Dating is Warfare

Introducing, Cleavage

2012-01-23T18:42:00.000-08:00

While cooking dinner the other night, I had one of those random "aha!" moments – totally out of the blue and potentially life changing.

Image: Bosom Button http://www.bosombutton.com/
Not a product I've ever had the fortune to need.
But the image reminds me of Cleavage.

I think it started after I had an enjoyable chat on the phone with my friend, Cleavage. Cleavage and I met quite a few years ago -- actually the last time I set myself on a friend-making mission. Back then I was not a gimp, so I chose tennis (instead of beer) as my hobby (and the gut's showing it, believe me) and joined a league. Cleavage was one of my first matches and I could tell right away she would be fun to know as a friend. After a few matches and amusing netside chats, I made my move with the old "we should hang out sometime" line.

I know it's weird to describe trying to make a new friend as something akin to a guy scoping out a chick, but that is exactly how I see it (without the sex part). See, I've never been that kind of nervous when it came to dating as an adult. As an adolescent, well, that’s another story. In middle school I was totally boy crazy and, because 12 and 13-year-old boys are the biggest pussies on the planet, I had no choice but to do the work myself.

I orchestrated the moments I would pass him in the hallways. I knew where I would sit in proximity to him at lunch. If I needed a date to a dance, I did the asking. And I issued the appointments for post-dance, behind the locker make out sessions (one middle school boyfriend, who went on to become a notorious ladies man in high school, recently admitted that he broke up with me after a week or two because I scared him with my make out request. Apparently the girls back in his home state of Wisconsin were nowhere near as aggressive.)

By the time high school rolled around, the boys were starting to catch up and the ball was heading in to their court. Not that I was volunteering anymore. It only took a few weeks of high school for me to realize I was no longer in my comfort zone. The popular junior and senior boys immediately snapped up all the cute, blonde girls I was friends with in middle school. The skater dudes veered off to the far side of the quad to hang out with all the other skater dudes. The surfers talked nothing but waves, and ditching classes to catch waves. The stoners went under the bleachers, the cheerleaders were watching football practice. I wasn’t any of those things.

I ended up sort of floating in the middle - part jock, part honor student, part partier, and really pissed off at life. Boys at school just did not interest me. I had plenty of male friends, and even made out with a few, but all I wanted to do was graduate and get to college. Basically, if a boy was genuinely interested in me, I did none of the heavy lifting like I did in middle school. Needless to say, I graduated a virgin.

Back to Cleavage, who bought my line and has been my friend ever since. Sadly, we never got to that "good friend" category because, a few months after we met, she starting dating a guy she met after I encouraged her to try online dating. They got serious fast. He moved in, they bought a house and got married.

I was there along the way but probably not like I would've been if we'd been single girlfriends just a little longer. It’s funny because the only reason this thought ever came to mind was because her husband came up to me one night during their courtship and said, "I feel kind of bad, DT.” I had no clue what he was talking about and asked him why. He responded, “I feel like I interrupted your and Cleavage's friendship.” I thought about it for a second and could see what he meant, but how can you begrudge somebody lifelong love and happiness? Besides, I liked him and was happy for them both.

Still, Wine Guy wasn’t all that comfortable hanging out with their circle of friends, which I understood (they were pretty heavy partiers). I didn’t have a lot in common with their group either. So Cleavage and I mostly saw each other every few weeks, sometimes months, for “girls night.” With no one else around, we always picked up right where we left off – and that’s how it’s been for the last five years.

And then, a few months ago, she invited me over and told me she's leaving her husband. A total shock to me. Apparently they'd been having problems and, even though I witnessed many of the incidents, I assumed they were perfectly happy. (That is one of my nastiest habits - assuming everybody else's life is supremely happy and "normal," and I'm the one who’s doing life “wrong.” But it doesn’t last long because, every six months or so, someone lays a whopper on me like Cleavage did and I’m reminded that nobody’s life is “perfect.”)

I was not happy to hear this news. I liked her husband and I'm pretty sure he liked me. And since I'd known them as a couple longer than I ever knew her, "they" were my friends. But after she laid it out all for me, I understood why she was throwing in the towel.

I'm not gonna lie. I was pretty damn excited to have a new single friend to hang out with. I remember how much fun we had hanging out, cracking each other up, flirting with boys in bars. I can honestly say I haven't done that since.

With a fresh marital separation and all the drama that entails, it's still too soon to dive in to manhunting, but we have put each other on the regular phone call rotation. It probably doesn't mean as much to her, but I currently have only one friend who meets that qualification and she lives 3,000 miles away and has a 3 month old baby to care for so, yeah, I'm jonesin' for some girl talk. Funny thing is, I loathe the phone. Avoid it at all costs (talking - not texting or emailing). But I have just enough patience for that one, gabby call per week. And now I have a standing appointment.

It was after our last appointment, while I walked my dog around the neighborhood, that I had my random "aha!" realization. After we hung up, I started making dinner and I suddenly said out loud, "So, I'm lonely." It wasn't a sad thought or anything negative at all. Just a statement of fact. I've spending a lot of time alone the last few months and, some of that time, I don't want to be alone. Those are the times I am lonely.

I sat with that a minute as I dredged my chicken (I can't believe I just typed that as I am so new to cooking). With the meat sizzling on the pan, I stepped away to the dining room table and had a second, less random thought.

I am lonely. But I'm also happy.

Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that I could be both.

So, Cleavage and I are meeting up on Saturday night for dinner, cocktails and a horror movie. I haven't done that in decades. In a few more months, maybe we'll take our friendship to the next level and go out and flirt with some boys. I've told her of my plan, saying, "With your blonde hair and big boobs, we're gonna get so many guys!"

She laughed heartily and enthusiastically, showing me she was neither offended nor uninterested in my proposal. That, my friends, is a girlfriend.

Dismissed.

Bland Beer

2012-01-15T11:14:00.000-08:00

Here's what happened on my visit with Beer Guy last weekend. I went into it with friendship as my expectation-- and a dash of potential for something more. By the time I entered his home and set the chips and salsa I brought down on the kitchen counter, I knew this would be a relationship with no extra spice.

After giving me a friendly hug, the first words out of his mouth were, "The reason I disappeared for a few months was because I got pretty hot and heavy with someone soon after we met." That much I'd figured. Then he added, "But she broke up with me on New Year's Eve." Ah. I was going to be the shoulder for leaning.

Honestly, that disclosure let me loosen up and we ended up spending the entire afternoon on his deck, drinking beer and swapping romantic mishaps. I was holding back the "buddy" stuff at first, thinking it couldn't hurt to leave a little room in case something in the ether shifted. But the more he told me about his relationship with his most recent ex --a relationship he clearly still longed for--I was pushing him further and further into the passive, possibly wimpy category and, as I've discussed already, those qualities are no longer on my checklist for potential partners.

It seems she was passive aggressive, needy and extremely immature. And he wasn't even trying to paint her in a bad light. He clearly still wanted her back and was just describing the relationship to me. Hearing this elicited the same reaction I have when the protagonist in a movie is in a relationship with an obviously horrible person. I know we're supposed to be rooting for them to find happiness elsewhere, but all I can think is, "What an idiot. Why would they be with this person in the first place?" I have a hard time respecting someone who is willing to put up with such awful behavior just to be in a relationship. (The most recent example I can think of is the relationship between Owen Wilson and his bitch of a girlfriend Rachel McAdams in "Midnight in Paris." But I still loved the film.)

The more Beer Guy told me about his three month excursion into "love," the more red flags popped up. This down-to-earth, nice-seeming guy seemed out of place, scared to be alone and obviously looking for someone to cling to. Maybe a few years back that would've appealed to me because, of course, I used to feel the same way. But no more.

Still, we had a pleasant afternoon of swapping stories and ended up going out to dinner as well. I'd hang out with him again. Like I said, I'm looking for people to pass the time with after too many days of being alone. But I don't think I'll pursue a regular friendship with him simply because I know that the moment he latches on to his next girlfriend (which shouldn't take too long, he's handsome, nice and owns a beautiful home with an ocean view), I know I'll be ancient history.

I have to say, dating is a lot less painful when you aren't willing to sell yourself down the river just to say you have a relationship. More to come....

Dismissed.

The Yeast That Bonds

2012-01-05T21:57:00.000-08:00

While 2011 had its low points, the year was a significant improvement from 2010. In addition to exiting a relationship that was running on fumes, I accomplished most of the goals I set for myself, including:

1. Building up a solid archive of published feature stories to advance my freelance writing career (I published one or more story every month, and talked to some incredible talent in the process).

2. Finally began healing after four years of pain and suffering; while I am not exactly where I'd hoped (and probably never will be), I'm at peace with my state of being and am embracing what I can do instead of lamenting what I can't. I'm also back to the weight I was when I first went under the knife in 2008.

3. Most importantly, I made some new friends.

While numbers 1 and 2 undoubtedly signify major life moments, the third easily took the most conscious courage and determination. If you think dating is warfare, try making new friends in your late 30s. At times it felt apocalyptic. At this point in life, the majority of people I'd be friends with are hunkered down in their bomb shelters: husband, kids, mortgages, in-laws. I can't even imagine how they juggle it all. I have two jobs, two pets and rental unit and I feel constantly overwhelmed.

After I'd moved into my new place and got past the euphoria of shedding the weight of a dead relationship, it became immediately clear that I had no friends. Wait, a clarification. I had no friends, other than Wine Guy, to casually hang out with. When it came to emotional meltdowns or family emergencies, I was blessed. I even had one or two women not saddled with husband/children in my social rotation but, being active women, they had full schedules. One date every couple of weeks does not a social calendar make.

I'm not opposed to alone time. In fact, I cherish it. But when it becomes the everyday routine, it doesn't feel like something worth cherishing. It's kind of like smoking pot. If you toke up every once in awhile, it's a kick. But once you start wake-and-baking, you're just living in a foggy brain. Nothing special about that. Trust me, I know.

A friend (one of my NEW ones, thank you very much) recently shared with me something she'd heard about introverts versus extroverts. We'd started to fill in our backstories and it soon became clear that she was, in fact, quite an introvert. Being that I have a blog where I spill my deepest, darkest, I think you can guess which one I am. She told me that introverts are energized by time spent alone, and being social -as fun as it can be-ultimately drains that energy. Whereas extroverts are energized by socializing with others and, while they might enjoy their alone time, it ultimately saps them. Having been in serious relationships with two introverts, I can testify that this is the most accurate description of the two types I've ever heard.

