I unfortunately wasn’t able to make date #2 with the gentleman work before my vacation (I tried, dear readers, I really tried) but I did get a very sweet text message around the time he thought I was flying out. In the last email we exchanged after deciding we’d have to wait until I got back to see each other he told me to bring him back a key chain.
I’m sure he was kidding, but I’m thinking about buying him one. I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily have to give it to him if I didn’t want to. And having it might come in adorably handy .
Then again, what if I bought the keychain and never had the occasion to give it to The Gentleman? I’d have this stupid keychain to remind me I’d allowed my sappy side to think it was cute to buy a gift for a man I barely knew. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Years ago, when I was in the midst of on-and-off dating someone (the man who inspired the first haiku, as it happens) I happened upon some personalized panties in a boutique. They were thongs, with men’s names labeled on them. The kind of labels you’d see on a mechanic’s or trucker’s shirt. The kind of labels this man would have on his clothing. I couldn’t help it, I bought those panties, with his name and a little rhinestone, for $28.00 + tax.
Those panties are still wrapped in the tissue paper with the boutique sticker affixed, in the back of my lingerie drawer. I haven’t seen that man since before I bought them. Our together status was influenced mostly be whether or not he was in town; he almost always wasn’t due to his work. By the time he got back, I had learned the travel made him pretty selfish when it came to being a part of his family and friend’s lives. I was in better touch with him than some of his life long friends. It changed how I felt about him, I just gave up on trying to make it work.
Part of me keeps hoping I’ll date a man with the same name and can make use of them. They’re really great, sexy in a not cheesy way, they should not go to waste! And they were expensive! More expensive than the regular panties I wear. Most of me knows eventually I’ll have to throw them away, though, a foolish purchase by a foolish girl.
Still, I like the idea that I wanted to buy those panties for that man. Maybe I should start looking for a keychain for The Gentleman. At least it wouldn't be personalized.
“Safety First.”
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
My dad must have said this a thousand times throughout my childhood, and even now he still pulls it out when I’m describing some new adventure I’m going on. They’re good words to pass on to your kids – simple and to the point. I try to apply them to my life, including my dating life, and mostly I think I’m safe. My email doesn’t have my real name associated to it, I meet dates on location, I tell others where I’ll be and when possible I make friends with the bartender/bouncer/etc. in case things get way out of hand.
It’s a fine line, though. Dating requires you to share things about yourself, personal things, basically while interacting online, on the phone and in person with a complete and total stranger. You have to be careful without being paranoid. You have to maintain a safe distance without pushing your new interest away.
Take my first date with The Gentleman. We planned to meet for a drink but the details were decided on the fly, on the phone, while he was driving.
“Where do you want to meet?” he asks.
“Depends on where you are.” I respond.
“I’m just getting off at 123 Street.”
“Oh! That’s basically three blocks from my place,” I say, thinking Crap! I’ve still got jammy pants on.
“I could swing by and pick you up.”
“Uh, sure” I say, as alarm bells start sounding in my head. “Or I could just meet you…” I trail off. We haven’t decided where we’re going but we also don’t get into cars with men we don’t know.
I agree to be picked up, giving directions to my place (which I normally withhold until date #2, excluding make out dates, obviously) while hastily slapping on lip gloss and better pants. I figure if he or the car looks shady I can find a way to decline.
He isn’t; shady that is, and neither is his very expensive and European vehicle. Not only that, he gets out into the Chicago winter to greet me and put me into my seat. I feel like a kidnapping is very unlikely so I allow him to drive me literally 2 blocks to a corner cantina (which he chose, not me). The date itself is good; we have just one drink as planned as he has somewhere to be later, and the conversation flows. He’s very attractive, engaging, and seems to find me similarly so. I bump him to 2nd date status.
We head back to my place and while idling in front of my building he asks if he can use my restroom. He’s about 20 minutes from where he’s heading and hates to ask, but the bathroom at the bar left something to be desired. He would know, he had used it approx 1 hour earlier (he WAS gone awhile). I said sure, hesitating first to think of the state my bathroom was in. He confirms it’s okay with me. Yes, I say, as long as he promises to ignore the state of things in my place. Then as we’re walking down my hallway I suddenly start thinking DANGER! My condo is a long rectangle with only one exit. What if all this politeness was an act and once he gets into my place… my thoughts trail off and I decide to stay near the door in case he tries anything. And then once he’s in the bathroom I text a friend to call me in five minutes. Not sure how this will help, but I figure it can’t hurt. As it happens, she calls as I’m walking The Gentleman to the door, after he’s asked to see me again and is kissing my cheek.
