time I had a cocktail in the shower, I'd have enough money to...buy more alcohol...to drink in the shower?

Maybe she's nervous because of how she perceives a date.

What do you mean?

Well, maybe she's looking at every date as a potential long term boyfriend. That certainly won't make her comfortable. It's like, if you look at every single man you meet as a potential husband, you'll never find one.

Yeah, but to be honest, I do that to a certain extent. I'm not saying I meet a nice guy and run out to get the towels monogrammed and have my eggs thawed, but when I'm on a date, I absolutely think to myelf, "Could this go somewhere? Can I see myself being with this person long term?" Because if not, then what are we doing here? I could be at home watching "Modern Marvels" or some shit and not talking to you about your adult kickball league. It's like a job interview.

You can't do that.

Why?

It just won't work. 

Why?

Because you're forcing it. You need to think of a date as exactly what it is—you're having a meal with somebody and getting to know them. Not, "OooOoo, where could this go?!"

I guess. But I also think people get nervous on first dates because there's always the possibility of rejection.

Right. But if you think about it again as a job interview, people who go into job interviews thinking it's not the end of the world if they don't get it typically do better.

Let's go back to the scenario where she asks her friends if she's a Prudence Primrose and they say yes; how can she loosen that shit up?

I do think that humor works wonders.

And her email was so funny! The subject was "99 problems and a stern bitch is me?" That's funny!

See? Humor works. As long as people get it. And you got it.

So you're saying we should date?

There you have it! Both of your problems are solved! But really, she should: ask her friends how she's perceived; make sure she's not overdressing, especially if she's coming straight from the office; if her date does swear, make sure he knows that she wasn't offended; drop a "damn" or a "hell" here and there, nothing heavy duty; and she's obviously a funny person, so use that! People are comfortable around funny people. I'm not saying do 15 minutes of your best stand up, but when you make someone laugh, they're instantly more comfortable around you. Also, maybe there's a bit of "I'm on a first date, I should be on my best behavior, I need to be a gentleman," going on with these guys.

PFFF, not the guys I date. Or go on dates with. If I get a compliment and a free Yuengling, that's like the win of the year right there.

Well, I think that has something to do with the age difference.

WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!?!

The age difference between me and you, not you and her. Jesus.

I'm sorry. You know I've been feeling Old Man River-ish these days. I gets weary and sick of tryin', Mom, you know that!

.....And then that sort of disintegrated into a conversation about the state of my life and how I need to borrow my dad's car for the weekend, which probably isn't of interest to you. So. Here's a video of Paul Robeson singing "Old Man River" from the 1936 version of Showboat instead. Enjoy your Monday!

The Things I Do For You

Oh, dear readers. The things I do for you. I tasted vaginal dye. I watched a Jenny McCarthy vanity project. And, in my most bizarre sacrifice yet, I intentionally went on a terrible internet date last weekend.

A word of explanation is in order. You know how strong emotions like grief and Kentucky Deluxe can cloud your judgment? Here’s how I was thinking:

“Meg goes on dates and writes about them sometimes. But I don’t. I’m letting her down. I’m letting them all down. I have to contribute. I have to go on a bad date. That’ll show… someone… something.”

So I logged on to my old OkCupid account. I had a few messages, but they were all from normal or borderline people, not the kind of moon-unit freak I needed for this project. I sat back to plan my next move, when I got an instant message that proved that the deus in my machina is Loki, god of tricks and mischief:

DarkVenomKitty91: hey wat’s up boi

TulaneChris69: Hey.

TulaneChris69 (to himself): Oh, jackpot.

Over the course of this conversation I learned that DarkVenomKitty91 is a nineteen-year-old art student in Philadelphia. He likes to go to raves (which apparently still happen, how 2002) and experiment with audacious hair and makeup. He finds it offensive that many people assume this his tendency to wear feminine hairstyles, heavy makeup, and women’s clothing leads some people to assume he has some sort of gender issue. He smokes pot and is amazed that I don’t. (It makes me nauseous.) He’s “into Asian culture,” which I read to mean that he likes Pocky and The Grudge. Despite being Pennsylvania born and raised, he refers to Americans as “them” when complaining about Hollywood remakes of Korean movies. He asked if I was “sure” I didn’t smoke pot, and then asked if I wanted to hang out later anyway. For you, dear readers, I accepted.

