Tag: dating

shall I or shan’t I?

Over the weekend I spent a little time with a fellow I’ve been out with a few times. He is thoughtful, generous, fun, kind and clearly interested in me.

He texted while I was out running errands and asked me to stop by. So I did. He gave me a tour of his home. He played songs on his guitar. And as we were sitting together on the sofa, he started nibbling at my decolletage and saying, “Shall I take you to bed? I can’t decide. Hmmm…will I or won’t I? I’m not sure…”

I confess, it was amusing for a bit. And then I told him where it was:  “Listen, you can debate yourself all day long and it’s not going to have any influence whatever on what’s actually going to happen.”

“Oh? And what is going to happen?,” he asked.

“I’m going to go home and rake my leaves.” So I did.

a fit like a favorite pair of jeans

The women among us, at least, can vouch for the near impossibility of finding a pair of jeans that fits just right. And once we find them, we wear them over and over, until the denim has worn soft and the fabric has stretched in exactly the right places and putting them on at the end of the day feels comfortable, right and “ahhh, yes.”

In my younger years, before having had children with this body, I wore men’s Levis jeans (this was before everyone started dropping a buck fiddy or better on the casual Friday jeans competition). The button-fly, straight-leg jeans hung on my hips and rounded my butt perfectly (or maybe it was that my butt was perfect from inline skating?). At any rate, I still remember how comfortable it felt to slide into those jeans…which seemed to last forever…until they would eventually rip out in the thigh.

Several months ago, when I was visualizing the sort of relationship I had hoped — and still hope — to find (manifest) this year, that worn, comfortable, just right feeling came to mind. That’s the sort of relationship I want.

Notice I did not say new or exciting, nor did I describe those jeans as an expensive date. I can get picked up in expensive cars, eat expensive meals and drink expensive wine all evening long, but none of that amounts to what I’m looking for. What I really want is to find that man who wants to love and cherish me for a lifetime, and I’m ready to get past the wining and dining to the mundane, everyday experiences of cooking together and cuddling on the sofa watching telly.

This online dating thing has become a bit of an endurance sport — so many first, second and third dates, so many different types of experiences, so many shades of attraction. I tell my girlfriends about them, and they hold me accountable, encouraging me to cut one loose the second I am certain he’s not the one. This takes some bravery, but it is absolutely the right thing; even if it was hard to say goodbye to Mr. Anti-establishment, the very quality I found so appealing in him today would become maddening all too soon.

There is one, though, who’s surprised me. I felt no physical spark upon our first meeting and, with our children schedules and his business travel, it was four weeks before we saw each other again. I met him out, someplace quite nice, and it felt very natural and comfortable to be close. After dinner, we made our way to a more casual venue where we could be closer and canoodle a bit. Smooching with him felt good. A few evenings later, while texting, we both realized we were doing the exact same thing… And that’s when I felt it:  that worn-in jeans feeling.

This one also meets a lot of the qualities or characteristics on my wish list, including owning his own home, having a stable career, having children older than mine and having had a vasectomy.

I’ve seen him again, and it continues to feel very natural and good to spend time and talk with him. Cross your fingers for me…I’d love for these comfortable jeans to get worn and stretched in all the right ways. I’d love to settle into an “ahhh, yes!”

as predicted…

…Forty Days of Dating, to which I alerted you in my last post, is to be made into a movie (according to some article in my Facebook news feed).

While I loved reading the she said / he said versions of forty days, I was disappointed that these two humans weren’t able to break out of their typical patterns and learn some new relationship tricks. I am, of course, mostly talking about him, because it was he who behaved quite badly toward the end (and I won’t give away the details for those of you who aren’t yet finished). It was interesting how seeing each other for forty consecutive days forced a level of intimacy that resulted in…well…I’ll let you read it. It was a grand and engaging experiment, and made me to feel like a bit of a voyeur.

