I went on a first date with #5 last night, to a black tie fundraiser. For safety's sake, I'd taxied there on my own. He'd left my ticket out front, so I took myself into the ballroom, scouring the crowd for someone who resembled the photo I'd seen online.
It didn't take long to find him because of his shoulder-length hair, although in person he looked more like an undercover cop, than what he actually was - a social worker. The first thing he said was, "Here, this is for you." Then he handed me a red flower.
He was a very nice guy and we proceeded to have a very nice time, viewing the items in the silent auction, chatting with his colleagues. I looked like a million bucks in a tight, bright pink, sleeveless, satin dress that I'd borrowed from my friend Kimberly. A photographer even asked if he could take a photo of us together. But for all the pleasantries, all the niceness, for me at least, the magic just wasn't there.
With my ex it was there the moment I saw him, even though I'd been with my son. Even though, outfitted in two pairs of long underwear and a bulky down jacket, I had probably resembled a sausage.
We were meeting for breakfast, and while he talked about something or other, all I thought about was how much I liked the way he looked. Afterward, outside, I noticed the space between us, and how right it felt to be walking side-by-side.
Unfortunately, magic isn't everything. Eventually, after "mystically" coming together, we practically went our separate ways.
But last night, even before dinner was finished, I knew what was what. I told my date I had to get home. My son was staying on his own for the first time, and I knew he wouldn't go to sleep until I got back.
My date was a gentleman and insisted on driving me home. When we got to my house, I thanked him for the evening as well as the flower. He nodded, then handed me a tiny white envelope. There were two cards inside, he said. He wasn't sure which one to give me. So I should choose. And with that, he waved goodnight.
A short while later, after checking in on my son, I opened the envelope. The cards were the kind that come with flowers. At the top of one, embossed in gold, were the words, "With Deepest Sympathy." Beneath it, my date had hand-written, "At least there were drinks."
The other card was decorated with little colored circles. On it, he had written, "Happy Valentines Day." I looked at it for a long moment, then went to my cupboard, found a long, thin green vase, filled it with water and slipped the red flower he'd given me inside it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Art of Answers
Books. They're coming at me left and right. "Love Lessons" by the New York Times reporter who writes the Vows column; "The Path to Love" by Deepak Chopra. "Spiritual Divorce" by Debbie Ford. And now yesterday, "The Attraction Distraction - Why the Law of Attraction Isn't Working for You and How to Get Results."
My girlfriend, Anne, sent it to me unannounced, I'm guessing because she's heard me go on and on about my ex (whom, to her regret, she introduced me to) as well as the ex before him. I haven't started the book yet, but on the back cover it says I'll find out what I'm doing wrong, why I keep sabotaging myself, and thankfully, how I can turn that around.
My friend Susan, who's been on her own almost thirty years, and is the happiest person I know, says I should toss all these books out and get back to reading real literature. Love comes out of friendships, she insists, and only after you've first learned to love yourself.
Another friend, on the other hand, who like me has been married twice and is quite determined to make it three, treats these kinds of books like they're her closest companions. Her current relationship is holding steady so she doesn't turn to them as much she used to, but not too long ago, she'd spend many of her Saturday nights in bed, surrounded by stacks of self-help tomes.
Me...I fall somewhere in-between. I keep a pile of "spiritual" books, as I call them, close by on my nightstand, but go in and out of reading them, scouring them intensely for a day or two, then losing not just interest or my place, but the entire book.
Like this morning when I went looking for my copy of Lao-tzu’s "Tao Te Ching," or Book of the Way, with its 81 brief chapters on the art of living. Anne gave me this one too and just like she sometimes does, I thought I'd open it to a random page and see what piece of advice turned up.
After searching through my bookshelves, under my bed, and all around the house, however, Tao Te Ching was not to be found. For a moment, I was unsettled. Then I decided, what the heck, today I'll go it alone. I'll step out on faith and handle life's important questions on my own.
