The Non-Relationship Relationship

I've gone on a few dates with the lawyer since I last mentioned him. Or should I say, I've gone on a few dates with the lawyer AND his friends. First there was a hockey game with a big gang of them. Then a sushi dinner with his best friend and the girl he's dating. Last week, a BBQ with a bunch of his friends. The only time we hang out one on one is when we're....well....ahem.

This is more than a friends with benefits situation, but it's not a relationship. It's the dating green zone. And it's a blast! I'm not going to marry the guy and I know that. He knows that. We're both ok with that. We are practicing what I was preaching in yesterday's post: FUN.

It's more than just fun though, it's good practice for my next relationship. I care about the lawyer but if he decided tomorrow he never wanted to see me again, I'd wave goodbye, ask him for his (hot) best friend's number, and be on my way. This feeling has made me quite carefree. If he annoys me, I tell him. If I'm feeling insecure about something, I tell him. And he does the same with me. Every relationship should be as easy as my non-relationship!

Who knows how long this will last? I don't, he doesn't, and neither of us are wasting time worrying about that. It's nice to get an unexpected text from him during the week just saying hi and seeing how I'm doing. But if I don't get a text every day, I don't analyze it to death. Not being hyper focused on a dude has freed up a lot of my time and headspace. I think I may just figure out a cure for cancer with all these new previously occupied brain cells.

I'm repeating myself. I'm just in awe at how easy this is and how good I feel about it. It's not as cheesy as a Kate Hudson movie and not as stupid as the latest Natalie Portman/Ashton Kutcher vehicle. It's, as Little Red Riding Hood said: just right.

I know that somewhere in the Universe exists my perfect soul mate -- but looking for him is much more difficult than just staying at home and ordering another pizza,
LL

Bitter, party of one.

It is fascinating to me to read the blogosphere chatter about online dating. There is so much human psychology to be studied, therapists should fish commenters for new patients.

But there is one trend that I find particularly bothersome: the bitter and angry single.

For example, in a recent article on Salon.com about Match buying OKCupid, there was this gentleman:

"Things got so bad that I deliberately contacted two women in their mid-to-late 50s (who looked it), just to see what would happen. Sure enough, both women - who had no business rejecting any male attention that was not rude - told me they didn't think I was a match. The reality? Those women are doubtless still alone, as am I. The sad fact is that in the case of the second woman, who is 57, I actually wouldn't have minded pursuing something if she'd been so inclined, because in many ways that she failed to recognize we were a match."

Things "got so bad"? What does that even mean? Does it mean you were on a dating site for 5 years but never met "the one"? So what, at least you were out there doing your thing and meeting new people instead of sitting at home with your cat. (Though...if you are male and have a cat, I hesitate to say I don't know why you're single.)

When did dating become such a serious undertaking? Whatever happened to good old fashioned fun? Your success on a dating site, or just dating in general, is half dictated by your attitude towards it. Do you look at dates as a series of job interviews to find the man with sperm that would beat Michael Phelps in an Olympic heat? Do you have an Excel spreadsheet of your life plan, with significant events measured out in 5 year increments? Then YOU may be a large part of the problem.

Dating can suck. Trust me, I get that. But you severely handicap your experiences if you go into it with an attitude of "OK, I've decided I'm ready to be in a serious relationship with this specific type of person who will treat me this way and we will be married by this age and have this many kids." Who wants to go out with that?

I looked at my foray into online dating as a big joke. I started this blog to amuse myself and my friends and to keep myself from only dating guys that fit my pre-determined idea of "my type." I forced myself out of my comfort zone and laughed at myself. A lot.

And with that attitude I think you can't help but be a success. Have I met the love of my life? (Well...yes, according to my previous blog but we aren't even in a relationship so that doesn't count.) Nope. But what I have gained is increased self confidence, better understanding of what I'm looking for in a man and a relationship, and a lot of free booze.

So relax. Have fun. Drink too many martinis. And for Christ's sake, stop expecting your life to imitate a Sex and the City episode.

