As you may have noticed, I don't post much anymore. But recent events have got me thinking and so I give you a more serious take on men and women than my previous posts have offered:
I have a lot of things I want to say and I'm not quite sure where to start, so bear with me here. The recent violence carried out by Elliot Rodger has got me thinking, as well as articles written about him/violence against women in general. Here's a good editorial I just finished reading that's pretty amazing: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/05/27/your-princess-is-in-another-castle-misogyny-entitlement-and-nerds.html
But here's the thing. First of all, it's not just women that experience sexual violence, but I agree that's the most prevalent type of sexual violence.
And it's not just men who are enraged because their romantic advances are constantly ignored or turned down.
I feel like I have an interesting perspective here, because I have been treated extremely poorly by men, turned down and dumped, date raped, and abused, physically and emotionally. I have a lot of rage toward the opposite sex, but it's not violent in nature. And also, I really love the opposite sex and know I've had the misfortune of meeting a lot of the less savory members of the gender.
But I have also turned down men. I have been pursued and asked out by men that I just wasn't interested in for whatever reason, sometimes reason unknown even to me. I have been turned down by men and I have turned men down. But I have never physically hurt a man (even when I probably should have).
I also understand mental illness. It kind of runs in my family. And I have been treated at various times in my life for OCD, anxiety, and depression. So I know how the hopelessness of that feels, but realize that it's a more extreme mental illness that causes someone to carry out such a heinous crime. So no, I don't really understand it to that degree.
It's not just women who are abused. It's not just men who are angry because they've been dumped or it seems no one wants to date them. Also, women are hurt by women and men are hurt by men. This is not a gender-specific issue.
But yes, yes to #yesallwomen, because we have to start somewhere and I think focusing on the most commonly seen form of sexual violence is a damn good place to start. Let's start by teaching our boys not to rape instead of teaching our girls to be on the lookout for rapists everywhere they go. And let's make sure to just always treat everyone with kindness, umkay? Because that's pretty damn important, too.
If you read all this, thanks. I just kind of felt compelled to share. And you know what? I feel a little bit better now.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Back in the Game
I realize I've been gone for a while, but since the details of my personal life are of no consequence to you unless they relate to dating, I'll just sum everything up by saying I've been working on some other projects and no, I don't understand the male species any better than I did several months ago.
The guy I alluded to dating in my previous post got really creepy prior to our second date. He started sending me texts that were gratuitously vulgar, even by my standards. Thinking perhaps I had sent him the wrong type of signals, I decided he still deserved a second chance. I think everyone has probably realized by now I don't always make the best decisions. The date didn't start out terrible, but after walking around Union Square's holiday market for a while and telling him how hungry I was, he picked a bar that didn't serve food. I left and got food, but when I brought it back, he ate most of it. Then he watched tv at the bar instead of engaging me in conversation and when he did, it was to ask me what I wore to bed and what type of fantasies I had. I was so out of my comfort zone. Makes sense that his last name was literally "Hard."
After that #fail, I dated Brian for a couple months and there wasn't anything inherently wrong with him. I should note, however, that this was my first attempt at dating a younger man and that was Brian's fatal flaw. By no fault of his own, he was not ready to head toward the "settling down" track at 26, but he could tell that I was. But what was his fault was dumping me in an e-mail two days before my birthday. You stay classy, Brian. (Note: At 29 1/2 I now refuse to date under 30. I think this is reasonable).
Then I found Rob, who, as a Catholic, Republican (not only a Republican, a Republican who actually voted for Mitt Romney), who did not appreciate baseball OR the Brooklyn Bridge and also smoked, broke every rule about what I wanted in a man. He didn't laugh. His fear of bedbugs kept him from going to movie theaters. He preferred dogs over cats. But god, was he smart. Conversation with him was always stimulating and I could truly open up to him. I found myself telling him things on our second and third dates that I'd never verbalized to anyone. He said things to me I'd been waiting for a man to say since middle school: "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" (I have that exact phrase written down, word-for-word, in an old journal. The page is titled: "What I wish a boy would say to me:"). He went out of his way to support my endeavors, even if it meant getting 100% soaking wet on his way somewhere else. He confided difficult things in me as well and it wasn't long before I found myself caring less and less about his repellent qualities.
I started to wonder how much I could look past to build a future with someone if the connection was strong enough; where's the fine line between compromise and sacrifice? I felt as though he was getting really carried away by the relationship and I didn't want to let too much time go by before having the conversation re: potential dealbreakers. If they were really going to break the deal, better have it sooner rather than later. Turns out he was freaked out because he thought I was the one getting carried away by the relationship. I maintain that I was not: I wasn't the one who came to support his event in the pouring rain, bought his nephew a doughnut, literally offered the coat off my back, sparked the conversation about relationship history, stalked via social media to find out about past boyfriends, told my mom about him over the phone in front of him... these were all things he did. All I did was accept his Facebook request and return his affection. So we mutually called it quits, and at least now I don't have to worry about a future argument debating whether or not our children are getting baptized. Whew, dodged that bullet!
Recently, I toyed with the possibility of dating the host of my favorite pub trivia night. My friends pointed out after several weeks that I was the only one at our table he spoke to and that when he talked to me, it was blatant flirting. I laughed them off; after all, they're girls, and girls always think guys are flirting with their friends. But then the next week he called me the most beautiful girl in the room. And the week after that my guy bff came along and agreed that Trivia Greg was into me. I'd thought for some time that Greg was really cute, so I finally allowed myself to agree that just maybe all of my friends were right. After trivia concluded that night, I stuck around at the bar for a drink, sans friends, and Greg sat down at the bar next to me. We talked for the next hour until closing time, at which point he paid for my drink, we left together, and he walked me to my corner on his way to the train. We hugged prior to departure, and that was that. We've spoken at trivia night since then, but never another flirt in my direction.
So no, nothing has changed. I still don't understand men one bit. And the only possibility I have at the moment is a blind date on Sunday with a dude whose last name is a synonym for "butt floss scrotum."
The guy I alluded to dating in my previous post got really creepy prior to our second date. He started sending me texts that were gratuitously vulgar, even by my standards. Thinking perhaps I had sent him the wrong type of signals, I decided he still deserved a second chance. I think everyone has probably realized by now I don't always make the best decisions. The date didn't start out terrible, but after walking around Union Square's holiday market for a while and telling him how hungry I was, he picked a bar that didn't serve food. I left and got food, but when I brought it back, he ate most of it. Then he watched tv at the bar instead of engaging me in conversation and when he did, it was to ask me what I wore to bed and what type of fantasies I had. I was so out of my comfort zone. Makes sense that his last name was literally "Hard."
After that #fail, I dated Brian for a couple months and there wasn't anything inherently wrong with him. I should note, however, that this was my first attempt at dating a younger man and that was Brian's fatal flaw. By no fault of his own, he was not ready to head toward the "settling down" track at 26, but he could tell that I was. But what was his fault was dumping me in an e-mail two days before my birthday. You stay classy, Brian. (Note: At 29 1/2 I now refuse to date under 30. I think this is reasonable).
Then I found Rob, who, as a Catholic, Republican (not only a Republican, a Republican who actually voted for Mitt Romney), who did not appreciate baseball OR the Brooklyn Bridge and also smoked, broke every rule about what I wanted in a man. He didn't laugh. His fear of bedbugs kept him from going to movie theaters. He preferred dogs over cats. But god, was he smart. Conversation with him was always stimulating and I could truly open up to him. I found myself telling him things on our second and third dates that I'd never verbalized to anyone. He said things to me I'd been waiting for a man to say since middle school: "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" (I have that exact phrase written down, word-for-word, in an old journal. The page is titled: "What I wish a boy would say to me:"). He went out of his way to support my endeavors, even if it meant getting 100% soaking wet on his way somewhere else. He confided difficult things in me as well and it wasn't long before I found myself caring less and less about his repellent qualities.
I started to wonder how much I could look past to build a future with someone if the connection was strong enough; where's the fine line between compromise and sacrifice? I felt as though he was getting really carried away by the relationship and I didn't want to let too much time go by before having the conversation re: potential dealbreakers. If they were really going to break the deal, better have it sooner rather than later. Turns out he was freaked out because he thought I was the one getting carried away by the relationship. I maintain that I was not: I wasn't the one who came to support his event in the pouring rain, bought his nephew a doughnut, literally offered the coat off my back, sparked the conversation about relationship history, stalked via social media to find out about past boyfriends, told my mom about him over the phone in front of him... these were all things he did. All I did was accept his Facebook request and return his affection. So we mutually called it quits, and at least now I don't have to worry about a future argument debating whether or not our children are getting baptized. Whew, dodged that bullet!
