flirting in 160 characters or less

About 17 months ago…

If you’ve been following and reading about my attraction to Max, you’ve read that we’ve shared some powerful words via text. And so began our flirtation, in 160 characters or less.

Who knew this genre could be so complicated? I soon learned to edit my thoughts into a single, 160-character message, as well as how many ways I could possibly communicate in this abbreviated form:

start an exchange,
keep the conversation going,
end a conversation,
have the last word (and realized this was not entirely desirable)
and more.

We texted almost daily. Nothing inappropriate, just flirtatious. It became such a lifeline for me that I began checking my phone in the middle of the night to see if Max had texted me. After all, we were in different time zones and he often texted after I had gone to sleep. It was nice to wake and get a sweet message like, “I have a hard time believing that the man in your home doesn’t appreciate you” or “How did it take this long for us to find each other?”

There was never a time when I took any of these things to mean more than the sweet thoughts that they were. A flirtation blossomed.

Were we crossing the lines of what was appropriate, given that Max was married? I suppose a few times we did. But one of us always brought the conversation back into the realm of what was safe and appropriate.

falling into the feminine

I have already mentioned my all-out assault on beliefs and habits that have limited me, as well as how I’ve bungled many a relationship.

I’m ready for some major transformations, and I’m ready to invite some male attention back into my life. Rather than just flirting within the safe realm of old flames, I’m going to go out and meet some new men and start dating. I’m not ready to meet Mr. Right just yet, but I am ready to practice the things I’d like to do once I meet him.

Thus, after years of having to be the hard-driving, get-it-done masculine energy in my home, I’m ready to surrender into my feminine nature. And I’m turning to some experts to learn how this is done.

One of the tips I’ve gleaned from relationship expert Rori Raye is to say what you want, demonstrate emotional resilience and communicate clearly by using “I feel…” This gives a man an opportunity fulfill his nurturing role and take care of you. As an example, “I’m feeling a little hungry” gives a man an opportunity to offer to take you out for a bite.

You can add to this “What do you think?” to further appeal to your man’s desire to solve problems. Call it a new way of negotiating.

Since there is no man in my life, I asked a co-worker to test this new method of getting what you want. She and her husband have been arguing over the thermostat all winter. So… she went home and said, “I feel a little chilly. What do you think?”

He: “You’re wearing three sweaters. How can you be cold?”

She: “I had to sleep in my robe the other night.”

He doesn’t respond. She goes to bed cold and irritable, thinking that, yet again, she hasn’t gotten through to him. In the morning, he wakes up and says, “You know? It is a little chilly in here. Maybe we should turn up the thermostat.”

After weeks of arguing and a final night of thinking she was being dismissed, my co-worker was finally heard and her husband finally turned up the heat.

“I feel…” followed by “What do you think?” Pretty simple stuff. I think I’ll try it for myself next time there’s a man in the vicinity.

dedicated to my ex

I’m in a crabby funk of a mood today. And so I’m going to share a poem I wrote for my ex:

you are lying next to me

near, yet far away

I lie here sleepless, thinking

that even your snoring

is shallow.

I long dreamt of becoming a writer. Even while I studied Communications and Business in college, I audited creative writing and poetry courses to feed my passion.

You could call me a late bloomer. I wrote short stories in my twenties, struggling with characters I felt were incomplete and immature. It took me until after I had my second child to grow up in many ways. That’s when I began to find my voice, so to speak…er, write.

It’s also when my ex began to come across my writing (on his laptop) and criticize it. So this is the last poem I’ve written, probably four or five years ago now. But I have a feeling I may soon be churning out a whole lot more!

bungling the big stuff

It’s taken me remarkably little self-reflection to grasp that I haven’t approached relationships with the habits or behaviors that will allow me (and the relationship) to be successful. After all, where on Earth would I have learned healthy and appropriate behaviors or seen such examples?!

Let’s digress for a moment to my childhood within the environs of my parents’ spectacularly unhappy situation: I recall being a small girl, playing with a Little People toy set, moving the characters around on the living room floor. I was an avid Sunday school student, and I suddenly had the thought that God must maneuver humans (and all living creatures) in the same way I was manipulating these small toys in play. What a thought! It was a big job, but God was all-powerful and everywhere… Still, I remember with absolute clarity thinking that, when creating my family, God had put two wrong people in this house together. At age four or five, this was my first conscious thought about my parents’ relationship.

Fast forward about 35 years. My own marriage failed spectacularly — due in large part, I’m realizing, to my utter cluelessness about how to be a woman in a relationship. I expect a man to behave like a man — he should provide, have good manners, be handy about the house and with the car (or at least earn enough to pay others to take care of them), among other things. My husband did not do these things. But were his failings caused, in part, by my own inability to provide the feminine energy in our relationship?

What if all the behaviors that allow me to be effective in professional and / or general life situations are jeopardizing my domestic happiness? In the absence of having a truly masculine presence at home, I’d taken charge…and became “the man.” And then I resented my husband for not being the man.

