A great social commentator (Chris Rock) once said, “You have two choices in life: you’re either married and bored or single and lonely.” I have to remember to avoid falling into the “grass is always greener” trap. Thought I’d lighten the mood of the blog a bit with a funny Current TV video about a newly-cohabiting couple. My favorite line: “You went went out with a coke dealer? With a soul patch? Who worked at SIZZLER?!?!” If it doesn’t load below, you can also view the clip here.
From the monthly archives:
July 2009
My matchmaker emailed me last night. We’re meeting up this weekend to get the love juice flowing. In the meantime, since we’re on the subject of romance and dating, I want to tell you about a really good romantic comedy. Last night I went to Angelika Film Center for the opening of Fox Searchlight’s movie Adam directed by Max Mayer starring Hugh Dancy, Peter Gallagher, Rose Byrne, Frankie Faison and others. If you have a chance to see it, you should. At the moment, it’s only showing in New York and Los Angeles … but shhh, I got a tip that Fox Searchlight is showing FREE advanced screenings in other cities. Click here to RSVP. At last night’s opening, Hugh Dancy and Max Mayer were there in person. (See pics on my Flickr.) If you don’t know the story line, basically Adam is about a 29-year-old guy with Asperger’s who falls in love with his neighbor. I’m a pop culture junkie. I see A LOT of movies, read a lot of books and consume other forms of entertainment. I rarely write reviews on this site. So, when I do, it’s because I really really loved the project. Such was the case with Adam. Here’s why.
REASON #1: I dated a guy who probably had Asperger’s. Interestingly, I didn’t know it when I met him. We linked up in grad school, and I liked him because he was one the most honest, pure-hearted and free-spirited guys I’d ever met. He didn’t get wrapped up in life’s stupid bullshit, and he said exactly whatever was on his mind. After we’d been dating for a while, he told me (when he was a child) teachers and others thought he’d never go on to university and he wasn’t able to learn like other students. This was decades ago; so, no one ever said the word “Asperger’s,” they said things like delayed cognitive development, hyperactive, not focused, socially awkward, gets caught in his own thoughts, etc. As I mentioned, we met in grad school. Pigeonholing be damned, he finished school and now teaches at a university. He wasn’t dumb or disabled or very dissimilar from others around him. Hmm, sometimes I think we live in the “syndrome era.” Much like homosexuality used to be classified as a mental disease, I think we’ll eventually “normalize” a lot of what are now called “symptoms.” Like, for exactly, Asperger’s and autism.
REASON #2. I’ve recently eliminated the word “retarded” from my vocabulary. I’m not perfect. I’ve done and said stupid shit that later made me think, “Twanna, you’re an asshole.” About a month ago, at my place, I hosted a drinks with a group of girlfriends. I made a stupid joke about “sleeping with retards” and I later thought: “I should probably eliminate the word ‘retard’ from my vocabulary. It’s not useful or positive and it wasn’t created to make anyone feel better about themselves.” So I did.
REASON #3. I love independent film. Before Netflix was created, back when I still lived in my small Illinois town, I used to go to Blockbuster to rent movies. It didn’t take long before I’d seen every (I’m not exaggerating) foreign and independent film on the shelf. I like seeing stories of pain, courage, love, failure, chaos and humanity reflected on screens. Adam delivers all of this and more in spades. Even if you don’t like indie film, trust me, Adam is the “one to watch.” Every now and then, the little guys (indies) get attention (Juno. Lost in Translation. Blah, blah, blah.) because they spoon feed audiences a Hollywood story in an independent package. Adam doesn’t do that; however, I still think it will be the breakout indie for a different reason: if you haven’t already noticed, box offices LOVE beautiful actors playing characters with conditions. Leonardo DiCaprio in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? Kristen Stewart in The Cake Eaters. Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands. Being a pretty face is easy. Taking on a challenging role is hard.
