My Favorite Mistake

I don't know why I am surprised. In fact, I am mostly in awe of my delicate feelings as they are ever so easy to bruise and yet resilient to the battery I constantly put them through in my love life.

I am dating my ex-boyfriend. Well, rather I went on one date with my ex-boyfriend after our midnight run-in/declaration of love moment. It was a great date complete with a heal-popping kiss good-bye at my door. Then I left town for a week. I have since returned and we have been casually talking about making plans. I suggested going to a free concert Friday night as I'm busy both Saturday and Sunday. The boy agrees. Confirming plans with him later, he then says, "I have to get up early on Saturday to go to work, so I may have to leave early," insinuating that he'd just pop out of the concert and leave me there to watch the rest by myself. The concert ends at 10pm.

If your girlfriend breaks up with you twice for being quite low on the thoughtful scale, one would think that you could reign in sentiments like that when she's planning a fucking date. When you harass said ex-girlfriend for 4 1/2 months straight about how you want to make it all work again and would do anything to see her again, you also best be able to man-up enough to get your act together.

I was so sure on my vacation that we could make this work again, but now I'm sure that I'm just making the same mistakes.

Well, one mistake. Him.

Queen of Spades

Rhymes with "Mouchebag" *

Last night I spent a couple of hours at a favorite bar with my friend A, watching the game. We were marveling at how many men there were in the place, and in particular we'd noticed a group of them standing close by who were kinda cute. At least, they were at first.

I was closest and could hear everything they were talking about, and in this case that wasn't a good thing.

"You know XXXX at work? You think she's got fake tits? I bet she's fucked XXXX. I hear she's fucked a ton of guys."

"My girl better be getting hit on wherever we go. If I'm dating a girl and she's not getting hit on every fuckin' place we go, I'm dating the wrong girl."

The one saying most of this stuff was married, by the by. And at some point he leaned over to me and said, "Sorry if we're being kind of vulgar. I don't know how much of our conversation you can hear."

"Don't worry, I can hear everything."

"Oh, we're just being assholes. Actually I am an asshole, and I just put it right out there."

Well, at least he's honest, I suppose. His wife must be proud.

*Credit for this title goes to Entertainment Weekly via my friend L, who saw the phrase used recently to describe Jon Gosselin. Seemed fitting here as well.

Slump

Well friends...it is 10:44 p.m. on a Saturday night. I'm on vacation. I'm home. It is time for me to admit it-I'm in a slump. A dating slump, a motivation slump, a mood slump...just an overall slump.

The psychic life coach's set up and I have been emailing for a week? Two weeks maybe? Meh, no plans to do anything but email. There are a few folks on eHarmony that could have potential, but again...nothing planned.

This begs the question--what's the big deal? Why do I need/want to be in a relationship? And since a relationship seems so important, why am I not out and about trying to meet new people? Hence, the slump. My head hurts when I try to answer either of those questions. I know I'm part of the problem here. I come up with a million explanations, theories, insights etc. and it all boils down to: I need to re-read Who Moved My Cheese; I keep trying the same path to get to the end of the maze and it's getting me nowhere, even though I know there is a different path to take.

XX
NB

Don't Ask

It's inevitable, really. When you choose to share a story with a friend about a dating endeavor gone wrong, they want to make you feel better. And it's in these moments, when they want nothing more to be supportive, that they often end up doing the opposite. Dear readers, I give you the Platitudes.

Blessed are the singles who endure horrible dates, for they shall eventually learn a valuable lesson from them, and the person of their dreams will come to them any day now. Because "everything happens for a reason."

Blessed are the singles who tough it out through one disaster after another, for they are stronger than they know. Because "God/the Universe never gives anyone more than they can handle."

Blessed are the singles who can't figure out why seemingly dim/unattractive/irritating people have significant others when they don't, for they are just holding their dates to appropriately high standards. Because "of course" they have a hard time finding someone to date, because they are "a strong person who knows what they want", and most men/women "can't handle that".

And finally, blessed are the singles who meet their dates in the "right" places, for if they do, nothing will go wrong. Because if you meet your date in one of the "wrong" places, you can't be upset when he/she turns out to be a loser.

Where are the wrong places? Why, that all depends on the person asking the question! And this may be the worst of the Platitudes, because at least for me personally, it creates a feeling that I have somehow invited poor treatment, even when I know that if someone treats me poorly, the only reason they have done so is because they decided to.

