I'm not prime anymore!

Today, I turn 38.  Today, it has been nearly six months since I began dating Naked Guest.  I stopped writing after our 2nd date.  I assumed that if he was something special, then I would not want to broadcast any ups and down of the get-to-know-you phase.  Wonderfully, that phase and the amazing time since has only been up.

I left many untold stories in my blog queue...  the member of the bike coalition who nearly broke my chin trying to inappropriately demonstrate to me that my helmet was not properly fitted; the urban planner who couldn't seem to architect his own life; the PhD MD (Dr. Dr.) that is a genius about anything but romance; a few stories about men I actually loved that aren't necessarily funny but are part of my history; and the Worst Date Ever story (which ended with the host of the restaurant suggesting I change my phone number).

The stories might not get told, at least not here.  I'll leave them in their draft state.

When I started this I hoped it would have a happy ending.  I suspect it might.  What I can say is that my life in these last six months has been incredibly happy.  Not only NG, but also work and home and the rest of my family.  So maybe I've managed to gain 15 or 20 pounds - while that is frustrating, still I feel wonderful about myself. 

And that is prime.

lurking...

For once, I am not the one lurking.  Mr. Nice Guy is stalking my profile.  (So is Six-and-a-Half it would seem.  But I digress.)

I do check to see who is looking at my profile on OKCupid, and Mr. Nice Guy was back again, apparently after his seder.  Here I am, contentedly emailing away with NG and the other "NG" has read up on my profile, which hasn't changed at all, at least twice.  

OMG.  Do I really have two NGs??  Well, there's NG and Mr. NG.  But whatever.  

Does Mr. Nice Guy WANT to get caught?  And now that I've met Naked Guest, and am totally smitten and enjoying myself, would I risk putting something out there to Mr. Nice Guy?  Ten days ago, I was ready to shoot Mr. Nice Guy a sweet email and maybe even ask him out.  Now, I'm not so sure.

As for Six-and-a-Half, I might rename him "the harbinger."  I went on one date with him right before Grumpy Pants.  Does this date with him mean I'm about to get into another serious relationship?  If the world really worked like that, then I really do need to turn this blog into a book.  Just a better written one.

wow

I'd say the date with NG was great.

No, actually, better than great.

The kind of date where we both blew off friends to stay together longer.  Where it started at 2PM and just flowed naturally, and it was 7 before we knew it and he was supposed to go meet his friends and I was supposed to meet my friend for dinner, and have an early night because I ran a half marathon and flew to my hometown for Passover today... and then he stayed, and we made dinner, and it was 10:30 and we weren't through being together yet.  (But I did actually make him leave.  And hated it.)

And then he sent me a message the next morning to wish me luck on my race.  And called after.  And it isn't desperate or Newfie-like.  It's genuine and real, and something sparked for both of us.  He was very clear that he's interested and excited about meeting me -- and also that he knows if I didn't feel the same, I wouldn't have hesitated to send him on his way at 5pm yesterday.  

So now I'm far away, and we are emailing and will probably speak on the phone while I'm here, and make plans to see each other when I get back next week.  And even though I feel like I learned so much about his life story, there is so much more I want to know.  And I'm pretty sure he feels the same way.

Of course, my friend H... she's amazing.  She instructed me that I was to blow her off if things were going well.  Talk about a great friend!  It's always a tough balance - taking good care of your friends, but letting yourself enjoy meeting someone special that is sometimes at the expense of being a good friend. I'm thankful I have friends who speak their mind, talk about this stuff, and really want me to find someone special.  

I promised her that NG and I would babysit one day to make up for it.  ;)

The next naked dinner party guest

Last Saturday, I may have heard my 2nd favorite pick-up line of all time...  "so, can I be the next naked guest at your next dinner party?" 

I'll confess, there was a little context to the remark.  But when that's the line, does the context really matter?  So, his nickname will now be the Naked Guest.  Or NG.  Which makes me think of the song "Anna Ng" and there's nothing wrong with that, or "A Little Birdhouse in Your Soul.  (If you haven't heard those songs by They Might Be Giants, then you should.  Puts an immediate smile on your face.)

Meeting a guy the conventional way is kind of fun:  my friend D takes me to a Saturday afternoon party (ostensibly because he wanted my opinion on this other girl, and if she would go out with him... but she never showed up), and during the course of meeting new people at the party, I end up in conversation with a friend of the host.  Before I leave, NG asks for my number.  Then, following the rules, NG waits until the following Wednesday to call me.  I, only following the rules by dint of being super busy and forget that I've turned my ringer off, am unable to talk when he calls. Twice. After a brief bout of phone tag, we finally talk and make plans for the Saturday afternoon.

Not following the rules... he makes it clear that he is very excited to see me.

I'm assuming he'll be dressed on our date today, though.  We will be out in public.

caught you peekin'!

Yesterday, I did the obligatory "who's been checking me out" check on OKCupid.  And found that Mr. Nice Guy was scoping my profile.  And wouldn't you know, we're a 93% match (that's REALLY high, by the way).   I'd kinda given up on Mr. Nice Guy, but hmmmm....

The question is: do I point out that it's not polite to peep in on a girl you know?  

Which isn't to say I didn't peruse his profile.  I just turned on "anonymous browsing" so he can't see that I did.  

So, was that first kiss awkward for you?

Yes, Six-and-a-Half asked me this.  I've now realized that the nickname may also be his rating, if I had a rating scale.

We've been out twice now, and he is sweet and interesting.  Albeit nebish and frustrating.  The main topic of conversation we've now covered on two dates is vegetarian as compared to kosher, where there is a spectrum of ways to exhibit ones compassion for animals such as there is a spectrum of how people keep kosher.  But I digress... 

And in the middle of our 2nd date, Six-and-a-Half asks me if the peck on our first date (which I'd totally forgotten about, as it was truly a peck goodnight) was awkward.  

Clearly, it hadn't made an impression on me.  That's not a good sign!  And clearly, he'd spent a whole week wondering about it.  And that is worse.

The Ballad of Three Strikes (slightly long and serious...)

One of the things Six and a Half remembered, well... had actually noted in his address book... was that I was still hung up on someone who had gut wrenched my heart to bits.

He remembered well - it's a story I like to call the ballad of Three Strikes.  Not that there's a song, but it seems like there should be.  A country song, that's wistful and such.  And this is a long one... Sorry.

In 1999, not long after I moved out here, my friend from college got married a short plane flight away.  She told me "I'm sitting you by this guy at the reception because you two are the only single people at the wedding.  I'm not fixing you up.  He's not your type." 

And she was right, he was not my type.  He had three strikes against him (hence the name):

1) Not Jewish

2) Geographically undesireable

3) Divorced with a kid (and at 27 years old, that was still a disqualifier)

Needless to say, we immediately hit it off.  We were swapping flirtatious, biting barbs within moments.  He taunted my football team, I taunted his... everything...  After he left, the waitress came back with a slip of paper that had my favorite football player's name on it and a phone number.  

From that wedding, Three Strikes and I sparked a little affair.  I'd fly South, he'd fly North... we talked occasionally in between.  We went to amusement parks and dinners, we played and got to know each other.  We fooled around, but never crossed two lines: we never had sex, and we never attempted to have a committed relationship.  He was spending so much time being a father to his son who lived a long drive away, and trying to make partner at his firm... I had just arrived in my new town and didn't want to lock myself into a long distance relationship.

