call me tinderella

I’ve been on Tinder for a few weeks and have made several observations and absorbed a number of lessons in this short time.

First, and most importantly, perspective: It’s amazing how quickly the pining and constant thoughts about Mr. Meltsmyheart have faded with the attention and prospect of attention from other men. And I’ve simply decided I’m not going to worry about it. If I enjoy myself with someone, I’ll see him again. So there are a couple of guys that I’ll see again, if they ask, and there are some others that I may meet. Simple.

Second — and this is a significant revelation — men find me attractive! I’ve written about some of what’s being going on in my life for the past several months, and it’s been stressful, and one of the hardest things that I didn’t even realize until recently was feeling completely, totally invisible. None of my friends set me up on dates, no one seemed to flirt with me, I’m not sure I caught a single second glance…for months! And now I’m finding that there are real, actual men out there who find me desirable. Whee-ha…bring it!

Third, men are every bit as bat-shit crazy and lie as often as women, and this is clearly evident in their profiles. And there are more of them who are “laid-back” and use “sarcastic” as a selling point than you would ever guess! One of the common themes I saw within Tinder’s tiny space for copy on each profile was a simple line suggesting “if you don’t look like your profile picture, you’re buying me drinks until you do.” So clearly some men are predisposed to think that women are not being honest, yet I’ve encountered a few who clearly are older than their profiles report.

Fourth, what’s with the pictures?! I’ve seen so many out-of-focus, bad angle and plainly unflattering images that I’m dumbstruck. Do you not get that this is a site where you’re basically selling yourself on looks? Best foot forward and all that! Here are some of the other ridiculous images I’ve seen:

Those whose first photo is of their children! (No, I do not share photos of my children on a dating site. Nor do I advise it.) Simply write that you have x children with general age information in your profile.
The obligatory midwestern fishing or hunting photos. I’ve said it before (in my best caveman voice): “Me bringum home food!”
Who are all those women?! Why are you posing with women and then using those in your dating profile? Help me understand this…I am so curious to understand what sort of sense this makes!
Cartoon characters. What in heaven’s name does an image of Daffy Duck have to do with you or — more importantly — me being attracted to you?! Am I supposed to make some sort of sense of that?
Or photos of tigers — or art images of tigers! No context. Are you trying to tell me that’s your spirit animal? Or do you actually make those arty images? Because if there’s one thing I’m never going to proudly exclaim to my friends or family, it’s, “Look at what Jack does! Isn’t it brilliant?!” Cringe.
Omigod the number of motorcycles, snowmobiles, dirt bikes, boats… I like toys, too. They’re just not all in my photos.
Photos in gym mirrors. There is no subtle way of holding your mobile phone for a selfie in a fitness center mirror.
No photo at all. And no words. Really? Does that work for you?

At any rate, while I first found this swiping left or right on the basis of a photo or a few and what amounts to a short paragraph shallow, if anything, I’ve learned to consider the subtext of the photos. If your first one has a picture of you holding a shot glass, I probably swiped left. If you have broad, yang facial features, I probably swiped right. But still I find that I am remarkably inconsistent in this. And sometimes I just swipe wrong because fat fingers and app confusion…oh well.

Finally, there’s the feigned outrage…illustrated by this brief exchange I had with one fella:

Him: Hi

Me: Hi

Him, hours later: That’s all you have to say?

Me: Apparently it was at 2:09pm, while I was at work.

Him: Good answer.

Him: I’m a really great catch.

Him: unmatches me.

So is it my job to lead and carry the conversation? Or is it reasonable to say “hi” back to someone who said “hi” to me? Am I missing something as basic as that? Apparently this particular man took offense that I didn’t gush about how excited I was that he’d deigned to say hello to me, and he was offended enough to storm off in a huff…which is okay by me, frankly, because I don’t do well with those whose anger is simmering right there beneath the surface, just waiting for an opportunity to claim “disrespect!”

I try to be a positive person, and I very much work at assuming positive intent. Certainly I hope others will approach me similarly, because I ain’t got time for a petulant man-child’s drama.

Weird.

Meanwhile, for now anyway, Imma keep on swiping!

mirror mirror

Any Harry Potter fans out there? My children and I love the series, the characters, the theme parks, the movies… you get the idea. So last night, to celebrate JK Rowling’s birthday, we watched the first movie together.

In it, Harry discovers a mirror in which he can see the parents who died when he was an infant. They are standing behind him, smiling, his mother with a hand on his shoulder. Like a phantom pain, you can see how he nearly feels it and how badly he wants to feel it. Eventually, the headmaster and great wizard Dumbledore approaches Harry to gently send him away with these words:

“It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts… this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.”

