On the 24th of December, I turned thirty. Earlier on in the year I was feeling kind of odd about it and giving it the kind of credence it didn't really deserve (as in, worrying about all the stuff I hadn't done yet), but by the time Thursday rolled around I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. Because really, what else are you gonna do?
I had a good day by choice. Because, you see, a certain person who was sounding all super awesome the last time I wrote for you lovely people did something the day before my birthday that just pissed me off. He has this inability to pick up a phone and call me, which I find terribly unattractive, despite so many of his other great qualities. And while I was pretty upset for a short while, I decided not to be anymore. I wasn't going to let someone else's actions get in the way of me having a good birthday and Christmas, damn it. And that was how I decided on my first resolution.
I'm not necessarily big on New Year's Resolutions, but I do like to take stock every year on my birthday (which admittedly is only a week before the new year) and think about how I can do something different in the coming year. And so the very first one was that in my thirty-first year, I will not succumb to the urge to take to my bed when some evil male wrongs me. The second was that when someone is unable to meet a basic need/request/whatever of mine (you know, like "Hey, can I NOT always be the one to initiate everything?), I'm done. Of course this depends on what my expectation is and what the relationship is, but in this case, I'm all set. I will not waste my time.
I have other stuff to do this week. Like a date with a guy who produces shows for the National Geographic channel. Doesn't that sound so much more interesting?
Just a minute to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus (a little late), a belated Happy Hanukkah....and a happy, happy, merry, merry to celebrate whatever you celebrate.
Holidays can be a difficult for those of us that are single, but there are also a lot of plusses:
No stress over finding the perfect gift for a special someone.
No need to figure when to go with which family and how to get there.
The tree (and house for that matter) can be decorated in tiffany blue and silver if you choose (which is what I choose this year), without a peanut gallery.
The gym is still there on the 26th. If you've gained a few pounds since Thanksgiving, there is no one to worry about judging you for that (of course, the judging is usually just in my head, but whatever...I'm still saved from that!).
You do not need to help pick out, or pick out gifts from him for other people.
If you want to watch sappy holiday movies over and over, you can.
The family and friends that have been your support system since last Christmas, are probably still here this Christmas. Celebrate with them. Enjoy them. Love them. They will still be there after many relationships have come and gone.
So, remember how I said two Sundays ago I had a super awesome time and hopefully I'd be updating you soon? Well, aren't you lucky, because I'm gonna do that now!
As many times as I've tried the online dating thing, and as small as everyone claims my fair city is, I hadn't yet run into anyone I already knew in real life. That is, until the Saturday after Thanksgiving, when I got an e-mail commenting on my love of The Cutting Edge. When I looked at the photo, I realized it was a guy I knew casually from my last job. (One who I'd always thought was kinda cute, so...bonus!) And after a few e-mails back and forth, he asked for my number.
The next day he called and suggested we hang out, and offered to make me risotto. And we had a great night. And then there was date number two- also awesome. So I was starting to get pretty excited, because really, there were a lot of little things about him that I thought were great. Suffice it to say, he was earning points all over the place.
Admit it, people- we all have some kind of internal point system. Your date earns points when they do something good, and you mentally deduct when they do something lame. Even if you don't realize it, you're keeping score. So when he cooked me dinner, remembered mundane details from the stories I was telling, and was rather adorably trying to throw popcorn down the front of my shirt at the movies, the scoreboard was counting 'em up.
A week later, this past Sunday, my mom called and told me to come home, because my grandfather, who has been ill for some time, was probably not going to make the day. He died at 2AM Monday. Because the funeral wasn't till later this week, I came back to work for a couple of days, and yesterday by lunch the emotions and lack of sleep were making me crazy. And so I called him, even though I thought it might be a lot to ask after just two dates, and I asked if he'd come over and distract me. And he said "Sure."
So he rode his bike. To my house. Six miles. And he brought The Cutting Edge on DVD and a Ziploc bag of popcorn, and told me he hoped I had a pot with a see-through lid, because while any lid would work, it was more fun to actually WATCH the popcorn pop.