Recently, I toyed with the possibility of dating the host of my favorite pub trivia night. My friends pointed out after several weeks that I was the only one at our table he spoke to and that when he talked to me, it was blatant flirting. I laughed them off; after all, they're girls, and girls always think guys are flirting with their friends. But then the next week he called me the most beautiful girl in the room. And the week after that my guy bff came along and agreed that Trivia Greg was into me. I'd thought for some time that Greg was really cute, so I finally allowed myself to agree that just maybe all of my friends were right. After trivia concluded that night, I stuck around at the bar for a drink, sans friends, and Greg sat down at the bar next to me. We talked for the next hour until closing time, at which point he paid for my drink, we left together, and he walked me to my corner on his way to the train. We hugged prior to departure, and that was that. We've spoken at trivia night since then, but never another flirt in my direction.
So no, nothing has changed. I still don't understand men one bit. And the only possibility I have at the moment is a blind date on Sunday with a dude whose last name is a synonym for "butt floss scrotum."
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Grabbing a Spoon
Seven months after my breakup, I’m totally ready to move
on. It was a gradual process, comprised
of throwing photographs and ticket stubs away one month, deleting his number
from my phone another month, finding a cute boy to flirt with the next. Baby steps.
And now I’m ready to grab a spoon!
Two, actually.
I didn’t plan to follow up my Dharma & Greg post with a Friends
post, but sometimes romcom tv shows can teach us a lot about relationships and
provide metaphors that are easily relatable to real life. “Grabbing a spoon” is how Joey (in his
lovable, promiscuous way) motivates Ross to move on after his divorce from Carol. Carol was vanilla, and vanilla was great, but
now it’s time to try some new flavors; see what else is out there!
So a couple weeks ago I grabbed a spoon. For the first time in ten years, I gave a guy
my phone number without the aid of liquid confidence. It was a guy I had talked to on a few
occasions and he seemed flirtatious, so I made a move. He never called, but it was empowering just
to take that step after so much time. It
was the first time in over a year I was interested in a new person and that
alone felt pretty good, but since I had nothing invested in the new guy and don’t
have to see him again, I suffered no loss.
And then, earlier this week, I went on my first actual date since the breakup. And it was really, really great. The guy was someone I talked to for several
minutes at pub trivia the week before and asked me for my number which,
like, never happens. So that was awesome
and empowering as well and I realized that now that I’m no longer wallowing, I’m
displaying confidence that others might find appealing. So the date went really well, the guy and I
have been chatting all week, we’re going out again next week, and… who
knows? Maybe it will be something, maybe
it won’t, but at this point I again have nothing to lose. Sure, I like him a lot so far, but how much can
you really tell from one date? I used to
think a lot could be told, but it’s time to take a step back and just let
things happen.
I’m trying to do something I have NEVER done before: have
fun when dating! It’s an entirely new
concept to me. So I’m going to keep on
grabbing spoons and see what is out there that I haven’t yet experienced. I’ll admit, it’s a little scary, but I
encourage others to do the same. But be
careful, because there are some pretty crazy flavors out there, especially if
you’re browsing the Ben & Jerry’s section of the freezer aisle! And stay away from nuts.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
What I learned about soul mates from Dharma & Greg
I remember an episode of Dharma and Greg in which an ex-girlfriend of Greg, who he has remained close friends with returns to town. Dharma feels threatened by this beautiful, successful, single woman who seems to be much better-suited for Greg than Dharma is. Dharma and Greg take the ex out on the town to find her a man, but Dharma spends most of the night talking to a guy at the bar. Like Dharma, his parents were also hippies, he has an unusual name, he enjoys yoga and New Age-y things that Greg generally scoffs at. At the end of the evening, Greg asks Dharma if she found a soul mate, referring, of course to someone suitable for his ex. Dharma replies to him, "Yes! But I'm going home with the man I love."
I think about this episode a lot. It really got me thinking when I originally saw it years ago, too. A Romantic and true idealist, I always believed in soul mates. Dharma made me consider, for the first time, that even though I may have a soul mate out there, he might not be the right person for me. Yes, I know I am basing this theory on a sitcom, but the philosophy is worth exploring. Recent events in my life have brought this to mind, and I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe, maybe Nate was my soul mate. Nate wasn't the first man I was convinced was "the one." He was the third. But he was the first of the trio I had a long-term, happy, healthy, cutesy, committed relationship with, so that made my conviction seem all the more reasonable, even likely.
Maybe Nate was my soul mate. On our first date he recited lines from a documentary written by a man my brother was named after. The first time he walked into my apartment he noticed right away that I arrange my bookshelves according to genre. We both have a tendency to put on ridiculous music and break into an even more ridiculous spontaneous dance and we shared an obsession with the Brooklyn Bridge. From the very moment I met him, I felt comfortable and happy and was able to be myself without holding anything back. The first time we kissed I felt electricity course through my body and thought, "I'm never going to kiss another man" -- a thought that terrified me, but one I couldn't push away.
Maybe he was my soul mate. Maybe not, but it's possible that he was. And maybe we were soul mates, but there's actually someone out there I'll be happier with. Right now that doesn't seem like an option, and it's not something I'm going to explore for a long time, but I have to accept that it just might be true.
I think about this episode a lot. It really got me thinking when I originally saw it years ago, too. A Romantic and true idealist, I always believed in soul mates. Dharma made me consider, for the first time, that even though I may have a soul mate out there, he might not be the right person for me. Yes, I know I am basing this theory on a sitcom, but the philosophy is worth exploring. Recent events in my life have brought this to mind, and I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe, maybe Nate was my soul mate. Nate wasn't the first man I was convinced was "the one." He was the third. But he was the first of the trio I had a long-term, happy, healthy, cutesy, committed relationship with, so that made my conviction seem all the more reasonable, even likely.
Maybe Nate was my soul mate. On our first date he recited lines from a documentary written by a man my brother was named after. The first time he walked into my apartment he noticed right away that I arrange my bookshelves according to genre. We both have a tendency to put on ridiculous music and break into an even more ridiculous spontaneous dance and we shared an obsession with the Brooklyn Bridge. From the very moment I met him, I felt comfortable and happy and was able to be myself without holding anything back. The first time we kissed I felt electricity course through my body and thought, "I'm never going to kiss another man" -- a thought that terrified me, but one I couldn't push away.
Maybe he was my soul mate. Maybe not, but it's possible that he was. And maybe we were soul mates, but there's actually someone out there I'll be happier with. Right now that doesn't seem like an option, and it's not something I'm going to explore for a long time, but I have to accept that it just might be true.
Monday, May 7, 2012
On this day in 1995: Dear Diary, What Is Love?
May 7, 1995:
Dear Diary,
I just got back from Washington, D.C. with my church's Youth Club. There is this one boy who goes to my church. His name is Steven but he'd probably get mad if you called him Steven. Anyway, I think I'm madly in love with him. He is AWESOME looking, and he's really sexy. I got to sit by him in the van on the way there. Go me!
I found this diary entry particularly amusing after having recently been actually, really, truly and very madly in love with a boyfriend with whom I spent painstaking months building a deep relationship. Three hours sitting next to a boy, even an "awesome looking" one in a church van does not equal love.
I have been in love three times. Unrequited loves, all of them.
Current score: Love: 3 / Me: 0
Go Me!
Dear Diary,
I just got back from Washington, D.C. with my church's Youth Club. There is this one boy who goes to my church. His name is Steven but he'd probably get mad if you called him Steven. Anyway, I think I'm madly in love with him. He is AWESOME looking, and he's really sexy. I got to sit by him in the van on the way there. Go me!
I found this diary entry particularly amusing after having recently been actually, really, truly and very madly in love with a boyfriend with whom I spent painstaking months building a deep relationship. Three hours sitting next to a boy, even an "awesome looking" one in a church van does not equal love.
I have been in love three times. Unrequited loves, all of them.
Current score: Love: 3 / Me: 0
Go Me!
Monday, April 30, 2012
What NOT to say to someone who has just been dumped
It's been a week since Nate broke up with me and the wound is still fresh. Friends and family have rallied around me to cheer me up and offer comforting words, and while in most cases they have proven very helpful, they've also succeeded in providing me with a new blog post: what NOT to say to someone who has just been dumped.
"You'll find somebody ten times better."
- Better is not the point. Ryan Gosling could ask me to marry him right now and I wouldn't accept. I don't want better; I want Nate. I want what I had. That's what was perfect and made me the happiest I've ever been in my life.
"It's Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all."
- Is it? Really? I disagree. Had I known it would end like this, I would have walked away eight months ago and never fallen in love with him in the first place.
"You will be happy again."
- Duh. The point is that I'm not happy now.
"Finding true love takes time."
- How much longer will it take? I thought maybe 28 years was long enough.
"You must first love yourself before someone else can love you."
- I do love myself! I think I'm fucking wonderful. Yet I'm still waiting for someone to love me...
"On the bright side, you can still be friends."
- Oh, so we can hang out and laugh and have a great time and do everything we used to do, except have sex? Yeah, that sounds really awesome. Not to mention I'll have to sit around and watch when he finds someone new. Sounds like a real party.
"At least it's not just you. The success rate for relationships is really, really low. Almost nobody stays together anymore!"
- Wow. Just... wow. Extremely encouraging.
