…and then date night got weird

I’m keen on perceiving trends lately…I mean, I’ve always been keen on perceiving trends; it’s just that now I’m much more aware and able to spot them in my own life. So what the heck is up with all the dry guys? I seem to end up going on more second, third and fourth dates with guys who do not drink at all. My last boy friend was sober, and so was my Chicago crush.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying this is a bad thing, and I certainly don’t want to date some guy for whom alcohol is the center of his fun and entertainment. Sure, I talk of w(h)ine and cheese with the girls, but neither wine nor beer nor cocktails are the focal point of my social interactions (though I certainly do appreciate how they lube things up…).

All of these dry guys have a story, which they typically volunteer pretty early on in conversations — they seem to want to get it out of the way so that it’s not one of those big, lurking mysteries, the proverbial elephant in the room. So when I’d been on date four or five (not really counting anymore) with a cute, funny, sweet guy, and we’d talked about wine, etc., but he no longer drinks, I finally said:

“So you used to drink; you don’t anymore. Everyone’s got a story. What’s yours?”

And then date night got weird. We were in his car at the time. He took a breath and said, “The last time I drank, I was with my wife. I must have had a lot, because I blacked out. I don’t think I’ve ever, at any other time, blacked out. And when I woke up, I was in jail.” He did not elaborate further, aside from to say that he has no idea what really happened. It was implied that his ex accused him of something…

“Yikes,” I said, not entirely sure how to respond. I felt uncomfortable and awkward… But I didn’t feel afraid or concerned for my safety. Should I have? In fact, we went out for dessert after that.

I guess for one thing, I feel pretty confident that I can hold my own — that I am capable of maintaining my own boundaries — and that I project a certain amount of confidence. Part of projecting confidence is that “walk with purpose” business that self defense folks will tell you about — it simply makes people a little less inclined to think they can mess with you…posture, attitude. I hope I’m expressing this adequately without sounding completely full of myself. Said another way, there was nothing about being in this fellow’s presence that made me feel physically intimidated.

Second, I’ve lived enough to feel as though I’ve got a pretty good bullshit detector / am an okay judge of character. The men I meet these days are honest and decent human beings. I don’t think I’d even be attracting them if they weren’t. And I’m pretty good at calling a bluff. I’m not sensing a well of anger percolating under the surface with this dude — or any other explosive emotions waiting to come out. He seems pretty well adjusted…of course that could just be the months of therapy that followed whatever happened that night…

But perhaps the real reason all this weirdness didn’t send up any big, red flags was because I didn’t see things going anywhere anyway. I mean, so far, we’d seen each other enough times for him to be pulling out some much bigger moves than he had been. He was a good kisser, to be sure, but I wasn’t dying to rip his clothes off or anything (which good kissing is wont to inspire me to do). He’s rebuilding his life somewhere in some far corner of suburbia, and I’m living my mostly already rebuilt life in urbania. In other words, he’s too far behind my curve. I just don’t have the energy to be there for him as he goes through all the rest of his stuff.

And so it’s not going any further because I didn’t see it going any further anyway, not because of some messed up situation…and certainly not because he doesn’t drink. Still, I gotta say, that made for a pretty strange date…and I’m not sure I want to go through with too many more of those!

so much, yet so little

I keep coming up with many ideas about which to write — I have so much to say.

Still, today is a solemn day of remembrance, a day in which there are more important things to contemplate than my sorry-ass lack of a dating life. I’ve read through Facebook posts from friends who were traveling or living in New York eleven years ago. I can still feel the bewilderment and fear I felt that day…and to honor those feelings and to honor loved ones whose minds are closer to NYC than to my little realm of self-absorption, I’m going to call it a night.

I’ll drop back with more later this week.

working deep

There’s a recurring theme I’m discovering in my life as of late: I’m working deep.

Every issue I uncover through applied kinesiology, massage and other body work is an old or deep wound to be healed. This is good. It means there’s nothing recent left in my body, no residue of the more recent pain of marriage gone awry.

