Boyfriends (Husbands) Just Don't Understand

I'm not trying to beat a dead horse here, or reinvent the "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" schtick, but sometimes I feel like D.J. Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince, except with male counterparts instead of parents. Here's my brief rundown of things that dudes just don't get.

When I tell you I like to get flowers and that I want some, I really mean it. Really. (Like, when should I expect the delivery man?)

My ass DOES look awesome in these jeans - and I want to hear it from your lips.

I do not want you to placate me right this minute. I want you to "get" that this argument requires follow-up.

All girls like to be told they're pretty, or hot, or beautiful - even if we say we want you to love us for our brains or our "sweet spirit."

When it's obvious that I've put some extra time into my appearance, you'd damn well better acknowledge it.

I do not like - in any way - being put in the position where I have to act like your mom.

I want to feel appreciated - even if it's simply for taking the garbage out after I just had a manicure.

I hear you when you tell me what you like/dislike/love/hate/hope for/feel anxious about/makes you laugh/makes you sad/want in bed...

After hearing what you've told me, I actually choreograph life events to cater to those very specific tastes/wants/needs that you have.

I want you to do the same thing for me.

I want you to love my friends and my kids and my family. I already love yours (and your animals).

Sometimes I need you to do something that you don't like just because it will make me happy. And I need you to fake it so hard that I don't feel one ounce of resentment or martyrdom from you before, during or after the event.

I like to be surprised (by things like candlelight and wine, flowers, a weekend getaway - use your imagination for fuck's sake!).

I care about how you're feeling all the time. I want to feel like you care about how I'm feeling too.

If I'm going to be late, I always let you know. I expect you to do the same - and when you don't, you'll probably need some protective gear before entering the house on your return.

I want to go out on real, bona fide, cheesy, getting-to-know-you, trying-to-impress-you dates. Still. Forever. I don't care if we've been together for 50 years - I still want to go on a date.

If I plan a date I want you to be overcome with my creativity/thoughtfulness/romantic spirit/efforts/how hot I look...(no matter what the date entails - I planned this FOR YOU!)

I want to feel like you respect me, my opinion, my smarts & my hutzpah!

If I'm not around when our favorite show airs, I want you to wait until I get back to watch it - even if I'm doing 25 to life.

Never fuck with my DVR shows - NEVER.

I believe there are certain boundaries that should never be crossed in a relationship that entails physical intimacy (let's keep the bathroom door closed, snookums!).

I do not want to hear about any gross thing that your body is currently doing. Believe me, my body could kick your body's ass in a gross-out contest and I would NEVER subject you to its innermost workings.

Laughing at my jokes matters. Word!

I try to do little things every day that show you how much you matter to me.

I'm not keeping track, per se, but, yeah...I probably am. (So don't be a repeat offender.)

I don't want to break up with you. I don't want to start over. I don't want to miss you. I just want you to hear what I say, care about how I'm feeling, and do something about it.

And, finally, I want you to pour me another glass of wine. STAT!

fit to be tied...over the hill & tying the knot

where to begin?


i'm going to tell the story of a little girl who never played house and then married a man she couldn't resist who broke her heart and her faith and her hope...and left her ready for a future filled with alone. she didn't go softly into that alone night, oh no, she raged against the dying of the love light - she raged on every online dating site and at speed dating events and as a regular at her favorite bar. she raged until she constructed an entire future built on alone - a future she became not just resigned to, but excited about.

and then some guy came along and her whole single future plan was shot to hell.

and now i'll stop talking in the third person because, seriously, that's pretty creepy. so here i am. in the least likely place i ever expected to be - 41 years old and engaged.

A Solid "A"

It was about as good as a first date can get.

He brought me flowers (see pic).

He brought a very nice bottle of wine for us to share. (He even made sure the waitress always filled my glass first--major points!)

Conversation flowed easily, laughs came readily and there weren't really any awkward silences.

He forgave my (very slight) tardiness and my drowned-rat appearance.

He was an eHarmony virgin, too--we were each other's first!

He was nicely dressed, sufficiently sarcastic and saw a respectable sampling of "new wave" bands back in the day (even though now he considers himself a country music guy).

