The Car Dealer Service Man

My biggest unrealized crush is on the man who runs the service desk at the dealership where I get my oil changed.

We smile at each other and flirt in between customers.  He knows my name and what I do for a living.  I feel butterflies the day of my oil change.  Recently I've started wearing makeup and dresses to the dealership; I no longer show up in my Saturday morning running gear.  He's commented that I look nice.

I pulled up to the dealership one weekend listening to my favorite pop radio station, but I wanted him to be aware that I was smarter than this.   I switched the dial to NPR so when he restarted the car, he would see exactly how intelligent and worldy I am.  And he noticed!  In fact, he said he'd been listening to the same program and wanted to know what I thought about it.

I had hoped he would be silently impressed by my fierce attention to world affairs, but I hadn't counted on having a discussion with him.  I'd been car dancing to Kesha and had no idea what the program was about.  I fumbled my way through the conversation, and he seemed confused:  "Wait, I'm talking about the program you were listening to."  I responded, "Oh yeah, I guess my mind was somewhere else."  Doh.

About a week later, I got an email from his work account.  I had received a survey about my oil change experience and gave positive feedback.  This is what he wrote:

"Good morning R____,

Hope everything is well.  Just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to fill out the survey, and most importantly for the good marks.

Looking forward to seeing your beautiful smile next time you come in, you are always so kind."

My heart skipped a beat as I pondered over the wording.  What did it mean?  On one hand, he was thanking me professionally.  On the other, sending an email to a customer's personal address and commenting on a "beautiful smile" decidedly muddled professional boundaries.

So I did what any other giddy single girl would do: I looked him up on Facebook...  He is married with three children. 

Maybe I read too far into his email, or maybe I didn't.  I wonder what his wife thinks about him contacting clients with beautiful smiles?

Next time I get my oil changed, I will be wearing running clothes.


 

Based on personal experience, dating advice tip #2

Don't try and play the name game on a first date. 

If you do, you may find out that the person you casually know who graduated in the same grad school class as your date actually was his exgirlfriend who broke his heart.  And then conversation gets awkward.

My bad.

On second thought...

Hold up, did a man really freak out because I'm emotionally unavailable and just want to have casual sex with him with no strings attached?!?



 

Big Questions

The truth came out at 4 am this morning.  We were lying in bed after having sex, slightly drunk, spooning.  I was drifting off to sleep as he talked to me, unable to stay awake to concentrate on what he was saying.

His tone of voice changed, and I jolted back to the conversation.  "R___, you are so hot. I can't get enough of your body.  You are so fucking hot!  But you're also SO FUCKING emotionally unavailable.  I just can't read you."

I turned around to face him and set the record straight, because I am easy to read if my partners listen.  From the beginning, I have told this man that I am not emotionally invested, that I want to see other people, that I do not see this going beyond a casual relationship.

"If you are looking for emotional availability or a relationship," I calmly stated, "you need to be looking elsewhere.  I am not going to be able to give you any more than I am now."  He said he understood, and then he held me closer.

This is where dating ethics get murky.  I have never lied or pretended to feel more than I do.  I have treated him respectfully and been honest about what I am looking for.  Yet in spite of this, both he and I know that his feelings for me are greater and that he wants something more.  In the end, there is no question about who will be hurt.

So whose fault is it?  Am I to blame because I'm still seeing him twice a week for companionship and sex?  Or is he responsible for continuing to pursue unrequitted feelings?  I could happily go on with this relationship until I get bored or find something better, but even if I'm honest about my intentions, is that a moral thing to do?

 

Based on personal experience, dating advice tip #1

When you are on a first date, refrain from telling the woman that you Googled her.

If you accidently let this common sense judgment slip, hold back from asking her about the exboyfriend who she's with in Google image searches.

And definitely, DEFINITELY do not admit to then Googling her exboyfriend and disliking his political remarks posted online.  On a first date.

The Self Medicator

In order to look cute in size 2 jeans, prevent diabetes, and maintain a healthy after-work social life, I get up at 5 am every morning to work out.  I don't have one of those jobs that you can mindlessly fumble through without killing another human, so I make it a point to get enough sleep to make basic math calculations the next day.  But the guy I'm dating now has been unemployed for a few weeks, and we are clearly on different sleep schedules.

We met up last week around 9, and I warned him I was fading fast.  By 10 I was ready to go to sleep.  We could hear the rain pounding outside, so I invited him to stay the night and avoid walking home two miles in a downpour.  I wasn't going to be much company, but he was free to use my computer, read my books, and raid the refrigerator.

For the next several hours, I could hear him milling about my apartment.  He woke me up at one point to ask if he could have some wine and at another point to cuddle with me in bed.  I drifted in and out of slumber, awake enough to be irritated but too exhausted to tell him to stop.  At some late hour, he finally fell asleep.  I was so relieved.

The alarm seemed to go off all too soon and blurry-eyed, I stumbled into the bathroom.  Right away, I knew something was off.  My cabinet was flung open, feminine hygiene products littering the floor and pill bottles disturbed.  A bottle of Benadryl was open with the cap lying in the sink.  I was baffled.  Why would the guy I'm dating go through my pills, take a sleeping aid, and then leave an obvious trail of evidence?  And furthermore, why did he not go for the Ambien?

I found my answer when I went into the kitchen and saw a 24 ounce bottle of beer and another bottle of wine standing empty on my counter.  As I was fast asleep, he was trying to get there himself.  Alcohol and raiding pills were involved, and he was too drunk to worry about capping the bottle or closing the cabinet door.

I instinctively took the Ambien out of the cabinet and hid it in a drawer in my clothes closet.  I'm not the smartest dater in the world, but when I find myself hiding prescription medication from men who are spending the night, I recognize a big red flag.

