Woes of a Freshly Pressed Post: The Morning After

On October 5, 2010 By KathleenIn insights/observations, Uncategorized3 Comments

anon me — I'm your writer and you can't see me, or how publishing "They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband" as Anonymous got me no where.

When I started writing “They Told Me To Find a Rich Husband,” I had all intentions of remaining an anonymous authoress. It seemed that writing about loves won and lost, not offending anyone (that didn’t deserve it), and attaching my name were mutually exclusive requests. Convinced I could make my way in the blogosphere as another Nameless Sage, my first few “Rich Husband” entries went up sans byline and sans self-promotion. Neither a “by Kathleen” nor facebook/gchat status with a “please read my blog!” were seen. And how do you think my little blog fared?

I got 5 hits in as many weeks.

Obscurity, thy name is Anonymous.

Now I’m a shameless self-promoter. Screw anonymity. Virginia Woolf said, “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” and I’m a woman proud to have a blog of my own. I have a byline and my blog has a facebook page and a twitter account. I’m branding. Former flings, be warned: you’re fair fodder… and names will be changed to protect only the innocent.

A year after I first shared my opinions on and my experiences in the realm of the single 20-something, educated females, “They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband” has been lucky enough to land two spots on WordPress’s Freshly Pressed. Each placement was accompanied

poised to press another winner? my blog is good for the soul

by a giddy victory dance and a warm feeling of satisfaction. It became my day’s occupation to watch the number of hits climb and the comments reel in (they like me! they really like me!). I was buzzing. I was on a high. It was like I’d finally been discovered.

And then there was the day after…

I never intended They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband (or my flagship blog, “Meet Me in the Drawing Room”) to be a daily diary, so I never felt pressed to produce content more often than inspiration deemed necessary. But now, thanks to Freshly Pressed, I have readers! woot woot! And you claim you want to read more! Hurrah!….. or is it eeeeeek! You have expectations, and what’s worse, a bar to measure me against.

So yes, earning a spot on Freshly Pressed is every blogger’s dream, and I’m honored. But with earning the publicity comes the pressure to produce and produce with quality.

I promise, dear readers, now that you’ve found me, I won’t let you down.

Shane's cottage adventures 09 004 — my real journal and a room with a view... it's time to go to the archives to keep you entertained

You Borrowed My Bob Dylan CD and Stole My Heart. I’d like them back now, please.

On September 29, 2010October 3, 2010 By KathleenIn Breakups, Dating, relationships75 Comments

Bob Dylan and Joan Baez were a dynamic singing/peace-loving duo

I once made the mistake of exchanging CDs with a guy I was seeing. I loaned him Bob Dylan’s “Blonde on Blonde” and he loaned me “Highway 61 Revisited.” It took some convincing, but eventually he saw the light — Highway 61 may have its historic significance, but Blonde on Blonde boasted the catchier tracks.

Before I knew it, we were serenading each other with “I Want You” and stomping along to “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35” as we cooked dinner in his kitchen. While we saw each other, we shared many things, including a mutual distaste for the Red Sox and a mutual preference for elaborate home-cooking, but nothing was more “ours” than Bob Dylan.

At the time, it was great. Every time I’d start to belt out “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” I’d think of us and smile.

And then our theme song became “Most Likely You’ll go your way and I’ll go mine”…

We stopped seeing each other.

When a relationship ends, there’s always the post-traumatic exchange of goods. Things loaned and borrowed, things left behind at apartments or in cars — all things that have to be returned in an awkward and loaded hand-off. But let’s face it, ridding yourself of his Michigan sweatshirt and reclaiming your “Blonde on Blonde” from his CD rack is relatively easy. I’d even go so far as to call the act empowering. The problem is ridding yourself of the intangibles.

