Five Hours of Fashion Faux Pas: My Date with Mr. Black Sneakers

So I went on a date with a guy wearing black sneakers.

Yep, that's all I needed to say, right?  Black sneakers.  That's as far as I got in my story during Christmas dinner, and it was enough to have cousin almost shoot wine through her nose.

Now the black sneakers didn't look like these:

Or these...

Or even these...

(Yes, even those last ones would have been a step up.)

Until I become more stealthy at taking covert pictures on my dates, I've had to try and find via Google the best replica that I can, and the closest I've come are these:

But honestly, they might have been even worse.

Pair that up with "mom" jeans, and you have tragic.  Then cap it off with an expectation of a 40-year-old man who looks thirty-five, and a reality of a 40-year-old man who looks forty-five, and what you have left is just one really long ass date with that creepy middle-aged neighbor who lived down the street from your childhood home and who everyone thought was a pedophile.

After dinner, a hockey game, and a car ride out of the jam-packed arena parking lot (WOW, long date!), we didn't seem sorry to say good-byes.

No second date happening here.

But then I start thinking...why didn't he want a second date?!?  I'm cool...right?  Surely Mr. Black Sneakers wasn't looking at me thinking: Gosh, look at those flats, so out of style!  And who on earth picked out that shirt?! Wow, doesn't she have a friend who can tell her that hairstyle is soooo '90s...?  What if the past five hours were just as excruciating to him as they were to me?  Sadly, the thought did not even cross my mind until after I watched his car pull away from the parking lot where he had dropped me at mine.

 I did try to ignore the fashion faux pas and get to know the inner Mr. Black Sneakers during our date.   But maybe I'm too judgmental on outward appearances?  Is it wrong to size up a guy based on how they look on the outside, or is it recommended that you sit through dinner, a hockey game, and a car ride before you can veto a second date?

I conclude it was wrong of me to assume that a forty-year-old man in black sneakers would be thrilled to be out, no matter who he was a date with, but I realize that I really did try to keep an open mind throughout our date. I certainly do not want to be a shallow person looking at only inner beauty, but there is something to be said for outward appearances giving you a lot of insight into personality.  Mr. Black Sneakers and I just didn't click, appearances aside, and I believe that first impressions really do tell you a lot about a person—which presents the question:  what does my first impression say about me?

I have never really wondered what my dates think about on their way home from meeting me.  I'm so busy debating on whether or not I liked them, I forget to consider whether they liked me.  Obviously, this guy didn't.  Maybe I'm not as date-able as I think I am...

But at least I won't be the one wearing black sneakers.

Lesson #13 in Post-Divorce Dating:  Never commit to a five-hour date with a complete stranger who you met on eHarmony.  It is not shallow to promise only a drink or coffee before making any further obligations.  Also recommended?  Before the date, ask the guy to send you a full-body picture of himself in his normal attire—and holding a newspaper with the current date clearly visible.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

Online Dating Hating

I am so busy that I literally don't have time to think.  As a teacher, we quickly become masterminds at hearing twelve questions simultaneously, sorting each question out in our heads like pieces of a puzzle:

Student #1:     I don't understand how to do this question!  I need help!
Student #2:     Where is the handout for the homework?
Student #3:     Can I turn my homework in late because my dog ate it last night?
Student #4:     I need a new book to read—this one is boring.
Student #5:     Why did I get an "F" on this project?!?  I worked SO hard on it!
Student #6:     Ms. DD, I need to go to the bathroom—I'm going, okay?

After years of teaching, you find the ability to fire back answers to each one, all within about fifteen seconds—because, with teenagers, that is usually all the time you have before either (1) they become irritated that you didn't answer them or (2) their attention spans run out and they completely forget the question they asked in the first place.

