I Die

"C", a straight woman who I met tonight at a party filled with gay dudes, has been on 50+ dates since her last relationship and could not have summed it up better:

"Do you know who I'm fucking right now?!?!?  I'm fucking a 24 year old WHO I DID MOLLY WITH 2 months ago. And I'm 32."

We've all been there, C.

Regrets from 2014

I, R________, regret that I didn't make my annual trip to New York this year, because every time I go I meet a man off the internet and get laid.

I regret that I had no romantic chemistry with the Jewish, outdoorsy, public high school biology teacher I met online, because he was awesome and a total catch.

I regret that I got drunk and had sex with a man in May who I wasn't attracted to, and I furthermore regret that to get through that experience I had to close my eyes and imagine I was fucking someone else.

I regret that, with all our modern day medical advances, there is still no vaccine for herpes. 

Also, HIV.  I regret HIV and that there is no vaccine for it.

I regret that I have a biologic clock because if I didn't, I would be perfectly content messing around for another ten years and having children in my forties.

I regret beards and flannel. Still. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. 

I regret the already-occurred or impending closures of The Hurricane, the Erotic Bakery, B&O Espresso, Piecoras, The Harvard Exit, Chop Suey, Red Light Vintage, The Bagel Deli, and every other Seattle institution that stood for decades and then, in the span of a couple years, was wiped out by rising rent costs and the rapidly changing urban elite demographic which has completely altered the character of this city.  I would so much rather eat a B&O rumball than go on a date with any of the men who are going to live in the condos that replaced that café.

I regret the horrible, horrible hour of my life spent with a man featured in Seattle Magazine's "Most Fascinating Singles" article.  He was Not. Fascinating.

I regret that many of my dates seem borderline autistic.

I regret, big time, that I freaked out on Crazy Chinatown Man who tried to be sweet and walk me to my car after having sex.  That exposed a vulnerability that I didn't know I had, and I need to do some soul-searching about why I feel more comfortable when I leave a man's home on my own than when a man shows genuine care for me and wants to be nice.  Therapy for 2015!!!

Still Here

It has been over a month since I last went on a date.  I'm sticking to my resolution to only sleep with men I like, and as a direct consequence of that, I'm only going on dates with men I like which means, if you follow logically, that I have not encountered any men I like in the last thirty days.  Cool.

Because you never know when an attraction might form, I set my OkCupid filters to be quite broad, searching all men looking for women living within 25 miles of Seattle between the ages of 28 to 46.  I scrolled down my matches, clicking on the isolated pictures that piqued my interest in any way whatsoever.  A few men seemed awesome but then their profiles had dealbreaker words like "non-monogamous" and "doesn't have kids and doesn't want any."  I kept on scrolling.  Over an hour passed as I looked for a person who drew me in, then I hit an OkCupid dead-end:

That's everyone we could find
If you set a lot of filters, you might not get any results
Try broadening your search settings

I couldn't believe it.  I had glanced over the pictures of every single man in the Greater Seattle area within an eighteen year age range, and I hadn't wanted to contact any of them.  That's really, really bad.

Engineer with the Houseboat, who I dated briefly in the early summer, tells me to be more hopeful.  We got over the whole "You should have broken up with me in a text message!" argument and became friends.  He, being a normal, fun man who can carry a conversation, is currently dating multiple women and feels stretched thin with his romantic prospects.  I, on the other hand, have never dated two people at the same time- not because I'm opposed to it, but because it takes a Herculean effort for me to find any sort of connection with one man, much less two.

But hopeful I try to be.  I'm just also being pickier.

Unresolved Aggression Issues

It's 4 am, and I just woke up from a nightmare during which I was eating dinner with a slightly bald, slightly chubby, (incidentally clean-shaven) White man who relocated from the Midwest to Seattle for a tech job and told me that men like him are the future of Seattle, and I was never going to find a boyfriend because I've been on 72 first dates and that's hopeless.

I threw a glass of seltzer water in his face.

Not Going Out With This One

Well shucks, Craiglist Missed Connections didn't work this time around.  Lesson learned:  Buy the man a cookie and write your phone number on the napkin.

Back to OKC:

"Chutzpah. That's the word that came to mind when I first read your profile. It wasn't just the way you express yourself, it was also that lovely twinkle in your eyes. A look that could inspire a man to write volumes. Or wax poetic. Or both.

Sass and curly hair. Who could resist that? So, what do you find yourself reading these days? Do you like to cook?

Also, yes, I'm HWP. Tall, dark, handsome -- some may even say I'm dashing, but I'll leave that for you to decide. You may ask why I don't have a picture. Well, it's because we've just opened up our relationship after a long and deliberate process. It's been great fun, honestly, and I'm now seeking a like-minded muse. Curious?"

Yes, PLEASE sign me up to be your lower-ranked lover and polyamorous sidekick- without showing me a photo of yourself.  Nailed it!

Craiglist Missed Connections

Because really, what do I have to lose?

My neighborhood has some of the best coffee shops in the world within a half mile radius, but on this particular day, I needed a break from Capitol Hill.  I didn't care about the ingenuity of my latte art.  I wanted to be free from MacBooks and Google Glass and facial hair. 

Drove two miles south, and I might as well have been in a different city.  Bam!  Beacon Hill delivered.  Two minutes at the windowsill of a coffee shop and a hot, Black, dreadlocked man walked in, wearing a mix of notflannel and notplaid.

"What asinine pickup line can I come up with?", I thought.  Three years of hitting on men in Seattle has given me the confidence to know that the introductory line doesn't matter.  Just start talking about anything.  ANYTHING.  If there's interest, I will get a response.

I walked over to his general vicinity, chose a nearby magazine, and said syllables out loud.  I have no idea what the magic words were, but in the subsequent minutes I found out he was an inner city kindergarten teacher, and I fell in love.  He asked me what my name was and gave me his.  Everything was going great, but I couldn't close the deal.  I got nervous, as we do, and I left the coffee shop with no numbers exchanged- even though I think we both wanted to.

So I turned to the Missed Connections section on Craigslist and posted, from which I have gotten a single response:  "You could have taken him a cookie with your number on the napkin."

Noted.

Fingers crossed!!!!

 

Gaydar's Off

71 and 72 shook it up and wore plaid.  Seattle men- always keeping me on my toes with fashion!  I had high hopes for both, as it seemed that we had a lot in common.  71 was a mountain biker and hiker, relocated from Vermont to live near giant mountains and work in sustainable energy.  72 was a public policy grad student, spent two years in Ethiopia on a Peace Corps stint, and was a vegetarian.  How could these dates end in anything but fireworks and naming the babies we'd have together?

I don't know, but they did; all parties involved were quite bored.  I left the 72nd thinking of my last boyfriend- Number Zero- the man before the count started.  He never went to college and his international experience was limited to his military service in Iraq.  After we broke up I stalked him on OkCupid for a bit and noted that we were a low 56% match percentage.  Yet we'd met in real, non-internet life and fell madly in love with each other.  Point being?  Everything can align on paper, but you never know when and how the magic will strike.

After the failure of my 72nd first date since that boyfriend, I didn't feel like I could go home alone.  I drove aimlessly from Greenlake through Wallingford, crossed the University Bridge and decided to pull over in Eastlake for no good reason other than there was a parking spot in front of Serafina.  Wine.  I needed wine.

I sat at the bar next to a chatty gay man, and when I told him I just finished my 72nd first date he said "I'm so sorry hun!  Let me buy you a drink and we'll talk it over."  I poured my heart out to him over the next hour, and we bemoaned the loneliness and desperation.  "See, this is already better than your date," he reassured me.  "Life's looking up."

I completely agreed, and we switched conversation topics to our careers.  He was a jack-of-all-trades and at one point was a cook in a sorority house.  "My girlfriend didn't like that much, though, so I left."

Girlfriend?!?!?  Whoa.  Holy shit, had I fucked up.  We continued the conversation and he became more explicit about his intentions.  I realized that he wasn't a gay man being friendly.  He was a straight man hitting on me.

Earlier in the evening, he'd given me his business card.  "Well, you have my number.  I'll let you decide what to do with it... Or you could give me yours."

A man confident enough to hit on me at a bar and get my contact information is what I have wanted in Seattle for the last three years!  Unfortunately, I was completely uninterested.  Even more unfortunately, I had been giving off an interested vibe for the previous sixty minutes.  I tried to backtrack, but it was too late.

"I was hoping you'd hit on me," NOT gay man texted after I left.

"Were you hitting on me?", I responded.

"Would it work?", he countered.

I contemplated my commitment to honesty with dating, how I work hard to be clear about my intentions and expect the same from men.  In my mind, I reviewed how I believe everyone deserves closure and a sincere answer back, no matter the context.  And then I did the most passive, Seattle thing that I swore I'd never do.

I didn't respond.

Born Again Virgin

At Planned Parenthood a few months ago, getting tested yet again, the medical assistant made a seemingly innocent comment while looking through my chart:

"Oh, I can see you've been in here a lot."

I laughed, then an internal panic set in.  Does that make me really responsible?  Or does that make me the opposite?  In the last twelve months I had sex with seven different men, none of whom was a boyfriend.  In fact, there were only two men who I had any interest in making a boyfriend.  That's a lot of potential exposures to diseases and pregnancy and uncomfortable conversations that run along the lines of "So I know I slept with you, but I'm just not that interested..."  Some of the men took it well.  Others were upset.  No matter how casual we intend to be about sex, it complicates things.

Which brings me to my new resolution, heading into my 71st and 72nd first dates that are on the books for this week:

I am only going to sleep with men who I like.

Novel idea, right?  I first thought of it after I had sober sex with Crazy Chinatown Man.  That sex had intention, for him and for me.  We knew it was coming and had discussed it briefly beforehand as legally consenting adults without alcohol in our systems.  Four dates in we were far from a relationship, but the sex felt a little relationship-y.  I liked him.  He liked me.  There was a purpose...  I can't go back to fucking men for the sake of fucking- nor do I want to.

Which means, my blog may get less interesting.  It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Criminal Records

Today we're going to talk about suspected criminals/men I go out with. 

"I don't know a single person who's been arrested!", stated a friend.  "How do you find these guys?"

I have no clue.  I don't have any friends or family who have been in jail.  The closest I've ever come to a criminal record is when a police officer pulled me over for driving too slow in the left lane of the highway.  That was over ten years ago, and I got off with a warning.  I can't blame it on internet dating because a lot of the men I met offline.  Not sure what it is about me, but I love the lawbreakers.

So here are the reasons men I've been with have gotten into legal trouble, along with the excuses about why they broke the law:

1) Motor vehicle hit-and-run   ("I just barely tapped the guy")

2) Driving with expired tabs and outstanding tickets  (He was Black.)

3) Threatening an ex-girlfriend  (He tried to be funny and sent her a package with an axe inside and a note saying "Let's bury the hatchet."  She got a restraining order against him).

4) Breaking into an ex-girlfriend's apartment and ransacking her home ("I was off my meds.  If I just take my meds I'm fine.")

5) Holding up a "Free Tibet" sign in the middle of Tiananmen Square during the Beijing Olympics
(No excuse given and really, none needed)

6)  Breaking and entering a public pool in the middle of the night  ("We were 21, in college, and hammered.  They had an Olympic high dive.")

7)  DUI.  (No excuse.  He feels horrible about it and is relieved he didn't hurt anyone.)

8)  Vandalism  (He's a PhD candidate with a special interest in anarchist philosophy)

Will add to the list as they come along.




 

What Happens When I Try to Meet Men Offline

My friend and I sat at a booth in Sun Liquor Distillery last night, drinking cocktails and catching up on our love (or lack thereof) lives, when she noticed a man sitting by himself at the bar.

"Oh my God, I think that guy keeps showing up in my OkCupid matches!  Want to see?"

We took at look at the profile in question.  Not only was it the same man, but he was wearing the exact same shirt and hat as in his pictures.  Leave it to an eligible Seattle bachelor to have a single presentable outfit.

He also, as OkCupid noted, was online at that moment.  We glanced over and saw him on his cell phone, clearly scrolling through potential matches.

The weirdness of the situation was too much for me to handle.  We were two single women staring at a single man- all of us on the same internet dating website- yet not talking to each other at a bar.  Is this what dating has come to?  We sit alone and drink alcohol, searching for love online while being oblivious to the people around us?

Two drinks in and I knew I had to say hello.  Maybe we'd like each other!  Maybe he'd like my friend!  I am on a mission to encourage the Seattle organic dating process, and this was too obvious of an opportunity to ignore.

"Hey, you're on OkCupid, right?", I jumped right in.  He was surprised and said "maybe."

"You keep showing up in my friend's matches so I wanted to come over and say hi."

"Oh, well tell your friend it's perfectly legal to send a message.  She doesn't have to wait for me to contact her."

Alternatively, I thought later, you could walk 15 feet to your left and say hello to my friend IN PERSON.  Or you could thank your lucky stars that a woman just approached you in a bar, realize that perhaps she is interested, and flirt back.  Or you could not be interested in either of the women but still drop your phone for five minutes and meet some new people because you're sitting at a bar by yourself and really, what else are you doing with your life?

Or you could be totally awkward, not make eye contact, and mumble something about the weirdness of internet dating.  Yeah, do that.


 

Pacific Inn Pub

Once again, the best thing about my date was the bar we went to.  It was a solid dive in Fremont that I would highly recommend.  The menu says they have Sunday breakfast for $6.75!!!  I always try and get something positive out of my dates, and the bar was it.

#70 showed up in- you guessed it- flannel!  I already was disinterested, then he opened his mouth.

"So you work at a community health center?  That must be so hardcore!"

I stared him down, knowing exactly what he meant but being so pissed off that I wanted to put him on the spot.

"What do you mean by 'hardcore'?"

He dug himself deeper.  "I mean, don't get me wrong, I think the work you do is amazing!  It's just, you must see a lot of mental illness and stuff.  I mean, I think mental illness is a huge issue that needs to be addressed.  It's something I care a lot about on a personal level- I mean, not PERSONAL, but it's something I'm passionate about.  There's a huge need for mental health care, which is causing so many of the healthcare disparities..."

Just shut the fuck up.  I checked out immediately and spent the next two hours of my life wondering how I am ever going to connect with a man in this city, the American bastion of liberalism, where everyone claims to be progressive but thinks anyone who makes less than $30,000 is exotic.  Ironically, I went out with this man specifically because he mentioned "social justice" in his profile.  I really couldn't care any less about a man's theories on poverty and service on boards of non-profits.  Can he talk with a person from a different background without feeling like he's dangerous and edgy?  That's what I want to know.

I finished my beer and he ordered another, turning a 60 minute date into 120.  I need to start being bitchier, I thought, or stop wearing makeup to these things.  He walked me to my car and said "Thanks for the great conversation!"  I wanted to cry.

71 is inevitable, looming on the horizon like a rainy, Seattle winter.

Again, What's Important

I caught my brother and his fiancé up to speed on my dating life over lunch last week and emphasized, "Can you please not tell our parents about this?"

"There is NO WAY I would tell Mom and Dad," my brother said, "mostly because I don't want to have to deal with all the questions they would ask."

So let me explain again, because I have new readers, how Crazy Chinatown Man made it through my dating filter after admitting to being on an antipsychotic during our first date THAT HE DOESN'T REMEMBER and then binge-drinking and drugging his way through our next six, 15 months later. 

There is a method to the madness.  I AM looking for something serious, and a man needs to have a few key values for that to happen.

1)  Community.  And by community, I don't mean White thirty-somethings who live in Seattle and get together for vegan, gluten-free potlucks.  I have always been attracted to men who navigate cultural and socioeconomic differences with ease.  Can he speak another language?  Does he have friends from different backgrounds?  If I were to take him to my workplace, would he notice that most of my coworkers are women of color who had their first child before graduating high school, or would he notice that most of my coworkers are intelligent, passionate, kind, and fucking rockstars?

2)  Social justice.  There is nothing that makes me want to exit a date more than when I tell a man what I do for a living and his response is, "Wow, that's really admirable."  Caring and advocating for the most vulnerable people in our society should be normal, and if he thinks that is something that deserves extra respect or admiration, we will never connect.

3)  Fun.  This is, clearly, a recurring theme in my blog.  But life is stressful, yo!  Last week, I had to walk into a room and tell a 12 year old boy and his father that the mass on the child's shoulder is bone cancer and, P.S., he doesn't have health insurance and needs some.  The three of us cried in the room together and then I sobbed alone at my desk for a good ten minutes more before needing to move on to another patient.  That night I went home, got stoned, drank 2 glasses of wine, and popped some Xanax.  Life can be so sad!  People lose jobs, lose parents, get sick, have accidents...  I need a partner who can have a good time and weather those moments with me.

There are some things that are notably absent from my dating criteria: 

Education level, salary, career, religion, ability to be monogamous, past marital status, parental status.  Criminal records.  Drug use.  While I spend every summer weekend in the mountains, outdoorsy isn't part of my criteria.  Neither is travel experience, although I have lived abroad several times.  It's not that I don't pay attention to these or that they don't matter, but they don't make or break my ability to love someone, and none are dealbreakers.

Crazy Chinatown Man made the cut, as did three men who I fell in love with over the years and a few others along the way.  Know anyone else, Seattle?  I'm headed out on my 70th first date next week, might as well make it 71.

New Game

Let's play a game called "What drugs do men take before writing me OkCupid messages?"

"Hi! My name is Nick. You are really beautiful! Can we get together to see if we have a connection? Lets do something fun together. We should go for a walk, movie, coffee or something fun. You can call/txt me anytime 206 8-- 3-9-. Do you have a contact # I can have? Sorry if I was rude in any way. I like your pics and profile. When are you available to hang out? Do you drive? I look forward to hopefully meeting you some time. Hope your having an awesome day. Call/txt or message me :) "

I vote a winning combination of Adderall and cocaine.





 

New Batteries

Crazy Chinatown Man and I last saw each other ten days ago.  He'd spent the night on a Sunday, and I had to rouse him from his Xanax-and-alcohol-induced-slumber so I could make it to work on time.  Three days later I hadn't heard from him, so I sent him a text.

He responded less enthusiastically than in previous weeks.  Messages continued over several days, but I detected a distant tone.  I was confused.  He seemed uninterested, yet he gave me just enough response to keep me coming back for more.  At one point I was ready to give up and call it a wrap, but he followed up a seemingly apathetic text with "you suck cock pretty nicely," and I realized that, at least on some level, he was engaging.

I asked him to hang out on a Friday.  He said he was sick.  Then he sent a message the next day saying he was headed to Portland.

"Are you back yet?", I wrote on a Monday.  The answer was no, without any follow-up about when he might return or if he wanted to see me again.

I was agitated.  I felt that seven dates in, with bodily fluids exchanged, I deserved more clarity.  I ruminated about what I should write to him to make it clear I needed straightforwardness.

"I want to convey," I told my friend M, "that I had a fun time and am interested in seeing him again in ANY context- dating or friendship- but also that I deserve honesty and that I kind of think he's a dick for not just leveling with me about what's going on."

"That's way too complicated," she advised.  "Keep it simple and don't seem crazy."

With the help of a 22-year-old representative for the male species named Sam who we roped in at a bar, we composed and recomposed the perfect message:

"Hey, I just wanted to check in with you because it seems like you've lost interest.  I've had a great time with you I've had a fun time hanging out with you but if you don't see this going anywhere, that's cool want to keep seeing me please let me know."

"Hey J______, thanks for the good dates times these last couple of weeks.  I've noticed a lack of communication recently which leads me to believe you're Haven't heard from you in about a week, just wondering if you'd like to go out again.  Just let me know."

"Hey, it seems like you've lost interest.  If that's the case, can you let me know so I can go back to masturbating about Matt Damon Charlie Sheen?"

I didn't send any of them.  They all seemed bitter and needy, while I was neither.  Somehow, with one simple text, I needed to seem casual, flirtatious, and easygoing, with no neuroses about dating whatsoever. 

I repeat: no neuroses.  I'm not neurotic.  I would never sit down and plan out multiple versions of a possible text message because that would be crazy.  Right?!?

M and I switched locations and consulted a legitimate dating expert: our friend's boyfriend, the bartender at Rione XIII.  If there is anyone who knows the ins and outs of cross-gender communication, it would be someone who liquors people up for a living.  He thought about it for a moment and then delivered:

"So is this going somewhere, or do I need to buy new batteries?"

I typed it in and hit "send."  I wasn't nervous at all.  In so few words, everything I wanted was communicated.

He responded an hour later.

"New batteries may be in order.  I'm down here still because I got that job offer in Salem and am taking it.  I'm happy about that, but these sorts of texts are sad!"

It was just what I needed to hear, and I sighed relief with the clarity.  I told him I was happy for him and that I'd had a really, really nice time.

"I did too :-)"

Will I ever see him again?  I don't know.  I told him I would like to say goodbye when he comes back to Seattle to move out, and he said he would like that too.  But part of me wants to keep those happy moments in my memory, unchanged, with no associated regret of what might have been.  I want to remember him crooning a cheesy love ballad at karaoke in Bush Gardens, teaching me the importance of castling in chess, staring out the window of my apartment imagining the city of Seattle covered in stalactites and stalagmites... 

I want to remember how he held my hand before we ever kissed and how we had sex the first time, completely sober.

 

Apparently for Men, Crazy is not a Dealbreaker Either

99.99999% of the time in Seattle dating, I feel like the men are, objectively speaking, the fuckups:  too socially clueless or offensive, irritatingly passive and poorly groomed.  But sometimes, sometimes I'm the one who is a hot dating mess.  Blame it on the feminist club I joined in my Pacific Northwest high school, or the women's college, or two years of malelessness nursing school.  Find my parents guilty for refusing to let their only daughter play with Barbies or shave her legs.  Hold accountable Planned Parenthood, for keeping me baby-free into my early 30s.  Here we go...

 I like Crazy Chinatown man more each time I see him, and with that I get nervous. Adding to my insecurity is an inherent, cultural power dynamic between a 40 year old man and a 32 year old woman that I have a hard time overcoming.  Not to mention he's had one relationship that lasted eight years and another six years, while my longest functioning relationship (defined by two people in love living in the same state) is a whopping five months.  If I broaden my definition of "functioning" to include a transnational romance with a man who subsequently joined the Catholic priesthood or a live-in boyfriend who I had ZERO sex with, I get two years.  To sum it up, I'm dating him with my defensive instincts immediately set up, which led to a problem.

We'd had a nice evening together, and by the time we'd had sex and cuddled, it was midnight and I needed to head home.  My car was parked on the street, and he said he would walk me there from his third floor apartment.

I've been single nearly my entire life, and I'm used to a high level of independence.

"No, it's okay, I can walk myself."

"This area can get weird at night, I'd feel better if I just walked you down."

"No really, it's fine.  You don't have to put your clothes on."

He insisted one more time as he went through his closet, and I freaked out.  I wanted control.  I wanted to leave his apartment and walk to my car on my own, as I have done every other time I've had sex with a man.

"No!  You don't have to come with me!  I just feel really uncomfortable with gender roles and I can walk to my car on my own!  I feel weird when men try and help me out, and I'll be fine!  I lived in this neighborhood for a year and never had any problems!"

He continued to get dressed.

"Please don't!  I went to a women's college and I'm not used to this!  I'm freaking out right now!  I just can't handle anything that falls along gender lines!  I don't ever want an engagement ring!"

I mentioned an engagement ring. WHY THE FUCK DID I MENTION AN ENGAGEMENT RING?!?!?

"R_______...  I'm just trying to walk you to your car."

I was unnecessarily jittery, hastily thanked him for a nice time, said I could walk by myself, and ran out the door.

He followed me into the hallway, and I disappeared into the elevator, hitting the 1* button repeatedly until the doors closed.  They finally opened and I ran out into the apartment lobby, only to find him waiting there for me.

At that point I gave up and he walked me to my car.

"If there's one thing you should know about me," he said, "it's that I do what I want."

"I do too."

"And that's why we're both here."

The next day, I realized what a disaster I was.  He didn't contact me and my heart sank, believing that I completely ruined one of the most promising series of dates I've had in 3.5 years.

"Do you still want to date me?", I sent a desperate text message the next evening.

He responded an excruciating twelve minutes later:

"Oh, this is a really bad day for serious text chatting.  I'm under the impression we're people in hanging out mode and not like dating, put perhaps I blacked something out?  I didn't sleep at all, got near dead at crossfit today, and am really worked up that these two fucking people still haven't paid me for jobs, and probably chemically and emotionally a bit out of whack for having drank the entire week before my birthday then stopping.  So that's all where I am today."

FUCKKKKKKKKKKK.  Not good.  I assumed I was done with.  Then two days later, I got another text:

"When you write your blog, do you include parts where somebody wants to walk you to your car after hanging out and having sex, and you shriek a bunch of things really quickly about gender roles, women's colleges, and freaking out, then run out the front door and sprint to the elevator, or are these entries usually other-person centric?"

The answer is, I include it all.

We saw each other again, had another fun evening, and are still communicating.  Fingers crossed.  Thank God we both love the crazies.
 

Update on the man who I avoided by texting my friends in the bathroom of The Elysian and then hiding behind a bush

He asked me out again.

No.

Corduroys

Crazy Chinatown Man grew on me, steadily but surely, over a game of chess.  We each consumed a moderate two glasses of wine and neither of us took opiates that night.  He was thoughtful, creative, humble, and actually not that crazy.  He wore corduroys again, sporting a look that I call “Pacific Northwest Sexy”.  I have waited three years for a man to show up in corduroys on a date, and he did it twice in a row.  The fact that it was the same pair of corduroys only made him more endearing. 

“So what if there’s a questionable substance abuse problem and mental health history?”, I thought to myself.  When my last relationship ended I went completely insane, and who doesn’t enjoy mixing alcohol and pills once in awhile?  Dealbreakers are meth and needles, and he used neither in my presence.

Back at my apartment, we sat on my couch talking and holding hands for ten minutes before I remembered that it is nearly impossible for a Seattle man to make the first move, and I decided to help him out. I kissed him, and ten minutes later we were still kissing. I couldn't remember the last time I made out with someone without clothes coming off.  Possibly fifteen years ago?  We both wanted to, but it didn’t happen. The funny thing about dating is I'll sleep with anyone who I don't want to see again, but when I like a man, the stakes are higher.  I was nervous.

We texted back and forth for a few days, and then he turned forty.  Younger men, I appreciate for their high energy level and fearlessness.  In older men, I like their sense of responsibility and life experience.  I didn’t know him well, but he seemed to have both.

“What advice can you give me for finishing out the rest of my 30s?”, I wanted to know.

"Don’t get arrested.  And don’t do too many drugs at once.”

I’m golden on those two accounts, but love?  How do I make the magic happen?  I wish I could figure that out.

On his birthday we spent several hours talking and making out, and then we had sex, completely sober.  I was so confused by the sensations and emotions of sober sex that I actually felt drunk, although I hadn’t touched alcohol that night.  Neither had he, and without me mentioning it, he said “I’m really glad we did this without drinking.”  It was sweet; I melted a little.

I straddled him, kissed him, and a curtain of my curly hair fell down around our faces.  "Sorry," I apologized, "I usually bring a hairband with me in these situations."

I didn't realize how stupidly inappropriate of a comment I made until he laughed and pointed it out.

"These situations?  I mean, I don't want to be sleeping with a virgin, but my mind is racing right now."

"AHHHH, sorry!  That was really dumb of me.  There haven't been THAT many of these situations." 

Oops!  Rookie mistake.  Except I'm not a rookie.

 

Meanwhile

I just sat in the bathroom of The Elysian for seven minutes to escape my shitty-ass 69th first date who ordered a second beer after we'd already been there one hour.  Then when we left the bar, I lied and told him my car was parked in the opposite direction of his and literally HID BEHIND A BUSH until I was sure he had left.

Crazy is Never a Dealbreaker

It was 10 pm this past Friday.  I was in bed in my pajamas, exhausted from the work week, going to sleep early to climb a mountain the next day, when I got an OkCupid message from a man I'd gone out with once in June of 2013.

He said he was embarrassed but in "last summer's weirdness," was it possible that we hung out and he couldn't remember?

Yesssss, here was a man who was completely drugged out during our first date.  Dealbreaker?  Hardly.  I remembered the date and thought he was attractive and interesting, albeit slightly odd and zonked out.  I would have seen him again, but he didn't contact me.  Until tonight!  What was I doing?  Would I like to meet him in half an hour at his favorite secret bar in Chinatown?

"Don't worry, I realize I'm coming across insane, so totally buddy homie yo bro platonic drinks is cool."  My thoughts as well.

I weighed the two options in front of me:

1)  Be normal.

2) Put on a dress and makeup and drive to a seedy Chinatown bar to meet a man with an admitted drug and/or psychiatric history for a second date, 15 months after the first.

Any guesses as to my move?

We met up in the back room of the Four Seas and needed to reintroduce ourselves.  I noted immediately that he seemed like a different person than from our first date.  He was more energetic and witty, less in a Xanax-or-perhaps-Seroquel induced state.  I liked that he was a lawyer and was comfortable working with people from different backgrounds in our community.  I also liked that he wore corduroy pants and let his hair fall into his eyes.  He had lived in Seattle for twenty years, and we reminisced about when Capitol Hill was gay and artsy, before brogrammers born in 1990 invaded the coffee shops with Google Glass and messenger bags, driving up the rents and pricing the long-time residents out.  He reminded me of the Seattle of my youth:  quirky, conscious, and independent.

"I must have been really out of it when we went out before if I didn't contact you again," he said, "because you're actually quite pretty and charming."

He was smooth, and I had to ask the question even though I already knew the answer:  "Have you ever been arrested?"

The answer was yes.  By now, it's a given.  I have a type, and the type is "possible criminal."

I was having too much fun, I ignored that he started out the evening by ordering himself a Corona AND a double shot of Jameson.  Then another Corona.  And another.  And a hydrocodone or two or three.  By 1 am he was smoking a cigarette in the parking lot, holding my hand, suggesting that we go back to his rooftop to try and see the Aurora Borealis.

The evening had sucked me in too much to say no, even though I was waking up in six hours to hike.  I was along for the ride, and I was ready to see where my bad decisions would take me.  By the time we got back to his apartment he was dancing to Lady Gaga, slurring his speech, and inviting me to celebrate his 40th birthday with him in a week.

"You can spend the night if you want," he offered.  "I mean, there are the men that put their hands on women and there are the men that keep their hands to themselves.  My hands are mine." 

Spoken like a true mix of seven drinks and opiates.

I was sober enough to make a good- although less interesting- decision and told him I would be sleeping at home.

"Okay."  His face fell for a moment, then he jumped up and shrieked.  "I have to pee!  Which plant do you want me to pee on?"

I told him the sunflower.  He peed nowhere near the sunflower.

It was 3 am, and I needed to leave.  He held my hand, walked me to my car, and never kissed me.

 

More First Dates

32 men sent me messages in the two weeks that I reactivated my OkCupid account, and I didn't respond to a single one.  Confirming that women hold the numeric edge in Seattle internet dating, three out of the four men I messaged wrote back.

Bam-Bam-Bam!  #66, #67, and #68 were in quick succession, all in the same week.  A nurse, a digital marketing executive, and a biology teacher.  Two Jewish, two Seattle born-and-raised, all intelligent, all attractive, all well-traveled, and all awesome.  I had three solid dates in a row with men who were 100% normal and could hold an interesting conversation.  There was nothing wrong with any of them, except for the underlying issue that has plagued my romantic life since I began developing sex hormones. 

No chemistry.

Is it my chronic allergic rhinitis that has dulled my sense of smell to the point where I can't detect pheromones?  Was it the fact that none of them had been arrested?  I wish there was an easy answer, but that *zing* is so hard for me to find.  Dating is easier when you're attracted to more people.

I know my selection process is getting better because none of the men contacted me afterwards.  They had enough interpersonal skills to realize the absence of a romantic connection, and we went our separate ways thanking the other for a good time without making vague, fake plans to see each other again.  Gone are the days of men professing how amazing I am while I stare in disbelief, wondering how they saw any connection at all.  Things are looking better.

 

Seattle, I hate you.  I just sat at the bar in The Elysian by myself, and you know what?  A man sat down and talked to me.  I will give my readers a chance to process because I'm in disbelief myself...  In a bar, in Seattle, a man approached me.  You read that correctly.  I should buy a lotto ticket.

He was an archaeologist with the National Park Service and had fascinating stories about meeting with indigenous tribal leaders to preserve ancient stone art.  He had a PhD, fully-funded, from a prestigious university.  He was hot and did not have a beard.

Aaaaaaaaaand he didn't live in Seattle but was in town for a conference.  Shocking.  Screw this city, where a million tech guys WHO LOOKED EXACTLY THE SAME invaded downtown for a videogame convention this weekend, but I have never met a local professional archaeologist.

 

Back on the Saddle!!!!!

I disabled OkCupid for two months because, contrary to popular belief, dating is not my life.  I had priorities this summer, and they included enjoying the fuck out of the most gorgeous Seattle weather I can remember in my 32 years of life, and then climbing Mount Rainier.  Mission accomplished at 14,410feet; I can now focus on putting a gigantic, responsibly-sourced diamond on this Pacific Northwest finger.  (Will donate 10% of the proceeds to your favorite nonprofit.)

It is statistically impossible, I tell myself, that there is not a single awesome man in this city who would love to date a cute, smart, beer-drinking, sex-loving, mountain climber chick.  I reactivated my OkCupid account.

My optimism got the best of me after my most recent 6 week OkCupid "success" story, and I had forgotten how bad it is.  There were four men wearing kilts in pictures.  I received a message that said, in its entirety, "Like Batman and Superman?".  A man whose screen name is GiantHomunculus was a 94% match to me.  There is a section to describe your relationship type as "monogamous" or "non-monogamous."  And all of this absurdity is BEFORE I read the profile contents.

I've been doing this for three years, and I'm now much better at quickly filtering out the men who I will never, ever connect with.  Any of the following words come up in a profile, and I hit the "back" button immediately:

Geek
Nerd
Videogames
Animae
Polyamory
"I have an amazing girlfriend who knows I'm on this site"
Open marriage
Computer graphics
420 friendly
Witty banter
Height: 5'4''
Herpes  (not joking here, people list their STDs online)
"I ran out of razors. My beard is getting out of hand!"

#66, here I come!
 




 

Bioluminescence

"Give me some of that pussy!!!!!" screamed the man who had opened the sliding door of a moving van to greet me and my friend at 9 am in Sitka's downtown.

Welcome to Alaska.

The men who I met in this state were, in general, frickin' awesome- friendly, kind, and confident.  In the ten days that I spent in Alaska, I had more offers to buy me a drink than I have had in the past three years on Capitol Hill.  My friend and I had no problems meeting people in bars, and we observed that these men could have a conversation.  Finally, we were in the company of males who weren't borderline autistic!  None of the men we met went to college or had a financial plan, but they were all capable of basic social skills.  We were impressed.

So what if they all wore flannel and had beards?  These fashion statements are completely appropriate in The Last Frontier.  If your job entails heavy outdoor labor, you have earned the right to look like a total mess.  I am less forgiving if you work on a laptop in South Lake Union and show up at a craft cocktail bar looking like you stepped out of a logging camp.

Two men we met offered to take us on an Alaskan adventure, and we boarded the private boat of our host with the following supplies for an overnight trip:  A kayak, a 24 pack of Old Milwaukee beer, taco fixings, crab pots, and a shotgun.  The destination was Admiralty Island, home to 1,600 brown bear (hence the need for the rifle).  We anchored at dusk and ate dinner together, then the men went outside and asked us to follow.

One of them smacked a rope into the ocean and the water lit up green.  "Bioluminescence", he explained.  The production and emission of light by marine microorganisms!   I was enchanted by Alaska, and I wanted to fall in love with a man in that wild, uncharted territory.

The best part about the trip was no one had sex, or even kissed.  It was just good, male on female company, with enough sexual tension to keep it interesting but not enough to make it awkward.  We were out on a boat in the Pacific Ocean with two men who we'd known for 48 hours, no cell service, and a loaded gun, yet we felt safe and respected the entire time.

New York, I'm over you.  Juneau is the new plan.



 

3.2.

My 32nd birthday was spent camping- as in the previous two birthdays- although this time, instead of the North Cascades, I was on a ferry deck traveling through Alaska's Inside Passage.  As usual, my friend and I were the only women without male companions, and also as usual, we found ourselves a couple of men on a guy trip.  The boat took us past 14,000 foot mountains, bald eagles, orcas, and glaciers, and when the sun set and the deck became cold we all headed into the ferry bar.  There was no romantic chemistry with the men, but they were great, and as they talked about their adventures with Peace Corps in Kyrgyzstan and hiking the John Muir trail I wished that I was meeting people like them in the Seattle dating world.

As my friends partner up I am envious of the security they have but also sensitive to the benefits of being single- the stories I hear, the life lessons shared, the ability to wander off the beaten path and camp on a ferry deck with no responsibilities other than to myself.  My years to have a child without that dreaded "Advanced Maternal Age" diagnosis code are dwindling, but on that boat I was blissfully aware of my baby-free status.

Then the ferry docked at a remote Alaskan port to pick up passengers, I turned on my cell phone, and a call came in.

It was my younger brother and his girlfriend.  "Hey!  We weren't sure if you had phone service but we wanted to call and say happy birthday!"

I was suspicious.  My brother sounded nervous and I sensed another agenda.

"Also, we have some news to tell you...  We're engaged!"

How on earth can I possibly describe, in writing, my reaction to my 29 year old sibling and his 27 year old fiancé telling me their proposal story on the day I turned 32, with not even a single date scheduled on the horizon?  It was a weird mix of love, bitterness, fear, and confusion.  I initially teared up with self-pity, then, when I got my emotions in check, felt relief knowing that my parents are likely to have at least one grandchild.  I thought about how I can be the cool aunt who helps my future niece put blue streaks in her hair or teaches my nephew how to curse in Spanish.  Then I became sad, again, as I know that every year I add on the calendar makes these dreams less likely to happen for myself.

But for now, ALASKA, and more specifically, Alaska men.  They deserve their own blog post.  They do not disappoint.

Yep, Not Over It

Why am I so flustered about getting a really fun day with Engineer instead of the text message that I asked for?  I don't know if I'm more upset with him or with my reaction to the situation.  A text message ending was the one thing I felt I had control over, and I felt cheated.  Am I really so stubborn that I can't accept a different storyline to the plot I wanted?

Apparently, yes, because I'm blogging about it five days later.  I feel that he was wrong, but I was too.  Or were we both right?

HOW CAN I EVER HAVE A FUNCTIONING RELATIONSHIP IF STUFF LIKE THIS KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT???????

Moving on because I have never been so passionate about something so stupid.  It doesn't matter.  Really, really doesn't.

********************************************************************************

I had intended to keep in touch with Photographer after I sent him an I'm-seeing-someone-else Facebook message six months ago, and this week presented the perfect opportunity to prove to myself and the world that people can stay friends after they end a relationship through electronic communication.  We met up in Wallingford for beers last night and had a great time.  He told me about his mountain biking races, I told him about climbing Adams, and then we decided to make a movie together for an amateur pornography festival.  You know, typical Seattle dialogue between ex-partners. 

At some point between the second and the third beer, he paused in the conversation:  "I forgot what I was saying-   I've just been trying really hard not to look down your dress."

I turn 32 next week.  He turns 36 a few days later.  This is how we do it.

*********************************************************************************

Not dating for a bit because I have a trip to Alaska and a big mountain climb on my schedule.  BRB.



 

To Text or Not To Text

The engineer with the houseboat and I continued to see each other after we had the where-is-this-going conversation that ended with the answer, nowhere. In fact, one of my best dates in Seattle was with him, several weeks after we technically stopped dating. We went dancing one night, made it home at 4 am, had sex, went to sleep, woke up, had sex again, and then... went to brunch. Brunch! The modern dating ritual that I hardly ever participate in because I generally don't want to spend a morning with the men I sleep with. Fourteen men have I bedded since my last relationship, and how many did I go to breakfast with the next day? I actually counted, and the answer is three.

At 3 am that night, on the corner of 12th and John, we were holding hands, and he gave me a lopsided compliment: "R_______, I'm so glad to have met you! I'm not right for you, and you're not right for me, but I am having such a great time!". I wanted to both smack him and kiss him. How was I not right for him? Show me another woman with my energy level, my passion for helping people, my commitment to my friends, my desire to live a more ethical existence, my independence and fearlessness. Yet he was correct, of course, and I truthfully was so glad to have met him as well.

I was certain of two things: 1)He would start dating someone else before I did, and 2) He would let me know in a text message. The difficult conversation had happened in person several weeks before, and I had the closure I needed. I wanted him to have an easy out and moreover, I wanted to be able to process that loss on my own. We had talked multiple times about my preference for text message endings, and he would never put me through a breakup conversation twice. This I knew for sure.

Yesterday we took the ferry to Vashon Island, bought a bottle of wine, and sat on the beach. He asked me if I had been on any dates recently, and I told him I hadn't. Why would I put myself through the shittiness of dating if there was someone I enjoyed spending time with?!? It was going nowhere but it was fun, and fun is more than I can say I had with 62 of the other 64 men.

Then he told me he went on a great date last week, a date with amazing chemistry and a connection that left his heart pounding when he kissed her. As soon as he described his excitement for this woman, I knew what he was implicitly saying. His interests had shifted, and he was going to pursue her. "I didn't want to tell you in a text message," he said.

I was so happy for him- really, really happy- but I was flabbergasted. I told him I wanted a text message! It was a violation of what I thought was a clear understanding. We were sitting on the beach, looking at Mount Rainier, drinking wine, and I felt panicky. I was ambushed an hour and a half away from home, and I had no escape route but to continue the evening with him and ride in his car off the island. I couldn't believe, after all the conversations we'd had, that he would choose to tell me this in person.

An argument ensued. 

"I knew if I sent you a text message then I'd never see you again, and I didn't want that."

-"That wouldn't have happened! I would never not be friends with you because you're seeing someone else. I think you're great, and us not being romantically involved doesn't change that."

Back and forth, in the car, we were both stubborn.

"Don't I get a say in this?", he protested. "There are two people involved here! I didn't want to send you a text message. I wanted to tell you in person."

-"No, you shouldn't have a say! I told you the rules from the beginning.  I wanted a text message! When you are the one ending things, you have to go by what the other person wants, not the way YOU want to end a relationship."

"But it wouldn't have been communicated well in a text!... Are we seriously arguing about this? You're upset at me for NOT SENDING A TEXT MESSAGE because I wanted you to know that I cared about you?!?

We were both laughing by now, realizing the absurdity of the conversation. He had tried to not be a dick, and it was blowing up in his face. I had tried to be casual and undramatic, and it was blowing up in mine.

The fight was over, and he grew quieter. "After that great date with her when I was so excited, you were one of the first people I wanted to tell about it." 

It may be the sweetest thing a man has said to me in three years.

I had an awesome time with him that day. We spent seven hours together, none of which were awkward. It was sunny and peaceful on the beach. He brought me to a winery; we shared a bottle of rosé . The sunset behind the Olympics lit the clouds fuschia as we sat in the ferry line going home. We saw jellyfish. 

To his credit, there are few men who can execute a breakup so well that they make a fun date out of it. To mine, there are few women who would be excited to keep a friendship with a man who ended a romantic relationship in the middle of a seven hour date.

The Best of Dating

Dating is not always horrible, I was reminded by a close friend in Seattle who has been with the same man for eight years and is having a difficult time adjusting to her new roles as a wife and mother.

"I wish we could just trade places for a week," she sighed, "and I can go out dancing and meet people and have casual sex with different men...  It's so much fun when you're getting to know someone.  There's no mystery to my husband.  We can't even take the time to connect with each other any more because our relationship has become putting all of our energy into a child we made.  At least you have the hope that you can start the process of falling in love with someone again, and that will keep you happy for a few years when it happens."

The grass is always greener, and you give up one lifestyle to get another.  At this point, I'd like to recall men I've met who brought meaning in some way to my life, while I have not been falling in love or gestating.

There was K in Brooklyn, who I think reads this blog.  He gave me his copy of Let the Great World Spin, which is one of my favorite books I've ever read.  Our two-night-stand when he was coked up and stoned and briefly decided to move to Seattle to date me made that literary event possible, and I passed on the book to another man several months later.

There was N, also in Brooklyn, who has no idea that our one-night-stand was one of my best dates ever and chronicled in a blog entry.  After sleeping with a hot mid-40s yoga guru, I saw a nutritionist and kicked up my workouts, inspired by the thought that when I am in my 40s, I too could attract men 14 years younger than me.

There was S who brought me to his favorite rock ledge in the Tatoosh Mountain Range, an area of the state where I had never climbed.

A man whose name I don't recall told me about a ferry that leaves from Washington and goes to Alaska.  It takes the same route as the cruise ships at a fraction of the price, and you camp on the deck.  I saw him only twice, but my friend and I bought tickets to take our first trip to Alaska this August, on the ferry.

Another man taught me about the role of forest fires in sustaining ecological balance.

I learned nothing from E, but the sex was great.

The man who obsessed over taking my anal virginity last year took me to his sister's farm in rural Snohomish County.  We kept it G-rated, played with his adorable nieces and ate cake.

M and J played guitar for me.  Mr. Polyamory jammed on his didgeridoo while he was stoned into oblivion.  A different S read me poems in Hebrew.  B and C showed me their photography.

A physical therapist who I went on one date with and never saw again encouraged me to run a half marathon, so I did.  I kept running long distances, and a year later I ran another ten minutes faster.

There has been meaning, I just need to look for it.


 

I May be Old and Childless, But...

Word on the street, from a mutual Facebook friend, is that the fiancé of the exboyfriend who inspired this blog, ("youth and I really love her kid"), posted a picture of her new tattoo:  a garter belt around her thigh.

Winning!

Felicidades a Todos!

On July 11th, one month before my 32nd birthday, I started my ascent of Mount Adams with my brother.  Hiking has taken on a special significance for me as a single woman; I don't have a go-to for a climbing partner, and I often head out into the mountains on my own.  On my hike the previous weekend, along a ridge facing the Saint Helens blast zone, I passed about thirty men.  I was one of only three women on the trail, and I was the only one unaccompanied.  "Are you hiking solo?"  I was, as always. 

At the summit of Mount Adams, the second highest peak in Washington state, there were again three women.  One was with her boyfriend, who pulled out a ring and proposed.  Another was the only female in a climbing party of six.  "You go girl!", we high-fived, noting that we stood out among the twenty + men on top.  Mountaineering is a male-dominated sport, and we held our own.

That same day, a baby was born in a hospital in Guatemala.

"Hola R____, te cuento que hoy nació mi hijo, al final fue cesárea, mi pareja y el bebé están estables."

A healthy baby boy for my ex-boyfriend and his fiance!  I was touched that he emailed me the news on arguably the most important day of his life.  Four years have passed since we last saw each other, and our worlds have twisted and turned in ways we couldn't have imagined.  But the foundation- a love that transcended cultures, religions, and languages, that broke through a bloody history of a civil war funded by my parents' tax dollars and resulting in the murder of his father, that taught me how to salsa dance and shoot tequila and speak a second language- the foundation is still there.

When people ask me what I'm looking for, that's the best way I can describe it.

 

That's Right, I Cried

Well, I got over that quickly.  How do I know?  The day after it happened, I got a full night's sleep, ran eight miles, had breakfast, and headed out to Oregon to meet friends for three days of camping and hiking.  In other words, it was a totally normal Pacific Northwest summer weekend.

During my last heartbreak I lost twenty pounds off of my 5'1'' frame while surviving on Mexican sodas- the only calories I could choke down.  I dreamed about driving my car off a cliff into the Columbia River and took Vicodin before going to bed to make the dreams go away.  I had to quit a job that I loved, relocate cities, and fly to Asia to try and get over the last man I had serious feelings for.  This time around, I'm good.

I felt stupid for crying in front of him, a man who I'd been on seven dates with.  Then I thought about the past three years and realized why the tears were completely justified.  Let's rehash what I count as my "success" stories again:

1)  Man I dated for six weeks who spent five of them trying to convince me to have anal sex with him and then broke up with me with a text message, while I was on vacation in Hawaii, because I "talk too much."

2)  A one-night stand with a 45 year old who lives 3000 miles away.

3)  Most recent dude.

And my almost-success stories, the men I dated where we tried and ultimately failed to have that connection:

1)  Jewish law student who, when I ended our relationship, physically shook me until I broke into tears, covered my face, and begged him not to hit me, then told me he loved me as I got out of his house as quickly as possible.  See why I prefer text message breakups?

2)  Downstairs neighbor who knocked on my door at 4 am going through alcohol withdrawals, asking me for Xanax.

If three years of dating landed you ZERO relationships that lasted more than two months, you would probably cry too.  My standards have dropped from a Jewish, financially-stable vegetarian who climbs mountains, is passionate about social justice, and wants a family to... any fun man who I enjoy having sex with.  Those standards have been met exactly three times.

F.M.L.  Hard.

 

The Conversation I Kind of Wish I Never Had

Things were going great.  I was having the best series of dates I've had in three years in Seattle, and because the stakes were high for me I had to know, to get clarification about whether or not he was feeling the same way.  So I asked, and he answered.

I don't remember his exact words, but his response was essentially a kind and thoughtfully-constructed rejection.  He was having a good time and there was a connection, but it wasn't THE connection that we are all looking for.  Whatever piece that transforms casual dating into a full-fledged relationship was missing for him and that, as I know too well, is not fixable.

I could tell it hurt him to hurt me.  We were laying down together and he avoided eye contact, looked up at the ceiling, and exhaled.  "Wow, that was really hard to say."  I told him it was okay, and it was.  I have been in his position more times than I can count, telling a partner that I knew our relationship wasn't going anywhere.  Being honest is the hardest part of dating, but it is so, so necessary.  I cannot fault a man for honesty.  To the contrary, it earns my respect.

We sat up, heads spinning, wondering where to go from that moment on.  "Well this has been really fun!," he laughed, and I agreed.  Truthfully, the experience of getting to know someone and see if a relationship could develop is the best part of dating.  I was sad that it would never progress the way I had hoped, but I was also SO FUCKING GRATEFUL to have been briefly excited about a person and have had our paths intersect in this dear city of mine.  I will never, ever regret having a fun time with a man, even if there is no future. 

I did however regret- as I think he did too- that I brought up the topic before we had sex.  Once my tears fell it was clear that the evening had to end, and I wished it had ended in the same manner of previous nights- sweaty and naked and physically fulfilled.  Note to self: initiate conversations about where relationships are headed after orgasms.  It is a learning process.

Sex with each other in the future is still on the table, which I always enjoy, as I maintain that just because a relationship won't work doesn't mean that there is no connection.  I love friendship sex in a lot of ways:  It is considerate.  It is comfortable.  There is no ambiguity about the status of a relationship.  If it's done right no one gets hurt, and both parties find meaning in each other.

But goddamnit, there will be a 66th first date.
 

Uncharted Territory

On our second date, #65 told me what he was looking for in a partner:  "I want someone who inspires me to be better," he explained.  In all my years of boyfriends and dating, no one has ever said those words, and my eyes snapped open because that's what I'm looking for too.

There have been fourth and now fifth dates and my interest grew steadily as we talked about our passions, religions, past heartbreaks, and relationships with our parents.  Last night we stayed awake until 3 and then fell asleep face-to-face, holding each other.  When I woke up I wasn't rushing to leave or bemoaning a horrible decision from the night before.  I looked at him, and I wanted to know more.

I like him, which complicates everything.  I am not apathetic; I want him to want me back.  The looming question is "Does he like me enough to want the same?"

My feelings are on the line.  It's been awhile, and it's awesome.

Sex On a Houseboat

He KILLED our third date, nailed it in the best way possible, and in the same way my Brooklyn one-night stand did, rectified three years of dating misery.  Without even asking me out, he confidently texted "Come to my place and I'll make dinner."  A Seattle man with a plan!  What woman would refuse?

His place was a houseboat in Shilshole Marina on Puget Sound.  I heard nothing but the waves and seagulls in his neighborhood, and the sun was starting to set behind the Olympics when I arrived at 8 pm.

Beet risotto and spinach salad was the meal, which he cooked himself, as we listened to his favorite Spotify playlist and drank wine.  He was in control in the kitchen, a sexy quality that has never been a requirement but is always a turn-on.  He knew how to dice and slice, how to add spices and cook the risotto al dente.  Plates and napkins were set and we ate at a TABLE- not a couch or facing a television.  We talked about our families and goals, even briefly discussed past relationships and why they failed.  I am used to feeling apathy on dates, but with him I was engaged; my heart rate rose and my brain became alert as I actually paid attention to what a man was saying.

"I really like kissing you," he said as we started to make out.

"I like kissing you too," I replied, "but I also like talking to you, which doesn't happen often with my dates."  He laughed and agreed.

That night, after nervously asking "Do I have your consent?",  he took my houseboat virginity.  It was meaningful and beautiful and just like I'd always dreamed of.


 

Good Date Alert!

They happen, every so often, and I cling to that "I'm having a great time" feeling when I'm sad and thinking there are no men left in the world who I could possibly connect with.

 

This one came off of OkCupid in the form of a white engineer from the Midwest.   On the surface he didn't seem like my type, but when he started to talk about how he hitchhiked from Michigan to Seattle and wanted to go back to school to be an astronaut, I knew that he was crazy enough to hold my interest.  On the first date we sat in Gasworks Park until 10:30 on a Tuesday night and talked about what drugs we'd done and my method of birth control.  The second date involved polishing off a bottle of wine on the field at Cal Anderson and covering the time he was arrested (Is it even POSSIBLE for me to be attracted to someone who hasn't been?!?).  A vodka soda and tequila shot later we were dancing at Havana, discovering our mutual affinity for 90s hip hop. 

 

"Is it horrible that I kind of love R. Kelly's music?" I asked.

 

He lifted me up into a giant hug on the dance floor, the first time we touched each other.  "I'm so glad you said that!  I think that all the time!" 

 

At some point in the evening, he confessed that I was the first person he'd gone on a second date with who he met off the internet, and I confessed right back that he was my sixty-fifth first date since my last relationship.

 

"Wow, I bet you've got some crazy stories.  You should blog about them or something."

 

"Well," I started off slowly, "funny you should mention that..." 

 

We found ourselves making out on a lawn chair on my rooftop deck after midnight, below a gibbous moon and a cloudy Seattle sky.  He lowered my pants and put his mouth on me.  I did not stop him.

 

"I have a favor to ask of you," I said as we were kissing afterwards.

 

"What more could you possibly need?," he joked, "I just gave you oral sex on your rooftop!"

 

The favor is the same for every man who I like.

 

"When you want to stop seeing me, please send me a text message and let me know."

 

He looked confused.  "You shouldn't overthink it.  You blog about dating, so you overthink it too much."

 

Noted.

You Know What's Really Awkward?

When you are hiking 90 minutes away from Seattle and you come face to face, on the trail, with the same man who you sent a breakup text message to the week before.

Thanks Universe.

What Happens When I Initiate a Text Message Breakup

Let's say, hypothetically of course, that a man told me he didn't want to date me because I don't make enough money, or because I don't own a smartphone, or because he doesn't like women with curly hair.

Or let's throw in some actual reasons that men have told me they don't want to date me:  I'm white.  I talk too much. I am too old and he loves the child of a younger woman he is seeing.

At the end of the day, does it matter why someone doesn't want to continue a romantic relationship?  I don't need to spend any more of my time pursuing a man who has made it clear his interests are elsewhere.  Begging someone to want my company when they don't is a big waste of time, and I am (we all are) worth more than that.

So I am always surprised when I end a romantic relationship with a man and I get an argument out of it, as was the case when I told my most recent fourth date that I did not want a fifth.  I hate, HATE dramatic breakups, and I thought that I could get away with an easy "it's not working" text message and move on with my beautiful, sunny Seattle afternoon.

"I was thinking a lot about this the last week and I just keep feeling like dating-wise we are looking for different things.  I've had a great time, but I don't think it will ultimately work for me.  I feel weird about putting this in a text message, but I wasn't sure what to do."

End of story, right?  One person doesn't want to date the other four dates in.  No harm done.

Or not... "Different things?  How so?  I think you're pretty and smart and have a good heart.  But if you don't feel the same, I want you to be able to find what you are looking for."

And thus, a TWO HOUR text exchange ensued in which I stated multiple times that I wanted to end our romantic relationship and he responded, regarding my dealbreaker, "there is no doubt in my mind that it's 100% fixable."

The fact that he never once asked me a question about my career- my major passion in life- was not 100% fixable, and I didn't need another date or twenty to prove this.  I explained once again, "I really tried but just didn't feel like we were connecting.  And I realized I shouldn't have to TRY to connect about something that important to me."

He responded, "I hear what you are saying about not having to try so hard.  Getting along and sharing common values shouldn't be a constant struggle.  But I feel like the problem here was communication.  I just wasn't understanding."

At this point, I realized that this man needed more closure than a text message exchange allowed, and I asked if he wanted to meet up and talk about things instead.

He agreed, kind of.  "How about some 'let's be friends' sex?  I'm not sure that will help, but it couldn't hurt."

I considered his generous offer, however I am still having "let's be friends" sex with my downstairs neighbor and- call me conservative- max out at one friends-with-benefits at a time.  The ultimate goal is a meaningful relationship, not to get chlamydia.

I suggested we talk it over in public and spent another hour of a gorgeous weekend sitting in Cal Anderson Park breaking up, again, with a man who I went on four dates with.

At least I thought we broke up until I got his text message afterwards:

"I'm glad I got to see you today.  BTW, in case I forgot to mention it, you're pretty awesome.  XO"

What Men Say While Having Sex

Stolen from a friend's personal experience:

"I'm gonna cum like global warming!"



 

On a Roll with Another Fourth Date

Here I am again, heading out tomorrow on a fourth date with the same man.  We met on OkCupid- a 91% match according to the website- and on our first date I could see why.

He stood out from most of the men I'm meeting in Seattle.  He is older, for one, experienced enough in dating to show up in a clean shirt and to text promptly the next day stating his interest and asking me out again.  He is also accomplished in his non-tech career, has lived abroad in several countries, and I'm pretty certain has never been arrested.  Vegetarian?  Check.  Yogini?  Check.  Drinks alcohol?  Check.  He suggested, for our second date, that we go skydiving.  I think he was joking, but I took note that he shares my penchant for the crazy before I shot him down and suggested dinner instead.

In keeping with my pattern of stellar sexual decisions when I drink alcohol, we had sex on the third date.  I don't remember much about the sex except that it happened, and it was unexpected until I drank two Negronis and a glass of sparkling wine.  He appropriately said afterwards "I get that you're someone who needs your own personal space," and did the 4 am Capitol Hill Walk of Shame rather than spend the night.

I woke up the next morning and felt sick to my stomach as the situation hit me...  Am I capable of having sex sober any more? was the first thought, followed by Do I like this guy? and Do I even want to see him again?, with the answer to all three questions being a resounding I Don't Know.

But as usual, the men seem to know immediately that they are interested- probably because I'm fucking them.  "You're pretty awesome" was the text message I received the next morning.  "I have to go to Atlanta this Thursday-Sunday.  Want to go out before then?"

And that is how fourth dates are made.




 

My Algorithm

One thing is for certain:  After three years of this, my dates are definitely getting better.  I've figured out my own OKC algorithm that goes something as follows:

                                                                   Does he work in tech?
                                                         ____________↓__________________
                                                       yes                                                           no
                                                          ↓                                                             ↓
                                                 Dealbreaker                           Does he identify himself as polyamorous?
                      (eliminates 90% of my dating pool)          ________________↓______________
                                                                                     no                                                             yes
                                                                                      ↓                                                               ↓
                                                         Are there any pictures with his shirt                            Dealbreaker
                                                  off or him posing in front of a motorcycle?    
                                          ______________________↓_____________________             
                                        no                                                                                    yes
                                         ↓                                                                                       ↓
Is there at least one photograph with no facial hair, thus                                  Dealbreaker
           proving he knows how to hold a razor?
            ______________ ↓______________________
          no                                                                        yes
           ↓                                                                           ↓
   Dealbreaker                                               Does he do ANY of the following:
                                                               Speak a second language/work in healthcare/
                                                               hike/practice yoga/want to live abroad/be Jewish/
                                                                      mention social justice in his profile?
                                                         _______________↓___________________
                                                      yes                                                                  no
                                                        ↓                                                                     ↓
                         Does he do ANY of the following:                                     Dealbreaker
                   Play computer games/list "sex" as a skill/
                   live on the eastside/talk about his iphone/
                   proclaim himself to be a "nerd", "geek,"
                                            or "dork"?
                               ____________↓______________
                            yes                                                 no
                              ↓                                                   ↓
                     Dealbreaker                  Yay!  Potential love!  Let's go on a date!