Reason 129 Why I Don't Date

In a word - me.  I am reason 129 why I don't date.

I set up for an OkCupid account over a year ago.  Within two days, I had received three messages.  All of them offering no strings attached sex.  Needless to say, but, I deactivated my account within the first 48 hours.

Fast forward to last month.  I had given up on all of my regular way of meeting new people (see: Craig's List), and since I was no longer in school or at a minimum wage job (which leads to drinking buddies, which in turn may lead to make out buddies) I was up a creek.  And, by "creek," I mean a Class VI river with a waterfall just around the bend, which would lead to an endless supply of lonely nights and an equal number of cats.

Based on a recommendation of a few coworkers, ex-roommates, and people generally concerned about me eating my feelings or trying to fill the void with four legged vomit makers - I started a new OkCupid account.

For the first month, I neglected to complete any of the personal essays.  All I had posted were photos and all of the quizzes I had taken.  Of course, that didn't stop the pervs or creepsters from messaging me.

About a week ago, I decided to suck it up and fill out the essays.  I still hadn't responded to a message until I received the following message.


Him:  Sigh. Did you join OkCupid just so you could find people to have sex with? An image of [you] Yes This was a little depressing, since I thought your profile was interesting otherwise. Cheers.


[It  was Sunday.  I was bored.  And, I was in the mood for a little confrontation.  So, I responded.]


Me:  No, I can't say that was my goal for joining although I've declined several offers to do exactly that.   I may be wrong, but the impression I get from both your message and your profile is that you're not looking to do anything more than send anonymous messages.  On that note, I would encourage you to make a fake profile and see if you can get the same amount of attention as Amanda from Seattle (whomever that may be), because maybe then you could laugh a little about the ridiculousness that is OkCupid.


Him:  Well, my intention was to meet someone, and maybe have something happen. After talking to many, many people on here over the years, I realize that approximately everything women say they're looking for (sense of humour, kindness, a decent income), they're not really looking for. Or they don't remotely get my sense of humour, which, in fairness, puts them in the majority with about 80% of the planet. But, what I've learnt most of all on here is, as a 32 year old with rather limited sexual experience, I should really just totally give up. Because women don't want someone who doesn't really know what they're doing in that realm, and that's really what it all comes down to. Personality? F**k that. Cheers!


Me:  I'm enough shades of bitter and jaded to understand from where you're coming.  Trust me, I get the frustration of dating.   It sucks, but there's a reason why we keep at it.  Everyone thinks that they want one thing, but in the end they end up with exactly what they need (and often times deserve).  All I can do is speak for myself, and when I find myself in a sea of smelly boys with ironic mustaches wearing skinny jeans who prefer Pabst Blue Ribbon to Smithwick's or a nice microbrew - it makes me want to shutter my lady parts and adopt cats.  And, that's before I even say hello.  Also, a word to the wise, when you come off like a tool (or if you prefer - wanker) it will probably make the small portion of the female population run for the hills who would otherwise get your humor, are also looking for more than casual sex, and fit the other things you want and/or need for a healthy relationship.


Him:  Ha, that's the best part, is that I don't even know how I come off as a tool. Well, in the case of your message, sure, I can see that. I'm usually not that ridiculous with them. Generally, I try and find something in the profile to start a conversation about. That never works. And I don't get the PBR thing. It's a terrible beer, crikey.


[He revamped his personal essays.]


Him:  There you go. Far less anonymous, probably even more tool like. Cheers.


Me:  Congrats, sir.  It's like you're a real person!  I wouldn't say that it's tool like.  You’re letting your nerd flag fly, and that’s a good thing.  Also, I like to refer to soccer as “the world’s football.”


Him:  I changed it because I actually found an actual person I actually found actually interesting.  Needless to say, she didn't respond to my message. lol. Anyways, Real Football = Best Sport in the World. Re-watching England upset Spain right now in fact. Yay!


Me:  Awe snap!  You sure know how to make a lady feel special.  I can't say that I'm into sports, and this comes after having a work study job in undergrad with the Sports Video Department for three years and (I'm proud to say) this week I'm ranked number one (out of 55) in my company's college football pool.  So, it's not that I don't understand sports; it's just that I'd rather be playing with shiny things or stickers. :)


Him:  Hahaha, that came across horribly huh?  I'm CLASSY occasionally like that, crikey.  What kind of shiny things?  That sounds, um, potentially fatal...haha


Me:  Oh, I'm just playing.  And, I'll let you in on a little secret - girls and raccoons have more in common than you may believe.


