Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Looking for Love Online: Giving Up

For me the summer will officially be over next Monday when I go back for my week of teacher-training and preparation for the big start the following week. The new year will begin as the last year ended on the romance front, but at least in June there was the hope of a summer romance. Now there is the reality of no summer romance and a deepening understanding that I really might be headed to a Golden Girls scenario down the road.

Not only was the romance-less summer disappointing, the few dates or communications that I had have caused pain. Maybe I need to have thicker skin, but if I was going to have thicker skin, it would have developed by now—and it hasn’t, not by the slightest fraction of an inch. It really is you out there, alone, sitting at a computer or a table opposite someone who has his own agenda or expectations that you think should be benign—positive even—but they just don't always end up to be so.

Just this week a lovely widowed Frenchman who has been raising his son by himself who lives nearby, but is currently working in Nigeria building roads, toyed with me. Oh, it was fun. It turns out it’s easy to overcome your finely-tuned instincts when you are fawned over by a handsome man. But today, when I was told that he was upset, that something had happened, that he planned to commit suicide the antennae were up—but so was the seriously concerned heart beating far too fast. When the gunshot sound came through the computer I thought “Oh, no,” and ever so cautiously “What’s going on?” But it was all good in the end, because apparently all he needed was to send some money to his uncle who could then file the papers he needed to….SPAM.

Then there was the man who, apparently, on our one and only date was really filling out an internal questionnaire. Apparently I did not pass the test because I was not courteous enough to the waitress and, I guess, I didn’t cry out in the way of being saved at some revival that he is the man for me. I know that I failed the test because he contacted me about a second date and apparently I again failed the test because my response was a little harsh. What do these men think? They tell you that they have “too many issues” in their life to get involved and then a week later say, no, you know, I really do like you so let’s meet again. Men, know that even single women are people.

I almost forget to mention the older man who seriously looked older than elder. Not just that, our conversation really highlighted that he was of a totally different generation than me. Now I know what I must sound like to my students.

Too bad that I finally splurged on a three-month membership to JDate, because apparently I don’t turn the Jewish guys on either. Oy.

There was one very nice man with whom I had two dates. But the sparks didn’t fly. Too bad.

At this point I’m not so worried that some date will read what I have said about previous dates here because I’m expectationless.

I still don’t regret telling pseudo-man that I don’t want to get together with him now that he really is separated. Even though he is the only man who has sailed my ship, I have learned something, and that is that I really do need to worry about myself and not be here as a platform for a man’s ego.

Oh, and I’ve finally gotten started on my novel and it is going well. There’s a romance in it. And it’s lovely. I think I’ll focus on this fictional romance for a while. So far the gentleman is courteous, caring, compassionate and his kisses…well, you’ll have to read the book. Now that I have so much time to work on it, it shouldn’t take too long to finish writing (and enjoy imagining) it.

P.S.  I had one more date set up for this afternoon, which I decided to go on. It was, truly, the cherry on top. The man had answered my ad, it turns out, because he likes to hear people's stories. It also turns out that he is married, not happy, and thinking that maybe sometime he will have an affair. This is the man who told me, shocker, that he is very conservative. After I gave my mini-lecture on being forthright and not lying to people, I got up and left. Leaving behind my frozen lemonade but not a shred of myself.  

Dating is Like Being a Politician

It just occurred to me that dating is like being a politician. Everything you type or say or do is scrutinized to the umpteenth degree. But whereas politicians are allowed their occasional moral lapses, daters are not. One incorrect comma or comment and you are voted out of contention. Photographs are the most damaging. Any inconsistencies with expectations of hair, height, and heft will cause you to not even get your name on the primary ballot.

I say this not only because I have suffered from backlashes, but because I seem to be as guilty as the press in highlighting lapses and forgetting about positives. Aren’t we supposed to be looking for the good in each other and not the bad? Or is fear of backing a losing candidate causing too many things to become red flags?

Now I just need to figure out how it is that so many politicians, once they get past the scrutiny and get elected, manage to have wives and girlfriends? Is this akin to money going to money? Or ice cream going to my thighs?

Some Men I Have Been Annoying Lately

I’m not sure what’s going on, but it must be that either I grate a lot of men the very wrong way or the men with whom I have come into contact lately are in very bad moods. Is it me or is it them? Is it some prickliness that seems to have become a part of me? Or is it my mouth—and fingers—and how they say what I think are fine things but other people, boy, they hear other things.

Man at graduation ceremony: During the graduation ceremony for my school I was working the security detail, which means that I was to stand at a portal of the sports center to ensure that people were sitting in their seats and the space for the handicapped was used appropriately. There was a “professional” security person at that portal as well, along with two other teachers. We got there an hour before the ceremony began, which is when the doors opened.

A woman with her mother in a wheelchair arrived at least a half hour early. The mother is afraid of heights so she didn’t want to sit right at the railing, instead the two of them sat back a bit.

For some reason, the security guard agreed to let five very heavy women sit in seats in the handicapped area, but enough space was left so that the mother and her daughter could see from their spot away from the edge.

A half hour after the ceremony began a man arrived with his mother in a wheelchair, his wife and kids. I approached him and (I think) politely told him that he can’t put the chair in that spot since it would block the view of the woman sitting in her wheelchair. His comment to me was basically, “You’re going to tell me what to do?” “Yes,” I said, “I am.” At which, I swear, I could hear his chauvinistic wheels turning. He said that the woman needs to move there and if not there is no reason why he can’t put his mother there. “Because you can’t,” I said. I saw no reason to explain to this man this woman’s fear of heights and just said that she came early and she was unable to move up. Again the chauvinistic wheels churned, he said “Call security,” and he shoved his wheelchair forward, put his mother into place and went to sit in the stands. (There was still space for them to see, they needed to do an angle thing to their bodies.)

Bastard.

Settlement attorney:  Not only was he extremely unfriendly [perhaps because he didn’t like that he felt obliged to let my lawyer (a woman) and me sit in his golf-obsessed office] but he, too, had the boy tantrum thing going on. When we got to the signing part of the day, when exman threatened to leave because I wouldn’t sign something, that was okay. But when I went out of the room for a moment to talk to my lawyer I could hear him raise his voice and say something about “she.” I didn’t hear what he said, but I am sure it was about how “she’s playing games.” Really? I’m just trying not to get screwed anymore and that’s interpreted as playing games. So be it.

Man with no humor: For no real reason, I answered a Craig’s List ad (I know, I know, DON’T GO THERE) and after I made, what I thought was a joke based on a funny spelling mistake that he made, I was told, that he didn’t like being laughed at. I even prefaced the comment with a caveat that I am an English teacher. The puns were funny; what would you do if someone talked about a navel base? Sure, better without him, but what is happening?

Or is nothing happening and I just keep meeting men who quite obviously don’t mesh with me and not to sweat it. But still, you know, it hurts. It hurts to be misconstrued. It hurts to be told that you’re mean when you don’t think you are. It makes me wonder how we can communicate when there are so many ways in which thoughts don’t get understood the way they were meant to be. I did mean to be funny, certainly not hurtful. Was he too sensitive? Am I too insensitive?

Man who really should be spanked: Then there’s the man on Plenty of Fish (no, there aren’t, and yes, I turned my profile off) who about a week ago wrote to me something about being spanked. I did not reply. Today he popped up again, and when I said something about how capitalization and apostrophes are important to me he replied that he has a Ph.D., that I am too anal retentive (is there a proper amount or does my asking this mark me as definitely being anal?) and that I am obviously ignorant, stupid and judgmental. And this from a man who wants to be spanked and compares himself to Einstein because he, too, couldn’t spell. He obviously thought everything he said was okay, but not everything I said. Before I could he reply he had me blacklisted from his account. HELLO, shades of control all over the place.

