Love and Other Tragedies

(2013-2014)

A terrible thing happened one day: my therapist told me to get a life, to go on dates. I took umbrage with this. Did he not think I had been doing that very thing for the last decade while my friends snapped baby pictures and coached Little League games?

My friend Lena is the worst of these offenders. I was in her wedding to Deke 10 years ago, and she was the most beautiful bride I'd ever seen. I remember looking longingly at her in her big, white dress and thinking, "She looks like a snowman."

Lena, Deke, and their 3 offspring live in a 4-bedroom house in the suburbs now. She is a Juice Plus consultant which means that she has a fun hobby while she tends to the more serious business of raising children. Lena posts many adorable pictures on the internet. Not only do I have to look at her perfect blond brood, but now, thanks to Juice Plus, I also have to face regular images of the beautiful "Tower Garden" she's growing to teach the children healthy living. Even the produce is mocking me! It knows I can't grow beans.

I myself live in a one-bedroom apartment with my cat, Mocha, who my friend Nikki assures me is getting fatter every day. I cannot help this. I feed her 1/3 cup of cat food in the morning and another 1/3 in the evening. It is not my fault if she has a slow metabolism, although I spend considerable time worrying that I'm not exercising her enough. How do you exercise a cat? I don't know.

Aside from gaining weight, Mocha is also excellent at leaving tufts of fur everywhere. I tried using a Furminator to groom her, but that ended with both of us mad and even more fur on the floor. Eventually I gave up and took her to a groomer. I paid $70 to have my cat groomed. I'm becoming *that* person, the one who spends more money getting her cat groomed than herself. Maybe that is why the psychologist thinks I need to start dating more.

The idea of dating exhausts me. Gone is my youthful exuberance in getting dressed up and going out with different men every week in an effort to find the "right" one. Now the thought of wasting 2 hours on someone boring or pompous or just okay is merely annoying. Nonetheless, I was commanded to go on dates, so on dates I was determined to go.

Online dating has many pitfalls but perhaps the worst is that there is only so much you can tell about a person from a few pictures and a short profile. That is how I ended up on a date last week with a guy who was... intellectually disabled.

"Couldn't you tell!?" cried Nikki, when I relayed this information later. Nikki can afford to be judgy because she has been married for 8 years. Also, she has 7 cats and a big house. People like her with all their houses and cats make me sick.

"No, I could not tell," I responded defensively. "His emails just sounded like, 'Hi, E. What did you do today? I went running and then ate tacos.' And you know, some men just can't write."

"So what did you do when you realized he was slow?" Nikki asked, bemused.

I will tell you what I did. I sat there for an hour and a half and talked to him, while the guy at the next barstool over looked on in wonder. You can't just be rude and leave because someone is a bit handicapped. Think of his feelings!

That experience put me off of dating for almost a whole week. Then another man asked me out and I knew there was nothing for it but to get back in the saddle. Sigh. This time, I was determined to stay positive and try my best to be charming. Watch out, World. Also, I figured that since he was a doctor and had quoted an actual poet, it was unlikely that he, too, would be mentally handicapped.

So I put on my highest heels and ventured into a wine bar in the Central West End. It started out all right, I suppose. He told me all the languages he knew -- Italian, German, French, English, and Latin-- and then I had to guess where his second home was, based on his accent. Then he told me lots of stories about his family's yacht. You wouldn't think one family could have an hour's worth of yachting stories, but they did. Then he moved on to their vacation home in the French Riviera and all the 5-star hotels he'd stayed in during his motorcycle trip through the Swiss Alps. He tried to teach me about the Venetian carnival season, but my eyes glazed over somewhere around, "After I left my apartment in Monaco..." 

In my head, I calculated that if I had talked for 2 minutes about international education, then he had been talking for 1 hour and 53 minutes. Could anyone think himself that interesting? Even if he did own lots of homes in Europe?

When he took a breath -- and believe me, I'd been watching for it for 20 minutes -- I said I was having a bad reaction to my anti-fungal medication and bolted for the door.