Ms. DD:     You—read the directions to the question; bet it will make more sense.  You—under your book, where you put it after I gave it to you TEN minutes ago.  You—no; the dog ate your homework LAST week, remember?  Try a new excuse.  You—you're boring if you think that book is.  But if you really need a new one, go to the library.  You—how long did you spend on that 2-week long project?  Two hours?  That's what I thought—try again.  And you—you set a foot outside this classroom, and I WILL beat you with this clipboard that I'm holding.  It's a good thing you're not in kindergarten, so you can hold your pee.

But lately, I find that my Jedi-like wisdom is a bit slow on the uptake—so many things are being thrown at me that my mind is too busy to lay out all the puzzle pieces and attempt to see how it all fits together.  I'm so overwhelmed with trees that I have no idea I'm even in a forest.  I am drowning a miserable death in ungraded papers, lesson plans, and test scores.  I have filled my social calendar to the max with girlfriends and dates (yes, I said dates—wowzer, maybe dating drought is over?), and I am also taking classes at night to keep my job certification.  And yet, despite my schedule being packed, I am still finding time to be lonely.

Lonely.

What an awful word.

It seems so stupid to say.  I feel as though I am throwing a big pity-party or complaining just to utter those two syllables.  I remember I used to think that "lonely" was one of the worst feelings in the world, right up there with feeling left out or guilty, but I still feel absolutely pathetic just thinking it.  Therefore, lonely has been encouraging me to jump into this online dating thing with fierce resolve to stay open-minded.

But honestly, how can one stay open-minded with some of the stuff that I have encountered?!?  I'm serious.  Don't get me wrong—I have been on a few dates where the only thing wrong with the guy was that he was just a bit uninteresting to me but overall seemed like a nice human being.  Others?  Holy dorkarama!

My online-dating conclusion—and prepare for me to completely offend some of you—is that it does NOT work when you live in a big city like I do.

I'm serious.  I hate to derail your Match.com hopes and dreams, but online dating is for meeting people when your city does not lend itself to social spots and locales that allow you to meet others.  In my big city, if you can't meet people, you are either (1) a social recluse who lives in your mother's basement and never emerges or (2) a socially-challenged individual who lacks all ability to interact with another human being, much less one of the opposite sex.

In my experiences with online dating, I have been matched with BOTH of these lovely options.  And the others, you open up their profiles and think, really?!  That's the best picture that you have of yourself?!  Omg....  (Disclaimer:  Yes, I have contemplated that I may be going to hell for being so judgmental, but I like to think that God would react the same way if he saw some of these photos....)

First, let's begin with some of the profiles I have encountered as my "perfect," ahem, match:




"I'm passionate about decovering the truth in general and designing things is what I love to do. I also love computers and PC games! Cats, rabbits, and horses are cool too! I have cat pictures..."
Okay, creepy cat guy...not sure I want to see those pictures!




"I am not looking for my son a mom but it is a two for one deal so I understand other single parents. I have never really been into just hooking up and I am not looking for that hear. I love sex as much as anyone but I want it to be with her and not just them....Just because I'm a guy does mot mean that the only thing I want to talk about is sex or other vulgar stuff."
WHAAAAAATT?!?  That's enough of that.

"I love the fall. Crisp, sunny days with a chill in the air and the smell of fall. It is also the perfect season to make my chicken chili, which I named 'Marry Me Chili' because I have yet to cook it once without receiving a marriage proposal."
Okay, so how many times have you made this chili?  Once?  Twice?  More?!? 



"If she smokes, has kids, is out of shape/overweight, or is 100% against alcohol then it probably isn't going to work. Just being honest, no need to waste our time."
Okay, buddy, have you looked the mirror?  You are looking for a supermodel, and let's be honest...it ain't happening.

"I am most passionate about taking care of my vehicles,playing video games with my nephews, going out with friends,going Hunting&Fishing when I get the chance to and most of all my music I love listing to my music I don't know what it is about music but just jumping in my pickup truck & rolling down the windows a cranking the music up and going for a nice country drive just takes me to my "Happy Place"!!!"
My happy place includes using punctuation.  Just sayin.




