Reason 785 Why Dating is Rough: Sushi Dan

I’ve always been a hater of meeting for “just a drink”.

I mean, come on. Even if shit goes wrong, it’s not as if we can’t put our nose to the grindstone and power through a meal together, right?

As someone who has had her fair share of less than stellar first dates, I know the feeling of knowing ten minutes in that the evening is shot. Pit in stomach, thinking of all the things I could be doing with my evening instead of sitting here, making small talk with you.

But really, how bad could things get? If we’ve agreed to go out at all, can’t we at least invest the time it takes to order and eat a plate of food? After all, let’s face it, we’re not that busy. Besides, deigning only to a drink seems so, well, pessimistic.

I’ve now revised my policy on all this. Why, you might ask? Two words:

Sushi Dan.

Lemme set the scene. Last week, I was meeting a colleague for a sushi lunch when I met this hotter than hot guy. I’m talking hot. We chatted, there was rapport, business cards were exchanged. We seemed to have a boatload in common. I couldn’t believe my luck. So when he called for a date, I was stoked.

The date he suggested was right up my ally, a little too good to be true, actually: tossing in the park followed by cooking risotto together at his house. (Now if you’re reading this and find it a little odd that I agreed to go to a total stranger’s house for dinner on a first date, I’ll give you that one. I wasn’t entirely comfortable at the thought, but I went for it.)

When we met, he was as hot as I recalled. Hotter, actually. Things were off to a great start when about 10 minutes in, he casually mentioned he was flying home to Michigan this weekend to visit his? You guessed it, girlfriend.

Crap. I immediately took a mental inventory of the possible reasons as to how I had wound up on a date with an unavailable guy. Had I misread the signals, and this date was a “friends” thing? Are hot guys really so desperate for platonic friends that they call up girls they meet in sushi restaurants and offer to cook risotto for them? Didn’t gel. Perhaps I had somehow blown it already, and he was aborting the mission by making up a fictitious girlfriend? After all, the very first thing I do to get an unwanted guy off my trail is to start name-dropping a made up ball ‘n chain. But no, it was too early in the date. We’d barely gotten past the basic get-to-know-you stuff, and at no point thus far had my foot even come close to being in my mouth. Maybe they’re on the verge of breaking up, and he’s too stupid to not mention her? After all, they are long distance. Honestly, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it was the best I could come up with. In any case, I made the call to stick around and get to the bottom of it.

I mean, I did mention he was hot, right?

A bit later, about five minutes into the 60+ minute risotto recipe, he mentioned her again. This time I took the bait and was told that they are allowed to see other people.

Sigh. Experience has taught me that these things rarely turn out well for the new person, and quite frankly I’m just not interested in the drama and complication. I had a feeling that at the end of the evening I would likely request that he be in touch if his GF ever became an ex-GF, but until then, best of luck. So, mystery solved, but now definitely a wasted evening.

Correction. It would’ve been a wasted evening if he’d left it at that. But no, he continued. Seems as though they’ve moved to their current status somewhat recently, and surprise, surprise, she’s having a hard time adjusting. And he let me know that he feels it’s really important that his girlfriend know that she can reach out to other people since he’s not around. So this weekend, when he goes home, they are going to get together with another couple they know. And they’re going to, you know, all be together.

At this, I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud, and food shot out of my mouth. I’m talking, hummus hit the wall. Between gulps of laughter, I clarified, “So basically, you’re going home to have an orgy?”

Without a hint of humor, he replied, “well, yeah.”

Woah.

It soon became evident that he was quite eager to talk about this, and seeing as how I was no longer eager to impress, the date turned into a mini-inquisition on the subject of polygamy. I indulged myself not only in asking the blunt questions but also in being a bit “unplugged”, shall we say, in my commentary.

So without further ado, I give you Poly-Amour 101, According To Sushi Dan. Subtitle, At Least The Risotto Was Good.

Khop: In my limited experience with open relationships, it seems that more often than not there is one person who is into it, and then there is another person who pretends to be into it for fear that objecting will result in losing the person altogether. Tell me about that in general and specifically with you and your girlfriend.

Sushi Dan: In general that is often the case. Specifically, though, well…. that is also the case. If I agreed to be monogamous, I’m sure that’s what she would prefer. But, I think she’s slowly coming around. At least I think she is.