So, I had date #2 with the Port Prince. PP called on Wednesday and asked if I would like to go out again. I said yes (I have a 3-date rule, because I know it takes me a bit to warm up to people). Now, I generally take a very honest, almost too honest approach to dating-I tell people I am a homebody, I see no reason to lie and tell men that I'm "spontaneous and always looking for an adventure." This was clearly something PP was intrigued by, as he said "I know it wouldn't be your first choice, but I would like to take you bowling at (club in the city that has bowling)." And he seemed to almost be mocking my homebody-ness with the humor he seemed to find in "making me" go bowling. I was honest that it wasn't something I would choose, but I would be a good sport and go. I also questioned whether or not the city was a good idea on a night we were supposed to get a snow storm. He says he has 4-wheel drive, we'd be all set.
He shows up in his non-4WD car because he'd prefer to take the shit box into the city. We walk 10 minutes in a snow storm, at previously determined destination. Now this entire drive in he's talking about how he didn't think I was going to go and he is going to make sure I have fun (aka I totally don't want to date a homebody, so I'm going to force you to do shit you don't want to do). Now, I'm not a total party pooper-I would enjoy bowling in a group, or with my friends from work etc. However, not for a date and not at a place that has a club atmosphere. So...long part of the story short-PP can't get in, he has boots on and there is a dress code. He has a short meltdown (red flag) and then asks where I want to go. I choose a bar that I know and love around the corner.
I must say, he is talkative, outgoing and and nice, for the most part. However, some highlights of the conversation are as follows (I can't possibly list them all):
None of his friends are in happy marriages, they all forfeited their balls.
He thinks women who won't date a man based on height, education level, intellect, job or income are shallow and stupid (Meanwhile, he would never date a woman with children)
He whispered the word "gay" while telling me he has no problem with homosexuality.
He asked numerous questions about my ex, again.
He asked "what would you do if your ex called...well what if you didn't know it was him and accidentally answered."
He questioned whether or not I really want to pursue a doctoral degree, as I would have to put my life on hold.
And then...on the way home two shining moments:
Well, if you had said you wanted to stay at your place and rent a movie, we wouldn't have had to go into the city for bowling
And had touched my leg twice, both times it felt gross.
So friends, now I'm in a pickle. I have that 3-date rule and while I make it sound awful, it wasn't horrendous, it's just evident we are not a good match. Ugh, I hate my rules and I hate being a rule follower. He has left the planning of a 3rd date, up to me. I think I'm going to force him to see a chick flick.
This really SHOULD be an entry about my Sunday evening. Because, dear readers, it was FAB. It was so fab that I have reverted to my less awesome self who is now sitting around going "Please, please let him call me. No really, pleeeaaase!" But I'm gonna spare you until there's more to say (like, until he calls, or he doesn't).
Instead I'll tell you about an interesting phenomenon I have noticed involving a guy I know, one who I'll call the Toxic Avenger. Why? Because he is most certainly toxic, and he appears to have super powers. Chiefly, the power to know exactly when it's the WORST time to crawl out of the woodwork and try to hook up with me. Again.
I'm partly at fault here. I agree to do this again and again because, hey, it's fun and he's a former massage therapist and has other, um, talents. So what's not to like, at least on the physical level, yes? Except that he's cryptic and odd and makes me feel like I am the moony freshman to his sophisticated senior. Also, I have reason to believe he's not the most honest gent on the planet. Oh, and every time we're together it's like a compliment bomb went off. It's cool the first time, but then you start wondering how anyone could seriously wax THAT poetic about the curve of your hips. I mean, yeah, they look good, but for real?
So of COURSE, in the midst of me being all swoony over Mr. Sunday Night, and arranging a date with another guy who I'd already agreed to go out with, Toxic Avenger pops up on Facebook chat and wants to know what I'm up to Friday.
