ginger discrimination

The other day my chatty chiropractor told me he thought I’d be a great match for Prince Harry.

When I asked him why, he gave two reasons: first, I’m worthy of being a princess and second, we’re both gingers. I can argue with neither point.

But I felt I must tell him I’ve never been particularly drawn to ginger men. (Nor am I drawn to ginger women, for that matter, aside from that pretty character in Pitch Perfect.) He agreed that red-haired (more accurately orange-haired) men are often not the most appealing, but then opined that Harry is an exception. I agree; never mind the blue blood or age difference…

This conversation sparked further discussion on a topic I’ve been thinking about lately. Why waste my time thinking about such superficial things like hair color or complexion? Well…it seems ginger men often find me attractive. And their feelings of attraction toward me are rarely reciprocated. When one recently found my online dating profile, he seemed ecstatic — and he seemed to think my response would be equally jubilant.

My first reaction? “Ew.”

People like to point out that my anti-ginger bias seems contradictory. After all, I am a redhead. And my own father is a ginger — with the pale skin, every inch of that which has been exposed to the sun covered in freckles…and I am fond of my father. As I age, I also find that my skin is more sensitive and likely to burn in the sun.

Still, I don’t identify as part of this particular group of people with certain hair and skin pigmentation in any way that endears them to me particularly, at least not any more than I suspect dishwater blondes feel camaraderie toward one another based on hair color. In fact (perhaps as a result of several years of childhood torment), I am quick to point out these distinctions: my hair is auburn, my eyes are dark and my skin tans with exposure to sunlight. I am covered in “angel kisses,” not freckles (and, no, they are not the same thing). I can see no reason for joining in any sort of ginger convention — I tend to choose my tribe based on other like characteristics. The enormous crush I had on the son of my father’s best friend when I was 13 years old notwithstanding, I am simply not attracted to ginger men.

But I’ve often heard that I should keep an open mind and, further, I’ve learned first-hand that some people are just not as photogenic as others. So out with him I went, determined not to make lifetime happiness decisions based on such superficial criteria.

And here’s what I found: despite his relative financial success, despite his spontaneity, despite his sense of humor, he proved overeager (edging toward stalkerish) and further creeped me out with intimations that I reminded him of female relatives. (After all, I’ve seen my father in his skivvies, and that makes it less — not more — appealing to think of seeing another ginger in the flesh.) In summary: not attracted.

If all of this reveals me as a sort of superficial bigot, so be it. Perhaps I am.

touch starved

I get what I call “touch starved.” Meaning: I can spend all the time in the world snuggling with my children, but it doesn’t fulfill a certain need. That loving, nurturing touch is great, but it’s not the touch of a lover.

This is what I was feeling when I entangled myself in the debacle of last fall. I was physically desperate and thinking I’d get my itch well and thoroughly scratched.

As you now know, I didn’t get what I’d hoped from the brief tryst, but I did equip myself with better toys. Now I’m not feeling nearly so needy.

lasting impressions

People go on and on about the importance of first impressions. No doubt it’s all true. But what of latest, last or final impressions? Doesn’t their discussion merit a moment of attention, as well?

Some of you may recall that, while in bed with the boyfriend I was seeing just over a year ago, he asked me what my first impression of him had been. He insisted I be honest, so I can hardly be blamed for blurting out, “Man boobs.”

Luckily, we were both consumed with laughter and able to get past this awkward incident. So much so that the ending of our relationship was tender, sweet and respectful.

My point? The “final” impression in our relationship was so overwhelmingly positive that I look back on our relationship fondly and, in fact, I can admit to probably romanticizing it. And because we were loving and caring to one another until the end — and at the very end — we have become friends.

Contrast this experience with my more recent dalliance with more-like-it: I found him interesting – intriguing – from the start. I enjoyed talking with him, flirting with him and spending time with him. Physically, I found him sexy! In the end, though, I felt hurt and disrespected and, as lovely as I imagine it might be to cherish the memories, I find it’s difficult to look back at the experience fondly. At present, I am more likely to roll my eyes and think, “I can’t believe I fell for that!”

Admittedly, I am a pragmatic optimist. I’m sure, one day, I’ll see things differently. My hindsight tends to wear rose-colored glasses, after all.

In fact, I’ve already come to see the silver lining in this… If things had ended sweetly, I might have allowed myself to ponder possibilities. As it happened, closure was — shall we say — “firm.” Ultimately, he did me a favor by making it easy for me to move on.

love me some v-day

I love me some V-day!

