Age Is a Number. Maturity Is a Choice.

I turned 30 recently. On a unicorn while playing guitar, apparently. I can hardly believe it. Am I really this old? Ha. I don’t feel old. I feel better than I ever have and I would dare say I’m cuter now than I was five years ago. So go me!

I’ve always been biased about dating younger men… I jokingly tell guy friends that they don’t become “acceptable” to date until age 30. Part of the reason is what I call Man Child Syndrome. Many men suffer from MCS (a very serious condition, I assure you, that prevents men from growing up and becoming responsible, committed adults). But what I’ve come to realize is that age has little to do with it. Hell, Joseph was a 32 year old man child who would play StarCraft for hours and forget to feed himself. 

I meet Flash on match.com. He emails me a thoughtful, interesting message and his pictures suggest he’s a handsome fellow.  AND I’m only slightly agitated by the fact he graduated from the University of M*ch*g*n. Oh. Wait. He’s 23. Shit. I don’t want to ignore him – so I write a nice, witty reply (duh) but I include at the end “I see we have quite an age difference… thoughts?”

His response is good. He says: “Our age difference doesn't bother me at all. I am a fun 20-something, but I'm looking for something meaningful.” He goes on to say “I want to start a family in the not-so-distant future as well. I'm not going to rush to the altar, but that's not prudent regardless of one's age. I want to meet the woman of my dreams, who challenges me and inspires me, and who I love unconditionally.” Well alright. Game on.

We meet for drinks near Foggy Bottom. He’s dressed very sharply – looks great in a blazer – and I’m relieved to not feel old around him. Our conversation at the bar (over good whiskey I might add) is sparkling. It’s comfortable and easy. It’s flirty and fun. Flash is doing and saying all of the right things.

THEN. We’re talking about our career goals. He tells me, without any shred of doubt or sarcasm, that he’s going to be president of the United States someday. I smile – this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this recently (ah the joys of dating in DC). But to be fair the other guy is Scottish and thus CAN’T be the POTUS.  Flash says jokingly “I can’t date a woman who can’t see herself being First Lady.” Whoa. Pump. The. Brakes.

I battle an internal struggle because on the one hand, Flash is highly principled, mature, knows himself well, has integrity and has values/morals that are aligned with mine.  BUT doesn’t the fact I’ve kissed many girls preclude me from public office? Ha. Do I really see myself as a politician’s wife? I know the answer. And it bums me out.

I tell Flash that while I find him extremely appealing, I can’t sign up for the life he’s choosing. I quote a self-help book I read after my break-up (oh, there were many): “you live a life, not a relationship.” At the end of the day, I know I want a simpler existence than that of public service.

The future POTUS taught me something very valuable though… it’s not someone’s age that determines their maturity level or likelihood to be ready for a long-term relationship. Flash and I have resolved to be friends – and I have already offered my services as wing woman to help him meet some ladies. Look how mature we are! How honest and open!  Man, turning 30 has really made me super wise.   

I've Been a Wild Rover For Many a Year

My goal for 2012 was to play guitar and sing at an open mic night. I accomplished that goal early in the year – in March actually! – and now I’m a regular at a bluegrass open mic night in Alexandria, Virginia.  Heck, I even have people drunkenly request that I play “that Irish song where people clap.” I have arrived, folks.

I show up and am greeted by my fellow regulars – Barry the harmonica player, Steve on bass and Kathy and Alex (the cutest married acoustic guitar duo EVER).  My friend Macie drops by and we both raise our eyebrows as a cute guy walks past our table. Well hello. On my way back from the bathroom I contemplate approaching him but he’s in a socially ambiguous situation. You know the kind where it’s unclear who’s with who and what kind of crowd it is? Like… is that his girlfriend or a coworker? Ambiguous = steer clear.

I sit back down and am enjoying the company of two younger men (Alex’s brother and friend) while we rock out to Kathy and Alex playing Zac Brown Band’s Chicken Fried. I’m belting out “you know I like my chicken fried, cold beer on a Friday night” when cute man is headed out with his ambiguous friends. He smiles at me and I smile back. Bam! Done. He literally back tracks and walks right up to me with his hand extended. “Hi, I’m Tom.” He doesn’t care that I’m in the middle of my own ambiguous situation (for all he knows I’m here with my boyfriend). I dig it. He is extremely social even with the guys at the table. A man with manners! Guess where he’s from: OHIO.  Anyone else surprised?

When it’s my turn to play, Tom is cheering and clapping the loudest. Afterward a group of us head to the Irish pub nearby for a round of Guinness (which he buys for me and my friends – again with the manners!) and Irish whiskey.  THEN. He pulls me out to dance with him and the man can dance!! Wait. A nice-mannered man from Ohio who can dance? Be still my heart.

Alex and Kathy take off and Tom and I close the bar down. We walk outside and neither one of us wants the night to end. He suggests we take a walk down to the water and I whole-heartedly endorse the suggestion. I’m in the middle of venting about a work situation when he kisses me mid-sentence. Well alright! It’s a good kiss. More bonus points for Ohio man. 

