I think it must be a sign. Five days after receiving an email from my ex, saying "maybe we'll talk this week" and then not hearing a word, I got an email from Selective Search, an elite matchmaking service. I'd sent my info in a couple of years ago, but hadn't heard a thing and even forgotten about it, until yesterday when I glanced at an old email account and saw the message inviting me to come to their office to meet in-person.
I'm ready. Match-making services have thrived for centuries so there must be something to them. Admittedly, all my attempts to fix up friends have failed miserably, but my only criteria was that everyone was available. These people have a pool of 900,000 women, according to their website. Plus they charge the men (women don't pay anything) tens of thousands of dollar. You'd think that more often than not, they must come up with something, otherwise, they couldn't still be in business.
So with two internet dates and a match-making meeting lined up for next week, I can't help myself. I throw the I Ching. It lands on Hexagram 35, "Progress." Terrific. But then I read further. "...It may be that we meet with no confidence. In this case we ought not to try to win confidence regardless of the situation, but should remain calm and cheerful and refuse to be roused to anger..." Not exactly the best prognosis, but hey, it's only a date or two. Or possibly three.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Stasis
I did it. I didn't wimp out. I phoned Date #15 and explained in a kind but concise way that I didn't think we had a future together, not even short-term, like in a day.
Sure, I could have left his call unanswered, which I've been known to do. But my latest resolution is to be the kind of woman who speaks up. What to say was the only question.
My girlfriend Eustacia suggested I make it about me, like in: I'm just not ready to get involved again.
"But that's not true," I told her.
"Why make him feel badly?" she replied.
Since we'd only gone out twice, I couldn't imagine him feeling that badly. Still, I didn't want to lie. So I asked my son, who was reading Road and Track on the couch, what he thought.
"I don't know," he answered.
"No, tell me what you'd say."
"I don't care. How about, 'no, I don't want to go out with you again?'"
"That's all?"
"Okay, no thank you. The girls I know, do it all the time."
"Do the boys feel badly?"
"Depends on the boy."
"You mean some boys don't?"
"Mom, let me read."
And so I did, then went into another room, called Date #15, and basically said no thank you to going out again.
I think he said, 'okay,' but maybe not, because suddenly there was this horrible static sound followed by a strange beeping.
"Hello? Hello? Are you there?" I shouted. Then I looked down at the phone and saw he was gone.
For a moment I felt terrible, and considered calling him back. But what would I have said except something lame like maybe we could get together as friends, which I really didn't want to do.
So instead I just sat there, felt badly a while longer and crossed my fingers that the next time the karma's finger wouldn't be pointing at me.
Sure, I could have left his call unanswered, which I've been known to do. But my latest resolution is to be the kind of woman who speaks up. What to say was the only question.
My girlfriend Eustacia suggested I make it about me, like in: I'm just not ready to get involved again.
"But that's not true," I told her.
"Why make him feel badly?" she replied.
Since we'd only gone out twice, I couldn't imagine him feeling that badly. Still, I didn't want to lie. So I asked my son, who was reading Road and Track on the couch, what he thought.
"I don't know," he answered.
"No, tell me what you'd say."
"I don't care. How about, 'no, I don't want to go out with you again?'"
"That's all?"
"Okay, no thank you. The girls I know, do it all the time."
"Do the boys feel badly?"
"Depends on the boy."
"You mean some boys don't?"
"Mom, let me read."
And so I did, then went into another room, called Date #15, and basically said no thank you to going out again.
I think he said, 'okay,' but maybe not, because suddenly there was this horrible static sound followed by a strange beeping.
"Hello? Hello? Are you there?" I shouted. Then I looked down at the phone and saw he was gone.
For a moment I felt terrible, and considered calling him back. But what would I have said except something lame like maybe we could get together as friends, which I really didn't want to do.
So instead I just sat there, felt badly a while longer and crossed my fingers that the next time the karma's finger wouldn't be pointing at me.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Hannibal's Elephants
Took myself to a State of the Union Watch party last night, walking the mile and a half past a park filled with ten-foot high, snow pillars in preparation for the weekend's snow sculpture competition.
Immediately, I called my son, who earlier in the month had stood for hours in zero degree weather watching a block of ice evolve into a rhino. "Remember how in 'Lost,' one of the characters was staring at a metal door and talking about how Michelangelo could see “David” in a block of stone. It’s just like that with these ice pillars. You can almost see what's about to come out.”
"Good," said my son. Then he added, “Bye.”
Brevity is my son's trademark when he's at his dad's. I've come to expect it. Still, I continue to call. After all, change is always lurking in the background and I don't want to miss it if it happens.
A dozen of us had signed up for this State of the Union party. Except for the host and her son and daughter-in-law, no one knew anyone. Still, the conversation was lively and the snacks, delicious. The host had set out green grapes and French cheeses. One guest baked chocolate chip cookies. An intriguing, dark-skinned man brought cashews. It almost felt like we were family, gathered around the living room TV waiting for Bing Crosby to sing his way through "White Christmas."
