Anyway, when the train went above ground at 4th Ave. (in brooklyn), everyone whipped out their phones to call into work and say they were going to be late. There was a moment of pause after all the phones had been flipped open. Commuters looked around at one another...wondering...who would be first. Who would be the first to call in and say "Hey, (name), it's (name), i'm going to be late. Yeah we've been stuck here for.....DUHN DUHN DUHNNNNN....

How many minutes would he/she report? Of course, late trains are the perfect excuse for getting to work late. I (like many of my cohorts) was already late (for my 10 AM budget meeting) and fully intended on padding the amount of time i'd report being stuck under ground. Thought i'd add on an extra 10 or so minutes. But, packed into the subway like that, none of us wanted to be the first one to LIE in a 'room' full of about 100 people who would all know they were lying...

Finally, a finance-looking type took the first turn (i think he'd accepted the fact that we all already thought of him as an asshole) and reported that he'd been stuck, unmoving for 15 minutes. After he said "minutes" it was like the "all clear" sign had been waved and everyone else called in with rapid-fire dialing, reporting anything from a 15 to 20 minute delay (we'd probably been there about 7).

Fortunately, I know my boss does text messaging. So, I was able to text in my lateness (I ended up going with 20 minutes....sue me). But, I couldn't help but be entertained by the fact that in a city crowded with people busily scurrying to their high-powered, high-paying, high-fashion, high-stress, artsy fartsy, new age-y jobs, once the alpha male exhibited a behavior, the rest of the pack followed suit. Guess we're not as evolved as we'd like to think.

As I was dressing I noticed this strange woman...well, woman NOW. She was a trannie, definitely. Not that that was the strange part. She just seemed to be acting weird. Not changing, just kind of hanging around. I forgot all about her, however, when I noticed the clock again. 7:46. SHIT! So I shoved my stuff in my locker and ran over to the mirror/hair dryer counter (NOT far from my locker, mind you.) to dry my bangs and throw on some under eye concealer. Approximately 75 seconds later, I returned to my locker to find the trannie pulling my wallet out of my purse! I said, "HEY, that's my wallet!" ran over, and grabbed it back from her. Caught off guard (and really effing out of it...meth, i think), she said "oh, sorry...yeah, i was just looking for my bag" and pretended to look around for her alleged bag. Then she tried to take someone else's bag from a bench! I believe the woman who's bag it was had gone to the bathroom. Luckily, there was a NYSC trainer standing there who saw the whole thing. She said "i'm going to need you to provide ID out of that bag or something that shows me it's yours." And the trannie said "I don't have ID" then fumbled around with the zipper and pulled out some Pol-i-dent and said "oh but i have this and, see, i have dentures."

I gazed at her dentures in disbelief. Not disbelief that they were dentures...they looked like dentures...bad dentures...but disbelief at what had just happened. Still in shock, I fumbled through my wallet, making sure she hadn't taken any credit cards, located my cell phone and iPod and figured there wasn't anything else of value in there to be concerned about. Then I headed downstairs to meet my friend, Holden. He was waiting by the front desk somewhat impatiently. I told him what had happened and proceeded to relay the story to the girl at the front desk (who was on the phone...they're ALWAYS on the phone...which is probably how the woman got in there to begin with.)

Then, I saw the woman coming down the stairs toward the exit with the trainer hot on her heels. She was carrying the backpack she'd swiped from the locker room, the trainer not wanting to let her take it. Another trainer who was standing by said "maam, i need to see your membership card." This is when the woman got hostile. She started yelling "I don't have it!" and pushing to get out the door. A big, burly "membership consultant" (sales guy) was standing there. He followed her out and retrieved the bag. He tried to restrain her till the cops arrived, but she started hitting him, so he let her go.

By this point it was 7:50 and Holden was practically yanking me out the door. The trainer saw everything happen, so I left my information for the cops in case they wanted to call me and headed out....hey, I had a SHOW to go to! I was really shaken the whole walk over to the theater. Holden did his best to make light of it, spewing off lots of one-liner gems like "trannie, get your gun." I laughed but didn't really calm down till much later.