Khop: Huh. Would never have put money on that being your answer. And by “would never” I mean “would definitely”.

Khop: You’ve mentioned your relationship to your girlfriend as being “committed”. Tell me, where is the “commitment”?

Sushi Dan: Oh, well I’m very committed to her. I’m committed to being there for her emotionally and to calling her and visiting her and doing all the other stuff that goes along with being a boyfriend. It’s just that I’m free to see other people, too.

Khop: Oh, so what you mean by “committed” is that you commit to keeping her on the roster, most likely in the starting line up. But you're definitely looking to expand the team and evenly distribute the playing time. You commit to continue sleeping with her - that is, when you're not sleeping with somebody else.

Sushi Dan: Well, yes, I suppose you could put it that way.

Khop: Ok, just checking.

Khop: So we’ve established that the physical aspect of your relationship has no exclusivity clause. What about the emotional side? Who does the emotional commitment go to? Especially since sex for women quickly leads to emotional bonding. What happens when either of you bond with someone else? And are the women you sleep with just being used as warm bodies?

Here Sushi Dan took the time to explain to uneducated me the difference between swinging, open relationships and poly amorous relationships. Turns out we’re apparently talking about different things here, in an attempt, it seems, to take one Very Bad Idea and give it several layers. The first two are intended to be only physical. Swinging typically occurs with both parties initially present, while open means that the creeping around town is done on one’s own time but with full permission. In both, theoretically the emotional attachment remains exclusive. In poly amorous relationships each partner gets to have their cake and eat it too, as “multiple committed, intimate relationships are acceptable and encouraged.”

Guess which camp Sushi Dan and his lucky GF were in? Yep, not only was the position of girlfriend already filled, but Sushi Dan claimed to have funding for additional girlfriend headcount.

Pun entirely intended.

Khop: Do you mind if I ask how old you are?

Sushi Dan: 26.

Khop: ahhh….

Khop: Have you considered a move to Utah?

Sushi Dan: Now you’re just mocking me.

Khop: You're just realizing this now?

As he walked me home, Sushi Dan asked me how I felt about this, if I would consider going out with him again or if all this poly-amour talk had me “running scared”, subtly implying that if I objected, my old fashioned thinking indicated a character flaw in me. I politely told him that while I generally subscribe to a “whatever floats your boat” kind of philosophy in life, none of this did, in fact, float my particular boat. I thanked him for his transparency, but told him that he’d have to keep looking for the next addition to his harem. In a display of social and self awareness that had been glaringly lacking from the rest of the evening, he said, “well, at least you’ll have a good story to tell, right?”

True dat, Sushi Dan, true dat.

Call me old fashioned, but poly-amours need not apply,

khop

PS: Thoughts?

Reason 539 Why Dating is Rough: Check, Please!

Recently, a certain vertically gifted gentleman and I were catching up over email, and of course the conversation wandered on over to our love lives. He was recounting the various twists and turns he’s currently experiencing when he wrote this (quoted with permission and name changed btw):

“On Thursday I went out with Jennifer (who my friend met at her second cousin's wake). Guess what? I bought two rounds of drinks (as is proper form), but Jennifer neither said thank you nor offered to buy a round. Guess that's how she rolls. Is that weird that I think that's weird? It seems petty on one hand, but strange on the other.”

Upon reading his email I was struck by déjà vu. I just had this conversation not too long ago, but from the opposite viewpoint. A girlfriend of mine had just come home from a first date she had been extremely excited about. The rapport had been great, the signs all good. But then, out of nowhere, I get a text: “I’m done with him – He made me PAY!”

Huh. First dates are so god damn rough. There’s opportunity for fatal error with every word uttered, and I think all of us can probably recount a first date where the evening took a sudden sharp left turn from promising to “well, this was great, but I gotta get up real early….” From “Woo hoo!” to “Uh oh…” From a strong heart beat and good prognosis to flat-lined and morgue-bound. As Wise Cassie recently posted for her gchat status (presumably after a first date), first dates “are like job interviews, except with cocktails.”

Dear God, how do recovering alcoholics and Mormons get through them?

