Let's Take This Relationship Online

Chatting with a guy at a party this weekend:

"So. Are you on Facebook?"

"Yes, I am."

"Under what name?"

"My name. Gretchen Hanson."

"I think we should be friends."

"Facebook Friends?"

"Yeah, Facebook friends."

"OK. Send me an invite. I'll confirm it."

That being decided we immediately stopped talking to each other face to face.

Next Time Just Lie

Ok, so I promised you all an update on the dinner "invitation" from Captain Underpants. I really struggled with what I was going to say to him. I tossed around the various options in my mind, wondering, Is there a delicate way to say 'There's no way in hell I'm going out with you again.'?

Since I'm not the most tactful person I had to enlist some help. So I asked e and also consulted this website. (Interesting note - When I looked at this the other day this was level "Easy", now it's been elevated to level "Moderately Easy". Yeah, I'll say!) This is what I came up with:

Hi Cap'n,

Thanks, that's a nice offer. But while I think you are a terribly nice fellow I don't think we are all that compatible. I wouldn't want to lead you on or anything.

I hope you have a nice Christmas break!
Gretchen

I struggled with the "lead you on part" because I didn't want to assume that I was leading anyone anywhere, but I wanted to make sure it was clear clear clear that there wasn't anything romantic on my side of things. But overall, I'd say it's pretty good, right? Clear, to the point, pretty nice, but doesn't leave any loopholes. I was very satisfied to get this reply back from him.

OK.

Have a nice Christmas.

Cap'n U

Hooray! Success! I wouldn't have to go out on anymore lame dates. Ding Dong Merrily on High! I ran around my office giving random people high fives declaring, "Who's da man? Dat's right! I's da man!" (I'm not very good at saying 'no', so this was a pretty major success for me.)

But then 20 minutes later this little gem arrived in my inbox:

Gretchen,

Now that I've taken a few minutes to actually think and to take care of some matters at work, let me give you a more complete (and appropriate) response.

I appreciate your directness, and I have to agree with you that we aren't very compatible. Still, that doesn't mean I don't enjoy your company.

Take care my friend and I'll see you around.

Cap'n U

P.S. If you know of someone with whom I might be "compatible," please feel free to share. :-)

My overwhelming thought after reading this was, "Well, DUH! I'm fun to be around, that's why you enjoy my company. Buuuuut the problem is that YOU aren't so fun ... so you can see why this won't work for me."

My second thought was, "Yes, I think I know someone you'd be compatible with, but I don't really want to talk to her because she's kind of annoying. Perhaps that's why I think you'd be compatible."

My third thought was, "Man, I really sound conceited."

And my forth thought was, "Next time, I'm sticking with my original plan of telling him that I'm moving to Cuba with my new boyfriend Mario, so going to dinner with him would be really weird. Telling the nice version of the truth doesn't work out that well."

The moral of this story is that telling the truth is out, and lying and avoidance tactics are back in. It's just a lot less messy.

Wherein Instant Messaging Helps Me to Self Analyze

Me: i love TV so much. and music. and movies. and magazines. and books. But mostly TV.

Aaron: yeah. tv is good. you should marry tv

Me: heck yes, i should! it would be a blissful union

Aaron: if you ever got bored you could just change the channel. unless its late at night and then there's nothing on

Me: true. Of course, TV and i would have to have our alone time. you can't spend 24/7 with your tv without hating its guts after a while

Aaron: thats very true. but if you did something like read a book...would that be considered adultry?

Me: no. i don't think so

Aaron: well you'd be making tv jealous because books are the enemy of tv

Me: no, think of book reading like poker night ... it's just another interest. he might not like it, but it's not cheating. It would only be cheating if I watched another tv.

Aaron: ohh...well you'll have to get a really good tv then and avoid all other tvs when you are at friends' places

Me: gulp. I don't think I'm ready for marriage.

MINI(ature) Love

I've been commuting all week to a Product Manager Training Seminar in Reston, Virginia. MapQuest and I agree that it should only take about 35 minutes to go from my house in Silver Spring to the seminar hotel in Reston. Not too bad. Of course, that only applies to the morning commute, the return trip, on the other hand is a disaster. That half-hour trip goes a lot slower when your car doesn't get out of first gear.

