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Online Dating is Fucking Depressing – Part 1: “And then she sucked his dick in the restroom.”

12 Oct

online-dating-sucks

So, I’ve signed up, once again, to an online dating service. A different one, because I thought the previous was depressing and full of weirdoes, but, as it turns out, so is this one.

The last website seemed to be full of men, just dying to hit on me. I had literally just pressed “upload” on my profile, and within seconds I had a dozen messages in my inbox. Most of those messages were from creeps, men who were at least 20 years older than me, and/or requesting me to stay “open minded” to their unusual preferences. I did meet one sweet guy whom I dated for a while later on, so I will give it that.

This time, however, my inbox is completely empty. I fucking hate it. I’ve gone through the site. It is also full of weirdoes and creeps. But none of those creeps want to contact me. And for some strange reason I find that offensive.

Well, a whole 10 hours have passed now, and I’ve gotten one hit. It was from someone I thought looked like a nice guy and he wrote something about not being able to ignore my profile which was cute-ish. So I struck up a conversation with him which quickly moved from the web to WhatsApp to the phone. And there we were. A late night phone call in the quiet and darkness of midnight on a weekday in my house, my son snoring in the other room. I spoke to this dude for a full 20 minutes, in which he directly stated several times how attracted he was, not just to my body, but to my personality (which he knows how?), that he is generous in bed (good to know), that he would like to make me moan and that the sexiest thing in the world to him is to see a woman enjoy herself in bed (he doesn’t beat around the bush, this guy). He proceeded then to compliment me on how cute and un-weird I was, recounting a story from the week before about going out to a pub with his friend and how both of them hit on a couple of girls who were stupid and shallow. His friend was into one of them, and they were talking, and then “four minutes later she sucked his dick in the restroom” (quote). The other one, which he wasn’t really into, invited him to eat stew in her house. Stew.

I thanked him for the information. And when he said we’d talk tomorrow, I answered, absentmindedly “sure” and thought to myself – this is great stuff for my blog, maybe I should talk to him again. But I quickly remembered the dick sucking story, and decided that if he wrote me again I’d somehow let him down. I mean really, that’s more of a third-date-story. You give me all your weirdness on our first phone conversation and I’m going to lose interest.

Online dating is the worst. It just makes you feel bad about yourself. If I were to start a dating service, I would have servers sending people automatic messages every time they uploaded something, saying random flattering stuff just to make them feel good.

I really want to meet a nice guy. He doesn’t have to be the one, or even one of the ones. He doesn’t have to have amazing looks or like the stuff I like, or be amazing in bed. I’m just craving a quiet intimate moment shared with a partner, who’s warm, and considerate, and not an asshole. And this time, I’d like to try and get there without sleeping with an ex.

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Good job!!!

19 Jul

Good-job

I’ve been studying this summer, very intensely, which is why I haven’t been writing lately. All in all, I can say that things are going rather well.

I ended it with B, the sensitive yet macho Argentinian broker I’d been seeing for the past three months. It just didn’t seem like it could go anywhere, and as much as I liked the notion of living for now (and as much as the sex was spectacular), it’s just not me to invest emotionally in something that I know in my heart has no future. I feel good about ending it. I mean, it sucked breaking up with him. And I was a terrible coward and did it in a very long WhatsApp conversation. But it was a good thing ending it. And he actually seemed to take it relatively well. I had been sending signals. He’s a smart sensitive guy, he saw it coming.

The main thing that was difficult about this breakup, was the fact that he really cared about me. He thought I was beautiful and smart and fun and a good mom. I got loads of affirmation from him on a daily basis. And I realized suddenly how difficult it was for me to give this up. It’s the best thing in the world to feel loved, isn’t it? But there was more to it.

In the teacher-training program I’ve been taking this summer, we’ve been talking about positive reinforcement. Everyone’s always talking about the importance of giving children constant positive feedback. In my 6 years of teaching, this is something I’ve always made a point of doing, and have been very good at. I give a lot of positive reinforcement to my students, as much of it as possible, and never empty compliments – but rather actual concrete feedback about things they’ve done.

Well, I’ve been reading my Maria Montessori, and apparently, according to her, us adults basically just have to shut up. Let the children do whatever it is they feel compelled to do, to follow their instincts, their “inner guide” that will lead them to meaningful learning, without needing to be taught, without needing us to tell them how well they’re doing. If we constantly give them feedback for their work, how will they ever learn to give feedback to themselves? Huh. Good point.