 

 

He hops the fence – not NEARLY as gracefully as I do – and we walk down to the docks. I feel like I’m in high school again. Except I wasn’t nearly cool enough to hop a fence and make out with a cute guy on some random person’s boat in high school. We finally head back to my car at 3 am. He asks me to come back to his hotel with him but is gracious when I politely decline his offer. Can’t blame a guy for trying!

He texts me the following morning from the airport to say he can’t get this one Irish song out of his head. I tell him the only cure for Wild Rover is MORE Wild Rover. Unfortunately he’s moving from Ohio to Denver so more Wild Rover in either one of our future’s is unlikely. Sigh.

Big In The Pants Update

It's strange. Just as I was posting the story about him... he sends me a text. Maybe his ears were burning. But seriously dude?! It's been over a month and a half! I honestly don't know what men are thinking. Your shelf-life has EXPIRED! I can't tell you how many times men contact me 6 months and even 9 months after we stop talking. It blows my mind. Women don't do this. Do we?

Check it:

 So there you have it. Haven't heard from him since but I guess I shouldn't be surprised if I get another drunk text in the future. Next time I won't respond since my curiosity has been satisfied. So long, big in the pants! 

Big In The Pants

I meet Dan on Match.com. We exchange a few emails and he quickly asks me to meet him for an adult beverage. I like his style - not messing around. We meet at Ragtime (a cool "dive" bar - as casual as you will find in Arlington) and thankfully he looks exactly like his pictures. The conversation is easy. Dan is HYSTERICAL. I can't remember the last time I've been on a date with a guy this funny. He has the sort of self-deprecating humor that cracks my shit up. After two dazzling hours of witty repartee I decide I want to see Dan again.

Second Date Dan (as I've come to refer to him) calls me and asks me to go bowling in Annandale. It turns out I'm a pathetic bowler. Thankfully he is also appallingly terrible. But the kisses we steal in between turns make me soon forget about the score. After two rounds of admittedly sad bowling we call it quits and head to the only open bar in Annandale.

The bartender comes and personally introduces himself to us and memorizes our names. Um. Okay. After learning it's our first time to frequent this fine establishment he offers us free shots. What. Is. Happening. Where are we? Dan and I are both equally cynical and think there MUST be something nefarious going on here. People just aren't nice like that. No way, Jose.

When we tire of speculating what underhanded business the bar is a cover for, we head to his car. Second Date Dan (soon to be Third Date Dan in my opinion) has an interesting combination. He's sexy while at the same time being goofy. Not many guys can pull it off. We're kissing when he pulls away and puts my hand on his thigh.   

I laugh so hard my face hurts. He recovers nicely and has the grace to laugh it off. I'm not sure what he expected me to do/say. Swoon? Ask to see it? "I'm big in the pants" becomes a catch phrase with me and my girlfriends. "I don't know if you know this but...  I'M BIG IN THE PANTS." It becomes even funnier when you throw on an Elvis accent. Try it. Go on.

Second Date Dan still becomes Third Date Dan after this incident because hey, the guy makes me laugh. So what if his pick up lines are truly awful.

After our fourth date - and me still NOT verifying the validity of his big penis claim - I never hear from Dan again. I get the feeling he is used to women jumping into bed with him. And when he realized it wouldn't be happening any time soon, he decided to take his big pants and move on. No hard feelings on my end - it's better to learn sooner rather than later when a guy is only interested in showing you what's in his pantalones.

Highway to My Heart

Do I need to explain this? Okay, fine. I am about to fall asleep when a pick-up truck pulls up beside me. It’s a cute guy. All of the sudden I’m not tired anymore! There is some car flirting – he passes me and then I pass him.  Like something 16 year old Jamie would’ve done in high school.  He holds up his phone motioning for me to give him my number. I give my phone number (holding up one finger at a time) to this man on the freeway going 75 mph. He calls me and we talk for 45 minutes. Doesn’t everyone do this?

His name is John. He drives a manly truck. He’s very attractive (from the chest up) and is 27 years old. It’s amazing the things you’ll divulge to a complete stranger you’ve just met. He tells me his life story – he went to jail for a few years after stealing beer at the age of 17. He realized he’d never be able to get a white collar job even after 4 years of college so he started his own business. Now he volunteers at juvenile centers and talks to the youth there. I’m impressed by him. In general I’m impressed by people who have made mistakes and have learned from them. He has a maturity that isn’t common in a 27 year old man.

He tells me he’s going to pull over to stop for gas and that I should stop with him. What the hell? Why not – it’s day light… what could go wrong? I pull up behind him and he gets out.  Still cute (from the chest down). Whew. He thanks me for making his drive more interesting.  Then he asks if I’d like to meet his daughter. Um. WHAT? On the outside I’m cool as a cucumber but on the inside I’m wondering who I am right now. 

His 2 year old daughter is asleep in the back of his truck. She’s adorable and strangely enough it’s endearing. Especially after hearing that he fought for shared custody of her and drives 14 hours just to pick her up.  AND he goes to church every week! ::swoon::

We say our goodbyes and I continue on to Ohio for a gathering of my college friends. I recount the story to them and they’re not pleased.  I suppose it sounds bad… meeting convicted felons at gas stations.  My friend’s lawyer husband immediately says “no way he went to jail for 2 years just for stealing some beer.” So cynical!

