women, men and sex

Who was it who so astutely observed that men can’t think straight until they have sex, while women think straight until they have sex?

You’ve seen the scenario play out, likely from either angle:

A man chases a woman, acting a fool, his crazy behavior driven by her complete indifference to his overtures. If he finally does achieve his goal of “nailing her,” he’s either immediately over it or caught up in a lifetime of misery.
Conversely, a woman who goes home with a complete stranger for a hot fix may well find herself having white picket fence fantasies about him and their future together the next day. (Many of us will deny we do this, but we do. And, yes, most of us are aware that it’s entirely irrational.)

The behavior in these two rather extreme examples is neither logical nor reasoned, but instead based on evolutionary survival mechanisms called instinct. Men, regardless of evolution, have a bit of needing the chase in them. This drive allowed them to survive and provide for their families and communities thousands of years ago. Women, on the other hand, are driven by a hormone called oxytocin, which is released simply through touch (and, of course, orgasm) and causes feelings of warmth, intimacy and concern. The result of these effects was women who nursed, bonded with and protected their babies — again, a basic function of survival.

So where does this leave us? Well…I’ve recently been envisioning a scenario that might look something like this:

A woman and man occasionally hang out. They are not dating, as far as they know. They enjoy each other’s company and are intrigued enough to go back for more, but neither has made an attempt to wrap any sort of meaning or parameters or definition around it. Still, more and more, they find themselves touching each other and kissing good night at the end of the evenings they spend together… Let’s imagine they find themselves becoming physically involved…they are now in the throes of a naked, steamy moment.

What is he thinking? “Awesome! This feels great! We’re having sex!”

What is she thinking? “Awesome! This feels great! He wants something deeper with me, too!” (Double entendre intended.)

These two could very well be on the same page and be thinking thoughts that ultimately end up being pretty close to each other’s meaning.

Or they could be worlds apart, with him feeling nothing more than a physical attraction to her…”friends with benefits,” as it’s commonly called (although I often prefer “sport f@%k” for its implied aggression).

So…will these two get physical? Will their intentions meet? Will they find themselves in awkward discussions before, during or after the act?

What do you think? What story line would you like to pursue? What are your views on the issue?

so, I finally got some…

It’s rather pathetic, don’t you think, that I feel the need to announce publicly each and every time I get a little action?

The lobbyist was in town, we exchanged some texts and, after scrambling for a babysitter, found time to meet for a cocktail. And when someone invites you to meet in the lobby bar of his hotel and you agree, it’s pretty much understood what’s on the agenda.

So, it was all good (not great). I was struck by noticing that it’s simple human touch that I miss the most. I just loved being kissed and caressed. But, truth be told, we’ve always had this insanely hot undercurrent of chemistry…the kind which might lead a girl to believe that a man so straight-laced and mild-mannered might be an absolute animal in the bedroom. I mean, I kind of hoped he might have really wild and kinky proclivities underneath it all. Guess what? He didn’t. He was just a straight-laced, mild-mannered guy — exactly what you see when he wears a suit.

And it was still lovely to be touched, kissed and appreciated, and to lie in a man’s arms.

I’m gonna be a cool grandma

There are women out there who, when they take on the title of Grandma, will be able to share stories with their grandchildren about their epic life-long love affairs with Grandpa. They are the women who celebrate 50 years of marriage and more.

Having clearly failed this feat (which I assume stands a 50% chance at having been a miserable endeavor even for those who stick it out), I am resigned to be the cool grandmother. I’ll be the grandma with whom my granddaughters can talk about boys and sex. Assuming I am blessed with granddaughters, that is. Heck, I’d talk to my grandsons about sex, too, if it didn’t creep them out too much.

I’ll tell them stories of escapades with men, far-flung crushes and long-distance loves. I’ll tell them about “The Good Ol’ Days” when people met on an archaic dating site called match.com. And I’ll marvel with them about how far we’ve come.

But all this is a long way off…I’ve yet to have any such talks with my own elementary-age children!

on drunk dialing / texting

Last weekend…

I’m home from a Memorial weekend barbecue and I’ve had two whole drinks which, when one imbibes as much as I do (rarely or not at all), can render me word-slurring inebriated. And of course my natural instinct is to dial up or text Chi-guy or more-like-it or some other obscure item from my past. So I thought I’d see if I can write instead and make a go of musing about what sort of foolish crap might come out of my mouth if I actual did dial someone up.