Desperate for a social charge, I decided to make my move. I have no problem suggesting a date with a potential romantic interest. But when it comes to establishing a female friendship, I feel like a 14-year-old boy at a middle school dance. I started with acquaintances who always seemed like they could be friends if one of us ever made the gesture. And that seemed to pay off, as it did with Introvert (whose boyfriend I also now count among my friends).

As with dating, I soon discovered there are only so many friends you can meet "in the wild," so I took my hunt to the online friend corral, Meetup.com. It's something of an overwhelming experience at first, trying to pick the activities you're interested in that might cough up some like minded friends. I settled on craft beer, something I'd become a little too knowledgeable about over the last two years, and also a really big thing here in San Diego.

The first beer meetup I went to was last summer at a local microbrewery where we had a tour of the facilities, followed by a ridiculous amount of tasters. I arrived a little early and found myself talking to a seemingly nice, normal man about my age who'd just moved here from Tennessee. Understand, I was not here to find a date and, as cute (and single) as he was, I was mostly excited by the fact that he had only lived here a few weeks, knew no one and, more importantly, had yet to discover the many terrific brewpubs tucked in all corners of the city. He clearly knew his beer and had a lot of free time so I was excited by the idea of having a companion to hit up the pubs I would visit more often if I had someone to go with.

I was careful not to monopolize his time throughout the event and made an effort to talk to other people. I didn't want him to think I was only there to snatch a guy - because I wasn't. But he was by far the most friendly person there so we ended up talking quite a bit. I had a great time and he seemed to as well. Eventually someone else started talking to him and then he left rather abruptly, which bummed me out a little.

But my spirits were lifted the very next day when he sent me an email through the Meetup site saying how nice it was to meet me. I wrote back saying the same and suggested we get together for some beer tourism the following weekend, to which he replied he was unavailable. I gave him my regular contact info and said to let me know when he was free.

When he didn't get in touch after a week or two, I grew irritated. There was no doubt that we hit it off as friends. I had something to offer him - local knowledge about an interest of his, as well as companionship (he made it clear he knew nobody in town). The only reason I could think that he wouldn't follow up was because he thought I wanted something romantic when he didn't. Exactly how the fuck are you supposed to make friends with someone who happens to be a man if you are going to be judged as some man-hunting cougar? So I went back to the Meetup site and joined an all-girl craft beer group, where I've made a few potential friend connections and, most importantly, avoided feeling like I'm on the prowl for something I'm not (unless an obvious opportunity presents itself, of course).

So you can imagine my surprise when I got an email from him earlier this week, almost six months since we'd last communicated. He commented that the beer Meetup seemed to have disbanded, implying he was hoping to run into me at the next event. But since there were no more events, he'd made up his mind to get in touch after the holidays. Apparently, someone gave him a Beer of the Month subscription for Christmas and, well, he needed help plowing through his supply. Might I want to get together? He even proposed a few possible dates and times which, I've learned, indicates purposeful intent in guy speak. Impressive.

So this Saturday afternoon I'll be on Beer Guy's deck toasting in the New Year. Hopefully he'll be yet another new friend (and one that I wouldn't mind kissing). I like beer better than wine anyway.

Dismissed.

Generic New Year's Greetings

2011-12-31T17:24:00.000-08:00

It's a quiet late afternoon on New Year's Eve. I've spent the day much as I've spent the majority of this holiday break, by myself with little to do but take my dog for a walk, watch a movie, nap, tidy up and check Facebook. Much of the time it feels like heaven. But sometimes it feels like hell.

While my New Year's Eve plans feel entirely acceptable to me, I realize that many of you will think me pathetic. Trust me, I sought out other options first -- even ones that didn't seem all that appealing. But my friends who are in town and without children either already had plans or just felt like staying home. I considered spending the evening home alone and probably would've done so if most of my forced holiday vacation wasn't exactly that. Too much solitary time does not serve this extrovert well and ringing in the New Year all by my lonesome borders on dangerous.

So tonight I'm spending NYE exactly where I spent it last year -- in my old apartment with Wine Guy.

Our breakup has been almost too ideal. He helped me move (on his 40th birthday no less), we shopped for new furniture for our places together (totally confusing the sales guy), he gave me a lovely birthday present and has come with me to visit my mom who lives about 40 minutes away (she missed him).

He's still my best friend, albeit one who gets on my nerves in all the same ways he used to (and vice versa). We did recently hit a snag when he felt the need to talk about the type of women he's seen on one of the dating sites, but insists he hasn't joined. I didn't want to hear about it and told him to steer clear of that subject. But he naively insisted and, before he knew it, we were in an awkward tiff that he later profusely apologized for walking us into.

Funny thing about it is that I'm the one who's actually dating, not him. So why does the idea of him even thinking about dating upset me? Because his odds are better. I know that when he wants to be in a relationship again (after the sting of being with me for four years has worn off), there will most likely be a quality 30-something woman eagerly awaiting his email. There are lots of us. What there aren't are lots of him. Sure he has significant flaws, but he's still the person I choose to spend nights like NYE with and I know that pretty soon he'll be wanting to spend them with someone else, as he should. I just don't want to hear about it until it happens.

While tonight will be pleasant (he's cooking after all :-), I know it's something of a step backwards. This certainly isn't where I expected to be at this point in 2011. And the feeling only gets worse as I see the many posts from my Facebook friends wishing us all a happy new year, generically thanking us for our friendship and hoping that all of our wishes will be fulfilled in 2012. It's nice, sure, but ultimately it's an empty declaration, especially when the person on the receiving end feels so entirely alone.

If you're playing the world's smallest violin right now, I don't blame you. I admit I'm having something of a pity party. What else are blogs for ;-)? But I also know that tomorrow, when the sun is shining and the pressure of being alone over the holidays is finally over, I will feel more hopeful. I will appreciate the fact that I still have two more days of leisure time before I return to the daily grind that, I just realized, has kept this loneliness at bay for most of 2011. So that I am thankful for.

And, of course, I wish everyone a happy new year, generically thank you all for your friendship and hope that all of your wishes will be fulfilled in 2012.

2011-12-22T13:50:00.000-08:00

One of my dearest friends, a happily married Veteran friends with five (!) children, sent me this article from The Guardian that was shared with her by another of her late 30s, single friends whose romantic life has eerily echoed mine since we first met in our early 20s.

Writer Kate Bolick
Photo: Mike McGregor, the Observer

It's a loooooong article on the sociology of singledom by Kate Bolick and I pretty much skimmed over the statistic-heavy paragraphs (numbers are not my strong suit). But overall it was an interesting read, if only to hear the voice of someone else in my same situation. It actually made me feel pretty good about where I am -- and probably will be for long while.

If you're not up for reading it, here are a few quotes that really jumped out at me.

"...all this time, I realised, I'd been regarding my single life as a temporary interlude, one I had to make the most of – or swiftly terminate, depending on my mood. Without intending to, by actively rejecting our pop-culture depictions of the single woman – you know the ones – I'd been terrorising myself with their spectres. But now that 35 had come and gone, all bets were off. It might never happen. Or maybe not until 42. Or 70, for that matter. Was that so bad? If I stopped seeing my present life as provisional, perhaps I'd be a little… happier. Perhaps I could actually get down to the business of what it means to be a real single woman.

"In 2005, social psychologist Bella DePaulo coined the word singlism, in an article she published in Psychological Inquiry. Intending a parallel with terms like racism and sexism, DePaulo says singlism is "the stigmatising of adults who are single [and] includes negative stereotyping of singles and discrimination against singles". In her 2006 book, Singled Out, she argues that the complexities of modern life, and the fragility of the institution of marriage, have inspired an unprecedented glorification of coupling. (Laura Kipnis, the author of Against Love, has called this "the tyranny of two.") This marriage myth – "matrimania", DePaulo calls it – proclaims that the only route to happiness is finding and keeping one all-purpose, all-important partner who can meet our every emotional and social need. Those who don't have this are pitied. Those who don't want it are seen as threatening. Singlism, therefore, "serves to maintain cultural beliefs about marriage by derogating those whose lives challenge those beliefs."

Happy holidays to all my fellow crazy cat ladies!

Dismissed.

This post was brought to you by Therapy.

2011-12-16T23:44:00.000-08:00

After my third date with Globetrotter, one thing became entirely clear --- I am in no condition to be dating. In fact, I'm downright harmful to the men I go out with, if not to myself.

I've had three significant relationship failures in my adulthood and now, at 39, I can finally see what part I played in making all of them possible. I always suspected I shared a not insignificant portion of the blame, but could never say exactly what shape that blame came in. If you don't know exactly what you did wrong, how can you ever expect to change?

And that's why I went to therapy -- to find out who I am and why I do what I do. Not to judge it (at least not at first), but to wholly understand it. After almost two years of gentle cognitive behavioral therapy, much of it focusing on managing a life and relationship through chronic pain, I figured out that my bad hip wasn't spoiling my relationship with Wine Guy. It was already destroyed. The hip stuff just prolonged the misery.

Wine Guy thought I was in too much physical agony and grief over the sudden loss of my sister and nephew to be able to handle another emotional hit like a break-up, not to mention too physically restricted to handle the move physically. He was right about that. But he wasn't just being a martyr. He was being a friend by sticking by me and helping me through such an awful time. Granted, we fought a lot and neither of us were happy, but we were still taking care of each other like family. I find this oddly comforting. The whole time I thought our relationship was slowly dying when, really, a fierce friendship was holding us together.

So why did we fail in the first place? One simple reason: my impatience, which pushed me into a relationship that was doomed from the start.

This explanation is true for both Wine Guy and Only Child (Naval A-hole gets his own category called "sociopath"), both of whom I picked because they were kind, harmless men. They were also both indecisive wheel-spinners, but really nice, non-threatening ones (yes, at some point in my life I saw/see men as threatening - that's another year of therapy to figure out). Perhaps not insignificantly, they both had verbally abusive fathers and both men, at one point or another, compared me to their dads. Yeah, not good.

Why was I such a verbally abusive bitch (I really wasn't that bad. These guys were both overly sensitive too, as most of my friends will attest)? Because their indecisiveness drove me fucking insane. It made them seem weak. It made me lose tiny flakes of respect for them. That shit builds up fast and, well, I've always had a bit of a verbal temper.

