A boyfriend by any other name…

 

So something weird happened to me the other day. I was talking to a colleague (someone I hardly know) and I started sharing with her a fact that Bones had shared with me. I realized mid-sentence that I was going to have to tell her the source. And I didn’t know how to refer to him.

We’ve been dating each other exclusively for 3 months. Things are going well. We see each other multiple times per week. We go grocery shopping and make meals together. We work out. We text throughout the day. It’s a relationship.

But we haven’t labelled what we’re doing yet. Calling him “a friend” doesn’t work. But saying “the guy I’m dating” feels like not quite enough. It feels flippant, and I don’t feel flippant about him.

This colleague of mine is basically a stranger and not someone I’m likely to see again. So I did an experiment. I felt my mouth form the word “boyfriend” to describe him. I haven’t described anyone with that word in a long time. Like salsa dancing, baguettes and shoes sized in the 30s, it felt foreign. Good foreign.

It felt so good that I did it again with another acquaintance. It’s lucky I’ve stayed away from cocaine because if I can get this kind of a rush for dropping that 9-digit word, I can’t even imagine what hard drugs would do to me. That’s a lie; I can imagine it. My face would explode. Pieces of it would stick to the walls.

So I mentioned previously that Bones and I work in the same field. Today we ended up at a conference together, each with our respective colleagues. I arrived late and sat at the back. He was already there, looking REAL GOOD in his suit (you have to say that with a bit of a southern drawl for it to work). And when the session ended I found myself high tailing it to the elevator to get out of there. I didn’t even make eye contact with him. What a socially ridiculous thing to do to the future father of my children.

As soon as I was crammed in the elevator I had second thoughts, but realized it would look silly if I went back. So I stuck with my fleeing guns and left, texting him that I was late for a meeting (which, in fairness, I was).

My emotions are usually a full thinking session ahead of my brain. And I needed some time for brain catch up.

Here’s what I realized after my slow grey matter had picked apart my sprinting limbic’s actions: I am anxious about that moment when we’re standing next to each other at the coffee station, using those silly little plastic stir sticks which look like they’re going to melt in your hot beverage, and one of our colleagues approaches. And an introduction has to be made. And a name isn’t enough, there has to be context. Ie “this is SSM, my girlfriend”. I figure there are multiple possible scenarios: 1) I introduce him as my boyfriend and he panics because it’s too soon and we haven’t discussed this, or 1b, he’s super excited about it, 2) I introduce him with his job title and leave out the romantic relationship, and he feels insulted or hurt, 3) he introduces me by my professional title and Leaves out the romantic relationship and I am insulted and hurt or 4) he introduces me as his girlfriend and I am elated.

There are too many possibilities there that leave somebody’s feelings hurt. And I realized I just want to avoid those potentially hurtful situations. By being a crazy person who sprints out of a conference.

So I’m thinking I’m going to have to be an adult about it and ask him if he wants to get pinned. I’m not sure how that convo goes now that we’re not wearing poodle skirts though…

Because up until today I haven’t worried so much about the label. But I feel like it matters. And I’m chasing the dragon; I want that B-word rush…maybe even when talking with some people I actually know.

The Rake

A rake is a literary descriptor for a charming man who is up to no good.

A scrub is a guy who thinks he’s fine (also known as a hustla).

Today I tell the story of my friend. Newly single she connected with a man who works in television. He was handsome and had a cool job. He invited her to the studio and introduced her to his coworkers. Seemed legit.

They had a lot of sex. And it was good. But then things fizzled and my friend ended it.

3 months later she was watching him on TV when his co-host congratulated him on getting married.

Now some people move quickly. But 3 months to date, get engaged, and get married is fast. Too fast. Vin Diesel and that other guy who died fast…Paul something? I’m horrible with famous people.

Our sleuthing leads us to believe that this man was not in fact single (as he presented himself) during their sexcapades.

And my poor friend feels bad, as if she somehow had a responsibility to ask the question, “are you engaged to be married and planning on cheating on your fiancé with me?” The default answer is no. I would assume if the answer is “yes”, there is an obligation to declare. Somebody lying to you about their relationship status is not a good reason to feel bad. How are you supposed to know?? After a good facebook stalk, google search and asking around to people who know them, what other tools do you have?? You could stalk them in real life…but that usually doesn’t go over too well.

This leads me to this post’s thesis: some people are just douchebags. I was going to write men, but women do this sort of thing too. There’s equal oppor-douchery. How does anybody think this sort of behaviour is ok? Where are the gentlepeople of the world?? Again, I was going to write gentlemen, but I think there are some gentlewomen out there too.