"I am always on the computer or the iPad or iPhone. I live alone and work from my home. So it's either work or play. I do have the TV on as well."
Are you sure you don't live with your mom?  I mean, no one is gonna come out and just admit it, right?  That statement right there was sure to be as close as I'm gonna get....





"Even my ex's look me up so i must do something right or i am choosing really crazy women."
I'm gonna go with the latter...you said it, not me.

And, oh, just wait!  I haven't even gotten to the ones I have been on dates with....  Until next time, I remain—

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

How to Lose a Guy in Ten Ways

My dear friend Bear finally convinced me to try online dating, and surprisingly, it has provided a unforeseen benefit:  getting the male perspective on dating!  I've been polling the guys I meet and asking about the what-not-to-do's that women most often fail to avoid.

Out of all the answers I received about horrible dating stories, there were ten front-runners that stood out among the others.  While some might be hard to believe, I assure you:  all of these stories are TRUE and UNEMBELLISHED (if you can believe that after you read these atrocities).  I call it "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Ways."  Or—all the things not to do while on a date with a guy.  Enjoy!

1. Never say to a guy, "You're not going to break my heart, are you?"  Especially not several times.  On the third date.  While having sex.
2. Never go on a first date and bring up controversial subjects that include informing your date about your recent abortion—with vivid details.  Eww.
3. Never go on a date with someone who speaks English when you clearly don't.  Your date will spend the entire time not really sure if you understand what he is saying.
4. Never continuously message someone through the online dating site without receiving a response, then send another message through to another dating site, then go back to original dating site and try again—this time with a new profile name and picture but the same message.  It will not work.  Give it up.
5. Never arrive late to a first date...especially not when the reason for your lateness involves circling around the restaurant parking lot for ten minutes and then refusing to get out of the car because you thought you saw your ex standing by the door of the restaurant.
6. Never bring your parents to the second date, then allow your parents to drink too much, which then causes your parents to start arguing and yelling with each other in the middle of the bowling alley so much that your mom trips and falls into a garbage can and you all get kicked out.  It will definitely be a deal-breaker.
7. Never go on a blind date to a busy restaurant and very loudly proclaim that you want to have more kids, but you don't want them from a man, but that you plan on going to a sperm bank.  It might be awkward.
8. Never seem more concerned with making plans for after dinner than you are with having dinner—particularly if making plans involves taking phone calls during the meal from other guys.
9. Never ask a guy to marry you on the second date ... while sober and serious ... especially right after having sex with him.
10. Never go on a first date when you are tired—you really can never be too careful.  You wouldn't want to fall asleep at dinner with your head on the table only five minutes after the meal has been served, so much so that your date cannot wake you up, because then it will require him to practically carry you to the car and then into your house (which you could barely direct them to), all while you are pretty much passed out.  It will be very embarassing the next day—particularly when you have to see this person at work.

More of my own online dating stories to come...stay tuned!

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

High-School Hangouts & High-Fives (or "My Life is a Seinfeld Episode")

God has a sense of humor.  Or maybe there really is such a thing as karma.  It would figure that my first date following the break-up with Mr. Songwriter would start off like this.  In discussing with my blind date where to meet, I replied, "The time you suggested works great.  As for location, I'm game for anything—I'll leave it up to you!"  And wouldn't ya know, after incessantly making fun of bad dates, especially for callously teasing the Wee Scott about his dating techniques, where does my blind date suggest we go?

The Cheesecake Factory at the mall.

Of course.

How exactly does one dress for a date at the mall?  On a normal dinner date, a semi-dressy, semi-casual dress works just fine, but I feel like a complete toolbag showing up in my dress and heels to go to the MALL.  And as Rowdy commented to me (in between her drops of the phone from laughing so hard), what if the date goes well?  What do you do then?  "Do you hold hands as you stroll through The Gap?"

Yup, that's what I get.  Mom kept warning me that I shouldn't make fun of people on a public forum.  (No, really—she did.)

