Category Archives: Dating

cry me a river

The David and I have been seeing a couples counselor once a week for about 7 months.

We’ve been together going on 4 years now and still aren’t really sure about some of the big questions… are you the one?  do we want to get married?  or have kids?  how do we reconcile you giving off the heat of a thousand suns with my charming propensity to get sweaty in my sleep?

Counseling is supposed to help with all that.

But me being me, it mostly feels like a medieval device engineered specifically to drive me to the highest levels of torment.  There’s a lot of “Can you make space for David’s trigger points?” and “How does it make you feel to hear Maggie share something like that?”  Her master plan is that if there’s oodles of communication, then there will be closeness and it will be “yummy.”
In all fairness, The David seems to like it.  He’s much more sensitive than I am, so he really gets into having these opportunities to open up.  But I’m wired differently; I will share information and I’m pretty straightforward and honest, but I don’t need to talk about feelings so much.

Last night was our last session before The David leaves for his month-long trip to Argentina and she wanted to talk about how we felt about this pending separation.

And it went a bit like this:

Maggie:  I feel sad about it.

Counselor:  What does that sadness feel like?  Do you feel it in your body somewhere?

Maggie:  Mostly in my eyeballs.  Like I want to cry.

Counselor:  Why don’t you cry then?

Maggie:  It’s silly to cry about something that hasn’t even happened yet.

Counselor:  Isn’t it judgmental to call your feelings silly?  You should be allowed to cry.  Why don’t you zero in on these feelings?

I try to zero in on feeling sad.  Sadness ensues.  A few leaky tears escape.

And then I don’t even know.  Something like:

Counselor:  You feel sad?  How sad?  Really sad?  Are you really *feeling* the sadness?  Breath into it!  Look at David!  Let him feel your sadness!  Really really sad?

Until I am full on sobbing.  And snotting up a storm.  Wadded up tissues are piling up ridiculously.  No matter how much I toot and squirt, I can’t breath through my nose.  So I am mouth breathing.  I can’t talk without gasping and squeaking.  My nose is on fire from the scratchy sub par tissues.  My eyeballs feel about 3 sizes too large for their sockets and I’ve got a low thrumming headache.

I am tapping on David’s hand in a far fetched wish that I knew Morse code, that David knew Morse code, and that I could beg him to get me out of there.

And she is telling us how beautiful this is and how much love she is seeing.

Love is not the thing I am feeling.

But The David is feeling touched by just how sad I am that he’s leaving and protective that I’ve been all vulnerable.  And he didn’t have to talk about feeling sad about anything, so it’s all fine over there.  I’m the only one on Planet Insanadoo.

I guess I was supposed to feel better after having a good cry.  It should be cathartic?  And I feel all connected because I exposed my sad, sad underbelly?

Instead, I am exhausted and defeated and should clearly be lying quietly in the dark somewhere with chilled pads on my eyes.

And realizing that a month long separation from The David comes with a wonderful gift:  a month off from couples counseling.

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one of those days

Yesterday, there was this baby.  She was born at 5 pm in Texas.  Her parents are an old boyfriend of mine, circa 2003, and the woman he was engaged to and broke up with before he met me (and then went back to after we broke up).  Weird, I know.
This old boyfriend is the only other one that I’ve lived with besides David.  We were together for a little over three years.  Nice guy, but it was good for it to be over.
I know I’m not alone in this thinking… that we can breakup and I can feel like it’s the good and right thing, but you should probably never date anyone ever again, because no one could ever really be as uniquely spectacular as I am.
So I have little snarky thoughts about him and the girlfriend that used to be and that was then the girlfriend that is, again. And then I had that glug feeling when Facebook told me she was pregnant.  And yesterday, the baby was born.

A few hours later, I’m sitting on the couch having “a talk” about these flaws in my existing relationship.  The one that I am always thinking is so great.  The one that just hit the 3 year mark on Sunday.  So seriously, Universe?  Fart on you.

 

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Cherries everywhere

When I first started dating the David who became my Sweet Boy, I was also dating another guy that I had met in a local watering hole.  I met him there on an evening that I had gone in after work with a friend, for the purposes of drinking whiskey and lamenting the general state of affairs of my miserable love life.  I wasn’t wearing any make-up and I was exhausted.  Bek was smoking then, and we took the opportunity to smoke profusely with our whiskey, in the back courtyard of the bar.