There has to be an easier way to "Get a life! Go on dates!" and yet I know there isn’t. If there were, certainly I would have found it by now. So I keep going on these dates, convinced that for every dozen bad ones, there is one good one. I told my single friend Casey this when we were at the art museum pretending to be classy. Casey created a summer schedule for us that includes salsa dancing, wine tasting, evenings of jazz, and several cultural festivals. This is all courtesy of her belief that the more we expose ourselves to crowds of tasteful people, the more likely it will be that single, straight males will notice us. You have to admire her tenacity and vision.

When I told Casey my theory about one good date out of a dozen, she wanted to know what actual research this was based on. A Harvard study? A Gallup pole?

“It’s based on me going out on actual bad dates,” I explained.

Casey, to her credit, thought that this source of research was even better than the professional, scientific kind.

See, that's why you cultivate friendships over relationships.

Kevin Bacon.

Over the last 15 years, I’ve written about my many co-workers, friends, family members, and dates; and in all that time there has only been one person whose real name I used. If I were a psychologist, I’d probably find significance in the fact that he’s the only one to maintain his identity. But instead I’ll just give him a fake name now. We’ll call him Jay.

Here’s how we met: I was a new and embittered transfer to a Midwestern college in 2000. I’d had to leave Wheaton due to the fact that I couldn’t afford it, and I had no idea how to survive at a public university, having spent the last 13 years of my life in private schools. I literally didn’t eat for 3 days because I was convinced I’d be brutally attacked by barbarians if I ventured outside my dorm.

          I did, however, manage to start volunteering at a nearby organization that recruited college kids to be mentors for neighborhood youth. It was here that I met Jay. I remember very specifically that he was wearing a blue shirt, that he looked like a young Kevin Bacon, and that he had a glass eye.

I stared at him incredulously. Both his eyes looked so realistic! Those of you who know him will know that it is typical of Jay to do something like introduce himself to a new acquaintance by explaining that he has a glass eye – when in fact, both of his eyeballs are fully functioning. But I was young and naive so I fell for it.

          Eighteen years later when he asks, “When have I EVER lied to you!?” I testily bring up the glass eye.

          I met a lot of people at college but this person was different because he made me laugh. That’s why we became friends -- well, that’s why I picked him for a friend; I have no idea why he picked me. He is kind of a friend-magnet, so it was probably unavoidable.

Many years after graduation, we went on a date. I remember how odd it was; I actually asked a bartender for a strong adult beverage before Jay showed up (he doesn’t drink). Upon looking at the menu, I asked for a “chocolate cake” – clearly, this was before I knew that a “stiff drink” doesn’t normally involve the word cake. The chocolate cake did little to assuage my nerves -- You can’t just go on a date with your friend and expect it to be normal. Plus, Jay and I were both super awkward when it came to dating, being late bloomers and all, so this was a recipe for disaster. We never went on another one.

          It took us maybe seven years to even reference The Date, and in that time, all our friends got married. We both went out with a host of colorful people and occasionally compared war stories: the guy who started a commune to avoid marrying me; the LDS girl who was so conflicted she got with him to prove a point.The mutual acquaintance whose memory I'd blocked because the date was SO BAD; the girls he'd waited seven dates to kiss. 

And something became increasingly clear to me: we should have gone on a second date. And maybe a third one. In fact, there were many times when I almost said something to this effect. But I didn’t do it until recently. And do you know what he said?

          “It’s not that I made a decision not to go on a 2^nd date; other, nearer opportunities came up and now you’re anchored there and I’m anchored here.”

           I tell you, if that’s not the sweetest thing someone’s ever said to me, I don’t know what is!

Jay is a more practical person than me. Years ago, I started something a man who lived 900 miles away, in New York. And after that, with an Irish lad who lived 4,000 miles across the pond. I've never thought of distance as a factor. For me, if you "get" someone (which happens rarely, IMO) you just work out the rest! Jay, on the other hand, likes to be “free” and “spontaneous” and feels “tied down” when someone lives in a different city than him. In his world, it's a case of ships passing in the night and oh well.

