Clearly, my readers want me to move onto a more serious subject than potential violence against women (and thank you to the anonymous commenter that e-mailed me to explain the comment). So back to internet dating it is!!!
Now, some of the more sane folks out there might have stopped meeting people off the internet after a bad experience with a crazy, self-righteous man that blamed me for getting pregnant. Well, let me tell you, internet dating is not for the weak!! You must persevere if you intend to conquer and with all that preamble, you would think that I have at least one date lined up for this weekend. But: You. Would. Be. Wrong.
No dates. I've been talking to a funny (liberal!), kind, Daddy of two kids, and I promised him that I wouldn't talk about him on my blaaawg. What? (Why did I agree to do that? I can't write another post about baby shit. I just can't. I'm drawing the line in the sand....er, on the keyboard). He is helping his ex move with the kids to a new house all weekend. Awww....I can let good guys off the hook for not immediately having time to rush out for dinner and movie. At least for a while.
I also have a potential date sometime in August when a deep sea diver, J., comes back from pillaging the Gulf of Mexico (again - I couldn't make this up if I tried).
I'll leave you all with one good story about a date recently though...
Blind Date # 6: Tea and Avoidance
I had been talking on the phone to B., a 28 year-old security guard for a large university in Houston. In his spare time, he is a volunteer fire fighter for a rural town northwest of Houston.
I love uniforms. I don't love wearing them, but I love other people in them. He had a job with two uniforms!! Unfortunately, he also has two EX-WIFES. One ex-wife, definitely understandable. Two ex-wives, well, now you are getting into the phase that makes people wonder if you snore obscenely loud or consistently bounce your electricity checks because you spent all the family's money on cheap vodka and Russian hookers. Well, maybe not American men, but you get the picture.
We met up for tea and I realized that his pictures are really, really a bad representation of what he actually looks like. He is 6'3 and close to 280-300lbs. We all know that I'm not the skinniest, most secure individual, but dammit - I pride myself on being well-groomed. If not well-groomed, than at least not...well....yucky.
In addition to his clothes needed to be washed and in desperate need of a hair cut, his bad eye freaked me out. OK. I admit it. I just said that a person's disability kind of freaked me out. I just kept trying to remember which eye he said he couldn't see out of and then realizing that I was staring at his eyes trying to see the difference between the two of them to figure it out. Then I caught myself staring and avoided his gaze (and really, he was definitely gaaaazing dreamily in my direction over a cuppa Earl Grey).
This is why you have to have a tough skin to date strangers. Women like me will say things like: "It's not that he can't see out of one eye. That's not why I don't want to date him. It's that I wouldn't want to be in the same room with him for an extended period of time. It's hard work avoiding someone that is staring at you while trying to move into his (non-existent) peripheral vision so he can't see you anymore. Geesh. Somebody throw me a bone, here. We're going to be friends. I'm not a bad person. I promise..."
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
6/29
Now, I don't know who wrote this comment (the anonymous part leaves it up to my imagination), but I'm guessing it is someone that doesn't regularly experience fear and humiliation while walking down the street.
My anonymous commenter said:
"Not to inflame the comments here, but in terms of judging a group of men hanging out as a potentially great enough risk to force women to stay indoors, I agree with the email. I know there are lots of reasons that make it smart to err on the side of caution, but one must be careful that caution doesn't turn into unreasonable fear because, as yoda points out, that leads to some bad places ;) just food for thought - the rest of that email was out of line. "
Yes, Do's e-mail was out of line. Thank you for recognizing that. Here is my reply to your other point, which is something that I didn't touch on in yesterday's post. It's interesting to me that both Do. and some of the people that read his e-mail yesterday assumed that the group of men I was referring to had "just gotten home from work" or were " just hanging out relaxing". I happened to know that a number of men in and around my apartment complex are unemployed. I know this because my next door neighbor asked me to get him an application for where I work. This is the same man that came over to kill a half-dead, enormous cockroach from my kitchen floor because it was making me so squemish that I couldn't even go into same room with the bug. He is a great guy. He always asks about Zac and I truly believe that he would defend me or change my tire if I needed him to.
