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. 

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

A Surprise Twist

The past few posts have been far too serious and actually kind of depressing so perhaps it’s time for a break. In the form of a humiliating tale about my complete inability to read guys. Doesn’t that sound like fun? I thought so.

It all began in the spring of 2011, that’s right kidlets this was months of complete obliviousness. I attended my lovely friend’s wedding and was taken by the tall, grinning groomsman. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you attend a wedding solo, fall in love with the wedding party. The only problem was he had a date who wasn’t really a date, but it seemed like enough of a date to make it difficult to make a move. That and I’m not smooth enough to make a move under even the most promising of circumstances, so the faux date was as good enough reason as any to be a complete pussy about it. I did manage to squeeze in a half dance, which was enough for me to decide that our wedding was undoubtedly going to be next.

Despite this undisputed conclusion, I departed that night with nothing to show for it. Not to fret, after I expressed my interest to the bride with a “squeeeeeeee” she assured me I would see him again at various gatherings she and her new husband would be hosting. There were housewarmings and holiday parties. But each time my efforts brought me no closer to my goal. Oh sure I’d flirt here and there and I’d get a flirt or two back. But no real progress was made.

I was about ready to throw in the towel when the perfect opportunity was presented. There would be a New Year’s party, hosted by the object of my affection (we’ll call him M to protect the innocent and disinterested). Where else would it be perfectly acceptable to kiss the object of your affection making your intentions fully known?

I had made plans to attend with the friend who made our love possible (L from this point forward) and a few others. But that was the one night Minnesota had decided she had been far too easy on us this winter and she would make up for it by spewing holiday-destroying flakes upon the roadways. This meant that L and her husband would not be making the trek to the party. I could see each layer of snow covering my visions of Jordan almonds and white doves.

But what good fortune! The others came through and agreed to accompany me to M’s party despite the fact that I would know only two people at what would amount to a high school class reunion for the others in attendance. We arrived and I immediately felt like Samantha Baker at the popular party. My friends and I mixed and mingled and it was all well and fine until Lauren (not the previously mentioned “L”) implored me to make a move on M, because what else was I here for?

Determined not to let Lauren down, I went for it. I flirted hard. It was a thing of beauty. He was reciprocating. It was magical like a ‘90s coming of age movie. I was Laney Boggs transformed…or something. There was one problem. He kept fracking disappearing. At first I thought it was because he was playing host. He would always return though, to flirt again. But eventually I was frustrated with the stalemate. So I sent L a text telling her that he was not succumbing to my womanly wiles and I was giving up.

On the way out the door I ran into a guy I never would have expected to see at this party. He had lived with an ex of mine in Mankato. I reintroduced myself and we bashed my ex for a bit before I asked how he had come to attend this event.

He replied simply “I’m dating M.”

It was a shock, but I kept my cool, because I am fly like that, “Oh? You are? That’s nice. He’s a good guy.”

“Yep he’s a keeper,” was his grinning reply and then I wanted to scratch his eyes out. Not really, but c’mon!

And then I bolted. I said goodbye to M, maintaining that suave demeanor until I was in my car. At that point I looked at Lauren and just said “SERIOUSLY!?” before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

This is not the first time I set my sights on someone with arguably ambiguous sexual orientation. But it was the first that I had put myself that far out there. I still hold he was knowingly giving me mixed signals. Playing with my fragile, nitwitted little heart. All just for kicks. Shame on you, M! But also shame on me, the next day I resolved to fine-tune my gaydar over the course of the next year. 

Things Boys Say

This is the look they usually give whilst
delivering their clever lines.

Over the years, a number of men/boys/manboys have attempted to entice me into the boudoir using a variety of tactics. This is because I am just so darn irresistible—wait that’s not it—it’s because I was born with two X chromosomes. Most of these pleas are fairly laughable, including bragging about their adult film star physicality (yeah that happened) and explaining how they always wanted to cross someone like me off their bucket list (Oh, are you a Make-A-Wish kid? Let’s do this!). But some are just plain hurtful, like the scare tactic.

