Date #3: Mr. Right and the Undertow

Date #3:  Mr. Right  I was very excited about my date with Mr. Right!  On the entire drive there, I found myself praying "Lord, please let this guy be who I think he is!"  My only worry was that he might be very old or weight 600 pounds or look nothing like the tiny photo I saw weeks ago.

We texted back and forth (always initiated by him) as we separately got ready for the date, making the lead up all the more fun.

Mr. Right was wonderful!  Very cute!  I arrived at the bar and he looked like I hoped!  He is a 39 year old computer geek with great social skills.  He is a dreamer and told me about all of the places that he wants to visit and things that he wants to do.  While telling the stories, he asked me if I'd go swimming with the sharks with him or to Georgia.  What really set Mr. Right apart is that he asked me about myself.  WTF???  Men are supposed to just talk about themselves and then their eyes are supposed to glaze over if I start to tell them about my life!

We talked for 4 hours!  As we walked out of the bar, he told me that he'd love to go out again next weekend.  I said I liked him and I am free.  We hugged and then he awkwardly kissed me.  It began snowing and we lingered in the parking lot for a few minutes as he kept coming up with new things to say to me so that he could walk back and kiss me again.  The man held my hand and told me how wonderful he thinks it is that I am a pastor.

When I pulled out of the parking lot, he stood there watching my car go with longing in his eyes.  He then texted to make sure that I got home safely.

Thank the Lord!  A great date!  I had images of New Year's Eve together, going on weekend trips, meeting his mom, getting married, and having beautiful babies!  Okay, the New Year's Eve was the only serious fantasy but the date was great enough that I found myself moving the way of Brigit Jones.

Sunday afternoon, I texted Mr. Right.  We had a short exchange and, although I left him many openings to be flirty or to talk about us dating, he was kind of a drag.  He actually talked about heartburn, being overweight, and needing to work out.  I do not know if this was him feeling self-conscious or a hint that he would like me to work out (it has happened before with other men).

Today he didn't text at all.  Since I initiated the bummer texting yesterday, this may not be a good sign.

I will give him tomorrow to text.  For now, I am preparing myself for the strong possibility that Mr. Right may be Mr. Not-Really-Into-Jenny.

We will see if this undertow is a great ride that takes me to deep places or, more likely, will just leave me hopeless and drowning.  

Date #2 Fail

Date #2: Mr. Formal  I did not want to go on the lunch date to Ruby Tuesdays with Mr. Formal.  He wrote emails weeks apart and sounded like a 1950's accountant.  I kept the lunch date because my friends would have killed me for cancelling 2 out of 3 dates in one weekend.  I also needed the practice.

Mr. Formal also had a steady job, a solid profile, and was a good church going man, which put him in the plus column.  The only negatives were his formal emailing and the fact that all but one of his pictures were of his cats.  I did not have high hopes.

I dragged myself out of the house and over to Omaha.  I dragged myself out of the car and tried a pep talk as I walked across the parking lot.  I dragged myself into Ruby Tuesdays.  When I told the greeters that I was meeting a man but didn't know if he was here yet, they looked at me knowingly and all walked me over to a table.

Mr. Formal is a special needs man who is on the low end of the autism spectrum.  He stood waving to me enthusiastically.  In a flash, I decided to enjoy the lunch.  I was very impressed by the respect that all of the young, cool waiters gave the dude and me in what was obviously an unexpected blind date for me.  Mr. Formal likes me very much.  I have to figure out how to clearly and kindly let him down.

This makes me hate dating as much as being rejected.  I am now the person who is not calling back and letting someone down. Mr. Formal is a perfectly nice man... just not a man for me.

Back in the Saddle, Date #1 Fail

Dating for me is either feast or famine.  After 2 full years of somewhat self-inflicted famine, I am dealing the the first wave of dates.

Because of Thanksgiving and Christmas, my first wave came all in one weekend.  I scheduled three dates in two days!  Now it is Monday and I truly feel like I've been hit by waves and drug along by the undertow.

The undertow will be called Mr. Right.  I've been "talking" with Mr. Right for a couple of weeks now.  We texted for hours and I loved everything about him except for his complete lack of pictures online and reluctance to meet in person.  This is how I felt like I was building a relationship with a man who may not actually exist.

Like any good undertow, Mr. Right has enough draw that thoughts of him tugged at the back of my head while planning the other two dates.  Fucking undertows.  This is how people drown, you know!

Date #1: Mr. Drama  This is one of the many men who struggle with things like grammar and spelling.  I cancelled two days before the date.  The guy was charming when we talked on the phone, but began texting drama.  How does a grown ass man attempt texting drama?  He texts and I am do not text back quickly enough.  "Did I piss you off?"  No, dude.  I was just doing dishes.  I text him for details on the date and he sends back "sure."  Four hours later, "okay."  Another four hours later "can we change the time?"  This unfortunately happened in the midst of long, charming text conversations with Mr. Right.  Goodbye, Mr. Drama. 

