DAMMIT GAYLE

Why all the caps, Kel?

Provacative Females and The Women Who Hate Them

  Provocative Females and the Women Who Hate Them

                                         

    

                                             

On a relatively warm but drizzly day in March, when I was 27 and living in Brooklyn, I boarded a Bronx bound 1 train at 34th street in Manhattan. Normally the subway is a wash of deliberate anonymity but today I felt the slow burn of lingering eyes. This is a feeling I usually only get right before I realize that someone I was trying to avoid has spotted me or when a man is about to say something distasteful. But at that moment I only saw the usual cast of exhausted commuters and several tight-mouthed women eying me suspiciously. I was standing with one hand on a vertical pole and they were sitting in a row about 3 feet to my left.  I surveyed myself to see if maybe an unexpected body part was exposed or I was accidentally standing on a baby. I was not, so I remained perplexed.

On This particular day it should be said that I was not exactly hitting all of the markers of the Down-to-Earth ingenue. I was wearing very ripped black stockings, black combat boots, and a skirt which was not so very short, but prone to fluttering upward at the slightest hint of a draft, which meant that I occasionally had to spastically clutch my own butt in order to avoid a spectacle. My hair was an electric, almost white blonde. It was short and parts of it were sticking out erratically. The actual cause for this was lack of product or a proper comb, but it looked calculated and subversive.  My eye makeup was dark and smudged mostly from rubbing my eyes all day at work. This look was not a signature of mine, but I take personal style on a day-by-day basis and that morning it had felt appropriate to my mood. I had dressed like this at work, and no one seemed to notice, so while I knew that it could be considered provocative, it did not occur to me that it might be considered an affront to basic decency.

It was around 5 PM on a Friday during rush hour and I was on my way to see a friend who was living on West 85th street near Riverside Park. For anyone unfamiliar with this area, it is the setting for the Movie “You’ve Got Mail” starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. Despite a general disdain for Romantic Comedies and the unrealistic expectations they encourage I have always loved that movie. I like the idea of Meg Ryan’s character roaming the epicenter of culture and fashion with her fuzzy head, high-waisted khakis and unflattering t-shirts; unfazed by the hoards of angular, hostile, fashionable New Yorkers. When I moved to New York in 2012 at the age of 24, it was this woman I had in mind when I saw myself in The City. You can keep your Carrie Bradshaws and your Anna Wintours, I thought, I’m a Kathleen Kelly.

The Male Gaze is a nuisance, but one I know how to navigate because I was raised to understand that my self worth has nothing to do with men. Judgement from other women, on the other hand, is something which has always had the power to unravel me. When a strange man makes a lewd comment or gesture, his intentions are clear; yes yes, we get it. You are a MAN and you need to assert some sense of power over me because you are entitled and so on and so forth. I can roll my eyes and move on with my life. But when three strange women who had no stake in my safety or future glowered at me as if I had personally come over and ripped THEIR stockings, I felt the need to defend myself.  But I’m Kathleen Kelly! I silently insisted I have a healthy body image. You don’t understand! But the frowns persisted, and the eyes followed me out the sliding doors. Earlier that day a man had shouted “Let’s see it all!” when I couldn’t catch my skirt in time so I threw some juicy handpicked profanities in his direction, but for this I had no recourse. It was hardly worth causing a ruckus on a crowded train. So I slunk out the door and up to the street, where I held my skirt to my sides and walked with my head down.

Lady Friends- A Dialogue

Lady Friends

“I feel like you’ve been using me for my friendship.”

“Sorry?”

“ I don’t think you ARE sorry”

“No I didn’t mean “sorry” as in I feel bad...I meant SORRY? as in...I don’t understand what you mean. I enjoy your company and I assumed that you enjoy mine. I was under the impression that this was how friendship works.”

“No but like...I talk about my life and you listen but then you don’t really talk about your life. It feels unbalanced.”

“So I don’t have enough problems?”

“You don’t have to have PROBLEMS to talk about your life.”

“You mostly talk about your problems.”