And that's just what I've been doing. Eating leftover Thai food for breakfast. Playing gin rummy with my son instead of getting to work. Hang self-improvement, I say. It's time to have a little fun.
My girlfriend, Anne, sent it to me unannounced, I'm guessing because she's heard me go on and on about my ex (whom, to her regret, she introduced me to) as well as the ex before him. I haven't started the book yet, but on the back cover it says I'll find out what I'm doing wrong, why I keep sabotaging myself, and thankfully, how I can turn that around.
My friend Susan, who's been on her own almost thirty years, and is the happiest person I know, says I should toss all these books out and get back to reading real literature. Love comes out of friendships, she insists, and only after you've first learned to love yourself.
Another friend, on the other hand, who like me has been married twice and is quite determined to make it three, treats these kinds of books like they're her closest companions. Her current relationship is holding steady so she doesn't turn to them as much she used to, but not too long ago, she'd spend many of her Saturday nights in bed, surrounded by stacks of self-help tomes.
Me...I fall somewhere in-between. I keep a pile of "spiritual" books, as I call them, close by on my nightstand, but go in and out of reading them, scouring them intensely for a day or two, then losing not just interest or my place, but the entire book.
Like this morning when I went looking for my copy of Lao-tzu’s "Tao Te Ching," or Book of the Way, with its 81 brief chapters on the art of living. Anne gave me this one too and just like she sometimes does, I thought I'd open it to a random page and see what piece of advice turned up.
After searching through my bookshelves, under my bed, and all around the house, however, Tao Te Ching was not to be found. For a moment, I was unsettled. Then I decided, what the heck, today I'll go it alone. I'll step out on faith and handle life's important questions on my own.
And that's just what I've been doing. Eating leftover Thai food for breakfast. Playing gin rummy with my son instead of getting to work. Hang self-improvement, I say. It's time to have a little fun.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Box
Just when I'm ready to pull the plug - or more accurately delete my internet dating profile - Mr. Next shows up and invites me to a black tie event.
We haven't met yet. In fact, we haven't even talked. When he asked for my number, I said I'd rather just meet. Sure enough, he went along with it, asking me to join him at an HIV fundraiser this Saturday night.
I said yes. But I keep thinking I should say no. My son is with me this weekend. I could spend the evening with him, playing Axis & Allies or a long game of Monopoly. Too, not having anything appropriate to wear, I'll have to borrow a dress from a friend, if she even has one to share. Not to mention that my son has orchestra rehearsal that afternoon. By the time we get home, I pull myself together, and grab a taxi to the hotel (he offered to pick me up, but like I taught my son, never climb into a car), the dinner could be halfway through.
Oh, how easily reasons not to go stream in. Is it fear? Apathy? Nope, I think it's about being vulnerable. About standing in the middle of a tuxedoed crowed, watching everyone laughing gaily, while I, with a gin and tonic in one hand and maybe even holding a gentleman's hand with the other, end up feeling alone.
And yet I know I'll go. I'll say yep. I always do. Because I always tell myself 1) you never know...2) it'll build up my stepping-out-of-the box muscles, and 3) when it comes right down to it, what's the worst that can happen? In this case, I spill on my friend's dress.
We haven't met yet. In fact, we haven't even talked. When he asked for my number, I said I'd rather just meet. Sure enough, he went along with it, asking me to join him at an HIV fundraiser this Saturday night.
I said yes. But I keep thinking I should say no. My son is with me this weekend. I could spend the evening with him, playing Axis & Allies or a long game of Monopoly. Too, not having anything appropriate to wear, I'll have to borrow a dress from a friend, if she even has one to share. Not to mention that my son has orchestra rehearsal that afternoon. By the time we get home, I pull myself together, and grab a taxi to the hotel (he offered to pick me up, but like I taught my son, never climb into a car), the dinner could be halfway through.