At about the point where my road rage was really starting to percolate, I encountered my arch nemesis the DC Taxi driver. I won't digress into a scathing discourse on why taxis are the bane of my existence -- but in case you didn't get the Taxi Manifesto in which it states that the laws of the land do not apply to taxis, let me do my bit to help the revolution by letting you know that any taxi, at any time, can do whatever the hell it wants, without respect to any of the other cars or pedestrians within a five mile radius. I don't want you accidentally thinking that these fellows are outside the bounds of proper driving etiquette. Hah! The very idea!

Anyway, two hours into my drive this jackass taxi decided it was a perfect time to cut across four lanes of traffic in order to make a left turn. While he was blocking all of us, a little red MINI snuck out from a side street and got in front of me. I got pimped! and I hate getting pimped. It was only The Code of the MINI that kept me from being truly incensed.

The Code of the MINI is one of my favorite things about owning a MINI. Owning a MINI is like being in a secret society, such as the Skull and Bones (but without the naked butt paddling or the political intrigue). MINI owners are encouraged to always wave or smile knowingly at each other in passing. We've all promised to never eat at chain restaurants, to call driving "motoring", and name our first child Cooper. It's impossible to hate another MINI owner.

And so, I pulled up next to the red MINI and gave him a look that said, "You're a cheeky fellow! Good thing The Code has protected you. Now, let's see what features you have on your car." MINIs are the only cars I know anything about, so I feel very manly when I can look at one and say, "I can't be-lieve you chose those rims! Those were the worst ones!" or "Interesting use of the luggage rack, my friend!"

While I was checking out his car (Chili Red, white top, no bonnet stripes - poor choice there) I noticed that the driver was a bit of a dish. Lanky, sandy blond hair, glasses, driving a MINI - just my type. Hmmmm.....

Would Chili Red/No Bonnet Stripes like British Racing Green/White Bonnet Stripes? If they got married, with their red and green MINIs parked outside of their swanky townhouse, would the neighbors call them The MINIs, instead of The Johnsons? Would their curio cabinets be full of model MINIs and English car memorabilia? When the first child came, would he in fact be named Cooper? And more importantly, as more children came, whose car would go from MINI to Minivan? Gulp. Certainly not British Racing Green/White Bonnet Stripes.

How could Chili Red/No Bonnet Stripes even think of asking British Racing Green/White Bonnet Stripes to sacrifice herself so completely when everything she ever does is for the sake of this family? If he thinks that she's going to be seen driving around town in a minivan, well he's got another thing coming Mister! Besides, if one of our cars has to go - it will be yours, Mr. NO Bonnet Stripes!

At this point Chili Red/No Bonnet Stripes escapes by turning left abruptly.

British Racing Green/White Bonnet Stripes rolls her eyes and mutters, "It's a damn good thing you're covered by The Code and I can't hate you." And motors off to finish the last leg of one hellishly long and emotionally charged commute home.

The Perfect Man. (Revised)

The other week I had to teach a lesson on Journaling to my Young Women. Now, I'm a very accomplished journalist having kept one since I was 14, so I was very excited to impart my wisdom on this topic. I pulled out every journal I had lurking around and took a long and leisurely stroll down memory lane. To my surprise/delight/embarrassment, tucked into the back of my mission journal (a particularly action packed volume what with violent mood swings and all) I found a list labeled: "The Perfect Man!"

And here it is, for your amusement: The Perfect Man!

• The Givens (aka a Returned Missionary)
• Successful
• Smart - really smart - book and street
• Funny - witty, clever
• Creative
• Self-motivated
• Good style
• Great with children/teens
• Romantic
• Loves me sooooo much
• Tells me how much he loves me
  
• Good health - good looking
• Traveled
• A good people person
• Comfortable at a rock concert or the opera
• Simple pleasures - but with style
  

My favorite companion Mary Kay and I came up with Perfect Man list more or less together, and I think we were both planning on marrying a J Crew ad. And actually, not to be conceited in light of the J Crew comment, this list is pretty much a list of my traits (except for maybe the "great" with children part. That should probably read "will tolerate and might even like children/teens"). After all, I do love myself "sooooo much" and I tell myself so frequently.