We teetered on the tightrope of potentially polarizing political talk, but easily navigated into the open waters of tolerance.

He grew up in Utah, but never in the predominant religion.

When he asked me what would be an instant deal-breaker with a match sent to me on eHarmony I answered, "If they wanted kids and if they didn't drink." His answer: "I'll drink to that!" followed by the clinky-clinky of our our wine glasses, the sparkle in our eyes and the laugh in my throat.

He didn't ask me to pay (I didn't even feel the need to offer!).

He walked me to my car.

He asked me to let him know I made it home safely and gave me a very nice hug goodbye. No awkward "do we kiss now or what?" moment.

It was nice.

Score one for eHarmony...or, rather, Terri! (Damn you both!)

Losing It

Tonite's the nite.

I'm going to lose my eHarmony virginity.

I am mere minutes away from meeting my first eHarmony match in person for a dinner date. The excitement! The anticipation! The dread...

Actually, I'm not really dreading it at all (except that it's one more nite playing instead of working on my upcoming move--but maybe that means I'm just dreading all the extra work that will be waiting for me tomorrow rather than dreading the date itself).

You might be wondering, "Is this lucky fella one of those aforementioned gun enthusiasts?" I think you know the answer to that! He is a business owner, a little older than me and a passionate golfer. He has no kids (bonus!) and he doesn't want any kids (double bonus!!). (People often think it is hypocritical of me to prefer dating men without children, but my lovely blessings are nearly grown and I do NOT want to start over. In addition, I am not looking for someone to complete my family, and I don't really want to fill that role for anyone else.)

I must admit that, overall, eHarmony is much improved over my first venture in 2005. I only got four (4!!!) matches in three months and by the time I could actually email the only one that was even a remote possibility, I had already lost interest due to the slow and cumbersome "guided communication" that was meant to identify if we were soul mates based on the "29 dimensions of compatibility" that would miraculously reveal themselves through the insightful questions we were forced to use to communicate, such as "What is your greatest fear about marriage?"

This time I have received many matches, and those that aren't gun-toting psychopaths or obviously still damaged from their last heartbreak (The one thing Rex can't live without is HONESTY, FAITHFULNESS and LOYALTY or The one thing Stewie is looking for in a partner is NO MEDICATIONS) are actually pretty appealing. I have made contact outside of eHarmony (believe me, that is an IMPORTANT distinction) with about five guys.

And now I am, miraculously, on the verge of finding out if there is, indeed, life out there.

This morning I took extra care getting ready--making sure to employ (or is it deploy) every weapon in my arsenal of beautification: push-up bra (who knew how handy these things could be?), eyelash curler, blush, blow dryer, flatiron and (the Rebecca twist on nearly every outfit) boots. I left the house looking fresh, flirty and fabulous!

The weather didn't realize I had a date.

I have been (in no particular order) windblown, rained on and pelleted with hail. I now look like a haggard, drowned rat that has really cool boots.

I guess if it really is all about those 29 dimensions of compatibility, it won't matter...I'll know in about 30 minutes.

Stay tuned!

Guns, Trucks and Dating

It gets more and more difficult to choke down those eHarmony commercials as they continue to send me men who, when asked "What are you most passionate about?" answer "hunting." AND who, when listing the three things they can't live without, make sure that at least two of them are guns and their truck. (Oh yes, it is possible to make more than two answers out of that, for instance: guns, my truck, and hunting in my truck OR my truck, my gun rack, my guns in my gun rack in my truck while I'm hunting OR (my favorite) my truck, my guns and the 2nd amendment.)

I think it is just fine if people are hunters who like driving around in their big, muddy trucks with guns; however, I am not (and will never be) interested in dating them.

It disturbs me that eHarmony goes on and on about their sophisticated, scientific matching profile technology and then thinks that someone who lists a glass of wine, a good book and a hot bath as the three things she can't live without would want to be dating someone from the tea party militia. Super-scientific matching mumbo jumbo be damned! I don't care if we are both Christian and extroverts. It ain't gonna happen!

These scruffy, lovable hunters also post pictures of themselves in fatigues or camouflage of some sort next to their mud-caked truck;, often holding their guns--and there's always some kind of giant, hunting hound standing off to the side.

