Women v. Men

Jenn of Belletristic Cat fame has a link to the great David Byrne's journal. Unfortunately, even though DestructoGirl whomped my laptop and after a year of the sound being broken it works again (It's a miracle! Now I can watch H20: Just Add Water a cute Australian TV show I have on DVD thanks to His Eminence) I can't get any clips to play. So you are deprived of a link to David Byrne's recording, on Rei Momo, of Women versus Men (go here for lyrics).

And that song really is something I'm thinking about right now. I'm still winnowing the herd, so to speak, in the latest endeavor. Let's be honest. Neither PiousMan nor Nguyen really did it for me. I liked PiousMan and was attracted to him, but I knew right from the start that anyone who lived his life by such a mysogynistic and archaic playbook wasn't going to be right for me. And Nguyen was a lovely man, but not a good fit. I remember -- maybe fondly isn't the right adverb but possibly with amusement -- telling Innana "I have to get home now so Nguyen can break up with me and this will be over" and really meaning it, and wanting him to break up with me.*

Having re-entered the fray, I've been having fun, but I've actually met a few men I really like. I'm as shocked as you are. I didn't know I had it in me. Of course, really liking them makes me more vulnerable. Fortunately, there's safety in numbers, and dating Nguyen really did teach me exactly how much a man will do to win over a woman if he thinks she's hot stuff/right for him/the answer to his prayer/or possibly, someone who might actually have sex with him in this millenium. So now, with the men who have stuck around after the second date and are still trying for date three or more, I'm engaged in a bit of psychic and strategic positioning.

I don't expect someone to want to commit to me after three or four dates. I don't even know if I'm ready to commit to anyone (other than the four people I'm thoroughly committed to: TigerGrrl, DestructoGirl, Innana, and the Saintly Babysitter), and I'm pretty sure I won't know until I'm not only ready in the abstract, but ready in real life, meaning: I will know a man well enough to really put myself a bit at risk, know him well enough to really like him (and that liking being based on actual knowledge of his personality and behavior, not just my desire-driven imaginings), know him well enough to be able to rely on him and have that reliance be proven not to be delusional, and know him well enough to know that he feels similarly about me. And of course, there has to be enough desire thrown into the cauldron to make it all simmer nicely with good spices. We're a good year or two's worth of personal knowledge away from that with any of the likely candidates.

So what to do? Well, sit back and enjoy, obviously, but aside from that, make a concerted effort to observe and learn about these gentlemen and see what sort of effort they are willing to make to get close enough to me to allow the knowledge described in the preceding paragraph to develop, for good or bad.

So, anyone who gets too easily offended at rescheduled meetings due to maternal obligations is out. Especially if that person is himself a parent. Any parent who doesn't understand the whole "parents drop everything for a sick child or a child in trouble or a child who just won a prize so Mama needs to attend the assembly" really aren't people I want to know anything more about. One guy, who I had liked up until that point spent a good twenty minutes explaining his estranged relationship with his fourteen-year old daughter. Apparently, the relationship is strained and the daughter is estranged from him because she doesn't appreciate him enough or show affection. Wow, that's a loss in my life. Or, more honestly, I dodged that bullet.

Anyone who can't make a plan or make reservations? Out. I spent nearly fifteen years of my life making all arrangements for PdeFF/Insane Ex. Never again.

Anyone can't be man enough to wear his heart (or at least attraction and desire) on his sleeve and openly and honestly admit he likes me/wants me is out, out, out. Really. The whole ambivalent "I'm not really 100% available" thing? Doesn't make me pursue or want. If someone thinks jealousy or competition will enhance a relationship, maybe it will. With some other woman. I assume men are dating other women until we have the commitment talk. However, I also assume they are tactful enough not to do a compare-and-contrast review, sharing information about one date with others. Anyone who is actually in a relationship with another woman who feels the need to tell others about it, well, I've got the information I need. One guy actually told me: "But you might be able to change my mind." I said: "I'd have to want to do so, and I don't." He looked quite crestfallen. Poor baby.