Let’s look at another hypothetical example:

Let’s say I’ve been flirting around with a fellow I’ve known for some time, and I’ve come to rather like him. I mean, I like him such that I’d definitely like to explore the energy between us, as I think we may have potential.

Imagine this fellow has said to me things like, “I like you” and “I think I’m falling for you.”

What would I have done in this situation? I’d have let him know directly, in no uncertain terms, that I’m interested. And in so doing, I’d most likely have ceased to be even remotely intriguing. I’d have taken away the chase, the feminine mystery, and circumvented any avenue or opportunity that might have allowed him to feel masculine.

This is how I’m bungling the “big stuff,” failing at relationships that could well be a big part of my equation for long-term satisfaction and contentment. Stay tuned for what I’m learning about how to stop messing it up!

new year, new me

New Year, new me. I’m not only counting on 2011 to be better than last year (or, rather, the past three years), I’m planning on it. I’ve been meditating, visualizing, thinking, defining, feeling, creating, reading and contemplating. I’m creating vision boards and drafting goals and writing down the steps I’ll take to reach them.

My philosophy is this: There are many people I don’t know. There are many companies I don’t know. In fact, in general, there’s a lot I don’t know. And it’s entirely possible that among the body of things I don’t know, so many things are way cooler, more positive, sexier, more abundant and better for me than what I have known. There is a man out there, who I may have never met, who is a perfect partner for me. There is a company and a position out there that wants, needs and rewards all the best of my knowledge and skills — and it has fantastic pay and benefits! I can only truly create these things if I can believe they are possible.

So I’m trying to dispel some old, worn-out beliefs, test my assumptions, expand my horizons and learn new ways to be open, invite, and welcome amazing new things into my life. I invite you, in all your fabulousness, to join me!

miss you already

About 17 months ago…

Two girlfriends and I were having a few cocktails after work, one of whom has been married for more than a decade — really married, and the other successful, single and not dating. In other words, I was clearly providing the conversation / drama / entertainment.

No one really ever wants to talk about divorce in public. The heartbreak, the pain — it’s all better swept under the rug lest the weepies rear their ugly heads. And so I told them about Max and what happened since I’d last seen him.

“You texted WHAT?,” Cynthia asked. “How could you?!”

“What?,” I asked innocently, “‘Miss you already’ is perfectly innocent. I would say the same thing to a girlfriend or a niece or my own children.”

“He’s not your girlfriend or niece,” Cynthia pressed. “It was suggestive. And he’s a married man!”

“Seriously, it’s not as though I told him I wanted to get naked and rub my body up against him,” I argued.

Cynthia: “No, that would have been being direct.”

Kristine, meanwhile, was doubled over with laughter and merely kept repeating, “Miss you already. Miss you already. That is priceless!”

They asked what happened next, they made me show them photos and then I told them about Max’s wife:

“You told her you had a crush on her husband?!,” they asked incredulously. I generally gravitate toward honesty. I may not always be appropriate or have the best boundaries, but I have my ethics.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “And she was cool, she was fun, and she was as inappropriate as any of us. And she would fit in perfectly sitting right here with us in this empty chair. We would have a grand time!”

Even as we put on our wraps, paid the tab and walked out of the bar, the girls were still laughing and giggling over what would become our inside joke: “miss you already!”

how I became a text maniac

About 18 months ago…

As I boarded my flight home after my trip to Max’s region, I texted him a quick note: “Miss you already!”

I didn’t think much of the casual salutation — it was something I would have said to my children or a girlfriend — just a fun, breezy farewell. By the time I landed, there was a message on my data phone. It was from Max:

“You have no idea. We have a special relationship.”

Wha…? I reeled. Max had feelings for me. Here, in the palm of my hand, was actual confirmation that this gorgeous man reciprocated, in some form, the feelings I had for him. My heart was pounding; butterflies were fluttering in my stomach. I didn’t know what to think. I could barely resist the urge to board a flight back to Max. Of course in reality Max would be home with his wife and daughters…but he felt something for me!

There was so much I wanted to say. I tried to capture what I was feeling, and then edited and edited it down until it fit into the 160 characters of a single text message:

“I do have an idea…several, in fact. I will content myself with the quantum possibility that in some parallel universe we are free to explore them.”

Several hours later, Max texted back. “LOVE the way you put that. Talk soon.”

descend the vultures

People are vultures — drawn, circling, to the wreckage. Sometimes without even realizing it.

At cocktail parties, public gatherings, all kinds of social occasions, people want to ask me, press me about my divorce.

“Are you okay?” one of them will ask meaningfully, leaning in close to suggest a safe haven in which for me to confide, despite the fact I’ve neither seen nor heard from said personage for at least the past year.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“No, really…?” one will surely persist, as if he is my very best friend, and has endured relationship challenges of comparable magnitude, and this public place is an appropriate venue for this type of intimate discussion.

“Yes. It’s a transition, of course, but we’re adjusting,” I’ll say, offering up what I hope will be enough information so that I can change the subject directly. Blah, blah, blah…I have talked with genuine confidants until my face is blue and have no further interest in this topic. Truly.

