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!
Winning!
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, July 4, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
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.
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