Maybe I should set the guys up in competition, but I don't. I just make my plans. That's another screener. I tell anyone getting through date two and living to tell the tale that I have a rigid custody schedule and I will only be free to see them when the girls are with their father, no ifs, ands, or buts. The idea that I will never be free two weenights out of every week and every other weekend really seems to cause a lot of confusion. Because of y custody schedule, I get busy early and often (just like voting in Chicago) on my free nights. One guy with whom I had discussed getting together my last free weekend was quite put out, after not committing to a particular plan at any specific time (just "let's get together next weekend") on Thursday, when he called to narrow things down, that I wasn't free on Friday. If I had been free, I would have gotten together with him, but I wasn't free on Friday. And since it was the weekend I went to Staunton with Innana, I wasn't free Saturday either.

My favorite, right now, gets all this, without me explaining it. He asks in advance: "When's your next free night? I could take you to dinner, if you like." See how easy? My other favorite got rescheduled once due to the kids and just said, "Of course you have to take care of that. We're not in any rush." There's a third guy, but I just don't know enough about him yet.

Actually, I don't know enough about any of these men yet, and they have to pass the ever important Innana test. Really. Anybody can impress the woman he's trying to boink if he has have a brain. Impressing her best friend is a much higher hurdle.

So we have Trey (Tom Petty's beefier, less musical brother -- he's my fave), LitProf (an academic who doesn't wear corduroy jackets with patched sleeves thank heavens), and ScienceGuy (kind of like Bill Nye). Trey will probably get the full Innana inspection first, as he is most likely to attend some sort of Victorian or medieval theater with us just because I ask him to do so. Especially when one meets someone over the Internet, it's important to observe them in a variety of social settings rather quickly.

Trey's a Southern good ol' boy (no, I'm not calling him GOB) who works in construction. You'd think, given how new home starts are in the toilet, he'd be filing for bankcruptcy, but apparently his line of construction is doing quite well. Or so he says. Apparently well enough for two sailboats (wouldn't one be enough?) which makes me wonder whether he lives beyond his means, whether it's a tall tale, or, if true, whether we can take a trip on the Intercoastal waterway this spring. Yup, I can be very, very shallow, but I do love boats and water and find being on the water just about the best place ever to relax. And I need to relax. Now, some of this is the whole dress-to-impress, or proving Chris Rock's view of dating: you're not getting to know him. Your representative is meeting with his representative. Except I'm being quite forthright about my lack of sailboats or any other luxury items. And he knows I'm a single mother. While Trey's line of work isn't super-intellectual, he reads a lot and seems to have a lot on the ball, and just got back from taking his daughter (he thinks she's the greatest, which really makes me like him) skiing. Also, his attitude toward his teenaged daughter and her interactions with boys is delightful. He's not worrying about whether she'll remain a virgin until marriage or taking the poor girl to purity balls. His worry is that if she has sex before she's ready (or with someone who isn't really ready) she won't enjoy herself and it won't be special enough, and then he said this priceless line: "And as her Dad, I'll never know and be able to reassure her. She's moving into the part of her life where I'm the memory to draw on, but she's moving into her own life, leaving me behind." I may not have a meaningful relationship with this man, but I'm sure that if I don't, someone will, and it will be good.

LitProf's kids are grown, and he isn't as close to them, largely because his divorce is a bit more recent than mine and instigated by him (no hiding there, but something to think about -- he didn't share a lot of detail) so they're mad at him. "And I understand that. I've just got to wait and be available." A grown up, he doesn't blame them for being mad at him or the breakup of his marriage with their mother. Maturity as an aphrodisiac. There you go. He's an oenophile, so that's good, and he, should he get so lucky as to meet Innana, will be able to talk Victorian literature until the cows come home. We had a nice Beowulf worship society and he was quite jealous that Innana took me to see the Beowulf performance at the Library of Congress last winter. I like him, but don't feel as comfy with him as with Trey. But that could change.

ScienceGuy is a bit of a mad scientist, and some of that quirkiness could just be weirdness. We'll see. But another parent with good relationships with his kids, his two boys are heading out the door and he's feeling a bit of a void. That's not my purpose in life (I wasn't put here to fill other people's voids), but that's as good a reason for impetus to try to connect with others as any other.

