Online Dating at 36 - The Good, the Bad, & WTH?

There's a pretty good chance I'll be taking a hiatus from this blog for a while.  No, I'm not dropping off the dating radar like I did a couple months ago, on the edge of disillusionment and burn-out from multiple bad dates and emails and the like.  This would be for a different reason. I started this blog initially as a way to chronicle the various dates I went on and the men I "met" through the site.  I envisioned this to be a series of humorous, snarky posts about the bad profiles, the cheesy pick-up lines in emails, the mediocre coffee or drink dates, with maybe a bright spot or two along the way.  Frankly, because of my history with men, I flat out expected my 6 month membership to Match to run its course without me finding anyone.  I'd struck out with a local online dating service in Houston, and again a decade later here in KC with eHarmony.  Why should Match be any different, thought ever-cynical me. Then I got a "wink" from P, which chan

Sonnambulexting (verb) 1. the act of sending text messages while asleep with no recollection of it in the morning.   Origins: totally made up by me about 2 hours ago. I did a Google search on "texting while asleep," wondering if there was an actual term for it.  No specific term popped up, but hundreds of news stories and medical studies did.  The short of it is that it is a "new" sleep disorder, and it is believed to be caused by stress among other things.  Go figure. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.  Let's back up to about 4:00 yesterday afternoon. It was a long day at school.  I hit the ground running and I never stopped.  Usually I have one or two classes that are "easy," but not yesterday.  All of my plan periods & breaks had me running around like crazy.  Topping that all off was that I was a little sleep-deprived because of the hour-long overnight sexting with P.  I had to stay late to make an appearance at the PTO school

...because sometimes, the universe gives you exactly what you wish for. As we all know, I'm overly analytical and have enough angst about my dating life to give some of those popular teen books a run for their money.  So when the texting conversations between me and P went away from the sexting and into normal territory, I was happy.  Maybe we could have an actual relationship, not just bed-buddies!  And then when that continued for several days, I gradually went from happy to concerned. Was he cooling off on me?  Was the second round not good enough for him, in spite of what he said?  Did he no longer find me physically desirable? Cue building panic, based on years of singledom and prior rejections after only a couple of fun nights. I was admittedly missing the sexting.  I was also missing, believe it or not, the 3:00 a.m. text messages.  Crazy as it is to be awakened in the middle of the night, I oddly find it comforting or flattering that when he wakes up in the middle of

Two days a week, I am in a classroom at a parochial (Catholic) school, teaching music to about 135 students aged Kindergarten through 8th grade.  And while my subject area is indeed music, I'm also teaching concepts related to math, English, history, and life lessons -- things like how to be friends, sharing, how we behave, saying you're sorry.  My classroom may be my domain, my kingdom to rule, but there are times where my students teach me.   Today was one of those days. It started with my first class, which is 7th grade.  What I didn't say about my coffee date with K was that as we were placing our order, there was a tween-aged girl ahead of us paying for her ice cream.  A tween-aged girl that I knew.  Because she was one of my students. Awkward. It wasn't the first time I've run into one of my students outside of the classroom, and when it happens, I'm usually regarded as an animal on a safari.  The idea that teachers shop, go to restaurants, and have

Good evening, friends!  Just a quick update since I haven't posted in a couple of days. First of all, I have not heard again from K.  Admittedly, I haven't emailed him, either.  While it's a little perplexing that I haven't heard from him since he seemed all into me and all that, since I'm not really interested in anything further with him it's okay that I haven't heard from him.  It keeps my life simpler. When it comes to P, that is moving along as it has been.  We've actually been able to go now several days with decent text conversations that have been ultimately devoid of sexting.  Crazy, I know!  And while I might be making a mountain out of a molehill ( me?! ) there have been a couple of texts from him where he's lifted the shield just a wee bit. See, he's not big on talking about himself, letting other people in.  He doesn't talk about his day other than general non-sequiturs like "It was a sh!tty day at work."  Again,