Me: I have tentative plans, actually. (Complete lie.) Him: So do I, but I figured maybe you'd want to one-up them. Me: I wasn't aware I had the power to one-up them. Him: Now you know. (signs off)
So please, Universe, let me have actual plans for Friday and/or some freaking willpower. If not...I guess at least I get a massage out of it.
Wow. It's been awhile. I tried to think of a creative way to tell you all where I've been for the last 2 months...Suffice it to say, it was a combination of a U-turn and a strike while trying to recover from said U-turn. The strike is officially over and I went on a real date over the weekend. My first real date since March.
Details: We met on match.com, he has a job, owns a house, has a car, is attractive and his emails were hilarious. The majority of the date went well. He was friendly, talkative and their were no awkward silences, which is always a plus. However, about 3 hours in he started asking a lot of questions about my most recent relationship. I tried to keep it vague: We broke up a year and a half ago, together on and off for 5 years, he's not in my life for a reason, blah blah blah. However, he kept asking questions about it and frankly I got so fed up I finally thought to myself "Fuck it, I'm just going to answer the damn questions and stop being avoidant." So I told him a good portion of the Jerry Springer relationship I was in.
Now, I know talking about exes is gererally a no-no on a first date, but at this point I'm annoyed that he kept asking and knew he would keep going until he would understand why I just didn't want to talk about it. I also have a certain level of understanding that it is a very crazy story and people are generally intrigued by it, so whatever...I told him. Upon hearing the story his response was: "Wow. Well now you make sense to me, I thought you were hard to read...I should probably tell you about my last relationship." Surprisingly enough, he says he's interested in going out again, so I guess the Jerry Springer story didn't freak him out too much. And while the last hour was torture, I am willing to see him again.
Then we come to all of the underlying issues that keep me from dating in the first place. Right now, my head is kind of spinning with the following: Do I really have the time and energy for a relationship? What if he gets to know me and hates me? I am not "smitten" by him, shouldn't I be? (I have movies and television to thank for that one) I hate getting to know people, I just want the comfort of already knowing someone.
So that's my story...we'll see what happens.
Have a mentioned my ovaries and uterus having been screaming at me to do something about my love life??
So it's been five dates. And it's mostly been fun. But there's this one problem.
He's always trying to make out with me and...I don't really care to, much. Yeah, I know. Me. Me, saying, "No thanks, I'll pass on the physical contact." And when we do, inside my head, there's this:
"Well, this is...OK. I mean, it's not BAD. It's not great either but...it's OK. I'll probably grow to really enjoy it, eventually."
Well, no. I probably won't. Boy, do I feel like I SHOULD, because after all, he's very nice. Nothing but nice. But I'm realizing that I can't magically make myself enjoy the time we spend together. So now I am trying to figure out how to end it...and I'm wondering, which is better? To end it over the phone, which seems so insensitive, or to end it in person, which seems more adult but would also be awkward, in the vein of "Hey, I invited you on date #6 just to ditch you! Peace out!"
What say you, readers? How would you want to hear the news?
It had been long enough, I figured. Not that I had any major grief from which to recover this time, but I guess I figured it had been long enough since my last date because I was getting bored. And when I get bored, the internets come a-callin'.
I decided to experiment with a different site than last time, and I found a few interesting folks. And so I found myself meeting one such person last Monday for Indian food. We had a good time- good enough, in fact, that we were out waaaaay past my bedtime because we had so much to talk about. But it was during the second date that I figured out who I was dealing with, so to speak. You see, ladies, he's a Nice Guy.
He listens. He pays attention. He's respectful of women. Crap, he might actually qualify as a feminist. And here I am, alternately thinking, "I didn't think you EXISTED!" and, "Oh...gee. You're nice. I don't know what to do with nice."
We'll see if NG stays that way- as you know, I've met quite a few men these past few months who went from nice to psycho or coward in less time than it just took me to finish my chai latte. For the time being I'll try to pace myself and learn to enjoy the nice.