So we'll see how all this works out. At any point, any of the three could start to fade out (meet someone else, get busy at work, just lose interest and not be bothered) but I'm feeling more than bemused tolerance. There's something truly likeable in each of these men. All things being equal, Trey will be the last man standing simply because he's more willing to stick his neck out and take a dive.

Again, I lived in Spain during my sixteenth and seventeenth year and I think that timing forever shaped my expectations of male behavior during courtship. I can't stand the modern disinterested/diffident/someone-else-had-better-make-the-effort-because-it-won't-be-me dating approach of many modern American men. I prefer the I'm-man-enough-to-admit-that-I-really-really-like-you (or really really want you, or whatever)-and-am-not-ashamed-oe-afraid-to-show-it-or-risk-rejection approach. That approach is sexy. Even if Trey doesn't work out at all for me, I have every confidence he'll make some woman very, very happy, and he'll do that because, and get this, men who are having trouble with the all important second, third, and more dates, because he'll let her know that he wants to see her and more. What a concept. But anything can happen and a month from now there could be no-one calling. Or all three could still be jostling for position and I'll be even more tired than I am now (not surprisingly, the girls are with their Dad, and I'm home alone and going to sleep soundly very very soon).

Despite the title I gave this post, I really don't think at this stage is Women versus Men. That was earlier. Now it's just a bunch of people trying to get to know one another and make rational decisions which is always hard when desire is hovering in the background. Desire just doesn't mesh with the whole rationale decision plan. So who knows.

*Why didn't I break up with him? He was clingy, and my gut feel was that if I dumped him, he would be heartbroken or ego-broken and asking me why, asking what he could do differently, asking why I didn't want him. I just started focusing things more on how he was wondering, if he, at age 41 or so, wanted kids, and kept telling him that my child-bearing years were over, over, over, and that if he wanted kids, he didn't have that much time left in his clock either.**

**Yes, men can still have babies later, but sperm deteriorates in quality with age (really) and amazingly enough, fertile 28 year olds aren't lining up to get married to 48-year olds who will leave them young widows and in the meantime introduce them to erectile dysfunction ahead of time, unless the widowhood is guaranteed to be wealthy. Not too many 48 year olds can really offer a wealthy widowhood to the sweet young thing they want to get it on with (if they can get it up). Okay, tongue in cheek, but not completely.

Concentration and Managing

I'm at that point in my life where I realize that I'm in a rut, and I'm stuck there for a limited but not exactly short term (two or three years) period of time. I simply can't write about fascinating crises in my life. My crises right now are very mundane.

Today I left my lunch on the Metro, so I had to skip lunch, because I'm not blowing my budget. I left my cell phone charger and an umbrella somewhere. I'm forgetting to write, falling asleep before even logging on to the Internet, much less posting about anything anyone would consider interesting.

I've resigned myself to the fact that until DestructoGirl is in school close to full time, my budget woes will not go anywhere, nor will my lack of energy. I can hold it all together while everything goes well, but the merest glitch -- a barely missed traffic ticket, a lost lunch or umbrella -- and I'm totally off-center. And I'm too tired to write. That's not good.

I Do Hate Hormones

Yesterday, I blubbered my way out of a speeding ticket. I'd like to say it was deliberate, but it wasn't. I was late to see SNV, got stuck in traffic, and once I was through the bottleneck, my lead foot made an appearance, only to see those high stress flashing lights in the rear view mirror.

The policeman was a very nice man, and he didn't get testy with me when I couldn't find my registration. It was there, but I'd spilled coffee in my purse and the registration was sticking to the inside of the wallet. I sat there thinking "I can't afford the ticket or the increased insurance rates" and then realized that without my registration, he could arrest me. I started to cry.

The most infuriating thing was that I couldn't stop myself and this wasn't a ploy on my part to manipulate the cop into giving me a warning.

I finally found the registration (smelling very much like a latte) and handed it to Officer Tactful. He went back to the cruiser and I got out my bag of makeup and tried to make myself look a bit dignified. To calm myself down, I got out my wallet pictures of TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl and looked at them (that always cheers me up).