So next time, dear readers, when you're presented with a tale of dating woe...please don't ask, "Well, where did you meet him?"

I blame Puccini.

You'd think that I would have learned my lesson about asking the cosmos for a sign by now as the last time I asked for such a favor the answer came screaming out of the clouds in the form of a meteor email of death, completely obliterating all my naive hopes and dreams about rekindling a romance with SunnyBoy. In an attempt to condense the last 9 years of my dating life into a few sentences, I now offer you the shortest summary possible. Sunny and I spent the majority of high school and college dancing about one another in one way or the other. We ended up on different coasts for school and always stayed in never quite platonic contact. Coming to visit me in NYC promptly after breaking up with his serious girlfriend, he was in no way shy about wanting to suss out where I was in my life and if I was ready to make our always odd relationship work in the future. Making some terrible decisions along the way, I sabotaged my relationship with my then boyfriend, My Favorite Mistake. Two months of silence from Sunny ensue. I ask for a sign as to whether I should tell him that I have been hung up on him for 9 years. Unknowingly, he emails me within 8 hours to tell me that he has proposed to his new girlfriend of two months. I then decide, either in a fit of foolery or bravery, to tell him that I have always loved him. He responds saying that though he had always hoped I'd feel that way about him and had waited for 9 years to hear me say that, that he has found the otherwise nameless "woman of his life." Reading his final line claiming that he sincerely hopes we can be best friends till the end of our days, I promptly burn his old love letters and decide that I have indeed just been a fool, nothing more.

As signs go, I think that was a fairly obvious one, with "EPIC FAIL!" echoing through the universe and the sudden emptiness of my love life.

Meanwhile, the My Favorite Mistake (MFM) and I make the torturous journey to the end of our relationship. We have never lacked for love or passion, but thoughtfulness and consistency. MFM was my first true love and adult relationship, despite the entire convincing myself I loved SunnyBoy instead unfortunate circumstance. Deciding though that MFM should have no more opportunities to ruin any of my holidays after the great Halloween, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day and birthday debacles, I instate a three month no contact rule which he then freely ignores by contacting me in some way every five days.

I try for some time to fill my life with shoe purchases and no-string-attached horizontal foolery with a boy named Violafro. Violafro reels me in though careful Woody Allen humor and well planned dates to only then casually mention several weeks later that, by-the-by, he's been seeing someone seriously for three weeks and has settled in to a serious relationship. He requests continued friendship. I tell him to go fuck himself.

I swear off men...for two weeks.

I then enroll myself in online dating with the hopes of at least having amusing dates about which to blog. My Favorite Mistake, like clockwork, continues to call, text, message, write and send up smoke signals all in hopes of rekindling our relationship. I ignore him. I go on the worst date ever with Plays with Darts, the serial killer dart-enthusiast.

I swear off men for another week.

I launch an all out war against dating. First came Douchebaggery, a tragically hip film student turned internet start-up guy, who I had ditched a year and a half ago for Arabian Knight. Douchebaggery calls in a panic pre-date because his car won't start. We reschedule and I continue on in my dating assault. Then came Too Sexy, the pretty boy who spent his time telling me all about his other dates. Along came TeaBreak, who under any other circumstances I would have been overjoyed to see again. We chat, we see a band, we walk around the entire city in comfortable companionship. As dates go, it was a pretty great date.

Mostly though, he makes me miss My Favorite Mistake (MFM) so much it feels like my heart is breaking again.

I get on the subway post-date and turn my ipod on to listen to some music as a distraction. Puccini blasts. I realize that I think about MFM whenever I sing, no one else. I get off the train randomly so I can get some air and not become the “crazy, crying girl on the subway.” I go upstairs. I ask for a sign to know what to do.

I run into My Favorite Mistake on the street corner. He almost has a heart attack. He was on his way to leave a letter and flowers at my door. He starts talking and I kiss him to shut him up. It’s like a surreal scene out of a movie.

So, I blame Puccini. I blame Puccini for making me realize that I’d rather crash and burn with him again than continue going on dates with countless, nice-enough men. I blame Puccini for making me get off the subway at midnight to stand on a street corner and ask for a sign. I blame Puccini for writing such music that it makes me want it all, love and passion consequences be damned. I never thought I’d get another such obvious sign, but who thinks things like this happen in real life?

I have no idea what is going to happen and frankly I’m a little terrified, terrified of the future, of the universe, and of making the same mistakes. This could be an ill-fated endeavor, a new adventure, or just more sadness between two people for whom love has never been an issue.

