7 posts from March 2009

i.e. Why I no longer like St. Patrick's Day

These are big words for a girl who once lived in Ireland. I was going to meet the guy I met on okcupid for our second date, scheduled the Sunday before St. Pats. He asked me what I wanted to do and I was all for anything except Madison’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. Last year I was in Chicago for the parade. Spent the eve of the parade eating too much fried food and drinking cocktails in Bucktown. This left me with a sore tummy that kept me seated in the pub balcony. I had a great view of my boyfriend at the time flirting with a woman, friend of a friend, who looked resplendent in green. I went home at 2 a.m. with our host and two other friends to our host’s condo. My ex thought I was making up my stomach woes and told me he was staying out with the others. I barely slept, waiting for him to return, which he never did. He crashed in our other friends’ hotel room, neglected to let me know this. I never got a response to my call and text, finally getting a text response from one of my friend’s at 5 a.m. saying he was there. So yeah, the parade found me tired, cold, somewhat hungover and pissed. And I missed the green river…again. I lived in Chicago for two years and never saw it then either. The ex finally tried to make contact during the parade between noon and 1 p.m. For some strange reason, I didn’t feel like answering. I didn’t see him until 3 p.m. in the afternoon. This whole experience did not make for a pleasant association with a previously fave holiday. Let’s return to St. Patrick’s Day 2009, shall we? So I suggested a museum and drinks instead. We headed to the Chazen, talked art in a friendly non-pretentious way, and then headed to the High Noon for Trad Irish Music and Irish Dancing. Afterwards we grabbed dinner and then he kissed me when I dropped him off by his car. He’s not shy - he also hugged me after the first date. This is perhaps where I went wrong (or rather where I distinguished myself as not easy). My part in both these equations is awkward. That’s just the way I am until I get to know someone better. I’m likely never going to be the sort of girl to make contact with your tonsils on the second date. Okay, so there was that year or so in my mid-twenties where I gave this approach a shot. I’ve since determined that it was very much not my style. Before this kiss, I mentioned that the High Noon was turning into my official St. Patrick’s Day hub of 2009 since I was heading there for the Kisser’s show on the actual St. Pat’s Day. I invited him and strangely he showed up albeit with a perplexing disinterested attitude. He left at 11 p.m. since there was a looming deadline, asking me “If I was sticking around.” I said “yes” not realizing that perhaps this was code for “let’s go outside and make-out” or even more likely “let’s go f*^K.” He mentioned getting together the following week. Not hearing a thing by Wednesday I sent a little exploratory e-mail, “how was your weekend etc…” After a day without response I get a “you’re great (damn straight I am) but let’s just be friends” e-mail. Sure, do you know what I do with my friends? Kick them in the balls, hard. No, I’m not really that angry, just disappointed. And perplexed that he was the one that pursued me for the most part. Not that a strong pattern can be determined after such a short time, but damn. Ok, so his “looking for” included “casual encounters” as well as “short-term and long-term dating” but I assumed he had read my profile and the fact that “casual encounters” were not listed there. So my synopsis of the whole experience is that I was determined cute but unlikely to put out with haste. True. Okcupid and I have since parted ways, not really because the above experience, but mostly because of the messages I’ve received from 47-year olds in Illinois, skeet-shooters and other questionable characters. I just don’t have the time to think of polite ways to say, “I am not into you AT ALL.” Read my profile, guys. Or rather don’t ‘cause it’s too late – account deleted. I think I will stick with the friend-approved potential dates when I return to such endeavors. For now, I have much to keep me occupied, between freelance, schoolwork, training for an 8k run and a 44-mile kayak excursion. So yeah, suck it boys that don’t like me back!!! I reserve the right to compare you to fish, buses and other unflattering things. And maybe, just maybe I'll find it in my heart to wear green by March 17th of next year.

...with more than a touch of that memento mori my art history prof was always going on about. Two more songs I find myself listening to on repeat.

Death - the ultimate in unrequited love?

