8) From serial to parallel dating

I wanted to find a life partner but after periods of stop and go dating, I realized that my search for love was always losing out to kids, work or binge watching on Netflix.  Then I thought about it, if to be fulfilled I need to have a soul mate, shouldn’t I treat it as a priority?  I am a professional project manager, so I decided to date as a project with a plan, criteria and schedule.  This turned out very time consuming, and with three kids and a job, a logistical undertaking worthy of a four star general.

That Saturday morning, I fed the kids breakfast, retired to the privacy of my bedroom, and signed up simultaneously to three dating sites, each intended to capture a slightly different demographic.  Match.com for its wide-spread popularity, eHarmony befitting the serious relationship minded, and J-Date to hedge my bet with the tribe.  It took me a couple of hours to put together Match.com.  I came back from a bathroom break to find my tween daughter filling in the “looking for” portion of my profile.  She told me: “Mommy, don’t worry, I know what kind of a man we need.”  Good for her, because I sure didn’t know what I need.  It took me just another hour to Jew it up for J-Date.  eHarmony was a nightmare, I had to answer so many questions that I almost gave up and googled the thousands of answers to “how long does it take to answer eharmony questions?”

I had a multi-step plan, each phase fitting into the next, like a series of Russian nesting dolls.  This was a numbers game, and the objective was to build a pipeline of possibilities through the following activities that were only to terminate upon identification of “the one”:

1. Review potential matches recommended by each dating site and “wink”, “like” “flirt”, etc. which-ever ones passed my initial criteria.
2. Read emails daily, and again, review their profile for potential compatibility. Write a “thank you, no thank you email” for the rejects, and begin an exploratory correspondence with potentially suitable mates.
3. Go on a coffee dates with those who seemed literate and promising.
4. If a coffee meeting was a success, proceed to a real date.
5. Have multiple dates with the same man, until it either fizzles out, or I find my one and only.

Within a month, I went through hundreds of profiles, and to keep track of every suitor’s convoluted profile name (i.e. Joe20013LivingitupinDC) , I maintained a running roster of their profile aliases and corresponding real name.

Coffee dates, would usually last between an hour to an hour and a half, in addition to time for beautifying myself, and travel there and back. For effectiveness, I would have these shorter dates during my lunch breaks, within walking distance of work, or in a strip mall after I fed the kids dinner.  This meant regularly shifting my mind, wardrobe, and appearance between kids, work and men.

For first encounters, I like wearing dresses and heels, but what is suitable at work is not very feminine and attractive on a date.  So I became a master of flexible and quick outfit changes worthy of the Matahari herself.  I would wear a dress to work, a demure camisole underneath, with sensible heels, conservative jewelry and minimal makeup.  After work I would whip off the cami to reveal cleavage, slip on the sky high heels stashed in my bag, put on dangly jewelry, and of course dab on extra mascara and lipstick to show off my (natural) pout.  Sometimes this change would happen at the bathroom at work as I would sneak my dazzling self out, sometimes at a fast food restroom between work and the date, and sometimes even in the car.  Oh yes, my car was regularly stocked with cosmetics, make up remover, paper towels, tweezers, pantyhose, hair gel, brush, and changes of clothes.

Eventually, a few coffee dates turned into real dates to restaurants, movies, the theater, and of comedy clubs.  Some fizzled out after a few encounters, and following a couple of months of systematic dating and screening, I settled on a rotation of the same three guys on a regular basis.  Albert was a white 6’4 man exactly my age, so we actually got each other’s references to Mork and Mindy, and Weird Al Yankovic.  The second was Antonio, Hispanic, self-made professional who liked to dance and was in tip-top shape.  And rounding up the trio, Alroy, a 6’7 African American IT professional with a great sense of humor.  I called it “Dating the rainbow”.  I didn’t mean for it to be a rainbow, but it did tickle my fancy, and I even put down on my profile: “equal opportunity dater” (I hope this was not misinterpreted.)

I did question whether I should serial date, one man after the other until I settled on the right one.  Or should I parallel date a few guys simultaneously until I figured out who I liked best.  I decided that at my age, time is of the essence, and if I want to give my love life its due, I need to parallel date.  This turned out to be very very very very difficult.

I had to schedule every one of the men to make sure that they got enough attention from me, and to have an opportunity for our relationship to develop.  Each got one weeknight or lunch, as well as a few hours over the weekend, and with time in between for texting/emailing/etc.  On my smartphone and online calendar Albert, Antonio and Alroy, each had their own color coded entries and nick-name.

