Ambrosia Salads Anonymous

A couple of romantics tackle the unromantic world (of online dating)

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Backtracking AGAIN: Date #1 With Misha (Sparky)

Misha and I had agreed to meet at Union Square at 5pm on the Tuesday after Presidents’ Day, which meant I had the whole three day weekend to worry about how the date would go. The worrying continued into Tuesday at work, where I wondered if I should cancel the date. So much can go wrong, but even worse: so much can go RIGHT. What if we really hit it off? What if there’s a second date, and then a third and then a fourth? What if we get serious and eventually get married, and have to tell everyone we met through a dating app, which, as you might recall, is the most unromantic story ever? And then what if she divorces me in 20 years to run off with the hot lady next door? Then I’ll forever feel foolish and stupid for letting her into my life, let alone having panicked over our very first date however many years ago.

There was no way I could let that happen.

My brilliant friends tried to calm my nerves.

I got to Union Square a full 15 minutes early so I could sit, survey the crowd, and run if I had to. I thought if Misha turned out to be some babe the likes of which you’d see on Baywatch, I would make a mad dash to the nearest Muni station and pretend I had a sudden bout of food poisoning.

At 5:04, she texted, “I’m here by the big column thing. Where are you?”

What big column thing? I looked around and saw a bunch of lamp posts. Is she talking about those? Because they’re everywhere. There aren’t any---OH. THAT big column thing.

And right at the base was someone wearing a sweatshirt with a pug on a waffle.

Catnip had told me it would be awfully rude if I stood her up, and I didn’t want to be rude, so I had to do this. Instead of making a beeline toward her, I skirted the outer edge of Union Square so I could approach her from the back like a total creep.

And then, when I was right behind her, I tapped her on the shoulder. Or actually, it was more of an awkward poke into her shoulder blade. She turned around.

She wasn’t quite how I had imagined her to look, though I wasn’t sure if I really imagined anything at all.

She said that since I have to pee so badly, we could go to The Grove, which was a short walk away.

If you’ve ever walked through downtown San Francisco at rush hour, you’d know how loud it can be. Misha led the way to the restaurant, all the while telling me about her day at work. I heard about half of what she said but pretended I heard everything. By the time we got to The Grove I had absolutely no idea how her day at work had went, but that was okay since we now had to decide what to order for dinner.

Her: “I think I’ll get a hot apple cider and a slice of pie.”

Me: “That’s it?”

Her: “Yeah, I told you I don’t really eat dinner, right?”

Me: “Oh, yeah. I guess I’ll get a cup of soup and a hot chocolate.” 

But I actually wanted a giant plate of nachos because I was very hungry. However, I didn’t want to seem like a glutton, especially since she was just getting a measly slice of pie and a drink.

After we placed our orders, we walked up to the second floor. Misha asked, “Where do you want to sit?”

“Right here,” I answered, pointing to the counter overlooking the first floor. Those are the best kinds of seats because you’re sitting side-by-side and can therefore avoid direct eye contact.

I don’t really remember what we talked about except work. She did most the talking anyway. She had a lot of stories about her coworkers, whom I couldn’t keep track of, and then she asked about mine. I noticed she was quite pretty, and that she had a thin, Greek nose that looked beak-like from some angles. She had on makeup, on which I wanted to compliment her, but didn’t want to offend her in case she was going for the “no makeup” look. When she laughed, she had the tendency to watch me as if expecting a reciprocal outburst of the same intensity and enthusiasm. It made me nervous since 1) her stare was piercing, and 2) I don’t think I’ve ever belly laughed in my life. I was even more grateful that we weren’t awkwardly sitting across from each other, and that I had a giant mug of hot chocolate to intermittently stall conversation.

I sort of wanted to go straight home after the meal was over, not because I didn’t enjoy the date but because I wanted to hide under the covers and scream into a pillow. But as we stood outside in the warm air, she asked, “So what do you wanna do now? I can show you my office?” And because I didn’t want to seem rude, especially on a first date, I said sure.

Misha worked on top of the Gucci store. She had to use her keycard to get us into the building and also to operate the elevators. I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the lobby mirror right before the elevator doors closed on us, and was kind of discomforted by the very odd image of us standing together. For some reason, I was embarrassed.

Her office screamed start-up. Everything from the open plan to the bins of free Kind bars, from the glass-walled conference rooms with fluffy red pillows to the bearded dudes in hoodies, this place was a techie’s paradise. The most start-up thing about the place was the kitchen. It was stocked with food for all three rather unhealthy meals of the day, plus they get catered lunches three days of the week. Ramen bowls and granola bars lined one wall. There was a basket of fruit and a bin of chips and crackers. Misha let me rummage through their fridge, which had cans and boxes of beverages and stacks of yogurt (the expensive kind, too).

We moved to her standing desk, which had a huge tablet attached, connected to a giant monitor. Next to the setup was a small table with a keyboard and a bunch of bear merchandise--stuffed bears, bear figurines, bear drawings, even a pair of furry bear slippers on the floor.The monitor displayed a set of character drawings on Photoshop. Misha explained that these were icons she was developing for some game.

Then my favorite part happened: she taught me the basics of digital painting. Actually, I didn’t really know what she was saying half the time, but I didn’t care since I was just keen on coloring the little figures on the screen and on having something else to focus on. Misha eventually opened a new document for me and told me to draw whatever I wanted.

This was the result:

Her: “What is going on here??” 

Me: “It’s raining octopus.”

Her: “Is that why the guy is freaking out?”

Me: “Yes. And he was just minding his own business when a whale thing explodes out of the water.”

Her: “Okay. Let me save this.”

I watched her create a new folder called “Sparky” and saved the Photoshop document in there. “You must really like it,” I said.

“I save all drawings my friends do,” she replied, but in my head I was like, YOU’RE SAVING MINE ‘CAUSE IT’S THE BEST.

I looked at my watch. “It’s 10. I gotta go,” I said.

“Okaayyy….,” she said, disappointed.

We walked to Powell Station together. At the BART gates, we paused and I sputtered, “Well, here’s you. I take Muni over there.”

“I can walk you to yours first,” she offered.

“Oh, it’s okay.”

“Really, I can.”

“You sure? You don’t mind?”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply. “Sparky, this is my way of trying to tell you that I want to spend more time with you.”

“Oh.” So I let her walk me to my gate, where we paused again and I squeaked, “What do we do now?”

“Sparky, it’s okay to hug,” and she enveloped me in her big arms. And it was kind of nice.

While waiting for my train, I texted her, “I had a good time. Did you?” And I wasn’t lying or trying to be nice.

“Yeah, I did!” she replied immediately.

