My Windswept Romantic Life

My friends seem to be under the impression that I no longer have a social life because my blog updates have taken a nosedive. Apparently it never occurs to them that perhaps I am so caught up in my social vortex that I don't have time to blog anymore.

Just this evening I went out with a whole group of people. There was beer, there was pizza, there was academic conversation...probably because my professor was there. And also my seminar classmates. Because it was, in fact, my seminar class. With beer and pizza.
 
So maybe that's not a great example.

http://weknowmemes.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/id-love-to-hang-out-but.png

Yesterday, though, I met a very nice, professional looking man at a coffeeshop.

Should I say "met"? "Met" might be a stretch. He helped me find an outlet for my computer cord. That is, he moved his bag so I could use the outlet. But we conversed. I said excuse me could he move his bag so I could use the outlet and he said sure...and moved his bag.

Yeah, I think I can say "met."

I found out that he was studying to be an otolaryngologist.

Full disclosure: I don't know this because our outlet encounter sparked the outpouring of our mutual hopes and dreams. But he did sit in such a way as to give me a full view of his laptop screen. And it is really hard not to notice a word like that in inch high letters when it is in your direct line of vision. So I'm going to take that as deliberate.

With the aid of Google search I discovered that this long word is a fancy way of saying an Ear, Neck, and Throat doctor, and by the tall black coffee and look of resigned despair that I recognize from the mirror, I identified him as a graduate student.

However, after several abortive attempts to pronounce otolaryngologist under my breath, I determined that we could never be together. The dinner conversation would be such a strain. Not to mention introducing him to anyone. I have enough trouble keeping my own name straight in social situations.

Unfortunately, the relating of this encounter as evidence of my social interaction didn't do much to disprove the naysayers.

"What a windswept romantic life you lead." (I tend to think this was sarcastic, but sometimes it's hard to tell with text messages).

I protest. Not all of my male interactions are imaginary. I see lots of men every day in my tutoring job. And some of them are my age. Some of them are my age and good looking. Just the other day...

"I'm going to ask you to read your paper aloud."

"My English is not so wonderful. I wish you to correct when I say something...how you say? Mispronounced?"

"Not a problem..." 

Except when your paper is about sexual psychology. Oh boy.

Somewhere out there is a very handsome foreign man who is still mispronouncing some key words in his chosen profession.

____


I mean, is dating in grad school really a real world expectation anyway? We had a very enlightening conversation about it a few weeks ago in class.

SCENE: MALE COLLEAGUE SEEKS ADVICE

"I'm just wondering if it's prudent to be contemplating getting married when I am so engaged with my work."

I'm just wondering if this is really an appropriate topic for a dissertation panel discussion.

"I would really like to propose to my girlfriend, but I'm just not sure I can make time for marriage on top of my school commitments."
 
I'm just not sure this conversation should be had in this venue. Maybe you should talk to a priest. Or, here's a thought. Your girlfriend.

"Generally, I study all day. I don't socialize."

Shocker. You are clearly so aware of social cues. Come to think of it, do you actually have a girlfriend, or is this a hypothetical situation?
 
"I even begrudge the time it takes me to make lunch."

"Well, at least if you get married, maybe your wife will make you a sandwich every once in awhile."

The penetrating stares of my cohort indicated to me that somehow my interior monologue was no longer interior.

Apparently a good old-fashioned "woman making a sandwich" joke is not appreciated any more.

My professor's voice broke through the antagonistic silence: "I guess Emily is not going in for gender studies."

The most intense of the evil eyes belonged to one of my coworkers. A few days later she asked me to cover a work shift for her, promising baked goods in return. I reassured her that I would not ask for such a drastic compromise of her moral integrity.

Except this time I managed to keep this to myself.


When I told the story to A&S, they laughed. "You of all people...you who could mess up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

For the record, getting the proportions correct in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is an art. My niece and I had a long talk about it after she politely declined to eat my attempt.

I can't make lunch for a seven year old without the risk of rejection. Clearly, social interaction is the least of my concerns.



*On an somewhat related note. You had a good run PB&J, but I think its time to give the newcomers some place in the spotlight. I mean, that routine is looking a little tired. Pass the baton to Trader Joe's Fig Jam with Almond Butter on Ezekiel Bread. Trust me, all of the kindergarten hipsters are eating it.