I was safe this time, The Gentleman is deserving of his nickname, but I didn’t put my safety first. Not having something bad happen after making a potentially bad decision is just lucky. I think of all the times I’ve been even less safe – plan out irresponsible – and I’m thankful that my good will, or naiveté, hasn’t been taken advantage of. I should trust the men I’m dating, but only to the extent that they’ve validate they are trustworthy. And for their part, these men should respect my boundaries, whatever they are, until we are both comfortable.
Sometimes in my rush to respond, in my desire to be liked, I forget to give myself time to think. I blow by the warning flags I see popping up. Not anymore, though. I won’t tempt the fates and push my luck. I’ll go out with The Gentleman again, but I don’t think he’ll be visiting my bathroom anytime soon.
Safety First. Love Second.
It’s a fine line, though. Dating requires you to share things about yourself, personal things, basically while interacting online, on the phone and in person with a complete and total stranger. You have to be careful without being paranoid. You have to maintain a safe distance without pushing your new interest away.
Take my first date with The Gentleman. We planned to meet for a drink but the details were decided on the fly, on the phone, while he was driving.
“Where do you want to meet?” he asks.
“Depends on where you are.” I respond.
“I’m just getting off at 123 Street.”
“Oh! That’s basically three blocks from my place,” I say, thinking Crap! I’ve still got jammy pants on.
“I could swing by and pick you up.”
“Uh, sure” I say, as alarm bells start sounding in my head. “Or I could just meet you…” I trail off. We haven’t decided where we’re going but we also don’t get into cars with men we don’t know.
I agree to be picked up, giving directions to my place (which I normally withhold until date #2, excluding make out dates, obviously) while hastily slapping on lip gloss and better pants. I figure if he or the car looks shady I can find a way to decline.
He isn’t; shady that is, and neither is his very expensive and European vehicle. Not only that, he gets out into the Chicago winter to greet me and put me into my seat. I feel like a kidnapping is very unlikely so I allow him to drive me literally 2 blocks to a corner cantina (which he chose, not me). The date itself is good; we have just one drink as planned as he has somewhere to be later, and the conversation flows. He’s very attractive, engaging, and seems to find me similarly so. I bump him to 2nd date status.
We head back to my place and while idling in front of my building he asks if he can use my restroom. He’s about 20 minutes from where he’s heading and hates to ask, but the bathroom at the bar left something to be desired. He would know, he had used it approx 1 hour earlier (he WAS gone awhile). I said sure, hesitating first to think of the state my bathroom was in. He confirms it’s okay with me. Yes, I say, as long as he promises to ignore the state of things in my place. Then as we’re walking down my hallway I suddenly start thinking DANGER! My condo is a long rectangle with only one exit. What if all this politeness was an act and once he gets into my place… my thoughts trail off and I decide to stay near the door in case he tries anything. And then once he’s in the bathroom I text a friend to call me in five minutes. Not sure how this will help, but I figure it can’t hurt. As it happens, she calls as I’m walking The Gentleman to the door, after he’s asked to see me again and is kissing my cheek.
I was safe this time, The Gentleman is deserving of his nickname, but I didn’t put my safety first. Not having something bad happen after making a potentially bad decision is just lucky. I think of all the times I’ve been even less safe – plan out irresponsible – and I’m thankful that my good will, or naiveté, hasn’t been taken advantage of. I should trust the men I’m dating, but only to the extent that they’ve validate they are trustworthy. And for their part, these men should respect my boundaries, whatever they are, until we are both comfortable.
Sometimes in my rush to respond, in my desire to be liked, I forget to give myself time to think. I blow by the warning flags I see popping up. Not anymore, though. I won’t tempt the fates and push my luck. I’ll go out with The Gentleman again, but I don’t think he’ll be visiting my bathroom anytime soon.
Safety First. Love Second.
Lost in Translation
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I never finished my Hobbes tale, mostly because I was really saddened about what had happened the week leading up to when we were going to meet up. It was something entirely different than I had thought. And it was worse. So here goes.
