People keep asking me about my dating life. It’s been a long time since I’ve written about a recent date, here. There are a few reasons for that. All falling under the theme – nothing worth writing about.

I’d thought I’d met someone interesting, way back in the fall, before I got sick. Not much had happened yet, but he seemed interesting and we certainly liked each other. Which is more than I can say for any of the other guys I’d met in 2011.

And then I got sick. Really sick. Can’t get out of bed sick.

I tried to explain to him what was going on. That I wasn’t avoiding him. That my not answering his texts for days had nothing to do with him…

Instead of listening and understanding, he made it about him.  He was insecure and kept needing my reassurance that I did, indeed, like him. Which I didn’t have the energy for.

Truth is, it’s not the kind of thing I want to deal with, even when I do have the energy. We’re all insecure, in our own way. And I’m willing to overlook a certain level of neediness. But he crossed my threshold.

I didn’t write about it sooner, because the guy in question would have probably seen the post (I let slip about the blog). I didn’t want to make him feel bad and thus wound his already fragile self-esteem.

So what about since then, you might be thinking?

A couple/few really crappy first dates. Really. Crappy.

Truth is, I don’t want to write about any more crappy first dates. Especially the, we-met-online-and-he-was-older/creepier/drunker-than-I-thought-he’d-be type. I’m tired of those. Of writing about them, reading about them and certainly having them. So much so that I’ve retired all of my online dating accounts. At least, for now. I still think that online dating can be a great way to meet people. But I’m just kind of tired of the way the game is played.

Yesterday. I was sitting on my sofa reading. And then I got up to get something to drink.

I paused as I walked back to my seat. It was the middle of the afternoon and pale winter sunlight was streaming in. Something about the quality of the light made me stop and really look around. And then it hit me. Holy shit. Holy shit. I kind of love my home. Not the stuff I’ve accumulated and placed around the rooms. Though the fresh tulips on the dining table make me smile every time I look at them. But the space I’ve created for myself. The life I live here.

And I started to feel… I don’t know.  A sense of pride. In a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

Not because my life is perfect, or because I’ve made my apartment look nice (believe me, I have a long way to go on both paths). But because I’ve been working hard to get to a place.  And well… I guess I feel like whatever that place is. I’m here. It’s the actualization of what I dreamed of as a child. My own little happy slice of Manhattan.

Later in the day I got a call from an old friend. Someone I adore but don’t get to see often because he moved far, far away. We were talking about success. He is, by any external measure, extremely successful. Married for a long time, great job, huge house, no real debt, a great guy. Successful.

He said something interesting. Something I’ve heard him say before. When he was growing up, his only life goal was to be able to go shopping when things weren’t on sale. To just buy what he wanted at the local department store without worrying about the price. Nothing fancy. Nothing luxurious. He didn’t think of traveling the world or buying fancy cars. He just wanted to go pick out some decent clothes without waiting for them to be on sale.

And now he has that. Has has that for a long time and so much more.  All the things that other people tell him equal success. But that’s not the stuff that makes a person happy. Not the material things.

I have my own little happy slice of Manhattan. Exactly what I dreamed of my whole life. He can buy whatever he wants whenever he wants. These are not the things that make us happy.  Neither are our families, romantic relationships, or friends. We’re happy or not because we decide to be happy with our bounty. With the amazing gifts that we have.

I could choose to be miserable that I still don’t have enough money to completely gut and redecorate my bathroom (I REALLY want to redo my bathroom). Or that my new meds are making me fat. Or that it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow and for some reason there are single people who seem to feel oppressed by this completely arbitrary, made-up holiday.  Or I can be happy because I have so much. My choice. My friend can choose to be miserable because he had to relocate for his amazing job (taking him thousands of miles away from friends and family) or he can be happy for the amazing opportunities he has.

Simplistic and unoriginal, perhaps. But nonetheless true. I’m as happy as I choose to be. And so are you, probably. Unless you were just hit by a car. Or diagnosed with a horrible disease. Or suffered some tragic loss. Most of us are exactly as happy as we allow ourselves to be. I think.