Actually, I still find it upsetting. The image of her holding my wallet and digging in my purse is emblazoned on my brain. I felt so violated. I realize this could have been a lot worse. She could have taken something or even become violent with me. But still, the experience left me shaken. Oh well...all I can do is remember to always put my lock on my locker, even if i'm stepping away for a second. Oh, and appreciate the fact that I am now ballsy enough to snatch my shit back from a 6'3" meth-addicted trannie!

...and of course appreciate the strangeness of the story. I mean, you can't make that shit up.

"Tomorrow," Ann replied.  "Yeah, she even had a thick southern accent."

Yesterday, Ann informed me that there would be a girl stopping by to interview us about development.  Specifically - how it relates to a foundation which supports a dance company.  We both grumbled, annoyed about spending time explaining our jobs to some 22 year old with bright eyes when there were more important things to attend to - budget planning for next year, letters to everyone in our database, prospect compilation of possible donors and a payment request to the city's cultural affairs department.  There was no time for this girl.  But, we couldn't say no, she'd asked so nicely.

At 1:30 today Dan buzzed to say that she was here.  "Crap," Ann said.  "I totally forgot that girl was coming in to talk about development."  "Oh jeeze," I said with an eye roll.  "Ok, let's do this thing."  I went out to get her while Ann retrieved a couple of chairs.

Sitting there in her tights and frock and with her long eyelashes over sparkling blue eyes, she annoyed me.  "Hi," I said very matter-of-fact.  "I'm Jessie.  I believe you spoke to Ann."  "Yes!" she replied.  "I'm ___, it's so nice to meet you.  Thank you so much for your time."  I noticed braces-perfect teeth and a smile that didn't break for the entirety of our interview.  And what's worse - it was completely genuine.

So I went from being annoyed with this disruption to wanting to make a good impression.  God knows I don't want anyone, least of all this bushy tailed ingenue, to know that i'm basically faking it...winging it...what have you.  And, maybe there was some slim chance I could actually impart something that might be usefull!....or shape her life's path!...I explained the facets of institutional fundraising and she smiled at me, completely devoid of hidden agenda, just happy that we were willing to answer her questions.

It didn't take long to notice her voice...her ADORABLE voice.  High pitched but soft with a heavy southern accent.  You can't help but adore that.  And want to put it in your pocket.  And have tea parties with it later.  What?

Anyway, as the interview progressed it became less and less formalized until I finally realized that Ann and I were smiling and giggling back at her.  She had infected us with her jubilance and sweetness and we were brought back to a time before New York and it's coldness, before having to learn to be aggressive - brought back to a place of being sweet and kind just for the sake of being sweet and kind....because it felt good to be sweet and kind.

And after she'd gone Ann and I fawned over her cuteness and earnest.  Wishing, perhaps, that that girl in each of us didn't have to become so hidden by toughness and survival and self-sufficiency.  Wishing, perhaps, that she could come out and play more often.

I wait

By hospital beds and outside front doors

I wait

For him in the rain

I wait

For something to change

I wait

If patience is a virtue

And fear a waste of time

And love something to leap for

What does waiting bring?

For fall, for spring

For silence in summertime

For a love worth sacrifice

For all the right reasons

I wait

For too long

I wait

As I type this i'm listening to "Songbird" by Eva Cassidy. I couldn't think of a more appropriate sentiment. In it, she sings, "I love you like never before." Since their engagement - and my initial downward spiral into outrage - i've felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Like, the thing that I most feared happened and brought with it the peace of mind i've craved for almost two years. In my most secret, benevolent heart, I am happy for them. In letting go and in loving both of them - like never before - I am free.

As I put the pictures back, I remembered each place and each person's luminous face. I felt whole. As I put the pieces of my broken album back together, I removed the wrenching vices which bastardized my memories and the pure joy they provided me. I realized that my love affair with Bob is still mine. And, in that place, in the summer of 2005, I still have that. And, my friendship with Gretta and the strange, naive, and achingly beautiful bond we shared still exists in my memories and in my photo album.

