Heart

EDITED TO ADD: Just noticed this is my 100th post to Mommy’s Little Blog. I’m so glad that this milestone is on a positive note. To look back at the last 99 posts, and to think about how many emotions I’ve gone through, I like the happy me. I think I’ll (try to) keep her.

———————

Grading papers while drinking my third coffee of the morning. Contrary to having too much caffeine and too little sleep, I feel a wonderful sense of peace and calm and happiness today. I wish there was a way to bottle this feeling and hold onto it forever.

– My Facebook status this morning

 Over the past few weeks, I’ve had some delightful email conversations with a (seemingly) nice man from the dating site. It’s all been limited to emails and messages, and I’m okay with that right now. (Although I think I’ll give him my phone number. I want to hear his voice.)

I’m happy.

We’ve had very serious conversations – like what happened to Mike (since his obit comes up really high in a search of my name) and why his marriage ended and the relationship with his ex. And we’ve had some light conversations, like our favorite colors and his artwork and my vacuum cleaner obsession. I’ve laughed out loud and smiled a lot.

I can FEEL my heart again. Like literally, physically FEEL my heart beating in my chest. Every second for the last couple of days, I’ve been extremely conscious of my heart – like it’s reminding me that it’s there and alive…and ready.

(I haven’t felt this way in a million years – or as someone on one of the widow boards pointed out, “since last century.”)

I’m very careful and very guarded. I’m not jumping into anything or reading too much into things. I’m certainly not going to rush anything. I have a lot of baggage – and so does he.

But to KNOW that I can feel this way…it’s the most amazing thing in the world. And I like it.

PS – I’m continuing to “practice” on a few other guys on the site. Still think my online flirting skills need help – badly. But after taking the M-B personality test, I think it’s just how I’m made – with sucky flirting/mating skills. It actually explains a lot that I’m just wired this way… Explains, but doesn’t help.

Thoughts on a first date (no, I haven’t gone OUT yet with anyone)

(First, welcome to the person who found this blog by searching for “hairy legs depressed.” I hope I helped, I think… You’ve probably noticed I talk about other things, too. Hope you’re okay with that.)

Last night in grief group, the subject of dating came up. I giggled and told the group about signing up with an online dating service. The entire group was soon laughing (the kind of laughing that makes your eyes water), as I told a few of the stories of my experience so far. We were so loud that one of the counselors came down from the kids’ area to ask if we were okay. It was a good session last night.

One of the women in group asked what I wanted in a first date with someone. My response:

I want to go to a restaurant that doesn’t have a separate, paper kids menu with “fun” activities. I don’t want to blow on someone’s food to cool it down or take someone to the potty 15 times during dinner (all false alarms). I want to eat when my meal is hot – actually, I’d settle for slightly above room temperature. I want to not play tic-tac-toe on a napkin using crayons or crawl around on the floor looking for a lost red crayon – in fact, a crayon-free place would be preferred. I would like to not have a stack of extra napkins on the table “just in case.” I don’t want to tell someone to sit down and be quiet more than once. I don’t want someone to freak out because their hamburger is cut in half or their mandarin oranges are touching their French fries. I want to eat without someone at the table putting ketchup on something ketchup shouldn’t be on, like fish or chicken or fruit or broccoli. I want to have dinner with someone who can hold his own cup without spilling the contents on himself or others. I’d like to have a conversation – a nice, long conversation about anything and everything without hearing “I’m bored” or “can we go now?” or “when will she be DONE with her dinner?” I want to be a grownup, even for just an hour or two.

That’s not asking too much, is it?

(Relatedly, after a major overall to my profile this week, I’ve gotten a lot of new responses. Most are garbage, but a few are promising. Conversation with one potential have been so awesome that we decided to take our conversations to regular email instead of through the service. At least I know his full name now. He’s been Googled. And I have some questions for him…)

Online dating: one week later

I’m a little more than a week into my experiment with online dating. And (surprise!) I have some thoughts. I’ve been trolling a few of the big ones, but the one in which I chose to actively participate is the one that starts with OK and ends with -upid. I’m sure it’s not a coincidence that “stupid” also ends with -upid…

Some background on this site: I chose to start with this one because it’s easy. A quick page of bio info (a summary, list of books/movies/music/TV shows liked, six things can’t live without, something private). Answer any, all or none. Upload a few pictures. Answer multiple choice questions – your answer, what answer you’d “accept” in a partner, and how important that question is to you. You can also skip questions without answering or decide to answer some privately. You can also comment on your answers, which is nice because several of the options are black/white. Based on your answers, the site determines your best matches, giving a percentage to those you’re most compatible with as a partner, friend, and “enemy.”

