Tag Archives: first time

Thoughts on online dating

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It’s been 18 years since my last “first” date. When I realized this recently, I sort of panicked. A lot has changed in almost two decades, and even though I’m not ready to date-date (i.e., not date anyone seriously), I want to see what’s out there. Sort of establish a base line so when I decide I’m ready, I know what I’m dealing with.

I visited some online dating sites this week. Even signed up for a couple and started profiles – again, JUST in the name of seeing what’s out there. Result: I’m so not ready for this, at least not meeting someone online. (Yes, I had an online profile for a VERY short time after my separation, before Mike’s death. I should have realized things probably haven’t changed…)

I am astounded at some of the screening questions a few of the sites ask: everything from would you allow a partner to lick certain parts of you (and NOT the “GOOD” ones but the really, really BAD ones – yuck!) to how much pain you’re interested in receiving during sex. So many sex questions…OMG. What about establishing a RELATIONSHIP first?

It isn’t that I wouldn’t answer these questions, it’s just that these are considered appropriate SCREENING questions. I’m not a prude, but I wouldn’t divulge this sort of information until LONG into a serious relationship… Hell, I wouldn’t even kiss on a first date, let alone…

Amazingly, surprisingly, ridiculously, others apparently don’t feel the same way, and reading how men have answered these questions is…just wow. If THIS is the sort of thing people are into, there’s no hope for me finding someone normal, or at least compatible with me.

I’ve had a few messages from obvious scammers. (Really, dude in Trinidad and Tobago: I have completed less than 40 percent of my profile and only have one incognito photo of me and I’m supposed to believe (this is verbatim): “It’s has been a great deal for me to see such a pretty like you here, I liked your profile very much..you sounded sweet and it was nice reading it.when i joined this place i never expected to meet a woman of your type, because you soo adorable and cute.” Um, no thanks. BLOCK!)

Wow!

I also feel like there are larger issues at play. Some men haven’t uploaded new photos since early 2010 – that means they’ve been on the site for THREE YEARS. At what point do you just cut your losses and try another way? Or are YOU the problem, Mr. Online Dude?

I think I’m in a weird age bracket, also. A few years younger, and the guys seem REALLY young. A few years older, and they guys seem (and look) CRAZY old. Maybe people are lying on their profiles? Wait, am I supposed to lie too? Then, what’s the point?

And what do some guys have against proper grammar and punctuation? And would it kill them to throw in a capital letter or two? Put your best foot forward, dude. Try proofreading your profile to avoid looking like an uneducated buffoon.

Another question: how are guys coming up with their profile names and photos? I do not want to see a selfie of a man posing shirtless, flexing in a bathroom mirror, toilet clearly visible behind him (or selfie of just his bare chest with the same background). And the profile names – why is every other man a something-”asaurus” or a something-“InABox.” Are these supposed to be funny names? Are they supposed to mean something else? It’s lost on me, other than to think they must be weird.

Then there are the guys looking for sex. They’re married, and claim to be in love with their wives, but they’re profiles are active and they’re looking for some NSA side action. (“NSA” apparently means “no strings attached.”) And even though I’ve made it very clear that I’m not in this for just the sex, these guys are still checking me out. It’s disgusting. I feel like I need a shower just knowing they’ve clicked on my profile!

All that aside, I have come across a couple of promising profiles, but the thought of reaching out makes me cringe. They’re STRANGERS – even though I know more about their personal preferences than probably their closest friends.

It’s overwhelming to think of starting a relationship with a stranger. To tell all my stories over again. To explain the little idiosyncracies that make me, me. To tell the story of my marriage and Mike’s death. To think of sharing a first kiss with someone – which way to tilt my head? Will our noses hit? Do they want to be kissed too or did I totally misread the signs? How long and involved should the kiss be? Ugh!!

