Are We There Yet?
It’s that time. Well, at least I think it’s that time – the, “What’s the status of our relationship?” time. Over a month has gone by. Over 10 dates have gone by. We have Valentine’s Day under our belts; we have been to each other’s houses multiple times. I’ve cooked him dinner. He’s snored through a movie on my couch. I have a close personal relationship with his dog. He’s met a few of my friends.
Sounds like a relationship. Or does it?
It’s so hard to know. In the old days, the beginning of a relationship was easy. You were totally crazy about each other, you both knew it, you spent every possible minute together, and when you weren’t together, you talked on the phone for hours talking about the next time you would see each other. You felt giddy, like teenagers, and it was a feeling you desperately wanted to hang onto because you knew at some point that would end and you would settle into a relationship. But at least you knew.
Times have changed. Cell phones happened. Then the Internet happened. Then instant messaging happened. Then text messaging happened. Then instant messaging on your cell phones in between text messaging happened. Then suddenly through total and complete electronic availability, everyone became unavailable.
In relationships, text-messaging seems to the new phone call. I remember dating a guy with whom I never actually had a real phone conversation. Our entire communication was through emails and texts. While proving to be fun and exciting at first, it just ended up really making my fingers hurt. When I decided to stop seeing him, I let him know with an email (of course). His response: “I deserve a phone call. Message sent from my BlackBerry wireless handheld.”
Sometimes I really wish we weren’t so connected. It seems that with all this connection, you never actually get to connect. And then your mind starts to play tricks on you: “He just sent me a text today and didn’t call. Does that mean he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Or, “He’s sent me an email every day for the last two weeks and today I didn’t get one. Does that mean he doesn’t like me anymore?” I spend so much time trying to decipher the “cyber code” that I think half the time the relationship ends in my head before it actually ends. Which we’ve already established, is not a good thing.
So this time, I want it to be different. I really like this guy. I want him to stick around. I don’t quite know where we stand yet, but I guess I don’t have to. It’s still early. I’ll know when I know. But why don’t I get to know until he knows? That’s the part which drives me crazy, because it makes me, quite simply – a girl. And that’s the part where I usually act more like a guy.
Maybe he’ll text me and let me know.
So, Maybe Cupid Doesn’t Suck
I know you’re dying to know if my phone rang this weekend. Well, I’ll save you the anticipation. You were right. I was right. We were right. It didn’t. A few times I actually had to do the old school pick up to see if it was working. It was. But it didn’t ring. Not once. It was as if the world came to an end on Thursday night when it went radio silence and it didn’t resume again until Monday. And honestly – that was fine with me.
I spent Valentine’s Day weekend doing exactly what I needed to be doing – my taxes. And you know what? I really didn’t mind a bit. I know my disdain for February 14th in my last post may have rubbed a few people the wrong way, but as I sit here in the aftermath, I have to admit, I am overjoyed that I don’t have so much as a bruise on me when I know there are a million poor women who were turned into Valentine’s Day road kill.
And the collateral damage was everywhere: My married friends shrugged off their disappointment saying, “My husband really isn’t into Valentine’s Day and likes to make me feel special on other days” or “We go out in advance because the restaurant prices are outrageous,” but deep down I know they were totally bummed. One of the husbands actually got it right, and surprised his wife the day before with “February 13th flowers.” She was so excited. Well played, Sir. I bet he got laid that night.
I listened to my brother groan when I asked him what he was doing for his wife. He said, “It’s so stupid. I buy her crap all time. I have to do it today just because someone tells me to?” And then he proceeded to tell me all the amazing things he did for her. Are we really related?
Okay, okay, I’m not a total scrooge. In fact, there’s something I have to admit to you: It happened. Someone cracked my code. I myself couldn’t believe it. Someone was able to take a swing at my Valentine’s Day wall, and actually knock it down with one hit. Whoever would have thought that I, of all people could be charmed by one simple Cupid gesture? It was third grade all over again.
It happened right before the weekend. Still on a bit of a high from my awesome date the night before, I floated out to the mailbox for my Friday gift from the post office gods – my trash magazines. And there it was – right in the mailbox – hypocrite kryptonite. In between my People and Us was one perfect red envelope.
That’s right – the girl who hates all things Valentine’s Day got a valentine. And it wasn’t just any valentine, it was THE valentine. It was perfect.
Ladies and gentleman, I think we may have a winner.
So, what do I do now?
