The Singles Collective

Seriously?

2007-12-29T12:05:00.000-08:00

I'm back in the game again, going on dates, etc. When I left the game in November to become "exclusive" with the Heeb (quotes intended, as it was only implied "exclusivity," not actual exclusivity), I sort of left a couple of guys hanging, with no real explanation. It was jerky of me. I feel bad. But I'm not a perfect person, and sometimes not even a particularly nice person...

So last week (after being abruptly dumped) I reactivated my online dating profile, and a slew of e-mails began arriving. Including one from one of the guys left hanging in November. "You didn't give me a fair chance. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and meet you." Stupid, stupid, stupid me. I was guilted into it -- it seemed easier to say "You're right, that wasn't fair, what are you doing this weekend?" than to say "Thanks for your generosity, but I'm not interested."

So today I had the dreaded date. He wanted to meet at Jamba Juice. I hate Jamba Juice with their fake claims of health and their sugary, high-calorie nastiness. Also, they don't really have seating inside. So we freaking sat outside with our cold freaking drinks and talked. I shivered, slurped, slurred (I'm so, so tired today).

But it gets good! So I have this obnoxious zit that comes around every now and then, right on the border of my lip, near the corner of my mouth. It hurts, it looks bad, and it's paying a visit right now. This guy seriously said this: "So, does it suck to meet someone for the first time when you have a cold sore?" OhMyFuckingGod! I should have just left at that point, but I said, "It's actually not a cold sore, it's a pimple, and yeah, it's not ideal." I also didn't cry, which I'm proud of, considering how little sleep I had last night, how much I did not want to be there, and how self-conscious I am of the little friend that's hurting my lip, marring my lovely face, and won't go away. In retrospect I should have said something like, "Do you ever wish your parents would have paid for you to have braces? It must suck having that one really crooked tooth right in the front where everyone notices."

At the end he was very straightforward, and asked if I wanted to see him again. I hesitated and said "possibly..." and he said, "that doesn't sound very positive," which it wasn't. And that was the end. And I feel bad, even though he pointed out my blemish AND was not intelligent or interesting AND guilted me into a date AND brought up how he lived with friends and did a lot of drugs for a few years after high school and before he joined the service (and this didn't surprise me, and seemed to explain things like his particularly slow diction). Why the fuck should I feel bad?

Just go the fuck away, already!

2007-11-05T16:50:00.000-08:00

Just when you thought it was safe to go to the bar...

Just when you figured all was well, that you'd made your intentions with Blondie as clear as the day is long...

Just when you knew that she wouldn't show up at your band's gig at the bar, slutting it up with the cliche little black dress and high-heeled boots...

In she walks. With arm candy, no less.

Are you fucking kidding me? GO. AWAY.

Don't go away mad. Just go away.

Don't send me messages on myspace to try and "figure out what's going on" with me. Just go away.

Don't text me, asking if I want to go get sushi. Just go away.

Don't call me from your office line, hoping that I won't recognize the number and will therefore pick up. I'm not a fucking retard. Just go away.

Don't have your friends send me emails about "our relationship," because there is no relationship. We had a relationship. We ended said relationship. You came over and sat on my penis and it was a mistake and I told you that. Just go away.

Don't have our mutual friends ask leading questions of me when I see them out. When I'm on the fucking prowl, the last goddamn thing I want is to hear from our friend about how you miss me, how you talk about me all the time, and how I hurt you irreconcilably this time. Just go away.

Don't show up at my fucking shows, hoping I'll sing a song for you. Not happening. Just go away.

When you do come to a show, don't interrogate every female in the room to try and figure out what is going on. You know perfectly goddamn well what is going on. NOTHING is going on. See how that works? If there's nothing going on, what is there to figure out? Nothing. That's right. Just go away.