Is there something I’m missing? Were my years trying to survive exman more damaging than I thought? Is my desire to be blunt and open so that I won’t go into another relationship that will end up leaving me voiceless leaving me open to being insulted and misunderstood? Are men really as controlling as they seem to be? Seriously, what’s with the insults? And why, why do they see everything they utter as charming and me, well, I’ve been blacklisted, deleted and side-swiped. 

It’s been about two years since I started dating. In that time, I only dated one man more than three times and he turned out to be the incredibly unreliable pseudo-man. I’ve been told I’m too picky. I’ve been told that being friends is not enough. I haven’t been moved by anyone. It took a while, but now I’m really wondering about my man antennae, after all I picked exman/slime and pseudo both of whom turned out to be controlling, mind-game players and dangerously selfish. I’ve been told I’m fat (sorry, not “height-weight proportionate”). I have not responded to men who were not attractive to me or with whom I did not feel that there was enough to go on for a relationship to develop. Time, yes, time may be what will bring about a meeting of man and woman. And going with the flow and not trying to force things may also work. I’ve been told to join groups, and maybe I will (other than women’s groups that is, and the political group turned out to include women and retired people). But that still doesn’t answer my question as to why I feel that I have been encountering so much negativity and nastiness.

I genuinely don’t get it. Are men too serious or am I too irreverent? Oh, who cares. (Yes Microsoft Word, I am overriding your desire to have me put a question mark there.) They’re not even funny stories anymore; they’re not entertaining and they’re certainly not making me feel good about my prospects for finding a decent, loving, intelligent, caring man who doesn’t go running to the hills at my humor or try to mini-sermonize me.
Alone is good. I know that. And I revel in the freedom I feel and the joy of a simple flow of life. I should stop reaching for a while. I should stop worrying about what others think, that is until I find others who like how I think, then I will attend to them.

My heart. I guess I need to put it back into my chest, but it keeps wanting to find a playmate. 

Looking for Love Online: Plenty of Fish

Someone suggested that since Craig’s List and Chemistry were not working for me, I should try Plenty of Fish. On this free site, you post a picture and fill out some information on yourself, and your ideal first date. If someone is interested in you they can either put you on their favorites list hoping that you’ll send them a note (for the less bold), or he will directly contact you with a note (the notes are on the site, only notifications that “you have mail” go to your email).

Now, I have to admit that I had a nice date (not getting expectations up) this weekend with one man I met on the site (the soccer-playing scientist), and may have one this week with the lawyer who would rather paint. But I just could not resist sharing with you some of the notes I have received. They are just too… well… when you read them you will wonder how anyone got out of school (elementary?) and through half a life with such thin communication skills. I am sorry in advance if I offend any of these men, but really, they should put more effort into themselves than anger directed at me for exposing their paltry writing skills and thinking ability. There were some more normal responses, but they were far outnumbered by these ineffectual ones and they are not mockable.

I have included the age of the writers in parentheses because I think it’s interesting to know; also, I have changed phone numbers and names to protect the guilty.

Subject: Hi!!!
Hi Cutie!!!!
I did want to just let you know that I just got done browsing every woman on the east coast.......Thats 14 states and thought Id let you know that you are definatley the cutiest, sweetest,Hottest most Georgous woman on here!!!!!! It took me 2 months ..11 days..... 16 hrs.....and 22 minutes to do that!!!!!
Shew am I whipped!!!!!
You could be on my FAV 5 anyday!!!!!!!
See ya! Mel
(42)

Subject: u are a gorgeous --- do u have yahoo IM
u are a gorgeous --- do u have yahoo IM - what is your id to chat more --
Jim
(34)

Mediation, or Sitting around a Big Table with Someone You Hate (Part 3)

This time I lasted twenty minutes around that table. It could be that my lack of patience with slime and mediator man is because this is the third time (1, 2) around that table (with more goodies in the middle that I did not touch) and I already knew how things would go. Or it could be because the day before slime was yelling at me, yet again, for moving his dishes and then within the rant he proceeded to fill a bowl with water and throw it on the fish I had draining in a colander in the sink, and then throw a cup with orange peels in it and so I was in a still annoyed-stressed-exhausted state of mind. I almost threw that cup with orange peels, that I was originally holding in my hand, at him: I raised my hand and saw his red, throbbing face and his little tape recorder and heard his little voice saying, “Don’t touch my things, if you do I will put yours on your bed”; “Call the police”; “I’ll take you to court and win.”And I just knew that I didn’t want to have to pay any more for having made the mistake of staying with this man for too long, and throwing anything at him could do just that. I guess I still haven’t lost my sanity.

Before I walked out, I stood up, told slime that I don’t have to listen to him insult me anymore and said to deer-in-the-headlights mediator man that it’s not okay that he lets slime speak to me like that.

What especially stands out is that slime is whining that he has to pay me $5,000 (which is a lot less than the $25,000 he should owe me but I relinquished $20,000 to get moving last time; I did say that he stole it from me). Then, when I said that he still hadn’t paid for $1,000 of home repairs his little voice started saying, “Read what the contract says.” Uh, no. No maneuverings, you should have paid for more repairs; it’s not legalese here, it’s about getting the house attractive enough to invite an offer. And that stupid mediator man is not able to discern a difference between how the two of us act or talk?!

By now I know that not only is mediator man not on my side, but more of the “yes, what this guys says makes sense” kind of person because, as my mother says, he hasn’t really seen him. Her analogy was a gynecologist who never gave birth. If you haven’t lived with this type of manipulative person and seen how he twists everything, you might think that he makes sense. When I said, no, I don’t agree to slime’s new price both slime and mediator man came in on a chorus that the court won’t address this. The implication was clear, do what he says because you have no other recourse. Really I thought, thinking of Leopard-Lady Lawyer.

Looking for Love Online: Yes, I’m Jewish

I am well-aware that religion is a very personal thing and no one is forced to have to deal with anyone else’s religion, or even their own for that matter, but I must say that the number of men on Chemistry.com who don’t want a Jewish woman in their lives is becoming disturbing. It’s not upsetting in the “Oh, no, there goes another potential life partner,” but disturbing in the sense that people are hunkering down in their own religion (whether they practice or not) and don’t want to dabble outside of those lines. I have noticed four trends for the opposite sex in the religion category: anybody who believes in anything or believes in nothing; spiritual but not religious; any type of Christianity; any type of Christianity or Muslim or Hindu. Nu, should I have gone to Jdate maybe?

I understand, really I do. I would prefer to date someone who is Jewish just because there would be a commonality there and, honestly, I don’t get Jesus. Granted, this not getting is a built-in to how I was raised, but still I have dated outside the faith and didn’t have a problem relating to those men and their religious beliefs and practices. One man was a practicing Catholic who went to mass every week but he still found a curiosity about my religion and I had one about his. Our level of commitment, and thinking about God, and what we got out of our religion was somewhat similar, which perhaps at a day-to-day living level might be better than being of the same religion but with a different commitment and learnings from the religion.

