enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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I am good...so good. But he was better.

So I received the most lovely compliment of a note: brilliance is apparently mine. Thank you, sunpowered!

If only that were true. If only. Unfortunately, I generally think of myself these days as kind of mentally lame. This is particularly true when I am speaking on the telephone with someone whom I've never seen. My co-author on a big gender/labour market project, for example. I swear that he'd think me very, very slow were it not for my--revealed by email--apparently slightly stronger grasp of the available data.

I've always had a phone problem. I get tongue-tied when I can't see a person. It started when I was a green young thing at Foreign Affairs and my boss would nonchalantly ask me to call up senior trade commissioners and ambassadors and the like. Glug. I built up the expectation that they would find me incredibly unworldly and stupid; expectations have a way of becoming self-fulfilling.

So the problem with the Vancouver guy is that 1) he's had ten years on the job and so he knows much more about the project and its context than I do; 2) he has a hot voice. He's married and all, so no threat there. And I find that guys who have hot voices are not necessarily attractive (and vice versa, of course). But, still, I find my mind veering off track, and my responses degenerating into the kind of messy, slurry language one would expect from about a fifteen-year-old.

Nothing against fifteen-year-olds, mind you. Sadly, I was at my quickest at that age. I had an intellectual agility at that age that I will certainly never again see. Let's not blame the attrition of my fabulous brain cells on the drinking since then, though. :)

So I've decided that they should legislate that if you are an old man hoping and aggressively attempting to shag an attractive 36-year-old you must by law at least have six-pack abs, else face steep fines (imprisonment, neutralization with penis-zapping drugs?). That's my new rule of thumb. And I have friends in high policy places. Let's make it happen. I can think of many current laws with lower social utility.

It seems I won't be getting laid this year. :)

In all seriousness, I went on a date last night with a spectacular guy. He was fabulously smart, fit, gentle. I decided, however, that he was...is... too good for me. I even wrote to him to tell him so. I am consistent in my enslavement to my own flawed system of ethics, am I not?

Seriously though, who else would do that?

Hmmm...

I've almost eaten a whole quiche and a whole box of granola. Methinks perhaps I should go for a run.

***

Dilemma: I've been corresponding with a guy who seems absolutely fabulous (smart, thoughtful, athletic, musical, age-appropriate, etc.), and who apparently is going to contact me after he returns from Madrid later this week. OK, so far. But the thing is that his name is Lonny. Can I date with a straight face a guy named after the love interest in Little Women? :) I mean, I'm speculating as to cause; perhaps I should ask for some information about his naming and being so-named. (I'm really not such an ass...but I could be. :))

Added later: Whoops! I think the LW name was Lorrie. Questioning and reflection still required, however. :) (I really like smileys these days. Truly. I feel as though work has liberated me to be my true self again, after a long period of school and life stress. Money==good.)

6:52 p.m. - 2006-09-20

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