Courtship Intervention

There's a frightening number of guns that show up in a
Google image search for "intervention."

There comes a time in every young woman’s romantic journey when someone in her life thinks they know better than she does. He’s too this and not enough that for you. Your backgrounds are just too different. He seems like someone who may have a midlife crisis and leave you for his secretary 15 years from now so you should probably just call it now.

In some cases there may be truth to the concern. I’m the first person to admit I don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to romantic partners, but I have managed to hold down a healthy relationship or two. And even in the midst of my worst decisions, the last thing I need is to give someone power of attorney over my paramours.

This may not be the ideal topic to tackle so soon after this post, but the fact of the matter is no one could have told me a single thing I didn’t already know about that relationship. If someone had given their opinion on the matter (they did) it wouldn’t have changed the course of its demise.

One of my closest friends spoke up in the best way possible, “I’m concerned this isn’t healthy for you, but I will let you make your own way in this and be here for you when you come to the appropriate conclusion.” I respected this approach and knew she was right. Others who presumed to know me more than they do, employed a vastly different tactic. I resented them for it.

But for now let’s put aside the most recent, extreme personal example and address this in general terms. There has never in the history of love and courtship been a happy ending to a romantic intervention. Each relationship is as unique as the combination of personalities within it. Just because you think a sizable collection of porcelain dolls is a deal breaker, doesn’t mean the psychopath isn’t a perfect suitor for your best friend (he isn’t, that girl better run).

It doesn’t matter if you phrase your concerns in the most Mary Poppins way possible, there’s no amount of sugar that’s going to ease that pill. Best-case scenario your friend politely says, “thank you for your concerns” and continues on her current trajectory. Worst-case scenario she marries the guy and you don’t get invited to the wedding.

You may be right, but in reality, unless you are inside the relationship, there are bound to be pieces left out of the larger picture. I’ve had people point out perceived “flaws” in truly amazing men before they even met the individual. I’ve also had people be perfectly supportive of some dysfunctional messes.

Most of the discrepancy comes in when friends view the relationship through their own personal deal-breaker lens. They wouldn’t like it if a guy wore that shirt, took them to this place, read that book, so I shouldn’t either. It becomes even more reprehensible when the friend in question tries to guilt me into making relationship decisions that would better align with what they want. The fact is, it’s my relationship and I happen to like that shirt, adore that place, admire that book and love that guy who treats me wonderfully, so you don’t get to question my choice, let alone try to push me to change my mind.

Unless you know the friend well enough to be able to discern your deal breakers from their own, keep your opinion to yourself. How can you tell your deal breakers apart from theirs you ask? Well, there’s a simple test: have they ever told you that they are bothered by the characteristic you are about to call out? No? Then leave it alone. Don’t presume to know what’s best for someone else.

Shut up, everyone, about the end of courtship

What a splendidly hypocritical way for me to come back to the blogosphere. Scolding relationship/dating experts who are desperately seeking page views, shares and retweets. But this topic has been weighing on me for some time and I wanna talk about it, dammit.

I’m completely disheartened by all the hookup culture/end of courtship talk. I know I’ve been in a relationship for over a year so it may seem that all of this should matter little to me. Especially considering we didn’t have a real, take-me-out-to-dinner date until a few weeks into our romance. But it makes me sad to think that singles everywhere are being told to put aside any expectations they have about dating and put up with inconsiderate, non-committal behavior.

It seems to be a byproduct of the constant lectures about being too available to the people we’re attracted to combined with new technology, stunted maturity and media that portrays hookup-only dating as the norm. But I’m not sure it is the norm, just because Girls says it is.

Just as “we accept the love we think we deserve” the same goes for the initial stages of that love. And the dating life we deserve/want looks different from individual to individual so it’s really a matter of finding someone whose expectations align with your own. If you want to be wined, dined, pursued and made to feel special, that’s exactly what you should demand.

That doesn’t necessarily mean writing off someone the second they send you a text at 10 p.m. asking if you care to meet up with a group rather than the one-on-one date you’d prefer. It’s about communicating those preferences. It’s your job to make what you want clear to a prospective partner. It’s their job to step up and comply or step down and leave you open to find someone who can.

I know it’s never that simple. Lonely people make concessions they shouldn’t. Deviant people make promises they have no intention of ever keeping. But at least acknowledging that not everyone—male or female—desires to be a part of the hookup culture is a step in the right direction. There are no real norms in this world. Especially when it comes to dating. So it’s a mistake to think you have to accept something that makes you unhappy or uncomfortable just because it’s “the norm” according to some relationship trend piece in a publication that will denounce the trend a year from now in favor of more traditional dating norms. Because, you know, vintage!

