Wedding Moments

The romance, the celebration, the leap of faith being taken– there is something about weddings that forces us to ponder things and to take stock of our lives. If one is single and attending stag, it reminds one ever-so-much that one is not part of a couple. Perhaps this is why weddings seem such a good place to meet people, and why there are endless tales of romances that start over champagne and shared bites of someone else’s frothy white cake. At the same time, for people who are attending with a date, it can force both parties to examine their relationship in a new light. Are we serious? Where is this going? Do I desire marriage? Would I even want to put a ring on this guy? And sometimes, for a couple, the fallout from attending (or not attending) a wedding provides answers that may not be so welcome.

I had been dating Steve for about nine months. We were having fun. He was a breath of fresh air, his very chillaxed attitude contrasting with my type-A personality. He calmed me down, and I felt like we served as a kind of yin and yang for each other. When a good friend sent me a wedding invitation to her upcoming nuptials, for once the invitation came with someone else’s name on it besides my own. We decided to make a weekend out of it, driving up to Vermont amidst gorgeous fall foliage and staying at a quaint B&B. The wedding itself was perfection. But, in the midst of the weekend, I realized that Steve was not someone I could envision having a monumental relationship with. It saddened me. I liked Steve for so many reasons - he was a light-hearted guy, a thrill-seeker who encouraged me to be more spontaneous, and there was something very nice about our familiarity.

Several months later, Steve and I attended the wedding of two of his close friends. They were lovely people, and we had a great time. He whirled me around the dance floor to some fun eighties tunes. We indulged in too many drinks and too much cake. To everyone around us, we probably looked like a happy couple. But again, I found myself thinking about our relationship and knowing, deep in my heart, that we were not suited for each other for anything beyond dating. When things ended a couple of months later, it didn’t come as a surprise, but rather felt like the ending I knew was going to happen all along.

Then there was Clay, a guy who on one of our early dates mentioned an upcoming wedding that would be fun to take me to. Naturally, with this wedding date looming in the future, I pondered what I would wear, how I would do my hair, if I needed to buy new shoes. As the date drew near, Clay hemmed and hawed and said that he wasn’t sure he wanted to take me. *Note to men –never mention a wedding to someone you are dating unless you plan to take them!* He didn’t want me to feel overwhelmed by meeting all of his friends at once, and he was afraid I would feel abandoned if he stepped away to chat with them. On one hand, I could see his point of view. It might indeed be a bit much to meet so many people at one time, and I didn’t much like the idea of being abandoned either. On the other hand, a little warning bell went off in my head – wouldn’t a guy who was really into me want me to be his date and meet his friends? As the wedding grew near, I couldn’t seem to make peace with the idea that my boyfriend would rather go stag than take me as his date. Predictably, things didn’t work out with Clay.

Like it or not, these wedding moments have a way of forcing things to a head. And I’ve begun to think this might actually be a good thing. After all, discovering that a guy is Mr. Wrong is a step in the right direction. It clears the way for Mr. Better, Mr. Right, or perhaps even allows one to revel in singledom just a little bit.

Playing Games

I’ve never been very good at playing games. And no, I’m not talking about the mental, mind-grueling, wait three days before calling, don’t pick up the phone on the first ring, wait until he opens the car door kind of games. I’m talking about anything that involves moveable pieces, joy sticks or the like, balls, and using any of my limbs. Yes, there are a few games that I’m not terrible at like Yahtzee, pinball machines, and Clue (to my family, again, I swear I’ve never, ever cheated, I’m just gifted!). But, usually, I’m so bad that it’s kind of embarrassing. I try, I have no problem trying. I should get major points for trying. But I fail often and badly, which leads to much unintended, slap-stick humor for my dates.

Back in the day, I used to play darts when I would go out with my friends. I was truly terrible. I often hit the wall. More than once I broke darts this way. My aim was not good and people were fearful they would lose an eye. I only got worse when I had a drink. So, when Collin suggested darts in the midst of beers, I politely tried to dissuade him. “Really, I shouldn’t”, I said demurely. He mistook this for flirtation and a desire to dart and we were soon lined up in front of the bullseye. My first two attempts hit the wall. People moved away from us. Collin struggled to keep a straight face. The third dart managed to hit the board before drooping and clanking to the floor. He burst out, a guffaw so great I wished the floor would swallow me whole. I shrugged my shoulders and recommended that I move from active duty to the cheering section.

There is an awesome bar that has live jazz called Fat Cat. In addition to music, it is also full of games – checker boards, pool tables, ping pong tables. Sam was dying to go there for the tunes, at least this is what he told me. But once there, he really wanted to play ping pong. I tried to get out of it but before I knew it I had a paddle in my hand. I missed the ball nearly every time, I would have had more luck if I’d just closed my eyes. When I did manage it hit the ball, it went zipping off through the air to strike someone or interrupt another game. I spent most of the night crawling under pool tables and tripping over feet to find the little devil. Needless to say, Sam won and the management forbid me to play. Ever again. In fact, they may or may not have snapped my picture and kept it on file for the doorman so that he could bar my future entrance. It was that bad.

Ed wanted to go bowling. I knew I was in big trouble but we were at a mall that had a bowling alley and it was raining and the movie we had wanted to see was sold out. “Drats”, I said, “I don’t have socks”. I pointed to my sandaled feet. “They sell socks,” he replied with a grin. Ed was good, I was not. After many gutter balls, Ed kindly said, “it’s all about the release” and then showed me in slow motion what to do. I stood, waited for the perfect moment then swung my ball back as I moved forward. It was going to be great, I could feel it! I swung the ball out, and, and, well I got caught up in the moment and I forgot to release. With a thump, my whole body landed in the lane, my ball still on my hand. Of course, Ed rushed to my side as he tried not to laugh. He kind of gave himself away though when he mentioned his desire to have caught the whole thing on video. I didn’t have the heart to admit that once upon a time I’d taken a bowling class, in college, for credit!

There are those who are naturals and those who can become better with time. I am neither of these and unless my dates are needing some comic release, it is probably best I remain a spectator. Although, I’m always up for Clue!

Keep Your Clothes On

I’ve noticed something strange going on in online dating. People seem to have become less inhibited. I’m not sure if it’s because people feel more comfortable in the comfort of their own home, and this makes them believe it’s all right to share more, or if it has something to do with the cloak of anonymity that going online offers, but I think people are oversharing. And I’m not talking about too much information (although this happens too)—I’m talking about too much skin! Sure, tawdry websites exist where skin is accepted, or even expected. But even mainstream online dating websites are full of scintillating pics. What’s more, there seems to be no holding back, no intrigue, no building up to sharing these kinds of photos. They seem to be expected automatically, quid pro quo.

Case in point, not too long ago I put up a very cute, light-hearted entry on a dating website that mentioned the fact that I have a dog, among other things. I received a nice, short note from a cute fellow dog-owner, along with a photo of him and his dog. Awwww, I thought, how sweet. He came across as likeable and someone worth continuing to correspond with. I replied with a brief note.

When I heard back from him, he included about fifteen pictures (this is never a good sign – there is a direct correlation between the number of photos sent and the size of the sender’s ego). The first picture I opened was minus his four-legged friend . . . and minus most of his clothes as well! He stood, back to the camera, striking a body builder pose in slinky black underwear. Eeewww! “What in the hell is wrong with him?” I wondered as I deleted his e-mail. I’m sorry, but on what planet is this all right? I do not even know this guy!

Along with guys who show too much skin, I’ve met guys online who want to see too much skin. I have a girl-next-door picture I routinely use for online dating. It’s a shot of my face and captures me smiling, my hair smooth (for once!) and not in disarray. Maybe my earrings are bit on the big side, reminiscent of Madonna in the eighties, but overall, it’s not a bad picture.

I cannot count the number of times that I have received e-mails from men asking for a body shot in response to this photo. It seems to me that these men want to receive full body pictures so they can see some skin (preferably with cleavage) and to ensure that I have a “healthy height to weight ratio” (yes, these were the exact words used in one exchange). I always want to shout back in all caps: “Excuse me, VAIN MUCH?!” Call me crazy but I would like to, ahem, get to know someone before doing even a quarter-Monty. And as for sending a full body shot to people, the day that men wear high heels on a regular basis is the day that I will even start considering this. I have come to the realization that I wouldn’t want to date any of these egomaniacs anyway and I delete, delete, delete.

My friends keep reminding me that men are visual creatures. I get this, I really do. And honestly, there is nothing wrong with showing some skin after things have progressed a bit beyond the initial e-mail exchange. A past boyfriend of mine sent me some very nice shots once, reminiscent of Marky Mark in his Calvin Klein modeling days— but this was after we’d been dating for some time. And even then, my first reaction was to laugh (sorry, near-naked men sometimes have this effect). My second reaction was to think he should perhaps try to become a Calvin Klein model, seriously (loooooong sigh).

But when I’m getting to know someone, meeting and greeting them for the first time, talking about where they grew up and whether they have brothers and sisters – I don’t even want to be imagining what they look like in their underwear. So, please men, keep your clothes on (at least for a while!).

Gold Digger

When it comes to finances, I’ll be honest, I really do appreciate a man who understands how to balance a checkbook and gets that credit cards with revolving interest charges are evil. I also personally have a thing for guys who are financially responsible enough to pay their bills on time – call me crazy but I enjoy electricity and being able to flick on lights, and more importantly, the ability to use my flat iron at will. Having said all of this, I would not base my decision on whether to date someone on how much money they make. But, having a basic knowledge of money is a really good thing. And going on a date with someone who doesn’t get the green stuff and how it works is frankly kind of a turn off. I mean, if one doesn’t care to take the time to understand the basics so that they can take care of themselves it is kind of a big deal.

Take for instance Jordan. Kind of a late bloomer, he started his first real job with a steady paycheck when he was thirty. Up until then, he had bounced around the East coast taking odd jobs in small coastal towns. Then Jordan threw down his roots in New York to be near family and became a teacher. Upon receiving his first paycheck, he insisted on celebrating with a fancy dinner. Then he needed new wheels for his car. Then there was a plumbing leak in his family owned apartment that he needed to take care of (as he was living there for practically nothing). And, of course, Jordan had to go for drinks after work with his co-workers. Long story short, his only phone was turned off because he couldn’t pay his bill. He didn’t seem to think this was such a big deal until his mother had a serious health condition and no one in his family could locate him. When this happened, I learned that he never balanced his checkbook and had no idea how much money he even had in the bank. I realized dating Jordan would always include worrying about his finances so I bid him farewell.

When I met Steve, he came across as having it together. He had worked for the same company for fifteen years and was lucky enough to know that he would always have a job there. We talked about movies and even ventured into the taboo subject of politics as we shared some Crème Brule. The bill came and he insisted on getting it, which I thought quite gentlemanly. Then he realized he hadn’t brought enough cash and asked me if they took cards. I nodded yes and then he asked me how debit cards worked. I was in awe as I explained that the money would be taken from his checking account. Then, he wondered if I could help him figure out the tip (which I did with the help of this handy little tipping program in my cell phone and in all cell phones). I was taken aback, how was it possible that he had never used his debit card before? And if he had no knowledge of debit cards, it was quite likely that he had no idea about how credit cards worked either. Even though Steve was a nice guy, I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to be his financial guru.

I once dated a guy who seriously had no knowledge of what a 401K was. He said to me at the time, “I’m so glad you know about this stuff so that you can tell me about it.” Thankfully we were on the phone so he didn’t see me cringe. On one hand, I get his reasoning because it is wonderful to have someone show you the way. On the other hand, there is something to be said for a man who cares enough about himself to care about his finances. I get that learning about finances can be scary and intimidating and thank the stars for zealots like Suze Orman who have a way of making things make sense. When it comes to dating, the bottom line is that when I come across a man that can manage his finances, I feel like I’ve struck gold.

Wandering Eyes

Temptation is a big theme just about everywhere – from Adam and Eve to nearly every movie set in Las Vegas (it’s called Sin City for a reason). It is there, 24/7 and sometimes it is hard to ignore. For some of us, temptation is that second slice of chocolate cake that we know we shouldn’t have or the desire to buy something we shouldn’t (damn you Jimmy Choo!). While, others are drawn to vices like gambling, sneaking cigarettes, or perhaps drinking a bit too much once in awhile (damn you Magners!). Then, of course, there is that visual allure of how someone looks that can make your pulse race. I recall, with great fondness, that scene in Thelma & Louise, where Brad Pitt shows up looking like the sweetest version of the Marlboro Man (yes, I know it’s wrong to fantasize about the cancer-inducing cig smoking Marlboro Man but alas, the temptation is too great!). Oh dear, I thought at the time as my eyes ogled him in, in great, great gulps. Thankfully, I was in a darkened movie theater with girlfriends and not out on a date. But how would I have responded if I had been? Would I have been able to keep my cool (and drool) to a minimum? I like to think that if I was with a guy I was really into, then I would have kept my eyes from devouring Brad Pitt. Because I know from firsthand experience how not good it feels to be on a date with Mr. Wandering Eyes.

Tate was cute in a way that reminded me of old Leave it to Beaver reruns. There was something very Wally about him. He worked as a computer engineer and still found time to help his nearby family out with installing fences and running the odd errand. One of our dates found us sitting on a bench in Central Park in the fall with hot cocoa. It was idyllic – the sun was shining, the golden and red leaves danced in the wind, and his kiss took my breath away.
When we started walking again, we fell behind a group of girls one of whom was wearing the coolest purple shoes that I’d ever seen. As they turned onto a different path, Tate asked, “Did you see that?” Yes, I replied and mentioned the shoes. He shook his head said, “No, she was wearing the shortest skirt.” My stomach flipped and I fought the sudden urge to fling cooled cocoa in his face.

Jerry was devilishly handsome in a GQ kind of way. With his chiseled jaw, smoldering eyes and runner’s body women usually noticed him (coming and going - couldn’t resist adding this!). He also had an ego the size of Texas. On what would be our last date, we went to a bar where my friend Todd bartended. As we wound our way through the crowd to get drinks, I could see gals checking Jerry out and could feel his eyes linger here and there. When we finally reached Todd, Jerry joked with him, “Hey, if things don’t work out, do you think you could fix me up?” Excuse me, I could hear my mind shriek. He said it with a flash of his model white teeth but I knew right then that this was it. *Important note – if a guy says the phrase, “If things don’t work out…” it is a BIG red flag that things will not ever work out.*

The good news is that not all men are like this – Thank God! Take for instance, a man who I refer to as Rhett because he was severely, devastatingly, fling me over your shoulders and carry me up the stairs handsome. On one of our dates as the hostess batted her eyelashes and all but sat in his lap to try to get his attention, his eyes never wavered from mine. Perhaps he was really into me or maybe I had something stuck in my teeth but whatever the reason, it made me feel grateful and good about my carefully applied smoky grey eye shadow. Oh, and, I desperately desired to fling myself across the table and kiss him until his eyes crossed. BUT, I resisted temptation.

Fourth Date Fumble

I am an eternal optimist and try to always give the benefit of the doubt. This would explain why I’ve agreed to second dates (despite a pink flag or two), why I’ve agreed to be fixed up by well meaning friends (time and time again), and even why I forge on with dating (even after a slew of not so good dates). But every once in awhile, something happens that leaves me perplexed. For those of you regular readers, you might have gathered that manners are pretty high up on my list of desired dating traits. For me, manners are next to cleanliness, which is next to Godliness (or so I’ve been told). And one thing, one really big thing for me is being polite. I know I’m a bit old-fashioned and probably read way too many romance novels growing up, but the heroes I knew were always courteous, respectful, and gentlemanly. This is why it came as a huge surprise when I discovered that someone I’d been on multiple dates might be falling short in this category.

Mark was very smart and we could talk for hours about everything and nothing. He was arrogant (even he admitted this) and bossy (his words again) but I liked his quick wit and sarcasm. It also felt like we’d known each other for forever and he was one of those *good* guys in that he was usually quite thoughtful (he walked near traffic on sidewalks and sent me thoughtful daily texts). We made it blissfully through several dates. Yes, at times, he could be brusque but I chalked this up to his alpha personality. We shared a love for the same cheesy movies, city haunts, and decadent desserts (though he favored chocolate more than I). We always had so much fun on our dates that I found myself secretly daydreaming about daytrips and long weekends in Vermont with him. Then we went on our fourth date and something I like to refer to as the fourth date fumble occurred.

We met during the day and decided to grab a drink before dinner. The theme of our date was spontaneity so we randomly picked a hoping bar in midtown. There, we grabbed seats at the bar and ordered drinks. Mark is a sociable kind of guy and he loves meeting new people. It didn’t take long for him to strike up a conversation with the folks sitting next to him. He was thrilled to learn that they worked in the same field as him and they quickly fell into shop talk. A few minutes in, rounds of introductions were made; I waited, and waited, and waited. Was I suddenly invisible? Minutes ticked by as I took in the view of Mark’s back, checked my e-mails, and then texted my friends (what do u do when ur on a date & ur being ignored?). Finally, I decided to leave – to run an errand that I needed to run. I figured this would be a good chance to step away from a bad situation and knock something off of my to-do list. Mark asked if he could accompany me (which was a good move on his part) but I declined.

By the time I returned, Mark realized his mistake and apologized profusely. Turns out he had become overcome with excitement at meeting some folks who had work in common with him and well, I guess he plumb forgot he was on a date. I wasn’t sure how to take that – it can’t be a good thing when the guy that you’re with forgets he’s on a date with you, right? Was it possible that he was just having a bad night, or worse that maybe he wasn’t into me? These questions nagged at me but because I liked Mark, I kept seeing him. But as our time together continued, it became clear that my hunch about the fumble had been correct – while Mark did like me, he just didn't like me enough. A dear friend asked me point blank, “Why would a guy on a date with you even want to talk to strangers?” Good call.

Hiatus

I was burned out and in desperate need of a vacation. I’m not talking about being burned out from working the job that pays my bills or needing a break from the hum drum of my daily life (a dog to be walked, rooms to be cleaned, paperwork to be dealt with). I’m talking about needing, really needing a break from dating. As my dear friends and family know, I have been on a bit of a dating bender for a chunk of this year. What they might now know is that the dates had grown so debilitating (boys who call and don’t show up, boys who make assumptions that they shouldn’t, boys who act like we’re an old married couple on our very first date) that I had to call a time out. TIME OUT. I just wanted to curl up on my couch and read Twilight or watch True Blood – yes vampires appeal and especially vampire boys with their calm facades, desire to just talk for hours, and amazingly good manners (oh Edward and Bill – you put most men to shame!).

I’m not sure when it happened but one day I woke up and realized that dating had become a bit of a chore (and a bore). I would meet a guy, do the get-to-know you dance, and then play the part of the ‘girl dating’. I would ask the same questions (over and over again like a parakeet), wear cute outfits (mostly wasting my sparkles if you will), and even visit the same places (sorry Central Park and French Roast for using and abusing you like that!). I would try to be engaging and fun and ‘that girl’ but it zapped so much energy. Somewhere along the way, I kind of lost my joy de vivre. I became cranky and so jaded as to spout off about online dating and the “looser” men of the world. Urgh. Much to the chagrin of my coworker, she caught me on such a rant after she sweetly mentioned her nephew had found love on the Net. I forced myself to take a step back from it all and realized that I was dating with the same enthusiasm as I have for my dentist (no disrespect meant Dr. Winters!). Dating had become something to schedule into my already overflowing calendar, something to waste time and energy on (like getting sucked into those Lifetime movies), and something that left me feeling depleted.

Knowing that I needed to save myself, I deleted my online profiles and closed an account (or four). It felt good, clean, and fresh. And I took some time for me - beautiful time to catch up with my friends, to hike with my dog, to write about something other than romance and relationships. I read books that I’d been meaning to get to for years, ate stacks of homemade pancakes, and explored pockets of the city that had long been forgotten. After many weeks of this bliss, I decided that if I was going to return to the online and regular world of dating I needed to set some guidelines. I wanted for dating to be simple and easy and fun again. I did not want for it to feel like work. So, I decided that my first (and only) requirement for a date be that they entertain me. That’s right; a guy just had to hold my attention by saying or doing something amusing. And, in order to cut back on having to endure endless bad dates, they would need to entertain me by phone before we ever met in person.

With my new rule firmly in place, I boldly ventured back into the dating world. I was more selective and self-assured - I ended conversations that bored me to tears, bailed on dull dates in favor of just chilling with my dog, and paid more attention to my gut than to some part that I was supposed to play. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I liked “this girl”, who was unwilling to settle for anything less than someone who could make her laugh, keep her engaged, and ultimately help her appreciate the male species again (though I will always have a soft spot for those vampires!).

Kiss & Tell

My first ever kiss happened when I was young, probably too young. I guess I was an early bloomer in this regard. It happened one sunny afternoon in a vacant park against the fence that went around a baseball diamond. I was wearing really cool acid washed Jordache jeans and a pink t-shirt (funny how we remember these things!). We flirted and I leaned back against the fence and our lips met. As the kiss progressed from G rated to PG, a buzzing feeling worked its way through me. It was heaven! When the kiss ended, I remember feeling conflicted. On one hand, I was so happy I thought I might spontaneously combust or float away. On the other hand, I was worried that somehow word might get out about our kiss and somehow, even then, I knew that this wouldn’t be a good thing. I asked the boy to please keep it to himself and he promised he would but alas, the boy did not keep his word. It wasn’t long before gossip of our scorching, scandalous, seedy smooch swept through our school like a bad 80s song. One would think that this habit of over sharing would lessen as we age but this isn’t always the case. In this day and age of overly overexposing everything, it seems almost expected to give all of the juicy details away.

Everything about Corey was cute from his dimples to his fondness for old school Converse high-tops. For some reason he reminded me of Kevin Bacon in Footloose and I kept expecting him to break into dance. What I wasn’t expecting was from him was a barrage of not so nice words about his former girlfriends. Yes, we all know that talk of former partners is not great fodder for dates but no one can seem to resist this taboo topic. As Corey went on about the controlling, conniving, carnal women of his past I did my best to keep smiling. But inside, I couldn’t help wondering what C word he was going to throw out next and what he might have to say about me if, God forbid, things didn’t progress to his liking. I decided to count my losses and move on from cute Corey.

Paxton and I were set up through mutual friends. Though he worked in advertising, he looked like he could be a Gap model with his wicked blue eyes, flashing smile and wonderfully unruly hair. He picked a trendy dinner in Gramercy Park and we ordered fun mixed drinks in splashy neon colors. By the time dessert arrived, he had waded into ex-girlfriend territory and couldn’t stop talking about Lisa – a sweetheart of a gal who he met online and who he had dated when she was going through a tough phase of her marriage. Excuse me? Did he just say he dated a married woman? I forced my eyes not to boggle. If that weren’t enough, Paxton went into great detail about Lisa and her ludicrously limber limbs. I couldn’t help it, my eyes boggled and I nearly choked on my éclair. TMI!

It seems so many people (both men and women) have a tendency to give too much away. Whatever happened to the quaint notion of keeping private things private? My sister believes that sharing the details of something special takes the shine from it and part of me agrees with her. Of course, if you’ve read this far you might be confused. After all, isn’t blogging my own little version of kissing and telling? Yes, I admit it, it is. But, I do try to strike a balance between what I share (lots of thoughts about relationships and stories about challenging dates) and what I don’t (wouldn’t you like to know!). I like to think that when it comes to the really good, shiny stuff, my lips are sealed.

Match Point

Have you ever tried to play tennis alone? I can only imagine that it would be awful to run back and forth chasing the ball from one side of the net to the other without a partner to lobby it back with ease. Or, have you ever played doubles tennis with a glory hog who wanted to make all of the plays? This is how it can feel when one is stuck on a bad date with someone who either never talks or equally as bad, never asks any questions. It is a terrible thing to be put in this position. It can be exhausting, unfair, and downright boring. A conversation or interaction should be two-sided with give and take, yin and yang – a balance of some sort. But alas, there are many, many guys out there that have not mastered this fine art. And talking without truly conversing quickly can lead to some very bad dates.

Simon reminded me of Clark Kent with his glasses and awe shucks smile. I could tell he was one of those shy guys so tried to be patient as we sipped coffee at Starbucks. I continued to ask him question after question when he became silent and picked at the lid of his grade iced latte. Every once in awhile he would manage to ask me something but often it was a repeat question that made me wonder if he was nervous or just flat-out not paying attention. Eventually, I became so tired of doing all of the work that I just stopped speaking. Silence descended upon us, heavy and uncomfortable. I refused to utter a peep. After a few painful minutes, he managed to whimper out, “say something, I like hearing you talk” and I knew that that was that. I had no desire to do all of the work (and certainly not on our very first date!).

After several charming e-mails, Charlie and I made plans to speak by phone. Within minutes of our phone call, he was spouting on about his important work as an insurance adjuster working with doctors. His work was so important that he failed to even ask me for details on how I spent my days. When he paused to take a breath, I would throw out a question which he always fully answered. But he never asked me a thing. After fifteen minutes, I knew where he lived and worked, what he liked to do in his spare time, and what he felt most passionately about. He only knew my first name, I swear. Eventually I begged off of the conversation to walk the dog he didn’t even know that I had.

Interactions like those with Simon and Charlie, have led me to place great value on the ability to converse and to entertain. I desire to have my attention diverted, to be amused, to find fun in interacting. I desire meandering conversations full of verbs and nouns and plays that make my brain spin and my heart pound. I once had a friend wax romantic about all nighters with her boyfriend. Sorry, ahem, all night conversations with her boyfriend. They so enjoyed talking that they skimped on sleep in order to delve deep and share their most private thoughts. This always struck a pang of envy in me as there is nothing quite like finding a sparring partner who gets the art of conversation and like me, is smitten with the idea of being entertained.

Rob was one of those forgotten men. I met him once at a party, liked him, but didn't hear from him. I was surprised when he called out of the blue but we immediately fell into an easy rapport that felt so easy. It was like the most splendid tennis match – one of clever serves and ace plays. You could hear the enthusiasm in our voices and the air fairly seemed to crackle with electricity from our match of matches. By the end of our call, it was clear we both were having a good time. Rob asked me about grabbing a drink and I responded with an enthusiastic yes. Match point – oh glorious language!

Bringing Manners Back

There is something quite nice about manners in general. And there is something quite chivalrous and gallant about a man with manners. Despite the ever changing roles for women, this woman still appreciates doors being held open, seats being offered up, and the guy who walks next to traffic if we’re pounding the pavement of the Big Apple. These kind gestures make me feel appreciated and respected—both good things in this ever-changing world. But with the shifting tides of feminism/the economy/technology, it seems that lately some of the men out there have lost their manners (or in some cases their marbles).

Take for instance, Teddy the Trader. In the midst of impromptu tapas, he boldly takes out booth of his earrings and lays them in the dip of his spoon. He then proceeds to dip bread into our communal olive oil dish. While I have no problem with the fact that he has his ears pierced and proudly wears Mr. Clean style rings in them, I can’t quite wrap my brain around the grossness of his removing them at the table and continuing to eat. I fight against the impulse to offer him the hand sanitizer in my purse.

Adam the Actor adamantly insists that we go to this little known restaurant in Hoboken because I must see the gorgeous view of the city from there. After much driving, we finally reach the spot, which is spookily out of the way and resonates with a feeling of abandonment (think the deck of the Titanic right as it begins to sink). Then, to my complete surprise, Adam insists that he take the seat with the city view. I swallow my disbelief and hunker down for my less-than-inspiring view of Adam who in the midst of our date checks his buzzing phone at least three times.

Then there is Eddie the Editor. Our marathon date includes a baseball game (he is an hour late) and a movie (he insists we see despite my expressed lack of interest). Then, as we are swapping stories and somehow get onto the topic of adoption, I mention that this is an option I would consider. Without a hint of hesitation, he boldly asks, “Why, you got plumbing problems?” As I process this question, I can feel the color drain from my face. I am so shocked by his words that I go into a state of denial over them. Needless to say, that is the end of Eddie.

I’m not exactly sure when manners began to slide but the loss of them leaves me feeling disheartened. I’m sorry, but in every fairy tales I grew up with the Prince was tall, dark, handsome, and polite. I was also taught that please and thank you were magic words and that I should follow the golden rule. So, it is with trepidation that I gear up for another date while wondering what this guy will literally bring to the table. I meet Jack in midtown for Indian food. He is tall and comes across as both smart and funny as we make our way inside. He defers to me for a wine selection, treats the wait staff with kindness, and sneakily handles the bill. As we leave, he slides his chair in so as not to trip others and opens the door for me. His overall manners secretly make me feel as if I’ve died and gone to heaven. And, Jack comes across as downright sexy. Sexy, who would have thought it? Perhaps touting manners as the new sexy is the best way to bring them back.

Man with a Plan

There has long been a resounding belief that all women want to get married and that we are plotting and planning this from the very first date. Perhaps this may be true for some women intent upon becoming bridezillas or those whose biological clocks and desire for children have taken over. But something that no one ever seems to mention or even think about is that the reverse is also true - there are also men out there who really want to be married and are plotting and planning this from date one. Yes, there really are men out there who hanker to be groomzillas and who also have biological clocks worked up into a hormonal Daddy-desperate frenzy. I’m not sure why this concept hasn’t been explored or touted on the cover of Men’s Health or Maxim, but let me tell you it is a very real phenomenon. It can strike young men just starting out or older gents more set in their lives and careers. And it is a phenomenon that continually surprises and awes me, while making me want to run for the hills like Julia Roberts in The Runaway Bride.

Brian and I sat side by side in a college art course that consisted mostly of viewing slides in a darkened auditorium. Luckily, red-headed Brian would keep me on my toes with his flirtatious remarks about the great naked ladies of the Renaissance period. Eventually, he asked me out and all was going well on our date until we ran into some free time between dinner and our movie. With a smile, Brian drove me to his favorite haunt in our Kansan college town – John Deere. There, he proceeded to drive through the tractors and point out those he wanted to have on his farm someday. He took my hand as he spoke of his dream tractors and I couldn’t help but see myself years in the future living in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by fields of wheat, red-headed children, and big green tractors. Yikes, it was much too much for my twenty year-old brain to process and our date (and any hopes of a relationship) ended with a friendly hug.

Over a decade later, upon meeting Dwight for our first date I was taken with his Michael Keaton cuteness. We made our way to an upscale Midtown dinner where we proceeded to hit it off over shared chicken pot pie and cornbread. He was funny, charming, and had a twinkle in his eye that came across as quite fetching. All was going remarkably well until we started talking about past relationships. In speaking about his ex-girlfriend, he over-shared in such graphic detail it is wonder that I didn’t blush. He then went on to tell me that things ended because she wasn’t sure she wanted to have children. Almost in the same breathe, he asked me if I wanted to have children and if so, how many. I was saved from having to answer with the arrival of our dessert – a decadent brownie and ice cream combo that loomed large. When he took my hand and told me that he wanted to date me and only me, I knew our dating days were doomed.

There have been many other fellows who have made it clear from the beginning that they are a hankerin’ for a wife and kids. These guys are quick to ask questions about when I got my dog (to determine how long I’ve been ‘mothering’), whether my sisters are married and have children (because there must be a pattern there), and whether I can see myself living outside of the city (code for having kids and moving to the burbs). They have also at times hinted and/or outright asked about my desire (and even ability – yes ability) to have children. Needless to say, whenever I come across one of these guys, it makes me feel like I’m going to suffocate or spontaneously combust. And I always find myself thanking my lucky stars for freewill, my eternal optimism, and great sneakers for running if all else fails.

Fifty Dates

I’m exhausted, ready to fall asleep on my keyboard as I reminisce. I recently had fifty dates in one night. That’s right, FIFTY dates. I met more guys in that one night than I typically meet in months. And the ecstasy (or agony) of it, is that it took just a couple of hours. You see, I attended a marathon speed dating event – a newer, faster, speedier type of speed dating that is perfect for time starved people used to bonding by texting, twitting, and Facebook. While I am not a huge fan of any of these modes of connecting, the idea appealed to me. There is something very catchy about the concept of meeting fifty people, even if it is for only two minutes each. That’s right, TWO MINUTES each. What can you learn about someone in just two minutes? Turns out, quite a lot.

Ariel, my first date, is nervous as he fumbles with his drinks and makes small talk. I find this rather endearing and think him to be quite cute with his wire-rim glasses and middle-Eastern accent. He tells me he is a dentist and I find myself trying to cover my smile and thinking that he might just be perfect for me given my recently discovered adoration for pearly whites.

A bevy of men follow – Bob, Carlos, David, Edwin, Fred. I take notes furiously but am usually only able to make note of their profession or appearance, which seems to be the only way for me to keep track of them. I try not to rate them based only on appearances though as looks can be deceiving. Despite this, I can’t help but fall for Greg’s dazzling blue eyes and dimples, Harrison’s arms and shoulders that beg to be petted like a pet, and Ivan’s cool black Buddy Holly glasses and curly hair that my fingers itch to touch. I feel so shallow.

With regards to conversing, it is tough to fit much into one hundred and twenty seconds. But every once in awhile, I meet someone that I enjoy talking with so much that I am saddened when the bell tolls. Jason and I talk dogs and he offers up the name of a dogumentary that I might like. Kyle makes me laugh with his tales of hedge fund transactions gone awry. And, Lance draws me in with his Southern drawl and knowledge of where to find good Southern style food in the city.

If I do not feel a spark through appearance or conversation, I pass on the gents. And there are plenty that don’t make the grade. Mark rubs shoulders with me and asks what will make him stand out from the other guys. Ugh, the stink of competition puts me off. Neil is so bored that he literally stares at the wall behind me in silence. Oscar dashes off to use the bathroom during our two minute date and doesn’t have time to apologize. There is no doubt that Paul is gay with his Malibu Sea Breeze, well manicured nails, and continual references of his love for Madonna. While I support gay rights, I would rather stick to dating heterosexual males. Quincy says I look like Petty Paige (a compliment) and then asks me if I’m into kinky stuff like her (not a compliment). Roy is a personal trainer who I can practically feel calculating my BMI and the calories in my merlot. When I ask Sam what he likes to do for fun, he boldly says, “I like to have sex.” Enough said.

At the end of the night, I’m in need of a shot, a massage, and a bed, preferably in that order. Despite the exhaustion, I’ve met quite a few guys that I want to chat with further. In fact, I’ve decided to select about twenty of them. If they select me too, our contact information will be shared with each other. Overall, I am happy that I decided to try marathon speed dating at least once. Where else would I meet this many guys in one night? And, perhaps after fifty rounds, there will be a few fellows smitten enough to meet for coffee that goes well beyond two minutes.

Romance Gods

Back in the day, the Greek Gods used to create chaos among humans so that they could be entertained by the fallout. These days we are all used to seeing this on the big screen with the latest Renee Zellweger romcom. But one doesn’t always have to take a trip to the multiplex to see mayhem in action. I’m a firm believer that the Romance Gods are still alive and pulling strings from on high. How else could one explain the error of comedies that continues to happen with some people over and over again?

Sam and I meet online and hit it off by phone. He is a corporate guy used to days full of intricately timed meetings, remaining calm under pressure, and playing by the rules. You can imagine our mutual surprise when nearly every time we try to get together, something bad happens to our perfectly planned plans. On our first date, he arrives an hour late because his car tires get stuck in an unexpected snow. The next date has him accidentally knocking his martini over at a hip restaurant and flooding my freshly arrived filet mignon. Then there is the time he is pulled over and gets a speeding ticket while driving to my apartment for a home cooked meal. And he doesn’t even know about the time I completely wiped out in the not so private halls of my apartment building after returning from a date with him. Despite our mutual attraction (oh, yes, he was quite a handsome devil), we both begin to wonder if perhaps we are misaligned. Things come to a head when Sam and I are supposed to hang out and keep missing each other to the extreme. Then, he leaves for vacation and by the time he returns, I’ve made peace with the fact that we are ill-fated, star-crossed lovers.

Cal, a former ER doctor, is smart and has a great voice when we speak by phone. We agree to meet for dinner and over pasta, we spend hours laughing until our sides split. It is an amazingly good date and as he walks me to the subway, I find myself ridiculously excited about seeing him again. We both want to see each other again, really we do. Then, the next weekend I ironically end up in the ER after taking a fall. The weekend after that finds him at the hospital when his brother has to have an unexpected surgery. Then Cal comes down with the flu and is knocked out for a couple of weeks. Through it all, we do stay in touch through texting and short calls but we both begin to joke that our second date may never happen. Then, one day, Cal stops calling and the result of putting it out there becomes apparent. I find it strange that medical related maladies keep keeping us apart but never one to give up easily, I valiantly keep his number stored in my cell phone for another few weeks before accepting dating defeat.

Why does this happen? Why is it that a perfectly good guy shows up, we date, and then disaster strikes? Well, some would say that it just wasn’t meant to be. They would talk about how dating should be easy and that everything should just fall into place. Blahbity, blah, blah. My theory is that these people have never been on a date with someone that they like only to have things go terribly awry. Others might say that nervous energy brings nervous dating which leads to strange things happening. I think I might agree with this up to a point. I did have a most strange energy with Sam. We both noticed it, almost like static electricity of the souls if you will. But, I am an even bigger believer in the idea of the Romance Gods with their penchant for mischief. What fun it must be for them to constantly pull the rugs out from under us, keep us out of sync, and to watch us stumble and fall.

Cupid, Cupid, wherefore art thou, Cupid?

Cheapskate

I appreciate that we’re in the middle of a recession. Really, I do. But this doesn’t mean that the standards of dating etiquette should be thrown out the window. My best friend maintains that if a guy asks you out, then he pays for the date. Period. Therefore, if a guy is feeling the effects of recession, he should either:

a) put dating on hold
b) stick to coffee dates
c) become acquainted with his kitchen so that he can play Chef
d) milk his friends and/or connections for all that they’re worth

However, he shouldn’t do any of the following creative maneuvers.

Stan comes across as both funny and smart during our six minute speed dating introduction. So when he asks for my number, I don’t hesitate. We start with phone calls but he refuses to answer any direct questions about his career because he doesn’t want for us to form any generalizations based on occupation. I figure that he does have a point so I agree to a real date. On the big day, he picks me up in a car (borrowed), drives to Central Park West and parks (in the bus lane), and pulls out a half bottle of wine and two plastic cups (pilfered perhaps from a stash at work – that is if he actually works.) He invites me to dinner and we end up at an upscale fast-food joint. I’m able to put a fun and whimsical spin on things until he says that I should pay our bill. Excuse me? This guy expects me to pay for everything. Needless to say, our date ends rather abruptly and I never really do discover what he does for a living.

Tommy and I had been dating for about a month when I brought up ordering take out. It was raining and the idea of venturing out was just too much. I was going through my many menus when Tommy said he didn’t believe in ordering out because he hated the idea of wasting money for delivery when we could walk to pick it up. Ugh, in the rain, really? Besides, a huge part of the fun of takeout is lounging around in your pjs and not having to get dressed to go outside. Besides, it is usually just a couple of dollars. To me it is worth it. I shake my head and know I need a man who understands, accepts and adores the benefit of delivery just like me.

Marty is tall, handsome and boasts a great smile. When we meet for drinks on the upper west side, I’m surprised (but secretly pleased) that he’s had the forethought to make a dinner reservation. We order wine and are immediately served bread, which Marty digs into eagerly. The waiter approaches to take our order and Marty is quick to tell him that we are just having drinks – well bread and drinks. I’m too embarrassed to touch my bread despite the fact that I’ve come straight from work and obviously haven’t had dinner. Things continue to go downhill when he states he always goes dutch. Hmmm, this creates quite a nice feeling as I’m forced to find an ATM in order to pay for my half of our cheap date. As Marty walks me to the subway, I am rallied by the thought that I’ll never have to waste time (or money) with him again.

I know we’re going through a tough time in this economy and believe me, I really do understand the need to save. But, I also think there is something quite respectful and thoughtful about going on a date and not having it come down to nickels and dimes.

Pearly Whites

There was once a boy I dated whose smile was seriously like a slice of heaven. Each time he smiled enchantingly, I could feel a shift in the air around us. In addition to a smile that could have likely caused traffic accidents, he possessed the most beautiful teeth – crispy white, naturally straight, and somehow perfect for his face. He was fastidious about keeping them clean and was one of those people who flossed and brushed at home and at work. Sadly, things didn’t work out and after we parted ways I found myself missing his smile and his pearly whites.

As I began dating, I realized I had become a teeth elitist. Whereas before I’d check out eyes and eyewear, watches and wallets, now teeth were near the top of the list. I yearned for a man with a smile (and teeth) that would fairly sparkle – think Super Man or Brad Pitt after he’s been to the dentist for a cleaning. While, most of my dates had teeth that were alright, there were a few that had me dearly wishing that dental care was mandatory and socialized.

Albert the artist was charming by e-mail and easy to talk to in person. We met at a hip Soho restaurant. I was quickly impressed with Albert’s knowledge of the city and tried to pay rapt attention to what he was saying but couldn’t stop staring at his teeth – small, yellowy, pointy stubs that looked sharp – kind of like fish teeth I’d seen on display at the Natural History Museum. Needless to say, the thought of kissing him didn’t do much for me.

Tom the teacher came across as perpetually in a good mood whenever we spoke by phone. Set up through friends, we met for the first time at dessert bar in Midtown. As soon as I saw him, he reminded me of someone–he was short, bald, had an endearing close-mouthed smile, and pretty eyes with the kind of long, slightly curling eyelashes that no man should be blessed with. As we walked inside, it hit me – he reminded me of Snow White’s Dopey. Well, Dopey always was one of my favorites. Then, he started talking and I was mesmerized – his teeth were slightly green, jagged, and there was some kind of build-up going on. In addition, he also had terrible breath. I could feel my lips lock.

Mike the movie buff was sweet over the phone and we shared a love of indie films. He was embarking on a second career and back in school studying film, which I found fascinating. We met at a coffee shop on the Upper West Side. Upon seeing him, I thought tall, friendly, and cute. And then he smiled. His teeth were astonishing – some brown, others grey, some rotting away, and some missing completely. Oh dear. He obviously was concerned about his choppers as he kept placing his hands in front of his mouth. I never knew I was a lip reader but it didn’t take long for me to lose the thread of our conversation – did he say he likes to play tennis with nuns in the springtime? Needless to say, we parted with a hug.

I’m almost ashamed to admit my new love of clean, shiny, white teeth but I suppose there are worse things to be drawn to. I always try not to judge a book by its cover but there is something to be said for a man who takes care of himself and by extension his teeth. I guess you could say that I have the utmost respect for the man who has floss, paste, and a brush and who isn’t afraid to use ‘em.

Juggling

I once read an article that said that a woman should always date at least three to four men at the same time. It claimed that by doing this a woman wouldn’t become too emotionally attached to any one guy too soon. It kind of makes sense given that we women (myself included) can become way too focused on a guy (do you remember Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction?). Another point that the article made was that juggling, at least in the beginning, allows a gal to comparison shop. Come on, we do it all of the time when we’re shopping for pretty much everything else (new perfume, shoes, handbags) – why not men too? Well, maybe because it isn’t easy or much fun.

I have to admit that I’ve never been good at juggling. My one attempt came to an unfortunate climax when both gents showed up at the same bar and I found myself trying to keep ‘em separated while doing my own private version of ground hog day. I remember inanely repeating the same things: “Could you please get me another drink?”, “Where have you been hiding?” and “Excuse me while I use the bathroom.” My friends did their best to help but alas, it didn’t take long for the guys to catch on. Needless to say, things didn’t work out well. I mean, when you’re dating someone you want to feel special and there is nothing special about feeling like one of many.

I have to say that it isn’t much fun being on the other end of this either. It leaves one (ahem, me) feeling rather disenheartened and disappointed. Here are some truths I’ve learned:

1) Being available by phone is good-One of my favorite fellows was super busy but always available for me no matter what. While some might say he was too available, it made me feel special.

2) Text messages all of the time is bad – While texting is a great way to say Hi it isn’t the same as talking or seeing each other. If the texts are generic, it is very bad because it is easy to send the same multi-text to scads of people. “Good morning sweetheart, missing you!”

3) Cancelling dates is bad – Yes, we all get busy and yes, we all have things crop up that demand all of our attention but we all also make time for the things that are important to us (golf, shoe shopping, Satan worshipping, disco dancing) no matter what. Period.

4) Saying a name is good – I once went on a date with a guy who literally called me ‘Baby’ the entire night. Well, at least it was better than having him say the wrong name I guess.

A friend once said that there is nothing wrong with dating more than one person at a time as long as you can keep them straight. While I do get her point, it just doesn’t work well for me either way. When I meet someone and really spark with them, it feels like I’ve won the dating lottery and I have no desire to see other spark-less people just to keep myself from feeling a certain way or for the sake of comparison shopping. And, to be honest, I always hope that Mr. Spark feels exactly the same way about me.

Peter Pan

As a girl, I never could understand the fascination with Peter Pan. He always came across to me as silly with his crew of young, impressionable Lost boys and selfish with his desire to just remain a boy forever. I mean, a big part of being a human is becoming an adult. Personally I couldn’t wait to grow up and be able to drive cars and drink fancy drinks with umbrellas in them and to have a job (preferably as a DJ). For this very reason, I couldn’t grasp why Wendy (or Tinkerbell for that matter) would ever waste time on Peter. Fast forward to now, and I still don’t understand the fascination. I can embrace the idea of being young at heart, but remaining stunted in adolescence forever is not such a good thing. And in the dating world, it is a very bad thing. Like most women I know, I’ve come across my share of men suffering from the Peter Pan syndrome. But the following boys, well, they really take the cake.

George was perfect on paper and cute in person. He was old enough at forty to have an established career in finance and clever enough to keep me laughing with the yarns he could spin. The only problem was that after spending a good chunk of Saturday together, he would take off like a vampire once the sun set. At first, I figured that he just needed space. But then my friends began to question this – what kind of guy leaves his girl alone on a Saturday night? Determined to get to the root of the problem, I began to dig and eventually discovered that he spent weekends with his parents and that he didn’t want to sleep over because they might get the wrong idea about me. I’m sorry but what guy spends the entire weekend, every weekend with his parents of his own volition? Strangely, he never worried about me getting the wrong idea about him!

Curtis was a dream date – funny, handsome, and a phenomenal kisser. Between bowling and karaoke, we had so much fun on our first date that I practically had to pinch myself to believe it. And the kissing, well I’m not much of one for PDA but we literally couldn’t keep our lips off of each other. So, when Curtis booked the second date before the first had even ended I was on cloud nine. When we parted, we made plans to see each other the next day. But when the next day arrived, he requested that we see each other the following day. And then the following day went by without any communication from him. Eventually I received a lackluster e-mail from him apologizing for his flaky behavior. Turns out he was outdoors and the weather was beautiful and he was just having too much fun to be bothered. Excuse me but he was having too much fun to be bothered with calling me about the date he booked with me? Yikes.

Call me crazy but I like my men to be mature enough to be able to sleep (and for that matter live) away from home and follow through on important things like showing up for dates! I know these might be extreme cases but I guess what it boils down to this - there is something sweet about a man who has a little bit of boy in him, but there isn’t anything sweet about a boy (ahem, grown guy) who only has a little bit of man in him. Note to Wendy and Tinkerbell: Please feel free to keep Peter Pan, I’m holding out for a real man.

Scarecrow

Once upon a summer I met a very cute lifeguard while at the beach. He was handsome in a golden Greek God sort of way, had the alluring essence of an athlete about him, and was as laid back and easy going as a Jack Johnson song. I honestly wasn’t in the mood for anything serious and well, he seemed about perfect for this. I guess I should have made my intentions clear but within weeks I was suddenly meeting the family and attending social gatherings with him. What I thought to be a casual relationship quickly felt like anything but. I was flummoxed and even though I couldn’t admit it to a soul, the real problem was that despite a physical attraction, there was little intellectual connection. And so, I found myself in a quandary. He was cute, nice, and funny but our main topics of conversation were surfing, working out, and which bars had the best beer. It didn’t take long for me to miss having conversations that delved deeper.

I tried to overlook this one thing and was quite successful for most of the summer. But then I began spending longer periods of time with him and the truth became painfully clear. At night, over dinner we would run out of things to say and would often escape into TV shows or movies just to pass time. And on the weekends, he would spend time working out or drinking with his buddies while I worked on my own projects. Eventually, we went our separate ways but I did learn something most important—I need to be with a smart boy not a scarecrow in dire need of a brain.

A friend once said that the perfect relationship should consist of connecting on three levels: intellectual, emotional and physical. The intellectual (or mental) connection is the ability to easily have long, meaningful conversations. The emotional connection is one in which they are the first person you want to talk to when you have good or bad news. And, the physical connection is one where there is a shared, mutual attraction on that base level. I have come to believe that this idea is a pretty good barometer with regards to relationships. Through my dating experiences, I’ve also come to realize that it is quite easy to find one or maybe even two of these traits but difficult (at least for me) to find all three in one person. And thinking back on relationships that didn’t work out, there was always at least one of these components lacking. But, as I’ve gotten older (and hopefully wiser), I’ve come to realize that I can’t compromise on this if I want to be happy and fulfilled in a relationship. And really, isn’t that what we all strive for in a relationship—to be happy and fulfilled?

Now, when I think back to the summer of the lifeguard, I’m amazed that things went on for as long as they did. I was bored, very bored with him, and the fact that he was easy on the eyes was not enough to keep me from my boredom. For some gals (and some guys too I suppose), this may not be such a big deal. I mean, it’s kind of nice (and well, downright flattering) to be dating someone who resembles a Greek God/Goddess. But having someone who I can talk to about everything, who sparks my intellectual curiosity, and who gets who I am from the inside out, well that’s precious, priceless, and pretty close to perfection.

Houdini

Every once in awhile (usually a long while), I go on a date that is spectacularly good. We meet, hit it off, and have such a fantastic time that it is blatantly obvious that we will see each other again. Sometimes a second date is scheduled before the first date has even ended. And this always, without question is a good thing because it completely cuts out that strange, angsty, three-day rule about whether he will call or not. It eliminates me wondering if he will call/e-mail/text or somehow let me know that he wants to see me again. Whenever this happens, I secretly breathe a sigh of relief because no woman really enjoys this period. But sometimes, no matter how fantastic things seem to go, the date ends with Mr. Fabulous saying something like “I’ll call you soon”, “Let’s do this again”, or my favorite (being sarcastic here)—“Take care.” It is always good when I hear back from Mr. Fabulous and that second date is booked. But every once in awhile, Mr. Fabulous disappears so completely that it is almost as if he was conjured up by fairy dust to begin with.

I have to say that I’m not a big fan of this disappearing act and think it is character revealing and childish. Take for instance Rob. Rob and I clicked so well the first time we spoke by phone, we talked for FOUR hours. Our conversation was so long that it could almost be counted as our first date. Then we met and it was downright dreamy. He was cute (in a preppy kind of way), smart (but not a smarty pants), and funny (my face hurt from laughing). And, he was giving me the ‘I’m Into You’ signs—flirting, touching, contagious smiling, looking at my lips a whole lot. It was going so well that we even kissed and it was good too! So as I walked him to the subway, I felt sure that I would see him again even if he hadn’t booked the second date and even when he said something vague about “doing this again.” Like I said, it seemed blatantly obvious that we would see each other again.

Fast forward a week, and only a few, strangely short e-mails have been exchanged. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t called. We’ve spoken by phone (so I know he is a phone-phobic) and it seems like a step back on the technology chain to now be communicating solely by e-mail. A part of me wants to make excuses for him—he is busy with work/sick/dealing with family issues. Then, I receive a random e-mail about getting together soon that is worded in such a way that I can’t figure out if he is asking me out or blowing me off. I respond with something non-committal about how getting together soon sounds good. And then, I never hear back from him.

I go over our date in my head—it was good and it seemed like there was a connection. Why would he just blow me off? Why would he just vanish into thin air? I realize that I can’t answer these questions after all I was just getting to know the guy. But really, would I want to date a guy who just disappears? To go one step further isn’t it better to know about this now? I have a friend whose boyfriend fell of the face of the earth after six months of dating. She’s still recovering. I guess the bottom line is that no matter how magical things seem, no one really wants to date Houdini.

You're So Vain

During my first conversation with a guy we’ll call John, he tells me that he a) runs five miles a day, b) has a six-pack, c) considers himself quite handsome and was voted Best Looking in his office, and d) is quite the catch. Oh dear, I’m worried about how this guy lifts his inflated head off of his pillow each morning. I’m sorry, but when did it become okay to go on and on and on about oneself? Is this considered normal these days? Did this come about because of all of this online dating and the need to sell oneself sight unseen?

While there is nothing wrong with working out, anyone who runs that much may just might be a sadomasochist. As for a six-pack, I wish he were referring to the beer in his fridge. Considering oneself to be handsome and voicing this makes me wonder if some kind of metrosexual line has been crossed. And, even though I’m not a fan of fishing, I wish he were talking about taking a day trip with the guys rather than himself. Yikes—narcissism is alive and kicking.

As I scroll through online postings of guys ready to be matched up, they almost all describe themselves as attractive/good looking/gorgeous/handsome. Is it possible that this many truly beautiful men live within ten mile radius of Manhattan? I mean, I know that there are a lot of people living here, but really? I look at the pics and sometimes they seem to maybe be telling the truth. Other times, not so much. But it is hard to tell with pictures that look like they were taken with shoddy camera phones or developed from film that has been sitting at the bottom of a lake for the last decade or so. And so, conversation becomes quite important. And conversation that goes beyond vain, extremely important.

I keep talking to John, hoping that he will prove me wrong, hoping that he will start maybe asking some questions about me. But he doesn’t. He talks and talks and talks about himself. I hear about the fancy car he drives, his collection of imported knives, the last vacation he took, his favorite hair gel, and his best attributes (in addition to having that six-pack). Needless to say, I smartly decide not to date John but I can’t help feeling that something has gone horribly awry. What happened to all of the humble, Jimmy Stewart-like guys of the world?

As I begin to explore this topic with friends, I make further shocking discoveries. I hear of men who spend more time primping and preening than their female counterparts, guys who have appointments for waxing and eyebrow shaping, and even one ex-husband who broke into the bronzer on more than one occasion (hmm, reason enough to divorce?). As I research, I also stumble upon marketing campaigns for skincare lines, accessories (and I don’t just mean watches here), and makeup lines. Makeup for men. Let me repeat this, MAKEUP for MEN! Sorry, but men wearing foundation, eye-liner, nail polish and the like just seems very wrong (as does bronzer for that matter). Surely, this isn’t catching on, right?

I try to put this newfound knowledge out of my mind as I prepare for my next date. I send a little prayer to cupid that he will please be cute, smart, humble, and makeup free. We meet on a busy street corner and I immediately like his smile, his simple khakis, his quirky glasses. We make our way to lunch and he tells me stories that make me laugh. As we sit down, he shrugs out of his coat—a simple, green sweater coat. He smiles sheepishly and says he hopes that I don’t think it to be too old-fashioned, his coat that is. We trade tales of dates gone awry, our favorite comfort foods, and the best movie theaters around the city. Not once does he mention his work-out routine, his physical attributes, his obvious cuteness, or that he believes himself to be catch of the day. I find myself leaning closer to him, trying to look into his eyes (and to perhaps discreetly check for makeup). Thankfully, he appears to be a-la-natural and for that, I send up a big Hallelujah!

Mr. Hot N Cold

So I just saw the movie “He’s Just Not That Into You.” While it was a decent movie in that it was quite entertaining and features a stellar cast (including Oscar winners Jennifer Connelly and Ben Affleck), it left me feeling perplexed. You see, I’ve been dating this guy who has been sending me what I like to refer to as Hot N Cold signals (if you’ve heard the Kate Perry song, you know what I mean). One day, we’re trading cute, sexy pics and zipping from borough to borough to eat at the latest trendy restaurant in Williamsburg. The next day, he’s too busy to return my calls and has too much going on to “think” about me or our pseudo-relationship. Then, in the midst of a make-out session that has turned my brain to mush, he halts and says that he “doesn’t want to ruin our friendship by taking things to the next level.” My accelerated heart comes screeching to a stop. Excuse me, but isn’t this my line as a woman? I mean, isn’t this something that a girl might say? I’m confused.

Afterwards, I’m in angst, pondering what he means, what this means. Should I have skipped the garlic bread at dinner? Should I have worn my push-up bra? Those jeans do have a way of making my butt look big. My friends are most helpful. He must have been tired/going through a lot with work/deeply in like with me/scared to commit/thinking too much about sports or some such nonsense. I try to shrug his words off but they nag at me like a hangnail that seems to catch on everything.

Thinking that perhaps I need further insight, I decide to delve deeper into the idea that started it all. I purchase the book He’s Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo and crack it open like a drug addict desperate for some relief. It doesn’t take long before I stumble upon the awful truth in black and white. To paraphrase, if a guy pulls the friend line, they are just not that into you. And to take it one step further, if a guy is into you he shouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. Yikes, my poor heart aches a bit at this. As I suspected, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

Well, I guess it’s been awhile since I dated a guy that really was into me. This might help explain why I’ve been willing to date guys like Mr. Hot N Cold. I also think it’s easy for us women to kind of talk ourselves (and often each other) into giving men and relationships the benefit of the doubt so to speak. I’m not exactly sure why—maybe it’s our optimism or our ability to come up with the most imaginative excuses (seriously, every woman I know can come up with a reason why she needs a chocolate chip cookie/a message/to skip the gym/ to buy that new Kate Spade bag). While this at times can truly be a beautiful gift, when it comes to men and trying to analyze things (sometimes to death!) it may be just a bit of a curse.

I keep reading and discover that if a guy is really into me, he will make time to track me down, call me, ask me out, spend time with me, touch me, kiss me, cherish me and adore me. Wow, this all sounds pretty darn good! I like the idea of this guy, whoever he is. And the authors keep driving home the point that all I have to do is pay attention to the guys I date and to not fall for any of these half-hearted guys. Hmmm, sounds deceptively simple.

With thoughts of this dreamy guy dancing through my head, it is easy to say goodbye to Mr. Hot N Cold and to open myself up to the possibility of more. I sign up for online dating sites and spread word to my friends that I’m open to set-ups. As I begin to date again, I find myself paying more attention and firmly holding out for a hero. After all, don’t we all deserve to be with a hero that truly gets how very special/amazing/dreamy we really are.