Magic Moment

Despite my myriad experiences of the realities of the dating world, I occasionally slip into the movie mentality of a sweeping, scripted scene. I don’t think it’s because I’m a romantic; I think it’s because I’ve watched too many predictable romantic comedies. In the rare instances that my life resembles a romantic comedy I slip into that frame of mind and think that somehow my movie education will help me see what is about to happen.

In this instance, I turned the radio channel just in time to hear in that classic DJ voice: “If you’re stopped at a light right now and look over to see someone winking at you, it may not be your imagination – it might just be the effects of the great love song by…”

And cue the love song.

And there I was! A rare moment when I’m in my car, and I was even stopped at a light that very second! I felt the camera pan with my gaze as I turned to look at the car beside me. Could I make a connection this way? Would the person in the car beside me be listening to the same song? Would the background music appropriately crescendo with the introduction of this new protagonist?

These were the thoughts as I slowly turned my head to see the man in the car beside me…picking his nose.

And I, laughing, turned back to reality.

Actual Online Dating Conversations I’ve Had, Part 2

At the top of everyone’s profile is their distance, in miles, from Madison. I was not expecting to ever see a number as high as 6,000.

Far away guy: hello there, how are you ?Me: Are you really in Jordan?!Far away guy: yeah i amMe: What on Earth are you doing talking to a girl in the midwest for?Far away guy: hmm , take it easy girl, its not a crime is it?!@ u should be more friendly :OPMe: Well, I am not familiar with the laws in your country, so I will not comment on the legality of it, but I was just wondering about your motivation for striking up a conversation with me.Far away guy: motivation, hmm u are taking it way too seriously, my motive i guess chatting, knoewing new ppl what else would it be? u need to losen up a little, get laid maybe

That was the first thing we agreed upon.

But for some people it’s distance shmistance, even without a proper understanding of geography.

Confused boy: hiMe: 22% match? Are you looking for people who you don't have much in common with?Confused boy: :-( is tht important....i do not go by computer rankings its the 2 hearts thts matters most dearMe: This is true. But I notice that you're looking for someone to hang out with. Might be difficult, as you live in Bombay.Confused boy: comming to illinois sooonMe: What part?Confused boy: madison wisconsin\ near to lake genevaMe: You know Madison isn't in Illinois, right?Confused boy: ya been to il before n also madison

Right, so….right.

This began when a freakin’ TEENAGER messaged me.

Wee Lad: do you consider youself a spontaneous individual?Me: Yes. I also consider myself 10 years older than you are.Wee Lad: Age doesnt matter when you are trying to waste some time and meet new people

I’m glad that you see talking to you is a waste of time.

The 10 Commandments

The commandments are binary? (Sorry. I shall desist with the nerdy jokes and return to this blog post.)

You know that game of taking a fortune cookie fortune and adding “in bed” to the end of it? You ever tried that with the 10 commandments?

You shall have no other gods before meYou shall not make for yourself an idolYou shall not make wrongful use of the name of your GodRemember the Sabbath and keep it holyHonor your father and motherYou shall not murderYou shall not commit adulteryYou shall not stealYou shall not bear false witness against your neighborYou shall not covet your neighbor's wife

Okay, the “Honor your father and mother in bed” is kind of creepy, but other than that, I like ‘em. And I’ve broken half of ‘em. But I’m all about keepng the Sabbath holy in bed.

Who's with me?

Single Girl in the ER

Don’t worry; I’m fine. And after a massive dose of antibiotics, so is my friend.

Now, after hearing so many horror stories about people having their significant other kicked out of the hospital because they were gay, I figured there was no way that they were going to let in a lowly friend and I expected an evening spent in the waiting room. I guess I forgot that this was Madison. Not only did I not even get any questions as to who I was and why I was trailing behind the ER admitee, but when another friend of ours showed up later she was ushered into our room! Yay having support winning out over…whatever stupid reasons it is they kick your peeps out of the hospital.

So, cue the normal ER procession: first the nurse who gives her either/or opinion, then the physician’s assistant who gives her only slightly different either/or opinion, and then leaves to get the doctor who, we assume, will give us a slight variation on the same either/or opinion.

If you ever have to go to the ER, this is my advice for you: bring three single girls. We were laughing so loudly that we wondered if we were disturbing the patients in the adjacent rooms. And then we laughed more.

Finally, after a long wait that doctors seem to do just to appear extra important, the door finally opens.

And in walks one of the most handsome men I have ever seen.

Immediately I had two thoughts: 1.) Who let Brad Pitt in here? and 2.) Who is this guy? I thought they were sending in the doctor!

But the 20-something Brad Pitt introduced himself as the doctor, and the three of us were so blown away that none of us remember his name.