Why the hell, though, would I assume everyone in the world (or even north Houston) was like that? What confidence do I have in machismo to trust that a group of men, or even a solitary man, won't emotionally or physically harm me? I don't. It doesn't keep me indoors. It keeps me safe. Big difference.
This is the kicker, the part that some of the men reading this site clearly don't realize: fear is a subjective emotion, which means that there is no logic behind it. I become afraid when a man grabs his crotch and yells nasty shit to me on the street the same way that I become afraid when I walk down a dark street at night or pass a group of "harmless" men. There is no reason to it, other than I FEEL unsafe. On a daily basis I am physically intimidated and objectified by strangers for no other reason than my biological sex and stature.
Here is the other part, the reason that I choose not to run at night: If something were to happen to me, who would take care of Zac? If I were beaten and raped, how long do you think it would take me before I recovered enough to be the best mother I can be to my young son? Where would that leave Zac in the meantime? I can't put my safety in jeopardy for an ideal that 'it should be safe for a woman to do this'. I just can't.
My anonymous commenter said:
"Not to inflame the comments here, but in terms of judging a group of men hanging out as a potentially great enough risk to force women to stay indoors, I agree with the email. I know there are lots of reasons that make it smart to err on the side of caution, but one must be careful that caution doesn't turn into unreasonable fear because, as yoda points out, that leads to some bad places ;) just food for thought - the rest of that email was out of line. "
Yes, Do's e-mail was out of line. Thank you for recognizing that. Here is my reply to your other point, which is something that I didn't touch on in yesterday's post. It's interesting to me that both Do. and some of the people that read his e-mail yesterday assumed that the group of men I was referring to had "just gotten home from work" or were " just hanging out relaxing". I happened to know that a number of men in and around my apartment complex are unemployed. I know this because my next door neighbor asked me to get him an application for where I work. This is the same man that came over to kill a half-dead, enormous cockroach from my kitchen floor because it was making me so squemish that I couldn't even go into same room with the bug. He is a great guy. He always asks about Zac and I truly believe that he would defend me or change my tire if I needed him to.
Why the hell, though, would I assume everyone in the world (or even north Houston) was like that? What confidence do I have in machismo to trust that a group of men, or even a solitary man, won't emotionally or physically harm me? I don't. It doesn't keep me indoors. It keeps me safe. Big difference.
This is the kicker, the part that some of the men reading this site clearly don't realize: fear is a subjective emotion, which means that there is no logic behind it. I become afraid when a man grabs his crotch and yells nasty shit to me on the street the same way that I become afraid when I walk down a dark street at night or pass a group of "harmless" men. There is no reason to it, other than I FEEL unsafe. On a daily basis I am physically intimidated and objectified by strangers for no other reason than my biological sex and stature.
Here is the other part, the reason that I choose not to run at night: If something were to happen to me, who would take care of Zac? If I were beaten and raped, how long do you think it would take me before I recovered enough to be the best mother I can be to my young son? Where would that leave Zac in the meantime? I can't put my safety in jeopardy for an ideal that 'it should be safe for a woman to do this'. I just can't.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
6/28
I started this post yesterday, but had to stop to save Zac from dumping an entire 24 pack of toilet paper on his head. Why the kid is sooooo interested in opening, closing, opening, and throwing out the contents of every bottom cabinet in our apartment is beyond me.
Where was I? Oh, I was going to say that you all were very, very right about Do. We talked again on Monday and he showed himself to be a judgemental asshole. Everything I said he argued with, just to prove to himself how silly and stupid I must really be.
I told him that I was really stressed on Sunday, during the drive back from my parents' house. I STILL haven't heard anything from the organization that I've had two interviews with. I know that they have contacted BOTH of my references (Monday and Tuesday). I called and left a message AGAIN today. They told me that I would know by last Friday. I'm trying to be patient, I really am. I also just submitted all of the work that a second organization asked me to submit to be evaluated for a second interview. Who ever heard of an essay round in the interviewing stage? The work I did took me about eight hours and a lot of research to try and figure out what I should submit.