Even though I’m currently single (and refused to give that one guy who’s pursuing me my address so that he could deliver a surprise to my house), I am a romantic at heart and simply love the whole notion of an entire day dedicated to the celebration of love! What could be better?

Some folks skeptically call it a Hallmark holiday — and perhaps that’s true. Still, who cares who made it up or why? I love love, and any opportunity to blather on about it is peachy in my mind.

Another friend calls it “the day before the candy goes on sale.” I love that, too!

In my ideal life, I am celebrating with a lover out at one of the most romantic and cozy spots in the city. Perhaps after we’re close / committed, it’s a romantic night in, at home. Or, when the children are gone, a weekend getaway.

At any rate, I don’t care about those things at this moment. I am simply happy being a solo explorer with much love in my life, grateful children (who were surprised with books and chocolate this morning) and knowing I’m on the right path to find the mate who will honor and cherish me.

So tonight my little family will celebrate by sorting the recycling…and maybe grabbing a bite out. Can’t you just feel the romance?!

p.s. Yes, my ex boyfriend has already sent a loving text my way.

recap, rehash, update and stuff

Given recent events — for those of you who haven’t read, I didn’t take a recent rejection well or, more accurately, I didn’t take the way the news was presented to me well — I suppose one could ask: “What the heck did you think was going to happen?”

And I guess I would say: I thought we might have a fun six months or so. I thought we would communicate well. I was hoping for more playful experimentation and closeness and, in the end, fond farewells. So things didn’t go as I’d hoped, as is often the case, and I didn’t appreciate the behavior. There you have it; I’ve nothing more to say.

Meanwhile, I’ve been seeing and speaking with my ex boyfriend regularly lately. Nothing fishy; we have “business reasons” to be in touch. It warms my heart to see him doing well and, to be honest, I’m developing a bit of a crush on him. It’s easy to remember why I fell for him. (And he also makes a good fantasy/memory, if you know what I mean.)

In other news, a girlfriend recently sent this article, torn out of a magazine, through the mail, god bless her! Really, you should read it — it had me in hysterics (though NSFW). It all started while we were traveling together, schlepping all over Chicago for a site check, when something about Kathy Griffin came on the radio along with the word “vajazzle.” Read the article and you can also add “vajacial” to your vocabulary. I suspect it goes without saying that I haven’t yet had this “Peach Smoothie” treatment and it’s unlikely that I will…but I do find it intriguing. And it strikes me as odd that it cost so much less than a real facial.

Finally, I’ve put my profile back on an online dating…with ambivalence. It’s nice to receive positive attention, and you wouldn’t believe all the college boys asking me if they’re my type! I tell them I like tall, handsome and affluent enough to provide for my children…and most don’t write back after that. I must admit I find this fun — and a little flattering.

Sweet dreams, darlings!

then again, let’s not

I still get upset when I think about the let down of a couple few weeks ago (I’ve lost track of time). And I have a confession about that: the explosive vehemence of my emotions around this whole thing is waaay out of proportion to what it ought to have been, given the circumstances (in this case, a couple of casual hookups with a casual acquaintance). I normally don’t “should” on myself like that but, in this case, my awareness of this over-reaction goes something like this:

Into that moment of him saying “I’m out,” flooded every snub, slight, injury, rejection, betrayal that has ever happened in my life… Not only could I feel this, it was as though I could see it — an open portal with all of this emotional baggage flowing in. And it very clearly was not all about him…at least not all about him or us in this lifetime, in this incarnation.

I may have mentioned before that I’ve felt something karmic with more-like-it. It wasn’t exactly as Paulo Coelho writes about in Aleph, but not entirely dissimilar, either. His energy was a catalyst for me and, to be honest, it filled me with sheer terror on more than one occasion. I never felt unsafe — rather, I felt a fear that I knew I needed to face head-on in order to be healed in some way. A part of me wonders whether that journey wasn’t somehow cut short by our abbreviated “relationship.” I may never know.

So, as I said, I reacted strongly — and swiftly: I immediately removed him and another person I knew only through him from among my Facebook friends, and I deleted every message we’d ever exchanged from email, text or messaging. I had to kill this idiotic belief inside me that somehow we were supposed to be connected; I needed a complete break.

