It's incredibly frustrating to find yourself dating and chatting and putting yourself out there, yet not feel compatibility or excitement with any of them. Sure, there are nice ones, funny ones, hot ones...but that doesn't necessarily mean they will all come in the same person, nor click with you.
I go back and forth between putting the full strategic marketing plan into action and pulling all materials from the shelf. I feel like I want to get out there and meet them and find someone that'll fit, but then it gets old when no one is doing it for me. So I start using the excuse "I'm just not ready." Anyone read "He's Just Not That Into You?" That's a bullshit excuse. For the right person, we're always ready.
Legitimately, though, I don't feel I'm at my most attractive with my short post-chemo 'do. Call it a Pixie, call it Lesbian Biker Bar Chic. Either way you look at it, it's not sexy to anyone but other women.
What's really best, though? Do I banish myself to the land of celibacy and girls' nights out until my hair grows another 5 inches and I lose those 40 pounds? Or, do I continue to date, with the feel-good, politically correct notion that the right man will love me warts and all? We all know it's great in theory, but if there are only 3 men looking, what are the chances he'll be in that group of 3?
And what are the chances that someone reading this post is going to be thinking "you have to love yourself first before someone else can love you?" Speaking of feel-good politically correct theories.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
That Wild Hair Again
My list of male prospects has whittled down to almost none. Every now and then, I get a call from a guy I went out with a few times, last month. However, he seems to neglect to ask me out, or we end up fighting. The man just doesn't know how to flirt. Yet, I like him. Don't ask me why, some spark is just unexplicable.
I decided that it's just not going to happen as a relationship, and nothing's really taking off with anyone else, so it's time to give in and allow the bootie call. A tentative date is planned and the majority of that day goes by with no confirmation or follow-up call. A cutie gives me a call and asks me on a first date. I accept.
Bad state of mind to go into with for a first date. My mind is on the bootie call, i.e., sex; and I'm bored with the lack of excitement in my dating life. I'm an easy target. The guy who asked me out is very cute, but I just didn't find a spark on the phone. He's an absolute sweetheart, but the flirtation is missing. I need fire and teasing and banter. I actually decided before I went out with him, that if he were cute but I felt no potential, that "I'd do him."
That's awful, eh? It gets worse. He's as sweet as pie, tells me right off the bat that I'm cuter than my pictures and we sit and talk for two hours. No, actually, he talks for two hours, but that's irrelevant here. No potential and he's adorable. So when he asks to kiss me, things start looking up. Fast forward through a "your place or mine" scenario and we're on my bed. He told me straight out that he was still interested in seeing me and pursuing this, that the first date sex made no difference to him. He left it to me to make the call and let him know if I were still interested.
I won't drag this post on. I learned something new about myself, that night. For all the complaining my friends and I may do about the superficiality of men not wanting us chubby chicks, I found myself relating. I can not believe that I would actually make a decision based on a man's penis size. But I did. If we had met taken our time and fallen in love first, size wouldn't matter. However, that's not how it happened. He was great with his mouth, but if oral sex were enough, I'd be a lesbian.
I feel so guilty, but I also know I can't continue to date a man because I feel guilty over not wanting to date him. You live, you learn.
I decided that it's just not going to happen as a relationship, and nothing's really taking off with anyone else, so it's time to give in and allow the bootie call. A tentative date is planned and the majority of that day goes by with no confirmation or follow-up call. A cutie gives me a call and asks me on a first date. I accept.
Bad state of mind to go into with for a first date. My mind is on the bootie call, i.e., sex; and I'm bored with the lack of excitement in my dating life. I'm an easy target. The guy who asked me out is very cute, but I just didn't find a spark on the phone. He's an absolute sweetheart, but the flirtation is missing. I need fire and teasing and banter. I actually decided before I went out with him, that if he were cute but I felt no potential, that "I'd do him."
That's awful, eh? It gets worse. He's as sweet as pie, tells me right off the bat that I'm cuter than my pictures and we sit and talk for two hours. No, actually, he talks for two hours, but that's irrelevant here. No potential and he's adorable. So when he asks to kiss me, things start looking up. Fast forward through a "your place or mine" scenario and we're on my bed. He told me straight out that he was still interested in seeing me and pursuing this, that the first date sex made no difference to him. He left it to me to make the call and let him know if I were still interested.
I won't drag this post on. I learned something new about myself, that night. For all the complaining my friends and I may do about the superficiality of men not wanting us chubby chicks, I found myself relating. I can not believe that I would actually make a decision based on a man's penis size. But I did. If we had met taken our time and fallen in love first, size wouldn't matter. However, that's not how it happened. He was great with his mouth, but if oral sex were enough, I'd be a lesbian.