Kids!? No! Don't have kids! The rule is no kids until you're at least 45. Don't you EVER read my blog? It's gotten a lot better,
LL

Worst. First Date. Ever.

Today my friends, we have a harrowing dating tale from the opposite coast, which just proves that dating ANYWHERE is not easy. A friend of mine, we'll call her Hometown Hottie, decided to give the ol' online dating thing a try, which I strongly encouraged. We were discussing some of our internet dating shenanigans yesterday when she realized she had not told me about her worst date ever. Fortunately said date did not scar her for life and she is seeing a lovely gentleman right now, but that's a story for another day. Let's begin our tale of woe.

Hottie met a guy in her area who was originally from Boston. He's also an idiot. So I will nickname him Bean Dip. Bean Dip and Hottie exchanged a few emails and met for drinks and football. (Already Hottie is proving she's far too awesome for Bean Dip because she's a cool girl who "gets" football.) First meeting was a success and a 2nd date, including dinner, was planned.

Prior to said date Hottie, like any curious and responsible female, decided to Google Bean Dip to see if there were any discrepancies in what he told her vs. what the internet said. No red flags waved, so she was looking forward to the date.

They have a perfectly lovely dinner, they go dutch, and in Hottie's words, "...and then he offers to take me out for a drink because he's a gentleman.......FALSE."

Uh oh, here it comes.

They stay at the bar til last call, good sign, right? Bean Dip invites Hottie back to his place and Hottie says yes, but makes it very clear that she will be staying in the guest bedroom and not to get any ideas. (A little naive on Hottie's part? Sure. But she trusts people and assumes the best of them and I refuse to fault her for that.)

I'll let her tell you the rest:

"Well, we're playing WII and everything is fine until he asks me how much it'd take for me to pose for Playboy. I'm like, WTF dude? Why would you ask that? Is it a test?
We end up loudly debating (fighting) about this question and how it's unacceptable and I wouldn't do that.
I tell him he deserves to be slapped and he basically dares me, so I do.
Several times.
Apparently that turns on boys from Boston and he grabs my hand and puts it on his junk.
I then punch him in the balls and go to "my room" and lock the door."

And that, my friends, I think you'll agree, is the story of the worst first date ever.

Sensitive break up letters are my specialty. Dear Baby. Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You,
LL

LOML.

It never fails: save up for an expensive pair of shoes? Find them on sale the day you're wearing them. Go on a diet? Your roommate decides to bake cookies. Meet a seemingly nice, normal lawyer in a bar? LOML calls the next day.

LOML is the Love Of My Life. No really, he is.

I've known it since our second or third date when he sent me a link to an article about sunscreen, and how many products on the market do not offer the protection they claim to. This came with a list of approved sunscreens that he wanted to make sure I was using so that I didn't turn myself into a human french fry.

That was it. Game over. Checkmate. Lovesick.

Unfortunately, LOML comes with a treasure trove of emotional issues. So tragic are these issues that back in July, when we were seeing each other, he realized he needed to deal with these issues on his own before he could be part of a "we." We remained friends, but he pretty much went MIA to deal with his stuff. Which I understood completely.

Cut to Christmas Day. I haven't spoken to LOML in months. Sometime Christmas morning I look at my phone and see that I have a missed call. From LOML. I have hot flashes. Then chills. I may've blacked out momentarily.

In his message LOML tells me that he has been thinking about me a lot and wanted to thank me for being such a good friend to him this past year. He says that he's lucky to have me in his life and one of his new year's resolutions is to see me more in 2011.

*SWOON*

We've exchanged a few texts since but nothing serious. And of course, the week after I meet the Lawyer, LOML calls to set up a date. He suggests the place we first met.

The night before the date I can't sleep. I haven't been this excited since 3am Christmas Eve of 1994, when I snuck out of bed and found that Santa had put a training bra in my stocking. (I was the only one in my 6th grade gym class not wearing one so the creepiness of an old man giving an 11 year old a bra was lost on me.)

Work can't end fast enough and after 8 long painstaking hours, I'm finally free. I rush home, change clothes 15 times, and run out the door, late. (as usual) He is counting on this fact, knowing me as he does, and thus, I actually arrive first. (a fact worth noting since it NEVER HAPPENS.)