Then this: “Also, you’re a cutie. :)”

I was so surprised that I didn’t know what to say, and I spent a few minutes wracking my brains out for a response. It would be really rude of me to not return the compliment, so I texted back, “Thanks, and you have really pretty eyes,” which was not a lie.

Her: “Well, you could see them again ;)”

Me: “Do you want me to see them again?”

Her: “Sure.”

I think that meant she wanted a second date.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

The Depressed Post (Sparky)

It's been a few months since the last post and I suppose some of you are wondering what's been going on. The answer is: a lot. That is also precisely why there have been no new posts until now.

Gina and I were apparently both depressed last week. “Blog about it,” she told me. I groaned and said, “But I haven’t had a chance to tell the whole Misha story yet. I’ve been…”

“Busy?” she said.

“Busy being sad.”

“Blog about being depressed. I’ll do one and you do one.”

I sighed. “I guess I can always backtrack again.”

“Yes you can. Go write.”

The sadness started when Misha disappeared on Bay to Breakers day. Well, she didn’t exactly disappear, but that’s a story for another time. The point is that that was the last day I heard from her, and I had gotten so sad that I needed to smoke pot. I usually don’t smoke anything, nor do I drink alcohol, but that day called for something special.

For the record, Misha did not die or anything like that. That is not what I mean by “disappear.”

Every therapist and self-help guru says that feeling your emotions is the only way to heal. But I think most of us who have been sad (and that is almost every adult on this planet) are not interested in feeling those emotions. If there was a pill we could take to make it all go away so we’d be gliding on rainbows instead, we’d take it in a heartbeat. As it is, I did not have such a pill. All I had was pot.

Afterward I had a very long cry, took a shower, and read a book featuring an angry female protagonist.

Then I turned to OKCupid because it was only May and I had another month and a half left of this pact with Gina.

That Tuesday I had a date with a new person. She was lovely. We had plenty in common, laughed a lot, and talked nonstop the entire night. Outside, in the warm spring air, she told me that she had a good time, and that we should do this again. Even though I agreed, all I could think about was Misha. How she would purposely stare at me just to make me uncomfortable. How she’d poke me in the arm just so I would poke her back. On the train home, I thought about how I’d ride BART out to see her in Concord on the weekends.

I had some luck with responses on OKCupid, but conversations always petered out before any of us could suggest meeting up. After a few days, all was quiet despite sustained efforts to reach out to new people. Friends told me that this is simply the nature of online dating--people ghost and are flakey, and the entire process can be ridiculously frustrating for anyone. It isn’t me, they said. That was probably true. It’s self-centered to think everything is personal, except one tends to veer toward heavy self-reflection after a failed relationship, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was me. Maybe not 100% me, but surely there must be something wrong with my picture, or my profile, or maybe even me. Maybe people can see that behind the semi-decent photo and friendly self-description was someone so flawed and screwy as to be unlovable, and even repulsive.

I knew exactly what Dr. Mosquito would say about this, but I didn’t care.

In that same week, my grandmother wound up in the hospital after a suicide attempt. She was fine after a few days, or as fine as someone who’s had a suicide attempt can be. My mom begrudgingly visited her every night, and then after about a week, my grandmother was transferred to a convalescent home where she would receive daily rehabilitation until she was well enough to go back to her normal life.

Nursing homes are not happy places. After a few days my grandmother protested that she did not belong there. At night she could hear the corridors reverberating with the ding of bells and alarms as residents tried to alert caregivers of their needs. When I visited during the day, I could hear screaming and moaning down the hall. While my parents attended to my grandmother, I would sometimes walk around and see the elderly in wheelchairs parked outside their rooms. A lot of residents were bedridden, or stared off into space with their mouths agape. Sometimes there’d be family members sitting with them; most of the time they’d be alone. I wondered what they were thinking, if anything at all. I wondered what they were like as younger, more able members of society. My grandmother said that this is a place where people go to wait to die, and she certainly wasn’t ready to die, not now, not yet. When she said that, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Nevertheless, the whole thing got me thinking about mortality and aging. Unless you’re spiritual and seriously believe in a heaven or reincarnation or the ever enduring soul, or just any sort of afterlife, you’re apt to find such topics incredibly depressing. I imagined what it would be like to die alone. Make no mistake, we all die alone, but some people die more alone than others. At the rate this whole online dating thing was going (and yes, I know that I haven’t even been trying for that long), I figured I would most likely be childless and unmarried, and rotting away in a nursing home. Perhaps my brother might visit out of sheer pity, but he’d probably be too busy to even bother, and I wouldn’t blame him at all. Or maybe I’d just drop dead in my house full of cats, undiscovered until my decomposing body gives off a strong enough stench for the neighbors to come and see what’s up.

Is this why we ultimately want love so badly? So we can have someone who might or might not be at our deathbed? So we can not feel so alone when we’re old and decrepit? So we’d have someone to put as an emergency contact?

And surely, If old age doesn’t get us, it’d be some torturous disease or horrific accident. I suppose you could also have a heart attack and die instantly, and you wouldn’t even know what hit you. But that’s beside the point. If we’re all going to die anyway, what exactly is the point of living? Well, I guess there is inherently no point except for the self-anointed purpose on which each individual bestows upon his or her own existence, but that sort of attitude required more positivity than I could muster.

Whenever I got to this stage in my downward spiral, I knew that I was being overly dramatic and self-indulgent in my sadness. So instead I got up from wherever I was moping, knocked on King Triton’s door, and asked for some more pot.

I’m trying to end this on a happier note. I wish I could say that through my smokey highs I saw the light and that the point of life is to just live it however you want. I mean, I know that’s the only point there is, but it doesn’t make me feel better. The only positive thing I can think of came from a piece of celebrity gossip I read last week: Taylor Swift and Calvin Harris had broken up. Of course I was sad for Taylor Swift because she’s practically my hero and all that, but it made me see that everyone--even talented and beloved musicians--has a chance of dying alone, of having nobody take care of them when they’re withered and wrinkled and pissing their pants. Most people are probably afraid of it too. And whether or not Taylor Swift or I will ever find love is another matter, except even if Taylor ends up with nobody and dies completely alone (she probably won’t), she wouldn’t even give a shit because she’d have spent her life writing awesome songs. I suppose I could live with it if I went out with a bang like that.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

March Dating Summary Report for Eómer (Gina)

The Pact: By the end of June, I will have completed a total of at least 18 dates, no less than three per month. Each date with a different woman. All without getting in a relationship with any of them. Repeat dates do not qualify towards the monthly quota.

March Summary - late because I failed. And I hate failing. I am failing.