On a more personal, practical level, there are still aspects of this man’s behavior that baffle me. I don’t understand how someone can have manners one moment — opening doors, behaving respectfully, etc. — and then behave in a way that is so completely lacking in common courtesy and respect the next. There’s an incongruity to it around which I cannot wrap my feeble brain. It simply does not compute.

And my own knowing rose up inside me: I don’t treat my friends that way, and they don’t behave that way toward me. So that complete break was my way of shouting it to the universe: I will not accept being treated this way or welcome into my fold those who think they can get away with it.

I know he’s on his own journey, and rather than judge others or call names, I prefer to address behaviors. Still, this time, I won’t make my usual allowances for bad behavior or give in to the “let’s be friends” bullshit because, frankly, I’ve never wanted to be friends with this man; I’ve always felt and desired something more.

I can’t say what I’ll feel somewhere down the road, but that’s how I feel now. And it still hurts.

he told me so

This past week or so, feeling like the fool I’ve been, I can’t help but make an observation:

Last year, I was in a relationship with a man who full-on loved me, who was ready, willing and able to commit to our relationship. And I couldn’t love him back in the same way. Even worse, when we were together, happy as I was, a part of me was always looking over his shoulder for someone more like the guy I called more-like-it, someone who seemed to be so much better a match, who seemed to have so much more in common with me.

When it ended, this former boyfriend of mine suggested I might need to get my heart broken a time or two in order to realize how dumb I’d been to let him — a decent man, a man who could commit — go. Seems he was right.

I thought I could play around. And then there were moments with more-like-it that made me think he was the type of man I could commit to. In the end…well, you’ve read about it…

And who was there to comfort me as I cried into my coffee? The kind, honest ex boyfriend…and he didn’t even say, “I told you so.”

Kind of ironic, don’t you think?

how not to be a coward

I mentioned about a week ago that I was hurt deeply by an inconsiderate and cowardly act of rejection via Facebook chat. The fact that I see this interaction as a gift, for it has brought me great clarity, does little to alleviate the very real grief I’m feeling.

So I’ve been thinking about how I would have preferred all this go down, and I have a few specific thoughts for anyone wishing to change or renegotiate the terms of an arrangement or relationship:

Practice radical honesty. It’s far more compassionate and respectful than dishonesty and avoidance. What might this mean? If a man doesn’t want to spend time with me, I’d rather hear, “I’m really busy for a couple of weeks. How about we cool it and regroup at the end of the month?” Or “My wants and needs are changing. Can we find a time to talk about what that might mean in person?” Stop the excuses; nobody’s really going to believe that you’re sick for three weeks straight.
Align words and deeds. Communicating that you care about me, respect me and value my friendship — via electronic media — while ending any physical or potential romantic interaction feels incredibly hypocritical. I wouldn’t have what I consider an important relationship discussion digitally, unless I genuinely didn’t care whether I heard from that person again. Caring, respect, value, friendship — any of these would recommend a more humane approach.
Stick to what’s relevant. There is no good reason why any man, in the course of a break-up (or its equivalent), should feel the need to share anything about another woman with whom he spent as much time as humanly possible over a two-week period, drove hours across state lines to see and spent time with her extended family. Given his disinclination to see me, this information merely added salt to an open wound. And I didn’t need a visual.
Master the art of apology. In my experience, folks (particularly men) would rather indignantly deny that they’ve done anything wrong than apologize. Guess what? It’s not about whether you’ve done something wrong. If someone else feels hurt by something you did, chances are there’s a part of that you can own up to and acknowledge, then genuinely apologize for. It goes something like this, “I’m really sorry; I failed to consider how important this was to you, and I will know in the future to behave differently. I really don’t want my foolishness to get in the way of our friendship.” Practice it. Use it more often than you think you should. Trust me, it won’t kill you. It won’t even hurt…unless you’re a narcissist and value your ego above all.

And, perhaps most importantly:

Communicate in person. Everyone deserves the simple common courtesy and respect of hearing what might be difficult or painful news face to face. Anything less is cowardly.

The sum of our choices equals our character. I’m chalking this experience up to a valuable life lesson. I hereby re-commit myself to acting with love and compassion toward others, being my best self and drawing clear and healthy boundaries.

ruling him out

Despite my post a week ago, I want to assure you that I am not, in fact heart-broken — it simply made a better headline than the reality of the situation. In fact, let me clarify some things:

This man by whom I felt so wounded was not my boyfriend. We were not, in fact, dating. We merely had an “arrangement.” Within the confines of such an arrangement, there was closeness, secrets shared, vulnerabilities, trust… And the basis for all of these things was friendship. I did not assume what we shared to be more than it was, nor did I have expectations that it would develop into something more. Certainly a part of me had some hope, as I experienced some very high highs while in his presence. But I wasn’t sensing or assuming that he was feeling that way.