I won’t lie or demur, it was fun.  They looked differently, acted differently, and each had interests that appealed to a distinct side of me.  For Antonio, I was a seductress earth goddess, and during our encounters, as I batted my eyelashes, often a Spanish guitar would play in the background.  He was a Latin dance and love machine, and had an accent to die for.  I was not yummy, I was “jummy”, he went “chopping” for jewelry for me, oh, and apparently a “vagina” is a “bagina”.

With Albert, I let my sexy geek flag fly high.  He found my ethnic background fascinating, and he managed to learn many languages to the beginner level.  So he thought I sounded like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle.  When I mentioned how I adore the ballet, a month later he surprised me with tickets to the Kennedy Center for my birthday.  I dropped my love for Monty Python’s Flying Circus, and he he took me to Spamalot.  Albert also fulfilled my life long dream of learning to play Dungeons and Dragons (and how I don’t want to ever do it again – Ever!)

Alroy was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and with a great sense of humor to boot.  With him I was a wholesome and fragile flower, and we explored different museums and restaurants together.

On top of raising three kids and holding down a responsible job, the mental gymnastics of dating three men simultaneously, while having their perks (wink, wink), turned out to be too much even for my versatile brain.  As I was getting ready to see Albert, Antonio would text, and Alroy would call.  I had to be careful not to mix up their names, our activities, preferences, etc.  I also had to be careful for the babysitter not to see me meeting three different men.  Thankfully, she is a bit hard of hearing and short sighted, and she seemed to always cheer my attempts at finding love.

So eventually, I had to let two of them go and break it off.  Alroy and I began drifting away, since I was not good at being a delicate flower, I just let us drift apart.  Albert was more difficult, because I honestly liked him, I just didn’t “love” him.  I didn’t want to tell him that unbeknownst to him, there was a contest that he lost.  So I told that my ex-boyfriend wants to try again and I want to give him a second chance.  Apparently, he has heard this one before from other women. Ouch.

Antonio, to this day, he does not know that there was a contest, and that he won.  Although about a year later, I did end up breaking up with him as well.  It was an exhausting, but fun filled six months.

7) It’s raining men – So why is it so hard?

Last Saturday, I was having dinner with three other Russian born, 40 something, divorces, and as they say Russian – each one of us was more attractive than the other.  We are all MBAs, successful in our careers, wordily  and god dam fun.  Over good food and wine, the conversation flowed on how hard it is to date and find a man.  while I am writing a blog to vent off steam, Katya was mysterious, Ksenya is dating up a storm, and Kira has decided to just throw in the towel.  As she put it:  “men are more trouble than they are worth”.

When I became newly single, the song “it’s raining men” played loudly in my head as I imagined being over run by available and attractive men of every shape and size, with full heads of hair, a zest for life, and a hankering to settle down with marvelous me.  There are just as many single men as single women my age, they are out there, and everywhere: at work, at bars, online, speed dating, joining singles groups, and going to “meet up” events.   So why was it so much easier when I was younger? 25 years ago to be exact, or as my mother is apt to say: “when you were a quarter century younger”.

Maybe because in college, where many of us coupled seriously for the first time, we spent most of our waking hours with other twenty somethings.  We were swimming in a veritable pool of possible mates.  From shared classes, cramped dorm rooms, to nearly nightly clubs, bars and parties.  Now a days, I work in a field dominated by women, most eligible men are either married, way too young, and lots of them are gay.  In short, the mating pool I swim in is a kiddie pool.

We also had lots more time on our hands.  I don’t remember how many times I said: “hey, what should we do today?”  We hung out at each other’s places, explored new clubs, took vacations.  Now a days, my time is not my own, between work and kids, if I go out twice a week I feel so decadent, that I won’t readily admit it.

Not only were we continuously hob-nobbing with lots of other young eligible people, but we were way more attractive.  All of us!  No wrinkles or bags around our eyes, even after all-nighters and parties.  The women were slimmer (even if we didn’t see ourselves that way), and the men were fitter and had more hair.  Of course, our hormones raged, and in my university it was a mating dance of hundreds of bronzed, lithe young men and women.  I hosted my share of bacchanalia, down to the obligatory college toga party.

At the time, my standards were basic, and I did not verbalize them (hence my marriage…. aaaahhhhh).  I wanted an attractive, intelligent, and manly guy. Period!  Now, I have a laundry list, my dream man must be established, witty, worldly, financially independent (especially of me), somewhat fit, able to discuss world events, kind to children and animals, sexually compatible with me, serious, fun etc. etc. etc.