He is clearly nervous too. For the first 15 minutes I hardly manage to get a word in edgewise, and LOML is not usually an aimless chatterer. But I am so giddy just to be with him that he could be reading me sports scores and I'd still be smiling like a loon.

He apologizes for running his mouth so much and we talk about where I am in life and things that have happened over the past few months and how I'm handling them. I am completely honest with him. I couldn't lie to him if I tried. I adore him too much to start off anything that may happen between us on any lies.

It is a "perfect" date. He is just as warm and funny as he was when I first met him, but there's a feeling of more openness as we trust each other with the emotions we've both been dealing with over the past few months. I feel safe with him. And like I know where I stand. Are we going to run off to Vegas next week and get hitched on a whim? No. Is it going to be a bit of a bumpy ride as we continue to see each other and figure out what part we will each play in each other's lives? Yes. But I know that the ultimate result, if there is such a thing, will be worth it.

I feel calm, secure, and patient about what will unfold between us in the coming days, months, and years. Maybe he's my happy ending.

Love has no guarantees. If that’s what you’re looking for, go live with a car battery,
LL

A Lawyer Walks Into A Bar....

Having hung up my online dating hat, it came time to try out my roommate's "fool proof" way of meeting dudes: by watching football. 2 problems with this:

1. Games on the west coast start way early. You want me in a bar looking cute by 10am on a Saturday? Not likely.
2. I care about football about as much as Lindsay Lohan cares about the rules of her probation. That is to say: I don't.

But whatever. I look cute in the Matt Ryan jersey my die-hard Falcons fan of a roommate got me for Christmas, so I decided it couldn't hurt to give it a shot.

We went to a southern bar in Santa Monica for the Falcons vs. Packers play off game. (WE HATE GREENBAY!!!) We were decked out in our Falcons gear and within 10 minutes of the game starting we had been invited to join a big table of rowdy Atlanta fans. Nobody cute there but whatever, unattractive dudes are still capable of buying me drinks.

Sometime during the 2nd quarter (inning? whatever.) a tall, dark, and handsome gentleman came in to meet his buddies who were sitting at the table next to us. OK so at first I didn't find him to be that handsome. And when he started cheering for Green Bay he became even LESS desirable. But this (and some vodka) made me comfortable enough to act like my usual tipsy, slightly belligerent self. I started giving him a hard time for cheering for the enemy and soon we were talking about anything but football.

Lo and behold I'd somehow stumbled upon a nice, seemingly genuine, smart, gainfully employed (as an attorney! Not a bartender!), guy in the middle of a bar full of sports fans. I thought this only happened in the movies!

We exchanged information and color me shocked, he texted me the next day to see if I wanted to hang out. Though of course, this being LA and me being jaded, this made me more suspicious than giddy. It was a three day weekend so when I said I wasn't available that day (Sunday) he asked what I was doing on my day off.

Easy there, cowboy.

I behaved like the shady guys I've dated for the past year and he called me out on it. He said he thought we were getting along great on Saturday but if I wasn't interested that's cool. I said that I was interested, just a little overwhelmed. Then he said, ok cool, you're in charge now. Now you're speaking my language.

So a date was planned for later in the week. I'm cautiously optimistic but really just hoping for some good blog material, not my happy ending. (err..not THAT kind of happy ending. Though I'd be ok with that. Maybe.) But since the universe loves to fuck with me, who knows what could happen? I'm just along for the ride.

Girls want a lot of things from one guy. Conversely, guys want one thing from a lot of girls,
LL

Superjew

What do you think of when you hear of the town of Cherry Hill, NJ?

Well, if you're my mother you think, "Oh, he's jewish."

Before you start penning strongly worded letters about the intolerance of my family, my mother was born and raised in New Jersey, long before the era of fist pumping. This was simply a statement of fact and the first thing that came to mind when I told her I was going on a date with a guy from Cherry Hill. It caught me off guard and of course, I had to tell said Jewish guy that I was going on date with what my mom said, which he found hilarious. Thus, the name Superjew was born.