After the speech, I made my way over to the cashew man. He told me he's from Tunisia - the country which Hannibal crossed on his way to battle the Romans, employing 300 elephants.
"Amazing. My son was just talking about how elephants were used in ancient wars," I said and eagerly, jumped into the conversation. Until, that is, a woman with a long ponytail joined us. Straight-away, Mr. Cashew told her he's from Tunisia, then started in again about Hannibal and his elephants.
Definitely, it's a good story. But I didn't stay to hear it a second time. Thanking the host, I said my goodbyes and trundled out the door. Bottom line, I had a good time, plus an elephant tale to regale my son with when he came back home.
Immediately, I called my son, who earlier in the month had stood for hours in zero degree weather watching a block of ice evolve into a rhino. "Remember how in 'Lost,' one of the characters was staring at a metal door and talking about how Michelangelo could see “David” in a block of stone. It’s just like that with these ice pillars. You can almost see what's about to come out.”
"Good," said my son. Then he added, “Bye.”
Brevity is my son's trademark when he's at his dad's. I've come to expect it. Still, I continue to call. After all, change is always lurking in the background and I don't want to miss it if it happens.
A dozen of us had signed up for this State of the Union party. Except for the host and her son and daughter-in-law, no one knew anyone. Still, the conversation was lively and the snacks, delicious. The host had set out green grapes and French cheeses. One guest baked chocolate chip cookies. An intriguing, dark-skinned man brought cashews. It almost felt like we were family, gathered around the living room TV waiting for Bing Crosby to sing his way through "White Christmas."
After the speech, I made my way over to the cashew man. He told me he's from Tunisia - the country which Hannibal crossed on his way to battle the Romans, employing 300 elephants.
"Amazing. My son was just talking about how elephants were used in ancient wars," I said and eagerly, jumped into the conversation. Until, that is, a woman with a long ponytail joined us. Straight-away, Mr. Cashew told her he's from Tunisia, then started in again about Hannibal and his elephants.
Definitely, it's a good story. But I didn't stay to hear it a second time. Thanking the host, I said my goodbyes and trundled out the door. Bottom line, I had a good time, plus an elephant tale to regale my son with when he came back home.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Something Odd
Tonight, my son is with his dad. I can go hear Gary Wills talk about his new book, "Bomb Power." Attend a panel discussion and film screening about "Complicit Destruction: Money Mines and Militarization in the Democratic Republic of Congo." Join a State of the Union Watch party. Or do what I really want to do which is to stay home, light some candles, and catch a couple of episodes of "Lost."
That watching TV is my first choice is indeed odd given that haven't I watched TV in decades, and our set doesn't even work. A few weeks ago, however, a friend suggested that if I was serious about writing a blog, I need to become more savvy about popular culture. The quickest way to do it, she said, was by watching TV. So I clipped a list from the local newspaper of the top ten TV shows of 2009 and started viewing the initial episode of each - Chuck, Sons of Anarchy, Modern Family, 24, and then Lost.
I didn't get any further. Now, evenings after my son (who until a few weeks ago wasn't allowed to watch TV except for Saturday morning cartoons) finishes his homework, we sit on the floor in my bedroom with the laptop on a foot stool, working our way through Lost. After last night's viewing, we're at Season 1, Episode 13.
I'm not sure what it is about the show that's hooked me, but it might be something as simple as its title. After all, if I'm truly searching seriously, doesn't that imply something is lost. Carry that to its logical conclusion and the most obvious something is me. Of course, my daily dramas are a bit more tame than those the characters face. But lost is lost whether you're on an island or in your own home.
I recently read that "It's natural to feel lost. Especially if you're not looking in the right places." What a hopeful thought. It means that being found is simply a matter of perspective. And isn't that what happens in "Lost?" A character finds strength when he's at his weakest; love when surrounded by evil. It's perfect and simple and just what I need after a messy day.
That watching TV is my first choice is indeed odd given that haven't I watched TV in decades, and our set doesn't even work. A few weeks ago, however, a friend suggested that if I was serious about writing a blog, I need to become more savvy about popular culture. The quickest way to do it, she said, was by watching TV. So I clipped a list from the local newspaper of the top ten TV shows of 2009 and started viewing the initial episode of each - Chuck, Sons of Anarchy, Modern Family, 24, and then Lost.
I didn't get any further. Now, evenings after my son (who until a few weeks ago wasn't allowed to watch TV except for Saturday morning cartoons) finishes his homework, we sit on the floor in my bedroom with the laptop on a foot stool, working our way through Lost. After last night's viewing, we're at Season 1, Episode 13.
I'm not sure what it is about the show that's hooked me, but it might be something as simple as its title. After all, if I'm truly searching seriously, doesn't that imply something is lost. Carry that to its logical conclusion and the most obvious something is me. Of course, my daily dramas are a bit more tame than those the characters face. But lost is lost whether you're on an island or in your own home.
