Dating Guide for Straight Men, Part 1

I think it's about time we women opened the vault of secrets and gave men the key to dating success. I don't want to hear any more of "why don't women like nice guys?" I'm tired of trying to figure out if my date simply has no social skills, is nervous, or if he's simply a jerk. I don't want to offend by offering to pay my share of dinner, and I don't want to offend by failing to offer. We need rules, people! Not to restrict our freedom, but to set some social mores down so we can interpret situations better.

So this is the beginning of my Dating Guide for Straight Men (hereafter "DGSM"). I'm going to break it down from a woman's (at least, this woman's) point of view. I think that will be more helpful to men than if I wrote a dating guide for women, because I'm no expert on what guys want.

Let's start at the beginning: asking her out. No, let's take a step back even further and start before the beginning (yes, this is possible, according to kabbalah expert Daniel Matt's Rosh HaShanah sermon this year at Chochmat HaLev). The Big Question before the beginning of dating is whether nice guys finish last. We have to get this out of the way so you can determine what kind of human being you intend to be and how you will treat people you encounter once you start dating. Some guys have decided that if they want to succeed, they can't be nice. Not true.

For most women, the ideal guy is one that treats her with respect and kindness and makes her feel gorgeous and desired. There are different ways to do this, and each person has different things that rock their boat, but ultimately, people with healthy self-esteem want to be treated well. People that are attracted to abuse generally have some issues they need to address within themselves. It may be that they were abused in the past, it may be that they don't think they are worth better treatment, it may be that they think they can "fix" the situation or help the abuser, or it may be something else. But it's not healthy. Period.

A lot of women are attracted to a man who is strong. Many women are attracted to confident men for this reason: they seem self-sufficient and strong. So if there is a nice guy who is strong, he is definitely going to attract more women than a nice ugy who is passive or weak, or any kind of asshat. It's important to make that distinction between "passive" and "nice." Passive does not equal nice. It's wimpiness trying to disguise itself as nice. Passivity is not attractive to most women.

I hope this is clear: nice, strong, confident guys finish first. It's passive guys who finish last.

Next time, Strong Suggestion #1.

Eine Kleine Nacht Schatz

After a nighttime picnic in front of the fountain at the park overlooking Grace Cathedral and salsa dancing in the Mission District, my date took me home and walked me to my apartment. I think he was going to lean in for a kiss but I wasn't feeling like having our first kiss in front of the homeless people rummaging through the dumpster that had been suddenly placed right in front of my apartment that evening. These two homeless people were really going at this dumpster like it was a sample sale at Barneys or whatever. Then this morning, when I stepped out the door, there was a neatly arranged FLEA MARKET practically happening on the sidewalk. All that stuff from last night.

"What are fears but voices airy?" -Wordsworth

I'm proud of myself...I went out to surf in Santa Cruz this past weekend. It was my third attempt to surf and my first attempt in the cold, Northern California waters. I was worried about sharks and I told myself I would go out to the beach, but I didn't have to get on a board if I had a bad feeling. Once I saw the water, I didn't even think about not donning my wetsuit.

The water was freezing cold, the bottom of the ocean was pretty jagged and rocky, and my leash kept getting wrapped up in kelp. I didn't catch any waves, but I went out further than I ever have, despite the rocky bottom and kelp and fear of sharks, and I got really banged up by a huge wave and having my "teacher" surf straight into my arm and hip.

I'm proud of my new bruises, since I usually never get bruised from anything but walking into coffee tables. Now I have a nasty purple and brown bruise crawling up the length of my right arm and a lovely bright red and purple 3 x 4 inch smacker on my right hip. Pretty good for a weinie-girl who never willingly participated in sports!

She Opened Government to Everyone

At the top of my list of people I'd like to meet one day was former Texas governor Ann Richards. I've always admired her charm, strength, and zest for life. Sadly, she passed away last night after a battle with cancer, and the world is a better place for her having been in it for 73 years.

She was a vibrant, quick-witted spitfire who didn't enter politics until her forties and got her motocycle license at sixty. Before she left office, Richards said, "I did not want my tombstone to read, 'She kept a really clean house.' I think I'd like them to remember me by saying, 'She opened government to everyone.'"

CBSNews.com lists among her accomplishments the fact that "as governor, Richards appointed the first black University of Texas regent, the first crime victim on the state Criminal Justice Board, the first disabled person on the human services board and the first teacher to lead the State Board of Education. Under Richards, the fabled Texas Rangers pinned stars on their first black and female officers."

Be With Those Who Help Your Being

The poem below is from Rumi, the mystic, poet, and founder of Mawlawi Sufism. I happened upon it while searching for something else (ah, poetic serendipity!) and it speaks to what I am going through.

That's the beauty of poetry. Something can be so personal yet resonate in a universal way so that a stranger can read it and feel the persistent tugging of truth.

Be with those who help your being.
Don’t sit with indifferent people,
whose breath comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.

A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don’t try to fly, and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it’s too late for all you could become.