And this is when I drop my awesome entrepreneurial bomb: GDate. It’s like JDate, but for gentlepeople. In order to join, you must answer the following questions:

1) Do you always say please and thank you?

2) Do you hold the door for the person behind you, even if you have to wait a few seconds for them to get there?

3) When somebody is carrying something heavy, do you help them?

4) Do you offer to walk and/or drive someone home late at night so they won’t have to walk alone in the dark?

5) When you stay with a friend or family member, do you leave their place cleaner than it was when you got there?

6) Can you take ownership of your mistakes and ask forgiveness?

7) Are you honest about your current relationship situation?

8) Have you ever cheated on someone?

I’m looking for yes on 1-7 and a big no on 8. The problem with this is that it assumes honesty, and only true Gentlepeople would be honest. So I’m thinking maybe an airBNB style user-feedback system so people could rate their date’s gentleman/womanly-ness and banish those who don’t live up.

Basically this plan is flawless. If there happen to be any venture capitalists reading, just post a comment below and I’ll let you know where you can send money.

It’s not me, it’s you

Today I tell the story of ScreenDoor. I met ScreenDoor online. He had an impressive profile. He was nerdily handsome (which you may have gathered by this point is sort of my type). His responses were well-written; his grammar was impeccable. The apostrophes were all in the right places. We started with a phone call. I liked his voice. He seemed confident and intelligent. He used my name in conversation (which is a huge win with me).

Before we had the opportunity to plan an in-person meeting, I met Blue Eyes. I messaged ScreenDoor and explained that I am a monogamist and had started seeing someone, so regretfully wouldn’t be continuing to chat. He wrote an adorable and well-punctuated response suggesting that he would still like to meet me, even if as friends. I didn’t think that was such a great idea. He wished me the best, but asked me to be in touch if things didn’t work out with Blue Eyes. Well you know how that story went. If you don’t, you can guess. Hint: I’m still single.

When Blue Eyes had moved his gaze onward to bluer horizons, I messaged ScreenDoor again. He regretfully told me that he was seeing someone, but that he would be in touch if it didn’t work out. A  week later I heard from him. Perhaps it’s pompous, but I really hope he didn’t dump someone so he could see me.

We spoke on the phone again. The conversation was academic and rather literal, but I figured ScreenDoor was just nervous and falling back onto comfortable subject matter. He was clearly very bright. It’s difficult to joke on a phone when you can’t see body language or facial expressions. It’s also difficult to joke if you have no social skills…but we’ll get there. The conversation went on longer than I would have liked. He didn’t seem to pick up on some of my subtle comments like, “well, I have an early morning” and “I don’t want to monopolize your entire evening”, but I chalked it up to nervousness again. This dating process can rattle anyone and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I did what I do best, and made excuses for this man.

ScreenDoor lived in a different city, but said he was coming into the city on a Friday evening and could meet for dinner. I broke my own first date rule and had dinner with him. I was blinded by his words. I think every third word had ten letters or more. Conjunctions included. Listen, I’m a sucker for vocabulary. Usually I only have coffee on a first date so that if it’s horrific I can escape and not waste food. There are children starving in Africa. Silly, SSM. Tricks are for kids and this rule is a rule of dating for a reason.

I met him after work. I was wearing a great dress. In retrospect, I wish I had worn something more frumpy. We hugged in recognition of our phone familiarity. The conversation was a little stiff, but again, I figured he was nervous because I looked so hot in my dress. We walked to a restaurant he had suggested in my neighbourhood. He spoke very technically about everything.  All conversation was work-related. I tried to make some jokes. He just stared back at me blankly. I don’t think it was so much that he didn’t GET my jokes, but rather that he didn’t pick up on the fact that I was trying to joke at all.

He earned his name, by speaking for 15 minutes about how his screen door latch wasn’t working properly. I jokingly, made some ridiculous suggestions for how to fix it. They may have involved bubblegum and paperclips. I’m a big fan of MacGyver. They were hilariously ridiculous suggestions because I’M HILARIOUS. He didn’t realize I was joking, and explained to me in great detail the flaws with my plans.  I do a lot of my flirting with jokes and playful sarcasm. This guy was in NO WAY picking up what I was putting down.