Further, let me expand on a single word I’ve chosen in the previous paragraph: expectations. I had none about what would happen any given time we met or talked, or for the future. I didn’t read meaning into the time we spent together, words said or unsaid.

Thus, it wasn’t even really a breakup. It was simply a shitty-feeling situation…from which I am genuinely grieving.

In the end, as I look back on the whole unnatural beginning of it all, I forced the issue. The truth is, I felt such a strong connection and attraction to this man — yet I simultaneously had misgivings — that I had to know. It would have been difficult for me to move forward and commit myself fully to another man without knowing for sure that more-like-it simply was not and would never be “the one” — he just seemed too close to my ideal to let it go. Now I know. With certainty. What looks, feels and sounds good doesn’t always act it.

And, in the end, I discovered something I never imagined I’d say: he reminds me a lot of my wasband.

wanna break my heart? make an appointment

Yesterday my daughter came home and announced, “My friend just got broken up with in the worst way…by text.”

Not to be outdone, I replied, “Aww, that’s awful. I just got dumped via Facebook chat.”

“Wow! That’s even worse!,” she remarked.

And then, my eleven- and nine-year-old children had a conversation about the right way to break up with someone: face to face. Or, if there are geographic differences, Skype or a phone call are appropriate, as it turns out, according to these youngsters.

So…since around the first of the year and, if I’m honest about it, before the holidays, it’s been pretty clear that this casual lover thing wasn’t working out. As sometimes happens (who am I kidding? I really have no experience with this stuff and wouldn’t begin to know!), the more my feelings evolved, the more distant lover boy became.

And that’s okay, for all the reasons I’ve talked about in my past couple of posts. I really felt a strong new energy in 2013 and was prepared, once again, to consider welcoming a real relationship into my life. I made no assumptions that my infrequent lover was interested, regardless of how good it felt — I think for both of us — to spend time together.

We hadn’t communicated much over the holidays or New Year, what with both of us traveling and all… So, I waited it out. Finally, about a week ago, he texted and started trying to tell me a story. I immediately sensed where this text exchange was going to go and shut him down, proposing he tell me all about it the next time we got together…oh, and, by the way, Saturday would work.

No word. All week.

Sunday morning I noticed he was on Facebook chat and said hey. And he began again with the story, which was obviously important and relevant (to him). I played along, and pretty soon he was telling me about this woman he’d been hanging out with for a couple of weekends and I was like, “Seriously, we’re having this discussion via Facebook chat? Not cool.” He brushed off my comments with something about “digital age” and really needing to share, and since we hadn’t had a chance to see each other…which, you’ll recall, I’d given him the opportunity to do the very day before.

So I started to get just a little belligerent, with “so you’re embarking on a relationship with a woman going through a divorce who lives in another city?” which was really my way of saying, “get to the point, please, because I’m already pissed off by this whole situation!”

So even if we weren’t really dating, regardless how casual our relationship, I got dumped via Facebook chat…with the usual “let’s still be friends.” And I said I had to go.

As all this crap soaked in, I began to get really hurt. By the time I went to bed, I swear there was steam coming out of my ears. I was angry at him for treating me so disrespectfully and I was mad at myself for trusting him to be a steward of my feelings.

Of course I couldn’t sleep. So, finally, at 3:30am, I sent a message telling him how I was feeling — disrespected, undervalued, angry — and that, given all we’ve shared, I (we) deserved better; namely, an in-person conversation. To my surprise, by 4:15am, he had agreed that we should meet. Not sure how the part about meeting in person before / for the “I’m out” conversation got missed in his mind… I told him I needed space. p.s. Nowhere in any of this exchange was a genuine apology.

Bottom line on this breakup fail? Don’t do it using digital media. Ever. It’s cowardly, disrespectful and completely devalues another human being. (Sadly, it wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed cowardly behavior on his part.)

In other words: If you want to break my heart, make an effing appointment!

It’s been a long time since I felt so incredibly angry. I can’t remember the last time…really. So it was kind of cathartic. And empowering. And clarifying. And I’ve learned I can be pretty fierce!