This past weekend, the article about the blind date I went on ran in a local magazine. I had been polite but vague in my responses to the exit questionnaire, because I really did think the guy was nice and I didn't want to insult him in print, even if I wasn't interested. I was interested to see what he had to say about the experience from his perspective.
I won't share the link, as my full name and other identifying information are in the article. But suffice it to say, some of his responses were...odd. Awkward, even. Here are some observations from friends who have seen the article:
Upon seeing the photo of the two of us:
"Oh! Oh. Oh no."
"You look really cute. Like...you'd be a cute couple, just not with that guy."
About some of his responses:
"Well-proportioned is...probably a nice way of saying 'not fat'. But...it's kind of a compliment."
"This line makes me think he came in his pants: 'I found her very stimulating. That really did it for me.'"
Say it with me: EWWWWWW.
A coworker just suggested that people will be calling the magazine to ask for my number. Would that it were so simple! I guess the good news is, it was a decent date, and the article, while comical, wasn't totally humiliating. And hopefully after a couple of days people will stop noticing that I was in the paper. Unless they're attractive single men. They can notice for as long as they want.
Since I am occasionally a person who stays in and watches TV and surfs the interwebs in search of all things interesting/amusing, I was intrigued when I came across Newsweek's story about why women have sex. It's actually a review of a new book studying that very question, and it discusses how in the past, it was assumed that women engaged in sex because they desired love and commitment. New research suggests we women do it for revenge, pity (the famous "mercy fuck"), affirmation, and even pain relief. Apparently nine percent of us have even used sex to barter for help around the house.
It got me thinking- have I ever done it for any of those reasons? Why do I usually do it? (Actually, lately I'm really thinking, "Will I ever do it again?" I hate slumps.)
What say you, readers? Have any of those ever been your reasons for sex? Or are you more likely to do it for one of Lily's reasons?
So here I am. Last date = anticlimax. Last couple of interested parties? Disappeared into the ether. So I'm left wondering, what next?
I could just sort of go along as I have been, which isn't the worst idea. I have plenty to do and it would give me an opportunity to see what might come my way "naturally", as it were. Or...do I actually put forth the effort of going back to online dating at this point, even though it's probably no different than it ever has been before?
Ultimately my level of boredom will decide for me. In the meantime...I'll have to resort to sharing something from an even more interesting place on the internet. Check out today's xkcd for a funny perspective on approaching a cute stranger. Been there.
Enjoy the second half of guest blogger LadyLuck's story! If you missed Part One, you can find it here.
Due to my success in business I decided to once again roll the dice – I quit my fabulous jet-setting job and moved to England to start my own business.Even though the economy was just starting to downturn, commodities and labor were cheap and the British pound was dropping – in theory, it was a great time to start a business in my chosen field.Since High Roller was content to stay in the States, I was on a mission to find a new player – and it didn’t take long.
I stepped out of a plane in London and thought that I was the hottest new game in town.It was there that I met up with a former travel acquaintance - a handsome and subtle stereotypical Englishman whom I’ll call The Royal Flush.Just four days older than me, Royal Flush was my ideal counterpart.In addition to sharing a love for exploring exotic travel locations he was also another jet-setting professional who loved his work.He was single with no children and loved what he did for a living.Like me, he genuinely enjoyed his life.His voice was soft with a devastatingly melodic British accent, and his eyes a stunning and captivating sky blue.I found his humble and somewhat awkwardly shy demeanor completely foreign and utterly intriguing.There was a spaciousness and contentment in him that gave me butterflies.We had a wild and passionate weekend – we explored the city together, walking hand-in-hand through Leicester Square, and had great dinners together, alone and with our mutual friends - followed by amazing, cataclysmic sex.It was one of the most memorable weekends of my life.