The Stats

If you're wondering what I've been up to dating-wise since I last posted, here is the answer...  I've been having sex- lots of great sex with a man who, in every aspect outside the bedroom, I feel like I have no chemistry with.  But inside the bedroom (or the living room or the kitchen or the shower or the car...), things are amazing.  I am finally feeling fulfilled- in 30 minute increments.

While my dating life gets boring for a bit, I have some statistics:

35- the number of first dates I've had in the last fifteen months, since I moved to Seattle

25- the number of men who asked me out on a second date

8- the number of men I accepted a second date with

4- the number of men who I declined a second date with who I later ran into awkwardly

3- the number of third dates

3- the number of fourth dates

2- the number of men who made it to the fifth date and beyond

1- the number of men who became a boyfriend

1- the number of men who I did not technically go on a date with, but did have sex with after knowing them for 3 hours while they were high on alcohol, marijuana, and cocaine

1- the number of men who almost moved from New York to date me, after sleeping with me when they were high on alcohol, marijuana, and cocaine

Interestingly, statistics show that if we go on a first date, there is a greater chance that we will randomly run into each other in Seattle than we will go on a third date





 

This Blog Post is Brought to You by the Number Ten

On Friday night, during our third date, I was fucked into double digits. 

What makes this most recent partner numerically significant for me goes beyond the ten notches on my bedpost.  It is that, in the last year, the number of people I've had sex with is equal to the number I had sex with in the previous 29. 

How did I get here?  I put some blame on my exboyfriend and my disillusionment in love and trust that happened when that relationship ended.  I became less vulnerable, more open to sex because I can take it emotionally.  If I sleep with someone who never calls me again, I'm not hurt because I was never invested to begin with.  I can take sexual opportunities without emotional risk.

This change, though, is more than the consequence of a bad breakup.  In talking with my numerous single female friends in Seattle and around America, I think it reflects our desire for genuine connections with men yet also our fierce independence that we've acquired.  We are smart and successful.  We make our own money, have our own apartments and cars.  We have active social lives.  We want boyfriends and later husbands and children, but we do not want to have to sacrifice the lives for ourselves that we have worked hard to build to be with a man who doesn't meet our standards.  We can have casual sex with men because we are making our own futures; we do not need to attach meaning to encounters that have none.  With #10 and the four other men I've been with in the last twelve months, I have rolled the emotional dice without much to lose on the table.

Or, as my 86 year old grandmother more concisely put it while giving sage advice to her single granddaughters:  "Why marry the pig when all you want is a little sausage?"

I was talking with my friend and her boyfriend about this man, and they could tell I was ambivalent.

"I think you've said 'I don't know' about fifteen times in the last five minutes," my friend's boyfriend noted.

"Well," I replied, "I guess that sums it up."

Pat on the Back

Guess who did NOT sleep with her most recent guy on the second date! 

We were making out on my couch when the cab driver called his phone to say he'd arrived.  He kept kissing me, intensity building, and as his hands wandered I broke away, reminding him that the taxi was waiting.

"You are so hard to read!" he joked. 

I didn't know what was so hard to read.  We were making out on a second date.  His ride was here.  It was midnight on a Tuesday.  I was tired...  The pussy was closed. It was the most- possibly the only- rational decision I have made about sex this year.

I woke up today to the text message "I could kiss you for a hundred years," which, admittingly, is a pretty sweet text message to start your dark November morning.





 

Worst Game Ever

How NOT to hit on a woman at a party:

1) When the woman's friend mentions she had a Fulbright fellowship, say "Isn't that not as good as a Rhodes?"

2) When the woman tells you she's running a half marathon, say "You seem more like a 5K type of girl."

You are an idiot and no, I don't want to be in your kickball league.

I'm interested. Maybe.

I went out with him last week and will sum up the encounter with the following:

1) I was more attracted to him after realizing he is, just like my friends advised, a really cool person.

2) I could understand his accent once we were in a quieter bar.

3) I have not seen his penis.

He immediately won points with me when he showed up clean-shaven and wearing a sport jacket.  He won more points when he told me he was a social worker.  More points still when he said he did freelance writing and was in a band.  And him being African does not hurt one bit.

I am still struggling with the chemistry question, but what really made me interested happened the day after our date and hardly involved him at all.

I was doing tequila shots on Thursday night with a friend before going to a porn festival.  Yes, you read that correctly (and HOW am I single again???).  I told her about him and when I said his name she looked at me funny.  "What did you say his name was?"  I repeated it.  "That's my best friend's husband."

They broke up, she explained, several years ago, but have stayed married for immigration purposes.  They remained friends and it sounds like the breakup, while heartwrenching as breakups often are, was amicable.

I am, as I have said before, a steadfast believer in being on good terms with past partners.  Having gone through a horrible breakup myself, I learned how much you can tell about a person from the way a relationship ends.  It shows how they handle stress and conflict when they are at a most vulnerable point- breaking a loved one's heart or having their own heart broken.  Do they lie to you repeatedly about being with another woman with the excuse that they did not want to hurt you?  Or do they take a deep breath and say they're sorry, they are interested in someone else, and they want to move on?

My friend reassured me, "He's a good guy.  I approve."  So while I still am on the fence, my interest did increase.  If his ex-wife's best friend thinks he's a good guy, then he must have done a lot of things right during that breakup.  That is the type of guy I would want to date.
 

My Time Limit

Three months, I'm realizing, is my breaking point at which I need some sort of physical contact with the opposite sex.  Back in July, when I had sex with two men in the same week who I never talked to again, I resolved that the next time would be different.  I'm gonna wait until it feels right.  We're gonna talk about it first and hold off until deciding to see each other exclusively. We'll be responsible and get tested.  It'll be with someone I care about.