I recently read that "It's natural to feel lost. Especially if you're not looking in the right places." What a hopeful thought. It means that being found is simply a matter of perspective. And isn't that what happens in "Lost?" A character finds strength when he's at his weakest; love when surrounded by evil. It's perfect and simple and just what I need after a messy day.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Any Which Way - Date #2
I was supposed to meet Date #2 last night but canceled on the guy when, at the last minute, I got a ticket to see a dance performance by Taiwan's Cloudgate. I know it was a rotten thing to do, and my karma will undoubtedly catch up with me, sooner rather than later. But I guess when it came down to choosing, I preferred my own company at the concert to meeting Mr. "New Freedom."
He sounded nice enough. And of course, it was absolutely fair that he wanted to meet halfway at a bar in a strip mall in one of Chicago's western suburbs. But there was something about his emails, so loaded with acronyms, that I felt like I was reading my 13-year-old's text messages.
I'm not faulting the man. The problem, I think, is in the system. There's something about the process of getting to know someone in a vaccuum that brings out my most judgmental self. Take "Tall and Handsome" who went on and on about himself without asking one question about me, then concluded his missive by asking if there was anything else I'd like to know about him. Delete. Or the guy who can't stop bragging about his kid, who has straight A's, won the national debate contest, raised a million dollars for Haiti, plus is on the Junior Olympic Fencing Team. Yes, I'm sure he's a chip off the old block, but no thanks.
Likewise, I'm sure I've been unfairly judged. When I wrote the "Hairdresser" that "I've always wondered what hair stylists are really like, since when you go to a salon, everyone who works there is always so concerned about how they look, that you always end up feeling second-rate no matter how many beauty services you've purchased," did I hear back? Not a word. And that was one of my more interesting messages. Most of the time, I tend towards the boring. I just can't seem to get into the swing of writing about myself when I have no idea whom I'm writing to.
That's why I think internet dating etiquette needs to be revised. Yes, I know there's a safety reason behind the recommended procedure - first emails, followed by phone conversation, and only then face-to-face - but when I follow the program, my interest invariably wanes.
I once went out with a man who later murdered someone. So I can't say I have great radar. But the way I figure, dating is a risky business any matter which way you look at it.
He sounded nice enough. And of course, it was absolutely fair that he wanted to meet halfway at a bar in a strip mall in one of Chicago's western suburbs. But there was something about his emails, so loaded with acronyms, that I felt like I was reading my 13-year-old's text messages.
I'm not faulting the man. The problem, I think, is in the system. There's something about the process of getting to know someone in a vaccuum that brings out my most judgmental self. Take "Tall and Handsome" who went on and on about himself without asking one question about me, then concluded his missive by asking if there was anything else I'd like to know about him. Delete. Or the guy who can't stop bragging about his kid, who has straight A's, won the national debate contest, raised a million dollars for Haiti, plus is on the Junior Olympic Fencing Team. Yes, I'm sure he's a chip off the old block, but no thanks.
Likewise, I'm sure I've been unfairly judged. When I wrote the "Hairdresser" that "I've always wondered what hair stylists are really like, since when you go to a salon, everyone who works there is always so concerned about how they look, that you always end up feeling second-rate no matter how many beauty services you've purchased," did I hear back? Not a word. And that was one of my more interesting messages. Most of the time, I tend towards the boring. I just can't seem to get into the swing of writing about myself when I have no idea whom I'm writing to.
That's why I think internet dating etiquette needs to be revised. Yes, I know there's a safety reason behind the recommended procedure - first emails, followed by phone conversation, and only then face-to-face - but when I follow the program, my interest invariably wanes.
I once went out with a man who later murdered someone. So I can't say I have great radar. But the way I figure, dating is a risky business any matter which way you look at it.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
In Space and Time
I've decided. Enough of my wishy-washy meandering. It's time for the three-prong plan. Fourth and fifth prongs can be added as needed, but for now, here it is:
1) Nights when my son is with his dad, I take myself out - to concerts, classes, lectures, even just for a run. It doesn't matter where or what I do. Everything counts.
2) Enforcement of the two-date-minimum rule with anyone who asks.
3) Opening my heart to whatever feelings come my way. And that means anything.
Number 3f will be challenging. In fact, this morning, it already was. It happened while I was putting my son's overnight bag in his dad's car. "Have fun," I called out.
My ex-husband didn't reply, so I said it again. Finally, without looking up, he answered, "We will."
A nothing response that I'm sure he wouldn't even remember. But for me, the guillotine dropped. Maybe it was the combination of melting snow, gray skies, the smell of 35-degree weather. But in the instant after he'd uttered that innocuous, throw-away line, I was carried back to our time together in Vermont, when he'd be sitting in the Subaru while I buckled our son into his car seat. Careful not to slam, I'd shut the back door then climb in up front, alongside my husband, our bodies fitting together in space and time, without either of us uttering a word.
It was just a momentary flash, but the feeling lingered and didn't go away till I got back upstairs, grabbed a can of Comet and started scouring the stove that hadn't been cleaned in months.
An older friend, a widow, whom I met in Vermont, once told me that at night, when she couldn't sleep, she'd get up and scrub the bathroom tiles with a toothbrush. This morning I understood why.