True enough, I had won again in regards to finding a new player – the problem was that halfway through the game I decided that I wanted to change the rules.I wanted to up the emotional stakes a bit, get to know him better – and maybe one day play the game of being a real couple.It had been so long since I was in a relationship that I had forgotten what it was like to be out, in public, holding hands with someone that just made me happy - genuinely happy, without all the pretenses.We were on the train, his arms wrapped around me, heading back to Holland Park when seemingly an angel whispered into my heart, “This is why people get together” – and in that moment, my addiction to the High Roller and our loose, high-risk, minimal-gain game had ended.My professional life, my geography and personal life were all changing – and now I wanted more.I didn’t want $200.00 bottles of wine, 5-star hotels or fancy meals – I just wanted to be with Royal Flush.Right next to him, wherever he happened to be.Sadly, by the time I realized this I had already set the stage for a mere casual game of strip poker.
As he got ready to leave the next day, Royal Flush kissed me sweetly and said, “If I don’t get out of here soon I’m going to need rehab,” and shortly thereafter he left.I was beside myself.Did he mean what he said, or did he just have a really good poker face?
I was recounting the story of my folly to a good American male friend, the Joker, a week or so after the Royal Flush had left England and gone back to Asia on business.The Joker suggested that if I really wanted to be with Royal Flush that I needed to show him all of my cards and suggest a new game.I realized that this strategy, while somewhat humiliating, was the only hand I had - and after much angst, I decided to deal.Due to his being in Asia, I wasn’t able to contact him by phone or see him in person so I sent a well-written, well-thought out email lightly suggesting a re-match.Sadly, my email went unanswered.He had simply folded.It seems that in relationships, as in gambling, there are no do-overs.
In the game of love I had lost all my chips.I no longer wanted the cheap slots - I had lost all interest in recreational games and put an end to my relationship with the High Roller.I had come to realize that what I was getting from him wasn’t real, but rather just a load of craps.
Not long after that relationship dissolved, the High Roller’s house of cards also fell - within a year his wife had left him.He lost his Ferrari, his house, tens of thousands of dollars and spent months in a bitter custody battle.While our relationship was never the source of the marriage’s demise, or at least that is what I was told, I imagine it had a severe, indirect impact on it, at best.As for me, the unexpected sharp downturn of the economy was far greater than what I had expected, and I’m still experiencing the distressing turmoil that comes with being an entrepreneur in these rough times.I had to move back to the States and take another short-term job to keep myself and the business afloat until we get back on our feet - and while I am fortunate enough to have great emotional support from my friends and family, and a great set of skills to fall back on, I feel a great hole in the support structure that a relationship partner could provide - and I feel its absence daily.I still think about the Royal Flush, and wonder what kind of cards he could have been holding if I had played differently, but I have had no success in establishing a reconnection.
While it’s easy to blame High Roller for starting this game - as many of my friends did, it was I, ultimately, that decided to play.I still hold myself, not him, accountable for having let other opportunities, be it with the Royal Flush or other similar hands, pass by – and to some degree, the demise of the High Roller’s marriage.
As of now, I am completely single and testing the waters in the new game of partner-seeking.Armed with more knowledge, experience and wisdom from my mistakes, I play far less than I did before and far more strategically - and only when the odds are in my favor.I also have my eyes firmly set on a different type of prize.I’ve studied the rules of the game and am better able to evaluate my hand.I have found that for me, the key to successfully giving up the addiction to wrong cards isn’t to give up the entire game, but rather to get a better understanding of my needs and intentions, and to play responsibly.
On Friday after work I was getting pretty nervous about the whole date thing...but it's hard to say if I was more nervous than I normally would be for any old first date. I'm incredibly talented at projecting all kinds of ridiculous fantasies and worries onto a first date, so I get pretty freaked out about them. But I guess this time what made me nervous in particular was that if the date went poorly, I'd have to work extra-hard to keep my cool since this guy was going to be telling a reporter all about his perspective.
I was relieved when I arrived at the restaurant and met the guy, D, who seemed normal, and nice. But...I didn't find him all that attractive. Not that he was unattractive, but I just wasn't all that attracted to him. The fact that the guy leading us to our table was VERY cute didn't help.