Him:  They're both thieving bastards who like to play in the garbage and make great hats?


Me:  I'll have you know that I grew out of playing in filth.   Last weekend.  Side note, I feel like we should talk about your lady hat collection.  Also, I'm going to start referring to you as "Buffalo Bill."

Him:  "Buffalo Bill"? Interesting. I am, sadly, not actually a cowboy though. And I'm pretty sure I have no lady hat collection. Only good, solid, manly hats, like Baseball caps and Fuzzy hats that definitely don't have that little ball on top.

[I thought that I was being funny.  However, the prospect of explaining to Him that not only 1) was Buffalo Bill a character from The Silence of the Lambs, but he was THE character who said, “It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again,” and 2) by “lady hat” I didn’t mean hats made for ladies, but instead hats made FROM ladies – I realize that this isn’t going to end well.  Given the above and the fact that I was getting bored with the situation already, I decided not to respond at all.

Yeah, so I’ve decided to start a pool.  Please feel free to guess when I will get my next cat.  If you win, I’ll let you name it.]

HEY! I'M WALKIN' HERE!!!

Earlier this week a car rolled into me while I was crossing the street, since then my inner Bronxite has broken out of its shackles and there is no turning back.  Today I had my own version of a Midnight Cowboy scene while heading home from Fred Meyer's.

There isn't a traffic light where NW 20th Place meets NW Everett Street, but there is a pedestrian crossing light.~  The genius with a disabled parking permit hanging from their rear view mirror* tried to turn onto Everett without stopping.  I mucked things up, because I was in the intersection.

I still had three or four seconds left even though the pedestrian crossing light was flashing.^  So, when you didn't stop before pulling onto Everett and honked your horn while pointing to the pedestrian crossing light - I felt justified in doing the glare/finger shaking combo while yelling at YOU to stop.

Huh.  On the other hand, I feel like I should thank you and the woman who hit me on Tuesday for fulling introducing me to the world of pedestrian road rage.



~There is a light for the traffic driving east on NW Everett, but not for the traffic turning onto to Everett from NW 20th Place.  I don't get it either, but I'm assuming that it's a cost saving measure that assumed the traffic on 20th Place would come to a complete before turning onto Everett.

*I get it.  You can't be bothered to remove your disabled parking placard from your rear view mirror even when you're driving.  (You think you're too busy and important.  After all, how dare a pedestrian cross the street when you want to drive through a stop sign without stopping, right?)  Well, as someone who's parents have had disabled parking permits for the better part of two decades - I know that you're supposed to remove the placard from your rear view mirror when driving your vehicle.  In case you missed it while applying for the placard, I'd like to redirect your attention to the DMV Instructions and Regulations for Disabled Person Parking Permit.  Please read the Parking Regulations section.  Actually, you don't even have to read the entire section.  Just read the last sentence of the first paragraph.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.

^If you've been lucky enough to walk anywhere with me, you'd know that three or four seconds is all I need to cross the street.

Why Women Shouldn’t Drive

Or, more specifically:  Why the woman who rolled her car into me while I was crossing the street shouldn’t drive.

Well, the first reason that comes to mind is –YOU ROLLED YOUR CAR INTO ME WHILE I WAS CROSSING THE STREET!

Listen, I get it.  Driving in The Pearl can be a pain in the tookus, but there’s no reason for blocking the box.  You made the conscious decision sit in the center of the intersection, so you could make that light.  You still couldn’t move when I got the walk signal, so I walked in front of your car.  Even though I was over 75 percent of the way across the street, I still hadn’t cleared your bumper,* and the cars in front of you started to move, so you rolled into me.

It was a nice day.  I had my bright orange coat over my right arm and a cream sweater on.  I’ve been told that my sweater bunnies are hard to miss given their size and when coupled with the rest of me – I am hardly a wisp of a woman.  When I yelled out, “HEY!” and craned my neck to glare at you, you didn’t appear to be talking on your cell phone, texting, or otherwise distracted. 

It was 3:40 p.m. on a warm, sunny Tuesday, so I have one important question to ask.  Why didn’t you see me? 

I’m sure you have an answer but I really don’t want to hear it, because there’s no excuse for not paying attention while driving a boat of a car.  A lot of things could have happened.  What if I hadn’t been from sturdy breeding stock?  What if I had an old powderpuff football injury?  What if I had brittle bone disease?  You could have seriously hurt someone!