Sure, I’m still working on myself. Every so often I uncover an ache or pain that needs to be dealt with…but it’s either current or something from way back. As I peel back the layers of my own personal onion, I feel I’m getting closer to the center, closer to wholeness, closer to peace. And as I resolve old traumas, I know I’m releasing the likelihood that I’ll continue to draw that pattern back into my life. Or, another way of saying it: I’m healing my karma.

My dating life has waned as I realize that I’m still not ready for a relationship. I want to have my best to give and, even if I’m not 100% there, I want to be closer than I am just now.

Having said that, the universe works in mysterious ways. If I were to meet someone, if something developed naturally…well, I’m open to the possibility.

you’re doing it wrong!

While on my recent girls’ weekend, I shared a few of my dating-gone-awry stories — you know, like the guy with the elastic waistband, the guy wearing those hideous brown shoes (with black pants, I might add) and many, many more.

Finally, one of the women exclaimed, “Wow, don’t you just want to take a guy by the shoulders, shake him a few times and tell him, ‘You’re doing it wrong!’?” Which was immediately followed by the idea that we could go into business coaching men about how to date without making complete asses of themselves.

But why stop there? There are plenty of women who are making mistakes, too! Take, for instance, the single woman some girlfriends and I ran into at the bar the other night. When the three of us noticed she was alone, we included her in our conversation. It all began so nicely, and then…

This woman, who was well into her forties, began to share news of her best date ever, which happened to have occurred within the past several days. They golfed, and her game was great! They dined. They had wonderful conversation. And she slept with him. On the first date. (Okay, to be honest, there was some disagreement among we original three as to whether this was truly a bad thing…but I guess it depends on what you’re looking for.) And, with him, she’d experienced her first-ever orgasm. Actually, she said he’d given her her first orgasm…now that’s love! (failed writes sarcastically).

But wait: it gets worse!

She lamented that they had talked about doing something over the weekend and he hadn’t yet called (it was Saturday night). She confessed to mixing business and pleasure by saying that she’d see him at a work event early the next week. And then she said she’d already made him chocolate chip cookies because he happened to have mentioned that he liked them.

That’s when I turned to her and said dryly: “You’re doing it wrong.”

“What?!” she asked, incredulously. “Okay, tell me more. Clearly I need to hang out with you gals more often!”

Let’s ignore for a moment that all four of us at the bar were single… Suspend your disbelief, as she did, to hear what we had to say:

You’re trying too hard to please him. Already. What’s he going to do for you?
Don’t invest so much in one great date. Be a little indifferent; let him pursue you.
Now you know how to orgasm. It’s not about him; you’re the one who’s awakened your abilities.
Leverage him to help your career and see if the relationship thing works later. Or vice versa. Trying to do both at once will give him all of your energy and attention. That’s too much too soon.

Her: “So I shouldn’t give him the cookies?”

Me: “No.”

Her: “But I already have them zipped up in a storage bag with his name on it.”

Me: “Absolutely not. You can have them around your house and, if he happens to drop by, you can casually offer him one. Do NOT let him know you made them for him.”

Her: “Okay” (uncertainly).

I left feeling I’d done my good deed for the weekend.

Let me be clear: I do not position myself as an expert in dating. Like most of us, I can point out what’s glaringly wrong and, luckily, I’ve learned a lot from experience. I was probably in her shoes — trying too hard, appearing desperate — maybe even as little as two years ago. I acknowledge I have much, much more to learn as I embark on my journey of finding a wonderful, nurturing, uplifting sort of partnership.

And, along the way, I sure as heck would appreciate if someone would be kind enough to let me know when I’m doing it wrong!

sell me something good

I kinda like to be sold, now and again. I want to be convinced why one car is better than another, or this vacuum works better than the other, or why a particular mobile plan should earn my business, etc.

Given the advice I received at happy hour the other day, it seems we should explore this from the dating perspective:

A co-worker suggested that I may want to see if I can target my dating strategy to go out with salesmen. Sales guys, he went on, tend to be motivated, earn well, know how to dress and entertain, must be able to carry on a conversation — and they generally like nice things. (You can begin to understand some of what motivates this particular co-worker if you read between the lines.)