Still, the predictability of it all should be a lesson to us:  We should pay particularly close attention to those early signs and signals as we begin to get to know another. Maya Angelou is credited with a quote along the lines of this:

“When someone shows us who he is, we should believe him the first time.”

(Pardon my use of the male pronouns in this example; it is, after all, a man I seek.)

With that in mind, I’ve been dating like a fiend and trying to simply let go of any expectation and enjoy myself. The challenge in this is, invariably, that I would quite simply rather be at some other stage than I am in any given moment. For example, when I last had a bona fide boyfriend and he wanted to deepen our level of commitment, I simply wanted a boyfriend to date:  I wanted to keep him to myself a bit longer, not have to think about introducing the children, etc. And now, when I desire more than anything a husband who wants to love and cherish me for a lifetime, I am engaging in what seems an endless stream of first and second dates.

Someone else said that the journey of a lifetime begins with a single step. (Can you tell I’m feeling too lazy to go about looking up these quotes or articles and doing the research tonight?) I am trying to keep that in mind as I hope that one step will lead to another and eventually to forty and then on to a lifetime.

Wish me infinitely more luck than Jessie and Tim found with each other! (I do wonder how they’re getting on these days?)

another letter I’ll never send

Sometimes, when I’m struggling to let go (as I am now), I write a letter that I’ll never send and fill it full of all the ridiculous stuff in my mind.

Recently, I fell for someone who was never going to be a good match, but my heart just went there and there was nothing I could do. As one of my girlfriends would say, I have a faulty picker. I keep thinking that, one of these times, I will have grown enough, changed enough, de-cluttered my heart enough, for it actually to pick the right one. But I’m not there yet, I guess.

So here’s a sample of the sort of letter I will never send — one that I hope will finally allow me to move on:

Dear BFE (Biggest Fool Ever),

This is the story of us:  When we first met, I didn’t give you the time of day. I noticed nothing remarkable about you. A mutual acquaintance told me a few things, and I realized we had something in common. You were quiet, but I broke the ice. We started sharing, occasionally going out for a drink.

Before I knew it, I had developed a bit of a crush. I noticed that, in  jeans, you appeared to have no butt, which only made me want to grab it more. I noticed that you always seemed very calm, yet in command. I detected an undercurrent of passion. That’s when I started fantasizing about you throwing me up against a wall and ravishing me or taking me on your kitchen island. I was looking for something simple, uncomplicated — a little sporting fun without the hassle of emotional entanglement.

Over the months we got to know each other a bit better, alternately flirting with and ignoring each other for weeks or months at a time. Something began changing inside me, and I started wanting a relationship. Not necessarily with you — I knew you were unavailable (it was as though you were in a tunnel and couldn’t see the light at the end). But I still felt chemistry between us.

And then there was that Friday in May:  we went out for a drink, sat in the sunshine. Something changed during our conversation that day. I don’t remember what we talked about, only that everything inside me went soft and melty. I had been dating men I’d met online, keeping my heart protected, my true self hidden behind thick stone walls covered in ivy. All the guys I met seemed to be looking for a key, a way through, over or around those walls…but you just reached in, opened the door and let yourself in. Effortlessly. Suddenly I felt girly and vulnerable, yet safe. And had a strong urge to be sweet. I had no idea what hit me!

Later that night, as I charmed my way through another first date, I texted you that I’d rather still be enjoying your company. You called me sweet. I chided you for failing to notice that I’d painted my toenails and worn a skirt for you. You confessed that you had noticed, hiding behind your designer shades.

Now we were flirting daily, via text or chat or in person. For weeks on end, I ended each day with wet panties. And then one day you kissed me. I felt it all over my body. And I so hoped that it was the beginning of something…

Instead of being thrown up against a wall, I began dreaming of waking in your arms and fantasizing about snuggling with you on the sofa in front of the telly…the sort of mundane, everyday intimacies that I so crave. The suddenness of this shift was almost alarming.