1) Nights when my son is with his dad, I take myself out - to concerts, classes, lectures, even just for a run. It doesn't matter where or what I do. Everything counts.
2) Enforcement of the two-date-minimum rule with anyone who asks.
3) Opening my heart to whatever feelings come my way. And that means anything.
Number 3f will be challenging. In fact, this morning, it already was. It happened while I was putting my son's overnight bag in his dad's car. "Have fun," I called out.
My ex-husband didn't reply, so I said it again. Finally, without looking up, he answered, "We will."
A nothing response that I'm sure he wouldn't even remember. But for me, the guillotine dropped. Maybe it was the combination of melting snow, gray skies, the smell of 35-degree weather. But in the instant after he'd uttered that innocuous, throw-away line, I was carried back to our time together in Vermont, when he'd be sitting in the Subaru while I buckled our son into his car seat. Careful not to slam, I'd shut the back door then climb in up front, alongside my husband, our bodies fitting together in space and time, without either of us uttering a word.
It was just a momentary flash, but the feeling lingered and didn't go away till I got back upstairs, grabbed a can of Comet and started scouring the stove that hadn't been cleaned in months.
An older friend, a widow, whom I met in Vermont, once told me that at night, when she couldn't sleep, she'd get up and scrub the bathroom tiles with a toothbrush. This morning I understood why.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Rule - Date #1
This is bad. Last night, I went out on my first date since the start of my soulmate search and what happened? It sent me reeling into "ex" land. If it weren't for my self-imposed "Wait for 24-hours Before Doing Anything Stupid" rule, I'd probably have dialed his number before even getting back into my house.
Not that my date wasn't perfectly nice. In fact, while sitting at the bar in a trendy, nuevo-Latino joint, he went on about just what a nice guy he was. He even gave an example. It occurred near the end of his recent ski trip to Colorado. He'd arranged for a taxi to take him back to the airport, but an hour or so before it was scheduled to arrive, a friend offered to give him a lift. Did my date take the free ride and save $178? Nope, because it would have meant stiffing the taxi driver out of an afternoon's worth of work.
What a nice thing to do, no doubt about it. Plus, without being crass, he let me know that he's loaded. So why did going out with him make me miss my ex more than I have in a long time?
Probably for any number of unhealthy reasons. But I think a friend explained it best. Your ex is your pint of chocolate chip ice cream. If you had eating issues, you'd be heading to the fridge.
Not that my date wasn't perfectly nice. In fact, while sitting at the bar in a trendy, nuevo-Latino joint, he went on about just what a nice guy he was. He even gave an example. It occurred near the end of his recent ski trip to Colorado. He'd arranged for a taxi to take him back to the airport, but an hour or so before it was scheduled to arrive, a friend offered to give him a lift. Did my date take the free ride and save $178? Nope, because it would have meant stiffing the taxi driver out of an afternoon's worth of work.
What a nice thing to do, no doubt about it. Plus, without being crass, he let me know that he's loaded. So why did going out with him make me miss my ex more than I have in a long time?
Probably for any number of unhealthy reasons. But I think a friend explained it best. Your ex is your pint of chocolate chip ice cream. If you had eating issues, you'd be heading to the fridge.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Chapters
Last night, for the second time, I dreamt that my ex's phone number appeared on my cell. Neither time, did I pick up. I just stared at the digits trying to decide what I wanted to do. I knew that if I answered, things would start all over again. And eventually end all over again. On the other hand, the in-between time would be wonderful, at least until it wasn't.
A writer friend once suggested that relationships are like books. They have however many chapters - the exact number you never know until you get to the end - and even if you want to, it's impossible to skip to the last page.
On one hand, it's a comforting notion: things run their course. Like what happened to this acquaintance of mine. She'd hadn't seen her ex-boyfriend for more than a year, when one night, right in front of her house, she was robbed and stabbed. Who was the first person she called? Her ex. Immediately, he came over, took her to the hospital and sure enough, one thing led to another, and now they have two kids.
On the other hand, are the two of them happy? Not from what I've heard. Which gets me thinking about fate, as well as whether my ex would show up if something cataclysmic happened to me.
Truthfully, and I hate to admit this, but I don't think so. I think he'd be busy with one thing or another -- a terribly sad thing to admit, but also the reason I broke up with him.
A therapist friend, who lived through my relationship and its many reversals, says my dream was a good one. It showed I'm making progress. That I'm getting over my ex and finally ready to leave him behind.
Maybe. Probably even. But today at least, I wish this book would have gone on for another thousand pages
A writer friend once suggested that relationships are like books. They have however many chapters - the exact number you never know until you get to the end - and even if you want to, it's impossible to skip to the last page.
On one hand, it's a comforting notion: things run their course. Like what happened to this acquaintance of mine. She'd hadn't seen her ex-boyfriend for more than a year, when one night, right in front of her house, she was robbed and stabbed. Who was the first person she called? Her ex. Immediately, he came over, took her to the hospital and sure enough, one thing led to another, and now they have two kids.
