who cares if you're racist when you're stupid?

here is a post from Alas, A Blog commenting about a really ill-thought racially themed party at Clemson on Martin Luther King Day.

not only does the general ignorance of college kids stun me, their whole misunderstanding of satire (which just re-emphasizes they weren't paying that much attention in their english classes in the first place) frustrates me.

we've seen this excuse before. michael richards had his defenders who said his n-word laden rant was perhaps a misfired attempt to satirize ... something (it's unclear what exactly he would be satirizing); chuck knipp's drag character, Shirly Q. Liquor, is supposed to be (in his words) a satirical look at racism; the hipsters in brooklyn with their Kill Whitey club nights think they're satirizing 'ghetto culture'; and now, every frat boy/sorority girl, college or law school student who wants to wear a sombrero, put on blackface, speak in ebonics or 'run for the border' thinks they're engaging in satire.

but what they forget, or perhaps never knew or understood, is that satire is a punch in the eye of Power. satire's anger, it's needle, is directed upward - never downward. if it does, then it ceases to be satire and it's just another way for those in power to bully the powerless or to scream to the public that you're just another tool of the status quo.

so, for all you dumbass college kids and misinformed adults out there, this is satire:

it is a precise literary term (which means you have to have some measure of intellectual weight to pull it off)
it has a very specific target (i.e., a person or group of people, an idea or attitude, an institution or a social practice)
in satire, your target is held up to merciless ridicule that is often very angry, ideally in the hope of shaming your target into reform (again, critical faculties are necessary as well as a recognition of power and how it operates in society)
it has a strong vein of irony or sarcasm (parody, burlesque, exaggeration and double entendre are all devices frequently used in satirical speech and writing - again, pointing to intellectual rigor in the person who calls herself a satirist)
finally, it is strictly a misuse of the word to describe as "satire" works without an ironic (or sarcastic) undercurrent of mock-approval, criticism and an element at least of anger.

how does a privileged white boy in blackface poke fun or criticize or throw into instability the codes of racism or our racist history? how does a white girl in a do' rag holding a forty problematize the ways that race, sexuality and racial images are reproduced and disseminted in this country?

it doesn't. because all you have is a white girl in a do' rag holding a forty.

here endeth the lesson.

silky panties, pt 2.

next week may be my first trip to springfield to knock on some doors and attend a coalition press conference. but what's the burning question on my mind (as i avoid creating my trip agenda)?

what does the well-dressed advocate wear while chasing after legislators and their staff all day? sensible shoes, yes, but how about a pointy-toed flat? (and what about snow?) and, clearly, a pantsuit is necessary, but can i find one that won't bankrupt me but still accommodate the flat sensible shoes? and what about a bag? i can't see myself tooling around with my Tumi messenger.

i'm sure all the guy advocates worry about the same thing.
...
yesterday was also a lesson in city/county politics. did you know that city hall is literally split in two? yes; if you go to the 5th floor you'll notice a big ugly iron door cutting the floor in half. on one side is the county and the other the city. i think there's some story behind this but i can't recall it right now.

i had plenty of time to contemplate the symbolism of a divided city hall while i and a coworker waited in the hot hallway to enter the public budget hearings for the county. (you know, the budget that's basically going to suck ass and kill basic services for the whole county.) above us, the speakers tried to transmit the droning tones of the meeting happening inside, but the anger in the hallway sometimes got in the way.

in line with us were crowds of city and cook county employees, rallying for the survival of their departments. it was an interesting crowd: doctors elbowing with criminal justice folks, nudging against nurses, doctors, clerks, public defenders, administrators, priests, plus all the big beefy guys you see in various parts of the city.

with 110 speakers signed up, we calculated that the meeting would last 5.5 hours. so we left without being able to participate in our city's democratic process. and outside, in the flurrying snow and wind, hundreds of city and county workers marched on Daly Plaza yelling "They say cutback! We say fight back! They say cutback! We say fight back!" we saw at least 4 different unions represented. and that's what makes a good rally - organization and anger. it was awesome.

depressing, but awesome.

they shoot horses, don't they? well, duh!

i went to the planned parenthood gala tonight. i worked a little late so i missed half the cocktail hour and have resolved that, next year, i am not going alone. it was totally boring without having someone to dish with.

