What we reveal

So when did "fun" become a euphemism for sex? As in an eye-glinting question "So, so you want to have fun? i know it's been forever, but when I was younger, the term was never bandied around in such a manner. While I'm whole-heartedly embracing the dating thing, some might say a little too enthusiastically, there are moments when I am genuinely amused - and bemused.I guess some of my puzzlement comes from the fact that I've never really dated before. Ever. From my late teens, I guess I've been what could be termed a serial monogamist. Sure, sometimes relationships might have overlapped in a grey, foggy  new beginning preceding end way, but there's always been someone new immediately following the break up. So I've never actively gone out with a range of people without ending up in a relationship. I'm also discovering a whole other side of human nature and openness about sex which is refreshing, even if at times blase.and confronting.

After enduring another lecture from one of my dear male friends exhorting me to choose and settle down with just one person, I found myself examining my choices of late, and realised that actions speak louder than words. I'm having a great time at the moment. So why should I settle? I've also expanded my boundaries - after deciding I couldn't date men more than 5 years younger than me, I've discovered oh yes I can! While there's the pitfalls of immaturity and self absorption, I'm finding that doesn't necessarily have anything to do with age. And younger men are generally a lot less complicated - no wives, ex-wives, children etc. They are available at a moments notice and happy to drive sometimes unexpectedly and spontaneously across town with the "fun" carrot dangling enticingly - and if it doesn't work out that way, there's no resentment. There is also the issue of physicality where youth and beauty are not a dim memory of a bygone era.

A couple of weekends ago, I met the loveliest guy in Sydney. After contacting online, we talked on the phone, then did a Face to Face call. We were both relaxed and not feeling any pressure when we met on the Friday night - he was funny, and fun and wonderful and a genuinely nice guy, He had a really early start on Saturday morning, yet on Saturday night sent me a text telling me how much he'd enjoyed meeting me, and he hoped we could do it again. Perfect. I let him know I'd give him a call when I know the details of my next trip. all good and wonderful. And the travelling encounter works both ways - over the past month I've met appreciably younger men who are passing through Melbourne, or working here, and they have been wonderful - not to mention great looking! Men who spend a lot of time travelling for work, have few connections and spend an awful lot of time in the gym. But what I really like is the openness. There's no agonizing, no pretending, no need not to discuss that you are on a website. I've had some great, amusing laugh out loud conversations during these dates - the good, the bad and the ugly. The gorgeous man from the Gold Coast asked me how I was finding the website we encountered one another on.
"Hit and miss" I responded
With a wry grin he chuckled and said:
"More miss than hit", eyebrow raised we both laughed and went back to what we had been doing.

It's above all, easier than actually dating someone for any length of time.

And notes to self - beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder - one of the sites has room to categorize one's looks - I've just recently changed mine from "Average" to ":See my photo" - it's a judgement call I can't quite make for myself - and I'm always taken aback when someone is really complimentary. It's easy to dismiss the messages telling you you are beautiful, or pretty, or hot (all of which I hate), but when it's someone you have actually met and enjoyed meeting it's a little more confronting. The Carpenter and I have been communicating - we did discuss deleting one another, but neither of us could quite bring ourselves to do so. Amongst  my rationalizations was that he is a lovely guy. Sweet, and with a conscience, funny, exceptionally good looking and with an amazing body. I was gob-smacked when he told me that's what he thought about me... before I'd even mentioned my thoughts to him. - and I am constantly amazed when someone I find really attractive feels that way about me - especially when they are 10 or more years younger.It's also much easier to date against type than I thought - most of these men have had dark hair and eyes, and it's not causing me any problems! Unlike dating my type... After months of exchanging messages and never quite being able to connect I finally got to meet the News Editor. We went out for a drink at one of his local pubs in Sth Melbourne. Where we ran into de Riguer. Slightly awkward to have to introduce two men who share a very similar appearance to one another - and seeing that recognition on both their faces - the unspoken acknowledgement that I'd been with one, and was now with the other. Neither looked terribly impressed, and I had to smile and promise to catch up while I had my hand take  by the other and was led away.Their obvious similarities made me pinch myself.

But back to the point - I switched my "Average" judgement call to "See my photo" because I've seen one too many men who rate themselves as "Attractive" or "Very Attractive" when I would put them at below average - it's a judgement call, and very subjective... and not a little immodest.And I'm tired of people who just wont show you a photo of their face - intimate photos of every other part of their body, but not their face? What gives? Is that the values of the world - that everything is on display but one's face? Reverse Victorianism?

If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with

So I knew the day would come - yesterday I went to meet with someone. He bore no resemblance to his profile - Hot hunk was more like - disheveled, aging paunchy hulk. About 15 years older than he claimed, and 15 (or more) kilos than his profile photo, a picture of a well sculpted torso - which I now suspect to be someone else entirely. Of course me being me, I didn't hesitate to tell him so - and boy did he retaliate! Like a 5 year old having a tantrum - oh and the vitriolic email after telling me my photos were clearly taken 10 years ago. Of course this caused me self doubt. Anxiousness - but I had to remind myself, the Carpenter from last week, the High Rise Building Construction Manager from Friday, the Ad Man, who I saw again last week, and the Chemical Engineer I had a second date with on Thursday didn't seem to think so. Of course they are all young, healthy and look like their profile pictures. So why so much doubt caused by one aging, bitter Lothario? And one who, after accusing me, had removed his photos entirely? Did he just loathe himself for his dishonesty and make me pay for holding up the accusatory mirror?

Because it taps into that tiny bit of self doubt I think we all carry. The tiny inner voice - will he like me? Am I pretty enough?  Of course the aforementioned aren't all perfect - the Carpenter called me on Friday, quite keen to catch up again, but when I talked to him much later in the night and many drinks later, his inquiry of whether I would still want to see him if he started seeing his ex again left an unusual pall over that particular encounter. The Building boy wanted to see me again to, but I'm not so sure that will happen. Grain of salt.
Am I being too flippant? Maybe - but I am damn well enjoying myself at the moment. On Friday the exhortations of a male friend telling me I must choose one made me indignant. Why? Why must I choose one? Clearly it hasn't worked for me in the past. And if I'm not hurting anyone, least of all myself, I'm good with that.

And there are so many - I'm at the point where I am no longer even disappointed when the cancellations happen. On Friday I'd triple booked, and not one of those dates happened, but the Building Boy did. They just pop up out of nowhere.- almost literally. My Saturday lunch date cancelled - I was annoyed at that. I'd had to get up really early to get my hair cut and I could have stayed in bed longer - end result was going shopping and meeting my housemate for a lovely lunch and shopping some more with her! Much more wonderful than a potentially awkward lunch with a stranger! Saturday nights date too was cancelled - quite a relief to have a night in when I was so exhausted from the night before and the day's activities rather than meeting at the Grand Hyatt for cocktails and dinner...

So, don't make me choose, I have decision fatigue.

Indecisive? Who me?

This week thus far, I’ve managed to keep it date free. And I can’t even begin to tell you how relieved I am. There’s a whole other energy that goes into organising and running a “successful” dating life, and I just don’t think I have it!