There are, however, some words that have actually made me feel better this past week, and I thank my friends whole-heartedly who have been there for me and said these kind things:
"That fool just lost the best thing he ever had."
- Damn straight.
"You weren't too good for him, but you were far too good for the situation."
- Ahh yes, I can't deny this. Being in a "medium-distance" relationship and stressing about the next time I'd get to see my boyfriend had definitely started to take its toll.
"I know it hurts that he didn't love you, but just remember that I have loved you for 19 years."
- Friends that have stuck around since I was a chubbster wearing stirrup leggnings are the best.
I can assure you that, for the most part, when someone has been dumped, all she/he wants to hear is how much life sucks. And it does suck. A lot, sometimes. But my week of mourning is over and now it's time to let the wound begin scabbing. I know, I know... scabs are really gross and generally unwated, but that's how I view the process of healing from a break-up. No one really wants to go through that, either. I could also form an analogy about how even after the wound heals the scar remains, but... maybe I'll leave that extreme corniness for a future post. Deal with it.
HAPPY 50th BLOG POST TO ME! Thanks for reading :)
"You'll find somebody ten times better."
- Better is not the point. Ryan Gosling could ask me to marry him right now and I wouldn't accept. I don't want better; I want Nate. I want what I had. That's what was perfect and made me the happiest I've ever been in my life.
"It's Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all."
- Is it? Really? I disagree. Had I known it would end like this, I would have walked away eight months ago and never fallen in love with him in the first place.
"You will be happy again."
- Duh. The point is that I'm not happy now.
"Finding true love takes time."
- How much longer will it take? I thought maybe 28 years was long enough.
"You must first love yourself before someone else can love you."
- I do love myself! I think I'm fucking wonderful. Yet I'm still waiting for someone to love me...
"On the bright side, you can still be friends."
- Oh, so we can hang out and laugh and have a great time and do everything we used to do, except have sex? Yeah, that sounds really awesome. Not to mention I'll have to sit around and watch when he finds someone new. Sounds like a real party.
"At least it's not just you. The success rate for relationships is really, really low. Almost nobody stays together anymore!"
- Wow. Just... wow. Extremely encouraging.
There are, however, some words that have actually made me feel better this past week, and I thank my friends whole-heartedly who have been there for me and said these kind things:
"That fool just lost the best thing he ever had."
- Damn straight.
"You weren't too good for him, but you were far too good for the situation."
- Ahh yes, I can't deny this. Being in a "medium-distance" relationship and stressing about the next time I'd get to see my boyfriend had definitely started to take its toll.
"I know it hurts that he didn't love you, but just remember that I have loved you for 19 years."
- Friends that have stuck around since I was a chubbster wearing stirrup leggnings are the best.
I can assure you that, for the most part, when someone has been dumped, all she/he wants to hear is how much life sucks. And it does suck. A lot, sometimes. But my week of mourning is over and now it's time to let the wound begin scabbing. I know, I know... scabs are really gross and generally unwated, but that's how I view the process of healing from a break-up. No one really wants to go through that, either. I could also form an analogy about how even after the wound heals the scar remains, but... maybe I'll leave that extreme corniness for a future post. Deal with it.
HAPPY 50th BLOG POST TO ME! Thanks for reading :)
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Just Somebody That I Used To Know
My boyfriend of nearly eight months broke up with me four days ago, telling me that he could never love me. He was the best thing I ever had and I'm left aching and broken, with so many questions that don't have answers. The breakup was preceded by my telling him three weeks ago that I was in love with him, to which he responded kindly and sweetly, but said he couldn't say the same... not yet. Over the next three weeks nothing changed within our relationship, we were still as happy as we were before, but I guess that's all the time he needed to realize something just wasn't there for him. Except I don't understand. How can eight months together in a relationship separated by a distance that required a great deal of effort on both of our parts, a relationship in which he sent me flowers for no reason, talked to me on the phone for hours a night, sent me messages just to tell me I was beautiful, romantically surprised me on Valentine's Day, ditched all his friends for me on his birthday, eagerly met my family last month... how does that not amount to love? What is that, if not love? And what is love, if not that?
I once dated a guy through the Fall and he told me years later that the season always makes him think of me because "you were my Autumn." Well, Nate was my Autumn. And my Winter. And my Spring. I thought he was going to be my Summer, too. There were things I was really looking forward to experiencing with him: camping trips, friend's weddings, the rest of our lives... you get my drift.
On Sunday night he held my hand and told me we couldn't keep spending time together as boyfriend and girlfriend because the "spark" (why do guys always use that word?) wasn't there for him and it wouldn't be fair to me, but he cares about me too much and enjoys my company too much to eliminate me from his life. He still wants to be friends. Of course he does. They always do. I told him he can't have it both ways, and that's the hardest part. I'll never see him again. To do so would just be too hard.
A breakup is like a death in that way. Someone you loved so much and thought would be around forever is all of a sudden just cut out of your life. The stages of grief are very similar to those experienced when mourning a death: 1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance. I think I'm currently in the midst of denial and hope I can skip over the middle three stages to the last one. Going about every day life is the hardest part right now. It's not possible for someone to remain in your life for the better part of a year (and believe me, it was the better part) and not have them impact pretty much every aspect of your life. I can't shower without thinking of him because he bought me my shower gel; putting on my coat brings him to mind because we were together when the middle button popped off; I put on my favorite necklace and remember the time I lost it while making out in the backseat of his car; I open my top drawer and see his favorite bra and the underwear he bought for me; I put on my shoes and am reminded that I bought them to wear with the dress I wore for his birthday; I can't go in my backyard without picturing him out there playing basketball with my nephew for hours; and my bed, which is usually a safe haven... well, that's where he broke up with me.
And after the death blow, he gave me a list of things he hoped would put a smile on my face: inside jokes, good times we shared together. It was incredibly sweet and he held me while I sobbed. He kept offering to leave if I wanted him to, so I'd tell him to go, but then he'd say, "I can't leave you like this" and hold me again. He had tears in his eyes when I finally pushed him out the door. The next day was the first day in four months that we didn't speak, and it hurt like hell. I ache. The first thing I did, when I hauled my ass off the couch and made myself stop crying, was to collect everything that reminded me of him and pack it into a box: ticket stubs, photographs, dried rose petals, cards and notes from him, lotion he got me... eight months of my life, neatly packed away into a shoebox. Unfortunately, things like my bed and my backyard require a slightly larger box, so I guess I'll have to overcome the sadness they bring me by reassociating happy memories with them.
I know that I will probably love again and someday I'll find someone else... but honestly, I'm not sure I can do better than Nate. We complemented each other perfectly; it was a really, really great fit and in eight months, we never had even one fight. Maybe that was the problem: not enough danger, not enough excitement. But I'm not about to begin analyzing where and when the relationship went wrong; to do so would drive me mad. So for now I'll let myself be coddled by my family and friends, eat whatever I want, listen to my breakup playlist and go to sleep hugging a box of tissues. That's what will get me through the moments every day when I reach for my phone to tell him something funny that just happened, forgetting he's completely out of my life.
I once dated a guy through the Fall and he told me years later that the season always makes him think of me because "you were my Autumn." Well, Nate was my Autumn. And my Winter. And my Spring. I thought he was going to be my Summer, too. There were things I was really looking forward to experiencing with him: camping trips, friend's weddings, the rest of our lives... you get my drift.
On Sunday night he held my hand and told me we couldn't keep spending time together as boyfriend and girlfriend because the "spark" (why do guys always use that word?) wasn't there for him and it wouldn't be fair to me, but he cares about me too much and enjoys my company too much to eliminate me from his life. He still wants to be friends. Of course he does. They always do. I told him he can't have it both ways, and that's the hardest part. I'll never see him again. To do so would just be too hard.
A breakup is like a death in that way. Someone you loved so much and thought would be around forever is all of a sudden just cut out of your life. The stages of grief are very similar to those experienced when mourning a death: 1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance. I think I'm currently in the midst of denial and hope I can skip over the middle three stages to the last one. Going about every day life is the hardest part right now. It's not possible for someone to remain in your life for the better part of a year (and believe me, it was the better part) and not have them impact pretty much every aspect of your life. I can't shower without thinking of him because he bought me my shower gel; putting on my coat brings him to mind because we were together when the middle button popped off; I put on my favorite necklace and remember the time I lost it while making out in the backseat of his car; I open my top drawer and see his favorite bra and the underwear he bought for me; I put on my shoes and am reminded that I bought them to wear with the dress I wore for his birthday; I can't go in my backyard without picturing him out there playing basketball with my nephew for hours; and my bed, which is usually a safe haven... well, that's where he broke up with me.
