Tag Archives: dating

Just Say Om

8 Aug

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When I sit down to write these things I usually know what they’re about and where they’re going before I type the first word. Tonight I’m not as sure. I have a lot of things I want to tell you…about my twisted love life, my yoga classes, my Sister Wives and The Compound, but I’m not getting my usual laser focus going so I’m just going to wing it. My apologies if reading it feels like dropping acid.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons in 37 years, some of which I’m just now starting to implement in my daily life. Some are simple, like eating ice cream on a really hot day makes me sick, and some are more nuanced, like what I want and need in my life and that I have a right to make those things clear and ask for them.

Things with the Irishman have been a bit dicey for the last week. We had a stupid tiff and he’s been a little on the standoffish side since. I brought him to a party on Saturday night at the home of one of the Sister Wives and he really enjoyed himself but I think he also got his first glimpse of Independent Lisa. Independent Lisa doesn’t babysit or cling to you…she drinks, and mingles, and meets other people, and laughs a lot. Independent Lisa had a great time at said party. It could well be that Independent Lisa is not the Irishman’s type.

Here’s the thing about his type…I don’t know what it is. I realized that I have no idea what he’s attracted to as far as I’m concerned. Kids, I’m built like the prow of a ship…if the prow was attached to a short, padded body with a sizable aft, and I’m pretty ok with that. As it turns out, neither my fore nor my aft are of interest to good ol’ James Joyce. I like to think I have a big personality and a good, if bawdy, sense of humor…and yet those characteristics seem as incomprehensible to him as Finnegan’s Wake. So what gives?

So here’s where it gets weird – just as I start to spiral a bit and berate myself about my smooshy midsection and the fact that I haven’t been to the gym in 2 months, The Hebrew Hammer reappears. I cannot say at present time (because I don’t know yet…I’m not holding out on you) what has sparked this renewal of his suit, but he has resurfaced full of praise of my multitudinous virtues. He is aware of my current involvement and has nicknamed the Irishman “Judgy O’Judgerson” for his habit of mild yet repeated critique. I know I need to address the fact that neither of our towns have been miraculously relocated closer to each other…but not just yet…because I’m confused…and cranky…and thinking too much about what everyone else thinks and wants and thinks of me.

So I went to yoga. Twice this week. Yoga is amazing for this sort of confusion and angst. No, it doesn’t solve anything. You don’t shake yourself up like a Magic 8 Ball for an hour and suddenly receive the right answer to the dilemmas of daily life. Here’s what it does do: it forces you to focus on yourself. To practice effectively you have to quiet the mind and focus on your body..its movements, its limitations, its strengths AND NOT JUDGE THEM. It takes all my concentration to breathe and not fall over. It takes all my patience and kindness to laugh and smile when I DO fall over. I can’t think about the Irishman and the Jew or my belly or what comes next. I just have to stay in the moment and contort and lift my body and breathe.

I like my body when I’m in class…it can do cool things and if I keep at it it will become conditioned to do more cool things. Yoga is moving me toward my weight loss and fitness goals and helping me gain the focus to tackle my personal and professional ones. If you haven’t taken a yoga class, I encourage you to give it a try for both the mind and body benefits. For those of you who feel like you’re too hardcore – have you tried lifting your body weight recently? How flexible are your hips and hamstrings? Give it a shot – you’ll find it’s quite the workout. Most studios offer small beginner packages to take it for a test drive. My studio, Verona Yoga has 3 classes for $30 for new students and two Absolute Beginner classes a week.

As always, I invite any and all comments, but I’d love to know what you do to get out of your own head, find your focus, or feel more comfortable in your own skin. Off to bed for me! Namaste.

The Luck of the Irish…Perhaps

23 Jul

Irish Big Love?So when I last wrote I was pining for a fellow of the Hebraic persuasion who felt that the schlepp through the deserts of South and Central New Jersey to reach me in the Northern Promised Land was far too difficult. Had Moses felt the same all of Biblical history would be re-written. And so it was in the life of this single gal. If I have learned one thing from this epic attempt to date – other than that I don’t really like being molested in parking lots by men who look like my gusband but are straight – it is that we (meaning me) cannot pin our hopes on impossible dreams and stories we made up after enjoying the fruit of the vine.