It took me a surprisingly long time to realize that it was not just nervousness, but rather that ScreenDoor was on the autism spectrum. He was adorably endearing, but I wasn’t attracted to him and figured rather conclusively that social skills are on my must-have list for Future Hubby aka the other half of Team-Awesome. After dinner, he suggested that we go get coffee somewhere. I felt horribly guilty because he had come from out of town and I couldn’t bring myself to say no. He really was a nice guy. If nothing else, I was learning a lot from him about his line of work. He would make a great university professor or lecturer. It was about 7pm at this point; we had already spent 2 hours together.

When we finished coffee, he asked me if I wanted to go get a drink somewhere and told me he was planning to stick around in the city for the evening. This was when I started to feel like an asshole. I had written him off a full 90 minutes prior and was now just humouring him. I thought I was giving some good “friending” signals, but in fairness, I also knew he was not picking up on signals. I’m not entirely sure that he didn’t think he was going to come back to my place and spend the night. I felt like a rat trapped in a maze.

So I did what any reasonable adult would do. I directly told him that, although I thought he was a nice guy, I wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship.

Except that’s not what I did at all.

Instead I orchestrated the escape call. I am equally ashamed and proud of pulling it off.

I called Triad. We had sort of loosely discussed getting together to watch some Dawson’s Creek (which has now moved out of the re-run loser-ish realm and into the retro-hipster realm, in case you were wondering).

The conversation went something like this:

Triad: “hey -what’s up?

SSM: “hey – I’m just calling to check what time you’re coming over?”

Triad: “oh…uh, yeah I can come over… I guess.” (we had not discussed her coming over)

SSM: “Sure – 7:30 is fine.”

Triad: “it’s ok though if you need more time for the date” (sounding very confused)

SSM: “Alright I’ll see you soon!

Triad: “O…K…?”

SSM: “Bye!”

Triad later told me (while Joey climbed through the window) that she wasn’t sure whether I was in trouble and she needed to call the police. I’m glad she didn’t…though it made me think we should all have code words with our friends. I have yet to establish these, but should. I’m thinking “smorgasbord” because I could work it into conversation, but otherwise would never use it.

ScreenDoor insisted on walking me home, which I know was him being a gentleman, but it still made me uncomfortable. I was worried he was going to expect to come in, or at least a goodbye kiss. While we walked he explained to me how he uses cue cards to memorize new subject matter, physics for instance, for fun. When we got to my place he asked me if I was free to get together the next Tuesday at 10am. “I have a job”, I said, smiling.  It was a cop-out (which he clearly wouldn’t understand) for, “I’m not interested in another date”. I thanked him for dinner and told him it was nice to meet him.

I received a text message later that night to ask if I was interested in getting together again. I politely said no.

ScreenDoor was a very nice person. Even writing this, I feel bad. But there are times when someone is just not a contender. Without meeting someone in person though it’s hard to sort through the smorgasbord of people to date online. Nothing substitutes for in-person interaction.

PS. False alarm: don’t call the police. I’m just practicing.

That time when I was genetically discriminatory

Last night Adman got cut after about a month of dating. I can’t really explain it because it wasn’t logical, but I just wasn’t feeling it. We tried another make-out session and I found myself again not really wanting it to go any further than that. In fact, I interrupted it and sent him home. Rather than accepting that perhaps things just weren’t jiving, instead may I present my rather neurotically conceived scientific theory:

After our first awkward make out session I hugged him. Due to the huge height discrepancy, my ear ended up squarely on his chest. That was how I heard his heart, and remarked, “wow – your heart is beating super fast!” He told me that his heart has always been fast.

He pulled out a neat-o little app on his phone that used the iPhone’s light to detect our heart beats. We compared and his heart was literally beating twice as quickly as mine. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but then later I heard John Tesh on the radio. He was talking about the science of kissing. “Why do we kiss?”, he asked. I realized that I had no idea.

Johny said that researchers postulate that during the salivary exchange of kissing, there could indeed be detection of genetic material, and possibly even flaws in DNA. Additionally in a study of smell, women were found to say that men with the most genetic variation from themselves smelled the best (genetic variation is a good thing – it provides survival advantage). I was intrigued.

Watch this video if you’re interested; it’s rather interesting:

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2014/02/13/the-science-of-why-we-kiss/

In a convo with Adman I discovered that he has a similar genetic condition to my brother. So this would put our theoretical future children at huge risk of having it. He also has another medical condition which he mentioned to me. When I googled it, it explained his racing heart. It also put him at risk of a whole bunch of other scary heart stuff.

I think that during that first kiss, whatever place in my brain controls my reproductive drive picked up on Adman’s scent and taste and screamed “REJECT – your genes are not going to mix well!”. I have been rather explicit about my heightism and my desire to have children who can be professional athletes, should they so choose – what is the point of having tall children if their hearts will give out with physical activity? I think my body rejected him two weeks before my brain did.