This is what happens when you ask a microchip to go man-shopping for you. There has to be some geeky nerd out there who can program the system to take into account the personality profile AND keywords listed in the "In My Own Words" sections that you are able to fill out on your own. Because if the best they can do is put someone who says what they're looking for in another person is "good conversation and wit" with someone who says they're looking for "FAITHFULLNESS and loyilty" then I may as well just throw in the eHarmony towel right now...but it's pretty damn entertaining (if not a little bit sad) in the meantime.

No Man's Land

The strangest thing has happened. Every guy I meet in real life that I'm even slightly interested in is more suited to dating one of my daughters than me. If I could meet someone over 25 that I found attractive and interesting it would be a frickin' miracle.

Conversely, I find myself longing for more airtime from the likes of Dr. Drew Pinsky, Jon Stewart and Anderson Cooper. Ooooooh, those silver foxes are irresistible!

So, I find myself sort of alone in my late 30's. I don't know if it's a Utah thing or not, but I am in a dead zone.

I have no bars.

It's a desert.

Terri (jokingly ?) offered to pay for me to go on eHarmony and give it another go. I have a fervent and abiding hatred for eHarmony. Its commercials belong on the boat with Miley Cyrus, Tyler Perry and Nicholas Sparks. The boat whose bottom I plan to drill a hole through. Far from shore. Possibly in shark-infested waters.

Unbeknownst to my beloved friend, I went ahead and took their little personality profile, posted my pic and signed up for the tedious purgatory of eHarmony. My major problem with them is that you can't freely browse the merchandise. You have basically filled out a questionaire and are now trusting some personal shopper you've never even met to pick out your summer wardrobe. How can they possibly know what will suit you?

Terri thinks I should do this because it's exactly what I don't normally do. Which, given my track record, I can't argue with. I just hate not being in control.

Only time will tell if the cheesy (and utterly exasperating) promises made in those eHarmony commercials will ring true for me. But here's hoping. (I think!)

Is it possible that somewhere in the eHarmony universe there's life out there...only time will tell.

The Anti-Bachelorette

Every week when we watch the latest episode of "The Bachelor" and the inevitable invitation is put forth, "If you'd like to be our next Bachelor or Bachelorette contact us at..." Gabi insists that I should call them.

She is convinced that I would make a fantastic Bachelorette.

I always just shrug her off, but this past week I actually gave it some thought and, much to my delight, was able to identify quite clearly why this is such a bad idea.

First of all, the participants in this modern dating freak show are constantly going on and on about how they just KNOW they are there to find true love...and a HUSBAND! I would KNOW that I am there to visit exotic locales for free, date a bunch of guys at the same time without having to worry about how they feel about it (they volunteered!), get oodles of adoration and attention--and drink. A lot. Love? Husband? Meh...

Secondly, all of these women always have their hair perfectly (well, for them) coiffed and appear in full makeup. This would NEVER happen with me. I would be the train wreck Bachelorette who shows up with my hair messily pulled back, yesterday's mascara smeared under my eyes (there is a LOT of drinking, not to mention late nights, on this show!) and my wardrobe, rather than evening gown after evening gown, would most likely be an endless array of wifebeaters, holey jeans and either boots or flip flops depending on the season or locale.

Thirdly, the Bachelorette or Bachelor tends to go on and on about how they are falling in love with EVERYONE. They are excited, vulnerable and desperately afraid of heartbreak. I would be the one who doesn't fall in love with anyone. It is hard enough for me to let my guard down and open myself up to intimacy when I'm only dating one man--and for several months. I think it would be emotionally impossible for me to be open to love when I knew I was jumping from man to man in order to entertain America (oops! I mean, to find true love).

Finally, I couldn't stare at a wall of photographs of desperate, fame-seeking men and act like I was agonizing over which idiot to cut loose this week. I'm sorry, I think I would know immediately who I just couldn't stand and would be all too happy to send him on his way to continue seeking love in artificial, public forums far, far away from me.

I just don't know if America is ready for a cynical, unkempt, foul-mouthed Bachelorette. Thankfully, we'll never have to find out!