I'm not sure of anything besides that if given the chance, I would get off that train again in a heartbeat.

Queen of Spades

The Problem of Being on Strike

A few weeks ago I decided to go on strike. I'd had two dating experiences in June that were, suffice it to say, pretty terrible. One ended with the guy telling me I was crazy, had whored myself out for free drinks (apparently engaging in conversation is now "whoring", since that was all we did), and also that he "preferred a girl who is in better shape" than me. Lulz. The other got rather pissed when I agreed with his assertion that things weren't going anywhere. How dare I? I should have cried and begged him for one more date so I could prove I'm worth it. At least, that's what he thought. More lulz.

So I came to the conclusion that a break was in order. In a lot of ways it has been good, just not having to think about dating. But it's tough to be on strike when you're naturally inclined to scope. And so I find myself still looking all the time, starting with the left hand. Because it's where I look first. Yeah, I know. Nuts. And not always reliable. But important, ladies, important.

I guess right now, sadly, being on strike doesn't always feel like I think it should- like a conscious decision I've made. It feels more like I have no prospects and I'm on strike by default. Oh, except for my self-deletion from a certain dating website- in that way I've actively removed myself from the pool. But mostly I wonder- if I were asked out by someone during the next month or so, would I say yes? Or turn them down and really give myself time to relax, get away from dating for a bit, and refocus?

One thing is for sure- if the strike goes on for too long my entries will be crazy boring. Kind of like the "This column socks" incident on SATC. Yeah...being on strike kinda socks too.

She may know best. Or not.

About a month after the s*** hit the fan with my ex, a friend of mine and I decided to get our tarot cards read. What better way to get over heartbreak, than to hear about when you will meet your soul-mate? L. is not your typical psychic-she also does Reiki, has an MBA , does life coaching and doesn't look gypsyesque in any way. To top it off, she has a way of saying what you need to hear not what you want to hear, in a way you can hear it. I go to her every 6 months or so for a pep talk, or a kick in the ass depending on what is needed. I often refer to her as my "psychic life coach."

Now, let's be honest...I have been avoiding her like the plague for about 2 months. Ever since I have made some not very good life choices about/with the ex. Yesterday, happened to be a difficult day with him and I got an email from L:

Hey, I've been thinking about you a lot and wanted to see how you've been.

My first thought, of course: "Holy shit-she totally knows about me and ex. I'm soooo busted!" She is a psychic, afterall. I write her back, totally skirting the issue:

Hi!! How are you? Nice to hear from you! I was thinking about you too-someone had recommended XXXXXXXX to me and wanted to get your opinion about it. Still trying the online dating, with no love connection, YET.

her response:

I wanted to know if you would be interested in meeting a male client of mine - he is a little younger than you, but very stable and a nice man. He owns his own house I think its in XXXXX and he is an XXXXXX.

I have his email and phone number if you are interested. He would be willing to make contact and call you if you prefer. (I have not told him about you yet).

Let me know what you think

Okay, first-I'm not busted? What the hell? Isn't she a psychic? Second-Is this what it's come down to; My psychic life coach setting me up????

And hell yes, I told her to give him my email.

xx
NB

The Dating Game

My freshman year of high school, my English teacher sat us all down and explained that at some point in our lives we would fall in love and want to get married. Not only would writing lead the way to superior love notes, he claimed, but it would also hopefully lead us to some introspective thoughts about our little fledgling lives. D, a teacher of only one name like Cher or Madonna, then told us that lasting love works on a scale for looks, intelligence and personality. A former life-long bachelor now recently married, he explained that eventually in life you should sit down in front of the mirror and give yourself a good objective look. (He suggested using the good ol' 1 to 10 scale for clarity and accuracy.) Pointing out unlikely couples such as Julia Robert and Lyle Lovett or Marilyn Monrie and Joe DiMaggio, D claimed their issues were caused by dating (or marrying as the case may be) people who are more than 2 scale degrees away from you in any of the before mentioned measurable attributes. Julia Roberts, a 9.5, with Lyle Lovett, a 2.0, were simply two far away from each other on the attractiveness scale to make it work in the long run.

As strange and convoluted as it may seem, I actually tend to agree with the 2 degrees of separation in attractiveness and intelligence in the pursuit of love. And, apparently websites like HotorNot.com (which I just had to check to see if it was still around) and RatingMyLooks.com agree at least in the realm of sex, though I do not agree in any way with their utterly objectified and public rating procedures. Trying to objectively gauge your own physicality is oh so much more different than pointing out flaws in others and voting for the best cleavage.