And this struck me deeply, as that’s exactly what I’ve been doing on and off for the past 27 months with Jeffrey, Mr. Meltsmyheart (though certainly more off than on, because I’m not that crazy!): I allowed myself to be transfixed by a fantasy, perhaps not quite driven mad, but certainly showing occasional signs of cray-cray. And that’s simply not the norm for a healthy, well-adjusted me. (Not that I’m always healthy or well-adjusted, but I’d like to think I am spend more time than not within those guardrails.)

Perhaps this article on break-ups sheds some light on what’s going on with the brain and why this has been an off-again, on-again obsessive theme for me. And, as I believe I’ve mentioned before, there has been enough other unpleasant emotional stuff going on in my life that it’s no wonder I prefer the addictive feeling of longing and heartache to the raw and wrenching work of simply dealing with everything else.

To be fair, I have done both:

My will, trust and other legal documents have been updated. I’ve shored up my risk portfolio. And I’ve started talking to my family about my wishes in the unlikely event of my untimely demise.
This evening I will say goodbye to Tom, the friend I mentioned earlier, who finally succumbed to his battle with brain cancer. I managed to stop in and visit him every few weeks over the past several months, and it feels good to me to have provided him some company and friendship.
I have spent time in the sun and working out, doing my damnedest to turn the corner on a general malaise that has been hard to shake but that I cannot, in good conscience, quite call depression. And I finally feel I’ve largely shaken it.
Oprah and Deepak sent me an invitation I couldn’t refuse, and I’ve spent 21 days enjoying their guided meditations on gratitude using their free app. I love to do the Chopra Center 21-day meditation challenges when I can, and I found this one genuinely spoke to me.
I have taken action on the dating front, as well, and am now swiping left and right, often feeling disturbingly superficial about it all. There are many lessons to be learned from this activity, some of which I’m sure you’ll hear about soon. Why Tinder? A close friend met her fiancé with it, and sheer volume…another geeky friend encouraged me with, “so much of it is just a numbers game” — meaning, meet a lot of people and you’re bound to find one who’s a match eventually. (Of course he is also fond of bringing up a phrase from the used car industry: “There’s a butt for every seat.” I am genuinely repulsed by this analogy.)

My Mirror of Erised (“desire” in reverse, for those of who hadn’t figured that out) is safely stored away and all those fantasies…well, the top of that head of dark hair I’ve so often imagined between my thighs could be anybody, right!?

confidence shaken (not stirred)

When I re-read my post from yesterday and think of all the bullshit I’ve done to create an imaginary boyfriend in my head — and yes, among friends, I even refer to him as my IBF — I think this is exactly the sort of crap I’d expect from a younger version of myself. But not professional, healthy, adult, mother-of-two me.

And then I wonder why did I allow this to become such a big deal and why has this guy taken on such mythological proportions in my head?

Here’s why: I was so utterly convinced — and still am — that we had something so incredibly worth exploring together that it never dawned on me that we wouldn’t. He’s worth it. I’m worth it. We had / have a chemistry and a closeness and enough in common to make us worth it, whatever other obstacles there may have been. We also have genuine differences; any two people do. And somewhere along the line, based on what he had gotten to know about me, I think he decided they were too big or too important to ignore. But he was very private in many ways, so I don’t know what those things are or how far apart we are, and I never had an opportunity to be part of that discussion or decision, so it has always felt unresolved.

It shouldn’t matter anyway, because the only way a relationship can be successful (in my experience) is if a man pursues it…which he started to, and then didn’t. Game over. Move on.

That experience has shaken my confidence more than probably any other relationship encounter I’ve had in the past five years.

There’s a solution for it, though; one I have some faith will work. I’ve got to start dating again. However unready I feel I am, I have to put myself out there and begin again.

another douchey ending

Let me first begin by saying that I truly believe most people are good, kind and well-intentioned. I love men, and I think there are many wonderful ones walking this earth.

And then there’s a guy who I spent some time with maybe a year and a half ago. Despite being older than me, his last relationship of two years had ended…when his girlfriend, 24, moved out. In other words, we shared a love of excellent food and service, and had great conversation — but he was never in consideration for a relationship. And I made that clear.

We would go out for nice dinners, drink copious amounts of liquor and, then, when I was truly on the verge of being a mess, he would try to make moves. I would tell him that I didn’t know him that well, I wasn’t ready for that, I would be uncomfortable, and so on. Bear in mind we went out all of three or four times over a couple of months. He did not make refusing him easy. But if he’d seen me the morning(s) after, he would have been thrilled to not have to deal with the hung over mess I most often was after a night out with him.