Oh, how easily reasons not to go stream in. Is it fear? Apathy? Nope, I think it's about being vulnerable. About standing in the middle of a tuxedoed crowed, watching everyone laughing gaily, while I, with a gin and tonic in one hand and maybe even holding a gentleman's hand with the other, end up feeling alone.
And yet I know I'll go. I'll say yep. I always do. Because I always tell myself 1) you never know...2) it'll build up my stepping-out-of-the box muscles, and 3) when it comes right down to it, what's the worst that can happen? In this case, I spill on my friend's dress.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Color Me
I sit here, gritting my teeth. I hate internet dating. I do. I think because I'm not good at it. Oh, I get plenty of emails. But even the ones that sound interesting...I just don't know what to write back. So mostly I ask questions. Like what do you do? where do you live? Invariably, after a couple of exchanges in which they write verbosely and I return with one-word answers, they comment that for a writer, I don't write very much.
Which is exactly what my mother used to say. Especially to strangers. She'd be visiting wherever I was living and we'd be out at some restaurant, maybe in a buffet line, when out of the blue she'd turn towards the person next to us and say, "My daughter is a writer. Have you gotten a letter from her? I haven't." Invariably the stranger would smile, then quickly move way.
My mother had always been different, but in her last few years she became even more so. Never a big talker about anything personal, she became even less so. Still I'd try, hoping with each attempt that this time I'd pull something out of her.
Once, yearning for conversation, I asked her something silly like, what's your favorite color? Her response: "Don't ask me that. I don't know. You just make me feel like I have the wrong answer."
"There is no wrong answer," I replied. "Whatever you like, you like."
But she was done, leaving me feeling badly for having made her uncomfortable.
A painter friend, who has met her last several boyfriends through the internet, takes time in answering her emails, really thinking through each message before sending it out.
But I don't want to think too much. I don't want to consider whether what I like to do, or what I like to read, or for that matter, my favorite color, will be simpatico with anyone else in the world, let alone some stranger.
Maybe in that way, I am like my mother. Although if she were alive today, I think she'd flourish on the internet. She'd be in her element, putting herself out there, not caring whom she was talking to, saying whatever entered her mind without even noticing the consequences, let alone worrying about them.
Which is exactly what my mother used to say. Especially to strangers. She'd be visiting wherever I was living and we'd be out at some restaurant, maybe in a buffet line, when out of the blue she'd turn towards the person next to us and say, "My daughter is a writer. Have you gotten a letter from her? I haven't." Invariably the stranger would smile, then quickly move way.
My mother had always been different, but in her last few years she became even more so. Never a big talker about anything personal, she became even less so. Still I'd try, hoping with each attempt that this time I'd pull something out of her.
Once, yearning for conversation, I asked her something silly like, what's your favorite color? Her response: "Don't ask me that. I don't know. You just make me feel like I have the wrong answer."
"There is no wrong answer," I replied. "Whatever you like, you like."
But she was done, leaving me feeling badly for having made her uncomfortable.
A painter friend, who has met her last several boyfriends through the internet, takes time in answering her emails, really thinking through each message before sending it out.
But I don't want to think too much. I don't want to consider whether what I like to do, or what I like to read, or for that matter, my favorite color, will be simpatico with anyone else in the world, let alone some stranger.
Maybe in that way, I am like my mother. Although if she were alive today, I think she'd flourish on the internet. She'd be in her element, putting herself out there, not caring whom she was talking to, saying whatever entered her mind without even noticing the consequences, let alone worrying about them.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Doggie Bags - Date #4
Tall and handsome, Date #4 had potential. Until, that is, he opened his mouth and started singing a religious prayer in the middle of the restaurant.
We hadn't ordered yet, so I could have said goodnight then and there. Someone I know did just that, even after placing his order. Clear that he and his blind date were going nowhere, he asked the waiter to pack up their dinners in doggie bags.
But I stayed. I was curious to hear more about my date, who mid-life had decided to become a church singer, flying to New York every week to study with a master.
"Yes," he said, "these church jobs pay a lot. Over the holidays, you can earn 6000 bucks, easy. On a normal weekend, you can pull in a thousand."