however, todd stroger (our new county board president) was there. he's really short and bears an uncanny resemblance to a guy i once dated in my dad's church. his handwritten nametag gave him a forlorn, paddington bear kind of air. poor thing didn't realize everyone called him Urkel behind his back. but, hey, why should i feel sorry for him? there he is, in a feminist organization's annual gala, rubbing elbows with other politicos (like gov. rod blagojevich, jan schakowsky and carol ronen). he's made in the shade. but he's also the guy who's proposing to get rid of the women's justice services dept in the sherrif's dept (meanwhile, men's services stay intact.) i wonder if he felt the irony. i know i did. i wonder if anyone approached him to ask him about it. probably not.

then i hung out in the bar to drink a glass of jameson's and overheard some staffers complain about the big donors' reserved tables while the frontline staff were 'forced' to stand (along with folks like me); she railed on about the hyprocrisy and i hid a smile. i've heard this complaint before, from folks in my own organization, and i have to admit to a certain lack of patience with the complaint. it's petty and painfully childish.

in a perfect world, organizations that provide crucial social and human services would be fueled by all the good feelings it produces in the world. butterflies would bring me coffee and birds would read my email; then, a blue fairy would hit me with her wand and i'd suddenly become a real boy.

but, alas, we live in the world of cold, hard cash. that money the staffer is so quick to scoff at actually means something to the organization. it's a fucking line item in the budget - a line item that needs to exist if the organization is going to continue to function.

fundraisers aren't about recognizing the hard work of front line staff; unfortunate, but true. they're about the story we tell donors so we can get our hands on their money. they're marginally about the work we do. they're really about telling a really great story of our organization to the donor so the donor can feel good about parting with hefty sums of cash. it's an intricate dance of seduction - and, if you've done the job well, you will celebrate and feel a little icky that you've just spent one night whoring yourself out for nearly $1 million. (hence all the folks who shook hands with todd stroger with gritted teeth.)

yes. $1 million dollars. what would you do for $1 million, knowing that it pays for programs, overhead, education, advocacy capacity, and direct service? can those of us in the nonprofit arena afford to be so frakking naive about how our organizations operate and what our money is used for? with the increasing strictures of govt funding and private sources of funding becoming even more important, i think not.

come one, people. leave graduate school behind and frakking grow up a little.

i'm ecstatic. i can now order my most favorite pants and jackets by phone from forth & towne, here!

but when the heck are they going to have an online store?? come on, people - enough dilly dallying!

hola, super osas!

yesterday, dressed in an orange cashmere sweater, my hair in a perky ponytail topped off by an orange ribbon tied in a bow (i was so spirited i should have won an award), i watched The Game with a couple of girl friends at our local bar and now our Bears are going to the Superbowl!!

yay for lovie smith (don't you just love his calm demeanor?)! yay for rex grossman! and yay for punter dude, who really deserves an outstanding contribution award, considering our first 6 or 9 points on the board were for field goals!

just imagine: chicago wins the superbowl AND we get the olympics.
awesome.

yeah, i'm successful: i'm wearing silky panties

Speaking Chic to Power - New York Times

in addition to my brown silky bikini panties, i'm also wearing a matching lacy brown bra underneath a sheer silk blouse, which is underneath a black nipped in blazer on top of a crisp pair of black boot cut trousers. on my feet, a pair of black/white plaid, kitten heel flats with a scarlet rhinestone buckle. (it seems gaudy, but you have to see these shoes - they're cute as hell.)

and what did i have to do today (nay, this week)?
plan/organize a board meeting for this morning, take minutes, manage the board members, set up/break down; juggle various presentations, senior managers, consultants, vendors, logistics, agendas, materials for a staff retreat; remain cheerful, supportive and efficient; take my knocks and step up when things didn't go as planned, much to my CEO's displeasure, and basically make sure that everything, by hell or high water, got frakking done for 150 people tomorrow (for whom i will be up at the crack of dawn again, onsite, helping the facilitation team, getting our bill paid and smoothing over whatever gaps/cracks appear over the course of one very long, arduous day.) am i successful? i'd like to think so.

now.
what do my panties have to do with any of that?
apparently, a lot, if you take this article seriously.