My dilemma of the day has come about with addition of a boy into my life who I think happens to vastly out rate me on the physical beauty scale. Perhaps I'm just being a deranged girl, but due to a past experiences with dating a (albeit shockingly bright) male model, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about dating someone who is much prettier than I am again. Talk about a feminism fail. In my defense, let's just say that sitting at a romantic dinner across from your date while the waitress asks him for his number is not exactly the most thrilling of experiences and makes even the most staunch feminist want to shiver in a corner of shame for a bit. The new Pretty Boy seems to be genuinely nice, though, so perhaps I'm just being a bitter and insecure bitch. (Yes, you say, we already knew this, dear Queen of Spades.)

Perhaps my real issue is that I can no longer look myself in the eye in the mirror and decide where I fall in the spectrum of beauty, intelligence, character, or anything else. Since the utter love life melt-down of 2009, I'm still working on recovering my sense of self, as wimpy as that may seem. Not knowing where I am in life tends to put a damper on on my expectations in a date. It also tends to make me break out in hives while on a first date for fear of judgment.

So, I'm going to take one for the team and go out with Pretty Boy. Perhaps I'll find out what I want or where I fit in in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps it will just be nice to gaze adoringly at my doe-eyed date while the bartender pours him free drinks and the hostess gives him (and by extension me) the best table in the place.

At least I'll have a story.

Queen of Spades

Rom-Com Disease

A lot of people responded very positively to my last post, telling me how it wasn't crazy at all, and that they were just sure my high school crush would be single, available, still cute, and ready to marry me within six months. Well, ok, I'm exaggerating a bit, but let's say a lot of folks were very optimistic about the situation. I, as a realist, believe they are suffering from an affliction I like to call "Rom-Com Disease". It's a close relative of Love Song Syndrome, which is the condition that makes me kind of like that song "Love Story" by Taylor Swift, no matter how much I try not to. But I digress.

Rom-Com Disease is not merely a result of watching too many Romantic Comedies. I mean, hey, even I like the occasional feel-good flick. No, the telltale symptom is when you start ACTUALLY BELIEVING that this stuff happens in real life. Frequently. I'll give you that rarely, a seemingly impossible situation does work out, but it's nowhere near as common as Rom-Com Land would have us believe.

Inhabitants of Rom-Com land know the following to be true:

1. If you are the less attractive/less interesting/slightly frumpy/brunette sister, don't worry. Some dashing young man will notice how you're actually way cooler than that blonde bimbo of a sister you have, and he'll fall madly in love with you.

2. Your best guy friend, who has had every opportunity to date you for the past fifteen years and hasn't taken a single one of them, is madly in love with you. Really he is. So just keep eschewing all other relationship opportunities and keep waiting for him.

3. If you have a crush on a guy and he's not noticing you, DON'T TELL HIM. Just become his personal slave/shoulder to cry on, and eventually he'll figure out how great you are.

4. If you hate the guy at the beginning of the movie and you're complete opposites, you'll be engaged by the end.

5. A happy ending is inevitable, even if you lie, cheat, steal, or any of the above. The guy in question will forgive your transgressions because he's just so in love with you, he melts when he sees your lovely smile and thinks, "I should totally dump her for that but...AWWWW!"

Of course there are more truisms of the Rom-Com...feel free to suggest more in the comments. As for me...well, I'll be pleasantly surprised if things do work out that way, but I know better than to assume it will happen. I guess I envision dating to be a bit more Shakespearean...you've gotta get past the conflict in Act Two before you can get resolution in Act Three, and the last act ain't always pretty.

Reality (TV) May Be Killing Your Love Life

It a fit of boredom, frustration, and curiosity, I have signed myself up for online dating. Again.

This is not a new adventure for me as I did spend the greater part of a year (circa 6 years ago) writing a research paper on online dating, sex, and the internet. A vaguely naïve 19 year old, I signed myself up for several different sites and then categorized things like responses, age range, profession, number of contacts, frequency of contact and what not all based on factors I could control like pictures, personal blurb and everything that goes into a internet persona. I researched key words in profiles and then quizzed my unsuspecting friends (ahem, focus group) on the feelings and connotations these words inspired. I then went on a multitude of first dates to check out the research subject in person, some with much greater success than others. I fully admit this was not a truly scientific approach to the dating matrix, but damn if it was not amusing with a large helping of deranged.

