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.