The Badly Named Possibility

Back in the game for 2012 and ready for some stories, some fun, and maybe some connections.

When I first met Mr. Possibility, I found him visually appealing -- tall, dark, and handsome like we're taught to be drawn to.  He was incredibly gentlemanly and also easy to talk to.  He took me to a nice dinner for our first date, to a fancy lunch for our second, and to a hockey game for our third.  He has been attentive without smothering.  He makes me laugh and laughs in return at my terrible jokes.  He finds me attractive without being a creeper.

But his name is dreadful.  Think of the worst name ever.  Then tweak that to a cartoonish level.  Now multiply that times 32.7 -- you might be coming close to this poor bloke's name.

Also he doesn't vote.  In an election year.  At a time where I'm watching all the Republican debates and my gym time is being spurred on by CNN coverage of the end of the war in Iraq, the State of the Union address, and the effects of the worst depression since the Great one, this guy doesn't vote.

So nice.  So cute.  So fun.  And so no spark.

What to do?  Do I go out again?  Do I try desperately to not talk politics like I was always taught?  Do I give him a cute pet name to avoid the atrocity on his birth certificate?

Maybe another chance with The Badly Named Possibility is in order.  After all the word "Possibility" is in there for a reason.  Stay tuned...

The MIA Writer

I've been missing in action!  I could make excuses, and even though they are completely valid in my real life, they don't matter in the life I have here with you.  You're here to read about my dates, about my crazy updates, about my titled beaux.

This one will catch you up.  And then we'll have some more fun with my trips down memory lane into the depths of the dating medium that is New York City.  Also we'll hit some new ideas, new boys, new fun.

I've been in a weird dating space with little to write about in my mind.  This happens to even the best daters, and as The Ame-ster pointed out to me, sometimes the real stuff is ok for my readers too.  So here goes an unexpected lesson learned to share with you, gentle readers.

The Goth Gamer threw me for a loop.

We were having a great time.  I felt comfortable in a way I hadn't before with the male persuasion of the straight variety.  There was attraction, yes, but there was laughter.  There was relaxation.  There was no pressure.  Looking back this is exactly the makings of a wonderful friendship.

The part that threw me was the attraction-plus-straight equation.  I've often said that I don't believe guys and girls can be friends if they are straight and single.  I mean, if you're single, you like each other enough to be friends, and there's a physical attraction?  Why would you NOT go for the gold?!  Not only have I been called out on this by friends (including straight, single male friends), but I've recently been punched in the face with this reality.

When The Goth Gamer called me after not seeing each other for a few days to tell me that we needed to alter our relationship because he had found himself with a girlfriend, I was a bit stunned.  I wasn't hurt, though my pride took a smack.  I wasn't sad, though I was confused about what should happen next.  And when I found out that his girlfriend was a girl who can't keep a job, spends days on end not leaving her apartment or speaking to anyone, and has zero friends, I was even more perplexed.  C'mon, Gamer, I may not be a supermodel, but I can at least maintain a witty conversation!

Then he said it.  "She needs me.  You don't and never will."

And he was right.  Not because I'm incapable of relying on someone, I'm just incapable of "needing" him.  We're friends.  Yes, I find him sexy.  Yes, I laugh a lot with him.  Yes, he likes my friends maybe more than he likes me.  Bottom line is that I don't have any need to have anything more.  I don't want to share my childhood stories, my work woes, or even my dreams.... and I don't see myself ever wanting that with The Goth Gamer.

Seeing Mr. Gamer last night for the first time in almost 3 months was in and of itself a bit of a nail-biter.  But as soon as he first hugged me, I knew we'd be just fine.  I missed the smell on his jacket, but I found myself thinking I wished we were watching "Chopped" on Food Network as opposed to making out on his couch.  If that doesn't scream "FRIEND," I'm not quite sure what does.  We were there for something artsy in the back room of the place so I didn't see him again until the evening was over.

I had dragged The Irrational Attorney along with me because she's ALWAYS up for a good time, even be it an awkwardly good time.  Like me, she appreciates the story that comes from every experience.  She's the one who noticed Gamer's Girlfriend slip into the barstool next to her man.  It was dim, and my back was to her so I decided to wait and let Gamer introduce us if the timing was right when the evening's art concluded.