So as I stand next to a fountain spitting water amongst stone squirrels and gnome-looking things, amidst children running around like screaming hyenas and scantily-dressed tweens carrying bags from Hollister, I wait for my date:  Mr. Mall.

Whoah...  Maybe I should call him Mr. Tall? 

As he approaches (late—a man after my own heart), I am already looking up to him.  I mean, literally, he's got to be 6'4" at least!  He has to bend down in order to greet me with a hug and then takes charge, ushering us quickly into the restaurant.

We take two seats at the bar while we wait for a table, and I glance at the two guys sitting next to Mr. Mall.  No, I am not checking out other men on my date (admit, the one was very cute, and he did start talking to me when my date went to the bathroom, but that's beside the point...).  These two men who are holding down the bar happen to be in my line of sight the entire time; so, while Mr. Mall and I exchange the awkward kind of small talk that can only come from a pair who has obviously never met before, I am watching these guys snicker into their beers as they try not to look as though they are eavesdropping.  Which they are—and they know I know they are watching.  I'm sure my embarrassment is probably upping the "yuk" factor, so these clowns are having a ball.

Once we are seated at a table, dinner goes fairly normally.  That is, until the high-fives start.

Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld where Puddy won't stop high-fiving Jerry?  The one where Jerry has to keep going along with it, even though he feels like a moron, because once he finally puts a stop to it, Jerry knows the car deal is off?  If not, watch the first 35 seconds of the clip below, and you'll see what I'm talking about.

With Mr. Mall, I receive high-fives across the dinner table for the following:

1. Playing soccer in high school ("Cool!  I played soccer too!  High-five!").
2. Not doing drugs ("You're so cool...high-five!").
3. Drinking coffee ("I love coffee!  High-five!  Coffee's the best.").
4. Saying something—I totally forget now, it was that unmeaningful—that he thought was very astute.  And I'm sure I've forgotten at least one high-five in this list.  Sigh.

I guess it could be worse—he could have taken me to Arby's.  I am also pretty thankful that the bar clowns did not witness the whole high-fiving experience.  I'm not sure my straight face would have lasted through dinner.

Just a day in my life as an episode of Seinfeld.  At least I didn't need my just-in-case-of-an-emergency letter:

Conversation between DD, Chanel, Mamasita, Rowdy, Dolly, and Stella: 

DD:     Just in case I am never to be seen again, consider this my track-the-bastard-down-and-kill-him letter...or at least a good laugh.  Tonight, I'm going on a date with a guy named Mr. Mall at 7 p.m.  at the Cheesecake Factory.  I don't know his address, but his phone number is 555-123-1234.   All other descriptive info (hair color, tattoos, bad pick-up lines commonly used) will be found out and texted over the course of the night.   If it is anytime after midnight on this same day, please send police, search parties, and ambulances to find me.  In the event that you cannot find me, just make sure my stuff doesn't go to people I hate.  And hug my parents for me.  Thanks. 

Chanel:     Good luck.  I will call you at exactly a midnight if I do not hear from you sooner.  (And then I will call Rowdy.  And then we will drive to the mall to find you.)

Rowdy:     OH MY GOD.  Who else wants to go to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory tonight and watch the train wreck happen?

Mamasita:     If I didn't already have a dinner thing with Big D, I'll ditch the baby with him and go! HOLY SHIZA!  PLEASE keep me posted via text!

DD:     I hate you all.  Is Chanel the only one who cares about whether I might DIE because this guy is a rapist, or a freak, or molests baby kittens in his spare time???!!!???

Dolly:     Of course we care. That's why we all want to show up. For your protection.  And btw, if I weren't out of town right now, I would totally be there.

Stella:     Maybe we could video it and show it as an elearning for bad dating.

