Case Study of Fascinating Male
22 July 2009 
Just when I want to pat myself on the back for getting that one step closer to understanding the dating world, something (or someone) always takes me 10 steps back.
I was in Boston over the weekend, helping Jon bid farewell to his friends before he moves down South (haha, aka to NYC) with me. One particular friend, let’s call him Vincent, began talking to me about relationships. Namely, mine, but I quickly turned it on him out of curiosity.
The Facts:
Vincent is a 32-year-old attractive American guy who plays soccer quite well.
He dated a suitable gal for 4 years until she began dropping hints about marriage and babies, because who would want to hear about that everyday?
He has dating a hot and friendly girl whom he met on Match about 9 months ago. He takes her on trips to Barbados and Mexico at least once a month or so, and has a job that easily affords that. She doesn’t pay for ANYTHING; he’s not happy.
His ideal woman needs 3 qualities:
1. She doesn’t speak English very well
2. She fits on the back of his motorcycle
3. She looks good on the back of his motorcycle
My Confusion…
…is everywhere!
The guy is dating a gold-digger, but doesn’t really seem to notice, he just knows that he isn’t quite happy and isn’t sure whether it’s normal to be paying for everything. He also doesn’t seem to grasp that if you’re dating most women for 4+ years they will begin to think of marriage.
All that aside, the lack of communication requirements baffles me. Especially because I assumed that meant he wanted a girl who was amazing in the sack. He quickly corrected me, saying that while that would be nice, it’s not a necessary.
Maybe he’s gay? Certainly doesn’t seem to be. And men think we’re complicated…
You just know
16 February 2009
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: dating, happy endings, love, Mr. Right, romance
I’ve been avoiding this post. Partly because I’m hesitant to admit it in writing, but mostly because I’m afraid that when I do, it will sound cliche and ordinary.
But Kitty says that I must, that after writing about all of the struggles and frustrations of dating, I owe it to myself, or at least to her, to write about something that keeps me grinning and that makes all the past struggles worth it.
I’ve always thought that ‘love at first sight’ was a bunch of bollucks. How could you possibly find yourself in love with a man you’ve never spoken to? That you made eye contact with at an opportune moment? Ridiculous, really. But I have always been a bit intrigued by the variation my mom uses.
“How did you know that Dad was the one?” I would ask her.
“When you meet the right person, you just know,” she replied. This did not quite answer my question, but it had enough romantic mystery for me to accept it.
I’ve pursued love, wondering what it was like. Created it out of nothing just to know the feeling. I’ve been dragged into love, and I’ve loved people who haven’t yet learned to love themselves.
But this is different. On our first official date, I traveled to Boston on Dec. 12 to be Jon’s date at a Christmas party. As I rode back to New York City, I replayed the weekend in my head, and the phrase ‘You just know,’ kept ringing through my thoughts.
He’s smart, funny, ambitious, compassionate, and in my mind devilishly good looking. But I could say that about a number of guys. It was something about the way we interacted, in conversation, on the dance floor, snuggled up on the couch. When I think back on that weekend, I mostly remember laughing. I was either smiling or laughing the entire weekend, and I think he was too.
I immediately came home and began a list of reasons why I love him, worried that by the time I had assured myself of actually being in love with him, I would be too caught up in the overall feeling to be able to pin it down to specifics.
And then of course, he conveniently adheres to all the qualities my mom silently requires: Catholic, from a similar type of family, parents aren’t divorced, has a college degree, has a full-time job, has career goals, has a social life.
He is a man I would want to come home to after a long day at work. A man I’d love to go out dancing with in Manhattan on a warm Saturday night. A friend I could stay up talking to all night. Someone I can take home to my friends and family, with the hope that they will love him as much as I do.
We’ve fallen in love, just as I knew we would after that weekend in December. And we’ve been in exactly the same place in the relationship every step of the way. From the moment we met each other, to our first date, to where we are now, two months later. I have to wonder if there’s something in that ‘Love at first sight’ thing after all. Not sight with your eyes, but a different sort, a sight that comes from your heart, a sudden recognition between two people who will make each other happy.
Now if only we lived in the same city… (don’t worry, we’re working on that one.)
Defending the year that’s gone by
31 December 2008 
22 gets a bad rap.