“Well I have a lot of problems. And I really appreciate how much you’ve helped me through things. But I don’t want our relationship to be based on my problems, you know? What happens when I don’t have any.”

“ That has yet to happen in the three years that I’ve known you but I see your point. I still don’t understand how I’m using you.”

“ Well am I just something to keep you entertained in between boyfriends? It’s almost like you’re saving your good material for someone else.”

“ That might be true but you’re the one who gets to hear about my bowel movements.”

“ And you mine. Don’t change the subject.”

“You’re right, I think. I think I prioritize romantic relationships over friendships even when I’m not getting any.”

“Female relationships are very important.”

“Did they tell you that at Lesbian orientation?”

“No that was in the required summer reading.”

“When does fisting come up?”

“Oh that’s senior thesis material.”
“What goes on at the PhD level?”
“Mostly adopting Chinese babies.”

The Dreary Extra Mile: Ambition, Dedication, and Other Twisted Values

I want to do a job that needs to be done and then I want to go home. I want to do it well and finish it completely and leave it where I found it. That is all. What I do at home is where life is and there’s no shame in being content with unremarkable things. I could move back to the country and get a job in a greenhouse or something; live in cabin and eat what I grow. But I am terrible with plants and I don’t do well in the sun. I’d rather be in New York, right in the middle of the circus, doing something that does at least a little bit of something good and keeping my eye on the chaos.

We live in a world of invented needs. I feel comfortable saying “we” because anyone reading this blog is, I presume, in my general socio-economic spectrum. From that invented need come businesses to fill it, and within that business are more invented needs, the need for everyone to pull their weight and do a little more than is comfortable in order to yield success and maintain the jobs and salaries that brought everyone there to begin with.

I don’t want to clamber for accolades or raises, or spend my free time worrying about whether or not my achievements are impressive or even appreciated. I don’t want to care about something just because I’m in charge of it, or be in charge of something just because it seems like I should be. I only want to be in charge of something because I care about it. But caring is a funny thing when it’s paying your bills.

To be a good person, in Brooklyn at least,  you need to shop local and buy American made brands and look like you crawled out of a garbage can in 1956. To afford peace of mind as a consumer you’ll either need to sell your soul or simply stop wanting things altogether (so simple!). If you have to shop at Target you should feel so bad about it that you want to work harder to make more, so you can spend more on the warm and fuzzy products that save babies who weren’t born with your blessings.

So call me lazy or selfish or uninspired. America wants me to want to work- to want to be professionally impressive- so I can succeed and live my dream and be someone worth editorializing. My unrest is someone else’s profit masquerading as my own. Wanting more is the oldest American tradition. Hard work is King- America was built on it! Actually, America was built on exploitation- of slaves and immigrants and women (lucky to be working! even luckier to be getting paid at all!) and now of anyone who wants to “get ahead” and do a lot of extra work at a high emotional cost for little in return but respect- or simply for not LOSING respect. It's hard to reconcile and I have hardly found any answers, but I have found that I'm happiest when I don't let anyone take advantage of my free time just because I have it and I think more people should think for a minute about what direction that "extra mile" is headed before congratulating themselves so heartily for going it.

The Story of Rob and Emma

RH: Hey my names Rob, as you can probably deduce by my username. You seem like a hilariously heartbreakingly harrowing heroin...sorry for the bizarre wordplay but I never know how to start these things. I know on paper I look like a mess but I promise you my profile is not really a good representation of me.
Sent on 12/28/2013

Rob sent me a message on a Saturday when I was alone in my office, as I always was on Saturdays back then. I had been on OKCupid for a little over a month, and had already been on a string of entertaining but ultimately inconsequential dates. It was right between Christmas and New Years, which both fell on a Wednesday that year, and I was caught up in the glistening nostalgia which tends to color New York that time of year. Our messages were not deeply personal or revealing of our true natures, but something about this message and his face made my skepticism feel less like a logical necessity and more like an unjustified barrier.

