Why I won’t go to Halloween parties in Chelsea anymore

Two words: convincing transvestites

Dating is like dancing – Volume II

I want to revise something I said earlier when I equated dating to a well choreographed dance - I no longer think guys and girls are even dancing to the same song.

This weekend, I introduced two friends of mine to one another. For those who don’t know, I enjoy playing Cupid much more than I should. You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now, but no such luck. So I introduce my two friends at an after work gathering. At first it seemed to go well - they started talking almost immediately, so I fell back a little bit and enjoyed a pint with some of my other friends, looking back occasionally to monitor their body language. All seemed to be going ok. About 15 minutes in, my friend, we’ll call her Sara, leans into me and whispers, "I don’t think I really like your friend Dan."

Ok. I process the information and go back to my conversation. About two minutes later I feel Dan grasp my arm. I turn around and he whispers to me, "Dude, Sara is totally digging me."

Now, I’m a little confused, but I often mishear things in loud places, so I’m giving myself the benefit of the doubt that these two friends haven’t just given me conflicting stories. Looking back again, Sara and Dan are still chatting, appear to be leaning into each other and smiling. All seems ok. Figuring I’ll hear more from each of them later, I go back to my conversation. About ten minutes later, on her way to the bathroom, Sara whispers into my ear and says, "Nope, I’m pretty sure. I really don’t like Dan."

The moment she leaves, Dan comes over, and popping a Listerine strip into his mouth says, "Oh, it is so on with Sara."

We’re all dancing, but it sure as hell isn’t to the same song.

Sadly, this isn’t the only example of miscommunication. Ever been out with someone where one person thinks they're on a date and the other doesn't? That's either awkward or expensive (or both), depending which side you're on. If you're out with someone and you suddenly realize that they think you're on a date, do what I do, apply The Rule of Five. Drop five F-Bombs ("it's so nice to have a friend" "it's it great to have friends you can (blah blah blah) with..." etc...) in a concentrated period and generally people start to get the idea.

Ladies, I think I need to put the blame on us guys. I think we just don’t know how to read your signs anymore. Now, I’m not looking for a flair gun and signal flags, but please, do us a favor, if you like a guy - or don’t like a guy, let us know. Seriously, we have no idea. I’ve been in long-term relationships with women that I'm still not sure if they liked me or not. Not only will we appreciate it, but it will save you many long calls on the phone with your closest girlfriends dissecting the conversation over and over again, trying to figure out where things went wrong.

Amazon usually just suggests other movies I might like

This afternoon, my dentist urged me to buy an electric toothbrush, so I went to drugstore.com to order one. I found the one he recommended from the list they offer and clicked on it. When I did, the site also suggested items that other people buying the same toothbrush often buy.

I expected to see dental floss, toothpaste and perhaps even other toothbrushes.

Instead the site recommended, not one, but three, home pregnancy tests. Now I'm not sure the exact relationship between my gums and the need for a pregnancy test, but that's one hell of an endorsement for whiter teeth.

I’m not certain, but I may have gotten engaged last night

So last night I was out with some friends and I had a few drinks. Ok, so I had more than a few drinks, and I entered that golden stage where I love everybody and feet the need to share. Being a fan of technology, and having the ability to write mass-text messages on my cell phone, I quickly drafted a note to a number of friends telling them how much I love them. That’s always a good idea, isn’t it? Now when this has happened before, I usually get a few replies from happy-drunk friends as well, or the next day just some rolled eyes and some appreciation for the sweet sentiments.

Last night I received something a little different.

My friend, let’s call her Carol, who I haven’t seen in a year and a half, writes back something to the effect of “we should get married!” To which, in my happy, caring, kidding (note the kidding) state I reply “of course we should!”

Now, normally I like to consider myself a man of my word, but I think I may have to try and wiggle my way out of this one. So, if anyone needs to reach me today, I’ll be at the library researching how binding inter-state, drunken text-messages really are.

Ever think you see someone you know?

On the train to work this morning I thought I saw someone I knew, but I wasn’t sure. Ever have that happen – think you see someone you haven’t seen in years? I started do that thing where I’d look at the woman and then look away before she realized it, trying to figure out if I knew her. Of course after a minute or two the woman took notice, as they always do. Aware that she knows I'm looking at her, I start desperately searching my memory to see if I know her (because now I’m being rude and snubbing her if we know each other) and I’m also afraid that now she thinks I’m some strange guy staring at her, if we don't. To make matters worse, she got off at the same stop I did, and went the same direction. Great. Now this woman thinks I’m a stalker.