First of all, if I did dial Chi-guy, would he be amused or annoyed with me? He no longer drinks at all, remember. He is charming and sweet and long-suffering, as far as I can tell. And, the last time we were together, he suggested I order an after-dinner drink…which were listed under “Happy Endings” on the menu. I thought briefly about suggesting that he might give me one instead which, frankly, might have opened that whole discussion a little less awkwardly. In any case, Chi-guy treats me with a certain combination of “you’re so sweet!” and “you’re a total slut!” and condescension. I know that sounds bad, but it’s actually a great balance of hysterically funny and positively charming, without being syrupy sweet. Sure, I’d watch the tone very closely if ever I were to spend time with him, but the jabs that could be mean are so well timed and outright hilarious that it’s difficult to imagine that he could ever mean harm. That said, a couple years into a relationship, one views things entirely differently…

If I texted more-like-it, would he respond? I haven’t told you that we communicate regularly, weirdly. What is that, anyway? What is that “I know you’re looking for something special, so I’m out. Hey how’s your week going?” WTF? A man who wants to be friends, really? So why are we always talking about sex? Especially when his online dating profile clearly stated he didn’t want to be friends with benefits? Yeah, I’m a little confused about that one.

But all that’s cool. Here’s why: because I’m not chasing men. If a guy is interested, he’s going to be absolutely certain I know. Hell, even the guy in the adjacent cubicle at work has made clear he finds me attractive, even without saying anything out of line. If anything, it’s me who’s exhibited the appallingly bad behavior. I am simply not cut out for corporate HR departments…how the hell would I deal with me in a similar situation?!

So thank you for listening to my mojito-induced blather…and for keeping me out of trouble! Good night.

do men notice or appreciate toe cleavage?

It was only a few months ago that I first heard of toe cleavage…and I thought, “is that really a thing?”

So when some girlfriends recently commented on a cute pair of shoes that highlighted my toe cleavage, I thought about it again: Do men really notice this sort of thing? And, if they do, do they find it sexy?

So my curiosity led me to take an informal poll among the few men who are regularly a part of my ongoing male-female relationship dynamic conversation. Here are their responses:

The lobbyist: “No and definitely not.” Further inquiry / pushing the issue led to “Yuk!”
Chi-guy: “No and no. I like that you are secure enough to talk about your totally weird foot fetish.” Followed by, “Actual cleavage is often noticed… Anyway, I notice kindness.” And later, “I’ll suck your toes while you whisper kind things…”
more-like-it: “I enjoy nice feet… Love to massage them…” followed by a very graphic description of a sexual position / activity to which I could only reply, “You’re naughty!”
By far the best response came from the guy in the cubicle next to me who I clearly should not have even asked (Hello HR!), but did: He nodded thoughtfully and said ever so diplomatically, “Mm-hmm. Different guys notice different aspects of a woman’s appearance to different degrees. Some guys are going to be in to feet, some are more in to other things.”

For the record, I don’t have a foot fetish myself. I’m just not grossed out by feet (as long as a certain level of hygiene is employed), and I appreciate having my own feet enjoyed. I take care to keep them looking nice, and I like having them rubbed, and I think it’s lovely when a man isn’t afraid to pay a little attention to the lowly feet and toes as a part of physical intimacy.

So, there you have it. There are men who are completely foot-phobic. And, while it’s a little, simple thing, this whole discussion clearly illustrates that the kind of guy who is grossed out by feet is not the guy for me.

just shoot me

I had occasion recently to appear as a talking head in a video for a little project my neighbor and I are doing. I dressed carefully and put on make-up. I rehearsed my talking points a few times and, as I was already passionate about the subject matter, felt pretty confident about it. We did just one take; she said I nailed it.