The dinner turned out to be pretty fun. We had some good conversation and didn't have a hard time finding things to talk about. Considering how much of a disaster it could have been, it really was pretty fun. He asked for my number at the end, and expressed interest in going out again. I said sure, because I really couldn't think of a reason not to...but I have to say, the more I think about it, the more I'm thinking that while we could maybe be friends, I can't really see myself dating him.
I just did my "exit questionnaire" for the magazine. I was honest but polite, which luckily wasn't hard. While it would have been nice to meet someone I was really interested in, it was a fun experience- and he'll make someone a great boyfriend. Just not me.
Those who know me know my long-standing joke about how I just want some guy to sit down next to me on the subway and say, "hey, let's get married!" Well almost kids, almost. This morning I got onto the train to begin my commute, which was late (shocker!), and a woman ran up into line and cut me off getting on (another shocker!). It just so happens she got one of the last seats on the train.
Let me digress for one minute. I did a charity walk on Sunday and my foot/toe is still feeling the effects. The prospect of standing for the duration of my commute was not thrilling me. Back to our story...
There is one seat available, however there were two larger men sitting on either side of the empty seat and they were both overlapping into the empty seat. One of these men was doing the whole spread eagle thing that men do...like they have the biggest biceps and "member" in the world. I didn't really feel like struggling to fit my fat ass into the seat, especially next to Mr. Spread Eagle. So the other gentleman (yes ladies, gentleman) gets up and offers me his seat. Now this is akward because suddenly I feel like my ass must be huge, or he totally thinks his is, or I look pregnant-he just essentially made two seats available and Catholic guilt begins to overwhelm me. I say "I'm fine, really" (Total lie as my left big toe was throbbing). And he says "Seriously. Don't worry about it." He walked off and I sat down. End of story. Thank you gentleman who saved my foot and my faith in chivalry.
We're pleased to introduce our very first guest blog entry. Welcome LadyLuck, with part one of her tale of High-Stakes Man Gambling!
My name is LadyLuck, and I’m a former Wrong Card addict.Here is my story:
I was 26 years old and on top of my game.I was young, skilled and I had a job that I loved where I made a lot of money and traveled all over the world.I was living high and large, and it was then that I met one called the High Roller.
An executive of a major company, the High Roller was everything wet dreams are made of - dashingly handsome, older, distinguished, successful, confident and rich. He had a taste for the finer things in life: He wore nice clothes. He had great hair. He drove a Ferrari. He smoked imported cigars. He was an exquisite chef that had mastered the art of fine cooking, and also had a 10-acre home on a prime piece of property outside of a major city - complete with a pool, spa and horse ranch.
And he was married.
He invited me to play his game.At first I refused, but then I told myself - and him – that I’d play just one hand, just to get him out of my system.However I discovered very quickly that this was a game that I could not lose – the odds of winning were 10 in 10, in favor of multiple orgasms.I had hit the jackpot.
The few good friends that I told warned me relentlessly that the stakes in this game were too high, but I was convinced that this was a sure bet.At the time I was travelling and living a great life as a single woman.I staunchly did not want a relationship for fear that it would hold me back.Being married with a child, High Roller had a Full House, and wasn’t eager to give up his hand.It was, in our minds, a perfect match.
The game continued for almost three years.Ours was the kind of relationship that movies are made of.(Adult movies, that is.)Secret meetings in 5-star hotels.$200.00 bottles of wine.Parties with other high rollers.High-quality, illegal drugs.He cooked me lavishly wonderful full-course meals, followed with superb desserts.We took long Jacuzzi baths together where we sipped wine and kissed softly by candlelight.We made love – and money.We did business together and both profited tremendously.Indeed I had placed a good bet – or so I thought.
Every so often, late in the night, he would hold me close in the dark and whisper softly in my ear about his thoughts of leaving his wife.As tactfully as I could, I made it clear that if he did that I would want no part of him at all - I was clearly on a winning streak, and even though I had tremendous feelings for him and knew that he played a good hand, I knew that ultimately I could never trust him.
Then – it happened.What happens to every Wrong Card addict:I got greedy...
