Dating Outlook

It is so weird. I am reflecting on the last couple of months and how different my dating experiences have been—and the contrasts between G and A.

For anyone new to my blog, I have been casually seeing G for a little over two months and A has been a two week spurt.

G is typical SoCal –laid back and doesn’t take much too seriously.

A is intense. He is a type A typical East Coast personality in perpetual overdrive. He even mentioned in passing that his new goal is to speak faster because once he moves to New York City to be a mogul on Wall Street, they won’t be able to tolerate slow, coherent California speech.

I suppose it makes sense, but it really is funny to me how my individual relationships with both of these people match their personalities to a tee.

One has been smooth-sailing and is pretty much perfect for what I want and need right now because there is absolutely no pressure. At all. It is great. And there is an end in sight when he leaves for New Zealand in a couple of months. So there’s a bonus.

The other has got me feeling like in warp speed and can’t slow down to breathe—and of course, his knack for face swallowing doesn’t help me much in that area either. Thankfully, there’s an end in sight to this one too since he’s moving shortly after graduation next month.

Off the hook again. Ahh—it’s true what they say. The grass is always greener. Especially for women who can’t make up their minds (guilty.)

A “Thanksgiving present?� Way to freak a girl out. I deliberately decided not to call him back. I like to play hard to get… In any case, there will be no gift giving. I want no presents unless it’s a French silk pie.

So he very deliberately made the moment extremely uncomfortable and all but forced me to tell him that I wanted to know what it was and that “I careâ€? about what it was. And then (sigh) awkwardly—and in an attempt to be gallant—he tried to dip-kiss me. And deep kiss me at that. Yep. That was the “gift.”

And it was bad. I felt like I was being swallowed whole. He then proceeded to do it on several other occasions throughout the night because apparently getting my entire face into his mouth was the goal. I just didn’t know how to play along. He called me on it too. “You pulled away.� Hell yes, I pulled away. Contrary to popular belief, getting smothered is not a fetish of mine.

It’s very odd because I don’t think I’ve ever had to break it out on the second date, but I found myself needing to be very clear in my intentions—or lack thereof. He’s a smart guy so I thought my defiant albeit too-honest and actually in retrospect too-nice speech about how I have no plans whatsoever of exclusivity or commitment with anyone (including him) in the future would have sufficed in getting him to back off… but apparently not.

He invited himself to my friend’s birthday party this weekend and couldn’t even remember how to say his name. Which honestly, still pisses me off a little. And then, we shared a near death experience by his miscalculation of a sharp turn with his fancy schmancy corvette. …I’m scared to stick around to see his idea of a Christmas gift.

So, it really sucks when someone is way—and I mean waaaaaayyyyyyy into you and it’s unrequited. Last night I went on a second date with A. For the most part, he’s got his act together. Great guy. Maniacal driver, but good guy. Unfortunately, I’m just not that into him. I could take him or leave him and not really give it a second thought. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. It’s that weird “platonic� feeling that sometimes I’m a little convinced that only women feel. And it sucks. Especially because A doesn’t understand the concept of being platonic. Or backing off. At all.

We went out for burgers at Red Robin and gorged ourselves so I was already feeling nauseous. Not a good set up for anyone or any romantic scenario whatsoever. He wanted to go for a walk down by the bay. Great. He held my hand. Sometimes this is okay, but most times—especially so early in, I really can’t handle hand-holding. It drives me batty. I don’t know what it is. I think it brings back awful memories of my possessive high school boyfriend dragging me out of a Fuel concert and demanding to know if I loved him more than music that I listen to “in vain.� Ha. Yeah. Issues. And I’m not subscribing.

Anyway—he held my hand and led me to the playground where he asked me if I’d gotten his message about him forgetting to give me my “thanksgiving present.� Uh. …Excuse me?

“You are too picky, Miss Sandy.� The words of my friend’s daughter, a thirteen year old. I’ve been pondering the comment since Thanksgiving and have come to a conclusion—she may be right.

However, what I do wish that I could relay to her would be my varying experiences—some good, some bad. I wish I could articulate the degrees of love—both the excruciating pain as well as the immense swell of the heart.

What’s tough is that despite how profound some feelings may be, some of them can never be put into words, and some never should be.

I could only playfully tease her by telling her if she knew what was good for her, she’d avoid men until she was thirty-nine—something my dad says to this day. All I can say is that sometimes it really is hard. It’s hard to discern what is right and what is wrong –especially when someone treats you very well overall.

I guess, I could tell her that sometimes it really is hard—and harder as you get older and become more “mature� and grow into an adult. The lines become less black and white…it’s like vision being blurred with age.

Suddenly, and I don’t know how this happened, Mom isn’t silently exchanging disapproving glances to Dad as the guy I’m giddy for talks with his mouth full, says something arrogant or basically makes a pig of himself.

I get—or have to—trust my own judgment. It’s scary being left to your own devices. It’s scary for me. My mom keeps telling me that “he’s not in California.� She’s convinced…and maybe I’m starting to believe her a little.

Since my unexpected parcel last week, I have had breakups—particularly mine with JC—on the mind. Thankfully as part distraction, I have been catching up on some reading this weekend. In Myreah Moore and Jodie Gould’s Date Like a Man, the ladies pull together a cut-and-dry “Ex-Files Quiz� to help women better identify when it is time to let go of that guy who just doesn’t seem to cut it…

“How do you know when it’s time to let go?

If you answered yes to five or more of the questions above, it’s time for you to ex-terminate your relationship.”

Wow. I’m taking a silent inventory and realizing just how much I’ve learned in my 7+ years of dating men… I must admit, my standards (which were slim to none when I began because I had even less of a clue then than I do now) have completely changed. It’s weird because I’ve become someone who follows intuition about each date and goes from there. I think it’s necessary to kiss the toads to figure out what you ultimately want out of a man, a relationship and yourself.

Wednesday night was happy hour. I invited A. I’m not sure why…I think I was scared he’d ask me to do something else with him instead and make me feel guilty if I declined.

“You know you can say no.� My (guy) friend B pointed out. And I know that is true, but I’ve been trying to give men a chance.

Sidebar: Apparently, according to a dear friend, I’m notorious for running away at warp speed when men show any minute interest in me. (It’s really no secret, I know I do it…it’s just easier than committing, getting hurt, etc.)

It was her suggestion that I give men a chance. Ha.

A “real� one. Or maybe even two chances because, well, as my mom says, “you never know.�

I have another friend who has this so-called “two date� rule where he makes sure to give the girls he dates at least two chances to see if they have any real potential. So as of late and for whatever reason I have been trying to follow the “two date� rule as well. I like to think of it as a way to ease myself in…to what, I’m not sure.

What I’ve found is that this “two date� rule is basically a free shot to either allow the other person to save face and give them a chance to redeem themselves or for me to try to redeem myself…although I’m too scared to initiate any communication at all so usually I’m not the one looking for another chance. It works for me right now. Is that so bad…or just sad?

It was Sunday. I had just finished doing a volunteer wildfire cleanup at one of the houses that was lost a couple of weeks ago when San Diego was in flames. Mentally and emotionally drained when A called, I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

We are one (albeit a marathon of a) date in and already he’s calling me to “ask about my day.� Whoa whoa woah. Don’t get too comfortable there, Sparky. You can’t just take me out to dinner once and suddenly think I will start allocating ten minutes out of my day for you to ask me about it. As I was getting off the phone with him, he wanted to plan something for the following week… which honestly, according to my calendar, wasn’t so good for me.

He started giving me crap about “definitely wanting to see me� before he left for Thanksgiving upstate. Since when do you get to plan my week? Oh you want to see me. Great. Well what if I’m indifferent about seeing you?

Why don’t we take one day at a time, huh? Actually…why not three days at a time? Why not just withdraw all contact for at least three –or seven!—days at a time. While we’re at it, why not indefinitely? In other words, slow the hell down! And breathe—or at least let me breathe. The last thing I need let alone want is to be suffocated by some guy I just met.

I realize you’re just being nice. I’m not an idiot. But I just saw you last night for crying out loud. And it was for eight hours+. Not going to lie, feeling a little smothered.

My heart broke a little tonight. Last week, I spoke to my ex of two years. We’ve been broken up for a little over two years as well. Despite a tumultuous breakup, we’ve moved past it and are now amicable. I adore him. The problem was that I was not able to commit to him and didn’t see myself with him for the rest of my life. He thought… or “knew” I guess… that he was going to marry me.

Last Sunday when we spoke, I thought we’d reached a pivotal point. He was the one to end the conversation first this time and since I didn’t have much to talk about—because I was tired of making him listen to me complain or basically say the same thing over and over every time he talked to me—I barely talked at all. I figured he was finally over it. Over me.

Then tonight I checked the mail. There was a package. From JC. He’d been to a concert of one of his favorite artists recently and got me a signed album. Enclosed was this note:

Hey Sandy,

JC
I opened the CD case…underneath the CD are all the thank-you’s. Low and behold. There are both of our names. On the inside of her CD. I’m a little bit speechless. Wow.

It was a surprise date—yay! I haven’t had one of these in awhile. Plus five points.

“Oh, be sure to wear comfortable shoes.� Plus five points. Good thing to know—don’t want to callous up the tootsies.

“Okay so what am I supposed to wear?�

“Nothing in particular…� Minus ten points.

Nothing? Ha. This guy’s got another thing coming. Alright, Freudian slip. I forgave him this time. “Just clothes…casual clothes.� [Nervous laughter] Poor guy… Sigh.

It was about a quarter after six when he picked me up. Plus three points. In a corvette. Plus six points. He came to the door. Three more points. And opened the car door for me. Bump that up two more. His car is a V8 and is incredibly obnoxious—so much so, you can barely carry on a conversation. Minus four points.

He took me mini-golfing. Fun—and something I haven’t done in years. Plus five points. He had an annoying habit of giving me direction and actually wanting to compete a little –even though he already told me he was planning on letting me win either way. Minus ten points.

Next on the list, dinner. At a diner. A studio diner where the waitstaff were all aspiring actors… I’m a thespian at heart so plus fifteen points. The burgers were amazing. Plus five points. And he ordered cheesecake. Yummy. Plus seventeen points. And that wasn’t all.

Then he took me to an improvisation/audience interaction show which was followed by a free sketch comedy show—plus one hundred points. What can I say? I’m a sucker for laughing. And laugh I did. It was great.

Hmm… what is that, 142 points? Not too shabby. Maybe I’ll have to hang on to this one for a little while.

So a few weeks ago, I played a game of football and met A. Our mutual friend, C, introduced us and has since kept me in the loop that A has had his eyes on me. Wednesday, I received an email:

Hey Sandra,

A.

I accepted his invitation. I got a call Friday at around lunch time from a guy who sounded incredibly anxious but jovial—it was A. I pitied him for a second…there’s no need for nervous laughter. It’s ME.

Anyway, he called to see if I was available Saturday evening and informed me that he a few things in mind for a good time, but that it was a surprise. I’d find out as it’s happening. Okay, so this sounds like a guy who knows—or at least has an inkling—about what he wants. This I can handle.

I get lost several times driving my cavalier through the “residents onlyâ€? signage that directs me to the main entrance of the gated community to G’s place. I can’t help but laugh to myself and think, “This is new. Sandy, you’re definitely not in Iowa anymore.â€?

The security guard asks for my name and what lot number I’m visiting….. 131. He types something up and hands me a parking pass that’s time stamped and dated. I can’t help but wonder if I stay past midnight, does my car turn into a pumpkin or do I just get towed?

I pull into the curved driveway and park alongside the fountain. It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m the first one there. Correction: the only one there… at all.

The pool is air-temp—which, even in southern California at night in November, can be fairly chilly. We’d been in the jacuzzi a good forty-five minutes before we toyed with the idea of jumping in. He told me I should go first; being a native Iowan I’m used to frigid weather.

Apparently geography determines the warmth of blood. Which may be true, but if I’m going down, he’s going down with me. Jumping into 55 degree water coming straight out of 102 degrees can be a bit of a shock to the system to say the least.

I think he secretly enjoyed it although he’d never admit it—it was the perfect segue into a conversation about just “going for it.� Otherwise we tend to overthink what it is we’re about to do and instead of just doing it, we psyche ourselves out.

“Just go for it, huh?� That’s when he kissed me. FINALLY. A smidge of clarity.

He didn’t stay for me. Well, even if he did, I did shave for him. I think we’re even.

G currently lives with his family because he’s finishing up school and about to head across the world in February to get his master’s. His family left to celebrate his grandmother’s 80th birthday in Florida. He was going to go with them, but had his ticket changed to fly in next week before Thanksgiving so he could have the place to himself and “have a get-together.� Apparently, it’s the party house and pretty much the place to be.

It’s seven o’clock and I’m more interested in taking a nap than showering and heading out the door to socialize somewhere I’ve never been with questionable company… I’m still not sure where “we� stand and am not in the mood to try to figure it out. Just friends? More than? Ugh. I’m exhausted.

“What if he wanted to stay this weekend for you, Sand?� My mom, always the optimist.

“I’m calling it. Watch, you’ll be the only one there.� My brother, typical guy.

“Bring your bathing suit too in case we go into the jcuz.� Another text from G…huh.

Okay, so I shaved my legs for him. Well, him and his friends …especially the girls because we’re more likely to notice those types of things. I swear, we doll ourselves up for women first because of the looming judgment that is inevitably going to be passed. Girls rip each other apart. Guys just reap the benefits of having the eye candy.

Contrary to popular belief, I’m not so arrogant as to think that he stuck around this weekend for me… Come on now, let’s be real. If I had a jacuzzi to keep me company, I probably wouldn’t mind having a place to myself for a weekend either.

Thursday was designated date night. Or so I thought. We met up at a tasty Chinese bistro in La Jolla. And I learn to never tell him anything…ever. The week before, it had come up that I’d been in an interracial relationship for close to two years. He felt the need to share the detail with a mutual friend and essentially bonded over gossiping about me and how that is something neither of them would have ever expected to be true about me.

I’m telling you now G, expect the unexpected sweet cheeks. Anything but predictable.

Dinner was amazing and we had sort of planned on doing something after, but that was yet to be determined. He thought I should decide.

What is it with men who ask women to dinner and then make her make all the decisions—who does that? And why do they think that’s okay? I mean, if it’s a preference thing, fine.

I like Italian, and I can pretty much entertain myself so I’m good when it comes to just about anything.

Just don’t take me mining for gems. I’ve been there, done that …three times with the family and I’m just about over it by now. But anything else, sure I’m happy as a lark to walk around a park with you. To go to an art exhibition with you. To play laser tag with you. To go to a concert with you. Guitar hero—whatever. Just decide and we’ll do it.

OR if you ask me to decide and I throw things out there—all of the above, for example, pick one. And if I do in the end pick, don’t bitch about it, or I’ll be pissed.

It’s been a day of reflection… here are some Dating Do’s for the guys. Feel free to add your own to the list.

If you ask her out—

Find out the essentials ahead of time. Is she vegetarian? Can she handle her alcohol? If so, you may want to avoid the steakhouses and sports bars…or maybe you will want to skip dinner and head straight to happy hour.

Plan it–all of it. Unless you’re absolutely sure she’ll come up with an idea that’s better than yours. Just because you happen to be indecisive and boring does not make it okay for you to make her research things to do and guess as to whether or not you’ll enjoy yourself. This is especially true when you’ve grown up here and she has lived here a year. Ahem. Alright, snide comments aside, trust me—she will appreciate the time it took and the thought that was put into making the date special for her.

Pick her up. Unless she vehemently insists that you meet her (which, by the way is code that she thinks you have stalker potential). If that is the case, not a good sign. Try not to seem so eager, k?

Pay for her share even if she insists on going dutch. I am notorious for offering to pay for my share of the date, but I’m going to say it right now. This is a test. Don’t be fooled. Pay for her. This test doesn’t really have anything to do with money. It has everything to do with whether or not you’ll stand up to her and how you do it.

If a guy will put me in check and tell me I’m being ridiculous—especially when I know he’s right—I’m much more inclined to respect his opinion in the future.

I have a date tomorrow night with the bloke who inspired this list. I’m placing my bets that I’ll have more to add before the week is through…wish me luck

A friend of mine used to joke that there were three things that made a man – looks, wealth and personality. If she found a guy who had two of the three, she would date him. One of the guys I am currently seeing has two of the three. Although, admittedly, I’d forfeit one to gain the third that just doesn’t seem to be there.

This guy has got the looks and he’s got the wealth. Unfortunately, the personality—or lack thereof—is a problem. I keep trying to force a connection. And I’m not sure why.

When sangria is involved, magically one appears. Funny how that works. It’s seriously like we both partake in drinking this potion known as alcohol and suddenly we’re more chatty, honest and interesting. Any other time that is spent with him feels like I am bored out of my mind.

What is hilarious—and maybe not to anyone else, but it is to me—is that he genuinely thinks he knows me really well. He thinks or knows that he’s got me pegged. He has me all figured out. I’m such a sweet, naïve “down homeâ€? (yes, he actually used that phrase hahahahahahahaha Honestly, I don’t even know what that means) girl who doesn’t do anything wrong.

Well, for the most part, he’s a little bit right. I’m a goody two-shoes. I’ll be the first to admit it… but as the skeletons in the closet post revealed, I do come with a side of crazy. I can be an uber-obnoxious, ultra ridiculous, arrogant loud mouth…pretty sure that’s a side he hasn’t seen.

Maybe I’m keeping him around to see his reaction when I do decide to fly my freak flag. I’ll get a kick out of it—I know, I’m sick. I wonder what he would think of that…