3/1 Kali the Destroyer - date #6

3/3 Kali the Destroyer - date #7

3/5 Kali the Destroyer - date #8 (surprise! you meet her!)

3/7 Kali and her Nice Girlfriend (yep, you read that right) - date #1A

3/11 Game night in Oakland with Manteca (date, not a date)

3/12 Cocktail lessons after the rain - The Intimidator date #4 

3/13 Solo lunch with Kali’s Nice GF - date#1B

3/13 Drinks with The Newbie - date #1 (she cancels and reschedules)

3/18 RollerGirl sushi with special sauce - date #4

3/20 Coffee with The Newbie - date #1 (I decide I don’t actually want or need another toaster oven, which is what every lesbian receives when she brings another, usually straight, woman into the joys of sapphic desire)

3/22 Kali the Destroyer - date #9

3/24 Kali the Destroyer - date #10

3/25 Kali the Destroyer - date #11

3/26 Kali continued - she meets the rowing team (WHAT am I doing? What have I DONE?)

3/26 Kali and her Nice GF - date #2A 

3/29 Kali and her Nice GF - date #3A

Unscientific Analysis:

Total Number of Different (new) Women Met on Dates: 2

Total Number of Scheduled Dates: 14 in a period of 31 days

March Pact Dating Target - FAIL

Various Facts:

If there’s no description of activity, we were in bed. Just saying.

You know what being a romantic does? It makes you suck at dating. Numbers don’t lie. I can barely look at the monthly trend. I can’t hide what’s happening. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t want to stop it. Eómer, she has a girlfriend AND a boyfriend. I don’t care. I told her I can’t get in a relationship until June. She said fine - we can call this “dating”. It’s only March. I have three more months!

I’m supposed to see what’s out there. I’m supposed to casually explore my options. Be free. Try something different. I said I wanted this!

And I can hear your sarcastic commentary now. Don’t you dare call this “done”. I am not giving up. Sit down and give me a minute. April is a new month.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

It’s Spring and the Messiah Commeth (Gina)

Mountain Boy, official “muscle” for the lesbian mafia, texts me today asking if I am pregnant yet. Clearly, none of my friends think I can pull off this “dating only” experiment. But never mind THAT. 

Weirdly, after decades of bleeding (and not dying) every 21 days (oh the irony of my poor eggs, taking walks so often, never meeting anyone ever), I missed my period last week. Once I was a tiny bit late in college, and I blame intense rowing workouts, because...lesbian sex!

So I ask the universe, with great trepidation... if I am having sex with a transgender woman, who technically has no sperm producing capabilities (testicles removed) and we use condoms when necessary (because...BECAUSE) and it is the mysterious and powerful and carnal Spring Equinox, combined with a solar eclipse in Pisces and a full moon lunar eclipse in Libra, might it be true, could it be possible, that a miracle has occurred and the Menopause Messiah has finally arrived?

If this is parthenogenesis I am not amused.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Backtracking Part 4: The Universe Hears

Her name was Misha and all I knew about her was that she had blue eyes and a black cat. Her profile picture showed only a quarter of her face, and when I asked about it later she said, “I’m camera shy.” Well shit, so am I, I thought. And I still had my face up on that app! I began to have that feeling I used to get in school when little Bobby or Susie got the same grade as me despite not having done the homework.

We chatted, namely because she was the only person out of the six who’ve “liked” me to consistently respond to my messages. And she didn’t take several days to respond; she responded almost immediately! It was like she was the only non-flakey person in the whole universe. We first talked about cats because I had “liked” that one photo of her quarter face and her cat, and she had “liked” a photo of Pusheen during my Omaha road trip (taken by Catnip). Here is the said photo.

“My coworkers have Pusheen all over their desks,” she said. She told me about Radley, her Bombay cat, who apparently loves attention and is kind of dog-like.

“Do you like dogs?” I asked her.

“I love them! Do you?”

There was that school feeling again, like making friends on the playground. “Wow, apple juice is my favorite too! What else did your mom pack you?”

Misha and I were hitting it off, I could already tell. You can’t go wrong with a girl who likes cats and dogs. The messaging continued for several days, and then one night I got tired of typing on the iPad.

“Hey, do you want to move this conversation over to text? I don’t know how anyone types on these damn iPads,” I wrote.

“Haha, yeah, sure,” she responded, and then gave me her phone number.

We moved from texting to Google Hangouts because I wanted to be able to chat even while at work. It looks like you’re slacking off if you’re constantly on your cell phone in the office. We were talking constantly, from the moment we woke to the minute we went to sleep. I found out the following things about her:

-She grew up in Ohio and hates it there.

-She’s an artist at a video game startup.

-She’s an avid cycler and weightlifter.

-She broke up with her boyfriend of a decade a little over a year ago.

-She’s never been with a girl. In fact, she just came out about a year ago.

The last one there worried me a bit. There are a whole bunch of complications when you’re coming out for the first time. I remember I was a total mental case, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be dating someone draped in that cloak of insecurity and fear. Back in the day, I didn’t want to hold hands in public, and I’d told everyone that Fiddlesticks and I were just friends. My family never knew about her; our relationship was filled with clandestine phone calls, secret love letters, and impromptu visits to her house for “history project work sessions.” It was kind of romantic at first, but did I really want to deal with that shit again?

But then again, it was probably unfair of me to assume all new queers are nutjobs. And the only way to know was to meet in person.

“Do you like ice cream?” I eventually asked.

“Yes, but I try to avoid it. I’ll take Lactaid for Humphry Slocombe any time though,” she replied, Humphry Slocombe being this fancy artisanal ice cream place in the city.

I typed my response, then paused a few seconds, took a deep breath, and sent it. “Well, do you want to take Lactaid next Friday?”

There, I did it. It was out there. I had asked. I was sure she was going to laugh and say, “Oh no, you’ve totally got the wrong idea here.” I bristled at the thought. Why the hell would anyone go on a dating app if not to meet up and either make friends or date.

But she didn’t. I mean, she did laugh, but not because she took me to be a complete buffoon. “Haha, depends on where,” was what she said. “You mean in the city?”

“Yeah. Where do you live?”

“Concord.”

“Oh.” Concord was in the East Bay, somewhere far out there, which means I’m not entirely sure where it is. For all I knew, it was on the other side of the world.

Welp, this isn’t going to work, I thought. Too far.

“It could be an after work thing,” she wrote. “Where do you work?”

“Presidio,” I wrote back. Just as I’d thought, she had no idea where that was either.

“I’ll come to you instead,” I offered.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, downtown, right? There’s a shuttle that takes me straight there. How’s 5?”

“All right….it’s on my calendar!”

“Hey,” I said, “I don’t even know what you look like!”