Then he made partner, and needed a date to the annual partner retreat at a luxury resort.  He invited me to be his companion.  Over the course of the weekend, something changed -- from flirtatious to intimate.  As if being surrounded by all these married partners, and having me on his arm sparked something in both our brains clicked that maybe... maybe...  After that trip, he became slightly more... something...  So I asked him about it.  I was too young to express that maybe my feelings had changed, so I put it on him - had his feelings changed?  did he want more?

He responded with denial.  Then sent me an email that he'd found the perfect Liz Phair song for me: "Fuck and Run."  And I cut off communication.  I was beyond hurt.

And so from 2000 until 2003, Three Strikes was out of my life.  I moved to a new city in late 2001 and by 2003 was struggling with my job, lonely, and as heavy as I'd ever been.

So I get an email on a random Monday night from Three Strikes.  "I'm in Key West on vacation.  How are you?"

I reply, "I need a hug.  Why didn't you invite me?"

His reply, "Meet me in South Beach for dinner Wednesday night."

I reply, "If you are serious, call me."

And he called.  And he was serious.  He booked my return flight - if I would buy the ticket down there.  A meet-me-halfway gesture.

I left for the office Wednesday morning with a bag packed and an undecided mind.  Then my job pissed me off, and I hopped in my car and booked the flight en route.  Then I called Three Strikes to tell him of my arrival time.

Those 36 hours constituted one of the most romantic, genuinely intimate, soul-baring amazing dates I've ever had.  By the time we were halfway to the hotel from the airport, he confessed that I had been right three years before (lots of things in threes in this story!).  We covered that ground, forgave each other, and just got lost in each other for the time we had.  At this point, Three Strikes had moved to a new town in hopes of following his ex-wife and son, taking a job at a new law firm, only to be duped by his ex-wife who had moved across the country.  He was earning a lot of air miles, and frequently connecting through my new town - and hating the new firm.  Note another three - three cities.

So, we tried again... he would stay over a night en route to see his son, and "let me" fly to his new town to see him sometimes.  He never let me stay at his apartment, I never understood why.  I stayed with other friends in his new city (which is a city I happen to love, and had considered moving to independent of him), or visited one of my favorite cousins who lived not far away.

Needless to say, I realized I was always in third place in his life (not a good three).  After his son, after his job, then there was me.  I didn't want to start something in third place.   The end of it for me was when I came to visit, and he refused to let me stay with him (again) - so I took myself to a romantic getaway for 4 nights just outside the city.  I begged him to join me for even one night, and he didn't. 

So that (slowly) ended that attempt of having a relationship with Three Strikes.  And about then I met Grumpy Pants, we moved back to my favorite coast together, and had moved on.  Three Strikes would occasionally get in touch, but I rarely saw him. 

And all was fine and good.  

Then after three blissful and challenging years, Grumpy Pants and I ended things.  And I saw Three Strikes again - who had moved again, flipped coasts, closer to his son and on the oppose coast as me. He was in town with his son visiting relatives who live not far from me. We had dinner. It must have been the summer of 2007.  This wasn't about dating... it was about... well, who knows.  Maybe he wanted to start something up, but he would certainly never say it. In some ways it was so easy to be with him, to occupy space next to each other on the couch in that intimate way that couples who truly love each other can.  But we said little, mostly meaningless things, and I kept him at an emotional distance.  I couldn't let my heart go there.  It was not long after ending things with Grumpy Pants, and I was fragile, protective of my heart.

In January of 2008 I got a CD in the mail.  The list of songs went from Queen's Fat Bottom Girls and Ludicrous' Shake Your Money Maker to James Taylor's Close Your Eyes and Alexi Murdoch's Orange Sky.  Despite the funny stuff, most of the songs were love songs, serenades to me...  so I called Three Strikes. 

"So does this mean something?  What do you want to say?"

"What do you want it to say?"

And that was pretty much that. Well, except that what I thought was a few months later, I was in the town where he lived when we first met at a conference.  I was met with a rush of warmth and loving feelings - maybe it wasn't over?  Maybe...  so I sent him a text message.  He was en route to a business trip to the British Virgin Islands.  I thought maybe I would tag along... he said he would call.

While I waited, I replied back with a CD of my own.  You see, Three Strikes accused me of never opening up to him, of never letting him in.  So I decided I was going to put it out there once and for all.  In song and in written word, I told him he was probably the great love affair of my life... that I hoped he had moved on and found himself someone wonderful, but for once I wanted to put myself out there for him.  Completely vulnerable.  Come what may. 

On Friday I mailed the CD to him, before I lost my nerve.  On Sunday he called.  It had a been over a year since he sent me that CD.  He was now engaged.  I felt genuinely excited for him, if not confused.  I asked about her... the engagement...

"What's she like?"

"Kind."

(Because I was never that... so he had told me, many times over the years... )

And immediately the spell was broken, and I realized that he was the one who would never open up, that he was the one who never let me in - he was projecting some version of the relationship that allowed him to be the good guy, and me to be the one who broke his heart with my callous, distant ways; that he would do anything for love, I refused to take the risk.  Except I know that isn't truth. 

In that call, he told me he'd imagined how he would propose to me, that he would always love me.  And I wasn't flattered.  I felt sorry for his fiance.  

Three times we tried, three times we failed.   Maybe I sealed it, naming him "Three Strikes" from the day we met.  This is a story I need to tell and let go if I'm really going to move on.  So here is my gift to myself - letting go.

And just when I'd forgotten about that CD I sent, it came back unopened in the mail 3 months later, marked "no such address."  Every once in a while, the universe kind of looks out for you, right?

the extremes of dating... in 6 days time

So let's see, Saturday, I spent an elegant evening with the 47 year old Latin Lover as he made me rack of lamb, and we shared a lovely bottle of wine or two.  We dance a little tango.  He was seductive and distant, bluntly honest and yet... coy. 

Sunday, I had a couple of drinks with the 44 year old Man with Feelings at a local hipster-dive bar.  We played pinball. We laughed uproariously.  I lost track of time, was enamored... fascinated... he had my kind of energy! We flirted, but then somewhere 30 minutes after we should have said goodnight and the energy had ebbed, we parted ways with a quick hug.  And I pulled the dork move of emailing an hour after I got home.

Tuesday, I met the 26 year old.  He was interested and energetic, curious and chivalrous.  We had a late evening crepe at a funky-yet-romantic restaurant.  We didn't drink.  He told me about buying his mother her own house at the age of 24.  He walked me to my train, asked me to call him to know that I made it home.  He immediately asked for a second date.  I wanted to dismiss him, I wanted to say "I am not a cougar."  But I haven't done it or said it. Yet.  He's unexpected.

Thursday (tonight), I went out with 35-year old Six-and-a-Half (the number of years between our first and second date).  He remembered so much about me, things that I had long since forgotten... We had a drink and dinner at a restaurant that served fancy brick-oven pizzas out of an open kitchen, with exposed brick walls and tea lights providing most of the light.  We then went and played pinball.  (Yes, at the same bar I took the Man with Feelings.)  We had much to talk about... he walked me all the way home, gave me a polite kiss goodnight, and confirmed we'd go out again soon.

4 dates in 6 days, 21 year age span, PhD student to successful professional consultant to attorney...  dive bar to hipster-brick-oven-pizzas to rack-of-lamb.  

Dude.  I'm tired.

What am I thinking??

this small world thing is freaking me out

Tonight I met the Man with Feelings.  He was about 15 minutes late to the bar - by the time he showed up, I had won a drink from the guy sitting next to me about what year Revenge of the Nerds was released.  

Anyway, the Man arrives, sits next to me, and it only took about 5 minutes of conversation to realize that the Man with Feelings and I have several mutual friends.  Did I mention I met him randomly online via OKCupid?  He's even dated a classmate of mine from grad school. 