This leads me to my final summation: I am sure that Jay and his other, closer opportunities, and his anchors will all be very happy together. This is what I imagine him looking like someday: free, happy, unfettered, and surrounded by snow.

(And because we are friends, he insists that I make you aware that THIS is Kevin Bacon at the Sundance Film Festival in Park Something-or-Other Utah, 2017)

Catfish and Gaslighting

Catfish. slang. A person who assumes a false identity or personality on the Internet, especially on social media websites, so as to deceive, manipulate, or swindle others (Random House Dictionary, 2016)

x

This is not going to be a funny post. This post is for all the women who have found themselves in dubious relationships.

Before I met Gigi, my experience with “catfish” was limited to convincing my students that the ones inside the hippopotamus exhibit at the zoo were not, in fact, the central attraction, nor were they there for us to imagine eating.

But then the 2000’s happened, internet dating exploded onto the scene and “catfish” became a verb. This happened after Nev Schulman told his story to the world through a documentary entitled "Catfish." Schulman chronicled the horrors of falling in love with a woman who wasn't even real. After 1,500 messages and several months, Nev and his brother unearth the truth. They discover that "Megan" is actually a middle aged married woman (with 15 fake profiles) pretending to be people that she isn't in order to escape the depressing reality of her own life. 

People found Nev's story so captivating that he got his own show on MTV, and now he gets to catch all sorts of catfish for others.

I didn't know anything about this until Gigi came along and explained it during our adventures in online dating a few years ago. But then I started seeing catfish everywhere. They have certain "tells," you see. Here are some of the common ones:

1.) They seem too good to be true -- too attractive, to altruistic, too wealthy, too talented... just too. Why? Because creating an online persona allows someone to be as much anything as they want to be. It's a world without limits.

2.) They restrict communication -- according to one social media blog, "If someone can only talk to you through chat or email and things ‘keep coming up’ that prevent them from using a phone or from you seeing them in person, there is probably something funny going on." 

According to Gigi's research, the most common excuses for why catfish don't "surface" in person include -- a car that breaks down, a house fire, a death in the family, or a hospital stay. They may keep recycling those excuses indefinitely.

3.) They have a job that requires frequent travel -- Often, a catfish will use the travel demands of his or her job to explain away lapses in communication or continued inability to surface in person.

4.) There is very little on their social media site - a lack of pictures, check-ins, posts, or updates isn't weird if someone doesn't have social media. But if they do have a Facebook page and it only includes a few pics from several years ago? Cause for concern.

5.) Their stories are outlandish - they seem made up because they are made up.

This was supposed to be a really funny post. Stratski told me that my experiences were hilarious. But nothing about what I've experienced in the last decade feels funny. On the contrary, I feel...bruised.

It all started in 2007, after I had broken up with Max, a man I was really serious about. I reneged on the contract for a house we had picked out together because I couldn't imagine living there without him. I put myself back on the market and met someone new on a Christian dating website. He had only a few pictures. In one, his face was obscured by a hat. In the other, by sunglasses. Nonetheless, he was really cute -- although he lived several hours away -- and we started emailing.

Only, he never wanted to meet. Or talk on the phone, although he texted and sent copious emails. Eventually, I met Nick on the same website and I focused on him because he asked me out in real life. 

But George never entirely disappeared. He'd go for months or a year, perhaps, without talking, and then he'd resurface. If you know my relationship with Nick, you know it went in fits and spurts, and in between times, George would contact me again, and then we'd talk...always via text, never voice-to-voice.

This went on for years, and I'm not sure why I let it. I guess I wanted to believe that this guy really was someone I could know one day. He seemed so respectful and like a person of character in his messages. He had lots of siblings. He had been a coach for many years. He went to church on Sundays and loved his mom.

George created a Facebook page, so we could keep up there. Looking back, I see that it is alarmingly sparse, but at the time, I reasoned that he hadn't even wanted to be on social media to start with, he'd just done it for me. In retrospect, I recognize that his name on Facebook wasn't even his real name. It was a pseudonym that had nothing to do with his actual name. He explained this by saying that a woman he'd dated 20 years ago had had a stalker and that taught him that you can just never be too careful. 