A word in my own defense: I didn’t embark on this enterprise with the intention of humiliating DarkVenomKitty91. I planned a sort of case study of how awkward internet dating can be, using whatever happened to me as a template. Ideally, I could have written up a formula, something like Greeting; Awkward “So…” Conversation; Silence; Desultory Attempt at Seduction; Departure, peppered with amusing one-liner from my own date. Had it worked well enough, I would have given it to Meg for input and run it as a 2Birds Investigates, but it was not to be. DarkVenomKitty91 had his own ideas.

During the days between our online conversation and out meeting (I refuse to dignify the actual event by calling it a “date”) I got a number of texts. They included:

DarkVenomKitty91: how do u want me to do my makup on saunday

DarkVenomKitty91: i can do liek casual everyday or like full drag queen

DarkVenomKitty91: god my parents driev me crazy

DarkVenomKitty91: can u bring beer when u come

I am 25. I have been abroad. I have a college degree. I am a registered voter. I am not going to be ejected from a freshman art school dormitory for trying to sneak in a six-pack of Keystone Light in my drawers ever again.

Time passed, and eventually it was time to go meet this kid. Before I left, I called Meg to set up an escape call:

Meg: Hey, what’s up?

Me: I may or may not but definitely do need you to call me at four thirty so that if my pseudo-date with a stoned teenage drag queen goes south I can get out of it.

Meg: Okay, cool. I’m at Renfest, so I have to go drink beer out of a big horn, but I’ll call.

So I walked to DarkVenomKitty91’s building and texted him:

Me: Where do I go in?

DarkVenomKitty91: just wait for me in front of the Olive Garden

NO. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. I’m not a person who waits for stoned teenagers in front of the Olive Garden. I can’t be that person or the last quarter-century of reading, writing, and pretending to be able to tell the difference between wines has been for nothing and I might as well redecorate my apartment as a womb and never leave again. So I took the block until he showed up, which turned out to be the right choice since it took him four laps to get down, which would have been a long time in front of the Olive Garden. These things I noticed right away:

1. In some cases, the camera adds ten pounds. In this case, it subtracted seventy.

2. Dreadlocks. They were multicolored and contained much ribbon and lace.

3. Oh, my God, Home Depot pajama pants? What kind of whore do you think I am?

4. Remember the Hellraiser movies with Pinhead? Like that. Piercings a-go-go, with no apparent thought to how they looked, or the eternal dictum “less is more.”

Overall impression: Last piñata on the shelf. Full of sardines and CVS store brand lip liner instead of candy.

So I drew abreast and said “hello,” and he stuck out his paw. Fool that I am, I shook it, only to have him pull his hand away, flap it, and say “No, silly. Your ID. I need it to check you in at the desk.”

So he checked me in at the desk. The look on the security guard’s face was priceless – the poor man was trying to be professional, but had clearly never really gotten used to DarkVenomKitty91. He was nearing retirement age, and I like to think he was working one extra year to give himself and his wife a little comfort in their old age. I want his having to deal with DarkVenomKitty91 to have brought him something positive. I got this blog post; maybe the security guard can take his wife on a cruise.

So, counting meeting me in pajama pants as strike one and pulling his hand away when I shook it as strike two, here’s a strike-by-strike play-by-play:

We got upstairs, and he had a fag hag over. (Strike three, you’re out, the Rangers go to the World Series.) DarkVenomKitty91 and Fag Hag start doing the dishes, having an animated conversation with each other about the dishes and ignoring me. (Strike four.) This goes on for about ten minutes, then linner is served. I had eaten and politely refused, which didn’t stop him from spearing a vegetable on his chopsticks (strike five) and thrusting it into my face (strike six) with a “mischievous” grin on his face, like an eight-year-old has if it tricks a slow kid into eating a bug (strike seven.) I ate it to get it out of my face – never thought I’d say that again, but time is cyclical – and it turned out to be heavily, heavily overcooked asparagus the consistency of old rags. (Strike eight, really, because I love asparagus under normal circumstances and it is incredibly easy to cook.) I’m given a Wendy’s cup full of Diet Coke and Laird’s American vodka (I love this country and it is my home but barring a few local brands we are not a vodka-producing country) and we adjourn into the other room… to watch cartoons. (Strike nine.) There’s nothing inherently wrong with cartoons, but riddle me this: do you want someone’s first impression of you to be “Oh, DarkVenomKitty91. He points out plot holes in SpongeBob Squarepants?” I sat on the bed, and DarkVenomKitty91 braced a pillow against me and leant on it, as though we were at a slumber party in a crowded room and I were a sturdy piece of period furniture. (Oh, strike ten. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fucking breakfront.)