So you can be miserable, now. If you want. Not me. I’m gonna rock out to some old school Smiths, sniff my tulips and have another cup of coffee  Life is good.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before – I love eavesdropping. I mean, how can you not?  Real life is so much more interesting than fiction. Stranger and funnier and much more bizarre.

Depending on your perspective, I guess.

New York City is an awesome place for eavesdropping. Unlike other places, we’re out in the open most of the time. Living our lives in public. On the sidewalk, on the subway… Not hidden away in cars for hours every day. Well, most of us.

So the other day I was out and I overheard a great conversation. A bunch of girlfriends, all of whom seemed to be in their 30s. One of them was having boy troubles and the others were telling her what she should do. And they all had very strong opinions about it.

Now, as an aside… another awesome thing about NYC is that if you ask any group of people for advice about anything – where to get the best pulled pork sandwich, for example – you’re likely to get a handful of different and very passionate responses. Because everyone thinks they’re right. And each person will be committed to their answer and will want to convince you that it’s The Right Answer.  For the record, the answer is, Daisy May’s. 

Anyway, each of these girlfriends was very committed to her answer. Call him, don’t call him, text him, don’t text him, don’t return his calls… it was a cacophony of girlymag wisdom. Each of them certain that their’s was The Right Answer.

I didn’t hear the end of the conversation. So I have no idea how, or if, it was resolved. But I gotta tell you, it took every bit of self control to keep myself from butting in and saying, “There is no right answer.”

I’m lucky to have some pretty awesome friends. Awesome and talented. Awesome and talented in ways that I am so not.

It took me a year of living and working in my new apartment before I could figure out what I might want it to look like – furniture and decoration wise. That stuff just doesn’t come easy to me.  Massive understatement.

So after a year of staring at blank walls and living with old furniture that didn’t quite fit in the space, I ordered a bunch of stuff that I thought would work in the new place. And then it all came and I had no idea where to put in all.

Which is a long way of me getting to today’s story –  this weekend, after much scheduling and planning, I got some of my awesome friends to come over and decorate my space. They rearranged furniture, hung pictures and MOST IMPORTANTLY – removed stuff that didn’t belong here. You see, the people who lived here before me left a bunch of stuff (shelves, wall mirrors, curtains…) and me being me – I didn’t remove any of it. For over a year. I just couldn’t be bothered. Even though I hated most of it. I just left it all and thought each and every day how much I hated it. But since I couldn’t figure out replacements, I didn’t do anything about it.

Yeah, I’m a little pathological.

Anyway, one of the things they left was this huge mirror in the bedroom. It took up most of a wall. And, honestly, I didn’t think much of. Considering all of the other weird things in the apt.

But then apartment makeover day rolls around and 2 of my friends (each of whom had seen the mirror many times before) tell me the mirror is bad feng shui = bad for my love life.  They’d never mentioned it before because they’d never been focused on it before.

So anyway… I don’t know if I believe in that feng shui stuff. But my love life could use some help. And I didn’t like the mirror anyway.  So it got tossed.

Speaking of mirrors…I’ve been having issues with mine lately. They’ve been mean. Very, very mean. Which, in some ways is weird.  I’ve been feeling well. My new new medicine is working well and everyone I know says I look great. But they mean that in a, “you look like you don’t belong in a hospital” way. Not, “you look sexy” way. I’m exercising lots more than I have in ages (took a lovely long walk this morning) and have been getting back into yoga.

But every morning I would get up and stare into the mirror and think about how bad I looked. Old and fat. Part of that (the fat) is that my appetite is out of control. It’s a side effect of the new new drugs. I’ve been down this road many time before and I just can’t expend the energy to fight the constant urge to eat. And the drugs work, so fuck it. I’m just going to have to try to eat a bit healthier and exercise even more.

And then there’s the fact that I am, actually, old(er). I’m 41. And at 41 it’s harder to keep weight off. My magic metabolism is dying down. And my youthful face is looking less youthful.

So what am I going to do about it? I can spend a lot of time and energy every day hating myself. I’m very good at it.  Or I can do something different. I choose B.