Back at home, I held my Dylan CD in my hand and looked at it with distaste. I knew I wouldn’t be able to listen to it anytime soon without flashbacks to our sing-alongs and cook-ins. Appropriately, I recalled a song Joan Baez wrote about her relationship with Bob Dylan in which she sings: “We both know what memories can bring/ They bring diamonds and rust.” I was having a hard time finding any diamonds amongst the items I’d reclaimed from his place and the memories that lingered from our months together. Worse of all, Bob Dylan was covered in rust for me and I was annoyed at my ex for stealing both my heart and my favorite musician.

A broken heart mends in time, but a broken CD… well, the only place for that is the trash.

My Mother is my Wing-Woman

On September 17, 2010September 18, 2010 By KathleenIn Love, Uncategorized7 Comments

mum and me on the beach — The Dynamic Duo of Diane & Kathleen

My mother and I make one notorious team. We’re legendary actually. We’re kind of big deals. Ask anyone in any department at Neiman Marcus or Whole Foods or Agata & Valentina or NikeTown. We’re a sort of the Hilary and Chelsea in the great world of unsung heroes. Imagine a little Lucy and Ethyl mashed with Keri Walsh and Misty-Mae Trainer. There’s a 40-year spread between us, but you wouldn’t know it to listen to us.

We’re power-players with big ideas, big plans, and a knack for getting things done… and for getting in to trouble. What, drive 3,000 miles in 3 days to avoid taking an airplane? No problem. But we’re also a walking comedy act. Get us together in an awkward situation, and everyone goes home giggling.

She’s a master at the big picture and too brilliant for her own good. I’m Miss Detail and a quick study who knows how to make ideas into material things. She has experience and smarts, I have the boundless energy of youth. We’re both quick to point out the absurd and even quicker to make a wisecrack. She raised me on Farragamos, Tanqueray, and the Beatles. I introduced her to Tory Burch, Cosmopolitans, and Madonna. She taught me everything I know about most things, but I taught her about Kirchner and Sargent. She’s my best wingwoman. When I’m out on the town with her, I never go home without a phone number.

We’d make an awesome duo in a reality show. Don’t believe me? Here’s a sneak-peak:

Scene: Kathleen and Diane are sitting in the living room.

Kathleen: Do you want to see Bob Dylan in concert?

Diane: Sure. When is he coming to New York?

Kathleen: Actually, I was thinking we’d go seem him in Cleveland. It’s about a 500 mile drive.

Diane: Okay. Did you want to rent some motorcycles too?

(Kathleen and Diane drive to Cleveland and meet up with some vintage Hell’s Angels… no joke)

Scene: Kathleen and Diane are standing in the elevator of a medical building. A tall, dark, handsome resident wearing a Columbia signet ring walks in and smiles at Kathleen, who is also wearing a Columbia signet ring. On the next floor he’s gone. Diane smacks Kathleen on the back of the head.

Diane: How many times do I have to tell you! When you see a good looking man in an elevator, talk to him. As long as he doesn’t look like an axe-murder, good things may come of it. I met your father in an elevator. I asked him if he was Dutch, because, as I told him, he had a very Dutch-looking nose. 48 years later, I’m reminding him to trim his nose-hairs.

~~
Scene: Kathleen is getting dressed for an interview. She has poison-ivy on her feet and ankles and is in crisis mode because she can’t wear her designated “interview” dress. She hollars for Diane. Diane comes up the stairs and finds Kathleen standing on the landing in high-waisted Katherine Hepburnesque pants, 3-inch Farragamo pumps, and a magenta bra:

Diane: That looks good. Why can’t you wear that?

Kathleen: Because I’m interviewing to work at an auction house, not auditioning to be one of Madonna’s backup dancers.

Mind the Gap: Love at First Sight On the 1 Train

On September 12, 2010 By KathleenIn Dating, Love, New York City, relationships7 Comments

Marseille to Paris 2010 108_1 — Waiting on the platform = Waiting for Love?

A future President is about to be sworn in, his parents smile proudly from the audience, and we’re quickly sent on a journey back through the years to the beginning. A man stands on a platform in a train station. In an instant, he locks eyes with the woman surely destined to be the love of his life. The one problem? She’s on another train and it’s about to leave the station. He changes his ticket on his nifty smart phone and before the 30 second clip is over, he’s seated next to her on the train. Life happens.