Dating Don'ts for Clueless Guys

Contrary to popular belief, my many years of dating have not been fruitless. Quite the opposite. These varied, often hilarious, sometimes sad and almost always mind-boggling experiences have given me a font of knowledge about what NOT to do. And, it is my fervent belief, that the more I learn about what I DON'T want the closer I come to possibly recognizing what I MIGHT want should it buy me a dirty Belvedere martini, laugh at my jokes and tell me I'm pretty.

To assist my future Mr. Maybe (and save countless millions of other women from enduring the following) I share my list of the top things men should NEVER do when engaging in the treacherous and titillating ritual of courtship:

(in no particular order)

DON'T...

1)...open with "I just really want someone to spend time with--maybe go to the movies or have dinner with. And, of course, sleeping together would be great."

2)...show me your porn collection.

3)...say "If it wasn't for my dog I'd be hanging from the rafters."

4)...do a confrontational Dr. Drew/Dr. Phil psychoanalysis of me, my failed marriage and my (apparently obvious) intimacy issues on a first date (or ever, really--that sort of emotional abuse is pretty much my territory anyway).

5)...say "I'm sorry if I'm acting like a dick." The minute the phrase enters your mind you are DEFINITELY acting like a dick. I don't need you to bring more attention to it or invite me to comment. That will NEVER end well.

6)...schedule a date and then call the day of to say you don't have a car so can we meet somewhere close to a bus stop, THEN once we meet at said bus stop say you don't really have any money so can we just go for a walk or maybe go dutch for a crappy cup of coffee, THEN (why am I still there?) ask if I can give you a ride home because you just spent your bus money on coffee.

7)...constantly talk about a) your ex-girlfriend b) all your other girl "friends" c) your parole officer d) why your bad habit of choice (pot, alcohol, unemployment) hasn't adversely affected your life--in any way--at all--really.

8)...invite me for coffee and, after a cursory greeting, say "A lot of women do NOT look like their pictures, so I like to do something really non-committal in case I want to escape--but if she seems cool, I'll take her out to dinner. Shall we see how it goes?"

9)...email/text/facebook or answer calls from another girl you're also dating while we're together.

10)...after you've emailed/texted/facebooked or answered a call from another girl, ask my advice on how the conversation went/what she might be thinking/how you're treating her

11)...expect to kiss, hug or do anything else to me after committing any act listed 1-10

The Real Mr. Sticca

I have explored nearly every method of dating known to modern woman: match.com, eharmony, nearly every other dating website, personal ads (I only answered one--didn't place one), meeting someone at work (SO not recommended!), and speed dating. On the whole, my experiences have not been too bad; however, they are quite regularly, hilarious. I count myself pretty lucky in that regard. Not all modern daters emerge unscathed.

While checking my email the other day a message from a guy that I had one date with almost two years ago (yet he continues to spam me with "funny" forwarded emails)caught my attention. Usually, I don't even read his messages before deleting them, but for some reason this one peaked my curiosity. The subject line read, "The Real P. Sticca."

I opened the message and the first line read, "This message is not from P. It is about him." From there, the woman writing the message launches into a description of how she was searching for a good man to love, and how that search had led her to P. I thought perhaps it was going to be one of those sappy online dating success stories just waiting to be featured on an eharmony commercial. I was wrong.

Apparently she had been dating P for a while, had introduced him to her three-year-old daughter, had opened up her heart to the possibility of love, etc. But P was not on the same page. P was reading an entirely different book. Therefore, she had decided to do the opposite of an eharmony commercial and let the world know exactly what kind of man she had found online in P.

The woman had suspicions about P's fidelity, so she did the only thing she could do: searched his computer for incriminating evidence. She found an Excel spreadsheet with at least 80 women listed, ranked, and categorized. This was not, according to the woman, your typical little, black book with names, contact info, and possibly a few stars next to his favorites. It was a checklist with things he had done to and with each woman; notes like "new boobs" "psycho" "rebound" "nice but maybe too old" "fatter than pic"; and categories such as Heavy Rotation, On the Outs, Unf---able, Desperate Measures, etc. ranking the status each woman holds in his world. The title of the spreadsheet was "New Meat SLC."

