“Your lips would look great wra…”

Warning: the following is a rather ineloquent rant on men, dating and love in general.

I am so sick of men.  And dating.  And love.

Online dating is a constant battle of bizarre encounters, disgusting propositions and poor grammar.  Honestly, if I get one more “Your gorgeous” I’m going to stab my own eye out.

(Speaking of eyes, yes, mine are blue.  I was born with them.  I get that you’d absolutely looooove to wake up with those eyes next to you.  If you like them that much I will provide you with the one that I stabbed out.  You can keep it.  It might start to smell after awhile.)

And, men, if you could figure out what the fuck it is that you want, that’d also be great.  It isn’t that hard.  Just fucking make a decision.  Early in the game, please.  If you just want to fuck me, fine.  Tell me.  I’ll be into it (or not!) and we can all move the fuck on.  There is nothing wrong with not wanting a serious relationship or marriage or babies.  Just fucking know what the fuck you want.  And be fucking up front about it.

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(Sorry for all the swearing Mom.  See warning above.)

And, love.  Yes love.  It is such bullshit.  Such.  Bullshit.  You see: you will fall in love.  And it will shatter you.  And then you’ll be left picking up the pieces while… (Okay.  I’m not going to finish that sentence because I was going somewhere really unkind.)

Seriously though.  Love is bullshit.  It’s a bunch of chemicals released by your brain because of orgasms, or the imminent possibility of orgasms.  It’s not real people.

(Except Love is real and it soaks through you and leaves you completely bereft.)

Dating is a constant cycle of rejection and second guessing oneself.  You need nerves of steel because that new message could be sweet… But it could just as easily be “Your lips are great… They’d look great wrapped around my…”.

(By the way: he did finish that sentence and he is the reason for this rant.)

Basically…

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So what I am saying is simple:  Dating is awful.  Men are horrible.  Love is a fucked up sham.  

And I’m going to keep trying.

Because I look around me and I constantly see these couples who finish each other’s sentences and hold hands in the grocery store and have each other’s back.  And I deserve that.  I deserve someone who is going to fight for me, who is going to stick around when things get tough, who is going to have my back as much as I have his.

And I know that he’s out there and he probably just left a horrible date with a woman who ordered champagne and lobster and talked about her Pilates routine for 3 hours without pause and he’s flicking on Netflix wishing that women weren’t so awful.

I’ve been married.  I know how hard it is.  And I’m not trying to minimize that.  But here’s what I’d like  you to do, right now.  Step over the shoes, or socks, or underwear that your partner hasn’t put away properly (yet again).  Walk across the room, the house, the yard until you are standing in front of them. Tell that that you love them.  That you appreciate that they have your back, remind them that you have theirs.  Give them a kiss.

I’m happier single than I ever was married.  But I want to try again.  I want to get the chance to sit on a porch swing watching grand kids run around the front yard holding the same hand I’ve held for 40 years.  And that’s cliche and that’s not guaranteed.  But I want the chance.

So, no.  My lips WOULDN’T look great wrapped around your…  In fact I hope it rots off.

And to my Netflix boy.  I hope that it doesn’t take too long to connect.

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It’s like a glass of water…

A few months ago, immediately after my split with J, I was out with a friend and asked her… “Where does the love go?”.

See, when my marriage ended, it had been over for so long and there was so much trauma at the end: it felt like a relief.  There is some part of me that will always care about my ex husband (we spent almost 13 years together after all) but that care is frozen in a moment in time.  It is tied around our shared experiences.

With J we met.  We fell in love.  We spent just over a year together.  We loved and liked each other a lot.  He was a good friend.  He became the person I wanted to call at the end of the day, the person I wanted to curl up with each night.

It didn’t work out and, sadly, that’s the way these things go.

But where does the love go?  What happens to it?

To me it is like a physical thing, it is something that exists.  So when this ended I couldn’t help but wonder – where the fuck does it go?

My friend had this wise summary:  “It’s like a glass of water with colour added.  It permeates everything.  And then when you love again another colour is added and it changes…”

(Warning – shit’s about to get real)…

“…until, eventually, you are left with a cup of murky brown sludge.”

The first part of this theory was beautiful, the second, not so much.

But I also think her theory is true.

Love doesn’t just go away.  Maybe it freezes in time.  It definitely changes the colour of the water in the glass.  Hopefully the colour becomes beautiful, deeper, more interesting.  Hopefully you can avoid the sludge.