“I’ll be wearing a hoodie with a pug on top of some waffles, and flip flops.”

“Oh okay,” I said, trying to push my dislike of flip flops to the back of my head. “See you then.”

And that brings us to date number one...

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

February Dating Summary Report for Eómer (Gina)

The Pact: By the end of June, I will have completed a total of at least 18 dates, no less than three per month. Each date with a different woman. All without getting in a relationship with any of them. Repeat dates do not qualify towards the monthly quota.

February Summary

2/4 Drinks at Bizou & Mexican dinner - The Dancer date #4

2/7 Walk on the beach & dinner - The Dancer date #5

2/7 Lone Palm late on a Sunday - Kali the Destroyer date #1

2/8 Authentic Italian in my neighborhood - The Priest date #1

2/10 Sushi & Mission Walk with make out dessert session at her place - Kali the Destroyer date #2

2/11 Super fancy dinner under the Bay Bridge lights - Rollergirl date #3

2/12 Tea Time dinner in the Castro - The Dancer date #6

2/15 Dim Sum & and six-hour conversation - The Intimidator date #3

2/19 Healing meditation with crystals in Sausalito - The Dancer date #7

2/20 Ocean Beach stroll and Netflix - Kali the Destroyer date #3

2/24 Mexican food dinner - The Dancer date #8

2/26 Date night turns into morning (and that’s after Friday bowling with my colleagues) - Kali the Destroyer date #4

2/27 Non Stop Bhangra - FWB date #1

2/28 The Married Woman - date #1 (she cancelled)

2/28 Home cooking - Rollergirl date #4 (she cancelled & rescheduled)

2/29 The Beginning of the End* - Kali the Destroyer date #5

Other: Miscellaneous daily texts (do not judge) with Manteca, who I am not seeing until 3/11 (making it clear that this is NOT dating)

Unscientific Analysis:

Total Number of Different (new) Women Met on Dates: 3 Scheduled, 1 Unscheduled (yes, I took the girl home from the club) - FINAL 3

Total Number of Scheduled Dates: 15 in a period of 29 days, includes two cancellations and one un-scheduled, so 14 actual dates occurred

Various Facts:

Dating can be exhausting. Especially when there is sex involved. It’s all fun and games until I have to go to the gym at 7AM and then function all day at work at high level.

I really like Mexican food.

When you go on a date with a trans woman and she says something along the lines of “well, it’s probably time for ‘the talk’”, she might not mean about STDs or safe sex practices.

Online dating makes some things easier. There is an assumption that when I meet the woman, it’s an actual date and if the chemistry is right and I kiss her, I won’t be causing any problems, or at least she won’t misinterpret my intentions. Engaging someone at an event and somehow managing to get her home and into bed is an entirely different skill set that requires something akin to magic. I perfected certain techniques for this purpose my 20s but as a side-effect of serial monogamy, haven’t used them much since. Some things though, you never forget. See 2/27

When it was down to the wire and I needed my third “previously un-met date” for the quota, the Universe helped me out and I got a text from a woman who I hadn’t heard from in two weeks. She ended up asking to reschedule, but I was so distracted by thoughts about another girl that perhaps, actually, the Universe heard what I was *really* asking for.

I thought about asking you, Eómer, for some kind of extra credit or special dispensation regarding the date on 2/20 because I hadn’t been up close and personal with a standard issue male sex organ in 29 years. But I had way, way, way too much fun.

February Pact Dating Target declared complete and met.

*I need to be careful here. Might really fall for this one. Oh dear.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Backtracking Part 3: The Universe Better Be Listening (Sparky)

It turns out that positive thinking isn’t so difficult when you’re sailing on the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. In fact, it all came rather naturally because such beauty cannot elicit any other response except ones filled with awe. Pleasant thoughts automatically populated my mind so easily that I wasn’t even conscious it was happening.

I did occasionally wonder how many hits I was getting on Her, and by occasionally, I mean every day. “Probably none,” my brain snickered. Then, remembering the universe thing as propagated by Gina, I replaced that negative thought with a more positive one. “You don’t know that. Hold off judgement until you return home,” I told myself, which is also what Dr. Mosquito would tell me. For the most part it worked. It’s easy to believe that the world is full of possibilities when you are surrounded by examples of it every day.

Sadly, vacations, like all good things, must come to an end. The last few days were rough, both physically and emotionally. As we headed out of clear tropical waters and into the murk of the Gulf of Mexico, the ship ran into some turbulent waves, causing everything to buck and sway nauseatingly. The level of activity onboard was reduced to little more than lying in bed with one’s eyes closed. It is at these exact times that the mind runs rampant with sad thoughts.

A useful trick I’ve created to deal with these negative influxes is to imagine the gloomy, anxious parts of me as a character called Oscar. He is what I call my anxiety and depression. I imagine Oscar as a petulant schoolboy who follows me everywhere, whispering words of doubt and fear into my ears. 

They say that you are not your thoughts, so it was easier to wrangle those thoughts from your core self and put them into a separate entity, one that you could tell to shut up.

Even though I could make Oscar go away at times, I was still afraid. Afraid that he’s right. Afraid he’ll come back more often and not leave. Afraid that he’ll actually ruin things or make them worse. Of course, I didn’t know if any of that was going to happen. All I could do was hope for the best. And that in itself is a pretty positive thought. As the ship docked in Houston, I considered that I did a pretty decent job at this positive thinking experiment. The universe had better be listening and taking note of my efforts. Hell, it better have been listening for this entire trip because I probably had more positive thoughts within this week than in three months.

What I’ll do is get home and check the app. Have no expectations and no judgments. Just be curious, open it, and see what there is to see.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Backtracking Part 2: The Universe Might Know A Thing Or Two (Sparky)

It had been three days since I signed up for TUT and nary a message to be found in my inbox. I decided it was a glitch in their system, or better yet: this was a sure sign that the universe truly does not care.

I had been frantically trying to finish my work before I leave for a one-week cruise to the Caribbean, so the universe’s disinterest in me soon slipped my mind. I was too busy making sure everyone was getting paid and all the numbers were in our system. Every day I checked Her, “liked” 20 girls, then chucked the iPad under my bed. There were still no responses, so the whining at work continued.

Gina finally brought up The Universe one day. “Have you been reading your notes?” she asked.

“I haven’t been getting any!” I shrieked “I told you the universe is indifferent!”

“You haven’t?” Gina looked concerned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! There’s nothing from TUT in my inbox.”

“Okay, it must have gone into your spam.” She nodded toward my computer screen and I clomped over to my desk, clicked the spam folder and scanned the junk that appeared before me. Bogus invoices, ads for webinars, solicitations from recruiters….