Added to the confusion is this whole “Who picks up the tab?” minefield dance that goes down just as the date is rounding third. As seen from the two aforementioned examples, a perfectly good evening can go down the tubes if this spot is handled incorrectly by either party. A budding relationship nipped in said bud. Good times, but no happy ending. We no longer live in the world of Mad Men when the rules of engagement on this topic were so crystal clear: Boy asks girl on date. Boy pays for date. Girl bats eyelashes, smiles, says thank you, and goes home hoping a marriage proposal is next. This day and age, playing a quick mental game of WWDD (What Would the Drapers Do?) does not a clear answer give.

I don’t know a lot about dating. In fact, some could say I’m the last person that should be handing out advice. This particular spot, however, I do feel as though I have mastered and can execute flawlessly every time. That being said, allow me to recommend a few guidelines for both sexes on how to successfully navigate this oh-so-precarious spot. (a.k.a. “How shit should go down”)

Section 1: “The Main Tab”

Note: The term “Main Tab” is somewhat self explanatory and refers to the main event of the date, usually the meal tab, not including tip.

Guys, as a rule of thumb, know that you are on the hook for paying for the Main Tab at least for Dates One and Two. That being said, pick somewhere you can afford. We’re not looking for you to wipe out your bank account; we’re simply looking to be courted and made to feel special. Plus, it’s cringingly nails down a chalkboard awkward for us if there’s even the whisper of a wince when you see the total. So if pizza by the slice is all you can manage at this juncture, then slices all around. Just be sure to hunt down the best slices in the city.

Normally, I’d like to say Date Three is where it’s acceptable to let the lady pick up a Main Tab, but by all means, if you are aiming to send a strong WOO message, go for it. Think of it as Extra Credit. Please know that if you cruise past Date Four without allowing the lady to treat, you are conditioning her to expect you to treat at all times from now until eternity. Do not, then, get your panties all up in a bunch when after two years of dating her and picking up the Main Tab each time, your lady stops even reaching for the check. You did it to yourself. (Woops, how did that piece of baggage slip into this conversation??)

One you’re past the initial chunk of dates, I think it’s perfectly acceptable to alternate who foots the bill, especially if both parties are gainfully employed professionals. It is never, ever, under any circumstances, in my humble opinion, acceptable to go “dutch”, no matter how long you’ve been together. Nothing kills the romance quicker than the look the waitress gives you when you ask her to “split it between both cards….”

Section 2: “The Secondary Tabs”

The person who has just been treated should now seek out a Secondary Tab to pay for as a gesture of gratitude and reciprocity. This could be as simple as offering to leave the tip at the restaurant (see below suggested script), or to grab the next round of drinks. Or it could be to pick up the next activity on the date: the movie tickets, dessert at a neighborhood ice cream shop, a round or two of ammo… You know, whatever. Whether or not your date chooses to take you up on this offer is immaterial. As you can see from the account my gentleman friend gives, it is the attempt that matters.

Section 3: “It’s the first date, and the check has arrived: A suggested script”:

Scene: The check has arrived. It’s sitting on the edge of the table in the little black sleeve. No one has touched it; the tab is not known. Lighthearted conversation is still bouncing back and forth, as if a time bomb has not been just placed six inches away. However, all mental energy on the part of both parties is now focused on how to navigate the next five minutes. Assuming both diners are even somewhat interested in a repeat of the evening, may I suggest something similar to this:

Man – picks up and looks at the check. Places credit card in folder and closes it, if possible without even pausing in what he’s saying.

Woman – in a timid voice, gesturing towards the closed folder, “Can I help with that?”

Man – “Oh absolutely not. I’ve got that covered.” Smile, showing teeth.

Woman – Show surprise and slightly exaggerated gratitude. “Oh! Thank you so much – that’s so sweet of you!” Touch his arm here, if at all possible. “Perhaps… I could leave the tip?” (Note to women – Always carry enough cash in the right increments to make this easy if he says yes.)

Man – You have two choices. You can either say, “Um, well, ok! Let’s see, looks like $15 should be plenty.” OR you can say, “Nah, I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though. Why don’t you grab us a round of drinks at this great bar down the street.”

See how easy this can be? No muss, no fuss.

