Dr. Feelgood

I am getting more and more excited about my upcoming trip, but what I am not excited about is the plane ride. I'm not too afraid of flying, but after I flew from Florida to Australia for my high school graduation trip, it lost its allure to me. It's boring and it takes too long, and I'm really disappointed that we don't seem to have developed the technology to beam places like on Star Trek (this would also be great for the environment). I wanted to get some sleeping pills to tranquilize myself into submission on the flight over, but I doubted my ability to do it. I tried to wheedle medicine out of Cindy Kim, but he deflected. I hinted around to my dermatologist, but she was too distracted by how ugly my head is to notice. As a last resort, I called my primary care provider's office and just told the truth -- that I'm flying to Morocco and want something to put me to sleep on the plane. My doctor wrote me a prescription for 10 sleeping pills with no further inquiry! I can't believe it!

I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends

Cindy Kim and I are officially just friends.

We went out to dinner last night, and the topic of his party came up. He asked again whether I had liked any of his friends, and I used this second opportunity to ask him whether he was trying to fix me up with one of them. He said that he didn't have any particular one in mind, but that he thought I might be interested in one of them. He mentioned that his female friends tell him that it's hard to meet a nice guy. He also said, "Just go ahead and order it. You're not on a date," in response to my consideration of whether I was going to order this really fatty menu item. As the conversation wore on, I was able to bring up our mutual friend's statement that he (Cindy Kim) dates only Jewish girls. Cindy Kim confirmed that this is true, and that he doesn't even allow for the possibility that a nice, non-Jewish girl might convert because something doesn't sit right with him about a religious conversion being motivated by a desire to get married to a particular person rather than true belief in that religion. (Which...okay, fair enough.)

At first, I was disappointed to discover for sure that we are in the friends realm. I have not enjoyed being confused about the status of our relationship, but thinking that Cindy Kim liked me made me consider him more carefully and realize that he is a caring, thoughtful, funny person (acne comment notwithstanding). Even though I wasn't initially open to the idea of a relationship with him, I came to believe that he is at least the kind of person I would want to be with. But as the evening continued and I thought about it, I decided that knowing our status, even if it was a little disappointing, was better because not having to wonder what the status was allowed me to relax and enjoy his company.

I also think that Cindy Kim does like me. I did not imagine the times that he referenced our being on a date, and he clearly thinks about me when I'm not around. He also wore the shirt I bought him on our outing last night. But, I'm not Jewish and converting wouldn't cut the mustard for him, so friendship is the farthest we can go. It's not personal. I'm just not Jewish, and he is, and that's that.

Because I feel the need to constantly learn lessons from these kinds of situations, I have come up with two take-away points from this Cindy Kim situation. First, the desire or lack of desire of one person to be in a relationship with another person is not personal. In the case of Cindy Kim and me, it's easy to believe that because I can blame Judaism. But even the instances where there are no identifiable obstacles to the relationship, and where it is hard not to take the object of one's affections' lack of interest personally, it really isn't personal. You like who you like. Who likes you likes you. Second, I need to be more open-minded about dating and give people more of a chance. Cindy Kim was not someone with whom I initially wanted to be in a relationship, but when I allowed myself to really consider the possibility, it started to appeal to me. Cindy Kim and I discussed last night how some people's steady state is being single and some people's steady state is being in a relationship. I am definitely a member of the former group. As much as I profess an interest in meeting someone, when I was confronted with the possibility of being in a relationship with Cindy Kim, I shut up like a clam. The idea of having to be emotionally and physically vulnerable with someone scared me, and my immediate response was to tense up and shut down. I really had to force myself even to think about whether it was something I might want to do enough to overcome those knee-jerk reactions (which had nothing to do with Cindy Kim himself). Cindy Kim, thanks to Judaism, turned out to be a test of the emergency broadcast system, but if I meet someone with whom there is the actual possibility of a relationship, I am going to have to work hard to stay out of my own way.

So, anyway, I'm still a little bummed about the Cindy Kim situation withering on the vine, but at least I know now. We still have fun together, and we have things in common that we like to talk about, so I think we'll continue on as we are now.

He Said, "You're Really an Ugly Girl"

I do not have thick hair. I accept this about myself. I wish I had the hair of Serena van der Woodsen (and so does Blake Lively, because homegirl wears a lot of extensions), but this is just not what genetics has in store for me. Fine.

When I was in school, I saw a dermatologist to have a mole removed, and she noticed that my hair seemed to be thinning a little on top. (I had just discontinued the use of birth control and lost a little hair in the process.) She told me to start using Rogaine to regenerate the hair, and even though I did it, I hated it. Rogaine is a product for men who are losing their hair. I'm a woman. I'm not supposed to lose my hair. Having to use Rogaine made me feel unfeminine and unattractive (though admittedly not as unfeminine and unattractive as a bald spot). I used it for awhile until my dermatologist was satisfied that my little hair follicles had been whipped back into hair-growing shape, and then I discontinued it.