Officer Tactful came back and told me he needed me to slow down. He said he knew I had lots of better things to spend my money on than traffic tickets "like those two cuties there" pointing at the pictures in my wallet. He then patted my hand and told me he hoped things got better.

I'm feeling humiliated and completely lacking in self-respect. But honestly, I'm glad I didn't get the ticket (I really can't afford it). Back to Metro for me. I hate driving. But aren't my girls great? They provide a halo of protection even against the highway patrol

Of course, it might have been that the policeman was a guy and lives in mortal fear of sobbing women. I was definitely a sobbing woman. Eish.

How Does She Do It? She Takes Speed.

Does anyone else remember a great SNL* fake ad from the 70s, I believe, where Jane Curtin is one of those women who has it all who works, volunteers, has her kids in honors programs, etc. etc. etc. and then toward the end the voiceover says: "How does she do it?" and you see Jane going on about how she folds little baggies to keep them organized, and then details how she cleans her car, her speech increasingly rapid, and then the voiceover says: "she takes speed."

That's how I feel. Last night, PdeFF did not show up to pick up his children until near 8:20 p.m., despite the pickup time being between 5 and 6. They were nervous and I kept reassuring them that Papa was just running late. He had called the Saintly Babysitter to say he was running late with a spot of car trouble, but didn't call me and explain the length of the delay, nor did he return TigerGrrl's anxious phone call. We had no idea when he would arrive. A friend picked him up and then this took two hours (I suspect something else was occuring). Of course, I had to call the man who had made dinner reservations and tell him that I would not be there at 7:30 p.m. as agreed (I know how to use a cell phone).

Fortunately, the restaurateur saved us a table at 8:45 and we got a night dinner in. He's a friend, possibly patient, of this particular man, who is a psychiatrist, which, of course, makes me more than a bit nervous. I may never hear from him again as he got a bit of PdeFF/Insane Ex's psychiatric history. But it was nice to have an understanding ear to talk to, and he didn't seem appalled or nonplussed. He said: "You like Chateauneuf du Pape and Brunello del Montalcino? Since this is Italian, I think you need a nice Brunello." So I dined on gnochhi and Brunello del Montalcino and relaxed. If I see this man again, which only time will tell, we'll call him PsychMan, for now, until some other distinguishing characteristic appears.

I also have to reschedule a lunch on Monday due to PdeFF because Monday's a holiday, and I would normally get the girls back on Monday evening, but PdeFF wants to work and he's dropping the girls off at noon. So that gets rescheduled (I call after this post). My first second date hasn't happened yet because of a storm Thursday night. Apparently I'm not worth heading out in mild sleet for, but given the way people around here drive, that's probably good. We're meeting next week. So, lots of rescheduling. Fortunately, I don't have to reschedule seeing Innana or SNV this weekend, which is very nice. But it occurs to me that I may have overprogrammed a bit in an attempt to stave off a midwinter depression which I feel hovering in the background.

The feeling that things are pending and about to sink is one with which I am very familiar and I don't like it at all. My routine when this happens is to make myself so busy, I don't really have time to think. That's kind of what's going on here. And Macbeth will be very cheering, I'm sure.

But last night's date, regardless of whether there's another date was a reminder why it's good to go on a second date with someone who doesn't wow you the first time. I liked PsychMan, but didn't feel a ready draw. Second date really showed off his advantages, especially since he had the opportunity to be petulant and offended (I was an hour and forty-five minutes late -- I wouldn't have been pleased if someone did that to me, no matter what his excuse) and responded to me being quite stressed out in a very charming and soothing way. And then we had a lovely evening. I might have revealed a bit too much about my life (Insane Ex is not an asset, you know?), but he'd find out sooner or later. We'll see.

*Saturday Night Live, for those who live on Mars.

Unsolicited Dating Advice

Which is worth what you pay for it, of course. But once again, out in the OGL+ or, more discreetly, seeking-a-relationship trenches, I have some advice for the males of the species. Yes, I have been in go-on-first-dates-and-see-what-happens mode. Not much has happened, but I have been on slightly more than half a dozen first dates in the last month. Exhausting.