So goes the AT&T commercial that inevitably produces a sigh whenever I see it.

In the neat fantasy world of 30-second advertisements, instant connections made in Penn Station or the JFK terminal are never missed. In 30 seconds or less, everyone lives happily ever after.

In the real world, we need Craigslist. If our smart phone fails us on the platform, Craigslist offers us a second chance. Of course, the catch is that our missed connection has to log on and tune in to our broadcast. Isn’t there always a catch in the game of love?

About a year ago, I started reading “Missed Connections” every night before bed. There’s no secret hope that Mr. Right had spied me on the 1 train and tried to reach out through the interweb to find me. Rather, the habit stems from the same inner romantic who religiously peruses the Sunday NYTimes Wedding Announcements. I bask in the possibility that two people can find each other in unexpected places and at unexpected times. Stars collide. Life happens. The cynic in me loves the good giggle some posts inevitably inspire.

An MC post can take one of many guises. Sometimes it’s a digital catcall — a wooowooo directed at a leggy, busty blond walking past a guy on a street corner. Sometimes, it’s a desperate, if not beautiful, attempt at capturing a fleeting electric connection with another human being.

If I were to sit and do a survey, I’d say the number 1 location for a missed connection is the subway. The A train. The 1 line. The B, C, and F. Sometimes the 2/3. Perhaps, in a city like New York, that’s not a surprise. We New Yorkers spend as much time on the move as we do in our offices or out on the town — why shouldn’t we run into the loves of our lives on our morning commute? My parents met one morning in an elevator en route to their respective laboratories at University of Toronto. Perhaps my child’s parents will have met on the 6-train.

Connections are made. Connections are missed. Someone posts an add on Craigslist.

Life happens… in 30 seconds or less.

People passing in by in NYC's Grand Central Station. A missed connection every second

She’s Just Soooo That Into You

On September 9, 2010 By KathleenIn Dating2 Comments

Men think women are complicated. Truth is, we’re not. Sure we over analyze your every actions. Sure, we’re often subtle. But in the end when we think you might be our Prince Charmings, we have our ways of letting you know.

She’s Just sooo that into you if…

she always picks up the phone when you call.
We have caller ID. As soon as we meet you we store your number, or at least memorize a few digits. We know when you’re calling. In a similar vein, we’ll call you back within a few hours if you leave a message. We try to follow the rules, but we always get back sooner rather than later. Usually, we’re so excited that you called that we tend knee-jerk react to your interest — we don’t want to take a chance you’ll forget about us or replace us with that hot girl in the check out line at the bodega.
She’s just not that into you if she doesn’t call you back — but you probably already knew this, since it’s how you let us know that you’re just not that into us.

she emails you articles/youtube videos/book titles she thinks you’ll like.
This means she’s been paying attention to the things you’re interested in, and wants to let you know she’s thinking about you. The next thing she’ll do is send you a note that she listened to that Rolling Stones album you’ve been raving about and agrees that track 5 is her favorite too.
She’s just not that into you if she can’t remember the name of your favorite band/book/movie/parent/dog. “Another Brick in the Wall” is your cell phone ring; there’s a poster of The Other Side of the Moon’s cover on your wall; you frequently mention that David Gilmour is the greatest guitarist of the century; you’ve told her Pink Floyd is greatest band of all time. But she buys you a Beatles t-shirt for your birthday because she thinks that’s your favorite band. If she can’t remember the things you like to do, then she’s not listening to you. If she’s not listening to you, she’s just not that into you.

she’s not having sex with you.
This may seem a bit contradictory to you, but women who think they have a chance at a successful long term relationship with a guy try to put off sex until they’re sure the relationship is monogamous. If she likes you, she’ll stay over, there’ll be below the belt action, but she won’t do you until she knows it’s going somewhere.Women aren’t like men — most can’t get sexually involved and remain emotionally detached. Hopefully, she’s already warned you that you’re going to have to wait to get the goods.
She’s just not that into you if she sleeps with you on the first date. If she put out that fast, she’s already decided it’s not going anywhere, or she’s just out for some fun. She’s playing you like you’d play her.