I decided to take the plunge. And so tomorrow night at 8PM, I will be meeting a man I know only by his first name at a restaurant I've never been to. That part's actually not so out of the ordinary, though- what makes this more interesting is that A) We've literally never met or spoken or even e-mailed prior to this, and I know absolutely nothing about him; and B) After this date we get to rate each other and it gets printed in the paper where potentially EVERYONE could see it.
I'm actually kind of excited. I've not had too much success picking 'em so far, so who's to say a reporter who's never met me couldn't do a better job? And besides, no matter how good or bad this date is, it will be a Story. That much is guaranteed.
My mom wants me to call her right away on Saturday morning to tell her how it went. I guess she assumes I'll be out late.
Hey, are you all following TheWrongCards on Twitter yet? Do it!
You know, maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm crazy. Actually there's a good chance of that. But seriously, maybe I was nuts thinking that when a date ends with the guy saying this:
"So...this has been really fun. Next time we'll have to try and get together on a NOT-school-night, don't you think?"
That usually means he wants to see you again. Yes?
Well, silly me. Because instead of making that third date, Mr. Calamari has disappeared. No response. Zip. Zilch. Nada. He's in the wind.
This isn't a new thing for me, unfortunately. In fact, I have had at least five men disappear on me in the past year. Now, maybe some of you are thinking this has everything to do with something I did, and hey, maybe it is. I'm certainly not perfect, and not everyone's going to like me. But I think it has more to do with cowardice. It's easier for them to just never call back than to have to say, "Sorry, but I don't want to see you again."
Funny enough, Mr. Calamari had heard about some of the crazy, angry guys I dated earlier this summer and he said, "If we go out on a date, even if it doesn't work out, it won't end like that." He was right. But there's more than one way to be a jerk.
After two lovely dates with the Fancy Man (or "Mr. Calamari", as the Queen calls him) I'm really quite pleased. Date the Third, well, the DATE of Date the Third, is still in negotiations. I've enjoyed spending time with him so far and I'm curious to see what comes next.
However...being that we HAVE only been on two dates, there's certainly nothing written in stone, so when my friend L said she had a guy she thought I should meet, I thought, "Why not?" Nothing wrong with keeping one's options open, and no reason to pass on an opportunity at this point.
But then...today I got a very unexpected e-mail. Several months ago (like, six months ago) a friend and I jokingly sent applications in to a local magazine. They were looking for single people willing to be matched up, go on a date, and let the magazine write about it. At the time I was pretty bored as far as dating and I thought it might be kind of a laugh. I never heard from them and I'd basically forgotten about it...until now.
Today they e-mailed me to ask if I was still interested. I'm naturally quite intrigued, but I wonder...is this asking for trouble? Of course, when you're in a casual dating situation, it's almost to be expected that you might date more than one person casually for a bit. But to do that and have it written up in the local press...is that going too far? Don't get me wrong- I don't feel committed to Mr. Calamari at this point, and I haven't even met L's friend yet. But am I setting myself up for some drama later if I do this? Help me, internets! I need some advice.
It all started a couple of Fridays ago, when my friend A and I decided to change up the routine, get dressed up, and go to the fancy cocktail bar instead of our usual beer bar. And so it came to pass that I was sitting on a leather bar stool, sipping a pink drink, and chatting with a cocktail bar man.
The cocktail bar man is a species I don't have much experience with. Most of the guys I've dated have been of the beer bar variety. Their wardrobes consisted of worn and torn jeans and slogan t-shirts and the same baseball hat they'd been wearing since freshman year of college. Their year was divided into three seasons: baseball, football, and basketball (and sometimes hockey). Often I found myself engaging in conversations with themes like, "Why a short-sleeved dress shirt is never appropriate at the office, even in summer" and, "There are more interesting things to read than the Onion, trust me". Don't get me wrong, I enjoy some lowbrow humor and sports too, but sometimes you just wish they had finer taste about something, you know?
