At a loss Sunday, Mar 30 2008

You know, funny thing about the undead. They sort of never…. die. Hence the name, undead, of course. Of course if you text message them to say you miss talking to them, that is likely to encourage their undead tendencies, I’ll admit. But still, they don’t have to answer, you know?

What does this mean? It means that even a savvy One Date Wonder does not always operate with the greatest of intelligence. It means I was the one who sent that text message, and I sent it to the zombie guy. And it means he answered. Yesterday I went over to his place for lunch.

There was no hug hello at the door, there was really no touching at all. I was trying to decide he just wanted to be friends as I ate my pizza and pretended to care about whatever he put on tv. He told me all about how April is going to be romance free for him. No dating, no sex, no romantic thoughts at all until May. Effective immediately. I finished my pizza and put down my plate. Then he kissed me.

It was not a friendly kiss. It was hands in my hair, knee-melting, full on kissing. It definitely required romantic thoughts of some variety. He told me he was breaking his rule. We kissed some more. He didn’t seem to mind so much.

Before I left he decided he’d still take his April break. I don’t know what that means or what I should do. In fact, I’m completely at a loss.

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Spot the reason Friday, Mar 28 2008

So this guy wants to know why I’ve stopped answering his emails. The message below is typical of everything I’ve ever received from him. See if you can spot the reason.

HOw u been? i haven’t heard back form u. u stil interested in getting to know eachother?

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How NOT to get a date Wednesday, Mar 26 2008

Let me start this off with a few qualifying statements. I am a-okay with thinking outside the box. Creative types are fine by me. Not necessarily following a traditional career path in a perfectly straight line is wholly acceptable. Now that that’s out of the way, let me tell you a few ways you will most certainly never get a date.

Whining about your job.- Let me clarify here. Imagine we’ve never met. We’ve exchanged a few emails and now we are into IMing. You are clearly attempting to get a date as you are going to follow up this particular conversation by asking me out this weekend. But this conversation… this conversation is all about how you got screwed over at work. And how you want a new job. Now. I don’t know you. You’re supposed to be making me like you. And this is what you choose? Smooth move bud. Except not.

Whining about my job. - I have a job that is easy to make fun of. It’s true. There are all kinds of jokes out there about pointless bureaucracy in my line of work. And all kinds of stereotypes about lazy people there too. But to flat out tell me all of this when attempting to get me to go out with you? This behavior will not earn you a date. Jokes about your taxpayer dollars at work? Not funny. Asking me how I can stand it? Also un-amusing. If you can’t keep a lid on that crap, we aren’t going anywhere bud. And what’s worse, you have made me instantly regret my hesitant date acceptance a few minutes ago.

Living with your parents. - I’m sorry. I really am. I want to be open minded. I want to be understanding about the economy and bills and alternative career paths. But seriously, at this age you need your own pad. It doesn’t have to be impressive or huge or in the most uppity neighborhood. You can even have a roommate or two! Just so long as they aren’t named Mom and Dad. Because there is nothing less hot than waking up in someone’s place and saying hello to their mommy on the way to the bathroom. That’s all I’m saying.

Sometimes you just have to wonder what some people are thinking.

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So we hope Sunday, Mar 23 2008

You what what the worst thing is? When you know something in advance, see it coming, and still let it happen. When you stare a situation in the eye and know it will end badly, but you still don’t get out. When you make the stupid mistake anyway. And why did you do it? Hope. Hope is the most damning emotion and a One Date Wonder’s worst enemy every time.

I met a good guy. One who wanted a long term relationship. One who spent the night. One who was very very different from me and what I usually look for. So I hoped. I hoped that opposites could complement each other. That I’d at least have the chance to find out. That dating is not always a laundry list of desirable qualities but more individuals meeting and meshing. I hoped that this good guy who spent the night might be something to hold onto.

Every good One Date Wonder knows that hope like that only leads to sadness. And so it was. First there was a fight that probably neither one of us could explain. He asked a question, I gave an answer that hit him wrong, suddenly he was grabbing his shoes and heading for the door. He yelled, I retreated. He shut the door behind him. I locked it, sat down, and cried. Not because I was so head over heels for him. Not because my heart was broken. Not because he was the love of my life. But because he was the first time I’d dared to hope in quite some time. And all it turned out to be was a reminder of why hope is the enemy.

The zombie guy is gone. He called tonight. He didn’t want me to feel bad. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was, but he was trying to do it. We are two very different people. He doesn’t know how that will work out in the long run. The truth is, he’s right. I know he’s right. I knew it before the first date. But he was funny, and charming, and sweet. So I set it aside and hoped. And today I remember why that is the wrong thing to do. But what is the alternative?

So we hope. We hope that there is something out there. We hope with each date that we may have found what we are looking for. We hope because if we give up hope, there is nothing left. No dates, no happily ever after, none of it. So we hope.