Things kept on rolling downhill. Excerpts:

Me: I bought these new shoes and I like them a lot.

DarkVenomKitty91: I hate them. I feel like I want to burn them. They’re not fancy. Fag Hag, show him one of my platforms. With the wallpaper on it. (Strikes eleven and twelve, obvi.)

………..

Me: I’ve never had the money to travel as much as I’d like.

DarkVenomKitty91: Oh, I have a lot of money. (Strike thirteen.) I’ve never been out of the country, though. (Strike fourteen. Canada is like RIGHT THERE.)

……….

DarkVenomKitty91: I’m really mad at my brother.

Me: Why?

DarkVenomKitty91: He got a girl pregnant again. I’m going to get back at him though. I’m going to have sex on his bed and come on his pillow and just rub it in. (Strike googol.)

……….

Me: We all got very sick when we returned after the hurricane. There was a lot of mold and such.

DarkVenomKitty91: There was a hurricane?

Me: Yes.

DarkVenomKitty91: When it rained so much a few weeks ago?

Me: No, the real hurricane. K---ina. I haven’t lived in Philadelphia my whole life.

DarkVenomKitty91: That’s right, you are old. Strike googolplex.

………...

DarkVenomKitty91: Do you have any pot with you?

Me: No, I don’t smoke pot.

DarkVenomKitty91: Really? That’s weird. Will you buy us alcohol later?

Me: Sure! If it gets me out of here I’ll buy you C4 and the plans to Fort Knox.

…………

My phone: And as she walked up to the blackboard I can still recall….

Me: Hello?

Meg: Hi. We, uh, have a writing emergency. And I need you to get me the McCleary report in an hour or you’re fired, or something. Whatever. Is it going badly?

Me: Yes, you could say that.

Meg: That sucks. I’m ripped on medieval ale! They let me drink out of the horn!

Me, trying to be convincing: So the meeting is Monday? I guess I’ll have to get to work, then.

Meg, drunk: Meeting? We have a meeting?

Me, still trying to be convincing: Yeah, I know Larry is anxious to see our drafts, so I’ll go get the revisions done tonight.

Meg, still drunk: We have a meeting with Larry? What? Are you writing a post tonight? Say “uh-huh” if you are.

Me: Uh-huh. Well, I better go get these revisions done…

Meg: Can you talk? I’m having SO MUCH FUN at Renfest, although I guess I shouldn’t have gone since we apparently have a meeting Monday? Anyway, I got to drink beer out of a horn!

Me: I need to let you go so I can do these revisions…

Meg: What revisions? Are you mad at me?

……..

So I escaped, which was easier than expected. DarkVenomKitty91 had gotten a text he apparently didn’t like and had started sulking, so I had been talking to Fag Hag about New Zealand and World War One propaganda for about fifteen minutes. I made my excuses and left. Over the next few days, this textversation:

DarkVenomKitty91: so that day was a fail

Me: Well, everyone has a bad day.

DarkVenomKitty91: so wat do u think of me now

Days pass…

DarkVenomKitty91: where u able to get ur work done hun

Days pass…

DarkVenomKitty91: hey r we stil talkin or do u want me 2 delete ur number

DarkVenomKitty91: i take that as a no u coulda at least told mec

To be fair, I could have, except that would have required talking to him. You have one shitty hangout with me, and you think that allows you to call me hun? #overfamiliarityfail.

The moral of the story, such as it is, is that I love my friend Butter Legs:

Butter Legs: So how did your investigative reporting date go?

Me: He wore pajama pants and wanted to meet me in front of Olive Garden.

Butter Legs: Oh, he didn’t even get dressed for bottomless breadsticks? That’s disgusting. I hope you hit him with a hammer a number of times.

And now, lest you doubt my love, dear readers, I have to go watch The Human Centipede. For you, dear readers. For you.