But back to the boys on Chemistry. At this point I just look to see their religious preference and often find myself clicking “Archive” (which means “no, but maybe in the future I will become desperate and will seek even in the reject pile”--they don't let you delete anyone. I wonder if they let men delete?) because why bother with someone who is so dismissive. One man, who seemed charming even though he did exhibit this closedmindedness, I still indicated an interest in; not a shock that he never responded. So they’re off my list. Which seems to make the options even slimmer, what with my also eliminating men whose political affiliation is listed as conservative. I just don’t feel like debating and I don’t want to be with someone again whose political leanings and understandings of the world and one’s responsibilities to the other of the world are so contrary.

Which brings me to another category where I seem to not fit the requirements: everyone seems to want a slender or toned/athletic woman. Some things I can change, some I can’t. Or maybe there are no things I can change and I need not to feel that that will prevent me from finding someone (a true love as we discussed today in class now that we have begun reading Romeo and Juliet) but rather this makes it easier for me to find a man who is looking for me and not bother with anyone else. 

I guess the benefit of the sites where you don’t have to fill out a profile is that you aren’t so dismissive or so dismissed. All the closedmindedness can surely come from experience: you know what you like, but it also has an awful tinge of bigotry. Perhaps this is the modern dating version of “not in my backyard.”

Who knows? At this point I’ve become a practicing skeptic, on both the religion front and the dating-with-positive-results front.

But… I just might be having a dancing date with Carlo who I met on a site where all you start with is a picture and a few words that give as much insight as you want into yourself, and then it’s up to the two of you to see if there is potential chemistry in the email banter. But who knows. I might say something that seems innocent and charming to me but is a red flag for Carlo. Oh, and then there's the tea date with Lee; another man I met on a non religion-expressing site. A busy weekend. I will definitely keep you updated.

Back Home

Here I am, after a four-day trip to LA during which I did too much driving through too much traffic amidst inconsiderate drivers (even taking into consideration New York drivers) and in full-view of too many accidents. The car that careened into the dividing wall after, I assume, the driver pressed on his brakes too hard was far too much drama for me. Older daughter’s response a few moments later was: “Why are you driving so slowly?” And younger daughter’s response when I told her about the accidents I saw was: “Maybe you’re bad luck.” You do have to love those girls: they are committed to not being a support to their mother all the time but becoming their own people with their own thoughts and causing me no end of concern as to their compassion… or lack thereof.

I was free of thoughts of ex-husband, which was good because the moment he noticed my return this morning he was back in slime mode. As I sat down to a plate of too much matzo brie (matzo that is softened in water, then mixed with an egg, heavily salted, and then fried) he took his egg carton out of the refrigerator and said: “Excuse me, these are my eggs.” Yes, he refers to me as “Excuse Me.” Lack of class cannot be made up for by using a term like that when it is dipped in bile. And since my daughter finished my eggs (I guess he knew this because he keeps tabs of things like this) and I knew what response I would get from him if I touched one of his eggs, I calmly responded: “I bought a container of 18 this morning.” And off slime went, leaving behind his dirty and clean dishes for someone else to take care of before more people were supposed to see the house, but didn’t show up.

I shall not dwell on seeing the university where older daughter wants to go except to note that she really wants to live in the LA area and study at this one school and is not concerned about going into massive debt to study there. In my role of mother I have tried to talk to her, but she will be 18 very soon and is very smart and confident. Grandma will try to talk to her tomorrow. It is true, I am not one of those mothers who sets down the law but have tried instead to make my daughters independent women. While I am sure that is the right way, sometimes I wish they would just do what I say!

Dinner with my blogging friend and her family showed me that blogging friends can be real friends. If I had met her in “real” life I am sure that we would have been friends. Dinner, then talking and meandering in a bookstore, and then ice cream—that’s the way to spend some time together away from a keyboard.

Even while ensconced in a hotel room that was formerly part of a silo (with round cement walls to prove it) and the rails of the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe a few yards from the room so that I could hear and feel the trains rush by I was not disturbed into thinking about men or the men who are either not that into me or who are not that into keeping up email correspondence at a Laura-suitable pace. This was good, very good. I was focused where I needed to be.

But just in case you were wondering, I had two emails when I returned from Chemistry-related gentleman: one who seems to be illiterate and the other who is taking too darn long between contacts. I had written him off, and oops, there he is. Oh, and there is a Craig’s List gentleman who seems to be more of a gentleman even though he has no degrees than many of the men who have graduate degrees. No, you cannot be my "pronce charming" whoever you are. And if you start every sentence with “I” in your profile I will archive you. And no, I don’t trust you when you say you want a faithful woman—not with my controlling-man experience. And if you say that a woman should never be in front or behind I will question you too (it was the never in front part that was a real turn-off, why can’t we take turns leading and following?). But we shall see, and if nothing comes of these, then c’est la vie, or c’est ma vie.

I walked a lot. I drove a lot. I didn’t eat too much. I adhered to Passover restrictions except for a couple of self-granted leniencies (I tried not to eat too many of the dry noodles in my awful Asian chicken salad that I didn’t know would be there, and I pretended to be Sephardic one day and had some pinto beans with my rice-less, taco-less Mexican lunch). While I am still not drinking coffee I have not been as good on the chocolate ban. How I wish the cashier at Trader Joe’s in Pasadena would not have wished me a “good evening with your chocolates” on Thursday night. Who says things like that? Besides, I bought the small box of truffles (only 30) and not the big box (50) and there are still some left.

My daughter and I got along most of the time; there were a few snips from her, but she’s really not used to being with mommy so much (or anyone or that matter), and even she said what a good time she had. That would be (as in the good time) except for my repeatedly bringing up the subject of the cost of tuition and her wanting to say “I do” to indebtedness.

And on the subject of meaning of life I decided that I need to do more and think less. So even walks during which I mull to myself need to be supplemented by real action. I’m not quite sure what, but perhaps hiking with other people would be a start. Maybe take a crafts class; I’ve wanted to learn how to throw clay (on a potter’s wheel) for more reasons than creativity.

Which brings me to a discussion of my writing and blogging. I think that I will be cutting back on the number of blog posts I do—that would be daily, and focus more on the questions and then one or two posts a week. This would enable me to start the book that I decided that I need/want to write. I’m not quite sure what shape it will take since the words “fictionalized real-life,” “philosophy of life” and “funny” are battling for control of my mind. I want to keep my connection with my readers, with the blogs I read and with the wonderful world of immediate communication but I also want to explore my depths even more, hence “the book” project.

Lastly. Happy Passover! Happy Easter! May happiness emerge from within us all.

This should be an interesting week: another mediation session.

Looking for Love Online: Twists and Turns

For a while I had a profile up on Match.com and Chemistry.com, since you can have a profile up for free. I had told myself that when I move out of the house I will pay, which means that you could actually make contact with someone and he can contact you, and not just dangle there in dating cyberspace. But for the past few weeks there had been so many nudges (okay, a few, or more than none) (that’s their term for someone who may be interested in you) from men on Chemistry, that I decided to splurge and pay for the three-month membership ($99). I figured that before I give up on finding a man who might be good for me I should expand beyond Craig’s List.

Wouldn’t you know it, but the minute the credit card numbers were sucked in and recorded no one has found me of interest again. And even those who had previously been nudging me were no longer nudging me back when I nudged them back. And those who I, in my forward woman of the modern world guise, nudged did nothing. Sure, most of the men probably haven’t paid their membership either, but what the heck. Maybe this is the Ponzi scheme of the dating world. I have a friend who told me that some sites will send you a picture of an extremely attractive man who wants to meet you to entice you to sign up.

