They Make it Look so Easy...

I just got back from a week's vacation with my parents.  Let's let that sink in for a moment.  I'm a 37 year old woman who just went on vacation with HER PARENTS.  A decade younger and I might still be in the age range of someone who could understandably be mooching off the folks.  A decade older and you might expect my parents to be mooching off of me.  But, I'm in that odd in-between age when a vacation with Mom and Dad brings with it a nagging sense of failure.  By this time in my life, I expected to be herding around a couple of kids across the country to show them the sights, not calling for the shotgun seat in my parents RV. 

Once I got beyond worrying about what a 37 year old's vacation is supposed to look like, and focused on what my vacation actually was, I had a lovely time.  Except for one thing.

Have you ever felt like a third wheel while hanging out with your own parents?

I have to say, this wasn't a shock.   My parents have always been the lovey dovey type.  But, I kinda thought, after being stuck at the hip 24/7 for the past three months (they've been traveling around alone in that RV since April) they would have gotten tired of each other by now.   But, on the bus ride back from a long hike, I look over and see they're holding hands and looking out the window together.

Sure, they still get annoyed with each other.  Sometimes, when I manage to get my mom on the phone (their itinerary seems to be taking them through every single no-coverage area on AT&T's map) it'll take her a half hour to come up for breath while telling me about the little things my dad does that annoy her.  And once, while driving over unfamiliar territory before his first cup of coffee, my dad did speak a teensy bit harshly to my mom and I, before quickly making a joke and laughing it off.

But, for the most part, my folks have got it figured out.  This, despite the fact that in one major respect, they couldn't be more dissimilar.

My mom is the most optimistic person you'll ever meet.  She can even make me look like a cynic.  If you know me, you know that's quite a feat.

My dad is prone to brooding.  Sometimes his moods can stretch on for months.  And nothing drives an optimist like me and my mom crazier than a brooder.

I think my dad might otherwise be considered depressed, if he wasn't married to my mom.  There are definitely times when he's overcome with worry, dismay, or even hopelessness.  But, in their more than 45 years together (my parents were high school sweethearts) my clinically depressed father has adjusted to living with my unflinchingly optimistic mom.

These days, he might better be described as a depressed optimist, or a optimistic depressive.  Imagine the most downtrodden statement from Winnie the Pooh's Eyore, said in the chipper voice of Tigger.

And my mom, who like many mothers has a compulsive need to "fix" everything, somehow can simply ignore my dad's moods.  She's never been able to give herself (or her kids) the emotional freedom to feel negative emotions, but she lets my father's dark moods just roll through unnoticed.

I have to say, even after watching this dynamic play out my whole life, I'm perplexed at how it works.  It certainly doesn't work for me!  My ex-husband was depressed all right, but his moods didn't roll off me.  They consumed me.  Instead of ignoring his drama and waiting for it to play out, I'd spring into motion, trying everything I could to lift him out of his depression.  I'd even take on some of the blame, letting him try to convince me that if I was just a little more (insert the complaint of the month here) he would have no cause to be depressed.


So, how do my parents make it look so easy?  Is it simply that they've been together since they were 15 and 16.  Are they so very well suited because they basically became adults together?  Their personalities formed in the shadow of the other, so that they would forever be, not necessarily what the other person wants, but what the other person needs.

If so, am I twenty years past my prime?  I mean, I am who I am.  The guys I meet are who they are.  We're no longer soft clay.  There is no longer the possibility of molding our personalities to fit the other's.


But, unlike my mom, I don't need someone who can go along with my Pollyanna view of the world.  And, unlike my dad, I don't need someone who can pretend that I'm not in a bad mood.  While my parents need each other to counter-act the extremes of their personality, I strive to be a whole person, all on my own.  I don't need someone who's a perfect foil for my imperfections.  My imperfections are my business.  I just need someone, also an imperfect whole person, who's willing to deal with their own crap...and let me deal with mine.

That can't be too hard, can it?

He's Just Not That Into Me

Sorry for the lack of updates recently. I was off in la-la land.