“See, there’s nothing here!” I said. “I’m telling you, the universe cares so little that it won’t even---oh wait.”

“AHA! THERE THEY ARE!” screeched Gina triumphantly. And sure enough, there were three neat little notes embedded within the layers of junk mail. “The Universe HEARS.” She ambled back to her desk, quite pleased with the outcome of this whole situation.

Glowering at the screen, I opened the notes. The first one read:

“Accidents, coincidences, and serendipities don't create dreams, Sparky. Your dreams create them.”

"What the heck is this supposed to mean?!” I said.

“Read on,” said Gina.

This was the second note:

“Thinking that money will somehow make one happy, Sparky, isn't thinking at all.”

“I already knew this!” I screamed.

“Keep reading.”

And the third:

“Anger, Sparky, is a fabulous reminder that there are still a few things being misunderstood.”

“WHAT THE HELL?! Who’s angry?! Not me!” 

Gina peered over the partition with a knowing look and said nothing.

“Okay. I need to get back to work. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You know what I’m going to do tonight? I’m going to do my daily likes and then shut the iPad and not look at it again until I get back.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Yes, this is me letting go and allowing the universe to do its work.”

“You can’t just let The Universe do its work, you need to send positive vibes out there!”

“Okay, okay, positive vibes,” I sighed. “Bet nothing’s going to happen all week because the stupid universe gives zero fucks…”

“Sparky, take that back!” ordered Gina.

“What? What did I do?”

“Take that back!” she laughed.

“Okay, okay, I take it back. Jesus.”

That night, I went to NightLife at the Academy of Science with King Triton and Catnip, another coworker and friend. It was Beer Week and the place was teeming with booze lovers jostling past each other with sloshing cups of local brew. 

“Gina thinks nothing’s happening with the app because I’m being too negative and the universe knows” I shouted over the music while my friends sipped from their plastic cups.

“I think she’s right,” nodded King Triton. 

“Yeah,” Catnip concurred.

“Oh not you too!”

“You should try a positive thinking challenge,” Catnip grinned.  

“Oh god.”

“That’s a great idea!” King Triton agreed. “It doesn’t have to be that long, just a week. The cruise will be perfect for this.”

The music throbbed on, the crowd surged and flowed around us toward the alligator pit. I looked at them, both with an amused gleam dancing in their eyes, and groaned. “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe.” 

“It won’t hurt,” they said. “Just see what happens if you try thinking positive for a week.”

“Hmm,” I snorted, staring at the albino alligator down below. 

Then the next day, this turned up in my inbox:

“Expecting and preparing for their very best behavior - in terms of respect, love, kindness, and wing-a-ding-dong - guarantees nothing, Sparky. But it does maximize your chances of getting it.”

If I were to be honest, this made me a little nervous.

I wrote to Gina: “DO YOU SEE THIS NOTE?! WASN’T THIS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?!”

And also to King Triton: “HOW DO THEY KNOW THIS?!”

King Triton replied. “Apparently the Universe is monitoring your situation closely! I think you should try your positive thinking experiment while you're on your cruise; where better to try and stay positive than on a beach in Belize? ;)”

And Gina wrote back, “It's no joke with The Universe. Get ready for a wild ride.”

Wild ride, indeed. All right, I thought. Positive thinking while cruising the Caribbean? Can’t be that hard.

Right?

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Backtracking Part 1: The Universe Hears Too Much Bitching (Sparky)

Our staff retreat was in the mountains about an hour and a half outside of the city. The only place to get wifi is at the main house, which is occupied by the owners of the property, while everyone else sleeps in cabins or dorm-style accommodations. I brought the iPad along “just in case”; Gina said we could trek up the hill to the main house during free time.

We didn’t get time to ourselves until the third day after dinner. A chilly breeze rustled through the leaves overhead as Gina and I made our way up the hill to the house. It was so dark that we needed flashlights, though the path was partially paved and almost completely smooth. The house itself is huge, and a portion of the downstairs is allocated for guest use. We wound our way down to the porch where we set up camp at one of the iron patio tables. Huddling in the wind, Gina flipped open her laptop to do actual work and I started up the iPad. I opened Her and saw…

Nothing. No messages.

I nearly flipped the table over and cried.

“It takes time!” Gina reassured. “Look, people don’t check these things that often. And it’s only been a few days, right? When did you start using this?”

“Sunday.”

“Ok, that’s been...three days! Give it a week or two.”

The next day, there was still nothing. And by the end of the week, I had one or two “likes” but nothing that amounted to much of a conversation. After yet another week had passed, there were a few nibbles but no big catches.

Meanwhile, Gina was dating left and right. She was blazing through the entire database of users who were in her specified age range and radius. I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with my profile. Each night I’d peer at my photos and conduct an analysis of other profiles I’d swiped through. My highly scientific observations included:

1. Most people look happy in their pictures, or at least pensive. I just look grumpy. But not like, off-putting grumpy, so that must not be the problem.

2. A lot of people have really posed pictures of themselves looking sexy or having fun. I have none of that stuff. Therefore, I must not be a fun person.

3. Lots of dogs and cats. Maybe I should have an animal one too, but I don’t have any animals to pose with.

4. A bajillion travel ones, so many that I began to feel competitive. Like, how dare this person camp out on the steppes of Mongolia when I haven’t yet.

5. Some food ones. But I never take pictures of food because who the hell has time for that when you could be eating said food?

I turned to my friends for feedback. There was Gina.

And King Triton.

There was Beemus.

Rocky...

And then there was Penelope…

I whined every day, and poor Gina and King Triton had to hear all about it. One day it was “Nothing’s going to happen!” and the next it was “There’s something wrong with me!” Finally Gina said, “Sparky, the more you say that the more likely it’s going to happen. Or isn’t going to happen, in this case.”

“Yes, I know, positive thinking, the universe and all that,” I groaned.

“The universe hears, Sparky. It knows. It hears when you say those things and it responds accordingly.”

“What? No, that’s not possible. The universe is indifferent. The universe isn’t even a THING!”

“Oh it so is. Here, look this up. TUT.com.”

“Tut? What the hell is a tut?” I said as I typed the url in.

“The Universe Talks. Sign up for the notes.” Gina pointed at the menu on the front page.

“So they send you random notes every day?”

“Not ‘they’; The Universe!”

“Yeah, whatever, the universe.”

“Just sign up and you’ll see! You’ll get your proof right there.”

So I did just that, and something told me this is yet another one of those energy things Gina’s always mentioning...

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

An Unexpected Existential Crisis (Sparky)

I have a date on Tuesday and I can’t tell if I’m more afraid that I won’t like her or that I will. I shall have to backtrack and recall how this all came to be, but that’s for another time. For now, I have a date on Tuesday, and that’s what matters.

