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.