ES: I fully appreciate the alliteration and it's a much more interesting way to begin a conversation than "hello how are you?". Profiles are a good place to start, but I prefer doing most of my familiarizing through conversation anyway :)
Sent from the OkCupid app  12/28/2013

We talked on and off all day, switching to text fairly quickly, about nothing in particular. I talked about how I had never had a successful New Years Eve in New York, and we agreed to meet on that night because we had otherwise resolved to stay in and avoid it that night. "We might as well plan on having a terrible time together" I said.


ES: Oh, and my name is Emma. I actually found your profile quite charming, for what it's worth.
Sent from the OkCupid app  12/28/2013


I had to work on the 31st so we decided to meet on the later side with no particular plan.  At around 9 o clock, I mixed bourbon and grapefruit juice in a water bottle, bought a bottle of cheap prosecco, and hopped on a Manhattan bound 7 train. I had told him I would be doing this, but that didn't make it any less presumptuous that I arrived on his stoop in a far too sparkly dress and insisted on being let up so I could put my libations in his fridge before heading out to one of his favorite local bars on the Upper West Side.

RH:Hello Emma! Thank you very much. The way you begin your profile was charming and interesting as well. "Dress like an unsupervised 6 year old" =very funny. I dress like a jerk in the 90's, like any character in American Pie. I would completely understand if you did not reply back after having received that information.
Sent on 12/28/2013


By some miracle we found a seat at a table and were able to procure Beers. Rob is 6'3, which has always been very helpful when it comes to getting drinks in a crowded bar. I am mostly useless in this regard, and should not be trusted to carry things anyway.

ES: On the contrary, I have a fondness for mid 90s dude-wear. It's what all the Hollywood hunks were wearing during my formative years, afterall. I recently rewatched the entire Felicity series on Netflix so I have no shortage of affection for the 90s and all of the button up shirts they have to offer. Now it's my turn to forgive you for not responding on account of the Felicity thing.
Sent from the OkCupid app  12/28/2013


We talked about other Okcupid dates and admitted uncomfortable things that could have brought the evening to a grinding halt but didn't; I that I was somewhat recently removed from a very long term relationship and he that he really hadn't been in a long term relationship other than a relationship which spanned the last year of highschool and the first year of college. We were both 26 at the time.

RH: Haha I actually had to look up Felicity, my 90's pop culture references begin with the first gulf war and end with the break up of the Spice Girls. We all have those guilty pleasure shows, I would be lying if I said I didn't watch an episode or two of The Jersey Shore. Again no need to respond, I feel like I just offended every person with the admittance of having watched more than 1 minute of that show.
Sent on 12/28/2013

The truth is that I didn't talk enough- I never do on first dates. But I listened. I enjoyed listening to him very much and he was very good at being listened to. He was flatteringly nervous and eager to be known.  I know now that he is this way with most people, which is something I love about him regardless, but at the time it felt like it was for me, and I was doing a good job.

ES:When I had cable I used to watch jersey shore all the time. I'm not "on board" with that kind if thing and I definitely don't want that lifestyle for myself, but I am not above it. And I still think the concept of "the shirt before the shirt" leading into "t shirt time" is some of the funniest shit on earth.
Sent from the OkCupid app  12/28/2013

We had known each other for less than two hours when the ball dropped, and we were across a table from each other with strangers packed in on either side of us so we just smiled dumbly and pretended it wasn't happening. We were not drunk enough for a kiss to feel anything other than stressful in that moment. He went outside to call his family members for what felt like a very long time. To this day I give him a hard time about this, but in reality I found it very endearing.

ES:I decided that I'm not ok with having sent a message in which I ONLY talked about jersey shore so I'm amending this message to say that jersey shore only makes up a teeny percentage of my tv habits. The rest is mostly cartoons and sitcoms. Not that I watch tv all day long. I go outside ALL the time.
Sent from the OkCupid app  12/28/2013


I don't remember how long we stayed there. It couldn't have been too long because we only had two beers, which he bought by the way, like a gentleman. In fact, my usual move on an online date is to show up early and already have a drink by the time he arrives to eliminate the "who's paying" element so this threw me off my game a bit, but I really wanted to have that Prosecco chilling when we returned so I had no choice. We went back to his place with every intention of going to his friends party in Brooklyn, because what's ballsier than going on a first date on New Years Eve? Introducing that date to all of your friends or BEING introduced to all of your dates friends.