And, indeed, that happened to me in the summer. But they did not trick me, because it happened within my free three-day membership. Yes, he was an attractive and very successful writer and screenwriter; although, the polo-playing was a bit over-the-top and I should have seen the set-up for what it was. Resist I couldn’t. So I responded to said polo playing writer only to have him disappear from view after I responded to his message or comment or love message or whatever the heck it is that they call it.

But back to now. For one week I was checking out men (you get five new matches a day) and putting them in my active matches file and archiving the men who just did not seem that they would be good matches. (For your information, I deleted on the basis of politics, appearance, lack of perceived compatibility in their “mission” statement, and religion if they didn’t even mark Jewish as an option for the woman of their life. And if I hedged, I archived them, figuring that I should see that as intuition to no.)

Combating the negativity that was surrounding me I decided (still being a woman of action and decision, not wanting to be passive) to return to Craig’s List. Yes, I know, what am I thinking? This time I was posting my own ad (I have done this a couple of times in the past and met some friend-quality men). The following is the ad I posted on Saturday night:

Words, laughter, smiles, and lots of walks - 47
The seasons seem to be unsure if it's time to switch, but I'm sure that it's time to switch from being single to being in a relationship.

Sincerity and compassion, as well as the ability to use a comma and an apostrophe correctly, are all things I desire in a man. Anything else? That the as-yet unmet man has a shoulder to lean on and knows when he needs to lean on someone else's shoulder.

Except for a few one-sentence replies that seemed to be the extent of their writing ability and the one man who sent the link to his own ad which ended up being a picture of him and his thingie in a very excited state in his boxers, most seemed to live up to the basic writing requirement. There was one gentleman who commented on two errors in the ad (I have corrected them here), so maybe I was a slacker for him. Two of the automatic deletes included a two-page response about himself and a cut and paste version of his Match.com ad (what, don’t I deserve some creativity?).

I shall admit in this public forum that there was a bit of back and forth (okay one email) that was ended when the gentlemen saw my picture. What is particularly upsetting about this is that in each case I said, “he’s not attractive, or he looks really old, or he looks really weird, or he has a huge chin, but maybe he is nice and we will click so I will respond with my photo” only to have me deleted by said undesirable.

By Sunday morning, when no responses came from the photo-guys, I figured that nothing was going to happen. So I went over to the Men Looking for Women section and responded to one ad. No response came from him. Luckily Sunday was spent grading papers, recuperating from the Saturday round of insults from slime, and being out of the house for yet another Open House so I had other things to think of besides cyber rejection.

Then Sunday evening came. And the man whose ad I answered responded to me that he had saved the best response for last—mine. And then a man who answered my ad piqued my interest and I piqued his interest. And to this day (a whole four days later) I am in email contact with both of said gentlemen. One man has seen my picture and has not voted me off his slender island (or is it the straight hair island?); the other man, let’s just say that we are exposing our minds to each other at this point and not our personages. Both appear to be intelligent and witty, or at least they appreciate my wit, and are intrigued by me.

I am trying not to imagine a scenario whereby I have met two men at the same time who I click with until I at least meet them. And since in the past whenever I was worried about getting two of something, I end up getting none—like in job offers—so I shall not worry. I shall continue with each gentleman in our repartee and see what happens.
Ah, the twisted turn of fate. Or at least a breather from all of the rejection.

* * *
It seems that I am not allowed to luxuriate for too long. I had a phone conversation with one man last night and it did not, in any way, replicate the easy interaction and charm of the emails, nor was it a conversation that effortlessly flowed. No, I needed to put my thinking cap on and ask questions to keep the talk going. And he did not send me an email this morning about how great it was to talk, as seems to be the norm. An email came in the early afternoon. I will not make a judgment until (if?) a meeting occurs.

The other man, the one who answered my ad, is sticking to a “go slow” method of emailing, keeping them to one a day, where each is almost an epistle (mine and his).

Getting Up-to-Date

A coincidence, times two. I went to the neighborhood supermarket yesterday and who do I see? My realtor, the very woman I said to myself as I got into my car to drive to the supermarket that I need to speak to. So I did. A few aisles later I looked up from my perusals and there was the previous realtor. I saw him see me and then turn and walk away from the aisle I had apparently made poisonous. We changed realtors because he didn’t sell the house. But honestly, he could never get exman to agree to change the price and so the house never sold because it was priced too high because these realtors are all optimists. And they listened to exman’s analysis as if he knows anything about real estate. Now, well, now the newest realtor is facing his obstinacy and delaying tactics, and has started singing the same “but exman thinks this and exman thinks that” bullshit that has led me further into this tunnel with a light somewhere, very, very far away.

Speaking of home repairs. The newest realtor is now dealing with exman who will not commit to doing any repairs and whining about the ones that she suggests be done. We are both committed to spending $1,000 each on the repairs and so far we have only spent $300 between the two of us. All of a sudden he’s saying the condenser repair that we did a couple of months ago should be included in that. And he’s always too busy to get back to the realtor about which repairs he will pay for, and he is remarking that much of it doesn’t need to be done, we should just wait for the right buyer who will buy the house without those repairs. Stupid little man—have you not noticed that that strategy has not worked for almost two years! But me, I’ve had it. I told the realtor to go ahead with the repairs I told her I would pay for and I had her relay that information to him. Get the handyman was my big message at the supermarket meeting. Enough already. No one wants to do your dishes anymore and no one wants to smell the food you make.

And on the topic of men who are not really men at all. On Tuesday pseudo-man sent me an email after more than a month of silence; a silence which I expected to last forever. And now that I am a woman who is acting on her instincts and one who is also not so desperate for sex and to be called “babe,” I decided the best thing for me to do would be to just not answer him. There’s no law that requires that I respond to someone’s email, especially if my INSTINCT tells me not to.

And more lesser men. In an email to a friend I remarked that it would be easier to keep to my decision on pseudo-man if I had moved on, if I had another man in my life so that I wouldn’t see the relationship as any rosier than it was, and it wasn’t very. So I decided, after reading a New York Times wedding announcement wherein the couple said they met on Yahoo Personals through the Pen Pal section, to go to the Platonic section of Craig’s List. If there’s no spark, at least let there be someone I can have an occasional dinner with not at a diner in a mini booth for one. And low and behold the request was answered, and he was Jewish, too. We seemed to have a lot in common, and we even did a phone call. We were talking talking talking. We were laughing laughing laughing. We were entertaining each other. And then, all of a sudden, he said that someone’s at the door, that no one ever comes to his house unexpected. He asked until when he could call me back, I told him until 10 that night.

That was on Friday. I guess it was a line and I was “not that into you’d” on a phone call. I know that this man has absolutely no obligations to me, for goodness sake’s we only communicated for two days, but still, it was odd. Or was it just disappointing because odd seems to be so commonplace these days?

Not quite a mother-daughters event. My daughters wanted to go to the outlet mall and since the father does not let the daughter drive the other daughter, I got to be the driver of choice. On the way there I was called “bipolar brain,” upon which I turned around. Then we continued our fight about college money and how it would be handled. Did I tell you that my daughter got into college in California and now plans on leaving for LA as soon after her 18th birthday as possible?

Somehow we managed to get to the mall. They went their way, and I went mine. How much fun. I figured that since I have the two of them together we’ll go out to eat at a nice Chinese restaurant after the shopping. But when we met two hours later they had already eaten fast food and just wanted to go home to complain that there is no food in the house.

At this point I am blaming no one for my daughters and their attitudes and words. I have no energy. I don’t want to cook for them. I don’t buy what they want in the supermarket because I really have no idea what they want and I don’t want to be told the food I cook is bad. I just want to be showered with love and pampered. I want to be left alone until I absorb enough love to have the energy to shower it back on them.