I felt like I was in an alternate universe where George Clooney had landed the role in Thelma and Louise, and Brad Pitt ended up on ER, except that ER was real, in Madison, and the drama mostly revolved around antibiotic dosage. My friend up on the gurney had difficultly looking into his crystal blue eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. I sat motionless when he turned to us two friends and asked if we had any questions. “Are we on an episode of ER?” would probably not have been to my advantage.

My eyes were trained on his hands as he took his gloves off, and there was the giant wedding ring. Really. It was huge, with prominent ridges up the sides. It looked as if his wife had tried to find him a ring that would show through blue latex gloves.

So what is a good excuse to start hanging out around the medical campus?

How Singlehood Prepared Me for Travel

With so many good friends scattered far beyond Madison, I love the opportunity to travel to visit friends. And I love traveling with friends to visit friends. And I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been on such trips and got a bed.

In my single girl traveling experience, couples get dibs on spare bedrooms and extra beds. I’m not bitter about this; I understand math, and I understand that if I were to get one of the beds I would likely have to share it with half of the couple, who may or may not mistake me for their significant other in the middle of the night and put me in some full-body, three-quarters asleep cuddling strangle hold. I can’t imagine my shrieking would be pleasant for either of us. Or for the other half of the couple sleeping on the couch.

And it is excellent training. Due to the unspoken “just stick the single girl wherever is available” rule, I’ve slept on couches, cots, pull-outs, air mattresses, futons and floors. A lumpy hotel mattress, a backseat of a car or a tent sound luxurious compared to some of these.

Another unspoken rule of singledom is that you’re expected to go visit your coupled-off friends, especially if they have been be-childrened. Once again, I am not bitter. Really, it’s fine. I’ll come to you, where I can watch them break YOUR shit. And even for my coupled-off but child-free friends, our visits weigh heavily toward me being the one doing the traveling. Once again, I understand math, and recognize that two plane tickets are more expensive than one, and coordinating two schedules is 4.7 times harder than coordinating one (I believe that equation involves the natural logarithm of invitations per weekend and the inverse of boss anal-ness).

Combine these two truths and what does a single girl get? A much overlooked benefit of singlehood: excellent training for travel. Travel extensively and sleep anywhere? Check and check! Befriend truckers at the counter of a greasy spoon just off the interstate, swap stories about life and end up crying at hugging? Oh wait, is that just me?

It’s easy for us singles to get caught up in all that we don’t have, and it’s important to remember what is truly better being single. Like freedom. Like not having to coordinate with anyone else or leave anyone behind. We can just go, whenever we hear the world calling. And I hear it calling. Huzzah!

The Big Ticket Items

We’ve all got ‘em. There are some things that should not be brought up on a first date, but definitely should before you join estates. I’m not telling you what any of mine are, but let’s just say that these are the types of big ticket items I’m talking about: prior jail time, estranged children, and how you saw the face of Jesus in that pancake at a truck stop in Georgia but ate it anyway. You were really hungry.

On a first date, these would just freak the other person out before they’ve even decided if they like you. But you should definitely mention that felony conviction before you move in together.

The rest is grey area where you just need to feel out when is a good time to enlighten the person you’re dating. Apparently for Ham Radio Girl, three dates is a good time to lay it all out on the table.

I now know all the dirt in her family history, all illegal drug use, things that could get her fired, and her somewhat complicated medical history.

At least I thought I did.

A couple days after date number three she called to chat, and mentioned that she was driving home at that moment. Driving while talking on a cell phone. Can we all just agree that this is dangerous and stupid?

But, realizing that how I like to yell at people who talk on their cell phones and drive might be one of my big ticket items, I gave a very restrained reply. Maybe I should have yelled, because she upped the ante to say that she also texts while driving and, oh by the way, is one moving violation away from being classified as legally blind and having her license revoked.

I am so glad I was on the phone with her during this conversation and she couldn’t see my face. Yup, the girl’s practically blind and can barely make out street signs. And she told me while she was driving. And talking on a cell phone. Oh, and most of the time she can’t see my face really clearly, either. Good to know. I’ll stop worrying if I have something stuck in my teeth.

But here’s what I can’t decide: should I admire her pluck for being forthright, or should I be freaked out at what more is to come? If this is what she talks about during the first few dates, there might be a felony conviction story coming. I hope she doesn’t tell me via a text while she's driving.

Practice Makes Perfect

On a recent lazy weekend afternoon I thought I would go over the choreography from the lap dancing class I took many months ago. This is an exercise I do from time to time, not only to keep from forgetting the moves, but also to keep alive the thought that sometime soon I might have someone to do the dance for. Even so, I doubt I will bring this up on my date with Ham Radio Girl tonight.

So I turned on the ridiculous hip-hop song from class (I never thought I would download a song with so much moaning in it), pulled out a chair and found some room for dancing in my small apartment.