La-la land is described as the place where the Single Girl goes when she thinks she's found a keeper. I admit it, I'm a sucker for that happy little rush of endorphins that comes when a guy I like contacts me. If I don't like a guy, a simple "How ya doing" text will annoy the crap out of me. But, if I actually like him, it'll make my heart skip a beat and a big broad smile to come to my face.

Anyway, for about two weeks I was virtually overdosing on those happy little endorphins. The texts and emails came every couple of hours, and I liked it. I started telling people I had finally found "a communicator."

Last week, my Communicator was out of town and the communication slowed. This week, it's come to a virtual stop. Nothing since early yesterday morning. Yeah, I know, for a normal guy, that would be nothing. But, for the guy who had once sent me a text message letting me know that I might not hear from him for 2 hours it was because he was going into a very important business meeting, it was quite clear that something had changed.

As we've pretty clearly established, I've made a lot of mistakes in the dating world. In the past, one of the recurring themes was a stubborn insistence that if a guy wanted to break up with me, he needed to "man up" and do it. I wasn't giving anyone any easy outs.

But, then, I discovered this:


I apologize to the friends who had to listen to me read entire chapters of this book out-loud on what would have been an otherwise relaxed beach day last summer. Most of time I think self-help or relationship books are utter crap. But, the simple question of this book (born out of a Sex and the City episode and used to inspire a really cheesy Hollywood movie) is why, oh-why would any of us ever settle for someone who's settling for us?

Never fear, friends. This is not a sad tale. Yes, things did not work out with my Communicator. I just sent him an email acknowledging that our little thing had "run its course." I'm simply no longer interested in dating a guy who's just not that "into" me. And, frankly, I was no longer all that "into" him either.

So, I'm moving on from my Communicator (a.k.a. #24.) Anyone got any suggestions for #25? ;-)

Managing Expectations

So, ya'll might think that I just write this blog to amuse my friends with my silly dating stories. And that's true! Nothing makes me happier than making my friends giggle.

But, I also write this blog to remind myself of mistakes I've made in the past and my resolve to avoid them. So, here's a big one. When I'm going swimming on a hot day like today, I properly prepare myself. I dip a toe in the water, to make sure the temperature is nice. I check my swimsuit to avoid any "wardrobe malfunctions." And, then I dip myself in the water, oh so slowly, because I just hate those milliseconds of anticipation when I'm suspended in midair and wondering exactly how cold it's gonna feel when I hit the water. I always want to will myself back onto dry land.

See, doesn't that look nice? So cool and inviting...

Well, when it comes to relationships, I jump right in. With both feet. I don't check to make sure the water's not too cold. Heck, I don't even check in to see if there's enough water to keep me from breaking my neck. I meet a guy. I get infatuated. And I jump right in.

Weeks, months, or even years later I wake up and find myself lying next to a stranger. I find that I've been living in denial about undeniable incompatibilities for which there is no compromise. I find that although I might love the guy I'm with, I might not like him very much. Or at all.

This has not resulted in good things in my life.

So, I've resolved to be more careful. No. I'm not going to become a cynic. Cynicism would be too much of a shock for my genetically optimistic nature. But, you know, I need a healthy balance. I need to keep my eyes open and remember that no matter how inviting the pool looks, I need a little more information before jumping right in.

That's the problem I'm having today. I have a second date tomorrow, and I'm kinda excited about it. Under the new world order, I'm not supposed to be getting excited about a second date. Heck, I'm not supposed to be getting excited about a second month of dates!

So, remember the 20? Any time I find myself getting too excited about a date, I think I'm going to remind myself of a past failure. Today I think we'll chit-chat about #12.

For the Sake of the Fans...

What fans, you may ask? Good question. Really, I just have friends. And my friends think it's funny to ask me to do things "for the sake of the fans."

So, on Sunday, at the insistence of my "fans," I went on a date with the Dunkin Donuts guy. Remember him?

(Truthfully, I went out with him because I'm trying to give nice guys a chance, as long as the reasons I'm not into them seem frivolous. In the past, I've given jerks all kinds of chances to prove my first impressions wrong. But, I've never been good at giving second chances to guys who just don't excite me at first. I'm trying to be better at that.)