I’ve been told the average male dreads this moment during a first date, because he is presented with a potential lose-lose situation. In this age of female empowerment, his date may get offended if he won’t accept her money. On the flip side he may be labeled cheap if he does, as was the case of the guy with whom my girlfriend dined. Upon further review of that particular play, however, a blunder on her part became evident. The bill came, and he picked it up. She offered to chip in, and he declined. Instead of thanking him, though, she went around the bend one more round, asking if he was sure. He froze in panic and then after a long pause finally blurted out, “Err, fine. Why don’t you just give me a twenty?” Yikes.

Don’t worry, fella’s, she’s got the script down now. We’ve rehearsed it several times.

Now, if only the rest of dating could be this easy…..

Buyin’ the movie tickets,

khop

Mad Props to all my Teacher Friends, yo!

Somehow, along the way, my circle of friends has suddenly started boasting a rather high teacher to non-teacher ratio. As a matter of fact, as I do a mental scan of the people currently in my life, teaching is probably the most common profession. And not just with the old Philly crowd either. Seems as though quite a few members of my new Charm City posse spend their days in front of a chalk board, handing out detention slips. May God bless you.

So on this, the day after Labor Day, the day that just reeks of all things “School Year”, the day on which I looked out my bedroom window and noticed that the leaves are already starting to change, I must give a quick shout out to all my teacher friends with this highest of accolades:

Y’all rock.

Our lives are a series of choices of how to spend the various forms of currency we have. All day, every day, we get to choose how we spend not only our money, but our time on this earth and the talents we are given. A person chooses a certain career path, and thus how she will spend the bulk of her time, for a multitude of reasons, both internally and externally driven. I love my line of work, I really do. And while I do firmly believe there is somewhat of a contribution to the “greater good” in what I do, mostly my job just benefits me, mentally and financially. If I made a pie chart out of my professional motivators, or better yet a bar stool, each of those three motivators would have an equal presence. Of course I am well aware that the societal contribution my job makes is not exactly Mother Teresea-esque, per say, but if you’d been privy to some of the conversations I’ve had over the years, you would agree that those in my line of work can and do have a positive impact. And it is this ounce of a contribution that has attracted me to my particular arena as opposed to, say, widgets. However, I’ll be the first to admit it, take the leg of the bar stool out that represents the financial reward, and I’d be flat on my ass in the bar with a spilled beer and a mouth full of curse words. And in about ten minutes I’d be out of that bar, headed home to troll around on Monster.com.

From the outside looking in, it seems to me that the legs of a teacher’s bar stool are largely made of the altruistic motivation to shape the lives of the children they teach. Why else would they do it? After all, last I looked, teaching was not topping Fortune 500’s list of most lucrative careers.

Sure, there are perks. Teachers love to remind the world that they get the summers off, to be spent sleeping in and smugly lounging about all day, while those of us in Corporate America spend our summers toiling away for The Man. All summer long they post status updates on Facebook lamenting sleeping through yet another episode of The Price Is Right and similar. However, in taking a quick mental scan, I notice that at least half of my teacher friends have to take some form of employment during the summer months, thus winding up right next to us in the salt mines and negating the one big non-altruistic lever.

No, no, no, as best I can tell, the thing that keeps a teacher coming to work every day ain’t the dough, and it probably ain’t the summer vacation. It’s the high that comes from living a life of service to others.

It’s not that I’m trying to pass out halos for all my teacher friends to wear around or to blow sunshine up their fabulous rear ends. Or maybe I am. Maybe encouraging my teacher friends with these mad props is my small way of joining in on their high before heading off for another day in a career that largely benefits only me. After all, I’m insanely jealous of the meaning and purpose that is innately infused into their lives as a result of their career choice. Sigh, not jealous enough to join them, but still.

In any case, I don’t think we in this world tell others often enough how highly we regard them. So, without further ado, to all my teacher friends: Thank you. You do important work. Not only is it appreciated by your students and their families, but also by those of us who were most definitely not called to your noble profession.

Readers (all 10 now? boo-ya!), if you feel me on this, drop a line. If you know a teacher in need of a halo, pass this along...

My blood runs corporate,

khop

Ommmm..... Ommmm...... Ommmm......

I’m absolutely desperate to learn how to meditate.

Stop giggling and shut up.