My heart feels tired, like a muscle over exerted but not necessarily injured. A muscle challenged to it's limits but unbroken. And in that aching sweetness - in that realization that all this time i've felt broken, i was just exerted beyond what i thought were my limits - I feel whole. So "I love you like never before" is not only for the two of them, not just for my memories, but for me - for the woman I am. She survived this and she is whole. And for that I love her - like never before.

They did it.

I wonder if he got down on one knee.

I’m sure she cried.

I wonder what the rings looks like.

And how many times he’s lied.

They did it.

I wonder if he promised her always.

I wonder if she shook with joy.

I doubt he remembers the faces.

The scent of rapture

They did it.

With this ring, they did betray

On the underside of things

In the walls of where they’ll live

They’ll remember

They did it.

And now I’m falling

Someone’s pulled the earth out from under me

I wonder if I’ll find the ground

Before their first child is born

They did it.

Their betrayal stole my innocence.

Their union trivializes my heart.

Their longevity mocks my outrage.

Dear God, what if they make it.

They did it.

Now I'm not blaming Mickey & Co. for all female feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness. Certainly there are other forces at work. But, what I am saying as that this is a serious problem. For many of us, when we date a guy and it ends because "he's just not that into us," it sets off a downward spiral of self-loathing that is usually only righted by our best friends forcing us to pick ourselves up by our bootstraps. And why do we bounce back? I maintain it is a conscious decision. Not some realization that "I'm better than this," or "I'm taking this way too seriously," or "He wasn't that great, what am I doing?" Rather, we decide that it is a better existence to peel ourselves off of love's superhighway and begin the journey again than to just stay there like social road kill.

Some of this may seem extreme. By no means do I mean to condemn any one man or any group of them for that matter - that would be a grossly over simplified placing of blame. We, ourselves, certainly share some of the blame for allowing this cycle to continue for so many centuries.

Granted, we're working hard, taking care of home, family, and career. And, heck, even making an average of 73 cents on the male dollar (I'm NOT suggesting we don't have light years of improvement ahead in the equality arena). And yet, for many of us, we still put much of our self-worth stock in the "what he thinks of me" basket.

So I ask you this: Why? Obviously this sometimes obsessive need for male approval isn't solely a neuroticism of Freudian proportions. I know many, many women with present dads, absent dads, dead dads, and everything in between who experience this same need. Are we the ones objectifying women because we allow ourselves to be not only affected, but molded and shaped by what the male population thinks of us?

Now I'm not saying that we should be able to undo thousands of years of gender inequality, and in some cases oppression. However, Gloria Steinem once said, "Power can be taken, but not given. The process of the taking is empowerment in itself." So if we refuse to be objects, refuse to be molded at the molecular and spiritual levels based on what men think of us, would we then become subjects instead of objects? Could we turn away from the mirror which holds so many of our hearts and minds captive? And could we then come closer to breaking free of the demographic and sociological ties that bind us? Might we feel about ourselves exactly how we want to feel?

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" asks the Queen. Answers the man in the mirror, "……….

Every heterosexual guy, ever: "Women are too complicated. Say what you mean and stop giving me shit when you ask me to say what I mean and then I actually do it.

Fair enough. But how about taking some of your own advice? In my inter-gender communication, i've certainly hit the language barier...head on...with no helmet...etc... However, when I say i'm gonna call, I call. When I say I want to hang out with someone, I want to hang out with them. And, when I say i'm going to show up somewhere....(that's right)....baring hell or high water, I show up. And if something happens and i'm going to be late (right again)......I call the person. Why? Because i'm just that desperate for a boyfriend? No. Because it's common human decency and courtesy, that's why.

So, why, why WHY is it, then, that men feel the need to play the "so...you wanna hang out tomorrow? (sure, when's good for you?) like around nine? I don't know...maybe we should just play it by ear. (what do you want to do?) Um, whatever....we'll figure it out...." pre-date game that is juvenile and stupid and frankly, weird.