And after the death blow, he gave me a list of things he hoped would put a smile on my face: inside jokes, good times we shared together. It was incredibly sweet and he held me while I sobbed. He kept offering to leave if I wanted him to, so I'd tell him to go, but then he'd say, "I can't leave you like this" and hold me again. He had tears in his eyes when I finally pushed him out the door. The next day was the first day in four months that we didn't speak, and it hurt like hell. I ache. The first thing I did, when I hauled my ass off the couch and made myself stop crying, was to collect everything that reminded me of him and pack it into a box: ticket stubs, photographs, dried rose petals, cards and notes from him, lotion he got me... eight months of my life, neatly packed away into a shoebox. Unfortunately, things like my bed and my backyard require a slightly larger box, so I guess I'll have to overcome the sadness they bring me by reassociating happy memories with them.
I know that I will probably love again and someday I'll find someone else... but honestly, I'm not sure I can do better than Nate. We complemented each other perfectly; it was a really, really great fit and in eight months, we never had even one fight. Maybe that was the problem: not enough danger, not enough excitement. But I'm not about to begin analyzing where and when the relationship went wrong; to do so would drive me mad. So for now I'll let myself be coddled by my family and friends, eat whatever I want, listen to my breakup playlist and go to sleep hugging a box of tissues. That's what will get me through the moments every day when I reach for my phone to tell him something funny that just happened, forgetting he's completely out of my life.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Disappearing Act
For the past two years I've been recording my strange dating encounters on this blog in the hopes of somehow reaching an understanding as to how men and women interact. Unfortunately, I am no closer to reaching that understanding than when I started. This is true not only in dating instances, but even in friendships with men. Maybe I should stop trying to be friends with men I've dated...
I first wrote about Matt on 9/2/10 in The Curse of the Fourth Date. To refresh your memory, he broke up with me on our fourth date but asked if we could still be friends. He explained that it just wasn't the right time for him to get involved in something that could become serious, but as the friendship continued maybe something "serendipitious" (his word choice) would happen and we'd end up together. I doubted this would actually be the case and went home that night with no plans to see him again.
But he kept calling me. He kept texting to see when we could hang out again. So I finally swallowed my pride a month or so later and met up with him for gravy fries and beer. The month after that he invited me over for dinner, which he cooked: spaghetti, complete with home-made noodles and self-canned tomato sauce. We spent time together pretty frequently in the following months: bar trivia nights, beer chugging contests, dinner, concerts, walks in the park with ice cream. Though he sometimes sent me mixed signals (texting me early on a weekend to tell me to get out of bed and come have breakfast with him, occasionally picking up the whole tab when we went out, etc.), I was genuinely happy being his friend. Not only had I given up hope that anything would come of it, I didn't even want it to. We were in a really good place.
He came over on Easter to paint eggs with me. After hours of painting eggs, he stuck around to talk. For two hours, we just talked. About work, family, what we want and don't want from our lives. Even for our close friendship it seemed deep and serious, yet effortless. It kind of felt like a turning point.
And then he dropped off the grid. He stopped returning my calls and emails. At one point he apologized, explaining that he was sucked into a black hole at work that would probably continue throughout the month.
The month ended and still... nothing. So I stepped back and gave him his space.
Four months passed until I saw him again. We had tickets to a concert purchased months previously, but when we met up at the show we picked up right where we left off and had a great time. There was one slightly awkward moment when an older couple we were chatting with asked us how long we'd been together and when we explained that we were just friends they reacted with surprise and said, "Well, you should be together!" Their opinion echoed that of my family and friends. Everyone who saw us together thought we were blind to the fact that we belonged with one another. I regret to inform them all that they were mistaken.
I've talked to Matt only once since then, when we randomly ended up in the same train car. We chatted for two stops, agreed we should get together in the near future, and then I got off the train at my stop. That was six months ago. I will never understand what happened, why Matt was my best friend for nearly a year and then all of a sudden decided he didn't need me in his life anymore in any capacity. He dropped me cold turkey and it hurts. I miss the bastard.
Despite it all, I still don't believe that Harry Burns (When Harry Met Sally) was correct when he said that men and women can never truly be friends. For the most part, maybe he's correct; when I analyze the majority of my friendships with (straight) males, we've either dated or one of us has tried to score with the other at some point along the way. I have but one exception to this: Jake. He's been in my life for ten years and though I find him handsome and he thinks I'm pretty, neither of has ever wanted the other. Not remotely. And I know this because we tell each other everything and he would tell me. So Harry was only mostly right. But he was right about Matt.
I first wrote about Matt on 9/2/10 in The Curse of the Fourth Date. To refresh your memory, he broke up with me on our fourth date but asked if we could still be friends. He explained that it just wasn't the right time for him to get involved in something that could become serious, but as the friendship continued maybe something "serendipitious" (his word choice) would happen and we'd end up together. I doubted this would actually be the case and went home that night with no plans to see him again.
But he kept calling me. He kept texting to see when we could hang out again. So I finally swallowed my pride a month or so later and met up with him for gravy fries and beer. The month after that he invited me over for dinner, which he cooked: spaghetti, complete with home-made noodles and self-canned tomato sauce. We spent time together pretty frequently in the following months: bar trivia nights, beer chugging contests, dinner, concerts, walks in the park with ice cream. Though he sometimes sent me mixed signals (texting me early on a weekend to tell me to get out of bed and come have breakfast with him, occasionally picking up the whole tab when we went out, etc.), I was genuinely happy being his friend. Not only had I given up hope that anything would come of it, I didn't even want it to. We were in a really good place.
He came over on Easter to paint eggs with me. After hours of painting eggs, he stuck around to talk. For two hours, we just talked. About work, family, what we want and don't want from our lives. Even for our close friendship it seemed deep and serious, yet effortless. It kind of felt like a turning point.
And then he dropped off the grid. He stopped returning my calls and emails. At one point he apologized, explaining that he was sucked into a black hole at work that would probably continue throughout the month.
The month ended and still... nothing. So I stepped back and gave him his space.
Four months passed until I saw him again. We had tickets to a concert purchased months previously, but when we met up at the show we picked up right where we left off and had a great time. There was one slightly awkward moment when an older couple we were chatting with asked us how long we'd been together and when we explained that we were just friends they reacted with surprise and said, "Well, you should be together!" Their opinion echoed that of my family and friends. Everyone who saw us together thought we were blind to the fact that we belonged with one another. I regret to inform them all that they were mistaken.
I've talked to Matt only once since then, when we randomly ended up in the same train car. We chatted for two stops, agreed we should get together in the near future, and then I got off the train at my stop. That was six months ago. I will never understand what happened, why Matt was my best friend for nearly a year and then all of a sudden decided he didn't need me in his life anymore in any capacity. He dropped me cold turkey and it hurts. I miss the bastard.
Despite it all, I still don't believe that Harry Burns (When Harry Met Sally) was correct when he said that men and women can never truly be friends. For the most part, maybe he's correct; when I analyze the majority of my friendships with (straight) males, we've either dated or one of us has tried to score with the other at some point along the way. I have but one exception to this: Jake. He's been in my life for ten years and though I find him handsome and he thinks I'm pretty, neither of has ever wanted the other. Not remotely. And I know this because we tell each other everything and he would tell me. So Harry was only mostly right. But he was right about Matt.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Dater
One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, as far as men are concerned, was cut Eric out of my life. It should have been the easiest, considering he’s a lying, cheating, manipulative, date rapist sack of shit. However, he was a date rapist sack of shit who always called just to ask how my day was and never failed to offer uplifting words when I was down (except when he was the cause of it). I can honestly say he’s the only guy to draw a smiley face on his penis in magic marker to cheer me up. The point I’m trying to make is that cutting him off was difficult for me, given his positive traits, but should definitely not have been, given his sadistic, sociopathic traits. (I know what most of you are saying: “Any idiot could do that.” Well, it was tough for me, so back off!)
The other hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, as far as men are concerned, was be best friends with a guy I was in love with for two years, hoping he would realize he was also in love with me. He never did and I’ve since realized we would be absolutely terrible together, but at the time it caused me great agony, especially when talking him through various break-ups and heartaches.
Right now I am going through something that is right up there with those two experiences. And I’m going to write about it because I don’t think I can jinx anything at this point; it’s all in the very fragile hands of that wily bitch, Fate. I also write this with the blessing of Nate (whose name I am changing because I’m still a little bit superstitious, a lot bit respectful of his privacy, and hey, I’ve never dated a Nate!). When Nate found out, on our second date, that I write a dating blog, he admitted that it was somewhat strange that he might end up on it, but said, “If I say or do anything that inspires you to write, but all means, use it.” And so I shall.
Nate and I have been "talking" for three months, dating for two months, and have not seen each other for one month. We were set-up by a mutual friend via email and shortly after we began dating and realized we were really into each other, forces beyond our control forced us into long-distance dating for the indeterminable future. Long distance relationships are difficult enough. Now imagine long distance dating: still getting to know each other’s proclivities, figuring out each other’s comfort zones, not yet sure how he feels about me and unable to see him to put insecurities and fears to rest. Phone calls are superb for heart-to-hearts and text messages do wonders for flirting, but both can only convey so much, and a great deal can be misconstrued without the benefit of face-to-face communication.
