Looking for Ambition

In a very typical case, I came across a profile of a guy that looked like he might be fun, and we started emailing about muppets. Naturally.

He took a more fundamental position on Sesame Street, arguing that everything within should be taken literally, as it is a documentary about life in New York City.

My argument:

If it's all real, then WHY HAVEN'T I MET MISS PIGGY YET??? I mean, we travel in all the same circles, hang out with frogs, are fashion icons...okay, none of that is true for me. But still. I want my damn Miss Piggy.

His response:

Piggy knows you want her and that's why you'll never have her. She is a tease with everyone but her Kermy. 

If you ever want to meet up and discuss muppets or other life altering topics. Let me know.

And thus:

Sure! But only if we can talk about muppets, the letter Q, and whether or not Elmo is a media whore.

And so it goes exactly as it is set up to go: browse profiles, initiate conversation, move toward meeting. And that’s exactly what it feels like: I’m going through the motions. I guess it’s true that  if you do anything long enough it becomes normal. I’ve done this so many times that when I meet people on first dates now I think to myself, “He/she seems nervous. Why is he/she nervous? Oh! Right! This is a date. And people get nervous for those.”

Which is exactly what happened with this guy. But he calmed down quickly and ended up making me laugh for the two hours we hung out. Now before you go opening that bottle of champagne you’ve been saving for me, let me say this: when asked what he loved to do he said watch movies. Not for the art form, mind you. Because he likes to see what movies he can illegally download online. 

Just a way to unwind from a stressful, fulfilling day at work, you ask? Nope. He’s a landlord, and more or less fell into it, which affords him a lot of free time that I’m not entirely sure what he does with. Other than always emailing me back within a half hour of me writing him.

By now I have a trunk full of stories of men who have no ambition. This has always been a sign for me to look elsewhere. It’s not that the person I want to be with must be a career ladder climber, but they have feel passionate about something. Introduce me to something. Take me along for the ride. Show me why it excites you. Because I’m going to do that to you, and there should be some semblance of balance here.

So why exactly did I agree to a second date with Mr. Landlord? If my experience is any indication, finding someone with ambition is an ambitious goal. Perhaps too ambitious, even for me. So, why not see where this takes me? I might even be surprised.

Holiday With My Parents Part 2

Never mind the fact that I am 30ish; I will always be seen as my parents’ little girl until I am married. Which, apparently, my parents think is never going to happen.

My parents recently bought a condo, and furnished it for visits from the whole family. A bed big enough for my brother and his wife, bunk beds for the kids, space for my aunts and uncles, and me? I got my own room.

You know how it’s creepy to go back to your parents’ house after a decade of living away from home to find your childhood room preserved as your room? Imagine your parents preserving that space when they move into their new condo.

But I showed nothing but appreciation as I knew that their motivation was that they wanted me to always feel welcome. Then they proudly showed me the furniture they bought for my room. There was no bed.

To be specific, there was a big fluffy chair that, when you removed the bottom cushion, revealed a mattress that folded out into a single bed.

“And look at this!” my dad said. “The ottoman flips open, and that’s where you store the linens! Isn’t that neat?”

I know what happened. My parents were out shopping for a whole bunch of furniture, they saw this, they thought, “What a neat idea!” which was quickly followed by, “Would this fit any of our needs?”

But I stared at my new chair/bed and thought, “My parents think I’m going to be single forever.”

A little too slow with the positive reaction that was expected of me, my father asked, “So, do you like it? Here, did you see the ottoman? It’s where you keep the linens!”

Holiday With My Parents Part 1

My preverbal cold shower is hanging out with my parents. God forbid I lose my job and have to move home. Then I would be living at home AND asexual. Yeep.

This holiday-sanctioned hanging out with parents had a new dimension to it, however. There was the usual cringing at the kiss scene(s) in every holiday movie my parents and I watched. But there was an additional bucket of cold water thrown on my growing frustration at singlehood. With my parents’ 40-plus year marriage on display in front of me, bemoaning my status was quickly turned into, “Jesus Christ, what’s my hurry?”

My parents are well matched. Where it counts, weaknesses in the character of one is made up for in an overabundance of that trait in the other, and there is a great balance of give and take in their marriage. Most importantly, they’re happy together.

Don’t worry; this isn’t going to turn into a belabored prose version of “I Want a Girl Just Like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad.” In addition to her myriad wonderful qualities that should qualify her for sainthood, my mother frets to the point of a low-level whimpering whenever anyone else is driving. My father’s jabbing humor is funny about 20 percent of the time, and he scratches his balls more than any daughter would like to see.