REASON #4. Speaking of pretty faces, I think the lead male actor is gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous. HOT DAMN HUGH DANCY IS ATTRACTIVE!!! Seriously, when he walked up to the stage after last night’s viewing, the woman next to me gasped. When, he open his mouth and a British accent tumbled out, she did it again and sighed, “[GASP!] Oh, wow, and he’s British?!?!?!” Hang on tight, Claire Danes. HANG ON TIGHT! ;)
REASON #5. I’m a sucker for good romantic comedies. Love ‘em. Love ‘em. Love ‘em. And, they’re even better when they aren’t predictable and wrapped in pretty packages, dipped in saccharine, topped with a row bow marked and stamped with a sign that says, “IMAGINATION NOT NEEDED. WE’LL TELL YOU EXACTLY WHERE THIS JOURNEY IS GOING.” Critics agree and love this film, too. “Adam is a cut above most romances and boasts an intriguing conclusion. One comes away with a sense of hope, leavened by realism” and the film “never makes a misstep.” Want an even stronger endorsement? The New York Times says:
Playing a character who is mentally disabled can be a fast track to Oscar or to oblivion, and rare is the actor who can resist the statuette-winning, Hanks-Hoffman strategy of mannered tics and mechanical talk… [making] the performance of Hugh Dancy in the charming romantic comedy ‘Adam’ is all the more impressive [...] The humor is delicate, and the performances sweet and sure.
See the movie. Okay, enough praise for Adam. Trailer is below. Buy movie tickets online.
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Photo and video credit: Film still appears on the Adam website.
Rewind to last week. I’m sitting on a bar stool at Tiny Lounge (New York Times review, Photo Tour) with my friend Liz. It’s Wednesday night, so the place isn’t crowded. Most patrons either comfy up at tables or sit outside enjoying Chicago‘s lovely summertime evening weather, so Liz and I claim the bar area for ourselves. I flew in from JFK earlier in the evening, so my body is filled with two glasses of wine and a Bloody Mary (to calm my Fear of Flying nerves) and two bottles of Duvel and two cocktails from the bar. I love party and bullshit, but I’m poor at gauging how much I drink when I’m talking to my friends. A typically youngest child, I get uber-engaged in the company of my pals, flail my arms, laugh loudly and giggle from my bar stool before self-reflecting to realize: I’m drunk.
“OMG, Liz,” I exclaim in a voice loud enough for not only Liz but also the bartender to hear as well, “My fuck buddy is huge!” (Mind you, I don’t even remember saying this! I’m telling you the story as Liz told me the next morning. I know she isn’t lying because what follows below is true and Liz wouldn’t know it had I not said it.)
Liz starts laughing. I keep going.
“No really, he’s HUUUUGE!!! The guy’s like 6 feet tall and he’s bigger than I am. So, when we had sex, I only wanted it missionary because the pressure felt so good. Seriously ..” [apparently, at this point, I start fanning myself because I'm getting hot] ” .. The pressure of his body pinning mine against the mattress felt sooooo good. It’s great. Wonderful. Gooooood, I loved it!!!!!!!”
Cut to the next morning. Liz tells me what I told her and I, hungover, almost shrivel into a tiny little pool and collapse on her kitchen floor.
“I can’t believe I said that!!! I mean, yeah, he’s a bigger guy but I can’t believe I went into details about my sex life at the bar!! And the bartender heard me?!?!!”
Liz nods her head. I shiver.
Later during our visit — while I’m less inebriated and plastered with fewer smiles and giggles — the conversation turns to my love life. It’s a pity I can’t broach the subject without getting upset. I tell Liz it’s really hard in New York. I can go on dates. I can get laid. I can meet men. But, I’ve been here nearly five years and I’ve yet to link up with a partner in a crime — a boyfriend. Even my fuck buddy isn’t a true “fuck buddy” because I’m getting tired of sleeping with male pals. The guy in question is just a friend I had sex with once (so far?) because we’d been out drinking together and complained about how long it’d been since we’d each had sex. He suggested we hook up, and I went for it because it was fun to spend a hot evening scratching each others’ itches … of course, with him on top because he’s bigger than me and the pressure & friction felt really good. :)
But, whatever. In all seriousness, I’m pissed off because I know New York is the root cause of my muted dating life. In the five years prior to moving here, I was never without a man in my life for more than a few days at a time. I’ve lived in London, Chicago, Amsterdam, The Hague, Los Angeles, Florida and elsewhere. In each location, I’ve had a boyfriend, fuck buddies, admirers and other men who’ve expressed interest in me. In New York, I often feel invisible. As I tell my friend Liz about how frustrated I am with my dating life at the moment, I feel tears well in my eyes. I don’t want to cry because I feel slightly needy or pathetic saying “I want a boyfriend” but I do.