Fortunately, I'm scads wiser now thanks to ten years of countless dates and one TOOL of a would-be fiance. One or two dates with a clown (costume included) will teach you pretty quickly that it doesn't do any good to have a checklist of features in mind. Believe me, he'll only disappoint - how could he not? So in my aged wisdom I've changed my tack a bit and am abandoning the feature list and focusing on these carefully selected baseline requirements:

The Perfect Man (revised)

1. Heterosexual.
   
2. Enough initiative to ask me out.
3. Can initiate and carry on their fair share of conversations
   
4. Conversation topics range outside of X-Box scores/maneuvers or Body Mass Index percentiles
   
5. Doesn't tuck his shirt into his underwear

If he can manage to bring ALL of these things to the table and we're attracted to each other, well then, can perfection be far off?

Condimentially Speaking ...

I had a little snafu with my condiments this weekend. I really like to have hot dogs on occasion, especially when the weather is warm. I suppose it reminds me of baseball games and hot afternoons walking around DC. So I went to the grocery store and bought the dogs. When I got home I realized that I'd forgotten the buns and that I was also out of relish.

So I went back to the grocery store. But can you believe it - there wasn't a single jar of relish to be found in the entire store! I was shocked! After 20 minutes of moving ketchup bottles aside to see if they concealed relish somewhere in there I picked out some buns and headed home -- sans relish and tres annoyed.

Relish or not, I started making my hot dogs. I put the dogs in to cook while I prepared my bun with the condiments. Mayonnaise? Check. Ketchup? Check. Mustard? Check - sort of. My bottle of mustard was still sealed shut and I absently tried to peel off the plastic seal. It wasn't very easy, so I had to give the bottle a little more attention. I noticed that the seal was a little dingy. What kind of mustard has a dingy safety seal? Looking at the label I noted that this was Smiths brand mustard. Smiths? Smiths is a grocery store in Utah. As far as I know, there are no Smiths grocery stores anywhere within 2000 miles of me. That could mean only one thing: I had purchased the mustard while I still lived in Utah.

I haven't lived in Utah for SEVEN YEARS! This bottle of mustard has traveled with me through no less than 5 moves. It made it in the initial cross-country move when everything I owned in the world was crammed into a Volkswagen Jetta. It's followed me through two counties and five different apartments. Somehow it made it into boxes during the frenzied Thanksgiving Day escape from seriously crazy roommates that left me living in a basement for 3 weeks. It's been there throughout graduate school, traumatic relationships, and my days as an international jet setter. This isn't just mustard! This could very well be the longest relationship I've ever had!

There's no expiration date (it was probably packaged before the FDA required silly things like expiration dates) so technically I could still eat this mustard, I suppose. But at this point that seems like a bad idea. It's clearly moved out of "condiment" category into the "keepsake" category and I'm not sure what I should do with it. Should I put it in the box that has my High School Letter and debate club medals? Most likely, it will sit on my counter until I regretfully chuck it into the garbage. I'm not sure what having 7+ year mustard says about a person, but it certainly illustrates that I should be careful about what I buy because I'll likely keep it around longer than I plan.

Suffice it to say, what was meant to just be lunch turned into an unexpected time capsule which taught me - well, I don't know what about myself - other than that I really prefer my hot dogs to have relish and mustard.

George, Michael Update

I was hoping that Mike George would be long gone by now. But he's still there on the fringes. It should be noted, that I think I've ignored him enough to dissuade him from asking me out anymore. After he called me (leaving more rambling 4 minute messages) on Christmas Eve and my birthday, I've considered him a Holiday Ruiner. And as such, I should not even mildly tolerate him.

But he's still my Home Teacher, which means that I have to deal with him. This is an email he sent to me to try and set up Home Teaching. NB: If, you don't know what home teaching is - it's an LDS calling that all members have where two men visit families (or in my case - me) once a month and make sure that I'm doing ok. Traditionally, they share a short message (from the First Presidency), make sure I'm not living in squalor, ask if I need anything - to which I say "no, thanks for asking" and they get out. Everybody's happy! It should also be noted, that after I got the email below I had to explain to him, in no uncertain terms, that there should be no diverting from the standard formula (that is, if he absolutely had to do something). Sometimes I wish I could opt out of Home Teaching.