In my mind there are two options: go on the date, or don’t. If I don’t go on the date, the girl would definitely be irked and possibly never speak to me again unless I have a very good reason for skipping out. Something like meningitis or a car accident would do. If I don’t go, I could go straight home after work, make my favorite egg and cheese sandwich, and then doodle to my heart’s content before curling up in bed with a good book. I would be eating healthy, getting plenty of rest, contributing to my portfolio, and cultivating my intellect with quality literature. If I don’t go, I would not have to be disappointed.

If I go, I may not like her. She may not like me. I might feel I had wasted my time. I could have been working on my art, digging a little deeper into that book. If I go, and we like each other, then things could get complicated. There might be date number two, then three, then four. And then what? Where is all this supposed to go anyway? Despite reminding myself that this is all fun and games, merely for the sake of a good story to write about, I cannot stop my mind from going in circles.

Generally speaking, I believe the universe is indifferent. There is a concoction of good things and bad things swirling in the ether that needs to land on someone, and it doesn’t matter who. The universe is chaotic and life is random, a hodgepodge of events that are largely out of your control, with a precious few that, given the right amount of persistence and ingenuity, can be directly under your influence. I probably thought this since I was a kid. I never really had friends except Rocky, and most of my hours were dedicated to school or art. There was no use in investing in relationships since other kids were typically unkind. In fact, I felt lucky to be ignored, and believed adulthood wouldn’t be much different, just that school bullies would be replaced by work bullies, and the only thing I could do was be the smartest person in the room.

When I was 15, I met Fiddlesticks, and suddenly the universe didn’t seem so indifferent anymore. Or maybe it was, but I happened to get lucky just this once. Something this fortuitous cannot possibly happen again, I thought. Statistics dictates that such an event has even lower odds of occurring a second time, not to mention a third or a fourth. I had to hold on to her as hard as I could because really, what are the chances that someone like her would go for someone like me? I was supposed to go to Stanford and be a doctor and enjoy my wealth alone--complete misery when compared to a possible future with her. Who came along and threw this curveball, this gorgeous girl who loved me for the very reasons that other people didn’t? When the universe gives you something like that, you can’t just let go.

Fiddlesticks left nine years later, but I might be hoping for someone else to come along some day. I don’t really know. If the universe really isn’t as indifferent as I thought, perhaps I could beat the odds and meet someone else by chance, in much the same magical way that I had found Fiddlesticks. Nothing deliberate, nothing calculated or purposeful--just serendipity. I so badly want to believe in that magic, but at the same time it feels silly to have such fanciful hopes. Six-year-olds inoculated with Disney tales do, but not grown adults who should know that there’s no such thing as fate or destiny.

So this date on Tuesday. I don’t want anything to happen because that would prove the universe isn’t magical after all. But I don’t want to not have anything happen either because it would feel like I’d been duped into thinking I had any control over relationships whatsoever.

It was certainly much easier when I wholeheartedly believed that the universe does not give a fuck about me. Who knew this fun little experiment would turn into such an existential crisis!

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Dear Jon Snow (Sparky)

Dear Gina, here’s my two cents on those things that keep you up at night.

1. How do I feel about dating someone 12 inches shorter than me? It sounds like you feel weird about it, but that’s okay! 

2. Why am I still texting someone after I told her that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, knowing full well that she is looking for a partner and it might get complicated if I keep texting? Because you fancy her.

3. Is it rude to wonder if my trans date had bottom surgery? No. But it might be a different story if you actually asked out of the blue!

4. Why do I feel like crying after making out with someone? Because making out with someone is a beautiful thing. That, or you’re reacting to your possibly uncharacteristic behavior.

5. How many dates should I have with a woman before we have sex? As many or as few as you like. I mean, if she’s hot, why not?

6. Should I wear lipstick on this date? How about tomorrow’s date? If you feel like it.

7. Did I already wear this outfit when I met this woman before? Maybe. But perhaps it’s your favorite outfit.

8. How many times in a month should I go out with someone and still call it “casual”? Until you both decide it’s not.

9. Am I supposed to offer to pay if I initiate the date? Oh yeah, I have no idea.

10. Why didn’t she text me yet? She’s flakey as hell. Or she’s being held hostage in her own home.

11. Do I want to go all the way to Oakland for a date? She better be truly awesome. But hell, I’m thinking of doing that myself.

12. Should I go on a date with this bi-curious married woman who claims her husband knows about her “self-explorations” and online profile? Yes. There will be good stories.

13. She sent me her phone number but I’m booked solid this week so how long can I wait before I text her to ask her out? I shouldn’t answer this because the last time this happened we ended up talking all night. By “last time,” I just mean a few days ago. 

14. Is going out six nights a week too much? Yes.

15. Should I talk about my ex at all on these dates and should I ask about her past relationships? If you want to.

16. If she says she doesn’t like to read, is it rude to end the conversation right there and leave the date immediately? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Have no qualms about judging those who do not like reading. Unless they have dyslexia or some sort of disorder, or were somehow traumatized by reading.

17. Why do I feel bad that I really really really don’t want to date someone who has (human) children? Because everyone thinks you should be cool with little kids since they’re adorable angels. In actuality though, they are filthy creatures.

18. Why don’t I watch movies or TV in order to be able to talk about film or whatever excellent programming everyone else is watching? It just ain’t your thang! And that’s ok!

19. Is my heart ever going to thaw out? Is your heart frozen?! 

20. Why did I tell my co-workers that I am dating anyone at all? Because you’re proud, as you should be, and we are all very proud of you too!

21. Which date told me her friend just died? Can I remember all these details? Write that shit down.

22. Is it normal for a date to comment on my breasts on the first date? Who’s this rude mofo?

23. Why did I think I wanted to have sex with a lot of women when I started this dating experiment? Because sex is nice.

24. What is going on that I don’t want to have sex at all right now? Because it’s like working out, except feelings can be involved, and God knows working out sucks, and feelings suck even more.