Most of my life I was utterly unable of giving any feedback to myself. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was horrible to myself. I was always criticizing and scolding myself for not being thin enough, pretty enough, quick enough, knowledgeable enough, fun enough and so on and so forth… It took a baby and a painful breakup to get me to finally acknowledge my own strength. To finally be able to tell myself: Good job!

I still don’t do it often enough. It’s still super difficult. And I yearn, constantly for the approval of others. But I’m learning. And maybe I’ll try to hold back a bit on the positive reinforcement with my students this year. And maybe next time my son builds a spectacular Lego tower and admires it in awe, I’ll just smile, and let him clap for himself and tell himself, with his limited vocabulary, how awesome he is.

Happy International Woman’s Day to a Me Still Craving Male Affirmation

8 Mar

I’m having such a blah day. The landlord to that house I want isn’t sending me the contract and I’m beginning to worry there might be something fishy going on there. I’m dying to move, but I need to let the daycare know what’s up in two days, and I’m not sure things will be final by then, or ever…

To make things worse my Boy is sick again, for the fourth time this month. High fever, not planning on going to daycare tomorrow. So mommy has to miss work, AGAIN.

And then there’s the other thing. It’s no secret that one of our most basic needs as human beings is to be touched, and it’s been really long. This sex deprivation is making me agitated in an already agitating situation. Bad for my health. And there’s not much I can do about it. I have no life, it’s all work and motherhood, and by the time I get a night off, I’m usually too tired to do anything. Then I finally get a break and my boy is healthy for an entire week, and he goes to his dad, and I go out drinking and meet a creepy weirdo who doesn’t get a hint.

My ego has really taking a blow lately. I feel unattractive, unsuccessful. Even if rationally I know I’m doing well, I feel like a failure nonetheless. And in this pool of self-pity that I’ve sort of let myself sink into today, there seems to be only one thing that can drag me out: male attention. Affirmation that does not come from within. I just really need someone to think that I’m cool right now, and that someone has to have a penis and a nice smile.

I’ve come a long way this year, but here’s something that hasn’t changed a bit: I still don’t think I’m worth a dime if I’m not constantly told I am by others.

The Many Many “Me”s in Me

15 May

Many "Me"s

My friend R has a theory that we are basically managed by many different “Me”s, who have different needs, different interests, and don’t always get along. There’s the Emotional Me – in my case, she just wants to be loved. She wants to be accepted for who she is, by a man, I’m sorry to say, because she needs that validation, she needs it to know that she’s good enough. She’s like a little girl, seeking warmth, wishing to be taken care of. She’s been pretty dominant in my life in the past couple of months. There’s the Independent Me – She says fuck it. I can do it on my own. I HAVE to do it on my own to prove to myself that I can. If I always depend on others, I’m always going to be let down and hurt. There’s no way I’m letting anyone let me down again, ever. I have to protect myself and all the other “Me”s. And the only way to protect us all from having our hearts broken is not to let anyone in. I guess Independent Me is also Protective Me. There’s Logical Me – She’s very level headed and target oriented. She has an excel file filled with lists and numbers for every single aspect of life, including love. She wants me to get a vibrator BTW because she thinks I’m too horny to make decisions these days.

There are other “Me”s too. I don’t even think I’m aware of them all: There’s Mother Me, there’s Sexy Me, there’s Career Woman Me, and Fun Me, and Over-analyzing Blogger Me. All of them want to be heard and given a place in my life, and ignoring any of them is not an option.

My friend R says that our psyche is like a tree. When given suitable conditions it grows wildly, in every direction. But build a wall on its side and it will become deformed, growing in all directions except one. All the needs of all the “Me”s have to be met eventually, even though they often contradict each other. It’s like being a mother of ten kids. You have to take care of them all, you can’t just groom the eldest and let the others die of deprivation.

Luckily, there’s one Me, who steps in at times of contradiction, at times of crisis – Super Me. Super Me isn’t always around, but she’s summoned when things get out of hand. She steps in and says, Jesus, what a mess you’ve made here. When are you ever going to learn to get along? Then she sighs, rolls her eyes, and starts delivering orders: You, Emotional Me, step aside. I know what you want, and you’re going to get it, but not now. Sit down and wait patiently. And you, Sexy Me! Give everyone a break and just buy a freaken vibrator, will you? Where the hell is Logical Me when I need her? Hey, where have you been for the last two months, what were you taking a nap? Get back to work, can’t you see we’re in the middle of a crisis here?