It's hard to convey the sense of shame I felt at having to use Rogaine and at having this thinning hair problem. I hid the Rogaine in my apartment with a level of secretiveness that I probably would not have used to hide, say, my heroin kit. I struggle with feeling attractive, and I'm not a dainty Tinkerbell of a girl, so having to use a product for men just made me feel more butch.

Those feelings came rushing back up to the surface when Cindy Kim suggested I take an anti-androgen medication to cure my (alleged) acne. I wanted to punch him with my manly fists because it made me feel like there was something wrong with me that I would need to take medication to suppress male hormones. (Maybe this is how Jamie Lee Curtis feels about those persistent rumors that she is a hermaphrodite.) Then today, I went to my dermatologist, and she brought up, sua sponte, my fucking thinning hair. I was devastated. I thought my hair was looking better. And now I have to go back on fucking Rogaine again and Propecia, which are both medications for men, and the most I can hope for is to retain the hair I currently have. Plus, my dermatologist recommended that I use Bumble + Bumble's hair powder, which, let me be the first to tell you, is basically spray-on hair. Like from those cheesy infomercials. Spray-on hair. I have no dignity left because my hair comes from an aerosol can. Plus, PLUS, I am now on yet another medication for my acne, so I am currently taking one oral antibiotic and two topical creams for the acne. And all of these medications are expensive, especially the Propecia, which is not covered by insurance (though bizarrely, you can get a AAA discount on it). It is expensive to be ugly.

I just feel so demoralized. I am paying good money to have unwanted hair on the rest of my body permanently lasered away, and yet I am trying like hell to get some hair to grow on top of my head (and in the meantime, I am just going to spray on fucking fake hair out of a fucking CAN). I feel so unattractive and butch and gross. I just want to be feminine and pretty with clear skin and a reasonable amount of hair. Not even thick hair! Just a reasonable amount! But alas, it is not to be.

Passedover

Things have soured with Cindy Kim to the point where I feel like I'm his Cindy Kim rather than the other way around. How did this happen?

Upon the (in retrospect, highly dubious) advice of my mother, I decided to give him a shirt. I hate the way he dresses, and my mom seduced me into thinking that if I could see him in some reasonable-looking apparel, I could more ably assess my interest in him. I also thought that giving him a gift would send the message that I might have an interest in taking the relationship to the next level -- a more naked level, perhaps.

So, I sent him the shirt and waited to see what would happen. What happened was that he sent me an email thanking me for the shirt. At first blush, this doesn't seem like it should sting, but it did. First, I thought that a person who was flattered and excited and who took the gift in the flirtatious spirit in which it was intended would have made a phone call instead of sending an email. I also hoped that he might suggest we get together or something, perhaps for some smooching or at least some more lingering hugs. Instead, he sent a very friendly but ultimately disappointing email to say thank you and kind of blow me off.

He's having a Passover party next weekend to which I had agreed to go before I sent the awkwardness-inducing shirt. He said in his chilly thank-you email that he looks forward to seeing me next weekend at the party, and all I want to do is opt out. I've already set up the exit strategy by telling him that I hope I can still make it but that things have been getting crazy at work.

My mom, whose advice is already in question, tells me that I absolutely, positively must go to the party because Cindy Kim is the only straight guy I know and is therefore the only lead I have on meeting other straight men. I think it's disingenuous to hang out with someone because of who you hope you might meet as a result. However, I must concede that Blanche Devereaux is on my mom's side. Blanche once bemoaned a lousy date experience and when asked whether her suitor was someone special, she said, "That's not the point. He might take me somewhere where I might meet someone who is."

So, I don't know what I'm going to do. Right now, the leading plan is to go for an hour, pretend to get a message on my Blackberry and leave.

Deal or No Deal

How do you know if something is a deal breaker, or if you're self-sabotaging?

To illustrate my question, I use again the example of Cindy Kim. Cindy Kim, for all of his other fine qualities, is sartorially challenged. His shirts are too big and sometimes holey, and he hasn't gotten the message that light wash, tapered leg jeans and white sneakers needed to be retired no later than the series finale of Seinfeld. I would not describe myself as a fashionista, but I am a devotee of What Not To Wear, and I put thought into my appearance.

A lot of women consider it their mandate to rehabilitate a man's fashion sense when the relationship starts (and indeed, a lot of men consider wardrobe advice to be one of the many perks of having a girlfriend). I believe these women are doing the Lord's work, but I'm not sure I could join their ranks. It's one thing to think about changing the way a man dresses, but I think about how I would feel if I started dating a man and he tried to change something about me. I would bristle, and I would wonder why he wanted to date me if he didn't like me the way I was. But I also don't want to be seen in public with an otherwise good-looking guy who dresses like a slob.

Therein lies my dilemma. Is it really a deal breaker if Cindy Kim can't dress himself (and I am unwilling to dress him)? Or am I using my low opinion of his wardrobe as a way to keep distance between us? Being in a relationship is hard work. Being real and vulnerable with someone is hard work. I've wondered for a long time why I didn't have someone, and I think the real truth of it is that I didn't want to do that work. There were probably times (not that I can think of any right now, but there probably were some) when I could have gotten together with someone, but I kept that person at a distance because I didn't want to do the work of being in a relationship.

When you spend a lot of time with someone, there are going to be moments of disunity. The other person is going to get on your nerves or be inconsiderate of your feelings or take you for granted or something. That kind of thing, while regrettable, is to be expected. But if you know from the beginning that there is something about someone that you don't like, how much weight should you give it in deciding whether or not the person is a worthy relationship partner?

Feel Like Making Love

As part of my continuing over-analysis of matters of the heart, I'm pondering the question of whether it is wise to talk yourself into loving someone.

I don't think you can talk yourself out of loving someone, but I think you can talk yourself into it. Or at least I can. For example, I had a male friend in law school who had feelings for me. He was an amazing person -- handsome, kind, smart -- but I didn't have romantic feelings for him. He let me know how he felt about me, and I rebuffed his advances, so he responded by not talking to me for three months. When we finally resumed communication, I told him that I did feel the same way about him. At the time, I really felt that way, and when he broke things off after a very short period of dating, I was so devastated that I cried every day for a month. But when I look back on it now, I see that I cried because I missed my friend. This guy was very important to me -- one of the most important friends I've ever had in my life, in terms of being someone who incites change and growth. When he introduced romance into the situation, some kind of friendship survival instinct kicked in for me that told me that the relationship could either evolve into a boyfriend-girlfriend situation or die. I didn't want it to die, so I talked myself into having feelings for him that, deep down, were sort of manufactured. He was entirely worthy of love, but I didn't love him that way. I don't think he really loved me that way either, in the end, but what if he had?

In some cases, it is obviously a good idea to talk yourself into loving someone if you can. Primarily, this would be good if your marriage is arranged or otherwise strongly encouraged by your family or if your options are limited because of considerations of culture, religion, geography, or whatever. But if you have the whole world open to you, should you try to do it?

This guy in law school was not the first guy that I wished I could be in love with. I haven't always succeeded in manufacturing those feelings, but I have done it a few times. It sounds sort of distasteful and disingenuous, but it might solve the conundrum I was wrestling with in the other post about guys like my friend at work versus guys like Cindy Kim. What's really so wrong about convincing yourself to be in love with someone who has a lot of great qualities? Is it wrong because you'll never really want to have sex with them? I mean, how much do people who've been together for awhile have sex anyway? Isn't it better to make yourself love a good man than to take yourself out of the game because you're in love with a bad man?

Here I Am, Rock You Like a Hurricane

I have elsewhere written about what it means to have a soul mate, characterizing a soul mate relationship as the emotional equivalent of slash and burn agriculture. Soul mates are a dialectical necessity to personal growth, helping to push you from stage to stage, from incarnation to incarnation, but they are not people with whom you're going to bed down for the long term.

But if that's the case, what should you expect from someone with whom you could spend your life? Exactly how excited should you feel about that person?

There's a guy at work I really, really like. He has a girlfriend, of course, so I doubt anything will come of this attraction, but my point in bringing it up is to note that I am extremely interested in this person. I am very smitten. I think we have a connection, and I find myself wanting to be around him all the time. But when I really consider what it would be like if the two of us were together, all I can see are our differences. I'm not sure our lives are moving in the same direction, and, if we were together, I'm not sure we could guide our lives into a parallel without both of us giving up big parts of ourselves.

On the other hand, there is Cindy Kim. I like Cindy Kim. He's a nice man, and I enjoy chatting with him. In a way, I sort of miss him when he's not around, but not in a gnawing, consuming way. I think he's handsome, but I have neither a strong desire to have sex with him nor a strong aversion to it. It's more like, "Hm. I wonder what Cindy Kim is doing right now." Cindy Kim doesn't make my heart flutter or my stomach flip, but he's a steady, true person. I could see our lives being harmonious, but perhaps not very exciting.

I can offer a perfect illustration of the difference in my feelings for the guy from work and for Cindy Kim. On separate occasions, each of them has handed me his cell phone for me to look at. Both times, my hand touched the hand of the man handing me the phone. When the guy from work handed me his phone and our hands brushed against each other, I blushed. When Cindy Kim's hand touched mine, nothing happened.

What should I expect from a relationship? Should I be looking for someone like this guy from work, or is that the path to devastation and loneliness? Should I be looking for a guy like Cindy Kim, or is that the path to dissatisfaction, a general feeling of having sold myself short, and philandering? Is there a middle ground? Is there someone who provides a stomach flip without leaving wreckage in his wake?

Why Did I Get Married?

When I was out to dinner the other night with my friend, talking about my alleged love for Cindy Kim, we were also talking about our former high school classmates who had gotten married. My friend said he doesn't see me getting married until I'm in my late 30s because he I'm enjoying the kind of life I have now and he can't see me deciding to settle down until I can say "this is exactly who I am." My first thought was, "Dick." My second thought, after I let the idea simmer a little, was "What a relief."

There's something kind of relaxing about the idea of thinking that marriage is something far off in the future. Many of my friends are engaged or married or otherwise in the process of settling down now, and it makes me feel pressured to do likewise and it exacerbates my feelings of loneliness. It draws attention to all the things I don't like about being single instead of letting me focus on all the reasons that have led me, consciously or subconsciously, to steer clear of major commitments that might lead to the altar. There's something empowering about thinking that I remain single not because I'm not good enough to be chosen but because I'm still trying to sort out who I am.

Get Up Stand Up

I went out to dinner with a friend of mine last night, and when I brought up Cindy Kim, my friend unveiled his hypothesis that I like him before I even said how disappointed I had felt when Cindy Kim told me he didn't have time to see me again for a month or so. As my friend and I discussed the situation, we pondered whether Cindy Kim's making the comment about my supposed acne, while completely inappropriate and hurtful no matter that he treats acne for a living, might have ultimately had the positive effect of making him more attractive to me. It cannot be denied that I thought about him more than I otherwise would have. My friend's theory was that, before the comment, when Cindy Kim and I went out, I thought I was better than he was, and that I took umbrage because, at some level, I felt like he was failing to show the proper deference that the ugly friend should show to the pretty friend (not that Cindy Kim is ugly -- I'm oversimplifying to make my point). And yet, his uppity behavior engendered increased feelings of respect because he wasn't afraid to say what he really thought, even if it was something negative. I mean, I have a strong personality, and I know that. But the last thing I want is a boyfriend who is a milquetoast because I am not going to respect someone who lets me run all over him. I don't want someone who is combative or who craves drama and argument, but I want someone who is unafraid to assert his opinion or to question my opinions. My closest friends have that quality of being willing to stand up to me, and even if it annoys me for a minute when they challenge me, I am ultimately grateful that they do it. With this acne remark, Cindy Kim revealed himself to maybe, possibly have the stones to be that kind of person, which I had previously not suspected and which I now find appealing.

You Spin Me Right Round, Baby, Right Round Like a Record, Baby

I may have misjudged someone. No, not Reefer Madness. He's still douching it up.

There's this guy I've hung out with a few times since I moved here. Let's call him "Cindy Kim" for reasons that may become clear to any Harold and Kumar fans out there. I didn't initially realize that this person and I were spending time together in a dating sense because we are different religions (read: he is one and I'm not), and it was my understanding from our mutual close friend that he only dates women who share his religious background. Recently, I started to question whether the information I got from our friend about Cindy Kim was accurate because he started saying some things about how we were on dates, had been on previous dates, and so forth. During the "date" when I started to catch the snap, Cindy Kim used his professional knowledge to make an observation about my skin that I didn't care for, and I basically vowed never to talk to him again.

Cindy Kim is, on paper, a perfect boyfriend candidate. He's attractive, well-educated, relatively clean, and poised for great professional success. He's also a genuinely nice person who just happens to stick his foot in his mouth once in awhile (who doesn't?). I didn't think I was interested in him in that way, but I figured I would probably end up marrying him whether I liked it or not.

He sent me a few very nice emails while I was studying for a big test in February that, in spite of my efforts to maintain my steely resolve, charmed me. My frostiness melted tinily.

Tonight, he called me. I hadn't heard from him in awhile, and we hadn't (and still haven't) gotten together since the big skin remark debacle, and I admit I screened his call. I wasn't going to call him back until tomorrow, but I was bored and slightly curious to hear what he might have to say. We ended up talking for almost an hour, and I really enjoyed speaking with him. There was a good mix of substantive conversation and flirting. Perhaps most tellingly, when he told me he probably wouldn't be able to get together to see me again until May, I was damned disappointed. I was surprised by how disappointed I felt -- and that I felt disappointed at all -- considering that I had screened his call in the first place.

What is happening here? Maybe I'm just tired or over- or under-caffeinated, but I am feeling like up is down, black is white, and my Cindy Kim might be becoming my Maria Quesa Dilla.