(In summary, you need to know what you are looking for, sex, romance, love, religion, culture, money, swinging couples, furry-friends, when picking a dating site as they all cater to different things. Also, put up a picture of your normal, daily self smiling, crinkly eyes and lopsided smile included, for god’s sake. Picture reciprocity is important, but nothing is more disappointing than chatting with a Johnny Depp clone to only show up to find you’re on a date with Carrot Top’s non-steroid using, albino brother. I can also tell you the words men most respond to, but I still maintain that even after a year of this, it is much better to actually be yourself when writing your personal blurb. Then again, I also think having a personality, eccentric quirks and all, is quite endearing. Duh.)

So, suffice to say, I am a whiz at first date banter from this experience alone. However, I have gotten increasingly crotchety with age and militant in my refusal to guide the conversation into the safe zones of flirty repartee. I often feel like I’ve found myself inadvertently on an episode of The Pick-Up Artist when on date, just with better accessories and hopefully less douche-baggery.

You can always tell when a guy has been watching way too much relationship reality TV, the slightly awkward, meant to be casual touches, the elaborate opening set-up*, the careful negative observation in hopes of eliciting a passionate response. *“I’m growing my facial hair to give to charity, what do you think?” Sadly, “I think you are an asshat” doesn’t seem to be the response for which they were looking…

Online, you can also always tell when a man is still exceedingly bitter about past relationships.

“I will not call you ‘Princess,’ even though you have signs that say you are above every door. I will hold open doors for you as long as you don’t slam one shut in my face. No purse holding here.”

“I’m looking for a no-drama, slender and fit woman who doesn’t have any dating baggage with ex’s who may or may not be out of the picture. Must be open to change.”

Whew. Paging Bitter, party of one? Bitter, party of one?

So, in summary, I’m online again ready to commence another dating experiment, including “adventure” in your profile may be a good plan, reality TV may be killing your love life in more ways than one, and airing bitter grievances in the love-hungry world of online dating makes you look like a chump.

Queen of Spades

The Inquisition

The Inquisition is the getting to know you questions: So, how do you like match.com?; How long have you been single?; What do people say is your best quality?; What do you think is your best quality?; What are you looking for? I GET IT, but it frustrates me. There are certain things each person looks for and certain questions that are common date questions. In fairness, they can also be questions that it's nice to have answers to. However, good lord, don't we have anything else to talk about? For instance: What do you do for work?; How do you get along with your family?; What do you think about the real issues in the world?

xx
NB

Attack of the Hipsters

Every woman has her niche of attraction, the 45-year-old single bachelors, the 45-year-old not-so-single bachelors, the short Latino men, the investment banker players who are most likely defaulting on their Sports Club LA gym membership payments in these tough times, the back-rubbers in madras plaid, the red-faced Red Sox fans, the nerds with fashion sense (Threadless), the nerds without fashion sense (Hot Topic) and so on... Bridging the age and culture gap in what can most likely to be greatly attributed to the diplomacy of T & A, I generally attract the plus 40 crowd or the slightly nerdy international man. This has worked without much success in the past and I generally lament that I do not attract the kind of guy I would actually want to date.

Until this week.

This has been the week of the attack of the hipster. Even more so, this has been the week of the attack of the hipster who is already connected to my life in a strange, round-about way as both have dated two of my friends in the past. This is a shallow, shallow dating pool.



Fist came Comics, a tall nerdy boy who I've fairly sure has a different graphic t-shirt for everyday of the year and a secret stash of anime hidden under his carefully selected vinyl. Then came Urban Farmer, a hipster by way of the Midwest. He looks like he should smell like casseroles, Nascar and Coors Light when I'm sure he probably smells overwhelming of Marc Jacobs and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Somehow, I doubt either of these fine specimens and I are meant to be.

So, as the hipsters regale me with tales of the classical singers they have known, I find it very hard to maintain any semblance of interest. I'm fairly sure I stared off into space while conidering the complexities of dust bunnies while one yammered on about the glories of a certain singer who unbenonced to him is a friend of mine. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but think, "Sloppy seconds...Worse yet, sloppy seconds in overpriced-graphic t-shirts and arfully destroyed Chucks."

I wish I had something remarkably witty to add here, but instead I just have a bunch of questions.
Does knowing a part of someone's past change your perspective? How many degrees of seperation do you prefer between yourself and a paramour? And, is the smell of Marc Jacobs and PBR Tall Boys really all the bad?