And then mid-October hit, and I was ready to jump anything that moved.  I had been to a party a few months earlier and briefly met a man who expressed interest in me to my friend.  I wasn't feeling it then, but last week, when I met up with friends for drinks, they reminded me that he was an option.  Feeling desperate, I forced my mind to open to other prospects and against all instincts, I gave in a little: "Tell him to come out tonight."

He did come out, and we spent the rest of the stormy Seattle night talking in a bar.  I tried and tried, but I could not muster up an attraction to him,  Moreover, I could barely understand him; growing up in Africa and spending years of his life in a UK boarding school had left him with a thick accent.

My friends told me later that he was sprung.  I explained that I flat out am not attracted to him and cannot hold a meaningful conversation with him when I understand a fraction of what he says.  They tried to convince me, told me stories about how nice/smart/funny/creative he was.  I sighed, trying to find another reason to be interested.  "Does he have a big penis?"

"Ehhhh, it's average," a friend responded.

This man who I'm not attracted to, who I don't understand, with an average-sized dick asked me to get a drink with him this week, and I accepted.  Why?  It's that three month mark.  I know because the following thought actually came into my head:  Maybe if we have sex from behind, I won't notice that I'm not attracted to him, we won't have to talk, and his dick will seem bigger.

Seriously, this is my life?!?

Grouper

One of my friends from my first year of college works for Grouper, a New York based startup that arranges meetings between two groups of friends- three men and three women.  They recently expanded to other cities, and when I found out that they hit Seattle I knew I wanted in.  What could be more hilarious than a man and a woman on a blind date?  SIX men and women on a blind date.

I received a text from her on a Monday.  They had a group of men who wanted to go out, and could I find a few women to join us?  I furiously texted all five of the fun, single women I know in this city and one, who I'd met about two weeks earlier, responded.  She pulled in another woman she'd met in the last month, and lo and behold, we had ourselves a Grouper!

They were Microsofties, ages 26 to 29, well-educated, polite, fluent in a few languages, and most importantly, FUN.  We bar hopped until midnight on a Thursday, drinking and playing skeeball, talking about travel and sharing dead baby jokes.  At the end of the night, numbers were exchanged and they invited us to go clubbing the next evening.

That Friday, for the first time in years, I went out with men who had a lot of money.  In fact, the last time I hung out with men who made more money than I do, I was living with a Microsoft program manager.  This time around, we met up at a condo building in Belltown where a doorman signed me in and buzzed me through two secured entrances.  The immaculate two-bedroom had a close, unobstructed view of the Space Needle.  Lounge music played on a sound system.  The owner offered to make me a drink and gave me the choice of several liquors, none of which you would find in a frat house.  I took a vodka tonic, and he insisted I try cognac as well.  He asked me to pick out a shirt for him to wear from his closet.  When I commented on how professional his wardrobe appeared, he shrugged like it was no big deal, "I get my shirts pressed."

We took cabs to Trinity Nightclub, even though it was a short distance away and completely walkable.  The men knew the bouncer so we bypassed the line and avoided the cover charge.  They paid for all our drinks, and we danced our youthful hearts out until the club closed.  "If this is what dating was like all the time in Seattle," I thought, "I'd be content."

At 4 am, sufficiently drunk and awaiting an international flight in six hours, I thanked them for a fun evening and headed home.  My female Grouper companion also headed out, but to the home of one of our new friends to have sex.  Some of us are luckier than others.

We never saw them again, but I would call that Grouper a success.  Once in awhile, it's nice to have a few men without facial hair buy you drinks and open taxi doors for you.   

Quotables

A recent OkCupid message:

"Dang, you flat out have my attention monkey girl!  Love your attitude- What's next?"

Ummm, swinging from a tree while eating a banana?

Shave the fucking beard!!!!

You heard me, men of Seattle.  Shave the fucking beard.  

I can handle 99% of the hipster attributes of this city.  I don't mind if men want to wear jeans that are so skinny they would fit on a 13 year old girl.  I can live with the flannel shirts and the thick frame glasses.  I wish that my dates would be aggressive and make the first move, but it's cool, I'm ballsy enough to do it myself.  I have come to terms with soccer being preferred over football.  I am used to KEXP and NPR being the only acceptable radio stations.  I'm in agreement that food should be local and organic, beer should be microbrewed, politics should be progressive, intellectualism should be valued...

But the beards, oh lord.  I remove hair from nearly every part of my body where it is supposed to be naturally, and men in Seattle can't even shave their faces once a week?


 

Update

The man I was going to marry didn't contact me again, not even responding to my follow-up message after our date saying I had a good time.  Maybe he had a head injury, developed amnesia, and forgot what an amazing ninety minutes we shared over craft beers in Ballard? 

I reacted by breaking all the glass objects in my apartment, throwing my coffee table out the window, downing several bottles of wine, and sleeping with the two bartenders from the Irish pub down the street.

Or not. 

I have rejected dozens of men in the last year so when I get blown off, it stings a little but feels refreshing, a blast of excitement in an otherwise dull dating game.  Like countless women before me, I pick myself apart.  Am I too fat?  Did I have a bad hair day?  Should I have worn something sluttier?  Was my outfit too slutty? AM I NOT MARRIAGE MATERIAL??????

And then I take a deep breath and move on.

I'm in Europe now so dating is suspended for the next two weeks, unless I meet the love of my life in Poland.  Anything is possible.

There's Hope

Tonight I met the man I'm going to marry. 

By that, I mean that I had a first date with a guy who I thought was attractive and we had things in common.

I know internet dating is a numbers game, but I feel like the odds should have played out awhile ago.

Please please please internet dating gods, make this 32nd first date in the last year the magic number!

And Sometimes, Women are Mind Fucks

I did something last night that I've never done before:  I watched a movie with a man.

To be clear, in the past, I have watched ten minutes of a movie with many men.  By the time the plot gets going we are making out, headed towards horizontal land, movie forgotten.  I have a short attention span, and I would rather be having sex than sitting for two hours staring at a screen.  Usually the men I date are in agreement with this policy.

