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.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
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!
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!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
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.
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.
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