I was getting into it and decided to add a little flair to kicking my leg up over the chair and CRACK! That sound? That would be the sound of my bare foot hitting the bottom of my dinner table, almost causing it to become airborn.

You know what’s sexy? Hoping over to my couch and collapsing onto my back with an injured foot dangling in the air. The moaning in the hip-hop song suddenly became appropriate.

And you know what? Still felt sexy.

Preventing Bad Dates Before They Happen

I was on the fence about this guy. I liked his profile and emailed him a few months ago, then promptly forgot about it. So when he emailed me back last week with a bunch of apologies and calling himself a slacker for taking so long to get back to me, I had two thoughts: 1.) Just fess up and say you were dating someone. We’re on a dating website; this would not be a shock to me, and 2.) Wait, who are you?

I enlisted Shroom’s services and the two of us started picking apart his profile, trying to find something that would push me off the fence into one yard or another. Was the picture of him in a pirate hat enough? The joke at his own expense? Wait…hold the phones. He has a link to his blog.

Jackpot.

Forget profiles where you try to present yourself in the best light. Bring on your blog. I want to read what stupid shit you think is important enough to say to the world.

Just a few entries down I humpty-dumptied right off the fence. He shared a story about how as he and his date were leaving a restaurant and a woman stopped him to say she thought his language had been inappropriate for her kids, who had been seated near him. His response? “Get the fuck out of my face, lady.”

Now, had this been an entry been a journey about the life lesson of compassion, learning to disagree agreeably, or simply saying the first thing that comes to your mind is ultimately not the better path, I would have given him a pass. I certainly have no taste for censorship, and there have been quite a few people in my life I would have loved to tell to get the fuck out of my face. But this was not the point of the post. The point was to tell everyone how awesome he was. I am not inferring. The title of the post was something like, “This is another reason why I’m so awesome.”

“Uh…no,” Shroom said with a smirk. And with that I was saved from a bad date, and a possible obligatory dress-down of said date in the parking lot afterward, depending on who overheard our conversation.

So the moral of this story? Don’t blog about embarrassing things that happen on your dates.

Wait a second…

I Am Sexist

I don’t know if date number two with Ham Radio Girl really cleared anything up beyond demonstrating that I am sexist.

First way in which I am sexist: I assume all women are crazy. I really wish that my dating experience with women could counter the hyper-dramatic, searching-for-commitment stereotype, but as of now it has been tragically reinforced. So when Ham Radio Girl started saying things like, “You haven’t met my parents yet,” I thought to myself, “Oh no. Here come the crazies.”

But out of fairness, I had to back off of such an accusation. She said this in the context of a story, and has given me no proof that she is planning our wedding. And in total fairness, the way I greeted her should have given her more pause than anything she said to me.

I greeted her with a muffin.

No, this is not a Lady Gaga reference.

A gem of a friend o' mine cooked me dinner the night before, complete with incredible homemade muffins baked with fresh blackberries. She sent me home with two said incredible muffins, and threw a third one in, “…for Ham Radio Girl.”

Well, who am I to not give such a delicacy to its proper owner? Not sure I really thought this one through, however, since I recall sitting down, handing her a muffin and saying something to the tune of, “Here. My friend baked you a muffin.” Yeah. That must have been a GREAT way to start the second date. “My friends are already making you baked goods. We could probably serve blackberry muffins at our wedding if we have it in mid summer.” Right. Who’s crazy?

Second way I am sexist: I don’t allow men to pick up the check. Now let me be clear: I don’t mind alternating. In fact, I prefer it. It’s easier, and in the grand karma of grabbing the check it should all even out. But starting off with the man paying for dinner reinforces the very gender roles I despise. So even when there is an agreement to alternate, I insist upon going first. The bonus is that if I’m not convinced that I want to go on another date with the guy, I already got the check so I don’t feel obligated to him. Yes, I know I’m missing out on a lot of free dinners. But it’s more important to me that no guy thinks I took him for a ride.

Ham Radio Girl was quick on the draw. Quick on the draw with a “Ha ha! I win.” She then good-humouredly described the look on my face as “totally frustrated,” which was no doubt true. I clearly had no basis for a gender role argument, and saying, “I’m not totally convinced I want to see you for a third date, so why don’t we just go dutch?” would probably not go over very well.

Third way I am sexist: I show off when girls are into me. Guys? Dime a dozen. Until proven otherwise, I assume they’re interested. But a when a cute girl is into me? That is a reason to brag. I strutted home after our date. STRUTTED. Like, John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever strutted. And not just for a few blocks. I had the entire length of State Street and then some, and it was only halfway home that I even realized I was strutting.

And it was working! I was totally drawing attention to myself, which is hard to do on State Street. While I probably just looked goofy, I’d like to think that a few people got it. “Hey, look at her! A cute girl must have just bought her dinner.”