How is this world getting so dang small??  I mean seriously.

Oh, in case you were wondering about last night... the date with the Latin Lover went well, mostly he's just a big bundle of confusing-me.  He makes me an impressive dinner (Caesar salad from scratch, rack of lamb, polenta, etc...), but then is clear that he is sleeping with other women and that he's not what I'm looking for.  Then makes it clear that he's interested in me.  Am I now a conquest? Or maybe he is also confused. 

Tonight, I laughed until I nearly fell off the bar stool with the Man with Feelings.  He's cute, great eyes, witty, and can beat me at pinball.  His best line of the evening - making it clear that while me online pictures are flattering enough, I'm much better looking in person.  Awww.  I'm tired... time to go to bed...

Selective Amnesia

Sometimes I just don't remember... like this guy I met on jdate in (umm) 2003, right before I settled in for my 3 year foray with Mr. Grumpy Pants, in another town I lived in halfway across the country.  Turns out he now lives in my new town...

I just sent this on OKCupid:

Dear J[his real name],

How did I know this[your real name]?  Well, you haven't changed your online name since 2003...  which, I think, is when we went out on one (failed?) dinner date in [our old town].  For the life of me, I remember a nice correspondence, but not why we didn't go out again...  I know I had just met someone that I was with for several years about then...  but anyway...

I found it funny to see your name on here again, that I recognized it, and (oddly enough) still have your name in one of my old address books!

Hope you are well, and that you are enjoying life back in [this new town].  I moved back here in 2004 from [our old town] for grad school . Big career change and all that jazz.

Maybe if you've forgotten, too, or thinking "who the hell is this woman???" we might try a drink again.  At least to toast [our old town], and leaving winter behind.

Of course, I have a date with the Latin Lover on Saturday. Dinner at his house. And then there are two other potential OKCupid dates:  the Man with Feelings (a play on his profile name); and the 26 Year Old. 

Oh, and did I mention I spent 45 minutes on the phone with the matchmaker, talking about buying her business?  Kind of a lark a friend and I are considering.

This should be entertaining... 

Casual?

"It's just too bad you are not into casual sex."

This is what the Latin Lover says to me at the near-end of our date last night.  He picked me up at my place, came upstairs for a moment - then took me to a very nice restaurant.  We had a romantic, intimate dinner, sitting at that corner table where we are both sitting on the banquette.  We shared a bottle of wine with exquisite food.  Conversation flowed, he was affectionate without putting his paws all over me in public.  OK, maybe he did for a minute.  Or two.  I felt sorry for our server.

As he drove home, he invite me back to his place for "brandy" -- which I considered, and then politely decline.  He complimented me that I was playing it safe.  He really was offering brandy, but more as a precursor to getting... ummm... more out of the evening.

Then as he walks me to my doorstop, does not ask to be invited up, he says something along the lines of not sure we're in the same place about marriage & kids and  "it's too bad you are not into casual sex."   To which I reply (albeit a bit coyly) "I'm just not casual."

Followed by some passionate and persuasive good night kissing.  Which is why I'm not sure exactly what he said - and what the context was for that statement.  Now, of course, I have to call him and ask him "so, man that I met at a bar and know nearly nothing about...  what ARE you looking for?"

G.I. Jew

As I debated about writing back to Newfie, I remember one of my favorite jdate experiences... a man we call G.I. Jew.

G.I. Jew bragged on his profile about his military experience, as if he was full-time military.  On our first date, I realized that he was a reservist, had never been called to active.  I had friends in the reserves at the time - they spend a lot of time talking about their day jobs, and some time talking about their commitment to the military.  They talked about its influence on their daily lives, but it was not the dominating thing.  I even had one friend who got called into active duty... even he talked about it less than G.I. Jew.

G.I. Jew picked me up on our first date in his oversize S.U.V.  Even with my car-less-ness, I couldn't carbon off-set that.  He was nice enough, and I thought maybe just maybe I'm being to shallow, too harsh.

On our second date, he pulled the 2nd-date-desperation-flowers maneuver.  He showed up with a bouquet of a dozen white roses, and explained that it was a bribe so I would go out with him again.  He explained this at the beginning of our second date. Did he know something was going to go wrong?  

While I'm usually kind to my dates, anytime I'm not sure or think I'm ready to dismiss someone without really giving them a chance, I introduce them to my friends.  While on occasion, they have called me on my BS, they have also helped me avert some disasters. 

This night, we joined some friends to see a movie and grab a bite to eat.  While hunting for parking, my friend C pulled up in her super-cute, super-fuel-efficient VW Golf alongside G.I. Jew's mondo SUV.  She barely choked her laughter down at me climbing out of the beast.  G.I. Jew had joined me at an evening of some of my wittiest, sharpest-tongued, quick-witted friends.

Poor G.I. Jew was like a spectator at mid-court during a tennis match.  I thought he was going to get whiplash.  Even before the date was over, I think he knew it was over.

Into the ephemera...

I often wonder how some women seem to go so easily from first-date, to want-to-see-you-again, to second-date, to... well... I've-got-a-boyfriend.  I've witnessed this.  It happens. In the movies.  For my friends, even.

Just not to me.

No word from Soccer Dad.  The Latin Lover is in touch, but non-committal about our next date.   And of course, there are interesting prospects from OKCupid.  My favorite today is a sporty, smart 26 year old who dresses like a fashion plate.  And I did write back.  Maybe I've got a little cougar in me after all.  Maybe he'll go shopping for me.

Has Mr. Nice Guy slipped into the ephemera?  Last night, I had trouble falling asleep.  So I picked up (I kid you not) the "Everything Etiquette" book.  Of course it has a section on dating, and it gave etiquette guidance on women asking out men.  According to the book, I should call Mr. Nice Guy and ask him to do something specific, at a specific time.  The book did not dispense advice on how to get up the chutzpah to do such a thing.  Or how to get over a little obsession with someone who hasn't expressed any interest in me in a couple of months.

In the meantime, for my amusement, tonight I got an email from dear, sweet Newfie.  Wondering if I would join him in a no-strings-attached evening of pinball.

So some men disappear into the ephemera.  And then some reappear, but probably not the ones I want.

2 dates, 1 day, so different...

I'm back to my old tricks again... lots of dates, lots of names flying around...  yesterday I had a lunch date and a dinner date.  And both went well.

Both are at least 10 years older than me.  Both are divorced. One has two kids in college.

Let's talk about that one first - he shall hereinafter be referred to as Soccer Dad.  We met online - OKCupid is my site of choice these days.  A few very funny email exchanges, and we found ourselves at a lunch spot walking distance my front door.  And his front door.  Since over lunch we realized he lives 6 doors down from me.  And, by the way, he consults for a colleague of mine.  She called while we were at lunch. It's a dang small world.  So he may be 10 years or so older than me, but he'll finish a half marathon a half hour before me.  And he plays on four different soccer teams.  So what if his kids are in their twenties?  

We batted around some topics, but were both guarded over lunch.  Why does it take a drink to make conversation go more smoothly?  I was nervously chatty.  Soccer Dad was dry, dry, dry.  In a good way. Conversation moved at an uneven pace, and yet at the same time I wanted to talk to him more.  I can't figure that one out.

Where is Soccer Dad now?  Using his frequent flier miles to accompany a friend to a trip to Hawaii.  Rough life.