However, given that most of them arose from online, it was nice to discover that six of the eight first dates wanted a second date with me. Which definitely belies the whole "once you're over forty (or thirty-five, or pick the age) you're not a dateable woman" myth. Of course, two out of eight had no interest in me, and did not seek further contact. Of the remaining six, all said they wanted to see me again and have taken steps to make that statement seem actually true. One disqualified himself through insanity (admitting to liking Mike Huckabee on the second date), and two, well, just no, but the other three I'm putting through their paces. One date tomorrow, one on Friday, and one possibly on Sunday or later next week.

But back to the guys who didn't make the cut. I'm not going to identify them in any way. Both seemed like nice enough guys, but there were several things that gave me pause and would probably give any woman pause. Both might think about these things (although I don't think either is prone to self-reflection, honestly) to improve his their batting average.

Here goes:

Don't refer to women as categories to women's faces. Really. You probably shouldn't refer to us as categories at all (I have yet to meet a woman of Asian descent who considers our society's thing for the stereotypical deferential Asian woman as anything other than a sign of ignorance to be stomped on non-deferentially), but to our faces? Cougar* and MILF** really aren't phrases you should use to a woman's face, even if you think she should be flattered. Trust me. She's not. Really. You may have a thing for older women, for tall women, for buxom women, for women with pretty feet, but no woman wants you to want her because of some arbitrary feature. You can want her for that. Just don't tell her. Get to know her and obsess all you want about the bosom, the feet, the height, but get to know her. If you do, you'll either like her or not, and if you like her and she likes you, the bosom, the feet, and the height will all come your way in glorious abandon.

Don't complain about how the world is run by women. It isn't, or we'd have affordable child care, birth control would have been covered by health plans before Viagra, and Australia wouldn't be taxing tampons as a luxury good where condoms aren't so taxed. (Did that end? Or is Tanya Tampon still showing up dressed in red harassing politicians? Now, that's good political theatre and performance art.) Really, if I wanted a victim of his own personality, I would have stayed with the Insane Ex, who was the mayor of that town (still is, as far as I can tell).

Do make an effort to show that you have interests in something other than sports. Yes, I know it's big football time right now, but if that's all you can talk about, well, let me tell you about my knitting projects.***

Look at her face, not her breasts, when she's talking. Try. Please.

If she moves away when you try to touch her, don't try again. Actually, let her touch you first. Yes, you have to wait.

The first kiss shouldn't be a shove the tongue down her thrown event. Just a taste. And if she was avoiding your touch during the evening, really, don't try for the kiss.

Oh, and for the love of armadillos and American manhood, floss your damn teeth.

'Nuff said.


*A cougar is, apparently, an older woman (a woman of a certain age?) who pursues young men. While young men have gone out with me, I have not pursued anyone based on age. If anything, a man under, say, forty, has to work harder to show me that he has substance. And being referred to (or being told about such women) by a man who is probably a bit older than me is just irksome. I knew what the phrase meant, I just wondered why he had to categorize and what it did for him. Oh, I know: it meant he could rely on a pre-fixed idea in his head and not actually make the effort to learn about the woman in front of him.

**MILF = Mother I would Like to Fuck. Charming. Apparently based on the idea that in general, mothers are unfuckable (despite their motherhood, barring in vitro fertilization, being proof that they most definitely are) so a mother should be so flattered that she is considered fuckable by the guy in question. Trust me. Most women know that, whatever we look like, we are, at some level, considered fuckable by most every man on the planet and some very poorly trained dogs who's owners haven't trained not to try an hump our legs. That's not flattering. That's biology.

***I didn't talk about my knitting projects, but I could have.

Yes, I Know, I Have the Emotional Depth of a Kumquat

Who knew middle age really most strong resembled middle school, without the totally mean kids making fun of you all the time? Oh, without the mean kids making fun of you all the time, it's not middle school, is it? It's adulthood. Which I am trying and failing to deal with in a mature and gracious manner.