And now I feel guilty. Is this genetic discrimination? Should I feel bad? Part of me wanted to have children with him so that my awesome genes could “save” his maybe not so awesome ones. Take a GATTACA-like stand even. But that’s not how evolution works. And I do rather want my progeny to survive.

Keep in mind that the quality of his genetic material can in no way be verified. This has been entirely constructed in my head. But I think there might be something to it. I mean, the whole point of reproduction is to give your children the best possible chance to survive and subsequently reproduce. Perhaps this is the most real moment in the dating process I’ve ever experienced. It was an acknowledgement of the ultimate goal, which was brought clearly into focus. I’m dating to hopefully find an awesome partner to spend my life with, but even more so than that, I’m looking for sperm. I feel somewhat diminished and simplified by that statement, but there it is.

Is GATTACA coming? I do love spiral staircases…

Kissing an adolescent…oh dear that sounds worse than intended.

So the other night Adman walked me home. The night was still young and I sort of still felt like hanging out with him.

I’m starting to feel more confident with this adult dating thing, so I simply said to him, “can I invite you to come in without the expectation that we’re going to have sex?”. I felt proud of myself because it removed ambiguity and set some expectations. I feel like I’m learning.

He responded, “I don’t even want to have sex!”, and I said “really??”, incredulously. In retrospect, I admit it was sort of an odd exchange.

But then he came in and it was fun. This guy can definitely keep up. I appreciate smart and witty. I also appreciate not feeling like I need to search for topics or keep throwing fuel into the conversation; it burns rather naturally. There was a kiss at the door before he left, which was somewhat awkward, but I just attributed it to the huge height differential.

So on the next date when he invited me up to his place for tea, I was feeling pretty good about our communication and expectation setting and it felt safe and nonthreatening.

And then it happened. We were sitting on the couch watching a movie. And he decided he wanted to make out. You know in the movies when they lean in slowly and the music swells?

There was none of that. It was a mess of gangly limbs and awkward couch gymnastics. There was no edging together, where your knees just barely touch “by accident”, or an arm on the back of the couch grazes a shoulder. There were no sideways glances with flirtatious smiles. There was no lead in – it was totally abrupt. His face was just right in front of mine and there were lips. And they were sort of rhythmically biting mine.

I didn’t mean to be hurtful, but I sort of pushed him away. It was hard to enjoy with no lead-up. I told him I was hungry and suggested that maybe we should order dinner. So we did. And then when we were standing in the kitchen getting plates, etc ready, he tried again. There was no witty or adorable comment, no cute face or deep longing look in either of our eyes. He just jammed his face into mine again, unexpectedly. Has this guy never watched a movie? That’s not how this works, dude. A kiss is a culmination. It’s the relief of sexual tension. And you can’t skip the sexual tension – that’s the best part.

I pulled away again. I sort of felt like a jerk because this guy is nice and generally quite respectful. But I felt like I had spun the bottle and ended up in the closet with an adolescent boy. He did not seem to have grasped the art of the make-out. And I LOVE the make-out, so what a huge disappointment. I was nice, but nothing else happened and after we ate (sushi, not each others’ lips) I went home. I had zero desire to jump his bones. And I generally really enjoy bone jumping.

And then my neurotic brain did what it does best – I have enough rumination for the nation!

This guy is handsome and well-spoken and fun. He works in an industry that exposes him to lots of parties and women. I find it hard to believe that he hasn’t been involved in a few make-outs in his life. So why did this feel like we should be snapchatting with One Direction playing in the background?? (that is my complete understanding of what it means to be an adolescent these days)

Then I took it one step further. I thought back to his comment about not wanting to have sex, and decided promptly that he was a virgin. How does a man get to be 28 and never have sex? He’s not even religious. Things just didn’t add up.

Naturally I began polling my people: “is a bad first make-out indicative of horrible sex to come?”, “can physical chemistry be developed or if it’s missing should you just give up?”, “what does it all mean???”

I stopped texting him. I couldn’t figure out if this was a huge red flag. He noticed. When he texted me to ask what was up, I had all but given up. But I decided to have another adult dating moment. I told him that I was concerned with our poor physical chemistry. I speculated that perhaps we had unknowingly wandered into the friend zone. He said that he had shared that concern after our last visit. I told him I really liked him otherwise, and he suggested that perhaps we needed to try again. And I thought, “what the hell? It can’t be worse than the first make-out”. So he came over.