Queen of Spades

I have officially lost my mind.

So as it said in my intro questionnaire, one of my "unrequited loves" is my high school crush, Ben. I have been valiantly (on and off) trying to find him ever since I found pictures of us from a senior semiformal last fall and thought, "Dang, he was cute. Whatever happened to him?"

Through the exhaustive computer geek efforts of my friend T, he has been found. Well, we think he has. So I did something brave/crazy, and...well, here it is:

So, hi. This is kind of a long shot, but I was wondering if you might be the Ben xxxx I know. The one who is from xxxx, went to xxxx, used to work for the xxx, etc.

If you are, you're probably wondering why the hell I have tracked you down here. I assure you it's a funny story, one I'd be delighted to tell you over a beer sometime. That is, if you'd be up for that sort of thing, and if you don't have a significant other or spouse who would find that idea to be totally objectionable.

If you're not- hey, you have a good story to tell people now, am I right?

Boredom and a lack of restraint are a bad combination. Baaaad.

Flirtation FAIL

Listen, my children, and you shall hear why you should NEVER ASSUME ANYTHING.

I was at a party this past weekend, one where I knew exactly one person- the host. This gave me a good opportunity to chat up some new people, including one rather attractive guy I'll call J.

He was a friend of my friend who was hosting the party, and we talked for quite a while. He happened to mention he was leaving town the next day to visit Montreal, and I told him how one of my roommates was a big fan of the city and had actually lived and worked just outside there for a while. I had also just been telling a story about the same roommate doing karaoke at a local gay bar, so when J perked up and said, "Hey, maybe your roommate would have some good ideas about where I should go in Montreal," I thought, "Of course. I think he's cute, so naturally he's gay."

I took his number, and when I got some recommendations from my roommate I forwarded them on to J. His text message back said:

Hey, great to hear from you. Thanks for the info but I have yet to go to any gay clubs, ha ha, I know it can seem that way. But I'd love to meet up again sometime, maybe next week when I get back.

Wow. So I replied and apologized profusely and felt like such a super moron that I never did say anything about seeing him again. I just told him I was an idiot and I hoped he had fun on his trip. Go. Me.

Perhaps once I get my foot out of my mouth he and I will go have coffee or something.

The Details...

Name: Carrie Lives (as I like to think I'm carrying on the tradition of musing about men via laptop)

Stats: 29 going on 30, I vacillate between thinking I'm too picky and then wondering if I'm not picky enough.

Best date: My first encounter with the Wandering Musician. Unfortunately after about two months he wandered off the face of the planet.

Worst date: Drinks with Mr. Coffee, professional misogynist.

Longest relationship: 3 years with The Drunken Sailor.

Ultimate unrequited love (codename if so desired): There are two...Best Guy Friend (we'll just call him BGF from here on), and my high school crush, Ben, who unfortunately I can't find anywhere. If I could, and he was within about two degrees of how cute he was twelve years ago, I'd be on that like nobody's business. But I digress...

Evil ex of note (codename unless you want everyone to know he's evil): Secret Agent Man, who carried on a whole other relationship while we were dating, and stored my name in his phone as a man's name so the other girlfriend wouldn't suspect anything.

Most hated dating advice: "It's when you're least looking for it that it happens!" (And any other ridiculous variation thereof.)

Tackiest pick-up line used (on you or by you, we won't tell): It wasn't exactly a pickup line...the guy smelled my hair and said, "Herbal Essences, right? I love that smell."

Why I choose to blog about the cruel world of dating: Dating is just exhausting to me lately, so I'm hoping this will reinvigorate my sense of humor about it. I also figure there have to be so many of us out there who feel the same way, and finding out you're not alone is always a great feeling. So in a way, it's a public service. Sort of.

Online Dating

Aside from the afore mentioned issue with "keep looking" emails, I have plenty of issues with match.com. Actually, the issue is with the caliber of men that appear to be available on match. I have noticed the following trends: Men that are "a few extra pounds" looking for women "slender" or "athletic and toned"; Men who are 40 looking for women 25-33 (approx); Men who are 5'7", don't want kids and are 50 that send me "hey we have a lot in common" emails. Ummmm, really? My profile clearly states my preferences for someone over 5'10" (yes, I'm a bitch), definitely want kids and 31-41 (again, bitch). Where does this leave me? With a bruised ego and little hope, frankly.