RH: Hahahahaha you might be hilarious. Speaking of being outside it is uncomfortably nice out for this time of year, I'm almost considering going for a run. By the way, my number is xxxxxxxxx if in fact you would like to text me instead.
Sent on 12/28/2013

...we didn't make it to the party. We drank Prosecco and my strange Bourbon concoction. I would later find out that he hates Grapefruit juice.What a trooper. We drank and talked (me still not enough) and walked the dog. It was freezing outside and suddenly it was 3 AM and we were in Riverside Park. I told a second hand story about a woman who went on a date with a man with a micro penis. That is all I remember.

So I've heard. On Saturdays I sit in an office by myself for 10 hours and I have no idea what's going in outside. 1 more hour! I'll text you shortly so you have my number :)
Sent from the OkCupid app  12/28/2013

I talk a lot when I sense that maybe someone wants to kiss me, or that I want to kiss someone, or that we really should be kissing by now regardless of what anyone feels. And ooooooh I say the very worst things.  In this case I had been sitting on a stool while he sat on his bed. I sat on that stool for way too long. There was no way for him to come join me on the stool, so it was really up to me to make the move to the bed and I just DIDN'T for SEVERAL HOURS.

Finally, I said something ridiculous like "I'm going to come sit over there because my butt is sore from sitting on this stool". VERY LOGICAL. HE'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU'RE UP TO. I never fail to miss an opportunity to be cool or sexy or to seem in control of a situation so once I noticed that we were sitting closer and he was making a face like "I'm going to move my face closer to your face soon" I gracefully sputtered "you don't really have any moves, do you?". YUP. That's what I went with. Four stars, Sklar.

In another New Years Miracle, he kissed me anyway =DAD STOP READING NOW= which quickly progressed to horizontal kissing and the very awkward navigation of thick winter pantyhose. To put it in Jersey Shore terms, "we smushed". We smushed 2 times and then fell asleep, woke up, smushed again, and then went to a diner. It was all giddy and wonderful (and highly satisfying for the record). It was by far the best New Years Eve I had ever had, from what easily could have been a disaster.

If you know me, or know this blog, you know that this is not the story of how I met my future husband or boyfriend, but the story of how I met my best friend. I made a lot of unusual choices that night and I'm glad to say that it paid off in unexpected ways. I know there's a lot left unsaid here, and that's a story for another day, but that first date ended up being far more indicative of the wonderful giddyness that would color our friendship than of anything else.

Anatomy Of An Online Dater (Or) A Year of Tiny Catastrophes in NYC

Anatomy of an Online Dater (or) A Year of Tiny Catastrophes In New York City 

 

I had been living in New York for 5 months when I came home to my sublet in Crown Heights to find an unexpected eviction notice and an unfamiliar lock on the door. Four months later I was laid off after slightly under a year of employment. Five months after that my boyfriend of 6 years broke up with me in an email. By December of 2013 I had already been on two online dates, and had another 4 planned, all with different people. It was the first month in a year in which I spent zero time weeping in a stairwell.

I had been single for about 3 months when I grew bored with my own self-pity. Though the idea of having to win over a new person seemed not only impossible but utterly terrifying, I knew that it was important for me to at least entertain the possibility that someone, somewhere, might one day want to endure my company for longer than the length of time it takes to finish a Jameson on the rocks.  

It is notable that my ex and I were friends for over a year at school until I decided to drunkenly caress his thigh while watching Midnight Cowboy in his dorm room (which was, incidentally, right across the hall from my dorm room). After outing my nefarious intentions, I vomited violently both in the communal bathroom and in my own trashcan. I had been mixing orange vodka with Sunkist Cherry Limeade and had earlier consumed a noxious combination of skittles and redbull so the vomit in question was visually stimulating to say the least.  Somehow, he was still interested and we went on “date” to the campus dining hall later that week.  I was 19 years old.