I could go on, but I don’t mean to skewer, just to illustrate that after a few days of witnessing my parents’ marriage I came to this conclusion: I better be damn sure. If I’m really going for one of these “in it for the long haul” relationships, I better be damn sure that I love the person enough to put up with the ball scratching, or that I am not bothered by constant low-level whining from my passenger. The humor thing would probably be a deal breaker before date two.

I was happy to be given the larger perspective. True, I haven’t had a good date in a very long time. But any rush is my own creation, and my punishment would likely be a lifetime of ball scratching.

Damn Mistletoe.

At a party a few years ago I shoved a guy up against a wall and kissed him. It wasn’t a romantic thing or an attraction thing; it was to show him who was boss. (It made sense at the time -- just go with it.)

I have often seen this gentleman in the intervening years in common friend-of-a-friend type situations. At first I think he was intimidated by me and waiting for the next impulsive semi-inappropriate attack. But we soon settled into your garden variety power dynamic of looking for ways to stick it to the other person while pretending to be friends. We would hurl insults at each other, loudly make fun of each others’ lovelife (or lack thereof), all under the pretext that we were picking on each other like friends do. But I believe it was clear to all onlookers that there was a clear struggle for dominance. Or maybe the struggle for dominance was only on my side.

I have no idea how I fell into such a pattern, but it likely started years and years ago when I met him. Add a little attraction to the mix, and you have me throwing him up against a wall and kissing him. Did I mention that I then fake punched him in the stomach and walked away? Yup. Classy, all the way.

It was just a matter of time before the tables were turned. And oh how they turned.

We ended up at a holiday party together where Christmas had exploded. Of course there was mistletoe, and I did a fairly good job of avoiding it until it was time to leave. You can guess the next part: I was thrown up against a wall and assaulted with kisses while the other holiday revelers hooted and hurrayed. And then, as if it was nothing at all, he walked away.

Next kicks in my side of the power dynamic. And hey, I have the attention of everyone at the party. “That wasn’t even a good kiss!” I yelled at him as he walked away. Bad move. This was a challenge, and he turned and came after me again.

This power dynamic started so long ago I can’t remember what triggered it. But what puzzles me is why I kept it up for so long. Although I saw him infrequently, we kept this up for years. I wasn’t getting anything out of it, and moreover it’s rather exhausting to be caught up in a power dynamic like that. And furthermore, I’m a caring person! Why wasn’t I showing that side of myself to him? It was time to let go of any hang ups I had about appearing to be in control. And for letting go, hey, how about this very moment?

We had an amazingly hot kiss under the mistletoe. Onlookers later commented on their jealousy. There was a rhythm to it. There was a cadence. It was as if we were having a conversation with each other that ended with us drawing out the last words in perfect agreement. There was also deafening cat calling coming from all sides.

The first moment I drop all attempts at showing I’m more in control than he is, and I am thoroughly rewarded. Any benefits of a power dynamic can’t hold a candle to that. And that, kids, is the moral of the story of The Hot, Hot Kiss Under the Mistletoe. Merry Christmas!

Green Dating Part 2

Well, you certainly are a ball of energy, which is what i’ve always been and have run circles around everyone, even those younger than me. Past lovers use to comment about needing an assistant to be able to handle me. I also relate abt the interest vrs time in a day, and it does go faster as one ages.

I need to run as I’m heading out of town to do a show today, please do check out my business, since you like giving back, are green, etc you’ll love all is stands for.

This is a taste of the attention I am attracting on the green dating website. Mostly business advertisements. This was from an older woman on the east coast who wanted to tell me about her business helping pet owners reduce their pets’ carbon footprints. Oh, right: pawprints. Of course.

There was also the guy who lives on a boat and is trying to find like-minded individuals for an intentional community based on environmental principles, as well as sensuality. An intentional sensual community. Great. Now I’m being recruited for polygamy.

I did, surprisingly enough, receive one legitimate inquiry from a guy in Madison. He seems nice and has some similar interests...but he’s 15 years my senior and...okay: I try not to make a big deal about peoples’ photos. Appearance is secondary to personality, and a static photo isn’t a good indicator of appearance anyway. But occasionally red flags come roaring through photos. Like a guy who has not changed his look since the 70s. I kid you not, he has a bad White Guy Fro and is standing in front of paisley wallpaper. PAISLEY, people!