Roomie was home so we decided to go for a walk. It’s an odd situation going on a walk with the intention of re-doing your first kiss. What a silly amount of pressure. We found a nice dark park bench and sat for a while talking. But he didn’t make a move and the walk continued. At first we didn’t talk about it, but as the night rolled on we began to strategize. “How about that dark alley?”, “nope – that’s the sort of alley where we’d get murdered”. “Maybe just here on the street?”, “no – I’m not really into PDA”. At one point he tried to just swoop in and kiss me again and I definitively pushed him away and said, “no – you can’t just do it like that; there has to be a lead-in!!!”

So on we wandered, in circles of my neighbourhood looking for the perfect place for a second first kiss.

Becoming slightly exasperated at 11pm with work the next morning, I dragged him into a well-lit park with lots of people in it, shoved him up against a utility shed and kissed him. It was the most teenaged make-out I’ve ever had (and this is including my teenage years). But the second first kiss was better than the first. Maybe because of all the build up, or maybe because it was a little thrilling having such a public make-out session. But we held each others’ hands afterwards and he walked me home. We patted ourselves on the back for achieving our awkward feat. It was a strange sort of problem-solving, team-based situation. Strangely, mutual sense of humour and communication made it ok.

It seemed like maybe that was going to put us back on track, but then when we got to my place and I tried to say goodnight, he tried the swooping motion again. I let him kiss me for a minute and then had to literally shove him out the door and say “goodnight” because I was so frustrated with his lack of intuition. I think he was relieved the second make-out was better and was attempting to consolidate his position, but it was too much. Sometimes it’s best to leave someone wanting more, rather than shoving your tongue in their mouth repeatedly.

So overall I’m confused. I like this guy. Other than his lack of kissing tact, everything about him is great. And every man starts as an awkward teenage slobber-face, right? Maybe he can be trained…? I’m genuinely at a loss.

A Kanye West inspired toast to running away as fast as you can

People keep telling me that when you meet the perfect person, “you’ll just know”. I’m not sure I believe that, but the more I date, the more I am coming to realize the “just knowing” may apply even better if the person is “wrong”. It should not take 8 years of dating to figure out if you like each other enough to commit. I don’t even think it should take 6 months. If I think back on the relationships I’ve had, the nails in the metaphorical relationship coffins were poised in place, awaiting their hammer blows. They were clearly visible and evident early. Some of the nails were bouncing off of my face while I ignored the bleeding, tetanus-infested wounds they left.

Let me elaborate upon these men’s fatal flaws, some of which seemed small, but were indicators of much larger issues:

1) The first boyfriend – Ernest. Ernest didn’t like to read. That should have been enough for my heart to reject all forms of attachment to him. My heart, after all, and its conception of love and romance is due in many parts to literature. This was an early indication of a man who simply didn’t value intellectualism and education, which are core values for me.

2) Van was self deprecating. Really though he had poor self esteem. He was incredibly self-conscious of his body. He had a need for constant validation, which was tiring.

3) Geek’s “first priority” was his career and he “wasn’t willing to compromise”. He liked to tell this to me often. It usually felt like an implication that I would never be a priority to him. And I wouldn’t. I guess at least he was honest? Fuck that shit.

4) Yogi had a broken heart at the same time that I did. He was my foil. However, two combined broken hearts do not magically repair one another – you’re just left with a messy pile of heart fragments.

5) Stable PP believed in dietary supplements. And I don’t just mean taking vitamins – I mean taking things that had no research or science to back them. When questioned about these practices, he became defensive. Stable PP had an inability to see grey. He was a “my way or the highway” sort of guy. He made up his mind and wasn’t good at adjusting his opinions to accommodate for new facts.

6) Blue Eyes was an unnecessary asshole. He liked to yell at strangers. You pulled over in a no-parking zone to drop off your grandmother and this guy would have yelled at you. On one of our first dates, I was driving with him in the passenger seat and a cab cut me off. I live in a big city. Cabs do that. Whatever. When we came to a red light, he got very agitated and INSTRUCTED me to pull up next to the cab so that he could yell at him. This is the sort of thing you do when you feel out of control and you have no power in your life. What a waste of time – going out of your way to make other people feel crappy.

And yet I dated him for another 6 weeks before HE broke it off. What’s wrong with me?? Why was I willing to forgive blatant assholery? I don’t like assholes. I feel pretty sure about that…

These guys were all projects to me. I believed that I could fix them, whether it was by encouraging Ernest to read Harry Potter, telling Van he was handsome, supporting Geek’s career, fixing Yogi’s broken heart, teaching Stable PP to think more critically about his ridiculous opinions, or helping Blue Eyes to be nicer.