When it became clear that my gentleman caller was, in fact, sticking to his zip code where dating is concerned (marked by the arrival of a woman who I arbitrarily named Ethel), I moved on without many bumps and bruises…and met the Irishman. Besides having a smattering of Irish in my family tree, many of my favorite people wear the green including one of my Sister Wives (known for going “All Crazy Irish Girl”). For those not in the know, I am not a polygamist, and I promise to devote a post to my beloved Sister Wives and our dream of owning a compound in a later post. I loves me some Irish…and redheaded Irish…don’t get me started.

The Irishman is handsome. And age-appropriate. And an amazing father to his beautiful 16 year old daughter. He is sane, has a great job, lives a reasonable distance from me, and, did I mention handsome? He has a great sense of humor and, virtue of virtues, seems to enjoy me. I’ve been enjoying his company both on the phone and in person and had the great pleasure of meeting said beautiful daughter this weekend. Children are the measure of their parents and this girl was a wonder. She is sweet and funny and has none of the disturbing overly grown up qualities I see in many girls her age. We had a lovely dinner and I managed not to spill anything on myself or drool on her father.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself or put pressure on things, but I’ve been smiling a lot lately. The Irishman is generous with his praise and is quite clear that he finds me attractive, and yet…the sad fat kid voice keeps cutting through all the fiddles and fanfare. Although my weight is slowly wending its way down, I’ve become a little obsess-y. I hate my mid-section – where I store anything and everything I put in my pie hole. I find myself considering Insanity (which would kill me) and  CrossFit (which would kill me twice) to make it go away. The truth is that I still haven’t adjusted completely to my workday beginning at 8 instead of 9 and have been staying up too late as a result of the dating expedition to actually get up and work out in the morning.  I’ve missed yoga more than I’d like due to work stuff.

Here’s what I AM doing…I’m trying to relax and enjoy myself. I’m taking control of my eating by starting the day with a good, solid protein shake, drinking a Red Sea’s worth of water and decaf iced tea, and having a reasonable lunch and dinner. Most of all, I’m walking in the door of my apartment every night and immediately removing my pants. Pants-free evenings are not only comfortable, but also remind me that my rear end hasn’t met the back of my thighs yet and is still pretty damn hot.

I’m off to enjoy this delightful thunderstorm, the latest episode of The Closer, and some absolutely hysterical texts from the Irishman before I retire. Until next time, may the road rise up to meet you all.

Geographically Undesirable – An Almost Love Story

9 Jul

It’s been months since I’ve written and rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I haven’t fallen off the wagon or joined a cult…life just got in the way. There were family illnesses and weddings and a new job to start. There were relationships that ended, attempts to rekindle old relationships, and attempts to start new ones. This post is about two of those attempts. I bring this to you tonight, not only because I have love on the brain, but because when you’re not entirely (or even close to) satisfied with your weight or the shape of your body, it can create some ugly thoughts (ie: “I’ll never find anyone”) and major roadblocks to finding love.

About two years ago I was still participating in a relationship that had run its course and, when I least expected it I met someone new at work. He was funny and sexy and handsome and…well, a true man’s man. For some reason he found me attractive and, because we’re both decent people with morals and I was in a relationship, we kept our relationship to wild flirting. He gave me time to sort out my feelings, extract myself from the relationship, and check in with myself to make sure I was ready to jump into something else. His reassurance that I would get used to being treated well helped that happen fairly quickly.

Once we were free to be more involved I found myself in a very exciting, very charged, very undefined relationship. True to his word, he treated me well, was the consummate gentleman, and made me feel so appreciated for the first time in 5 years. Our time together was…highly charged…the attraction palpable. Until it wasn’t.

I could never bring myself to ask what he was thinking about our relationship, where it was going, whether it was exclusive, but I wondered about it. As I wondered he disappeared. Dates got cancelled – always with good reason – months went by with our only time together being through Facebook chat. When I suggested that maybe things had just died out between us he said it was just bad timing, that he was just plain busy. It was true. I knew it he WAS busy. But something else had happened – I had fallen in love with him…and I was WAY ahead of him.