You probably think this story is going to take a dark turn, but in reality, after 8 years of random texts, George happened to come to town and asked if I would like to meet in person. And -- wonder of wonders -- he actually was a celebrity doppelganger. We really hit it off, and he asked if I wanted to meet up halfway between our two cities in a few weeks. I said yes. 

We had an amazing time, but there was an oddity: George wanted to continue texting. I could never reach him via phone. He explained this by listing a host of reasons for his reticence: he traveled a lot for work, he was always making sales calls in the car, he hated talking on the phone... It got to the point where I would try to reach him, and he'd list excuse after excuse: I'm meeting clients for drinks, I'm at the hospital with a brother-in-law, I'm hosting people from church... 

For ten years, George couldn't talk on the phone.

I guess a part of me eventually wondered what was going on. I was hesitant. Wouldn't you be?

* Too good to be true? This is a really attractive guy, is in his late 40's, has never been married, has no children, loves kids. Check.

* Restricts communication to non-verbal messages? Even one time when I became dangerously depressed and told him I was afraid I was drowning in my own life, he wouldn't talk to me via phone, he suggested I call a friend. Check.

* Has a job that requires frequent travel?  He often used his travels as a reason for not wanting to talk on the phone. He said he talked on the phone so often in the car that he got tired of it. Check.

* Very sparse and impersonal social media page? No part of his real name is even referenced on Facebook. The few pictures he has are mostly of scenery. And he hasn't posted anything in six years, despite logging on pretty regularly. Check.

* Outlandish stories? His reasons for being single at this juncture include cancer and a stalker. Check.

Is it possible to be catfished by a real person? I am forced to consider that it is. When George invited me to his home 8 hours away for our fourth date, I was unsure, blog-world. There was something inside me that hesitated. He was mortally offended by my hesitation, even after I explained that I wasn't ready to take that step yet and would rather meet once again midway first. Call me crazy, but I was afraid to be alone in someone's home after 3 dates, 10 years, and almost zero phone contact.

He never forgave me for hesitating. He continued to send text after text after text, but declined to ever meet in person again.

Gaslighting -- 

verb (used with object), gaslighted or gaslit,gaslighting.

4.

to cause (a person) to doubt his or her sanity through the use of psychological manipulation (Random House Dictionary, 2017)

"Gaslighting" is a term that has come into recent prominence lately. It is a word used to describe the actions of a person who is seeking to control the reality of another person. For example -- a woman notices her husband comes home later and later and he seems quite distant. When she asks him about it, he blames her for being on his case all the time. Then he comes home smelling like perfume and he tells her she's crazy, that he accidentally walked too close to the "spritzer" at the mall when he was buying her a birthday gift. Then his wife notices lipstick on his collar and when she confronts him he tears up, telling her he thinks she's under too much stress, always suspecting him of cheating when God knows the long hours he puts in at work to take care of their family and is it his fault if some lady accidentally bumped into him on the subway??!

That's gaslighting. The man undermines his wife's instincts and experiences by making her believe her judgment is lacking.

It's easy to overlook a sparse social media page, a reticence for phone conversation, an unwillingness to meet in person when those things happen over the course of years. And it's easy to accept someone's reasons for why they want to continue texting but can't see you again... until you realize you've suggested it SEVEN times recently and their excuses have ranged from "I have a big thing for work" to "there's a lot going on" to "a friend just died." You don't notice it until you count up the suggestions you've made and see all 7 of them staring you in the face.

And when they turn it around on you and say, "Well, I don't think you really want to see me" -- despite the 7 invitations -- you blame yourself, you blame your initial hesitation, and you believe that things are really your fault. You believe that you didn't have a right to be uncertain about that date 8 hours away, in someone else's home. 

