First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

How Not To Be Anxious For the Holidays, Part I

My holiday anxiety has started to kick in. And by anxiety, I mean, the fear of getting stuck ALONE on one of those iconic family-type days, where to be without company is to feel like a loser. I’m relieved that Thanksgiving is handled, now that my dear friend Miguel is driving down from San Francisco for the long weekend. I’ve decided to make a cozy dinner for six and try something new, by preparing a turkey breast, rather than fussing with a whole bird. No carving and no carcass is a real incentive. I have turned to my guide, the always-dependable Ina Garten, aka Barefoot Contessa, because during the holiday season, it’s especially important to have people you can count on. Here’s her recipe for Roasted Turkey Roulade, which will be making an appearance at my table: Continue reading »

What Are Friends For?

During the Clinton years, I learned to drink Manhattans at the 500 Club, a Mission district bar in San Francisco. I no longer remember how the custom got started, but for years, like clockwork, every Monday at 6:30, John, Doris, Fred and I would grab a cozy booth by the door and order cocktails. These seasoned drinkers would laugh as I slurped my Bloody Mary, a beverage they considered strictly brunch material. It took some coaching to acquire the grownup taste for Makers Mark Manhattans, but I’ve never looked back.

Our foursome set a few ground rules. No mates. No dates. No excuses. One by one, we would go around the table, and share our latest triumphs and defeats. It was comforting to begin the week with a standing date, timed just long enough to make us hungry for the next installment. I always left the 500 Club happy, and a little drunk, then grabbed a nearby burrito and went home.

Zen and the Art of Rejection

William, my Yoda-like best friend who is also a gifted psychotherapist, has a standard comeback whenever someone complains about being romantically spurned. “It’s not personal,” he says. “It’s not about you.” Today, when I’m licking my rejection wounds, this advice makes me crazy, even though on an intellectual level, I get what he’s talking about. And so I ask him, what about when there IS mutual attraction, and you bask in the healing that comes from feeling loved and appreciated. “It’s not about you then, either.” Huh. What exactly is it that makes someone drawn to us or not? William tells me it’s wiring. And whose eyes we looked up at from our cribs.

Monday Morning Recap of a Blind Date

As a policy, I don’t post running commentary on the men I’m dating. (Details leading up to a first encounter, on the other hand, are fair game.) But what about the men I’m not dating?

Case in point. Over the weekend, I was “fixed up,” and it seemed to go surprisingly well. As soon as he walked in, I felt relaxed, like I knew I could be myself. The evening was filled with lively conversation, which came easily; we had many shared interests (important ones like food, movies and art) and hours passed by as if they were minutes. Plus, I thought he was cute.

When I phoned the “matchmaker” this morning asking for the scoop, there was an awkward silence on the other end. “We didn’t really talk about it,” my friend answered hesitantly. “That couldn’t be true. I mean, I know you’re two guys,” I blurted out. “But he said nothing about me?!” “Well,” my friend replied, almost in a mumble, “I’m not sure it’s going anywhere. He thinks you’re too smart for him.” Oh, no, not that again. I hustled myself off the phone.  The thing is, I’m not too smart for him. So it’s code. But for what?

(The illustration above is of a real notepad, part of a line of products from Smart Women)

Blind Date Wardrobe Countdown

When it comes to what I’ll be wearing for my quasi blind date tomorrow night, it was impossible to follow the advice given to me three days ago by my married girlfriend: “Don’t over think it.” But since then, I’ve surveyed so many people and gotten enough conflicting information that I’ve actually worn myself out. Jeans, skirt, jeans, skirt. Ahhhhhhhhhh! Last night, I went so far as to test run a few outfits. I can only hope the man I’m going to meet tomorrow has not googled me, discovered this site, and is now reading these words in horror.

I know. Relax.

Who is Your Safety Net?

There’s that stark moment at the doctor’s office, when you’re asked to write down your “in case of emergency” contact. Are you sure, right away, how to answer, or do you shift in your chair and have to think about it?

Topping my list of things that I’ve missed out on as a single woman, is the security of knowing, without hesitation, who my safety net is. I don’t mean financially, although that sounds luxurious, too. But sometimes I ache for the security of a go-to partner, who will be there for me, no matter what. It seemed that my father was like that for my mother, and my brother appears that way for his wife. Deep down, I’m hoping that my safety net fantasy is one of those marriage myths, and that couples have their existential moments of feeling alone in the world, just like single people do.

For now, my solution is a diversified portfolio, as I look to a community of friends to count on. Who knows? Maybe it’s a smarter strategy. Maybe I’m the lucky one.

Chicken Soup and the Common Cold

At the first sign of a runny nose, I throw together a pot of chicken soup. I say throw, because this is not a delicate dish. I cut big hunks of carrots, onion and celery and add them to the pot with a whole chicken that’s been covered with cold water. It takes only 5 minutes to prep, although for a rich chicken soup, you should simmer the ingredients for at least 2 hours. As the soup is coming to a boil, I hang around the stove to skim the impurities from the top. But I usually get bored doing this, and give up quickly. Today I had some leftover leeks in the fridge, so I tossed them in, along with fresh parsley from the garden.

Making chicken soup is a great way to nurture, and it reminds me of the care I got from my mother and grandmother when I was under the weather. Colds have to run their course, and there’s not much evidence that anything speeds up the healing process. But I swear by chicken soup. Don’t just take my word for it. The Mayo Clinic agrees. Recipe from the Second Avenue Deli in New York follows.

Continue reading »

What To Wear on a Blind Date?

To clarify. An acquaintance (okay, an old fling) is certain he knows the perfect man for me, and to that end, he has arranged an upcoming evening for the three of us to meet and greet. Art gallery opening, followed by dinner and drinks. But what to wear? Pencil skirt with high black boots? Boyfriend jeans with a fitted t-shirt? I consulted my best girlfriend, who also happens to be a world-class clothing designer. Her response: “Don’t over think it.” Spoken like a married woman who hasn’t been on a date for years.

I’m taking suggestions.

When Can We Trust Love at First Sight?

Here’s my one incident of genuine love at first sight. Genuine in the sense that decades after the first moment when our eyes locked, which was accompanied by an abiding sense of calm, we still feel the same way about each other.

Alas. My story is not about romantic love, but even so, there was an unusual certainty when I met William (my dearest friend who happens to be gay). One look and an exchange of hellos, and we were bonded for life.

Since then, I’ve locked eyes with many men, and breathlessly wondered (most recently in June), is this my true love at first sight? But not one has stood the test of time. Not one except William. And I’ve decided that it counts.

Do you still believe in it?