Lesson #12 in Post-Divorce Dating:   Blind dates are like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get.  However, the one piece of advice that always applies?  Never disclose the location of a blind date to your friends unless you want company—or a complimentary home video commemorating the occassion.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

The Day the Music Died

I've been trying to write this post for a few weeks now, but it has been a difficult one to write—mostly because I didn't want to talk to anyone about it.  I knew how most would listen to my news, analyze it, and respond: "You are feeling [insert what they think I'm feeling] because [insert their reasoning]."  I get it—the people who love me are always trying to protect me from ever feeling hurt again.

But I don't want to hear an analysis of my feelings from anyone right now.  I'm not even sure what these emotions are, and shouldn't I be the one who knows best on that subject?  My feelings are complicated, just not that easy to understand or to share.

But then I got to thinking—letting out thoughts and feelings is the point of a blog.  Isn't it so I can write to the unknown cyberspace my deepest, personal feelings in hopes that someone out there can relate with me and find what I say useful?  Gosh, I sure hope so.  Otherwise, what would be the point of all this?

So while this might be waaaaaay more personal than I feel like revealing, this blog entry is for everyone out there who has ever been hurt by a relationship—and who needs the strength to overcome it.

It all started a few weeks ago when finally I made a decision.  You see, someone who has been a big part of my life lately left town at the beginning of summer.  With him gone until August, I figured that I could take the time to decipher my feelings for him, but first, I would enjoy time for me.  I needed to take time to smell the roses, to bask in the sunshine, to enjoy the music—

But then I paused to listen...and realized that the tune had stopped.  The music had died.  The silence was empty, and the melody I had been hearing for the past few months seemed awkwardly absent.  I missed it, and I couldn't wait until it was back in my life—surely I wasn't that dumb to dismiss a sign like that!

So I stopped analyzing and stopped thinking and just decided to go with my heart.  My heart didn't know much—let's face it, it never does—but I was certain of what made me happy right now, and I decided to throw logic and analysis out the window, to throw away my fears about the future, and to open my heart to potential love.

I was too late.


Dearest Mr. Songwriter,

I know you probably won't get this until tomorrow, but I wanted to say something that I wasn't able to get out over the phone.  I am very sad that things didn't work out, and I take full responsibility for it.  I knew there would come a time when it just became too hard for you to stay in love with me while constantly being pushed away.  I knew that there would come a time when you just had to walk away from me.  All this time, I knew it was a risk, but I really didn't have a choice—I couldn't do things any other way.  I wish I could have gotten myself together sooner, but I knew that I did the best I could under the circumstances.  I know I'm too late.  And right now I am probably still not totally together and, who knows, could even back-track from where I am now, so I guess you are right—it was just not meant to be for us.  You deserve someone who is more like you, who is ready for you right now, and who is not going to push you away from them for as long as I did.

I know that, so far, this e-mail is all stuff you know.  But here's what you don't know—you will always be very, very special to me.  I cannot even tell you what you have meant to me during these past ten months.  Your compassion has helped me outwardly deal with a lot of feelings and emotions that I kept bottled up around other people since my divorce.  Your patience has helped me actually move toward a point of healing and prepared me so much more for any future relationship that I may or may not have.  Your humorous and fun spirit has been a rope to pull me through some really rough, sad times.  Your music and songwriting have been inspiring to me and will stick with me for the rest of my life.  Your trustworthiness and honesty have helped me believe that I might be able to get past the fear of betrayal someday.  And your love has been so precious to me because you made me feel as though I was actually someone worth loving again, and words cannot even express to you how much I needed that at exactly the time you gave it to me.

So please don't feel guilty about deciding that you no longer wanted this relationship, or whatever it really was.  Please don't think that you caused me any undeserved pain—I know you never intended to hurt me at all, but it was only a matter of time before I had to face hurt of some kind.  It was not your job to protect me from that.  Sometimes people come into our lives for a reason, but they are not always meant to stay forever.  I think we both helped each other in some way or another, and now the time has come for us to go down our separate paths, and that's okay.  I know you are going to find someone absolutely perfect for you, who you adore beyond measure, and who loves you more than you can even imagine.  I don't regret a single minute of our relationship because I know that I am coming out of it with so much more than what I walked into it with.