The older I get (a year and a half from 30 so I’m basically as wise as I’ll ever be) the more I shake off the expectations and norms I’m supposed to embrace so I can focus on what’s going to make me happy, healthy and well adjusted. And buying into every shocking new fad that crosses my computer screen threatens that happiness more than anything. 

First Kiss(es)

All first kisses should involve matching nordic sweaters.

My first kiss moment occurred when I was but a lass of 15. Astyn B. was hosting an end-of-the-year party on her parent’s farm. (I don’t count the one inside the Kindergarten playhouse from Dylan or the time Tadd F. pinned me down in the gym in 3^rd grade.) For most of the night I had been flirting with Josh P. as adeptly as any newly minted sophomore can (I’m sure he remembers my suave moves a bit differently). He was one of the taller boys with brown eyes that I thought revealed a very deep teenage soul. He had such style about him in his polyester Adidas shirt, which had a melted spot where the bonfire spark landed. It was one of a collection. GQ model material right there.

I remember how the defeat washed over me when Astyn told me my parents had arrived to bring me home. All of the progress I made that night would come undone over an entire summer spent in separate towns with no hope of an accidental cafeteria run-in. In the next moment my disappointment vanished as Josh grabbed my arm, turned me around and planted a passionate, tight-lipped kiss on my surprised mouth. It was like kissing a Muppet, Burt or Kermit the Frog or one of the other ones without lips (so not Janice). It was…completely thrilling.

I felt like a woman. A tingly, twitterpated woman. I just knew every future kiss would be measured against this electrifying smack.

My relationship with Josh P. blossomed into absolutely nothing after months of “what does it all mean?” and remains a friendship to this day. Despite the anti-climactic conclusion, I remember it as one of my most idyllic first kisses.

In girl talks over the past week I’ve discovered that some girls have amazing luck when it comes to their various first kisses. One friend has had inaugural pucker moments during beach walks, moonlit nights and romantic Valentine’s dinners. Another during a Pam & Jim-esque iPod dance. Meanwhile the rest of us get sudden kiss attacks in the midst of watching a movie, booze-soaked smooches and juvenile, “I’m going to kiss you now” moments. No soft embraces as the snow falls around us or passionate moments in the rain after a declaration of love for this girl. It’s probably because I’m not selective enough about the mouths I allow near my face.  

Prior to this conversation, I just assumed over-the-top romantic beginnings didn’t happen outside of grating rom coms. But now my low expectations are shattered. The bar has been raised. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly in a position to be moving any sort of first-kiss bar since the boyfriend wouldn’t likely approve. Maybe I should cut him off from my lips for a week and make him do it all over again. This time as we’re decorating the Christmas tree, Nat King Cole will play in the background and I’ll fall off the ladder I’m using to place the star on top, right into his arms and he will kiss me ever so softly as we laugh in the twinkling lights. Yep. That’s how I want my spontaneous next first kiss to happen.

I’m Baaack Or At Least Some Version of Me Is

It’s official. I’m that girl. The one who abandons all her (imaginary) friends when she gets a boyfriend. I didn’t really want to abandon you. Things just got so busy and… The truth of the matter is writing a blog about being single, dating and relationships is a bit of a challenge when you’re in a relationship. Especially when the blog is ostensibly unfiltered. I was faced with pushing out disingenuous posts or revealing too much about someone who wasn’t choosing to have his worst qualities broadcasted on the Internet. (Because let’s face it, no one wants to read about how sweet, cute, talented someone’s boyfriend is. We want dirt!) Plus, given my reactionary nature and the way I use writing to work through my frustrations, I would likely want to take back 75 percent of the posts the day after they were published. Especially the one entitled “Pick Up Your Socks: A Tale of Why My Boyfriend is the Worst Human Being On The Planet.”

Instead of taking either of these paths, I took none. I sat in a stalemate and did nothing. This became an even bigger problem because I missed it. As I said, writing is an outlet for me. A form of therapy. When I’m going through things and I’m not writing, my emotions get all tangled up into a big ball of stress. I could just write for me, but blogging provides some level of structure and discipline that forces me to put words on the page and get it all out in the open. If I can’t pretend I have people waiting to read my brilliant words, I am not as likely to produce anything. Especially if the product is going to force me to take an uncomfortable look at something I’m doing.