I met Superjew on the dating website, right around Thanksgiving. It was a bit of a unique situation because he was based out of LA, but currently living and working in NYC. So we spent quite a bit of time playing the getting to know you game via email. Long philosophical messages were exchanged, inside jokes were created...and I was sure that when we met in person it was going to be a disaster.

We met in person at Christmas in NYC. Before your mind starts filling with images of us locking eyes across Rockefeller Center and embracing under the Christmas tree (everyone knows a good jew can still appreciate a Christmas tree), let me tell you it was freezing, he was late, and we met in a restaurant. Sorry to burst your Carrie Bradshaw bubble.

Superjew was shorter than me (as most Jewish men are), but it didn't bother him, which was cool. As time went on I began to realize it was "cool-bordering-on-fetishist" but whatever. I'd rather have a guy who appreciates my long limbs than a man with a Napoleonic complex who is constantly challenging me to arm wrestling matches.

I broke my "drinks only" first date rule and had a full dinner with him. I figured if I had traveled 3000 miles, the least I could do was get a free meal out of it. (full disclosure: I was at my aunt's house for the holidays and she lives in the NYC area, so I wasn't actually being as generous as I like to portray myself.)

Superjew and I had spent a lot of time talking about fitness and working out and our exercise regimes. I appreciate a guy who works out as seriously as I do, but I was a little wary of the fact that ne'er an email or phone call went by without him asking how much I was working out that week. I figured he was just trying to force a feeling of intimacy by making it "our thing" but I was finding "our thing" really annoying. More warning flags were waved when, after I declined to partake in the bread basket, he said, "Good choice. Bread is nothing but simple sugar." Judge my shoes, judge my hair, but do NOT judge my food. I have enough of a complex on my own without your help thank you.

I realized I was being harsh though, since I had willingly participated in all of these fitness and nutrition discussions. So he probably thought he was impressing me with this knowledge, not making me want to call my therapist. Onward!

The rest of the date was perfectly acceptable and lovely. No nausea inducing butterflies, but no urge to punch him in the throat either. He kissed me, walked me to my train, and home I went. We continued texting and emailing throughout the holidays and in January he was coming back to LA. Great.

Superjew had a deprecating sense of humor, but the problem was, it wasn't self deprecating, it was LL (that's me) deprecating. If I didn't answer the phone on the first ring, he gave me a hard time. If I didn't sound enthused enough when I said, hello, he gave me a hard time. I began to notice that I couldn't say anything, fact or opinion, without Superjew telling me why I was wrong.

Note to men: that's annoying.

The final straw came when I was talking to him as he was waiting for his flight to LA. He began the conversation as he always did: by asking me how much I'd worked out that week and how my body was looking. I said I had gone to the gym 4 days in a row but taken today off and he called me a slacker. I gritted my teeth and defended myself. He didn't pick up on my annoyance and switched gears to ask me about the weather. I looked it up online and told him that in my neck of the woods, it would be about 65 which meant that down by the beach where he lived, it would probably be about 62, 63.

His response? "Well, what do those weather people know anyway? It's not like this kind of thing can be predicted."

I had had enough. I laughed, loudly, and said, "Actually, yes that can. That's what a weather forecaster DOES!" He grumbled, dismissed me, and told me he had to go because his plane was boarding.

When I hung up my observant co-worker apologized for eavesdropping (not that that could be avoided, I'm a loud talker) but she couldn't help but hear how I was defending the fact that I had worked out 4 days in a row but clearly the person on the other end of the line didn't think that was enough, and that that was kind of a jerky thing for him to be saying.

Eureka!

She was absolutely right. And for once, I felt no guilt about sending him a thanks but no thanks email.

(Yeah, yeah, I know, email is a bitch move, but hey, in my defense, he was on a plane so he wasn't going to answer my call anyway.)

And thus, the end of my online dating experience. Back to meeting men the old fashioned way: by being drunk and slutty. Ahhh, it's good to be back!

Let's have a party and invite your pants to come on down,
LL