Well, just wanted to let you all know that Super Me is back. And while Emotional Me is pouting on the side, most of us are relieved and eager to see how she gets us out of this one.

Entitled!

31 Jan

entitled

I hereby declare that I am entitled to:

security

attention

warmth and closeness

money

success in my career

time to myself

a pat on the back for raising a child on my own

RESPECT from those surrounding me

 

For some reason attaining these things has made me, until today, feel guilty and undeserving.

Security equals boring; attention equals dependent; warmth and closeness equals slut; money equals materialism; success in my career equals show-off; time to myself equals bad mother; a pat on the back equals seeking pity.

And RESPECT, I’m not quite sure why I often don’t feel entitled to that. It seems pretty basic.

 

But things are about to change around here… I think.

 

 

Are You Listening to Me? I Said V-a-m-p-i-r-e P-o-r-n.

30 Jan

vampire novels

I mentioned in my previous post that I was going on a date with ice-skating-instructor-guy, so I realize that I owe everyone a follow up, and here it is.

My first date since the separation. My first date since, well, basically forever. The last time I was “on the market” was 13 years ago. Also, I’m still technically married, which makes me, technically, not quite on the market, more like on hold, more like may soon be on the market again. And still. I have been pretty much walked out on by a man I used to call my husband, who made a baby with me and then picked up and left the minute things got a little rough. So I don’t think I’m supposed to feel guilty about going out on a date. And I don’t, honestly. The thing I feel guilty about is the fact that I enjoyed it.

We went out to a bar. Following a friend’s advice, I came with my own car, to give myself a sense of control that I might not have had if he’d picked me up. I showed up exactly on time. He was already there waiting for me. I liked that. BD was always late.

At the bar, we chatted away, about books mostly, but then about life and it’s surprising turns.  I’ve got to hand it to this boy, he sure knows how to make a woman feel awesome about herself. There was a lot of complementing going on, the kind that surpasses the superficial/artificial you-have-pretty-eyes thing. He said he liked my attitude towards life. And I liked him for noticing that I had one, because I’m almost sure BD never did in 13 years of togetherness. But maybe that’s a bit harsh. Maybe he did notice, but just never bothered to acknowledge it. Or maybe he just didn’t care for it.

There we were, chatting and laughing, hardly any awkward silences, actually just one. We looked at each other, and he smiled apologetically. I smiled back. Then he finally remembered something he wanted to ask me. Something unimportant, maybe about work. And just as I was beginning to answer him I suddenly found his face very close to mine, and I realized he was going to kiss me, and I also realized that I was very happy to be kissed by him.

After that, on his part, he seemed more relaxed, like for a while he’d been planning his move. He moved his bar stool so that now he was sitting beside me, rather than opposite of me. He had his arm around me. He kissed me again from time to time. He was fun to kiss. It wasn’t so much that the kiss was extraordinarily spectacular. It felt good to be kissed by someone who seemed to really want to kiss me. It made a world of a difference to feel wanted, not just taken.

“I thought I’d have to wait for the end of the evening to get a kiss.” I said.

“I couldn’t wait that long.” He smiled.

On my part, I became more nervous after the kiss, somehow more self-conscious, but not in a bad way, just in an unfamiliar way, or more precisely in a way that has been absent from my life for quite some time. I didn’t really know what to do with all those compliments. My instinct was to negate them, to prove him wrong. Thanks, I’d say, but you know what, I’m really not as intelligent as you seem to think. No, no, no, listen, I don’t only read good books, I also read a lot of trash. Really, just recently I read vampire porn. Are you listening to me? I said v-a-m-p-i-r-e  p-o-r-n. Hey, I know you think I’m good looking, but you just haven’t seen my stomach yet, it’s just not what it used to be.  Trust me, my boobs used to be much perkier.

But I resisted, thank god, and he didn’t think I was demented. He thought I was unique.

We’re meeting again in a few days, and I already know what I’m going to wear, and I have all the scenarios of possible conversations that we’re going to have in my head.

I can also only barely stand the wait until he kisses me again.