I considered breaking it off with the boy in order to continue writing about being single. But that wouldn’t be authentic either. It would make more sense to adapt the blog to my life rather than my life to the blog. (Ok I would never seriously make major life decisions based on a blog… unless someone wants to turn it into a book and move me to NYC… any takers?)

So I must continue writing. And I must continue this relationship for as long as it’s healthy and makes me happy (and makes him happy too I suppose). I’m not entirely sure what form future posts will take. I imagine the relationship will become fodder on some level, but I’m not going to throw it all out there because it’s not solely my story to share anymore. As always, I will offer up unsolicited opinions about general relational topics and analyze friends’ situations (using made up names of course). I do promise not to publish (too many) “I lurve my boyfriend so much and all other people should be as lucky as I am” posts. As I go through this redefinition process, I’m completely open to (nicely stated) suggestions. So speak up!  

Too Much Togetherness

That's me on the right.

Among the many not-so-loveable patterns I repeat in my relationships is my desire to spend every spare moment with the snugglebear in my life. Probably because I go so long between snugglebears that I have to squeeze in as much as I can to catch up. I caught myself doing this again with the boy of the moment this past weekend. We had essentially spent the entire weekend together, so he declined my invitation to share a lovely Sunday with me. My instinctual reaction was to get butthurt and conclude that he chose not to spend time with me because he hated me with the fire of a thousand angry suns.

Then the more reasonable little angel on the opposite shoulder stepped in, smacked me upside the head and calmly explained that a couple does not have to spend every spare moment together in order to be happy. In fact, chances are it’s probably healthier to spend some time apart. Give each other a chance to miss those adorable little habits that you love so much. Like the cute way he clips his toenails in the sink or his sweet concern for your poor housekeeping skills.

More than anything, that free time gives you the opportunity to continue your personal growth outside of the relationship. It seems fairly obvious, but it took a friend pointing it out as I was embarking on my latest romantical adventure: 

When you start a relationship, force yourself to do things you did before meeting him. That way when the infatuation high comes down you won't have lost yourself.

-Big Sister Morgan

Doing the things I loved prior to the relationship helps me stay in touch with a certain level of independence. An independence I need in order to prevent myself from crumbling if the relationship does. I don’t know why it’s been so difficult for me to maintain this balance. I actually feared I had become too autonomous during my season of singlehood. I enjoyed being able to come and go without consulting someone else’s schedule so much that I figured I would be neglectful of the next hunnybun’s needs when he came along.

But it turns out it’s easier for me to fall into old patterns. It would seem an extended period of singlehood did nothing to really change the core of who I am in a relationship. It’s pretty easy for me to blow off lesser obligations to commit to spending time with poodle. That’s probably a good thing to some degree as it indicates that I actually enjoy spending time with the kid.

Though I will say the lessons I learned in loving my time flying solo will come in handy the next time a relationship ends. After years of serial monogamy, being alone felt unnatural and this kept me in a number of truly unhealthy situations. Next time I imagine it won’t be so difficult to bounce back. It’s gotta be like riding a bike, right? Regardless, this bouncing will be much softer if I take the time to foster relationships and interests outside the confines of my love interest. Plus, he will likely appreciate the breathing room.

Is That Supposed to be a Compliment?

One of the few connections I made online dating that had any sort of promise at all was met almost immediately with the challenge of distance. Cosmic circumstances brought him out of my state and into another with no definite return date. It was unfortunate because he had the makings of great potential.

We continued to chat for nine months or so, but never really broached the topic of where it would lead, because it couldn’t lead anywhere hundreds of miles away. I guess this isn’t entirely true. For some people the distance would have been a minor bump in the road. But I have endured so many medium-length distance relationships in my past life that I didn’t have much of a desire to delve into a long distance one.  Especially one that would likely end in tears or relocating to the southern U.S., which would entail an entirely different brand of weeping.

As it was, we never ventured beyond flirtatious daily gchats, a handful of emails, some texting and a lone phone call. Throw in a rather thoughtful birthday gift and it became an “if only” situation. The “if only” turned into “oh forget it” when we had this conversation. He apologized a couple days after that disaster, but the regularity of our discourse dropped to almost never and a couple weeks later I met the current boy, so I didn’t give much more thought to the matter. Just another missed connection.

Circumstances being what they were, you can imagine my surprise when I received a text from him a month later.  

Dude, this is probably totally inappropriate, but I found the “Oklahoma you” and I’m totally gaga!