And then I saw and heard me in the rectangular box, and this is what happened in my head: “oh, do I really look like that? why did I choose that top / neckline? my arms look fat! does my tone of voice always sound so harsh? is that how my mouth moves when I talk? I wonder how I look when I eat? ewww! look at me — I am fundamentally flawed and unlovable! I look just like my sister when I do that… no wonder I am single! how could someone watch me talk or eat or merely look at me every day and still want to be around?! it is simply not possible. I am destined to die alone. with ugly gnashing jaws and pursing lips. aaarrgh!”

Attractive? Not so much. Irrational? Decidedly. Unique? Not at all.

I suspect there are very few of us on the planet who actually enjoy watching video of ourselves talking or eating or doing much of anything. Even more than a photograph, video brings out the self-conscious, self-critical voice in all of us. Regardless of how we look or talk or gesture or carry ourselves, our inner critic is the great equalizer. I suspect even Hollywood hotties feel this way. Take Eva Mendez, for instance (because I’m pretty sure she’s one of the sexiest women on the planet): does she like the way she looks when she eats on screen? is her inner critic as obnoxious as mine? or is she just used to it by now? did acting lessons or professional training teach her and other starlets how to look good talking and eating? or have she and these other leading women just learned to silence their inner critics or not watch?

I’ve been a part of bigger shoots in what now seems like a previous lifetime. There was professional lighting, film shot from the most flattering angle (and it is so much softer and more forgiving than video), air-brush applied make-up and super-hold hairspray, a stylist to drape my wardrobe just right… And, oddly enough, after all that external manipulation, I felt perfectly at ease and natural!

But right now, there is an unflattering video of my talking head out there on the web. I’ll have to live with it, because it’s part of a larger scheme representing positive forward movement in my life. Let’s just hope I can afford the full crew next time…or get used to myself!

have I mentioned what my mother thinks?

My mother has just popped in for a visit… I’m not sure whether I’ve explicitly mentioned this or not: my mother thinks Chi-guy rocks. Why?

Because I told her what happened in Chicago last Labor Day Weekend. I told her that I’d been flirting with a guy I’ve long known, that I was pretty sure we were going to sleep together and that, although I’d made my interest known, he patted me on the knee, told me he liked me and bid me goodnight…potentially the single most humiliating experience of my life.

Her response: “So you finally met a decent man!”

To which I might ask, “what kind of mother-f$#%ing c@#%-sucker would let a girl believe he was good to go and then turn her down?”

Even having seen a photo of “The Hammer” (yes, I’ve actually showed my mother), she thinks he must be pretty great. (Of course, anyone who’s seen the hammer thinks he’s pretty great!)

But let’s take a step back and analyze this train of thought: it would appear that my mother, who has never once met or spoken with Chi-guy, thinks he is fabulous based only on his refusal to sleep with me. Because of some weird “he liked me” whatever thing that was going on with him. Which struck me as very high school at the time.

So let’s consider the fact that most of the men in the world have not slept with me. And this fact is not due entirely to refusals, but also my own good sense. In fact, while Chi-guy might tease me about being easy, this is not entirely the case. True, I’ve been probably too honest with him about my post-divorce escapades… yet I am, in fact, very selective.

There are an awful lot of men I haven’t slept with. To be sure, I haven’t slept with most men. I haven’t even slept with most single men within in a given desirable age range and aesthetic within a five-mile radius. Does this make them all fabulous potential mates? According to my mother’s reasoning, one might think so…or perhaps it might only if they turned me down.

Chi-guy laughs at all this talk. He has suggested that I should certainly consider allowing someone else to make choices for me, given the poor judgment I’ve exhibited in the past. (But good Lord, so has my mother! And, let us remember, Chi-guy’s marriage also ended in divorce.) Were I to delve into the topic of arranged marriage, it could take several posts. So, for now, let’s just say that I will happily accept the consequences of my own choices…I think.

is he “the one”?

I’ve written a few times about looking for “the one,” that special person with whom I hope to spend the rest of my life.

But I want to be absolutely clear about something: I don’t think there is just one possible mate for me. I’m not looking for some ridiculous, incredible ideal; I’m looking for something real.

Sometimes dating, especially online dating, feels like searching for that sort of needle in a haystack. Yet I don’t intend to search the world over, holding out, looking over the shoulder of whoever I’m with, thinking someone more perfect or better for me is just around the corner. And I won’t just settle for the next bloke to give me a modicum of attention, either.