My thoughts:

  • What’s up with the algorithm? How am I answering the questions that would lead the site to believe that I’m compatible (with a surprisingly high percentage of compatibility) with someone interested in an open relationship or a kinky fetishes or looking for a super-skinny/model-esque/ditzy/blonde/no kids/heavy drinker and big time partier companion?
  • I have a huge appeal to men in the medical profession who are age 55+ (if they’re closer to my mom’s age than mine, I’m turned off), men who are under the age of 25 (mommy complex?), men who are unemployed and/or make under $20K/year, and men who are ridiculously dorky. I can appreciate dorkiness – heck, I have some dorky tendencies, but hot diggity these guys are beyond stereotypes. Oh, and I also rate highly with atheists, men looking for a third-party for their marriage (wink-wink), and men who want to be dominated. Great.
  • And on the issues of doctors, with whom I’m very compatible (allegedly), why are there so many docs on the site? Am I really to believe that these men can’t find dates any other way? By their descriptions of themselves and their photos, I’d think women were flocking to them. Red flags much?
  • I’m convinced that the majority of men on these sites are lying. (Maybe that’s where I went wrong with the kind of man to whom I appealed – I TOLD THE TRUTH!) Photos are old, and even if they were uploaded recently, some of the (alleged)  42 year olds looked at least a decade or so older. And if they’re not lying, the profile language is so cliché: how many hardworking, dependable, reliable, honest SINGLE men can there be in the world? And why, then, would they be single if they were so ridiculously fantastic?
  • Or maybe they can’t read, as evidenced by the responses to the questions. I’m certainly hoping that there are literacy issues that have caused men to answer questions in certain ways – drugs as a romantic activity but you detest smokers? Really? Men who would like there to be a nuclear war? (And why is this even a question?) I really hope that low literacy levels have caused men to miss words like “always” or “never” as part of the questions because for some of the questions, there’s NO question what the answer should be…
  • Let’s talk about the photos for a moment. I don’t need to see you shirtless before we’ve even met. Really, put the shirt back on. Why would you include a photo of just your eyeball? What are you hiding? How come so many men are posing next to “toys” like big boats or motorcycles or fancy cars? Pretty sure they’re not yours, buddy. Or include photos of their kids or pets? I’m not looking to date your child or your labradoodle, so why do I care what he/she/it looks like? Or photos taken from a distance with the man wearing a helmet of some sort – or scuba gear. Like I can get a sense of anything with a breathing apparatus or wearing a snow mobile helmet.
  • Oh, and I live in the land of milk, cheese and beer – I do not believe that every man on this dating site has an “athletic” physique. Unless, we have different definitions of “athletic” – sorry dating site dudes, but the “six pack” in athletic terms refers to “abs” not how you buy your beer…

All this aside, I have had a few “conversations” (online only) with a few men. One claimed to be a widower working in London, but was so short and uninteresting in his responses that I let the conversations drop.

A second was one of those “too old for me” guys who just wanted to talk dirty – or try to trick me into talking dirty to him – PASS!

Another is a local dairy farmer with a history degree who volunteers at the local historical society for fun. Farm-guy and I seem to have some things in common, but I have some reservations: 1) he lists his height as 5’4″ (I’m two inches taller than that). If he’s anything like the other guys on the site, he’s probably lying and even shorter. Height isn’t a deal breaker, but I do like my heels to be at least two-and-a-half inches tall. 2) he’s excruciatingly formal in his written expression. Hey, I teach writing, and I dig a guy who can craft a complete sentence (they are few and far between on a dating site!) but it’s just VERY formal in his sentence structure and word choice. 3) he’s 39 and never been married. I don’t know why this bugs me, but it does. What’s the problem – with him?

In our last email exchange, farm-guy is hinting that he wants to meet. I’m surprisingly nervous about the prospect of meeting someone from a dating site in person. I mean, what do I have to lose (as long as we meet in a public place and people know where I am)?

His hero

From Ethan’s school work today:

Ethan's Hero

If I could choose a special person to honor, I would choose my mom. This person is my hero. I would choose this person because she takes care of me. We could honor this hero by being good at home.

At first, I thought all the kids in the class probably wrote about their mom or dad being their heroes, but after talking to a few of the moms, it seems Ethan was the only one in the class. Other kids wrote about Abe Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., and George Washington.

