another online departure

I’ve taken a break from the online thing again…I just stopped checking messages and became bored with it. Further, I wasn’t the new girl any longer. The quality of attention had gone downhill.

Still, out of curiosity, I took a last glance at my top matches before departing, digging a little deeper where I found a fellow interesting. One of those who at first appeared to be a strong match answered some questions about sex this way:

Have you ever had sex with someone within an hour of meeting them?

His answer: Yes.

Would you ever consider sleeping with someone on a first date?

His answer: Yes.

Would you still be able to respect someone after sleeping with him or her on the first date?

His answer: No.

Do you prefer that you or your partner be more dominant?

His answer: Partner.

I’ve seen red flags before — and sometimes I’ve met men whose questionable or contradictory answers have had perfectly reasonable explanations. Many times, the questions have enough answers so that one or more seems to fit and the answer really depends on one’s mood or perception of the question at the moment.

Still, I looked at this series of questions — and there may have been more of them interspersed that didn’t stand out to me in the same way these three did — and I thought, “Okay. I’m out.” And then I removed my account.

How would you interpret these questions all answered by a single person? Does anyone else read hypocrite written between the lines?

defenseless

Finding love at my age is a completely different endeavor than I ever might have imagined. I find myself surrounded by swarms of attractive and successful men — and they all seem to be married. Or gay. I guess, in a way, it’s like it seemed in my twenties…times ten. So, naturally, I’ve ventured online.

And the online game is largely one of filtering. Filtering out the jerks and misogynists for sure, but probably adding in a few too many random and irrelevant criteria, as well. Take, for instance, one of the fellows pursuing me now: I literally have to force myself to keep an open mind because I don’t like the suburb he lives in, the car he drives, his education or his career. Yet if I met a guy who was as nice and good-looking and seemingly emotionally mature in real life, I wouldn’t place quite as much importance on those things.

Online dating simply serves to exacerbate the filtering, the judgments and the show-me-what-you-got attitude. If I wasn’t conscious of approaching dating that way before (because, frankly, I don’t believe that I did), I sure as heck see an unlikeable dimension of myself emerging the more I meet people online. I haven’t made it easy on most of my dates!

But what I’m really getting at is that I can continually add criteria and easily dismiss dozens of men over the course of a year and then, BAM! the guy who’s short, not particularly handsome, doesn’t live in the city and is not even particularly available (given his custody situation) can simply circumvent all of my defenses — all the criteria and filtering and requirements — and get straight to my heart without even trying. Against my better judgment, I’ve developed feelings — for only the second time in a year (and the first was a miserably failed experiment, I can tell you!) — that cause me to open myself to possibility, to hope, to taking risks, to the willingness and, yea, likelihood of making a complete ass of myself.

Instead of that show-me-what-you-got attitude I find myself copping when I meet a man online, I’m evaluating what I have to offer this fellow, wanting to meet half way, seeing him as he is and caring for him anyway — regardless of where he lives or what he drives or what he looks like — and wondering if any of my gifts might appeal to him in the way that he appeals to me. I’ve been described as a strong woman, and I know I can be a hard woman, as well. But I melt in this man’s presence. And that’s a rare enough feeling for me to take notice.

The problem: despite his having kissed me recently, I have no idea how he feels toward me. Clearly attracted…

I’ve spent entire days agonizing about it — and, by that, I mean the glorious agony of desire or unrequited love — and I’ve come to a decision: if the opportunity arises, I will tell him how I feel. I’m not going to stress about it; I’m going to keep on being me. I’ll flirt and be fun and kind, but I’m not going to lower my standards or become some sort of contortionist in an effort to reel him in. Perhaps he has feelings for me and perhaps he doesn’t…no matter; there’ s nothing for me to do about it. Regardless, hearing his voice and being playful with him is the best part of my day.

So I will go on feeling completely, utterly defenseless. Honestly, I suspect practicing this genuine, open vulnerability will be good for me.

is “curvy” code for something?