Those Who Never Fall Have Never Tried Anything New

25 Jan

 skating

Part 1: Standing Up and Falling Down

Baby has finally figured out how to stand! Well, finally is a slight exaggeration, he’s not even eight months old yet, but he’s been trying really hard for the past two weeks, and I was so proud of him when he managed to do it on his own! And now that he’s learned this new trick it’s literally all he ever wants to do. No crawling, no rolling over, seriously mom, that’s so 2012, he seems to be telling me. So everywhere I put him he grabs onto something and stands, smiling at me with the joy of accomplishment, making his little excited-noises: Heh! Heh! Heh! Often he gets so excited that he loses his balance and falls. I’m usually able to break his fall, and I surround him with pillows as he plays, so that helps, but every so often, I miss, he misses, and he bangs his head and cries.

I felt terrible about this the first time it happened, and the second time, and the third. But then I realized that the only way that I was going to be able to prevent him from banging his head was if I never put him down for a second. I’m still trying to minimize injury, but I accept the fact that head-banging, and I mean that in the literal sense, is a part of growing up. So now, when he falls, I pick him up, give him a hug and say as calmly as I can: That’s OK Baby. You fell. Falling is a part of life. Sometimes mommy falls down too, but the important thing is that she gets back up again.  Those who never fall have never tried anything new. As he calms down I kiss his belly which makes him laugh and forget that he has ever fallen. And within two minutes he’s already squirming around, wanting to get back to it.

Part 2: Ice Skating and LOWLOWLOW Self Esteem

My girlfriends and I have decided that we are sick of movies and coffee shops and we are going to start doing more unconventional things when we go out. So this week we went ice-skating. As we were standing in line to pay for our skates, the ice-instructor-guy started chatting with us, well, with me. He asked if I had read any books by Margaret Atwood, if I read a lot in general, if I liked Haruki Murakami, and finally if he could come skate with me later.

After a few rounds on the ice I began to feel a bit less wobbly and there he was, Mr. instructor guy. Kind of cute, very young, a 25-year-old-kid basically, coming to chat to me, 31-year-old-single-mom. Well, I decided to just go with it. And since I was in a good mood, it worked. We chatted for about an hour, about books mostly, and then a bit about music, travels, cooking. Eventually there came the point where he asked where I lived and if I had roommates, and I told him I lived with my son. But surprisingly he was not totally freaked out (only a bit weirded out maybe) and he still asked for my phone number, and also asked if I’d go out with him, to which I replied that I would.

And then, the following day, there I was at home, thinking back to how much fun I had had skating with a boy, and the LOWLOWLOW thoughts started pushing their way into my head. What does a cute 25-year-old see in me. I’m not that fit. He can get a better looking girl. I’m old. I have a baby. Maybe he just felt bad after I told him I was a single mom so he took my number with no intention of using it. Maybe his friends had put him up to some bet, like getting as many phone numbers from girls as he could that night. STOP IT! GO AWAY! I hate it when I get like this. But it’s hard to shake it off once it starts. It’s the same part of my brain that produces the: “You must have done something to drive BD away”, “Baby must be mad at you for sending him to his grandparents”, “Who’s ever going to want to date you when you’re Divorced+1?” and “A good mother wouldn’t have let her Baby hit his head!”

Part 3: Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Vodka

I set up our first divorce-meeting yesterday. We’re going to try working together with the same divorce lawyer and try to come to an agreement without too many battles.  I had to set it up of course because if it’s up to BD he’ll never get around to it. He’s comfortable just being separated, he’d gladly keep things the way they are for a year or two until he figures out what he wants. But it’s a terrible place for me to be. On hold. Waiting for him to wake up and realize what he’s missing. His family. So I’m not waiting. I’m moving on. It’s the only healthy thing that I can do right now.

BUT after having set up the meeting, letting BD know, having him email me back saying thank you for setting it up, then having him come pick Baby up for his night with him, it was all just too much. So I sat on the sofa and stared into space, and then I decided that I needed a drink, or make that two, or make that three, and I basically got wasted and drunk-statused on Facebook. Good thing I don’t have any guy-friends to drunk dial because I would have.

I woke up this morning, still slightly intoxicated, drank a liter of water and thought to myself: Those who never down three vodka-apple-juices, have never tried anything new. Like divorce. And I smiled to myself and hit the shower.