Sunday I met someone in the afternoon. Neither of us were up to it – and we were really quite half-assed about it. We’d spent the preceeding 3 nights on the phone talking to one another for hours on end. And I did want to meet him, it’s just that he spent the afternoon repeating the things he’d already told me, and I was so hung over and tired I could barely respond. So where to with that one? Who knows?

I’m finding that I have absolutely no sense of judgement about whether a man genuinely likes me and wants to see me again, or whether he’s using that as his escape line. Two weeks ago I actually went onto a site I left long neglected in order to delete my profile. To my surprise, the Ad Man had sent me a message which was engaging and not a little cheeky. As was his priofile. I’m not much one for spontenaeity – I really had surprises. But having exchanged messages, numbers and then texts, when he told me he had a spare ticket to the Spigeltent for the following afternoon, I accepted. I’m very glad I did – had a delightful time and we arranged to meet up the following afternoon. When I left his apartment  (an enormous converted warehouse arrangement) he asked me to text him the next day – actually we exchanged amusing texts on my way home and he did respond the next day and the next when I let him know that a friend had called to ask me who he was as she spotted us on Gertrude St on the Sunday. All good.But then silence. And more silence. And just when I had given up completely he texts and rings me. And wants to see me.

Likewise the Chemical Engineer I went out with a few weeks ago – we parted and I didn’t think there would be any more contact, but last night he did call and wants to see me next week. And the sportsman – persistent if a little abrupt but I know I can’t be bothered with someone so self absorbed they can’t articulate even a little.

So, I’ve made dates with all of them. And perhaps that’s what they do – and it’s why I can go two weeks without hearing from one or the other and another before we can meet, because I am busy and have a life. As they do. When I muttered that I didn’t think I’d hear from the Ad Man again, I was admonished with the facts, - that he’s single, busy, has a wide range of interests and wouldn’t bother me too much – perfect! I’m unable to tolerate dominant or pushy, demanding men, likewise disinterested one’s who leave me to do all the contacting, but they are the ones  I tend to fall for. Does that make me indecisive? Confused? Or that I just don’t know what I want? I happily confessed to the Ad Man during our first date that I had no idea what I wanted – and he thought that was just fine.

My Way

Last night was one of those that gets all weird and introspective. For me, the lyrics to Frank Sinatra;s "My Way" resonate here. It's how I do and try to live my life. But sometimes it feels as though someone, or something has other ideas...

Last night involved discussion of missed opportunities, lost friendships and lost friends.and it led me to reflect on why certain people meet, and at what time or stage in their lives they meet. One of the most special people I'm eternally grateful to have had in my life is a guy I met during First year of my undergraduate degree. My lively, friendly (gorgeous) and vivacious friend I met during O week turned up one lunch time with him in tow. I confess to an enormous crush. Huge. We had classes together, but as it transpired, we spent most of out week together, and with others at the pub, sitting in the beer garden with the chickens scratching around our feet..This went on all year. Often just the two of us in the winter months. Fast forward  - I had taken the next year off, and all kinds of friendships and structures changed. We met up again unexpectedly in another class together.Again back to hanging out, but the dynamics of me being in a relationship and all the other pressures of work, study etc changed - the crush still remained! We caught up intermittently over the following year, more often in a campus cafe rather than the pub. And then he was gone.

When my long term relationship, which had lasted all through Uni  faltered under the pressure of changing lives and my notions that it was either time to take the nest step or part, a friend with whom decided I needed a proper night out on the town to bolster my spirits. The Espy was heaving, and over the pool table at the back, was my first year crush. After delighted reunion I was drunk enough to tell him that I'd always had a crush on him. He laughed and asked why I had never told him. I responded that I thought it was my friend he'd liked. He looked at me gravely with those brilliant blue eyes and shook his head and told me, "No, It was never her.".When I realised what he meant, I could have swooned. The thought of what might have been flitted through my head. He who knew me so well understood exactly what I was thinking. He  suggested that we might make up for lost time. It was awesome, but fleeting - he moved back to WA where he'd been working in mines in the intervening years, and I was ok with that.

The next time we saw each other was at the airport - I was heading off on a work trip and he was returning to Melbourne as he'd landed a construction job. We had five minutes to exchange numbers and arrange to catch up. It never happened. When I think about how I found out he'd died, I still cry - I couldn't believe a,) that he was dead, and b) it had taken me so long to find out. We'd always been remiss about keeping in contact, and until recently because of my lifestyle and work commitments had never kept up with the news and current affairs.  I was sitting on the 6th floor of the Raymond Priestly building, having morning tea at my desk. It was awful, We had the radio on in the background, and I still cannot believe the synchronicity of my browsing the paper, turning the page and seeing his face, while his voice, the OOO call he'd made as he drowned was broadcast as a report on the Coroner's Inquest into his, and another man's death. As horrible, horrible accident. Why do such things happen to such wonderful people?

"Regrets, I've had a few, but then, too few to mention". I don't regret anything about knowing this awesome person, I wish his death had not been so painful, and so frightening and so alone, but I celebrate that I got to share some time with him, and I wouldn't change any of it. Especially not the time we spent together at the pub, in tutes, and in our reunion phase before he headed back out west. But I still can't drive through the Domain Tunnel. Not without hearing his wonderful laugh, and then the haunting pain and fear as he drowned in a drill hole during the creation of CitiLink.

What's in a profile?

I seriously think it's time to start my own business - one that specialising in creating an on-line dating profile for men, I swear – the online life must be a utopia I am missing – there’s a tardis out there and everytime someone creates a  profile on a  dating  site it takes them to a new world, a utopia in which every man there is laid (or layed) back, down to earth, has a good sense of humour, loves sports, carss, motorbikes and is looking for someone relaxed and with no baggage.

Clearly a huge amount of men I make contact with are so laid  back they can’t even  be bothered to turn up to an arranged date – it’s become  the de facto assurance once one has called a woman  assure her, don’t worry, I won’t stand you up!!!!

So obviously this is an accepted part of the on-line dating dance. The cancellation, or indeed the abandonment of foresworn  plans. I’m rather circumspect about this phenomenon. Laid back even “Lol” (which I’m beginning to suspect  stands not for Laughs out Loud, but for lamenting our lipservice.

The profile issue  is a conundrum – are Australian men that lazy that they cannot create something brief, amusing and to the point? This is why we are reduced to shopping on line for a man  by just looking at the pretty pictures – I’m actually all for a proforma, a couple of pics and away one goes! The worst are those that seek to identify all  of the traits he is NOT seeking – one such profile caused me a mild wrist cramp as I scrolled, and  scrolled and scrolled the list of  things this man did  want – if it had been on paper it would have gone on for pages… and the kicker being the concluding sentence. “Anyway I don’t believe this site is real, as no one has ever contacted me.” Well hellllooooo. What woman would – the litany of faults and  imperfections was so vast and voluminous I for one didn’t believe that there is any woman alive who could  gather up the temerity to contact this person – and after reading it, the “no thanks” button is little more than  an automatic twitch.