As often happens in this location, we got to chatting with the other people who were sitting back there.  One of them, was this guy, Chase.  Turns out, he is an artist and while we were there he drew me a picture of hands holding a giant cherry, and called it Cherries for Maggie, and autographed it with his phone number and website.  I was totally charmed by this and sent him an e-mail and he replied and asked me out.

2 Days later, I met David.

I had plans to meet up with Chase, but he had a family member come in to town unexpectedly and he had to cancel.

Then, I had a perfect dream date with David.  He took me for a picnic by the lake in our neighborhood.  He prepared and brought everything.  And the thing that pierced my heart comletely with cupid’s arrow was this:  he brought cherries, which he had known I was terrifically fond of.  But he pitted them.

A few days later, I had another date with Chase.  Turns out, he also had planned for a picnic.  But he hadn’t prepared anything.  We went to a coffee shop to get sandwhiches, which he didn’t pay for, because he had a long-standing credit for building something for them.  And he didn’t bring any wine, or a corkscrew.  So we went to the liquor store to get wine and since it had to have a screw top, our options were limited.  Because he’d just told me this whole story about having lost $200 in cash and how despondent he was about it, I paid for the over priced screw top wine.  And then the park he had thought to go to was closed after sunset.  We walked a goodly ways (in cute date shoes) to a different park.  Almost immediately, I was attacked by viscious mosquitos.  We left and went over to his apartment, which was nearby.  He showed me his paintings, including one of my pant cuffs and shoes from the night we met.

Then I had another date with David.  The fruit tarts in the rose garden date.

And then Chase convinced me to let him give me a ride home from work one night.  Since he wasn’t making ends meet as an artist, he also did some contracting/construction work and happened to be in the city that week.  Although I thought it was absurd to try to drive into the Financial District to come get me, he was insistent.  And I get it.  He was making a real effort to try with me.  And while the goofiness of crushing on someone can make you retarded, sometimes it just seems like too much.  But he insisted that he really wanted to do this, so I agreed.  As planned, I met him in Union Square and then we walked over to where his truck was.  And by was, I mean that it was there, but then it wasn’t.  He insisted that he had a construction permit on his car, which meant that he could park in loading zones.  I’m sure this is true, except for when the signs said you couldn’t do it between 4 and 6, which happened to be the exact window we were in.  After much confusion, he finally called in to the city and got confirmation that he had been towed.

Sigh.  sigh.  sigh.  I clearly remember thinking then “if I were with David right now, this never would have happened.”

It seemed to heartless to just leave him there to catch my bus home, so I walked with him to the city towing site in SOMA where he realized that he didn’t have a credit card or a way to pay the fee to get the truck out.  Pity made me want to whip out my credit card to just make the awfulness go away, but I didn’t.  He called a cousin who came down and paid the ticket.  Finally, I got the privilege of being driven home.

I think he sent me an e-mail after that saying that I should get in touch if I had time to meet up again, but that was the last I saw of him.

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And in this corner….

Another tale from that datilithic era of last year…

The same time that I was dating Fred, the Aryan Uber Nerd, I was also dating… Herman.  He was quirky, almost bizarre.  But interesting.  He wore sweaters with silhouettes of people fishing on them.

He handsome, but sort of not.  We drank a lot and exchanged much comedic banter.

Of particular note, we had a date at a bar where speed dating was happening.  We had a prime spot to watch the festivities and snigger.  The first round was an older set.  Probably 35 and up.  It was rather meager, pickings were slim (but not literally) and a little sad.  Boy, was it super to be smug, and on an actual date, watching the have-a-date wanabees.  The second round was the younger crowd, which was much better attended.  I wish that I had written about this sooner so that I could have regaled myself with blogged tales of the amusement, but alas, it was probably about 10 months ago now.  I *can* remember that it was funny and awkward, so I should just try to hold on to that sentiment at least.

Anyway.

Eventually, there was some making out and then there was a night that I spent the night at his apartment, which the demise of any interest I had in him.  His apartment was a small, but potentially nice studio in SOMO.  Except that it looked like a homeless person lived there.  Seems paradoxical, no?  Yes.  There were piles of things everywhere, and not a stitch of furniture.  The bed was a twin mattress on the floor.  And not a real mattress.  The pseudo kind of mattress that you might have on the top bunk of your bed for 6 weeks in summer camp.
There was no way I could deal with his hobo aesthetic.