Hobbes had gotten a terribly mismatched impression of who I am. He’d been reading the blog as if it was me, talking to him, which of course is not what this blog is. This blog is a journal of my dating (mis)adventures, but it’s an edited journal. I write about things that I think are funny or interesting or insightful, and a lot of the time I write about the feelings I have as I’m having them. These feelings are not to be mistaken with my true feelings, which usually take some time to figure out, and which would have been explained to him directly if and when it made sense to in our relationship.
What I felt first was a tremendous sense of loss. Hobbes no longer thinks we are relationship compatible. And perhaps we aren’t, but I know that his sense of that isn’t based on a true understanding of who I am. I feel responsible for his confusion, though, and his sentiments are very difficult for me to absorb. Did I do this to myself? Did my desire to weave an engaging tale on my blog undermine the budding of a real relationship and hurt someone I care about?
I often have doubts about whether I should continue writing a blog about something that is so personal to me. I am concerned that I over analyze situations that I want to write about in order to tell a good story. I am worried that I misrepresent my true self by capturing all my fleeting and fluctuating emotions. I think it’s entirely possible that writing a dating blog is detrimental to my success at dating.
Underneath the sadness, though, was a lot of “grow up Hobbes”. True, when he told me he was no longer interested in me romantically I told him the good news was that he could keep on reading the blog. I am flattered that he did so. And yes, I probably should have thought more about how awkward it would be if he was reading it while we were actively talking about meeting up. He’s a big boy, though, and I assumed that if he chose to read the blog that he would have done so with eyes wide open. He doesn’t have to like what I think about his actions but I didn’t misrepresent them. I wasn’t passive aggressively trying to tell him things through the blog. And how could he not have expected to see something negative about himself?
Most importantly, I was disappointed that when he thought he was seeing a different version of me on the blog than in our emails that he didn’t say something to me about it, instead of coming to all these conclusions about what I expected and what I thought.
I tried to explain it to him over email. About the blog; that it’s not all true, but it’s not all false, either. About how he was taking it way too literally and should know better. And I apologized. I never meant to hurt him and I was truly sorry that he was feeling the way he was.
He wasn’t interested in me explaining in person when I was in his hood… I told him I really wanted to see him, to apologize and clear things up. He responded that it wasn’t that big of a deal.
Message received, loud and clear.
Hobbes had gotten a terribly mismatched impression of who I am. He’d been reading the blog as if it was me, talking to him, which of course is not what this blog is. This blog is a journal of my dating (mis)adventures, but it’s an edited journal. I write about things that I think are funny or interesting or insightful, and a lot of the time I write about the feelings I have as I’m having them. These feelings are not to be mistaken with my true feelings, which usually take some time to figure out, and which would have been explained to him directly if and when it made sense to in our relationship.
What I felt first was a tremendous sense of loss. Hobbes no longer thinks we are relationship compatible. And perhaps we aren’t, but I know that his sense of that isn’t based on a true understanding of who I am. I feel responsible for his confusion, though, and his sentiments are very difficult for me to absorb. Did I do this to myself? Did my desire to weave an engaging tale on my blog undermine the budding of a real relationship and hurt someone I care about?
I often have doubts about whether I should continue writing a blog about something that is so personal to me. I am concerned that I over analyze situations that I want to write about in order to tell a good story. I am worried that I misrepresent my true self by capturing all my fleeting and fluctuating emotions. I think it’s entirely possible that writing a dating blog is detrimental to my success at dating.
Underneath the sadness, though, was a lot of “grow up Hobbes”. True, when he told me he was no longer interested in me romantically I told him the good news was that he could keep on reading the blog. I am flattered that he did so. And yes, I probably should have thought more about how awkward it would be if he was reading it while we were actively talking about meeting up. He’s a big boy, though, and I assumed that if he chose to read the blog that he would have done so with eyes wide open. He doesn’t have to like what I think about his actions but I didn’t misrepresent them. I wasn’t passive aggressively trying to tell him things through the blog. And how could he not have expected to see something negative about himself?
Most importantly, I was disappointed that when he thought he was seeing a different version of me on the blog than in our emails that he didn’t say something to me about it, instead of coming to all these conclusions about what I expected and what I thought.
I tried to explain it to him over email. About the blog; that it’s not all true, but it’s not all false, either. About how he was taking it way too literally and should know better. And I apologized. I never meant to hurt him and I was truly sorry that he was feeling the way he was.
He wasn’t interested in me explaining in person when I was in his hood… I told him I really wanted to see him, to apologize and clear things up. He responded that it wasn’t that big of a deal.
Message received, loud and clear.
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