from the article:
“You don’t have to grow up to look like a librarian,” said Lauren Solomon, founder and director of LS Image Associates, which has clients in the corporate and political fields. “But you don’t have to look like a hooker, either.”

nice. librarian/hooker. these are our choices when we're women of substance. clearly our media is still new to the idea that there are thousands of women in our offices and universities, hospitals and courhouses who manage to avoid this nonsensical binary every single day.

what does a girl do when she gets rid of one mistake?
she flies to boston to forget it ever happened and replace it with...more fun memories.

so.
i'll miss all 5 of my readers, but i'll be away until monday afternoon, getting some sleep, some sex and some food.

ding dong, the B- is gone!

how do you tell a boy it's over after he's called you too crazy for friendship, too cool for love and too uptight (because you have a crazy busy work/social schedule) for everything else and then demanded you drop everything you had scheduled that night in order to prove you're not?

you tell him like this:

From: ding
To: B-

"busy" means 'uptight'?
whatever, b-. busy means that i have a full work and social life and enjoy it.
and i have to prove something to you? are you kidding?

i was willing to give the friendship thing a try but it's patently obvious that friendship between us will never be possible. (i'm too crazy for friendship? ha! that's called projection. when it's so clear that two people don't get along and aren't right for each other, it's pointless to argue back and forth about who or what's at fault.
but rest assured i could make a list. a long one.)

and since it's clear we've entered the Active Dislike phase of our association, and we can't even get the basics down, i think we've done this long enough. (in total, we've been going back and forth like this since 2002. too long without progress!)

so. in the interest of our mental health for 2007, let's drop the hammer on the two of us and vow never to contact the other ever again. i mean it. i don't want to open my inbox and see another email from you asking how i am. chances are, i'll be great.

in fact, i just deleted you from my mobile.

bye, b-. i'm late for a meeting.

here i come, old orchard!

Gaining steam, finally Chicago Tribune

so plans are afoot to extend the yellow line to old orchard.
this would make me ecstatic beyond measure. no more bugging roomie to drive me out to the mall - i could hop on several trains and make it myself! yay!
it'd be easier to get to forth & towne sales! yay!

oh, and can you tell my boss is on vacation for a week? (i'm also wearing jeans...heh heh heh.)

the chicago way

so, a rather important part of my job is to make sure certain folks know about the work we do here and to encourage mutually beneficial contact. it's like marketing. ok, it is marketing - but for public officials and other such important 'stakeholders'. like that.

so this morning a breaking news alert pops into my inbox and, to my horror, i read that a city official has just been arrested on federal corruption charges. i was totally going to call this person for an appointment this week! aagh!

frakkin' chicago - you're killing me!

deal me out

driving home yesterday in the rain, roomie and i had a conversation about my current dating status which is, to date, zilch. i despaired of 2007 turning into a repeat of 2006, The Year of Celibacy (though there's nothing really wrong with that and i rather enjoyed it - sorta), and she said, 'ding, you need to look at the cards that have been dealt you and be honest about what it is you want.'

i tried to imagine these cards but i had no idea what they were. 'and...what are they?'
'are you kidding me?'
'no! i don't know what cards i have! what cards? is it a good hand?'
'B-! your cards are B-!'
'oh,' i said. 'those cards. i don't want those cards. those cards piss me off.'

'then you need to fold and get a new hand.'
i said, 'and how would i do that? all three of the straight guys i know in chicago are...actually, there's just one. how is it possible i only know one straight guy and he has a girlfriend?'
roomie said, 'i don't know, ding. but you need a new deck of cards or you're going to go nuts. just call B-, arrange to see him this weekend and call it a night.'
'i can't. that would not be good. he makes me mad. but, grr! i want a frolic!'
'you're nuts. get a frolic. go online, choose a boy and get your frolic.'