Of course, when I first met them they just seemed like unusually kind men who were more comfortable hanging out with women than their own brute gender. Hence why I called both of them my "gay-straight boyfriends." It takes a little time --usually 6 months to a year-- for those qualities to start seeming weak, indecisive, overly sensitive and wimpy (at least to me).

But why, oh why, once I figured that out, did I move in with them and begin the march towards marriage, whether we liked it or not? This was the part of the blame that was hardest for me to accept. Actually, I couldn't or wouldn't even see it as a possibility until my therapist gently guided me there and placed it on my lap to be gently examined.

Ah, yes. Impatience.

I was so busy pushing the ball and chain up the mountain that I forgot to stop and notice if it was too heavy for me in the first place. Never one to back down from a struggle, I assumed this was one more "battle" I had to fight (sense a theme here?). That it was supposed to be this heavy. Besides, it would take too long to let it roll back down and go off to try to find another. I have a ticking clock here, people. So I pushed on. First Only Child, then Wine Guy (with a pause for the whirlwind, long-distance mind fuck that was Naval A-hole).

Now I see it clear as day and I can assure everyone that it won't happen again. Not the failed relationship part, there are countless ways I've yet to discover to ruin one of those--but the pushing something forward before I've checked to see if I like the way it's rolling part. I feel really solid in this realization and proud of all the work I did to get myself here.

But what am I supposed to do now that I know every relationship instinct I've followed has been flawed pretty much to the core? How am I supposed to know when the right situation presents itself without worrying about the accuracy of my instincts? How on earth did all that therapy lead me right into George "if every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right" Costanza territory (you remember that episode of Seinfeld, right?)?!

Needless to say, without an accurate compass to rely on, I'm in no condition to be dating. I learned this after my third date with Globetrotter. We're a great intellectual/sense of humor match and it's impossible not to be comfortable with him. But do I detect a little wheel-spinning there? Hmmmm. I want to jump up and high-five him when we stumble on another crazy thing we both have in common, but when he tries to hold my hand or kiss me, I feel like I turn to stone. I could see on the poor guy's face that he was sad and confused, but if he thinks my signals are mixed, he should try being inside my own head. It's even worse in here.

As I sat down to type this, I remembered having a similar panicky feeling about getting physically close to Wine Guy when we first started dating. I dug around in my Spring 2007 entries until I found the post I was looking for, My Walled Garden. I was amazed at how accurately I described what I felt the other night after awkwardly saying goodbye to Globetrotter and driving home in tears.

"I know when I've gone a little while without being - um - touched, I tend to build up walls. Then I get used to being walled in. It actually starts to feel all safe and cozy there in my little walled garden. So when potential for simple intimacy pops up (holding hands, arm around shoulder) I feel myself tense up. I can't help it. He probably feels it too."

I suppose the fact that I'm finding similarities between the two dating scenarios already should tell me me something. Globetrotter is safe and comfortable to me because I know his "type." But a safe, comfortable "buddy" isn't what I should be looking for. Shouldn't I be kicking down my stupid walls and climbing all over him? Trust me, that's what I want to be doing-- just not apparently with him.

The difference between now and then is that now I know how to emotionally nurture myself. More specifically, how to not beat myself up about it. It's not my "fault" that I froze up. That's how I felt and it's OK if I don't know why. Maybe I'm just not physically attracted to him (he is an inch shorter than me). Or maybe I'm just not ready to date. Or maybe I should stop putting myself in forced romantic scenarios through online dating and only date guys I click with "in the wild" (not that it happens a lot). Maybe it's a little bit of everything. But the one thing it isn't is something I should be kicking myself over like I was during my drive home that night.

Whatever it is, I'm glad shared it here instead of picking up the phone and calling my best friend, Wine Guy, a thought that seriously crossed my mind until I realized my phone had suddenly died. Divine cellular inspiration perhaps?

Dismissed.

Take Off an Inch

2011-11-22T21:17:00.000-08:00

This week, I gave an inch. Literally.

Height has always been one of my dealbreakers. I think it started in middle school when I realized I'd rather slow dance with a boy while resting my cheek on his chest, smelling the fresh Tide detergent on his Local Motion surfer t-shirt (still my favorite "cologne"), instead of gazing down at the top of his head feeling like an Amazon freak.

I guiltily recall spending one 7th grade dance trying to avoid little JT as he rustled up the courage to ask me to dance. Eventually all that evasion led me right into the arms of the 5'9" new kid from "Wis-kaan-sin" wearing a freshly washed white t-shirt and enough new-to-California innocence to accept my dance invitation disguised as an escape plea because he still hadn't figured out that a boy of his caliber could skip right past the brunettes and land himself a cute California blonde. (He ultimately figured it out.)

At this point in life, I'm humbled and realistic enough to know that arbitrary boundaries such as these are never helpful, and may be potentially harmful. So, while I continue to seek out men in the higher altitudes, I still give every guy who seeks me out a fair evaluation.

And that's how I ended up going out with two men in one week who fell one solid inch below my previously stated 5'9" minimum. Without that bit of unfortunate data, both men seemed interesting, smart, funny, and attractive enough to jump to the top of my (very small) pile of emails. This is not a town where men of this caliber present themselves frequently. The "cream of the crop" in San Diego is a shirtless outdoor enthusiast looking for a 26-year-old blonde to go jogging with before they head to a Chargers game. God help me. Am I supposed to let a rare non-Diegan get away because of one lousy inch?

Sunday I had brunch with Globetrotter, a boyish father of two, who's clearly enamored by intelligent, expressive women (also a rarity in San Diego) and who's managed to make a respectable living doing something for the betterment of society. Oh, and he's half Indian. Award: Bonus inch.

Last night I had ramen and sake with Fuzzy, a mid-40s Midwestern Jew with a sarcastic streak and a soft spot for his hairless dog named, you guessed it, Fuzzy. Oh, and he's tried out every hole-in-the-wall Asian restaurant in town and is willing to give me the highlights. Award: Bonus inch.

Both dates went fine. Well, fine enough to know I didn't hate them, which is all you should realistically expect to find out on a blind date. You can also gauge any immediate sexual chemistry, though I have to admit that, for me, a strong sexual attraction to a complete stranger usually means trouble.

I have to say, both men were very different, and each brought out a different side of my personality. Globetrotter had me trying to be my best. Not trying to impress him necessarily, but not plopping down and putting my feet up either. Subtlety has never been my strong suit, so it's strange when I find myself trying to behave with any shades of it. So this was an change for me, and not an entirely unwelcome one. After all, prematurely claiming familiarity hasn't exactly gotten me very far, has it?

Fuzzy brought out the New Yorker in me, long buried under California surf and sand after all these years. We made wisecracks. We swapped war stories. We drank strong sake and slurped ramen. Not exactly romance novel material, but the rapport was something I missed from my New York days, even if it only seemed to generate unhealthy relationships for me at the time.

In all honesty, I hadn't thought too much about either date until I sat down and started writing about them after a few too many swigs on the sake bottle. First dates with complete strangers don't deserve too much analyzing. At this point I'm viewing them as successful attempts to get myself out of the house and practice my conversation skills, maybe make a friend or two. If I'm lucky, I'll get lucky.

In other words, I'll start overanalyzing after the second dates, both of which seem to be a strong possiblity -- as is a first date with an honest to God six-footer.

Happy Thanksgiving! Dismissed.

Indian Redheads

2011-11-04T19:38:00.000-07:00

I had every intention of meeting up with Wisconsin Red tonight. Especially after being cheered on by several persuasive readers in my last post (thanks pollycharlie, bella and mimi). But when I woke up this morning and saw it was blustering rain outside, I wondered how much I really wanted to rush around on the wet freeways, first home from work to walk my dog, then back across town to the bar he picked (a good one).

But I was still ready to rally throughout the first half of the day, until I had to walk from a distant parking lot on to campus with a crappy umbrella. I had stayed home from work the day before and still wasn't feeling well, so by the end of the day, soggy and chilled, I reconsidered my plans.

Welcome to my perfect Friday night. I stopped at the killer ramen place for a heavenly bowl of spicy miso tofu pork noodle goodness, brought it home to my happy pup, hopped in my flannel PJs and caught up on my Thursday night shows on Hulu (thank you "Modern Family" for "The Gift of the Vagi"--best line ever).

But before it could be a truly perfect evening, I had to come here to confess my cowardliness. Yes, all that stuff about me not feeling well, the rain, etc was true, but I also got scared -- and I don't get scared often.

It's not that I haven't gotten over Wine Guy, but that, for the first time, I feel protective of myself. Of my life. Of my freedom. Before I was more than happy to give it all away just to have the "marriage and child" box checked on my report card. Clearly I didn't value my own existence all that much.

Apparently I do now, a little. And since I've never dated under these circumstances, I'm afraid that I might once again compromise myself away so I can still make it under the "normal" wire. I don't want to do that, but judging by how upset I got when I found out Wisconsin Red wasn't a realistic option, I still don't trust my instincts.

Basically, I kinda freaked out and let myself off the hook. I think I'm OK with it. Hope you are too (not that care what you think, dammit :-)

The good news is, OKCupid is still coughing up some interesting possibilities, including a 27 year old, 6'1" Indian guy who asked, after telling me how much he liked what I said in my profile, if I would consider "dating a younger guy." Oh, and he actually lives here. Uh, hell yeah. (If I could just find an Indian redhead, I'd be in love).

Thank you for your patience.

Dismissed.

Lighten Up

2011-11-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

I get that love is fleeting. But can't it at least last longer than "The Daily Show?"

Upon the advice of friends and a few of my faithful readers, I waded into the world of free online dating -- OK Cupid. The first few days were refreshing in that at least a few men contacted me. Granted, they were with messages from shirtless creeps who felt compelled to say, "Hey sexy"-- and nothing else, but at least it was some acknowledgment of my existence.

The distasteful attention tapered a bit once the sleaze bags realized I wasn't interested, so I decided to do a little tinkering with my profile. Mostly I wanted to lighten it up. Sure, I'd love to find "the one," but right now I really would be happy with the right here, right now. Someone to flirt with, have a drink with, maybe smooch. Once I did the necessary tweaks--and changed my answer for "Want kids?" from "Yes" to "Not sure"--I got a few bites. But still, nothing firm.

Tonight I decided to do some browsing and found the closest thing to my dream guy in years. Tall, moderately nerdy, in constant pursuit of knowledge and discovery, funny bordering on dorky, etc. He even has red hair, something I kind of have a thing for (I blame Richie Cunningham).