So thank you, Mr. Songwriter, for everything.  I love you for who you are and for all that you are to me.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

To Online Date, or Not to Online Date...

At approximately 2:30 a.m. the other day, I received the following message on Facebook:

"Love is not about finding the right person, but creating a right relationship. It's not about how much love you have in the beginning but how much love you build till the end.. My name is paul martins.... I see your picture and i willl love to know you better ... i am single and i looking for a friend or more meaningful relationship that will leads to marriage.. i need a woman to grow old with .. hope to hear from you soon.. add me on yahoo messenger mrpaulmatins@yahoo.com i am always online there too..."

Did I mention that I have absolutely no idea who this is? 

It is truly unbelievable the lengths that people will now go for love.  Our society has gone as far as spam-dating:  sending out mass messages to random groups of people in hopes that one of those messages will reach a future Mr./Mrs. Right.

Pathetic?  Simply Genius?  I haven't yet decided, but one thing is for certain—most of our society is agressively determined to find "true love". . . or maybe just to find someone for those oh-so-lonely nights.

Whichever.

When I got married, I didn't feel any pressure to "have" someone.  I was twenty-five years old at the time, so most of my friends were still single.  No husband, no kids—no problem.  I got married because I wanted to get married to the person who asked me.  And because we didn't think there was any reason for us to wait.

Now that I am post-divorce, I realize that there does come a time when it becomes difficult being single and living in a "married" world.  All my close friends are married.  Most have kids.  When I log into Facebook, I am bombarded with pictures and status updates of weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries, babies, second babies, and the like.  (I shamefully admit that sometimes I even scroll through the list of "People You May Know," halfway hoping to see some old acquaintance looking sorrowfully unattached.  You know, misery loves company...and a dateable old flame.)  I am met only with profile pictures of happy pairs, smiling and hugging, looking into each other's eyes with adoration.

And so, recently, I have emerged from the cloud of intentional solitude, the joyousness of "no strings," the elation of feeling free as a bird, and instead...felt alone.

Don't get me wrong—this "alone" feeling is GREAT.  Fantastic, even.  Because if I am actually starting to feel sadness at being alone instead of being hell-bent on celebrating my independence like it's a freaking holiday, then maybe I am finally ready to be in a relationship again.

Maybe.  But still, that's healing, right? :)

Now, instead of the "to date, or not to date" question, the new question is how do I find someone to date?  If you have noticed, my bad-luck dating stories have been fewer and farther between lately.  After being set up by practically every single one of my friends and having skulked around the local night scene on several entertaining occassions, I am running out of options for meeting new (normal) people in my city (emphasis on the word normal, if you please...).

And then, because this is the twenty-first century, and due to the fact that I am getting spam-dating FB messages, I am once again reminded of the newest trend in single living:  online dating.

Now I have always been completely against online dating—at least as far as it applied to me.  Sure, I have tons of friends who met their soul mates on Match.com, E-Harmony, Christian Mingle, or J-Date; they went on several first dates, found the love of their lives, were married within a couple years, and all lived happily ever after.  My life, however, has never really followed that fairy-tale plot line, so I'm not incredibly optimistic about allowing the internet gods to control the fate of my love life.

I have had only one experience in online dating, and that story takes us back to the summer before my freshman year of college.  Cue the flashback music...now!

During the summer before I started college, America Online was the country's preferred mode of online communication.  Everyone who was anyone had an AOL screen name and "chatted" with friends, as well as random people.  There was a way for users to search profiles for various information in those profiles, so I had random people chatting with me frequently.  As soon as I was accepted to college, I listed in my profile the name of the college, so, at once, I started to receive chat messages from other incoming students who had "found" me by searching for that school online.