Others around us are laughing, sipping, glasses clinking. This “friend” will continue to push with various probing questions or statements, e.g. “It must be really hard, what you’re going through,” until eventually, a glassy tear pools in the corner of my eye and my face begins to crumple into what I can only imagine is the same contorted, pained expression I’ve seen countless times as I’ve looked, weeping uncontrollably, into the bathroom mirror, wondering to whom that miserable reflection could possibly belong. I am fighting to stem the tears, fighting a losing game.

And then this well-intentioned fool will pull out the comforting words and pat my arm or embrace me, full of the triumph of finally getting through to me. “I’ve never seen you cry,” he will say, as if my tears are a trophy. He’s won.

Jesus, I’ve spent half of the past fucking decade in tears! Breaking down in public places, among strangers, in a conference room with my boss, when a co-worker makes a generous gesture. And I’d really like to be done crying, thank you. Or at least to spare myself some embarrassment by limiting breakdowns to the privacy of my home. If that’s okay.

People are vultures. They’ll circle the wreckage looking, waiting, watching, craning their necks to see what they can of the wreck, hoping for a glimpse of blood or severed limb.

seeing Max again

Nearly 18 months ago…

When I got off the plane in Max’s region, I couldn’t wait to get to work. I mean, of course, that I couldn’t wait to see Max!

After a couple of meetings, we got a chance to talk.

“How do you do this?,” he asked, “I mean travel, as a single mother, with your children at home?”

That was quite an assumption for Max to make! He must have been scoping out my ring finger (I was no longer wearing my ring). After all, I had yet to tell my husband that our relationship was over nor asked him to move out. It hadn’t even dawned on me that my girlfriend in Max’s region might have spilled to him that I’d asked after him.

Later I had an opportunity to ask Max about his own children. That’s when he told me: two grown children, four stepdaughters and two grandchildren. Grandchildren?! I had guessed Max’s age at 44. He was older than I thought — and, having married a woman with four daughters, he clearly had a great deal of capacity.

I reveled at telling my girlfriends about this development . . . their consistent response: “Not only is he gorgeous, but also a saint! No wonder you like him!”

Exactly.

That evening, I had the pleasure of meeting Max’s wife. As predicted, she was a bottle blond. And she was an attractive mother of four, had crow’s-feet (or shall I say “laugh lines”?) and a warm, authentic presence accompanied by a boisterous laugh.

By the end of the evening, I was compelled to confide in her. “I have a huge work crush on your husband,” I admitted. “He has been such a joy to work with, communicative, cooperative, willing, steady and pleasant in every way. Not to mention, he’s hot.”

She laughed and leaned close to me. “Oh, that is so sweet — I can’t wait to tell him! He is every one of those things at home, too, consistent and steady and never raises his voice…” We laughed and chatted for a bit longer before good-byes. Then she insisted I come back to the area with my children on vacation and stay with them.

Um…maybe not a great idea!

Finally, as I hugged Max goodbye, I whispered into his ear, “I just told your wife that I have a huge crush on you…but I bet you already knew that.”

“I’m no fool,” he said. We smiled at one another and slowly released our embrace.

New Year’s sex

Did you have sex with your spouse, mate, lover, partner this weekend?

I always thought sex on New Year’s Eve was a given in a relationship, kind of like the free space on a Bingo card. But after we had children, my spouse seemed to think the little ones were a great excuse to stay home and go to bed early.

I wouldn’t have objected if “going to bed early” meant some extra quality time for us. I enjoyed sex, and my libido remained strong through most of our relationship, even the difficult times. Furthermore, more time in bed meant more time to connect, catch up and enjoy pillow talk. Sex can help keep the lines of communication open.

And sex acts as a barometer in a relationship. It’s not the most important thing, of course, but it’s often a good indicator of how things are going. Regular sex — or desire, the potential for sex, for each other — indicates the passion and love are still alive, that there’s still a connection.

My own appetite for sex with my husband was certainly an indicator of how our relationship was going. I put on a few pounds after our second child and, along with the added demand of a new baby in the house, our sex life dwindled. I didn’t feel great about my physique, and my husband’s lack of desire certainly didn’t provide reassurances to that end. But we blundered on.

A few years later, it was a bit of a surprise to me when my husband charged, “I’ve already given up sex. What more do you want from me?!”

Wow! By this time, I was already convinced our relationship was doomed. Add to that the fact that he hadn’t seemed interested in me in months. I couldn’t even look him in the eyes, much less imagine sharing myself in that way any longer.

I responded, “You’ve denied me emotional intimacy for months. How could you possibly think I could be physically intimate with you?”

For women, sex and talking, sharing and connecting emotionally are two sides of the same coin. One is unlikely to happen without the other. And, in my experience, women are likely to want to communicate and connect emotionally before sharing physically, while men often prefer the physical before they open to the emotional. Herein lies one of the great balancing acts, the yin and yang of intimacy in a relationship.

So, if you haven’t already, log off and have some slow and steamy New Year’s sex, along with a side of snuggling and pillow talk, to begin the year right for your relationship.