But last night, I went over the the home of my hiking buddy that I'd been having regrets about friend-zoning two months ago, and we watched a movie.  I mean, really watched a movie.  I tried my best to flirt, touched his arm, laughed, angled my body towards him, but I could not close the deal.  We sat inches apart on his sofa, both of us wishing that he had the guts to make a move.

And then I was reminded of why I friend-zoned him two months ago.  He is odd!  He is crazy-smart (I saw him solve a rubik's cube in under two minutes), attractive, and interesting to talk to, but he is a born-and-raised Seattle man: shy, passive, and a bit of a loner.  I find the geekiness endearing, but I wish it came with a splash of self-confidence.

After an hour of sitting side by side on his couch, I realized I was not going to get any.  I started to fall asleep, and I excused myself to go home.

Now I have to refriend-zone a guy who I tried to unfriend-zone after previously friend-zoning him.  Not complicated.  Not complicated at all.


 

If we never said a word to each other in high school because we had nothing in common and you were kind of weird and socially awkward, please don't send me a message on OkCupid suggesting that we go out because we went to the same high school.  That does not count as having something in common.  While we're at it, I'm not approving your Facebook friend request either- mostly because we aren't friends.

Thanks, and happy dating Seattle!

Whoops

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.  I fucked up.  Two months ago I went on a date with a man my friend suggested I should meet.  I had a good time, but he was quiet and soft-spoken- a little too reserved for my taste.  I did not feel any sparks so when he asked me out again, I told him that I'd had a good time but was not interested dating-wise.  I said I would want to hang out again as friends.  He sheepishly agreed. 

I was looking for a hiking partner this weekend, and I asked him if he wanted to come along.  Boulder-hopping and making marmot calls in the middle of Mt. Rainier National Park, I found myself  having a great time with a man I'd blown off  two months ago.  Why did I not see this before?  He was cute and smart and while still quiet, was easier to talk to once we'd spent several hours together and felt more comfortable.

I should have given it time before jumping into friendship mode.  Now I'm in the position of wanting to date someone who I specifically told I was not interested.  If my past experience with men is any indication, I feel like he would still date me. Can this be remedied with a couple beers?


 

Friends with Exes

I watched Celeste and Jesse Forever by myself in a movie theater this week, tears streaming down my cheeks.  It is a movie about the bond between exes, and it hit close to home.

I have been in love three times.  An additional three times, men were in love with me.  That brings me to six relationships, over the course of my life, where love was present, even if one-sided.  And out of those six relationships, there are five men who I honestly wish the best for.  I do not keep in touch with all of them, but when I hear through the grapevine that they are doing well, I feel happy inside.  When I hear that they are hurting, I ache too.

The one exception is painful for me.  It is my infamous exboyfriend-the one who, in effect, started my dating saga and inspired this blog.  One of our last conversations still haunts me every day:

"We were so happy together.  What is it that she has that I don't?"

"Youth," he replied.  "And I really love her kid."

I replay that scene in my head...  We are sitting on my sofa, fingers intertwined, tears in my eyes.  He kisses me hungrily, hands nestled in my curls, moaning, telling me he never wants to leave.  We are both confused, unsure if we should have sex or never talk again.  I tell him that he needs to figure out what he wants, and he agrees,  Then he leaves my apartment and never comes back.

When I think about that night, which I do every day, a lump grows in the back of my throat. I feel worthless.  My master's degree, my two languages, my medical skills, my Fulbright, the way I treat the people I care about, my genuine love for learning and passion to make the world a better place mean nothing because I didn't accidently get pregnant from a one-night stand when I was 21.  If I had, he would still love me.

I want to want the best for him, and I am angry that I don't.  I never thought that out of all my relationships, he would be the man I don't talk to.

He moved to Chicago last month.  I reached out to him before he left, explained to him that being on good terms with him would help me find closure.  He did not respond.

I know that I am in the minority because I want to keep in touch with exes.  I do not have a single friend who thinks that my quest to be on good terms with a man who lied to me, was caught red-handed sending text messages to multiple women, and ultimately left me because I am not a young mom, is a worthwhile pursuit.  One friend said it best:  "I would punch him if I could."  Part of me wants that too.

But at the end of the day, I think it is a small tragedy for two people who once loved each other to lose a friendship, that sacred, bittersweet bond that ties a couple together long after the romance dies.  When the other five men commit to another woman , I will be wishing them the best, and I will mean it.  I hope that one day, I will be able do that for him as well.


 

Call me Reese Witherspoon

Sometimes I feel like I'm in the opening scene of a romantic comedy, playing the girl who goes on dozens of disastrous dates before she meets the man of her dreams.

Like this week, when I had a painful first date with a man with a stutter so distracting that I could not concentrate on anything else. We sat across from each other as he got caught on his words, pausing for seconds at a time to take a deep breath and start over again. I tried to ignore it and remain engaged, but all I could do was watch the clock until I'd decided that enough time had passed to end the date without making him feel awful.

And yes, for the record, I feel like a horrible person. Such is internet dating.

What Todd Akin and My Dating Pool have in Common

His single friend was attractive-ish but not really my type.  He wore a buttoned down Abercrombie shirt and pressed jeans, had just transplanted from New York for a Microsoft finance job, and was living in Belltown.  I didn't ask, but I am certain that his spare time was spent at wine tastings and out on his friends' sailboats.  Come on, Seattle, you know exactly the kind of douchbag I'm referring to.

He wasted no time in indicating what he was after, eyeing me up and down and inquiring, "So can I get on you tonight?"

Why I didn't walk away right then, I don't know.  Loneliness?  Desperation?  The potential for a new blog post?  Instead of the quick kick to the groin that he deserved, I smiled, touched his arm, moved in closer, and responded, "Maybe we should get to know each other a little better."

