Decision Time



Dating Translation

We could go see a movie:  innocuous night spent hand-holding in a darkened theater with a post movie make-out session.
You could come over and watch a movie: let’s roll around, sweaty and naked, in my bed!

I’m seeing him again on Wednesday.  He gave me these choices.  It’s been a very long time since I’ve “come over to watch a movie” – a very, very long time.  I really need to come over and watch a movie – in fact,  I need to watch a dozen or so movies.  I think that’s why I haven’t been sleeping well.  If I mess this up, I may not get a chance to come over and watch a movie again for a while, but yet I hesitate.

I agreed to go see a movie – not to come over, yet.  My body says “YES! Right now!” but my mind wants to wait.  I’m concerned that I’m postponing for unrealistic reasons, waiting for a certain someone to come around –  who never will.

p.s. when TG asked me what I did this weekend, I told him the truth – I went on a date.  Suppressing what looked like surprise, he didn’t ask questions. It probably hurt me more than it did him, but he looked like I had just punched him in the gut.

Two times the fun?

I agreed to two dates this weekend.  That’s about two times more than usual.  The first one was Friday night, after work and right around the corner from my office.  Why are we attracted to whom we are attracted to?

Date #1 – older man – 58, distinguished grey, good job, likes wine, likes to travel, kids are older, has all of his hair, polite, smart.  DUD.  No chemistry.  I was trapped – I didn’t want to be with this man.  I don’t even want to have a second glass of wine with this man.  Nice enough, but I feel every minute spent with him is a waste of our time.  White bread.  I kept thinking he’d be perfect for my older sister. I can hear my best friend in my ear as I write this, “Aw, come on, give the guy a chance!”  A chance to do what, exactly?  Grow on me?  Become interesting?  Morph into someone else? No, no, no.  Next, please…

After Date #1, I wasn’t looking forward to Date #2 on Sunday.  Why bother?  On my drive to the wine bar,  I was blasting Beck on the stereo attempting to raise my energy level enough to slog through another disappointment.  I’m not sure if my expectations were set so low after Friday’s fiasco that anyone even remotely facinating was going to spark my interest, but I actually didn’t throw up in my mouth upon meeting him.  In fact,  I liked him.

I wouldn’t expect to connect with this man.  Not very tall – I’m not sure exactly how short, I was wearing my killer heels, but I’d guess about 5’8”, four (four!) boys under 16, scout-master, learning how to figure skate, separated, but not quiet divorced yet, and I’m pretty sure I’m NOT the only girl he dated this weekend.  I can hear my best friend commenting on this one,  “WTF? He doesn’t sound like your type at ALL! How tall is he?!”

With all that said, I had a great time with him, good conversation,  I’m attracted to him (he has these smooth, sleek arm muscles – yum) and we’re going out again on Friday. Yay! I’m looking forward to it.

Yellow flag:  we haven’t had a Saturday date – yet.  I think that’s because he has a Saturday date already.  I’m giving him slack – when he arranged his Saturday dates, he hadn’t met ME yet.  I’m hoping after our second date that his priorities will adjust.


Let’s face it, I need to get laid.  I need it soon…in fact, actually, I need it right now.  It’s been almost a year and I’m so randy, I’m making stupid romantic choices.  Practically exploding with desire, I’m considering sleeping with people I would never, never, never typically allow past my thighs.  As I type this, I’m simultaneously email flirting with “Dave Smith.”  Dave Smith and I didn’t end well the last time – he doesn’t deserve the time of day.  Granted, the sex was HOT, so, so HOT…wait a minute, this is what I mean!  Dave Smith = Bad Choice.  No Dave Smith, no frosted-hair Asian, no Lawyerly, no Echo (even though he IS exceedingly cute).  My pent-up hormones aren’t allowing me to think straight!

The dating profile I’d like to write:  I need a clean, normal, attractive guy between the ages of 37 and 52 for a long, sweaty night of passion so I can think with my brain again.  Multiple orgasms are required; a follow up date is not.