“You might get played a time or two,” he cautioned, to which I replied, “Meh, it’s probably my turn anyway.” Not that I’m excited by the prospect of getting played, but I’m wiser than I once was, and I tend not to fall so hard so fast.

I think, in many ways, my co-worker is right. A sales guy could make a good match for me. After all, my last boyfriend was a sales guy. He sure sold me — and often it was more of a hard sell than necessary. “Don’t tell me the kind of man you are,” I would say to him, “show me.” But I loved that a certain amount of his energy was spent trying to impress me. And I loved that he enjoyed dressing well and going to nice restaurants, varied forms of arts and entertainment, and more.

Contrast such behavior with that of my wasband, who seemed to aim for something short of baseline for nearly any partnership, marriage or parenting-related hope or presumption:

Once, while in couples counseling, I expressed that I thought honesty should be the standard for a committed couple. He looked at me with an expression that showed just how ridiculous a notion he thought that was. (I didn’t get much back-up from the counselor, either, by the way.) How asinine of me to think he should have been honest about his finances, schedule — or anything else, for that matter.
When it came to providing for his children, I suggested to the courts that he could earn a moderate income (much lower than I believe he’s capable of earning) by continuing to do the work he’d done for most of his career. Sure enough, he promptly went out and got a job — not in his field — that paid less than half of what I projected he could earn.

Back to sales guys, though: I think — no, I know — I would like to be in a relationship with someone for whom motivation is not an issue.

Yet I suppose there are potential downsides to a more traditional sales mentality. For example, might he be tempted to say or do things for the sake of expediency, going for the easy payout, rather than do the right thing? I suppose this may be what my co-worker means about “getting played.” Even if I didn’t get played, but such a way of thinking had become part of his professional character, I’m not sure I could appreciate that. And I’ve met a few salespeople who are downright smarmy!

So, what do you think? There have got to be many good ones out there! Any experience dating a salesman? Married to one? Where would I find one? Or should I even look?

doomed to lose in love?

I recently dug up an old astrological profile that I’d received as a gift. It had my complete natal chart and a comprehensive reading to interpret it all. I was reminded of several things that I had forgotten but which, when viewed in light of my current perspective, would appear to suggest that my love life is doomed.

I’ve written before that I’m a Libra. One of my primary drives in life is to be partnered. My sign rules marriage / union and is the point of evolution from “me” to “we” consciousness. I feel most fulfilled in life when part of a “we,” and especially when that “we” is me with a romantic partner or mate. Consider, then, the challenges my other planets throw in the path of this inherent drive toward fulfillment:

My ascendant or rising sign is Scorpio, is often referred to as the most difficult to manage, requiring a battle between the personality and the soul. (The positive aspect of this is that it means I’m an old, evolved soul.)
Meanwhile, with my moon in Leo, I can be proud and often want to be the center of attention. (And I’m also a good leader.)
Finally, my Venus is in Scorpio, it’s detriment (as Scorpio is ruled by Mars). Mars is outgoing and forceful, while Venus magnetically draws love to her. These forces don’t play well together…but they do make for some serious passion in the boudoir!

In other words, the stars suggest a certain amount of challenge as it relates to relationships; indeed, to fulfilling this primal desire for partnership.

And if that weren’t enough, I am the product of divorced parents. After their split, I lived with my father. I hear tell that those of us supposedly abandoned by our mothers are worse off than those left by their fathers. Not that I necessarily agree with this notion of abandonment; after all, I couldn’t possibly imagine living (as an adult woman) with my father, either, loving though he is.

Finally, in case we haven’t hammered enough nails into this coffin, I have a few skeletons in my closet that…well — in order for me to share genuine intimacy — are going to have to come out. And it’s not an absolute given that my past will be universally accepted and / or forgiven by the sort of morally upright dude I wish to attract.

I try not to put too much stock in these “barriers,” but there are times when they seem to rule the day. Still — and perhaps it’s that optimistic Libran nature of mine or some other planetary aspect — I have faith that my ideal mate is out there and, one day pretty soon, we’ll find each other.

obsessed

I am completely obsessed with the thought of bedding a guy I know. I mean to the point of distraction. I mentioned my libido, right?!