you’ve never seen her without makeup.
When a girl likes a guy, she always makes sure she looks like an Ace when she sees him. The necklines are low, the jeans fit well, her hair is always down and she has lip gloss and eyeliner on. Even if the date is a casual pick-up football game, she’s still sporting the bronzer and the push-up bra.
She’s just not that into you if she’s covering up the cleavage. Women know men want boobs. If the shirt is buttoned up, or she keeps her arm over her chest when she’s around you, she doesn’t want you looking and if she doesn’t want you looking she’s just not that into you.

she always has something nice to say about you.
Sure she busts your balls, but she always mitigates it with some sort of compliment — has anyone ever told you you like like Ben Affleck?, that shirt’s a good color for you, I wish I knew that much about carburetors etc. She may be being honest, but in the end she wants to make sure you know she thinks you’re cute/funny/a decent guy.
She’s just not that into you if she says say nice things about someone else. Sometimes, girls will mention another guy’s abs or another guy’s sense of humour to see if you react. But if she’s always mentioning the same guy, always with some sort of praise, then she’s into him and not you. If she says she just wants to be friends, believe her.

she finds time to hang out with you.
She’s a busy girl — she works an 8-6, she takes French classes, she’s training for a triathlon, she volunteers with meals on wheels etc etc, but when you suggest grabbing lunch on saturday afternoon, when she typically goes shopping with her gal-pals, she’ll tell you she’s free (and if she’s legitimately not because she’s in China, then she’ll suggest another time).
She’s just not that into you if she always has an excuse for not hanging out with you. She’s not playing hard to get, she really doesn’t want you to get her. She’ll only keep her distance for so long — natural insecurity sets in and if she likes you, she doesn’t want you to lose interest. If she’s never around for you, then she’s just not that into you.

*This blog was originally posted on my alter ego, “Meet Me in the Drawing Room.”

Et Tu, Daddy?

On September 3, 2010September 3, 2010 By KathleenIn Love, Mr. Right5 Comments

myboys and myboys — It's true there are more male names in my address book than female ones. But it's not a "little black book" list of names. I'm a PJ and they're "My Boys"

I was standing at the laundry sink in our basement, vigorously scrubbing at the oversize blueberry stain on my favorite knock-around sundress (that’s never coming out!) when my father decided it was a good time to get the lowdown on my social life. Though I was armed with spray n’ wash and totally focused on rescuing the pink of my seersucker dress from a purple fate, I gave him an appropriate summary of my outings and updated him on the lives of the friends I knew interested him most.

He was glad I was still in touch with “Tennis” Mike and “Granola” Dan. He encouraged me to visit “DC” Sarah and “New Zealand” Sarah soon (“sure, Dad, if you foot the bill!). He was happy “Cupcake” Cassidy was still fencing and that “Fencing” Mike was still my CityChase partner. Yet, while I thought I had covered all his favorites, it was clear he was unsatisfied with my narrative…

“How come you know and hang out with all these guys and none of them ask you out to dinner?”

I put down the scrub brush, placed my hand on my hip, screwed-up my eyebrows in quizzical disbelief. Had my father, just asked me why I didn’t have a boyfriend? Et tu, Daddy?! I thought you thought weddings were “grotesque.”

Without skipping a beat he moved on.

“The next day that isn’t too hot, I’m going to make sure you can change the tires on your car. Clearly, you’ll need to know how to do that on your own.”

“Well then,” I replied, “why don’t you also teach me how to change my oil and rewire a lamp, because clearly there isn’t going to be a guy to do these things for me.”

“No,” he said. “I’d better teach you how to load a dishwasher. You can always get a mechanic to change your oil…you’ll have a much harder time finding someone willing to tackle the kitchen when you’re done with it.”