Dating Outlook

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…

I was zoned out…and driving. Never a good combination. I was about to turn left into Von’s when I realized I’d miscalculated how close the median actually was. Without even looking behind me, I swerved to the right and proceeded to the stoplight. To my left, turning past me through the intersection, was a cop.

And to my amazement and shock, it wasn’t just any cop…but The Cop, who I dated about six months ago. Upon his graduation out of the academy, he was assigned to patrol not only the area I in which I work, but my neighborhood I live in as well. Perfect.

Thankfully, he didn’t pull me over. He must not have noticed my little indiscretion. Luckily, I don’t think he noticed me at all. Part of me wishes I could say the same about him. Truth be told, I about peed myself.

We’ve talked once since we stopped seeing each other. Apparently he has a girlfriend. The running gossip is that they can’t stand each other so they have a lot of makeup sex. The perfect glue to an imperfect relationship.

Rumor has it he’s been asking about me. Huh. Flattering. Even if it’s wrong, it feels like sweet revenge. Sure, it’s silent and immobile—but it’s just the thing a girl needs to hear sometimes. When for months I wondered if what I felt was really unrequited or if there actually was something there, it’s a nice reassurance that I’m not a total chump. There’s something oddly satisfying—not to mention ego-boosting— about actually hearing the hearsay and finding out that someone isn’t quite as over you as you once thought.

Halloween is coming up and that means the skeletons all come out. Now I know you have a skeleton in your closet… Lord knows I’ve got a couple. I thought I would go out on a limb and share a couple with you since first dates have become like a proper interviewing process and randomly the men I date will bring up their quirks, their skeletons and their crazy tendencies.

Skeleton number one – When I was nineteen I posed topless for my friend’s photography assignment. He was going after a “Venus de Milo� theme and honestly, it was actually very tasteful. Every move he made erred on the side of being overly respectful and cautious. What did I get out of it? I got chocolate covered strawberries out of the deal, he made extra copies of the photos and of course, I told him when I’m famous he was forbidden to sell the photos for millions of dollars –because everyone in their right mind knows they’d be worth that much. Duh.

Skeleton number two – I had my nipples pierced for four months. This was a small shock to some of my friends because it seemed a little out of my sometimes shy character. When I went in to do it, the first one was cake…then the adrenaline stopped gushing through my veins and the second one made me about pass out. Apparently I was several shades of green. It hurt. Fun for awhile, but trust me when I say they do weird things to the body…especially when you’re not seeing anyone and may or may not be sexually frustrated. Ahem. End of story.

Share your skeletons with me. We’re all friends here.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand men. Today I received the most random message ever from the guy I see when I’m back in Iowa…which isn’t very often… and I kind of decided to just let go because really, what’s the point right?

I checked my email and had one of those Facebook messages–the kind that says “John Doe” sent you a message. My heart stopped. I thought that since we hadn’t really talked for the last two weeks –which was actually a pretty sorry excuse for a talk at all– it meant he was letting it/us/the whole thing go too.

I open up the message to see…and I quote:
“Hello stranger…how are things? I have been busy with soccer and teaching but felt bad that I was ignoring you. Did you move into your place or are you waiting… I can’t remember? I went on a blind date the other night…interesting. I think that everyone around my age in Dubuque that happens to be a cool girl is either pregnant, has a kid, or was divorced. Wow. Hope all is going well, but wanted to give you a brief outline of how much free time I don’t have.”

Doubleyoo tee eff… What is all that? Can someone, preferably a guy, please translate? I don’t know what any of that means. Is this another weird game to which I don’t know the rules?

So far the interpretations –all two of them—are across the board:

Male friend/coworker: “He’s saying he likes you but is moving on.”

Well, duh. I assumed we were both adult enough to not pretend we’d wait around for each other–but I don’t divulge details about my dates to him… nor do I plan on doing it in a half-hearted blurb of verbal diarrhea on Facebook any time soon.

Dad: “He’s saying he’d still be dating you if you were around Sand.”

I’m at a loss…and really, just… don’t know how to respond. Lay it on me–what the hell is he talking about and more importantly, what do I say back?

Well, needless to say, I was a little insulted –I’m no gold digger. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t be bought. It’s too bad for him it didn’t work, because I found myself divulging this information to new guy. What was I thinking? Hey, I warned you. My self-proclamation Reputation is that of a talker-too-mucher also known as, “insert-foot-in-mouther.”

Thankfully, I don’t really feel much for new guy. But it made for awkwardness when new guy in turn said I seemed to have a whole critique ready for Mr. “Drop in the Bucket� as if I had to defend my metaphorically giving him a score of four on a scale of one to ten.

Well, it wasn’t just the money bit.

It was that he doesn’t like Oprah.

