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!
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, 22 January 2012
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?
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?
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 16 January 2012
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 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?
Sunday, 15 January 2012
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.
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.
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.
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