Before I even realized it, I was sending him an email and he replied shortly thereafter. Within 10 minutes we had a date for drinks this Friday night. After another 5 minutes he responded to my very first email in total surprise. It seems we both thought we'd emailed each other "first" and the other person was just responding. In reality, we probably emailed each other at the exact same moment. He saw my initial email only after we'd made a date.

The kind of story to tell the grand kids one day right? I was so excited (a feeling I haven't experienced in relation to dating in more than four years) that I called my mom to tell her some good news for a change. Suddenly, Friday night was something to look forward to again.

I finally settled down to watch last night's Daily Show and, when I got bored with the Condoleeza Rice interview, I picked up my phone and saw a new message from my red-headed cutie. In an earlier email he mentioned he was leaving town on Saturday so a Friday night date would work. In passing, and mostly as a joke, I responded "I assume your trip is for vacation or work and you're not moving out of town?"

His answer was even worse than I jokingly predicted -- and apparently in his profile all along, something I clearly missed while eagerly reading his charming self-description. He lives in Madison, Wisconsin and is here on business, just for the week.

It's my own fault. In my attempt to "lighten up" my profile, I pretty much say, "Hey, what's the harm in meeting for a drink and having some good conversation?" He took me up on that suggestion and seems sincere about it (and too dorky to be just looking to get laid while he's in town). Before Stephen Colbert could crack his first joke, my dating mojo was left in a burning heap.

But I think I'm still going to meet him for that drink. It's not like I have a lot of other offers from eligible local men. Any thoughts out there from the troops?

Punctuate this.

2011-10-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

I suppose I should add good grammar to my short list of dealbreakers? Maybe not, the odds are already stacked against me. Still, this graphic cracked me up.

Now that you're smiling too,

perhaps you're in the mood to

like my brand, spanking new Dating is Warfare Facebook page? I promise to use proper

punctuation (or at least accept

your corrections:-)

Thanks. You are kindly dismissed.

5' 7" Christians Need Not Apply

2011-10-18T18:57:00.001-07:00

It's one thing when a man lets you down, but when your dating service -- which you are paying for -- can't deliver the goods, then you've got a real problem in the romance department.

Three months after Wine Guy and I broke up, I joined eHarmony. I chose it over other dating sites because, after four years of being coupled up, it was the one I vaguely remembered as being the least douchebaggy of the options.

So, is it still the case that eHarmony men are less douchebaggy than, say, the guys on match.com?

Unfortunately, I can't really tell you because, after almost two months on eHarmony, I haven't fucking met any of them yet.

OK, I met one. But he was more of a test run and neither one of us felt the need to follow up. Since that dull date, I've had no face-to-face interaction with any man whatsoever. I did have an enjoyable phone call but, despite his emailing me the next day to tell me how much he enjoyed it--and my equally pleasant response-- I never heard from him again.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think someone in the sucky single universe has blackballed me. But I do know better.

I know exactly why the pickings are so slim for a smart, successful, attractive, funny [insert the word 'relatively' before each of those adjectives so I don't sound cocky, OK?) woman like me:

I'm single, in my late 30s and checked "Yes" on the "Want Children?" question. I am considering changing it to "Maybe" (and it may actually even be true at this point -- another entry).

It's not like the specifications I offered on eHarmony's marathon "personality profile" questionnaire were just too narrow to turn up a stud or two. If there's one thing I've learned over the last ten years, it's that my instincts are probably some version of wrong (very Costanza, I know). So why would I let those flawed instincts taint my love life?

In other words, I'm waaaaaay open-minded. But I did decide to put my foot down on two dealbreakers, and I made those demands explicitly clear to eHarmony:

1. Bring me a man who is 5'9" or taller.

2. Bring me a man whose religious preference is ONLY one of the following four choices (listed in order of preference): a) spiritual, but not religious; b) atheist; c) Buddhist; or d) Jewish.

That's not too much to ask, right?

So why, oh why, do I have dozens and dozens of eHarmony "matches" who are 5' 7" Christians?

I'm sure they're nice guys. Maybe we could be the best of friends. But there is no way I'm going to feel sexy with a man I tower over and outweigh by 50 pounds. I've got enough of an Amazon complex already. If he's shorter than me, he probably weighs less than me. And I just don't feel like getting it on with a guy I can pick up and whirl around.

I'm pretty much within a normal weight range, but I've got an athletic body type. Muscles and all that. In college I could bench press more than every girl -- and guy -- on our track team. Trust me, no one of either gender found that sexy.

As for religion, I culturally identify as Jewish but would no longer say it represents my spiritual self (for the record, I picked "Spiritual, but not religious"). I'm sure there are a few Jewish guys out there who feel similarly and, well, why not at least try to keep it in the family? Also, Muslims are out. It's just too politically complicated. Relationships are hard enough.

Buddhism is more a philosophy than a religion (to me anyway), and one I greatly admire at that. I've even begun to study it a little. I would be thrilled to find a man who embraced that mindset.

I've yet had the occasion to consider other religions, but since I kind of have a thing for Indian guys (in theory anyway), I guess I'm open to Hinduism. But don't hold me to that.

So that pretty much leaves us with Christians, of which there are many in a conservative town like San Diego. Here's how I figure it. If he's identifying as Christian on a dating website -- as opposed to just spiritual -- then he's pretty confident in his belief that Jesus is the son of God and all that other New Testament stuff.

Therefore, there is no valid reason why he should want to settle down with a woman who believes that Jesus was more likely just a kind, compassionate leader who'd probably be perfect to head up the new, ultra-left political party that this country so obviously needs. (By the way, if there's a Christian-identified single guy out there who agrees with me on this point, then he needs to change his status to "spiritual, but not religious" and call me.)

So, eHarmony. You've turned out to be one disappointing date. Anyone have suggestions for where I can meet a nice, geeky, agnostic man who can look me in the eye (while wearing no shoes) and maybe even bench press me? If so, you know where to find me.

Dismissed.

*SNR "Spiritual but not Religous" symbol borrowed from Urban Mystic's great 2010 post.

And We're Off....

2011-10-05T17:43:00.000-07:00

Let the games begin.

I went on my first eHarmony "date" last weekend, though I hate to even call it a date since I looked at it mostly as a drive-by meet up. Hey, how are you, who are you, etc. With the many rounds of communication eHarmony puts you through, I pretty much knew the basics about the guy, but what I didn't know was what he was like. How could I? The Internet is a great place to come across potential new dates, but it is by no means a shortcut to intimacy.

Within the first 20 seconds of meeting him, I knew we weren't even close to a match. It doesn't mean I didn't like him. In fact, he seemed very sweet, polite and friendly. But he was also shy and made me do almost all the work when it came to conversation. If there's one thing I've learned about myself from past relationship disasters, it's that I want a man of action and quiet confidence. I've had my fill of trying to pump up insecure nice guys and show them how to be confident. If they do ever get it, it's usually after we've broken up, when they feel they can take my suggestions and cheerleader advice (that most assuredly is interpreted as 'nagging' to them) and bestow the rewards upon the next woman they meet. This happened with Only Child (who is now married and a father, more on that another time) and I'm just waiting for the day when it happens with Wine Guy.

The difference this time is that I've changed too. I've learned my lesson and won't waste time on a nice man whose personality shrinks next to mine. The thing is, I'm pretty sure that guy doesn't exist. At least not in this Wonder Bread town. Wait, I take that back. I'm sure there's plenty of dynamic, smart, confident men in San Diego, but most of them want the 26 year old beach bunny who's waiting at every turn.

OK, I admit I'm being a Bitter Betty right now. I'm just feeling a little low these days. And I admit (even hope) that I'm wrong. I guess I'll know sooner or later. If I don't move somewhere else first.

After an hour of friendly but forced conversation, I activated my exit strategy and parted ways with a smile. I'm happy to report I've heard nothing from him so the polite disinterest seemed to be mutual.

Now I'm back to wondering why the guy I did like on eHarmony, let's call him Brainiac because he wowed me with his nerdy intelligence, seems to have disappeared. After the phone call he emailed me to say how much he enjoyed talking and that I should get in touch when I came back from my vacation, which I did. Not one word back in the week since I emailed him. Brings me back to the good old days when Rabbi M pulled an inexplicable disappearing act on me. I suppose I should be thankful because it was his confusing inaction that made me start this blog in a fit of pique.

The games have indeed begun. God help me.

Dismissed.

Fueled by Friends

2011-09-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

I just got back from my 6-day vacation to New York City, my first vacation since last Thanksgiving when Wine Guy and I rented a house in Palm Springs with a group of friends for the week. This was back when we were still pretending to be a committed couple even though we both knew the relationship would conclude once my debilitating medical problems were behind me. (We couldn't even wait quite that long. We broke up the week before my surgery.)

New York wasn't my first choice for a relaxing getaway. In fact, the city normally fills me with a regretful nostalgia for the six years I lived there. But I'm not wasting time with regret these days and one of my dearest friends from college is eight months pregnant and really, really wanted me to come to her baby shower. If I couldn't make it, she said, she probably just wouldn't have a shower; she's not the kind of person who loves groups of people celebrating her in public. Of course, this is a woman you want to celebrate. New York it is.

As much as I looked forward to spending time with my friend in the weeks before her life changed forever, I was also excited to see the city with the fresh eyes of a tourist, albeit one who already knows the subway system (and can finally walk up and the down the subway stairs!). Ever the over-planner, I soon devised an overstuffed itinerary including museums, Ground Zero, shopping, dining, you name it.

With the exception of a stop at my alma mater and a trip to the wrong museum, I got to virtually none of it.

I'm not disappointed in how little of the city I got to experience because I came home knowing I got exactly what I needed - a long stretch of time just being with a very good friend; someone I wholeheartedly trust, who understands just about all of my personality flaws because she has them herself, and someone who has nothing else to do but gestate and watch her ankles swell.

It turns out that she needed that time together as much as I did. I can't think of a better way to spend those hard-earned vacation days.

This was also the trip when I finally got to meet fellow dating bloggers Loverville and Mimi (of the now retired Sexagenarian and the City). Don't let anyone ever tell you that friendships formed in the blogosphere can't be truly genuine. I have counted both of these women as friends for several years -- before I ever learned their real names.