How many loves before you are left with sludge?  One?  Two?  Five?

I have always loved easily.

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But as I get older, as I experience more, I wonder how does one risk it again and again?

 

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”?

Mindy Kaling… Will You Be My Best Friend?

Or my anything. I think I’m kinda in love with you.

A couple of days ago I made the mistake of reading Down the Rabbit Hole by Holly Madison.

Now, if you don’t know who Holly Madison is… You’re not alone. Holly Madison was Girlfriend Number One of Hugh Hefner for 7 years. Holly Madison had a couple of reality shows and a Vegas show after that. Holly Madison was present for several years when I was young and “impressionable”. I have a vague memory of watching a TV special highlighting Playboy which showed Hef and his (then) 7 girlfriends. I remember defending the lifestyle (“maybe they all really love each other”) to my Mom. If you know my Mom you know how that conversation went.

Holly Madison’s book wasn’t good. It wasn’t smart or self reflective.  It wasn’t the expose that it was lauded to be. It struck me as catty, as unnecessarily unkind to the other women featured on its pages.  It struck me as having very little soul. It bored me.

(It also caused me to google each photo shoot mentioned and spend an obscene amount of time looking at naked Playboy Bunnies which is never good for ones mental health).

I didn’t like it.

Wanting to refresh my brain and like women’s memoirs again I immediately picked up Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?.

I’m not even done reading it and I’m kind of in love.

(Mindy, call me!  I’ll be your bff forever!).

Mindy’s book is the perfect kind of memoir. Funny, self deprecating and, most importantly: smart. Mindy sees the world and in an understated way really cuts through to expose the core of what she sees.

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Mindy is an apologetically intelligent woman who talks about makeup and clothes and shopping and seems to bridge both worlds.  I don’t think know how to do this: be “girly” one moment and then say something really fucking smart the next and just be both of these things.  A smart girl.  Mindy Kaling seems to be able to do this.

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Mindy Kaling went to Dartmouth. I know less than nothing about American universities but I’ve heard of that one… So it must be a good one, right?

Mindy Kaling says stuff like this:

Me, on the other hand, whenever I lose, like, five pounds, I basically start wondering if I should try out modelling.

I’m the one who looks at the infant, smiles nervously, and as my contribution to small talk, roboticlly announces to the parent, “Your child looks healthy and well cared for.”

I love romantic comedies.

And I read Mindy Kaling say stuff like that and I’m like, yeah, dude, totally!, someone who GETS me.

I identify with her in the same way that I identify with Lena Dunham. It’s just that I think Mindy would UNDERSTAND the fact that I’ve never had a one night stand and LD would be like: oh, we’re soooo going out tonight. Tell J not to wait up.

(I love you too Lena).

Mindy Kaling has this wonderful ability to make you see yourself in her writing. I’m pretty sure that my Dad wouldn’t feel this way. But for a thirty-something woman?  She’s on point.

Mindy Kaling, you’re my hero.

Everyone else you should probably read her book.

I’ll leave you with this piece of infinite wisdom…

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Changing What I See…

I recently started watching “The Mindy Project” on Netflix.  It’s a great show, very funny, about a single doctor in her early 30s.

And she’s not skinny.

Seriously.  I had to google “Mindy Kaling Height Weight” because watching this show was screwing so seriously with my mind.  The results said that she was a size 8, estimated 5’3″, 150 pounds.

(I feel guilty and voyeuristic for googling this but I couldn’t stop myself).

In other words: she’s a normal, healthy adult woman.

And watching her on TV for a total of 50 minutes or so had me so discomfited that I had to search her size.

Not only was I shocked that this was a normal healthy woman – I was shocked that I am significantly bigger that Mindy.  I kept watching the show thinking that I was looking at someone roughly my size.  I was wrong.

I’m only halfway through the first season at this point (she just found out that Josh was cheating on her – poor Mindy!!!).  And there has already been more than one reference to her weight.  Negative references.

For example…

But Mindy is funny.  And smart.  And talented.  And hot.

She’s everything that I want to be when I grow up.

We need more Mindy’s on mainstream TV.  Women who don’t look like what we are programmed to expect.

It’s strange to realize that my views of my own body and other peoples bodies is so skewed that watching a normal woman on TV has taken several episodes to (almost) get used to.

In case you want some encouragement to check out this hilarious show…