I recently had a brief, back-and-forth-a-few-times exchange with a fellow on that online dating site. And then, in the middle of a message, he wrote:

One question, and I hope this doesn’t offend you, but are you curvy in the sense of having a curvaceous figure, or curvy in the sense of being a Big Woman?

You might imagine how completely taken aback I was by this sort of thing. After all, if one were to actually look at my photos, there is a clear picture of my full (and fully clothed) body among them. While I’m sitting down in the photo — and, if I’m honest, it’s possible that I was 10 pounds lighter in the shot — it’s clearly representative of my proportions and the way I carry my weight.

So, let’s get back to why, when it comes to describing my physique, I listed myself as “curvy,” rather than the other options…among them “athletic,” “average” and “a little extra.” Honestly, it’s mostly because I read somewhere that people with higher confidence are more likely to describe themselves as “curvy,” while their less-confident counterparts use other options to describe themselves. And it’s also a little because I have curvy friends who’ve mentioned they get more attention online when they describe themselves as “curvy.” I’d like to be thought of someone who is confident in my body, and I’d also like to attract attention.

At any rate, you can imagine all the questions that popped into my head, beginning with:

What kind of douchebag asks this sort of question when the conversation was going pretty well? I mean, wouldn’t you just suggest meeting for coffee for an hour of your life to assess in person whether you find the other person attractive?
Is that his way of saying he’s into Big Women?
Is “curvy” a term that only women over a certain size are allowed to use? And, if so, what size is that? 14? 22? 8?
Didn’t he bother to look at my photos?
What’s on his priority list?

While sharing this story with a few girlfriends, they mostly agreed that this was a clear filtering opportunity — i.e. he’s not worthy. Another girlfriend shared that she’d been asked for her BMI during her short-lived experience with online dating.

What I’ve learned about myself is that I do feel pretty confident in my body or, at the very least, I’ve made peace with it. It’s not perfect, and I wish I were more svelte…but I also have other priorities in life right now that are more pressing than hitting the gym each day or starving myself. And I’ve found plenty of men who are very attracted to me.

What do you think this fellow meant by his question? What does it say about him? About our society?

The more I think about it, the more I suspect he has a thing for a larger, luscious Queen Latifah-like figure, but was afraid to come out and say so… And, frankly, I can see the appeal. I know a handful of Big Women who appear happy and full of life, their outer beauty manifesting as an expression of their inner joy.

ginger discrimination

The other day my chatty chiropractor told me he thought I’d be a great match for Prince Harry.

When I asked him why, he gave two reasons: first, I’m worthy of being a princess and second, we’re both gingers. I can argue with neither point.

But I felt I must tell him I’ve never been particularly drawn to ginger men. (Nor am I drawn to ginger women, for that matter, aside from that pretty character in Pitch Perfect.) He agreed that red-haired (more accurately orange-haired) men are often not the most appealing, but then opined that Harry is an exception. I agree; never mind the blue blood or age difference…

This conversation sparked further discussion on a topic I’ve been thinking about lately. Why waste my time thinking about such superficial things like hair color or complexion? Well…it seems ginger men often find me attractive. And their feelings of attraction toward me are rarely reciprocated. When one recently found my online dating profile, he seemed ecstatic — and he seemed to think my response would be equally jubilant.

My first reaction? “Ew.”

People like to point out that my anti-ginger bias seems contradictory. After all, I am a redhead. And my own father is a ginger — with the pale skin, every inch of that which has been exposed to the sun covered in freckles…and I am fond of my father. As I age, I also find that my skin is more sensitive and likely to burn in the sun.

Still, I don’t identify as part of this particular group of people with certain hair and skin pigmentation in any way that endears them to me particularly, at least not any more than I suspect dishwater blondes feel camaraderie toward one another based on hair color. In fact (perhaps as a result of several years of childhood torment), I am quick to point out these distinctions: my hair is auburn, my eyes are dark and my skin tans with exposure to sunlight. I am covered in “angel kisses,” not freckles (and, no, they are not the same thing). I can see no reason for joining in any sort of ginger convention — I tend to choose my tribe based on other like characteristics. The enormous crush I had on the son of my father’s best friend when I was 13 years old notwithstanding, I am simply not attracted to ginger men.