He really was a mensch. He took me to my brother’s wedding, was amazing to my family, took care of me in every moment of need, but the truth was that we weren’t meeting each other’s needs. So I ended it…sort of. Even though I said the words and started dating someone else, I kept talking to him.

Fast forward to this Spring. In a moment of startling clarity, I realized that I had screwed everything up. When he and I were together I missed all the signs that he had really cared about me, worried the relationship out of existence. So I took a deep breath and asked him if he’d be willing to try again. He was.

We made two dates that didn’t happen. And then he became a father. 4 days before my birthday. And I didn’t know it was coming. I was heartbroken..chiefly because I never stopped loving him and I was feeling hopeful that the second time was a charm. I’ll spare you all the ins and outs of the situation, but he’s not a heartless bastard and we’ve talked our way through it. What I learned from this experience is that I have an ENORMOUS capacity for love. Whether it’s healthy for me or not, my desire to care for people and to show that love FAR overshadows other less happy feelings. He’s still one of the first people I call when things go wrong and I believe him when he tells me it’s all going to be ok. I still love him and probably always will.

Which brings me to my second tale and the title of this post. Having learned, as I did, that I have a great capacity for love, and knowing, as I do, that I want a relationship and, ultimately, a marriage, I decided to date again. Inspired by so many friends who have met husbands and boyfriends online, I set aside my trepidation and essential dislike of the medium, and wrote up my product description (profile, whatever), picked a few pictures, and put myself on the auction block.

While I could share horror stories with the best of ’em, within 3 days of entering myself into inventory, I received a message from a man with an amazing sense of humor, a quick wit, and the Semitic looks that this daughter of a Jewish father has always liked. We corresponded for 2 weeks before we actually met. Our emails and text messages were a source of endless amusement to both of us. We share a frame of reference and inherent geekiness that made me wonder if I had found the male version of myself. And then came the first date.

I worried that, despite having shared recent and accurate pictures and having told my new beau that I am, in fact, a big girl (though a recently 25 lb. lighter big girl), that he wouldn’t find me attractive. I sweated and fretted and changed my outfit about a million times. At last he arrived and…he was everything I hoped he’d be….and he liked me…and we were so incredibly attracted to each other. We had a fantastic, fun evening together and agreed that we wanted to see each other again.

I spent the next morning volunteering at a local triathlon as a human traffic cone, texting him, thinking about him, and smiling. The kicker is that my buddy from story #1 was also volunteering. It was great to see him. I missed him more seeing him…but I was also happy with the potential of this new relationship. So new guy and I continued to text and talk all day about how much we’d enjoyed the night before and couldn’t wait to see each other again…and then….

And then came the text message that said he was worried that it would be hard for us to date with an hour and change-worth of distance between us. I immediately thought that this wasn’t about distance but that he wasn’t all that interested. I picked up the phone and dialed – preferring to address it head on. We talked, he reassured me that I was everything he had expected, that he liked me, that he found me incredibly attractive, but that his adorably OCD self was truly concerned about how it was going to work.

We left it largely unresolved until the next day when his worry got the best of him – the idea of me traveling so far alone to see him bothered him too when I offered to do the bulk of the driving. I was perfect for him in all ways but one – I was geographically undesirable.

We’ve continued to talk daily. He sent his most recent message to me just an hour ago when heading to bed to say goodnight, that he still likes me, and that he’ll be thinking of me.

I’m a writer by trade and although I’m a marketer, I’m known for my creativity. I like the stories I make up about my own life. In the past two months I’ve made up some doozies. I reframe the events of my life to construct a storyline that doesn’t offend my delicate sensibilities…I ascribe motives to others that make the stories heartwarming and kind rather than catastrophic. I told my almost-beau that despite the distance and his OCD that he is literally everything I’m looking for – which is true…at least so far – and so I’ve made up a story about him that we’ve been acting out together. While initially the distance seemed insurmountable we continue to talk, and have bad dates with other people, and look far and wide to find our “one.” In not so very long, he realizes that he’s already met his…and she’s only an hour away. I let him in on it a bit today by telling him that I’m plotting to get him to fall madly in love with me.  He wrote back “You’re smart.”

Maybe this time I am.

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