Weekend work. Now, now I need to start compiling my list of harassments, non-payments, non-compliances by exman. And I am sick sick sick of it. Since October 2004 when I first filed for divorce this endless game has been played. And, obviously, things were bad for a while before that to have gotten to that point. My satisfaction with him being served the papers while he was dressed in just a towel that barely gets around his stomach has long since ceased to bring a smile to my lips. I have been paid back in nastiness to such a degree that my little victory is as a breeze in a hurricane.

Looking ahead. Just let the future prevent the present from being my past, present and future. 

I Couldn’t Help Myself

For two days I have been dealing with mr.ex moving my dirty dishes and assorted pots to the dining room table (“my spot”) as punishment because I had the audacity to move his frying pan, that he put in the sink expecting me to wash it, and put it on his table. Childish, yes, but there are some lines that I don’t want to cross, and washing his dishes is one of the main ones. Anyway, there was this movement of dishes and then the requisite curses and insults from him that incorporated the weekend drama, because the rest of the time I was trying to grade 75 papers (all of which were bad, causing me to think what a bad teacher I am and what to do to help those 14-year-olds think and write at the same time).

All of this ridiculousness did prompt me to look for a rental place, which would cost the other half of my salary that my share of the mortgage here doesn't take, which would leave me and my daughters with nothing to live on. But I am determined to be out near my birthday, which is coming up.

Anyway. Back to the drama. While I know that I should not get on Craig’s List personals because it has become a real downer, it has, unfortunately, also become a bit of an obsession for me. I keep thinking that the reality is not the real reality so I keep expecting an actual man with intelligence, personality, and smile that charms me who finds all of that in me to make himself known. Alas, this has not happened. (Duh, for anyone who as read any posts here.) Do I scare them off with my verbal antics? Perhaps my discussion of why drama is an expected part of life scared off one man, while my ability to string sentences together that developed a point could have scared off another. I will not say looks because lately I have been found to be beautiful (YES!), except for Mark. Which brings me to what I couldn’t help doing.

Now mind you I broke a cardinal rule with Mark: I responded to an email that had lol (no, it was L.O.L.) in it—not just in one email, but in two out of three. And since he is not a man of many words, that was a big part of his writing. But I thought maybe I am being too discriminatory in the email part of the dating game, and I would give him the benefit of the doubt that his verbal ability will come out in conversation. DING DING DING. Dumb move. Stick to the rules, that’s why you made them.

Mark: Your very pretty Laura. I'm looking for some one that is height weight Proponent.  ?? Don’t mean to offend you ok.

(I will not even use my red pen to mark all of Mark’s grammatical errors, I will skip right to my response—which I couldn’t resist sending.)

ME:  You're a stupid man, no offense.

For those of you who are not in with this dating term: to be height-weight proportional is a way of saying “thin” or no evidence that you have eaten a Big Mac or M&Ms for the past 47 years. Back to the rules. 

Thinking of Midlife Men

The other day, as my daughter was in H&M trying on a dress for a school presentation, I watched as a woman looked for a corset and matching thong for, I assume, Valentine’s Day. Observing her intense scrutiny made me think of the men I have dated since the summer of 2007, when I first hit Craig’s List in search of love, and the fact that I have no need for sexy lingerie. I’ve been thinking about them, not because I fear I made a horrible mistake and nixed a man who I have come to regret nixing, but because it gives me cause for pondering the roads they took to reach their midlife journey alone, and me mine.

• The first man I dated was pseudo-man, and so far he is the only one who got past three dates with me. His career in the military had been one full of early advances and big expectations, until something happened and instead of being on the road to being a general he left the military and became a defense contractor. That midlife shove off the path of self-esteem seemed to have pushed him onto an emotional seesaw. Too bad. But there's a point when you realize that you don't need to stand by a man you're dating if he doesn't deserve it.

• There were two single, as in never married, men who I dated. One was a librarian who kept talking about how he was concerned about his and his mother’s health. Then there was the man who talked about things he did in the past. I don’t mean trips down the Amazon River and pottery classes, but dinner with a friend the weekend before and what they said and what they ate. Neither of them seemed to know what conversation is. Not that I didn’t try to help, I asked questions, I worked to get them out of their shells. But if when I said that I lived in Israel for 17 years there were no questions to me, then we have a deep, deep inability to be interested in someone else, which brings to mind the “no wonder they’re still single” thought.

• There was the man who started off well, what with his raising his two sons after his wife left them because she didn’t want to be a mommy any more. But he lost his appeal when he said he is living in the basement of a friend’s house because he and his second wife can’t decide where to live and she is obsessed with her career. He seemed buffeted by the people in his life and so undefined in himself. One would think that a personality would develop on top of a life, but sometimes that just isn’t the case.

• Two men told me that their wives were control freaks. One explained how he was required to strip down before coming into the house after working outside. From what he said, he separated from his wife because he couldn’t take it anymore. I can’t remember the specifics from the other man’s issues with his wife, but from what he said she put him down all the time, especially to their daughter. As I told man number two, I don’t date people with worse home situations than mine. And man number one, well, we connected as friends who could commiserate but men don’t want to be friends with women they want to date.

• The ex-Brit, who was doing well in his career and seemed to have confidence, was too “into” his teenage daughter. This man has done what I have come to find many men who separate and divorce do if they have a teenage daughter: they make their daughter into a kind of surrogate wife. It’s as if they are determined to make a relationship with a woman work, so rather than finding a woman their own size, they focus on their daughter and seemingly woe her. It’s weird, it’s gross, it’s inappropriate. (And yes, exman does it with older daughter.) Yes, I know that we are supposed to put our kids before a person we met a week ago, but seriously, wouldn’t you rather go out on a date than drive your child to soccer practice?

• Of late there have been two very nice, intelligent, short, dumpy men, but neither pressed the charm button. One’s expression of what he probably thought of as interest seemed to me a tad creepy. And when in the midst of our conversation he implied that I was being too picky in my man hunt, my annoyance button was pressed. The other man, after telling him that I have too much going on to enter into a romance (this was after finding out about where pseudo-man had been for that lost week), decided that if he can’t romance me, then he’s off. Why is it that lonely middle-aged men would rather be alone than friends with a woman who interests them? Or do they want to free up their calendars for the right woman? From this side of the table I can state that I would rather have friends to go out with and talk to than be at home bemoaning my lone status.  

And me, what could be said of me and how I have arrived at midlife alone? That I don’t take enough responsibility for where I am in my life, that I talk a lot and interrupt a lot, that I have not grown past hoping a man will rescue me? I guess. It could also be said that I have had many disappointments, personal and professional. On top of that could be added that I expect a man to be engaged in life, and not be a passerby. That I have arrived at midlife wanting more, reaching for more, that where I’ve been is not where I’m going, and I expect the same in my partner.

I also hope that on one Valentine’s Day a man would wear a man-version of a corset and thong for me, because if I’ve learned anything from this life and dating process, it’s that the adventurous person I was when I was twenty is still in here. And that I like to twist things around.   

Sprinkling of Vindication

As a counter to the guys who do the internet dating equivalent of hanging up on me when they see my picture, today someone called me "radiantly beautiful." Yes, I know, I'm not supposed to be thinking about a relationship while I'm still living in this absurd situation, but the desire to be desired comes and goes in cycles, and this one hasn't worked its way out yet.   

Why do I do this to myself?