But I’ve often heard that I should keep an open mind and, further, I’ve learned first-hand that some people are just not as photogenic as others. So out with him I went, determined not to make lifetime happiness decisions based on such superficial criteria.

And here’s what I found: despite his relative financial success, despite his spontaneity, despite his sense of humor, he proved overeager (edging toward stalkerish) and further creeped me out with intimations that I reminded him of female relatives. (After all, I’ve seen my father in his skivvies, and that makes it less — not more — appealing to think of seeing another ginger in the flesh.) In summary: not attracted.

If all of this reveals me as a sort of superficial bigot, so be it. Perhaps I am.

recap, rehash, update and stuff

Given recent events — for those of you who haven’t read, I didn’t take a recent rejection well or, more accurately, I didn’t take the way the news was presented to me well — I suppose one could ask: “What the heck did you think was going to happen?”

And I guess I would say: I thought we might have a fun six months or so. I thought we would communicate well. I was hoping for more playful experimentation and closeness and, in the end, fond farewells. So things didn’t go as I’d hoped, as is often the case, and I didn’t appreciate the behavior. There you have it; I’ve nothing more to say.

Meanwhile, I’ve been seeing and speaking with my ex boyfriend regularly lately. Nothing fishy; we have “business reasons” to be in touch. It warms my heart to see him doing well and, to be honest, I’m developing a bit of a crush on him. It’s easy to remember why I fell for him. (And he also makes a good fantasy/memory, if you know what I mean.)

In other news, a girlfriend recently sent this article, torn out of a magazine, through the mail, god bless her! Really, you should read it — it had me in hysterics (though NSFW). It all started while we were traveling together, schlepping all over Chicago for a site check, when something about Kathy Griffin came on the radio along with the word “vajazzle.” Read the article and you can also add “vajacial” to your vocabulary. I suspect it goes without saying that I haven’t yet had this “Peach Smoothie” treatment and it’s unlikely that I will…but I do find it intriguing. And it strikes me as odd that it cost so much less than a real facial.

Finally, I’ve put my profile back on an online dating…with ambivalence. It’s nice to receive positive attention, and you wouldn’t believe all the college boys asking me if they’re my type! I tell them I like tall, handsome and affluent enough to provide for my children…and most don’t write back after that. I must admit I find this fun — and a little flattering.

Sweet dreams, darlings!

…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!

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.

honesty

I tend to be pretty direct in my communication. Yet I’m also an eternal optimist, the one who sees the silver lining, whose glass is always more than half full. And I try to be kind. Add to those that my job often requires me to portray difficult messages in the most positive light.

Add these qualities, habits and conditioning together and sometimes I end up coming off a bit like a spin doctor.

So I’d love to hear what you think: Should I continue to be kind and “spin” the message — or would it be better, more instructive in the long run, to be completely, blatantly, directly honest?

Consider the fellows I went out with last weekend. I mostly blathered something about not feeling any magic or chemistry between us. But if I shot from the hip, like this?

To guy A: “Honestly, you dress like you come from an outer-ring suburb, you’re a stingy tipper and you eat like a caveman. That’s why.”
To guy B: “You’re a whining infant, and I cannot wait to get as far away from you as humanly possible.”
To guy C: “It’s because you wore shorts with an elastic waistband. The gulf is too wide for me to cross.”

As an aside, I’ve found it very amusing that, in telling my dating stories to male and female friends alike, the men I know actually had stronger reactions to the dude wearing elastic waistband shorts than the women. A girlfriend sympathetically said, “Oh dear.” The guys came up with questions and comments including these:

“Did he take you to a buffet?”
“Was he planning on gaining a few pounds?”
“Wow. That’s not even trying!”