On the other hand, are the two of them happy? Not from what I've heard. Which gets me thinking about fate, as well as whether my ex would show up if something cataclysmic happened to me.
Truthfully, and I hate to admit this, but I don't think so. I think he'd be busy with one thing or another -- a terribly sad thing to admit, but also the reason I broke up with him.
A therapist friend, who lived through my relationship and its many reversals, says my dream was a good one. It showed I'm making progress. That I'm getting over my ex and finally ready to leave him behind.
Maybe. Probably even. But today at least, I wish this book would have gone on for another thousand pages
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Squid Thing
Could it be that this searching for a soulmate business is really an hormonal thing? At every other age, hormones have their way with us, why not now. How else to explain the uniformity in our thinking. I mean, take adolescents. Specifically my son
This morning as we were rushing around the house to get out the door, he tells me that yesterday a classmate posed an interesting question: Which would you rather have a penis that could lift 30 pounds or a detachable penis? Before I could ask what he'd answered, he explained that it was really a very serious question because elephants have the former and squids have the latter, like in whoops - there it goes.
Who knows whether he's right, but it's curious that a 13-year-old boy would even think to ask that question, let alone that I didn’t find it bizarre? I know why. It's because he’s an adolescent and that means hormones.
So why shouldn’t I cut myself the same kind of slack. I’m sure there’s some divorced, single mom kind of hormone that would explain some of my strange new behavior - like slathering extra virgin olive oil all over my face, or asking my old boyfriends who are married, if they know anyone good to fix me up with.
My very first boyfriend didn’t, but offered a piece of advice: “The problem is 'handsome' guys. They're full of themselves and unwilling to commit, especially as they get older. You'd be better off looking for an ordinary guy who is a keeper.”
Maybe he's right. But not what my hormones wanted to hear.
This morning as we were rushing around the house to get out the door, he tells me that yesterday a classmate posed an interesting question: Which would you rather have a penis that could lift 30 pounds or a detachable penis? Before I could ask what he'd answered, he explained that it was really a very serious question because elephants have the former and squids have the latter, like in whoops - there it goes.
Who knows whether he's right, but it's curious that a 13-year-old boy would even think to ask that question, let alone that I didn’t find it bizarre? I know why. It's because he’s an adolescent and that means hormones.
So why shouldn’t I cut myself the same kind of slack. I’m sure there’s some divorced, single mom kind of hormone that would explain some of my strange new behavior - like slathering extra virgin olive oil all over my face, or asking my old boyfriends who are married, if they know anyone good to fix me up with.
My very first boyfriend didn’t, but offered a piece of advice: “The problem is 'handsome' guys. They're full of themselves and unwilling to commit, especially as they get older. You'd be better off looking for an ordinary guy who is a keeper.”
Maybe he's right. But not what my hormones wanted to hear.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Picayune
Growl, growl.
My to-do list seems endless. My doing-the-right thing list even more onerous. Take work. Yesterday, finally finish a magazine piece I've been working on. Send it off to the editor, who likes it, then boom, immediately start thinking about whether it was right to use the word "new" with someone's job title when he's been in the job over a year. It's so picayune, who even cares? Obviously me, cause late last night, I write my editor to let him know I might have made a mistake.
Then there's my son. Or rather his father. I call to tell him that our son wants to go to summer school. Yes, wants to, like in begging to go, because he's interested in learning, even if it means giving up camp. I think it's great, but my ex's response - what's it going to cost?
Next, I get invited yesterday on an all expenses paid trip to Georgia. Okay, it's just Georgia, but I'm thinking, wow, I could use a little pampering. So I tell my friend Susan about the invite, thinking she'll say, you go girl, literally, but what are the first words out of her mouth - watch it, my friend, as you of all people should know, there are no free lunches.
And take these "internet" men. I mean, am I wrong to not write the truck driver back because I think we might not share all that much in common? Or to stop corresponding with the salesman who sounds smart but has lost his job because of company downsizing. Or with the one who seems very intelligent and has a very good job, but wears a waist-length beard that he's been growing since he was 17.
Who knows? Growl growl. Today, surely not me.
My to-do list seems endless. My doing-the-right thing list even more onerous. Take work. Yesterday, finally finish a magazine piece I've been working on. Send it off to the editor, who likes it, then boom, immediately start thinking about whether it was right to use the word "new" with someone's job title when he's been in the job over a year. It's so picayune, who even cares? Obviously me, cause late last night, I write my editor to let him know I might have made a mistake.
Then there's my son. Or rather his father. I call to tell him that our son wants to go to summer school. Yes, wants to, like in begging to go, because he's interested in learning, even if it means giving up camp. I think it's great, but my ex's response - what's it going to cost?
Next, I get invited yesterday on an all expenses paid trip to Georgia. Okay, it's just Georgia, but I'm thinking, wow, I could use a little pampering. So I tell my friend Susan about the invite, thinking she'll say, you go girl, literally, but what are the first words out of her mouth - watch it, my friend, as you of all people should know, there are no free lunches.