I’ve been informed that if I don’t appease my man’s desires before my religious beliefs permit, I will get cheated on. Even when I didn’t think I was getting cheated on by past boyfriends, they were, most decidedly, hooking up with some other bint. Because they’re dudes. So they’re wired differently. Oh yes, that’s right, I forgot, because boys are “wired differently,” they get a free pass to act like lustful animals with absolutely no self control.

Guys are so classy aren’t they? Ok that’s not entirely fair. I’ve dated some wonderful guys who have sincerely respected my boundaries, but it’s no fun to be snarky about decent dudes. The individual who blessed me with this warning had been cheated on in nearly every one of his relationships. So it would seem his willingness to engage in the forbidden extra curricular activities didn’t exactly serve as the safeguard he believed it would. Plus he was cheated on by girls. So apparently they were wired like boys? Whatever. He’s an asshat. Obviously.

I understand that it is difficult. Believe me do I ever understand. And I know that it must be even more trying if the decision to wait is not yours entirely, but a decision you inherit. Regardless of how it happens, it is never forced upon the other person. They can choose to be in a relationship with me or they can walk. They’ve bolted before and I’ve understood. But, as I said, it has also happened where they’ve stayed and we’ve gone on to have healthy, fulfilling relationships. For years at a time. Imagine that.

I’ve often struggled with what my choice means for my relationship path. I have known from the very beginning that it would cut my prospects drastically. And the older I get, the truer that becomes. But I’ve always come back to the conclusion that the guy I’m meant to be with will actually care about me as a whole person more than getting an all-access pass to my pants, skirt, leggings, or other bottom-wear. I’d even like to believe that my commitment to this decision is something they learn to love and respect about me.  

The Empty Fantasy Keeps Me Hanging On (But Only for a Night)

After some serious over-analysis of last night’s—or last week’s (depending on when I post this or when you read this I guess, whatever catch up here)—disaster as per my relentless, neurotic M.O., I’ve realized what a disease my involuntary fantasies can be. You know the ones. You meet a guy and one thing or another leads you to think, “hm he could be kinda great.” And this naturally leads to thoughts of which matching sweater vests you should wear in your Christmas card picture. Even though logically you know it probably won’t get past the first few glasses of wine after you somehow manage to insult his mother, favorite sports team and haircut—in that order. It’s hard to keep your mind from trotting along to some blissful utopian where he is thoughtfully arty, hates watching football and loves doing dishes.

Anyway, multiple times last evening (and a few this morning) I thought I should give Jonny Come Not At All the benefit of the doubt for reasons that solely existed in my head. Because he never really bothered to give me a solid explanation or a decent apology for that matter. I thought I owed him a bit of understanding as a basic human courtesy. Then my friends lovingly pointed out that I, in fact, owe this guy nothing. I don’t know him from Adam and he had done nothing leading up to this point to suggest he deserved the courtesy of Mother-Theresa-like patience. He certainly didn’t do me any favors with the way he mishandled the situation. So good riddance Prince Charming turned Duke Detestable, I wash my hands of you!

But maybe not always? I mean, yes, the only reason I would give this guy or some other putz another chance at a first impression would be the hope of potential. And we certainly shouldn’t be building our relationships on mythical potential. Unless you want to end up writing a blog on dating years after the thing crumbles to embarrassing pieces of wasted dreams. In that case, knock yourself out. Still, I look at how easy it is for some people to pick up relationships like they’re on sale on J.C. Penny, and I have to wonder if they don’t pursue the things heavily despite a few major stumbles even early on.

It’s not an issue of settling, because these people seem to date eligible partners. The only thing that throws me is how quickly they can make these relationships happen. And I think maybe I’m doing it wrong? Maybe I need to make more of an effort to pursue that fantasy despite a few early glitches? I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with this because I really don’t think that is the route I should take. Especially in this particular case. Because dude obviously doesn’t give a damn about the impression he made so why in the world would bother with him? But I do tend to give up pretty easily. Typically all it takes is an empty promise to call and I’m handing my number to the next guy. Maybe this just means I’m not as desperate as I think I am. Oh man, wouldn’t that be great? If the only reason I haven’t found my Shnoodlecoot (I’m using that little number on the next lucky guy for sure) is because I simply don’t want it bad enough?

The thing is I think I have too much pride to give someone a second opportunity to disrespect me. The biggest complaint I have about last night isn’t that the date didn’t happen. It’s that I allowed the whole thing to be strung out and I became a bit of a fool because of it. I should have simply told him to forget it at least one of the three times he drug the wait-time out. Not because my time was wasted—it wasn’t really I got some good blog time in—but because my gentle little ego had be kicked around several times over the course of one evening. That oughta learn me for next time. Five minutes late because your sick grandma needed help with her meds? Unforgiveable sir, I don’t need this nonsense from you!

Tick Tock

This post is going to be practically live-blogging magic right here. Partially because a post idea just popped into my mildly attractive little head and partially because I need to vent. Here’s the scoop, I had a date set for approximately four this evening with a young gent I met a couple weeks ago. He’s cute and seemingly sweet…BUT he postponed the first date for what was, at first, an indefinite amount of time. Then it turned into two hours. By this point I’m a little bit seething at myself for agreeing to wait like a pathetic little fool and a little bit ready to stick my carefully selected stiletto boot heel into his eye.

Then I breathe. Fine. I get it. People work. I had to postpone about a half hour because of work. But it was a half hour not one to twenty-four. Who does this guy think he is? Why is his time so much more important than mine? It’s bad enough I accepted a date made via text, but now he eschews every level of dating etiquette and any semblance of a good first impression with this? Bold move, little camper, bold move. I have options man, I don’t need this!

Anndd then I come back down after deciding to kill some time at my cliché coffee joint of choice. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here and the too-deep Victorian armchairs, handsome fireplace and rich velvet curtains really have a way of sedating me. Cue some sage advice from big-sister Robin and I’ve come up with a solid plan that allows me to save some face and resist the urge to throw baby kittens into the Mississippi. (I would never do that, that’s terrible, I love kittens.) The course of action involves a caloric coffee drink, oversized Special K bar (I’ll show him, I’ll get fat before he gets here) and a set deadline so I can move on with my life. She suggested an hour, I gave him an hour and a half because I’ve already given up this much time of my life and I’m going to be here for two hours anyway. So whatever, I’ll deal.

The upside for me is any trace of nervousness I had about this endeavor has now been replaced with mild irritation so I could really give a crap what Jonny Come Lately thinks of me at this point. Unabashed honesty and unprecedented levels of being one’s self on a first date? Yes please! Unfortunately for him, this waiting gives me ample time to analyze the situation and assess the faults one clearly must possess in order to be so inconsiderate during the one period of time one’s sole focus should be on impressing the object of one’s affection. It’s only a few months before sweat pants, pork rind crumbs and skipping important dates to watch the game become the norm so you damn well better make them count.

So what are your thoughts on the matter? What is an acceptable amount of time to make someone wait? What is or isn’t a valid excuse? At what point can I flip the bitch switch and give this guy what for? Or should I be a normal, understanding rational adult and give the poor bastard the benefit of the doubt?

UPDATE: The dude never showed at the drop dead time. An hour later he said he just got back from work, shot off a lame "sorry." I don't anticipate ever hearing from him again. Que sera, sera.

The State of Atrophying Etiquette As It Affects Dating

There are so many things in this modern life that would have Emily Post clutching her pearls if she were alive to witness them. Over-sharing via the Interwebz (I know, I know, I’m the pot), cell phones glued to hands and eyes glued to cell phones and ears glued to headphones during dinner with no regard for the company we are in and forget about the good old standards like standing up as a lady leaves the table or R.S.V.P.ing to an event.