But I digress…

Like I said, I don’t want to be known for spin — and I don’t want to be known for being a bitch. But there may be a nugget of helpful information in my brutal examples for these fellows…

How much honesty is too much? What do you think?

the tally

Earlier this week, I removed my profile from the online dating site. Again.

I’m exhausted. And I think I’ve exhausted the group of men who found me interesting and who I found interesting enough to meet, as well. And there’s only one of them I’m going to see again. Frankly, I have no inkling or notion or expectations about whether that will go anywhere, but I know that the last couple of times we saw each other, we spent a lot of time laughing.

You know I’d been questioning why the heck I was doing crazy things like going on four dates within a 24-hour period… I’m not sure I know the answer other than to give it a chance, to see if just maybe something felt right with one of those fellows. But there was no magic.

So, as I look back over all the online dating I’ve done in the past year and a handful of months, here’s what I’ve gotten from it:

I’ve learned that I am patient and have perseverance and that I can be incredibly kind while being honest about not wanting to see someone again.
I’ve learned that men can be genuine and authentic in courting in ways that I hadn’t experienced in my younger years.
I’ve learned that I have more important personal needs and priorities than meeting a slew of new guys on my child-free weekends.
I’ve made a friend who, for some time, I resented for not sharing the same interest in me as I had in him…my god, I was so crestfallen when he Facebook friended me!…even as I knew our energies weren’t quite right together at the time (and perhaps never will be).
I had a wonderful, loving, nurturing relationship in which I was accepted, adored, valued and in which there was honest and open communication. It was such a positive experience and a joy that I continue to feel blessed and grateful to have shared so much with such a special soul! Though we were not meant to last, what a gift it was to have shared what we did! (and p.s. that thing he did after an afternoon stroll around a sculpture park was pretty memorable, too!)
I’ve gotten really good at being authentic about myself. I am fabulous — and also fabulously flawed. I have a freak flag, which I not only accept, but also wave proudly. So I’m no longer contorting myself to try to make someone like me or to meet some relationship need as I foolishly did when I was younger.
I’ve learned how much I love my life, right now, and even through all the challenging times I’ve lived through these past few years.
I was tested for and became more educated about sexually transmitted diseases.
I learned to speak frankly to my children about dating and relationships (and they could not be less interested).
I learned that I’m still learning how to prioritize myself — whether that means a massage or mani-pedi, getting a sitter, hiring a lawn boy to cut the grass, or finding time to exercise.
I’ve learned that it’s easy to dismiss and not give second chances, but that life can be so much more rewarding when one does leave a door open, even if just a crack.
I’ve met an extraordinary number of people I would not have otherwise met.
Out of the whole ball of yarn has come only one lover, my ex boyfriend, who was generous and giving. And I’m okay with that part of the record, too.

It would be easy to say, “ugh, this sucks!” about online dating — and, in some ways, it does suck. But look at how much I’ve gotten from the experience. The whole thing is a social experiment, to be sure; it’s far more natural to fall for someone we’ve met in high school, college or a work place along the way, and with whom we share people in common who can vouch for or vet these potential mates.

And I think that’s what I’ve been hoping for all along…to meet someone with whom it seems that natural, with whom it all began as a friendship and…

On second thought, I’ve got to save some content for a future post. So I’ll leave it at that, for now.

not sure what I’m looking for; only know that I haven’t found it

Earlier this weekend, I went on a stamina-testing four dates in 24 hours: dinner and live music on Friday, followed by coffee, lunch and dinner on Saturday. I also managed to squeeze in a weekend haircut, brow wax, girlfriend’s birthday celebration, yoga class and some other miscellaneous errands and chores.

As you know, I’d already begun to question why on earth I’m doing all this. Even before my first date of the weekend, I’d begun to realize that I’m no longer sure what I want out of this; I only know that I haven’t yet found it. And maybe, once again, I’m realizing that I may not be ready to find it.