And take these "internet" men. I mean, am I wrong to not write the truck driver back because I think we might not share all that much in common? Or to stop corresponding with the salesman who sounds smart but has lost his job because of company downsizing. Or with the one who seems very intelligent and has a very good job, but wears a waist-length beard that he's been growing since he was 17.
Who knows? Growl growl. Today, surely not me.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Mama's Boy
It almost happened. My first internet-induced date. In fact, it was all lined up. We'd picked the time and place - 6:15 p.m. at a nice bar not far from my house. And I'd even, coincidentally, just gotten my haircut. I am now the proud wearer of long side bangs, which my son says look good on me because they cover up part of my face. Thank you, son.
Yes, everything seemed ready to roll. And then the phone rang. It was him, explaining that he had to cancel, sorry, because he has to pick up his mother at the airport this evening. He hoped I understood
Of course I did. How could I not. It's a very nice thing for a mama's boy - oops, I meant nice son to do. And sure, we could reschedule for next Wednesday - the one night a week my son's with his dad.
Actually, in a way, it's a good thing because... I ended up making a big pot of split pea soup, which is healthy, and I'll have time to do my stretches, and the bathrooms really need cleaning, and I can catch up on some work...hey, chez moi, the fun list is endless.
Yes, everything seemed ready to roll. And then the phone rang. It was him, explaining that he had to cancel, sorry, because he has to pick up his mother at the airport this evening. He hoped I understood
Of course I did. How could I not. It's a very nice thing for a mama's boy - oops, I meant nice son to do. And sure, we could reschedule for next Wednesday - the one night a week my son's with his dad.
Actually, in a way, it's a good thing because... I ended up making a big pot of split pea soup, which is healthy, and I'll have time to do my stretches, and the bathrooms really need cleaning, and I can catch up on some work...hey, chez moi, the fun list is endless.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
How Goth
I probably shouldn't be turning internet dating into a family affair, but when my son saw me scrolling through the photos of men who'd tagged me as a favorite, he immediately plopped down next to me and insisted he get a say in who I wrote.
Which is why the first person I contacted was this long-haired guy who used to be Goth and play in a rock band and now wears a long, black cape.
I wasn't quite sure how to introduce myself, so my son helped out: "Sorry for the delay in getting back...I have a 13-year-old who sings and wants to learn to play bass. He'd like to meet you." Not the most romantic message, but truthful.
Sure enough, the guy wrote back. And he was truthful too. Right up front, he told me he had a girlfriend. "But she knows I talk with women online," he wrote. "She's pretty cool with me having what we call, 'Paul's Pickled Harem.'" Then he asked if I wanted to join it.
I'm not sure how to answer. Obviously with some kind of culinary metaphor. Like...
Which is why the first person I contacted was this long-haired guy who used to be Goth and play in a rock band and now wears a long, black cape.
I wasn't quite sure how to introduce myself, so my son helped out: "Sorry for the delay in getting back...I have a 13-year-old who sings and wants to learn to play bass. He'd like to meet you." Not the most romantic message, but truthful.
Sure enough, the guy wrote back. And he was truthful too. Right up front, he told me he had a girlfriend. "But she knows I talk with women online," he wrote. "She's pretty cool with me having what we call, 'Paul's Pickled Harem.'" Then he asked if I wanted to join it.
I'm not sure how to answer. Obviously with some kind of culinary metaphor. Like...
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Invitation
Woke up last night from a dream about a giant, black lab that was clinging to me like a baby, its legs wrapped around my chest, and immediately, started obsessing about a Xmas party I'd been invited to and pointedly did not attend, and whether I should have.
Here's what happened. In November, a recently divorced friend invited 100 of his best friends and me to a holiday gala he was throwing with his new girlfriend. Great. But then a week later, I received an email from my friend saying sorry, but he had to disinvite all attractive, single women.
Whoah. Immediately I wrote back asking if everything was okay, but what I was really thinking was, oh baby, what kind of relationship have you gotten yourself into.
A few days later, another email arrived, this one from his girlfriend, who wrote that she was mortified and furious when she heard what my friend had done. Minutes later, the other single, attractive invitee (apparently there were only two of us) answered back, saying she was mortified and furious that she'd been subjected to this conversation.
So who had the right response: a) me, to feel sorry for my friend; b) the other single, attractive woman, to be furious; or c) my girlfriend Susan, who on hearing the story wanted to know whether single, unattractive women got to go to the party or not.
Here's what happened. In November, a recently divorced friend invited 100 of his best friends and me to a holiday gala he was throwing with his new girlfriend. Great. But then a week later, I received an email from my friend saying sorry, but he had to disinvite all attractive, single women.
Whoah. Immediately I wrote back asking if everything was okay, but what I was really thinking was, oh baby, what kind of relationship have you gotten yourself into.
A few days later, another email arrived, this one from his girlfriend, who wrote that she was mortified and furious when she heard what my friend had done. Minutes later, the other single, attractive invitee (apparently there were only two of us) answered back, saying she was mortified and furious that she'd been subjected to this conversation.