Serious Talking Up to Bat

I forgot about the agony of waiting for a text when you really, actually like a man.

I forgot about my nasty habit of channeling all of the loneliness related to starting a new life in a new town into waiting for a single, damned text.  It is as if all of my self worth depends on that little "bing" from my iPhone.

I did not forget about how draining it is to hope all while hating myself for hoping.

I texted back and forth with talking man #3 for hours every evening three days in a row.  He seems wonderful!  We had deep, self-revealing conversations via text message and I was really looking forward to meeting him!

I then left town for Thanksgiving.  Other than a short "Happy Thanksgiving" conversation initiated by me, I have not heard from him in 3 days.

I am back in town and have sworn not to text him first.  Now I have to wait to see if his radio silence is because of my trip and family holidays or if he has dropped the conversation.

Agony.

I'll have an answer within 24 hours.  I will then either quickly move on and forget about this dude or I will be elated to keep talking to him.  For now, though, it is agony.

My only choice now is to take tons of Benedryl and go to sleep.   In my sleep, I do not keep checking the damned phone.

Serious Talking Strike #2

Man number two had a lot of potential.  He is gainfully employed, single, cute, black, and has a very sexy French-Canadian accent. 

He got my phone number.  We texted.  He called.  We talked on the phone.

Although we never got past small talk and flirting, I quickly learned that he was used to a certain amount of drama. If I didn't text back fast enough, he would write "it seems that you are busy..."

I said that I like to take things slow and keep it light for the first few dates.  He told me that he hates it when women lie to him and string him along.  He is looking for the real thing.

The nail in the coffin?  We tentatively made a date for a Sunday evening.  He hadn't chosen the spot yet as of Tuesday night and said he would get back to me.  He texted small talk on Wednesday and then I didn't hear from him again until mid-afternoon on Sunday.

In the grown-up world, you make other plans when the man you have never met quits texting.  I told him that I made other plans, even though I could have dropped everything and met him an hour away with only two hours' notice.  I have self respect.

He got really pissy and accused me of playing games.  What????  Are we in high school again?  I don't have time or the emotional energy for games, little man.  If you are this much drama before we meet, I have no desire to experience your drama face to face!

No thank you! 

Drama Man follow-up:  He texted me a cryptic Happy Thanksgiving message that began with the phrase "We may not always get what we want..."  I did not reply.

Serious talking strike #1

The first man I could say I was "talking" with happened weeks ago.  We didn't actually get to the point of texting, but exchanged long and charming emails for about 3 days.  I then realized that everything he said was negative.  He hated everything.  Everyone.  Life sucked.  He took a lot of pride in being a pessimist. 

No thank you! 

"Talking" with men.

My generation was robbed of this wonderful label for the period of flirtation and mutual interest before you actually date someone.  Before the 25 and younger crowd created this phenomenon, you could only admit that you had a crush on someone and that you really, really hope they ask you out.

I think that this awesome new phase of relationships is proof of human evolution. 

Friend:  Hey, what is up with you and Johnny?
Me:  Well, right now we are talking...
Friend:  Oooooo, I knew it!  Tell me more!

I love it!   I can now claim to have at least the shadow of a relationship with a socially acceptable label!*  It makes me feel very cool.

Online dating and dating in general is just a cycle of talking with a man, getting my hopes up, dropping it either right before or right after the first date, and then starting the cycle all over again with a new man.

I am now talking with the fourth man since re-entering this dating cycle.  Exhausting.  I must remind myself that one day...one wonderful, magical, planet-aligning day... I will end up talking to a man who becomes a boyfriend. 

*Explaining this makes it very clear that I am old and a little bit sad. 

Things I shouldn't admit: Tummy pillow

I have been fat all my life.  I've gotten quit used to finding ways to tuck, set, hide, and otherwise manage my stomach rolls.

Last night, I realized that I will not be able to reach past my toes from a seated position until I lose the lower tummy pillow.  I can only bend over so far before my stomach hits my thighs like a stopper.

Damn you, tummy pillow.

The splits

I stretch every night while watching TV.  My goal is to be able to do a complete straddle in a year's time.

Why?  I have no fucking idea. 

I think it is related to turning 35 and remembering that the last time I thought I was really awesome was when I was 6.  At six years old, my sister was taking dance and tried to do the splits.  Her cool older friends would come over and they would stretch and try all afternoon.  I quickly learned that doing a full straddle and touching my nose to the ground made me really awesome.

I spent the entire year doing a straddle for anyone who would watch.

I was awesome.  I want to be awesome again. 

It was a triumphant moment when, after only a week of stretching, I moved my legs past 90 degrees.  I am still far from awesome. 

The excellent side effect is that I stretch better while warmed up, so I now ride my stationary bike every night.  I never rode it to burn calories or get healthy, but it seems worth the time if it will help me to do the splits.

(Yes, I know that I am batshit crazy.  If the crazy is leading to healthier living, embrace it.)

Back in the Saddle

Back in the saddle again seems like a horrible metaphor for getting back into the dating world after a 3 year hiatus.  I've seen people get back in a saddle.  There is not nearly as much nausea as I am experiencing.

Maybe a better phrase would be "back on the roller coaster" or "back in the undertow."

Today I sent my number to two different men from dating websites.  I've been talking to both for a couple of weeks now and have broken all of my safety rules about meeting someone before giving out personal information.

Why? 

I am now chickenshit.  I don't have the energy or desire to set dates and drive an hour to meet a complete stranger.  Those dates are full of adventure.  They are also really draining and disappointing.  I ain't got time for that shit.

So, after a nice little pep talk, I sent my number to a couple of people who seem like harmless starter men.*  I immediately wanted to throw up. 

Starter 1:
A divorced father of two who makes doors for a living.  His hobbies include being a redneck and not using punctuation.  He already offered to drive 1 1/2 hours to meet me in my tiny town.  I declined, but gave him my number to buy some time.

Starter 2:
A man who claims to be an engineer who makes good money, but whose writing skills reflect that of a Radio Shack employee.  He seems nice, but his only picture is in a sweater that is so ugly, I hope it is a joke.  He is black and loves his momma, so I have overlooked the unfortunate sweater.

Can I even find my sexy clothes anymore?  I guess I'll find out in the next month or so.

*A starter man is very similar to a rebound.  They seem nice and may make a good diversion, but nothing about them says that they are the men of my dreams.  Neither of today's starter men can spell or write in complete sentences.  Texting will be painful.  I hope to practice on these men (not in bed) so that when I meet someone awesome, there will be a better chance that I won't sweat through my shirt on the first date.

Things I shouldn't admit: Lawn Care

I was sore for 2 days after mowing my lawn for the first time this year.  I have a RIDING lawn mower.  I am so out of shape, it was too difficult for my muscles to sit while in motion.

Things I shouldn't admit: Work

I do so little work while in the office that spending five straight hours actually working is now exhausting to me.

Things I shouldn't admit: Blackberries

I am presently addicted to blackberries.  I will go out of my way to drive from store to store looking for them.  Somehow, I developed an emotional connection between blackberries and being happy despite unhappy circumstances.  The connection probably started while reading the book, "The Hunger Games."

Things I shouldn't admit: Dr. Who

I am an ordained minister and I found more hope and love in the television series, Dr. Who, than I have found in any church in the last year.  I understand why people who have no community create an entire belief system from the show. 

I am very aware that it is not good to develop an affinity for a man who is constantly changing, unreliable, emotionally distant, and who lies on a regular basis.  Oh, and he is a fictional character on a television show.  There is that, too.

Things I shouldn't Admit: Spring

My favorite part of spring is watching the spiders on my front porch reappear after a long, spiderless winter.  No, I am not a creepy bug-loving person.

 

Note:  While looking for this pic on Google, I got creeped out by all of the spiders.  Apparently, I only think they are cute and worthy of one-sided conversations when they live on my porch.

Things I shouldn't admit: Underwear

I accidentally discovered that most of my underwear fits better if I wear it backwards.  This is because I have no ass.  NO ass.  I also have a front-butt, which is what mean people call that pouch of fat on your lower belly below your waist.

Most of my underwear is from Aerie, which is an awesome brand.  The waist tends to fit too low on my front and the butt sags in the back (due to aforementioned lack of ass).  When I put them on backwards one day, I had perfectly fitting panties with a bit of a cheeky cut on my non-existent ass!

My panties are sexier with the tag in the front.  It is now a daily habit.

Things I shouldn't admit

I haven't had the energy to blog about the adventures of my life... like switching denominations, considering a move to BFE, wanting to run away so badly that "The Life of Pi" made me jealous, and finding a dismal amount of liberal christian men in the online dating market.  Oh, and I've spent a year being hated and plotted against by an entire community of clueless republicans.

There is not time or energy to talk about serious things, so I am beginning a new blog series called "Things I shouldn't Admit." 

To begin, I shouldn't admit that this series comes from the fact that I've started talking to myself.  A lot.  Now at least I will write down some of those deep, dark secrets witnessed only by my one-eyed dog.