We talked about really fascinating stuff for a few minutes, like how he grew up in New Hampshire and works in finance.  Ooooh, tell me more.

His friends told him that they were about to take off, and he asked me if I was coming with them.

"Where are you going?," I wanted to know.

He eyed me up and down again and winked.  "Rapetown," he replied.

Poor guy, he didn't know.  He didn't know that I provide medical care to women and men who have been raped.  He didn't know that while I may be sweet and flirty, I am also an ardent feminist.  He didn't know that rape jokes in Seattle, the world's epicenter of political correctness, are not acceptable, or that rape jokes in ANY city are not acceptable.  He thought he was being smooth, that I would think the idea of being forced to have sex by a man who I met in a bar that night was hot, not absolutely terrifying and disgusting.  He was wrong.

He tried to smooth things over by offering to buy me a drink.  What woman wants to drink alcohol purchased by a man who just made a joke about raping her?

So yeah, I'm still single.

Close but no cigar

I met a man last night, at a bar in Fremont, and I could feel the instant chemistry that I've spent the last year searching for on the internet.  The second he was out of hearing range, I asked my mutual friend what she knew about him- was he single???

"He's engaged," she said.  I sighed frustration and went to sit in a different area to explore other possibilities.  But this man followed me a few minutes later, put his hand on my shoulder, and struck up the conversation again. 

After he'd had several beers, he laid it out on the table:  "Look, you are really cute and sweet, but I don't want to lead you on.  I've been with my girlfriend for seven years, and we're engaged."

The compliment was all I needed to hear.  The chemistry was mutual!  He said I was cute!  In a dating world where connections are so few and far between, I was happy to have those feelings shared- even if nothing was going to come from it.

"So since you're taken," I told him, "do you have any single friends?"

He did.  But his single friend deserves his own post on this blog.  To be continued...

Tick Tock

Then BAM!  Under the flashing lights of the Perseid meteor shower, lying beside an alpine lake on rocks still emanating heat from a gorgeous summer day, in the company of two friends from childhood, I turned 30.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock.  It's the sound of my biological clock telling me I have five years- five years!- to have a child without the diagnosis of "advanced maternal age" in my medical chart.  And I have not been on a date in nearly a month.

Things I have done in the last decade besides getting engaged, getting married, or getting pregnant:

Graduated from college
Served in AmeriCorps
Completed a Fulbright fellowship
Earned a master's degree
Learned a second language
Fell in love- twice
Lived in four different countries, and traveled to many more
Found a career that I love, that is my passion and calling in life
Started prescribing medications
Climbed to the top of Central America, just shy of 14,000 feet
Saved lives, made lives less painful, participated in the act of healing the world
Made lifelong friends along the way

I did these things because I was single, because I didn't have to compromise my goals and desires to fit the goals and desires of a partner.

So while I cannot stop that clock from ticking, I intend to make the moments count- to keep learning, keep traveling, keep loving, keep climbing, keep doing my small part to save the world- all with one eye on my internet dating accounts.

Tick tock away.

Values

"I think it's important to know a few things about what makes someone tick, even before deciding to go on a blind date.   I value mental exercise, nature, my family, my spiritual practice and exercise above all other things. In a partner, I value self-respect, and that they have goals, hobbies, and a sense of humor.  What things do you value in life and in people?"

The above section of an email came from a man who is a friend of a friend of a friend.  If you haven't noticed, this is a consistent pattern in my dating life.  How many degrees of separation does it take to get a date in Seattle?  Apparently, several.

I found it odd that he had such strong criteria for a first date.  In April I had a man who I spent 48 hours with planning to move across the country to date me.  Did either of us ask the other what we valued?  No.  But first dates, man...  Gotta figure things out before the first date.

I responded, "I value health, social justice, learning, a connection to the environment, and my relationships with people.  In a partner I value honesty, open-mindedness, and a sense of obligation to the world around them.  Also, I value fun!  The serious stuff is good as well, but I need to smile and laugh and joke around with a partner."

He did not respond, so I assume our values did not align.  How can you not value fun?!?  Glad we saved ourselves some time!

When It Rains, It Pours

Today I renewed my driver's license with a photo of me with a giant hickey on my neck.

Wait, let me back up.

He was a friend of a friend, which is usually how my more successful dates start.  The mutual friend didn't think he was my type, but she thought we should all go out casually together and see if there was any chemistry.

He was Black and a social worker, which is my type if I ever had one.  Not White AND helps to save the world?  Sold!  Didn't matter that he was four years my junior.  I asked him out, and we went out for dinner and drinks later that week.  Our first date ended at his apartment, holding hands and making out in his living room.  I had fun.

I had a general feeling all along that I was more interested than he was.  It was refreshing, though, after being on countless dates where I was the uninterested party, to want to pursue someone else.   When you sit through date after date with no chemistry on your end, it is fun to finally feel a little emotion, even if you sense the emotion doesn't flow both ways.

He came over to my apartment on the second date to "watch a movie."  The movie never even started before we began to kiss, clothes were removed, and we migrated to the bedroom.  When we were lying in a sweaty mess an hour later I knew that he wasn't feeling it and, being honest with myself, I wasn't either.  Sex on the second date can be a good thing when the chemistry's right but fails miserably when the chemistry wasn't entirely there to being with.

Which brings me to today, when I have a hickey the size of Texas on my neck, I had a driver's license photo taken, I have to go to work wearing a turtleneck in mid-July, and I received a very cordial text message from a man saying he does not want to date me but would like to "hang out as friends".  Yikes!

I've had casual sex twice in the last eight days.  It was needed- badly- but I think the itch is scratched, and I'm set in that department for awhile.  I have more dates lined up this week, and I'm going to focus on seeing if there is potential for a relationship that lasts longer than a night or two.  For now, sex can wait until the fourth date.