Luckily, I wasn’t hurt.  But, given the height of your bumper, I could feel your car push my knee out of place.  Let’s just say that I felt shocked and violated.  And, then when you mouthed, “I’m sorry,” while continuing to roll into me^ – anger overtook my other emotions.

I couldn’t tell if I was more with you or with myself for not throwing my belongings to the ground, slamming my fists on the hood of your car and yelling, “I’M WALKING HERE!”  Because, I can only hope that I never ever run into a situation like this again.

*Seriously, woman, where did you learn to drive?  Because, your car was positioned like you were trying to start your own third lane on NW Glisan St.

^Since you obviously seem unaware of your surroundings, I can’t be the first one to say this – but, if I am then it’s time that you know – you’re a horrible driver.

Reason 396: Why I hate Oregon

The damned Oregon DMV.

Yes, I have an out of state license.  No, I’m not going to tell you how long it’s taken me to get around to replacing it. 

I don’t have a car, so I didn’t have to deal with registering a car in a new state or tags expiring.   Even though I don’t own a car, I have rented one and used ZipCar since moving to Oregon.  But, other than that, my license has primarily been used to buy booze over the last two and a half years.

Seriously, I’m in no rush to switch over to an Oregon license.*  Since I know that it’s something I’ll need to do, I’ve been doing research here and looking through the Oregon DMV’s convoluted website there.  I’m not the type of person to put things off until the very last minute and then have a full blow meltdown when it doesn’t go my way.  I slowly chip away at projects.^

After I struck up a conversation with a New York State transplant who told me he had to take a behind the wheel test before receiving his Oregon license – I’ve been harboring resentment for the entire process.+  Couple that with the fact that I wasn’t able to find anything on the Oregon DMV website that clearly identifies requirements for swapping my New Hampshire license for an Oregon one.

Sometimes I miss the simple ways of New Hampshire – granite outcroppings along the highway, nor'easters that would extend for days, icicles the size of my leg, doing whatever I wanted and then screaming “Live free or die,” and foliage the colors of fire.  So, pretty much like Vermont, only upside down.  But, what New Hampshire totally has over Oregon is that New Hampshire took my money and Oregon license and giving me a New Hampshire license in return.

It was so simple and so, so easy.

Yesterday, a coworker went to the DMV to renew her license and was kind enough to find out that I have to retest to switch out my valid out-of-state license for an Oregon license.  After talking my youngest sister into letting me borrow her car for the behind the wheel test, I decided to do it while I’m in small town Oregon for my mother’s birthday.  So, I call up the McMinnvillle DMV and upset either Patty or Selma Bouvier.  After being told the difference between an out-of-state license and an out-of-state ID, I find out that since I have a valid out-of state license I need to take the written test and not the behind the wheel test.**

So, now I just need a cute hair day to coincide with a day I’m motivated to go to the DMV. ^^

*1) My New Hampshire license doesn’t expire until next June, 2) For my particular case, I think it’d be a waste of money to make the switch too soon, and 3) Having an out of state license not only makes me feel special, but it also subconsciously protects me from facing the fact that I’m living in Oregon – again.

^Like Chinese water torture or herpes.

+Make retesting number four on the list of reasons why I’m not super motivated to embrace residency in Oregon.

**Pain.  In.  My.  Ass.

^^Since I’m complaining about the Oregon DMV, why don’t they get on Arizona’s bandwagon and issue licenses that expire when you turn 65-years-old?++  Sure, they need to go in for a photo day every so often, but I’d be more than okay with that!

++Look at number 37 on the Arizona Department of Transportation page.

For a girl … I’m doing okay!

It’s not that I’m a girl that makes it so surprising that this week I’m ranked number one in my company’s college football pool.  It’s more the fact that out of the 56 people in this year’s pool, it’s possible that I’m the most sportastically* challenged^ person participating.

What can I say?  The allure of a free airline ticket coupled with a $0 entry fee was too much for my impulse control.+  So, I looked at the preseason USA Today Coaches Poll, read all about the BCS selection procedures, researched the coaches, and blah, blah, blah.

Seriously, if I had made my selections based on school colors – it would have been a lot easier…

*Yes, “sportasticlly” is NOW a word.

^Okay, I’m not actually challenged.  It’s that I don’t care.