If you can't understand much of this email, that's ok. I think it's written in Middle English.
Mike Says,
"Sister Hanson,
Hello, am finally getting to my email's of the week - its now Friday at 7PM and when I was given my 2 home teaching assignments, was told to use the missionaries when going to a members home. So I do not have anyone as a companion. As I know little of yourself and know not what you would want in a direction that a home teacher could bring to expand your knowledge, this is what I would like to learn from you, if possible. Yes I could present the first president's message but I would hope that you have already read it. As an example when an article in the ENSIGN touches thy heart and if you would like to say so, we can then go over that article. Are you reading something special that has made you ponder it over and over AND if you would like to talk about it - Well!

Saturday will see me in the library doing homework and I will check email and will look for your answer, or Sunday. Till then Mike G."

Speechless? Yeah, me too. Who says "thy" for Pete's Sake? (Apparently Mike does, because this is exactly how he speaks - I can just see him doing a little George Bushy thumbs up there toward the end. Ugh!) Perhaps if he doth not desist in troubling me, I shouldst get myself to a nunnery!

It's emails like this that make me think that I don't have a very good imagination, because you can't make stuff like this up.

Married without children ... or a spouse

Single people love to make fun of Married People. This may be because we are jealous. Or it may be because we simply can't comprehend what it is that married people are doing with their time now that they're married. Especially after the first year. What, after all, could be more fun than spending time with your BFFs? A non-stop week of activities and socializing should be your heart's desire.

But at a recent party I found myself thinking longingly of my pajamas and home and suddenly the penny dropped. I realized that without my knowing it I had become a married person. Except I didn't have a husband -- a minor detail, I think.

It suddenly became crystal clear that it isn't that our married friends aren't interested in being friends with single people (as we so often think). It's that they don't give a rat's ass about what single people care about.
They don't care very much about meeting new people.
They don't care about having plans on the weekend.
They don't care about generating loads of witticisms to impress the masses.
They've played the game, and beat it, and now they're enjoying a refreshing smoothie.

And I see their point. Being single is very exhausting. I'm ready for my smoothie, and I shouldn't have to have a husband to get it.

I love George Michael

I love George Michael, and I don't care who knows it.

Is there, I ask you, a better pop Christmas song than Last Christmas? I proudly sing (and dance) along to Freedom -- just try doing a "breast stroke" style move during the chorus of Freedom. I think you'll like it.

Doing Karaoke? Nothin' like a little Wake Me Up Before You Go Go! to get the crowd on your side.

Even though I Want Your Sex is a little risque for my pent-up taste, I have to admire his homage to Faith. Who cares if he ends up slumped over his steering wheel one too many times? I will always love George Michael.

However, I will not always love Michael George.

Michael George is a fellow in my ward who has recently taken a shine to me. Now every girl likes to be liked, however, they like to be liked by someone there is a remote chance for romance with. Sadly, romance is definitely not in cards with Michael George.

There are so many obstacles to the match, I'm not even sure where to start:

• Age (let's just say he prefers his corn creamed),
• Interests (not sure what they are other than spending time at the library and leaving 4 minute messages on my phone),
• Temperament (uh - nerdy, and not in a good way),
• Height and Weight (I'm bigger on both counts) and finally....
• He's a close talker. Give me my space, little dude. That's all I can say.

Unfortunately, in addition to wanting to "see where our paths have crossed before" he is my Home Teacher. Which means I have two options.

1. Endure him for one 30 minute meeting once a month (I can't even imagine the torture!!)
   
2. Find out if he's a strong member of the Church. If he is, I'll feel good about ditching Home Teaching. If he isn't I'll have to resort to #1.
   

I sincerely hope he's a strong member of the Church so I can force him to fail in his calling. I hate to make anyone slack unnecessarily, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I mean, come on, my heart belongs to George Michael. I have to be true to my heart.