Even before Mike, I wasn’t a serial dater. I can count the number of guys I’ve gone out with on both hands (with a few fingers left over!), and I’ve kissed far fewer. Still, I don’t remember dating being this complicated – or maybe I was just so much more carefree and oblivious? I definitely know that almost everyone I dated was from my real life – I knew them as a friend or through friends first. (Maybe I should see if there’s some sort of potential with K… Then there’s the single friend from my past that I THINK I’m flirting with through Instagram and email – and I THINK my flirting is being reciprocated. Unfortunately, he lives 1,800 miles away.)

I’m going to give this online thing another couple of days, then probably close my profiles (for now). I’m not sure I will find someone this way – not if THIS is what the eligible pool of men looks like. Wow.

You won’t believe how I spent Saturday afternoon…

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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.”

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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.

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

And the award for the most awkward interaction with a man…

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I haven’t dated anyone for 18 years. (I even had to check the math on that – really, that long?) The internet was in its infancy – there wasn’t a Facebook or Twitter or Instagram or online dating. I was barely of legal drinking age. I didn’t think I’d ever get married, and I wasn’t sure that I’d ever have kids.

Mike and I started dating in college, and until August 2011, we didn’t have any breaks or time away from one another. It was just us, together, through thick and thin, for better or worse, through sickness but not alcoholism…

Now my kids are my first priorities. I’m not a college student, but I teach them. I’ve grown a lot. I’ve changed a lot. I’ve been through a lot.

So fast forward to yesterday. I must have been exuding some sort of crazy-ass pheromones. First, the Starbucks dude gave me a free pastry (he didn’t give anything away to the three women who were in front of me in line) and a wink and up-sized my latte.

And then (I think) I was (sort of) asked out.

Background: I’ve never been good at flirting or knowing when a man was interested in me. Before Mike, I only dated a handful of guys. I was a late bloomer for sure, not having my first boyfriend or first kiss until my senior year of high school.

Ethan and I attended mass on Sunday morning. During communion, I noticed K, a good-looking and very recently divorced dad, walking back to his seat a few aisles away.

(Sidenotes: his son is E’s “arch enemy” and his daughter is one of Ethan’s crushes. I’ve talked to K on occasion – wouldn’t say I know him well, but I have caught him looking at me at school meetings and other events. I brushed it off as coincidence or my crazy imagination. One last note: the mom-friends I went out with last weekend, three of the four of them said separately that K and I should date. I laughed it off, but the comment stuck with me.)

So when mass ended yesterday, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that K was looking in my direction. I concentrated on Ethan and getting him down the aisle so we could get his stuff for his extracurricular meeting post-church. But then I noticed K alter his gait when he got close to our aisle. It was like he was stalling, waiting.

“Hey,” he said casually, raising his hand and smiling. He gently tossed Ethan’s hair and asked him about his weekend.

We continued with various pleasantries and small talk – the weather, his new condo, our kids – through the church and into the lobby.

“I’m starving. My stomach was growling all throughout mass,” he said with a laugh. “Thinking about going and grabbing some lunch somewhere…”

And that’s when I turned into a ridiculously awkward idiot. I think.

Was he kind of hinting at going to lunch? Was he looking for a lunch companion? Or was it just a continuation of the small talk? If it wasn’t for K adjusting his walking speed to “meet” us at the end of our aisle, I probably would have not paid attention to the comment, but…

I panicked. Said something like “yeah,” steered Ethan into a side hallway, then ducked into the women’s bathroom. I’m super smooth.

I either lost the chance to go to lunch with K and get to know him better OR acted like a complete buffoon by reading too much into nothing.

Regardless, I really need to work on my social skills with men. Geez.

Mom knows best

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After last night’s session with Ethan’s new therapist (D), I feel even more sure that Ethan’s problems in school are very heavily grief-based.

She started by asking really basic questions to get him more comfortable. (Where do you go to school? What grade are you in? What’s your favorite school subject? What do you like to do for fun?)

Then she moved to word association. Mom, she said.

“Pretty good,” Ethan said. “Nice, but I get mad when she won’t let me play my 3DS.”