I realized this quite a while ago, but hadn’t gotten around to writing it. But seeing as I’m about to turn 23 and leave my 22-year-old self behind, here’s my parting farewell to my 22nd year.
Those who have passed the age of 22 frown upon those who posses it.
You’ve Got Mail’s Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan):
“Those stupid 22-year-old girls with no last name. ‘Hi, I’m Kimberley.’ ‘Hi, I’m Janice.’ What’s wrong with them? Don’t they know you’re supposed to have a last name? It’s like they’re a whole generation of cocktail waitresses.”
The Poet offering advice to poor little clueless me:
“Trust me. Your relationships are going to get a lot more complicated. A lot more complicated.”
He said it in such a knowing tone, as if he were warning me.
Sex and the City’s Charlotte to her replacement at the art gallery:
“You’re 22! What do you know about life? I mean, art?”
A friend, on my dating blog compared to those of women in their 30s:
“And you apparently have so much to write about at 22.”
As if single 22-year-olds have no dating affairs to recount. Where do you think 30-year-olds got their experience?
People look upon us with a mixture of pity and disgust, fear and excitement. They disapprove even while knowing that they were there once. We have reputations for being easy, naive and senseless. We’ve been called perky and ruthless.
It’s true that we are the freshmen of the real world. Many of us have just escaped college and have a salary and a life of our own for the first time. I’m sure that with all this change comes a few bad decisions.
But it also comes with a lot of fear and a lot to overcome. We’ve been leaping for a while, but this is our first big flight from the nest; hearing snide remarks about 22-year-olds is not really helping us.
Life at 22 isn’t actually glamorous and care free. We’re lonely and we’re poor, and all that glamorous stuff just fills the void until we find our place.
So to quote one more Hollywood character on looking back at those of us in our early twenties:
Have a little compassion. Ladies, the only thing worse than being single and in your thirties in this city, is being single and in your twenties.
-Carrie Bradshaw.
No Spark, but No Fault
The women in Sex and the City usually have one of two reactions after a date. They either had a great time and are trying to figure out how to move forward successfully, OR they had an OK-to-awful time due to some strange flaw in the man. (Remember the Freak Show episode?)
My point is, they rarely ever address a date the goes perfectly between two people who have plenty of things to say to each other and lots of laughs, but no spark. A perfect date, with no desire to proceed.
That happened to me last night. I think I forgot to mention that Architect looks like a 22-year old version of this:
Yes, it's Tom Cruise
We both agreed that forks were unnecessary with fried calamari.
I’ve seen one of his favorite movies that no one else has seen (You, me and Everyone We Know – an odd pick if you ask me, but not a horrible movie).
We managed to convince the bar tender to give us each a free drink.
AND we had a constant flow of good conversation from 7 to 10:45 p.m., when we left the bar.
There’s nothing wrong with Architect. But I didn’t mind when he didn’t kiss me goodnight. That’s usually a sure sign that I don’t want to date him.
I feel like this is probably a much more likely scenario than the crazy encounters that Carrie & Co. discuss over lunch.
Imagining happy endings, far far away
3 December 2008
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: dating, happy endings, romance, unattainable
My imagination gets carried away, but only when there’s no chance of the romantic plot becoming reality.
I have a date on Thursday. He’s polite, handsome, an architect. We sat next to each other on a train and struck up a great conversation about books and the economy. He lives nearby and he’s perfect on paper. But I’m not really interested.
Instead of planning what to wear or wondering what I should order, contemplating whether Architect will be a good kisser…instead of that, I’m wondering when Boston will write me another email.
My imagination is only interested in inaccessible men. The Poet – my Cary Grant character with a musty library and a love for bourbon and coffee – He was too old for me and I knew it. Tall, Dark Handsome is simply unattainable by the nature of who he is. Boston, he’s too far away.
So I imagine Boston here, laughing at me with my winter hat on, but no socks on my frozen feet. He smiles, I laugh back, the plot thickens with all that stuff girls love about chick flicks. But if he were actually here, I’m afraid I might be a lot less interested.
Clearly I hate the idea of settling down right now. That’s what writing this has led me to understand. But I’m keeping the option within my grasp, just one obstacle away and everything could be perfect. As long as my imagination doesn’t get too dependent on obstacles.