The Irrational and I grabbed our jackets and sauntered back to Mr. Goth's section.  He held out open arms for me to step into.  The Girlfriend?  Yeah, she ran away.

RAN. AWAY.

Well, maybe not ran, but definitely scurried away.  The last place on earth she wanted to be was standing next to me hugging her fella.  To be honest, I was shocked she came out at all.  He yelled her named.  He yelled her name a second time.  He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted over the somewhat small crowd a third time.  She turned and, realizing she really had no out, came back to face her panic inducer.

He introduced us, and I held an outstretched hand for her to shake.  In her own Goth-like attire complete with hair almost covering her face... picture this but darker:

Ok, not really that bad.  But not TOO far from the truth.  She took a deep, shaky breath and squeezed the circulation out of my fingertips.  I, being a true Scarlett O'Hara at heart, told her it was nice to meet her before she scurried off to stand behind the man that she needs.

In that moment, it was as if true clarity showed itself.  She does need him.  He does need her to need him.  I don't want him.  She's got him even if I did.  And I felt a sadness.  Sadness for her that the clear panic of being in public like this is not worthy of making fun of, but worthy of pitying.  Sadness that the pain in her face was so palpable even the hairstyle above couldn't completely hide it.  Sadness for Gamer that he needs to be needed so desperately.

Sadness for me that I've never felt that kind of dependency on another human.  I'm not sure I want to.  But it's definitely an emotion, a feeling, a need I've never felt.  And then I had a stirring of hopefulness.  Despite my list of positives that I slowly share with guys I date, despite my own issues of panic and fear that I am sure to hide with these same men, what Gamer needed, he found in her -- even as she stood panicky beside him.

Here I am.  Ready to just be again.  Ready to head into winter - as of tomorrow it officially feels like winter in the NYC - with some abandon.  Wish this Almost Girlfriend luck...

The Rugby Player

My first marathon date was experienced with a broad, cocky, beer-guzzling funnyman.  He warned me on the phone when we made plans for the date (and subsequently talked for hours as though we were in junior high) that he would be kissing me before the date even began. 

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I want to.  I know you want me to.  And then we can have a good date without worrying about the whole kissing thing at the end."

Something different.  Someone who didn't follow rules.  A guy who took charge, made a plan, and didn't take no for an answer.  We decided the date would be January 1st.  If things worked out, we'd be able to look back fondly on how our relationship and 2010 started.  If things went poorly, the year could only get better, right?

I remember I wore a mini skirt, sweater, cowboy boots, and a red ski jacket.  He smiled as I approached.  And then, as promised, he in his 6'4" solidity took me and kissed me.  A wonderful kiss.  I nearly popped my booted foot.

Eight hours and too many beers for him to drive back to Long Island later, I offered my couch to him so the date didn't have to come to a halt ending with him sleeping in his car.  We stayed out three more hours laughing, talking, and occasionally sneaking a kiss or five.  He commented on his love for my red jacket - subtle yet forcing me to be the center of attention in that crowded bar.  Back at my apartment after closing all the establishments in the area of the city that never sleeps, I fitted him on the same couch he would come be very comfortable on.  The next morning we got up, and I tried my hand at breakfast.  He was nice about my atrocity and offered to cook me dinner later in the week at his place.  We watched a movie, did a little cuddling, and eventually decided to end the date on a high rather than get sick of each other over dinner.

Over the next few weeks and months, we were in touch most days and saw each other a couple times a week.  We watched much of the final season of "Lost" together discussing the intricacies of the conspiracy theories.  He spent many weekends upstate playing rugby, but we grew closer and closer.  We talked about meeting each other's families and were excited to introduce one another to the friends - though we were taking things at a good pace.  The physical chemistry between the two of us was absolutely off the charts.  Never before or since have I been so drawn to or excited by a man.  

Our relationship was fun.  It was intelligent.  It was close but not next door.  We were on the same page on so many levels.  And we started to feel.  I started to feel.  For the first time these feelings didn't push me to run to France or Atlantic City or to throw my phone off the GWB (a recurring threat of mine when people get too close too fast for my comfort level).