However, over 50 people had viewed my profile. Most were significantly older and only a fraction were within the tri-state area, but hey! It’s another way to put myself out there. One of these ways will eventually work, right? Right?

The Co-op

For those of us organic food loving Madisonians, the Willy Street Co-op is an institution and a shrine. It’s also the place you run into people, desired or not.

On my last visit to our esteemed co-op, within 10 minutes I had run into a friend of mine, laughed at a good-natured couple walking past me where the woman told the man that he was about to get slapped, and then ran into someone I had seen online.

To be fair, I knew this guy through a friend and we had met in person a few times before I came across his profile online. I sent him a message in an attempt to say, “Hey! I’m striking up a conversation with you!” but all I got in a reply was essentially, “I am politely returning your email because we know each other and not because I’m interested in furthering this conversation.”

And now here we were, accidentally locking eyes in the co-op, now required by civility to greet each other. We dutifully did so, and had a pleasant, brief conversation despite the fact that my constant inner monologue was, “Does he think I’m coming on to him? Am I acting flirty? Will this come off as desperate? When can this end?”

Upon returning from the co-op I was surprised to discover this message:

Re: Co-op

Noticed your amusement at my partner's comment about slapping me while in the co-op tonight. 

Anyway, I recognized you, and just wanted to say hi; sadly, I'm so pressed for time I don't have any extra to spare writing you some more. 

Hope your week is excellent...

Wow. Really? The Guy About to be Slapped turned out to be someone who has viewed my profile several times but never wrote me, and I had no interest in him as he was clear that he already had a partner and was looking for...uh...variety. So this guy that I have never met recognized me in passing? I am not that striking! And I don’t have a giant face tattoo or anything to give me away. This I had to respond to.

Whoa. I can't believe you recognized me. That's got to either say something about you or something about me, and I don't want to go too far down that path for fear that I'll find out. 

And here I just thought you were another guy about to get slapped in the co-op. 

Hope you have an excellent week, too!

His response:

For fear? That sounds either playful or dire! 

(I generally am going to remember someone that (this dating site) gives such a high grade to...) 

Thanks! How has (this dating site) been treating you? Any success/horror stories?

Oh honey. Yes and yes. But I’m going to end the communication here. I’m not interested in having a pen pal who already has a partner, despite the fact that he wouldn’t mind getting slapped around in the co-op.

Ballroom Dancing

For the single girl, there is a spectrum of physical needs that we do not get from a relationship and must find elsewhere. Hugs from friends completely satisfy one end of that spectrum, and vibrators take care of the other. But what about that middle area? Where can a single girl get a little bit of chemistry? A physical spark or two? I go for the staged, upright variety. No, not that. I’m speaking of ballroom dancing.

Not to say I feel a spark every time I dance with someone or even that my primary reason for going dancing is to get my hands on someone. It has been a rare occurrence that I am interested in anyone that I've danced with, or even want to have a conversation with a dance partner longer than, “What’s your name again? Thanks for dancing with me!” But at the end of a night of dancing, my body doesn’t seem to know the difference between chemistry and ballroom. I have that warm glow of a sated middle of the spectrum.

And then I go get a monster crush on my ballroom dance teacher. And I do mean crush. The type where I don’t have any inclination that we would be compatible, I have no reason to think it is returned, and for all I know this guy has four kids, three wives, two husbands and a partridge in a pear tree. All I know is that he’s got that caring patience of a good teacher, he’s cute, and when he dances with me he makes me feel beautiful. Done! Crush. Wheeeeee!

After months upon months of ho-hum dates, a crush is absolutely refreshing. I’m excited to see someone. Thoughts of him linger for days after. Ed Norton gets a break from being my go-to fantasy.

And since I have to have something to worry about, here’s what I’m worried about: that he will say something that will make my crush deflate like a soufflé. I'm worried that he’ll mention a wife in a pear tree or whatever, we’ll get a chance to have a conversation that is more than a few lines and he’ll turn out to be insipid, he’ll mention that he’s on parole, etc. So newly reintroduced to the glassy-eyed grins of a crush, I’m so worried that it will all suddenly be lost that I’m avoiding speaking with him.

Oh god. What if he corners me and starts talking? Would it be allowable to say, “Could you not talk to me? I have a huge crush and you and I really don’t want you to ruin that,” and still ask for the next dance?