Rather, I think there are any number of men out there who might make an excellent companion and co-conspirator. I don’t need them all. I will happily commit to just one.

And even though my list has gotten more specific, I really see my guy being at any point along a spectrum of awesome qualities. He could be kind of bookish, or maybe he’s into architecture (Brad Pitt style), or he might collect those little vinyl figures — he’s probably got a geek streak a mile wide! I’m attracted to dark-haired guys…and I think bald guys are hot, too. Oddly enough, most of the men I’ve dated in my life have been percussionists, even if only in high school band…

Most of all, “the one” is the guy who is happy because I’m happy. He supports me in choices that serve my highest self, and he loves to see and make me happy. He loves my receptivity, strength and appreciation.

It’s sort of odd that I’m writing about this now, just as I’ve put my dating life on hold (in favor of a whole slew of personal projects I’ve elected to take on — in addition to my full-time job, single parenting and a yard that needs attention). In essence, rather than attempting to date all the wrong guys I’ve been meeting online, I’m going to date myself and devote some time to me. But I suspect he’ll show up when I’m not looking anyway, and I’ll know him when I’m confident in how I feel.

what changes once it’s final?

Today…

As usual, I checked in with Facebook in the morning before I left for work. Status updates from Chi-guy tend to be few and far between, so I noted with interest his comment about the cold, rainy day being an appropriate backdrop for the kind of day he had planned. I wondered if this was it…

Divorce is something I’ll never really find a way to rejoice. Even if it’s absolutely the right thing and the best thing for all parties, there is no way for me to view it wholly as a win-win. It’s a moody or melancholy occasion at best. And so I made a mental note to call and check in this evening. (Again, “super friend” mode…)

As it happened, we texted back and forth a few times throughout the day, and he confided his newly (legally) single status to me late in the afternoon. Does this change anything? Not really. We still live in different cities, find each other attractive and flirt. But nothing’s really different, right?

He acknowledged that it’s been an emotional day. He was comforted by having his daughter with him for the evening and overnight. And he generally seemed in good spirits having had, as he pointed out, “some time to get used to the idea.”

So maybe it’s his candor and openness, or his sense of humor — we seem to laugh a great deal together — but those are things we’ve shared for months. It seems they’ve always been there. Perhaps it’s that he’s genuinely available now in a way that he wasn’t before.

Whatever the case, I’m telling you one thing for certain: this man has never been so sexy!

how is life better now?

About seven months ago…

Chi-guy and I were in my hotel room, on the bed, fully clothed. He said, “I just don’t understand what about her life could be better now… without me.”

I was a good six months ahead of Chi-guy’s divorce timeline. And I’d had time to process my feelings and make decisions before asking my ex to move out. (One of my girlfriends, a therapist, has often told me, “Grief does not give credit for time served.” Some days I’m pretty sure she’s right.)

I thought about Chi-guy’s question for a long time, and here’s what I think based on my experience of being a single mother and homeowner: Life is certainly not easier or necessarily better now that I’m single parenting in addition to all the other responsibilities and obligations I’ve been managing, for the most part, alone. I can’t just call and say I’ll be home late because I’m going to join some colleagues for happy hour. I can’t just stay late at the office because I need to put in some extra time at work. It’s much more difficult to make plans. I basically have every other weekend “off.” I drop my children off at the bus stop, and pick them up from child care after work, losing 30 – 60 minutes of work productivity per day in the process. I’ve got to cook a balanced meal every night. I have to shovel snow, mow the lawn, take out garbage and sort recycling.

But the exhaustion I feel in trying to meet these constant, everyday demands is offset by no longer managing the emotional drain of living in an unfulfilling relationship. I was lonelier in my marriage than I am single. Living with someone who would not (or could not) demonstrate love or commitment (at least not in a way that met my minimum requirements) provided constant reinforcement for every insecurity I’ve ever had. While this forced me to grow and heal in many ways, it would have been more life affirming to have chosen a more supportive partner.

And when I realized that, even if I did all the counseling and emotional work I need to fix myself, my spouse still wasn’t going to change anything about himself, I gave myself permission to admit failure.