One of his rugby weekends ended with a phone call: "We have to talk."  Silly me, I thought people only said that in movies.  He had run into his 22-year-old ex -- the one who he broke up with because she was in college and moved into his apartment without asking after being kicked out of the dorm and disowned by her parents for being a pothead and all-around mess.  He guessed he wasn't as over her as he thought, and I had no interest in competing with any of that.  Though Mr. Rugby wanted me to.  He wanted me to fight for my man.  He wanted me to tell him how much better I was.  Unfortunately, that's not my style.

A month later he asked me for another date.  We went to the same bar where we ended New Year's Day.  He told me he quit his job, cashed in his 401k, and would be heading to Europe to backpack and find himself.  He begged me to go with him.  I was taken aback.  I love to run away too.  I love Europe as well.  And I know we'd have a blast running away from it all.  But I also was not his 22-year-old girl.  I had responsibilities that I couldn't up and leave on a whim... certainly not for a man.

He went to Europe at the end of August.  He sent me emails and texts regularly.  He kept me abreast of his schedule and never stopped asking me to come join him.  "Even for a week?" he'd ask.  I'd remind him that he had dumped me for an ex.  I'd tell him I couldn't run off in a flurry of emotions and lust for a guy who was trying to find himself.  He said he understood, but he never stopped his attempts at getting me to go over.

And I never stopped being torn.  I would tell The Constant of my dilemma.  He even offered once to pay for the flight.  The Suzz, however, reminded me of the hastiness of flying off to Europe for a boy.  They were the cartoonish devil and angel on my shoulders though I'm not sure which was which.  I blamed my pocketbook and stayed in the comforts of NYC.

Earlier this year The Rugby Player called me.  I got fluttery when his named popped up but let it go to voicemail.  When I called him back, we stepped into conversation as though no time had passed.  We talked about Europe.  We talked about the intense connection we had shared.  I went out on a limb...

"When can we get together?  I miss you."

"I miss you too.  So much.  But I'm seeing someone."

My heart sank.  I had no words.

"Actually that's part of the reason I called you.  She's older and has kids.  I often feel like I'm playing the babysitter.  It's very real, and it makes me miss the simple fun I had with you."

"So you called because I'm the fun?"

"I mean... I guess?  It's just that I could always be myself with you.  You never pressed for too much too fast.  You were never needy.  You were the perfect girl to date.  You're just so fun."

That was the last time we talked.  He asked if we could still be friends.  I told him I had plenty of friends.  I got off the phone and cried.

Earlier tonight I picked up my laundry to find they had switched detergent.  It smelled of The Rugby Player.  I was instantly taken back to his little apartment on Long Island, cuddled up to his beefy arms watching "Lost" and "A Bronx Tale," eating gravy and Long John Silver's.  And I smiled.

I will always wonder how different things would be had I hopped a flight to Prague.

The August Experiment

"Grow in Faith.  Fall in Love."

Oh yes.  That happened.  Needless to say August's experiment was a bust.  For the first 6 days I got ZERO hits.  Talk about a humbling experience.  Just when I thought the whole Christian online dating thing wasn't where I belonged (imagine that), I started getting a few views... and then more views... and then some messages...

Over the course of the month I was contacted by 25 men - the majority in their 40s, including one from Texas who is a self-proclaimed "ex-gay" (I'm tempted to pay the $30 monthly fee to be able to correspond more freely with him and help him out of his lie of a life).  53% of them are from small town suburbs of NYC, in fact only one was in the five boroughs.

In the initial messages I was told an array of things such as:

• "I'm Jesus' favorite"
• "Which Greek goddess best describes you?"
• "I'm a great flirt.  Can I prove it?"
• "I desire courtship"
• "Your profile gave me a smile, so I thought I'd send you one in return"
• And my personal favorite from a somewhat portly gentleman, "I'm attractive but not unto myself" which I have no idea the meaning.

And they were all politically conservative.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised by that, but somehow I still am.  The lesson I learned is that Christians looking online for other Christians to date are a bit smaller-minded than I'm looking for.  I did not go on any dates from this experiment, so August has been a little dry in the way of dating.  I think I only went on 2 dates total - both real... neither prospective.  On to September!!

The Yesteryear Footballer

Too many years ago to mention (after all I don't want to give away EVERYTHING about me!  isn't the mystery part of what brings some of you back??) I had a ridiculous crush on the captain of my high school football team.  He, a gorgeous popular junior.  Me, a fun-loving yet lowly freshman.  I would see him from afar and adore his beauty, knowing he had no idea who I was.