Wake Me Up When It’s Over
In my current dating delirium, I actually almost forgot that my least favorite day of the year is approaching – President’s Day. Just kidding. Yep, it’s true, I hate Valentine’s Day. Always have, always will. When you’re single, Valentine’s Day is a miserable, torturous day. You listen to your friends making their elaborate plans; you watch as they labor over their wardrobe choices, asking your opinion, “Should I wear this dress, what do you think of these heels?” Meanwhile you’re sitting on their bed legs crossed with your chin on your hands envisioning the ratty bathrobe you’re going to be wearing that night, trying to decide if Chunky Monkey will win out over Cookie Dough. If that weren’t enough, every storefront in sight is exploding in pink and red decorations and wherever you look there are bouquets of flowers that won’t have your name on the card.
Don’t get me wrong, I do have some hopeless romantic in me — I just don’t think there should be a holiday marketed to only those who are coupled. In the many legends of how Valentine’s Day came to be, the most common one is that St. Valentine fell in love with a young girl while he was in prison and wrote her a love letter before his death, signing it “from your Valentine.” If that’s the case, how in the heck did we go from a one simple sweet letter to a multi-billion dollar industry of over-priced flowers, jam-packed restaurants, uncomfortable lingerie and the extremely strange over-abundance of teddy bears?
I distinctly remember a time when I actually liked Valentine’s Day. I was in the 3rd grade. Remember those cardboard boxes full of little cut-out heart-shaped cards? There was no disappointment involved; you had a list of your classmates’ names and everyone got one, keeping 7 year-old feelings intact. By 5th grade it was all over – the after school at-home count didn’t match the number of kids in your class and utter devastation set in upon the realization you got three less valentines than the girl next to you who had satin ribbons in her pigtails instead of frayed yarn. There has been one constant, however – 38 years later, I still get a box of those stale, powdery conversation hearts from my mother.
On the off-chance that a new relationship has blossomed when the dreaded day rolls around, an inordinate amount of pressure is placed on both you and the poor Romeo who thinks he has to actually spend his life savings on roses that will wilt in 48 hours without even opening. But now that you have this new beau, you can’t help but get sucked into the Valentine vortex. And those same friends who last year offered their half-eaten chocolates and flashed their sparkly stake? They take an acrobatic leap on the bandwagon; “I’m sooo excited that you finally have a date this year! Where is he taking you? You definitely should buy a new outfit!”
So with my current trifecta, I’m actually kind of hoping it’s all too new to warrant any sort of attention to the significance of the day. In fact, I’m choosing to spend the afternoon with a few girlfriends and with any luck will be in a Bloody Mary/Mimosa haze by dinnertime. If in fact the question comes up, what do I do? Do I tell these adorable men that I despise everything Cupid, from his little bow and arrow to his saggy diaper? Do I dare risk these brand-new, seemingly-perfect dalliances with promise for an actual future by admitting my repugnance for that particular ritual of romance?
Maybe I won’t have to. Maybe they won’t even ask. Crap. What if they don’t ask?
A Rose By Any Other Name
As I look back on the first five weeks of this year, I can’t help but smile. Dare I say it – compared to last year, life is definitely good. Last year at this time I had pneumonia. Last year at this time I was jobless. Last year at this time I was totally, and completely alone, and felt like I had nothing to look forward to, except making my way to the back of my refrigerator. Oh, and watching The Bachelor.
I know, I know, you’re groaning right now, but I can’t help it. I am fascinated by the process of one man being given a room full of women, fully suited to his taste, and over the course of six weeks he has no other responsibility in life than to focus solely on falling in love with one of them. Stuff good TV is made of? Definitely. Possible in real life? Ask me a year ago I would have said no way. Now? I think it might not be so far-fetched.
Yep, I’m feeling pretty good these days – I haven’t had so much as a sniffle, I’m doing what I love and getting paid for it, I’m comfortably in my skinny jeans AND I have met some amazing men – who are actually still calling weeks later. I have to admit, it’s been quite a whirlwind.
When I created my “If you build it, he will come” strategy for the New Year, I really didn’t plan for the “they will come” part.
I know I got my swagger on big time last week and in my cocky prom queen state of mind said that I wanted to keep them all. The truth of the matter is, I don’t want to keep them all forever. At the end of the day, I’m still the girl who wants just one – THE one. So I guess my question last time shouldn’t have been “Why can’t I keep them all?” it should have been “How do I make sure I keep the right one?”
I think it goes without saying that I have made some missteps along the way. Quite possibly, I had my nose in a book (or a cheeseburger) when Mr. Right might have walked in and out of my life. Quite possibly, he was right in front of me waving his arms and I was looking up – or down – or behind me. Quite possibly, he’s doing it now – and I’m missing it. I hope not.