I was rejected twice in two days by men after they saw my photo. It wouldn't be so bad if one of them didn't have as his first line in his ad: “Brains before beauty.” Ugh. And it’s not as if they are Johnny Depp in the flesh. (This reference is in deference to my younger daughter’s obsession with Mr. Depp.) I mean neither of them made me drop my mouse in excitement. What is it that was wrong for them?

May I be so indelicate as to assume I know and say: fuck all of those men who want a SLENDER, PETITE, SKINNY woman. Why, why do you want a SLENDER, PETITE, SKINNY woman? Are you unable to think and see for yourself? Are you completely swayed by society's sick norms? Do you really think skinny is better than evidence of life?

Or is that code for YOUNGER? Because I don’t know about you, but most of the women my age—their age—are no longer slender, petite, skinny. Not that I ever was, because I never was. Think more Marilyn Monroe (I can’t believe I just compared myself to her, but heck, I can do what I want when I rail against bone lovers) rather than Gwyneth Paltrow. And F the men my age who want a younger woman to refresh their hearts and make themselves feel as if the aging process has been stopped. It hasn’t. And F all the diet mongerers, I can’t bear another conversation about what to eat and what not to eat, with more emphasis on what not to eat. And F all of the men who say that they work out six days a week--because he doesn't have the kids to take care of--and because he really does think that he and his body are a temple.  

And F all the delicate designers who find the willowy frame of a 6’ woman who weighs 100 pounds to be perfect. And F the creative directors who air brush extra pounds off of the bodies of women with mini-curves. And F all of us who think that to be thin is to be good, and to be “with a few extra pounds” indicates that we are bad people—we are weak, unable to resist temptation. (Please, bring the temptation on.) Now I know why we marry when we’re young, before the Phase II body has set in, because if those were the Phase I bodies, there wouldn’t be enough children born out of those relationships to sustain society.  

And I will not diet for an as yet unmet man. I need to exercise for myself. But you know what (whine coming), it’s hard to put the brownie down when there is nothing happy in your life. When the freezer breaks and you need to buy a new refrigerator from monopoly money, and the circuit breaker breaks so that there is no hot water for a week, and you have no parties to go to, and you’re bored with your life and dissatisfied with your unmet desires, and you’re tired of it all being so hard and futile, it’s damn hard to punish yourself even more. And yes, I know that I am the only one paying for that brownie down the hatch, but there needs to be some infinitesimal feeling of pleasure in the present.

And why the hell did the pseudo-separated man tell me that “I am perfect”? Because I now believe that I will meet another man who rocks my boat and who thinks I am perfect, in my Phase II body and with my Phase II personality.

Ugh. What a year. Here’s to 2009. I have no idea what I want from it or myself, but I would like a break in the unpleasantness rolling my way ever so consistently. And I would like to move out of this five-bedroom, 3.5 bath unhappiness-perpetuating compound. And I would like someone to seep into my heart with joy and unfettered appreciation.

Looking for Love Online: Tips from Women to Men (for Women and Men)

The following are some basic rules for men who would like to date women, or for men who are looking to develop a relationship with a woman and not just jump from unsuccessful venture to unsuccessful venture. These rules apply to the part where you meet on-line and then to the part where you hopefully meet in-person.

1. Tacky ads. You know, some of us really do love walks on the beach and candlelit dinners—don’t mock them and us, the people who have managed to remain romantics in spite of all the odds.

2. Do not send an old or untrue photograph. Truth is better than fiction in this instance. If you’re bald, shine the lights on it. If you’re fat, reveal it (well, covered, please). If you have a wonderful smile, show it.

3. Do not send pictures with your children. You are probably the best father in the world, but, honestly, it feels like you are using your kids to get to a woman, and that is just not good—it is not what a good father would do.

4. Do not send pictures with or of your wife (whether she is dead or you are divorced). Really, how could you think that a woman wants to see her before she has met you? If your plan is to show what a great wife you had, then get a bottle of wine and stay at home to watch the wedding video.

5. Do not send a photograph with you and a vehicle of any type. We will not assume that the size of the vehicle, you know, represents your size, although we may assume that the speed does correlate to your speed.

Still Looking, Kind Of

I just read a listing on JDate and the guy noted that he is not interested in a woman who blogs about the details of her life. Well la-de-da to you. Why? Is he scared that his foibles will be blazed across the internet and multitudes of people will read that he is sweet and has restored my faith in men, or conversely that he is another controlling man who won’t see me again. Oh well, I have self-selected out of some people’s lives by writing, by communicating, by reaching out to friends and creating new friends. If that is scary to some men, so be it. 

Looking for Love on Craig’s List: Why Don’t Relationships Begin

Coffee man and I have independently agreed that this is not to become a relationship. Before I go any further, I would like to state that I was not the relationship coward; I was the one who, on Wednesday morning, emailed him stating this conclusion from our date on Sunday. A little while later he got back to me to affirm that conclusion. I wonder if the fact that I spoke up and he did not is why this was yet another case of a non-click.

Was he planning to not get back to me and let me come to my own conclusion that it ended before it began? And me, while I was expecting to hear from him regarding his suggestion that we do something more exciting next time we go out (instead of dinner, although I was wary since he didn’t state a specific day, which is what he had been doing up until then), was thinking about how to tell him that it’s just not going anywhere. But there was no way that I would not tell him that, it seems so cowardly and not where I am in this mature woman’s desire to be upfront as much as possible in my relationships with boys. So, his reticence and my upfrontness (okay, brash, maybe I have become brash?) did not make clarions call.

After contemplating our few dates, and the few dates with men who came before him, I have realized that dating is not about one person being boring or uninteresting, it’s about how two people who are probably (possibly) not boring and uninteresting appear to be that way to each other. There was nothing “wrong” with him, and (I hope) there was nothing wrong with me (except my brashness, and I am sure that there are some who would find charm in my New York-Israel-Virginia personality combo), it was just the two of us that flopped and foundered. I had always thought to term people who didn’t click with me as being boring, but I finally get it, that interpersonal chemistry thing, it’s no one’s fault.

An hour before our final date (of four) I picked up my younger daughter from a friend’s house (note: after the age of eleven it can no longer be referred to as a “playdate,” rather it is hanging out). I talked to the boy’s father (yes, one of her BFFs is a boy) for a few minutes. We talked, laughed, and joked. And then I went inside and talked to his mother, who seems to like to talk and laugh as much as I do. What ensued was the mommy-mommy talk that gives the kids at least another twenty-minutes of “hanging out” time. In that time we covered: Sarah Palin, teen pregnancy, gossip from Alaska (thanks Carly), Bat Mitzvahs, chicken wings and chicken wing places, Baja Fresh, dating, silent auctions, and how incredibly tall my daughter is getting and why does she have such long legs unlike her mother. Our conversation covered more and was livelier than my date, by far.

It’s not that I want to date my daughter’s friends’ mothers, but why is it that it’s so much easier to find women with whom I click and not men? Is it the whole “similarity of experience” thing, where we virtually speak in shorthand, we get each other so well. Or is it that my daughter has already done a pre-screening and if her friends pass the test to flow with her personality, the parents will flow with mine as well? I once wrote an essay titled, “My Daughter, My Pimp,” in which I talked about how all of my friends at that time were mothers of my older daughter’s friends (this is the daughter who minutes ago called me “the biggest fucking bitch” because I cancelled her Netflix subscription because she is so defiant and nasty, so we are going back a long way). So I know that there are people I get along with, and I don’t think that it is “faked,” those doorway friendships, so why is it so hard to find a man with whom I can freely talk and joke?

