Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Couldn't Make this Up

Last summer I wrote about my quest for the Perfect Summer Fling. In it, I told of how I was stalked from the Dupont Circle Metro stop by a guy who turned out to be a) French and b) desirous of my phone number. I obliged--temporarily hypnotized by the accent--but quickly thereafter regretted the decision when he turned out to be a bit of a Text Message Stalker (not to mention total sap). I never went out with him.

Fast forward to last weekend.

In what can only be described as The Farce that is My Dating Life, or maybe Seriously, Does God Hate Me?, last weekend I found myself once again in that scenario. That exact scenario. And when I say exact, I mean same Metro stop, same why-is-this-guy-following-me internal monologue, same eventual pick-up line and...wait for it...the same freaking French guy.

OK, so it would be one thing if he saw me on the train, recognized me and, given my general state of iPod-wearing oblivion, had to chase me down to reconnect. That might actually justify his jog up the 188-foot escalator. But no. He didn't even remember me. And this is how it went down:

Me: [walking with a purpose, sensing a man walking a little too close, reaching for pocket mace]
Him: [gaining on me] Hey! Are you from New York or something?
Me: [stopped, turned around] Uh, no.
Him: It's just that you walk with such determination. It's very New Yorker-like.
Me: Uh, no. I'm from Ohio [thinking: which is why I have politely acknowledged your existence and not yet maced you.]
Him: Wow, you're really beautiful. Those eyes... Have you lived here long?
Me: [thinking: why does this sound familiar? Why does he look familiar? And what is that accent??] Three years now.
Him: So you're almost native! My name is [intentionally omitted]. I'd love to take you out sometime.
Me: [realization-coming-on-like-a-Mack-truck, FRENCHIE!, cannot help but start laughing]
Him: What's funny? Is that a yes?
Me: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. I'm involved with someone, but it was nice meeting you.
Him: Ah, no! Perhaps we will run into each other some time in the future? Perhaps when you are single? I want to see you again.
Me: [thinking: this cannot be happening] Well, you never know... [indeed!]

And I walked away, mouth agape in incredulity, thinking about the Cosmic Joke that is my dating life.

Friday, November 21, 2008

My Shameless Plug for Sonicare

I have a friend who's a pro at dating. Sometimes she'll say things like, "OK, I just need to line up a guy for Thursday night and then I'll be set for the week." It will be Tuesday. And she'll find someone. This same friend is also a Match.com subscriber. She claims it's an easy go-to when you're in a slump. Just jump online, get a few dates and *poof* no more slump. So earlier this year, when I was in between guys, she convinced me to try it. Mostly, I thought it was pretty lame. My inbox would fill up with ridiculous, and often grammatically botched, missives from random dudes with aliases like "sexynfun" or "dclawyer4u". And what's with the winks? Seriously? My curiosity waned after about a week and I went back to dating the old fashioned way.

Around this same time I decided that, after two years in DC, it was time to find a dentist. My intense fear of dental trauma, combined with my proven inability to check practical things like "make dentist appointment" off my to-do list, had led to prolonged neglect of my pearly whites. So when my co-worker returned to the office from a dentist appointment one day, I asked for a referral. They were able to squeeze me in the following week.

Keep in mind that reasonable health care of any kind in DC can only be found in one place: Georgetown. Well, for this car-free girl, Georgetown is quite possibly the least accessible place to travel to (the elite residents there have successfully kept icky public transportation away from their cobble-stoned paradise). So I rented a ZipCar for a cool $9.25/hour and off I went.

My dentist turned out to be a young, attractive guy, and when we met he gave me a quizzical glance that I couldn't quite interpret. But just as quickly he got to the business of poking around in my mouth, and that was that. And while I survived with little trauma (aided in large part by the Bose headphones and DVD of Planet Earth), my new dentist had bad news to report: I had six cavities and needed a porcelain crown. Crap. But it got worse. After explaining that I had about $2000 worth of dental care in my future, he whispered, "So how long have you been on Match?"

Cue dental trauma.

My horrified expression sent him backpedaling, but before it got extremely awkward, I was saved by a hygienist who summoned him to another patient. After scheduling the four required follow up appointments, I raced home and logged on to Match. And there he was: Dentaluv. Right there in my inbox. Having lost interest so early on in my month-long membership, I hadn't been checking my messages. He had "winked" at me several days prior.

I spent the subsequent six weeks making almost weekly trips to Dentaluv's Georgetown office for what I now refer to as The Great Dental Intervention of 2008. Slapping down my AMEX to the tune of $425 or $613 became old hat. So did the $30/visit I was paying to freaking drive there. In total I endured 15 shots of Novocaine, endless minutes of drilling (which the Bose headphones do not entirely block out, btw) and the unsettling reality that the man attacking my plaque problem had also hit on me online. To make matters worse, the women in the office were excessively nice to me, fueling my suspicion that I was part of the watercooler gossip. I thought perhaps I was being paranoid, but then in between appointments I dyed my hair. And although it took my co-workers a week to notice, the receptionist noticed immediately. They fawned over me constantly.

On the last of my many visits, after slapping down the AMEX for the final time, I glanced behind the receptionist to a product shelf containing boxes of fancy, electronic toothbrushes. So I asked her, "What's the deal with those?" And she responded animatedly, "They are really expensive, but they truly are like preventative medicine. My boyfriend used to get tons of cavities, but since he got his Sonicare he hasn't had any. He hardly even needs to see the dentist anymore!"

Sold.

In summary:
Dental Intervention of 2008: $1890.83
Transportation to Dental Intervention of 2008: $124.16
Phillips Sonicare Elite e9500: $149.99
Insurance Against Future Incidents of Dentaluv Awkwardness: Priceless


Monday, November 10, 2008

You Know What They Say...

What's fun about being in Washington is that everyone knows everyone, and the Kevin Bacon game can actually make a small town Midwestern girl like me feel important. So this past Sunday--the first official Day of Brunch since Obama's election--a couple of girlfriends and I gathered for Eggs Benedict and whatnot. After the usual catching up (i.e. work, dating, etc.), our conversation turned to the Obama transition. Let's just say that the ensuing discussion quickly answered the question I'd been asking myself since November 5: What will we talk about now??

Both of the friends I was brunching with are alums of the fellowship program I was in after grad school and are now currently working for pretty powerful national associations. So it follows that they both know a number of people on the short list for cabinet positions (I, on the other hand, sacrificed that cred when I defected to the for-profit sector). But we're all urban policy nerds, so we conspired in hushed tones about The Short List. We were each feeling a little starstruck and excited about the potential for people we, eh hem, know to be in such important leadership positions. Competence in Washington! Imagine!

Forty-five minutes of uber-wonky-Cabinet-Member-selection-chatter later and one of my friends said of the Rahm Emmanuel pick, "Well you know what they say...once a Chief of Staff, always a Chief of Staff." There was a momentary pause while we reflected, nodded in agreement...and then burst into laughter. You know what they say?? Really??? Pretty sure "they" never say that. Well, no one outside the beltway, that is. And yet, my love affair with this city grew a little bit deeper...

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Where I Was

In the same way that I'll never forget where I was when I saw The Challenger explode or the World Trade Center buildings go down, I will never forget where I was when America celebrated the election of its first black president. And thanks to our friends at YouTube, this video should make it a lot easier to tell my grandkids: