Dating Outlook

My friends (a couple) got married last Saturday.

It is really hard for me to come to grips with reality and realize that yes, I am in fact old enough for the people around my age – including my (gasp!) friends – to get married. They are off making life commitments to each other. “Til death do us part.� The Word says so. I on the other hand, have issues committing to a picking up the office payroll. Who knows? I might get stuck in traffic/what if I get in a car accident?/the (gorgeous mmm) FedEx guy might show up at my door…whatev. Any and/or all of the above are plausible consequences to my aforementioned “commitment.� Til DEATH DO US PART?! Really?

Does it count if either of us is responsible for said (accidental of course! Sheesh!) death… of one or the other? What if we just so happened to become so passionate in love that one of us licks and therefore eats the other alive? What if my beloved (let’s pretend it’s the FedEx guy, k?) actually spoon-feeds himself to me (like frozen custard!) in order to “become oneâ€? with me? Does the “til deathâ€? rule have a cannibalism clause? I must say, that really is a whole new take on that Spice Girls hit…(singing…totally on key) When two become one… anyway…

Hey, I just want to know what I’m in for when I’m committing to anything (or anyone! for that matter), for life… Hmm… I may need to consult a lawyer…sounds a bit like a contract to me… “Each party MUST refrain from biting to wherefore said teeth protrusion breaks skin and therefore leads to the eating of the other alive…� Now that’s romance. I’m getting giddy. (Sarcasm, people…read it. Please, just roll your eyes and move on.)

What is my deal, man? Is my mom right? Have I just not found the “right one� yet? Or am I just a commit-o-phobe/ relationship-relunct? What is the fundamental difference between me … and a marital maven?

It’s been awhile. I’ve been on hiatus…studying for the GRE, taking the GRE, researching grad schools… it’s been a trip. Admittedly, not as cool as the trip to Japan I’m about to go on in two months, but a trip nonetheless. Here’s hoping.

Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do.

Since my sabbatical, I have dated a few men… a single dad originally from Minnesota who just so happens to live in my neighborhood in San Diego. I met him on the plane ride home for Christmas. I was seated next to him and his eight year old daughter. Now, I know I’ve read about how women automatically think too much into dating. We look way too far ahead for our own good. I would have to say that I’m guilty of doing that. Although, I think I do it to a different degree.

Here is this single dad. He teaches special needs children. He is involved with his daughters’ extra-curricular activities and even helps coach softball. He has an amazing sense of humor, is good looking and pretty much has a heart of platinum.

In a word: great. No, not great. Great! He deserves a capital “G.� Pretty sure his personality is who I eventually see myself with for the long haul…but the timing is just so off. That and, I guess I came to the ugly realization that I am too selfish to come second. Because of course, that’s the way it would have to be. He is a father. His little girl must be priority one. I’m not ready –and I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready—to settle for being put on the back burner.

I surprised myself this weekend.

I haven’t hung out with G since the night at his parent’s mansion and he kissed me out of nowhere. So fine. Whatever. Except that he insists on emailing me during the work week several times a day and asks if I’d be interested in hanging out with him and his friends who are coming to visit the following weekend. By the way, he thinks it’s time to see me drunk so he’ll recruit another to drive and we’ll just have a grand old time… okay..? He asks this on Monday and continues in shared dialogue with me throughout the rest of the week so I can analyze and dwell for five, six, seven days! Instead of just oh, two or something more reasonable… and Yadda yadda yadda…weekend comes, don’t hear a peep out of him. GAH!

And I tell myself, Sandy, sweetie. Sit down. He’s just not that into you. Say it with me. Honey, he’s…okay, he’s just…HE’s JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. Read the book. Or listen to the audio…it’s good.

And I know this. What’s funny is that I’m not all that into him either. Which is why I’m surprised. So, did I underestimate my feelings for him? Do I like him more than I think?

What’s worse is that I was helping a friend move all weekend. I was legitimately and quite genuinely busy most of the weekend. And when I was done I was tired–and am still sore actually.

Sure I could’ve sort of made time for him. But what’s sick is that I think I just wanted him to call because I wanted to be missed or something and honestly, part of me wanted to turn him down for hanging out and who knows, maybe I even wanted him to beg me a little. What can I say?

I know that’s terrible. What I typed right there, yes. I know. But I think it’s the truth. I really just missed the attention, that’s all. Sigh. I know that’s lame. Maybe even a little pathetic. But I know we all get to that point sometimes. And it sucks for a bit.

It’s times like these when I miss being a relationship person—I’m kind of an all or nothing girl I’m beginning to realize—and I’ll often wonder if leaving my ex-boyfriend was the right decision. I know it was for the time, but I can’t help but wonder what would be different if our paths crossed again.

By the way, he wants to see me in two weeks…did I tell you that? Dun dun dun.

Alright. I dislike misogynists—and that includes those in “recovery�—if there is such a thing. I guess man-haters are just as bad. Altogether, they are not very happy people. When I was out with a guy recently, he confessed to me that he’d been a misogynist at one time. He explained it was because he had been living in California since high school and said that all the women he encountered had grown up being used to being fed by a silver spoon.

I’m not really sure what he meant exactly—if it was just his assumption that all attractive women must be stuck up snobs and therefore he was fully justified in over-generalizing half of the human race – er, correction – make that just the “attractive-according-to-him� women as being worthless.

I don’t know. What I do know is that for “no longer being a misogynist,� he really liked to “correct� me. Although, unbeknownst to him, most of his “corrections� were just him not understanding my dry, sarcastic, often facetious and sometimes callous humor. Not only did I imagine myself getting increasingly irritated with him, I wonder to myself what other women without patience think. What would other people in my position – right then and there- do?

I feel a little sad for him. I would hate living life waiting for my next opportunity to tell someone that they are wrong and therefore suck at life—okay, maybe not that far. But he’d use it as a segue into how knowledgeable and philosophical and successful he was… more than a little exhausting to listen to let alone try to uphold the light end of a very weighted conversation.

Hm. Not my favorite way to date, methinks.

So I ended it with A. The night after our date actually. I couldn’t bring myself to see him face to face again – especially after the shared humiliation of the would-be car wreck. And he’s pretty chatty and awkward on the phone, so I emailed him.

I have to admit, I think I’m a bit much to take. I pity any guy who even attempts to date me—I wouldn’t have the energy to put up with my crap if I were someone I wasn’t really all that into. I’m pretty brutal—and with that, brutally honest.

I thought I was straight with him, but I don’t think he believed me when I had told him the night before that I really do in fact enjoy being single….and now, after the fact as I’m thinking about it, alive. I like living and being mobile and not being rammed into trees or having the fear of being rammed into a tree. I mean, if a little nervousness causes tree-ramming, what does an argument six months into a real relationship perpetuate?

So, taken from the advice of a (male) friend, I just came out with it. “Be blunt about it. I, like other guys, don’t take subtle hints.� Hah. Okay then. Here goes nothin’.

“Hi A. Thanks again for last night. Dinner was nice. Like I said, I think you’re a great guy. However, despite how I may feel about you as a person, my feelings for you are completely platonic. That’s why I pulled away when you kissed me. I’m sorry, I just don’t think I feel the same way you do. I know you have a lot coming up with graduation. I wish you the best of luck.�

Too harsh? I don’t know.

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.

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.

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.