Sigh.
Anyways, I was stressed out about work and money on Sunday and decided that I wanted to go for a run. I used to run a lot (back in the pre-baby days when my ass didn't hurt to move quickly). In Mongolia, I ran every day to stay in shape and zone out for a while. It's a great stress-reliever (again, if your butt doesn't begin to ache from the skin jiggling on your large arse). I called my neighbor Danny and asked if he could watch Z. for thirty minutes. Danny is great with Zac and absolutely loves (well, loves might be a strong word) but always readily agrees to watch him.
As I was driving into my neighborhood, I realized that I must have temporarily lost my mind to think that I could go running at night in north Houston. I probably shouldn't even try that during the day. When I was on the phone to Do., I told him that story and he immediately started belittling me, saying that I was letting my fear run my life. He said that a group of men drinking beer, hanging out on a street corner at 9:30pm is no more of a threat to me than picking some flowers out of a wild meadow. I ended up getting off the phone with him, very angrily. He wrote me this e-mail in response:
"Don't take this the wrong way, but truthfully speaking, your whole psyche is illogical. Riiiiight, it makes a whole lot of sense to avoid large groups of men who are drinking and almost assuredly harmless, just relaxing after a long day of work and would change your tire for you at the drop of a hat or would beat someone up who was harassing you, or...you can hang out with one guy individually who seems harmless, yet does drugs, drinks, gets you pregnant, isn't there for you when you need him to be, isn't even around for the birth of the baby, and leaves you practically abandoned in a town you're unfamiliar with and in a financial situation that makes it hard for you to get by.
Yes, it's those big groups that'll always get you..."
What a sad state of affairs when both segments of the population he is describing: the large group and the individual, can and frequently do, harass, endanger, and emotionally and physically damage women.
No one has any right to throw my actions back in my face. No one.
Where was I? Oh, I was going to say that you all were very, very right about Do. We talked again on Monday and he showed himself to be a judgemental asshole. Everything I said he argued with, just to prove to himself how silly and stupid I must really be.
I told him that I was really stressed on Sunday, during the drive back from my parents' house. I STILL haven't heard anything from the organization that I've had two interviews with. I know that they have contacted BOTH of my references (Monday and Tuesday). I called and left a message AGAIN today. They told me that I would know by last Friday. I'm trying to be patient, I really am. I also just submitted all of the work that a second organization asked me to submit to be evaluated for a second interview. Who ever heard of an essay round in the interviewing stage? The work I did took me about eight hours and a lot of research to try and figure out what I should submit.
Sigh.
Anyways, I was stressed out about work and money on Sunday and decided that I wanted to go for a run. I used to run a lot (back in the pre-baby days when my ass didn't hurt to move quickly). In Mongolia, I ran every day to stay in shape and zone out for a while. It's a great stress-reliever (again, if your butt doesn't begin to ache from the skin jiggling on your large arse). I called my neighbor Danny and asked if he could watch Z. for thirty minutes. Danny is great with Zac and absolutely loves (well, loves might be a strong word) but always readily agrees to watch him.
As I was driving into my neighborhood, I realized that I must have temporarily lost my mind to think that I could go running at night in north Houston. I probably shouldn't even try that during the day. When I was on the phone to Do., I told him that story and he immediately started belittling me, saying that I was letting my fear run my life. He said that a group of men drinking beer, hanging out on a street corner at 9:30pm is no more of a threat to me than picking some flowers out of a wild meadow. I ended up getting off the phone with him, very angrily. He wrote me this e-mail in response:
"Don't take this the wrong way, but truthfully speaking, your whole psyche is illogical. Riiiiight, it makes a whole lot of sense to avoid large groups of men who are drinking and almost assuredly harmless, just relaxing after a long day of work and would change your tire for you at the drop of a hat or would beat someone up who was harassing you, or...you can hang out with one guy individually who seems harmless, yet does drugs, drinks, gets you pregnant, isn't there for you when you need him to be, isn't even around for the birth of the baby, and leaves you practically abandoned in a town you're unfamiliar with and in a financial situation that makes it hard for you to get by.