1. Still the most arrant and common errors seem to arise in the dating world. Many of these rude behaviors manifest themselves in the form of a flake. The most flagrant flake will simply disappear while others simply won’t be pinned down for a plan. It’s as though they think agreeing to be in a certain place at a certain time will indicate that they aren’t  as popular as they’d have you believe. I will let you in on a little secret, I don’t care how popular you are, I just want you to at least pretend spending time with me isn’t at the bottom of your to-do-if-I-have-the-time-list.

As much as I love to point the finger of blame at the darker sex, I fear that my gender is the bigger offender in this. My poor man friend is constantly struggling with girls saying “yes” to the date and then waffling when it comes time to commit to a day and time. He’s not asking for your hand in marriage ladies, just the courtesy of following through on your “yes” with a concrete plan. He will only chase after so many “let me check my schedules” and “well this week is kind of busys.” Can you blame him? Who wants to feel like they are wearing someone down? I’m not expecting you to be over-the-moon about the first date. Maybe just on board enough that I don’t feel like you are showing up under duress.

2. Then, once you’ve been kind enough to OK a day and time for a cup of coffee, dinner or other innocuous date-type activity, maybe try to show up on time. Dating is nerve-wracking enough as it is. You’ve been there, waiting nervously for your date to arrive, looking up expectantly every time someone struts past. It’s miserable. If the unsuspecting passerby meets your eye line you feel like a creeper and you just know all those around you are placing bets on how long it will be before you realize you’ve been stood up and go home to your empty apartment and watch reruns of The Bachelor. That purgatorial period sucks, so be kind and show up on time.

4. Ok, you’ve committed to the date, you arrived precisely at the given time and your doting date is sitting across the table from you. Your cell phone rings. Now what? Do you answer it? Whatever shall you do? Unless you are a single (if you’re here, you better be single) parent and the babysitter is calling or you have a sick relative who could be meeting his maker at any moment, ignore it. There is no reason that the person calling can’t wait an hour or two for you to give your undivided attention to someone who could be your happily ever after. Don’t even get me started on texting. It’s not ok. Ever. Ok, one exception the guy is beginning to completely skeeve you out and you want to discreetly tell a friend where you are and who you’re with so the cops know who to look for. (Actually you should do this before every date ladies, it’s just good sense).

5. This little tidbit is mostly for the guys. I know I’m likely to catch some flak for this, but I’m unapologetically old fashioned so, when the date is over. Offer to pay. Even if she offers to split the bill (which she should) insist. It’s just a nice gesture on the first date. You want to impress her don’t you? This will do so. Unless you are the aforementioned creeper, then nothing is going to save you. If you are strapped for cash and can’t afford to take on a huge bill, you don’t have to. Make the date for drinks or coffee. It doesn’t matter how small the amount is, footing the bill is the gentlemanly thing to do. I’ve been equally pleased when a guy insisted on picking up my $2 tea as I was with the guy who paid for a full evening of activities.

6. The date is over and you are ready to bid adieu. There are really only two options for ending this evening. If you know for sure you want to see the little chippy again, tell her so. Being coy and playing the Will He/Won’t He game is for the birds. But only say it if you mean it, mister. If you know for sure that the first date will be the last or even if it could go either way, just say, “thanks for the nice evening.” That’s it. Don’t indicate that you’d like to see her again. Even if you think you maybe might, but aren’t sure. Leave it opened ended. Otherwise she has every reason to expect a call from you or will call her herself. And realizing that when he said, “I’d really like to see you again,” what he meant was “This is so not going to work for me, but I’ll throw you a bone,” sucks.

Overall basic human decency should be enough navigation in the murky waters of polite dating. Unfortunately, I’ve come to realize that my generation is increasingly rude and self-centered and apparently we need to be told how to conduct ourselves in nearly every social situation. For more reliable advice on dating etiquette and manners in general, turn to the always polished, reincarnated Emily Post.