Fast forward to this last fall: This same fellow, a youthful and fit man in his early fifties, is retired and spends most winters abroad. We hung out once in the early autumn — we’d had lunch plans, but other appointments made me late, so we went shoe shopping instead. (Of course, he asked me to meet him at his house, where he first attempted to ply me with alcohol and seduce me.)

Okay, yes, by now a smart girl would have figured out that he has but one motivation…

So one night while I’m out by myself, he texts me to see if I’d like to meet for a drink. We settle on a place near my neighborhood, order a round of drinks and begin chatting. I request something that will warm me up, because I am coming down with a cold. He expresses his disappointment, because that means he’s unlikely to be invited to spend the night with me afterward. Ugh. So finally, in a very direct way, I explain that I enjoy his company and friendship, but I don’t share his feeling that our relationship simply must be consummated.

From that moment in the conversation, he excuses himself and goes to the restroom, comes back and picks up his phone, in which he is entirely engrossed. Though he is clearly ignoring me, I try to make pleasant conversation. He shows me a photo of his dinner date from earlier in the evening, a young blond woman. I tell him she’s cute. He tells me she wants him to take her abroad with him. I ask, “for a visit, or for the entire winter?” He tells me that she wants to join him for the winter. I ask if he’s considering it. He tells me yes, then goes back to his entirely engrossing mobile device…

I finished my drink, pulled out a credit card, paid and bid him adieu. He took the young blond — his former girlfriend, now perhaps 26, with him abroad.

I honestly hope the two of them are very happy together. And I am positively disgusted that he was trying to squeeze in a last-minute lay with me before committing himself to cohabitation (at the very least) for the next six months. What a pig!

my last failed relationship

Do you ever get yourself into something and then, somewhere along the way, you realize it’s a bad deal, but you’re in it and you forget for awhile how to get out?

That pretty much sums up my last relationship. Even looking back at how it began, there was nothing that really suggested it could last. Our early dates didn’t generate warm and fuzzy feelings inside me. And yet, somehow, I got sucked in. And, before I knew it, I found myself feeling as though I was four years into an unhappy marriage — to which I’d never committed in the first place.

For the record, we dated for approximately ten months.

He was positive at first and could be surprisingly sweet. But we disagreed about political viewpoints that made me think he was a closet misogynist. And life was throwing a few sucker punches his way. He became negative; he used language that painted himself as a victim ever so subtly; he complained about being broke and his health problems; he sucked me into his drama.

And it’s so easy to see now because TWICE since we’ve broken up, he’s done something so crazy I can barely recount it:

Right around the new year, he called to ask if we could get coffee and talk. He said he needed a friend. I agreed to meet him. He told me about the woman who’d broken his heart. (This was all of two months after we’d broken up, mind you.) And then, before I understood what was happening, he was telling me how much he missed us and that we were steady and stable and I wasn’t crazy and couldn’t we just go back to where we were? To me, where we were was a realization that, no matter the circumstances, I was never going to want to move in with, much less marry him. To him, where we were must have looked different.
Three months later, he called and said he needed a friend and would I meet him for a drink? I swore that this time, if he asked me to reunite, I would never answer his call or agree to meet him again. This time, he told me about the women he’d dated in the past few months — those who’d broke his heart, those whose hearts he’d broken — and his engagement. Yes, engagement. But he’d called it off. He’d asked her to marry him on Tuesday, then asked for the ring back on Friday. You see, women are all crazy and bipolar and couldn’t we just start over where we left off? Yep; he did it again! And I’m quite sure it’s never dawned on him how that might feel to me.

Anyway, maybe that sort of explains why I haven’t written much lately and why I haven’t been dating lately. You see, when you attract someone who ends up hitching a ride on the crazy train, you have to take a moment to look in the mirror and wonder what’s going on with your own energy for you to attract a situation like that. And I’ll be honest, the emotional ground beneath my feet still feels a little shaky. I can’t really put my finger on why…but it does. So I’m not going to look for someone else who, at this moment in my life, is only likely to add drama. I’m going to take care of myself for awhile. And, if it so happens that someone comes along when I’m taking care of me, I’ll be okay with that.

wish you weren’t here

I never imagined my recent…wait, can we even really call four weeks ago recent? I guess…recent dalliance with the magnum would be more than it was. I think I was more disappointed that, for all his supposed years of wanting, his desire to woo me seemed to have fizzled out. But the real kiss of death was something that came out of his mouth… (actually, there were a lot of deal breakers that came out of his mouth)… but there was only one that made me wish none of this had ever happened:

He brought up a mutual acquaintance, one he knew I’d liked, and suggested that the two of us must have slept together… And then the name of this man brought up his visage and the memories and the same feelings flooded back as viscerally as if the scab had been ripped off to expose an open wound. He was all I could think about, even as I still think he’s a fool! And I still think he’s a far better man than the one I was lying next to at that very moment and, suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get the hell away from there and never come back.

