The Fonz…

 

Have you ever had a really great first date?  One where there is electricity simmering between you, tangible, as you talk and laugh and fall over each others sentences?  Where he walks you to your car and your stomach nearly flies away as you pray that he closes the distance between your bodies?  

This was not that.650f161b22ed9b96acaa3db1e7199627

Last night I had a dinner date with a man I met through Tinder (Oh, Tinder…).  I wasn’t overly optimistic because, well, I’m not overly optimistic about dating or love or relationships in general at the moment.  But.  At the very least I would have dinner out, in a beautiful setting, and good conversation.

I got dressed in a simple jeans and black t combo that clung to my curves in all the right places.  I sent a picture of the outfit to a male friend who replied: “I’d totally fuck you”.  Good start, right?

Cue: The Fonz.

Last night I went out with The Fonz guys.

He was a perfectly nice guy who did everything by the book and who happened to like the fashion statement made by Henry Winkler in the late 70s.  Fair enough: fill yer boots.  But.  It’s so not for me.

He got really frustrated at trivia night and seemed extremely irritated when I shared our answers with the table sitting behind me.  It was trivia night at a bar!  Don’t take it so seriously!  I’m going to chat up people at other tables.  Get over it.

And I saw him wince at one point when I laughed (loudly).  I spent the rest of the night trying to be quieter.

I broke my rule of “drinks only” for a first date and let him take me to dinner.  He ordered an appy to share.  Then we ordered meals.  Then, though I specifically said that I needed to head out, he ordered a dessert for us to share.  As if I hadn’t even spoken.  A first date should not exceed 1.5 hours.  This was closer to three.  The only way I could have extricated myself was to have walked away.  Literally abandoned him at the table.  My good manners are too well developed for this.  But I get why women do it.  I really do.  Much more of this and I might start being rude.  (Self-preservation and all that.)

 

I don’t expect to have that great first date anytime soon.  I just don’t.  But dating is fun, people are interesting, and I enjoy going out.  So I’m going to go out.  Maybe that date will sneak up on me one of these days.  Or months.  Or years.

Until then.  There’s always The Fonz?

I Checked Out Your Thing, You Seem Pretty Good…

Dudes of my generation: Could you step up your game?  Please?

I reactivated my OkCupid profile about a week ago out of sheer boredom.  I’m really not looking for anything at the moment, though if something can up I’d go with it.  But I was bored and online dating is nothing if not entertaining.

Some real opening lines I have received this week…

How did this guy make these question marks?  I wasn’t brave enough to ask what the question was… 

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And this guy, looking for a really deep connection.  Deep.  (If you know what I mean…)

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This dude seems eloquent…

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I have blown this guy away…

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Jailbait…

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I have had a few interesting conversations.  But in the past 7 days I have probably received close to a hundred messages.  And these represent the general theme.

Underwhelming to say the least.

I’m kind of serious and kind of teasing.  Online dating is hard.  I have sent some really cringe-worthy opening lines.

At least I “seem pretty good”?

The Raw Parts of Me…

I have been having a really difficult few months.  I am doing everything I can to get out of my funk (medication, exercise, meditation, spending time with friends, laughing, art, writing) but nothing has been really working.  This was going on before things ended with J, it isn’t simply a reaction to the break up.

Don’t get me wrong, there has been so much good lately, so many laughs, so much joy.

The problem is how easily I can sink low again.  How little it takes to trigger me.

I just sink back into it again and again.

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My mind can be a rather dark place at times.

This weekend was tough.  I’m not sure why.  It was sunny and warm and full of laughter and friends and adventure.  Yet I felt this weight, this physical weight, settle over me.  I wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for a month.

I wanted to shed my skin, tear off my fat, find myself underneath those rolls that feel like a placard screaming “mentally unwell” to the world, be somehow happy and whole.  I didn’t even know anymore if a person existed under all this flesh.

I am so bright all the time.  Though they are genuine I keep up my smiles like a shield until I cannot hold them for another moment.  And then I am left raw and bare and vulnerable.

I don’t think this piece of me is loveable.  I think it is scary and unappealing.  I would give anything to leave it behind, never to see it again.

But it is woven into the tapestry of who I am and pulling its threads would pull apart the rest.

So I will take medication.

Exercise.

Meditate.

Laugh.

Create.

I will forgive this dark little creature who sits at the back of my mind and I will accept it.  I will give it a day, or two, every now and then.

If it wants more I will fight.

“I’m Excited For You…”

I’ve tried writing this post in 10 different ways, and most people already know or have guessed anyways, but J and I have split up.  Ultimately he didn’t see a future with me… And I need a future.

I was out with a girlfriend a week or so after it happened and she uttered these surprising words…

“Honestly?  I’m really excited for you.”

Now this is a friend who thought J was great.  Who was supportive and encouraging about the relationship.  But she continued…

“Imagine being with a man who really wants you.  Who begs you to move in with him, make a family together, who offers you a ring.  Someone who initiates these things because he’s that excited.  Someone who loves you that much.”

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J is a wonderful man and I am so happy that I got to spend this time with him.  I respect him, I like him, and I think we could have had a great life together.  But he wasn’t excited about me.  He was comfortable with me.  This doesn’t say anything bad about him.  It just is.  Sometimes we love someone more than they love us.  We deal.

Next time I need to demand someone who wants to move mountains for me.

Next time I need to understand that I am worthy of that.

Right now my heart is a bit battered.  It’ll heal.

(It’s tough to consider going through this again though.  

How many times can one risk their heart?)  

Is this okay to say?

Is it okay to say that I am sick of being on my own?

Is it okay to say that I am tired of going to bed alone, getting up alone, making dinner for one?

Is it okay to say that I am tired of car repairs and house repairs and budgets?

Is it okay to say that I am tired of having no shoulder to cry on or share the load?

Is it okay to say that sometimes I get scared that this is it for me?

My life is full and fun and wonderful.  I’m not waiting for a knight on a white horse.  I’m not compromising on some man.  I am whole and fine on my own.

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This doesn’t change the truth that… being on one’s own? Some days it’s hard.  It’s so damn hard.

And some days that just soaks in and won’t let go.

So I go for a long walk.  Or sing for a few hours.  Or have a drink with a friend.

And it’s great.

But it doesn’t replace having someone to shoulder life with.

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I feel like saying “I’m lonely” or “I’m scared” isn’t okay.  But here’s my 3am confession…

I’m lonely.

I’m scared.

I know I can do it on my own.  I know that in the morning things will look brighter.  

But tonight?  It’s so damn hard.