D looked at me. I could see her smile through her eyes. Grandma, she said next.

“Good,” said Ethan.

Dad.

Ethan’s body tensed. He covered his face with his hands. He started to get very fidgety. His fists balled up. He arched his back.

“It’s okay,” D said. “How do you feel about your dad?”

“I don’t have a dad,” Ethan said.

“Yes you do,” D said. “He’s just not here with you. How do you feel about your dad?”

Ethan started punching the ball he was holding. “Mad,” he said. “I told him to stop drinking beer. I threw some of his beer away once. I got in really bad trouble.”

“What happened?” D asked softly.

Ethan continued hitting the ball. He turned his back to us and punched at the ball.

“Daddy yelled – LOUD. Then I got send to my room. He should have stopped drinking.”

“It’s okay to punch that ball,” D said. Ethan continued his physical outburst for another minute or so.

D looked at me and whispered,” Did you see those physical changes? There’s a lot going on there.”

I nodded.

The rest of the session went well. It was hard for Ethan to focus after talking about his dad. The three of us played a game involving placing stones on Ethan’s body to encourage him to lay still. Then we played a board game called Stop, Relax & Think, which got him opening up a bit about his feelings and start thinking through possible ways to relax and deal with stressful situations or things that make him angry.

At one point in the Stop, Relax & Think game, I had to sing a song until D told me to stop. Ethan apparently was not amused with my singing and told me to stop a few times. I kept going until D told me to quit, per the rules. D turned to Ethan and explained that it was never the job of the child to tell his parent to “stop.” Instead it is the job of the parent to correct the child. I liked D even more after that.

We go back to D in a week. She’s going to do good things with Ethan.

I’m relieved.

One year

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Today is one year. As I write this, it’s one year to the exact minute that I received the call from Mike’s mom.

I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, just another day. I thought I was okay.

It’s hard.

I woke up with a throbbing headache at 4:30. Lauren was crying out for me at 5 a.m., and she and I cuddled for a half hour. I showered, got dressed, packed my lunch. If I didn’t have to interview a job candidate this afternoon, I would have stayed in bed.

It snowed last night. Not much, but a slick snowy coat covered the roads as I took Ethan to school.

I thought about cancelling my oil change appointment, but I was already WAY overdue. Of course, I was ridiculously early for the appointment, so I went through a drive thru – maybe caffeine would help my headache, I thought. (It didn’t.)

Then I drove around. I wanted to find an empty parking lot and just sit, maybe sneak in a 10-minute nap. But the snow… nearly every lot was being plowed, and those that weren’t plowed REALLY needed it.

After driving around for 20 minutes, I found an acceptable lot, parked and sat. I couldn’t move. I just stared at a discount dry cleaners, a hair cut place and sandwich restaurant. I watched the reflection of the cars from the road behind me. As the reflections moved along the plate-glass windows, their shape changed – short to long, thin to fat, tall to short. It was like watching a fun house mirror.

I was very conscious of my breathing. In, out. Deep breaths.

I felt like I couldn’t move anything other than my eyes, watching those cars in the reflection. Several times, I thought, “It’s time. I need to get to the car dealer.” But I couldn’t seem to lift my head, let alone my arms or legs to physically drive the car.

My email dinged. New message. It was about tomorrow’s alumni board meeting at my alma mater. There’s no way, I thought. It took everything in me to pull my head off the back of the car seat. I emailed back: “I thought I was fine. I’m not. Won’t be there tomorrow.”

I glanced at the time. Just enough time to get to the dealer.

Pulled into the garage, checked in, walked to the waiting room.

I emailed a few people at work (someone from IT was coming to check my laptop and a student wanted to talk about internships) – I’m going to be late, I wrote, blaming it on the weather and road conditions.

Of course, as soon as I walked into my building, the IT guy and the student were waiting for me in the hall outside my office. I rushed through both meetings, sent them on their ways, and shut my door.

I walked over to my window and looked out at the snow-covered quad. Without warning, the tears just came.