My thought process broke down thusly:

1. Where did you come from?
2. What about that is inappropriate? Weird and unnecessary, yes, but I don’t know about inappropriate.
3. The real inappropriateness lies in your needless use of quotation marks.
4.  I don’t really want to think that there is another me out there somewhere, especially a version with a southern accent.
5. Is that supposed to be a compliment?
6. Who says gaga?

I said congrats, made some quip about my love life and passed along this blog address after he requested it (hopefully he’s forgotten that at this point, because I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled to read this). He then compared the situation to some Seinfeld episode that explains how men are more attractive to other women if they’re with a pretty girl. This made little sense to me. I have never seen the episode because I kind of hate Seinfeld, but I imagine you’d have to be seen in the vicinity of the pretty girl for it to count. We were never even in the same room let alone in a relationship. Whatever, he called me pretty, so I guess there’s that. But, honestly, the whole interaction came off as some sort of  “I found a girlfriend” victory dance.

I just didn’t see the need for that conversation to take place. If I had sent him some alluring text begging him to take me in the worst way, then fine, by all means ward me off by telling me about your ah-may-zing girlfriend. But this was more akin to screaming “DON’T TOUCH ME I’M TAKEN” as some pretty girl extends her hand for a simple handshake. I’m probably reading too much into it as per my M.O. I’m sure it was nothing more than a friendly notification, however unnecessary it may be. But guys, seriously, don’t send weird texts with thinly veiled backhanded compliments about how you found someone to fill the gaping hole in your existence to some girl you stopped corresponding with a month prior. She doesn’t really need to know how happy you are with someone slightly better than her.

Image via LOLbrary

Speed Dating: A Review

Speed dating: because that biological clock of yours
is only going to tick faster.

I’ve always wanted to try speed dating. I have no idea why. Maybe because that particular scene in the occasional rom com always looks so delightful. Maybe it’s because my least favorite part of the pickup is the part where you have to actually walk over to the human person who piqued your interest and speed dating has that approach built right in. Maybe I’m just a sucker for awkward situations and forced connections. And hey, it’s blessed by a rabbi! Whatever my twisted reasons were, when given the opportunity to try out this creative take on arranged unions, I jumped at it.

The whole thing took place at a friend’s apartment complex, which seemed to mean we would get absolutely no variety in personalities. I also quickly realized that dudes have no idea how to diversify their relationships. Most were in the IT field and they invited their friends, also in the IT field. Anyway, we were each provided with a nametag, sheet of paper and a number. If we felt a love connection within six minutes of talking to a complete stranger, we were to write their number down. We would receive their contact information at a later date.

Though we were provided with unique sample questions it seemed difficult to diverge from the standards: “What do you do?” “Where are you from?” I even got a, “What was your major?” Yep, five years removed from the ivy-covered halls (who am I kidding my Alma Matter just had a few bushes outside the registration building) people are still using the “what’s your major?” line.

I was just as guilty of monotony as the next person, but in my defense when I tried to throw out something different, but it hit a hard wall, never to return again. I told one guy I would not answer the “what do you do?” question and asked who his favorite super hero was. I might as well have asked who his favorite 19^th Century Russian realist fiction novelist was (Tolstoy being the correct answer of course) because he couldn’t even muster up a “Superman.” So I tried something different, favorite word. His response? “Pass.” Not because pass is his favorite word, but he just couldn’t name a word he liked (serendipitously being the correct answer of course). To be fair, not everyone is word nerdy like me (thank God for that). So the fault may have been my own. Maybe I should have asked his favorite computer program or something. 

I think part of the problem existed in the sheer number of participants. It was nice that plenty of people were rowing along side me in the good ship Desperation, but six minutes with 20 people starts to get a little long. This was exaggerated by the fact that we had an inelegant happy hour prior to the event itself. Kudos for lubricating everyone’s conversational wheels, but who really wants to drink cheap beer with a bunch of strangers they are about to have forced, stilted conversations with?

I wrote one number down as a match and it was apparently not a love connection on his part, because I never heard anything further from the sadist architects of the event. I don’t know why he wouldn’t have written my number down in return. Probably he couldn’t see it. Or probably he thought I was a pretentious shrew who talks unintelligently about her favorite 19^th Century realist fiction authors.

All in all, it wasn’t a terrible experience altogether. It was good for me to practice striking up interesting conversations with strangers. A useful skill in dating and in life commonplace. I would probably try it again in a different setting. One that would foster a little more variance in personality types perhaps.