25. Why in the world am I having sex with anybody when I am not sure how I am feeling about any of this? Sex feels good.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Changing My Name to Jon Snow (Gina)

How do I feel about dating someone 12 inches shorter than me?  Why am I still texting someone after I told her that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, knowing full well that she is looking for a partner and it might get complicated if I keep texting? Is it rude to wonder if my trans date had bottom surgery?  Why do I feel like crying after making out with someone?  How many dates should I have with a woman before we have sex? Should I wear lipstick on this date? How about tomorrow’s date? Did I already wear this outfit when I met this woman before? How many times in a month should I go out with someone and still call it “casual”? Am I supposed to offer to pay if I initiate the date?  Why didn’t she text me yet? Do I want to go all the way to Oakland for a date? Should I go on a date with this bi-curious married woman who claims her husband knows about her “self-explorations” and online profile? She sent me her phone number but I’m booked solid this week so how long can I wait before I text her to ask her out? Is going out six nights a week too much? Should I talk about my ex at all on these dates and should I ask about her past relationships? If she says she doesn’t like to read, is it rude to end the conversation right there and leave the date immediately? Why do I feel bad that I really really really don’t want to date someone who has (human) children? Why don’t I watch movies or TV in order to be able to talk about film or whatever excellent programming everyone else is watching? Is my heart ever going to thaw out? Why did I tell my co-workers that I am dating anyone at all? Which date told me her friend just died? Can I remember all these details? Is it normal for a date to comment on my breasts on the first date? Why did I think I wanted to have sex with a lot of women when I started this dating experiment? What is going on that I don’t want to have sex at all right now? Why in the world am I having sex with anybody when I am not sure how I am feeling about any of this?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Winter is here.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

January Dating Summary Report for Eómer (Gina)

The Pact: By the end of June, I will have completed a total of at least 18 dates, no less than three per month. Each date with a different woman. All without getting in a relationship with any of them. Repeat dates do not qualify towards the monthly quota.

January Summary

1/14 Bubbles & dinner, then absinth in the Castro (met her favorite bartender): The Dancer date #1

1/17 Sunday dinner down the coast: The Dancer date #2

1/18 Cafe lunch: 007 aka The Intimidator date #1

1/23 Got stood up on a Saturday night down the Peninsula: Whiskygirl #0

1/24 Last minute meet up at the Eagle (Gay Leather Bar and special thanks to my excellent wingman Ginger): Seattle date #1

1/25 Wine & dinner and then we shut down a bar on a Monday night: RollerGirl date #1

1/27 Drinks in the Castro: 007 aka The Intimidator date #2

1/29 Rollerskating with my co-workers (she was late, but brave to come): RollerGirl date #2

1/30 Sleepover down the coast: The Dancer date #3

1/31 Mission Coffee & Bookstore Tour: Manteca date #1

Unscientific Analysis:

Total Number of Different Women Met on Dates: 6 Scheduled, 5 Fulfilled

Total Number of Scheduled Dates: 10 in a period of 25 days

Got stood up: 1 (Lesson learned: do not go to the designated venue without confirmation from the date on the day the meeting is happening)

Greatest number of consecutive dates and timing (aka a spree): 3 - Friday night, Saturday evening & overnight, Sunday day

Overachiever - check

Exhausted - check

January Pact Dating Target declared met and complete.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

The First Night (Sparky)

I finally got a hold of my mom’s iPad the day before I headed to my week-long work retreat. As she was handing it to me she asked, “What do you need this for? Is it for the retreat?”

“Um...sure,” I said. I had prepared an elaborate lie in case she wanted details. I was going to say that some friends downloaded a game that’s only compatible with iPads and iPhones, and that I was invited to join the fun. The game would be something like Angry Birds except with monkeys and more adventure and action, and in teams. You’d lob coconuts at each other as you race through the jungle, trying to reach the huge pile of bananas at the end of each level. I wasn’t even sure how Angry Birds worked (I’d only played it once) but I didn’t care. If my mom wanted to believe the iPad was for work, I wasn’t about to contradict her. I figured I could use the game excuse if she asked why I wanted to keep it even after the retreat.

Apparently you need to use Facebook to sign into a host of social networking sites these days. That is very annoying since I had to create an account just for the purpose of online dating, plus I needed to select photos to share. I sat up in bed scrolling through thumbnails of all the pictures I had on my laptop. Most were from years ago, but I had a few recent ones that weren’t too hideous for others to see. In particular, there’s one of me picking the cherry off a huge sundae, a photo that I wasn’t entirely pleased with but would suffice.

After all that was loaded onto Her, I had the option of selecting my sexual orientation. There was everything on the spectrum from straight to full-blown lesbian. There was gay, queer, polysexual, pansexual, questioning, and even bicurious. I wondered why a straight girl would go on a queer dating site. Maybe she and a boyfriend wanted a threesome? Who knows. I perused the list again, unsure which to pick. I didn’t exactly identify as lesbian, and I was most certainly not straight, bi, pan, or poly. Looks like queer was the nice umbrella label for what I was, so I tapped the little bubble next to it. I selected the search radius, and suddenly, my profile was ready to go.

They say the first step is always hardest. Well, the first girl is definitely the hardest. The way this thing works is a private chat window opens if both of you “like” each other’s picture. You can load a billion onto your profile--the point is a picture is worth a thousand words, or however that dumb adage goes. If you ask me, a picture can be worth a thousand words, unless you upload a photo of a cake. That just says, “I like cake” or “I may or may not have baked this.”

So I scrolled through profiles. It was kind of exciting but also nerve-wracking. There’s nothing like online dating to awaken the low self-esteem shit you’re dealing with.

Other times I was just plain judgmental. Online dating brings out the shallow and cruel side of humans.

And inevitably, all this culminated into one of the biggest freakouts of my life.

I had to talk to Gina. And King Triton, and Penelope and Rocky and Beemus. Gina’s and King Triton’s responses were something in the “Good job, you are awesome!” realm. Penelope essentially said, “It’s okay that you’re being shallow because other people are being shallow when looking at your picture too,” which I wasn’t sure helped. Beemus excitedly texted me heart emojis even though I told her I was not meeting The One on a dating app. Rocky said, “You’re not going to find anyone with that attitude,” which made me want to kick her.

Eventually, I disregarded everyone’s opinion except the nice ones. I figured that was the only way to go through life if you wanted to remain sane, and then I “liked” my first girl.

It really does get easier, as Gina said. After about an hour I stopped giving a fuck and just “liked” any girl that looked cute despite age or distance. Except the bicurious ones. I wasn’t quite prepared to handle those. I’m always nervous they have some weird expectations. And the super hot ones. They were just too hot.

I shut the iPad after liking about 20 girls, and read a book about a dying dog. It really dampened my overexcited nervous system and allowed me to fall asleep easier.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Gina’s Freakout and My Subsequent Fantasy (Sparky)

A few of days ago, as I was settling into my after-work routine, I received a rather frantic email from Gina.

This was fantastic news!

Astrology, I thought. Gina’s kind of into astrology (right, Gina?), so at least they have something in common, which is more than what a lot of couples can say. The rest of our conversation went something like this:

This was the most exciting thing to happen since the Harry Potter girl incident last year. I was proud of Gina. It didn’t matter that she scared the girl away already. She was putting herself out there, as people say. She’s practicing her flirting skills, she’s meeting new women who might or might not be something more, she’s significantly increasing her chances of getting laid, which could be a very nice thing. She was whisking up that energy she’s always talking about!