Actually, I think it was the anonymity of our blogs that allowed the connection to happen in the first place. With my identity hidden, I can afford to be entirely honest, not just about things that happen (I am) but about what I'm thinking or feeling about it. I don't know about Mimi and LV, but I use this blog as a journal where I work out my thoughts in a constant attempt to find the truth. Often times I stumble upon it about the same time you read it.

I'm also lacking a layer of suspicion while reading other blogs of our ilk (until they give me a reason not to trust them that is). I go into it thinking (hoping) they're as truthful as me. And if they're not, there's really not much at stake is there? There's nothing I respect more in a friendship than a mutual honest exchange about who we are and what we think. (And in case you're wondering, yes, this expectation has led to me being seriously let down by female friends in the past. I endured, ever more cautious.)

Loverville and Mimi, who both live in New York City and have met several times before, did not disappoint. Both open, intelligent women, their energies matched their writing. Over dinner on the Upper West Side, we jumped right in to the kind of conversation you have with your old college friends. No need to fill in our histories -- we'd been sharing our lives with each other (and lots of other people) for years. No discretion required -- we'd been blabbing about our sex lives and heartbreaks in more detail than with our "real" friends.

It felt entirely natural to dive right in to conversation, but I couldn't help but step back every little while to marvel at the fact that I'd only just laid eyes on them for the first time hours earlier. If this blog goes nowhere from here on out, I'll at least be thankful for that.

So, today's lesson is, indulge yourself in these kinds of friendships -- if you're lucky enough to have them.

Back soon with stories about the opposite sex.

Dismissed.

I am writing this against my will.

2011-07-27T20:16:00.000-07:00

I am writing this against my will. But the fact is, I'm bursting with stories to tell. The kind of stories that made me start this blog in the first place, just so I could have a public place to vent--and then laugh about it the next day when I read it with a night's perspective.

But I can't tell you those stories if I don't first tell you this: The truce is broken. Wine Guy and I are over. I'm at war yet again.

Except I'm different now. Improved, I suppose. I say this because, for the first time in my adult life, singledom doesn't feel like a battlefield at all. It feels like home.

Here are the basics:

We knew our relationship was on the descent. Much of it due to the shitpile of bad luck I'd been handed over the last two years, including agonizing complications from an already awful hip surgery (my second one) and the sudden deaths of my sister and 7 year-old nephew in a car accident a year ago last April.

We also knew we just weren't a match. Simple as that. But breaking up wasn't an option until I got through my May 2 surgery -- hopefully the final hurdle in this marathon of pain.

Really, the last year of our relationship was more about dear friendship than romantic love. Because only the most generous, loving friend would willingly stick around to help someone through a year like that.

Of course, I never thought any of this consciously. If I'd allowed myself to acknowledge our relationship was over, I would've completely lost it. I needed my lies. And he let me have them.

But things got so unpleasant that we just couldn't wait. We agreed to break up a week before the surgery. I don't remember how the conversation went down; those last months were such a blur, mostly due to painkillers and copious amounts of medical marijuana. But I do remember that right after we broke up, I felt immediate relief. At last, we could finally be just family.

I spent my recovery period apartment hunting and, after having a brief meltdown when I realized how shitty the rental market is right now (all those foreclosure people have to live somewhere), I finally took Wine Guy's advice to stop hunting for that dream funky apartment in the hip, walkable part of town and look into what the world of apartment complex-dwelling might have to offer me. Though the idea seemed as detestable as a Saturday afternoon at IKEA, I knew it was that or continue living together. While our split was more than amicable, that was not fucking going to happen.

So here I am, in my 820 square foot apartment in a goddamn apartment complex -- easily the nicest place I've ever lived (and not just because I live rapturously, luxuriously, happily alone). I've got a lap pool (perfect for exercise while I rehab my hip), a 24-hour gym, an attached garage, and a washer and dryer on the patio, which overlooks a shady jogging path leading to canyon trail. So what if I can't quite walk it yet? Just knowing it's there is enough for now.

And the best part of all, they take dogs. Because there was no way in hell I was leaving without my dog. Wine Guy gets plenty of visitation and I think we're both happy with that.

I've probably written 20 drafts of this breakup announcement, but none of them ever felt right to publish. So I focused on breaking the news to my family, friends and acquaintances, and learning to get comfortable referring to Wine Guy as "my ex-boyfriend" in casual conversation. But I just didn't have it in me to share it here. I went through so much physical and emotional pain in the last six months -- I just I didn't want to inflict it upon innocent people lucky enough not to have to be around me on a daily basis. I also didn't want to have to read it again the following day, with a night's perspective.

But what I'm writing now is history. I've gone through it and come out OK, finally, on the other side. And now I'm here, dying to tell you about the guy who keeps texting me and how I'm pretty sure he's planning to send me a shirtless picture of himself. Ew.

But tonight is about closing the book on my relationship with Wine Guy and living my life as me, alone and in peace.

So what the hell am I going to call this blog now I've laid down my arms? I'm taking suggestions.

And I suppose I'll need a new sign-off too, because "Dismissed" just seems so impolite now.

Who Knows Me, Baby

2011-04-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

Well I certainly know which friends still read my blog after that last post. Not that I intended it as a test. I was just writing what I was feeling. It wasn't until I started getting emails and phone calls out of the blue from friends I hadn't heard from in a long while that I realized that maybe I scared some people with my honesty. Sorry for that.

The good news is that I have good news! I finally have a surgery date (May 2) to (hopefully) fix the problem with my hip. Having a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel has made all the difference. While the pain is nearly intolerable and chronic, I now know it will be over soon. I never thought I'd be so excited to go under the knife again!

I suppose I'll address the anonymous commenter from my last post as he's made it clear that, while he finds me pathetic in every sense, he still reads my blog. Hey, I get it. I loved listening to Dr. Laura because she was so much fun to hate.

To be honest, I had little reaction when I read his comment (and if he isn't a man, I'll be shocked). I just kind of shrugged and thought, "He doesn't know me. Whatever." It wasn't until later that I realized the power of my reaction. You see, while I originally started this blog as a way to make light of my dating skirmishes, I write these days because I know there are a few people out there who want to know how I'm doing. Most of these people I've never met. But they stop by, check in, offer words of support and encouragement, and sometimes even advice or a blunt opinion. I can't tell you how much those comments mean to me. I value your compassion and feel honored that you care enough about my wellbeing to take time out of your busy lives to inquire about mine.

So when I wrote that last entry, I felt I owed it to these kind strangers to tell them the truth. Of course, it also felt good to get it off my chest. The comments I received from those regular readers were heartwarming to say the least. By the time asshole anonymous piped in, well, who gives a crap about his petty attacks when the people who "know" me are sending such kindness and love my way?

I'll keep those good wishes close to me as my surgery date approaches and, hopefully, I'll have happier stories and moments to share as our San Diego summer gets underway. In the meantime, keep troopin' along people.

Dismissed.

The Cloud Breaks, Momentarily

2011-03-07T18:40:00.000-08:00

My dark cloud must have temporarily lifted because I'm able to sit here and casually admit that my life has been pretty shitty lately--not only with the tragedies of the past year and my physical health, but also with Wine Guy.

Of course, now that I actually see it in writing, it sounds ridiculous. Of course my relationship --any relationship for that matter--would be negatively impacted by all that has happened in the last two years.

Wine Guy has been amazing in the wake of my family's sudden and tremendous loss. And I treasure his calming, stable presence during awful moments like that. Thankfully those moments are an aberration, but it's the regular old day-to-day living where we're having the problems.

It wasn't always like this. We lived together for over a year and were doing just fine, with the occasional flare-ups you'd expect from cohabitation.But it's amazing how destructive chronic and worsening pain can be. I've gone from someone who craved being around other people, to a recluse who can barely bring herself to answer her phone for anyone other than her boyfriend or mom--not that anyone else calls anymore.

I had a dream last night that I'd intentionally done something so awful that all of my friends dumped me, walked away without a word. I spent the rest of the dream surprised at how relieved I was, as if I'd done it intentionally. And the more I thought about why I did it at all, the sooner I realized that I had done it on purpose (I really don't remember what "it" was, but it was some sort of lie I told that ruined people's lives).

My dreams are usually obvious in their meaning (I' ve never been known for my subtlety), and this one is no exception. While I haven't lied or ruined lives (to my knowledge), I'm guilty of behaving badly in order to push people away. Not on purpose, of course. But I knew deep down that all of the anger, self-pity and unrestrained impatience I've embraced in response to my situation would eventually drive people away.

A few friends appear to have dumped me or, if you want to put it nicely, put me on the back shelf. I can't really blame them, I'm sure I'm no fun. And I'm not exactly burning up the phone lines making plans with the friends that remain. Plus, most of them have children and are so overscheduled with birthday parties and play dates that it takes them weeks to notice that they haven't heard from me. Makes my gradual disappearance pretty easy to pull off.

So now we're down to the two poor souls who stuck around - Wine Guy and my mom. You can imagine how much shit they have to put up with from the likes of me.

Yes, I have been going to a counselor who specializes in chronic pain and uses mindfulness exercises, guided imagery and good old-fashioned cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). It's helping. Not with the pain which is, unfortunately, worsening. But with learning how to separate out the things I can control from the rest of the crap that is just plain unfortunate. As a result, I've been more proactive with my surgeons, no longer intimidated by the monolithic Kaiser organization. Turns out that this little power grab gave me an emotional boost and actually got the doctors to step up their game. I actually felt proud of myself.

I've also learned how to recognize the beginnings of a downward spiral and, if I'm lucky, prevent it from happening with some simple CBT techniques or, sometimes, with one of the dorky recordings I made of my counselor talking me through a guided imagery. Whatever, it works--for a little while anyway.

But with Wine Guy, nothing's working. He shows a lot of empathy for what I'm going through, but he walks on eggshells around me. Apparently he's been doing that for awhile. I only found this out during a recent meltdown that ended with a painful but sincere exchange of perceptions about our relationship.

I found out that he's pretty much afraid of me. I can be harsh when I'm feeling this low (a nice way to say it would be "sharp-tongued"). I know this because I went through my late teens and 20s under this same fog of physical and emotional pain and I recognize the signs of that special kind of loving fear that only I can inspire.

Seeing that stormy bitch again was a shock. I really thought she was long gone after my breakup with Only Child, when I moved into my own apartment, made new friends, finished grad school, got a terrific job, dated. I felt more me than I had since middle school (which remains, strangely, the happiest period of my life so far).