When we talked on the phone, I was totally turned off by his accent. At some point he had vaguely claimed to have "grown up" near Boston, so I assumed his was the worst Boston accent I had ever heard. But, the second he pulled up in his Mercedes Hybrid SUV and flashed his TAG watch, it was pretty clear he wasn't from Boston.

First, Dunks guy was a bit more swarthy than I had expected. No worries. I don't mind swarthy! But, it was pretty obvious that his Boston accent was being enhanced by something a bit more foreign.

It takes him a full hour to admit it, but he's a Jew from a Middle Eastern country. (No, not Israel. And, yes, I remember which country it is. But, I'd hate to give too much info about this guy on a public blog, so we'll leave it at that.)

He fled his home as a young teenager and sought asylum in the US. His parents couldn't leave, so he came alone. He came here with nothing and is clearly now quite successful. I'm not a person who's turned on by signs of wealth (like the watch and the car. I might notice them, but that doesn't mean I'm impressed by them!) But, I am impressed by someone who made so much out of so little. That's pretty cool.

Unfortunately, I wasn't attracted to Dunks Guy, physically or intellectually. At the end of the night, he said something like, "You can pick the place next time." I kinda giggled and said, "I'll think about it." I think he got the hint, because I haven't heard from him since.

I never know what to say in that situation. When a guy asks me out the first time, and I'm not interested, it's easy. A simple "no, thank you" is perfectly appropriate. But, when you've just gotten up from across the dinner table after having a perfectly decent time, it seems so much more personal. And I guess it is. I'll have to think a little on whether I handled that in the best possible way.

Anyway, one of my friends later suggested that I should have gone on a second date, just so I could count his gold chains. She says every guy of this ilk she's met has been wearing at least two or three gold chains.

I don't remember looking for gold chains, so I am curious to learn if he wears any. But, going on a second date with a guy I know I'm not into sounds just...well...rude.

So, here are some things I won't do, for the sake of the fans.

1. I will not lead a nice guy on when I know I'm not interested. (Yes. The use of the word "nice" is on purpose. I have yet to decide if I'll lead a jerk on, just to document exactly how much of a jerk he is!)

2. I will not do anything icky! (This rule was born when a friend suggested I should contact TMI guy again, just to see where the conversation would go this time. Remember TMI Guy? Yeah, gross enough already. I don't need to hear any more!)

3. I will not write about guys I'm really interested in. This is the tough one, because when I meet someone I actually like, I certainly want to let everyone know. But, I went on a really, really good date on Monday and I just can't bring myself to write about it here. Maybe I think I'll jinx it? Or, more likely, I just think it's kinda rude. (Rude seems to be the word of the day! Apparently I'm in a very polite mood this evening.)

So, I promise, if this one crashes and burns, I'll tell ya all about it. In the meantime, I still have 19 of the 20 first dates to tell you about!

By Popular Demand...

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The One about The One.

So, a friend and I were talking about The One last night. No, I'm not talking about Mr Hot-But-Stupid.

So, so hot. But, really. Did you see him try to do Shakespeare in Much Ado about Nothing? Clearly not very smart.

No, I'm talking about that mythical creature, my one and only soul mate, the guy I will meet, develop an almost instant attraction to, fall in love with, marry, raise a couple kids with, and die together somewhere in our late 90s, still blissfully in love, holding hands and staring off into the sunset.

Okay, maybe nobody really expects all that, but this friend and I were talking about The One because a mutual friend is going through a break-up. She had really hoped this guy would be The One, and now it looks like he won't be, and she's sad. And we feel sad for her.

So, I'm realizing, I used to believe in The One. I used to hold onto relationships long past their expiration date, because I was convinced that moving on would be throwing away my one and only chance at happiness. After all, if I only have one One out there, and I give up too easily, will I die alone? That doesn't sound like much fun.

(In fairness, I need to point out that I still held this belief in the not-so-distant past. Less than a year ago I was stubbornly sticking it out in the worst relationship of my life because I had convinced myself that this guy was truly The One.)