Thing is, this mythologized man is someone I wrote about a couple of years back: I wrote about how he had an uncanny knack of bypassing all my defenses, making me feel soft and sweet inside, coaxing out the very best in me and enabling me to relinquish control — and all we’d ever done is talk, hug and kiss. We’re creeping up on two years since that kiss and, despite fights and hurtful words and disparate values, I still feel that way. He still occasionally visits me in my dreams.

I texted him a few days later to see if he wanted to grab a beer before the holiday break ended, and he said he was flattered, but seeing someone, and that he’d bought his children a dog for Christmas. Four weeks have passed. My heart still aches.

I’ve since deleted our text history and his contact information. It’s a move meant to cut the cord for my own emotional health and self preservation. And my heart still aches to feel that feeling that, in more than a decade, I’ve only felt when with him. And, perhaps even worse, I wonder what is wrong with me that I can’t move on?

a man’s gotta be able to drive

…and by that, I don’t mean a car, necessarily, although it certainly helps in these parts. I mean he has to be able to grab hold of an opportunity and take forward action — not this lateral, side-stepping nonsense.

So, recently, when the magnum asked me when he could see me again, I replied to his text with “not sure. what do you have in mind?”

He replied: “wine. dinner. beer.”

Me: “ok. ask me on a date, then.”

Him: “ok.”

Days later, I had heard nothing and I thought to myself:

This doesn’t feel good to me. I want to be wanted, at least a little…pursued, if you will.
I don’t like the way we communicate. Not once has a text or conversation between us stimulated my biggest erogenous zone, my mind.
We’re in different places. I’m feeling myself again, enjoying my single life and thinking about being in an actual relationship with someone who’s also looking for a committed, life-long conspirator. The heart wants.
It’s a terrible sign when a man doesn’t take the lead. Just think about being stuck in a relationship with someone who constantly leaves all the relationship-related work to you… Ugh! That was my first marriage! (My wasband actually said — without a moment’s hesitation — to a marriage counselor — when asked who was in charge of our relationship that it was me. Not us, as should be assumed in any relationship involving two or more people, but me, the person he expected would always take care of everything.)

A little more context: the last time we’d seen each other, I mentioned that my ex and I were switching weekends so that my upcoming weekend was free — and, based on what he’d told me before, our child-free weekends were synched up. So he’d already had an open door to ask me out…if he’d wanted to. Over it.

So, if you’re reading this and you’re a guy, here’s your take-away: a woman wants to be valued, asked out, planned for, picked up (if you know each other well enough for her to be comfortable with that), taken someplace special / thoughtful — where you have, of course, made reservations.

It sounds something like this:

“Hi, this is Chuck. I’d really like to take you to dinner Saturday night. Can I pick you up at seven?”

And your love interest, who will be exceedingly more intrigued by this powerful approach than the lame “when can I see you?”, responds positively and then you come back with: “Great, I’ve made reservations at [restaurant] at 8, and I’ll be wearing jeans and a sport coat, no tie.”

You’ve now told your date that you value her (or him) enough to plan ahead, pick her up and give her an idea of what to wear. Kudos. Great job! A winning approach.

It’s entirely true that I may not be representative of all women and not all women may be turned off by a lack of good communication. Some women even like to take the lead. To each her own…

And my own is not to waste more time where I don’t feel cherished.

i’ve taken a lover…a magnum lover

I know it’s a bit abrupt to start off just like that…because, after all, I haven’t really been forthcoming about what’s gone on for the past several months of my life.

Here it is: I was in a relationship with a man who was kind, decent, generous and who wanted to make me happy. And I simply didn’t feel we were right for one another. Which I guess is to say that, where relationship work needed to be done, I didn’t have the passion for us to step into the ring and work it out together. With no detraction to him (or me or anyone else who feels this way), I wasn’t in love with him and I never felt as though he was in love with me. So I ended it. After probably letting it go on a bit too long.