Soccer Dad treated me to lunch, we walked back to our places, then he posed the "so now what?" question as we stood outside.  I understand this to be the equivalent of "I enjoyed lunch enough to want to see you again.  But rather than be direct... I'll put it on you!"  We're going to find some batting cages or putt-putt, so we can see what happens when our competitive side comes out. 

Then a few errands later, I find myself getting picked up by the Latin Lover at my house.  He called to tell me he was on his way. He opened the door for me to get in the car.  He took me out for a cocktail before dinner.  We talked about sailing and his life running charters until he straightened up and came to the U.S. for college.  We went over to dinner.  I laughed at him because he forgot his glasses and couldn't read the menu.  I found out how old he his, how he likes to critique food, what he wants his next career to be, why he got married and divorced, what he thinks of his father's girlfriend, what he enjoys for an after-dinner drink and many other surprising things.  He took my hand as we left the restaurant and went for a walk.  He freely discussed what we would do next time we went out... He kissed me at the end of the date, on my front doorstep, and left. 

(He did let me split the dinner bill, and I know it's disingenuous when I offer expecting him to refuse and then judge him when he accepts. But judge I do.)

Latin Lover was confident and casual.  Worldly but learning and interested.  I'm intrigued. Our next date may be a day trip to the neighboring wine country.

There's a few more dates coming up... and I haven't stopped thinking about my trip to A-town, and the Super Hero is in touch lately planning his next trip out here.  When will I have time to think about finding my new job?  I might just be a boy-crazy teenager for a living.

but I'm lover not a dancer

Last night I went to a big swing dance party -- and aside from being the least coordinated women in the entire room (of those willing to get out on the dance floor anyway), there weren't many men to meet.  Actually, I really like it that way.  I like to DANCE, and the best dancers are not necessarily the guys I would be attracted to and want to date.  Though I must admit, I thought Mr. Nice Guy would be there (he RSVPed on Facebook).  He wasn't.  Ah well.

After a few good turns on the dance floor, a nice conversation with Blue Balls (he was there, oh yeah...), and the realization that I really just wanted to get home, I grabbed my coat, put on my scarf, and stopped by the host stand to see if they validated parking.

So I'm waiting at the host stand, with my parking ticket held out, and some dorko-suav-ay sidles on up to me and tries to strike up some small talk.  I asked him how he liked the dancing, and he replies... "oh, I'm more a lover than a dancer." 

This guy could play Steve Jobs younger, dorkier brother on TV.  

I did not laugh in his face.  I did not falter, I just smiled and found some way to change the subject.  Then I tried to find some kind of escape, and failing miserably (I was still trying to get my parking validated) -- when I'm-A-Lover-Not-A-Dancer foisted his card in my face.  

Oh dear.  He's probably a wonderfully nice guy.  And dork.  And such.  Do I call?

(love) song... or... why can't I sing this at karaoke?

I left A-town, to drive up in my big fancy rental car to visit the family - and I (thinking without much coffee in my system) put on the Ingrid Michaelson song "Mountain and the Sea."  Have you heard it? 

"You call me a mountain and I call you the sea.  I'll stand tall and certain and watch you swallow me. You can move me if you want to...  You can move a mountain...  You can move everything..."

That doesn't seem like much of a love song, but my trip to A-town put something... someone... in front of me and the depth of my emotion for and attraction to him was sort of surprising.  I've mentioned him in this blog.  He knows who he is.  He might even read this.  And he should know there is this (love) song coming his way. 

(love) because...  well, I certainly love him.  But when I say that, I don't mean romantic-walk-me-down-the-aisle-together-forever Love.  I mean the you-know-me-backwards-and-forwards-laugh-at-our-flaws-could-hang-out-with-you-forever-talk-about-anything-my-friend (love).  We could have gone a lifetime with that kind of (love) and never crossed the boundary.  That is, until we kissed.  

Now I wonder what happens when you throw a twinge of damn-I-like-kissing-you to nearly fifteen years of friendship. 

Ah, risk.  I have no fear of risk, no fear finding out what this (love) leads to.  But there are two people in this equation.  He may be quite right that there is no long term potential here, or maybe he's just writing it off because it is easier than (in his mind) putting the friendship on the line.  I know the friendship will always be there.  (love) doesn't get thrown by the wayside when you take that kind of chance.  The chance we would take would either bring us something really amazing, or become an amusing tale in the lexicon of what makes our (love) so great.

It's out there now.  In the meantime, he'll do a little housecleaning (literally) in case I'm back in A-town next month.  I'll keep on dating (oh, OKCupid you amuse me).  Then we'll go back to friends who wonder, and don't kiss. I suppose.

"But until then, oh my darling friend, I will hold...  Yes, I will hold on to you."

I will not hit "delete profile" until I've had ONE date

I did it.  I went online. And I bucked convention - I skipped jdate and went straight to OKCupid.  Caution to the wind.  Seriously.

For those of you married folk who are living vicariously, OKCupid has these tests you take... like purity tests, personality tests, what kind of geek are you tests, and all kinds of weird user-submitted tests.  And it's FREE.  Before I even completed my profile, I had my first "wink" -- and before I finished it, I had my first email.  "You're gorgeous.  What's your name? Do you have a racial preference?"  Sez he.   He has no profile, just a picture taken in the mirror in some military uniform that has so many medals on it that it he would have to be twice his age to have earned them.

I am still dinking around online.  Fifteen minutes later, he instant messages me.  "Why didn't you answer me?"  It's a brief conversation, during which I learn that he is IMing through his phone, which is sooo much easier than the computer, except that's why he hasn't filled out his profile.  Did you make sense of that?  Me either.  

Another one emailed, but he gets high occasionally and that ain't me.  He wrote back "you smoke."  which led me to find a very important error on my profile.  Under smoking (as in cigarettes), I had marked "trying to quit" -- OOPS!!  He couldn't spell on his own profile, but he found an error on mine. 

While reviewing my matches, I found one I wouldn't even look at. His profile name "2cheap4match" -- as if putting yourself on OKCupid isn't a sufficient declaration.  And why exactly would he brag about this?  It just struck fear in me that I would, in fact, find men who were cheap versus the men who paid the matchmaker big $$$.  You would think there is something to my rationale here, but maybe applying logic to use of dating "help" is a lost cause.

I did find two seemingly ordinary, interesting men.  Jewish even.  I emailed them, bland, one-liner emails that clearly showed I actually read their profiles.  One I asked to play Scrabble since he likes board games (among other thigns).  The other I asked about the carved Halloween pumpkin in his photo.  

Believe it or not, I did use much of the profile I put in the other day.  But shortened to a "10 things you need to know about me."  And took out the stuff Joe College told me was overkill.

And I promise, despite the flotsam now filling up my inbox from guys I never want to meet, I will not delete the profile until I've gone out on a date with a least one guy from OKCupid.

The irony of my timing in going online, is that my Latin Lover called today and the Matchmaker coughed up a potential new match (after I left her a message to ask her if she was going out of business).  

I might have forgotten to mention the Latin Lover. Last Saturday I went to a bar with my friend M -- she's a lovely women, svelte figure, Israeli looks, which strikes a sharp contrast to my fair complexion, straight strawberry-blonde hair and curves.  It's fun to go out with her.  And for whatever reason, at this one bar, we caught a lot of attention.  The Latin Lover is actually a distinguished man in his forties, with an interesting career involving the environment.  I'm about to head off to my hometown for ten days, but we'll be heading out on a date when I return.  

When it rains it pours. 

playing the decoy?

Since most of my non-work time is spent doing relatively solitary things (like swimming, biking, running... or sitting on my butt writing blog entries from my couch), I figure I should occasionally put myself in situations where I might meet new people.  Preferably single and my age.