Like, ok, so you want me to pencil you in for friday night...barring me from making other plans....but you want to be vague enough to escape out the back door should a better offer come along? I'm just speculating, because i'm entirely pissed off at the prevalence of this kind of behavior. In days of yore (or maybe just in fairytales) men treated time spent with lovely women as something to look forward to and maybe cherish a little....not something to run away screaming from at the last minute.

So the question is this: Why the fuck....if you're interested in someone enough to talk to them online/on the phone at great length and actually ask them out - why are you too much of a twatwaffle to solidify plans more than 2 hours in advance?

Is it too much of a commitment to potentially "give up" your friday night on someone with whom you might not click?

And here's the part that reeeeeeeeally pisses me off. So when i've decided to set aside that time slot to hang out with you and I want to know what the plans are (gasp!) more than the aforementioned 2 hours in advance, why is it i'm made to feel like a needy, clingy pathetic little girl?

Coming full circle....so you only want me to say what I mean when it suits you? And when it doesn't i should be complacent and just play your game? Fuck that. Listen, I love men. I love the way they look, the way the smell (usually), they way they can melt all my defenses with the right look. I love the witty, challenge banter that's usually just oratorical foreplay. But i'm sick to death of this tcfs bullshit.

Bottom Line: wanna get a great girl in bed? be upfront with her. show her you're willing to set aside a little time for her. show the fuck up. make her feel like an equal. with a mature girl who knows what she wants (and if she's spending time with you and has her shit figured out - you're probably what she wants), courtesy is the ultimate panty-dropper.

Hmmm...not so much. Over the past six months, i've bar hopped, blind-dated, internet-dated, not-so-much-dated-as-hooked-up, and dated-with-reservations (no, not dinner reservations. hahaha!) And how did it turn out, you ask? Oh i'm about as alone as Tom Green's other testicle. So, i've decided to accept the fact that my being proactive in this area hasn't gotten me an inch. Thusly, I give up. Wholeheartedly. Henceforth, i'm going to make a concerted effort to embrace my singlehood. And, it feels really really good!

Anyway, not wanting my buffet of recent dating blunders to go to waste, i've decided (with PJ's suggestion) to write about them. There's a lot of effin' crazy people out there who deserve (for better or worse) to be written about.

So, Dear Readers, be looking forward to some anecdotes from my personal library of wacky dating experiences, embarked upon in the noble name of proactivity. I'll also be including some donated by my friends (changing the names to protect the innocent), so please if you've got any crazy dating stories you'd like to share (and don't want to blog about them yourself), send them along!

Thanks...and stay tuned!

Ben was raised in a culture where drinking was the main activity through which social bonding takes place. He's not a mean drunk, and he certainly isn't unkind to her. But, when he drinks, he's unavailable. It's like, the man she loves gets replaced with this filler person who is only 'holding Ben's place' while Ben is somewhere else. And the filler person is sleepy and disconnected.

My friend's predicament got me thinking about That One Thing. Sometimes it's something tangible like binge drinking. Sometimes it's a little more ambiguous. Regardless, it made me wonder if, in relationships, there isn't one thing that always bothers us about our partner. Something that nags at us saying: "what if this is the way it will always be?"

I'm in love with a great man. He's honorable and all the things I look for in a partner - when he's around. The trouble with him is that he works constantly. He goes to his 9 - 5 job, then, straight to his friend's apartment to work some more. I'd be lying if i said that this situation wasn't incredibly frustrating to me. It's like that episode of SATC when Big is all upset about the actress he's dating and her inaccessability. He says to Carrie and Aiden, "She can reach me, but I can't get her." Sometimes I feel that way with my boyfriend. His life seems very compartmentalized and when we're not together, it feels like i'm forgotten because he won't call for days at a time. And, I don't call because I either think he'll be busy or that I should be playing hard to get (thanks for instilling that one, Mom).

Anyway, i guess the question is: Is there always That One Thing? In love, do we pay the price of emotional and physical connectivity and euphoria by constantly coping with one aspect of our partner's being that really bothers us? Is it some kind of balancing act imposed upon us by the forces in the universe that serve to protect equilibrium? Or, are we meant to keep searching till we find someone with whom we can have a Thing-less relationship?