Epiphany: I'm a Bad Dater

There are a few things that none of us wants to admit we're bad at--driving and sex are two biggies. On a walk this afternoon a realization hit me with a sickening thud: I am a terrible dater. And not just terrible, I'm a boring dater. Oh, god, what could be worse? I guess not realizing it would be worse.

Somehow I--moderately successful, attractive and intelligent--have gotten myself well into adulthood without understanding what it is to date--and date well. My typical MO is to find a guy I like, go out with him a few times (usually as few as 2 - 3 times) where we become exclusive and sleep together and then after a few months (3 is typical), I realize he's not the guy for me. I don't date around, which means there's a lot of pressure on me and this one guy to make something of the situation--either sex or exclusivity (usually both).

This is a recipe for disaster. More than that, it kills the enjoyment of getting to know someone--several someones--and making the best selection. (The whole sperm and egg scenario comes to mind. Natural selection exists for a reason!)

Why not create an environment where men can show me their best selves? Where I own my sexuality and share it when and with whom I choose? (instead of, oh the shame, having sex out of imagined obligation)

My excuse for focusing on one guy and one guy only in the past has been the area I live in. NV is tiny, true, but there's the East Bay to consider and Sonoma. And is San Francisco so very far?

I also haven't liked the idea of dating more than one guy at once. It seemed stressful and confusing, but I suspect now that the opposite is true.

So this is my new plan: to connect with as many guys as possible online and in everyday life and see what happens. I'm employing a close variation of the Four Man Plan--and so far, I've got only two quarter men, with nudges out to a few more on Match. Tonight I'll cultivate a few more.

Can this be done in the NV? Can this be done at thirty-{mumble}? We'll see.

Back in the Dating Saddle

So--let's skip past all the heartbreak. Basically, it all came to a head in late October/early November and I ended it. I immediately felt free, and have felt free since. Leaving Mac was hard, but it was the right decision--that's the stark truth of it.

Anyway, as I told Loverville a couple weeks ago (has it been that long already? time zips by these days): I joined Match. I blame Martha Stewart, because though she is of quite another generation, her joining Match put the idea in my head. Reader, I signed up.

So it's been two weeks, and so far it's been easier and more pleasant than any of my previous online dating experiences. Why? I just don't care--which, I suppose, defeats the purpose ever so slightly.

I've had a zillion guys view me--especially when I first signed up. I was low-hanging fruit and got tons of winks and one-liner chats/emails. My hair looks especially blonde in one of the photos, and I suspect this has something to do with it. (Also, c.f. "low-hanging fruit") That initial onslaught has fallen off significantly since I started. I haven't actively pursued (or, that is, emailed) anyone. I can't be bothered.

• I indicated interest to one guy who responded with an email--but turned out to be as interesting as a stack of bricks. (To be fair, I think the feeling was mutual.) I didn't respond after the second exchange.
• Another guy called me "sweetie" in his first email (which seemed very used car salesman to me, in the context) and I ignored him for a long while until he pinged me back. I emailed him, but I was bored, and he was bored--plus he called me sweetie again. I'm not going to bother.
• One of my winks game from a guy who had the handle "TattsNBeard." Sure enough--scads of tattoos and a powerful beard. I, endeavoring to keep an open mind, read his profile to find an articulate guy--and then I saw the pic of the tear tattooed at the corner of his eye. So much for open-mindedness!
• One guy favorite me, then winked at me, then--a few days later--sent me an email. I decided to go out with him.

We went out a couple weeks ago, and hit it off--hit it off in that we got along great and had an interesting first hour or so. See, I meant to keep the date to an hour, but we had two glasses of wine, and being in the wine country, it's not like you can nip into a cab and get safely home. We had to eat something, and so spent nearly 3.5 hours together, which just killed it. I don't even care, not a bit--but it is an odd phenomenon to get along with someone so well and then think to yourself, "Eh."

There have been other glancing tales to add to the above--mostly along the lines of the wistful older men wishing that my age range didn't end at 44. (I've been dating men who are 10+ years older than me for the last 6 years. I feel I need to dial that back a bit--not that I wouldn't date an older man again.)