I’m not a fan of going to the doctor

I think a big part of it is the rather personal questions they ask you, especially when it comes to sexual history. I think the first time I was asked by a doctor how many sexual partners I had, I may have tried to be macho and exaggerated the total, because when I went back a couple of years later, and was asked the question again, the doctor gave me a curious look and asked how the number had gone down.

I’m also the kind of person who feels need to explain - you know, put certain things into context. So when I go, and they ask me about partners, I find myself going into long explanations, sometimes requiring me to draw charts and diagrams. When the doctor asks if a partner was new or someone I had been with before, it’s like, "well… okay. Do you remember the girl I had broken up with last time I saw you…?" "You got back together?" "Well… not exactly…" And suddenly I’m making excuses and feeling very guilty about things that I hadn’t previously. Ever try and explain a one-time thing to a doctor? I haven’t. I switched physicians instead.

Half the time I get questions on my sexual history I feel like Bill Clinton -- I’m asking my doctor to define "sexual partner." I’m giving him various ranges depending on his meaning that only seem to make the matter worse.

My favorites are the open ended questions I don’t even understand the fist time around, so I feel the need to make up answers.

Doctor: "And your sexual partners were all…"

Kevin: "Circus performers?"

Doctor: "Women?"

I recently went to a new doctor I had never been to before. Trying to be more health conscious and give him a complete and accurate medical history, I mentally prepared. When I got there, I volunteered the information. I wanted to be the health conscious guy who left nothing out, so I gave him the complete picture. Perhaps I gave him a little more info than he wanted, because it seemed to make my doctor very confused, and even a little uncomfortable, which left me wondering, do you not need to give your sexual history to your dentist?

Dating is like dancing

Since my days studying interpersonal communications in college, I still like to think that dating is a well choreographed dance. There’s set moves and steps that you indicate to your partner by how you hold their hand, how you step, and what you indicate with your body language.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that the dancers have no sense of rhythm, don’t know the beat of the song and generally have no idea how to dance, so we’re all getting our cues misinterpreted and stepping on each other’s toes. For example, when a guy thinks he’s motioning to dip a girl, she misunderstands and thinks he wants to spin her. That’s why dating is so confusing - everyone’s dancing to the same song, we just don’t know each other’s moves or how to follow them.

That’s why men and women have so much trouble figuring out what do what or say or how to react - you think we want to tango, when we’re interested in more of a foxtrot.

Best birthday voicemail

I think my little sister summed it up in a message she left on my machine this afternoon:

"Hey Kev, just called to wish you a happy birthday. You're ooooooooooollllllllllllllllldddddd."

Maybe it's a sick day

Do you ever do the thing where you wake up for work in the morning and think, "maybe I’m sick and can stay home…?" I notice I do this from time to time. I scan down my body in my mind and think, "hmm, no headache, stomach feels fine, no aches or pains… Crap, I guess I’m well and have to go to work."

The great stuff swap

So continuing on yesterday's theme of things left behind in relationships, I thought I'd address some thoughts I've had recently on The Great Stuff Swap -- that oh-so-fun event you hold sometime after you break-up when you agree to exchange all the stuff left at each other's places.

The absolute worst is when you loose other people's stuff in the Great Stuff Swap. Now you're suddenly not as worried about getting your own stuff back as you are explaining to your friend where his things went and why he'll never see them again.

Recently, when two friends of mine stopped seeing each other, I was somehow I was appointed the UN observer of The Stuff Swap - a role I stupidly took, and hope to never have again. It was like hosting the middle-east peace process with even less of a chance for success. To make matters worse, not only did I have to deal with her, but with her friends as well (see Silverman's theories of men moving in packs and women in herds). I found myself saying such uncomfortable things as "my sources say she's willing to return your friend's Pulp Fiction soundtrack, but she wants the sweater she left at your place, her Sheryl Crow CD, and uh, something she referred to as 'Mister Wiggles..."

Note to anyone who hasn't been put in this position yet: don't agree to get back any items you can't identify by first mention. You may learn things about your friends you never wanted to. I also took a new philosophy out of this - I won't go in to retrieve any items less than $20. Sorry, dude, just replace it.