Back in New York.
“I don’t get it,” Tess tells me last night, “Every guy I know is like, ‘Twanna is so sweet. She seems adorable. Why isn’t she dating?’ I tell them, ‘I don’t know!’”
Funny she would mention that because none of the guys wondering “Why isn’t Twanna dating?” have ever asked me out. But, whatever. It’s not just about dating. I KNOW how and where to find men in New York City. I’ve been on hundreds of dates in this town, and I’m tired of the stupid first/second/third date getting-to-know-all-about-you period. I wanna go the distance with a guy who knows EXACTLY what I’m feeling just by listening to my voice on the phone or seeing my face when I walk in the door. It’s the same emotional intimacy I have with friends and others that I’ve known for longer than three or four dinner-and-a-movie sessions.
I want a boyfriend. But, it’s not that easy. Saying it doesn’t make one materialize. I want chocolate. I buy it. The desire subsides. I want a boyfriend. I call my single girlfriends to commiserate and the longing continues for another day, week, or even a year. In the meantime, I focus on me. I workout. I re-edit my book to get it closer to completion. I spend time with my friends. I do other things that make me feel whole, happy, good and healthy. Everyone tells me: Good! You’ll find someone when you’re not looking and when you least expect it. My response? Fuck you because I already know that. I hate hearing the “when you’re not looking” shit because, to me, it brings to mind the very dated (no pun intended) notion of a desperate, sad and lonely spinster who anxiously seeks a mate while her clock ticks away. I’m not desperate. And, I don’t want children. I simply want to share my life with another person and experience the very real human need for touch and affection.
“Twanna! Welcome back!” writes my friend Julia upon hearing I’ve returned from Chicago and I’m back in New York City. “I hope to see you soon. I also want to introduce you to my friend Michelle. She wants to become a match-maker. And she wants to match you up with 100 men! It sounds like a fun idea.”
Indeed, it does.
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Photo Credit: Image of Patti Stanger appears on BravoTV.com.
Hey guys! Still in Chicago for BlogHer. Feeling guilty I’ve left you without your daily dose of Funky Brown Chick reading material and my usual dishing about relationships. Huge THANK YOU to my lovely friends at the group dating site Ignighter for stepping up to the plate to provide a guest post. Enjoy! (I’ll be back on Monday …)
I have a problem with using the word “dump” as a synonym for “break up.” By definition, it means to deposit, to unload, to rid. So you can dump out spaghetti sauce. You can dump your work on a colleague. You can take a dump. But no matter how hard you strain, you cannot dump a person.
I started thinking about all of this while reading “The Garbage Collector,” an article in the July issue of Real Simple about Ari Derfel, a man who kept all of his trash for one year straight. He categorized his baggage into piles of compost, bins of plastic, paper and styrofoam, and at the end of the year, he had no choice but to confront his mess. He stared at 143 pounds of glass, 26 pounds of plastic and 6 pounds of Tetra Pak beverage containers and said “Wow. Maybe I should stop buying so much packaged food.”
If you looked at the remnants of your past relationships in the same way, what would you see? Mine looks like this:
- 52 pounds of doubt
- 36 pounds of sex tricks
- 22 pounds of insecurity
- 7 pounds of newfound respect for myself
Only a handful of relationships made it into this pile. The guy I met on the dance floor in Europe went in the garbage compactor real fast. But the others, the ones that meant something…they left some stuff. And it will sit on my desk, in my bed and stare at me until I look at it, like Derfel, and say “Hmm. Perhaps I should stop dating such assholes who have issues with their mothers.”
