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.

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.

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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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. 

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.

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.

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.