Meanwhile, he explained, he sells life insurance, which dovetails nicely with the choir work. Last year, for instance, while filling in with one of the local church choirs, he'd sold a million dollar policy to the conductor and a half million term policy to the tenor next to him.
He also went on about his other interests, like yoga, which he did religiously until breaking his leg a few months back. In fact, he said, if you want, I can show you it. Without waiting for my response, he whipped out his blackberry, pulling up a photo of the x-ray of his fibula.
"There, where it's cloudy," he said, then proceeded to show me several close-ups of the break from different angles.
He was a fast eater. But I kept up with him, which may be why when the bill came, he asked if I would split it. Then he checked his watch. "Got to dash," he said. "My parking meter is about to run out."
We left the restaurant together and got as far as his car, a 1999 Avalon that he'd paid $5000 for. He didn't offer to give me a lift. But as he'd explained earlier, he had an 8 a.m. church gig the next day, so he had to get right home, or rather right to his apartment, which, by the way, only costs $650 a month. Definitely, he said, a real steal. With that and a quick handshake, he hurried into his car and drove out of my life.
We hadn't ordered yet, so I could have said goodnight then and there. Someone I know did just that, even after placing his order. Clear that he and his blind date were going nowhere, he asked the waiter to pack up their dinners in doggie bags.
But I stayed. I was curious to hear more about my date, who mid-life had decided to become a church singer, flying to New York every week to study with a master.
"Yes," he said, "these church jobs pay a lot. Over the holidays, you can earn 6000 bucks, easy. On a normal weekend, you can pull in a thousand."
Meanwhile, he explained, he sells life insurance, which dovetails nicely with the choir work. Last year, for instance, while filling in with one of the local church choirs, he'd sold a million dollar policy to the conductor and a half million term policy to the tenor next to him.
He also went on about his other interests, like yoga, which he did religiously until breaking his leg a few months back. In fact, he said, if you want, I can show you it. Without waiting for my response, he whipped out his blackberry, pulling up a photo of the x-ray of his fibula.
"There, where it's cloudy," he said, then proceeded to show me several close-ups of the break from different angles.
He was a fast eater. But I kept up with him, which may be why when the bill came, he asked if I would split it. Then he checked his watch. "Got to dash," he said. "My parking meter is about to run out."
We left the restaurant together and got as far as his car, a 1999 Avalon that he'd paid $5000 for. He didn't offer to give me a lift. But as he'd explained earlier, he had an 8 a.m. church gig the next day, so he had to get right home, or rather right to his apartment, which, by the way, only costs $650 a month. Definitely, he said, a real steal. With that and a quick handshake, he hurried into his car and drove out of my life.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Tantric Sex - Date #3
Went out with Date #3 last night. On the plus side, where we met, The Park Grill, overlooking Millennium Park's ice skating rink, is a pleasant place. Too, he said I look better in person than in my photo. And he also said I have a sexy walk.
On the other hand, the first thing he wanted to know was which high school I went to. Then he noted that we're both Aries. And pretty soon after that, he listed his deal-breakers: 1) if our sons didn't get along; and 2) if I didn't share his interest in tantric sex i.e. "reaching the attainment of ecstasy through esoteric, sometimes erotic techniques."
He agreed that we should hold off on introducing our kids. But he thought we should confront #2 straightaway. In fact, next time we met, he'd bring his copy of "Knowing God Through Tantric Sex" so I could see for myself what he was talking about. "See" being the operative word, since I'm pretty sure the tome is largely a picture book of naked men and women cavorting about.
Now I'm definitely open to the idea that there is a spiritual link to human intimacy. But do I really want to sit with a stranger and peer at pictures of couples going at it in weird positions? No thanks.
But did I did tell him that? Nope. Even when he asked whether I found him attractive, I didn't answer truthfully, instead saying something vague like, 'it takes me time to be attracted to someone," and 'I need to go slow.' His response: 'Can I have a kiss?"