Aaand… we-e-ell… his make-out business was a little scary.  He was a big fan of the kind of kissing that involves forcible restraint against a wall.  Sort of hot for a second, but then, yeah.  Let me go.  Karate chop.

So I got rid of Herman.  But tra-la-la!  So many boys, I was happy to move on and non-obsess.

Another tale next time.

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The Dating Game

I chat with a good friend regularly about her dating woes, or her lack of dating woes, or her woes of the relationship of yore.  It wasn’t so long that I was there myself, and I know how bad it sucks.  Like any pain, I can’t quite conjure back up the horribleness of it, but I can remember that it was bad and I can read in this here very blog when I feel like having a reminder.

I’ve convinced this lady friend that she should really try online dating.  I know it feels stupid.  I’m not a fan of having to confess that I met my very own Sweet Boy via online dating.  But, I think it served an invaluable purpose for me and it would for her also.  When you’re plugged in to online dating, you always know where your next date is coming from.  Consequently, you don’t start obsessing over any one guy just because he’s the one guy there is.  I’ve heard her saying the exact same goofiness of my own head:  getting all hung up over some guy because he seemed like he had promise.  He would be good to have another date with.  And he’s got all the qualifications on paper that seem like he’s worthwhile.  All you need now, is the opportunity to invest to make sure that he actually is worth your while.  Except then you start spending your while getting all bent out of shape about why he didn’t respond to your last text message.  Or why his last e-mail was pleasant and promising, but it didn’t actually suggest getting together again.  And then he said he was busy when you made an offer and he didn’t counter with an alternative.  Enter:  despair!  Woe!  Angst!
If you were dating several people at once, though, you’d be too distracted to get all bajiggity about any one guy.  You can easily go on a date, walk away and conclude that he was nice, admit that it might be ok to see him again, but not be heartbroken if you don’t talk again.

Thinking about all of this has been sending me back to that time when I was in that place last year.  Before I met the best boyfriend known to man kind, I was meeting some other sorts of fellows.  I would like to now harken back to one of them.  Even though no one reads my blog, I still feel paranoid and feel like a pseudonym would somehow be appropriate.  Just in case.  So let’s call him Fred.  Fred looked kind of like one of the actors from Saved By the Bell who played a nerd.  Which is to say that he didn’t just look like a nerd, he looked like the quintessential nerd.  Very, very blond, pale, thin lips, little teeth, round face.  He wore his hair kind of spiky and was always wearing boots and this bulky motorcycle jacket, and he rode a motorcycle.  So he was the uber nerd who was making uber effort to shirk nerd-dom.  He was shy and quiet and I had to make a lot of effort to draw him out.  I babbled a lot just to fill the silence with something and I probably drank more than I should have.  But he was smiley and pleasant and amenable so I went out with him again and then a couple times more.

The physical chemstry wasn’t entirely there for me and I was feeling a bit lackluster about him when we went out on our last date.  Arranging this date had been a little difficult, as he’d been uncharacteristically unresponsive about pinning down plans and we ended up having to reschedule the original plan.  When we did meet up that night, he was especially reserved.  I tried to ask if something was wrong, which he denied.  But it was a particularly stilted dinner.  We finished and he asked if I wanted to get a drink.  So picked a destination a few blocks away to walk to.  On the way there, he finally admitted that there was a problem.  He thought that I was too mean and critical.  He gave a few examples when I had been snarky and that he tries to be a good person and so this made him feel bad.  And as he was saying all this, we were stepping inside of the bar.

There’s nothing to do now but go ahead and order.  Since he’s driving his motorcycle home, he gets a soda.  We grab a table.  And now what?  What do you do once you’ve been told what your date finds undesirable about you, and you’re still just sitting there looking at them?  Me?  I babble.  I spent 20 minutes trying to explain how it was ok.  That he didn’t have to like me.  We were just dating.  I was ok.  He was ok.  It was fine.  Good for him for recognizing what he wanted.  Blah blah blah.  Blah!  And gulp gulp gulp Mr Beer, because I have got to hightail it out of here.  I am done talking about what a rotten person I am and helping you to feel better about having had told me!

Finally, I down the beer.  It’s ok to escape.  Cordial.  He walks me to the BART station, where we will part ways.  And then he says “I know you’d already said that you were really busy this week, but do you really not have any time that we could hang out?”

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