'but i'm trying to be good!'
'then i don't know what to tell you, ding. you want the frolic or you don't. tradition and habit say that you want the frolic more than being good. so get the frolic.'

so, after a whole night of watching season 2 of Veronica Mars (damn you karis), i went online last night and looked for a frolic. what happened? when my search results came up the first candidate at the top of the queue was B-! aagh! i blocked him and logged off.

the universe has become a cockblock!

why women ain't funny: our uterus sucks out all the funny

Adam Ash: Christopher Hitchens explains why women aren't funny

have you read the hitchens piece about why women aren't funny (faithfully reproduced on adam ash's space)? it's a doozy. shorter hitchens: women aren't funny because mommies are never funny.

that's right; for hitchens, every woman is a nagging, churchy, fecund, humorless, authority-loving priss just dying to kill the funny. in other words, vagina dentata. that toothy vijayjay inhibits everything that makes men funny - irreverence, irreligion, rebellion, and defiance. we're too soft, too emotional, too serious, too dreamy, and too damn biological to be funny.

(however, if we're fat, dykey or jewish, we've apparently got funny to spare.)

never in my life have i laughed as hard, snorted or accidentally farted than when i'm with my girlfriends telling them the latest B- disaster or listening to what happened at so-and-so's birthday party/wedding, or reading the sharply worded, hilarious emails sent from various scattered family domiciles while we're trapped in hometowns for the holidays. (i remember one string of christmas emails from roomie, A- and J- that had me snorting and blowing wine all over my dad's laptop. 'the baby jesus blows!')

women don't like dirty or crude? hitchens, we could make you guzzle a whole bottle of Hendricks with tales of monstrous blood clots, menstrual disasters, catastrophic sexual encounters, embarassing visits to the doctor, the unfortunate thing that happened at grandma's funeral and the reason why sometimes my friends call me Puddles. there's nothing dirtier or cruder than a bunch of women hopped up on tequila, my friend. nothing. (just ask what a bridal party did to the cowboy troubadour they hired then drunkenly held captive until they finally released him, shaking and traumatized, the following day.)

women can't be funny in the face of death? too bad hitchens wasn't at my roomie's mother's funeral this past summer. the tears were expected; the guffaws halfway through my roomie's speech were a welcome surprise. it takes guts, strength and a finely tuned sensibility to get a whole church full of mourning midwesterners to give up the funny.

his tone wavers between 'admiration' of our inherent biological/moral authority over men and a smarmy castigation of it but what's most clear is that hitchens (and other men who always seem to ask these dumbass questions) has never really eavesdropped on a real conversation between groups of women. or maybe it's because he only knows neurotic white women. (expose yourself to a little diversity and suddenly you have a lot of funny.)

neurotic women aren't funny. confident, self-aware women are funny. women willing to look ridiculous are funny. women willing to point out the ridiculous and the neurotic in others are funny. women who tell the truth are funny. women in touch with their anger are funny. (bitter, but funny.) oh, we're funny, alright. just depends on who's listening to us.

popping the cork

happy new year, people!

i'm back, relaxed, i even have a slight tan from LA and so frakking relieved that 2007 is here. (wasn't 2006 a little boring yet also stressful?)

i have to get ready for the sharon jones show at the park west tonight; after my freak out with B- last week, G- wanted to come out to chicago and help me ring in the new year but his father burned down his kitchen this morning so now i'm going with E-, an old nerve pal from milwaukee. (i'm a firm believer in recycling. there's no need for past internet dates to die on the vine, you know?)

be safe, be happy and have a great new year!

-ding

merry merry

i'm off early tomorrow to the west coast to see the family.
posting will be sporadic and will most likely be an act of desperate procrastination while i fall farther behind my writing schedule.

but i hope everyone's holiday (whatever it is you celebrate) means you're surrounded by people you love and who love you back.

cheers,
ding

last of the year

if i wasn't so gassy right now i'd be laughing.
i think the 'reunion' with B- has come (once again!) to an ignominius end.

i think i know why i always went back to B-, even though nothing materially changed. pride. at every email from him telling me how he missed me or wants a 'doover' my pride and vanity (ok, two reasons why i always went back) were pricked and it was an irresistible challenge to me to see if i could seduce him all over again and try to return to our initial period of intensity. but i should have paid attention to the law of diminishing returns. with each reunion, my mental and lifestyle difference from B- increased - as his from mine and the pleasure i sought soon dwindled to nothing the more we tried.

so last night, prompted by my ONE girly act of insecurity ('is he seeing someone else?'), which was also prompted by pride and vanity, the short-lived ding/B- show ended. we fought, we argued, we insulted one another, laid bare our misgivings, he admitted that he's thinking of someone else, and we came to the mutual conclusion that perhaps this was not a good idea.

so.

let this be the last B- post of the year - and hopefully thereafter.

i'm supposed to be working, but...

instead, here's something from some friends over on myspace:

2006 Awards

1) DRINKING BUDDY OF THE YEAR?
roomie and the presbyterians, man. no one gets plowed better than a scottish pastor and his minions.