Okay, enough first dates. I have a bunch of second dates coming up. Now, that's the true test. Things that one overlooks when one is getting to know someone initially can all pop up and just ruin the mood. One date is with a man whose company I enjoyed, but who didn't knock my socks off. However, I liked him, and he can carry a conversation, and I'll go out with any guy who is five inches shorter than I am and yet still has the guts to ask me out. Go him.

The other date was with the first date previously swooned over by me. Much more of a chance for let down here, as I was quite attracted to this man and he seemed similarly drawn to me. (Actually, no seemed about it -- unless it was beer goggles. Or Shiraz goggles.)

However, the event I am most looking forward to this weekend is Shakespeare (Macbeth) with Innana. Innana rescued me last weekend by descending and playing Lady Bountiful with pizza for the Foilkids. The Foilkids responded delightfully, TigerGrrl announcing Innana to the entire complex, in stentorian tones, as "My Mama's best friend." And then when we went to collect DestructoGirl from a friends house, DestructoGirl responded to the sight of Innana by squealing with delight and hurtling her sturdy body Innana-ward with a great deal of velocity and force.

Now Innana rescues me again, with a mini-break to a Shakespeare theater in the Commonwealth of Virginia and a night at a B&B. Really, it's a pity she and I aren't gay. We'd make a great couple. The problem is, we like the boys. But I made Date 1 and Date 2 wait until after I lined up my evening with Innana, because really, guys come and go, but Innana is MVBFITWWW. Or, as I used to say of a former FoilCat: "Hey, guys come and go, but these are Kitty's golden years."

So even if I worry that my emotions just aren't very strongly engaged with any guy I date post-divorce*, I know that I can truly care for people and that my friendships are, once formed, long-lasting and profound. If I ever found a guy who I was attracted to who I liked even half as much** as I love Innana, trust me, I'd tie him to the bed. But I know I love Innana after knowing her for 23 years. Dating just doesn't give you that ability to know someone. It has the emotional depth of a kumquat.

Anyway, no big expectations here, except for a fun mini-break (much needed) with Innana. Off to bed.

*Given my experiences with the Insane Ex, this shouldn't be a surprise to anyone and is actually probably a healthy sign that I am keeping perspective.
**Cookie, don't get nervous, but I like you buckets. (Hee! Made you nervous, didn't I?)

Dating Foibles Part Deux

Okay, another first date last night that was very, very enjoyable. Not jump him and boink him into cross-eyedness enjoyable, but beaucoup de fun. On a one to ten likelihood rating (with one being never will see again and ten being not out of bed yet), I think the likelihood of a second date is a solid six.

The very fact that after a nice evening out, I still can think about things in this amused and slightly disinterested way sort of tells me everything I need to know, however. About me, not about him. I'm not ready. Even if I am frustrated beyond belief. Aiiieeee.

But another guy on the planet who thinks this 46-year old plumpkin is sexy. Go me. I'm enough of a narcissist to take real pleasure in that. And he's charming and attentive and muscley enough so that I don't feel like the guy. We talked about a lot of things, didn't get too familiar, but got familiar enough to sense some compatibility physically (don't knock it: that's very important) and ended the evening on a very high note. No more for now, as really, how much detail do you want (or do I want to share).

Sex Ed (Actually, Icky Maternal Responsibilities, and You've Been Warned)

TigerGrrl, at age 8, has some older friends (10, 11) who are turning into adolescents. Visible breasts. Other scary signs ("what's with all the weird hair, Mama?") and deeply disturbing trends. Fortunately, our very own Benedict XVI (Madder and Badder than the Fifteenth) came to the rescue and sent us a copy of Kaz Cooke's Girl Stuff.

TigerGrrl is beginning to be curious about stuff and loves this book (as a little scientist, naturally) and has me read bits aloud to her. She's asked for the details on how babies get made. I gave her the same explanation my mother gave me, with the exact same preface: "You'll think the man and the woman must be asleep when they do what I'm about to describe, but if they're doing it right, they aren't." Then a quick clinical description without to much detail. Big wrinkled nose and yuck-face. Then she asked if having a baby hurt. "Not if you have an epidural, honey, although your Aunt had her two boys without any medicine at all and said it was fine. We think she's a bit odd though."

