Too Old for That?

We get older and we mark out lines that are no longer to be crossed. We won't get drunk like we used to in college. We won't go out if what we really want to do is sit on our couch. We won't avoid every vegetable that crosses our plate. We're too old for that, and it can be a good thing. We aren't kids anymore and we do our best to not act like it. When summer hits though, our minds begin to brim with all the kids like things we'd love to do. Eat ice cream too fast. Run through the sprinklers on a hot day. Maybe catch a firefly. I hope to never be too old for those things. Lately, though, there's definitely something I feel too old for: having a crush.

I see him and feel like the chubby, shy teenager I once was, my confidence diminished. I realize that the way I flirt with him is by verbally hitting him and running away. I can't always look him in the eye. I'm too old for this, I think. Way too old. Maybe though, after a couple of fruitless months of dating, of disappointments big (well maybe medium) and small, maybe this crush is like eating ice cream too fast. Neither is great as a long term life strategy, but both can be absolutely necessary to keep the giggling/walking in the grass barefoot/honeysuckle smelling feeling of summer alive. I might be too old for crushes and licking up 2 scoops of strawberry ice cream, but thoughts of either bring a huge smile to my face.

Commitment

I've found myself in a dating slump again, but spring is here and summer's coming. I expect to strike up conversations at barbecues and to spot good looking men at New York street fairs. I used to loathe dating, find myself disinterested in the pursuit nearly as soon as it began. No longer, not for the last year or so. I've been the girl up for a date with the guy who seems nice enough, who engages me in interesting conversation, throws in a good joke. Why not? I've encouraged myself when I can feel the request for the number approach. I don't regret any of them, but I am looking for something I haven't found in any of them. Come to think of it, not sure I've ever found. I know blanket statements will get us nowhere.

They could all keep their nice dinners and the seemingly sincere, if otherwise motivated, compliments. Or if you're incapable of commitment, don't even bother. Not the commitment of a Tiffany's ring or even necessarily the commitment of a relationship. I'd just like some follow through. You like me you say? Call when you're supposed to. You want to go out on Saturday? Follow up on that email invite. We have a special bond that you don't share with any other woman? For God's sake, don't let me get away.

When I got my first job 7 years ago, I walked in and thought I'd be out of there in two years tops. It didn't happen, but I never thought it was a conscious choice I made. The years passed, but they passed day by day. I wouldn't have gotten to the years if I didn't commit to the day. When these 30 something men avow their desire to get married, how will they commit to years when they can't commit to the day?

Potentially Awful

NIKKI

Mr. Potential and I went out for our third date Friday night. We met a few weeks ago at a party and dates one and two were great. The conversation flowed seamlessly from music to religion to food. He had a good sense of humor, though slightly corny but I've always had a soft spot for that. He isn't my typical type of guy, but then the trifecta of great phone calls, emails, and dates aren't typical either.

All week, I looked forward to Friday night, to seeing him in person and seeing if there was potential for more. We agreed to meet at 9:30 on Friday, after he would finally be finished with work at his high powered job. I found the outfit that was casual, yet sexy and applied my favorite perfume accordingly. The night before I'd gone on a hunt to find the right hair product and carefully attacked any pimples that might attempt to erupt. Friday night came and after drinks with my girlfriends, 9:30 began to approach. He sent me a text asking if we could meet a little later maybe 10? No problem, my girlfriends are still willing to hang out. We wend our way through 3 different neighborhoods, closer to where Mr. Potential and I had agreed to meet. Well, 10 came and went as did 10:30 and 11. My girlfriends have been troopers all night, but have to leave me. Still not a problem because he's sent me a text that he'll be there in 5 minutes. I make my way to the restaurant (it's about 11:30 now) to find the place closed. Diners already inside can get out, but I can't get in. NO problem because he'll be here in 5 minutes, hmm actually should have been here 10 minutes ago at this point...

Two and a half hours after we'd agreed to meet (that'd be midnight), he finally shows and I am pissed. I'm ravenous (I'd turned down food at every place I'd gone with my girlfriends, cold (sexy is not generally warm), and did I mention pissed? He was full of apologies and then jokes to try to remedy the situation, but sometimes you've gotten to a point where none of that is enough.

At one point, the prospect of a 4th date of even talking to this guy again was dying a slow and torturous death. I asked about his ex (brilliant move on my part), the waiter spilled water on him, and the conversation stalled at every turn. In a particularly evil move, I ordered a tuna nicoise salad, and when asked by the waiter if I was okay with the ancovies told him I was indeed. In my mind, there was zero prospect for a kiss so why not put an exclamation on the point.

But, somewhere in the last half an hour, things got drastically better. I made a joke and then he made one. We traded a few jabs about the night and suddenly even with anchovy on the breath (I did manage to find a piece of gum), I wanted nothing more than to kiss him. You never can tell how the night will end up and I'm looking forward to finding out how the 4th date goes.

Kings of the Forest?