Also, if you're ever offered the opportunity to go with a friend to help them pick up their stuff from an ex, pass. That's another role that really bites. You're there as a bouncer to make sure no one gets too rowdy during the Swap. The atmosphere is uncomfortable, your friend is uncomfortable because face it, they just broke up with someone, you're uncomfortable about making too much small talk with the ex and pissing off your friend, but you don't want to be rude -- it's a fine balance. I try to avoid being in this situation, but not too long ago I was duped into it again. Here's how it went down:

Kevin: "So where do you want to go?"
Regina: "Not sure. Hey, I need to pick something up from Tom's place first."
Kevin: "I thought you guys broke up, what do you need to pick up?"
Regina: "Just a couple of things I left behind."

Three hours and two trips across town later, Regina and I had all of her stuff from Tom's place. Plus, to make matters worse, I had never met Tom, so suddenly I have the honor and privilege of being sized up and glared at as the unknown guy who's spending time with his ex. Regina and I don't talk anymore.

All of my ex's (don't) live in Texas

So yesterday Effie and I went to grab lunch, and got on the subject of ex's and where they live. She mentioned that a guy in college broke her ability to quote the song "all of my ex's live in Texas" and it made me realize something - none of my ex-girlfriends live in New York anymore.
Not only does this come with the advantage of never having to think about bumping into an ex when you're in disputed or hostile territory (although, frankly, it is great when you bump into one when you're with someone blatantly hotter), but it's easier not to lament what you lost during the Great Stuff Swap when you realize that, while she got the favorite Republic of Ireland t-shirt, you got all of New York City.

I think I'm going to try and break it down further to feel even better about it.
Example:

• Kristin may have kept the shirt given to me at Aberdeen Proving Grounds (sorry Jenni, didn't know how to break it to you that I don't have it anymore), but I got Central Park (advantage, Silverman)
• Michelle may have kept my Eddie Bauer sweatshirt, but I get the Upper West Side (score two for Silverman)
• Lydia never returned classic 8-bit Nintendo games, but I got Murray Hill (wait, I may have to rethink that one, because honestly, what's good about Murray Hill?... Let's go with the Lower East Side. Score anotherone for Silverman)

The list goes on, but you get the idea. Game. Set. Match.

As always, your comments, thoughts, replies welcomed.

A discombobulatory morning

Ever notice how hard it is to get back into a routine once you've broken it for a few days? Well, this morning I started post-Vioxx life, meaning no more cabs to work and a return to my oh-so-lovely train ride (only in New York would you have public transit that you need to take south to go north) and Times Square change of trains.

Having done this particular route to work for well over a year-and-a-half, I have it down to a pretty good science, but it's amazing how just breaking the routine for a few days can throw you so far off. For example...

This morning, being slightly discombobulated, I forgot to change the song I was listening to from something nice and soft to the combat music needed to navigate Times Square at rush hour. It's hard to make the required Matrix-esq maniuvers, dodging and swerving the oncoming commutters who will take you out at the first chance they get, to the tune of Fox in the Snow.
After nearly being decapitated by a two-ton woman and a man who smelled like the Baltimore harbor, I finally ended up on the side of the station where I usually grab my free copy of AM New York and successfully made the newspaper hand-off, as I was rolling onto the platform to get my second train. I thought all was well, until I realized that, instead of AM New York, I had somehow grabbed the Free Tibet Press, which I'm sure is lovely, but I was unable to read due to the fact that it is printed in Cantonese.

To help you enjoy your day, I'm pasting below what has to have been one of the funniest media monitoring assignments ever. Apparently, Saturday Night Live included a Levitra spoof this weekend, and being that we have to report coverage of the drug (and any in its class) to the clients, this was in my (and our clients') inbox this morning...

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From: Pxxxxxx, Rxxxx
Sent: Monday, October 04, 2004 8:29 AM
To: LEVITRA-NY
Subject: SNL: Dr. Porkenheimer's Boner Juice

This weekend Saturday Night Live included a spoof of the Levitra "My Man" :30 spot. Beyond its remarkable resemblance to the real thing in nearly every way (including the Marie look-alike), the ad, which was for "Dr. Porkenheimer's Boner Juice" (same brand colors and flame logo) touted the following brand attributes:

• meatier
• thick
• sturdy

The fair balance statement included advice to "call your friends and brag" in cases of erections lasting more than four hours.

We are currently working with VMS to obtain a tape of the segment.