Then you began sending mixed messages, acting hot and cold. I was confused and hurt. But you hadn’t made any commitments, so there were no promises broken. I vowed to just enjoy the butterflies in my stomach when we saw each other, the way my knees went weak and I prattled on nervously around you. That feminine feeling I got around you felt so good! I was drawn to you.

One night, you were out in my neighborhood and texted me. I was out with a girlfriend and let you know where, never imagining you’d turn up. And then you were there! You must have known I would think it meant something if you showed up…and yet you played it cool, not touching me or showing special attention while your friend told me not to take it personally. At first I didn’t understand. I thought maybe you were simply uncomfortable with public displays of affection, but then, after the high of spending time with you wore off, reality set in and I realized what a fool I’d been.

And then I felt angry. You could have easily pulled me aside at any time and said something like, “I’m so flattered by your attention; I find you attractive…but I can’t do this right now.” It would have saved me embarrassment and heartache. But you let me foolishly believe there was some possibility.

When I see you now, the old habits are confused with these new feelings and I alternately want to keep flirting with and lash out at you. I will get over it; we’ll go back to being casual friends…but I miss that sense of possibility. I miss you being the best part of my day.

We clearly calculate our risk-rewards ratios differently — and I know I’m worth it!

I know you are and have been nothing more than a distraction; we were never going to be a great match. Still — even as I’m looking for the man who wants to love and cherish me for a lifetime, we could have had something positive, loving and wonderful. Now that moment has passed.

Yours truly,

Failed

sooo immature!

Gosh, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted and I’m so sorry — because I have much to discuss — and I’ve had a lot going on in my life and little time to devote to getting all of these thoughts down to share with you. And I’m about to go on holiday with my young ones to a place where signals are weak or nil. So…

I’ve been thinking about all the times in the past few years that I’ve heard a man say, “I’m so immature!” to explain away a verbal gaffe or inappropriate joke he’s made. This seems so common to me, in fact, that I can’t distinguish between those who are simply excusing themselves for a joke in poor taste and those who genuinely mean “I am not capable of a mature relationship.” After all, so many of these men seem to be responsible breadwinners, parents, property owners and the like. They mow lawns, chauffeur children, pay taxes — certainly they must be mature!

I bring this up because I think we women should take heed. We should listen when a man says he’s “sooo immature” or “doesn’t have time” or other verbal cues that let us know he’s not the right man to be in our life right now.

Often — and I’ve observed this both in others and in myself — we women are inclined to respond (even if only in our own minds) with, “you are so!” or “sure you do” or some other protestation. We want to believe he is special, that he is a great guy, that — if he only believed he was worthy — he would be as crazy about us as we are about him.

And so my counsel is to stop with this dialogue (in our heads), shut up and listen. When a man says he is “sooo immature,” he means, “you don’t really want me,” because he’s trying to give you all the reasons he can for you to decide you don’t really like him. Because he really doesn’t want to have to say directly and out loud, “I’m not interested in you.” All this self-deprecation is man speak for no; it’s his way of letting a woman down easy.

So we have to listen carefully to those statements, even though it’s hard. Because we get confused at what seems to be contradictory — especially if we’re in the midwest and it’s socially expected that one will be self-deprecating and the anticipated response to such self-deprecation is always a protest, as in this sort of exchange:

A:  Is that a new dress?

B:  What, this old thing? I’m sure I’m entirely out of fashion by now!

A:  Oh, stop! It looks wonderful on you!

Frankly, men, we’d prefer the directness of, “I’m flattered by your attention, but I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

Why is this so hard for a man?

Because, dahling, as he’s already stated, “I’m sooo immature!”

how did I become a born again virgin?

I was out for a walk with a younger girlfriend one day not long ago and, suddenly, it dawned on me — out of nowhere — to ask her, “Are you a virgin?”

She confessed that technically, just by a hair (so to speak), she was.

And it was as I pondered this wonder that I realized that, in this calendar year, I am also a virgin. OMG, I thought, how in the heck did that happen?! How is it that, in 2013, I’ve had what — in retrospect — I’d call a dry spell?