* I was looking up a synonym for “horny” and found “concupiscent.”  What a great word for desperate, hard-up and sexually manic. Just call me concupiscent.

46 Percent

One of the first blogging rules I learned was…

  1. Decide on a topic and stick to that topic. If you want to cover other topics, start a different blog.

I haven’t followed that rule and, depending on when you became a follower, you may have experienced a very different blog.  Five or six months ago, I was sharing the ugly, psychotic truth about the breakup that brought me to my knees.  My followers were bloggers dealing with their own relationship crises.  Lately, and completely unintentionally, my blog has turned to the lighthearted – recipes and canning and gelato.  As the clouds of depression cleared, I found myself  playing in the kitchen once again and following my bliss – and my followers have also changed to those who enjoy the culinary arts.

The second blogging rule I learned was…

  1. Write for yourself (or “write  like no one is reading”)

I’ve wanted to write about the following for a while, but I’ve been concerned my “foodie” followers are going to think this post has come out of left field.

I’m a member of a dating site that, in addition to a photo and a profile, includes a romantic compatibility percentage that’s based on questions we’ve answered.  Although I don’t rely on this compatibility scale completely, I have definitely ruled out those that don’t hit at least 70% compatibility.   I believe a couple should have a good set of shared values and interests to make a strong, connected, relationship – kindred spirits, so to speak. If we’re on opposite sides of the fence to begin with, it’s only going to get worse.

Unexpectedly,  a few months after we broke up, I found my ex on the same dating site.  For most of the time, I’ve kept his profile hidden.  In the past month, it hasn’t bothered me so much and I finally un-hid him.  His profile came up in my search the other day.  Surprisingly, our compatibility is a dismal 46%. 46 percent?  This was the man I loved, the man that seemed perfect for me, the man I could picture growing old with.  46 percent?  We never fought; we always seemed to have the same views – we had (I thought) a great relationship.  Who was this man?  How much did he keep hidden from me?  What was he really thinking while shaking his head “yes” in agreement to my observations?

Seven months ago, I thought I would never get over him.  I thought I was ruined forever and I had my one shot at happiness. Each week, it gets a little easier (with big thanks to the Wellbutrin).  This most recent discovery just helps a bit more to dislodge him from my heart.  I deserve better – I deserve more than 46%.

The Second Date

She is sitting at the bar in her sexy new dress, waiting and furtively glancing at the door.  He walks in.  Her heart sinks.  He’s as she remembers him from their first date – tall, a little dorky with an uneven goatee. “Do guys still wear goatees?” she wonders.  All of the parts are there – tall, dark hair, glasses and an artist – but somehow they don’t fit together in a way that makes her heart flutter.  They sit down for dinner and, as he stares at her blankly, she tries to think of something to say.  “What did you do today?” she asks.  Blah…blah…blah is what she hears.  How could someone so creative be so dull, boring and monotone? She tries to get a bottle of wine as quickly as possible to numb herself.  She gently leads him towards a good bottle.  He orders ravioli and she, gnocchi.  He’s never heard of or seen gnocchi before.  She doesn’t want to be a food snob, really, but she is stunned that he’s never even HEARD of the Italian dumplings before tonight.  After dinner, he asks her to join him for drinks.  She wants to make her get-away, but thinks it would be rude to dine and dash.  He is a gentleman…a perfect gentleman…a perfect boring gentleman…a perfect boring one-note gentleman…a perfect boring one-note gentleman with absolutely nothing in common with her.  She tried – and it was a resounding failure.  She misses her old life, with the man that she loved.

Hi D,

I just got your message from last night. I didn’t hear my phone ring. Thank you again for Saturday evening. You are a true gentleman. After going out twice, I’m sorry to say that I don’t feel there’s enough of a connection between us to take this into anything romantic. I’m not feeling the chemistry that needs to be there. Good luck with your search (and your upcoming shows).

Take Care,


Second Date Dress