At the end of his project, Derfel donated his trash to Kuros Zahedi, an artist who transforms garbage into art. Of his work, Zahedi says:
Turning trash into a work of art represents what humanity is
capable of: transforming ugliness into beauty, the damaging into the beneficial, and the fragmented into the whole.ÊOooh, very interesting, Mr. Zahedi. Are you telling me to go to therapy? In this metaphor, he most certainly is. If each of us confronted the waste of relationships past and turned it into something beautiful, something better for the world, well then, well, there may be no need for me to have a job. And in this case, I’d go for it.
So let’s get the movement started. What’s your trash talk?
You can find Blair on Ignighter, where she writes about dating in New York City.
Teresa, Aline, Tess, Gene, Elsie and I gobbled cheese, chocolate-dipped strawberries and steak tacos … then guzzled rum punch, white white and (eventually) margaritas while watching Harold and Maude at HBO’s Bryant Park Film Festival. THANK YOU to Ro for arriving early to secure seats. And thanks to Bro for being honest about her distaste for NY’ers penchant for sitting in dirt and to Pete for showing up in a freakin’ tie!!! ;)
I love movies! (Click image for Time Out New York‘s listing of free outdoor summer film series.) Tonight, I’ll sit on the green lawn at Bryant Park and watch Harold & Maude as part of HBO’s outdoor film festival. Can’t wait! I’ve seen the movie before and it’s great. Short synopsis I give everyone who hasn’t seen it: He’s a teenager. She’s a sexagenarian. They do it. You can watch the Harold & Maude trailer on YouTube. If you’d like to read random posts I’ve written about older women and younger men, feel free to peruse any of the following: How to Seduce a GILF, Cougars and Cubs: Older Women, Younger Men, Urban Cougars and Their Young Boytoys, Top 10: Movies with Older Women & Younger Men Couples, 10 Sexiest Women Over 50 or Are Men in Their 20s Too Immature to Date?
On a completely different note … Hope you all had good weekends. I spent much of mine holed up in my apartment working on my book. Saturday morning, I escaped with Rachel and Julie to Tribeca for Billy’s cupcakes, soho for mini-facials at Molton Brown and hanging out at The Highline. My Sunday escape was a lovely dinner party in Harlem (so-called “SoHa“) with my friend The E. Ahhhh, nice, relaxing weekend. Now it’s Monday. Hmmm … I leave for Chicago in a couple days. Too much stuff to wrap up before I go, not enough time to do it. Anyway. More later.
I did TWO posts today because I like this Current TV clip so much. Cute video, right? If it doesn’t load above, you can view it here.
If Funky Brown Chick posts like Eating Too Much Corn Makes You Goofy and I’m from Illinois, Bitches! didn’t already give it away, I’m from the Midwest. I like to keep up with hometown’s happenings. Perusing online news sites yesterday, I discovered Chicago’s Sear Tower has a new name: Willis Tower. Whatevs. If my know my the second largest city in the US like I think I do, people will keep calling the building by the old name. The Tribune agrees: “On the day that the nation’s tallest building was officially renamed Willis Tower, at least a few Chicagoans were still in the dark — or, at the least, denial — about the skyscraper’s new identity.” The reporter quotes Second City-dweller Sue Becker, 53, who comments, “They still call it Marshall Field’s, so it’s always going to be Sears Tower.” It’s one of the many things I love about my beloved home state: People are less likely to wrapped up in stuff that doesn’t matter. Sure, some big fancy London-based insurance brokerage (Willis Group Holdings, Ltd.) can roll into town and hang its name on one of the city’s favorite buildings, but that doesn’t really “change” anything. It’s still the Sears Tower. God, I love the Midwest.
Next month, I’ll return to Chicago because I’m speaking at BlogHer. (Shout out to my fellow panelists: Laura Roeder, Ree Drummond and Susan Getgood.) It will be good to get out of New York for a bit. Although I often pick on Illinois and mention all the reasons I left it (i.e. it’s more segregated than The Old South, colder than Siberia and located in the middle of fucking nowhere), I don’t spend enough time talking about the handful of things that made me love it while I was there. So, next week, I’ll take you along for a hometown visit. I’ll post pictures of my favorite things, places and foods. Granted, for now, I much prefer living in New York City, but that doesn’t mean Chicago wasn’t a hell of a town.