This is why, on the eve of a half marathon, I accepted a last-minute invitation to head out to the 'burbs for a Brazilian feast courtesy of the man-formerly-known-as-Twervert and his incredible girlfriend that I adore. 

The invitation said 5, so of course I arrived at a leisurely 5:20.  And was the first one there.  

Eventually, other guests arrive - among them a nice man who was probably in his late 40's or so.  While I'm chatting with him, another women enters the turf and makes her move.  Whatever this man has to say, she provides the perfect flirt response - it's studied, it's practiced, it's surprisingly effective.  I quickly decide that I'm not in the mood for competition (I'm saving it for the race course in the morning), when Twervert pulls me aside.  He wants to tell me something about this man.

Twervert needs me to get said eligible bachelor away from the crazy lady...  distract the gentleman... because Twervert is fixing this man up with someone else at the party.  

That someone else is, of course, not me.   The true beneficiary of the fix-up was helping in the kitchen and not yet ready for the intro.  And while this beneficiary/hostess was really interesting and nice, I thought... "What am I, chopped liver??"

I have to say - this is a first.  I've been fixed up.  I've been invited to parties with lots of single men at which I did (or didn't) have a chance.  But I've never been asked to play the decoy so that one of those single men could be introduced to someone else. 

The evening ended early for me - I left by 7:30, long before people had even sipped enough of that social lubricant we call alcohol to start making new friends in glibly swapping phone numbers.  But who knows, maybe the Twervert will sniff some smelling salts and think about me next time.  It could happen.

househunting on a first date

I have an aunt who thinks I should really be her daughter, and it frustrates her to no end that I'm still single.  Occasionally, she thinks this means she should try to fix it.  This same aunt is the type who "summers" in a wonderful place every year, and hangs around with interesting intellectuals and people who care about the environment and spend a lot of time hiking and enjoying nature.  I hope I get to do that when I grow up.

Every few years, I spend a few days visiting her at this place I call the Fountain of Youth.  This last time I went on a bike ride with a man 40 years older than me, and could barely keep up.  I love these people, I want to be them if I ever grow up.

And as much as my aunt loves me, the folks there love her even more and decided to join in on the efforts to find me a husband.  A nice Jewish man.  This same year I was in town for the bike ride, I was also around for High Holy day services.  The couple with whom we sat has a son.  My age-ish.  In my neck of the woods-ish.  Shidduch, reform Jewish style.

This lovely gentleman, the House-Hunter, promptly called to ask me out upon my return from the Fountain of Youth.  And as we try to arrange a date, he mentions he is house hunting.  I start to share stories of my two successful attempts at house hunting and somehow we end up agreeing to spend our first date going to open houses.

At first blush, this might seem a little... um... wrong.  And somehow, it seemed so right.  You want to know a lot about a person?  Find out what they say they need in a home.  Is he interested in a family?  Not if he is focusing on one bedrooms.  House-Hunter was clearly focused on a family friendly house.  What if he's that guy in SATC with the mobile for his baby's crib - if only he could find the wife!  

As it turns out, it was kind of fun!  House-Hunter was geeky-funny-witty, a little bit of self-deprecating Woody Allan stuff going on, but overall he rated well for the second date.

And he did call, and he did ask me out again.

To go to more open houses.

The third date he took me to see a play about Golda Meir.  And then asked me out again.  To go to open houses with him.  Again. 

I turned him down... both the house-hunting and the house-hunter.  Maybe part of it was the house-hunting - once was cute, but three times wasn't.  Maybe it was the collection of small glass objets d'art at his place that I found a little too quirky for a guy.  Or maybe it was that his geekiness belied a meekness that I couldn't see past.  Or maybe it just wasn't there.  

My aunt was sad.  She really wanted to bring the families together.  

And I was actually a little disappointed in myself for not being crazy about him.    He was going to let me re-do that kitchen in our dream house exactly like I wanted! 

the best ex

Joe College was in town again...  the 3rd time this year, and it's been a blast having him around.  Don't get any ideas - Joe College and I aren't getting back together.  We don't even dance around the exsex line.  We just hang out, like buddies, and have conversations like this:

Joe College: "You know what I really want?  A girl who likes to hang out all the time and occasionally get laid."
Me: "Well, what I really want is a guy who likes to get laid all the time and occasionally hang out." 
Joe College: "And there you have it."
At which we both laugh, and remind ourselves why we enjoy being exes.

Joe College claimed a couple of summers ago that I was probably the pinnacle of his dating career... I certainly rank, by a long shot, as the most sane woman he's ever dated.

I recently (sadly) realized that Joe College may be the man who rates the highest on the evolutionary scale of all the men I've ever date.  My brother would have to weigh in on that.  My brother is the one who created the evolutionary scale.  I'm not sure anyone has ever reached upright status yet.  But that's another story, another day.

Joe College earned his name easily enough - my dad dubbed him after a brief visit to my hometown (for a football game, not so much about meeting my folks). His most memorable accomplishment that trip was teaching my friend's husband to open beer bottles with his wedding band.  My friend may never forgive me.

Joe College and I met when we got fixed up by uber-sexy Jewish/taken Drummer Boy and my friend back when I lived in the midwest (the same friend that I met through Pockets, oddly enough).  My friend and Drummer Boy simply plotted to bring together two nice Jewish people. Even though I was a mature, let's-settle-down-31-year-old and he a 27-going-on-15-year-old, we found enough in common over Bloody Mary's and brunch with Drummer Boy and his shixa girlfriend to justify another date.  And then another, and then another... and pretty soon it was 10 months down the road, we'd had some fun dinners, he'd introduced me to Big 10 football, we took a crazy New Year's Eve trip to Vegas, and a final trip to Hawaii.

We both cried when we broke up... there was no horrible fight, no prompting event, just the realization that we were wonderful people who didn't belong together.  Drummer Boy had to take the post-break-up call from Joe College, and our other mutual guy friend took my call.  Turns out Drummer Boy got the short end of the stick on that one from what I hear.  

Joe College just is Joe College, and I hope he always is.  He likes telling dirty jokes, drinking too much beer, listening to Howard Stern, checking out hot girls and hanging out with the guys.   But I've got a little secret... if you are paying attention, that's just the first 5% of Joe College.  He's deeply intellectual, thoughtful, introspective, aware of others' feelings, and all the stuff that I would promise not to divulge at a bar when he's hitting on a girl but would anyway.  He has a sense of style that we wears with a subdued manner that seems, at first, totally out of kilter with his Joe College image. 

[cue Beavis] Dude, I called him sub-dude.  heh heh.  heh heh..

So now what, Joe College?  Well, when we dated I was his Sugar Mama.  I made a decent bit more than him and sometimes took the lead on doing the expensive stuff (he was willing to share a hotel room with the other couple in Hawaii... for example... aw, hell to the naw!).  These days, he makes about three times what I do, so I get to make him play Sugar Daddy and take me out for fancy dinners when he is in town. 

Now he's a 33-going-on-27-year-old.  And I will continue tease him incessantly that I'm going to get him back into my bed so I can use him for the 12 minutes he'd last.  And ask him for dating advice. 

the social antithesis...

My calendar for the past few weeks, and the current one:

• dinners in with married friends (sometimes with their children)
• dinner out with married friend traveling solo away from his wife & baby
• an incredible double date with my gay boyfriends and my gal-pal e.
• meetings with my new all-female athletic team
• a networking/social dinner with a bunch of female colleauges
• dinner with an ex-boyfriend who is strolling through town
• nights at home watching American Idol and Glee.
  