Yes, it's those big groups that'll always get you..."
What a sad state of affairs when both segments of the population he is describing: the large group and the individual, can and frequently do, harass, endanger, and emotionally and physically damage women.
No one has any right to throw my actions back in my face. No one.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
6/24
I just went on one of the worst dates that I have ever been on. K. is a 36 year-old food service/delivery driver for a large company. We have talked on the phone only briefly and e-mailed sporadically. He came to pick me up early (EARLY!), which may not be a negative trait for most people, but I have my life timed down to the minute and frequently (ok, almost always) run late. I had just woken up from a nap and given myself enough time to get ready when K. showed up fifteen minutes early.
It just went downhill from there.
When I got into his 1999 Monte Carlo, I tried to keep an open mind, but it was difficult to do with all the sounds that the car was making: the cooling system barked every couple of minutes or so, almost like a smoker with emphysema early in the morning. Then his very prominent, really, freakish prominently, "Low Coolant Light" kept blinking. My car wouldn't even tell me if it was ready to blow up, let alone that I had low coolant. In between those two sounds was the frequent beeping and chirping of the police detector attached to his windshield. It kind of made me wonder if I shouldn't have volunteered to drive.
Again, though, I was trying to keep an open mind. So, I asked him what kind of music he liked, thinking that I could distract myself for a couple of minutes. He flipped over to CD that he had in his CD player and turned it up. After a few notes, he turned to me and asked, "Do you know who this is? This is my favorite band." I listened closely and tried - really tried - to figure out who it was. I'm not particularly good at musical trivia, though, especially when he told me that we were listening to his favorite band - Meatloaf. MEATLOAF? WTF. I thought only the main singer, Marvin Lee Aday, went by the name Meatloaf, so I asked him if there was a different band with the same name. He looked at me oddly and answered, "No." I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I said: "So, this is the same group that sings, "I Will Do Anything For Love, But I Won't Do That" He proceeded to tell me which album that song was on and what year it was released.
Yeah.
Thanks.
I'll file that information under, "Shit that I will never need to know again." To make matters worse, he actually tried to argue with me when I said that the only thing of Meatloaf's that I've ever enjoyed was his brief cameo in the "Rocky Horror Picture Show". He said he didn't think that Meatloaf was in that film....That last link is just thrown in to prove that while I may not know about 1970's classic rock, I definately know my queer, classic cult films, sucka.
It just went downhill from there.
When I got into his 1999 Monte Carlo, I tried to keep an open mind, but it was difficult to do with all the sounds that the car was making: the cooling system barked every couple of minutes or so, almost like a smoker with emphysema early in the morning. Then his very prominent, really, freakish prominently, "Low Coolant Light" kept blinking. My car wouldn't even tell me if it was ready to blow up, let alone that I had low coolant. In between those two sounds was the frequent beeping and chirping of the police detector attached to his windshield. It kind of made me wonder if I shouldn't have volunteered to drive.
Again, though, I was trying to keep an open mind. So, I asked him what kind of music he liked, thinking that I could distract myself for a couple of minutes. He flipped over to CD that he had in his CD player and turned it up. After a few notes, he turned to me and asked, "Do you know who this is? This is my favorite band." I listened closely and tried - really tried - to figure out who it was. I'm not particularly good at musical trivia, though, especially when he told me that we were listening to his favorite band - Meatloaf. MEATLOAF? WTF. I thought only the main singer, Marvin Lee Aday, went by the name Meatloaf, so I asked him if there was a different band with the same name. He looked at me oddly and answered, "No." I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I said: "So, this is the same group that sings, "I Will Do Anything For Love, But I Won't Do That" He proceeded to tell me which album that song was on and what year it was released.
Yeah.
Thanks.
I'll file that information under, "Shit that I will never need to know again." To make matters worse, he actually tried to argue with me when I said that the only thing of Meatloaf's that I've ever enjoyed was his brief cameo in the "Rocky Horror Picture Show". He said he didn't think that Meatloaf was in that film....That last link is just thrown in to prove that while I may not know about 1970's classic rock, I definately know my queer, classic cult films, sucka.