Right from the top, I'm going to admit that I am reflecting on this date through the slightly foggy eyes of one who is enamored with another guy.  The fact that both "first dates" were coffee & conversation gives me a sort of baseline to measure by, one that is easier than if the two "first dates" were different.  That said, here goes. On my way to meet K, I texted my good friend M.  "WHY am I going on this date that I don't want to go on?!"  I have lauded my fantastic friends before, and I continue to do so.  Her response: "Because you need to figure out if you're really as smitten with P as you think you are." Touche. In our conversation that followed, I told her I'd probably feel differently if I was at least a little bit twitterpated over K.  Again, her wisdom and perspective showed through as she told me when she first met her current boyfriend -- they've been dating over 3 years -- she wasn't twitterpated a

Admittedly, that's a lame post title, but I'm not feeling very witty at the moment.  It's just too early!  And for the moment, this will be just a brief post. I frequently re-read my blogs.  In many ways, this is like a journal for me, albeit a very public one.  Some friends know I'm not posting everything on this site, but for me what I do post is enough to help me remember where I was emotionally and mentally when I was writing.  Re-reading helps me maintain a more appropriate perspective on the whole situation, a sort of seeing the whole forest when each post is an individual tree. In my last post, I commented how P and I don't seem to have "normal" text conversations any more.  That actually changed yesterday.  I reached out to him seeking professional input.  Although it was "after hours" for most of the business world, chances are good he was still at work (not that being at work has prevented him from sending a suggestive text).  Our c

For some reason, I seem to have grown up hearing the colloquialism "s/he has the morals of a guppy."   I don't even know if that's a "real" saying.  On top of that, a guppy is a fish.  Can a fish even have morals?  And it's a guppy.   These are pretty much the lowest of the low fish.  Fish food for other bigger fish. Yet "the morals of a guppy" line was going through my head at about 4:30 this morning.  It was part of my internal dialogue as I was zipping back down I-35 on my way home.  The rest of the conversation included lines such as "Did I really just do that?" and "What in the heck did I just do?" After a 36+ hour period of texting silence from me, last night around 8:15 or so I sent P a text that was not racy, just friendly.  It was a "wow, I'm glad this long day is over, are you still alive" kind of text.  I finally got a reply shortly after midnight, wherein he told me he almost called me at 3 a.m

Four hours is how long it took K to reply. We're meeting for coffee on Saturday at 4:00. This feels particularly weird not just because of my complex and bizarre feelings for P, but because I feel like I just don't know K.  We've exchanged only a small handful of emails, no phone numbers (and I do not make the first move there).  Yes, I know this is why you go out on a date with someone, to get to know them.  Words are failing me today trying to describe why this date feels weirder than others.  I think part of it is because I don't feel like I want to know K, I'm not curious about him. I'm sure it's because my perspective is clouded by P.  And I do still feel like I'm slinking around on P, although I have no reason to believe he hasn't been out seeing other women (nor do I have a reason to believe he has ).  I feel a bit like I'm living that line from the Enrique Iglesias song "Baby, I Like It" where he says, "your boyfriend

Tonight in our somewhat usual Monday evening text conversation, I asked P if he would be available to come over to my place next weekend.  I want to cook for him; some would argue that cooking is my best non-musical talent.  It turns out that next weekend is his high school reunion, so he is not available as he will be out of town. Allow me to wax nostalgic and go off on a tangent for a moment.  One of the very first emails I ever got from him referenced this reunion, although not necessarily in a good way.  See, he'd just buried one of his high school classmates who died unexpectedly while overseas on a trip, and he mentioned that it was a cruel irony that their reunion was next month.  Yet that reference, reminding me of a long-ago email... ok, I'm a sappy mess, I admit it! But now having my weekend more open than I was hoping for, I bit the bullet.  I replied to K, first teasing him saying, "wow, you really want that coffee date, don't you?"  And then I sai