Seriously. I can't say it strongly enough. GO. AWAY. Go the fuck away. Go away. Blow over. Bob under. Bugger off. Buzz off. Dally. De-materialize. Disappear. Evanesce. Go forth. Move away. Pass by. Pop off. Pull out. Retreat. Ride away. Ride off. Scamper. Scram. Shove off. Skip town. Steal away. Take flight. Take off. Turn tail. Vacate. Vamoose. Vanish. Walk out.

French: disparaitre, partir, s'en aller, s'eloigner, se dissiper. (Do you know how angry I have to be to start writing French?)

Italian: va' via! Vattene!

Portuguese: Va' embora!

Russian: уходи! убирайся!

Are we clear?

Don't make daddy get the cops involved. I will go 5.0 on your ass.

Things You Must Love

2007-11-04T08:54:00.000-08:00

1.) Going home after vacation. I know, it means going to work again tomorrow, but it also means your own bed, your own shower, your own closet (full of more options than your suitcase), your own car, your own people, your own places.

2.) Getting a little tipsy at the airport. This blog is being posted ... INTERRUPTION:

Sister: did you lose your phone
me: hey! no...
Sister: A lady just called me from continental airlines, and your phone is with Kim at either gate 4 5 0r 6
me: oh, shit.
thanks.
Sister: hahaha
me: brb.
thanks.
Sister: good thing you are online

Okay. Anyway, this blog is being posted from an airport in a city I'm flying out of momentarily. I'm a little drunk, and even though I have no fear of flying whatsoever, I can say something at the bar like, "oh, just a bit nervous about the flight" to rationalize the three Bloody Marys I just had.

3.) The Bloody Marys were really good.

4.) Picking up (British = "Pulling") a Very Cute Boy at the airport bar. How did this happen? I think it had something to do with my Paste magazine. He asked what time it was. Even though he had a watch on his wrist, and his cell phone in front of him. Super Cute. And in the music industry. I might see him next weekend on the next trip...

5.) Knowing you were missed while you were away. Other people's work days went by "like molasses." Your calendar for the next five days is overloaded, even though you'll be declining promised second dates with two boys (The Esquire II and The Writer) because you particularly like one of them (the Heeb), who also missed you.

On the Unnaturalness of Online Dating + An Update

2007-10-28T10:16:00.000-07:00

In real life, you usually don't have several little budding relationships at once. You have maybe one, if you're lucky, and it's probably someone you met sort of randomly, a friend of a friend, someone in a class or group you're in, etc. Online, you put yourself out there, and (if you're a girl), you get instant gratification. Volumes of gratification. They all want you. But all you can see is their picture and profile, and it's hard to get to know someone very well that way.

I think of the relationships I've had, and how they started. With a couple of exceptions, the guys I've really liked I didn't like at first. I found them attractive after spending some time with them -- in some cases years. On a purely physical basis, they probably wouldn't have stuck out in a crowd. I am tempted to ask them (I have a short list of men I will always really like) to complete a profile of sorts, to see if I would even find them attractive based on those terms. My Harvard crush would sound like a pretentious ass, my Aussie crush would misspell most words in his profile, etc., etc. But I like these guys. Very much.

So: I am presently involved with three men. There is the Heeb, the Esquire II, and the Writer. I am physically attracted to one of them (oh my god, how). And the other two are nice and good and intellectually stimulating, but I'm not physically attracted to either of them. But I feel like I need to give the other two a chance to grow on me, because, frankly, they're more interesting than the Heeb (who is hot, and interesting in his own right, but probably not as compatible, and also a bit of a pothead).

Updates: The Heeb cooked me dinner on Thursday. It was decent, but he's not, um, particularly endowed with kitchen talents. His little house is cute, but has a definite millipede issue, which I can handle surprisingly well. He is not smooth. In any way. We ate, we drank, and at one point he said, "So, do you think we should smooch?" Seriously. I kind of find his non-smoothness endearing, and a man of his good looks is so much better when he's shy. We made out. Nothing went to far. It didn't matter that I had shaved my legs. I was home before 11. I feel really, really, really good about that. And it makes me want him more.

Friday night I met the Writer, after a long build-up of fantastic e-mails. Of course I was going to be disappointed. He's just a little effeminate. But super nice, and very well read, and extremely smart. I just don't want to kiss him. Not at all. We had coffee, and spent three hours on two cups. He called yesterday, and I didn't answer (I was napping) and wants to take me to dinner. I spent the last several hours thinking of reasons not to go, but then I thought maybe he'd be the sort of person I'd really, really like once I got to know him more, and he probably deserves a little more of a chance. Or is that a little more of a lead-on?

And Saturday was the volunteer date with the Esquire II, who is not as dashing or funny, but much nicer than the Esquire I. I was completely dreading it at the end of the week, wondering what the fuck I was thinking when I suggested it, wanting to sleep in on Saturday, bemoaning the fact that I would have to buy work gloves, etc., etc., etc. But it was actually pretty good. I didn't really have to get ready. I wore my favorite jeans and a band t-shirt, which is pretty fantastic. Also: no eyeliner. And no primping. Awkward silences weren't awkward because we could fill the silence with some hardcore weed-pulling. And at the end we felt like we'd done something pretty great. And: it was free. Again, I don't find myself attracted to him -- in fact he reminds me just a little bit of a horrible boss I had a few years ago -- but he seems like a good guy, and I'd like to see him at least once more, just to see how it goes without the backdrop of altruism.

Why do I continually do this to myself?

2007-10-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

Blondie came over yesterday afternoon. Blondie is a woman who, despite being smart and interesting and pretty, is someone I don't feel a real connection with. And that's unfortunate. She is, in fact, very groovy. Just maybe not for me.

Naturally, I fucked her.

I'll back up. She came over yesterday afternoon to talk, and we did, and I thought we left things as friends. Then she called 10 minutes after leaving, and asked if I wanted to watch a movie after the Rockies game was over. I didn't really, but agreed, thinking I could probably get out of it later.

Game over. DaMoose drunk. Blondie arrives.

(scene missing)
(scene missing)
(scene missing)

Condom on, cock in, commence fucking.

It was good. And by good, I mean average. Not that good. Not bad, but when is sex ever actually bad? I say never. If you disagree, fuck you.

Then, sleep. Glorious sleep.

I awoke to her on top of me, ready to go again.

We went again.

All the while, I'm internally thinking "I've made a huge mistake." I even mouthed the words at one point.

She didn't seem to notice.

I don't know what I'm going to do about this situation.

Lame lame lame.

Dumb dumb dumb.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

What to do (or not to do) on a date: Part II

2007-10-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

Advice from a 33-year-old girl who feels like she is the last of her (unmarried) breed: “Date two is too early to go over to someone’s house.”

The Heeb has invited me over for dinner. I know what “inviting over” so often entails. The last time I did this on a second date, it went like this:

He made delicious Italian food.
We ate.
I slept with him.
I thought we’d go to sleep, cuddle, etc., but he opted to smoke weed and hang out for a couple hours while I slept alone in his bed.
I woke up early and left.
I realized I lost my credit card (probably left it at his house).
I canceled said credit card.
I didn’t talk to him again…
Until he called a few months later (by which point I’d deleted his info from my phone) to ask about the credit card, and I (at a thrift store with the new boyfriend) said he could throw it out.

So.

Not a great track record. But I’m going over for dinner. Thursday.

“Dinner” is complicated by the fact that I have a few crucial allergies, and I had to disclose said allergies. I’m fine at restaurants, where I can choose what I eat, but I want to avoid the situations in which he makes something I can’t eat and I a.) eat it anyway and get sick, or b.) don’t eat it and make him feel bad.

I won’t sleep with him. I just won’t. It’s dinner. It’s not a sex date. Or am I misunderstanding some rule of the late-20-something dating world that my 33-year-old friend gets?

My friend says “Don’t shave your legs, then, and wear some ratty underwear.” As if I have ratty underwear. All right, I might.

I wear nice underwear to work on days when I know I’ll see the boy I have a little crush on, for no reason other than it makes me feel just a little sexier. I can’t wear ratty stuff (if I had it) on a night when I might make out with someone. Even if I’m not going to sleep with him.

Oh, and I’m supposed to make dessert. Let’s just say that with my dietary restrictions, I have a lot of trouble with desserts, and I have yet to make a single one since I was diagnosed. I could bring rice dream. Or fruit. Not sure yet what I’m going to do, but I’m scouring cookbooks and food blogs tonight, and I'll keep you posted…

What to do (or not to do) on a date: Part I

2007-10-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

Advice from a 27-year-old guy who’s been married since he was something ridiculous like 20: “Don’t go on a date! Organize something!”

Hmm. At first I thought that this guy is living in his own little happily-married-to-a-beautiful-woman world, and he doesn’t know what it’s like to have an adult relationship. And then I thought maybe he was right. Dating involves a lot of trying to make the other person like you. It’s only later that they get to know that “other” you – you know, the one who doesn’t really want to leave the house, or even get dressed. They know the texture of your hair as it is naturally – matted, kinky (not in a good way), bordering on fluffy. They know you break out sometimes. No, all the time. They know you can be catty and bitchy and they’re not exempt. They know you don't always wear your fancy underwear, and that you hate your job. And most people.

Okay, I’m getting carried away. But “organize something”? Come on. I don’t want him to see my bossy nature, should it show up that day. Or my side that gets annoyed when there aren’t clear instructions. Or annoyed with people I think I’m smarter than. Or dumber than. But then this guy wrote about how he’d volunteered last weekend, and I started writing about how I wished I volunteered for more than seemingly meaningless committees that are work-related. And then I had this brilliant idea to meet to volunteer instead of to meet for coffee or a drink or whatever. So we’re volunteering on Saturday. What kind of makeup does one wear to volunteer? Is it inappropriate to straighten one’s hair? I feel like I should be shabby, but maybe it’s enough to wear jeans and a t-shirt and leather gloves, straighten the hair, and put on some natural-looking makeup. What do I do about my perfume, which is supposed to be oh-so-seductive? What if we’re not our best at 8 a.m., and have to spend half a day together?

I’m not sure. But… worst-case scenario: it is a completely shitty date and I’m not interested in him, and he’s not interested in me, and we spend four hours together (as part of a larger group) learning this and helping the community. And really, what makes a better story: a bad date at a bar, or a bad date volunteering?

One teaspoon of Friends, one gallon of Former Lover, add a dash of Match Profile upgrade, bake at 350

2007-10-21T15:11:00.001-07:00

Yep, that was my Saturday night. Red Sox win, Caitlin and Patrick and Cindy all drinking beer on my couch, when it was discovered that my profile on match may not be all that it can be. So, we set out to change that.

Patrick - disinterested. Who could blame him?
Caitlin - on match, helpful. She is my friend.
Cindy - also on match, even more helpful, and a great writer to boot. Former lover.

In case you were unaware, having someone that close to you helping you re-write your stupid, cheesy Match profile is an exercise in tomfoolery.

"You like this."
"No I don't. I've never liked this."
"Yes, you do."
"Okay."

It's both helpful and harrowing. On the one hand, the person (presumably) knows a lot about you, and knows why they were attracted to you in the first place, even if those reasons no longer "do it" for them. On the other, you no longer "do it" for them, and if they still "do it" for you, the fact is that the two of you won't be "doing it" any time soon, as that train has sailed. Still, nice to know that she cares enough about you to stop by while she's in town (rare) and help you improve yourself in some fashion. It felt nice. Warming.

Both Caitlin and Cindy were helpful in match etiquette, which I have been mostly unaware of so far in my journey. Like, winks are for women, and not men (who knew?) Men have to email. And even then, we might not get a response because of the sheer influx of men on Match. Caitlin has had her profile viewed more than 4,000 times. That's FOUR THOUSAND. With THREE zeros on the end. Jesus, I can't even imagine what that's like. I've had roughly 150 (note - ONE zero) views and none of them have turned into anything. In other words, for me, it's money well spent.

So while my partner in crime is blogging about actually going on dates, I'm going to blog about attempting to go on dates and being rebuffed by the great equalizer that is Match.com.

This promises to be a wild ride. Now this:

That's right ladies. Still available.

Refreshing Evening

2007-10-20T17:00:00.000-07:00

Last night I went out with a guy I'll call the Heeb. When I arrived at our table, he'd finished his own water as well as mine, which was sort of amusing, until the waitress never brought us a refill. The Heeb was nice, and this was a less awkward date than a couple I've been on lately. But oh, how his eye did rove! We were in the Highlands, that affluent little pocket full of yuppies and labradors and babies, and of course beautiful women were walking by. He wouldn't miss a beat in the conversation, at least, but eye contact was definitely lacking. It was a little blow to the self-esteem (and my hair was so good!).

So we ate, and then we walked around the neighborhood a little. We were going to grab another drink, but (this was the coolest part of the date), he said, "I wouldn't mind just walking around for a while if you're up for it." Nice! So we walked, and talked. I get so tired of the usual -- just a drink (and another, and another, usually), or the dinner and then drink. I get tired of the loud places, and the feeling a little tipsy. The walk was good. And I wasn't facing him, so I couldn't tell if he was still checking out other women, but I'm sure it helped that there really weren't any on most of the route.

End of the date: he walked me to my car and gave me a kiss and said, "That was a lot more fun than I expected it to be." I'll take it to be good, but what the fuck does that mean?

I do want to date. Just not you.

2007-10-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Tuesday I was on a mission to get out of a mini-relationship. The thing about online dating is that people might look and sound really great in their profile, but there is no way of knowing if you'll actually be attracted (no matter how many pictures they post!) until you're there with them. Earlier this week I had a date with a man I'll call "Unemployed is the New Sexy." It helped that he was an unemployed JD, but still. The date was fine. Nothing special. His diction was preachy and more than a little annoying, and I think he saw himself as the shepherd of his three younger sisters (who were all older than me, incidentally).

I could have just ignored him, but the whole reason I'm on this site in the first place is because someone ignored me after two dates, and I wouldn't want to send him down a similar road of toast-eating despair. The letter had to be written.

Dear “Unemployed is the New Sexy,”

Thanks for calling last night – sorry I missed it [actually I saw it was you and chose not to answer]. ~~I would like to see The Darjeeling Limited, but~~ [but what? Not with you?]. I had a good time Sunday night [lie], ~~but I don’t think I’m really ready to date anyone after all~~ [honest as this is, he won’t believe it because he’ll still be able to see that I’m on the website, presumably dating others] but I don’t want to date you [that feels mean] [but it’s honest].

This isn't going well. Then I remember that someone wrote this e-mail to me a couple of years ago:

I had a great time yesterday, too. I think getting together sometime again would be cool. I'd be psyched to hang out more as friends, but I didn't feel any romantic chemistry. I just want to be up front and honest about that because I don't think it's cool to lead people on (or to be led on).

I can alter this, leaving out "psyched." It will feel fraudulent, but at least I won't be ignoring him:

Dear “Unemployed is the New Sexy,”

Thanks for calling last night – sorry I missed it! I had fun on Sunday, but I didn’t really feel any romantic chemistry… If you want to hang out as friends, though, that would be nice. I just want to be straightforward about this because I don’t like to lead people on (or to be led on). That said, I would like to see The Darjeeling Limited, but can't go on Thursday. Let me know if you want to go later this weekend, and if I don’t see you before, have a great vacation.

Mission accomplished.