Friday, June 23, 2006
6/23
It's interesting to note the reactions that people had to my last post. Was it his more conservative social views or the fact that he wanted to date a single Mom that made Do. more suspect than any other man I've dated off the internet? It reminds me of that great line from, "The World According to Garp" when the narrator's Mom proclaims that she was a Sexual Suspect because she wanted a child without being married.
The whole idea of being a Sexual Suspect is interesting to me. Who gets to decide when something is out of the framework of moral acceptability? Putting all legality aside (I'm assuming that all romantic/sexual acts encompassed in this post are legal in the 48 contiguous US states) when do people get to start using words like "sketchy", "skevvy", or "perverted" to describe another person?
I talked to a friend last night who said that she started internet dating in early 2000 - at a time when internet dating was considered more dangerous than fun. Now, it is almost as acceptable to say that you met your partner on-line as it is to say you met them at your synagogue or gym. When describing how you met your partner, the conversation might go something like this: "Well, I was checking out some new titles at Netflicks and I - just on a lark really - decided to check out *enter in any legitimate internet dating site here* and I saw Bob. We've been together ever since!"
The lack of premediation here is important: internet dating is really only truly acceptable if you didn't set out to do or don't devote a majority of your time to that pursuit. You have to have a "real life" outside of the box on the computer, or at least that's what people say. My real life isn't very interesting. Where does that leave me?
P.S. - No word from my second interview about a job offer. I called yesterday, but the Executive Director was out. I have the feeling that they offered the position to someone else. Trying to stay positive though.
The whole idea of being a Sexual Suspect is interesting to me. Who gets to decide when something is out of the framework of moral acceptability? Putting all legality aside (I'm assuming that all romantic/sexual acts encompassed in this post are legal in the 48 contiguous US states) when do people get to start using words like "sketchy", "skevvy", or "perverted" to describe another person?
I talked to a friend last night who said that she started internet dating in early 2000 - at a time when internet dating was considered more dangerous than fun. Now, it is almost as acceptable to say that you met your partner on-line as it is to say you met them at your synagogue or gym. When describing how you met your partner, the conversation might go something like this: "Well, I was checking out some new titles at Netflicks and I - just on a lark really - decided to check out *enter in any legitimate internet dating site here* and I saw Bob. We've been together ever since!"
The lack of premediation here is important: internet dating is really only truly acceptable if you didn't set out to do or don't devote a majority of your time to that pursuit. You have to have a "real life" outside of the box on the computer, or at least that's what people say. My real life isn't very interesting. Where does that leave me?
P.S. - No word from my second interview about a job offer. I called yesterday, but the Executive Director was out. I have the feeling that they offered the position to someone else. Trying to stay positive though.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
6/22
Blind date #4: Telephone Time
A significant portion of on-line dating is done on the telephone, which definately has positive and negative aspects to it. One of the positives is that you get to hear a person's voice, their demeanor, and their world views more quickly than you might while trying to navigate an appetizer and drinks. Of course, the negative aspects of telephone interviews for dates is exactly that: you are essentially interviewing someone to see if you want to hang out with them. That tends to be a little awkward on both sides of the receiver. There is also the problem that you can have great phone and e-mail conversations with someone and then almost literally watch as the chemistry fizzles upon first sight. When that happens to me, I always wish that I could get the time back that I invested in those hour long phone calls.
Last night, I spent the majority of the evening, once Zac had gone to bed after a very, very cranky Weight Watcher's meeting (he was cranky - not me, although I still can't break the 9 pound barrier. I credit Shiner Bock with being my downfall), talking to Do. Do. is 25, a defense lawyer for international clients (which he referred to initially as "practicing international law" until he realized that I'm more knowledgable than most about international law), 6'2, athletic, and very interested in dating a single Mom.
Wait.
Reread that last part.
He is actively looking to date a single Mom.