In many things, 3 out of 4 is a pretty good percentage.  Anyone playing baseball would love to go 3 for 4 at the plate, batting .750.  The typical basketball player would love to be shooting 75%, especially if we're talking 3 pointers. Sometimes, 3 out of 4 is only average.  Getting 3 out of 4 questions correct on an exam, for one.  Or, hearing about a new drug that 3 out of 4 doctors agree would be effective.  (For me, at least, that's sort of like 3 out of 4 doctors agreeing that you don't have cancer.  I believe the term I'm looking for is reasonable doubt .) And every now and then, 3 out of 4 is just pushy. So far, I've received 4 emails from Bachelor #7, K.  I've never had to wait more than 8 or 10 hours for a reply.  And 3 of his 4 emails have reiterated the point in no uncertain terms that he wants to go on a coffee date.  It is something that he is "really looking forward to." Hmmmm. I have to be frank.  I'm just not that into him

I've been spending part of my evening sitting on my balcony doing "research."  At least, that's what I call playing around on sites like Cosmopolitan.com, seeing what deep insights they have into men, sex, relationships, etc.  Good for a giggle, especially after a glass of Shiraz. The first "article" I checked out was something about what men want to see women wear in bed.  After going through the 12 slides, I concluded the answer was: pretty much anything goes.  Each answer included a quote from a guy, but there wasn't any statistical support or anything.  One of the slides was "a Derek Jeter jersey and nothing else."  Okay... what if your man isn't a Yankee's fan?  What if your man isn't into sports at all?  (That would be my current situation.)  Real helpful, Cosmo, real helpful!  Other suggestions: absolutely nothing (duh), boxers & a tank, corset & garters (soooo comfortable), a tight T, silky underwear, something of

With all due respect to The Clash, that phrase went through my head for a good 45 minutes or so tonight. Relationships are full of stereotypes.  This is nothing new or groundbreaking, I know.  Stereotypes have their roots somewhere.   Leave it to me to find a guy who goes against the stereotypes, or at least one in particular. "Which stereotype?" you ask.  The stereotype where, after sex, girls want to cuddle and guys just want to roll over and go to sleep, I reply. "Wait, sex?" you say. Um, yeah. So after a month or so of emailing, texting, a couple of dates, meeting his son, and sexting like rabbits (if rabbits could sext), the much anticipated booty call finally happened.  I laid out the cards of "find time for me soon."  "Soon" ended up being about 4 hours later. But I'm not here to blog about what happened between two consenting adults.  This is not a XXX rated blog, or even an X rated one.  We're male and female, and b

Before I actually introduce and begin to over-think and over-analyze bachelor #7, a couple of little things. First, you may be asking, "Who was Bachelor #6?"  In re-reading my blogs, I accidentally had two Bachelor #5's.  So our now famous (infamous?) P was really Bachelor #6.  But who's counting? And secondly, speaking of P, what about him?  Well, we've made it through our first communication misunderstanding with basically no detrimental effects.  A couple nights ago, I completely misinterpreted a text I'd gotten from him.  I was already in a mood, and not a good one, and I was already in a weird place emotionally and mentally about him.  In misinterpreting this text -- one of the dangers of written communication is that you can't always get the inflections -- I was convinced he was passive-aggressively dumping me, for lack of a better term.  At that point, I finally went back out on Match after saying I would for what, a week now?  I updated my p

My last couple of blog posts have probably raised a few eyebrows among some of my friends.  Even in 2012 America, there is still a fairly strong undercurrent that sex, or at least having frank and open discussions about sex between consenting adults, is strictly taboo.  Certainly I was raised that way; my dad is a fairly conservative Baptist minister and my mother a nurse who, until she married my father, only really understood the anatomical aspects of sex.  My "birds and bees" talk consisted of "when two people are married, they do certain things together" and I knew all about the correct anatomical names for every part.  Great, if I wanted to be a gynecologist.  For practical information about sex, I had to go elsewhere. For the most part, I've always been a "good girl."  I was raised conservative and I have worked for churches and other religious-affiliated organizations for the majority of my career to date.  So for me to talk openly on the blog

