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!).