But I suppose, as far as you, the reader, are concerned, all of that contemplation is neither here nor there…so, let’s get on to the recap:

Friday night dinner and music with the legal eagle was pleasant. This was the fourth time we’ve met and, to me, the pressure was on to either find a connection or cut him loose. We’d had many pleasant conversations, especially over the phone, and there are many things to like about his personality…but I simply couldn’t find myself drawn to him physically. He was too awkward to make a move, and I (for whatever reason) just didn’t have it in me to take some action that might invite or welcome his advances. Again, he showed up with a series of small gifts, some of which were thoughtful, others cheesy. As you know, I love receiving gifts, and his explanations for what and why he chose were enlightening. Conversation was engaging and I felt entirely comfortable being exactly as I am, unfiltered. So why couldn’t I get excited about him? Truth is, I don’t know. Yet the humor is always in the superficial things we notice that turn us off; they may not be enough to kill a deal by themselves, but they can add up. So, here it is: he dresses like he’s from some outer-ring suburb (which he is), a little shlubby — black tee-shirt and trousers with an ill-fitting button-up shirt over the top — all matched with the sort of casual brown shoes you’d see in a Land’s End-type catalog. Not the sort of dinner and drinks downtown combo you’d expect to see in a nice downtown club. Then, while he generously picked up dinner and drinks, I stole a glance and found him to be — in my mind — a less-than-generous tipper (I like to stay in the 18-20% neighborhood myself). Finally, I was relieved to be able to watch the musicians on stage during our meal, in order to avoid gazing the caveman-like spectacle going on in front of me. He was hunkered over his meal as though eating was, at that moment, a serious job, ripping into it with fork and fingers. And it’s not the first time I’d noticed less-than-pleasant table manners and poor tipping — things that, over time, would grow to irritation. In the end, I told him how much I’d enjoyed our conversations and that, having tried to feel something more, I just didn’t feel any attraction.
Date two: Saturday morning coffee. I had to be cordial, because the fellow across the table from me has a child at the same school and in the same grade as one of mine; we are likely to run into each other at school functions. But, truth be told, he was so negative, so whiny, so bitter, that I couldn’t get out of the conversation fast enough! Largely because I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Turns out, he moved out less than a month ago…and I’m guessing those feelings are just too raw. Rather than intellectualize any of these dates, I’m simply trusting my feelings. And my feelings were that I just wanted to get as far away from him as possible!
Date three: First meeting with a pleasant, thoughtful gentleman. Met him on a lovely patio for lunch. He was a good conversationalist, nice, honest about his height (about as tall as I am — which, by itself, is not a deal-breaker). His voice and speech patterns reminded me of someone, someone I like — and I finally realized that it’s my former brother-in-law, a mensch and a nebbish. Again, no magic. Alas, as we got up to leave the cafe, I noticed that the khaki walking / cargo shorts he was wearing had an elastic waistband. Enough said. I have no way to appropriately articulate to a man what might be wrong with such a choice; the gulf between our worlds is simply too wide.
Date four: Second date with a digital guy, sushi. I hate that he most certainly weighs less than I do (yes, insecurity rears its ugly head). He is slightly taller than I am, dresses stylishly, has some Jim Carrey-like goofy looks, dresses well and told me stories that highlight the importance he places on parenting his daughter. He also confessed to having gone shoe shopping with a gay friend — which clearly means that he has both tolerance and patience. Ultimately, he has lived on his own for nearly a year, but his divorce proceedings drag on…I get the feeling he’s not going to put the moves on me anytime soon, because he has a pretty conservative view of right and wrong. So I like that he’s in no hurry, and I like that we spent a great percentage of our time together laughing. Am I crazy about him? Not yet. Do I want to take him home and tear off his clothes? Not yet. But this one I will likely see again.

In the end, my weekend delivered a few revelations and one clear winner…who is not in a place to develop a deep and committed relationship. And maybe, given my ambivalence, that’s just fine for now.