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!

2: fit to be tied...over forty & tying the knot

it was inevitable.

in retrospect, at least.

this match. this cocktail. this haphazard collision of two satellites who had, for decades, been orbiting a common planet.

the deceitfully conniving planet being my baby brother.

maybe it takes some kind of undeniable gravitational pull to transform a pair of solitary beings into something else.
                         maybe i just like the poetry.

ultimately or, perhaps, predictably - it all started over a wedding. not ours. but that of the baby brother in question. the best man and the big sister. thrown, unexpectedly, together in a cacophonous blur of final preparations, calming of nerves and the next full beer or glass of wine (for the bride and groom. of course.).

the rhythm of keeping his company was instantly sublime. easy. like an old pair of jeans.

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!