Leaves get yellow.
The tree puts out fresh roots and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?

~Rumi

Teens, Sex Workers, & Musicians

Though it seems to me that MySpace is for teens and sex workers, and aspiring teenage sex workers, and even though it gives me the heebie jeebies, I will refer you to Brett Dennen's page just so you can hear some of his music. It's that worth it.

So I must revise my prior assessment: MySpace is for teens, sex workers, and musicians.

In the alternative, you can find him at www.brettdennen.com. Just make sure you find him.

Honoring What Comes

This story amazes me. It's about an ordinary woman, and an ordinary heartbreak, and ordinary disappointment. I use the word, "ordinary" to refer only to the universality of love and betrayal and loss. But it turns out that she is not ordinary at all.

A month and a half before her planned wedding, she found out (in a rather interesting way) that her fiance was cheating on her. What she did next shows what an extraordinarily pragmatic, positive, generous person Kyle Paxman is. I'm so inspired by her ability to confront unpleasant facts and use her creativity to turn things around the best way she knew how.


This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your houseempty of it's furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

~ Rumi

and it's only $499!!! plus shipping!

I want this. It's called the iGallop and it totally makes sense to me as an exercise machine. Make fun all you want ("get toned and get off, all at once!"), I think I would finally really exercise while watching t.v. if I had this. It's much more exciting than my exercise ball, which is more fun as a rolly chair. It's just that it's soooo expensive. I might as well take up horseback riding. Or more likely, combine my usage of my exercise ball as a seat with a pony rocker and dream my little heart away.

"today's paranoiac is sometimes tomorrow's survivor"

David Shenk discusses disaster aversion and whether our society is too paranoid, or simply not worrying enough about very real threats. Read it, and then decide, has Slate "given much too large a megaphone to a real nervous ninny?" Or is Mr. Shenk on to something?

Why? The Pomposity.

I just forgot why I do this. I started this blog as a personal exercise, to get me to writing in an informal yet regular way, without over-thinking or censoring too much. I also wanted to force myself to put my imperfect writing in a public space, to get over those fears.

But I don't have something to say to the world every day. No, that's not true. You should listen in to my head sometimes. I certainly think I have something to say to the world, almost every minute of the day. I'm ridiculously pompous. So why am I such a shrinking flower when it comes to posting on my blog?

At first, I thought my creativity was playing coy, and would loosen up and I would get rolling by now. But most of the time, when I sit down to post something on my blog, I feel the same inhibition I felt the very first time. Is it like this for other bloggers? (Haha, I inadvertently referred to myself as a "blogger"). Is this an initial shyness that will wear off? And are my original reasons for doing this being satisfied? I'm certainly posting informal musings in a public space, but how many are reading and should I or should I not focus more on content? If I have so much to say, why aren't I saying it? And what makes me think anyone wants to read about *this*? :)

Labor Day Should Be Re-named Leisure Day

It's nice to get a Monday off, to start a week on Tuesday and already be so close to Wednesday, Hump Day. According to the New York Times, "All the studies say that no one works harder than Americans do." The Times continues, "it is both the natural response to the land of opportunity and the cost of living in such a material culture. For most of us, it’s easier just to go on working, caught up in the familiar day-to-day rhythms, than it is to take a real vacation. The routine of work becomes the bedrock of our lives, the substance of who we are." That scares me.

I've inherited a good share of my immigrant parents' strong work ethic. I take pride in a job well done, and believe in putting 100% of my effort into the task at hand. I also believe in living a more balanced life than my parents have, putting 100% of my focus on enjoying my time when I'm not at work. Separating work from my personal life is very important to me. To me that means not bringing work stress home or into my personal relationships;, not being constantly "plugged in" by a Blackberry or whatever new technology is available to allow us to work from anywhere, any time; not bringing personal issues or stress into the office; and making sure that I use my vacation time completely, both in terms of using the time and using it well by freeing myself of work concerns while I'm away.

As much as my boss would love for me to check my email every day from Waikiki - and I tried it - I have to say I won't do it again as it doesn't feel like a vacation when I'm mentally back in the office. The main purpose of a vacation, when one has an office job like I do, is getting away mentally.

And lately, I noticed that I have a hard time doing so. Maybe my boss would see this as a sign of my evolved commitment to my job. I see it as a worrisome sign that I am becoming one of the multitudes of workaholic drones who not only spend most of their waking hours at work, but have lost sight of what life is really about. It's one thing to work hard and to appreciate that I have a job to do. It's another not to be able to relax on my time off.

To remind myself of my priorities, I think of Maya Angelou's words of wisdom, "I've learned that making a 'living' isn't the same as making a 'life'." It's a good thing to think about this day of leisure.

Ring, ring!

Now, I don't do this kind of thing (*polishes halo*), but if you have to call your booty call, call him or her a koonchi zang. And then this cool little Persian slang my cousin Ben and I coined will become part of the vernacular. Yeah, right. ;)