God Bless Seattle

I just went on a blind date with a man who wore flannel.  In July. 

We played cribbage.

Would that happen in any other city?

The Second Date

I asked my most recent Match date what he wanted to do for our second date last night. 

His response:  "I'm in a pretty mellow mood.  I could happily sit on a couch and watch a movie."

As previously mentioned, I am down to have some short-term fun, and it does not take a rocket scientist to figure out that sitting on a couch and watching a movie on a second date is polite way of saying that that he wants some fun as well.

We watched about ten minutes of the movie before the fun began.  It ended about half an hour later, and I was content.  Then I learned a lesson:  Short-term fun sometimes wants to spend the night and cuddle and give back massages and sleep in.  When the fun happens at your own apartment, it is rude to tell someone you really just want to sleep by yourself and possibly never see them again.  By the next morning, I never wanted a man to leave my apartment so badly.

If short-term fun would just come in 1-2 hour increments once a week, that would be cool.

Putting the Passive back in Passive Aggressive

I went on a bomb-ass date this week with a guy from Match.  Chemistry was there, and about ten minutes into the date I decided that I would sleep with him if given the opportunity.  He wasn't a perfect fit for what I'm looking for and I'm not sure I see any long-term potential, but- even better- I see a lot of short-term potential!!!  I haven't been kissed since March, so short-term potential is pretty damn important right now.

Above all, the passive aggressiveness in Seattle is what kills me with dating.  He had a good time- I was sure of it- and I knew he was interested.  He initiated contact with me via text a couple days later, and the following messages were sent: 

Him:  Hope you had a great 4th.

Me:  I did.  I went hiking, although it involved ingesting more calories than I worked out.

Him:  Haha that is how mine usually are!

[Ten minute break in between text messages while I wait for him to ask me out...]

Him:  Any fun plans this weekend?

Me:  Hiking all day Saturday.  What are you up to?

Him:  Riding at some point.

[Another ten minute break before I get fed up and ask him out]

Me:  Well, want to do something fun when you're not riding and I'm not hiking?

Him:  I think we can figure something out ;)

Me:  You free Saturday night?  I could go out later in the evening.

Him:  I think I can do that.

Me:  You can check your busy dating schedule and get back to me.

Him:  Yes I can do that!

Thank God I went to a women's college.  If it wasn't for a healthy dose of feminism, things would be bleak around here...

Information Technology

I dream about living in a city where I go on dates with men who don't talk about systems of codes in software that is the user experience design for Bitmap compatible with the database of the digital desktop driver for the virtual memory of the spreadsheet.

Also, a city where men shave and reserve flannel shirts for logging trips only.

Hey I heard you were a wild one

This week, I was set up on a date with a 40 year old friend of a friend of my exboyfriend with the lying problem.  He's divorced, has two children who he left behind in Peru, and works as a professional mover.  Before we met, he sent me an email asking me for medical advice.  Heading into the date I was pessimistic, but I felt like I should give my lying exboyfriend's friend of a friend the opportunity to win me over. 

To his credit, this was not the worst date I have been on.  In fact, it was not even in the bottom fifty percent.  He did spend most of the time looking over my shoulder at the soccer game on tv, but at least he didn't talk about an IT job.

I might have considered a second date, had the following revelation not come to light:

"I lived in Miami for four years, but I never went to the beach.  Not even once!"

Any other Seattleite who lives under a permacloud for nine months a year would have looked at him like he was crazy as well. 

"Do you not like the beach?!?"

"No, I love the beach!  I was just too busy working."

Whoa there, not sure I can keep up with his rock'n'roll lifestyle.  I'll have to pass.

Pride

I may or may not have almost had an orgy last night.  At 2 am.  In Volunteer Park.

Along with the grass stains on the back of my dress, a text message this morning helped me remember:

"If you end up feeling weird/frustrated/used, I really apologize.  I definitely enjoyed myself and we stopped well before anything that I'd regret, but I probably should have asked your permission before, like, using your thighs as a pillow.  So, uh, sorry and I'll be more gentlemanly in the future. (That said, your thighs make awesome pillows and it required much drunk willpower not to jump you.)"

Who cares?!?  It's Pride weekend!

And the award for the worst first date idea goes to...

My mom has been plotting with her coworker about how they are going to get her single, Jewish son to make babies with my single, Jewish self.

I got this email today:

"I don't know if ____  has e-mailed you yet, but if not, here's his address...

You 2 may want to meet at a Shabbat service. I don't think he's religious, but he likes music. Just a suggestion……….."

 

Thanks mom.

The "It" Factor

A few things I'm looking for:

1) Smooth.  Confident enough to close the deal. 

2)  But not so smooth that he lies.

3)  Bonus points if Jewish.

4)  Or not White.

5)  Does not make racist comments.  Go ahead and judge my hypocrisy.

6)  Knows to tell me how amazing my body is the first time clothes come off (see #1).  Note to my male readers:  This is a very effective strategy to get a woman to want you, and it should be employed routinely.

7)  Is not violent.

8)  Occasional drug use is okay, as long as it does not involve meth or needles.

9)  FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN.  This is very important to me.

10)  Much less important is that he lack a criminal record.  I am rethinking this one, as it has not worked out successfully for me in the past.

11)  Not bearded or mustached.  This is difficult to find in Seattle.

12)  Good at math.  Perhaps this is derived from my Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting fantasy, but a cute guy explaining a math concept is my equivalent of porn. 

13)  Will accept good at art, music, or creative writing in lieu of math.  Will not accept good at computer programming.

On Attraction

Last week, at a friend's party, I ended up talking to a man I had absolutely no interest in.  At the first chance I got, I escaped to the patio where the girls had congregated.