The worst part is simply not knowing when we might see each other again. I think if I had a particular date on the calendar to look forward to it might not be so bad, but at this point it’s impossible to know. It’s a very strange feeling to miss someone so much whom I’m just beginning to get to know and yes, it’s only been a month that we have not seen each other, but knowing this could continue indefinitely… that’s the kicker. At least I know that we’re on the same page, because we’ve discussed how to proceed: just go with the flow. What else is there to do? We each agree that something is there that is worth preserving, worth working toward and that what we have could really go somewhere special.
So here I am, working damn hard to make this work, and I don’t even know what “this” is. It’s not a “relationship” in the “boyfriend/girlfriend” sense of the word, but it’s something deeper than “hey, I’m dating some guy and I hope it works out” because we’ve both put in a hell of an effort so far working toward a potential future together that may or may not even be possible. It's agonizing.
The other hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, as far as men are concerned, was be best friends with a guy I was in love with for two years, hoping he would realize he was also in love with me. He never did and I’ve since realized we would be absolutely terrible together, but at the time it caused me great agony, especially when talking him through various break-ups and heartaches.
Right now I am going through something that is right up there with those two experiences. And I’m going to write about it because I don’t think I can jinx anything at this point; it’s all in the very fragile hands of that wily bitch, Fate. I also write this with the blessing of Nate (whose name I am changing because I’m still a little bit superstitious, a lot bit respectful of his privacy, and hey, I’ve never dated a Nate!). When Nate found out, on our second date, that I write a dating blog, he admitted that it was somewhat strange that he might end up on it, but said, “If I say or do anything that inspires you to write, but all means, use it.” And so I shall.
Nate and I have been "talking" for three months, dating for two months, and have not seen each other for one month. We were set-up by a mutual friend via email and shortly after we began dating and realized we were really into each other, forces beyond our control forced us into long-distance dating for the indeterminable future. Long distance relationships are difficult enough. Now imagine long distance dating: still getting to know each other’s proclivities, figuring out each other’s comfort zones, not yet sure how he feels about me and unable to see him to put insecurities and fears to rest. Phone calls are superb for heart-to-hearts and text messages do wonders for flirting, but both can only convey so much, and a great deal can be misconstrued without the benefit of face-to-face communication.
The worst part is simply not knowing when we might see each other again. I think if I had a particular date on the calendar to look forward to it might not be so bad, but at this point it’s impossible to know. It’s a very strange feeling to miss someone so much whom I’m just beginning to get to know and yes, it’s only been a month that we have not seen each other, but knowing this could continue indefinitely… that’s the kicker. At least I know that we’re on the same page, because we’ve discussed how to proceed: just go with the flow. What else is there to do? We each agree that something is there that is worth preserving, worth working toward and that what we have could really go somewhere special.
So here I am, working damn hard to make this work, and I don’t even know what “this” is. It’s not a “relationship” in the “boyfriend/girlfriend” sense of the word, but it’s something deeper than “hey, I’m dating some guy and I hope it works out” because we’ve both put in a hell of an effort so far working toward a potential future together that may or may not even be possible. It's agonizing.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Anxiety and Dating: A Girl Just Can't Win
Today is World Mental Health Day and, as such, I've decided to be straight up with y'all: I suffer from Anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It doesn't make dating any easier, believe me. Every girl (and guy, if he's being honest) begins to obsess when she/he realizes she's totally smitten with a new potential mate. Now take this obsessing, this "Is he thinking about me right now?" ; "Is he just fooling around or does he want something more?" ; "Who is that girl in his Facebook picture?" ; "Why isn't he calling?" ; "Is he going to break my heart?" -- take this, and multiply it x10. Obsessing complusively. A need to obsess, with no rhyme or reason, on a scale that escalates the more attempts are made to control it. This obsessing has viciously caused me to ruin more than one potential relationship by leading me to actions such as bringing up what I like to call the "Changing of the Facebook Relationship Status" Talk on a 4th date (Sidenote: this could be where the Curse of the Fourth Date originated). Why would I do something so stupid, so prematurely? Because ambiguity makes me anxious, therefore causing me to obsess.
Yes, I take medication to keep it in check. That just subues the OCD; it doesn't make it *poof!* disappear. I'm stuck with it. I've found I need to be with someone who understands anxiety and irrational obsessing, yet is completely mentally stable. Someone who is sympathetic and a calming influence yet doesn't totally freak out or say I'm over-reacting when I go batshit. I've tried the alternative -- dating someone who understands because he suffers from similar afflictions and it just doesn't work, not for me. At least one of us has to have our shit together at any given point in time.
There have only been two occasions in which I've told a guy I was dating about my disorders. Although it's extremely important to be completely open about myself and my insecurities when seeing someone, it's not exactly the easiest topic to broach. "Sometimes I feel like a crazy person. Still want to go out with me?" If you're a regular reader of this blog, you are well aware that I'm already pretty good at making men go running for the hills on my own, without the help of bringing mental disorders to light. And aye, there's the rub: just thinking about initiating a conversation in which I discuss OCD and anxiety makes me so anxious that I have to stop thinking about it.
I just started seeing someone a month ago. Everything feels different with this one. I feel the electricity with him that I've been missing with pretty much every other guy I've dated, even the ones I was really into. He makes me feel like I'm in a movie. And although he gives me the good, happy kind of butterflies, as opposed to the "oh my god I'm going to throw up because I'm so scared" butterflies, I'm not worried. I don't spend my time wondering where he is and what's he doing when we're not together. I'm not anxious about other girls or whether or not he's thinking about me. I'm actually confident that he's into me and wants to be with me. This confidence is new to me and scarier than anything else I've experienced so far, because it makes me susceptible to an even greater vulnerability than anything I've ever known. In this case, the lack of anxiety is making me anxious on a whole new level. A girl just can't win.
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Monday, October 3, 2011
Dear Diary 10/3/95: Scientific Evidence regarding Lovesickness
10/3/95: I think I finally know what everyone means by "Lovesick." I have a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach kind of like a roller coaster ride whenever I think of Chris. But when I think of [insert name of gross kid here], I keep feeling sick, but this time as if the thought of him will make me puke! So I know that since when I think of people I despise the roller coaster goes away, what I feel for Chris must be love.
P.S. I made seventy-five cents off of Ian today. O.J. was found innocent. Ian thought he was guilty.
P.P.S. I need Chris!
There you have it, folks. Lovesickness: it's a real thing, as proven by me, sixteen years ago. I'll collect my Nobel Prize now, thank you.
Oh, and that damn Ian never paid me my 75 cents. I could really use that laundry money.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Facebook and the Ghosts of Crushes Past
Facebook has proven very helpful recently in helping me keep track of the ghosts of crushes past (figuratively speaking; they aren't actually dead). On the same day that my now married (not to me) one-time love of my life joined Facebook, an old crush friended me. Said crush (let's call him Jared, because that's his name) was a class below me in high school and I don't think we ever exchanged a single word... in person, that is. Back in '98, Mark Zuckerberg was a mere boy of 14 and AOL was the hottest method of communication. It was super easy to do a search for someone, discover their screen name and start a friendly conversation. The summer after I finished sixth grade I spotted Jared at a carnival in his blue and orange Adidas wind pants and I was smitten. I didn't know who he was, but I was in deep smit. When the school year started up again I discovered his locker was right outside my homeroom, and the daily sightings only served to increase my desire for him. At some point during my infatuation, I IMed Jared on AOL. I pretended I had no idea who he was, but was simply commenting on a quote I liked in his profile. I am not proud of this, but I was 14 and the hormones of 14 year-olds hardly make sense. We chatted from time to time and I worshipped him from afar, but nothing ever came of it.
My sophomore year of high school we finally had a class together, but never exchanged a word. Actually... I think he bumped into me in the hall once and said, "Oh, sorry," but I'm not going to count that as real interaction. And then, two days ago, Jared friended me on Facebook. All those years ago, I must have meant something to him after all! Just kidding. I am not so disillusioned anymore that I take his friend request for something other than, "Hey! I recognize that person's name!" But of course, I accepted.
There's another crush from the past that I have searched for on Facebook numerous times. Chad was the foster son of a woman with whom my parents were friends. He'd had a lot of sadness in his life and from the moment I met him, I subconsciously felt the need to "fix" him. I didn't realize this until years later while being psychoanalyzed by my mother. Chad was three years older than me, but we really connected. It didn't seem to matter that I was 15 and he was 18, which is kind of a big difference during teenage years. He didn't reciprocate my feelings, much to my chagrin, but that's something I'm grateful for now since it would have been illegal. But we got along well and always had a really good time together. When he went to college I wrote him letters and when we inevitably lost touch I was sad, but recognized it as just the way things go as people grow up and move on with their lives. And I realized that Chad, especially, might always be running from his past.