I contacted him through Craigslist for the sheer novelty of it after seeing his posting. Looking for a hot, single Mom? Well, damn, I might qualify for that category after enough beers in a dark bar. So, we contacted each other and he sent me a picture. He was standing around a group of children holding shovels, wearing dirty, work clothes with a title saying, "Me at the Last Day at the Worksite." Now he has my attention. Provided that he wasn't required to do mandatory community service or part of a work-release program, I was interested. I'm a sucker for bleeding-heart liberal types.
Except that he's not a bleeding-heart liberal type. God help me, he's Ivy League educated (which doesn't necessary exclude him from the former category, but keep reading), pro-Life, hesitant to endorse gay marriage and knowledgeable of Proposition 2 here in Texas that legally defined marriage between a man and a woman, and questions gender and sexuality studies.
Yikes.
Yet....oh, help me, I liked talking to him. He was well-read and passionate about what he believes in. He strongly believes in a man's role and obligation in raising a child. He wants to work from home so he can be the primary care-giver for his children.
Proceeding with caution. At least I've finally met someone that has lived outside of Texas. That's a plus.
Blind Date #5: Dinner and a Movie on Saturday
Finally meeting up with K. on Saturday. He was one of my last yahoo personals during my free trial, which ended over a month ago. Details to come.
A significant portion of on-line dating is done on the telephone, which definately has positive and negative aspects to it. One of the positives is that you get to hear a person's voice, their demeanor, and their world views more quickly than you might while trying to navigate an appetizer and drinks. Of course, the negative aspects of telephone interviews for dates is exactly that: you are essentially interviewing someone to see if you want to hang out with them. That tends to be a little awkward on both sides of the receiver. There is also the problem that you can have great phone and e-mail conversations with someone and then almost literally watch as the chemistry fizzles upon first sight. When that happens to me, I always wish that I could get the time back that I invested in those hour long phone calls.
Last night, I spent the majority of the evening, once Zac had gone to bed after a very, very cranky Weight Watcher's meeting (he was cranky - not me, although I still can't break the 9 pound barrier. I credit Shiner Bock with being my downfall), talking to Do. Do. is 25, a defense lawyer for international clients (which he referred to initially as "practicing international law" until he realized that I'm more knowledgable than most about international law), 6'2, athletic, and very interested in dating a single Mom.
Wait.
Reread that last part.
He is actively looking to date a single Mom.
I contacted him through Craigslist for the sheer novelty of it after seeing his posting. Looking for a hot, single Mom? Well, damn, I might qualify for that category after enough beers in a dark bar. So, we contacted each other and he sent me a picture. He was standing around a group of children holding shovels, wearing dirty, work clothes with a title saying, "Me at the Last Day at the Worksite." Now he has my attention. Provided that he wasn't required to do mandatory community service or part of a work-release program, I was interested. I'm a sucker for bleeding-heart liberal types.
Except that he's not a bleeding-heart liberal type. God help me, he's Ivy League educated (which doesn't necessary exclude him from the former category, but keep reading), pro-Life, hesitant to endorse gay marriage and knowledgeable of Proposition 2 here in Texas that legally defined marriage between a man and a woman, and questions gender and sexuality studies.
Yikes.
Yet....oh, help me, I liked talking to him. He was well-read and passionate about what he believes in. He strongly believes in a man's role and obligation in raising a child. He wants to work from home so he can be the primary care-giver for his children.
Proceeding with caution. At least I've finally met someone that has lived outside of Texas. That's a plus.
Blind Date #5: Dinner and a Movie on Saturday
Finally meeting up with K. on Saturday. He was one of my last yahoo personals during my free trial, which ended over a month ago. Details to come.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
6/20
Self-realizations:
I've learned more about myself in the past week than I have in the three months that I dated S. previous to my "on-line experimentation" (almost makes it sound illegal! I knew that E-Harmony was a gateway drug. It could only lead to faster, higher highs and crashing lows. That bastard, Dr Neil Warren!!)