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Dilemma of the Undead Thursday, Mar 20 2008

Well, I figure I owe you all an update. The truth is, I’ve been avoiding this because I don’t know what to say. My redheaded zombie guy was a great date. We went out to a nice place in the city where he made sure I had a place to park. It was BYOB so he brought a nice bottle of wine to go with the meal. He totally picked up the check.

After we left there, we went to his part of town (where he again had a lot for me to park in) and sat in his local bar for a while. Despite all the crazy noise and other distractions, he held my hand and talked to me while we nursed our beers. We went out into the street for a walk, and he kissed me. Not only did he buy dinner, the wine, and then the beer… but he was a rather fabulous kisser. You know how kissing is not all about the mouth mechanics, right? (Hint… it’s totally not.) He knew too. His hands were cupping my face, his fingers running through my hair…. yeah. It was hot. All of this on the side streets in the city. I hardly knew what to do.

Here’s the thing. He’s a hipster kind of dude. You know the type. A software developer for a startup in town. Living in an old townhouse with two other guys. A mattress on the floor kind of dude. He doesn’t do well with rules and wears Buddy Holly glasses. He has a soul patch. He’s an atheist and a vegetarian. I am a yuppie sort of girl. I have an upscale brand new apartment. Everything in my place is decorated just so. I have cleaning people. I have a job with a huge entity in IT. I drive everywhere. I was raised in the suburbs. I eat meat and believe in god.

He always has me feeling slightly off balance. Just ever so slightly confused. Not completely sure if he’s really into me. Then he’ll say something sweet, or hold me, or tangle his hands in my hair again and I forget about it. I’ve been out of town this week and he’s called me every night. And we’ve only really been on two dates.

Normally I’d shrug it off and keep on going. But, you see, there’s the (not so) tiny matter of Mr.Big. Right. Oh shit. That right there is another post entirely.

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Just one of the guys Friday, Mar 14 2008

This phrase is enough to strike fear and loathing into any woman’s heart. Because at some time or another, we have all been “one of the guys”. Invariably we are trying to be cool. We are trying to spend time with the object of our affection, get to know him, share interests, have fun. And somehow in the process, it backfires. And instead of being a woman, we become one of the guys.

Most of the time this is a clear delineation. Something you see coming from a mile away. A battle you know you are losing even as you fight. However this time, it has snuck up on me from behind. I am surprised by being handed my guy card by The Friend.

There were no warning signs. He does not let me buy my own dinner when we’re out. He rubs my shoulders when he stands behind me in line. He picks up my tray when we’re at a place that requires us to bus our own tables. He holds the door for me always. If anything, I was starting to believe that we were moving farther away from the friendly territory.

But instead we were moving closer. This week I was informed that I “had my guy card revoked” when I pouted at dinner the other night. That’s right, dinner he had paid for. And shortly after he had reached over to casually pat my back. I was joking, as I am not actually a pouter, for the record. But it made him tell me I am pretty, so I’m not entirely sorry for being such a girl in that moment. And if it made him take back my guy card, then good! I don’t want it! When was I issued that damn thing anyway?

How many men does he constantly feel compelled to purchase meals for and hold doors for? I’ve never seen him do it for another. How many men does he hug hello every time they meet? How many men does he come up behind in line and gently rub their shoulders? How many? And how can I be “one of the guys” if he’s still doing these things?

And yet…. it seems I am. Another battle lost here in the land of the One Date Wonder. I am not exactly batting a thousand these days.

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Breaking the Rules Thursday, Mar 13 2008

Dear readers, you may be about to witness why a true One Date Wonder has rules that must be followed. We have discussed in the past the need to avoid having first date expectations, the sanity in staying emotionally detached during the time leading up to a first date, and the reasons for doing so. In case you have forgotten, let me reiterate. Creating expectations and attachments prior to a first date invariably causes let down. The guy is never what you thought he was, doesn’t look like he did in the pictures, and couldn’t cause a spark in you if he doused you in gasoline and threw a match in your general direction. Invariably he turns out to have the chemistry of someone’s cat with you and/or demonstrates some other fatal first date flaw. In the past, this has manifested as extrme cheapness, living with the parents (without good reason), boring conversationalists, bad teeth, etc. Surely you see the point. The rule is to expect nothing and don’t be surprised if that’s exactly what you get.

Alas, last night the zombie guy called me. (I tried to give him another nickname, I really did. But this one is sticky and I can’t make it go away. Just know it’s not a personality comment, it’s just about the way we met.) We talked for over an hour and a half. I finally had to outright tell him I had to get sleep and artificially cut off the conversation. He is funny. He makes me laugh. And there’s more.

Zombie guy appears to be an elusive dating sort. He knows up front what he wants. He wants a girlfriend. He is clear that he’s not going to grab the first female who bats her eyelashes at him just because, but he definitely would prefer to be in relationship. He’s clear up front about this. In between jokes and other silly declarations, this is a serious moment of conversation. And he pre-screens during that intial conversation to make sure I am not a dating dead end. He also makes it abundantly clear that he is paying for dinner. All of it. Which makes him immediately better than at least my last two dates.