I want to rub my hands on his stubbly jaws; I want to kiss his lips; I want to tear off his clothes and get at least as kinky as I’ve ever been. And maybe more. I’m practically drooling at the thought! He’s not the best looking, he doesn’t have the best body, we don’t even have crazy chemistry. I simply want what I want. And I think we’d have fun. I bet it would be really hot!

But I don’t know if he wants me, too. And I’m having a crisis of confidence. I don’t know how or whether to let him know, to flirt or to be direct.

Furthermore, I don’t know how he feels about me. He’s said some nice things in the past, but never made any real moves… Perhaps more critically, I don’t know how I feel about him. I mean, I don’t know if I can separate my physical desire from my emotions. If — no, when — it happens, will I be able to simply enjoy him in the moment? Or will I wish for more? If I developed deeper feelings, how would he feel about that?

And so, for now, I remain transfixed with the thought…

…except when I’m thinking of bedding the other guys who are also on my mind.

the process of being married

Earlier today on Huffington Post, I ran across an excerpt of You Can Be Right (Or You Can Be Married): Looking for Love in the Age of Divorce by Dana Adam Shapiro. The title of the article delivered what it was expected to, which was not of particular interest to me. That is, until I came across this gem:

“Ninety percent of the secret to being married is the commitment to the process of being married. Whatever comes your way — problems with sex, problems with money, whatever — it’s essential that you’re both committed to working out a solution where both people are represented, where the well-being of the other person is just as — if not more important — than your own. It’s an easy thing to say ideologically, but it’s really, really hard to do…”

For those of you who’ve been there — or are there — I’d love to know your thoughts on this. I, for one, completely agree. Commitment is easy, in the sense that it’s easy to commit…in that moment, when one is (or, more accurately, two are) in love. To remain actively committed — the process, as Ms. Shapiro describes it — is the challenging part. Or, as another friend put it, commitment is easy, marriage is hard.

Can marriage really be reduced to such simple colloquialisms? Since its demise, I’ve certainly reduced mine to a few simplistic phrases. I suspect we all tire of trying to explain away what didn’t work in our relationships. I only hope to one day find someone who inspires me to do the work, to commit to the process, so that I have no reason to explain away another.

a relaxed pace

I’m enjoying the way I get to know people now, a little at a time, no urgency. And I’m enjoying that the folks I’m spending time with also have children and don’t seem to mind getting a date once every couple of weeks.

Not only does this relaxed schedule take the pressure off me (when all I’ve done for the past week are manage logistics, work late, shuttle children around, do laundry and shop for groceries), but also allows a fellow to miss me, place a high value on his time with me and wait with anticipation to see me.

Kinda works in my favor..just a little…I think.

deep thoughts

I’ve been away for a few days, my first fly-away girls’ weekend in probably a dozen years — for sure since before I’ve had children. It was relaxing, it was delectable, it was…a whole lot of estrogen.

And my deep thought for the weekend was…(drum roll, please)…penises are fun!

That’s right: I spent the weekend with a group of women and fantasized about spending it with a man. The scenery was spectacular, the food was wonderful, the entertainment was fun — and all of it was potentially romantic.

One evening, we gals sat around a fireplace and watched the silhouettes moving through the rooms of the resort around us. In some, we could see people getting ready for a late dinner. In one, we saw a couple as they got out of the shower, slowly get ready, start making out, start getting “unready” and then get ready again and leave their room. For a moment, we thought we might see some real action. (Note to self: close the heavy drapes when getting ready in a hotel room.)

And I sat there in silent ambivalence, enjoying the company of women, but wishing a for a proper lay. I fantasized about my ex (boyfriend, not husband), about more-like-it, about men I saw nearby… perhaps tellingly, I did not fantasize about the man I’ve currently been seeing (not exclusively). Hmm…

I think perhaps it’s time I went out and found myself some fun…the penises are fun kind of fun.