He made his way over later, and then asked for my number in front of my friends as the party was coming to a close.  What woman would deny a nice guy her number in front of a group of people?  Not me.  I was stuck.

My friends loved him.  "He's kind, tall, attractive, and was clearly into you."  When he sent me a text message a couple minutes later that said "It was a pleasure to meet you," they swooned.  I was underwhelmed. 

"You have to give him a chance!  Just go out with him once, and maybe you'll become attracted to him once you get to know him."

I retorted that I can't go out with someone who I can't imagine myself making out with.  "Then don't make out with him on the first date!  Wait and see if an attraction develops!"

I went out with him tonight, and I have to admit that they had a point.  This midwest boy has a master's in creative writing, is working on a book, plays sports, goes hiking, was polite, showed an interest in me, and did not make me wish that I was sticking a pen in my eye five minutes into the date.  He did become more attractive to me as the night went on, and I started to wonder what it would be like to kiss him.  All good signs.

But I have that nagging feeling- that every time I've been in love, I have known right away that we had something special.  When I've ignored the absence of that chemistry with men in the past and tried to forge a relationship based on kindness and compatability alone, I regretted it.  I want to stretch myself and give nice guys a chance when I have borderline feelings, but in the end, I feel like it will always come down to that "it" factor.  Then again, that "it" factor sometimes guides me to losers.

What draws me to a man?  To be continued...

"I  became a computer engineer because I thought a computer programmer was too sissy"

I just spent two hours of my life with a man, and I literally don't remember anything else he said.

Must stop dating men who work in IT.

Small World

I was so proud of myself for meeting a guy in real life that I relayed the story to several friends the next day.  Lo and behold, one of those friends made out with the same guy three years ago, and she was unimpressed when he did not walk her to her car afterwards.  Love it!

Prowling

Last night I was determined to meet a man who I hadn't corresponded with on the internet.  I shaved, put on a cute dress, did my hair and makeup, grabbed my brother and his girlfriend as wingmen, and went to a show at Neumos.  I spotted two attractive men in my age range standing together who I guessed were not gay, and I closed in.

The one closest to me took the bait and we started talking- okay, screaming in each others ears to hear over the music.  He's a professional kiteboarder and works at Microsoft.  Hmmm, attractive, has an interesting hobby, and makes money?  Sold.

I ditched my wingmen and got a drink with my new friends after the show.  Numbers exchanged.  Even if nothing more happens, I am satisfied.  Sometimes all I need is a man to show interest in me, touch my shoulder, and buy me a drink.  Goal met.

Do I know you?

Dating in Seattle hit an all-time low when I got a message in my inbox from a man who I know in real life.  We have a mutual friend and have talked at parties a few times over the last year. 

I explored two possibilities in this scenario:

1)  He, like other men in this city, was too afraid to express any interest in person and preferred to hide behind a computer.

2)  He did not remember who I was.

Turns out #2 is correct!  I may be unimpressive face to face, but at least my internet persona is intriguing.

The Anniversary

Most of my friends are coupled up, celebrating anniversaries of first dates, engagements, marriages, or childrens' birthdays.

I hope to have these celebrations of my own one day, but for now, I have my own anniversary to celebrate this weekend.  One year ago, over Memorial Day weekend, was when I found the text messages from my exboyfriend that sent my life into a fast, downward spiral. 

Calling it heartbreak would not be strong enough.  What word do you use to describe when the person who you admire most in the world takes advantage of your trust?  When you are lied to repeatedly and told that you are making a big deal out of nothing?  When a person's actions make you so sick to your stomach that you survive on a diet of Mexican sodas and Vicodin for three months?

I am still single, and he is in love with someone else.  Yet I tell myself, and I think I believe, that if you could classify anyone as a winner in this mess, it was me.  I may not have a boyfriend- or even a decent date- but I do have sincerity, integrity, compassion, and a moral compass that guides me to treat people well.  Oh yeah, and I make twice as much money as he does.

If there is ever an anniversary to celebrate, this is it.

We're All Head Cases

It dawned on me, when I went on my bajillionth OkCupid date with a man who wore flannel and had about as much charisma as a dirty sock, that maybe I should start paying for my internet dating service.  I was drawn to Match.com's guarantee, that if I don't find someone special in six months I get another six months free!  With my track record, I can pretty much count on needing a full year of romantic assistance.

Last night, in my message inbox, I received a note from a potential special someone who had the following introduction on his dating profile:

"My psychologist said that I am ok to start dating so here I am."

And my psychologist said he does not seem like a winner.

Once again, I am PAYING for this service.

Last night I went dancing with three friends- two women and one man.  Alcohol flowing through our systems, our hips grinding to the beats of Rihanna and Katy Perry as our hands found their ways to shoulders, breasts, and buttocks, releasing our sexual energy on each other into the early Sunday morning.

I'd had several vodka tonics when my guy friend came up behind me and pulled me close, his hands on my pelvis, running along my waist and breasts, grinding me from behind, kissing my neck...  It felt so good to be touched.  Until I saw in my lateral vision that my friend was actually dancing with another woman.  This begged the question, "WHO THE FUCK IS GRINDING HIS DICK INTO ME, TOUCHING MY BREASTS, AND KISSING MY NECK?!?!?!?!"

I spun around and saw a completely unfamiliar male face, grinning from ear to ear and obviously pleased that I was so friendly.

These moments are hilarious when I'm 29 and single.  Motherfucking shoot me if this is my life in ten years.

The time has come to admit that I did have a good date once- in fact, the best first date I've ever had.  We met at a community event four months ago and hit it off right away.  He was a student, attractive, intelligent, fluent in two languages, socially conscious, and best of all, he made me laugh.  I'd finally found the chemistry I'd spent hundreds of hours on the internet searching for.