The unifying theme which I have discovered in the process of my blogging pontification is that I tend to find flaws endearing and think that I can somehow be the solution to those flaws. My mother used to say that as soon as she felt sorry for an employee, it was time to get rid of them:

“I’m not a social worker”, she would state.

I thought it was sort of harsh, but I think the same logic can be applied to relationships. Nobody should be in a relationship with the intention of fixing the other person or trying to make them “whole”. The goal is to find somebody who is also whole and bring 2 parts together for a magical synergy of awesomeness that is greater than the sum of its parts.

So why have I spent so much of my life with men who have clear flaws? When you want so badly to have a person of your very own, it’s hard to walk away. “maybe he’s just nervous”, “but he has so many other great qualities”, blah blah blah.

I want a man who isn’t a fixer-upper. I want a partner who has got it together. I’m learning to say “I don’t think you’re necessarily a bad person, I just don’t think you’re the right person for me”. And I need to do this because I can’t waste my time on repairing the old Jalopy when the newest Aston Martin is rolling by on the next block. I just tried to use an automotive analogy and I can’t quite do it without giggling.

My goal now is to make a decision within 2 months at most. If I’m not sure at 2 months, they’re getting voted off the island. Maybe by the end, I’ll be left with my Ethan.

Any moment now he’s going to glide in here on his Nimbus 2000 and sweep me off my feet.

 

Any moment now…

 

Sabotage

Yesterday I sabotaged a nice relationship by creating mountains out of molehills. (I don’t get a lot of chances to use this expression, so I’m happy it has an appropriate place here). I’ve done this a few times lately without any conscious effort by taking Blue Eyes’ comments too personally or blowing them out of proportion. Today Blue Eyes did what a reasonable person would do in response to my sabotage and ended the relationship. I’m sad. It’s been two months. I like him. He’s sincere and honest and good. I was starting to feel like he might be the kind of guy I could love one day.

He is the sort of guy who would never cheat on you, the sort of guy who would make a great father. He is hard-working and loves his family. I really enjoyed kissing him and the sex was great. He has a kind face.  I was having some flashes of tiny blue-eyed children.

But I was also having flashes that weren’t so great. I was imagining me coming home late and him frustrated with my dedication to my career. I was imagining arguments over stupid topics because we’re both stubborn. I was imagining disagreements about money and him annoyed that I never cooked dinner. I think he’s looking for a wife. So am I, but I intend on hiring her.

I was trying to like the idea of having a house husband…but not quite convincing myself. He’s not a big career guy. He seems to have very good work-life balance. I do not, and I don’t suspect I ever will. I love my work and I’m alright with the idea of it being somewhat consuming.

We had gotten into this pattern of sarcasm and defensiveness in our interactions. I was so afraid to just let him in that I just shut him down and was critical in response to anything from him that seemed remotely like criticism of me. I was so afraid of loving him that I went out of my way not to. How sad is that?

I don’t do anything 80%. I give everything I have. I did it with Geek and got burned so badly my hair is still charred. I think this is why I just couldn’t metaphorically “open my heart”. I have built myself a Fortress of Solitude…or maybe a Red Keep. I never liked the idea of the Fortress of Solitude – it must be freezing. (My kryptonite is being cold – of all things, I hate being cold the most. Or maybe being hungry…or tired. Listen I’ve got a lot of vulnerabilities, but one thing is clear here: I’m no Superman.)

It was a very adult breakup. There were no tears shed. There were no threats. There was no passive aggressiveness or name-calling. It was thoroughly emotionally healthy, which sort of made it harder. We hugged each other before he left and I had trouble letting go. I could feel us both having the thought, “shit – this might be the wrong decision”.

And it might have been.

I was coming around. I had spent the last 24 hours deciding that I was going to let him in even though it was terrifying. I never got the chance.

But he didn’t ask questions. He didn’t seem particularly interested in my life or opinions. I showed him this awesome youtube video (which was fascinating!) and he didn’t even seem to find it interesting. Intellectualism seemed to bore him. He didn’t get my awesome Sci-Fi and Fantasy themed puns and he didn’t like my awesome dad jokes. He rolled his eyes at my cheesiness which sort of made me feel chastised by the cool kids. Our senses of humour and interests didn’t actually line up that well. I had misgivings from the beginning. But so many of the big important elements were there.