Second semester came along, and I walked into 3rd period P/E class.  To my horror, Mr. Football himself was in the class.  While not completely UNathletic, how was my awkward 15-year-old self suppose to rock gym clothes while still making an impression during a mean game of Pickle Ball?  I spent the semester being googly-eyed over his blond hotness and even caught a smile or two occasionally.

The following year I spent many Friday nights cheering his football prowess from the bleachers and tried looking confidently chic when passing him in the halls.  This was easier to do as a sophomore than as a freshman, but alas he had obtained a girlfriend.  She was beautiful and cool... a perfect fit.

Two weeks ago Mr. Football popped up in my inbox with a friend request.  I instantly went back to being in the 10th grade with an insane crush.  I turned to the interns, "Guys.  I just got a Facebook friend request from my high school crush!"  Of course they all were immediately excited for me.  I'm sure it hasn't been too long since they had high school crushes of their own, so it's fresh in their memories.  Who knew he remembered me, let alone knew who I was [mumbles a number] years ago?

We emailed back and forth for a few days catching up.  At one point I even confessed my super crush from back in the day.  He said he wished he would've known - he wound up marrying the gorgeous girlfriend and divorcing her shortly thereafter.  We swapped numbers and have been texting as though we're back in high school.  It's all innocent and fun and flirty... and 1500 miles away.  The mileage keeps things safe and almost surreal.  But it also is a constant reminder that meeting up for a drink isn't possible.

Needless to say, it's been fun.  It's been an ego-boost.  And it's been a really nice walk down Memory Lane.

The Google Pothead

Believe it or not, this professional dater was once in a long-term relationship.  Granted, it was not your typical relationship, and I'm even in the process of writing a book about my experiences with this fantastic fella.  However, that is not a nostalgic walk down memory lane you get tonight.  Save your pennies and buy the book when it comes out... it's sure to keep you more than entertained.

After my seven-year relationship turned into more of a friendship, I spent two years dating me and only me.  It was a great time of exploration and discovery, and it was also a time of occasional loneliness.  When I started thinking it was high-time I get back out in the dating world, I was completely overwhelmed.

Enter The Google Pothead.

He was one of the original founders of Google.  Born and raised right in the Lower Eastside, he had moved back from California when the famous search engine began taking off.  He was bought out and, needless to say, was older and insanely wealthy.  He was independent, attractive, and knew exactly what he wanted - out of a meal, out of an evening, out of a girl, and out of life.  Two years of being single and not dating led me to know some specifics of what I wanted as well.  And I wasn't afraid to tell him...

I wanted to find a man who didn't need my paycheck.  One who also didn't need me to cook for him, make decisions for him, or meet his family.  I wanted someone to take me out and make me feel girly, to show me a side of New York I hadn't seen yet.  I wanted someone who didn't need me to make a commitment but wasn't interested in shuffling me into his mix of twenty other women.  I was seeking someone who didn't need to meet my friends, know too much about my career, or pry into the depths of my childhood or previous relationship.  And finally in the harsh realization of my nearly three-year, self-imposed celibacy, I wanted someone I could eventually feel comfortable with breaking out of my shell and dipping my toes into what Carrie Bradshaw had shown me about how to live the fabulous single girl's life in NYC.

Not exactly a short order, right?  Well, The Google Pothead fit the bill beautifully.  He didn't balk at my directness.  In fact on our first date as I sat there watching him nurse his expensive bourbon, I felt completely adult for the first time in my life.  If that was all I got out of my time with him, it would have been worth it.

Luckily I got more.  We went on several dates, and he was patient with me.  He never pushed me to do anything I didn't want in the same way he never allowed me to pay for a single thing, open a single door, or even make a single plan.  For the first foray, this - no, he was exactly what I needed.  A month or so went by filled with delicious meals, surprise lunch dates, and lots of laughs.  And one night I asked him if we could have dinner near his place.  I did all the things a single girl is supposed to do when impending coitus is on the horizon... and I showed up looking super hot if I do say so myself.

As did he.

At the end of the evening (having no idea how to behave with a man I'd known for such a short time much less in a less than puritanical way), Mr. Google returned from the other bedroom with a contraption I hadn't seen since the "Cheech and Chong" movies I used to sneakily watch after my parents went to bed.  While talking he stuffed it with lawn clippings and pulled out a lighter.  He then passed it to me.