Oh, the men are not much better.  In their youth, the guys also didn’t have standards.  It mostly amounted to being thankful for any woman who would agree to sleep with them.   Now, they want their women younger and younger, well put together, but not high maintenance.  They also must have lot of time to explore the world, and help them compensate for what ever it is their mid-life crisis is driving them towards or away.  Also, they expect us to put up with their ailments, back pains, conditions, and of course a hobby they picked up along the way, such as smoking meat, becoming one with the couch during March Maddness, or playing Dungeons and Dragons twice a week.  One of my ex-boyfriends, Kevin, had a small pharmacy in house full of pills for backpain, muscle relaxants, acid reflux, migraines, antihistamines, cholesterol, sleeplessness, and of course Viagra.

The few standards we did have back then, were quickly eroded by alcohol, recreational drugs and lack of sleep.  I remember going out at least Thursday through Saturday nights, and then once or twice on other weeknights.  All the while holding a full-time job, and carrying a demanding college course load.  I was a champion beer pitcher chugger.  Those days are so far behind me, I can not drink more than a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, and my total alcohol consumption for a month does not go above four glasses.

Raging hormones further fueled the mating frenzy, particularly in the men.  Unfortunately, while women’s sexual desire only seems to go stronger with age, men’s wanes.  It seems with the 40+ male set, like Kevin,  the drug of choice is Viagra.  I had tall hopes for Kiril, a 6’4 computer scientist of Irish descent.  I met him on OK Cupid, under preferred sexual frequency he wrote: “once every two weeks”.  I thought it must be a typo; who would have such low sex drive, much less proudly declare it over the Internet.  I found out the hard (no wait – the “soft”) way, that it wasn’t a typo.  He still writes to me, even after I told him I just want to be friends.

Now of course we all have buggage and responsibilities.  I mean, what man would not want a woman with extra weight, debts, three children, and a crazy ex.   I have kids, a job, bills to pay, and a relationship history that makes me scrutinize any potential man just so much closer.  This is not the carefree time of college, when our biggest worry was how to pay for college, not how to pay for our kids college, our retirement, and everything else.

Then, there are the kids.  All three of them would have to like him, and he would have to like all three of them.  All together, we have to get eight relationships right (I did the math, trust me on this one.)   And if he has kids, then I have to like them and they me.  That’s ten, twelve or even more relationships that we would have to get right Simultaneously.

Lastly, the longer I go on my own, the more I wonder how much am I willing to change to accommodate someone else.  How much is he? That is the biggest obstacle. Pill popping Kevin was scared he would have to move out of his house to mine.  Meanwhile, I shudder at the thought of having to keep house, or not walking around in a stained t-shirt when I clean the house, putting my hair up like a sumo wrestler, or being very un-ladylike when horsing around with my kids.

I am a declining commodity, who is asking for a higher and higher price.  As my friend Kayla put it: “I want the perfect man for me to just appear on my door step.”  To all my single friends – you are not alone.

1) Dating – More Fun with Photos

Hi everyone,

Every so often I decide to dip my toes into the online dating pool, and boy, does it run the gamut from crystal clear waters to a swamp.  On the upside,I realize how rich the world is and how many fascinating people are out there.  Even better, at our age, most have gotten tired of putting on airs and just let their real self hang out.  I am beginning to develop a theory that the older people get, on average, the more eccentric they become.  On the downside, there are also the scammers, those looking for a quick hookup, and frankly the boring and stupid ones.  Yes, I know, it is politically incorrect, but I said it.  There!  At the very least, online dating can be a source of humor and entertainment.

I recently sent out a rather unfortunate photo someone posted, and a friend’s comment compelled me to  share with you some of my observations about men and their online photos.  To be fair, I have not perused women’s online profiles, so this may be one sided, but here go some common ouch’es and yuck’s:

– The top photo pose for a man is the bathroom mirror selfie.  I always wonder if they just finished their business and thought “Boy, I feel good.  Time to take that sexy sophisticated toilet selfie”.

– A second favorite is in their car.  It is if they are declaring: “Yeah! I can drive”, and I want to ask: “Moron, was the car moving when you took this photo?”.  My favorite was of a bus driver in full uniform standing in front of his bus.  Hey, doesn’t everyone dream of dating a man in uniform?  Actually, does he know what they say about men who over-compensate by driving big cars?

– My top pet peeve, is when they take the selfie in their home, and you can see all the mess and garbage in the background.  Maybe they are looking for a woman to clean their house and they are advertising?

– Then there are the creepy ones of pictures with their children, or worse, other people’s children.

– Or the ones with them and their exes cut out.  You just see a woman’s hand, or a torso with a big black circle where the head should be.  What did those men do to these women?

– There is also the defeatist strategy of posting pictures of themselves with their much more handsome, taller, fitter friends.

– There are many more, but the worst are photos that are ten years out of date.  Invariably, they are younger, slimmer, and have lots more hair.  Yes, that happened to me more than once.  Who wants to date an insecure liar?

Well, time to check my online dating account.