They tell you that this moment -- when you finally know who you are-- is when you're supposed to meet the guy for you. That's who I thought Naval A-hole was, right up until he disappeared without a second thought. I was--and in many ways still am--deeply scarred by that experience, but I put myself back together as best I could and soldiered on (funny how I revert to "Warfare" lingo again here). After dating so much that I had to start a blog about it, I met Wine Guy and told myself once again that this was the real thing.

I don't know if I believe that anymore. I no longer trust that Wine Guy ever did. It's been almost two years that we've lived like this. Who remembers what "we" were like anymore?

Everything I've written here, Wine Guy knows. He's even willing to try couple's counseling to see if we can unlearn this unfortunate pattern and get back on track. I'm just as open to the idea--but not yet. Not until I get my body back to a reasonable state of health and, most importantly, put a stop to this chronic pain. I want to give everything I have to rekindling our bond, but I simply can't do that while I'm under this cloud.

If I am to believe my surgeons, my body can be repaired and the pain alleviated (though no one can avoid the aches of aging). That's when I hope to kick this moody bitch to the curb yet again and let Wine Guy reacquaint himself with the spunky Trooper he met and (hopefully) fell in love with.

We both seem OK with this holding pattern. Actually, Wine Guy seems better than OK lately - which is the reason I sat down to write this in the first place.

With my sedentary state, our very active lifestyle has turned into a marathon couch surfing session and we've become, well, fat. But almost three weeks ago, Wine Guy got fired up again. He's doing Pilates every night, taking 1-2 hour vigorous walks around our hilly neighborhood (dog in tow, she's gotten out of shape too), and counting calories using his freshly purchased BodyMedia armband, which cost something like $200 (plus a monthly subscription fee), but now seems worth every penny.

When I came home tonight after running some errands, Wine Guy was headed towards the door, zipping up the jacket to his brand new track suit. Yes, a track suit. Understated with its black and grey color palette, but a track suit nonetheless. I was a track athlete, so I actually don't think they're all that funny in and of themselves. But trust me, for Wine Guy, this is funny. And cute.

He gave me a proud little smile, said goodbye and stepped into the chilly night, bound for the beach a few miles down. His healthy, happy energy was just a little contagious. So I came downstairs and began to write. But he's just returned, so I better go and try to soak up some more.

Dismissed.

Calendar Storytelling

2010-12-20T09:45:00.000-08:00

For the past three years, I've put together a pet-centric "family" photo calendar to give as Christmas gifts to Wine Guy's parents and my mom. At first I found the whole process of collecting and sorting photos to be an overwhelming chore. But this year I hit my stride. So much so, that I ordered a few extra copies to give to family members who might be less inclined to unconditionally love anything I place before them.

The trick? Good old-fashioned storytelling. With the right assemblage of images and a few well-placed captions, I captured a year in the life of the DT/Wine Guy household, which includes "one perfect dog, two semi-perfect cats, and two all-too-human humans."

You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll remember what day it is.

If you follow my blog, then you know 2010 was hardly a year I should would want to remember. So I wasn't exactly eager to comb through my digital album month by month. But these days I'm all about hope (what choice do I have?) and there's nothing more hopeful than flipping through a brand-new calendar with nothing in it but potential (and photos of some damn cute pets).

In previous years I found myself swamped by ideas and images, but little direction. This time out I decided to begin by identifying and organizing the themes that kept popping up in my photos. And since we (thankfully) don't take pictures during funerals, emotional meltdowns or screaming fights with loved ones, the themes I found were generally joyful or, at their worst, merely innocuous.

Though they didn't all make it into the calendar, the list of themes I came up with was eye-opening to say the least. Through candid shots of what I thought was a miserable year, I discovered a family that takes joy in the simple things, and humor in each other. In a way, the calendar became a Christmas gift to myself.

Here are the themes I found from our 2010, in no particular order:

Wet dog at the beach
Pretty scenes of San Diego
Friends at the dog park
Working in the home office
Being silly
Cats
Beauty shots of Luna (the dog)
Gopher holes
Daddy/Luna
Togetherness - pets and people
Luna meets her long-lost puppy
Camping
Wine tasting
Mommy/Luna
Wine Guy holding dogs
Halloween
Naps
Palm Springs

Though the cats may disagree, it sounds like a pretty good year to me.

Wishing you all a New Year full of hope -- and a nice long list of whatever it is that makes your assemblage of humans and creatures a family.

Help Me Hallmark

2010-10-28T18:03:00.000-07:00

The other night I bought a greeting card from the surprisingly small "Romance" section at Target. I originally made the trip to pick up a few last minute Halloween costume supplies, so I was surprised when I found myself drawn toward the store's disheveled wall of Hallmark sentiment.

I guess it makes sense since I had been thinking all day about how my year of "Believe Big" had so quickly shifted to "Just Survive." Stuck in my head, wrestling with every emotion from grief to rage --accentuated by ever worsening pain--I've become a different woman. No...a different creature; a Tasmanian devil of misery--and the world's worst girlfriend.

While I cry, complain, worry, and rant, I can only imagine (when I have the courage, that is) all that Wine Guy has done to protect himself, yet still stand by me.

Sometimes I'm angry at him for it -- why can't he just leave me alone to be with my misery? Doesn't he know this isn't going to get any better? Why is he giving me these inane pep talks when all I want is a hug? When I'm really low and wishing I could just run away from every emotional obligation, I sneak into the office late at night to browse apartment rentals on Craig's List - apartments just big enough for me, my dog and my cat.

So far I've been able to bring myself back from the brink. And lately I've been snapping out of it just long enough to see Wine Guy for what he is -- a man who's doing the best he can to endure this awful period, with his eye on a time in the (hopefully) near future when we can go back to enjoying our lives, and each other, again. And his sticking by me, in spite of all my nastiness, just might be the truest sign he's ever given that he really does love me. (God only knows why.)

So there I found myself, in the greeting card aisle, searching for an overpriced piece of folded cardstock that could convey to him my gratitude and my own sliver of hope that I will come back to myself--and to us. After some sifting through the corny flowers-and-candy type cards, I found just what I was looking for - simple but true:
So why haven't I given it to him yet?

Dismissed.

AfterWorld

2010-08-03T17:35:00.000-07:00

April 15 was the last time I wrote here. Let's call that "Before."

Before, I was me. A 37-year old woman with a live-in boyfriend she wished would propose already, a dog that made us a family, a mom who's intensely watching while my maternal clock winds down, an ex-fiancee who just got married, too many married friends with kids, and a few treasured single ones who are still free on the weekends.

I also had a budding writing career, preparing to turn this blog into a memoir and, as I hinted at back in February, a new opportunity that seemed too good to be true (it was and it wasn't).

April 16 was when "After" began. It started out as a crappy day already, having received an email from Only Child (the ex that just got married), who was not happy about my recent blog post about his nuptials. I knew he read the blog, but he always said I could write whatever I wanted and it never bothered him before. But in hindsight, I admit I was just feeling hurt and regret writing it.

After emailing Only Child with a guilt-ridden apology, I went out to a long-awaited dinner with Wine Guy and two friends in San Diego's version of Chinatown- my favorite place to eat. We ordered far too much food and began chatting in happy anticipation for the feast that awaited us.

Then the phone rang. It was my brother Pat-Hole and I ignored it. Two minutes later he called again. And I knew.I quietly excused myself to take the call outside, a deafening pounding in my ears. My friends kept talking, oblivious.

When I answered I heard Pat-Hole authoritatively state my name - but then nothing. "What happened?" I asked, trying not to sound too hysterical. He made some noises, maybe said a few words, but nothing came together.

"Just tell me! Oh my God what happened?!"

It was my sister. And my 7-year old nephew. On their way to my mom's house for another nephew's 20th birthday gathering. A one-car accident on a rural highway. They're gone.

This was the same day my sister had put her beloved 14-year old Labrador to sleep and she was devastated. My brother insisted she drive up for the party. Family would make her feel better.

I somehow ended up back at the table and when I sat down, my friends looked at me like I was an alien. I was. This is "After." I'm not me anymore.

It's been 3 1/2 months and I'm only now starting to experience brief flashes of what "Before" might have felt like. But it'll never be the same. I never would've guessed that I'd miss Before once it was gone. It always felt like something I was trying to escape, like something better was supposed to come After. But it's not better here.

The freelance gig I landed at the local daily newspaper has become a regular thing and I just recently started to enjoy it again. Between that and my day job, I'm often too busy to indulge in self-pity, and I am thankful for that. And the extra money goes right in to the new house down payment fund. I give myself a pat on the back with every deposit.

In between the grief, the writing, and the desperate attempts to fall and stay asleep, I've also had more disappointing setbacks with my hip. Since my surgery in March 2009, I've experienced complications that have worsened to a point that even my normally overly optimistic surgeon was sympathizing with me. It's eventually fixable, but I have to wait it out- indefinitely. The pain is chronic, often intense and entirely exhausting. I've got a medicine cabinet full of painkillers that have my pill-popping friends drooling. But trust me, they're no fun when you really need them.

Wine Guy has stuck with me through it all. Remind me that I said this when I complain about it later, but...Fuck marriage. This guy is already my "husband" 100 times over. Better, he's my family. Things aren't perfect, but he is here and loving me as best as he can (and I'm trying to return the favor).

So you can understand why I haven't written. I feel guilty for even burdening you with this now. I shared what's been going on with a kindly co-worker last week and she burst into tears. (Better than another another friend who unwisely launched into a "Wow, that makes me really grateful for what I have in my life" speech.)

But this blog, for the most part, is about me. And I don't know how to be anything but honest in everything I do (a strength and, more often, a weakness), so there you have it. For all I know, nobody reads this blog anymore. And that's fine. But after I received a comment from a concerned reader checking in to make sure I was OK (thanks Elizabeth), I wanted to reach out to her and anyone else that might still be dropping by from time to time.

So I'm here to say this:

My world has shifted. My coordinates are off. But I'm still standing.
Right here, in this AfterWorld.

Dismissed.

Only Child +1

2010-04-15T18:33:00.000-07:00

Funny. Right about the time I decided to write this post (3 hours ago), Only Child's Facebook status went from "single" to "married." That's technically untrue-- there was a 6-8 month "engaged" period stuck in there-- but, well, we know what that means when we're talking about Only Child.

I knew this was coming of course. Only Child and I talk every six months or so and we're Facebook friends, which is how I learned they were engaged in the first place. When I found out, I immediately emailed him wry congratulations and he called back apologetically, saying he intended to tell me himself, but his fiancee had changed his status without his permission (uh, red flag?).