It was the twelve year age gap. It was that he was the one who is older but barely acts my age.

It was that he’d ask me a question only as segue into his own new topic about himself –which, by the way is a rare talent when whatever comes out of my mouth has nothing to do with whatever was about to come out of his next. Hmm… that could easily have become an amusing game. I should have thought about this more carefully.

It was that it just was not right. Or I’m just too picky picky? Which is what I should have said to begin with – chardonnay or not.

New guy expressed concern about how I felt about him. Ugh. I get it. I don’t like to waste anyone’s time (especially my own) anymore than the next person. But, come on. Have some common sense, please.

New guy, it was you who said you’d never leave San Diego permanently. It was you who said you’d be leaving for New Zealand to pursue a master’s degree in a few months.

It is you who … I like as a friend. Sigh.

It seems as though I don’t make decisions until something seems to stand in my way or someone tells me I can’t do it… and even though this gent in particular never told me I couldn’t do anything, essentially what I heard was that anything I wanted to do outside of San Diego would definitely not be with him, despite his greatness.

Then again, maybe if I were to be completely honest with myself I could attribute some of these feelings of just being content with liking someone far away.

Why would I waste my time? Because it’s safe, I’ve decided. And, I’m not really settling either. It’s the best of both worlds.

Think about it…if it doesn’t (which it won’t –although, I’m hearing my mom’s voice, “You never know,� echoing in my ears) work, it won’t be because of me or something I did. I won’t feel as much rejection. It’s such a long distance and those take work… so much that I don’t think either of us is really willing or able to put in to a full-on relationship right now… and so, when either one of us moves on (ahem, like my going on dates with all-but-perfect men and negating them as a prospect because they want to live close to their family…I need help), it won’t be because I’m neurotic or clingy or passive-aggressive or judgmental or just a jerk sometimes, but it will be because of the distance…or so we’ll say.

Or at least, that’s what I’ll tell myself. And that’s a safe place for me to be right now.

I went on a date with a really great guy recently. He’s the full package and then some. Not only is he TDH [read: Tall, Dark and Handsome], but he’s charming, a great conversationalist, well-traveled and very generous. He knows how to treat a woman.

So, Sandy, what’s the problem? I haven’t the slightest clue…other than the fact that one of the first things out of his mouth when I met him was that he’s a native to San Diego and has absolutely no desire to ever leave (for long that is).

I don’t know if I tucked this tidbit away and decided to use it as my own internal kryptonite against him and force myself not to get “too attached,� because well, duh, I tell myself, “it would never work.� I have years of exploring left and who knows where I want to end up? I sure don’t.

But what I do know is that I don’t want to be confined to one place the rest of my life because someone else decided that for me. But what if I’m taking
fate into my own hands and not just letting it take its course?

Huh…and all this time I thought I was getting sick and tired of making big life decisions because they were so daunting…well, that wasn’t so hard.

All I need to do is find men who lay all their want cards out on the table and I pick and choose like it’s a tarot deck or just shove them all onto the floor into a 52-card pickup and skip away. … Have I been doing this all along? I’m sensing a pattern…

The other day, I talked to my mentor for quite some time…well, she talked, I listened. When she first started dating her husband, she said that he “wasn’t even a contender.” To me, this is very interesting…because, well, they’re married. How do we go from not having any interest in someone at all to falling in love and …marrying them?

It makes me wonder if I’ve even met my next counterpart in a long-term relationship (LTR), let alone, *gulp* my future …husband…? I can barely type it without feeling anxiety build up in my chest.

I’m a commit-o-phobe, yes…but I can finally admit that I do in fact definitely want to marry someday. Not to just anyone. And of course I don’t expect perfection. But he’s going to have to be pretty damn great for me to promise forever to him. Because as scared as I am of marrying and having a family someday, I’m really more afraid of divorce.

So, I went on a date tonight…and he’s great. Handsome. Charming. Generous. and I can’t say that he’s “definitely not a contender” because I did have fun with him. He’s really cool. But it’s hard…and a tap-dance because my heart strings are being pulled a little from about 2000 miles away…this is normal right?

Maybe it’s a time thing…he did pass the “three minute” (the I was still attracted/interested after three minutes) test. Maybe I need to give it at least the “second try” thing… maybe I should just not force it (anything… just do nothing?) and see what happens?

Maybe I shouldn’t have these great expectations and just stop making excuses. Ugh.

“Sandy, when you start seeing someone, do you ever imagine if it worked out, what your kids would look like? Like what they’d do and who they’d be when they grew up?� Um… what?

Shocked and not knowing how to respond exactly, (because…well, I’m a girl, of COURSE I imagine those things! Even though, I always fancied myself as one to adopt…and that’s if I decide to have kids…what the crap – I go from being terrified of children to suddenly ecstatic that someone has thought about procreating with me) I ask, “do you?�

Well, apparently you have. Duh.