And right around that time, someone who I’ve known a while and who has pursued me in the past and with whom timing or other circumstances has never aligned reached out and asked me out for dinner and a drink. We met, we talked and ate, and I cannot claim to have felt much. Even now, several weeks later, I am still processing my past relationship and the bizarreness of having such different emotional experiences for him and with him. But we’re talking about the new guy now…and that’s what you really want to know.

So I’ll tell you… We both have children and my ex, especially, has been a bit of a pill lately and not holding up his end of the parenting bargain, so we have a tough time finding opportunities to see one another. But, one night, after a particularly horny few days, I invited him over and he walked in and immediately pulled me to him, kissed me, began caressing and undressing me. It was fun to have someone want me in such a primal, unbridled way again. And it allowed me to feel sexy and uninhibited, as well. And practically virginal. That first time he felt so huge and I felt so tight and it was lovely, even as it was sometimes uncomfortable.

I’ve seen him just twice since and he still has that very primal desire going for him. Despite only a negligible age difference between us, his bedroom manner is young and coltish. He has technique but not exactly finesse. I know he would wish for me to tell you it’s the best sex of my life and, while it’s quite good, it’s not that. Please don’t think I’m complaining — I like that it’s a young, primal, animal energy and that it makes me feel so desired. And I love that he’s so take charge, yet listens to my feedback (or commands).

I also like that I’ve gotten more up close and personal with the wand making all the magic: it’s larger than average in every dimension. The difference is most notable in my mouth, where I can’t possibly consume his entire shaft or even accomplish some of my signature tongue work while my lips are wrapped around him. My suspicion was confirmed when he pulled out a box of Magnum prophylactics. Safety first.

So what is this? It’s exactly what I need right now. I want a relationship, yet am entirely unready for a relationship and this fellow is not giving me a relationship. So what he’s giving me is some magnum-sized magic when I want it and making me feel like a total babe in the process. And it’s liberating.

the dog and the dragon

We were sitting in a Chinese restaurant one afternoon, musing on the paper place mat horoscopes. Turns out I’m a dog and he’s a dragon. So here’s what our Chinese restaurant place mat horoscopes say:

Dog: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the Horse or Tiger. Watch out for Dragons.

Dragon: You are eccentric and your life complex. You have a very passionate nature and abundant health. Marry a Monkey or Rat late in life. Avoid the Dog.

As I began to read these aloud to him across the table in our little booth, I noted that we are both explicitly warned to stay away from one another. I began to play up this incompatibility when he interjected: “Well, that settles it — we’re never going to China!”

And this illustrates a number of the things I love about him — he’s quick-witted and genuinely funny (sometimes), and he doesn’t take much of anything too seriously.

the grass is getting greener

I’ve been seeing a fellow for a bit, and it’s such that he’s met the children and things. Folks around me use the word “serious” when they learn of this. I don’t know whether it’s serious or not, only that I feel cared for and loved as close to fully as I’ve ever felt. And that’s certainly a nice feeling.

One of the ways he cares for me is by being helpful, and he comes by it quite naturally: he helps make and serve dinner, refusing to begin eating until I sit down to join him; he has the sort of handy skills that are transforming my basement and garage to vastly more functional spaces; he plans to paint a room while I’m away for a few days.

“It sounds like this guy really likes you,” my girlfriends have said.

He recently told me that I should anticipate having the greenest grass on the block this season.

For anyone who’s actually seen my block in the summertime, that distinction will be difficult to achieve; the DINKs have it won hands down. I’ve mentioned this double-income, no-kids couple before. They are workhorses, spending hours of work nearly every weekend perfecting their patch of urban landscape. She works tirelessly to plant and keep gardens, while his singular concern is the grass.

He of the DINKs spent years helping her fix up her home. The only way to enjoy a return on his investment, he teased, was to marry her. While he presents a sometimes gruff demeanor to the world, she enjoys a full-on adoration I’ve yet to witness in another couple. He is lavish in his affections, and spends two or three vacation days cooking, cleaning and preparing for her birthday party each summer. She basks in it and is grateful, and I am quite sure he needs no more than that.

So, back to the conversation at the bar the other night, during which my boyfriend claimed my lawn would look like a golf course. I thought of the DINKs down the street, a realization dawned on me, and I smiled.

“What are you smirking about?” he asked.

“You’ve yet to say so, but you love me,” I replied knowingly.

“Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you said so before?” I asked.

“I didn’t know whether you wanted me to,” he replied.

Our conversation went on for some time after that, and I continued to chuckle about the love equation at which I’d arrived: green grass = love.

“I don’t want you to think the grass is greener somewhere else,” he said before he kissed me goodnight.