I could go on, but I won’t. You get the point. I have expectations. I am a little attached to the idea of him. If the truth varies significantly from what I’m building in my mind, you will witness exactly why these rules exist. If it doesn’t, you will witness one very shocked One Date Wonder. Either way, it should be disturbing for me and amusing for you. So, you know, sit tight.

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Dating for the Undead Wednesday, Mar 12 2008

You know, it’s been getting a little serious around here lately. I’ve been sporting my melancholy suit and just bringing the whole atmosphere down. That won’t do. So today I’m going to tell you about the guy I picked up talking about zombies. That’s right folks, it’s dating for the undead here in One Date Wonderland!

So here’s this redheaded guy with glasses on a dating site. And he’s tall. Already I swoon. But as I’m looking over his profile, I see he has taken all of these zombie survivalist tests…. and nothing else. Now my usual method of approaching that delicate first email situation is to pick out a detail (the sillier the better) and write up a goofy message based on that. In the past, I have used monkeys (more than once), paper clips, and now zombies. One of two things happens with this approach. Either the guy runs for cover, or he’s silly enough to date me. At least once, that is.

My redheaded zombie is silly indeed. We have now started what is easily the funniest ongoing email exchange I’ve ever had. And there is more zombie talk in it than I have ever had for sure. He is aggressive enough to ask me out without me hinting around at it. In fact, that zombie boy is already making his move. And despite everything, I am ever optimistic.

I simply can’t call this man the zombie. I will have to ponder a better name for him. In the meantime, maybe I should start writing a guide for dating the undead. I’m sure that’s a topic we haven’t seen covered before.

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Two to Tango Tuesday, Mar 11 2008

Seeing Mr.Big is like doing a little dance all the time. He pulls in close and then two-steps away before I can even catch my breath. One moment I feel like the only woman in the world, the next he has just finished telling me how he never trusts anyone…. me included.

Lately, he’s taken to calling me “babe” in text messages. Some women may object based on a pig by the same name, but not me. I see that he is using a term of endearment which means something right? Or not. You know the drill.

Recently, Mr.Big revealed to me that he has not been on a single date since ours. I am the only woman he’s seeing and he doesn’t seem to be fast to change that. He has told me point blank that he is in our little arrangement for the long haul. He has said that if anyone has cause for concern, it is him. He has said that he is worried I will be done with him long before he is done with me. He has said we have an unlimited future together. And he has reiterated that I have exclusive access to him.

But a relationship it’s not. He does not trust me to know where exactly his apartment is. He does not mention me to his friends or family, let alone allow me to meet a single one of them. I am the only woman in his life, but he keeps me tucked away in a place just for the two of us.

Then he tells me he cares about me. He tells me he really enjoys my comapny, and not just when there is naked involved. He tells me he will do things I ask to keep me comfortable and make me stay.

He dances in, just like he is right now. And gentle readers, I am foolish. I am falling for it. I am falling for him. And mark my words, this will be a train wreck. But I am powerless to stop it.

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What if…? Friday, Mar 7 2008

I believe everyone has a What If. A person you met and really clicked with. You just connect on an instant and excellent level. You never question if they feel it too, you know they do. You start to think for just a minute…. until their girlfriend/boyfriend/pregnant wife enter the picture. And then they are your What If. Because, what if she were single? Or what if he didn’t have a pregnant wife? What if?

The irony is inescapable… Alanis Morisette would be proud of this one. The What If is proof that there is hope and that there isn’t all at once. There is hope of meeting someone and making a connection. There is hope that these people you are looking for actually exist. There is hope for a One Date Wonder to shed her title after all. Except…. not. Because where ever there is hope there is a wife, or a girlfriend, or some other reason why it just isn’t going to go any further.

I met my What If this weekend. He is a reasonably attractive guy who made me feel like the only woman in the room. He flirted, he knew how to casually touch without going too far,  he listened when I talked to him. He picked up the tab. He checked on me when he knew I was in trouble. He worried. He made me laugh. He is happily married to a very pregnant wife. He told me he liked my smile.

I refused the last drink and went home alone, for the record. I hugged him goodbye and nothing more. And I laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering “What if…..”

The What If is one of the most painful of dating experiences. The connection alone is enough to forge an excellent friendship, but you must always be careful never to toe the line with him.  I may indulge in the occasional indeiscretion, but a homewrecker I am not. So the What If must remain just that, and nothing more. Being friends with the What If is therefore a constant battle. Pulling close, but not too close. Pulling away but not too far. All while constantly being reminded that other people have already found your great matches, and wondering if there is even one left out there for you anymore.  Knowing this it would be easier to leave the What If behind and save yourself right? Except when you are with them, you are happy. It is fun. You are reminded that people do find you attractive and fun and there is hope. Just…… not with this one. Not with the What If.

So I will go to bed now. I will lay there, and I will think about this. I will think about my What If.

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