“I asked you first…That’s why I asked you if you’re athletic.�

Uhhh… Okay, for reality’s sake—since all of it’s quite the long shot—we’ll say he’s athletic enough for the both of us. I was (am) the speech/theatre geek who still prides herself on her former thespian status. Not only does he coach multiple traveling soccer teams and pre-kick football, but plays in an independent league as well… pretty sure just being around the guy will make me athletic by association.

It’s a weird thought. I’ve got dark hair, dark eyes. He’s an Aryan stallion with piercing blue eyes. What would they look like? Ohhh pretty babies What would they do?

I don’t know but I have to admit, I’m more than a little intimidated at the thought of ever being pregnant by a soccer player… the kid would take that kicking thing they do to a whole new level. Not sure how I feel about that. I have a sensitive stomach.

Maybe he’ll be a drama king or she’ll be in choir… the American Idol twenty years from now?

Maybe in an event of irony, my hypothetical kid I’ll have in fifteen years will inspire me to become more athletic to get rid of the post-baby belly? Perhaps pull a Mommy Makeover or maybe, just maybe he’ll teach me how to play soccer.

It pains me to talk to my mom on nights like tonight. I just got back from visiting the town I grew up in and am going through the initial onset of homesickness. Three days in to being back in a routine and it’s right on time.

I think it scares her to think of me living somewhere else like I am now, falling in love and eventually ending up with someone she hardly knows.

I think it pains her even more to swallow the harsh reality of the fact that wherever I end up, if it’s x amount of miles away from Iowa, it may put a mild damper on my discretionary income today…but say, ten years from now (and bear with me, I’m going out on a limb here) when I’ve settled down with a husband and perhaps have children, it will be a hell of a lot more expensive to travel and spend time with her and my dad.

I guess it weighs on me too.

Especially times like now when I’m embarking on a potential date set for this Friday with a native San Diegan who is adamant about never leaving, but have the fresh butterflies of the hometown honey still fluttering; it makes me wish for the wisdom of hindsight.

“If he’s interested, you’ll know it. You won’t have to guess.� My dad, a hopeless romantic and rebel at heart, made sure my mom knew he was interested. He just broke off his engagement to his high school sweetheart. She was dating around having just ended a three year relationship herself. They spent the end of summer together and had a blast. Fall came and she had to go back to college, despite his attempts and pleas to make her stay.

Three months, and they knew. They knew they wanted to promise “til death,� to one another. Three months.It wasn’t until he sent two dozen roses and hitchhiked the three hour drive to her university that he finally convinced her to come back. In November, she accepted his proposal. In May, married him.

Twenty-eight years later they have me, a twenty-three year old daughter who tries to find a balance between envying and being skeptical albeit hopeful of the possibility of finding something comparable in her life.

I guess I have someone who’s “into� me. He didn’t leave me much room for guessing when he was coaching ninety miles north and would have to be there the following day…but I was leaving to head back to San Diego the next day and he wanted to see me. So he made the trip down to see me. It takes me back to Sex and the City’s Charlotte who talks about the “grand gesture� …and I because a lot of the men I’ve dated recently haven’t been into the double G thing, I like to think of his trek as a grand gesture… one that makes me not have to guess. I guess.

My personal gauges on how to tell He’s Just Not Worth it or He’s Just Not That Into You Part I and Part II

I’m beginning to think I’m just a masochist.

What good can come out of hometown step-above flirtations that are carried on for months through text messaging and then reunited in the form of a hyperweek of hanging out, wishful smothering but trying to give the other person enough space because, let’s be real–it’s not going anywhere. It can’t.

Not only is he amazing, but I live 2000 miles away and in three days will be without his utter amazingness. Sigh. I sit thinking, is he really this amazing or is it the fact that soon I just won’t have my cuddle buddy that suddenly I think the unthinkable and that is, “well, you never know…we could try it out…blah blah blah.”

The lies we tell ourselves are hilarious. Really.

Okay.

Forget the menial detail of distance for a minute. Take into account the fact that he (and therefore his mother) is Catholic. Being the heathen child of an interfaith couple myself, I’m well aware of the unnecessary drama (”You’re not marrying my son…” etc) brought into one’s life because they neglected to take their parents’ “better” judgment into account. Brilliant.

Following up, I think “Can you forgive–for real?” is a thinking piece… do you have someone in your life you need to forgive?

Give it time. If you’re the one doing the forgiving, know that forgiveness does not concede or say that what the other person did was right or even okay, but what it does do is free you from your internal prison of hate and resentment.

Do you need someone to forgive you for something you’ve done?

You might not be giving your loved one enough credit–they may have forgiven you aleady and you might just not know it yet.