Gee, why am I not meeting any new single men?   Not that I would trade any of those wonderful evenings... but...

And, since you might ask, no, I have not put myself back into the online dating game.  Yet.  And no sign of Mr. Nice Guy. 

Next steps: makeover, rejigger, by a new outfit, get back out there.

sometimes a girl just needs her Superhero

All I had to do was go to Shabbat services, the big young adult one that attracts 300-400 people once a month.  I was late, with some friends, we took a spot up in the balcony.  About 5 minutes later, some guy comes in, crams himself into my row and just about sits on top of me but ends up just sitting on my coat.

I give him flack.

Fifteen minutes later, he gives me flak for reading ahead in the prayer book (I never know when the silent Amidah ends).  I had to lean over to my friend to ask if he was cute, because he was sitting SO CLOSE.  Turns out he's cute.  The banter continues throughout the service, afterward at the massive social piranha fest they call an oneg shabbat, and then over a drink at a nearby restaurant.  It's the beginning of a great love story.  Except for the part where he is visiting from the opposite coast and leaving for home in less than a week.

He adds me as a Facebook friend on Saturday, then calls -- we make plans to get together Sunday.  Vague plans.

Sunday morning he calls and he start trying to patch our plans together.  It turned into patchwork quilt, truly...  everytime I am free, he is busy; everytime he is free, I am busy.  But we each wanted to see each other, so we did the least obvious thing in the world: we patched our days together and spent the whole day doing each other's things. We both had some off-center sense of adventure and agreed it would be a total disaster or a total blast.

We went to a birthday party, we drove someone to the airport, we watched the moon-rise from an incredible vista when the moon was the closest to us it could get (and got the photos to prove it), and we had a late dinner at a random Thai restaurant that turned out to be amazing and we shut the place down.  We crossed four different bridges five times that day.  And laughed the whole time, had plenty to say to each other and couldn't wait to see each other again.  It was one of those day-into-night dates you never want to end.

So we continued our date that whole week, until he left.  We met each other's friends, spent nights curled up together and enjoyed every second of each other's company until time ran out.  And he left for New York.  We never talked about anything other than the present moment.

I'll pause for a second.  For an entire week, I lived in that moment.  Have you met me?  Do you have any idea how unlikely it is that I could utter a sentence without planning for the next 30 that will come out of my mouth?  How absurd it is that I could something without over-thinking it?  It's like pigs flew.

He has a really adorable name, and it is the kind of name you give a superhero.  And he is a superhero to me.  So he is, and always will be, Superhero.  My sweet, sass-talking, wise-cracking, adorable, witty Jewish Superhero who lives on the wrong coast.

Of course, it's not like he got on a plane and that was the end of the story.  Because, really... what if??  It's not like I could stop thinking about him.  So there's not really an end to the story, per se. 

I suppose the definition of a superhero revolves around the rescue, right? You don't really hear about the superhero who sticks around to make a general nuisance of himself like if he became a stable, live-in boyfriend.  Remember when Clark Kent gave up his powers to be with Lois Lane and got the crap kicked out of him at the diner?  I don't want that to happen. So Superhero he will be.  And I'll let him swoop in and rescue me from time to time.  'Cause sometimes a girl just needs her Superhero and a magical four-bridges, moon-rise date.

what would my profile be?

If I'm going to start dating again, I will probably go back online.  My friends don't fix me up, and most of my "free" time is spent running or biking or swimming.  I did join a tri club, but it's all women... Last night, a lovely Saturday night, I had people over for dinner and begged out of going to a big Haiti fundraiser afterwards that would have been really fun & interesting & surrounded me with lots of new people.  So, you see, I'm not meeting people "out" or through friends.  Occasionally I do speed-dating, I might try a meet-up, but I'm probably headed back on-line.  Does that make me an armchair quarterback of dating?  Or a lazy slug on the sofa who can poo-poo guys via my laptop with re-runs of Glee playing in the background?

I have profile.  While it isn't totally generic sounding, it has been a year or so and it might be time to freshen it up a little bit.  So I was thinking about what I could say about myself that might draw a little more attention...  What would my profile say if I wrote it this morning?  Here's the list I'm starting with:

• I'm truly energetic while totally over-committed! So really, I'm just tired by the time I see you.  And I can't have caffeine.  Oh lord help you if you give me too much caffeine.
• In a few weeks I'll be officially "unemployed" -- but don't worry, I'm not looking for a sugar daddy.  Maybe I should be, but I'm too independent for that.  "Unemployed" because, well, I won't be sitting still.
  
• I love to cook, but don't share my kitchen...  until it's time to do the dishes at which point the kitchen is yours.  That's partnership, right?
• Movies, movies, movies... I hardly ever see them.  It makes me an oddity, and is one of the few subjects (going to see movies) that makes me sound older than I really am.
• Yes, I really do triathlons.  Yes, I workout like that and still carry 10 extra pounds.  I love to eat.  The 10 pounds aren't going anywhere anytime soon.
• A guitar sits, dusty, in my living room.  If I really want you to like me, I will practice and try to play for you.  It's been a long time since I wanted someone to like me that much, so I apologize for your bleeding ears now.
• The photographs on the walls are mostly mine.  Proof that I have a hobby!
• I don't have cable or satellite or anything fancy like that, but I do have a media computer hooked up to my HDTV. 
• Car?  Who needs one!  I walk, take public transit, and use that fancy Zipcar when I need to.    It's not because I can't afford it, or because of my staunch environmentalism -- I just don't want to care for a car, and seem to get around just fine without owning one.  it's lovely.
• Worms live on my deck.  And eat my compostables. OK, maybe I am a bit of environmentalist.  Or I'm kind of fascinated by worms.  I desperately want to grow a vegetable garden on my deck, but sadly only the worms like the amount of shade my deck gets.
• In general, I get fascinated by the littlest things. Science museums for kids are an incredible place to take me.  I go stargazing even though I know nothing about the constellations.  I actually do make a point of watching sunsets, and have a vista point where I go regularly to do so. 
• I chose following my heart over making a lot of money in high tech.  I struggle with it, but wouldn't change my mind for a million years.
  
• Jewish matters.  I may not make it to temple all the time, but Jewish defines me.  That does not mean I'm turning into a Jewish mother, or am some kind of Jewish American Princess.  I'll go backpacking, volunteer for Habitat in New Orleans post-Katrina and only make laughable attempts at guilt trips.  I mean I care about the cultural/holidays/etc.
  
• My friends don't think I have baggage, or any more than you do.  I suppose they would lie just to make me feel better, but they never have so I don't know why they would start now.  And yes, you do  have to pass muster with my friends.  And family.  Sorry, but they've been around long enough to earn the right to an opinion.  And I love spending time with them...  It's like the HIMYM porch test.
• We haven't even made it to the wineaux, traveler, do-I-want-kids part of things yet, and I'm tired of reading about me!
• Lest I forget... I'm a bit of a story teller. 
  

While this is all fine & dandy, I'm not sure that an on-line profile it makes.  But then again, don't the guys only look at the pictures anyway?  Time to make buddies with a photographer who can make my extra 10 pounds look as sexy as I think they are.   Oh, and then I have to come up with a "screen name" that sounds catchy and inventive in 15 characters or less, no spaces. 

And maybe trim the above down to "single, attractive women likes watching sunsets and sipping wine - seeks single man to do the same." 

it's a small world after all

Tonight I was supposed to catch up with a friend of mine, but since he had to cancel I'll spend my evening telling the story of how we met.