However, yesterday I was inspired! I decided to give eharmony a roll. I mean, why not right? At least there is some alleged scientific validity to their matching process, or so they claim. Also, a few of my friends have had some success on eharmony. So I set everything up, excited to see what was in store...Apparently there are 7, yes 7, "matches" in a 30 mile radius. (And 4 of them have already "closed" communication--I'll save the self-esteem issues for later)

I need to move.

xx
NB

Getting to know me, true dating style.

Name: No Bridget (as in "I'm no Bridget Jones")

Stats: 36 year-old that "loves to laugh, loves to sing...loves the loving things."

Best date: The aquarium surprise. Back in the day, he so desperately wanted to prove to me that he was so in love with me that he created a whole surprise date for me.

Worst date: Hands down-Hold it Touch it guy. He pulled his pants down and grabbed my hand, in true high school fashion, and begged me to hold it and touch it "just for a minute."

Longest relationship: 5 years on and off with 2 solid "on" years.

Ultimate unrequited love (codename if so desired): The first unrequited experience with the Skater in the 8th grade. The first cut is the deepest.

Evil ex of note (codename unless you want everyone to know he's evil): I enjoy referring to him as "he who shall not be named" although I end up naming him a lot. Short version: with me, got someone pregnant, left me to be with her, left her, left me 2 years later, got her pregnant again and the story continues...

Most hated dating advice: "He's out there somewhere. Don't worry." Listen, my eggs are turning to effing dust here! (Although, I have to give props to Queen of Hearts here-my love also gets loud, dealing is necessary).

Tackiest pick-up line used (on you or by you, we won't tell): "Fuck me if I'm wrong, but is your name Walter?" (to me).

Why I choose to blog about the cruel world of dating: Because "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

xx NB

Why I Choose to Blog About the Cruel World of Dating

Name: Queen of Spades (as I'm obviously not the Queen of Hearts)

Stats: 25-year-old, red-headed demon who excels in useless arts degrees, useless trivia and dating useless men-children

Best date: Midnight breakfast with a plumber with a defunct English Ph.D. (One date wonder sadly.)

Worst date: Going to have to go with the Mission Impossible extraction date at the art museum with Plays with Darts, the serial killer acupuncturist who taught me that things like the ability to blink are rather more important in a date than you would have ever thought.

Longest relationship: 1 1/2 years with the Arabian Knight...9 years of dysfunction with SunnyBoy.

Ultimate unrequited love (codename if so desired): My junior high crush, John. He was a bad-ass even in 5th grade. Or, the Staples delivery guy. Mmmm. I think I need some more rubberbands....

Evil ex of note (codename unless you want everyone to know he's evil): Signor Suck, professional photographer who accused me of cheating in a photography contest (eh?), broke up with me on my birthday, and then casually mentioned that he had proposed to his female "business partner." This is why long distance relationships are dead to me.

Most hated dating advice: "When love is great, there is no need for words! For even in silence love is heard!" Gag. My love gets loud, verbose and obnoxious sometimes. Deal.

Tackiest pick-up line used (on you or by you, we won't tell): "Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see!"

Why I choose to blog about the cruel world of dating: Dating is a necessary evil, so I am told. And, I am convinced that it is an evil so atrocious that humor is the only possible way with which to deal with the monotony of discussing the same topics ad nauseam with a stranger who will no doubt try to paw you during an awkward farewell. I think we should all have first date cheat cards that we could whip out of our pockets (or tiny purses) that cover all the basics, number of siblings, hated foods, coffee preferences, ugly ex-baggage we're still lugging about with us. You could then exchange with your date, peruse, hem, haw, then get on to the nitty-gritty of whether you'd both like to paw each other reciprocally. Maybe a "check 'yes' if you feel the heat, check 'no' if you feel like you're on a date with your cousin" option on the First Date Card. (I'm totally going to market this and retire a thousandaire.) In light of not having developed my first date "check yes, check no" system though, I'm just going to have to suffer (blog) through it for now, making terrible mistakes, commiting social blunders, and mayhap even finding some love along the way.

-Queen of Spades

The House Always Wins

A bitter reenactment of my dating life through gambling terms.

A blind bet. All-in. The break-even point. The family pot. An unfortunate underlay. The burn card. The fold. The royal flush down the toilet. Game.

The house always wins.