Naturally, my mind wandered. I had played with Her on Gina’s phone earlier that day, and I must admit that the girls on there were pretty cute. Suppose I should actually chat with one of them? I’d flirt and tease, even though I don’t know how to do either of those things. We’d meet up for a drink, even though I don’t drink, and then I’d go back to her apartment and we’d have a romping good time in bed before falling asleep in each other’s arms. In the morning, I’d wake first, start putting on my clothes while she’s still sleeping, the covers pulled over her naked body right up to her chest like in the movies. Then she’d stir, turn over and ask where I’m going. Buttoning up my shirt in the most frigid manner (they’re always buttoning up shirts when this happens), I tell her that I have to get going because of my 9am blah blah blah, and she sits up, affronted, telling me she had a wonderful time last night and why am I being like this. I sigh in exasperation, tuck my shirt in, grab my blazer that’s slung over the armchair in the corner, and exit with a curt, “Sorry, I really gotta go,” leaving the poor girl heartbroken.

It was such a fabulous little scenario, even though the one-night stand thing would never happen. And I would never be cool and just get up out of bed the next morning and button my shirt and then leave a girl in tears. I don’t even wear button-downs, and I can’t stand being mean to people. Man, if only I were an asshole. I always wondered how those one-night stands work anyway. Do you not shower? Do you brush your teeth? It just looks like people make out straight after getting home from a bar, and then they’re in bed without proper dental hygiene. That shit can land you with a mouthful of cavities. Then you’ll have to go to the dentist, which is always unpleasant, not to mention the bill and…

The fantasy was starting to turn into an anti-fantasy, but that’s okay. Having the option of casual sex and breaking girls’ hearts would be fun enough. Too bad Her only runs on Apple.

Then it hit me.

I wrote back to Gina.

The ironic thing is that I’ll be using my homophobic mother’s device to find myself a gay date. Try as I might, I could not make myself feel any remorse. Instead, I felt oddly...thrilled.

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

Gina Goes Online (Gina)

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/24/fashion/coming-out-as-gay-superheroes.html?_r=0

[ambrosiasaladsanonymous-blog]

That Song From Frozen (Sparky)

I spent the last therapy appointment whining about how much I hated the photograph I had selected for my profile picture. “I just look fat,” I told Dr. Mosquito, which is exactly how I wound up in therapy in the first place. It all began years ago when I binged on cake and ice cream following my massive breakup, which inevitably led to slight weight gain. It was almost negligible, to be honest, just a tightening of the pants and shirts, and really nothing to cry about. I figured that once I felt better and started eating normally again, the fat would melt right off and my pants and shirts would fit properly once more. To speed up the process, I threw in intense cardiovascular exercise. I bought an elliptical and rowing machine, ran laps around Stow Lake, and tried a few of those popularized workout programs. Meanwhile, I did feel better, at least about the breakup, but not about life in general. In fact, I felt worse about everything else, and soon all I wanted at the end of another depressing day was cake and ice cream and cookies. And sometimes I actually did get those things, which was a huge problem.

Well, one thing led to another. If you binge on sweets all the time, you’re probably going to gain more than the negligible few pounds. Logically, the way to combat that is to eat healthier and exercise. Perhaps you could count calories just to make sure you’re not absentmindedly sneaking in an extra helping of crackers or peanut butter. I guess I should have known that OCD-remission people like me should not toy with something like calorie-counting. I had crossed into dangerous territory without even knowing it. Along the way, I also figured it would be a good idea to starve myself in order to speed up this weight loss process even more. Except that only made me desperately want cookies and cake and ice cream, so the next time those things were around, I would feast upon that sugary goodness like there was no tomorrow.

Then I’d feel bad. I’d feel so crappy that I’d try to just eat lettuce and soup the next day. Or maybe I’d run an extra few miles even if my shins throbbed when I walked. Then the whole cycle would start again.

Anyway, that’s how I ended up seeing Dr. Mosquito, who specializes in eating disorders. I was 20 pounds heavier and kind of freaked out and thought I should probably do something about this. I mean, now those pants and shirts weren’t just tight; they wouldn’t even button anymore. I never liked being in photos to begin with, but now I would shudder and cringe when I saw myself, which is why this whole online dating thing is so hard.

Apparently, I can’t sign up for these darn apps unless I have a Facebook account, preferably with lots of photos. Actually, I don’t know what would happen if you had just one. You probably wouldn’t get that many matches. Unfortunately, I had only old photos of myself, from back in the day when I was nice and skinny, and I didn’t think posting those up would be a good idea. My friends had some recent ones, so I texted them to see if they’d like to share them with me.

I tried King Triton first. Earlier today she had said she’d clandestinely snapped some nice shots of me while we were on our road trip in October. I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about, so I asked. She sent over a few pictures. I freaked out some more and said what I always say about looking fat. And she said I looked beautiful and that my face was beautiful, but I suspected she meant that the way teachers do when they tell kids that every single one of them is special and unique like a snowflake. If I told Dr. Mosquito this, she would say it’s the eating disorder talking. I knew that in all likelihood, King Triton was being genuine, which means she (and most of the other friends I asked) really does think I’m beautiful, which I can’t quite believe. I mean, Jennifer Connelly is beautiful. So is Benedict Cumberbatch. And maybe Kristen Stewart. No, definitely Kristen Stewart.

It all boils down to self-esteem, which is annoying, because you can’t just tweak it like you can a thermostat. You can’t make yourself hotter when you feel like it, although I don’t know when you’d ever not feel like it. Maybe if you get catcalled all the time or something. I guess the point is that you’re supposed to believe you’re already hot, or at least hot enough for other people to think you’re hot, and even if they don’t, you’re supposed to believe you’re hot enough for yourself and those other people are just missing out. Which is very difficult to do considering the gravity of this whole eating disorder/body image thing. In a way, online dating is the worst nightmare--strangers making quick judgements based on your looks.

Someone once said that online dating is the best tool for shy and self-conscious people, which is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. It might sound nice in theory. You get your pick of potential mates right in the comfort of your own home, so how bad can that be? And I’m sure it’ll be fun in practice once I get over this profile picture business and stop worrying that I’m fat. Dr. Mosquito is always telling me to just let it go whenever I think about negative shit like that, which reminds me of that song from Frozen, which actually kind of helps. So every time I feel repulsive I play Let It Go in my head and maybe remind myself of what King Triton (and my other friends) said, even if I’m not convinced. Apparently, practice make perfect.