I've already confessed to using jdate as a way to meet men. Not that there's much to be ashamed of, really. But I met this guy on jdate back in 2006, not long after my split from Grumpy Pants.

I read this guy's profile once - it was quirky. So were his emails, full of puns and snark and witticisms. We emailed back and forth a few times, right around my annual pilgrimage to my hometown for Thanksgiving. I mentioned to Witty that I was headed homeward, and something about my dad growing up in nearby Little-Big-Town. Witty mentioned that he had family from Little-Big-Town,too.

In great disregard of jdate etiquette, I asked him his last name. And in the name of curiousity, he obliged. Since I was at my dad's place, I just yelled out from the den to the kitchen "Hey Dad! Ever heard of the McWitterson's or the McWitty's from Little-Big-Town?"

Dad actually stopped what he was doing, came into the den and looked at me for a while before he answered. "As in B__ McWitterson McWitty? The wife of D__ McWitty? I've been friends with D__ since I was 10. I went to B__'s funeral 2 days after your mom's funeral. Yeah, I know the McWitterson's and the McWitty's."

Oh dear. The world is feeling very small. So then Dad asks what brings up the families... and I oblige with my jdate connection to Witty.

"Oh, Witty McWitty? That's Z__ McWitty's grandson, and he must be named for his great uncle Witty McWitty. He used to work for a sports franchise up there in his hometown. His uncle P__ McWitty was a bigwig for the pro football team there."

Or something like that. I was a little too stunned to remember the family story exactly right. But the part where my dad has been friends with Witty's uncle for over 60 years - still very true.

So how exactly should I tell Witty about this? Very, very carefully. Men do not like to feel stalked, and can be easily overwhelmed with professions like "Oh my god! I know everything about you!"  To be fair, if I guy said that to me - I'd run. Fast.

I started (in online chat) with "um" I think. And then dove in with the whole "yup, my dad just rattled off your whole family tree" bit. Lucky for me, he did not freak out.  He was equally fascinated by the connection. We agreed off the bat that since the world was such a small place, we'd end up being friends no matter what. Kizmet, ya know.

We went out a few times, but the hitch for me was that Witty was just recently separate and I wasn't ready for a man who wasn't divorced yet.

And after 3 and some, years we've both kept our promise.  We've counseled each other on work, life in general, politics, even dating - somehow I think we figure that the Little-Big-Town connection makes us responsible for each other. Or family. Or something. 

the path unexpected

I suppose not every post can be funny. If you need funny, I can tell you the story about a magician.  In the meantime, J-Red got me feeling introspective and I wanted to share.  We got to talking over our pedicures on Monday, and she didn't mess around -- she went straight for the jugular about my life, love and otherwise.

She got me talking about the biggest change in my dating perspective in the last couple of years. After mourning so many losses -- including my mother, my relationship with Grumpy Pants, the apartment fire -- I realized that I will never have the life I always assumed I would have. Ya know, the one with a husband, two kids, a decent house... where things swim along and life is some normal space between Roseanne and Cosby.

Don't get me wrong, my life is wonderful in many ways! And I've made some very conscious choices that might have derailed the "dream" yet have benefited me in ways beyond what I would have hoped for. I would chose all over again just the same. I can simultaneously appreciate and enjoy what I have, but recognize that the paradigm of what I thought my life would be for years and years is, well, dead.

The life I thought I would have now isn't what I have now, nor will it ever be... and so I feel a bit unhinged. In part, I want to give myself permission to mourn -- almost in a Langston Hughes/Dream Deferred kind of way. Maybe kids aren't in my future. Maybe the kind of husband (some uncomplicated NJB who loves to be outdoors) I was searching for isn't what will be right for me in the coming years. Maybe I will take more solo adventures again.

After I'm done mourning, I plan to celebrate. If all the rules and expectations are gone, maybe I will start exploring and seeing new ways to find love in my life. That unexpected stuff, the kind of things I see when I'm just taking the world in, as opposed to narrowing my vision to something specific.

The path unexpected has always been my favorite route.  I doubt this time of my life is any different!

harumph

Whatever happened to Mr. Nice Guy?  I've been asking myself the same thing.  I suppose it's kind of like the Cowboys at today's playoff game versus the Vikings - he never actually showed up to the game!

OK, I wasn't going to say that.  One friend recently chided me about sounding a bit bitter in my post about Red/the latter... but another friend heard me say this comment about Mr. Nice Guy today and he thought was pretty funny (not bitter).  So it bears repeating.

In actuality, I'm not sure what to make of Mr. Nice Guy.  I really would like to see him again, but then again I would also like for him to make a motion in my direction.  I suspect that if he were interested, he would let me know.

But I'll take my time.  Right now, I have a few professional/life things to sort out.  And honestly (in the most positive, not bitter way I can say this), I just don't have time for the odds & ends that come with trying to date someone who isn't fun and easy to date.  So I've stopped looking for a bit.

I'll say it again: I've stopped looking for a bit. 

Yes, really.

Don't look at me like that.

But if Mr. Nice Guy calls, all bets are off...

girlfriends...

In the world of trying to meet men, sometimes you meet princes and sometimes frogs.  And sometimes you meet other princesses.  And that is a wonderful thing.

Tomorrow, I get to hang out with one of my best girlfriends, J-Red.  We've been friends for over 10 years now - and this is the story of how we met.

Back in the late 90's, speed-dating was still a thing that people whispered about, wondered about and read New York Time's articles about.  I had just moved to a new city, and wanted to throw myself out into the scene.  So I found my local Jewish speed-dating event, in a part of the city I didn't know well, showed up to the Jewish Community Center at the appropriate time and found a handful of people standing in the darkened JCC wandering where the hell the event was.

You see, the event organizer from the JCC had neglected to give us the location of the event, and we had all assumed it was at the JCC. 

Five people stood around, shrugged their shoulders, looked at the ground and prepared to head out, defeated.  Two people whipped out their cell phones, started making calls and got to business.  Those two people - J-Red and I - gave each other the acknowledging nod, coordinated a game plan, conferred, then went out to the neighborhood in search of the event.  And found it.

By the time we arrived at the local coffee shop hosting the event, I knew I'd made a new friend.  I wasn't even worried about asking her for her phone number. 

The organizers tried to give us a hard time, as they'd achieved the desired equilibrium of men & women, and we would disrupt that.  J-Red and I were not worried about equilibrium, and made that clear.  We couldn't have presented a more united front to the girl at the registration desk if we'd planned it -- she didn't stand a chance against us!  You want us to come back?  You want us to give you good word of mouth?  You'll let us in. 

Somehow, during the breaks of the evening and conferring over David #9, we swapped phone numbers and promised to keep in touch. Magically, we did.  The last ten years of friendship with J-Red brought LOTS of adventures (including a de-pantsing episode one Christmas Eve that forever convinced a man we were an evil, evil duo), and ultimately a wonderful husband and 2 gorgeous children to J-Red.  I wouldn't trade my friendship J-Red for any of the guys I met that night.  I'll remind her of that over our mani/pedi excursion tomorrow.

perverted logic

After my last post, I was toying with the idea of making friends with this cuckolded bunch of women.  And so I've had a few more exchanged emails with both.

Then the bomb got dropped... the "latter" is still seeing him. She'd "rather be with a dick than alone."  I assume she meant a jerk, but I think the idea that getting laid on a regular basis is nice probably goes with her preference.

