I’ve been an absolute jackass about updating this blog. This isn’t to say I don’t write a few paragraphs here and there, but ultimately I go back to edit and realize they are fluff pieces that I am writing simply to fill up a space. I do it so that the unnamed monkey-on-my-back will stop reminding me (read: nagging me) that I am writing an average of one piece every two months or so.
I’ve written drivel before. When my entertainment levels were low and I thought I was being witty, or if more often than not, merely my writing was entertainment enough for me. But even this drivel had me yawning, so instead of banking it as a potential draft, I’d write, and then delete. Must have been at least a half dozen of these. Today I told myself regardless of how fluff or drivel this ends up being, I’m posting it. So you’ve been warned.
I wrote once that having my name, my face, my being – connected to this blog has made it much more difficult for me to freely write now. It isn’t about the fear of me being judged, as I realized I don’t need everybody I know to have insight to every. single. facet. of my being. I didn’t just create a monster, I took it door-to-door and introduced it to everyone I knew. I had a friend nearly quote something I had written once back to me, and it stunned me. I forgot that people who don’t even really know me, know me. So while I imagine I will eventually get back to writing on here on a slightly more regular basis, I do think I am going to test the waters independent of this blog and go completely incognito. The deeper waters, is where the freedom lies my friend.
Onto the mundane, trivial crap. Life is trudging along. Nothing super good, nothing super bad. I’m just sort of bobbing on the top of the water . I’m facing a personal demon and getting some shit taken care of that I should have a while back. I’m getting ready to spend some time with my girls, one-on-one, and I’m considering dating.
The demon shall remain unspoken of, because I simply can’t right now. The girls I’ll write of a later date. The dating? Here goes.
A couple of weekends ago I got a push notification from the online dating site I’m a member of. I hadn’t actively pursued anything on there since the holiday issues of the Zombie Italian, and me ghosting Paul Giamatti. So getting a message was a bit surprising. Most of the action is precipitated by the amount of effort you show on the site. In other words, I log on, I become a more active profile and show up in searches more often. To be honest, online dating just has no appeal to me right now, so being at the bottom of the proverbial pile has been fine in my eyes. Which means no messages. Usually.
At this moment though, I felt like a woman who had opened her door to a single mewing cat, and no sooner did I sit down a bowl of milk, then every cat in the neighborhood jumped my fence. Does this mean I see my dating life in the same manner one see’s the crazy neighborhood cat-lady? Possibly.
I weeded thru the messages, both old (Paul again. Relentless Romantic to some. Desperate Fool to others.) and new. One of the new ones was very young. Attractive. Smart. But again I stress – very young. I can’t even tell you what prompted me to reply to him. I imagine he was either very witty, or very polite and I didn’t have the heart to simply ignore him. I said “thank you, but no thank you”, and explained the age thing. I knew the drill I would get from him, because there are a LOT of young ones on line and I probably get more messages from them than any other category. They rarely give up with one firm No. He was no different, but he did have a tad more style about it. Politely insistent, but not in a pushy way. More of a “What’s the harm in talking?”, followed by a boyish imagined grin. So I bit and we talked for a couple of hours in between stuff I was doing around the house. To be perfectly honest had he not been so young, I probably would have agreed to meet him for coffee or a drink. It ended politely. Clean, despite his attempts a couple of times. He had a bit of a foot fetish (second young one I met who loves feet. What gives?) and towards the latter part of the convo, I was laughingly declining his polite pleas for foot and shoe pics.
The other guy was my age. Attractive Brit, although not exactly my type physically. We messaged briefly, and soon – too soon for my taste — he was offering me his number and suggesting we cut thru the bullshit and see if there was any voice chemistry.
I get that. I’m eventually like that as well, but I am a cautious character and before I have my number show up on your screen, there is a timing issue that you either fall into or you don’t. I have to feel things out. I was jovial in my response to him, but firm in my insistence of having to know him a tad better before I pick up the phone. I didn’t need stats like it’s so often assumed sending them into the spiel of “What is it you need to know? I was born blah blah blah…” and a litany of biographic information pours out. That’s not the information I need, and spelling it out isn’t possible. Sometimes I can tell that they have a sense of humor by the way they write. Sometimes I can tell they have a chip on their shoulder. Sometimes I can sense a warmth, or empathetic vibe, and sometimes you just know it’s all about how quickly they can get laid. Before I call, before I bother with the second portion of this dance, I like to see if any of that other stuff clicks. I don’t need two weeks of texting and messaging, but I certainly need more than 30 minutes of messages.
I was polite. I infused humor. I made it clear that his approach moved a lot faster than mine, and that I appreciated and understood, but I thought it best that I decline. Or so I thought I made it clear. About a week later I got another push, and saw a message from him (and the young one … I don’t think I am getting these notifications for every single message) berating me, and telling me how I had been weeded out and he was no longer interested. I was baffled. I almost felt like I was fired from a job that I never accepted the position for to begin with. Strangely my “I’m sorry I don’t think I will be calling you.” Was not sufficient. I was tempted for about a nano-second to respond. I could have easily out snarked him and given me a momentary HA!. I could have also been nice and explained myself, in case it was an issue of miscommunication and hurt feelings. But ultimately I realized – I really didn’t care either way about it.
The young one? I didn’t bother responding to him either. I had been bored the day we talked and had really no reason to think it was going to go beyond the couple of hours of chit chat. I almost felt like I needed to tell him “Sssssshhhhhh. Say nothing more. It’s better this way.”, as I quietly walked backwards out of the room. The vibe we ended on was playful and cute. Anything more is trying to forcefully recreate a magic that won’t happen.
But this doesn’t mean the social life is completely dry. I do have an interesting date coming up in a week or two. I don’t want to say too much on it because I haven’t a clue on where it might land. He makes me laugh every time we talk. He’s honest and forthcoming, and this date almost didn’t happen. I haven’t a clue on where I even want it to land, but that’s good because there are no expectations. It’s different. It’s comfortable. It’s just a different kind of comfort.
And that’s all I got.
There. The fluff piece is officially complete. I promise now that this monkey is off of my back I’ll write not just more often, but with a tad more substance. 😉