When I last blogged, I was waiting for a response to a sext I'd sent P.  Remember?  The "offer has been made, take it or leave it" racy pic? I got a response.  Boy, did I get a response.  And some interesting things to ruminate upon. It's pretty much impossible to be in one's mid-30s and not have some sort of baggage when it comes to relationships.  Some of my baggage is weirder than the average person.  Not many people take a self-identifying bisexual as their first lover.  Few sexually active adults are willing to be in a sexless "relationship" for almost 2 years.  There have been other guys, but when it comes to sex, while I have lots of book knowledge, I am an older model car with low mileage.  If you get what I mean. I am also a woman of words.  I prefer to write rather than talk.  Sexting is right up my alley; I can come across confident and knowledgeable even if I'm not.  There is also something "safe" about it, that whole &quo

Warning: this blog post contains adult language and material.  Consider it NSFW. I've said this, I've heard this from friends, I've read this in articles and on websites: men are rather simple.  So it shouldn't take a degree in neuropsychology to figure them out when it comes to dating.  It apparently takes the neuropsychology degree to figure me  out and why I've been so freaking dense. I've finally come enough to my senses to realize it's time to move on.  It's time to quit longing after P, wishing for him to text, wanting another date.  The signs have been there, but ever optimistic me chose to give more weight to the positive signs than the negative ones.  Because, if we're going to be honest -- and it's definitely time to be completely honest -- after the first date his mind and clear goal was pretty much on one thing: sex. Yes, there have been plenty of positive signs and perhaps I'm shifting too far into the "fuck you and th

I can rationalize just about anything.  That cute dress, those awesome shoes (especially the shoes), the extra 10 minutes of sleep, why I don't need to clean the kitchen just yet... you name it, I can probably come up with a very persuasive rationalization for my side.  Except, perhaps, when it comes to dating. It was my intention to leave P alone until he decided to reach out to me.  Then, I rationalized to myself that if by Saturday (tomorrow) I hadn't heard from him, a short little check-in text would be okay.  After all, at that point it would've been almost 3 full days.  When my friend M -- this being the girlfriend from MN -- got wind of this, well, she lovingly slapped me via text message. Which means after she reads this post, I'll really get slapped. However, no matter how experienced the advice giver is, and no matter how well-intentioned, if you aren't the one in the situation you don't have all the information.  Yes, M has met P, but she hasn&#

I have some really fantastic friends.  Really, I do.  I'm a very lucky girl. Tonight's blog post is being fueled by a rather large glass of what is affectionately known as "Three Buck Chuck" wine from Trader Joe's, imported from MN via my friends who were here last weekend.  (Yes, we have TJ's here in KC, but it's new and the lines are for-ever.)  Friends who, as it turned out, had a primary motive to come visit not to watch baseball, but to support their crazy dramatic friend in her bizarre twitterpation.  Hence why they also brought wine and chocolate. I am an emotional person.  I do often come across as very down-to-earth, organized, stable.  Inside, I'm often a hot mess, I just rarely let others see that.  So I'm very lucky to have friends who represent all that a girl who is a secret hot mess needs. In the past 24-36 or so hours, I have done an excellent job of pushing myself to the brink of creating "woe is me, I have a broken hear

I admit it: I am not always a very patient person.  I've said this before on this blog, too: when infatuated with someone, what is actually only a few hours feels like an eternity.  Also repeating, essentially, what I've said before: men and women have a difficult time communicating sometimes. The past couple of days have seen a decrease in the communication between me and P.  Unfortunately having spent part of Monday reading "advice" articles on Cosmopolitan.com, I should be getting ready to classify P as an "asshole," among other colorful titles.  Then again, it's Cosmo, for crying out loud.  Fortunately, I am surrounded by wiser women than me and I'm not necessarily chopped liver myself. Women are natural communicators.  Men are not.  Women want to talk, to text, to relate information.  We drop hints and crumbs, hoping our man will figure them out and ask us about our day.  Let's be honest here.  Very few men are really sensitive enough to