Take, for example, the conversation that I’ve had too many times with coworkers and visitors (usually on days when my company is “College Football Casual” or “Collegiate Casual” (yes, that’s a thing my company does a couple of times a year) and I’m wearing a black t-shirt over an old Halloween t-shirt – complete with black cat – that I got on clearance from Old Navy last year):

Them:  Your Beavers are playing this weekend.

Me:  They are?

Yes, I worked for OSU’s Sports Video Department for three years in college.  I’d chitchat with jocks in class and around the sports arena – and, yes Halley, I’d judge them for wearing sweatpants to class

+Anyone who’s seen me around baked goods (even vegan baked goods) should know that I have very little impulse control.

Reason 456 Why I Hate Portland

As a native Oregonian, I have a love hate relationship with the entire state.  I keep trying to get out, but so far I also keep coming back. 

Regardless of where I go (Minnesota, Illinois, New Hampshire, etc.), I’m usually the “crazy liberal chick.”  I recycle.  I avoid Wal-Mart like the plague.  I’ve been disillusioned with both the Democrat and Republican parties,* so I’m a registered independent.  I was in New Hampshire for the 2008 primary and was able to vote in the First-in-the-Nation Presidential Primary,+ and I was able to vote for Bill Richardson.#  However, step into the bike riding, part-time working, sandals with sock wearing hipster mecca that is Portland, Ore., I might as well be Ann Coulter.

It’s hard to say that I agree with the Occupy Wall Street movement, since as of yet it doesn’t have a well defined definition.  Participants have each brought their own purpose to march – social awareness, discontent with financial and/or political systems, or just an enthusiasm for demonstration.  Honestly, the potpourri of causes reminds me a little of PCU – protesting just to protest. 

But, I have to ask – for as much as Occupy Wall Street’s website talks about the American Dream or Adbusters states that the movement began in America – why does everything have its roots in the great white north?  Adbusters put out the call to occupy Wall Street on July 13, 2011.  For those of you who don’t know, Adbusters is a not-for-profit based in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. 

Occupy Portland’s website is crying foul over a “False Press Release,” that they’ve traced back to Vannet Technology in Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada.  It may have been over looked that that this press release could be the real deal.  Sure, it might be a great fake, but to me it sounds it was written by the same people who create the website content.  Who else talks about where “Saturday Market touches the river”?  And, I’d like to point out that Vannet Technology offers a free online fax service.  For a group who has FaceBook, Wikipedia, and an internet committee, I think it’d be ridiculous to imagine a member of this group to walk down to the nearest FedEx Kinko’s and pay to fax a press release.  Plus, using a free service that can be traced to another country does provide a comforting blanket of deniability.  So, we’re not even going to get into whether Occupy Portland has a permit to march today (as best I can tell from their message forum – they don’t) or if the other claims in the press release have any tidbits of truth to them.

Maybe I’d be more involved with the local movement if: I was one of those people who only worked part-time at a coffee house, because fulltime work interfered with my busy social schedule.  Or, if I made a conscious decision not to vote, but spend the rest of the year complaining about the people who were elected.  (This is a thing.  One of my ex-roommates during the 2004 general election did this.) 

But, I’m not. 

If their dissatisfaction with the current government system, heath care, financial industry, or whatever is so substantial – they should change it.  Yes, a protest is a great way to go, but get the flipping permit.  Y’all realize that you’re going to put a substantial strain on the Portland Police Department’s resources, right?  The organizers COULD work with PPD to make the protest a safe place for the children and families that it’s calling upon to show up today.

But, Occupy Portland is not.

So, I will quote to Occupy Portland from The Big Lebowski, “My advice is to do what your parents did; get a job, sir.…” 

*It started off with 18-year-old me not knowing the difference between the two.  My mother was a Democrat and my father a Republican.  The only reason either had for their party selection was because that was also their parents’ party.  My parents both liked voting in the primaries, but they were both equally opportunity voters when it came to general elections.  Take, for example, my father.  He talked buckets full of smack about President Clinton during his first term, but then my father voted to reelect Clinton in 1996. 

In short, I knew I wanted to vote in the 2000 general election, but in my mind the Democrat and Republican parties were pretty much the same thing and nearly interchangeable.  To an extent, I still feel that way.  I believe that both parties are too caught up in the spectacle that has become “entertainment politics” (see: Sarah Palin or any political impasse over the last decade or even the past year (see: the 2011 federal government shutdown or the fiasco in Wisconsin this spring that had Democrats fleeing the state) to actually work together and come to mutually beneficial resolutions.