I got a promising email a couple of days ago from a guy who shares one of my life-long interests: writing. In his pictures, he looks moody and overly intellectual. (So many guys make this mistake--shadowy, serious pictures, which I imagine they think makes them look sexy, when in reality it makes them look like criminals.) But his profile is interesting, and I'm keen on making contacts in this sphere, even if Twu Wuve isn't the end result. (Can you tell I have a thing for Princess Bride?) I think we're getting together Monday.

And tonight I met a guy in real life--such a rare thing. He was a bartender at a restaurant and took a shine to me the moment I landed. I know … bartenders! He gave me his card on the ruse of trading wine--he's starting a full-time job at a winery in the next couple of weeks (so no more bar tending). I checked out the wineries he works for--and it'll have to be 3-4 bottles of his wine to one of mine, but … I don't think this is really about wine.

I'm not exactly sure what the next step is. I guess I text him? I kind of just want to do it now, and not wait out some silly time period. Because, honestly, I'm over The Game. And odds are this one won't be Twu Wuve either.

And I'm fine with it. If I could be in my 30s forever, I think I would be perfectly happy with the occasional romance and an independent life. But I'll age, and I'm thinking that there's a comfort to companionship later in life. (More and more, though, I find that I crave a relationship that allows for two whole individuals--none of this melding stuff. More on this later--in 10 years, I'll probably have an entirely different view.)

Discussions and Repercussions

Something happened yesterday that is a perfect introduction into all the lovely discussions Mac and I had over the months of our relationship.

(Brief recap for anyone just joining in on the fun: despite my misgivings, I agreed to marry my boyfriend Mac last March--we subsequently broke up, and in a few posts I'm hashing it all out, with the idea that I'll learn from my mistakes, never to repeat them again. Amen.)

Midday yesterday I got a text from Mac. We have been in touch now and then since our breakup in early November--usually he's trying to win me back by declaring his love. More thoughtfully, he sent his condolences on the passing of a close relative a few weeks ago.

Yesterday, he texted me to find out if I was going to an art opening that night--because he wanted to avoid me. Ugh. Seven months post breakup, I feel this is crazy. It's true, the NV is small and one is liable to bump into all sorts of people, and our mutual friend owns this gallery … but it's been 6 months. I think we need to be mature enough to live and let live.

I responded with, "No, but Mac, this is ridiculous!" I was proud of my calling a turd a turd.

This inspired quite an exchange. And, of course, text is no place to argue. (But it also so happens that Mac doesn't listen in face-to-face "discussions," either--at least this way he can go back and read our thread, if he's so inclined.)

The issues we hashed out over text were the same ones we fought over in person, though Mac did apologize for telling me way back when that I "worried too much." (And it was more than that, folks. He actually very forcefully said--over and over--that I needed to be medicated for anxiety! I could have left him on that score alone. Not, mind you, that I have any problem with mediation--I just wasn't clinically anxious.)

The issues:

• He loved me. Couldn't I see that?! Apparently I need to remind him that I do not love him--I've done so before, but didn't bother yesterday. I only said that I thought he loved a version of me that doesn't exist. (Arguing in this way serves no purpose, I realize.)
• I need to have some faith in him! In the course of two years he didn't retain a part-time job, knowing what was at stake--i.e. our relationship; he didn't complete his bankruptcy proceedings (that's a whole other issue). I'm not so blind that I can't see writing on the wall.
• He wasn't going to let me be poor! This was a strange red herring, since, though I'm not anywhere near rich, I was definitely the money bags in this relationship. I don't know how he was "not going to let me be poor" since he had too much pride to get even the most humble of jobs. 
• [this from me] He stated once that he was attracted to successful women. "What if I'm attracted to successful men?" "You got me there," was his response. {History shows that I'm not attracted to successful men, however--at least in the short term. Gotta change that because the starving artist thing is not working.}

This was all "discussed" over the course of an hour. It was kind of ugly, but I didn't care--we had argued these points before, and at least with text, Mac didn't get on a wild streak and talk and talk and talk so I could not get a word in edgewise. 

In the end, he sent me a picture of a new artist's studio he's rented, and said, "Bye." I bet he's been dying to do that for weeks! My guess is his family is paying for it. 

I want him to be successful, but his success won't make me attracted to him again.

Anyway, these are the things we talked about over and over, from our engagement in Marge 2012 to our eventual breakup in November 2012. I was too kind. I expected him to understand things about me that he wouldn't--because he wanted me so much that he refused to see that we were not right for each other.