I thought about the dating…relationships? no, not really the right word…more like dating situations I’d gotten into:  two or three of them might have been heading toward physical intimacy, but with no great momentum or desire on my part. I was merely considering my willingness when things ended.

So it’s not as though I’m a prude or that I’ve intentionally abstained or that no one’s been interested. It’s just that I’m ready for something special, dammit, and I’m not willing to settle for another jerk or nowhere relationship!

Further, I’ve spent a great deal of time with toys, sometimes routinely using one each night for a period of days or weeks at a time.  I found this had two effects:

  1. I generally felt less needy or seeking of male attention.
  2. I slept soundly all night.

Another girlfriend suggested I consider whether it’s had the unintentional effect of making me lazy in my “search.” Would a month of pent-up desire change how I behave when out among potential suitors? Or change my energy or appeal to them?

To define what I’m looking / holding out for more specifically:  the last time a relationship felt truly special and magical was with my last boyfriend, who I met around this time (gulp) nearly two years ago. And we hung out a few times before feeling any emotional closeness. And we talked a lot on the dates we’d had. And, even though it took me less than a month to ask him to spend the night — and I really, honestly meant just to cuddle, but you know how that goes (especially when you haven’t really planned it out and end up topless after removing your bra because you failed to change in advance or have a tee-shirt ready) — it was sweet and tender and slow. It’s even fair to say I didn’t fully appreciate it at the moment but, if I could only use one word to describe how he behaved toward me and discovering my body for the first time, I would use “reverential.”

So I’m looking for reverence; that experience of someone who cares for me and is capable of tenderness and connection, someone who values me and cherishes my feelings, someone who genuinely desires the whole of me. And I’m just not interested in getting physically involved for anything less.

another one down

I cut another one loose a week ago. We’d been casually seeing each other for awhile and it just wasn’t going to work out:  He described himself as a day trader who tried to live modestly (miserly). He wanted to travel the world, having never been much of anywhere by the age of 47. He didn’t text and communicated only by phone, often leaving messages that went something like this:

Hi, it’s Steve. Sorry I missed you. I just called to say hello. Hope you’re having a good weekend.

I know that sounds perfectly normal, except that when you’re a single parent, you kinda want they guy to call and say something more like:

Hi Beautiful, it’s Steve. Wanted to see if you’re free Saturday night — I’ve got some great ideas for dinner. Ring me back!

At any rate, he sounded a bit too much like Eeyore. I found myself screening his calls, waiting two or three days to return his calls and generally disinterested in seeing him.

So last week, I set up one more dinner. I think I meant to give myself one more chance to feel some magic. But I didn’t. He walked me to my car, then I drove him to his across the lot. And I let him know that I didn’t feel our relationship developing into anything serious. I thought it would be most respectful to do it in person. I thought it would be quick and easy:  he’d get out of my car and drive away.

But he wanted to discuss:  He asked me if there was anything specific he’d done or hadn’t done.

I repeated that I just wasn’t feeling it, that I was very busy with work and some remodeling projects and parenting…

He told me that, while it’s difficult to date as a single parent, people who want to work at it can be successful.

I said:

See, that’s just it:  I’m not feeling that special something that makes me want to work at it.

All the way home, I thought about how good-looking and kind he was, how nice it felt when he touched me and kissed me, and how auspicious the size of his extremities appeared to be. We always seemed to laugh when we were together. I wondered if I’d made a mistake, particularly since I hadn’t yet verified a correlation between the size of his hands and…well, you know.

Then, while telling a co-worker about it the next day, she laughed and said, “You mean you were just too nice to be honest! You had an entire list of things you didn’t like about this guy and why it wouldn’t work.”

