The Flingstress... Going On Hiatus

I am taking a deliberate break from dating.  I have a few reasons for the break so let me see if I can explain.

When Joseph broke up with me it was a HUGE rejection.  The person who was supposed to love me forever walked away. Seemingly without much difficulty. It's embarrassing to admit but I desperately needed male attention. A LOT of male attention. I recognize that I needed the affirmation and confirmation that men still liked me. Still wanted me.  That Joseph was wrong. That I was still desirable and worthy of love.

I no longer feel that overwhelming need. I feel more settled. Stronger. Happier.

At the same time, I don’t know exactly what I want at the moment. I never saw myself staying in DC this long. Being in Ireland made me realize that DC isn’t home. And I’m not sure it ever will be. Ultimately I either need to make it home or I need to leave.

So I decided to take a break from dating. A dating cleanse, if you will. A man-page turned man-fast. At first I thought maybe I’d do it until 2013.  Now I’m unsure when I’ll return to dating. When it feels right, I suppose.

Flingstress out. For the moment, at least.

Fifty Shades of Gray... For Reals

I won’t beat around the bush, people. I recently met a man who was unabashedly entrenched in Dominant/submissive culture.

Looking back I suppose there are signs I could’ve seen. On our first date, he asked me how much I weighed. WTF. Who does that? THEN, when I wouldn’t tell him, he picked me up and curled me. CURLED me! As if I were a dumbbell at the gym. He put me back down and said “Yep, that’s what I thought.” Admittedly it was kind of hot. I’m not a small girl by any means, so it was sort of fun being picked up like a doll. Ted is definitely a strong, strapping man.

On our second date he just laid it all out in front of me. He said he had run into the problem of connecting with women until he reveals he hopes to have a dominant/submissive element in the bedroom.  So now he just tells them upfront. He just puts it all on the table. 

So Ted is giving me a bunch of scenarios (and mind you, we haven’t done anything physical at this point besides kissing) and I’m trying to maintain an open mind. THEN we are discussing boundaries.

The beginning of a relationship (any relationship, even friendship) is precarious. If you reveal too much too soon, it will scare someone off. If you hold back too much, you won't be able to build a meaningful relationship - and it will stay in the superficial realm. There is an inclination to "lay it all out there" because "if he/she is meant for me, he/she will accept me." I call this emotional vomit. I've been guilty of it myself (telling people too soon about my disengagement/past relationships and watching their eyes glaze over).

We are all freaks and want to let our freak flag fly, but I say bring it down half-mast until you recognize the approaching ship as friend or foe.  Had we gotten to know each other and he slowly started to sprinkle some of his kinkiness in, that might've been a different story.  Instead I ran for the hills because, let’s face it, you never get to come on my face.  

Free Fitness Test

I fancy myself a fairly savvy person when it comes to the opposite sex. But sometimes they make no damn sense.

I’m headed to the gym and stop in Starbucks to grab a protein plate. I’m looking for somewhere to sit when a good-looking guy says “you can sit here, some guy is sitting there.” It just happens to be right in front of him. Ha. Nicely played, sir.

Oh. I forgot to mention what I look like. My hair is greasy and in a pony-tail. I’m wearing ugly sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt. It’s not even the cute gym outfit – you know the one – tight yoga pants with a flattering tank top. Nope. It’s laundry time, folks, and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel today.

He chats me up as I’m scarfing down my eggs, peanut butter and cheese.  He’s older than me (I find out later he’s 39) and used to play professional basketball abroad. It’s not until he stands up that I realize he’s 6’6. He slides me his business card and says he’d love to take me out for dinner sometime. What? Really? I look like CRAP. I’m not exaggerating. I would tell you if I looked cute.

I say goodbye to tall man and head into the gym. The gym manager nods in my direction and I smile a friendly “hello.” On my way out of the gym, he stops me to make small talk. His name is Joseph. Jesus. I just can’t win. His middle name is Kouros – he’s Iranian American. I inform him I’ll be calling him Kouros. He seems to like that. I'm on my way out when he stops me.

I’m thoroughly amused. I’m amused that a. I am getting picked up by two men who are sixteen years apart (Kouros is 23) and b. I look terrible!   

To my further amusement, I’m again reminded that age really doesn’t matter. The 39 year old basketball player flaked on the day we were supposed to go out whereas the 23 year old persisted (and asked my friend to encourage me to call him). Kouros and I went out on a date and it was pleasant enough.

Kouros still lives with his mother, plays a lot of video games and smokes marijuana regularly. So not exactly long-term potential.  But I appreciated his move. The “fitness card trick” is a new one, even for me. 

If She Were President, She'd Be Babe-raham Lincoln

I like Colin’s profile immediately. He’s smart, ambitious and enjoys helping others – he volunteers! SWOON. Under the “activities that you enjoy” section he states that he likes running, swimming, biking, the occasional cross dressing, watching terrible kung fu movies and hanging out with friends. Well, alright.

We discuss our mutual love for costumes and he is the only guy so far on Match.com to compliment me on my Wayne’s World costume. (Most guys are COMPLETELY turned off by how well I can pull off Wayne Campbell.) For a cute girl, I certainly rock the crap out of being a man. One time, a chick thought I was her soul mate because she was dressed as Babe-raham Lincoln – and she tried to make out with me. Schwing!

Colin makes it to a second date and we’re having an immensely playful conversation. I tell him that I think his profile is funny and that most guys take themselves SUPER seriously. He looks at me inquisitively and so I continue about how the “occasional cross dressing” line thrown in there is hysterical.  He stops smiling.

Oh. You. Were. Serious.

Colin is buoyed by my reaction. And his dance moves are *quite* atrocious. He looks surprisingly pretty as a woman, especially given the fact he's a handsome manly man. He’s scared that I’m going to disappear. That’s when I say “I’ll see you on Saturday and I’m bringing my wigs.”

I show up to his apartment in a short blonde bob wig looking fabulous. I feel like a mobster’s wife. À la Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface:

I have a long, black wig and a wavy, red wig with me as well. Colin and I are having a blast – laughing and giggling as we trade wigs.  I’m truly having a good time but two things hit me as I’m adjusting the black wig on him… a. this feels like being with a girlfriend and b. this is fun because I love costumes (if I could do it all over again, I’d be a costume designer for Broadway musicals).  But for him this is something sexual.  Sigh.  He’s disappointed and honestly, so am I. Why can’t there be chemistry between us? Am I not open-minded enough?

I learned a few important lessons. 1. You can NEVER judge a book by its cover… this guy was waving his freak flag underneath the clean-cut, conservative government employee exterior. 2. When someone says they cross dress on their Match.com profile, you should believe them. 3. I can’t date a man who looks better in a ball gown than I do. Period.

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!