I feel so guilty, but I also know I can't continue to date a man because I feel guilty over not wanting to date him. You live, you learn.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Naked
I did it. I took the wig off. I've done it before, on the weekend and in Mexico, but today's a first. I went to the office sans fake hair protecting my face. And I can't even wear eye make-up, thanks to the Lasik I had on Thursday, to distract people from the fact that I have this short little pixie.
Tomorrow I remove the port from my chest, and the only remnants of the cancer are the new scars - physical and emotional. Onward and upward. My hair will grow, time will heal some of the wounds and the count will begin again. I've been cancer-free (or NED - no evidence of disease) for 10 months...G-d willing, I'll be counting until I die of old age.
But for now, I have major stomach issues, from nerves. Today is the first day my co-workers see me without the wig. The buzz has already begun. I've had about 5 visitors come "check me out." I have to remember that this is my issue, and no one else's. It's all in my head. No one really cares what my hair looks like, nor will judge me.
I've avoided being the poster child for cancer, but I almost feel like it's time. It's time for me to make a statement by wearing this hair as my purple heart. I've got nothing to be ashamed of, and I should be proud. This hairdo is one of the battle scars from my war with cancer. I survived and I'm here another day to remind the world. I may not be at my most attractive, but there's more to me than what I look like...and what I look like today proves that. Today, everyone can see me - my real hair and my battle scars.
And I feel so naked.
Tomorrow I remove the port from my chest, and the only remnants of the cancer are the new scars - physical and emotional. Onward and upward. My hair will grow, time will heal some of the wounds and the count will begin again. I've been cancer-free (or NED - no evidence of disease) for 10 months...G-d willing, I'll be counting until I die of old age.
But for now, I have major stomach issues, from nerves. Today is the first day my co-workers see me without the wig. The buzz has already begun. I've had about 5 visitors come "check me out." I have to remember that this is my issue, and no one else's. It's all in my head. No one really cares what my hair looks like, nor will judge me.
I've avoided being the poster child for cancer, but I almost feel like it's time. It's time for me to make a statement by wearing this hair as my purple heart. I've got nothing to be ashamed of, and I should be proud. This hairdo is one of the battle scars from my war with cancer. I survived and I'm here another day to remind the world. I may not be at my most attractive, but there's more to me than what I look like...and what I look like today proves that. Today, everyone can see me - my real hair and my battle scars.
And I feel so naked.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
The Worst Kind
Harry: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
I've always maintained that I'm low maintenance. I figure I'm really easy to please. Make enough money to pay the bills plus eat out every so often and be prepared for emergencies. Buy me flowers on Valentine's Day, open the door and tell me I'm pretty. Jeans and tee-shirts for running errands, jeans and pearls for a date. No fancy restaurants needed and no long walks on the beach. I'm good with the sports grill and renting a video. I love my weekend getaways, but am good with the Quality Inn over the Sheraton. I shop at Wal-Mart and Target, buy my name brands on eBay or from a van in the alley. Ok, so I need Helman's and Heinz over store brand, but it's just condiments. And once a year I want a real vacation, and not one where I have family and friend visiting obligations.
Uh oh, it starts there. I'm slowly learning that I may not be SOOOOO low maintenance. Could I be getting more demanding as I age? Or could I just be more willing to admit that I want a little more than the basics? You can take the girl out of Long Island, but you can't take the Long Island out of the girl.
I took my daughter to Cancun last week for Spring Break. I knew the hotel wouldn't be as impressive as the one we'd stayed at the last time, but I figured there were pools, a beach, a kids' club and all-inclusive amenities. What's one less star REALLY mean? Well, it means that the run down jungle gym that took me three days to discover was their version of the kids' club. And it means that if you're on the all-inclusive plan, the waiters won't come to you at the pool, you've got to get your ass up and go get your own drink. And it means that your bathroom smells like sewer and they clean all the dirty plates and cups around the pool just one time a day. And worst of all, it means no room service! I swore I'd never go back there and from now on, I'd pay a few more dollars to ensure my luxury.
I've also learned I'm a little more demanding, since I've reentered the local dating scene. My southern gentleman spoiled me and now I expect a man to open my doors. Not too bad, I'm sure you're thinking. But I even will sit and wait in the car for him to come around and let me out. I get the WTF look through the window as they're already 10 yards away from the car and I'm still sitting there.
I expect a man to offer to come to me and to have a plan. What do you mean "do I want to meet somewhere in the middle?" Hello, this is a first date, you're supposed to try and impress me. Date's off. "So where do you want to go?" Sorry pal, you asked me out, you'd better make a suggestion, at least. Don't leave me to figure it out when I'm supposed to meet you somewhere in 10 minutes. Indecisive doesn't fly with me.
I always offer to contribute to the check when we eat out. Usually, that offer is declined. Yesterday, I offered to pay towards lunch. "No, that's ok, you can get the movie." He's out. He mentioned the last girl being a gold digger. I'm not after his money, I'm after a gentleman. If he were broke, I'd almost understand. This was a first date, at least attempt to impress me with chivalry. If you don't have a lot of money, then suggest something cheap for our date, like going for a walk somewhere...I won't even notice you're saving money.