2) LIFETIME SERVICE AWARD
me. i'm working in non-profit, dude. that deserves something.

3) NEWCOMER AWARD
hm, the friend group has been closed for a while. must work on that next year.

4) LOW POINT OF THE YEAR?
most of the summer, august when roomie's mom died and a couple of weeks in november when i just went brain dead.

5) BEST HOLIDAY?
thanksgiving. out of the country and loved it.

6) ANTHEM FOR 2006?
hm. based on my wine intake last night, i think ray lamontagne's 'three days' sort of hits me right in the girly parts.

7) ANY REGRETS?
not a single one. (although this latest go-round with B- might just be it.)

8) BEST NIGHT OUT?
jeebus. H-'s birthday party in november - the tequila, the horrific stories (all of which i told), the pregnant pinata. classic.

9) WORST NIGHT OUT?
last friday, schlepping my tired ass up to rogers park to be with B- and spending as much money on a cab as to go to o'hare. ass!

10) WHO DID YOU SPEND VALENTINES WITH?
when's that again?

11) BEST RELATIONSHIP?
my friends and roomie. love them.

12) WORST RELATIONSHIP?
it's a tie between B- and tequila. but tequila gets me in more trouble than B-, so it wins.

13) BEST CONCERT?
ravinia, tom jones and etta james. watching skinny north shore wives set fire to their picnic table, they were so drunk.

14) BEST MEMORY?
watching the dems take the senate and the house in november. in your FACE GOP!

15) BEST DECISION MADE THIS YEAR?
kicking ass at work. oh, and to go without sex for a year. i think that's why i got my promotion.

16) WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR NEXT YEAR?
well, i certainly hope i'm past that whole celibacy thing.

17) MOST STUPID IDEA WHEN DRUNK?
opening my mouth. sometimes, things are secret for a *reason.*

18) TWAT OF THE YEAR?
it's still the president.

19) MOST LOYAL FRIEND?
roomie. she puts up with more crap...

20) BIGGEST CHANGE OF THE YEAR?
great new promotion. love it.

21) BEST TRIP OF THE YEAR?
thanksgiving in montreal. though the traverse city trip on 4th of july was all sorts of interesting.

22) BIGGEST ACCOMPLISHMENT OF THE YEAR?
my writing gigs.

23) BEST FALL OF THE YEAR?
wearing new shoes and totally biting it in front of my office building, almost crashing my head right into the us bank window.

24) BEST JOB OF THE YEAR?
mine.

25) WHAT WILL U MISS THE MOST OF 2006?
nothing. it's done. over. kaput.

i had to write anyway...

that's it.
no word from B- about this weekend so i'm going to old orchard instead of lolling about in a hormonal haze with a boy before i leave.

grumble frakkin' grumble frakkin' grumble.

update:
B- has emerged after i emailed him asking if he'd been overcome by carbon monoxide and eaten by his cats. his response to my invitation: 'i'd rather hang out at my place. give me a call.'

well, FRAK! i'd rather NOT.

update #2:
there's a personal post today on his site. i'm reading it, seeing me in what he's writing (aw, he likes my belchiness!) then the post ends with a reference to this awesome woman, whoever she is, who makes him want to write poetry to her, wearing sweat pants with 'hot metal rocks' emblazoned across the ass.

this is not me.

i'm going about my pre-christmas business right now, in the apartment, and there's a part of me that is also going slowly insane. i don't want to go insane like those other hugely insecure, neurotic women. i don't want this...this doubt (about myself, mainly.) i'm not used to self-doubt. i left that behind in junior high and high school. that's not the Me that i am now.

fuck!

boy blogging is boring but i still haven't heard if B- has accepted my invitation to spend the weekend with me before i leave town. it's driving me nuts, making me second-guess friday night and wondering if i did something wrong.

aagh. i hate this. i hate. this.