My baby boy selected me as his hero. And it feels amazing. REALLY amazing.

You won’t believe how I spent Saturday afternoon…

As I continue to fight the darkness, I realize that I have to – no, I NEED to – get out. Out of my house, out of my comfort zone, out of my pajamas (or yoga pants), out of my routine of just lying around.

My Saturday afternoon activity with a group of mom friends was about as “out” as you can imagine. (And I found the activity even more hilarious considering we all spent Saturday morning at church with our children preparing for their first communion.)

I took a class that afternoon with my friends. Specifically, a pole dancing instructional class. Four moms from the suburbs went to a strip mall 45 minutes from home, and after two rounds of super strong martinis at a nearby restaurant, we were prepared to learn new “skills.”

Screen Shot 2013-03-11 at 2.45.20 PM

A pear and lavender martini made the lesson a little easier, albeit maybe more dizzy and definitely more hilarious.

The store front for this adventure was smushed between a hair salon and a seedy-looking yoga studio. The two windows were covered in pink and purple gauzy curtains. The red wooden door had ornate carvings, and was definitely out-of-place with the other establishments’ clear glass entryways.

The entry was narrow. A sign told us to remove our shoes at the door and place them on the trays flanking the door. A few plastic, cheap chairs lined one side of the entry, and a messy desk was pushed in the middle of the hall. A line of about six women was already formed, each giving the instructor at the desk her name and making payment (or using a Groupon, as my group was doing).

Dimly lit, poorly shot photos of women in various poses on poles were tacked to the walls. I’m assuming these were students, but they could have been “professionals,” I guess.

After checking in, we were told to go into the back. Here we found a super bright room with a dozen poles. The women who were in line before us had claimed their poles, and I had to ask one of the ladies to move down so I could be near my friends. (Thank goodness, because we spent so much time laughing, I would have been really lonely and not having much fun if I was on the other side of the room.)

(Side note: we were all completely dressed for this class in workout wear. It wasn’t THAT kind of class!)

Class started with some basic stretching. The instructor was young, and not as… svelte… as I would have thought. Then she taught us some basic “moves” that included the princess pose (laying on your side, bottom leg bent at the knee, other leg straight up in the air and one hand stroking the body from leg to hair) and the desperation pump (laying face down and essentially humping the ground – the instructor made it look less “desperate” than any of us moms). She taught us how to get from laying down to standing up in a “sexy” way (complete with ass smack). And we learned the “sexy walk” which involved walking on tip toe, dragging the toes of one foot to meet the other and vice versa – admittedly, I found it anything but sexy as it was weird and awkward and Frankenstein-like (but with more hip thrust).

Then we were onto the pole portion of the lesson.

We learned the fireman, the side-saddle, and some other move that’s name escapes me. Then we were given instruction on how to combine the walk, the pole action, and getting up (complete with ass smack). Walking in circles, hand on the pole, spinning awkwardly and falling the ground left us all dizzy and in fits of laughter. (Maybe round two of the drinks wasn’t the best idea, but I don’t know that any of us would have had the courage to do this without a little encouragement…)

We watched the instructor rip off her silky pants (revealing tiny and unattractively tight boy shorts, which may have actually been her panties?), put on ridiculously high f-me pumps, and demonstrate some upside down maneuvers that are taught in advanced classes. (The whole point of this instructional class is to convince people to sign up for six-week classes, of which there are FIVE levels before “graduating.” Graduating to what, I was afraid to ask. FYI – none of us signed up for classes when we left.)

It has been a ridiculously long time since I’ve laughed so hard. Watching my mom friends (a nurse, two accountants, and me – a college professor. I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in there somewhere…) try to navigate the pole or walk-the-walk was hilarious, as I’m sure they had as much laughing at my expense, too. We all walked out of there with a bunch of painful “pole kisses” (which is what the instructor called the bruises we were already seeing on our thighs and shins).

None of us found second careers, but it was a fun, silly, wouldn’t-have-done-it-alone experience that we won’t forget. I also learned that I’m tremendously out of shape (or pole dancing is great exercise) as I was sweating really a ton by the end of the hour-plus class, and the muscles in my arms and the backs of my thighs were SCREAMING.

I need to find more opportunities to get out, do stuff, even silly stuff like this. I had an awesome time with time with the moms, all of us completely out of our comfort zones. And even better, my abs and cheeks  got quite a workout from laughing so much. Laughter might be the best medicine after all.

Screen Shot 2013-03-11 at 2.43.19 PM

My pole. I can’t believe I actually did this…