Another guy I've been seeing calls but doesn't ask me out. I inquire why not and he responds that he's broke. He's made it past the first three dates, I don't need him to pay for a meal anymore. See, I'm not that bad. But his car was in the shop and I was annoyed that he didn't figure out a way to come see me. Demanding? A bit.
So, I'm ready. I'm ready for a quality vacation, and I'm ready for a quality man... and I'm ready to admit that I'm not quite low maintenance. I want the romance and I want it from a gentleman that's going to show me that he believes I'm worth the extra steps it takes. I'm worth 15 more minutes in the car, and walking around to open the door and paying for the first date (which not need to be expensive, mind you) and I'm worth borrowing a car to come see and I'm worth paying a compliment or two. If he doesn't believe that, then he's not the right guy.
Does all this make me high maintenance? If so, then I will accept it and admit it...but for now I'll say I'm high maintenance-ish. I still buy store brand mustard. :-)
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
I've always maintained that I'm low maintenance. I figure I'm really easy to please. Make enough money to pay the bills plus eat out every so often and be prepared for emergencies. Buy me flowers on Valentine's Day, open the door and tell me I'm pretty. Jeans and tee-shirts for running errands, jeans and pearls for a date. No fancy restaurants needed and no long walks on the beach. I'm good with the sports grill and renting a video. I love my weekend getaways, but am good with the Quality Inn over the Sheraton. I shop at Wal-Mart and Target, buy my name brands on eBay or from a van in the alley. Ok, so I need Helman's and Heinz over store brand, but it's just condiments. And once a year I want a real vacation, and not one where I have family and friend visiting obligations.
Uh oh, it starts there. I'm slowly learning that I may not be SOOOOO low maintenance. Could I be getting more demanding as I age? Or could I just be more willing to admit that I want a little more than the basics? You can take the girl out of Long Island, but you can't take the Long Island out of the girl.
I took my daughter to Cancun last week for Spring Break. I knew the hotel wouldn't be as impressive as the one we'd stayed at the last time, but I figured there were pools, a beach, a kids' club and all-inclusive amenities. What's one less star REALLY mean? Well, it means that the run down jungle gym that took me three days to discover was their version of the kids' club. And it means that if you're on the all-inclusive plan, the waiters won't come to you at the pool, you've got to get your ass up and go get your own drink. And it means that your bathroom smells like sewer and they clean all the dirty plates and cups around the pool just one time a day. And worst of all, it means no room service! I swore I'd never go back there and from now on, I'd pay a few more dollars to ensure my luxury.
I've also learned I'm a little more demanding, since I've reentered the local dating scene. My southern gentleman spoiled me and now I expect a man to open my doors. Not too bad, I'm sure you're thinking. But I even will sit and wait in the car for him to come around and let me out. I get the WTF look through the window as they're already 10 yards away from the car and I'm still sitting there.
I expect a man to offer to come to me and to have a plan. What do you mean "do I want to meet somewhere in the middle?" Hello, this is a first date, you're supposed to try and impress me. Date's off. "So where do you want to go?" Sorry pal, you asked me out, you'd better make a suggestion, at least. Don't leave me to figure it out when I'm supposed to meet you somewhere in 10 minutes. Indecisive doesn't fly with me.
I always offer to contribute to the check when we eat out. Usually, that offer is declined. Yesterday, I offered to pay towards lunch. "No, that's ok, you can get the movie." He's out. He mentioned the last girl being a gold digger. I'm not after his money, I'm after a gentleman. If he were broke, I'd almost understand. This was a first date, at least attempt to impress me with chivalry. If you don't have a lot of money, then suggest something cheap for our date, like going for a walk somewhere...I won't even notice you're saving money.
Another guy I've been seeing calls but doesn't ask me out. I inquire why not and he responds that he's broke. He's made it past the first three dates, I don't need him to pay for a meal anymore. See, I'm not that bad. But his car was in the shop and I was annoyed that he didn't figure out a way to come see me. Demanding? A bit.
So, I'm ready. I'm ready for a quality vacation, and I'm ready for a quality man... and I'm ready to admit that I'm not quite low maintenance. I want the romance and I want it from a gentleman that's going to show me that he believes I'm worth the extra steps it takes. I'm worth 15 more minutes in the car, and walking around to open the door and paying for the first date (which not need to be expensive, mind you) and I'm worth borrowing a car to come see and I'm worth paying a compliment or two. If he doesn't believe that, then he's not the right guy.
Does all this make me high maintenance? If so, then I will accept it and admit it...but for now I'll say I'm high maintenance-ish. I still buy store brand mustard. :-)
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