But with the advent of MySpace, Chad and I were able to reconnect. And from there we began speaking on AIM on an almost daily basis. Sometimes the conversations were very flirtatious, bordering on racy, but that was okay because by this point I was 21 and he was 24. He swore he never knew about my crush on him, but I think he was feigning ignorance to be nice. In high school, I once wrote his name in glitter pen and stuck the paper to the refrigerator... and he happened to stop by later that day. And got a drink from the refrigerator. But I digress. We hadn't seen each other for about five years and decided to meet up. We had a really nice dinner together and he paid, and though we never labeled it as such and there was nothing physical other than a hug, it very much felt like a date. I like to think it was a date.
Chad joined the marines shortly after that and it was the last time we saw each other. That was six years ago. I look for him on Facebook all the time and last night, I finally found him. He had accepted the request by this morning, along with a message that said, "Oh shiiiiiiit! Look who it is! How have you been?" Alas, he's married now. Also not to me (I'm noticing a trend here with my loves from the past). But he looks extremely happy and successful, and I can't ask for anything more! It's just nice to be back in touch, albeit through Facebookland.
My sophomore year of high school we finally had a class together, but never exchanged a word. Actually... I think he bumped into me in the hall once and said, "Oh, sorry," but I'm not going to count that as real interaction. And then, two days ago, Jared friended me on Facebook. All those years ago, I must have meant something to him after all! Just kidding. I am not so disillusioned anymore that I take his friend request for something other than, "Hey! I recognize that person's name!" But of course, I accepted.
There's another crush from the past that I have searched for on Facebook numerous times. Chad was the foster son of a woman with whom my parents were friends. He'd had a lot of sadness in his life and from the moment I met him, I subconsciously felt the need to "fix" him. I didn't realize this until years later while being psychoanalyzed by my mother. Chad was three years older than me, but we really connected. It didn't seem to matter that I was 15 and he was 18, which is kind of a big difference during teenage years. He didn't reciprocate my feelings, much to my chagrin, but that's something I'm grateful for now since it would have been illegal. But we got along well and always had a really good time together. When he went to college I wrote him letters and when we inevitably lost touch I was sad, but recognized it as just the way things go as people grow up and move on with their lives. And I realized that Chad, especially, might always be running from his past.
But with the advent of MySpace, Chad and I were able to reconnect. And from there we began speaking on AIM on an almost daily basis. Sometimes the conversations were very flirtatious, bordering on racy, but that was okay because by this point I was 21 and he was 24. He swore he never knew about my crush on him, but I think he was feigning ignorance to be nice. In high school, I once wrote his name in glitter pen and stuck the paper to the refrigerator... and he happened to stop by later that day. And got a drink from the refrigerator. But I digress. We hadn't seen each other for about five years and decided to meet up. We had a really nice dinner together and he paid, and though we never labeled it as such and there was nothing physical other than a hug, it very much felt like a date. I like to think it was a date.
Chad joined the marines shortly after that and it was the last time we saw each other. That was six years ago. I look for him on Facebook all the time and last night, I finally found him. He had accepted the request by this morning, along with a message that said, "Oh shiiiiiiit! Look who it is! How have you been?" Alas, he's married now. Also not to me (I'm noticing a trend here with my loves from the past). But he looks extremely happy and successful, and I can't ask for anything more! It's just nice to be back in touch, albeit through Facebookland.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Give me a siiiiiign... hit me baby, one more time
I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I hate dating, as I've blatantly stated that fact numerous times. But it is due to this fact that I'm sometimes prone to looking for signs that say my date with a new suitor will be my very last first date. Fostering false hopes makes dating somewhat more bearable, though it admittedly also creates greater heartbreak when yet another situation just doesn't work out. I recently mentally reviewed some of the reasons that I was absolutely, positively sure that I had finally found my soul mate, and though they may seem ridiculous, well... I can't promise you I won't do the exact same thing in the future. Alright, if you must know, I'm doing it right now.
Bachelor #1: We spent our first (and only) date exchanging Mitch Hedberg impressions and talking about our mutual three loves: tacos, the Phillies and Obama. I just assumed that equation equaled everlasting love, but it apparently didn't even warrant a second date.
Bachelor #2: On our very first date, he made laser sounds ("pewpewpew! pew! pew!"). It is a little-known fact that although it is not a prerequisite, it is a preference that my man make random funny sounds, not in the Tourettes sense, but in the silly, spontaneous sense. (I'd like it to also be noted that Eric refused to do this, so I should have known from the start that he was a creep. "No, someone might laugh at me." "What do you mean? I'm the only one here." "You might laugh at me." "I won't." "Whatever. I don't have to do whatever you say." But considering this guy is a total sociopath who should be in prison... I digress).
Bachelor #3: I thought we were meant to be because he stopped me on the street to ask if I could whistle. It was completely serendipitous, which is exactly the problem. I've seen the movie "Serendipity" and assume that chance meetings are just the way it happens... it is, in fairy tales, which is apparently not what I am living.
Bachelor #4: "Legally Blonde" is one of his favorite movies. Anyone who can appreciate the genius of that screenplay is worth my time. Any man who can admit it's so brilliant that it's among his favorites... I thought he was my soul mate. And then I found out he voted McCain/Palin.
Bachelor #5: I finally found a catch that not only matched the "needs" on my list of criteria, but fit all of my "wants" as well: He shares my political and religious beliefs, doesn't smoke (needs), is close with his family, speaks and writes using proper grammar, prefers cats to dogs, likes to cook and is an excellent cook, loves playing boardgames, calls when he says he will, makes me mixed CDs, laughs at my terrible jokes (wants)... He is everything I always wanted, so naturally I believed it was meant to be, but... oh, I forgot to mention he just wants to be my friend.
Bachelor #6: We both keep track of the songs that we wake up with in our heads because we're fascinated by the mysterious phenomenon of why certain songs get stuck, playing on repeat in our minds.
Yes, these ridiculous traits have all made me think, at one time or another, that the guy displaying them was my intended. Because why else would we have something so bizarre in common? We wouldn't have met by chance just to remain in each other's lives for a few weeks, right? This one, small, insane thing must mean something because otherwise, why would it even exist? The truth, good readers, is simply thus: I am not the only weird person out there and somewhere there is a weirdo waiting for me.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The Best Date Ever: An Exes and Whys Digression
The 4th of July is the holiday that, more than any other, makes me long for love. Sure, it would be nice to have a Valentine (see Previous Post: Reflections on Valentine's Day), someone with whom I can exchange Christmas gifts, or to share my turkey with at Thanksgiving, but for me, it's good old Independence Day that succeeds in filling me with the greatest amount of yearning, and perhaps a bit of wallowing, too. I adore fireworks and want nothing more than to share the happiness and blissful contenment they bring me with a man who loves me and will hold me close while we watch thundering bursts of light and color explode above us. There has only been one year when my dream came true, and instead of writing about another dating disaster (believe me; there will be more to come), I'd like to tell you about the Best 4th of July Ever.
I had my first date with Peter on July 2 and happened to mention to him my excitement for Independence Day's impending fireworks display. Date #1 went well so when he asked if he could be my date and watch the fireworks together, I happily obliged and we made plans to watch the display from the roof of my apartment building. Pete showed up for our July 4th date with a surprise: a romance playlist that we listened to together, slow-dancing around the roof and waiting for the fireworks to begin. It felt magical, like a fairy tale, the kind of thing that I previously thought only happened in the movies, not on a second date! It was a fantastic playlist, too: Buddy Holly, Ben Folds, The Swell Season, Dean Martin, Etta James, Iron and Wine, Lenny Kravitz, Peter Salett, Otis Wedding, Weezer, the Muppets, Nina Simone, The Ramones, The Shins, and so on. A truly great assortment of amazing artists and songs. I still love listening to it... which sometimes feels odd, listening to a romantic "mix tape" from an ex, but if it's great music and it does't make me sad, then why not?
Peter and I were together for three months after that, and it was the best three months of dating in my life. He voluntarily gave me foot rubs, left love notes in my purse when he left in the morning that I'd find once I got to work, reminded me regularly that I was beautiful, routinely brought me small, thoughtful gifts (burned movies, a book, a Fozzie Bear figurine). We definitely had our problems, thus the termination of the relationship at the three month mark, but I am still grateful to Peter for showing me what a functional, affectionate relationship feels like. I held on to him longer than I should have because it felt amazing to have a boyfriend who appreciated me and treated me well. It was not enough to sustain us, and so I returned to the horrible world of dating where I'm constantly treated like crap. But despite all of the horrible dating experiences I've endured and the number of times I've nursed my poor, broken heart back to health... I hold on to the hope that there is someone out there for me that will treat me as well as Peter did, and with whom I will not have irreconcilable differences. Someone that I will actually be in love with, not just think I'm in love with because the attention is so nice. And of course, that someone will snuggle close to me as we watch fireworks and even as they fizzle and burn out, we will not.