So who had the right response: a) me, to feel sorry for my friend; b) the other single, attractive woman, to be furious; or c) my girlfriend Susan, who on hearing the story wanted to know whether single, unattractive women got to go to the party or not.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Geometric Proof
Enough dithering. I can journey internally and externally and neither need preclude my search. In fact, I'm wondering whether my talk is serving as a smoke screen - to avoid having to step into the internet dating world.
I've largely avoided it so far - either being introduced to the men I've gotten involved with since my divorce, or met them in the course of daily life.
But "searching" implies action. There are lots of ways to act and I can try them all, but the one right at my fingertips, literally is internet dating.
I signed up on one site awhile go and have garnered some attention. But I don't respond. Probably because I figure the men tagging me as a favorite, must be losers if they need to meet people via the internet. Of course, the corollary to that is that I'm a loser if I'm internet dating, which is far more difficult to admit.
Unless I flip it around. Influenced by my son's geometry class, I could prove that if one is a loser, it is less fun to be a lonely loser than a loser who's meeting new people, doing new things, at which point one is no longer a loser.
I've largely avoided it so far - either being introduced to the men I've gotten involved with since my divorce, or met them in the course of daily life.
But "searching" implies action. There are lots of ways to act and I can try them all, but the one right at my fingertips, literally is internet dating.
I signed up on one site awhile go and have garnered some attention. But I don't respond. Probably because I figure the men tagging me as a favorite, must be losers if they need to meet people via the internet. Of course, the corollary to that is that I'm a loser if I'm internet dating, which is far more difficult to admit.
Unless I flip it around. Influenced by my son's geometry class, I could prove that if one is a loser, it is less fun to be a lonely loser than a loser who's meeting new people, doing new things, at which point one is no longer a loser.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Sour Grapes
Yesterday I had lunch with a woman who founded a rug weaving business for impoverished Afghani women, incorporating a literacy program, healthcare, schooling for their children. My girlfriend Lynn leaves at the end of the month for Africa, where last year she built an orphanage for Masai girls.
And I'm looking for a soulmate.
Is that small-minded of me? Should I be aspiring to make a difference in the world instead of how to fill up my Saturday nights?
At some point during the meal, my lunch mate exclaimed how great it is to finally be focused on women.
I nodded in agreement, but what I was really thinking was: "Right, that's easy for you to to say. You're happily married."
Which definitely sounds sour grape-ish. But I'm not, at all. This woman is amazing and doing fantastic work. It was an honor to meet her. I'd like to be like her.
It's just that...I don't know. Maybe I need to get myself a dog.
And I'm looking for a soulmate.
Is that small-minded of me? Should I be aspiring to make a difference in the world instead of how to fill up my Saturday nights?
At some point during the meal, my lunch mate exclaimed how great it is to finally be focused on women.
I nodded in agreement, but what I was really thinking was: "Right, that's easy for you to to say. You're happily married."
Which definitely sounds sour grape-ish. But I'm not, at all. This woman is amazing and doing fantastic work. It was an honor to meet her. I'd like to be like her.
It's just that...I don't know. Maybe I need to get myself a dog.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Half Life
I wonder if a prerequisite for finding a soulmate is letting go of the last one. My hunch is yes. I haven't seen my most recent “true love” for two months now, but he's still lurking around my inner life, causing all sorts of distractions. I keep hoping he goes away, and he does, a bit here, a little piece there. But not enough to leave me in peace.
My son is studying absolute age in science class. Radioactive decay, half-lives, that sort of thing. For homework last night, he had to calculate how long it would take for 40 grams of C-14, which has a half-life of 5730 years, to convert into 36 grams of C-14 and 4 grams of C-12. Could it be that a failed love story decays in a similar way? If so, what is the half-life of love.
Oh to be like Tosca, who has her Mario. “Our love fills the world with hope and light…” they sing, or something like that. Granted, within minutes of belting it out, he was shot dead by a firing squad, and Tosca flung herself off the castle wall, falling to a certain death. But at least they experienced the feeling that could lead to those kind of words. The best I could get out of my ex was “I enjoy your company.” No, wrong. Once, in an emotional moment, he said "I more than enjoy you're company."
How could I put up with it? Simple. I am a master of that deadly skill - filling in the blanks. I told myself that he absolutely, positively felt much more, he just couldn't say it due to some strange character flaw that prevented passionate words from reaching his lips..
I know. Go figure.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Ode to a Peach
This finding a soulmate business, I realize, is going to have an unexpected payoff. I get to find my own soul. I get to find out who I am and even better, who I want to be. Not that I don't like the old me, or rather the current me, but that me always ends up choosing the same variation on a theme. With some exceptions, thy've all have been pretty nice guys, but if it's "true love" I'm after, I better get cracking. Cracking in the sense of beginning, but also as in opening up.
Oddly enough, without my even trying, I think it's already begun.
