Dear John

Dear Current Dates & Future Mates,

There are some things you should know about being with me.  I'm going to be up-front about them so as to avoid confusion down the road.  As you may have heard, ignorance of the law is no excuse so get with the program.

1) If in my head I have planned for us to hang out on a specific night, you must see me that night.  You should cancel all other plans to be with me.  Actually, you shouldn't even mention having had other plans to begin with.  Ideally your schedule should always be open on the off-chance I want to see you on a whim.  You should just be thrilled and get on board.

1a) It helps if you are a mind reader.  If not, I'd start brushing up.  Seriously.

1b) Your plans should never be with a woman friend.  There is no such thing because, as Harry will tell you, men and women can't be friends.  If you are hanging out with a woman, I will be convinced that you've either already slept with her, are going to sleep with her, or want to sleep with her.  On the off-chance none of these is true, then obviously our only other option is that she wants to sleep with you.  I don't trust her, but I probably trust you even less.  Nix her from your social schedule.

1b1) I, on the other hand, AM allowed to have male friends.  I know who I am and am not interested in and can be fiercely loyal.  Only I can be counted upon to have no transgressions.

2) You should answer all of my calls on the first ring.  NEVER send me to voicemail.  I take this very poorly.  What's even worse is if you send me to voicemail and then don't call me back right away.  There is nothing you could possibly be doing, no one you could possibly be with, that is more important or wonderful than I am.  It's just a simple fact.

3) You should always send me a day-after text.  I really appreciate this and it scores you major points.  It doesn't need to be a conversation the next morning; it can be a 3PM "hey, I had a good time last night, talk soon" kind of thing that just lets me know you're interested and thinking of me.

This is a good start, and I will continue to update you as the need arises.  (Mainly, I'm talking to you, #1.)

Love,
G&B

Maybe This Time

You have probably realized by now that I have many idiosyncrasies.

I call them "idiosyncrasies" and not by their real names-- neuroses and obsessions-- because the latter are genetic and I don't need to start worrying about whether or not I should be medicated at 10:43PM on a random Tuesday.  Also, idiosyncrasies are quirky!  They can be cute or charming.  Maybe I'll meet a guy who thinks that all of my insanity is just who I am.  When people ask him "doesn't that drive you crazy?" he'll respond that he gets a kick out of it all and say "it's just her thing."  (Though I'm torn about if I want all of my craziness to be "my thing."  One time in college, I forgot to take off my pajamas before getting dressed for a morning class and only realized once I was seated in the lecture hall and sweating my butt off that I had on two layers of clothing.  This became known as "pulling a me".  I have enough negativity and stupidity associated with myself already...but I digress.)

(This could be me one day if I wasn't allergic to cats)

Maybe he'll be OK with the fact that he's not allowed to breathe on me.  Ever.  Actually I don't even want him to breathe very near me either.  I'll stick with my air, you stick with yours.  Personal space buddy, back it up.  It'll be funny to him, how sensitive I am.  Even though my own mother, my flesh and blood who passed life into my very veins, hates that when she hugs me and exhales on me, I uncontrollably shrug and squirm away.

Maybe he'll get a kick out of the fact that every time I finish up a phone call, I have to scroll through my call history and see how long the call was.  I don't know why; I can't help it.  I'm curious.  I just need to know.  It doesn't change my life at all and it means nothing about anything.  But I just. Want. To know.  He'll find it hilarious and make jokes about timing people and breaking records.  It'll be great.

Maybe he'll be amused by my downright icy demeanor in forced social situations.  I don't want to be unfriendly, I just naturally am.  Now I’m not talking about when I’m out to dinner with my high school friends and their college friends that I don’t know very well.  I’m referencing occasions like when I was on jury duty.  People kept trying to make wise cracks (those wipper-snappers) and have inside jokes and all I wanted to do was read my damn book, do my damn Sudoku, play my damn game on my damn Blackberry, and pass the time.  We didn’t need to be friends.  We weren’t going to keep in touch after it was all over.  It’s not like we were going out for drinks afterwards and hooking up later.  Keep it in your pants people, this is jury duty not happy hour.  He’ll just think I’m quiet and shy and sweet.  He’ll never know that I’m cursing people out under my breath. 

Maybe he’ll adore traveling with me so much that he’ll overlook my near-paralyzing fear of flying.  He’ll get to feel manly and protective and keep me calm (get me a glass of wine to chase my Xanax).  He’ll have no idea that right before I slip into my airplane coma (I’ve been known to unfold the tray on the seat in front of me and pass out face-down for up to five hours without moving), I’m trying to figure out the best way to position his body for use as a flotation device should we go down.  He'll be too busy trying to hold my hand and help me relax.

Maybe he won't mind jumping off of an elevator at the next floor -- no matter what floor that may be-- when the one we're on gets too crowded and I start to panic.  He'll think taking the stairs from there will be good exercise!

Maybe he'll be cold-blooded and also like to have so many covers on his bed that he can barely move his arms and legs, let alone roll over, and then need to have a fan on all night because it's really hot under all of those covers.  He'll just like sleeping beside me.

Maybe it won't bother him when I decide to organize all of my bills, take them out, spread them all over the place, and then get distracted by something else and leave the papers all over for weeks.  He'll think I'm creative, not lazy or suffering from mild ADD.

Or maybe he won't find me amusing in the least and I will continue to be single until I change some of these behaviors.  Either or.  

Love The One You're With?

Well, this should come as no surprise: Jdate has totally Jewed me over.

The motherfucker automatically renews your account every month unless you go to the Upgrade My Account tab and then to the Autorenewal settings.  I did not know this.  I thought that unless you purchased a plan that specifies in the initial purchasing process that it is automatically renewing for three/six/etc. months, your one month subscription was simply that-- ONE MONTH.  Why I'm surprised that a Jewish-run website is financially scamming it's trusting subscribers is probably the bigger mystery here though (Hello, Madoff.  Hello, Guyweindictedonthegrandjuryfor31countsoffraudandforgeryberg.)...especially considering how their members have already done a number on me.

(I went to look for a picture to put here and wound up spending the next hour and 20 minutes watching Seinfeld bloopers on Youtube.  

Not relevant, but a good way to kill an evening.)

Jdate has worn me out.  The thought of facing another month of semi-blind dates (legally blind dates?) is exhausting.  I've been out with different men at least three out of the five weeknights of the past four weeks.  This requires strategic outfit-planning and astronomical dry-cleaning bills, removing body hair with the precision of a military Special Ops sniper, charlie horses from wearing 4in heels for hours at a time, being so tired that the last time I visited the gym I'm pretty sure I spotted a Missing Persons sign with my face on it at the front door, eating greasy breakfasts every morning to cure my constant hangovers (the other week I was hungover so many days in a row, I thought I was coming down with something), carrying around an arsenal of touch-up makeup, chugging coffee every afternoon so I have enough energy to make conversation all night...the list goes on.  I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm totally beat.  I'm tired of dating perfectly good-looking, nice, responsible, gentleman who I feel next to no attraction towards after putting forth all of this initial effort on my end.  I mean at this point, not only is it not fair to either of us, it's not even fun anymore.

Tonight I was out with a great guy -- a tall, attractive, half-Jew (like me!), oral surgeon (not like me!)-- who I coooould like if #1 were out of the picture, but who I can't stop dating in case #1 should leave.  He remarked that I'd fit in well on the West Coast (his home before NYC) because I'm so laid back.  I didn't even try and lie like I normally do early on in a relationship by agreeing and saying "yeah, I just like to live life man, what's the rush??" (in a Cheech Marin voice, of course) and just went "no, I'm not."  He laughed and said of course I was, as if I was playing coy.  "No, I'm really not," I said again.  I mean why bullshit this guy more than I already am?  "I'm a planner.  I really like to know what's going on and within that structure I can be free.  But not even really then, no.  I like to go-go-go.  I'm an East Coast Girl.  I hit the ground running on weekends; I hate wasting time and lying around."  He looked surprised but not totally taken aback.

This always happens when I decide to cut the crap with a guy I'm lukewarm about.  In my attempts to shed some light on what a terrible person I actually am, I go out of the way to point out my character flaws, loosely reference how broke I am from my crap-paying job, and casually (and not at all subtly) hint at sleeping around.  Instead of being turned off by this, my Lukewarm Men, or LMs, normally think I'm just hysterical and adorable and wrestle with themselves over whether to take me to an open mic night or wrap me up in a blanket and put me in their pocket.  Unfortunately, they never take me seriously.

I only reach this point when I've hit rock bottom with someone and decide I've literally got nothing to lose (besides a few bucks if they're a cheap SOB and make me split the check).  I don't know what IIII haven't learned here though, as this method of self-revelation has almost never worked in my favor.  Nay, it has pretty much consistently led to some of my longer-running torturous courtships where some awesome guy is ga-ga for me and I'm ga-ga-gagging every time he asks me out and I'm still sober when we make out at the end of the night.  

Riddle me this:  Aside from a newly-developed allergy to baby oil, what is WRONG with me?

It's Raining Men

My mom always says that when it comes to men, it's feast or famine.

She's absolutely right.  Unfortunately the term "feast", at least to me, connotes the image of a king sitting down to gorge on an endless array of delicious fare prepared especially to his liking.  What I've been up to lately is more in line with a homeless man picking through a dumpster and munching on half-eaten sandwiches.  This is not to say I haven't been on a nice date or two-- even homeless people come across a still-wrapped burger or fresh roll every now and then-- but simply that, as always, dating has left something to be desired.

(While it's not delicious, it is a good metaphor for my dating life)

A few weeks ago, I went out with a man for drinks.  His pictures on Facebook looked adorable, his text messages were fun and witty, I couldn't wait for him to call.  And then when he called, I couldn't wait to get off the phone.  I've never heard a man sound like Fran Drescher before, but I also know I never want to hear it again.  My god that voice! that accent! What the hell was going on?  Then, to add insult to injury, he scoffed at my suggested meeting time of the wild hour of 8:30PM, saying (obviously annoyed) "well I dooo have to work on Friday.  I mean I can't be out all night drinking."  Buddy, you WISH I'd be out all night with you.  And I didn't realize that I didn't have a job that required me to show up on Friday mornings.  Poor you, that must be terrible.  Anyway, I couldn't back out as we'd already made plans, so I was just left to dread the next 48 hours leading up to the date.

We met at a trendy downtown hotel bar and I, as per usual, was running about 15 minutes late.  (I swear I'm just naturally 15 minutes behind the rest of the world.  If I ever AM actually set to arrive somewhere on time, I always feel like I'm early and wind up walking around the block and making phone calls.  Time management is clearly something I need to work on.)  He was immediately displeased by this even though I looked very nice and was appropriately apologetic.  As we sat down at the bar he suggested we order some shots to start the night off.  "But I thought you had work tomorrow," I asked him with thinly-veiled sarcasm-come-annoyance.  He shrugged and said it was Thursday so anything went.  Aaaaaalright, things were looking up!  We talked and had a drink and a shot and he seemed nice.  I didn't think there was any great love connection but I'd already decided that I'd go out with him again and give him a chance.  (Did I mention how cute he was?)  As we finished our first round, he threw out that his friends were going to a bar in the West Village if I was interested.  I politely told him that meeting friends on a first date isn't really my thing (remember Buffalo Bill?) and if he didn't mind, I'd rather keep it just us.  He told me it was no problem at all, I was right, and ordered us a second round.  About 30 minutes later, as we finished up, he excused himself to the restroom only to return with his cellphone in hand and announce that his friends were going to Buddha Bar and he was leaving to join them.  ...Wow...Nice.  It was kind of abrupt and definitely insulting and we left.

Imagine my surprise when in another half hour, my phone chimed with a text message from Fran.  He had such a good time with me, wish I came with, and couldn't wait to see me again!  I responded that I highly doubted those three things as he up and left from our date to go hang out with his friends.  He said no way and he really liked me.  Again, I told him that I know what it's like when someone really likes me and his behavior wasn't it.  He became upset and offended and told me I wasn't old enough to understand (he's 32...and surprisingly still single!) and he was too mature to play games.  What?? I thought I was being honest and up-front.  When he texted to say hello a few days later, obviously rethinking his words and actions, I quickly blew him off.

Two weeks later to the day, I had another date at the exact same place at the exact same time.  This guy seemed nice with a touch of shy that could almost be interpreted as creepy.  We ordered drinks (no shots) and began to make small talk about living abroad.  He mentioned spending a summer in Hawaii during law school and pretty much within the first five minutes of meeting me, told me that it was hard to adjust to the time change and so he became addicted to painkillers...but that was a story for another day.  Our drinks hadn't even arrived yet and I was dying for the check.  A little later we were discussing art and he mentioned having seen the Chanel exhibit last year.  He said that while some of the displays were Coco Chanel's earlier works and little black dresses, most of the stuff was more contemporary-- mainly from Karl Lagerfeld within the last 20 years or so.  I knew who Karl Lagerfeld was, right?  Um, yes, I do...but why the hell do you?  So as I pondered what exactly I was doing with this recovering drug addict and questionably gay man, he mentioned having gone to law school in Boston.  Desperate to change the subject, I asked which school he attended.  He answers "Harvard?"  As in, "have you heard of it?"  What?  Har...What?  Ardvark?  You went to Ardvark?  Nope, I grew up under a rock, am not employed by an ivy league university, nor attended one.  What is this Harvard you speak of, oh Wise One?

As we're saying our goodbyes outside he says he had a great time and invites me to a party he was throwing that Saturday night should my other plans fall through.  There was no way I was going to his apartment two days later but I faked interest and counted the seconds until we could part ways.  We both lived a few blocks from the bar and he asked if I was going to walk home.  I said that maybe were it a little earlier or a little warmer out I would have, but not at 11PM on a February night.  He said he agreed and was also going to grab a cab.  Then, all of the sudden he says "Well, I see one coming-- I'm gonna go get it!"  and drives away, leaving me standing on the side of the road completely alone.  How this man was also in his early 30's and still single is a mystery as well.

Aaaaand as I write this post, I'm im-ing with a guy who's 33, looks pretty hot, is successful, and seems funny and smart.  Until this very second, when he just told me he loves to read fantasy books about dragons and magic.  I thought to myself "Ok, deep breaths.  That might not be so bad," and then made a joke about playing Dungeons & Dragons or World of Warcraft.  Then...I sat with baited breath, praying he would laugh off the suggestion.  His response?  "Ha, I wish.  My brother does though."

Just great.

Tonight, Tonight, There's Only You Tonight

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

You're great, really.  You're attractive-- probably in better shape than almost any man I've dated.  You're successful-- if not the most successful man ($$ [ca-ching]) I've gone out with, you're in the top two or three.  You're nice-- holding doors, grabbing the check without a second thought, asking my opinion on the restaurant.  You drink a decent amount-- from references to SundayFunday to outdrinking me this Tuesday evening (a noble feat, especially considering I have off tomorrow and you do not).  You travel-- I too appreciate a good beach vacation.  You're intelligent-- I don't know too many graduates from top-tier schools.  You dress well.  You laugh at my jokes.  You're close to your family.

Yet, I find myself un-attracted.  Not repulsed, by no means repulsed.  Just...not feelin' "it".  And I'm sick and tired of not feelin' it.  What the fuck is IT anyway?  Who's to say what IT feels like?  Why is IT so important?  Why does IT take precedence over everything else? When everything else can add up to so much, how come the lack of IT can make it feel like so little?  How is a whole not equal to the sum of its parts when the sum of its parts is more than a total package?

I'm so exhausted from going out on date after date after date with single, smart, attractive, wordly, men.  And yes, I know, world's smallest violin is striking up a tune right now, I get it.  But seriously.  I can't tell if it's Them or if it's Me and either way what I can tell is that I'm getting nowhere fast.  The closest I've come to starting anew with life post-LE is looking up disguises online  

(like this one)

so I can continue to shop at Whole Foods, yet avoid the four men I've now dined with who also live in the area and frequent the lovely Bowery Street locale.