NIKKI

Men. Cowardly lions, the lot of them. They roar and make a big show, but really they're scared of most everything. They are especially scared of open, honest conversations. Flashback to Sex and the City, if you would, and the Berger episode arc. This is the guy who broke up with Carrie on a Post-it, and the explanation of his friends pointed to women becoming hysterical and overly emotional. I have known men who had untreated scars from street fights and permanently disfigured fingers from aggressive basketball games. Physical is no problem, but emotional looms too large.

I know I told Nikki I would call her two weeks ago, but I'm afraid of what we might talk about. Instead, I'll forward her jokes and Youtube links. Or maybe I'll chat with her and act as if I don't remember I was supposed to call unless she brings it up.

I know that I have shown only a limited interest in Nikki. However, when she points this out, I will protest that it is only because she's shown a limited interest in me. I will become offended and cut off all communication in protest.

This may come as a shock to men, but I don't love those "serious" conversations. Dissection is often a favorite pasttime of women, but I'd rather talk about an outfit or the great meal I had the night before. I don't particularly want to interrogate you about why you haven't called when you said you would or where this is "going." I do it because as interesting as angst can be, I prefer clarity. I appreciate a "You are here" in my life's journey. Dorothy and the boys would have too, even the cowardly lion. So, boys: feel the fear but do it anyway.

Tomorrow Is Another Day

NIKKI


I have a sad confession: I really like the movie Gone with the Wind. I manage to put aside the cringe filled racial moments and the sweeping excess of the Southern whites. Even more, I have a soft spot for Scarlett O'Hara: the spoiled, childlike heroine. By the time Rhett tells Scarlett that he doesn't give a damn, he has more than enough reason. She has been in love with someone else for virtually their entire marriage, barred him from her bedroom because she no longer wants to sleep with him, and when in one night of drunken passion she does get pregnant tells him in a speech that includes the words "I wish [the father] were anyone but you." Scarlett leads me to a simple and anti-feminist conclusion: women are stupid. For years, without regard to the situation or any firm grasp of reality, Scarlett pines for Ashley Wilkes, a sad sap of a man who couldn't hold a candle to Rhett. Scarlett slowly comes to her senses about Rhett, but never says what she truly feels and even more pushes away every overture he makes to repair their relationship. Scarlett seems as dense as they come, the rest of us aren't always so far behind.



Who hasn't kept dating the guy who has given you indications that he isn't best for you? Who hasn't called the guy who didn't call when he said he would because you thought of a plausible enough reason as to why? Those would definitely be me. Who hasn't alienated the one man who truly loved you and doted on your daughter, spoiling her with trips to London and a pony? Well, that's only Scarlett.


But if I might channel Scarlett a bit, as God is my witness I vow to not be stupid anymore! At least until I fall hard for someone else.


After all, tomorrow is another day.

The Body of a Woman/The Heart of a Man

NIKKI

Lexi and I have recently discovered a good place to meet men: the neighborhood sports bar. I've always enjoyed beer and even the occasional football game, but I've come to love the latter surrounded by pigskin fueled, trash talking men. I'm not there scoping for dates (not much anyway), but sometimes just hanging out with a group of guys can give you that touch of testosterone you need in your life. They might buy you some drinks or offer you a seat, but they will also without mercy or regret ridicule you, your team, and your mother if necessary.

Over the last few weeks, my ex (I know, I know but he's also a genuine friend) and I have kept up a pretty steady email correspondence of your mother's so ... jokes and hits on each other's lazy eyes and roach ridden apartments. When one joke actually stung and I emailed back my hurt feelings rather than a cut about the ugliness of his sister, he was disappointed and maligned my "guilt trip." So, I let it go and went back to talking about his mother, much to his relief.

The men in the sports bar would no doubt have understood his argument. Men prize thick skin. If someone talks about how badly your team sucks, take the hit and then hit back even harder. There is no place for wussies in a sports bar, and even less place in a relationship. Love is after all a full contact sport (or a battlefield as Pat Benatar would surely remind me). Those insults thrown at us and rapidly around us were men being men. They are also good preparation for our next relationships, so that, unlike my past ones, I won't take cracks about back fat and crooked toes to heart.

But is this really what my ex (or any man) wants: a woman who is one of the boys? Women should wear high heels and pretty underwear, but also be able to belch the alphabet. I have to take the crass jokes and cutting remarks, but still be soft enough to hug, kiss, and comfort him when he wants to talk about his feelings or something else too embarrassing to share with his boys. How can I possibly be everything in one? Then again, isn't this what we usually want of them only flipped inside out? He can share his feelings but not weep when Bette Midler sings The Wind Beneath My Wings in Beaches. Fantastic if he kills the roach, but please don't mourn its passing. I want the body of a man but the heart of a woman who will understand that even jokes that combine the words fat and my name are never okay and that sadness doesn't equal weakness.

Maybe we're never satisfied, but while I search for the guy who has the right balance I'll keep going to the sports bar wearing armor and cute steel toed boots.