In comparison to some of the wealthy, entitled men I’ve met recently, John is refreshing. He has been humbled by his experiences. He lives four states away but I would definitely go out with him should he ever be passing through. In the meantime, I will make sure I look at least somewhat cute in the car – never would’ve happened had I been wearing sweatpants with my hair in a ponytail!

An Email I Never Wanted to Receive. One Year Later.

"Jamie,

I know this email may come to you as a big surprise, and you're probably wondering who I am. I plan to give you all the details, but before I do I just want you to know that my main reason for writing this email is to provide you with a piece of information that was never given to you when your relationship with Joseph ended. Perhaps you were aware of it already, but something tells me you weren't. I know I may be very late with this information considering it's been almost a year, and I know many people will think writing to you is a very stupid idea... but the truth is you deserve to know no matter how late it may be….”  OH JESUS.

I could copy and paste the entire email but really what’s the point? Let me summarize. It’s much easier this way. Joseph meets Julia in San Diego while I’m in Italy with my parents. They start texting. She confronts him on it because late night texts from engaged men are suspect. He comes out with it: he has a crush on her. He comes back to DC – as an alien with different eyes – and tells me he needs to go find himself.

It doesn’t end there. She continues to chronicle her romance with Joseph. (WHY??) Their friendship blossoms into a romantic relationship. They date for 5 months. He breaks it off and she feels hurt. She feels that he’s getting away with looking like a nice guy and thus feels the need to lash out against him. Strangely enough, I understand where she’s coming from.

To this day I don’t know if Joseph’s friends know the truth about why we broke up. They definitely don’t know THIS truth – that he had developed feelings for another woman. Sadly his obsession with always being seen as the “good guy” probably led him down the path of unhappiness in the first place.

Part of me is angry. Angry that for an entire year I’ve felt sorry for him for being so lost. But now it’s clear he has no integrity. He lied to my face when confronted about whether or not he had feelings for someone else. He didn’t have the balls to just be honest with me. LAME.  The other part of me is breathing a huge sigh of relief. Bullet dodged.

Just as I would’ve been justified in throwing his clothes on the lawn or tearing apart his life-size poster of himself, there are many nasty things I could’ve said/done upon receiving this email. But I took the high road. Bat-shit crazy ain’t my style, folks. I forwarded him the email and just said “Breaking things off with me was the best gift you could’ve ever given me.” I even responded to her. She felt guilty and I assured her it wasn’t her fault. I told her that this only further validates how grateful I am NOT to be with him.

I know this woman isn't the reason my relationship with Joseph ended. But she certainly seems to have been the catalyst. So in that regard I must thank you, Julie, for your unfortunate role in my disengagement. And subsequent manpage. Which has been anything but unfortunate. :)

How Does This Keep Happening?

It's Friday night which can mean only one thing: hockey. I head to the bar after our game and am having a few beers with my teammates. One of my teammate's friends is a cute guy from Colombia and we hit it off. He asks for my number and I figure "why not?" I even agree to give him a ride to the metro - what can I say? I'm a very generous person. Colombian man saunters off to talk to some other people and I'm left at a table with the opposing team.

O'Brien tells us he needs to go compliment a random dude on his hair. We all exchange glances like “whaaaa?” but it’s probably just that O’Brien has hair-envy. He’s bald. A minute later he’s back with the man and says to everyone “doesn’t he have incredible hair?” I’m caught off-guard because that is NOT the only incredible thing this man has. Holy shit. He’s gorgeous. Not only does he have rockstar hair but he has intense blue/green eyes, an eyebrow piercing, long eyelashes and nice lips. THEN he opens his mouth. He has an AUSTRALIAN accent. Be still my heart. Somehow it comes out that he’s there meeting the bartender who also plays guitar. Stop. It. He plays guitar! It’s over.

Colombian man is looking at me from across the room and is trying to get my attention. He’s ready to leave. Crap. I say to Craig, Mr. Aussie, that I’d love to see him again but don’t know how to give him my number without being awkward. He pulls out his phone and instructs me to keep talking while he holds his phone under the table. Nice. Whew. I give him a knowing smile and walk out of the bar.

You may remember Colombian man from this previous post: http://flingstress.blogspot.com/2012/03/are-you-kidding-me.html He's the key snatcher. Anyway. Back to Craig.

He calls me that night and leaves a delicious voicemail in his delicious aussie accent. We make plans to jam at my apartment a few nights later. He lives kind of far away in Fredericksburg but says he doesn't mind driving to see me.

He shows up at my door…

I racked my memory for any piece of conversation where he might have mentioned his wife to me. Fair enough there were moments where time stood still and I just got lost in those ridiculous eyes... but c'mon. I would've remembered that! Worse yet – his wife was AT the bar the night we met! That's why he was more than happy to hold his phone under the freakin' table. What are men thinking?!

Final thought: he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. My friend’s fiancé (also an aussie named Craig coincidentally) recently told her that he doesn’t want to wear a ring. He says there are loads of guys who don’t. I agree. They’re called cheaters.