We lived together after leaving the dorms, first with roommates for one year,

and then in our own one bedroom apartment for two years including one year after college. Life in our college town felt dull and stagnant once we were out of school, so we decided to move to New York City where he had grown up. Or he decided. I wanted to move to New York for my own reasons outside of the relationship, but I didn’t have a family and free rent waiting there for me so he went without me and I moved in with my parents to save money. We stayed together because it felt insane not to. It never occurred to me that he didn’t care whether or not I made it there or whether or not I cared if he was waiting for me if I did. To be honest, I never thought too hard about it at all. By then the relationship had a life of its own.

We almost broke up once while living apart but then we didn’t. When I finally made it to New York things were somewhat less than romantic. They might have always been that way but now his family was there quietly expecting things which in turn caused him to expect things loudly. I had my own life to lead. There were jobs to lose, sketchy apartments to fail to avoid, friends to almost make, and train schedules to misread. He had an entire life waiting for him there and I did not. It was no one’s fault, but it was not an easy year.

When it finally ended I looked around and could not find a trail of my own wants or needs leading up to that point.  I only saw the version of myself that failed to live up to  someone else’s expectations. So I scrapped it; the entire system of priorities that had previously informed all of my decision-making.  I preferred to be a blank slate than someone whose identity was wrapped up in another person. That summer I spent most of my time wandering alone in parks, drifting alone in museums, exploring alone in unfamiliar parts of the city, and skulking alone in graveyards. I was discovering what it was that I actually enjoyed doing without worrying about the notion of “company”. I still felt unfinished, but I was filling in the gaps.

Then one day, somewhere between Sunnyside and Greenpoint-during a particularly aimless bought of wandering- I remember thinking “some company might be nice”.

Perhaps you can understand my apprehension about entering the adult dating scene as a recent NYC transplant with an incomplete personality and a very dubious dating background. Last time I was single I had the freedom of the dorms on my side; now I lived in a slightly removed and untrendy Queens neighborhood with two random girls from craigslist who kept magnetic bible verses on our fridge. My breakup more or less demolished my social life and I was somewhat less than awash in other single ladies with whom to share my Saturday nights. Instead I spent my evenings troubling over what I might say on hypothetical dates that no one was asking me on.

Will I be able to let him know that I’m interested without coming on too strong...or let him know that I’m NOT interested in a mature and respectful manner? Will I realize that he isn’t interested before I get too excited?  And let’s not forget about the potential danger. I don’t THINK that I’d accidentally agree to a date with a predator, but how can I be sure? What if I’m not as smart as I think I am? What if…what if he hurts my FEELINGS? Crap... I’m going to have to feel things, aren’t I? I wasn’t anywhere near ready to consider another relationship, but I needed to know if I was even capable of sitting across from a new person without letting my anxiety shut me down completely.

This is how I found myself on the night before Thanksgiving of 2013, with half a bottle of cheap champagne in my system, staring at a blank OKCupid account. I had the username. I had the profile picture. Now all I needed was something honest and endearing to say about myself- Something appealing without seeming overconfident.  My whole life felt like a red flag and while I knew I didn’t have to reveal the entire grisly truth, I also didn’t want it all to flop out unexpectedly later on.

I grew frustrated and decided several times that dating is not important anyway and I should forget it and focus on growing my hair out, but no matter how I tried to distract myself, I kept clicking back into that first blank box, watching the cursor flash impatiently. Something about that blank page felt so hopeful and empowering that my previously screaming anxiety dimmed to a faint murmur, drowned out by a clearer message: This is going to be very different than the last 6 years of your life and it might be fun.

I sat there for almost an hour, tapping the table next to my computer while the alcohol seeped into my brain. Finally, I put down my drink and placed my fingers on the keyboard. In the “About me” section I wrote:

In the past year I have been unexpectedly evicted,  unceremoniously laid off, and dumped in an email from a long-term relationship.  I have no reason to believe that this impressive losing streak is over, but I am pretty sure that everything is going to be OK anyway.    