I actually feel like I am living my own series of The Bachelorette right now. I’ve made it through the first half of the season, and I’m down to the hometown dates. I found the guys I like, I feel a connection with each of them, and I think I know which one I like the best, but what if I’m wrong? What if I pick the wrong one? And even worse, what if I totally messed up and already sent the right guy home? I may have handed out a lot of roses in the last five weeks, but there can only be one rose in the end.
So how do I look in front of me when I’m so used to looking anywhere, everywhere else?
There And Gone
Not too long ago, I could dismiss your dilemma with that expression, “He’s just not that into you.” But things are so different these days. To some, just saying that probably makes me sound old. Well, I’m not old, and I’m certainly no idealist, but you don’t have to be either one of these to see that relationships ain’t what they used to be. We don’t fall in love anymore – we tip toe around love until tripping over it or running away from it. We schedule it and plan it and squeeze it into some pre-ordained plan that contains more fundamental flaws and misconceptions than the state budget. We analyze it and time it and script it until we suck all of the spontaneity and joy from its pores. We do everything we can think of to make it happen, EXCEPT the one, single thing we’re supposed to do – let it happen. The end result? Nobody knows what a real relationship is anymore.
Case in point: you and Rip Van Winkle. Ten dates? Cooking dinner for him? Valentine’s Day? Call me crazy, but that’s a relationship in my book. If I don’t want a relationship, I go for a two date maximum, a check after every meal and a Valentine’s Day spent in different zip codes. If you ask me, you guys are in a relationship, except for two things: It’s 2010, and he’s a guy.
When it comes to determining if a relationship exists or not, men and women approach things in very different ways. We come on strong – first of all, we want to get laid. We can’t possibly decide whether or not you’re girlfriend material without having sex with you. Even if the sex is lousy and we’re the reason why, we simply have to know. So once again, it’s all about getting into your pants and we can’t do that by taking our time or coming on soft. We put on the full court press – dinners, drinks, thank you text messages, cute emails and our deep voice on late night phone calls. Are we leading you on? Maybe, so what? We have to know and we can only find out by sprinting until we don’t want to sprint anymore.
You guys are the opposite. Where we reach out, you usually hold back. Where we like to hit the gas, you prefer riding in neutral. Where we’re ready for all night long, you usually draw the line at home for CSI. You ladies are smarter about it than we are. Maybe it’s because when you hurt, you hurt more than we do. Maybe it’s because you know what you’re doing before you do it, and we don’t know what we’re doing until after we’re done – if it all. Or maybe it’s because you start thinking about being in a relationship the minute you wake up every morning, and we don’t think about it until we’re walking down the aisle. Whatever the reason, don’t feel bad about being confused – we’re all confused. Women are just more willing to admit it.
But, I still think he’s just not that into you. If he was, you wouldn’t be confused – you’d know.
The Word Of The Day Is… Sucker
OK… I’m taking a deep breath because what I have to say may hurt you and I have no interest in ever doing that – but I’m going to say it anyway:
You disappoint me.
Have I taught you nothing? Have you taught you nothing? We spent the better part of two days last week talking about Valentine’s Day, and what a giant bag of crap the whole thing was, remember? You were going to spend Valentine’s Day by yourself, running at the beach, swimming an offshore mile and capping it off with a deep tissue massage. You had a feel good plan laid out and the strength to carry it through, and you did a 180 based on an envelope and a stamp. What happened?
Maybe I’m being harsh… Maybe I’m being colored by my own Valentine’s weekend experience, and it had nothing to do with a woman. Half of my weekend was meeting for beers with two male friends of mine so they could depress the shit out of me. Their love lives are so bleak; they make a bad marriage look good. One’s unhappily married, the other unhappily single and their sex lives are equal: non-existent. They spent the whole night whining about Valentine’s Day; my married friend about how much money he was going to spend, and my single friend about how hard he was going to try to not feel like a complete loser. I was ready to blow my brains out by the second beer and was home for my third, ten minutes later.
I think I know exactly what happened with you. You did what ALL girls and women do… You started dreaming. You started hoping. You started gazing in wonder at the power of love and why can’t the right man with the right valentine be the man of your dreams. Your soft effort to dismiss Valentine’s Day was quickly overwhelmed by the power of the day itself. It’s bigger than you. It’s almost bigger than me. Take away the TV commercials, tear down the billboards and close the malls. Strip away everything we ever learned about Valentine’s Day and we’re left with one piece of this day that no sane person would argue with. It’s all about love.
Fortunately for you, you are not me, nor are you dating me. I personally think it takes a colossal amount of stones for a grown man (he’s grown, right?) to drop an old-fashioned valentine in an old-fashioned mailbox. No e-mail, no overkill… no promises. So I have to tip my hat to this guy. If there’s a right way to do something this lame, this cat did it the absolute right way.