If somewhere along the way, you wake up and realize that you don't actually know this person at all; if somehow you recall that several women you know have unwittingly entered into long-term relationships with married men leading a double-life; if somehow through all of this a little glimmer of the concern from your friends ekes through to you... then you stop responding to texts from your catfishing gaslighter. And it's okay. Until months later, when he pops back up to check in on you -- via text of course -- and ask how your job is going and tell you all about the wonderful things God is doing at his church, and send you a picture of a new bookstore that reminded him of you.

This was meant to be a funny, wistful post about how I spent 10 years of my life being catfished by a non-catfish. But it's not funny at all. It's just fishy.

I didn't write this post for a very long time because I believed George was who he said he was, and that it was my fault for demanding too much. It was my fault for wanting to hear his voice and my fault for hesitating after the 3rd date. But I am now forced to face facts: this is a person who has maintained the facade of a relationship with me for 10 years, while simultaneously refusing to actually talk to me and declining to see me on many occasions. I still believe George is who he claims to be; but unfortunately, I can no longer risk the off-chance that he's not.

Kiss Kiss

There is no gentle way that I know of to tell someone "Damn bro, you kiss real bad! What's that even about?"

This is a quote from an article I recently read. Which I looked up. After one of the worst kisses of my life.

It all started because I began dating this guy a few weeks ago. I didn't feel any chemistry, but I figured, he's the type of guy I would feel chemistry with if I didn't constantly have a voice in my head shouting, "FEEL THE CHEMISTRY!! DO IT!! FEEL IT NOW, DAMMIT!!!" So maybe I should give things a chance. After all, we had many things in common: oldest of four, grew up in very religious households, both love gardening, etc, etc.

I teach with a super salty Indian woman at school. Between the two of us and our withering sarcasm, 8th graders don't stand a chance. But recently Prisha looked at me askance and said, "I don't understand why you have to feel the chemistry? In India, we marry someone that is a good person and becomes our friend."

Really, feeling wildly attracted to someone is kind of an American construct. And let's face it, I've gone out with guys before that I have lots of chemistry with right from the start and that has gone horribly awry more often than not. Or I've gone out with someone who seems great but it takes them -- and I'm not even kidding you here -- two years to ask me out again, and then their car gets stolen or they have a bad month, or they just cannot make up their effing mind to actually follow-through with me. So why not go out with a genuinely decent person and see if something develops?

I mean really, what else am I doing? Organizing my sock drawer? Yes. That is literally exactly what I am doing.

This is all fine and good except for I have a tendency to self-sabatoge. A conversation with me goes like this:

Guy (we'll call him Ted Kennedy because Nugget and I decided this name was fitting): Hey, how was your day? Woah....you don't look so good. What is wrong?

Me: WHAT IS WRONG IS THAT WE LIVE IN TWO DIFFERENT WORLDS!!!! YOU ARE THE TYPE OF PERSON WHO WENT TO YALE AND HAS A PHD AND WHOSE DAD RUNS FOR GOVERNOR AND WHO DINES AT THE PLAZA AND GOES DANCING AT THE RITZ ON A REGULAR BASIS!! AND I AM A PERSON WHO WORKS AT THE PLAZA FOR TEN DOLLARS AN HOUR AND EATS CHINESE FOOD AND PLAYS SCRABBLE FOR FUN!!!

Ted: ...We don't have to go dancing at the Ritz. I drove all over the city to find you a Scrabble board today. We can play that instead.

Me: ......Oh..... Okay. Gosh, you're really nice.

My sister has taken to writing missives like this on her calendar:

"Text Lizard to make sure she doesn't sabotage date"

I'm not sure it's helping.

But I figured, okay. I'm terribly awkward in some ways. I didn't start dating until my mid-twenties (and neither did he, which makes us pretty perfect for each other). Sometimes I just have to really kiss someone and then after that everything is smooth sailing and the chemistry is just fine. Maybe that was the problem here. Too many awkward pecks goodnight when what was needed was something more drastic.

Well we tried the more drastic smooching last night and that was a legit disaster. A DISASTER, I TELL YOU! I literally almost started laughing my ass off because it was the most awkward experience in the history of kissing.