I had my first date with Peter on July 2 and happened to mention to him my excitement for Independence Day's impending fireworks display. Date #1 went well so when he asked if he could be my date and watch the fireworks together, I happily obliged and we made plans to watch the display from the roof of my apartment building. Pete showed up for our July 4th date with a surprise: a romance playlist that we listened to together, slow-dancing around the roof and waiting for the fireworks to begin. It felt magical, like a fairy tale, the kind of thing that I previously thought only happened in the movies, not on a second date! It was a fantastic playlist, too: Buddy Holly, Ben Folds, The Swell Season, Dean Martin, Etta James, Iron and Wine, Lenny Kravitz, Peter Salett, Otis Wedding, Weezer, the Muppets, Nina Simone, The Ramones, The Shins, and so on. A truly great assortment of amazing artists and songs. I still love listening to it... which sometimes feels odd, listening to a romantic "mix tape" from an ex, but if it's great music and it does't make me sad, then why not?
Peter and I were together for three months after that, and it was the best three months of dating in my life. He voluntarily gave me foot rubs, left love notes in my purse when he left in the morning that I'd find once I got to work, reminded me regularly that I was beautiful, routinely brought me small, thoughtful gifts (burned movies, a book, a Fozzie Bear figurine). We definitely had our problems, thus the termination of the relationship at the three month mark, but I am still grateful to Peter for showing me what a functional, affectionate relationship feels like. I held on to him longer than I should have because it felt amazing to have a boyfriend who appreciated me and treated me well. It was not enough to sustain us, and so I returned to the horrible world of dating where I'm constantly treated like crap. But despite all of the horrible dating experiences I've endured and the number of times I've nursed my poor, broken heart back to health... I hold on to the hope that there is someone out there for me that will treat me as well as Peter did, and with whom I will not have irreconcilable differences. Someone that I will actually be in love with, not just think I'm in love with because the attention is so nice. And of course, that someone will snuggle close to me as we watch fireworks and even as they fizzle and burn out, we will not.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Signing cards as a couple & The Fire Hydrant Theory: thoughts on Singledom
In one of the few episodes of Sex and the City I've seen, Carrie attends a wedding and laments, "two people are committing to a life together and I can't even get a guy to sign a card with me." I've been thinking about this a lot lately, as I just attended three weddings in just as many weeks. I love weddings, so this is not a complaint by any means... but it does cause me to stop and ponder my current situation. Like Carrie, not only have I failed in finding a man who wants to commit his life to me, but I can't even find someone who wants to sign his name next to mine on that congratulatory greeting card. I've found someone who threw a chair on our first (and only) date, someone who took me on a shopping trip to Diesel so I could watch him try on clothes for an hour, someone who later dated my roommate, someone who sent me a breakup playlist, someone that hurt me so deeply that I picture him being dismembered in various ways when I can't fall asleep at night... but never anyone that I would even invite to be my date to a wedding, let alone with whom I'd like to spend the rest of my life.
And so I'm left to ponder why men do the things they do.
EXHIBIT A:
I met Kevin at a bar in December; we talked for a couple of hours and he asked for my phone number. I started dating someone shortly thereafter so while Kevin and I chatted a couple of times, nothing ever came of it. But when I was dumped and Kevin texted me, I acted on it and agreed to meet him for a drink, something he said he'd been waiting on for months. When the time came for said drink, I was stood up. I didn't hear from Kevin for four months until today when he texted to say he's back in town (I wasn't aware he had left) and would like to get together.
EXHIBIT B:
My roommate and I attended a wedding in November. At the very beginning of the night, she picked out a gentleman that she thought was cute with whom she'd like to dance. By the end of the night, they had not only shared multiple dances, but hung out in the hotel bar for a while. He said he would like to see her again and invited her to visit him in Boston sometime. Except he never even asked for her phone number!
EXHIBIT C:
Another friend of mine has been asked out multiple times by a guy who does not remember that they have already dated!
And this is just the tip of the iceberg, folks... and yet I try to decipher that pesky opposite sex again and again. Whoever said men always say exactly what they mean and don't send mixed signals is full of shit. And that, my friends, is why ladies are left to read into things: because men are cryptic little devils.
But I know that women have their idiosyncracies as well. Allow me to introduce The Fire Hydrant Theory: Instead of telling a guy how they feel, women have begun to use men's Facebook walls as a means of staking their claim, hypotheticcaly pissing all over the wall to show ownership the way dogs stake claim on fire hydrants: "Back off, ladies! I have 'poked' and posted a link to a picture of a cute kitten and sent a clip of a movie with the message, 'LOL! Brad, remember this???" so that the world knows that Brad hung out with me! And we share a love for adorable kittens! Plus, the added bonus of a poke's sexual inuendo...hands off, ladies. This one's mine!" And so poor Brad is left soaked in the urine of a crazy chick's Facebook mania.
With two genders this cracked, how will anyone find someone who wants to sign a card with them?
And so I'm left to ponder why men do the things they do.
EXHIBIT A:
I met Kevin at a bar in December; we talked for a couple of hours and he asked for my phone number. I started dating someone shortly thereafter so while Kevin and I chatted a couple of times, nothing ever came of it. But when I was dumped and Kevin texted me, I acted on it and agreed to meet him for a drink, something he said he'd been waiting on for months. When the time came for said drink, I was stood up. I didn't hear from Kevin for four months until today when he texted to say he's back in town (I wasn't aware he had left) and would like to get together.
EXHIBIT B:
My roommate and I attended a wedding in November. At the very beginning of the night, she picked out a gentleman that she thought was cute with whom she'd like to dance. By the end of the night, they had not only shared multiple dances, but hung out in the hotel bar for a while. He said he would like to see her again and invited her to visit him in Boston sometime. Except he never even asked for her phone number!
EXHIBIT C:
Another friend of mine has been asked out multiple times by a guy who does not remember that they have already dated!
And this is just the tip of the iceberg, folks... and yet I try to decipher that pesky opposite sex again and again. Whoever said men always say exactly what they mean and don't send mixed signals is full of shit. And that, my friends, is why ladies are left to read into things: because men are cryptic little devils.
But I know that women have their idiosyncracies as well. Allow me to introduce The Fire Hydrant Theory: Instead of telling a guy how they feel, women have begun to use men's Facebook walls as a means of staking their claim, hypotheticcaly pissing all over the wall to show ownership the way dogs stake claim on fire hydrants: "Back off, ladies! I have 'poked' and posted a link to a picture of a cute kitten and sent a clip of a movie with the message, 'LOL! Brad, remember this???" so that the world knows that Brad hung out with me! And we share a love for adorable kittens! Plus, the added bonus of a poke's sexual inuendo...hands off, ladies. This one's mine!" And so poor Brad is left soaked in the urine of a crazy chick's Facebook mania.
With two genders this cracked, how will anyone find someone who wants to sign a card with them?
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me...
Craig and I went to high school together and at the time, I felt as though he was kind of my male equivalent: we both had close friends in the popular crowd but were by no means card-carrying members of the cool squad ourselves. We were both "athletes" in the sense that we played a sport, but weren't the varsity stars. Neither of us really dated, though we both nursed crushes on individuals that were just out of our reach. Craig and I were your classic "in-betweeners" and I thought we really understood each other. I was talking to Craig on Instant Messenger one night and he began asking me questions like "what does it feel like when a woman gets turned on?" Since women don't get erections, he didn't understand how our bodies respond to sexual stimulation. I answered his questions but it was all very innocent.
Then Craig asked me if I'd assist him with an experiment he had read about. He wanted me to hypnotize him so that he could only get an erection when I spoke a certain trigger word. His penis would only respond to that one word, and only when spoken by me. Craig admitted to having fantasies of me whispering the word to him in the hallway at school and thus being completely at my mercy. I was a mix of flattered and terrified, but realized that this fantasy had nothing to do with sexual desire for me personally, merely that I was the person he felt comfortable admitting his sexual fetish to and he knew I wouldn't make fun of him or reveal his desire to others.
While I don't shun most sexual fetishes (to each his/her own), I do think his request was a strange one to make to a high school girl... especially one he was not romantically involved with and had never even hung out with outside of school. It was a very raondom request, even given the conversation that had preceded it. Nevertheless, I told Craig I'd be happy to comply with his request... of course never intending to follow through! I just didn't want to say "no" because then he might think I wasn't cool and... sexually awesome, or something like that. He brought up the matter a few times after that, but only online and I always replied with a line like, "oh yeah... we should totally do that... sometime... I'm really busy this weekend... working on the Homecoming float and all..."
Yes, I found the request odd, but I did not think Craig was odd. I thought it was cool that he felt comfortable being so open with me.
So the hypnotism never took place and Craig and I went our separate ways after graduation. One night when I was a freshman in college I was talking to him online and he told me that he gave the hypnotism a try with a girl at his university. He said it didn't work, and that I should come visit him because he really thought I'd be able to accomplish it. I reminded him that since I went to a different school, I wouldn't see him on a daily basis and he therefore would never be able to get an erection. He said he still thought it would be fascinating if I randomly called him and said the trigger word and hung up, giving him an instant boner. This time I declined.