Kris and I were waiting (not so patiently) in Maharaja for Gia and her boyfriend to arrive. We got in position to sprint to the buffet as they walked in the door. Gia was our little Indian food virgin and Kris and I left her in the dust while we piled up our plates at haste. Was that rude? She did have her helpful bf to help her figure out what was what. Then we were silent while we filled our bellies to prep for our afternoon of drinking craft brews at the FestivAle benefit. FestivAle was packed - we started with the Fauerbach. It wasn't really a strategic choice - it was just closest to the door. And it was good. We had herbal ale, cherry porter, Indian pale ales and on and on. Earlier in the week I had forwarded the ladies the Ale Asylum's newsletter which hinted at full sample glasses for those who mentioned reading about the event in the newsletter. Kris mentioned the newsletter and....boo...regular sized sample. Oh, well. There was no shortage of beer. My tummy was hurting but nothing a sit-down in the balcony couldn't cure. Kris used this opportunity to write out her list of worries. Why, you ask? You'll see. At last my belly settled and we ventured down into the crowd which had thinned considerably since we first arrived. As had the beer supply, the Blu Creek blueberry ale I wanted to try was out. We meandered towards the stage, sampling a couple more brews in the process. It was raffle time. The tall man on the stage was holding up the thermal Ale Asylum shirt that Gia and I had been coveting at the Ale Asylum two weeks ago. And who gets called? Why Gia's boyfriend, that's who! And of course he gives her the shirt. Next is the tank top. And who wins the tank top! Kris! It's adorable with an "Asylum Angels" theme. She gives it to me - yay! Not necessarily 'cause she's nice (though she is) but 'cause it wouldn't fit over her ample bosom. My less than ample bosom is thrilled! Then starts the name drawing for the rest of the six-packs that weren't won in the ring toss. There's loads of these. Gia's boyfriend is called again and then the very next name is Kris's! They had some kind of synergistic gambling mojo together, throwing their tickets in the bowl while Gia and I used the facilities. Rewarded, perhaps for gifting us their Ale Asylum garments. We sat back and enjoyed The Dirty Shirts play bluegrass after the tasting ended. I would definitely see them again, they were really good and I don't think I thought that just 'cause of the beer buzz. The bass player was hilarious and Kris and I were impressed. As they finished, we grabbed some High Noon Saloon matches and headed off to Vilas Park. We were off to observe Get Over It Day, a couple days early. We chose Vilas since it had covered shelters where we could set our worry lists alight if the rain didn't let up. Fortunately the rain was on a break and we lit our lists on one of the bridges, watching them burn in our hands until we couldn't hold them anymore. Then we let them drop into the icy water below. Kris and I enjoyed the ritual burning so much that I grabbed my beer tasting literature from my purse and gave her some and we continued burning things. Yeah, we're both pyros. We also have matching pajamas but that might be a story for another day.

Things to get over

I generally wonder what he did to screw it up. But I politely refrain from asking that. I never have this reaction when a woman refers to her ex. I guess just have trouble accepting that some guys are nice and warm-hearted since I spent so long with the opposite sort. I know, boo-hoo, wallowing-me. But I know these nice guys are out there and they aren't always to blame for the demise of past loves.

Winter's Day

So I've got a sick kitty. The antibiotics he's taking for his bladder infection upset his tummy. This makes him not want to eat but he needs to eat food with these pills so it's easier on the stomach. It's a bit of a catch-22, feline-style. The vet recommended chicken baby-food to whet his appetite. I didn't even know you fed meat derivations to babies. I thought it was all milk and mushed-up peas. I'm pretty sure the guy with the baby in the baby-food aisle knew I was an impostor. I take this stuff home and feed it to Diver. He's lukewarm about it but he eats it. I was impressed with his fortitude since this stuff smells VILE. Cat food smell is less-offensive to my veggie-nose. I don't know how people can feed this stuff to cute babies, poor little things. Have you smelled this stuff? I'd say don't do it. However if you're visiting me in the next couple days (as my lone reader, Kris, is --- Hi Kris!!!) I am going to wave it under your nose and say, "See what I mean?"