I have to disclose that this guy was no prize. I did not have any interest in seeing him again, and only didn't block his continual forwarded emails because I am lazy. He wasn't the worst person I have met online, but he was the worst of all things in my dating criteria: short. Maybe this exercise in labeling and categorizing women was his defense mechanism for having to stand on tiptoes to see eye to eye with the women he meets. He was pretty aggressive as well, which turned me off immediately. I was never unclear as to what his intentions were.

This poor woman; however, (probably less bitter and cynical than I)was taken in and felt that ultimate betrayal of not only unrequited love, but deception. I have also been deceived in matters of love, and I know the sting. I have to admire her quick action to unmask the creep and destroy any future rendezvous P had in mind for those of us on his list. I, too, have felt the undeniable impulse to administer a public form of humiliation as punishment for catching a boyfriend cheating on me. I have wanted to buy a billboard with his picture and warn women to stay away; blanket all the parking lots he frequents with fliers about his deepest secrets and prominently display an aerial shot of the balding head he was so insecure about; take out an ad in all the local papers listing his sins against me and others (again, featuring the bald shot), write letters to his children letting them know who their father is and encouraging them to find different a different role model for masculinity.

But I did not do these things. I did not want to give this man one more spec of my time, energy, heart, or soul. I liked to think of myself as mature and having achieved some level of transendence over petty revenge scenarios. I was getting the best revenge: living well, moving on, dating much cuter and younger men with full heads of hair. But my glee at receiving this woman's email makes me wonder if I have just been kidding myself. Even now, I feel a rush of pleasure as I imagine plastering the bastard's bald head all over the place with a public service announcement to all women: Take heed! Meet the REAL Assface (as I have referred to him ever since).

Queer Eye for My Guy

I was at my boyfriend's house helping him hang curtains in his daughter's bedroom. The curtains were going up in place of the lovely bedsheets that had been hanging in the windows. I was happy to see the change; however, I was unaware of something hanging in his house that was even worse than bedsheets on the windows. In the master bathroom--HIS bathroom--there was a filmy, pastel, floral shower curtain. I turned to K and said, "I LOVE your shower curtain." Without even blinking he answered, "Yeah? Me too." RIGHT!

This shower curtain was the last in a long line of neglected remants that had survived his divorce. In the living room there were empty picture hangers left on the wall above the fireplace; the labels his wife had needed to know which switch did what were all over the house, the turquoise blue she had painted the entire house still glared from the walls. I was overcome with a compulsion to exorcise the ghost of marriage past. I was not threatened by or jealous of these remnants, I just didn't understand why a single, attractive, seemingly well-adjusted man would choose to shower each day behind rows of bright flowers when no woman was requiring him to do so.

"You have to get a new shower curtain," I said. "I will not come into this bathroom until there is a different shower curtain."

I didn't mean for it to be an ultimatum, but in retrospect, I think it was. I proceeded to continue my tirade; citing the picture hangers, labels, and blue walls--not to mention the wonderful fireplace that he has NEVER ONCE USED in the six years he has lived in the house (the majority of those without the wife). I had to wonder what his previous girlfriends had thought. Did they say something about it? Did they just ignore it? Why was there still a flowered shower curtain hanging in this man's bathroom?

I was obsessed. Over the next few days I checked out shower curtains wherever I could: Target, Smith's Marketplace, Ikea. I asked my daughters and friends for their input on the manliness quotient of each one. I debated actually buying a few and taking them over--letting him pick the one he liked best, but a part of me thought that might come off as creepy. As my obsession continued I began to wonder if I was the one with the problem. Maybe it didn't matter if he liked to shower behind a girly swath of fabric. Maybe I really did feel threatened and/or jealous. Perhaps I should take back my comments and just let it go. Then, like Spiderman swinging in on his web, K saved me from having to admit anything: he bought a new shower curtain. It was a map of the world, and it was the most beautiful, manly thing I had ever seen in a bathroom. Granted, it wasn't even close to any of the shower curtains I would have chosen, but I think that is, after all, the whole point.

Short Stack

One thing I have discovered is that I have hard time dating short men. My romantic history is not full of extremely tall men. I have seriously dated, married, and had children with men who are all in the 5’10” to 5’11” range. I myself am only of average height, 5’7”. But I recently started seeing a man who is over 6” tall. And I like it. I feel small next to him—protected, safe. I like having to stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. I like being able to wear heels with complete abandon. In contrast, I have also had a couple dates with a man who is 5’5”. One of the first questions he asked me was if that was a problem for me. Honestly, I didn’t know. This was new territory. But I am starting to understand Nicole Kidman’s glee at being able to wear high heels after her split from Tom.