Craig and I eventually lost touch, as tends to be the case with high school friends when people go away to college. But that was not the last of Craig. During my junior year of college I was walking through a friend's dorm on our way to play in the snow on a very blizzardy day. I was wearing three layers of clothes underneath my giant puffcoat and certainly looked like the Michelin Man when, lo and behold, I see Craig walking towards me. We had a very brief encounter during which he told me he was visiting a friend and had completely forgotten I also attended school there.
Later that night, Craig IMed me to tell me how sexy I looked when we ran into each other. Sexy? Really? In four layers of clothing manufactured to incubate body heat? He then proceded to ask me out and I declined, finally realizing that Craig did not find me trustworthy and a kindred spirit, but rather was a horny boy that for one reason or another thought I would be desperate enough to accept his strange advances. Now I do indeed think Craig is odd, and he is definitely not my male equivalent. Sometimes I am way too generous when giving people the benefit of the doubt... especially men whose bizarre tendencies I mistake for cute and flattering.
Then Craig asked me if I'd assist him with an experiment he had read about. He wanted me to hypnotize him so that he could only get an erection when I spoke a certain trigger word. His penis would only respond to that one word, and only when spoken by me. Craig admitted to having fantasies of me whispering the word to him in the hallway at school and thus being completely at my mercy. I was a mix of flattered and terrified, but realized that this fantasy had nothing to do with sexual desire for me personally, merely that I was the person he felt comfortable admitting his sexual fetish to and he knew I wouldn't make fun of him or reveal his desire to others.
While I don't shun most sexual fetishes (to each his/her own), I do think his request was a strange one to make to a high school girl... especially one he was not romantically involved with and had never even hung out with outside of school. It was a very raondom request, even given the conversation that had preceded it. Nevertheless, I told Craig I'd be happy to comply with his request... of course never intending to follow through! I just didn't want to say "no" because then he might think I wasn't cool and... sexually awesome, or something like that. He brought up the matter a few times after that, but only online and I always replied with a line like, "oh yeah... we should totally do that... sometime... I'm really busy this weekend... working on the Homecoming float and all..."
Yes, I found the request odd, but I did not think Craig was odd. I thought it was cool that he felt comfortable being so open with me.
So the hypnotism never took place and Craig and I went our separate ways after graduation. One night when I was a freshman in college I was talking to him online and he told me that he gave the hypnotism a try with a girl at his university. He said it didn't work, and that I should come visit him because he really thought I'd be able to accomplish it. I reminded him that since I went to a different school, I wouldn't see him on a daily basis and he therefore would never be able to get an erection. He said he still thought it would be fascinating if I randomly called him and said the trigger word and hung up, giving him an instant boner. This time I declined.
Craig and I eventually lost touch, as tends to be the case with high school friends when people go away to college. But that was not the last of Craig. During my junior year of college I was walking through a friend's dorm on our way to play in the snow on a very blizzardy day. I was wearing three layers of clothes underneath my giant puffcoat and certainly looked like the Michelin Man when, lo and behold, I see Craig walking towards me. We had a very brief encounter during which he told me he was visiting a friend and had completely forgotten I also attended school there.
Later that night, Craig IMed me to tell me how sexy I looked when we ran into each other. Sexy? Really? In four layers of clothing manufactured to incubate body heat? He then proceded to ask me out and I declined, finally realizing that Craig did not find me trustworthy and a kindred spirit, but rather was a horny boy that for one reason or another thought I would be desperate enough to accept his strange advances. Now I do indeed think Craig is odd, and he is definitely not my male equivalent. Sometimes I am way too generous when giving people the benefit of the doubt... especially men whose bizarre tendencies I mistake for cute and flattering.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Read Any Good Books Lately?
What better place to find a sexy sophisticated suitor than the library? Unfortunately, I've never had the privilege of meeting a man in the library, but that doesn't mean I've given up hope. Should this opportunity ever come my way, I am prepared. Surrounded by some of my lady friends earlier in the week, we developed a list of pick-up lines that are surefire ways to catch that studious man (or woman) of your dreams.
1. Is your name Dewey? Because I've been looking you up and down.
2. Put down that book and check me out.
3. Let's play a little game of non-fiction.
4. I'd like to run my fingers through your pages.
5. Excuse me, do you know where I could find the graphic novels?
6. Care to examine my stacks?
7. Would you like to solve my mystery?
8. I found you in the card catalog filed under "sexy."
9. Do you know where I can find Moby Dick?
10. I lost my call number; can I get yours?
1. Is your name Dewey? Because I've been looking you up and down.
2. Put down that book and check me out.
3. Let's play a little game of non-fiction.
4. I'd like to run my fingers through your pages.
5. Excuse me, do you know where I could find the graphic novels?
6. Care to examine my stacks?
7. Would you like to solve my mystery?
8. I found you in the card catalog filed under "sexy."
9. Do you know where I can find Moby Dick?
10. I lost my call number; can I get yours?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Dating: It's Not A Game
Tonight I attended an event called Love Is Blind that not
only featured a male dancer who stripped down to his goggles, snorkel and swim
trunks, but also several rounds of the Dating Game, complete with three
contestants and bachelor/bachelorette mysteriously hidden behind a
curtain. Alas, my raffle ticket was not
selected, which would have enabled me to participate, a fact that is most
unfortunate not only because I therefore did not win a fabulous date with a
handsome man, but also because this blog entry would be far more exciting had I
been chosen. However, watching the
others on stage answer the questions posed to them by the men/women searching
for love made me contemplate what three questions I would ask a potential
suitor, had I only three questions to ask.
At first it seemed quite obvious, as there are three major things I look
for when dating:
1. Do you smoke?
2. What is your political affiliation?
3. Are you religious?
I won’t tell you what the “correct” answers to these questions
are, but I can tell you that they are my only deal-breakers. And #3 is open to some debate depending on
ethnicity vs. moral obligation. These
questions, however, would not make for a particularly entertaining dating
game. While the answers to these
questions remain of importance to me, there are three additional questions that
would not only go over far better within the Dating game scenario, but also
have answers that would honestly make a difference to me:
1. If you were a word, what word would you be and
why?
2. What is the weirdest tradition in which your
family participates?
3. Name one child that has had a positive impact on
your life.
And now, allow me to explain. First
of all, the word “love” or “hope” will not gain you any points here. Please.
There are so many remarkable words in the English language. What about “menagerie” or “waffle” or “placenta?” Just feel the way those words roll of the
tongue. I don’t care if the word is
selected simply because it’s fun to say; that is a far better reason than the
Miss America response of, “because it’s a beautiful thing and what we all live
for blah blah blah.” Men give those
answers to because they think it’s what we want to hear. They are wrong.
As for question number 2… loving your family and bonding
with your family is important to me.
Maybe you grew up in a dysfunctional family but turned out okay. There still has to be some kind of tradition
your family adheres to, even if it’s chasing each other around with the butcher
knife every Thanksgiving. Let’s keep it
exciting, people! My answer to this
question would either be Drunken Boardgame Fest with my cousins or the
Ceremonial Passing of the Collared Pecary.
And lastly, children.
I do not want a child today or tomorrow or even in the next several
years. But I want a child some day. I know plenty of people who have not had an
abundance of children in their lives, but I feel it’s impossible to have never
had your heart melted by a child. Did a
baby ever smile at you on the subway?
Did a little girl or boy in a film ever move you in the slightest? A child somewhere must have had an impact on
you at some point, one way or another, no matter how small. Three years ago, this would not have seemed important
to me, but since then I have dated far too many men who, in their 20s, were
already contemplating Vasectomies.
Seriously? You’re not even 30
years old and you want to get snipped?
Preposterous. I need to at least
know there is the possibility of children at some point in the future.
I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m pretty fed up with
the whole dating scene and ready to find someone with whom I see a future. And who sees me in his future. I don’t date for
fun. Of all the things that dating is, “fun”
is not one of them. I have kept an open mind and dated smokers,
dated men who voted opposite what I voted in the 2008 election, dated men who
were estranged from their families. And
you know what? I have not fared
well. I know that relationships are all
about compromise, but one should not have to compromise her/his ideals. Yes, relationships require sacrifice, but
likewise they cannot exist in the first place without harmony.
What if the Dating Game consisted of the questions people really wanted to ask? Oh, Jim Lange would have been in for such a
treat! Though I much prefer Chuck
Woolery. I wonder if he’s single… and
how he would answer my questions.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Dear Diary 4/25/95: Couple-skating at the roller rink
The below was artfully sketched on April 25, 1995:
The accompanying diary entry is from April 23, 1995:
Dear Diary, on Friday I went to the roller rink. I couple-skated with (drumroll please!) Jason! As friends, of course. Now I can't get him out of my mind.
Top 5 guys:
1. Jason
2. Jamin
3. Thomas Ian Nicholas
4. Nate
5. Marc
Note from me, April 25, 2011: Come on, I was a hottie, no? Who wouldn't want to coupleskate with that hot piece of ass?-
Monday, April 11, 2011
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