One of random messages came from a guy who was also going to be a freshman that fall.  Let's call him Goofy because I swear that's exactly how I remember him looking—yup, absolutely goofy, but not of the sweet, endearing sort.  Goofy fell more into the creepy sort.

Being the intelligent, street-smart girl that I was at eighteen, I ended up meeting the guy for a date.  He asked me to the movies once we had both arrived at college in September.  First of all, I had to borrow a car and pick him up—though he asked me out, he apparently thought that I would find it terribly convenient to ask one of the girls in my dorm—who I had known for about two weeks, mind you—if I could borrow their car.  Classy of me, I know.  I guess I figured, at least I had a way home should something go terribly wrong.

So, I'm sitting there in the movie thinking, what am I doing on a date with this guy?!?  Not only was he really goofy looking, there was definitely something weird about the way he kept looking at me.  And geez, he did the whole stretch-to-put-your-arm-around-the-girl move.  I mean, really?  I did what any girl would do in such a situation—sat as far away from him as possible, crossed my legs away from him, and leaned forward a bit to show that I definitely did not want his arm around me.  However, Goofy was not too bright.  Right in the middle of the scene in Pleasantville where Toby Maguire's mom turns to color, Goofy leans forward, turns toward me, and starts coming in for the kiss...gross.  After ducking under his arm and sitting the rest of the movie in uncomfortable silence, I vowed that my excursions into online dating had met their disgusting end.

And if that memory not enough to scare me in the other direction, I have Bear's story about the date he met online who gave him full description of her recent abortion—it makes for great dinner-table talk on the first date, let me assure you.

In spite of all the online-dating horror stories, I know that it has proven to be useful for many people.  Maybe it's worth a shot?  If nothing else, maybe I will get some entertaining stories out of it?

Thus, to online date, or not to online date?  That is the question...now, it's time for your answer!

Should DD try online dating?

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

How to Think Outside the Box

Recently, I had a revelation.  A strangely long-awaited one, I think.  My revelation seems oh-so-obvious, even to me, but I honestly found it very perspective-changing once it happened.  But here...let me start at the beginning.

I've been seeing Mr. Songwriter now for a few months (click to remember the first and second dates).  Though I claim it is "not serious," it most certainly is on many levels.  I mean, honestly—I've been casually "dating" him for over six months, been his date to a friend's wedding, taken him out to be judged—ehem, I mean, to meet my friends, and spent evenings with his entire family, including a brother living in D.C.  He's even slipped up and introduced me as that horribly-feared word girlfriend, and I almost didn't want to correct him (almost being the operative word there).

So while I realize that I am vibing out the kind of crazy that is usually reserved for the institutionalized with my pathetic attempts to assert the "it's-not-serious" excuse, I find myself still holding back from admitting to commitment.  I absolutely stand strong in my refusal to attach any labels to this...relationship, for fear that a label might send me running in the opposite direction from this very kind and patient, very handsome and honest, very absolutely-adores-me man.  So, I desperately grab hold of my "I'm still single" mantra and stubbornly hug it to my chest in defiance of the fact that I have a...boyfriend.

Oh crapola, did I just say that word out loud?  Uggggghhhhh...  Give me a second to get my stuff together here...

Whew.

 Okay.


I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that maybe this whole crazy-institution comment isn't that far off.  And up until recently, I would have agreed with you.  It seems like absolute insanity that I would NOT want to be seriously dating and committed to Mr. Songwriter.  I have no good reasons.  My friends Mamasita and Chanel think I have lost my mind, and, at every chance she gets, Mamasita very appropriately calls me out on my ridiculous behavior:  "How could you seriously not want to call Mr. Songwriter your boyfriend?  He's hot, sexy, intelligent, caring, kind, and did I mention HOT?!?  If you don't want to call him your boyfriend, I will!!!"

Bottom-line:  I desperately need to get over my commitment phobia.  I know this.  And I've been hating myself for that.  But for some strange reason, I just haven't been able to do it.

That is—until my revelation.

