Reason #269 to love OKC ....

.... a Monday-afternoon IM saga in one act.

Or, a.k.a. sometimes it is worth it to chat with some total unlikely character, just to see where it goes.


Randomguy: How would you do against me in a wrestling match?

Karin: Do you have wrestling skills?

Randomguy: lol* maybe. how strong are you?

*common slang for "laugh out loud or "ha!"

Karin: Hard to quantify. Although I do power yoga. I have strong shoulders.

Randomguy: how about your arms and legs?

Karin: Yes, I have them. Do you?

Randomguy: lol. I am pretty strong. Used to work for UPS. Your legs look very strong in that one pic (see exhibit L)

Karin: I suppose they are. The muscles are pretty defined from having been in ballet for a long time... and then becoming a runner.

Randomguy: Hmm it is hard to say who would win if we wrestled

Karin: Probably, yes.

Randomguy: what do you think?

(Karin views Randomguy's profile. Randomguy, incidentally, lives in Arizona.)

Karin: Well, you don't list any vital stats on your profile. But, based on your photo .... well, you do seem to have a stockier chest. Which would be good for wrestling, obviously

Randomguy: I probably have a stronger upper body but you probably have a stronger lower body

Karin: I'd say, maybe a draw ...

Randomguy: you might be right. ever wrestled anyone before?

Karin: Not in an official, officiated sense.

Randomguy: lol how about in a less formal capacity?

Karin: What is your interest in wrestling?

Randomguy: lol just thought you look fun to wrestle

Karin: Thanks!

Randomguy: You're welcome:)

The end.

A beer

I went out at 7:30 p.m. Friday with a man ... for "a beer."

Which ended up being many beverages, of multiple malt levels, and a tour of the Fort Point Channel bar scene. We started at Lucky's on Congress Street, where I extended my love affair with Chimay Rouge and Kobe beef burgers. Then stepped across the street and down the stairs to Drink, for the ultra-trend crowd and some fresh lemon juice and tequila (but not a margarita) concoction. Then took a short walk along the water and there we were, under the big tent at The Barking Crab, drinking something I don't now remember out of keg cups. Then we couldn't not head back to the real Southie, to Tom English's Cottage, for a dive and a $2 Guinness before they (literally) kicked us out at 1 a.m.

To explain why this is all relevant, you should know that in 2 days I fly out for the purpose of attending the Cando (N.D.) quasquicentennial celebration and all-school reunion.

(Yes, I had to look quasquicentennial up, too.)

I'm not suggesting super model ... but I want to look reasonably together when I go to the swimming pool and the talent show and to the picnic with my classmates last seen in 2000 and, of course, to Gordy's Bar at any other waking hour to see everyone else.

So I made an (evidently nebulous) pact with myself last week about how I was going to catch up on sleep and cut back on alcohol consumption so I could be well-rested -- with a well-rested complexion, and a waistband un-artificially enhanced with carboyhydrates.

Guess not.

But hey! I did exercise my drinking-and-staying-up-until-all-hours chops, which will serve me well at the Friday and Saturday street dances where it is not uncommon -- if nothing else, for the practical purpose of not having to fight the crowds at Gordy's more than once -- to triple-fist cans of Miller Lite until the sun comes up.

Although the (excellent) Chimay and the (robust) Southie Guinness will not have sufficiently prepared my palate for same-said activity, perhaps. We shall see.

TMI

It was certainly only a matter of time before someone on OKC would contact me using his penis for a profile photo.

That time was today, 9:03 a.m. Briefly online, reading an e-mail from a man in California with whom I'm conversing about my family being from Minnesota ...

... and up pops a chat window with an erect penis.

"hello"

(followed 14 seconds later by)

"did u see what you did to me?"

I was so taken aback I logged off the site. 

(Ugh. Make it go away.)

But tonight I was online again, and once again, the same (47-year-old) penis appeared:

"hello"

(followed 21 seconds later by)

"did u see how hard you made me?"

Shouldn't have been shocked. I recognized the handle of the sender; he sent e-mails 2x last week.  The first: to say I was a good-looking woman.  The second: suggesting I am "really hot," and that he wanted me to know he had "NINE INCHES TO SHARE."

Sigh.  At the time, ignored it. Which usually makes such folks go away.

No. He really meant to share it with me. 

I've thought about clicking on his profile to flag it for inappropriate content.  But surely this would only encourage him, thinking I'm checking him out.

The joys, the joys.  One more attempt and I might have to go all Lorena Bobbit on him.

Relief in the run

For years I've been defined by myself, and by many standards, as a runner.

In periods where I can't run when my body doesn't cooperate, I'm impossible.

Thirty-six hours ago, I e-mailed my physical therapist, demanding he tell me how to fix the creeping groin issue that kept me from sitting comfortably, much less walking wince-free, much less anything stronger.  He returned fire to advise that flare-ups are normal, even when a condition is improving, and that I should just keep stretching as we had done for many weeks ... and furthermore, I should chill out.

Thanks, Ian.  But this I most certainly could not do.  Insomnia the last 2 nights would attest to it and the restless eating of much Kashi GoLean, always the tell-tale sign, would seal it.

A relief, then, to enroll in a race like tonight's Corporate Challenge and just. do. it. 

To remember what sub-8:30 miles feel like. To sweat in streams, soaked-through and smelly.  To skitter in gutters and on and off curbs and dodge past walkers.  To trample boulevards on Commonwealth Avenue in order to stay unfettered by those slower runners, maintaining a tempo that feels good in the thighs and the knees, with no trace of the ankle complaints that have dominated these last 7 weeks.  

(Where did they go, pray? Did the sunshine -- appearing just before race time after weeks of cold damp -- loosen and soothe the joints?  Will they show up tomorrow, and a stiff back too, when the clouds roll back in?)

I'm a runner, but I'm also known as a pianist. A singer. A writer.  A biker. A soother of wealthy individuals who don't like paperwork or down-markets. A yoga-craver.  A rambling public speaker.  A flake, constantly 6 minutes late for everything and constantly apologizing.

Yet it is running (and sort of losing the ability to do it before sort of getting it back, at least for 29.2 minutes tonight) that produces more of a high than any of these.  

Scary how much I've come to depend on it and crave its benefits to feel worthwhile.  Especially when I know bodies do nothing but get older, and how definitely finite such physical splendor can be.

Necessary

for proof that the sky, indeed, is still blue.
(I swear.)

At 2:24 pm these, indeed, were necessary,

although at 2:57 pm they no longer were.

Sigh.

Since I

surmise that both my patience and yours are
saturated with commentary on the

state of our (lack of)

summer thusfar,

I promise

no further

whining

about the weather.

Dateline: view from the office 6/24/09

It has looked like this since last Thursday morning.

Ridiculous.

I want to plug-in a hairdryer and blow it over the Atlantic before it seeps any further into a brain already cloudy from insomnia.

At least I'm not alone. A random sample of Facebook friend-status updates from this morning:

" ... rain, rain go away."

".... is tired of the rain."

".... if it doesn't stop raining very soon is going to find a cliff with a gorgeous, green view...and jump from it."

"June is almost over and I still haven't installed the a/c units yet."

"... really need the sun to come back. I don't know how much more of this rain I can take ..."

Hmmm.

I suppose I could work on happy thoughts.

Like some about my Grandpa .... who died on this day, a very early Saturday morning in 2000 ... and who also gave such frequent and vigorous hugs, complete with backslapping, that one felt like they were having a lung squeezed out.

Those were some good hugs.

Cynicism is sexy (evidently)

I registered a profile on OKCupid! on Tuesday, Feb. 3.

Which makes today my 20-week anniversary!

Twenty weeks .... halfway to a full-term pregnancy. Two weeks longer than a sanctioned marathon-training program. Thirteen weeks longer than any romantic relationship I've been able to sustain.

Late last week, for the first time almost since signing up, I went in for a full profile re-write. Fresh bait, so to speak.

As a result, unless the crappy weather has inspired a high percentage of males to stay inside, chained to computer, it has been adventuresome.

Bare-Chest now frequently says "hi" via X-rated IMs, often suggesting I meet him on his lunch hour, in his car, to execute said X-rated activity. Audacious Man re-introduced himself. At 12:45 Sunday morning, I responded to a flirtatious chat request from a man who turned out to work at a company just like mine ... and we instead discussed hedge funds and portfolio returns for 2 hours.

Then, at 12:45 this morning, checking e-mail upon returning from drinks out with a friend, I found an enthusiastic (much older) musician, seemingly waiting for me to log-on so we could discuss Ned Rorem and what musical I'm directing next fall and if it was too forward for him to ask me for a drink. I told him we'd have to discuss further.

"Stalking" numbers are also way up .... today, as of present time, 15 views on profile. Monday, 33. Sunday, 22. From these, perhaps 6 chat requests I haven't responded to and at least that many e-mail messages.

I can't (yet) speak to long-term viability of any of these situations, but I am heartened at the uptick in activity. Must have needed a reinvigorating shot of something ... and this is a shot of something.

So today I revisited my profile, for a proofread ... and wow, do I sound cranky. The number of times I (unwittingly, yes) incorporated the word "cynic."

To wit:

A self-summary:

South Boston girl by way of North Dakota....now 120-percent citified.

When I cross the street on foot I give the middle finger to drivers who don't yield.

When I bike down the street I gesticulate with "what are you, a dumbass?" hands to any car who rides my back wheel too close.

When I'm driving down the street I yell soundless obscenities at jaywalkers and bikes who run red lights.

I know cynicism isn't sexy, so I'm working on chilling out RE all of the above.

What I’m doing with my life:

Updating my dating profile. It needed a tune-up.

Surviving the financial downturn at a financial company, using 10 years of client service skills to sooth irritated wealthy individuals who are now slighly less wealthy.

I used to run a ton. Then I stopped because my hip hated me. Now I've started again just in time for summer on the Charles. (This is also a ploy to make me less cynical.)

The six things I could never do without:

1) Espresso-charged coffee in the morning.
2) Another espresso-charged coffee in the morning.
3) Espresso-charged coffee in the afternoon.
4) A 5-mile run at sunset, whenever I feel like it.
5) Musicality.
6) My ability to laugh, even when I'd rather cry.


On a typical Friday night I am:

Running, I hope. Or doing yoga to unwind from the running. Or waiting for the 9 bus after running and yoga and, while getting antsy, instead running across Boylston to the Vietnamese cafe for an emergency pad thai and riesling.


You should message me if:

You need a little light in your life and Debby Boone just isn't doing it for you.

Or you have a known cure for cynicism.

Or you feel like going dancing with a girl who needs to start dancing again.

Still pondering now what to take away from this observation ... and wondering if, damn it all, cynicism is sexy .... and if I'm on to something.

Oh, sweet Thursday,

for the love of all things holy and unholy.

come hither.

please.

Boston five-day forecast

Sunday	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday
Rain	Rain	Rain	Mostly Cloudy	Partly Sunny
65° 57°	62° 58°	65° 58°	69° 62°	80° 67°

P.S. 3:21 p.m., Tuesday: The Globe provides additional confirmation that yes, our fair city is imitating Seattle in the winter.

Old-fashioned (or, 5 weeks to phone)

I grew up in the 1980s, many years before I had an e-mail address, much less daily access to a computer. Thusly, it took time for me to accept that Instant Messaging is now the accepted flirtation portion when dating.

Something about the word "chat," maybe, sounds juvenile.

But I'm now on board with IM, particularly after 4 months of being both good and bad on OKCupid!. It's the method of choice, actually. I myself have gotten much better at it, and now depend on it to get a painless and, well, instant sense about a man's crucial interpersonal skills. Such as .... how quickly he can type? Can he banter on the fly? Does he try to tempt me with lewdness or wit?

The last 5 weeks I've been engaged in a give-and-take on OKC with a dude from Cape Cod. He first hit me via IM on Friday, May 15. I was on the site only sporadically that day, so we didn't engage fully until after 5 p.m., when I was briefly on-line before leaving work. So I apologized for cutting it short, but said I'd chat with him later. He responded:

CC: (508) XXX-XXXX if you're interested, Karin. It's a better way to introduce oneself.

That was as quick as I have gotten anyone's phone number. In the meantime I had checked out some details of his profile, which included the following:

"I’m really good at ... making you uncomfortable, I would imagine. I'm not too shabby with loud electric guitars, either."

"You should message me if ... you're not going to flake out. Think hard about that one, please."

A sense of the demanding about this one. I wasn't going to call him after 15 lines of an innocuous IM chat. I went about my weekend, did not call him.

Sure enough on Monday, May 18, mid-afternoon, he reappeared:

CC: Hello again

K: Hey there.

CC: I dropped off my number just in case. I like recklessness.

Being at work, I couldn't talk for long.

K: Hey there, gotta go.

CC: Sorry sorry. Ah, well, use that number. : )

We returned for a slightly longer conversation after 5 p.m., but it ended abruptly when I had to take a work-related phone call. No goodbye or future plans. I still did not feel compelled to call him. Too vague.

Consequently, we fell out of touch, which happens frequently on the OKC. Weeks passed.

Then:

CC: Hi again (June 8, 4:51 pm)

CC: Hiiii. (June 9: 3:11 pm)

CC: Hi. (June 10: 4:12 pm)

CC: Hi . (June 10: 4:22 pm)

A barrage of chat requests, never at a point where I was in a position to answer them. But I had to admit falling prey to such persistance. So I that night I sent him an e-mail.

K (12:01 am): So the story seems to be that whenever you hit me to chat I have already gone offline and these scintillating "hi" messages show up in my e-mail instead. Sorry for the perceived ignoring. Not the case. How goes?

CC (7:29 am): They ARE scintillating, aren't they? I'm telling you - 508 XXX-XXX. It'll feel more human, AND there won't be any ambiguity where ignoring me is concerned. It's a wonderful idea.

A week passed. As you may guess, no phone call from me. And .... yesterday, again, he sent me a chat request when I wasn't online.

Sigh. At 5:09 p.m. I jumped back into the fray.

K: Hiiii....

CC: hahah Hi!

K: hahah hi! back

CC: You know I figured that I just freaked you out last time.

CC: But I'm nothing if not persistent.

K: What, by the whole "you must call me or else" bit?

CC: I don't remember, honestly. : )

K: Are you in the habit of freaking people out (or at least believing that you did)?

CC: The latter, absolutely.

K: It does give good credence to your argument that talking in person probably alleviates the unknown.

CC: Mm hmm. It does.

K: Although, why are you always worried about freaking people out? I'm just kind of wondering what that says....

CC: It says I freak people out often, and that I don't particularly enjoy it.

K: Oh.

K: My question more was .... what exactly is it that you are doing to cause such a(potential) reaction?

CC: Intensity, that's all.

CC: Call call call constant IM-ing. That weirds people out, believe it or not.

K: Well, I suppose it is all in the context. It's cool if it is welcome.

CC: Sometimes, determining that sort of thing is difficult.

CC: For me, anyway.

K: True.

K: Ah, online romance.

K: Awash in ambiguity and misunderstanding.

K: Mostly.

CC: hahah Romance, yeah.

K: Yes.

K: Perhaps romance is a misnomer.

CC: I think maybe yes.

K: What shall one call it then....

CC: Tryst-ism.

"Tryst-ism" became a word at 5:18 p.m. We chatted for another 30 minutes, about what traditionally ends up being a subject of a chat conversation between 2 folks who list "casual dating" as one of their interests: past dating activity on the OKC. Likes and dislikes. Sex. Him feeling "sheepish" because he had "prodded the living s#$*" out of me.

And it ended as such:

K: But we should chat.

CC: You have the number.

K: Because I agree that it would be interesting. When is a generally good time of day?

CC: The evening.

CC: Only took a month to seem interesting. ; )

K: F*#$ off! ;-)

K: OK. No waiting by the phone, but I'll check in sometime. Tomorrow might be better.

CC: heheheh I'll do my best to stop begging.

CC: Thanks for saying hi.

This better be one fan-damn-tastic phone call.

................. BBC 5: My 10-speed and me .................

 saw 

this much of 

Boston, Brookline and Cambridge 

today.

Took off under

blue, empty skies

from

 Southie at 7:05 a.m. 

to end up at

333 Longwood Ave for

95 minutes of lunges and stretches,

heading then to

Copley Square

and the 

office 

for

440 minutes of filing and typing,

after which it was onto

Southwest Corridor Park

3 more miles

to pick up a forgotten sweater

at

a friends' place on 

School Street in JP, 

then due west to the

Jamaicaway

and 

due north to

Brookline Village

and then 

lovely, wealthy, residential

Brookline itself, 

past

Boston University and

crossing the river

on the bridge

named after it,

to end up with another friend

at the 

Central Kitchen

in 

Central Square,

followed by a 

sangria-fueled trek

south on Mass Ave

in the dark,

past the 

departing Red Sox crowds clogging the crosswalks

at Boylston

at the same moment the

buses were filling up with

departing Pops' patrons

and clogging Huntington, 

before breaking free and sprinting

over 93 South 

and

back again through 

Andrew Square

and

straight up the 

Dorchester Street Hill-o-Pain,

itself a mini Heartbreak 

at

mile 19,

and,

at 10:52 p.m.,

cruising the last 2 blocks

back down the hill

to Emerson Street

and

home

and 

bed

Goodnight.