I seem to have some break-up post traumatic stress because I couldn’t sleep last night after Blue Eyes left and I was rather nauseated. I had intense dreams all night, but they weren’t about Blue Eyes. They were about Geek. I suppose the emotionality of getting dumped again stirred up all of those feelings that I’ve been managing to suppress.

I like Blue Eyes and I’m sad because I feel like he was my hope and now the hope is gone. After it all happened, I got this burning in my chest and felt tears well to my eyes, but then realized it was just some acid reflux. After being crushed by Geek, I just don’t seem to have anything left to mourn men. I feel like maybe it’s time to stop trying to be in love. I feel hopeless.

Kanga told me this morning that until I have dated everyone on Earth, there will be hope. But I feel none of it. I feel resigned to my life as a crazy cat lady spinster. My dad told me that he didn’t care what I was when I grew up as long as I was the best at it. And I think I could make an awesome Crazy Cat Lady. Except for I don’t like cats. And I can never make my shopping cart go straight in the grocery store.

None of the movies ever tell you that finding “the one” is exhausting and it really really hurts.

How to Find a Husband: The Musical

It was my friend Jacon’s birthday this weekend so naturally we spent the weekend seeing multiple broadway musicals. I am now picturing each advancing scene in my life in musical theatre form. As I bike to work I sing “little town, it’s a quiet village. Every day like the one before”. I don’t go so far as to say “bonjour” to strangers on the street, but I want to. What’s wrong with a friendly francophone greeting every now and again? I keep having to hide my jazz hands in my pockets.

This got me thinking about a musical I would like to see. It would be called “How to Find a Husband” and it would essentially be an instruction manual in musical form. It would have witty jokes, inspiring songs by the full cast in 4-part harmony, and romantic ballads by a power couple of leads. And there would be tap dancing by people dressed as sailors. Oh, and a happy ending – not just one that ended with a wedding, but rather one where the two main characters died simultaneously of old age, holding hands, surrounded by their loving children. The crowd would be in glorious cathartic tears. Applause. Oh the applause.

The big hit song would be called “reeling him in” and would contain a plethora of fishing analogies. It would be a crowd pleaser, for sure. What else would be in the show? I don’t know because how the fuck do you find a husband? I consider myself unqualified to Andrew Lloyd Webber this one. Yes – I used Andrew Lloyd Webber’s name as a verb.

I’ve done pretty well with life so far. Generally I set a goal and then break out the steps to attain it. Then I knock the steps off one by one and BOOM – goal attained. This has been my pattern.

But I’m not sure how to do this in finding a life partner. It seems like the most huge of huge goals. In fact, it seems so huge, I don’t even feel like trying. What are the steps to finding your perfect partner? Where is the instruction manual? What is the chorus of the power ballad in this musical? The orchestra is silent.

All I want is for everything to be perfect. Is that too much to ask??

But nothing is ever perfect. Ever. So how much is enough? Svelte and I chatted about this the other day while I covered my face in a chocolate fudge sundae (a sure way to attract a husband). He’s been dating a girl and he likes her. He figures he could date her for 6 months and be content. But after 6 months, he’s not sure she’ll be enough. And this is the problem. The popular media has filled our brains with soul-mate infused dreams that make us think there is one person out there whose face will shine with radiance and perfection. Perhaps I’m a horrible skeptic, but I find it impossible to believe that exists. So assuming the 100% match doesn’t exist, what’s the cut off? Is 87% enough? 65%. I just don’t know. Do you hold out in hopes that 98% will come along? But what if he never does and after waiting around, the only guys left are 61% and 54%? Depressing.

I wish there were a rule manual, or an entertaining musical that would indicate a path, or perhaps a yellow brick road, to relationship success. I don’t know how to break this out into attainable steps. But I’m sure singing and dancing during my morning commute is a good first step. Men like that, right?

Fuck, I’m doomed.

 

My favourite musical love song for your enjoyment:

The slow walker, the loud talker and a shaggy man finding himself

Perhaps I’m just incredibly picky, but there were a lot of fails on my 10 dates in 10 days.

The loud talker.

This guy was enthusiastic. Like a cheerleader from Bring It On, but the difference was Kirsten Dunst was hot enough that nobody cared how annoying she was. This guy was cute, but not cute enough to make up for the dirty looks we got in this trendy hipster coffee shop while he yelled about his career plans. I tried to compensate by whispering, in hopes that he would mirror me. He did not. Instead he seemed to take it as a sign that I didn’t want to talk, so droned on incessantly (and very loudly) about himself. Cut.

The slow walker.