My problem with the Democrat and Republican parties has its roots in the 2004 election cycle.  I had just moved back to Oregon and needed to reregister to vote.  While walking home from the bus I crossed paths with someone doing voter registration at Last Thursday, so I registered to vote and mark the box to be an independent/unaffiliated/not a member of a party, and hand it back to the nice lady.  Magically, I was added to the Democrat mailing list and phone tree.

Since Oregon allows people to vote by mail, I had my ballot all set to be mailed off a few weeks before the election deadline when there was a knock on my door.  There was a young clean cut guy going door to door collecting ballots and offering “to be drop it off for you.”  Weird, right? 

Well, a few hours before the polls officially closed the doors on the allegations of election and voter fraud, I received a frantic voicemail from the local Democrat phone bank indicating that my ballot had never been received.  Even weirder, right?

+As a registered Democrat for the whole five minutes it took to vote.  Of course, I reregistered as unaffiliated while walking out of the room.

#Bill Richardson is still the first and only presidential candidate that I have been really excited about.

Crazy? Yes, but I’ve got skills! Or, The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades, or A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum...

Since my company has national clients, the front desk is open from 6:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. PST and the average work day falls somewhere in that time range.  My work day runs from 6:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m.  I like to think that I keep Midwest hours; because that prevents me from thinking about how early I actually have to wake up.  Sure, there are downsides to waking up between 4:30 and 5 a.m., like having the same social availability as an elementary school student, but there’s also a hidden benefit.

During my commute, I experience a world entirely hidden from the 9 to 5 crowd.  I’ve had this schedule for nearly a year, and in that time I’ve seen:

·    My neighbors returning from late night parties*

·    Transients exchanging morning pleasantries in Couch Park

·    A different transient pooping in a flower bed

·    The rotating faces of other transients as they set up to panhandle at the I-405 Glisan off ramp

·    The Sweeper~

·    Morning delivery of The Oregonian

·    Employees warming up the grill at Byways Cafe

·    Construction workers picketing near the old Meier & Frank Depot/new North American Vestas headquarters building.+

·    Still other transients sleeping under art gallery awnings and on the delivery docks along NW 13^th Avenue

·    Bread baking at the Pearl Bakery

·    MillerCoors brands being delivered to Whole Foods

·    A Pearl Bakery delivery van driving the three blocks to Whole Foods to deliver bread

In short, I notice all sorts during my morning walk to work.  However, it wasn’t until this morning when I heard one from two blocks away that I realized I hadn’t seen a child during my excursions.  And, you know what?  I realized that I hadn’t missed them at all.  Additionally, my mornings are so very pleasant without their sticky hands and bubblegum smell that it felt like an intrusion. 

Yes, I know I’m well on my way to becoming a crazy cat lady.  If my future is between embracing the CCL way of life or turning into Old Mother Hubbard – I say bring on the cats!

    

                                                                                                                                       

*First I get upset and disappointed in myself at having never stayed out until 6 a.m. unless I was working a graveyard shift, but then I remember that these neighbors are in their early 20s and if they keep up this kind of behavior they will not have the fabulous skin I have when they reach their 30s.

~The Sweeper won’t talk to anyone but himself, so I’m not sure about his story.  However, he’s an older guy that wears a black hat with earflaps year round.  Most mornings I see him diligently sweeping or cleaning out storm drains around NW 15th Avenue and Glisan.  The Sweeper doesn’t appear to have loyalty to specific stores, because I’ve seen him sweep the street, sidewalk, and parking lots in front of businesses and empty storefronts.  The location seems more important than the specific business.  I can usually find him on either on NW 15^th or 14^th Avenues and within a block of Glisan.

I don’t know if the businesses in that area (e.g., Premier Press, Touché, Hawaiian Time, and FASTSIGNS) are aware of The Sweeper, but if they are then I hope they supplement his broom addiction since the companies are benefiting from The Sweeper’s efforts.

+I was unable to tell exactly what was being picketed since the group was still getting organized when I walked by.  Plus, they were congregating across the street from the old Meier & Frank building, in front of the storefront at 1437 NW Flanders St., Portland, Ore., which (as far as I could tell) was also under renovation.  There was a decent sized florescent orange and green wearing crowd gathering and holding picket signs.  A group that may have been too large to fit comfortably into the storefront at 1437 NW Flanders, so I may never know exactly what prompted these men and women to congregate on a weekday before 6:30 a.m.