I know that people believe in The One because it gives them hope. If I know there's someone out there for me, all I have to do is keep looking. I'll find him. (Or he'll find me.) And we'll both get our Happily Ever Afters.

But, what has my belief in The One gotten me? The three worst relationships of my life. Let's recap.

The First One: College. That should tell you something. He was my first real relationship, and I fell hard. We said things to each other like, "I will always love you" and "You're the most important person who will ever be in my life." I didn't really believe these things, but I said them because he said them, and I thought he was The One. We broke up when I started asking him why he was spending so much time with his best friend's girlfriend. Later, I discovered that not only was he sleeping with her, but he also cheated on me with five more women (most of whom were my "friends") and (though this was never confirmed) one man. He's currently married to my former best friend.

The Wedded One: He would have been a really good friend. Unfortunately, I married him. We had completely different views on responsibility, money, hard work, kids and monogamy. On that last issue: I required it, and he hated me for it. On the second to last issue: He refused, and I hated him for it. I spent 12 years trying to compromise on issues for which there is no compromise because I thought he was The One. I should have broken it off after six months.

The Evil One: He refused to let me see my friends, was jealous of the one week a year I spend with my family, was controlling, paranoid, manipulative, and mean. He'd trick me into telling him things, then he'd keep me up all night yelling at me for something he thought I'd lied about. I let him get away with it, because sometimes he really was nice, and I was sure that nice person was The One. It took me a year and a half to realize that the nice person was an illusion.

So, I don't believe in The One anymore. I just don't. I absolutely still believe that I'll find someone. I will fall in love. I'll probably even get married and have kids. But, that person won't be the only person in the world for me.

The fact is, the world is a really big place. There are more than 6 1/2 billion people on this planet, over a billion in China alone. There might be thousands of true loves out there waiting for me. Gosh, maybe even millions, if I'm willing to learn Chinese!

It's all luck and timing. I could meet someone tomorrow, and he could be perfect for me. If I had met him a week earlier, he might have been all wrong. We're all in constant flux. We change. They change. The world changes. If it fizzles out with one potential true love, it's time to pick myself up, fix whatever's wrong with me (and believe me, there's plenty to fix) and start looking for the next.

And when I find whatever happens to be my last relationship, he won't be The One. We won't be together because of fate. We'll be together because together is where we both choose to be.

He will love me every bit as much as I love him. We will be happy. We will have struggles. We will both look out for the other's needs, while also looking out for ourselves. We will not be everything to each other, but we will be all that we're needed to be.

He won't be The One. He'll be better than that.

Honesty Overload

So, we all know that the online dating scene is filled with liars.

I've heard of guys lying about being single. Lying about their age (remember Frank?) And even lying about what they look like altogether.

(My friend, J, tells an awesome story about going to meet a guy whose photos showed him with a full head of lush black hair, and finding in his place a bald man who not only had a different hairstyle, but completely different facial features!)

But, folks, there is such a thing as being a little too honest.

Meet Mark. When asked for the first thing people notice about him, Mark says:

I think it depends on whether they have been drinking or not and what buttons I push. Otherwise I am pretty easy going.

Mark, what exactly does that mean? Are you nice, unless someone is drunk, and then you're a jerk? Do you hang out in bars, "pushing the buttons" of drunk people? Most importantly, Mark, has this resulted in many bar fights that could have damaged your intelligence? Because that's the only reason I can come up with to intentionally taunt drunk people for fun.

So, this week I encountered the most ill advised honest streak of my online dating life thus far. In just a few short paragraphs, in response to completely innocuous standard eHarmony questions, this guy managed to tell me that:

1. He smokes a lot of pot. (Though he claims he's not a pot-head. Yeah, right.)
2. He has bad fire safety habits. (Used paper cups as candle holders. Really?)
3. He lacks common sense. (Tried to put the fire out with his bare hands. Ouch!)
4. He sometimes has trouble with erectile dysfunction.

Sadly, I was kinda liking Mr. Honesty before this particular exchange.