building trust is like building a bridge on the river kwai

once B- finds out about this little blog, i'll have to stop with the stories about him, but until then, let the B- train roll on.

yesterday i was in a dire quandary; foolishly i had triple booked my evening. drinks with a girlfriend right after work, then the movie premiere at century landmark for A- and S-, then B-. for some reason i thought i could handle all of this in four hours. it became clear to me, however, that something was going to give -- and it couldn't be B-. he was already a little snitty that i had him down for 9 pm. 'i had a feeling it would be late,' he'd said in his best Eyore voice.

you see, i'm trying to build trust. i'm trying to demonstrate that, yes, being his friend is a priority, i am interested in spending time with him and that, yes, i am different from that shallow, callow girl all those years before. (cough) but i'm finding that finding the time to build that trust is frakking hard when my time management skills are lacking, my other friends are very nice people and i like spending time with them, and B-s totally not ready for full Friend Circle Integration (FCI.)

so i'm in my office with some coworkers hoping they can help me figure out who exactly i'm going to blow off (but not B-.) and while they seriously weigh my options, i ask, 'is this what it's going to be like? having a steady boy in my life? a constant process of negotiation between my wants and his needs? this sucks!'

my marketing manager said, 'relationships are all about compromise.'
i said,'i have no idea how to do that. it's either win or cave.'
'ah.'

but a decision is made. i can't handle any of it. so i reschedule my girlfriend for next week (she also happened to overbook so it was fine); i called A- and offered up dinner on saturday night instead of the premiere and drinks with his partner and family (while blaming my flakiness on B- and this whole building trust process.) then i call B-, thinking he'd be glad that i totally rearranged my whole evening to be with him. instead, we have a truly lame O. Henry-like moment.

'ohh,' he said. 'i thought you were coming later, like 9 or 10 or whatever, and so i invited a friend to come over to watch the bulls game.'
'well, you were clearly disappointed i was coming up later, so i shuffled everything around. now i can come up earlier. like now.'
'but i thought you were coming later, so i invited my friend over...'
'does your friend hate girls? i'm coming up.'
'but i thought - '
'ok! ok. i get it - you have mentally prepared yourself for guy time. i have to run some errands anyway and get some things, so how about a couple hours? i'll see you in a couple of hours.'
'fine. i'll see you then.'

painful, isn't it? the two of us are totally retarded. i run my errands (which include buying a totally cute nightie at Old Navy) rush home to freshen up and change (remember i haven't been home in 24 hours) and then catch a cab ALLL the way to rogers park.

i didn't think it was possible, but B- lives even closer to wisconsin than ever before. in the cab, i note all the streets i'm familiar with, then start noticing that i have no idea where i frakking am. and the cab fare? i might as well have gone to o'hare. but that's ok! we're building trust.

up some rickety stairs, i'm in B-'s new place and - hey! it's nice! clean, white walls, built-ins, new couch, new dining set. and look! a friend! an actual, living breathing friend with red hair and a beer; we all introduce ourselves, we watch some basketball over beers, i discover they've been friends since college, the friend is married (i.e., he's NORMAL!) and B- likes kitschy hammond organ music. he's got loads of it and plays some for us.

'no willie nelson?' i said.
'um, now's not the time for that,' he said.

the friend leaves, i play with the kitty, i stretch out on the couch and, of course, a very nice 'hello, how are you, let's make out' thing starts. then, all too soon, he pulls me up and behind him to the bedroom.

i pull back. 'oh, do we have to? so soon? this was so nice.'

apparently, a tactical mistake. because B- went into another snit about how maybe this wasn't a good night after all, i keep saying i'm tired (which i was - tired of transportation), and if i wasn't in the mood maybe i should have kept those plans with all those other friends i have. and he actually flops over to the far end of the couch, crosses his arms and pouts.

i'm stunned. i'm speechless. i just want to hang out on the couch a little bit, finish my beer, kiss a little bit and i'm getting shade?! (have boys forgotten how nice it is to just sit and kiss?) but then i remember, ok, he's a depressed hermit, and who knows what kind of social cues he's missing? but then i get mad. so we have a very tense, low-voiced fight about his expectations, our lack of communication and my time management lack-wittage and how he needs to understand that if i didn't want to be here, i wouldn't. and, yes, i have friends; yes, i have a job that requires me to work late; yes, i have responsibilities. i'm a freaking grown woman.