It’s true. Although I’ve done painfully little towards this end, it’s something I’ve wanted for quite some time now. See, like probably most people, I have this insane level of internal dialogue, sometimes positive, often negative, but absolutely never ending. It exhausts me at times, and I long for greater control over it, to still it or to even just slow its pace. I’ve commented before that I regret the fact that I can’t enjoy the act of sleeping in the actual moment. Sure, there’s an after the fact contentment of having woken from a satisfying night’s sleep, but I can’t enjoy it while it’s happening because I’m, well, asleep. In exploring this idea further, I’ve concluded that it’s the peacefulness present during sleep that I wish to experience on a more conscious level. Simply put, I’d like to be able to make myself just shut the hell up.

In my former life as a musician, I would sometimes reach this euphoric sense of stillness while playing. Conscious dialogue would stop, and I would literally be able to ride a wave of music. The sense of peace I would experience during and immediately after is like nothing else I’ve ever known. Now that music is no longer a part of my daily life, I’ve found that I want and need another way to tap into this and, if possible, take it to a higher level.

Once again, stop sniggering and making the hippie jokes under your breath. You know that’s not very kind and loving ‘n stuff.

I’ve practiced yoga on and off over the years, and while I enjoy it and am able to tap into a certain amount of stillness through it, it’s not ideal. Physically speaking, my muscles are so tight and inflexible that I can barely touch my toes, meaning the only yoga I have a prayer of successfully pulling off is hot yoga. This means huffing it off to a yoga studio for a 90 minute class (so a 2 hour venture when it’s all said and done), not something that is easily incorporated into the daily agenda of a working adult who happens to have a variety of interests. Publishing this rag, to name just one.

No, I’m looking for something a little shorter and sweeter, something that could perhaps be incorporated into my morning routine to, you know, start the day off on a peaceful, transcendental foot. I have this vision in my head of getting to such a place of meditative peace that it carries me through the day, such that each time a customer gears up to kick me in the face (usually figuratively but sometimes literally), the fake smile I normally wear actually becomes genuine, and the hostility rolls right off me like water off a duck’s back.

Perhaps I should just smoke a bunch of weed instead?

Naturally, in getting this started, I headed straight over to iTunes and started a’clickin’ away, to see what there was to see. All kinds of meditation podcasts and audio books for download, and after a few minutes of searching, I found one that seemed as good as any to start with. Who knew that self-actualization is only a few mere clicks away?

I’m three days into this, and I’ve already confirmed my initial assumption which was that I have the mental fitness equivalent to one of those half ton people who need a crane and a team of caregivers just to shower. Still my mind? Oh, sweet little Khop….

But even though this was my assumption headed in, why am I genuinely surprised at all the chatter that goes on in there while I’m trying to do this thing? I always do this. I charge into an activity I have never done and have little to no natural inclination for and then am mildly shocked when I’m not an immediate expert. And then I’m embarrassed for being shocked. After all, who the hell do I think I am?

I think this whole meditation thing will be good for me….

The guided meditations are having me focus on different things each time, like the flame of a candle or a vision of me sitting on a cliff overlooking the ocean – all very chill and groovy. And so far, I’ve had pin pricks of time each during session where I think I’m kinda focused (the contradiction already being painfully evident, as the point of the whole thing is to not think…sigh…). We’re talking flashes, gone before they’re here, whispers of focus, before the stream of conscious dialogue comes rushing back in. Dialogue like this:

· My foot’s falling asleep.

· Huh, I’ve never really watched a flame this long. Look how much it’s moving. That means the air around the flame is moving that much. Weird. What exactly is fire? Am I a moron for not knowing that? Thank goodness there’s such a discrete boundary between fire and not fire. Cos else everything could catch on fire. And that would suck.

· If I move my foot so that it doesn’t fall asleep, does that mean I’m not meditating?

· I’m supposed to be flying over the ocean now. Ok, that’s cool, I can see it. Ahhhh…..Wait, am I supposed to have wings? I think the guy mentioned wings. Wings look lame, though. I’d rather just fly with my arms than with big bird wings. Everyone knows bird feathers are really dirty, and if I had wings, they’d look weird under clothes.

· Wow, the cats seem to be staying at a distance. I’ve heard that cats communicate through telepathy. Maybe I’m telling the cats to leave me be while I do this. Yeah! We’re talkin’ all telepathically ‘n shit! Heel, kit-tay! Nope, nope, a cat is now sitting on my lap.

You get the jist.

Anyone got any tips?

Ommmm……

khop