As long as I was removing things from my apartment, I went a step further. I also got rid of my full-length mirror. I didn’t chuck it completely, as sometimes I might need to know how I look. But I hid it in the back of my closet. So now the only mirror in my apartment is in my bathroom. Over the sink.  With really bad lighting.

So I no longer have anyplace in my home to look at myself in judgement. To think how fat, old and ugly I’ve become.  No more mean mirrors. BTW, I’ve read about other women doing similar things, so I’m not being original here. 

Will this little experiment affect my self-esteem? I have no fucking idea. I just started. Here’s what I do know. I’ve never thought of myself as a vain person, and yet I keep looking towards those empty spaces, where the mirrors were. For some kind of negative or positive validation, I guess. Life is weird.

Happy Thursday folks.  Hope you’re all enjoying your day so far. If not, hopefully this will perk you up.  I have a story from a new-ish, fun blog – Dates With Kate. You should check it out.

Bachelor #1

Officially this was Bachelor #1. I was not at all feeling comfortable being back in the dating world after being in a relationship for almost six years with a cool guy I was still friends with. As I drove to meet Mr. Robert I felt like I was cheating on the ex even though we had been broken up for almost 3 months. It might say something that I called the ex on the way to the rendezvous spot to let him know who and where I was meeting this strange man just in case I was chopped up into little pieces. There is a reason we called it “Best Breakup Ever”. Even still, I was nervous as hell walking into that Starbucks.

** Aside (the first of what I am sure will be many) – There are a few spots in my neck of the woods that I am sure think I am some sort of librarian-looking prostitute. These spots, and the people that work there, have seen me parade in with a stream of men. When the number of people that you have met creeps into the double-digits you run out of places-to-meet options. I am picky about where I will make the initial contact. It has to be public, obviously, easy to find and a place I am familiar with. I am not walking into a restaurant or tavern or coffee shop or wine bar that I have never been before while trying to locate someone I have never met. That is simply too much sensory overload to manage at once. I like to know the lay of the land so the only thing that could possibly surprise me is how ghastly my date is.

The first thing I notice about Robert is that he looks nothing like his picture. I am expecting a guy that has a hat and glasses and fairly sizable sideburns but what walks up to me has a shaved head and no glasses. He is my height, 5’8″, and fairly stout. I am not overwhelmed with hot lust for him but he is pleasant to look at. We met on a weekend day so he was appropriately dressed – cargo shorts, t-shirt, cool sneaks. We had a pleasant conversation where he expressed a strong affinity for watching female roller girls. I have not been to such an event so it was cool to hear a little about that. Besides the fact that the conversation didn’t totally suck or stall awkwardly it also didn’t really light my fire. I could tell that I wasn’t going to be interested in seeing this guy again. I can’t say too much else about him besides he was ‘my first’ and that was it wasn’t horrible. Robert does have the distinction of initiating my long-time rule of NO PHONE CALL BEFORE MEETING. I am not a huge phone person in general and trying to carry on a conversation totally removed of any physical cues sucks ass. I was careful to brush up on my facts-about-Robert before placing the call but it was just awkward. Long silences, awkward pauses – what fun. There is just something about seeing someone in person and whiffing their pheromones that cannot be replaced. How horrible can anyone be that I can’t suffer through one cup of coffee or cocktail? Granted, there have been some fine men that had me thinking the whole time we met what a great freaking story I was going to tell about this knob, but nothing horrendous. They are just people, after all.

I did get the fishing follow-up email from Robert (it was great to meet me, want to get together again, etc.) but I was not interested in seeing him again. Just not exciting. I emailed him back and told him that I had thought I was ready to get back into the dating fray but I had been mistaken. This taught me another rule. DON’T EVER TELL AN ONLINE DATING CANDIDATE SOMETHING THAT THEY CAN FIND TO BE UNTRUE. Besides the fact that lying is evil and bad it just sets up an awkward situation if you are caught. For instance, I got several more emails and winks from Robert after I gave him the brush-off email. Why, he wanted to know, was I still on Match.com if I was not ready to date? Valid question although I don’t know what guilting me into a date was supposed to accomplish.