then he says, 'well, i have lots of grading to do, too. i'm actually sort of wiped.'
i say, 'no. no, no. you don't get to do that. i'm here, the beer's here and i'm not getting into another cab, bus or fuck all. i'm here and staying until the morning.'
'fine.'
'fine!'

silence. he putters. i play with his cats (i hate cats.) then, it blows over. he comes over and wants to know what i'd like for dinner. he teases me about my salad choice, we talk about work and we watch the bulls feebly kick the bucks' ass. we talk about movies, i still try to discover what it is he likes to do outside his apartment, and then i feel a telltale internal twinge.

when i come back from the bathroom, i look at him and say, 'well. my period just started.'
he just stares at me blankly and then says, 'you're killing me, you know? you're just. killing me.'

later, he says, 'you know if we'd had sex earlier we could have beat it.'
'probably. my uterus - what can i say?'
'you're so contrary. it's such an effort with you.'
'i don't think so. last time, i thought that happened pretty organically and spontaneously. i didn't make you work for it at all.'
'yes, you did.'
'no, i didn't.'
'you did. you always do.'
'well...i don't know what to say to that.'
'that's ok. i've accepted this is the way things are.'
'hm. so, where are the bucks from?'

and on like that until bedtime. he goes in before me but i dither. do i sleep with him or am i on the couch? we never made that clear. and i'm disturbed that i need to have things spelled out for me so precisely. but we're building trust and communication! i'll get better at this. then, from the bedroom, his very dry voice: 'what now? do you want me to sleep on the couch while you take my bed? or are you coming to bed - with me?'

i'm so retarded, you know? so very very retarded. i can research government appropriations but i can't figure out if i'm the girl who kits out on the couch or the bed.

anyway, this is where we are. one step forward and then two stumbling, misunderstood steps backward; building our trust bridge, one brick at a time, all the while conscious that one false move and the whole thing could tumble down.

at this pace, we could officially be in a relationship by the year 2010.

my own carless office party commute

i was held hostage yesterday by my own bad planning.

the plan was to leave work early, pick up a couple of bottles of champagne, catch a bus to the north side where my coworker was hosting this year's office party, and arrive by six-thirty. a snap! so easy!
so didn't happen.

5.00 pm - left the office. (the plan in action!)
5.15 pm - caught the very crowded grand bus.
5.45 pm - at Binny's, buying champagne. (ok, the plan is starting to falter a little bit)
5.50 pm - waiting for the Grand bus to take me to ashland. phone call to hostess. ('hi, i'm waiting for the second bus of the evening, but i should be there by 6.30, no problem. see you later!')
6.05 pm - waiting for second ashland bus because first one was too crowded (plan definitely in danger at this point.)
6.20 pm - while stuck in traffic realization dawns that i'm on the wrong frakking bus.
6.21 pm - while asking directions, inappropriately hit upon by bus driver who wants to 'recruit' me to be his girlfriend. sorry, buddy. i have an office party to attend.
6.25 pm - bus driver polls passengers and all agree that, yes, i am on the wrong bus and i need to be on the clark bus. he drops me off on clark and irving and says it's too bad destiny wasn't on his side. (plan is officially tanked.)
6.27 pm - phone call to hostess. ('hi, um, i'm now waiting for the clark bus. i'm so close! i have no idea when i'll get there but don't eat all the food! i'm on my way!')
6.57 pm - clark bus finally comes and i'm desperate for a cigarette but NO ONE has a light. damn north siders.
7.20 pm - encounter J- and T-, also on their way to the party, one block away from the party. am sweaty, thirsty, and exhausted.
7.25 pm - arrive at party, at last! immediately guzzle two glasses of champagne in quick succession.
7.30 - 11.45 pm - slightly inappropriate, not-safe-for-work story follows inappropriate, not-safe-for-work story; 4-5 gin and tonics consumed; good times.
12.00 am - am too tired and tipsy to take CTA again. after canceling on B-, i crash in the hostess' extra bedroom and immediately dream of evil italian plumbers and christmas elves.

happy office parties to you all!
Campaign pushes car-less commute | Chicago Tribune