22 Men From The Internet

*Chase
*Joe
*Also From Vermont Guy (Ethan? No...I think I'm thinking of Ethan Allen. Not all men from Vermont are named Ethan)
X~Charlie
*Chip
X<3~Rob
X~James
!Bill
~Alex
!Auggie
*Beard Guy (Possibly Justin?)
*Oscar
~Eric
!Luke
*Guy Who Thought I Was Racist Because of An Unfortunately Phrased "What Kind of Hispanic?" Comment (Jose?)
*Short Guy Who Was So Bland I Forgot his Name Immediately
*Micah
*~Dan
*Leo
*Corey
!Tim
&Pat

These are the names-the actual names- of the men that I have met via either Ok Cupid or Tinder in the past year. Technically I'm about a month shy of a year since I first signed up for OKcupid but I think 22 is a nice round number and I have my reasons to cool it for a while. It's been an fun, informative and sublimely exhausting exercise.

 I want to be clear that I haven't been dating madly because I want to find a boyfriend, or need male attention in order to feel good about myself. I also want to be clear that this wasn't just an experiment; I was always open to any outcome and when something seemed promising I focused on it. I wasn't looking for anything in particular but I didn't make any rules for myself. These are all real people and a few of them I've come to care about in a very real way so I don't mean to be flippant about that. 

The facts:
*10 I saw once and will never see or speak to again.
~6 are my friends on Facebook.
Of that 6, 3 are people that I will likely never see or speak to again in any direct fashion but whom I mostly hold in medium to high esteem
X3 are people that I can comfortably refer to as friends.
<31 of those 3 is one of the best friends I've ever had.
!3 from the list are people that I am not Facebook friends with, but whom I could text if I wanted to without it being super weird.
&1 I still text/gchat regularly but  whether or not I will ever see him again is, apparently, some kind of ancient riddle for which I do not have the proper ciphers. I'm working on it. (As I mentioned- EXHAUSTING).

Prying minds will inquire how many of these people I have slept with. The answer is less than most of them. As a guideline, take whatever you think the number might be and subtract from that the number of times you've seen me in public in either sweatpants or pajamas since 2010. If you don't know me well enough to answer the second question then my vagina probably shouldn't be one of your top concerns. 

These 22 fine gentlemen have yielded the following highlights:

The only really good New Years Eve I've ever had.
4 Truly Awful dates. I cherish them.
2  Stunningly mediocre dates that we both quietly pretended did not happen afterwards
1 very decent date with someone who was just too hard to schedule around
1 date that I thought went very well, which I ruined immediately by pushing to schedule the next one the way a pain med addict pushes a doctor to prescribe
3 casual meetings that I hesitate to even call dates
1 broken phone
2 almost-relationships which never quite materialized; probably because I'm a sociopath who treats her own dating life like an episode of Planet Earth.
1 kickass sex trophy sweatshirt (this will be among the only direct sex references in this blog). Basically I had sex with someone and then he gave me an awesome red sweatshirt (in a thoughtful way not a "I exchanged sex for a sweatshirt" kind of way) and it was a delightful experience.
3 Different dates with 3 different people at the Alligator Lounge in Brooklyn
 Added bonus **it turns out that two of the people on this list know each other, but only one of them knows that, and only one is my Facebook friend, and the one who is my Facebook friend isn't the one who knows**

There is a certain stigma surrounding online dating, but the truth is I'm not great at making a first impression (I'm a slow warmer in both directions) 

and I would have had maybe 10% of the experiences I've had if I hadn't opted to explore this option. Its just another way to meet people, and it's one that seems to suit me. As I've stated before, I don't know what my love life "working out" is going to look like for me, but I feel genuinely lucky to have met the people I've met. It's an odd bouquet, and not every flower is one that I would want in my living room, but I like the way it looks altogether.