It all started when my sister Steve was visiting.  I took her out with Mr. Songwriter so that she could assess the situation, and so that I could get some unbiased, honest, sisterly feedback.  Afterwards, we were talking about Mr. Songwriter's future potential, and Steve said something that really made me think:

"Okay, so he is great...what is your problem?  Not only does he adore you, he took an interest in getting to know me—and I don't think that was only because of you, I think it was honestly because he is just that great of a guy!  He was interesting in talking to me, not just kissing up to me or trying to impress me because I'm your sister or because I will break him into tiny pieces and then spit on those pieces if he sucks.  Why are you still holding back?  So he's not your type—what is he really missing that you are looking for in a guy?"

Huh.  Good question.  What was Mr. Songwriter missing?  When I drew up my image of the "perfect" man, what standards was I setting?

Attractive and affectionate?  Check.

Honest and trustworthy?  Check.

Good sense of humor?  Check.

Kind and caring?  Check.

Family values and desire for one?  Check.

Confident and adventurous?  Check.

Aren't these all of the important things?  So why was I still holding back?

I went to Mamasita, my rational advisor who has no agenda, despite the fact that Mr. Songwriter is a great friend of hers and Big D's (and this is one of the many reasons I love her), and our conversation went something like this:

DD:     I really like Mr. Songwriter, but I feel as though I can't trust how I feel.  I'm just not sure he's right for me.

Mamasita:     That's because he is not the typical guy you like or date.  Because no offense, my love...you tend to go for the douchebags.

DD:     I KNOW!  I totally do!  Why is that?

Mamasita:      Because you tend to flock to what is familiar—whether it is right for you or not.  You need to branch out and consider someone who is not what you imagine your type to be...and I'm not just telling you to go for Songwriter.  You just need to stop shutting your mind off to the idea of someone like him.  I love you, but it's time—move on from your ex and adventure outside the box of your comfort zone.

I don't know if it was Steve's honest question or Mamasita's wise words, or whether it was just the mental inventory that I took of Mr. Songwriter's good qualities, but I suddenly had a revelation that I needed to change the way I approached my dating life.  I needed to learn how to think outside the box.

The truth:  I put my dating life in a box.  I think I need to be with a certain type of person.  I look for the tall, handsome, financially-successful, ridiculously charming, confident, walks-into-a-room-like-he-owns it type.  I am stuck on the idea that I belong with someone who exudes ambition from his fancy business suits like a frat boy sweats beer from his pores.  I look for the knight-in-shining-armor who will come galloping in on his white horse and sweep me off my feet with his charming stories of our white-picket fence futures.  My future partner must fit in the box that I have drawn around the qualities that I am supposed to have because...

Why?

Because this box person is right for me?  Because a guitar-playing, tattooed, liberal, 5'10" teacher who adores me (and I very much feel the same way about) and endearingly lacks any form of game isn't?

It didn't make sense.  Mr. Songwriter may not be tall, but he's the perfect height to put his hand against my face and kiss me with more love and sweetness than anyone ever has.  He may not be swimming in dollar bills, but he will make a special trip to the grocery store after he hears me complaining that I forgot to buy bread.  He may not have a white horse, but he will tell me "I barely had to even straighten your car out to fix it, you did the hard part," after I get fuming mad and stubborn trying to parallel park my car.  He may not be dripping in charm, but he tells me I am beautiful every day in a way that actually makes me believe it.

But I think Bear's take on the Box Theory really says it best:

Bear:    You're asking me why you only date losers? Because that's what you have always told yourself? Because you set these pointless rules for yourself?

DD:     But why do I do that?!?

Bear:     Because you're crazy?  I don't know what to tell you...

DD:     I am crazy.  There should be no box.  I need to get rid of the stupid, idiotic no-good box!

Bear:     Okay, good!  Forget the box!  The box is dumb!  Are u done being crazy now?  Can we please go to lunch now and have a normal conversation?

Yes, Bear.  I think that, just maybe, I finally can.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée