.how to act like a girl.

so he passed the test, the first date test. i was immediately endeared and wondering when we would see each other again. i must have done alright, too, because i heard from him the next afternoon and we made plans for the weekend.

and, as i tend to be, in my internal world of polarized emotions, i was cocky. he digs me, i told myself. i just know it. why wouldn't he? i was wearing my best shirt on our first date, the navy one with the polka dots and the ruffly collar, and a skirt and mary janes and fishnets. fishnets can seal any deal, make anyone watch as you're walking away toward the bathroom, which i made sure to do more than once.

oh, but saturday morning i woke up with butterflies in my stomach, bags under my eyes, and the stone cold realization that, fishnets or not, i'm one half-assed excuse for a girl. i don't know how to giggle, flirt, accessorize. i don't know how to look like a girl or act like a girl. the protocol is foreign to me. i don't know how i missed out on the basic behavior of my gender. i spent my childhood in a house with a sister and a mom, and then i went to a college exclusively for women. my period synced up with 2,000 college-aged females, but my mind missed the boat.

i panicked and called friends for emergency shopping. that's what girls do, they buy pretty new clothes for dates and they wear them. my friend susie and i set off for urban outfitters, an arsenal of meticulously calculated hipness, equipped with a couple of secret weapons: her exceedingly patient husband and rather impatient toddler. the husband obediently picked out low cut shirts and exchanged sizes while providing a valuable male perspective ("that's not low-cut enough"). The toddler screamed "peek-a-boo!" (which she actually pronounces, "pink-ee-doo!") from under the dressing room door while i hopped around in size six skinny jeans that didn't cover my ass. susie continued to bring me size small shirts out of which my boobs draped grotesquely and i wailed at her, like a teenager to a mom, "i said i wear a fucking medium. this shirt makes me look like an obese hooker."

due to low blood sugar on all counts, mom and pop's energy dwindled while myself and the toddler became increasingly manic and out of control. a dressing room dance party ensued, complete with squealing ("look! pretty! pink-ee-doo!") and door slamming and throwing tight t-shirts in a messy pile on the floor. i walked toward the register, exasperated and distracted, ("maybe i should buy a purse! i need a purse for tonight!") while my friends handed the cashier the infuriating skinny jeans, a sweater, and a pair of earrings that i hadn't even looked at. "you can return what you don't want. let's go get some food now." i whined and moaned in mock-protest, but i trusted them and thrust down my card ("credit, please").

"these earrings are absurd," i howled on the way to the car. i made her husband put them on me while i stared at myself in the mirror of the passenger seat. i just got my ears pierced two months ago, and i am not yet accustomed to little silver studs, let alone opalescent sea-shells that dangle down to my shoulder. "i look like i'm doing some medieval ritual where they put fucking holes in my face."

"you look sexy," insisted susie. "you need to go home, relax, take your shower and get all dolled up, put on your makeup and your shoes and THEN put on the earrings."

but i had already showered and dressed. i was planning to wear the converse all-stars i was already wearing and the only makeup i own is blush and lip gloss. that's when it hit me that i really don't know how to be a girl.

but i was determined to try, so i went home and took a second shower. a bath, even. and i put in rose-scented bubble bath that my grandma had given to me as a present years ago. i lit candles and played music and tried to think feminine thoughts. i tried on all of my clothes with ruffles and lace, and then all of my lowest cut shirts, but i just felt silly. i was still changing when i realized i was supposed to meet my date in ten minutes, and i swore to my closet and put on an old, soft t-shirt and a cardigan, swept on my trusty blush and lip gloss, and tied up my converse.

the earrings flopped around my head as i scowled into the bathroom mirror. i did not feel attractive or sexy, but rather like a fucking clown. it was against all of my best judgement that i wore those earrings through the front door and down the street to the bar. i was operating on blind faith and trust that my friends have my best interest in mind, and if they say dangly earrings are sexy, i'll give them one good try.

i got to the bar, flustered and nervous, as usual, and hyper aware of the shells scraping gently against my neck. i settled into a pabst across the table from my date and we dug into some "how was your day?" style conversation. to my surprise, his eyes were darting between mine and something hovering on the side of my head. when i gestured and moved, his eyes followed and he seemed to be enthralled with the dangling. and then he said it, fifteen minutes into the date: "i really like your earrings."

so it's proven, tested, tried and true: my girl instincts are not intact. from now on, i'll delegate all flirtation and frivolity to my friends (and their husbands and children).

.jumping in with all my clothes on.

so it turned out to be a remarkable blind date.

i walked to the bar, his choice. it was a brightly lit brewpub in an old house in a hip neighborhood. it was a sort of family establishment, and i was wary. i need darkness, lit only from candles and neon beer advertisements. i need smoke and mirrors and safe shadow. but in an effort not to emasculate by undermining his choice, and to, you know, not insist that all of my dates take me to trashy dive bars, i consented.

i was the kind of nervous that had me shitting my guts out in the bathroom every hour on the hour i get like that, stomach full of butterflies and can't eat. all i want is cigarettes (god bless them) and strong booze to calm my nerves. but i sucked it up, forced some yogurt down, and set off on the number 9 bus for the bar. i contemplated what would be more terrifying, arriving first and having him find me, or arriving late and scanning the tables with my guts in my throat, sauntering up to the wrong guy. i decided to go early with a book and get a head start on a beer.

he must have had the same idea, because i had just sat down and was digging through my bag for my book when i looked up to at a very nervous gentleman hovering next to my booth. it's silly, the fear that you won't recognize a person who's picture you've studied carefully. it was him, doubtlessly. i jumped up and smiled my nervous, too big smile, held out my hand and said, 'hi! i'm julie!" he stepped toward me like maybe he was going for a hug, but there was no way i was going to hug him before words were spoken and before i'd consumed several strong ipas. it was a deliciously awkward handshake/aborted hug manoeuvre, and he still hadn't spoken a word. i thought he might be about to cry.

he sat down across from me and said, "i'm sorry. i've never done this before." and i was so relieved that he wasn't some savvy internet dating pro. "me neither!" we set out on several hours of animated conversation and awful, shifty-eyed pauses.

he stuttered a little bit. and wore a grey beanie and a striped polo shirt, hip in a seth cohen sort of way, not, like, you know, the land's end summer catalogue. he was not a big guy. taller than me by just a few inches, but thin, gaunt, hungry. he had a neat beard and a fabulously interesting biggish nose. i was endeared to him immediately.

dude was excruciatingly and bravely honest. other people might swoon over charisma and coolness, like the sort of guy who can unclasp your bra with one finger while sweet talking in your ear. i'm a sucker for unabashed sincerity, and no opening line could convey that more than his. since i am also compulsively and embarrassingly up front, i swallowed a beer in the first 15 minutes and began talking about a list of subjects i'd sworn to myself were not fit for a first date.

i told him about my dead cat, how i had dressed him up in a yarmulke and made hanukkah cards with the picture. how he got hit by a car and i couldn't go into work for days.

then i told him about lorelei gilmore, and how even though i know she isn't real, she feels like my best friend.

i told him about panic attacks and insomnia and watching entire seasons of the o.c. on dvd. i told him i loved death cab like a teenager and i never had any friends in high school. i talked about my family.

i apologized and told him i had a problem with disclosing unflattering information about myself. he said, "it's okay. it's endearing."

i got home, giddy and surprised and hopeful, and called several close friends to screech drunkenly into their voice mails, "i love my online boyfriend!"

we'll see where this goes. but for sure, it shows promise.

.six months to live.

anyone who knows me knows that i am hooked on reading the mercury personal ads. i do it like a normal person would browse the daily paper or a magazine. i sit on my couch after work with a beer or a glass of wine, turn on some mindless television, and read through "men seeking women." i read the same profiles over and over with endless fascination and i keep my eye out for these fellows at my neighborhood bars and on the bus. they're like my personal local celebrities.

i visited a specialist two days ago to get some help with my debilitating tmj, as i like to call it. it's hopeful. he says i might be able to open my mouth and eat food again in six months. but when i asked him about long term plans, he suggested orthodontia. the words "adult braces" were spoken, and it sounded like a death sentence. i bit my tongue to keep from telling him off, but i know that when push comes to shove, i'll do it. i'll be that lady, the one with braces, for a year rather than never be able to eat comfortably for the rest of my life. it's kind of a no-brainer.

well, i drove straight from the tmj specialist's office to my friend's house listening to death cab and realizing that i could lose my late twenties, my prime dating years, to adult braces. and i realized that it may be now or never for dating. jokingly, my friend suggested i post a personal ad on craigslist. "it will be funny! we can laugh at the people who respond." i never, ever thought i would participate in the online dating scene. even if everyone else is cool with it, i still associate it with a lot of stigma: it's pathetic, sad, desperate. i just like to watch the other silly, desperate singles sing for each other while watching the entire first season of the o.c. on dvd with my cat. cuz i'm not pathetic.

anyway, my friend, she's a clever girl, and she knew if she could get me to dip my toe in the internet dating pool, under the guise of kidding, i'd end up jumping in with all my clothes on. she was right. i find it delightful. i don't know why this has never occurred to me before, but online dating is perfect for me. i'm awkward and shy in person, but in text i feel safe and sassy and smart. just writing an ad was a riot.

what i didn't expect was the deluge of emails i received. i mean, my ad was short and honest: i like cats, television, and going to bed early. who knew that close to fifty men would respond? and not with short responses, either, but long-winded and carefully crafted pleas. one guy sent a hypothetical conversation between me and him in which he tries to impress me and i tell him his fly is down. another man is a pro-golfer. most of them send pictures, and most of them make me cringe. but i am amazed at the bravery and unabashed hope of this batch of suitors. i suspect that these are some of the same hipsters who haunt my neighborhood bar, aloof and solemn, closed off to conversation. but online, they share measurements, secret details of their record collections, and hopes for the future.

the best part about this experiment is that i got several emails from men who had personal ads on the mercury. i felt like i was getting emails from madonna. it's THAT guy, omigod, i KNOW him. one guy sent me an email with the exact same text as his mercury ad, which i recognized immediately. and i replied by sending him pictures of himself. poor guy is so freaked out he's still emailing me, convinced that i'm his friend lisa. another guy, incredibly handsome, didn't respond when i sent him my picture: my first online rejection. but the whole endeavor has kept me amused and giggling all week.

at six o'clock today, i'm going on my first real live internet date. and not to a guy who responded to my ad. one ad caught my eye because he talked about the free scones at my favorite breakfast restaurant, and then went on to talk about wanting to adopt children and someday get a vasectomy. who says that? and in a personal ad! women plead with their husbands for years to get vasectomies, and this guy is offering it up to strangers. so who knows. i'm having a beer with him today and, at the very least, it is sure to be a story. i'll keep you posted.

.hard feelings after all.

yeah, no, i was dead wrong. dude was into me. dude was so into me he sent me an unusually kind and endearing email the following afternoon. he may have actually said i was "darling."

i looked it up in the dictionary to see if perhaps my vocabulary was outdated and darling is actually slang for "embarrassing drunk girl" or "badly dressed embarrassing drunk girl." but no, it's meanings are all complimentary.

this dude just earned so many props for exceptional dating etiquette. making contact the very next day after a date to say he had a good time is, unfortunately, out of the ordinary. and he threw in a very well-crafted sentence about digging my "insights." it may be some kind of calculated compliment intended to convey that he's into women for their minds. but nevertheless, the email had me totally sold on this guy.

except that it didn't. and being exactly the kind of email a girl like me wants, it should have sealed the deal.

i have already tried to force myself to like someone to which i wasn't attracted. i thought i would be endeared to her gradually. i thought that i could learn to want her. her vocabulary, her sarcasm, and her vegetarian sentiment would somehow make up for the fact that i felt nothing when i looked at her. and i ended up in a relationship with her for nine months, all the time forcing myself to go through the motions of sex and feeling guilty for not wanting to be with her. she was sweet, smart, and she adored me. how dare i want anything more?

as tempting as it is for me to settle into a relationship because someone else is willing, eager, and witty, i know i can't do that again. i don't think it's selfish or haughty to want everything i want. i want someone who calls the next day with clever complements. i want someone who uses words that i have to look up in my travel dictionary in the bathroom while we're on a date. i want wit, affection for animals, impeccable punctuation (it's a big deal to me, i know it's weird), and height. i want somebody who's so darn adorable that i throw up in my mouth a little bit each time i look at them. and in the meantime, i need to be alone and not distracting myself with the next best thing.

so i spent a full 24 hours writing and editing an earnest pitch for being friends. and i sincerely hoped that we could be. but i guess slamming someone with rejection and transparent excuses ("i really like being a single cat lady") doesn't inspire friendliness in people. i got a very cordial thanks-but-no-thanks reply ("your cat is very lucky"), but it stung with reciprocated rejection. i guess it wasn't my "insight" he was digging after all.