Twitter and other forms of social networking have introduced to me to all these hyper-ambitious young people. And by young people I mean twenty-somethings. Turning thirty last summer made me take stock of many things, including my somewhat inconsistent approach to my professional life. When I was twenty-eight I just felt like there was so much time and I would be more accomplished when I was thirty. Really, it was only a matter of time until people took notice of my genius. But two years is nothing, and now I am finally pulling my shit together. Twitter has helped. I mean I had heard of these ambitious, networking sorts but I’d never been able to access so many and their thoughts on this level. Reading articles about this stuff is different than being taken through their daily routines via their tweets. These are real people. Weird. I guess in my head they had some sort of super-human status. Sure, they write and link to fabulous articles but they also eat lunch and sometimes they get lost on their way to aforementioned lunch. I wasn’t even aware I was slighting myself by basically thinking “Well, they wrote an article so they must be some sort of super genius.” So armed with the advice of my new followers/followees I have entered the world of networking and these are my adventures therein.

Tuesday night was a self-proclaimed geek dinner for people involved in the web. I had a pretty good idea what I was getting into. And it wasn’t bad, it’s just that I was just soooooo very unknowledgeable on the topics of conversation. This was partially due to being new to the group and the rest was due to my inability to hold forth on subjects such as comic books…and movies based on comic books, and math-y programming languages. I listened politely and tried to follow the flow of convo - the nice young gentlemen next to me defined a couple terms here and there. A friend of mine, and true comic book devotee, attended. She sat on one end of the table and gave me pitying looks every once and a while. I did however get some advice to work on “making things pretty” a la xhtml & css rather than mess about with php or ruby (programming languages) at this point. Sound advice though I wasn’t quite sure if “making things pretty” wasn’t a bit condescending. Hard to tell though when I don’t know these people or their senses of humor. I’m going to assume that advice was given in good spirit. I did exchange cards with the programmer seated to the left of the nice young gentleman/translator. We have exchanged a couple e-mails on the possibility of working in tandem on projects where I take care of the design elements and he does the programming. That’s a fabulous outcome of my first tentative steps into real networking. I think I could learn a lot from these people and potentially make friends. I would attend again but I will try to drag another right-brained designer-sort with me and/or sit next to my friend so she can hold my hand.

Saturday night was a benefit/cocktail party. I attended with my friend and her boyfriend. He thought he might know some peeps to introduce us too. One of the people he meant to introduce us to was home with a sick kid. I’m cool with exchanging business cards. Germs? Not so much. So that was just fine. Perhaps we will meet him another time. Other than that he didn’t really know anyone, except for my former coworker who now does design for him. I also saw a couple more coworkers and a lady newscaster. I didn't meet anyone new though. Ah, the joys of not-networking. So we just made do with our vodka cocktails that were included in the price of admission, which was fine by me! I think my companions felt kind of bad but I had a good time regardless. I reconfirmed that I can, in fact, walk in heels and clean up pretty well. There were some sexy heels at the party, a pair of them on my own friend. There were a couple young ladies that didn’t seem able to walk in them though…or maybe that was the  result of too many cocktails? I think all sexiness is out the window if you can only lurch in your shoes...unless you're trying to attract a zombie. Though a zombie's thoughts are probably more focused on dining on brains. Speaking of dining, there was quite a spread of hors d’oeuvres that were hard to identify under the red color of the heat lamps. I picked up something I thought was a dessert that ended up looking more like shredded meat on top of  bread once it reached my plate. It was hard to tell since we didn’t make it to the snack table until after the lights had been lowered. I tried something on a spoon, luckily only tasting the garnishing veggies before realizing they were hiding some sort of meat. Thankfully there was hummus and an olive tapenade with pita breads. I made my friend try the olive tapenade first since I was feeling a bit unsure after nearly taking a bite of mystery meat. Yep, it was olives…and she was not pleased with the flavor. What a good friend, right?! Both the hummus and tapenade featured cloves of garlic so it’s just as well I didn’t network since I wouldn’t want to be remembered as the graphic designer with garlic breath. However if you are looking for a designer with garlic breath, do get in touch.