And what’s with the appalling profile pictures??? Blurry, indistinguishable, shot in bad light, with flashes reflecting off mirrors, taken from baaaaad angles, in dim light and uploaded  side-ways. If you’re lucky. My personal favourites are on one particular site where  there is a drop down menu to describe one’s looks, the photo is generally non-existant, or  only contains body parts, and the gentlemen in question have selected “See my photo” as their option!!!! Argj. And what’s with the body parts? Why does every second guy I chat to want to text me pictures of  their junk? And have me return the favour? Darling men, if you’ve seen one penis, you;ve seen them all – more or less, ifyou know what I mean. If I want to look at penises I’ll go online and download some free porn – god knows there’s a  surfeit of it – and don’t be thinking it will entice me to  date you just because I’ve seen it – seeing is not believing, and it’s incredible how much a crappy mobile phone photograph  can distort dimension and perspective. Enough said.

What I also don’t understand is the man who takes the time to write a reasonably intelligent profile piece, and talks about having fun but not being averse to a relationship with the right woman, who then goes against this be insistently demanding sex and only sex before even getting to the “My name is…” part of the introduction. I get a lot of this – my housemate doesn’t. Go figure. I had one guy tell me as his opening line that I looked like a sex maniac!  Where did that come from?

There’s an interesting thing about demographic too. I can categorise the age and type of men who attempt to contact me – the majority are between 26 and 34.  Well below my seeking criteria, as they say. There’s also an occupational thing – I receive messages and requests from an awfully high number of truck drivers, and personal trainers. WHY?????  The truck drivers I kind of get – in an obsure way – maybe they can’t read that I’m looking for educated, articulate intelligent men. But the personal trainers and former athletes? Am I to be a project? A rescue  mission?  I remember a former footballer I had a bit of a fling with – met him not on-line, but in the David Jones Food Hall on a weekday when I’d taken the day off for a doctor’s appointment and then gone browsing because I was extraordinarily early. What does a former athlete see in an incredibly unfit woman my age? Unfathomable… Anyway, the fling ended when he told me it was time for him to behave as his girlfriend was pregnant – might I add he’d not mentioned the girlfriend until that particular moment, and at that moment in time I hadn’t thought to ask – just assumed he was single.I must have been delusional, A former footballer in his early 30s with a penchant for encounters in shopping mall disabled toilets, what was I thinking???  Well I wasn’t… but now I do.  

And I’m very very sceptical – but that said, for every guy who doesn’t  turn up, or cancels at short notice, there’s one who will honour the commitment. Not all I have to do is find one who doesn’t drive me nuts, or go nuts himself.

Define "Bad Boy"

Ok, the past week's shenanigans has given me pause to reflect AGAIN of the nature of attraction, what one's type is and really - what constitutes a "bad boy". I guess I need to back track a little, and reflect on the varied men in my life and take note, they're not so varied.... I was brought up short by my lovely housemate early this week, who with hands on hips admonished me - "Don't go out with this man. I know you like bad boys, and he's the ultimate bad boy, so don't expect me to hold your hand and clean up the mess when it ends in tears." I laughed her off "What, his tears?". Great to be flippant, but she's right. And I did go out with him, and he has asked me out again, and already cancelled at the last minute. But that's ok.And it is true - she googled him and found out way more than anyone usually should - that's the thing about former international sportsmen - nothing to hide.

I've never been one to be overly anxious to please my partner - in any subservient sense of the word, and I scoff at the notion of there being one perfect person for one, but given thought, my leanings toward those who are, well, not quite normal, fully functioning men are interesting. Let's just say I like the silent , non-communicative type, and ironically fume against their inability to communicate. There is a pattern. I love men who are outwardly confident, and slightly demanding. But not too much. Two things you need to know about me, I don't take kindly to being told what to do. And I don't take kindly to being told what to do. I also find compliments difficult to handle. It's taken many years to just smile and say thank you when someone does pay me a compliment, and not make objections.

I remember being head over heels in my early twenties with the poet. We met at a birthday party - which happened to be on a boat which took the party between Williamstown and the docks in Melbourne for the evening. It's the first time I've looked across a room (well cabin) and thought - mmm, I want HIM!!!! And then gone and done exactly that. We both had issues - both under 25 and straight out of long term relationships, not sure what we were doing and where we were going - but there were nights later when we would be at the Public Bar in Nth Melbourne and he'd look at me across the pool table, My heart would leap into my throat, and he'd finish the game and without a word we would be in a cab, holding hands and going back to his place.Complicit silence. He was bad. Alcohol, drugs, gambling. I remember nights when he'd hand me his ATM card as we went to the casino and he instructed me that no matter what he did or said,was I under any circumstances to give it back to him. Argh. This man would take a beer into the shower with him, and I was entranced. Artistic temperament, soulful and just suffering from melancholy which he self medicated, I could not stay away. Funnily enough though, I had the guard up - even though I would drop everything at a moments notice to see him, I never really let him into my life - I became a frequent fixture at his place - I'll never forget the look on his housemates face when I emerged wearing his shirt one morning to go to the bathroom and answered a question about a music track he was playing to the other housemate - he'd been playing snatches from an album and asking the other hapless housemate if he knew who it was - I emerged and pronounced "Charlie Sexton" and he nearly fell over - yelling to the poet that "your new chick is amazing". Hehe The poet often lamented that I didn't invite him to my place, he never met any of my friends, with the exception of the mutual friend who had introduced us, and a particular gripe with him, that I always, always woke up and snuck out of the house before he woke up. I adored this man, and turned a blind eye to the bad behaviour, until one night I couldn't and held him while I waited fro an ambulance to respond to my call. He died before they arrived, and it was way too late for Narcan. Any wonder that my next relationship was with a born again Christian?

My date last week with Bad Boy was startlingly frank - or he was anyway. He inspected me and asked me if I was interested. When I asked why, without hesitation he responded " Your gorgeous - I'd fuck you in a heartbeat"
I was amused, and bemused - it's only on reflection of who he is, and his former success, and what it's cost him that leaves me at ease with that - I wouldn't take that from anyone else. Except I did from The Liar. Another bad boy with emotional issues and a tough upbringing. and de Riguer. and one of the two men I met this weekend. And it's why, even though the Chemical Engineer I dated on Wednesday was amusing and fun and intelligent, I won't be seeing him again, Nor will I see the guy from South America who took me out for lunch on Saturday and was a perfect gentleman  either. I don't do perfect gentleman. Not for very long, anyway.

Technology pah!

Is it technology that gives us an advantage, or makes us opportunistic?

This week I received a random text message early one morning that was a wrong number. Maybe it’s because I’m completely frustrated with being at home and doing practically nothing, maybe it’s just because I’m me, but I answered – I certainly was anticipating that the texting would go on all day, nor was I expecting the questions I was asked, but how did it come to the point that a wrong number text and responding politely that I wasn’t the intended recipient turn into being asked to meet someone? Is this the new dating? Sending random, slightly intriguing texts off and hoping for a reply?  My attitude to this exchange was mildly amused – and curious as to how far it would go.

The transcript of the “conversation” is as follows:

J: Hey Kelly. Jerome here. Just got back from London. If you are free next week, I could hire you to try newly design high heels plus got some Jimmy Choos as well. Thanx

(Ok – it was the Jimmy Choo’s reference that made me respond – what shoe loving woman wouldn’t?!)

H: Hey you have the wrong number. But I do like the Jimmy Choo’s

J: I am so sorry. Whats ur name

H: Hehe, You’re fine! It’s H____

J: Hi H____. Nice name. Where do you live, H____? (at this point my eyebrows hit the roof, but fair enough I rationalised, could be anywhere in Australia)

H: Melbourne

J: Nice. Same. Do u wear high heels (at this point I decided I was going to anonymously push this as far as it would go – without compromising or endangering myself. I was also just waiting for it to go off the rails and get weird – and it did)

H: You said the magic words lol

J: Wow I might hire you for work. Whats the highest heel u got

H: I can’t at the moment. I’ve broken a bone in my left foot.

J: Can u send me a pic wearing ur highest high heel. So I can see ur legs and feet. (Okaaay – definitely weird)

H: There is no way I could do that kind of work. Feet are a mess and I have a tattoo on my ankle.

J: That’s ok. U don’t have to do catwalk. I can use ur legs and feet to get ideas (oh really?? – and here it comes...) How old r u though! (knows how to use an exclamation point, but not a question mark) I prefer  someone older than 35 and curvy

H: Lol 41 and yes, fit that criteria

J: Wow. Nice. Cam send me a pic I asked pls

H: I know you did but I can’t do shoe modelling

J: You can try on shoes to get me ideas (hmm – ideas about what???). U don’t have to walk

H: I more than likely couldn’t get my feet into them, believe me, I am the least suited person for this kind of work – whatever it is – that you could find

J: Do you like  massage (now this really resembles dodgy dating chat)

H: So this has nothing to do with shoes?

J: Lol I’m learning it. I need to practice

H: Hehe I’m sure you do.

J: I will pay for ur time. Would u like that

H: You want to pay me to practice massage? And what kind of massage are we talking about?

J: Relaxation massage

H: And that entails?

J: I will give you a full body massage

H: (inherent sarcasm) Oh. A full body massage, And you will pay me? Interesting.

J: Yea I would. Coz I’m learning.

H: You’re an interesting man, if a little mysterious, Jerome

J: Would u like that

A break ensued as I went about getting from the tram to my Dr’s appointment

J: Are u ok

H: Yes

J: Do u wana do it

J: How much do u want?

H: I don’t know anything about you

J: About me I’m 28, single. Was born in the UK. My parents are SriLankan. I’m a property investor , and a designer Are u happy with 70 for an hour

H: I’m not happy with any of it. Not the kind of thing I’d be comfortable with, but it’s been interesting

J: That’s ok. What do you do?

H: I[‘m an archivist/curator

J: Awesome what do you activist abt

H: Not activist ARCHIVIST

J: lol sorry

J: I would love to meet you !

H: Why?

J: Coz I like. You seems interesting

H: I am. But no thanks

So it concluded – there was no way I ever entertained the thought of meeting this person, and it reminded me of a telemarketing interview years ago, before mobile phones where I just happened to have recently bought a bed - and that's what the survey was about. I giggled and flirted my way through the questions, he giggled back and the interview went on for far longer than the proscribed time. End result was that he invited me to meet him, and I declined, breathless, but thrilled. A rather different experience this time. A couple of days earlier I had broken my own rule and agreed to go out with someone of about the same age – emotional blackmail, deleting contacts, cancelling, re arranging and then  a sulky disaster which ensued in the date not happening and more sulking ensued. I’m starting to have serious concerns regarding the mental instability of men who are interested in me. And why are so many men in their mid to late 20s interested in women of my age – what on earth possesses them to think that they could hold any interest for me.? Many of them seem astounded that intellectual attraction is just a beguiling as physical attraction. Should two people be lucky enough to find both, then wonderful – but I often find that as I get to know someone, the intellectual over-rides the physical.

On Sunday I chatted on-line with witty banter flying back and forth for almost four hours with someone. Then a three hour phone call last night – the meeting next week should be interesting, or a complete let-down....

Vagaries

Argh. Just lost 3 hours of work – now I need to start again...

How does one balance feelings? How many is too many? What constitutes a slut? And why, why, why is the elusive man  who cannot or will not be pinned down the most attractive? In all immodesty, why, when I have a number of dates to choose from is it the elusive one I want the most? And it’s a physical thing. My heart races and my brain scrambles. It’s a physiological imperative.

Okay, so while I have  been whiling my time away on the couch, I’ve also been investing my time in the on-line and off-line dating scheme. Being somewhat immobile is no excuse for not meeting and greeting – just very convenient that the nearest cafe is a minute’s walk away. The only problem is that it’s become all so complicated and confusing. Easy in concept, and more complicated in execution – of course it is. It involves real people with real feelings, including my own.

My favourite, best date in a long time got very complicated, messy even. Somebody say pear-shaped? Lots of baggage on both sides, and no storage lockers in which to park it. Suffice to say that there have been misunderstandings,  recriminations and explosions – the seriousness of which was brought home to me today when I learnt that the reason I’v e not heard anything from him for days is due to an arrest and incarceration in a psych ward in one of our largest regional cities for the past three days. The erratic behaviour makes sense now – and I’m left with an overwhelming sense of guilt. I don’t for a minute believe it’s my fault, but perhaps I should have paid attention a little more closely and read the warning signs a little better. I’m not narcissistic enough to think that I sent him over the edge, but my behaviour hasn’t been all that wonderful. Declarations of emotions, spectacular fights and over-reactions and great sex all in the space of five weeks is definitely not normal. And there is the fact that both the Liar and my ex-husband frequently  let me know that I was doing their heads in.

A question that keeps going through my head is why people end up in bed when it’s readily apparent that they should not. And I’m surprised at my self-deluding naivete with this man. If one calls someone after midnight, and he invites himself over, why am I surprised by what inevitably happens?  Denial?  Absolutely.  Abrogation of responsibility?  Perhaps.  But not about physical and chemical reactions between us And I really do understand now that his repeated litany of “It’s only sex” was an affirmation to himself  and not a  reality he was desperate to impress upon me.

I live in a world wherein my natural inclination toward a high libido is recognised in a semi-comedic, horror-struck relief by popular culture. – the character of Sam Jones in Sex and the City – I’m definitely not Sam, but there are character traits present in my personality. Friends who know me well accept this – some wholesale, others a little bemused and slightly disapproving. I value this, but also perceive the condemnation and admonishment implicit in our conversations that occasionally veer toward sex. Perhaps that’s my attraction to, and avoidance of recognising my feelings toward a man I struggle to be able to flippantly label. He’s important, and honest and recognises something in me, even though he cannot hope to return it, but he doesn’t deserve to be treated as though he’s disposable.

Afternoon Shift is a different proposition  altogether. The male version of me. Alarming thought. He shops, and bargain hunts , confesses to possession of too many clothes and shoes and boots. Spends a lot of time on ebay. He was also impressed and floored by my wardrobe – in a good way. He has a fragrance habit and while being addicted to tanning, he excuses his behaviour with the claim that he moisturises regularly.  Metrosexual to the hilt. He’s also funny, and constantly coming out with wry observations that make me really laugh, not just giggle. He’s easy to be with, and understands me and where I’m coming from. Lack of space will never be an issue with this guy. Oh and he’s really physically desirable.

So back to the question. How many is too many? Does anyone really care? Isn’t the most important thing to be true to one’s self, and try not to hurt anyone? Personally I don’t want to live in a world without hurt, because it only makes the good things so much better. The dating system in this country is unclear, it seems to be suspended between two traditions, American and British. Americans tend to play the field. It’s acceptable to date a number of people until two parties agree to be exclusive. The British model puts me in mind of serial monogamy. Dating is always exclusive and should another be deemed desireable, then break-ups ensue and the new pairing occurs. Except when the lines get blurry. It’s where cheating comes in. Last Friday I caught up with one of my supermarket guys. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in 8 months. Apparently he’s met THE ONE. So why was he trying to sleep with me? To test his feelings? To prove them? I don’t know about anyone else, but I wouldn’t tolerate it if I found out my boyfriend of 9 months had tried to hook up with another woman he had admittedly had a casual relationship with, just to see if he was sure he loved me. What I really resent however is the implication that because of said casual relationship I would agree to such an encounter. Needless to say I did not – and any feelings I had for him, however fleeting are now tainted. And I really, really resent being painted into a corner as the other woman. It’s my one, strong, adamant moral principal – I’ll never again see anyone who is even remotely attached.

Friday was a lesson and learning curve in all aspects. 4 dates – 2 unplanned and 3 of them spectacularly average and lacking in any way an earth shaking quotient. I often wonder why a man asks a woman to call him when it’s clearly apparent  that there is no chemistry. Not to say that there cannot be platonic sensibilities, but if a meeting has been full of awkward silences and I feel as though I have had an exhaustive work out in questionville, why would I wish to meet again and prolong or repeat the agony?  Something else I’ve learnt through experience is never to meet anyone without first having a conversation – accents and expressions are important! And I draw the line at going out with any man who calls me “Darl”. Ugh. Or “princess”.

On Friday I had a cup of tea with the Postie. A tattooed, snake-owning man who made me feel as though I’d had the proverbial work out. I’ve made this mistake once. I went out with a guy from work who works with one of my close friends. The Undateable man was painful to be with. I was exhausted by searching for questions to ask., a conversation to be held, and monosyllabic answers to everything. He’s also a pig at the table. Just because one is painfully shy and clearly isn’t comfortable in mixed company does not mean he should abandon any semblance of civilisation when eating,, or in this case, inhaling food. Ahem, I digress... The second was more articulate, but held absolutely no attraction for me.  Then there was the Painter, then the after midnight call.

I was supposed to meet someone on Saturday, but owing to lack of sleep, just couldn’t face it – I also couldn’t face the Sunday date at 12 and literally jumped for joy when the 2pm cancelled. Is it wrong to be that happy when someone cancels a date by text. I just wish he’d cancelled before I put my make up on. I couldn’t get out of my dress and into yoga pants and a t-shirt fast enough! All this was a prelude to being contacted by De Riguer. And the knowledge of where my heart lies. Out of the blue, blinding and devastating. My elusive object of desire. Months of silence and a text leaves me shattered and disturbed. Curse technology! This man had my heart at hello (clichéd as that may be) and clearly still does considering my reaction. So what’s wrong with me? Unfathomable,  and infallibly human. Is that what I’m seeking now? I thought I wanted a great sexual partner who is emotionally available and who knows how to pack and park any baggage. My actions and reactions deny this. Why shouldn’t I aim high and refuse to settle? Is that what multiple dating is about? History dictates that I am not happy with settling, nor am I happy in trying to fit a square peg in a round hole and going through the motions of a conventional relationship. I cannot reconcile myself to a life with someone who is not perfect for me – and I don’t mean perfect in the eyes of anyone else, just me. No Cinderella complex, but an aberration of that – I want what I want what I want. Thus I date, and date and date.

The On-line Conundrum

I'll be the first to confess, just like the real world, the on-line world can be confusing, depressing amusing. Reading between the lines is just as difficult as all the unspoken things that fo on between two people when they first meet. The on-line introduction should make things easier - but it doesn't. While I'm often flippant about this forum, it's sometimes hard to sort the wheat from the chaff, and have a good perspective on things. One needs to be thick skinned. There are bores, narcissists, and the very very strange and it's easy to give in to despair. The other night however, I discovered a much more fun way to deal with things - my housemate and I sat down together and went on-line. It was hilarious! We could compare bad profiles, giggle at awful photos and exchange shrieks of delight or horror. Much more fun browsing with someone to confirm one's thoughts than alone. She also introduced me to something I'd not indulged in in the on-line world., the concept of browsing profiles. I confess - I've never actually gone searching on dating sites - I've always just reponded either yes or no to requests or messages.

We dug up some horrors - the guy who was so proscriptive about the kind of women he did not want to meet (about 750 words worth who then scathing concluded his diatribe wit hthe disclaimer that he did n't believe that there was anyone out there because no one had ever sent him a contact request - hmmm, I wonder had the concept that why - his negative, misogynist post, dismissing most of the female population of Melbourne might have something to do with this?).

Whether spurred on by my compadre, or in the interest of providing fodder for my social experiment I accepted requests from two men I never normally would. The first was a 20 year old with a set of ridiculous photographs. The universe is eternally confusing - he turned out to articulate, witty and interesting. I just hope he understands why I deleted him - as well as the aforementioned blooming romance, I am NEVER going to date a man who is 20, and lives at home with his parents and sister (who has just had a baby) in Hoppers Crossing. The other was one of those incredibly vain profiles - no photo (which I never usually respond to). He described how extremely good looking he was, and how great he is in bed - now I know it was the wine and the hilarity of shared incredulity and mirth but this was beyond the pale. An exchange of "hi's"and then a message that read "You look like a sex maniac'. All over in 2 minutes. Delete profile. And cacklle hysterically. I wonder if I am doing something wrong? Are we supposed to respond in kind? My response would have been, "Can't say the same... don't know what you look like". But I'm jaded - and can't be bothered. Meanwhile my housemate was receiving the my most hated question - "What are you looking for?". I suggested my standard response: World Peace and a p-acket of Tim Tams that never runs out. It's my wheat/chaff sorter. I was reminded of a date I'd gone on. I met the guy without knowing what he looked like. In typical Melbourne fashion the weather put on a spectacular show, and so I sheltered in the doorway of a convenience store at the designated meeting point and enduring the embarrassment of asking several men who were only sheltering from the storm whether they were the guy I was waiting for. He eventually turned up and was NOTHING  akin to his description. The type of bald that is cringe-worthy (comb-over). A bad 70s style moustache (compensation for the lack of hair????) and a physique that was so far from the described athletic" it was unbelievable. Dinner was excruciating - as he sat opposite me,stripping me with his beady, protruding eyes, and his lizard like tongue moistening his pale lips, I felt as though I was on the menu. I couldn't wait to get away. I think he's been in this situation before, as I waited for the end of the meal, and my opportunity to pay and walk away he snuck off and paid the bill. Of course then I felt obligated to go and have a drink after dinner. He decided we should go to the Gin Palace, all the while talking about his joy of meeting women who are sexually like-minded and free. UGGGGHHHH. Okay - so to end the torment I told him I was going to the ladies, and escaped out into the rain. I actually ran full pelt down the alley and around the corner and then collapsed laughing not a little hysterically and gasping for air. Never again will I organise a meeting with someone who won't post a photo. Oh, and I'm a lot better now at just saying no when someone I don't have any connection with turns up. I don't do dinner as a first date either - it's much easier to walk away from a coffee or a drink than it is a dinner. All that's needed is a little balance and perspective. While I can sit and laugh at this now, I was terrified at the time - the sleazy guy who manipulated and controlled and wouldn't take no for an answer - escaping a dark , basement bar is an adventure now, but a nightmare at the time, and not something anyone should have to endure. Of course there's all kinds of crazy in the real world too - and sometimes I wonder, if a guy wants to have sex, or get a blow=job so badly that he will try intimidating a woman into it, why won't he just pay for it? At least the transaction is more honest - or is that the problem? The lies he has told himself are bigger and all-encompassing, and he can't see that by intimidating a woman to the point where she "consents" to have sexual congress with him out of fear or obligation isn't worse than handing over a few dollars????
At  least on-line there's the ability to walk away more easily, but sometimes that['s not the case. I've encountered complete and utter nut cases - one in particular cyber stalked me - and I do mean it. This was an older gent with a screw loose and a propensity for delusion. He sent me daily messages which contained highly detailed erotic fantasises. When I didn't respond he took it further - he found out my name, and where I lived and posted threatening emails. He constructed a fake profile on a sex website where he had photoshopped my face on to explicit pornographic pictures and advertised me as available for gang-bangs, then sent me the link and threatened to send it to all of my workmates. Stupidly he had attached his real name to my messages - so I googled him, found out a bit about him, and with the help of The Liar, fought back. He had been a lawyer, or was qualified as one - so when I threatened to go to the police with everything and mentioned the penalties for  identity theft and stalking he desisted. It could have been so much worse, but it wasn't. I was lucky, but I am now always careful - no full  names, no email contact and no hints on-line as to where I work - I never want to have to deal with anything like that again. Then again, as Mr B is wont to say: I do tend to collect strange men!

In and out of the swing of things...

Forgive the rambling of this particular post - it's been an eternity! Or so it seems.
The gap is due to a particular physical impairment, being confined to home for pretty much the past two weeks - and a developing fragile chrysalis of a relationship I am finding myself reluctant to expose to anyone other than myself..He's so open and honest - not at all what I am used to.And he holds a mirror up to me, some of what is reflected is familiar and I like and love, some however, is completely foreign to me - enlightening and frightening.

On Monday I spent several hours at a clinic in one of the larger inner-city hospitals in Melbourne.Waiting to see the surgeons, there was plenty of time to think. I realised, if I added up all of the hours spent waiting to see doctors and in hospitals, it would literally add up to months of my life, and the majority of them, alone. Most of my fellow patients were not. Alone that is. I've always been comfortable with my own company. And the endless hours in waiting rooms are probably a huge contributing factor. I can count on one hand (and have fingers left over). My former husband was never good with waiting - if not aggressively berating medical professionals, he would sit and twitch and moan about wanting to got to the pub - on one occasion suggesting that he do that, and I call him when I finished. I sent him to the pub and didn't bother letting him know when I was done. Then again, what did I expect? This is a man who erupted when I told him my brain surgery had been finally scheduled with a "How can they do this to me?!"Sweetheart, they weren't doing it to you, it was, actually about me... so I took the train and the tram to the hospital by myself the next day, and checked myself in. Likewise the time I had food poisoning - he watched me being loaded into an ambulance , and then, went to... work. I had to call my father to collect me the next day from the hospital. The Liar came with me to an appointment - I was shocked. But he also fidgeted and kept muttering about picking his daughter up. So is it easier to wait alone, or with someone? Both. I had time to analyse this on Monday. When I'm scared, and worried, yes, I would give anything to have someone patient there to hold my hand, but if they're going to twitch and fidget and moan? No thanks. So is that what I'm looking for online? Someone who will sit with me in waiting rooms? Not really. But someone I can rely on to support me and give me some strength when I am so distracted I'm lacking? Hell yes. One of the things that irked me on Monday was that I received texts from three men I'd been on dates with - two of whom I had told I was seeing someone and couldn't date them other than in the realms of friendship. They were all sending me their best wished for the appointment. But nothing from the one I am hoping will become more. I was wounded. And not very sensible.

The mirror he holds up has taken me further in a few days than I've been able to do on my own in a year. And that keeping someone in my heart and my head is keeping me from letting anyone else in. I couldn't understand why de riguer stopped contacting me - the hurt of that, perhaps reflected in the fact that there was always a third person with us - and that I need to let that go.

Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart, or burn down your house, you can never tell.

In the words of John Steinbeck - the best laid plans of mice and men...
I hesitate to write today - an unusual weekend, if a little subdued. My housemate was away for the weekend - chance to party and live a life of debauchery???? Haha - not likely! After missing the top step and doing quite a bit of damage to my foot late last week, I was confined to quarters for much of the weekend - not that I didn't have company, but still...

I'm finding the thrill of the new is waning a little - and by that I mean, it's great to go out on dates, and meet new, and usually interesting people, but I need a formula for dispensing with first date introductions and small talk. I've never really liked talking about myself - talking about people around me and situations is fine, but not me per se. And the first date scene is all about talking about one's self. Ad nauseum. And when you do it four times in one weekend... I'm sick to death of myself, and find myself inventing new ways to talk about me. Urgh.
Of course, it's more of a chore with some than it is with others.So I'm thinking I might take a bread from the whirlwind revolving carousel for a bit - and I must admit, there is one person in particular I am getting to know better, and rather enjoying it. We shall see.I remember meeting a guy once who had no idea how off-putting he was in introducing himself - recently separated from his wife, all he could do when we met for coffee was talk about her. Now I know I'm rather lax about talking about the ex with the new - rules dictate that one doesn't mention them on a first date, but that's not always possible, and the acknowledgement of the existence of a former partner and leaving it at that is acceptable in my eyes - perhaps, on a superficial level even briefly relating the reasons for the breakdown of the relationship is ok, but please, no woman wants to go on a date (even if it is just for a morning hot beverage break) and hear all about the woman he's just left behind - and the lack of their sex life since the kids came along. Good grief! On this occasion it was patently obvious he was not over this woman - and I am not a therapist!!!! He narcissism knew no bounds - so much so that he lectured me on keeping my sunglasses on (I should use my eyes to better effect!!! Frankly, he was so self obsessed, I'm surprised even noticed I had eyes) even though we were sitting outside in the blinding sun, to immediately texting me atfer I had escaped to ask how I thought the meeting went, how could he improve on other dates (presumably not with me) and did I think he was attractive!

On the other hand, I've had the other extreme - my extremely brief relationship with the Tax Lawyer was more and more painful with each date, akin to a growing rash that gets more and more irritating as time passes. At one point I had to stop him and ask how long they had been separated, the dialogue was so vitriolic, so bitter, and so utterly condemning. And he told me way too much - things I just didn't want to know. In the end I couldn't face him anymore - and in response to an avalanche of text messages one night, I did the unpardonable and told him I did not feel the same way he felt about me, and would he please cease and desist forthwith!

So I'm left wishing that it is socially acceptable to hand over a cheat sheet prior to the first date - this is all about me - do your homework and then we can skip all the introductory stuff and get onto the second date good stuff - getting to actually know one another.Friday night was a second date - and way more fun than I expected. Saturday was a first, pleasant, but I was left thinking - not for me, and nor did I for a second think that I was for him - then again one never can tell - as he left to get into a taxi he asked me to call him. When I asked "Really?" with a little too much incredulity, he looked amused and said"Yes, really, I've had a good time tonight". We'd spent the night perched either end of a couch swapping life stories,entertaining but no fireworks, so to speak. Sunday was a respite, my lunch at a winery was cancelled and I lay on the couch most of the day, reading and watching DVD's and taking calls from Mr Friday night at regular intervals. I guess I'm left wondering if the fireworks are important - every single time I've had them, it's not ended well. Like the anonymous quote above - is it better to have your heart warmed, of watch the house burn around you?

Equality?????

The online dating experience - quite the conundrum. Last night was one of the shortest meetings I've had yet - not even the length of a drink - and over - just not my type. Fair enough,. It happens. Except that it shouldn't have. I'm now finding this social experiment is getting to be hard work - I need a record-keeping system (oh the irony from a information management professional!!!) You see, last night's stunted conversation, awkward moments and poor social interaction was all my fault! I thought I was meeting someone else. I'm getting them confused! Between nick-names, real names, email addresses, phone numbers and interaction all over the place, the lines are blurring - and sometimes I'm not sure who I've arranged to meet. Oooops. I know that's bad.

After the end of a very quick drink, and a hurried text (I realised I'd done it again - I met the Gardner two weeks ago, knew it wasn't going to work and gone home after a polite chat and a drink - nothing wrong, he was lovely, just not for me) After mixing up The Supplier and the Gardner via text, I had to hurriedly text the Gardner back saying I was sorry, couldn't make it this weekend, as I'd forgotten I was going away for the weekend - only a sin of omission, not an outright lie, I had arranged to go away for the weekend  months ago, it's just that I no longer am, So I need a spreadsheet. Or a database. With an app for my iPad.

The thing I did learn last night - which I managed to draw out of the painfully near silent man - was that all things are not equal in on-line dating land.Of course I knew this. The lovely Ms K related to me an anecdote that several years ago a male friend of hers had been recruited by a dating agency at an enormously discounted rate because they could not find enough men. Some of us in the dating game can relate to that . He had stories of numerous dates and women he met - a surfeit of them. The on-line world is completely reversed. Apparently the numbers average around 25 to 1 (men to women). And the men have to pay. Frequently the women don't. It's not cheap - and it explains why on one site I have received over 900 winks in a week and only 70 emails. Winks are free - emails are not. Replies are free - sometimes.

I've also had free trial memberships for 3 months and then constant free renewals of Premium membership,all because I'm a woman. It also explains the amount of accusatory messages inquiring whether I am real, or if I work for the site if I do respond to an initial contact. Oh yes, internet porn is big business. For some of the dodgier sites, it's pretty much a front to get guys to pay for cam and web sex. Solutions? Why not try talking to someone - in the supermarket? Yes - that's happened to me! I dated a personal trainer I met in a supermarket, and an artist - all rather random and charming. In the first instance the PT asked me to help him find something, then waited outside the shop for me to emerge20 mins later and offered to buy me a coffee. With the artist we chatted in line on a Saturday night, then he cruised past the restaurant I was sitting at later and invited me for a drink, all the while pretending he'd known me forever! It worked. Then again - I'll talk to anyone. I was once chastised by The Liar for talking to the elderly and local patrons of a well known bar and restaurant in Lygon St. What harm does it do to be nice to someone, and smile and say hello back? It's not like I'm making a commitment to them - it doesn't cost anything to be nice.And just because they talk to you doesn't mean a thing. Or it just might.

I'm not sure about other women, but sometime I clap eyes on a man, and know I'm in trouble. Warning bells go off like klaxons, and it's too late. Like the sailor seduced by the Siren, I'm in - all in.It's happened twice in the last three years, and my instincts weren't wrong, so why did I fail to obey them? In a normal, everyday situation, if that sixth sense is triggered, I react - someone standing too close on an escalator? I make sure my bag is zipped, scammers - walk away - etc. So why not when it comes to this?

The redoubtable Mr B and I have discussed this on occasion. Let's call it the curse of pheromones. The night I began my relationship with The Liar you could cut the air with a knife. We circled each other warily, neither willing to concede, but after he kissed me, there was no going back. And he in the coming weeks, he was to pursue me relentlessly.. If I look back, would I change anything? I don't know. I don't think so. Better to have loved and lost...? Perhaps. Perhaps

A year after he has disappeared, I still miss him, with every fibre of my being, I ache and I miss and I cry. There are so many things I miss - the sound of his voice (amazingly cliched - he had me at hello); his amazing deep laugh and bemused chuckle when I did something he couldn't fathom; the way he held on so tightly to me in his sleep, and the way he chased me across the bed if I dared to move away - so much so that I'd have to get out one side and get back in the other. The way his hand rested on my hip; the 20 odd different colours of grey in his hair that span from his temple to the curls behind his ear, the way he would rarely say my name when awake, but would do so over and over in his sleep. And I wonder, did he lie about everything, did he ever really mean the things he said? Sometimes I think I imagined it all.

But it doesn't stop me trying again, and laughing at myself and the foibles - and feeling a silly twinge of hurt each day. More recently de riguer took what little was left of my bruised heart and did it all again. On our first date I was mesmerized - could barely speak and only just managed cheeky repartee that resembled a tennis match, a battle of wits back and forth..Just to explain, I'd have to say - this is one of the most physically beautiful men I've met- and intelligent, funny, talented...genuinely nice and a workaholic - as in 90 hour weeks. I spent the first date with the sirens going off in my head, and then when he dropped me off, and asked if I'd like to see him again, I melted  That first night was hilarious - we couldn't find anywhere open (Monday night). Finally we landed in a booth in a bar that wasn't serving food anymore, but handed us takeaway menus - we ordered, and some of the best Thai food I've had in Melbourne was delivered to us, in the bar, soon after. Sometimes spontaneity has it's benefits...

Or not. What is it about "Bad Boys" that captivates me?
Why do I like men who work long or strange ours, and arrive and depart in the middle of the night, are frequently unreachable or put other things ahead of me? Would I want to be the number one priority in anyone's life? I start hyperventilating at the thought. Is is just men?

I don't think so - several months ago I pretty much severed ties with the Crazy Scottsman. When he sat opposite me in the pub over a meal and whined "Why don't you call me?"
"Why don't you invite me to your house?"
"Why did you never invite me to your old place?"
"Why when you stay, do you disappear before I wake up in the morning?"
When I pointed out, that he had started out by telling me he didn't want a 'relationship' with me (which by very definition of the word, means we are having a relationship - just not one in which I call him, or invite him over) he looked hurt. His entreaties scared the crap out of me - and needless to say, once said meal was over, I went home. And didn't invite him in. And haven't returned any of his calls since. Just like a man.

Or is it? I remember the first time I was hopelessly in love with The Liar. I'd had a fairly important meeting at work in the morning, and once it was done I was free to go home early. It was raining, and early afternoon traffic up Sydney Road was a nightmare. I could have gotten out of the tram and walked faster. I missed about 5 calls from him, wondering where I was. When I finally rounded the corner of the street I was living in,and saw him get out of his car, my heart stopped. I felt dizzy. And when it started again as he shrugged within his jacket that was far too light for the weather (it's a thing about people who drive everywhere - they're never attired in anywhere near enough clothing for the outdoors in Melbourne in winter).I found it hard to breathe.

Fear flooded through me as the words "I love you" flared through my brain in flaming sans serif font. and I told myself "Don't ever let him know. He can never know".Maybe men and women aren't so different, and it's all just timing and fear?

The online dating world is full of complete nutters... a bit like life really, why should I be so surprised?Occasionally though, there are a few gems. With low expectations of a good weekend, I must say, I hit the jackpot twice this past weekend - and had a delightfully , unexpected, amazing weekend. First was Saturday - I'll call him The Supplier. Not really sure if he'd turn up (oh yes, there have been so many stand-ups, and I don''t mean in a comedic way), I headed to an infamous watering hole in the centre of Melbourne's CBD. He did turn up. On time!!! Was charming. We had drinks, great conversation. One of the things, I, and a few of my closer friends believe in is the 2 degrees of separation rule that operates in Melbourne. Yes I said 2, not 6. While we were doing the introductory part, who we are, what we do,, it transpired when The Supplier was relating his work details that I had met someone else from his industry at a Meetup group dinner a few weeks ago - no, not a dating thing, just a meetup where people get to know each other. The rules for this group are that single professionals in my age group get together to socialise. I like to think of it as the escape from the eternal coupledom of my real friends - and I've met some great people. I described the person in general terms - rather scathingly I might add - you know that one person who is loud, inappropriate and knows EVERYTHING??? That was this guy. Annoying. Someone who drains the energy from the room, and tries to flirt with every woman there - which is not the point of these dinners. Anyway - turns out this guy is married, so the The Supplier related - and that his personality is the same at work - ammo for the competition, knowing he's out cruising single's dinners...

Anyway, we had a laugh, and moved on. Time to leave - he held the door, and held my jacket while I put it on, walked on the outside edge of the footpath. Insists on driving me home,holds the car door,and gets out and opens it when I'm ready to alight. Let me tell you, independence is wonderful, but chivalry is too.
We both say we'd like to see one another again. And there's a follow up text. See why I like older men????

Anyway, later that night I decide to delete my profile from a particular site - someone who had lately stolen my heart and then disappeared is still on there. But I can't delete it on an iPad - a request comes through and he looks reasonable - so we start chatting. Long story short, he calls me the next morning, we go out to lunch and spend the rest of the afternoon talking together in the park. There is hope - but more on that later....

So not all men are liars? - or at least some of them are graceful about it.

After having friends laugh at my redoubtable dating lamentations over the past few years and an increasing disenchantment with Facebook - I'm succumbing to the temptations to air my opinions, stories and (mis)adventures in single life. I know - it's been done before - Miss Carrie Bradshaw I am not, but dating as a woman in her late 30s and early 40s is alternately hilarious and tragic - full of pitfalls and delights, sometime when one least expects it. Where to start? Delve into the past, project the future, or just delve into the here and now? Perhaps a little of both, with a touch of fashion.
I will attempt to protect the innocent (and the not-so-innocent) - any resemblance to the living or dead is purely intentional - but the names have been changed. I think I will take a leaf out of the book of one of my dearest (and male) friends and refer to the men I meet by their occupation - or a thinly disguised version thereof! Thank you Mr B. This is an exception to my most recent forays into the 21st century revolution of on line dating...

Last week was one of those beautiful juxtapositions between pure flattery and outright horror, so that is where I'll start. Let's call him the Frenchman. In 2007 I was able to take a work trip to the UK for several weeks,and managed to work in a weekend trip to Paris. I think that weekend will be etched on my memory for ever - the hotel shuttle which didn't got to my hotel - the exorbitant taxi fare to get to the hotel - missing train tickets for my trips to England being couriered in in the middle of the night, the nightmare of Charles de Galle airport, cancelled planes and a dozens of Algerians screaming at Parisian airport officials when their flight was cancelled... and the discover that I had left some rather important medication in the hotel room fridge... but I digress. I met the Frenchman on the Saturday night- I was alone in Paris but determined to have a great time - so I was out, and dining alone, He was the bartender.Young, charming, and attentive.
I must have given him my business card - I don't really remember. Fast forward to 2012.

He must have expended a bit of energy to track me down as my contact details had changed. Actually he told me he hadGoogled me, and contacted me when he arrived in Sydney. Quite upfront he suggested he stay at my place. I declined hehehe.He offered to stay in my bed - even when I explained that I don't live alone, I didn't know him and that I would be at work. He kept persisting - even sent me a photo of himself cavorting in the surf.Oh my... EXACTLY my type- rangy, sinewy muscular, blonde, with blue eyes

Countless texts and emails later, I capitulated - to lunch. What possible harm could eventuate from lunch, in public, in the CBD?  One of the strangest experiences of my life... full of Gallic charm, and unrelenting confidence, the would be seducer deployed every trick in the book. Now I'm not going to day it wasn't tempting - I am, after all a red-blooded woman. But I'm not 18 anymore. My body said "yes", but the head reiterated a firm "no"Part of growing up is knowing what is good for one, and what is not. All the "accidental" touches.etc, could not convince me that this would be a good thing. Or that I would be very happy about myself afterwards. There's no such thing as a free lunch - or no strings attached. The repeated invitations to his room began to irk. But the last straw was his entreaty that his girlfriend in France would never know. Incredulous I responded, "But I will". He didn't get it. Or me. I left, bemused, and slightly amused. Retail therapy was required, so I shopped on the way back to the office. The perfect teal dress...

I'm still bemused. I don't consider myself to be anything spectacular by way of appearance. I know I have a slightly more than generous bust line, but what would induce a man 11 years my junior to make such a concerted effort to get me into bed? Life's crazy.