I walk quickly. This is not as a result of my height – I’m not tall. I walk quickly because why wouldn’t you? You’re moving from point A to point B. When you’re going somewhere, it’s about the destination, not the journey. I judge people based on their walking speed. And I don’t apologize for it. I think your walking speed is a good indicator of your approach to life. Life isn’t about smelling the roses. It’s about getting awesome shit done. I want a man who grabs life by the horns. And that means he walks fast. Slow walking is unattractive and = automatic disqualification.

The  man who doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up

I met with this guy who was doing his PhD. I thought that might be a good fit. Academic. A thinker. And he couldn’t possibly be intimidated by my education. When I asked about his future plans, he told me about how he was finishing his PhD and starting business school in the fall. He then told me about how he thought maybe he wanted to become a veterinarian. I’ve done a lot of schooling in my life, so my criticism is never of education. But as a 30-something-year-old man, it would be nice to see that you can at very least commit to your career and have a plan of some sort. That sort of uncertainty makes me think you might not really be down with the commitment of being married and having kids. And let’s face it, that’s the game plan. No thanks.

The shaggy man

Unless you’re calling me your moon and stars, you don’t get to have long hair. Although Tarzan holds some sort of a pheromone-related appeal, I need a partner who I can take to work events. So no.

 

Britney – an entire post to himself because he failed so hard

Dating Fail #1:

Texting in the style of a 14 year old girl.

I’m going to call this guy Britney. I met Britney online. Based on his profile, I wasn’t interested. He however, was persistent. He sent me multiple messages asking to get together. I like a man who knows what he wants, and bonus if he wants me, so I figured I’d give him a chance. Also he had the right pedigree, which I realize makes him sounds like a dog. If this guy were a dog, he would be a tiny chihuaha wearing a pink rhinestone necklace, being carried in a 14-year-old girl’s purse.  And it seems he acquired his language skills and texting habits while residing in that purse. None of his words were spelled correctly: he used “ya” exclusively in the place of “you”, “lemme” in place of “let me”, “lookin” in place of “looking”, “watcha” instead of “what do you”, and “heya” exclusively as a greeting. Those aren’t words. And texting non-words is not an acceptable form of communication for a 30-year-old professional man.

Dating Fail #2:

Presuming you know anything about me

Britney also sent me a number of messages stating assumptions he had made about me that were not at all true. For instance, “you seem like a really fun girl”. He had never met me. We had never spoken. This was his first online dating message to me. I hate to get all Grumpy Cat here, but “fun” is never a word that anyone has used to describe me…ever. As Cody put it, “you’re a very particular type of fun”, but not the type of fun men mean when they say “fun girl”. I struggled with whether I should correct him with a reply like, “I am in fact a very serious woman”, but decided to leave it.

When we were texting to set up a time to meet I told him what neighbourhood I lived in, to which he replied, “you seem like the type of person who would live in that neighbourhood”. What the fuck does that mean? My neighbourhood is an equal split of old people and hipsters. I live here because it’s close to work. So either, he stalked me, found out where I worked, and assumed (correctly) that I am the sort of person who likes a short commute, OR he thinks I’m an old hipster. Although I have been “30 since I was 10” and enjoy certain elements of hipster culture, I could never be categorized in such a way. It was just a very odd statement to make.

Dating Fail #3:

Britney was on a roll…

Asking for another date after I cut the first one short

The date was a bust so I followed Till’s suggestion to cut coffee short since it was clear that it was a no-go. I told Britney I had to meet a friend and politely excused myself. I gave him 39 minutes that I will never have back, and I think that was generous. I did have to meet a friend, but not for another hour. If I had wanted to see him again though, I sure as hell would have made that clear before leaving. Despite my departure, he sent a smiley-face-riddled message suggesting that we could get together soon for “something more elaborate than half a coffee”. So it was clear to him that I left prematurely. And yet he did not seem to pick up on this being any sort of an indication of my level of interest. She’s just not that into you.

And finally Dating fail #4

Telling me I’m cute

After our date, he sent me 4 messages rapid fire. The last one said, “You’re super cute!” As if somehow this was going to help his case. If the nail gun hadn’t already rained ammo all over his coffin at this point, that would have been the nail. I find the word “cute” incredibly diminishing. My goal in life has never been to be “cute”. My goal in life is to be formidable. I’m not a pretty wall flower. I’m a fucking lion. I’m a hot badass bitch who gets shit done. Calling me “cute” is a surefire way to make me angry, but also to prove to  me that you have not grasped the substance of my being at all. Don’t tell a smart woman she’s cute; it’s insulting. It’s not a quality I value in myself and I have far better qualities that I want my partner to value.