Perhaps you are wondering why I didn't tell you all about this major news. This is a dating/relationship blog after all, and Only Child has been a big part of my bitching and moaning these last three years (read this for the story of our "faux" engagement).

There are three reasons why I didn't tell you.

1. I didn't want to think about it too much because I was afraid to discover how I might react. I do most of my emotional processing through writing, so if I'm not writing about it here, I'm either avoiding the emotion or I just don't care. (I rarely don't care by the way.)

2. I didn't want my mom to know Only Child was getting married. Her knowing means me hearing her get angry at him all over again, which I can't stand because I don't want to hate him (though many think I should). Her knowing also shines a spotlight on another area I'd prefer to keep darkened-- that Wine Guy still hasn't proposed. My mom doesn't mean any harm. She just wants me to be happy and resents all people and events that get in the way of that. Unfortunately, knowing this doesn't make her reaction any less painful. (And now she knows anyway. Sorry mom, but you promised not to read my blog anymore!).

3. I didn't want to upset Only Child's bride-to-be (let's call her "+1"). See, OC and +1 have been together about five years. I even met her once when they both came to my birthday party a few years ago (during the brief Vain Guy era). Then Only Child made the mistake of telling her about my blog, thinking she would also find it to be a mildly amusing tidbit of information. He admitted he was surprised to learn that she immediately logged on read the entire blog, paying closest attention to all mentions of Only Child. Shows what OC knows about women. Honestly, what woman wouldn't do that? Men--a different story. Neither Only Child or Wine Guy read my blog, though OC might nowadays just to stay one step ahead of any potential +1 meltdowns.

And there were meltdowns, particularly whenever I wrote about how Only Child strung me along for six years, even going so far as to fake propose (hence, "faux engagement") and then let me set a date and buy a dress, cashing in the Israeli bonds my now-deceased grandmother gave me as a little girl to pay for it. I didn't intend to upset +1 (at that point I didn't even know she read my blog), but I suppose my posts were a VERY loud warning signal as she watched another year of her relationship with OC pass by without a ring. They even broke up for a time because he couldn't say that he would definitely marry her. Been there, girl.

When OC told me about this, I wanted so badly to vent about it here. But I just couldn't write knowing what havoc it would wreak on both of their lives. Instead, I would see Only Child at our semiannual sushi dinner (his treat, it's the least he can do), and listen to his continued indecision and +1's understandable frustration. All the while feeling like I should get a Gold Star for my lack of chick pettiness.

I always advised him to get married; that it was obvious he was just hoping she would make the decision for him by breaking up (or getting knocked up) and that this was the coward's way out. I told him that he's not the type of guy who's able to let go enough to be swept off his feet. Lots of men aren't. That doesn't mean they shouldn't ever get married. Plus, she sounded like a lovely girl who's pretty, sweet, doesn't get on his case (certainly not as much as I did), and obviously loves him.

I meant it too. I thought he should marry her, which is funny since I'd always told him I would kill myself if he got married before me. I said this because I never in a million years thought that would happen. And because if it did happen, I might fall into the abyss of depression.

See why I haven't wanted to think about it?

Don't worry. I'm nowhere near close to suicidal. I'm not even sure if I'm down about it. I mean, what does it have to do with my life anymore? Only Child and I said we would always be "family" to one another no matter what, but really she's his family now. And talking twice a year does not exactly signify a close relationship. Plus, I decided at the end of last year that I am comfortable with Wine Guy's commitment to me and the lack of a by-the-book marriage proposal doesn't change that.

It wasn't until I sat down to write this post that I realized I wasn't particularly upset. I just thought I was supposed to be- just like I think I'm "supposed to" have an engagement ring to show that I'm loved.

I will admit, their getting married within days of our anniversary that never was (April 8) -- in the same f*#king location (North Shore Kauai) -- stung. But then again, that just shows a lack of imagination--one more reason I'm glad I didn't marry him.

So I guess the real point of this post comes down to one simple thing. Now that they're married, Only Child and +1 are fair game. So +1, if you're reading this, I hope you appreciate the restraint I've shown over the past few years--because now that you've marched OC down that aisle, you are no longer a comrade-in-arms.

I suppose this means that if Wine Guy ever does propose, I'm fair game too. I think I'll choose not to think about that right now.

Dismissed.

Whine Guy

2010-04-10T09:04:00.000-07:00

Three years. That's precisely how long Wine Guy was able to keep it from me--even after two years of living together. But this week, almost exactly three years from the night we met, I discovered his terrible secret:

When sick, Wine Guy is quite possibly the biggest asshole on the planet.

Let's give him credit; he's taken incredible care of me after my various surgeries and illnesses, which started only eight months after we met. He's been patient, dutiful, understanding.

So when he finally got sick this week (obviously a rare occurrence), I was eager to return the favor. I made him his favorite lentil soup, listened to his complaints and offered to help with anything he needed. But everything I put out there was met with the whiny hostility of a bratty 5 year-old boy. I had no idea.

I tried many times to let his rudeness roll off my back. At one point (while cooking him dinner), I went downstairs to cool off. While there, I decided the best way to remember that I didn't hate him would be to plan our 3rd anniversary night out at the wine bar/restaurant where we met (dinner's at 7pm tonight!). By the time I'd "invited" him via email, I was back in love -- only to return upstairs and have it start all over again. I mean, come on! It was just a bad cold!

By the time dinner was eaten and the kitchen was cleaned, I'd had enough. I announced that my duties were done and that I was choosing to opt out of his company for the rest of the evening because I didn't appreciate how he was treating me. When he finally realized I was serious, he coughed up an apology but--even days later when his phlegm has started to clear -- he still doesn't see what was so bad about his behavior.

When Wine Guy and I fight, I sometimes get a flash of panic: "Oh my God. He's a jerk. A total asshole. A fake. Just like Naval A-hole, I've been duped again." I call it PTSD of the relationship variety (and well-earned I might add).

But then I turn to my girlfriends and am reassured that he's really just being a typical man -- jerkiness and all. Not having a man around the house growing up, this is still hard for me to wrap my head around. Did all those respectable dads I so admired as a kid act like this? Really?

With a single mom at the head of my household, I saw multitasking and fortitude at its finest (though frazzled). What I didn't see was my mom crawling in to bed and whining, refusing to say what she wanted, and then rejecting what she got when I had to guess at it. She sucked it up and did the best she could. Most women do.

Is this the low standard of behavior we are forced to accept if we want to be in a relationship with a man? Every woman I've asked (happily married, divorced, single) says "Yep, pretty much."

Allow me to say this - I love Whine Guy. But I call Bullshit.

Happy 3rd Anniversary to us!

Dismissed.

Dream Big, My Ass

2010-02-01T21:20:00.000-08:00

I guess one of the reasons I'm me is because I do things like this. I don't have New Year's Resolutions. I have a New Year's Motto.

This isn't just a wishy-washy little promise that I have no intention of keeping. No, a Motto represents the foundation upon which all of my choices for the coming year rest. It's a belief system. And, just like any motto, it has to ring perfectly true if I expect anyone - especially me- to follow it.

Some years I can never quite settle on one. So I just don't. Those are usually the years I tried to kid myself into thinking that I will start cooking and eating healthy on a regular basis. Not. Going. To. Happen.

But some years I nail it. Like I did with the very first Motto. That one really changed me.

F.U.N. (Free of Unecessary Negativity)

It was the late 90s, I was in my mid-20s and sharing an apartment with two girlfriends in Brentwood, just down the street from Nicole Brown Simpson's front porch. This was about the time I started realizing that maybe the world wasn't really that terrible. And that maybe, just maybe, I had a serious problem with pessimism. I just wasn't having as much fun as everyone around me seemed to be.

I kind of do things head on, without much room for emotional nuance or game playing. So I announced to my roommates that the coming year (I think it was 1997) was going to be F -- U -- N. Free of Unnecessary Negativity.

This is what that Motto represented to me. It's actually quite simple. When I have an idea to do something (and I often do), I should just stop thinking right there. Shut up, stand up, and go make it happen. Because if I start thinking, I will find every possible way to talk myself out of it. Even an idea as simple as "Go to Universal Studios," something I'd wanted to do since I moved to LA two years earlier but always found a reason not to.

My friends - who clearly did not have issues with pessimism -- were all in.

I have it all chronicled in a photo album called "The Year of F.U.N." Inside it are photos of my first camping trip (Grand Canyon), rollerskating on a weeknight and flirting with the DJ so he'd play all of our favorite 80s songs, theme parties like Beers of the World (we bought a case of O'Douls because we thought it was "Irish beer"), and - you guessed it - Universal Studios.

I admit, I did go back to being slightly lazy once the year was up, but that Motto was a huge shift for me. And why I'm doing what I am today. Which is the whole reason I got on here to write this post. So here goes.

Late last year I took a class on writing a non-fiction book proposal. I'd always wanted to adapt this blog (or what the blog was supposed to be if Wine Guy hadn't ruined everything so soon) into a book. After a few weeks of bouncing the idea around with my classmates and getting encouraging feedback from the instructor, I thought, "Hey, I could actually do this."

The more I thought about it, the more reasons I came up with for why I know I could make this happen. People I know. Skills I have (like writing - duh- and working in media and marketing). A lot of free time which, if I were to have a baby like I hope, would vanish. I could be a writer. Well, a paid one anyway.

That's when I thought up what would be the first draft of my motto for 2010.

Dream Big

People sell their book ideas every day. Some actually get read. And some people actually become full-time, professional writers. Why can't that person be me?

But I still wasn't sold on the Motto. Something was missing. After a few days tossing it around in my head and in conversation, I discovered the hitch. The word "Dream" was one big, gaping loophole. And if my little insecure self sees a loophole that will keep me from trying to be great, I'll jump right through it. And a dream, my friends, is something you wake up from. It ain't real.

The second and final draft was a no-brainer.

Believe Big.
I will be a writer.

One week later I got the phone call that confirmed for me the power of a good tagline.

To Be Continued.... but in case anyone out there (like a publisher:-) is wondering, I haven't even finished the book proposal yet. But trust me people, it's still good.

Bejeweled Christmas

2009-12-25T19:24:00.000-08:00

OK, I'm going to say something and please don't judge. I know how corny this sounds, but it's true nonetheless. Here goes.