Of course the guy had some nice qualities. Like after I told him I had to go, he offered to walk me home. I acted as that was okay until I saw my bus. Then I made a dash for it without even offering a proper goodbye.
As it turned out, it was the wrong bus. A few minutes later, while standing at a bus shelter waiting for the right one, I called my friend who met his girlfriend on J-Date. "At least you're out there," he said after I told him about the evening. Then he repeated it again, just in case I hadn't heard.
On the other hand, the first thing he wanted to know was which high school I went to. Then he noted that we're both Aries. And pretty soon after that, he listed his deal-breakers: 1) if our sons didn't get along; and 2) if I didn't share his interest in tantric sex i.e. "reaching the attainment of ecstasy through esoteric, sometimes erotic techniques."
He agreed that we should hold off on introducing our kids. But he thought we should confront #2 straightaway. In fact, next time we met, he'd bring his copy of "Knowing God Through Tantric Sex" so I could see for myself what he was talking about. "See" being the operative word, since I'm pretty sure the tome is largely a picture book of naked men and women cavorting about.
Now I'm definitely open to the idea that there is a spiritual link to human intimacy. But do I really want to sit with a stranger and peer at pictures of couples going at it in weird positions? No thanks.
But did I did tell him that? Nope. Even when he asked whether I found him attractive, I didn't answer truthfully, instead saying something vague like, 'it takes me time to be attracted to someone," and 'I need to go slow.' His response: 'Can I have a kiss?"
Of course the guy had some nice qualities. Like after I told him I had to go, he offered to walk me home. I acted as that was okay until I saw my bus. Then I made a dash for it without even offering a proper goodbye.
As it turned out, it was the wrong bus. A few minutes later, while standing at a bus shelter waiting for the right one, I called my friend who met his girlfriend on J-Date. "At least you're out there," he said after I told him about the evening. Then he repeated it again, just in case I hadn't heard.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Wishing World
I read a book last year about a woman who wished her way into a relationship. She'd go around all day imagining that the right Mr. Next would show up, and sure enough one day, there he was, out of the blue knocking on her door.
After reading her book, I did what she had done. I wrote on a slip of paper the type of partner I wanted to find, then folded it up into a little square and hid it under my mattress.
I guess in a way it worked. My ex did reappear last year after an hiatus of four months and everything reignited, wildly and passionately, until it didn't. With my logical side of my brain, I can identify many tangible reasons why it eventually sputtered out. But with my magical side of thinking, I wonder if the problem was that I wasn't specific enough with my wish.
Yes, I wrote what I wanted in a relationship - a man who is bold, generous, playful, spiritual, curious, political, who loves children and the outdoors. But what I forgot to put down was that I also wanted him to stick around. My bad, as my son used to say. In this world, as well as the wishing world, I guess you can't take anything for granted.
So I'll try again. And while I'm at it, I might as well throw in a couple of more things like... smiles a lot, passionate about his work, owns a house in the south of somewhere, and just to be on the safe side, that my son will also really like him.
After reading her book, I did what she had done. I wrote on a slip of paper the type of partner I wanted to find, then folded it up into a little square and hid it under my mattress.
I guess in a way it worked. My ex did reappear last year after an hiatus of four months and everything reignited, wildly and passionately, until it didn't. With my logical side of my brain, I can identify many tangible reasons why it eventually sputtered out. But with my magical side of thinking, I wonder if the problem was that I wasn't specific enough with my wish.
Yes, I wrote what I wanted in a relationship - a man who is bold, generous, playful, spiritual, curious, political, who loves children and the outdoors. But what I forgot to put down was that I also wanted him to stick around. My bad, as my son used to say. In this world, as well as the wishing world, I guess you can't take anything for granted.
So I'll try again. And while I'm at it, I might as well throw in a couple of more things like... smiles a lot, passionate about his work, owns a house in the south of somewhere, and just to be on the safe side, that my son will also really like him.
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