So the cocktail bar man was intriguing. He clearly shopped for himself and dressed himself well. He could hold forth on obscure '70s music, sports, and film all in one conversation (for some reason the bar was playing "AM Radio Favorites" that night, to our amusement. Seals and Crofts, anyone?). And because he was funny, and interesting, and nice, when he gave me his card and told me that if I decided to end my strike anytime soon, I should let him know, I found myself thinking that might not be such a bad idea. I was a little uneasy about it...in addition to diving back in after the strike, I was also wondering- could I date a guy like this? One who seemed to be so definitely NOT my type? But of course it made sense to me to just let that go for a bit and see what happened...because if my usual type of guy usually didn't work out, trying out someone who seemed against type for me could be a good thing.
So after a few witty e-mails back and forth, we met for drinks and spent nearly five hours talking, eating, and...kissing. (That was a small portion of the five hours but rather a memorable one.) And it made me a little nervous when he ordered martinis with some kind of vodka I'd never heard of (Chopin, in case anyone was wondering)...but then I remembered that at the beginning of the evening he'd ordered a Miller High Life. So perhaps I won't be as out of my element as I'd feared. I'll let you know how date number two goes...
Lately my weekday evening entertainment has been browsing through profiles on various online dating websites. I came across a profile last night, and I couldn't help but laugh and say "finally." Here is my favorite part:
Physically? I am a fan of full lips, glasses (I thought Tina Fey was hot before it was popular), smiles and curves, be they the solid kind that come from time in the gym or the softer kind that come naturally. Confused? Do you have to mix-n-match her swimsuit tops n bottoms or hates button up shirts? Do know who Lady Grace is? Now all of that said, if the only thing about you to like is the way you look then stop reading and click on the next guy.
The pessimist in me says he's a T&A guy...but the optimist has winked at him!
It's been a stressful week, folks. Busy at work, and to top it off my very awesome Grandma had a heart attack (luckily she is home from the hospital and doing just fine as of this writing). So when I heard I was going to get to see a certain "friend" of mine Wednesday night, I was looking forward to it. I mean, who doesn't look forward to that? Not to mention that while I could have gone to the gym or something to relieve some of my tension, a roll in the hay is clearly more fun than half an hour on the elliptical.
Well, imagine my surprise when my "friend" waited till the ride home to announce that he wouldn't be staying. It seemed his people were expecting him back at a certain hour and the hour was non-negotiable. But I shouldn't be insulted, I was assured.
I only pointed out that he could be back half an hour later and the world wouldn't end once, and then I gave up. Because I wasn't ready to feel like I was begging, for the love of pete. But seriously, last time I checked, the FB contract doesn't include a last-minute bailout. At least, ours didn't.
Oh well. It may be for the best, as I woke up this morning with a fever and a sore throat. So at least he didn't get sick. Silver linings all around!
I have to give this guy on a dating website credit, he's trying to be creative and cute:
Hey there,I am a little shy,so i came up with a code for you!Won't be tough for a smart,cute girl like yourself!If 1=a and 26=z9 20+7+9+14+11 25+15+22 18+15+3+11
Either I'm really tired, or he can't count and/or spell (or I can't?)? Someone, anyone? I mean, it would be cute if he at least got it right. But really I was just wasting time counting out the alphabet in my head, for a misspelled fragmented sentence, rather than just reading a normal email.
I almost had myself convinced that I was finally owning my strike. You know, really consciously choosing NOT to even try and meet men, because I needed a break. And really, as boring as the break was in some ways, it has been less stressful just not having to worry about some guy and whether he was going to call.
But then last night when the very nice guy I'd been hanging out with at this concert asked for my number, I caved. Because it was too loud in there to explain how I was on strike, and he would have thought I was crazy. And also because if nothing else, I'll have yet another story.
His codename will be The Minstrel. It's not entirely accurate, but he does play the mandolin.
In other news, I am almost sure I'll be seeing an Old Buddy From The Navy next week. Also known as my favorite mood enhancer. Who needs drugs?
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.
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.
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?"
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.
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????
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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)
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."
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?!"
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.
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.
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