"I've never done that."
Surprised for the first time since we'd been seeing each other, "Oh.  Well, I smoke a lot of pot.  I hope that's ok."

Who knew of all the pseudo-demands I'd made, the commitment-phobia I'd exhibited, and fun times we'd spent together, that our biggest missed connection would involve marijuana?  I went with the flow while refraining from toking up, and left to go home just as his eyes glassed over to the point of near-irritation.

The Google Pothead and I continued our tryst for several weeks before it waned into a whisper of a memory.  I became more and more aware of things I needed and things that weren't as important as I thought they were.  This would be the biggest learning experience of my dating career, and I was sponging every ounce of it up.

Over the past few years we've tried to get together a few times to see if we can be friends.  Once we even went on a for reals kind of date.  We are still Facebook friends and even once ran into each other while we were on separate (and less interesting) dates, but I came to the conclusion awhile ago that The Google Pothead was for a season.  Every time I see him, I quickly go to back to the place I was when we met.  A vulnerable, wide-eyed, confused, unsure girl looking for a temporary connection to make me feel alive.  While I cherish what he was for me and will never regret any of my time on the Lower Eastside eating expensive food, dodging the contact highs, and playfully arguing over completely inane political values, The Google Pothead and I will never be.

The July Experiment

A few weeks ago I wrote about my online experiment.  For July I picked match.com and what an interesting journalistic venture this turned out to be.

Shortly after plopping down my monthly fee to see what could happen on the ole match.com (normally $41.99 per month but I got a special rate because I know how to work things like whoa), I realized that this experiment just might be more than I bargained for.  And isn't that what all of life's lessons are about anyway?  So I went to see where my 30 days would lead.

I set up an account with limited truths but zero lies.  This was not intended to be any sort of acting experiment, I would be myself while keeping some of my passions and insecurities on the D.L.  I put several pictures of myself - none too sexy and not my best pics, but certainly none with frizzed out locks or muffin-tops.

(what are those jeans about??)

Let me just tell you, gentle readers, match.com is no joke.  When people go on match, they are looking for lifelong partners.  I had to do some fast-acting adjustments in my head and assure the Universe that I would not be intentionally leading any of these poor blokes on.  I lean toward a level of healthy self-deprecation, so when I "meet" guys who genuinely think they just might see something potentially long-term in me, I'm honestly surprised.  So coming into contact with several in one month was quite the experience.  Here's the breakdown (in a list form I'm so fond of):

• 30 "winks" received.  This is sort of a lazy way of letting someone know you're interested without having to put forth much effort.
• 14 emails received from guys who were looking for a wife and baby-mama.  I did not respond to these due to a combo of non-interest and not wanting to piss the Universe off.
• 9 guys who I continued correspondence back and forth.  5 of these never made an official move other than filling my inbox in the month.
• 4 guys who I gave my phone number to.  1 has tried to make a date - I may make this happen yet. 1 asked me to come to his apartment - I changed his name in my phone to "matchy creeper".  1 I went out with - see The Unconvertible Muscle.  And 1 I actually got excited about only to have him cancel the date last minute... he said he got back in touch with his ex and felt like he needed to give that a shot.  Boo.
• 1 old guy who I'm not convinced wasn't married looking for some play.

Even though I don't think match.com is the answer in this girl's real dating life, I give it two thumbs up for any guys or gals who are sincerely looking for love and an exclusive future with someone.  And to be clear, in my real dating life I probably am eventually looking for that.  But in the world of fake dates, I don't know I can fully get behind it in a one-month online subscription.

To give you a tiny sneak peek into August's excitement, know that the online expedition is continuing... but in a different forum.  Stay tuned...

And in closing, here are some real life messages I got on match.  Enjoy.

• "Seeking ONE REAL WOMAN for a SERIOUS RELATIONSHIP ONLY!" - yelling is always a way to get your point across.
• "...seeks that special connection where we're both on the same page with our desires and dreams..."
• In an introductory email I got a FULL description of everything in this guy's life, culminating in, "Now it's your turn.  Tell me EVERYTHING.  We must keep in touch."  First contact.  First.
• "I'm looking to have someone (anyone) in my life long term."