And because the most recent guy to cross my social media path was none other than Garrett, the last guy I'd really kissed, and also because this was something I didn't really feel like I could ask my brother about, I messaged Garrett: "I just had a terrible kissing experience. From a guy perspective, is there any coming back from this? What should I do?"

Garrett: Bad kisser means bad elsewhere. Is he a virgin?

Me: OMG. I have no idea, not everyone asks that on a second date like you do! GEEZ!

Garrett: Well, you're going to have to teach him then.

But later it occurred to me: maybe I'M the bad kisser!! Maybe he is perfectly normal and the reason I am not in a relationship is because I am actually terrible in the physical department!!! I contacted Garrett again for feedback, but he has not gotten back to me yet. I assume this is because he is out man-whoring around, which is something I am okay with now that we are not dating.

In any case, I decided to google "what to do if I'm dating a bad kisser." The information is really split, but the comments are fantastic. Observe:

I mean, people get worked up about dating a bad kisser! So like I said, the results of all my research were pretty inconclusive. Some people said chemistry and rhythm take time. Some people said ditch that guy immediately. Some people said never under any circumstances tell the person they're lacking in this area. Others were like this:

Still other sources said, "Listen, he's gotten this far in life kissing like this. Someone taught him that this is what she likes and he now thinks this is normal. You gotta fix that."

I don't know. Nugget says I should just be myself and say, "Dude. Stop tryna eat my face like it's a burrito."

I mean, I guess if that doesn't work (and I legit might try it, because at this point, what have I got to lose?) then maybe I'll go with this...

Risks

When you look back on the year that has just passed or forward to the year you are about to embark upon, there is a certain amount of risk analysis. Did I take enough of them? Were any of them counterproductive? Should I have taken this one instead of that one? Did I put myself out there?

In an effort to become a more social creature, the last several years have seen me taking increasing risks of the small variety.

For example, I went Speed Dating. I met Sasha there. We became great friends, although neither of us ever followed up with any of the guys we met.

Then one Sunday after brunch, Sasha and I went out looking for 4-leaf clovers, where we met Alex and Daniel. They were at loose ends, being new to the area, so we spent the next 16 hours introducing them to the city. Risky? Maybe. But tons of fun.

I also went to the extremely random holiday party of a guy I'd met at Parties in the Park. I brought Tricia, and that's where we met our new friend Ada.

Now, sometimes you put yourself out there and it's kind of a bust. Nancy and I did 12 Bars of Charity last month and it was lame. We didn't meet many new people and it wasn't high-energy at all. Bust.

But sometimes it's a matter of continuing to expose yourself to new situations and just laughing at what befalls you. For example, when you sign up for online dating. Maybe you don't respond to an email from a man, so he decides to get aggressive, like this:

And you just get so angry! Because you took a risk and this, THIS is what the universe has sent you! 

Online dating is a risk. But so is real life. Everything's a risk. Should I spend my savings on a trip to Europe, or does my roof really need to be repaired right now? Should I quit my job and move out of state (or country), or is the retirement plan here too good? Should I give things with that guy a chance or has he already proven he's a flight risk?

I remember a decade ago, Sam and Danny had broken up and Sam was determined to move forward with her life. "Things will be great in 2008!" was her mantra. And they were -- Sam and Danny are married with 3 kids and living in the Netherlands now.

They say that life is what you make it, right? The only thing you can control is your attitude. So yes, maybe there will be some busts. Maybe there will be some Opie13s this year. But there will also be some pretty great things:

* creating a monarch waystation in my garden

* walking all 13 miles of Manhattan to experience the changing neighborhoods

* finishing my double-Master's

* applying -- again -- for a fellowship to study abroad

* new sets of social adventures

* saying "yes" more often, even when I'm not sure

Nothing good rhymes with eighteen, so we'll keep the mantra simple this year: Embrace the unforeseen in 2018!

(And listen, if you're the person who has been obsessively stalking my blog, you better not download that picture. You creep me out.)