We're Partisan

For election day tomorrow, one of my favorite stories ever.

My friend Ann has a 10-year old daughter who, on occasion, tortures her younger brother. One recent afternoon she was being particularly bad, and Ann got mad at her and put her in a time-out. She then turned her attention entirely to her son.

A couple minutes later her daughter was sobbing hysterically. Ann tried to comfort her, asking her what was so incredibly terrible.

"Why?" she wailed, "Why are you treating me as if I were a Republican?"

Venn Diagrams

If my mind were represented by a yellow circle, and most other people's were represented by a red one on a Venn diagram, I just wonder how much orange there would be? Some days I feel like the overlap area would be very, very small.

A couple guy friends said they were joining others doing "the Borat thing" this afternoon. This intrigued me.

"Cool. How?" I asked.

"What do you mean how?"

"Where are you going to go?"

"E Street."

"And what are you going to wear?"

"To see a movie?"

"Oh, so you're not dressing like him and running around town."

I got an eye roll from one and a "Huh, that could be fun." from the other.

It's not unlike the first time I heard of Fantasy football. Fantasy football! The possibilities for making fun were endless! I asked the guy who mentioned it to me if he played regularly.

"Of course. You play for the entire season."

"Who do you play as?"

"Well, I have a whole team."

"Right, but who do you like to dress up as?"

So it turns out that fantasy football, as everyone else already knew, is not a bunch of guys dressed as their favorite football players, playing tackle in the yard.

I like my version better.

My Type

Erin and I met at Tryst for breakfast. There was a man with a cute little chubby-cheeked boy on a couch near us. The boy, who was about three, looked like he'd been recently awakened, chucked into clothes, and toted to the coffee house before he was fully ready to face the world. He had still-sleepy eyes and a bewildered, grumpy expression. Erin looked over and said, "I feel exactly like that little boy looks right now."

We sat and watched the world go by. Except for airports, it's the best people watching around. We keep a running commentary on pretty much everyone, and in terms of men, couldn't have more disparate views on attractiveness. She appreciates the exotic, the artsy, the slightly unusual. I gravitate towards very straight-laced American looking guys. She regularly scoffs, "Vanilla! I knew you would think he was cute." I like to think of myself as quirky, so full of surprises, but it turns out I'm fairly predictable.

Last week we ran into a guy that I dated briefly last summer. An intelligent, articulate, successful guy. I think he's cute in that big, tall, conservative, slightly dorky way. But he's very, very serious. How had I not noticed? Two drinks and home by midnight. No random letting loose, no staying out till one or two because you're having so much fun. And so I kept saying, "I dated him? I dated him? He's so serious! What was I doing?" And my friends kept saying, "That's exactly what we were telling you last summer!"

The truth was that it was perfect timing. I had, for a variety of reasons, imposed a moratorium on contact with B. And I was sad. And all of a sudden this guy, who in many ways is my type, was calling me every day and taking me out and keeping me well distracted. We didn't get the least bit close, and actually, our dating amounted to nothing more than 8 or 9 dinners over two months. It ended very easily and I quite like him as a person.

But I digress. The point I was leading up to is this. I was talking to Christine about running into this guy, and how I was surprised that I'd dated him. When she asked why, I said, "Well, because he's so serious. He never lets loose. He's not remotely fun-loving."

And she said, "Would you describe anyone you've ever dated as an adult as 'fun-loving'? Have you ever dated anyone who really lets loose?"

???

And the answer is no. Bright, interesting, dynamic, accomplished, yes. But no, fun-loving would probably not be the first or even the 10th adjective used to describe the men I adore. They are not laid back and they do not, on the whole, let loose. They have measurable goals, and they work very hard to maintain control.

And so I discover that I am a cliché. I have spent my whole adult life trying to date my father.

Sometimes You Have to Check

I was walking out of the office for lunch with a coworker. She patted her back pocket to make sure she had her money. I thought it was kind of a funny gesture, so I said, "Yeah, sometimes I have to make sure my ass is still there, too."

We happened to be passing a formerly empty cubicle, which turns out now to house this cute, young, freshly-scrubbed guy. We were halfway past him as I said this, so when I noticed him I still had one hand firmly cupping one of my butt cheeks. He looked alarmed.

We made it to the hallway without laughing, at which point my coworker said, "He's Mormon. I'm afraid I may have already offended him this morning with my profanity."

I am absolutely dying to ask him if he knows Dooce.

Cake on a Plane

There was an article in the NY Times yesterday about the positive effect of restricted calorie diets - restricted meaning 30% fewer calories than normal - in monkeys. The article was a topic of discussion at a dinner last night.

I was seated across the table from a woman I didn't know, and as the topic turned to the misery of restricted diets - as in, why live longer if you can't eat what you want, she and I looked at each other and both said, "I never eat whatever I want."

Then I said, "That describes my entire life. The only time I eat everything I want is when I fly."

My family lived overseas, so I practically grew up on planes, and was always very blasé about flying until a few years ago. Here's how it started. I was on a plane over the Atlantic, waiting in line for the bathroom. My feet were really cold.

As I stood there waiting, I started thinking. Well, of course my feet are cold! The only thing beneath them is some metal, and then a million miles of air, and then the Atlantic Ocean! And how in the hell do planes stay up anyway? It's a huge, heavy piece of metal, and it makes no sense that it doesn't just fall down.

When I got back to my seat, the flight attendant came by with lunch plus ice cream, which I ate all of. Sometime later they were passing out cookies. Yes, please. Snack box with chips, bread with too much butter and ham and cheese and candy bar? Absolutely. Now I make sure to bring my own snacks.

I had never articulated my issue until a couple years ago when I was visiting Jane's family in South Africa. I had three long flights to get home. Now, I'd spent the entire two weeks eating the way I normally do, which is to say, less than most people. No seconds, rarely dessert. (But wine, definitely!)

On my last night I ate everything. Twice as much of everything. And then I asked if I could have dessert, and would they mind if I took some of that amazing orange bread for the plane?

The family, who I am very close to, all stared at me. The father said, "This is practically as much as you've eaten the entire time you've been here!"

"It's because I'm flying."

"Flying makes you hungry?"

"No, but I might die. I don't want to die not having eaten dessert."

People ask my what I'd do if I flew every week for work, and I realize I'd have to take a different approach. Or Xanax. People also remind me that you're much more likely to die in a car crash, and do I eat a cupcake before I get in the car every time? Whatever.

I didn't say it made sense. I make choices every day - and if it's between cake and skinny, it's so much more worth it to me to be thin. The woman across the table from me at dinner got this. We talked about how most men think they don't know anyone with weight issues, when in fact most of the women they know have them to some degree. People are just more and less candid about it.

This eat-in-case-you-die approach makes total sense to people who come from weight obsessed backgrounds. One friend said she's adopting it enthusiastically. But it sounds really bizarre to people who don't.

Just recently a friend of mine said, "Lis, it's really funny, and I can see where you're coming from, but you do realize it's profoundly twisted, right?"

Well, no, honestly, I hadn't.