Dating, like gambling, is all about timing and luck. And, unfortunately for me, I suck at pretty much everything in that last sentence. I have been on many a horrific date in my time (sometimes even including running through an art museum in extreme terror) just as I have also been desperately in love (complete with cliched romantic dancing in the rain dangerously combined with grandiose visions of the future). I have found myself playing the parts of both the wide-eyed ingenue and love-worn paramour sometimes confusingly in one relationship. I have felt agonizing regret over missed opportunities as well come to terms that I can be an utter bitch even without provocation (gasp).

Mostly, though, I have come to terms that this city seems to be a black hole of horrible, horrible dates.

So, as I embark on what will no doubt be another torturous adventure in love, what better way to save all the humiliation, clumsy overtures of adoration, and awkward conversations for prosperity than to snarkily blog about it all. This experiment will either force me to rediscover some of my lapsed optimism or hasten my progression into becoming a deranged cat lady. (Just add cat.)

So, cut the cards and deal. I'm ready to up the ante.

-Queen of Spades

Keep looking...

I cannot stand the damn "keep looking...other opportunities" emails on match.com. I mean really, just ignore me-it's okay. Maybe it means I have self esteem issues or I'm narcissistic, lol...BUT-every time I get one of those I say "wtf. what do you know anyway?!"

Just sayin'

xx

Because I never was that good at gambling...

I'm not much of a risk-taker. I really never have been...as a first-born, I was sort of destined to be a rule-follower from birth. This isn't to say I've never broken the rules- I've done my share of that. It's just that I'm more inclined to do things that are low-risk, and I'm still secretly terrified of getting caught doing something I shouldn't be doing, even as an adult.

As a result, dating has never been something I've really enjoyed...it's inherently risky, and often you end up putting in a lot of effort and getting a pretty low return. It's an activity that sort of requires me to be a bit of a split personality- overly cautious, to avoid getting too invested, and at least somewhat optimistic and willing to give people a chance.

I realized recently that I've been dating, in some way, for fifteen years now. It's been an experience, to say the least...two serious relationships, plenty of mishaps. I am by no means an expert- in fact, I hope that writing about all of it will give me a chance to reflect on some of it and think about what I want in the future. I'm also hoping that putting some of it down "on paper", as it were, can at least be entertaining to others.

And if nothing else, I can get a laugh out of it. Because sometimes that's all you can do.

Why, you ask?

Someone said earlier: "How'd you get here? To the point that you are blogging about your dating life?" I wish I knew! I mean, the short version is-I've spent the better part of 6 years with my heart, head and body attached to someone and wasn't able to let him go. Now, it's really just either my heart, head or body attached to him at any given time-progress. Frankly, that relationship may have screwed with my head and blogging will be as much therapeutic as funny. Honestly, the prospects haven't seemed great lately.

I've been "dating" since I was 16, that gives me 20 years of experience! And boy do I have stories to share. I've been cheated on; I've cheated. I've walked away completely; I haven't been able to let go. I've been the "other woman" more often than I'd like to admit. I've lived with the other woman. I've done online dating, blind dates, fix-ups, dated friends. I've dated a gay guy. I've had my heart broken, and of course broke at least one.

I had a plan-married at 24, kids by 25 blah blah. At some point I realized that wasn't realistic and was okay with not holding to that. I'm first to say that if I married the person I was with when I came up with that plan-I'd be divorced, living far from my family, with 5 kids in a trailer. It's funny that I edited that plan with "him" to 34 and 35. I digress...while I realized it was not realistic, did I ever think that at 36 I would be single with no prospects?? God NO! Therefore, I'm a bitter bitch.

My dating life has been a lesson in people watching at its best (note: excuse the generalizations, here. Maybe replace men with "the men i've met"). Men prefer younger women, because they also want kids. Men also want barbie dolls. They don't exist, gentlemen, and frankly you are missing out on some wonderful opportunities waiting for someone that "looks good." Men don't like women that have an opinion. Men are stupid (and yes, women are crazy). In college we had a sign above the door: "All men are assholes. Just when you forget, they remind you." It hasn't been proven wrong, yet. Thankfully, this will be my way of laughing at this crazy dating world.

It should also be noted-I hate dating! I hate the process of getting to know someone in a "dating" sense. I love meeting and getting to know new people. I HATE getting to know new "potential life partners." It's hard, it takes a while and I'm impatient. I feel judged and that I'm judging!

I'm also very well aware that I have contributed to my current life situation, but that's what therapy is for-this blog is for bitching about "them." My goal-to laugh, make others laugh and maybe even get rid of the bitter bitch attitude.

xx
NB

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