Happy Valentine’s Day – it’s all yours. Now about the guy…
All Aboard The V-Train…
Or Not
My three most despised holidays:
1) Valentine’s Day
2) Valentine’s Day
3) Valentine’s Day
You are so right about Valentine’s Day. It truly sucks, and for all of the reasons you mentioned. But I hate to break it to you; for guys, it’s even worse. You talk about your friends picking out dresses, dreaming of special moments and seeing so much red everywhere that all you were seeing was – well, red. Put yourself in our shoes for a moment. Women always say, “Valentine’s Day isn’t a big deal… In a good relationship, every day should be Valentine’s Day.” That’s bullshit. You don’t want every day to be Valentine’s Day – you want Valentine’s Day to be Valentine’s Day.
But I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you. Like I always say, it comes down to programming. We have been programmed from an early age to know our role on this day of forced love. You said it yourself with the boxed set of valentines in the 3rd grade. But when your duty ended with those paper cards, ours was just beginning. The 3rd grade was just the start of a lifetime of men disappointing women on February 14th.
A few times I’ve actually gotten it right. On occasion I have given myself a big pat on the back seeing her face break into a smile, saying to myself, “Yep, I did that.” But I’ve also gotten it very, very wrong. No matter how much room I have had remaining on my Visa card, I’ve also fumbled Valentine’s Day away with the biggest blunder a man can make – I’ve completely forgotten about it. I sure do wish I hadn’t been married at the time.
I actually think no matter how right you (or anyone) may get it – you’re still set up to fail. There will always be a friend of yours whose boyfriend will have done something spectacular compared to what yours did. There will always that guy at the gym who is going to talk to me about how great the sex was after he gave his woman the Valentine’s Day of her dreams. Bottom line, that’s not what the day was designed for, but we’re stuck with it and we have to make the best of it.
And this year, by make the best of it, I mean do nothing. Happily.
In your current dating situation, I think you’re actually lucky. You don’t have to choose, and chances are, you’re right – they probably won’t call. But you should feel relieved about that. It’s too new. Cut them some slack. Can you imagine what those guys are thinking, knowing you a month and wondering if they really have to board the V-train already? And would you really want them to? Wouldn’t you rather your first flowers to be because they wanted to buy you some? Wouldn’t you rather a nice dinner on a day, ANY day other than February 14th? I’m praying your answer is yes – otherwise you’re not the cool chick best friend I’ve had for a decade.
Truthfully, Valentine’s Day needs to be one thing – and one thing only – two people, spending time together, knowing that the other wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
Much like the other 364 days of the year.
Reality Check
First of all, you watch too much reality TV. But in the reality of life, as well as the reality of love, for every pro, there’s a con.
Exhibit A: Why is there such a fine line between the goodness of truly loving someONE and the preposterous notion that there’s any such thing as “The One.” Forgive my lack of open-mindedness, but, no f***ing way. And you know me. I am hardly anti-romance. The ridiculous idea that we all have some sort of “perfect fit” with only one person in this crazy life is a lovely notion, but a notion is all we should ever allow it to be. How do I know this? I don’t for sure. A part of me even hates to say it. But if there’s one thing that every little girl should be taught while growing up, in between the prince on a white horse and the superhero lessons, it is this: There is no such thing as “The One.” Even if I’m wrong, we’ll be doing them a favor. Here’s the good news; whether you fall in love only once in your life, or are lucky enough to do it a couple of times, if it’s truly love, than it will still feel as if you’ve met “The One.”
Exhibit B: Why is it, that on those rare occasions when we actually do fall in love, does it feel so akin to being stripped naked and left to mud wrestle your way to safety? Much like Exhibit A, this is way more a female issue than it is a male issue, but we both know the feeling. One of my favorite clichés about relations in general between men and women goes as follows:
Men fall for women, hoping they’ll stay exactly as they are, but they change.
Women fall for men, hoping to change them, but they remain the same.
That’s the problem with Prince Charming – he doesn’t exist. Neither does “The Perfect Man,” “My Hero,” or “The One.” We all know this, but we tend to forget, every time someone makes us feel good about feeling good about being with them. Who can blame you? Who can blame any of us? If being in love is as good as we all know it to be, then maybe it just shouldn’t be so easy to find.
Before I completely dampen your parade, allow me to let you in on a dirty little secret about the average man that women seem to feel is so necessary to their happiness: We’re different from you when it comes to just about everything – except this. We actually want the same thing, more or less… But much like you’ve been trained since birth to believe, we’ve been trained since then not to believe. It’s as if we’re fighting the same battle, but from opposite sides of the wall. Just don’t tell anyone I told you.