Basically, I've learned that the beauty of "dating", in the most classic sense, is that people aren't all up in your shit. I was bathing Zac last night on the second floor of my apartment and I yelled down to P. to see if he could find me any bath toys in the living room. He couldn't and he came upstairs to tell me that. He stood at the door and watched me bathe Zac. It was a loving, "Family Ties" type of moment, which he promptly ruined by asking me if I could bathe him next. I looked at him, and meaningfully (at least in my own mind) poured water over Zac's head and said, "No way in hell. Big boys bathe themselves". Then wrapped Z. up in his hooded towel and trundled him off to lasso him into a diaper and pajamas (he hates to get dressed and a greased pig would probably envy his mobility)
Then it struck me: I wasn't annoyed by the lame sexual inneundo or even the thought of bathing a partner, it was that I already have so much to do on a daily basis that the thought of adding in another responsibility (even temporarily...even voluntarily) was enough to turn my stomach. When P. is at my place, I have to run around and make dinner, clean up afterwards, take out the garbage (which I've asked him to do a couple of times. I don't want to turn this into a bash P. post), bathe Zac, dress him, give him a bottle, clean up the living room, and then possibly sit down to watch the last twenty minutes of CSI. The whole time, he's just sitting there, probably feeling as uncomfortable as I do. He doesn't know what to do and I don't know what I can ask him to do. Instead of a date being fun and relaxing, it is double the amount of work for me.
I realized, in striking clarity last night, that I want to D-A-T-E. I want to go out. Go for a walk in the park. Go to a movie. I don't want someone to move in and then sit on the couch. I could fly the FOB down here if I wanted that. I also don't want to date exclusively for the purpose of finding a Daddy for Zac. That seems strange and utterly foreign to me. P. volunteered to babysit for me tonight, instead of me paying my next door neighbor and I realized how differently we were viewing dating. I had to say no. There is no way that I would let a man who I've known for less than two weeks watch my son, no matter how much of a Daddy he wanted to be.
I've learned more about myself in the past week than I have in the three months that I dated S. previous to my "on-line experimentation" (almost makes it sound illegal! I knew that E-Harmony was a gateway drug. It could only lead to faster, higher highs and crashing lows. That bastard, Dr Neil Warren!!)
Basically, I've learned that the beauty of "dating", in the most classic sense, is that people aren't all up in your shit. I was bathing Zac last night on the second floor of my apartment and I yelled down to P. to see if he could find me any bath toys in the living room. He couldn't and he came upstairs to tell me that. He stood at the door and watched me bathe Zac. It was a loving, "Family Ties" type of moment, which he promptly ruined by asking me if I could bathe him next. I looked at him, and meaningfully (at least in my own mind) poured water over Zac's head and said, "No way in hell. Big boys bathe themselves". Then wrapped Z. up in his hooded towel and trundled him off to lasso him into a diaper and pajamas (he hates to get dressed and a greased pig would probably envy his mobility)
Then it struck me: I wasn't annoyed by the lame sexual inneundo or even the thought of bathing a partner, it was that I already have so much to do on a daily basis that the thought of adding in another responsibility (even temporarily...even voluntarily) was enough to turn my stomach. When P. is at my place, I have to run around and make dinner, clean up afterwards, take out the garbage (which I've asked him to do a couple of times. I don't want to turn this into a bash P. post), bathe Zac, dress him, give him a bottle, clean up the living room, and then possibly sit down to watch the last twenty minutes of CSI. The whole time, he's just sitting there, probably feeling as uncomfortable as I do. He doesn't know what to do and I don't know what I can ask him to do. Instead of a date being fun and relaxing, it is double the amount of work for me.
I realized, in striking clarity last night, that I want to D-A-T-E. I want to go out. Go for a walk in the park. Go to a movie. I don't want someone to move in and then sit on the couch. I could fly the FOB down here if I wanted that. I also don't want to date exclusively for the purpose of finding a Daddy for Zac. That seems strange and utterly foreign to me. P. volunteered to babysit for me tonight, instead of me paying my next door neighbor and I realized how differently we were viewing dating. I had to say no. There is no way that I would let a man who I've known for less than two weeks watch my son, no matter how much of a Daddy he wanted to be.
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