Yesterday, on my way home from the hair salon, I stopped at J. Crew to check out the sales. The personal shopper there (note: I had never even talked with a personal shopper before) put me in tight, skinny purple cords, a size smaller than I'd have chosen on my own, and a light, peach colored sweater - a color I was absolutely positive until yesterday, that I should never wear.
Peach was the color soft, lovely girls wore. The kind of girls who seemed to float on clouds when they walked, whose voices opened the imagination, who turned men's heads wherever they went.
Not that I haven't had my own rippling affect, but never from a peach-leaning kind of man. I wonder, could something as simple as wearing my new sweater allow a different part of me to emerge, a part who not only attracts different kinds of people, but finds different kinds attractive. I'm going to see my 13-year-old son singing Tosca at the Lyric Opera this afternoon. I'll wear the sweater and find out.
Oddly enough, without my even trying, I think it's already begun.
Yesterday, on my way home from the hair salon, I stopped at J. Crew to check out the sales. The personal shopper there (note: I had never even talked with a personal shopper before) put me in tight, skinny purple cords, a size smaller than I'd have chosen on my own, and a light, peach colored sweater - a color I was absolutely positive until yesterday, that I should never wear.
Peach was the color soft, lovely girls wore. The kind of girls who seemed to float on clouds when they walked, whose voices opened the imagination, who turned men's heads wherever they went.
Not that I haven't had my own rippling affect, but never from a peach-leaning kind of man. I wonder, could something as simple as wearing my new sweater allow a different part of me to emerge, a part who not only attracts different kinds of people, but finds different kinds attractive. I'm going to see my 13-year-old son singing Tosca at the Lyric Opera this afternoon. I'll wear the sweater and find out.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Negative Capability
How can it be? Already? Here I am, sitting by the phone waiting for a man to call me back. Granted, he's the man in charge of the celibacy support group, but still, the waiting place is all too familiar. I know I'm not alone. Everyone hates to wait. It's why the English poet, John Keats, championed Negative Capability - the ability to be in "uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason."
I try, but this morning I'm too jumpy inside, like I need to break through some kind of bond. I take a deep breath. It can't be personal, obviously. I've never met him or even talked with him. Still, my hair does need a good cut. And a color touchup wouldn't hurt. I have work I should do, but beauty calls.
I try, but this morning I'm too jumpy inside, like I need to break through some kind of bond. I take a deep breath. It can't be personal, obviously. I've never met him or even talked with him. Still, my hair does need a good cut. And a color touchup wouldn't hurt. I have work I should do, but beauty calls.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Cupid's Mistake
Taking action and making things happen, could be harder than I thought. It's probably why so many people don't. The notion of love striking like a bolt of lightening, that cupid's arrow hits or misses, provides a ready excuse to just sit around and wait. I have a friend who avoids the whole messy love issue altogether simply by declaring that since she has no power to control it, why even bother.
Call it fate or an odd coincidence, but this morning, just as I was trying to decide what pro-active step I should take next, I read about a Celibacy Support Group. Who's in it, I wonder. Are the members choosing to be celibate or are they celibate by default? I bet I'll find answers here, though I'm not sure to which questions.
Call it fate or an odd coincidence, but this morning, just as I was trying to decide what pro-active step I should take next, I read about a Celibacy Support Group. Who's in it, I wonder. Are the members choosing to be celibate or are they celibate by default? I bet I'll find answers here, though I'm not sure to which questions.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Feet
After two marriages, a good dozen boyfriends, who knows how many misadventures (at least they weren’t missed), and eighteen up and down months of trying to twist my mind around the fact that the current man I’m “in love” is Mr. Wrong, I’ve decided it’s time to seriously search for my soulmate.
No more lazing about watching Fate while away. No more hiding behind this excuse or that. I have a choice. I can take action. And I will, starting now, every day for a year. Even on days like today, when I’m stuck at home working, I can still do something.
So I begin.
My girlfriend, Kimberly, who last month celebrated her second anniversary to her third husband, recently gave me a book titled, 101 Ways to Get and Keep His Attention. I open the book at random and land on #12: “Feet…Are they clean and neatly manicured, or are they hard, calloused, and looking worse for wear?..Just remember, if you don’t take good care of yourself, who will?
Enough said. It may not sound like a big deal, but as the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu once said, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” I can tell you right now, mine is going to be redolent with Intensive Moisturizing Foot Cream.
No more lazing about watching Fate while away. No more hiding behind this excuse or that. I have a choice. I can take action. And I will, starting now, every day for a year. Even on days like today, when I’m stuck at home working, I can still do something.
So I begin.
My girlfriend, Kimberly, who last month celebrated her second anniversary to her third husband, recently gave me a book titled, 101 Ways to Get and Keep His Attention. I open the book at random and land on #12: “Feet…Are they clean and neatly manicured, or are they hard, calloused, and looking worse for wear?..Just remember, if you don’t take good care of yourself, who will?
Enough said. It may not sound like a big deal, but as the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu once said, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” I can tell you right now, mine is going to be redolent with Intensive Moisturizing Foot Cream.
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