There is something truly thrilling when you unwrap a gift from your boyfriend (I'm sure this applies to husbands and all sorts of other romantic attachments) and find yourself holding a velvet box containing some sort of jewelry....

Let me stop you there for a second. This is not an engagement ring. Or any ring for that matter. And I knew that and was in no way expecting one (though I wouldn't mind one either:-). So, now that we have appropriately adjusted expectations, I will continue describing the moment at hand.

...then find yourself opening the box to see something beautiful shining inside. Maybe even something you had admired a few weeks earlier when walking by a window display with your man.

I've never had that experience before today. Actually, I never even considered that I would desire that experience (except the engagement ring scenario, of course). But when it happened to me, my heart jumped a little. Before I opened the rectangular box, I glanced up to see Wine Guy nervously looking on.

See, Wine Guy is NOT comfortable with these sorts of purchases. He is not big on fashion accessories - for himself or his women. Let's put it this way, one of his previous serious girlfriends has a Ph.D. in Women's Studies and is pretty much a stereotype of what you're conservative Republican brother-in-law thinks "feminists" are like - angry at men, tattooed, smarter than them. This also explains why WG has been to more than a dozen Ani DiFranco concerts and continues to go every summer when she's in town (I love her, so that's a good thing). I have been known to call him my Lesbian Boyfriend.

So, to picture Wine Guy walking into a jewelry store and considering the purchases in front of him...well, that's huge. I wasn't going to say anything about it here (for fear of getting my mom's hopes up, but since she "promised" she would stop reading the blog, I'm going to just go for it --hi mom), but earlier in the week we were at the mall Christmas shopping and I had to go to a jewelry store to have some adjustments made on a necklace. He tagged along (reluctantly) and while we were waiting to talk to the jeweler, I wandered over to the engagement ring section, as I have done since I was a kid. I just like rings. Normally Wine Guy stands as far away as possible while this is happening, so I was surprised to find him standing right next to me looking over my shoulder.

Here is where the new strategy I discussed in the previous post comes into play (for Dishy, who requested more examples of my version of male manipulation). Instead of my normal smart ass remark ("Wow, look at these rings. And with Christmas just around the corner." Or "My hand is feeling naked all of a sudden"), I continued to admire the objects, then calmly pointed towards one that caught my eye. Ever so nonchalantly I said, "This is the kind of ring I always liked."

It was a little risky, but I pulled it off. I say this because of his reaction. He didn't walk away. He didn't laugh. He didn't make a smart ass comment. He just stayed there, looking over my shoulder and eventually responding with "Oh, I see." Before I could ruin the moment, I casually strolled to another display case.

Here comes the kicker. He then declares, "Wow. These aren't as expensive as I thought they'd be. They aren't engagement rings are they?" When I assured him they were, he continued to look. Like with his eyes, people.

I said it before and I'll say it again. They need to think it's their idea.

Then the jeweler came out and we started talking about what I needed done.
Thank God, because I was surely about to ruin the moment with my trusty Sledgehammer of Truth.

But I digress. Here we are, Christmas Day. I hold in my hand a black velvet box displaying a pretty silver and black sparkly pendant hanging off a silver chain. I remembered it from the jewelry store. Immediately he jumps in with disclaimers, "This is just a placeholder gift. I think there might be ones you'll like more inside the store. We can go back and pick out another one. You don't have to like it."

I did like it and told him he didn't need to say all of that. I was touched. But eventually we did agree that we should go back to the store together since I had only seen what they had in the window display. Plus, the chain was far too short (always the case with me. Apparently I have a football player's neck).

But none of that changed the fact that he did this - bought jewelry - just for me. Just to make me happy. I always say/whine, "I just want a guy to go out of his way for me, just once." I think it's time I stop saying/whining that.

Again, I know this is corny but I'm putting it out there. Guys, buy your ladies some jewelry. I promise, it's always a good decision.

And yes, mom, you were right.

Wishing you all a Happy Holiday! You are merrily dismissed.

P.S. As my good friends should already know about me, please act as if I never told you the engagement ring story. It's better for everyone not to get our hopes up, right?
(I fully intended to post a photo of the necklace by the way, but something is up with Blogger's insert photo tool. If anyone asks me, I will try again later to post it. And yes, this is also a bit of a test to see if anyone actually reads all the way to the end! )

Addendum 12/30/09 - Thanks for asking :-)

Sledgehammer of Truth

2009-12-21T18:31:00.000-08:00

I work with faculty quite frequently in my job, trying to convince them to do something totally new that will help them tremendously with only a small amount of extra effort. It took me about five minutes to figure out what needed to happen to get them to act.

Let them think they came up with the idea first.

So why did it take me 20+ years of dating to figure out that men are the same way?

Yes, I am talking about the subtle female art of male manipulation. In the nicest way, of course.

Because I grew up without a father figure or much of any relationship modeling in the house, this is an art that was lost on me. I never really saw how couples interacted day in, day out. How they navigated differences in opinions, household chores, or preferences for what to do on a Saturday night.

Instead, what I saw was a lot of my poor mom hollering at her pack of unruly children. And no one to back her up or help her (shout out to you Mama Jack).

So what does that mean for my relationship with Wine Guy? Take a guess. (And yes, you can feel sorry for him--but just a little.) Sure he is often described as the Absentminded Professor. But the way I've chosen to work with this is more like a hollering mom than a clever partner who knows how to work with what she's got (like I do so easily on the job).

But with two live-in relationships under my belt (not to mention 37 years), the whole "I had no daddy" argument has just grown tired and useless. I finally decided I needed to sort this out pretty damn soon or this relationship was going bust.

So I started talked with my friends-- and my shrink-- and realized I had a very unrealistic, immature idea of what constitutes honesty in a relationship. I'm big on honesty. Partly because it's the best policy, but also because I really suck at all forms of deception, whether it be small white lies, or big purple ones.

How I chose to translate my version of honesty into a relationship was this: I am obligated to say everything that goes on inside my head. No nuance. No sideways inspiration. Just say it. Anything else would be less than honest. And isn't that what love is supposed to be based on?

Yeah, that goes over like a nice, soft sledgehammer. Especially with a stubborn man - the kind I usually pick.

So I decided to take a stab at the more nuanced approach to getting Wine Guy to do something I wanted him to do--join my gym. I've been going since October and have had amazing results in my first 6 weeks. Meanwhile, Wine Guy had stopped all forms of exercise and felt terrible about it.

I figured out very quickly that my gym was the kind of workout experience that would suit Wine Guy perfectly. A semi-private trainer, personalized workouts, uncrowded gym, close to home, and the kind of results I know he's seeking. But when I tried the straight-on approach ("You should join too. It's exactly what you are looking for!"), I got a big fat no.

But by this point I was learning. Instead of getting irritated and insistent, I kept my mouth shut and just kept going to the gym. I would tell him about it occasionally, but for the most part just went about my business getting in shape while he looked on from the sidelines. I went three times a week without fail, all the while knowing that the six-week mark was when my sneak attack would begin. See, six weeks is when they measure you again--for inches, body fat, heart rate etc. Then they compare the results to your stats from six weeks earlier.

I was very excited to learn I had lost 5 pounds of body fat, gained two pounds of lean mass and lost 5 inches overall. All without dieting. Sweet!

But instead of rushing home and gushing about my news to Wine Guy, then restating my request that he join, I simply asked my trainer to write down all my stats. If there's one thing I've learned about men (and faculty) in the last few years, it's that they like cold hard numbers. So she wrote it all down and at dinner that night I calmly read him the numbers.

When I was done reading I looked up from the paper and saw a glimmer in his eye that I can never seem to get with my own sledgehammer tactics. Inspiration. Before I could even react, he said the magic words, "That's it. I'm joining."

Freakin' magic.

This is just one of several successes I've had lately and it has made our relationship so much smoother. I know he recognizes and appreciates my restraint and, even though it's more work for me in the thinking/planning ahead department, it is well worth it.

We've also come to an arrangement that, once he signs on to an idea, I then ask permission to "nag" him about it. See, he is a flake and he knows it. He needs help to close the loop. Now that I know he wants to join the gym (and he thinks he came up with the idea himself), he gives me carte blanche in the nagging (I call it reminding) department. Withing 5 days he was signed up and hitting the gym every other day.

Now he comes home and flexes his muscles, proud of what he decided to do. Sure, whatever. As long as he's doing it. (And the 10% discount I get every month for referring him doesn't hurt either.)

Happy holidays everyone!
Dismissed.

Long Time No Blog

2009-11-27T11:32:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile and, to tell you the truth, I'm not all that motivated to blab even after all this time. Not that I haven't been thinking about the blog. Actually, I've been thinking about it a lot. See, I'm taking a class on putting together a non-fiction book proposal so I've been busy thinking through how and if I could turn this blog into an entertaining book. Lots of homework, writing exercises and learning what the very business-minded publishers are looking for.

The cool part is that I am just teeming with stories to tell. A few I may have touched on here but mostly they are the tales that I never got to tell because I met Wine Guy three months into this blog and the whole development of the relationship took over from there.

The uncool part is that I have little energy to come home and write even more here. But I promise I'll be back soon.

In the meantime, a quick update. Everything is just fine. Wine Guy and my mom split the cooking for Thanksgiving and made quite a wonderful meal. I will not be complaining that I was left out of that whole process (though I did make a corn pudding that I call more "mixing things together" than cooking).

Everything in relationshipland is status quo. Actually pretty good. I've worked really hard the last few months on letting go of some negative core beliefs I've harbored since childhood and, well, I've discovered that I am pretty much "shoulding" myself to relationship destruction. I've calmed down about the whole MARRIAGE thing, and - what a surprise! - we are happier and Wine Guy is more willing to talk about commitment than ever before. We both agreed that once my hip stuff is taken care of (hopefully by spring 2010), it will be full steam ahead on baby-making. The rest- who the f*ck cares?! He's in it. I'm in it. We're committed. For the most part people, I'm calm. (See why I haven't posted in awhile? Being calm does not an interesting blog post make.)

Oh, and I've been working out like crazy. I joined a gym with semi-private trainers and have been going 3x/week. In six weeks I lost over 5 lbs of body fat and 5 inches overall. (So what if I still can't bend over to tie my shoe. At least I'm firming up while I wear my slip-ons.) Basically I'm feeling terrific physically - the first time in two years - and I think I have even inspired Wine Guy to join so we can at last get fit together.

That's it from here. Enjoy your holiday weekend - and all those leftovers!
Dismissed.