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.