All those things came flooding back to me. I realized she was right. And that I’d made the right decision.

perspectives on step parenting

A week ago, I had an intoxicated exchange at a bar that struck me:  I ran into a colleague and we ended up talking about the fun, dysfunction, bliss and mess of broken and blended families. She’s newly a step parent to one child, and is enjoying out-dressing the soccer moms at weekend tournaments and packing lunches each morning. And she freely admits to being too selfish to want more children than her lone stepson.

When I revealed that I had a crush on a divorced man with full custody of his two daughters, she brought up the obvious fact that –were something like that ever to blossom into a genuine relationship — I’d have myself a whole mess of a family. As in four children. As in doubling my brood. And that’s admittedly a lot. It’s something psychologists might refer to as “blowing up the box” — it seems like it would be manageable when you really want to make it work, but you can’t really ever be fully prepared for that sort of change. You just have to grow and ride it, keeping it on the rails as much as you can.

As far as I’m concerned, it would be an absolute honor and joy to take on the additional responsibility and give the love it takes to step into that role.

I didn’t grow up in the sort of home that was the social center for the neighborhood or my group of friends, but I’ve spent time in those homes and always wanted to create that space for my own children — you know, the one where the children are always coming and going and everyone feels comfortable and safe. The home that always seems full of life and chaos. I’m proud of having established some degree of that comfort and safety for my children and their friends (although it’s difficult to compete with the swimming pool down the street for “social center of the block” status).

Further, even though my ex’s children were older (the youngest of four was nearly an adult when we got together), I relished having the extended family, the relationships, the conversations and offering guidance. It’s a role in which I thrived, and I still value my ex-step-children and their relationships with the half-siblings borne of my womb. I was willing to invest in their futures and was — and still am — always available to them. That sense of responsibility comes very naturally to me, and I felt great clarity in navigating the boundaries and communicating the expectations that came with it all. Which is not to suggest that everything went perfectly, of course…

All of this willingness or eagerness to be in a relationship again, to one day form a larger family, isn’t entirely without parameters… I mean, we’ve all got to be able to fit in some sort of reasonable vehicle and have the incomes to support said family and such. I don’t have a great deal of interest in going back to diaper changing or toddlerhood, either. Still, I think it’s easier for me to imagine being in a relationship with someone who has children than with someone who doesn’t.

In the end, it was interesting to find myself in conversation that heightened my consciousness of my own perspectives and where I’m at now in life. I am generally more happy and content, more open and more ready for that next big love — including more children (though not through birth) — than ever. Bring it!

the dangers of infatuation

No doubt if you’ve been reading lately, you’re thinking, “Duh, lady; he’s just not that into you.” And it’s probably true.

I’m doing my best to keep my head on straight and just enjoy the blissful anticipation and agony associated with my not-particularly-secret crush. But the truth is, I’ve entertained so many fantasies that I’ve already decided I like him. And this is what’s dangerous about a situation like that…which is, in fact, infatuation:

Before he’s ever asked me out, before I’ve experienced whether he behaves like a man and treats me like a woman, before I’ve even experienced one-on-one time in a dating situation, my mind is made up that I like him. And that’s not always a good thing.

You see, we’ve done the colleague happy hour thing — and he’s lovely and genuine and always picks up the tab and surprises me a warm hug each time we’ve gone out — but that’s as a colleague at happy hour. I’ve felt a few people out:  he’s as well liked and respected as I suspected…in a professional context.

But the other day, I ran into him and he picked on me. Being smarter than my fifth-grade self, I thought, “this boy likes me.” Yet few adult women really want to receive affection in the form of being picked on. Teased yes; picked on no.

So, if we ever did go out, it would be interesting to see how he behaves toward me in that context. Would he be different or the same as he is every day? And the purpose of dating is for two people to explore whether they have a connection or like each other or their values and desires match. So when one of two have already decided…well, feelings can get hurt.

And that’s why I’m dialing my feelings back, enjoying whatever flirtation or interaction there is, smiling and being friendly, and just enjoying the exciting feeling of having a crush. If nothing more comes of it…well, the sense of anticipation and possibility still feels wonderful, and I may as well enjoy it!