That's progress, right??  At least it's life moving in a direction (which may or my not be forward).

Singledumb

The only thing worse than being on an awkward date is watching The Bachelor go on an awkward date.

After two solid hours of cringing, I feel like I need some preventative Botox to treat all the forehead lines and crows feet my just-tasted-something-sour face must be spawning.  I have such a visceral reaction to this entire show that I find myself crawling backwards into the couch, almost as if I'm attempting to escape the room through the crack between the seat cushion and back cushions of the couch while I watch the show in horror.  (Maybe if I can curl myself up into a ball I can roll right out of the room without him noticing...)

(You show me someone that doesn't want to smack this stupid look of his face, I'll show you a liar)

Everything about this Bachelor (Pilot Jake, by the way, in case you don't watch because you've gauged your eyes out with a dull spoon as a pleasant alternative to ABC Monday's Prime Time lineup) makes me consider slitting my wrists.  First off, this guy is a major toolbag.  I can't bear him.  My roommate has a Southern accent and it's charming and endearing; his makes him sound like he went to school in the shed.  Secondly, Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer, and Will Smith have all played pretty bad-ass pilots in various films.  While that doesn't make me want to sleep with them, it doesn't make me NOT want to sleep with them.  This guy manages to make a pilot hands-down not just unsexy, but repulsive.  Here is an actual quote: "I am not a member of the mile-high club, but I'll leave you with this: I aspire to be, no I don't aspire to be, I will be."  (I'll give you a moment to stop gagging.)  Even Leslie Nielsen had more sex appeal in Airplane.  Thirdly, this Bachelor lists taking dance lessons as his major free-time activity.  I can't decide if he's that much of a nerd or just trying so desperately hard for women to a) like him after they get to know him for more than 30 seconds and b) appear like "such a good guy!!!" on television.  I think the only things I'd want my boyfriend to do LESS than take dance lessons on his own would be hang out at gay clubs just to dance and have fun and discuss my cycles.  And I'm not even 100% sure which order I'd prefer those.

Watching this show Monday after Monday is the lowest point in my week.  Jake's total lack of game is insulting not just to the girls he's supposedly "falling for", but even more-so to the viewers at home.  Whether this is a put-on, an act to make him seem like a shy, respectable Southern boy, isn't important.  What's important is that like it or not Chris Harrison, Jake is the single most bumbling, floundering, and unrefined Bachelor ever.  His kisses are timed awkwardly and he always dives in for the kill; he holds hands really stiffly with his wrists bent at strange angles and uncomfortable heights; he asks blunt and inappropriate questions that make people feel uneasy and incapable of answering without sounding either mean or stupid; his relationship with each girl is exactly the same physically (put your legs over my mine, make out with me briefly in this staged romantic setting that was chosen by a third party) and mentally-- with Jake only wanting to hear tired confessions from each woman about how she's destroyed when she sees him with the other girls and that she's truly there "for him, for the right reasons".  Every date with every woman on every episode has literally been indistinguishable and unremarkable.  Come to think of it, maybe ABC keeps airing the pilot over and over and just showing one less woman each time.  Even the "shocking revelations" are far from shocking and all pretty much identical.  Hey, ABC, if you're reading this, I've just come up with a way to save you a fortune!

But despite all of these issues, I think I'm kind of dating Jake...and it's the most serious relationship I've had in a while.  Every week, like clock-work, he comes over.  We (I) have a snack, sometimes some wine.  He makes me feel alive inside-- I'm passionate and yelling, I'm shy and embarrassed (for him).  Then we talk about what we'll do next time.  He doesn't overstay his welcome, just about two hours per visit, but it's more than enough.  I never have to worry if he'll call because I know that he'll be back next week.  Somehow this is almost healthy and adds a bit of normalcy and well-adjustedness to my life.  

But riddle me this: With all of the different guys I have emailing and calling me, how do I spend every Monday with my least favorite and every Wednesday and Thursday canceling on ones who are actually decent and goodlooking and successful?