I’m not kidding here—I want to figure this out. Is it just that I have not met any clickable men? Is it that I don’t do a good Craig’s List screening? Is it really that men and women are so different in outlook and mindset that only the attraction enables them to overcome those natural differences? TM (Transition Man) and I had great email and in-person conversations, and I always wanted to be touching him (up until the end when I was too pissed off and hurt). Is it that without sexual tension there is no conversational click? Or is it that without an attraction I don’t (or am unable to) “put out” in the conversation?

Is this a chicken and an egg scenario? Or is it my libido dictating? If there’s no physical click, then there’s no mental click. I guess that makes it easier to say “ciao baby.” But if just feels harder, to not find someone to talk to or tryst with, repeatedly. Maybe I need to ask my mommy friends if they know of someone. But I’m thinking that if they knew someone they would already have suggested them. Oh, well. I still believe that there’s a click in my future.

* * *

Looking for Love on Craig’s List: Coffee Anyone?

Contrary to prior pronouncements, on Saturday I “consulted” Craig’s List personals. My intense feeling of being beaten down, of not being in control of my life, of needing to be outside of my box in even a small way, caused this pledge breaker. I answered one ad, because there was only one that seemed to correspond with a man who might be, well, a decent human being.

No, I am not interested in being spanked. No, I am not interested in dominating you. No, I am not interested in your dominated me. No, I am not interested in your need to bring passion to your life because you are in a passionless marriage. No, I am not slender. No, I do not come without baggage. No, I am not interested in going on a ride on your bike. No, I am not fascinated by your need to write a full-page ad about how wonderful you are.

And when I un-ranaway on Saturday, I had a response from that possibly decent man. And following through on this need of movement, the correspondence was brief and to the point. We set up a date for coffee on Sunday afternoon. When he suggested that we go to the coffee shop I had mentioned off-handedly, I was tempted to say “No, no you can’t come to my place.” But I decided to go with the flow here; why not meet in my favorite coffee shop? Will he stalk me for ever after? Again, trusting my ability to know when to flow, I flowed and agreed to meet there.

When I walked in at precisely the right time, he was sitting there, with a cup of coffee in front of him. Oy. I was ready to leave.

My last date also had his coffee before I got there. What is with these men? Mr. Previous waited at the table outside of Panera’s as I went in and got my lemonade. Yes, I eschewed coffee. I wanted to have some tartness in my drink, at least, for all hope of a charming date had flown the coop with that cheap maneuver. I admit it, I am a feminist, except when it comes to men paying on a date, at least in the beginning. If he can’t rise to the occasion for a $2 cup of coffee or lemonade, what hope is there for the future? Generosity of spirit has got to start somewhere.

I’m not sure if my face fell or if I was able to hold it up, but to his credit he got up immediately and offered to get me something. (There is still the strike of impatience that is being held against him, but I don’t hold grudges for too long.) Yes, I permitted him to buy me a cup of iced coffee. And then we sat outside and talked for an hour and a half. And I was not tempted in the least to provide a point-by-point account against the ex, I just didn’t want to, it was—is—not who I am now. And as my friend said to me the next day when I told her this, “good for you;” I am glad that I no longer define myself through that experience.

When we walked back inside the coffee shop to go potty, there was a friend’s husband (thankfully he was not at my usual table). The man, my friend and I discovered in very heart-wrenching discussions, is my ex’s twin. A man who could go count for count opposite my ex in behavior toward his wife and daughters. Ugh. What a way to end a date.

Outside, the hopefully decent, yet impatient man, told me how much he enjoyed our date and how attractive I am. Did I say anything about his being impatient? I meant to say that he is perceptive. And he asked if I would like to go out for dinner on Friday. Sounds nice to me. 

Looking for Love on Craig's List: Dumped in the Bathroom

I'm not sure what lesson must be learned from my last date, but it is one that was not learned with a smile and I have not yet been able to find the humor in it. Disregarding the fact that the gentleman in question was a half-hour late (he did tell me that he might be running late), he seemed to be a nice man. Well, that is until he completely veered from the story told in his ad. The ad, in part, stated:

This has been quite a week. The long term demise of my long term relationship finally came toppling down.

However, all is not lost. With this frustrating period now just ending, I would love to have an adventure.

At first he revealed what has become a disconcertingly common theme: that his wife abused him. (Words people, words do hurt.) And, of course, they should have divorced a long time ago. Oh why, why do we stay in dead marriages? What’s with the “for the good of the children” b.s.? Someone has just got to realize that it is not good for the children to think that marriage is about how two people stop loving each other and in place come to dislike (even hate) each other, and how family meals and vacations are not about enjoying themselves but about not getting into arguments. What is good for children in that?

Okay, back to the gentleman and his oops detail; and I mean OOPS! His wife has cancer; she was diagnosed a year ago. Big OOPS! Oh, and (at least here he gave some credibility to his role as husband and human being) he is not pursuing a divorce nor a separation, since he would “be there for her” as she battles the cancer. So why didn’t he just say that he needs a night out with someone to listen to him without the "relationship over" detail? And why didn't he go to the "casual encounters" section?

 

I had originally thought I could just listen and talk to someone who’s also getting out of a long-term relationship and see where it goes, without too many expectations (in fact, that was a positive point for me). But this, this was certainly not what his words alluded to. I think I’m a compassionate woman, but there’s a difference between laying yourself out to be used to soothe a man’s psyche (seems like I’ve been there before) and a grownup cooperative, mutually beneficial relationship (or whatever it is where you both get something out of the relationship and one is not used to bolster up the other with no compensating sentiments). Maybe I’m harsh, lacking in compassion, and maybe that’s why I had the relationship I did, but I think that I gave mr. ex what he needed for years, but I did not get what I needed, and I am very leery of being used again or letting myself put someone else’s needs ahead of my own. (Is that bad to say? Are we really supposed to listen to those love songs that say we should love unconditionally and forever and put our beloved’s needs ahead of our own? Has anyone noticed that most of those love songs are written by kids in their teens and twenties and they know not of the realities of love and life?)  

Alright, at this point I figured we’d have a couple of drinks, I’d listen to him and the evening would come to an end. I would think of it as a night out with a friend, who really needed it, no more. But those drinks were strong, very strong. After one and a half (if I have a drink, it is generally just one), I tried to elegantly walk to the bathroom, past the prostitutes at the bar, and into the handicapped stall—I needed space. And, it turned out, time. The lovely tiramisu that I shared with a friend at lunch came up, as did those nuts in a dish.

Each time I thought I was ready to go back, I decided to stay and, well, nurture myself. When I finally made it out, I found the table empty: empty of glasses, empty (thankfully) of the check, and empty of a man in a confused state. Gone gone gone. I sat down at the empty table, wondering how he had just left (why couldn't my ex-husband do that?). My mother, upon recounting this tale to her a few days later, wondered how he had left me—without ensuring that I got home safely. My response was, “I’m a big girl.” Maybe now she really gets it that I don’t have a man to look after me; that I am the "man" who looks after myself. He certainly was not responsible for my getting home safely.

After I told the waiter that, no, I don’t want another drink, I sat there for a few more minutes, waiting until I felt ready to drive home.

Back in the handicapped stall, I got a call from the gentleman of the hour. “Where are you?” he asked. Apparently, people really do believe that in real life people walk out on their dates with nary a word. He, apparently, thought that I had left and was home snug in my bed. As I was about to revisit some more tiramisu, I told him that I had drank too much, was still in the bathroom, and excuse me I have to go.