We've agreed that TigerGrrl can read Girl Stuff any time, and she can ask me anything. For more detail, she can look at my Our Bodies, Ourselves, but knows I think that's a little too much for her as yet.

We gone through all the proper names for the body parts, including my pet peeve: the vagina is the birth passage, not the vulva, as everyone nowadays seems to refer to it. TigerGrrl also is pleased that for women, the pleasure organ, the clitoris has no function other than to feel pleasure, which is a nice feature. She'd die right now if she knew I were writing this. Good thing this blog's anonymous.

Parenting a pre-teen: not for the faint of heart, but not half as bad as when she's a teenager, I'm sure. But I feel we've established that I'll provide accurate information and she can ask me anything. I'm embarrassed as heck, but feel like I've accomplished something. Go me. Where's my wine, now? I need it.

Dating Foibles

Yup, I've been out there testing the waters. Sick puppy that I am, most of it has been in the offchance that something truly bizarre would happen and I would have something to write about. Yes, I know. I am indeed scum.

So a few weeks ago, after the best first date ever, I had an even better first date. No, you dummy, the best first date ever until that point in time did not lead to a second date. It was just tons of fun. The now-best-first-date ever did lead to a second date, which was a so-so date. This is the problem with dating when you're past age 25.

When you're 20, some guy with cute eyes likes the same music as you do? He's your dream. Now, I have a date with a truly physically fine man who seems charming and pleasant, and I just sit back and observe. And yes, he eventually confesses his love for Mike Huckabee. That is just so wrong. And then tells me he thinks he's a contrarian. What does that mean? Not a whole heck of a lot, except in his mind.

We had a good time, but I'm not betting on a third date. I'm certainly not going to do anything to make it happen.

Wait a sec while I plan how to maim and humiliate Cookie and His Eminence, Benedict XVI (madder and badder than the XVth) for their plots to drive me absolutely batshit insane (see comments to the prior post -- mothers of the universe -- any harm I do them will result in an acquittal right? No reasonable jury would convict me.). Thanks. I feel refreshed and revivified.

Okay, back to the topic at hand: how very enjoyable first dates (which are actually a not rare occurrence over at the FoilFlat -- well, not at the FoilFlat, they never get here, that's for darn sure, but in my orbit, anyway) seem to fade. The Even Better First Date was with a Sweet Young Thing (SWT) of 38. Upon meeting in the flesh (yeah, it was via the Internet. Sue me.), I thought: "Does he have a problem processing and understanding dates and ages?" I'd said I was 46, and most men will tell you they date younger. Not in my experience, but that's what everyone says. Anyway, Handsome almost still had peachfuzz, and my first thought was: If I wanted a puppy, I'd go to the pound.

So I relaxed completely. Clearly, this was going to be a one-off, no one was going to call anyone, and I could just enjoy. So I said: "I thought you said you were forty." "Soon enough." "How soon?" "2009" "You know, two years generally isn't described as short-term." "It's 2009, it's one year." "Right." Direct quotes.

Well, of course we had a great time. I kept thinking: what is this super-fit (ex-Ranger, Army reserves, serious runner and weightlifter and skiier), professional, intelligent, and really handsome guy doing? I assumed the evening would either fizzle out, or end in him making a rather crude pass -- you know the sort of thing -- where he subtly mentions that he likes older women, that we have certain needs, blah, blah, blah, turn me off faster than a Tom Cruise movie. But no. Walks me to the Metro, and asks if he can see ole pudgmuffin me again.

I said *squeak/drool*, yeah. So I told him I would call him, and he called me to remind me to call him to ask him out. Hee. So I hung up, called him back, and asked him out to go figure skating. Yeah. And I'm a much better skater than he is (well, I'm a much better skater than many). We had a good time, but the whole time I was observing thinking how much everything wouldn't fit, wouldn't work, and then the Mike Huckabee line (he was pleased Huckabee won in Iowa).