Which makes me wonder - who is the better woman here?  The latter, who keeps a man around and isn't "alone," or me, who prefers who friends and BOB and self-respect?  (For those not in the know, BOB stands for battery operated boyfriend.)   And let me please clarify, Red is a scientist in all respects: he keeps modifying an experiment until he gets the appropriate result, and once he does -- continues to repeat the same steps that once got him the right result.  And sex, like anything else, is handled scientifically.  

Right now, I've got so much in my life I actually find dating to be a bit of a bother.  If a guy is going to be fun, then WONDERFUL!  Let's hang out, add more positive energy to my life! Yes!  But why would I waste energy on someone who is a jerk, makes me wonder if I'm settling, or worse yet - degrade whatever self respect I've got left?

This is a retraction, I'm sorry, latter lady.  You can have Red.  You get the treatment from a guy you let him give you.  I may be alone a lot of the time, but at least the guys I choose to date actually treat me pretty well.  Red was never a jerk directly to me, in fact no guy has ever been a jerk to me for more than a minute.  Fool me once, shame on you -- and all that jazz.

I wonder, seriously: I should fix her up with Newfie?? He's damaged goods, but still a sweetheart.  Should I take responsibility for fixing her lost faith in the goodness of mankind?  I can't shake it from my head that I'd be involved in this weird quadrangle with two of my exes, and a woman I've never met. 

I should probably add to the list of reasons I'm still alone: I'd rather be alone than with someone who doesn't excite me and make me happy.

Maybe the latter getting laid more often, but I suspect I have a better world view on men, I've got a little more self respect and am generally a bit happier.  And at least BOB knows how to try new things.

Is this how I want to make friends?

Today I got an invitation to grab a drink with a really interesting woman I haven't yet met in person - she works in environmental policy, has master's degree, is on the outdoorsy side, works out her angst by taking up indoor rock climbing, loves hanging out with her teenage niece, and from what I can tell is one of the most loyal, forthright women in my neck of the woods.  Add to that we have some mutual professional connections and work around the corner from each other.

I was thinking I also might invite this other cool woman I haven't yet met in person - she returned to school in her late 30's to get a degree in science, and last time she got sick of her job she packed it up and traveled all around Southeast Asia for 6 months.  She wrote a pretty cool blog all about it.

Both these women are very attractive, accomplished, educated...  ya know, the kinda ladies I would hang out with.  Except, I'm not sure this is how I want to make new friends.

You might wonder how they came into my email acquaintance: they both emailed me because they were also sleeping with/dating the guy I thought I was sleeping with/dating exclusively

Red is not what you are thinking (the color of his hair, and the color I see when I think of him).  He comes across as a geeky science nerd, a somewhat introverted high school teacher.  I don't think he's a "player" in the traditional sense.  Rather, he's pathological and insecure.  Travelpro is going to approach for how to have so much baggage appear so minimal.  I did learn the very important lesson: never date a man who has no local friends, and if he doesn't introduce you to any friends in the first month or so -- run like hell.

Here's what I can figure out: there was not a single point in the time I was dating Red that I was the only one.  It's not that I didn't give Red the out.  He nearly dumped me twice and I hardly begged him for forgiveness.

Here were the last two arguments I had with Red (and yes, I really said this stuff... but the dialogue is a bit truncated):

3 weeks before break-up

• Red: "I think you like me more than I like you."
• Me: "I'll let you know when that's a problem for me."
• Red: "But you like me more than I like you."
• Me: "Are you done?  If so, that's fine... "
• Red: "No, I'm not done, I really like you."

2 weeks before break-up

• Red: "I think you want to spend more time with me than I want to spend with you."
  
• Me: "Are you done?  Because this is bullshit and I don't have time for it."
• Red: "I need time for myself."
• Me: "Have you ever asked for any that I haven't given you?  And by the way, the reason I always encourage you to do your weekly trivia night without me is because I need my time."
• Red: "Oh."
• Me: "So are you done with this relationship?"
• Red: "No, I want to be with you."
  

Then Red and I went on a fabulous camping trip... and he dumped me right after we got back.  

• Red: "I didn't fall in love with you, and I should have by now."
• Me: "I think you were in love with me, you just don't know what love is.  So how long have you been dating someone else?"
• Red" "There isn't anyone else."
  

To his credit, he really should have fallen in love with me by then.  That he ended it before I fell any further (and yes, I was quite deluded and taken) was to his lying, cheating credit.

So now I have made the virtual acquaintance of these two women. 

The former emailed me after I'd been dating Red for a few of months.  She'd spotted us out one fine Sunday, and dumped him later that day.  When she realized I was still dating him a month later, she knew he hadn't told me.  Through the magic of Facebook, she found me and sent me a long note.

The latter knew about me early on, but took a short while to see through Red's lies and realized that I actually didn't know about her.  She emailed me once she realized he was lying - I initially shied away from communication.

But last week, Red's profile showed up on jdate as a "featured profile" for me on the one time in the last year I've bothered to log in and see if there are any new faces for me (there aren't).  So I finally replied to "the latter" in case she was still dating him -- this was too much.  And I thanked her for reaching out... it sparked a pleasant bit of exchange.

Then I decided to apologize to the former, for unwittingly hurting her. I had never responded to her emails of nearly 6 months ago.  She was so grateful that I had acknowledged her and apologized - she told me it helped make her 2010 start better just to have heard from me.


OK, we have something in common -- and I know that they are the kind of women who look out for others.  What would drinks with them be like?  So, when did you first know he was a lying, cheating jerk?  Have you stayed really bitter about men ever since?  Maybe I can find another geeky science teacher for you who loves to cook.  Shall we learn knitting together, or maybe hit a single's bar?  I'll have to think a bit longer if this is how a new couple of friendships start.

A message from my grandmother

Just a little voicemail from my grandmother a while back, just before I turned 30.  I don't think she called just to talk!

--------------------

Hi _____, it’s your grandma.  I’m sorry I missed you.  I called to see how you were and just to talk. 

And also to tell you I heard about this book on television, that you might be interested in.  It’s not exactly the right age for you but anyhow, it says… I think the name of it is “How to Find a Husband After 35” or “Finding a Husband After 35” -- something like that and it’s by Rachel somebody, and she gave like seven different things to do.  But the only two that really hit a bell with me were that you should have an organized approach, that you should look for a husband just like you look for a job.  And secondly, you shouldn’t complain.  Never complain. And don’t ask income.  Those are the three things I remember.   Oh, and it said something about your appearance and stuff like that.  But anyhow those are the three things that really struck me. And the main two, were don’t complain, and organized approach. 

OK, babe, just a thought.  I’ll talk to you another time.  I hope all is well.  Bye bye.

--------------------

The funniest part of the story is that she left the same message a second time, thinking that it didn't "take" the first time.  The second message was almost exactly the same as the first... I think she had a script!

I'd love to pretend that I just laughed this off, and ignored the advice.  I really don't focus energy on finding a man like I would finding a job.  But I do try to avoid complaining...  Who wants to be around someone who is dissatisfied with their life?  

My grandmother (in her early 90's) gives me advice all the time.   It used to drive me nuts, but I hate to admit (now) that some of the advice is kind of useful.

The worst advice she ever gave me: "never let a man think you are smarter than he is."  Probably I thought it was bad advice because I assumed she meant "never let a man think you are smart."    

The best advice, which took me years to master:  "ask a man about himself and stop talking about yourself."  The reason is took me years to master?  It took me a long time to figure out that I should date men who I found really interesting, so much so that I WANT to ask them about themselves rather than do the talking. 


Did I say I mastered that one?  Well, not quite... but at least I know the secret! Date more interesting men.

And P.S.  Don't tell Grandma I started listening to her advice.