I finally made it to my car, feeling sober, in more ways than one. I drank some of the cold coffee from the morning and ate part of a donut. That and a piece of gum and I was on my way, slowly, home.

At 8am the next day I got a text message from him that I am a nice girl (I am 47, I am not a girl, but that is a topic for a separate post) and that he apologized for leaving, that he thought I had left.

All the best to him and his wife.

Regarding the lessons learned, I think I figured them out. One: I will not be looking for love on Craig’s List anytime soon—if ever. I think the ease of it and the lack of any commitment (money) required makes it rife for people to act on whim. Two: my rule about not dating anyone with a more complicated home life than mine definitely seems to be one worth upholding. Three: one drink needs to be a rule, not a habit. And four, don't let other people's actions bring me down; sometimes it really is about them, not me.

 

Humor: nope, I still haven’t found it. This still seems sad, sad for both of us.

Looking for Love on Craig's List: Nice Guys

I just returned from my fifth date in about two months (with four different men). Yeah me! Well, not really. They were nice guys, but not one of them offered the faintest spark in me—or, it seemed to me, in themselves. They seemed bored with who they are. Bored or tired, perhaps, all heading into or in the midst of their midlife crises. And for me, a newcomer into their lives, it does not offer a welcome environment.

 

Tonight’s date was with Andrew. Now why would a 54-year-old man who is losing his job and his apartment in two weeks and who is contemplating moving out-of-state in two weeks be looking for love on Craig’s List? And does he really expect some damsel to save him from his distress? He is a nice guy, but what am I supposed to say to a man who asks me if I think he should shave his head? And when I asked him why he wanted to shave it, his response was that his hair was so gray. Again, what am I supposed to say? I, of course, said the wrong thing. I said, then you will need to shave your beard, too. Immediately his hand went up to his goatee and stated hesitantly, it’s not so gray. No, of course it’s not, and it’s not. But I really didn’t feel the desire to be exposed to his turmoil. I mean couldn’t he at least try to reel me in before firing down on me his absolute sense of dejection? Luckily my car was close by and it was about to rain. I walked to the car in a very weary state. But, at least I had a good dinner (I paid for my meal, not wanting to feel that I had added to his burden in any way).

 

A few weeks ago I had a date with Mark. I am pleased to state that upon learning that his home situation is even worse than mine, I knew to run run run! But not after we had a great conversation comparing war stories. I wish him all the best with someone who will offer him the compassion he deserves. Unfortunately, I need a break from giving and would like to be on the receiving side of care and compassion for a change.  

 

Now, last night’s date was with Terrence, who is single. Single as in never married; some men say that they’re single which is a euphemism for divorced or separated; apparently some men think if they ignore or deny their past they can invite a better future into their lives. Whatever.

 

It’s not that Terrence’s being a caddie in any way had a negative impact on me. He had dropped out of the rat race, either temporarily or permanently, and was thoroughly enjoying his stress free life. What got to me was that he said that on his last day off he went fishing with a buddy. I don’t know, for me he just seemed to be disconnected from people, from the world, from the things that—to me—make a life worthwhile. Maybe he’s looking to meet the woman with whom he can connect, but it seems that a woman would not change him, just get in sync with him. I don’t want stress in my life, either, but I do want to feel that I am having an impact, that my life is not merely a place-holder.

 

And then there is Frank, with whom I had two dates. Frank is another forty-something, never-married man. We had a nice first date, although I did have the feeling that the exchange of stories was as deep as our conversation would get, I still decided to give him a second chance. On date number two my intuition was proven to be as sturdy as ever. When I commented on having eaten wonderful Egyptian hummus with beans in an Arab restaurant in Jerusalem when I was living in Israel, I received a nod. Not a question about life in Israel. I mean everyone—everyone—asks if I was afraid living there. And I always—always—comment on how I felt safer there than in New York. But nary a word or comment from Frank. A few minutes later I commented on having met an acquaintance in a coffee shop that morning, who, it turns out, has a husband who is the apparent twin of my ex-husband. Again, the nod. Not a question. Not an inquiry. Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to pry, which is fine for him, but not for me. I have no desire to be with someone who exhibits no curiosity, for whom life seems to be about which restaurant to eat in and what to order.

 

So here I am. Home alone. After all of these dates I realize how hard it really is to find some one who is on the same path and current as I am. I don’t despair of finding him, I just hope that I won’t be so bored by the whole dating process that I end up boring him away.

 

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Note: All names have been changed to protect the truly innocent (men who did not know that they were going on a date with a woman who blogs about her life).

 

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Looking for Love on Craig's List: 47 Is Not the New 27

The other day I answered an ad in Craig’s List that couldn’t have received, in my mind, a more appropriate response. But I got no response.

The ad’s heading was: “Arise, fair sun! (45).” That quote is from Romeo and Juliet, which I have spent weeks reading and discussing with my classes. I opened my book right to those lines to find a response. The body of the ad was Romeo’s soliloquy when he espies Juliet on her balcony. It begins: "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? / It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. / Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.” It even includes the lines I have been repeating in my head for the past few days, “It is my lady, O, it is my love!” O, a romantic!

I was so ready with my response. I wrote back what Juliet says when she hears an as yet unidentified man in her orchard talking to her, “What man art thou, that, thus bescreened on craigslist, / So Stumblest on my counsel?” I mean how more appropriate could a response be? It even showed wit. Except, except I wrote my age in the subject line. Maybe he really is looking for a Juliet (which would be a 13-year-old), or someone closer to her age than I am.

Except for the twenty-year-old who responded to my ad saying that he always wanted to have sex with an older woman, my age doesn’t generally act as bait. And if a man discounts a woman just for her age, then I might as well be upfront about it.

I have a ten-year age range: five years younger or five years older than me, that seems about right on a superficial level. But the “men” seem to have a different idea. Forty-year-olds seem to not want women in their forties. I, obviously, can’t be sure why men don’t respond to responses. Maybe they are intimidated by responses with no spelling or grammatical errors? But my declaration of age—yes, I am as old as you are (maybe even a year older!) and so, probably, as potentially graying, decaying, and burdened as you—may not be what they desire.

At this point, I am not looking to enter into a November-August relationship (that would be he is November). I would like to meet someone who is approximately where I am in life, with similar challenges and concerns. Why would I seek out someone who is looking for a retirement home in Florida? (I am assuming that, keeping with men’s desire for younger women, my age would be attractive to this age group.)

Oh, it was so easy when I was in my twenties. I didn’t have to entice anyone online; I didn’t have to reveal my age and body type to strange strangers so that they could cross me off since I didn’t meet their requirements. I could just walk down the streets of New York and Israel and Ireland and meet men. Yes, I had the power! But now, now I’m not sure what I have, but it’s obviously not the power. (Except with one man, but he turned out to be married, so that kind of negated the whole “you’re the woman for me” thing.)

I was 24 when I got married; I got married young not just because I met the love of my life (I hope not!), but because I looked forward to sharing my life with someone. The sharing of lives and dreams (theoretically, since it obviously didn’t work out that way) was what I sought. Maybe because I have always been an independent spirit that groundedness of being part of a couple was good for me (at least initially). So this solitary life, while it suits my personality, does not bring me joy. And so I am compelled to see if there is someone out there, if there is a truer love, even though each non-answered response tears at me. At this age—47—I should have developed thicker skin, but it is just as sensitive as when I was younger, but at least then the encounters were kinder, at least then there were encounters.

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