He asked me to go swing dancing with him, and I accepted.  I showed up at the lessons an hour before the band started so I wouldn't spend the entire night stepping on his feet.  We danced together about fifteen minutes- or rather he danced and I stumbled- when he suggested that we go somewhere quiet to talk more.

We had ice cream and then drinks, and before I knew it I'd spent four hours on a Sunday night having an amazing time with a man who would become my boyfriend.  We kissed goodnight and I had goosebumps.  It was exactly the kind of first date this Seattle girl needed.

I have been in love three times in my life.  Three men lifted up my soul with the kind of gentle, tender love that fills you with greatness and makes you want to be a better person.  There are three men who, when we looked into each others’ eyes and melted together, I knew completely, and they knew me completely too.

I do not understand how the line is drawn between love and not love, but I know quickly, every time, that I am headed for the deep.  It's like gravitational pull or the seasons changing; there is no other alternative.  And with this man, my best first date ever, I came to realize that my feelings were not careening down like the tumbling boulder love is.

He was a good boyfriend, so I wanted to give it time.  I talked with him about the things that bothered me in our relationship, and he tried to change them.  I reminded myself that he was honest, ethical, and treated me well.  He brought me flowers for no reason, made me organic chicken soup when I was sick, took the bus for three hours to spend the night with me when I crashed my car in a snowstorm.  I tried and tried and tried, but I couldn’t create something that wasn’t there.

We had just finished having sex one morning when he told me he loved me.  He realized his vulnerability as soon as the words escaped and tried to recover, "I mean, I love your pussy."  Silence.  I understood what he meant, and I didn't know what to say.

I knew it had to end, and if I have learned one thing in my fifteen years of dating, it is the importance of a timely and respectful breakup.  So one day after work, I went over to his home to talk.

I was honest, explained that I didn’t think my feelings were matching his, that I did not want to waste his or my time.  “I don’t want to patronize you,” I said, “but I really do have a lot of respect for you.  You were a good boyfriend, and you treated me well.  I’m so sorry.”

He had been sitting calmly, almost in disbelief, when he exploded.  “Well you fucking should be!  We had something special and you fucked it all up!”  Then he stood up, grabbed me by both shoulders, and shook me violently.  Already in tears, my mind jumped to an image of me in the hospital with bruises or a broken face, and I cried harder.  “Please, don’t hit me!”

He stopped immediately, seeming as shocked by his reaction as I was, and said four words: You need to leave.

I didn’t have to be told twice.

I was closing the door when he called out to me and told me to wait.  I stopped, and he said exactly what I was hoping against.  “I really did love you.”  I didn’t respond, just cried and left his house.

Two weeks later, at a late hour that is only good for drunken texting, I received the following message from him:  Be embarrassed for yourself. 

I wasn’t.

On manners

Call me old-fashioned, but telling me that my breasts look so great in my shirt that you've been staring at them all night is not as smooth as politely asking for my number.

Seattle's a small city, and it was bound to happen at some point.  I was out with friends for bar trivia, when a man I met online a month ago walked into the same bar and sat down at the table next to me.  I quickly turned my head away and begged my friend for the use of her smart phone, making a beeline to the bathroom and logging into my OkCupid account so I could look up his name.  I did spend 2 hours of my life with him, after all.

Spending the night with my head tilted in the opposite direction of his chair did not seem like a kind thing to do to a former date- or a healthy position for my cervical paraspinal muscles- so after I located his name I went over and said hi.  He did not appreciate my friendly gesture or return any eye contact, and I still spent the rest of the night with my neck in a crick.

When I got home I had a new message from him in OkCupid, congratulating me on placing in trivia.  Because in this city, we can only communicate with each other online.

It ended just as quickly as it began.  After talking or texting every day for a month, my New York lover and friend of a friend of a friend told me that he changed his plans.  He'd started dating a coworker more seriously and thought that moving across the country to be with a girl who he'd spent 36 hours with wasn't such a hot idea after all.  Sounds reasonable enough.

With nothing else on my dating plate right now, it is a little disappointing.  But the glass is half full!  I now know I am good enough in bed to warrant the possibility of a 2000 mile relocation.

What happens in New York stays in New York. Or does it?

After 10 months of internet dating, about 30 first dates, a couple second dates, and a boyfriend for two whole months, the last place I expected to meet someone was on a week-long trip to the opposite coast.

It was 10:30 on a Friday night when we met at a friend of a friend's karaoke birthday party.  He was drunk and high on coke.  I was sober.  He kept touching my leg.  I let him.  When the singing ended, he handed me his phone and asked me to enter my number.

"Do you know I live in Seattle?," I asked.  "I'm just visiting my friend this week."

"What?  When do you leave?," said drunk karaoke friend of a friend of a friend.

"In two days."

"Well, what do you have going on tonight and tomorrow?"

A couple hours later we'd moved the party to his house.  He- even more drunk.  Me- still sober.  Between karaoke and getting separate rides to his place, we'd had about 5 minutes of conversation before he started to kiss me in the stairwell.

Then he stopped, took my hand, and led me past our friends to his bedroom.

"I'm not sure that this is a good idea," I posed, trying to be the sober voice of reason.  "You're really drunk."

"Don't worry, I just want to make out..." Then he added, "at least."

We made-out-at-least that night.  And we liked it so much that we made-out-at-least another three times in the next 36 hours before I got on my plane.

And at some point over that weekend, in between all the removing and reapplying of our clothes, he became sober.  He was intelligent, sweet, fun, and an interesting conversationalist.  Like me he had logged dozens of internet dates with limited success.  Also like me, he valued new experiences and had been thinking about leaving New York for a different part of the country.

He took me to the airport, kissed me goodbye, and promised that he would see me again soon.

The next day I got a text message saying he would be moving to Seattle on July 12th or 13th.  Of note, we have not had a fourth date.