Now, I didn't reject, but there was probably a clear lack of enthusiasm at a certain point. I still allowed myself a very satisfactory goodnight kiss on the way to my chariot (that would be Metro). However, I'm not expecting Handsome to call.

I wish I could be delerious with excitement and crush, but I'm not. And I like to be excited about things. Blah.

Of course, this is better than the date (quite a while ago, not a recent memory) with a guy who mid-date (and not from online) confessed he liked dominant women (apparently, I'm one -- Cookie, tell everyone what a meek, mild, tender flower I am). Since this was back in the bad days before the divorce was final and the Insane Ex's insanity was clearly catching, I thought, hey, why don't I play with this? So I started giving the guy (not Mr. Submissive, another guy who likes bossy women who for whatever reason liked me -- apparently these men are drawn to me) orders in what I thought was a playful way. You know, nothing like "bring me a riding crop so I can beat you", just mild stuff: "Move your chair closer" "Now get my coat" "Now walk me to my car" "You can kiss me on the cheek". Really, nothing that special, but I have to admit, it was fun. And, smart man that he was, he did everything that I told him to do. And he was really excited -- he was shaking when I ordered him to shut the car door and wave goodbye.

Apparently, this was just too much. He wrote me an email apologizing that he wouldn't be contacting me anymore because he found the experience unnerving. Actually, being deeply disturbed, I kind of took pleasure in that.

But then I think: here I am, keeping this mocking distance between me and the world, and couldn't resist the urge to play with a man's vulnerabilities (okay, he served them to me on a silver platter, but still, I should be better than that) for my own amusement. And I should be able to connect a little better. I enjoy actually getting to know people. I'm more of an introvert than an extrovert (I get my energy from solitude), but I do generally find others at least amusing.

Part of the problem is that PiousMan was a while ago, and I never gave the green light to Nguyen, and I actually do want a man in my life. Just not very much in my life. Like every other Wednesday for dinner and every other Friday or Saturday for whoopie and then don't pester me. I'm afraid OGL*, Part Trois may have to come into play. I'd rather actually meet someone I like in the old-fashioned way (or even the new-fangled internet way), get to know him, like him, trust him, and over time,evolve into a sexual relationship that complements the friendship in an atmosphere of mutual respect and caring, but who the hell am I kidding! No one has time for that. And most people, by the second date, that mutual respect is fast fading away. Too true.

Oh, for the innocence and ignorance of youth. I spent a whole year pining after a guy in my health club when I was 24. I didn't know a thing about him other than what he looked like. That sort of blind enthusiasm is useless and shallow and not worth a drill sergeant's good goddamn, but apparently it's gone from my life now, and I miss it, just a little bit. To be actually enthusiastic about someone (and for no apparent reason, too!). Oh well.

I'm kind of feeling bad for the unnerved guy, now that I think about it. Who knew helping me into a raincoat and car was so traumatic. Hee.
*That would be Operation Get Laid.

Kids, Holidays, Chaos

No, I'm not stopping writing in this blog. However, Christmas vacation is a very hectic time.

TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl both enjoyed Christmas and New Years. TigerGrrl got the skateboard she's been longing for, and it's been a nice surfing training device for me (well, maybe it's a stupid idea, but both involve a sideways crouching type posture). TigerGrrl had a New Year's sleepover (which involved a Wii, to her great delight), and DestructoGirl and I joined the every-amazing Innana for First Night in Alexandria.

We only made it to one event, Whale Etouffee (Cajun/blues band, I think?) that DestructoGirl just loved. She got up and danced with such enthusiam that the lead singer gave her maracas to play, and led a round of applause for her abstract dance stylings. DestructoGirl just loves that blues beat. I probably should have reined DestructoGirl in a bit more, but no one actually got brained with the maracas, and she was having such a good time, even if she did fall over a few times. Just watching the wiggling and bouncing and artistic stylings ("Interpretive dance," snarked Innana.) made me positively helpless with laughter. Especially the whole skipping to the music to a blues beat part of the whole performance. You haven't lived til you've seen my three-year old do blues.

After the performance, one man asked how I kept up with her. I was honest. I said: "I don't." (Heck, she runs me like a railroad.)