To be fair, the short man is half Japanese—a point I always state whenever mentioning or describing him to anyone. Somehow in my twisted, shallow mind that makes it all better—justifies his crime of being short. And not just short—shorter than me. Forget the heels.

Now short men seem to be an epidemic. I see them everywhere. It’s like how the world fills up with pregnant women when you are pregnant, or how the new car you bought is suddenly the only auto on the road. It’s a little bit Twilight Zone. And it’s starting to freak me out. One man I met speed-dating took me out to dinner. We really seemed to hit it off in our five-minutes of allotted “get to know you” time. In fact, he came back to see me during “intermission.” I was seated the entire time. The men had to move from table to table, so they were the only ones standing. From a seated position (and after a couple glasses of wine) it is very difficult to judge a man’s height. The moment I answered the door when this man arrived to take me to dinner I was completely distracted by my unobstructed view straight over the top of his (balding) head. Admittedly, I was wearing 3-inch heels, but I felt like a giantess. Like an Amazon warrior ready to squash this little bug of a man at the first sideways glance. At the time I felt that my reaction was disproportionate, and in retrospect, I still want to feel that way, but I just don’t. Something in my very core is turned off by short-ness.

I have a couple of close male friends who are short. And their short-ness has never bothered me. Being short is part of what makes them so great—and a major source of entertainment. But I have never been remotely close to being intimate with either of these men. And I think the prospect of bending down to kiss a man goodnight, creating within me a combination of pity and embarrassment, is what has caused this sudden discomfort with men who are vertically challenged. I can’t help but feel that I am bending down to kiss a child goodnight before I tuck them into bed. And I definitely don’t even want to imagine tucking this man-child into bed. Now, I know that my prejudice is unfair. There are plenty of wonderful, witty, smart, attractive short men. I just want them to hook up with short women. It’s too awkward. Of course, it’s not their fault that they are short. But I assert that it is not my fault that I cannot seriously consider pursuing a romantic entanglement with a man who looks up into my eyes. It is not my fault that I love to wear heels (they really show off my legs and make my butt look fantastic). It is not my fault that in so many of my relationships I have been dominant financially, emotionally, psychologically, and in most other ways, and now I must draw the line at being dominant vertically. The insanity must stop somewhere!

So, I haven’t broken the news to Mr. 5’5”. And I don’t quite know how. Over the phone we have a great time. He’s funny. He’s complimentary (I’m a sucker for flattery). I just don’t think it’s fair to drag this out when I know there can only be one outcome. And he’s definitely going to be getting the short end of the stick, so to speak.

I don’t want to be cruel. I have an aggrandized view of my allure and impact on these short men. I know that I am going to break their hearts. It doesn’t occur to me that one or two dates probably doesn’t a lovesick man-child make. However, I have had unusually strong responses from men in the past, and now I expect it every time. It makes it doubly difficult, because in addition to my strong power over these men, I’m sure they already have delicate egos from being short men all their lives.

I remember when my own 6’ tall brother was a teenager and all of his friends had hit their growth spurt, but he was still puny. We all assured him that he just needed to be patient—he’d get his growth spurt and shoot right up. We said this with fair confidence since our father is 6’5”. And, that summer, he grew. But these little men are still waiting for their growth spurt. It never came. Imagine the dashed hopes. The dead dreams. The sports career options no longer available. And now I, love-goddess of the short man, am going to deliver another blow. It’s really quite a responsibility, now that I think of it. Perhaps I should re-think my gut reaction, and look at this as an opportunity. Maybe I can start a short-man dating service, guaranteeing a date with a woman at least one inch shorter than you. After all, wouldn’t it just be putting the universe right? Doesn’t everyone deserve to be in an appropriate height-proportionate relationship? I think I’ve found my new calling: Vertically challenged man seeks equally challenged woman for long walks on the beach, meandering bike rides, and the security of being able to stand on your tiptoes to kiss me.