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

It appears my ex has decided upon a new hobby of sorts: randomly texting me.  Oh, but that isn't enough to justify a blog post.  Let's face it, exes frequent do the random texting thing (if they are on friendly post-relationship terms).  These random texts are apparently fishing for information.  Information on my personal life. If you're saying, "WTF?" to that, I concur. To set up these recent texts, first we must review.  While the ex and I were dating, there were two men in my life that he was irrationally and illogically jealous of, whether he would admit it or not.  One of them I did indeed have an intimate history with -- that would be the kid who made me a cougar.  The other is a good friend and colleague, and while I wouldn't turn him down (if you know what I mean) the opportunity has never presented itself.  That always mystified the ex, that this person hadn't tried to get me in bed, but to be honest, just because one guy wants to bed me does

No, I'm not back on Match yet.  Yes, I've been saying for what, a month? that I'll be going back on, but I haven't.  I have to agree with some people who believe that connections made in-person are better, and right now I'm just being patient. See, there are three guys in that awkward position of having me be interested in them at some level.  Two are very unlikely, but the third... who knows? Gentleman #1 and his chances are steadily decreasing.  He's a really nice guy, reasonably attractive, and since he's my newest neighbor, I have an idea of his employment/fiscal status.  And he's a divorcee with -- apparently -- two kids that he has joint custody of.  He and I are at the friendly, slightly chatty neighbor stage, which I rarely get to with any of my neighbors by my choice.  I've met his daughter, a cute little tow-headed bundle of energy who is fond of Disney princesses.  This evening, as I was sitting at my home desk finishing up a free-lanc

Over the past few months, I've certainly been vacillating about my dating life.  The pendulum swung between "I'm ready!" to "Who am I kidding?!" weekly if not daily.  Whether I chose to admit it or not, my brief but extremely intense relationship with my ex left me with a lot of baggage.  And what he didn't contribute to, my screwed up body chemistry thanks to the Depo added the rest. But now I can say with certainty that I am ready to go back out there!  How do I know that?  Three reasons. 1. I've been continuing to shrink and, as such, having to buy new clothes.  Usually my criteria for a new dress is: can it be worn to church or to teach in?  Many dresses can do both, and some are too nice to chase after Kindergartners in.  But in the past few weeks, I've come across dresses at amazing clearance prices that fall into the "total maneater date dress" category, and I've bought them thinking, "Now all I have to do is get a d

Just a quick post, more like an observation. In my last post, I didn't update all of you readers on what has happened to me physically over the past couple of months.  I had said in previous posts that I was losing weight, a combination of the ever-popular "Broken Heart Diet" and over-exercising as a numbing behavior.  Since then, I've brought the exercise under better control, but my teaching schedule at the gym has increased because it is summer.  I've also leveled out the eating, thanks to the "My Fitness Pal" app. The result, as of today?  Around 30 pounds lost since the ex cut me loose.  (My total weight loss over 3.75 years is now just shy of 110 pounds.) With the weight loss, I have been going through periodic closet purges.  The experts all agree that when your clothes get too big, you should get rid of them rather than keep them.  That way, if you start to put weight back on, you are motivated to take it off rather than just pull out the o

Yes, I know.  It has been about 6 weeks or so since I've blogged.  It isn't because there hasn't been anything happening, it's just that what has been happening hasn't been related to my love life. When we left off, I'd posted about a brief sighting of the ex.  A few days later, I was the musician at L & T's wedding ceremony.  While there was a moment of panic for me there when, prior to the ceremony my friend L made a comment that I (mis)interpreted as the ex having reversed his decision to attend a different event that day, all in all it was a quiet day.  I was glad that L had freely commented to me at the rehearsal dinner that she knew how hard being part of a wedding was, given where I was at the time. So now to really catch everyone up.  May 10 was the last time I heard from the ex in any way, shape, or form.  Between May 10 and today, he received two emails from me -- both as part of a long list of recipients.  I didn't get a reply to eithe

It is rare that I feel like Daniel heading into the den of lions.  There are plenty of places in this city where I have memories of dates -- some good, some bad -- but they are just that, distant memories.  For example, although so far I've had no reason or need to, I could return to the Starbucks where P and I met with no problems. The neighborhood where the ex lives is a different matter.  Heck, that first week I practically lived at his apartment, spending almost every night there.  I can drive there in my sleep if need be.  So when last Thursday had me needing to return to that area, I was a bit anxious.  Many months ago, I agreed to sub a few Zumba classes for my friend L, and two of them are at the branch in the ex's neighborhood. Now when I say "neighborhood," let me clarify.  His apartment overlooks the gym parking lot and front door.  The two are separated by about 100 yards, if that.  The gym address is 11300, his apartment building is 11400.  If it wasn

Update is at the end. During spring and fall, I tend to spend a great deal of time sitting out on my balcony.  The busy freeway about a half mile away is just remote enough and sufficiently masked by homes to provide a gentle white noise, upon which are overlaid the chirping and squawking of birds and the rustle of tree leaves as either a fluffy squirrel or occasional breeze stirs them.  From here, I overlook a small grassy knoll-like area with 10 different trees of varying sizes.  I often sit out here in the mornings with my coffee, and again in the evenings with my dinner or something I am working on. This morning I have both coffee and project.  The project is me. About a decade ago, I was "in therapy," meaning, I had a good friend who happened to be a therapist who was willing to treat me "off the books" as long as the appropriate Consent to Treat paperwork was tucked in a file somewhere.  He was treating me for my depression, which wasn't all that bad

I just got home from my doctor's office having seen her for my one month follow-up for my happy drugs, a.k.a., the anti-crazy-train-thanks-to-the-Depo medications. Yeah, one month.  Happy anniversary. When it comes to the depression, I told her I'm about 80%.  I still have periods, episodes where things are pretty bad.  The irrational thoughts, knee-jerk reactions that make no logical sense, feelings of being overly paranoid (thinking what someone says or writes has an alternate agenda), and hypersensitivity mix with generally feeling blue and down for some rip-roaring fun times.  They are, at least, fewer and further between, and I can generally say that I recognize them when they happen and I am, so far, able to control my reactions to keep them reasonable. Then again, life doesn't always afford us the ability to walk away and take 20 minutes to reboot our brains and emotions.  I know on occasion I'm still walking a bit of an emotional tightrope.  Not the most e

In the last 10 minutes of my drive home today from subbing a restorative yoga class, my intent, or my need, to write this post did an almost 180.  I was going to make it a "well, I guess that's it" kind of post, a post about the fight going on inside me, and that maybe I really should completely cut off ties with the ex because, in my screwy brain I believed, "he clearly doesn't want to be friends."  Then, as I was climbing the stairs to my apartment, it hit me. I'm  the one who is not ready. I might think I am.  I might believe in my heart I am.  But, I am not. Here's what is going on.  I've been reading Dr. Brene Brown's book Daring Greatly.   Dr. Brown is a "shame and vulnerability" researcher, whose work is not only excellent but has been featured on two TED talks that have gone viral.  In essence, nothing great is ever accomplished without risks -- the risk to be vulnerable -- as long as boundaries are also in place.  By

Whether I care to admit it or not, I am definitely a child of the 80's.  One of the iconic cultural figures from that era was a character portrayed by Dana Carvey on Saturday Night Live.   Simply called, "The Church Lady," Carvey dressed up as the stereotypical prim and pious older lady at church and would interview show guests and "answer letters."  True to character, The Church Lady was always judging her guests for their moral impropriety (in her eyes) and to some of their statements she would simply say, "Well.  Now isn't that interesting." Moments later, she'd say her line that we still quote today, which is, "Could it be.... Saaaaaatan? " Today I'm not blogging about Satan.  I'm blogging about... well, isn't that interesting. As we all know, a wonderful friend of mine sent me four books to read to help me through this difficult time. When they arrived, I went into the project with that less-than-enthusiastic at

Shortly after I blogged this morning, my friend L called me.  She's the one who introduced me and the ex, and she is getting married in two weeks.  I am the musician for her wedding, playing both the ceremony and the British High Tea reception. The reason she called was because they'd gotten their final count in for guests.  They'd had a hard time keeping it under the number the chapel could actually seat, but in the end they ended up with some open seats.  So, they decided they would invite some of the friends who didn't make the first list, mostly because they were local and could celebrate with them any time. One of the people they want to invite is the ex.  However, and this was really quite sweet of them, they wanted to make sure that I would be okay with that.  Would having him there make me nervous or bother me?  Would it affect my ability to play or something like that?  Because if it would, they wouldn't invite him. I assured her that I would be just

It has now been just over three weeks.  Parts of my heart are on their way to being completely restored.  Other parts are still somewhat raw and ragged.  It seems a bit of a cruel irony that it is taking me considerably longer to get over the relationship than the relationship itself even lasted, but that is part of the price of love, I suppose. The well-intentioned advice from friends of all types continues to come in.  My closer friends are just checking up on me, asking with sincerity how I'm doing.  My answer is usually, "I'm hanging in there," or "I'm doing okay, I have good days and bad ones." Then there are my Tuesday Zumba ladies. Last Tuesday, I had a couple of them come to me with what they called "unsolicited advice."  And unsolicited it certainly was.  Their advice was essentially to be aloof, play hard to get, not be available, give him the impression that I was living a full and wonderfully active life without him, even if I

Apparently, I've been seeing too many "Star Wars" themed memes on Facebook... which is where that title came from. There are a lot of things I am very capable of nurturing.  My students at school.  My friendships.  My congregation.  My musical ensembles.  My cats.  Plants generally do not make the list.  My one real accomplishment in that arena is a pathos that I've had since 2000.  It was a gift from a couple of friends as encouragement for my upcoming Master's Recital Hearing, which I was quite stressed about.  It has survived 3 major moves, gone from 6' long tendrils to only 2 leaves, and is now back to about a dozen leaves and growing. Then again, pathos are one variety of plant that are practically impossible to kill. Last spring, I decided to decorate my balcony with several plants in pots.  I chose ones that supposedly thrived in shade, as my balcony gets very, very little sun.  During the course of the summer, which was exceptionally hot, and whe

Just a quick post to let you all know how I'm doing. The anti-depressants are successfully handling the crazy train side effects of the Depo.  They have put me in a place where I can feel "normal," and given my life right now, "normal" includes the to-be-expected feeling blue.  I really feel like I can now focus on grieving the ended relationship instead of just leveling myself out. To that end, he and I are still communicating, sort of.  He's being a bit stand-offish, and I can't blame him.  It turns out he is also being that way with our mutual friends.  L and I went to lunch a few days ago, and we agree it is a defense mechanism for him.  His heart has been hurt so many times, that it is understandable that when something like this happens, he will wall himself off.  It is taking an enormous amount of patience for me to just wait on God and wait on him, but so far I'm doing it. I have been told by trusted friends that my ... strategy, for la

I am a theater person.  Be it opera, musical theater, or simply a well-constructed concert, I love drama and the stage.  Intermissions occur for two main reasons: 1) the audience gets a break to stretch, decompress, use the facilities, get a drink, and check in with reality for a moment, and 2) the performers get a break to prepare themselves mentally and/or physically for the next act or scenes.  That may be a costume or makeup change, or a change of the set on the stage, or some combination of the two. It has been a full 7 days.  This time, one week ago, I was arriving at my friend's house, stunned and possibly even heartbroken, clutching a bottle of wine like it alone could save me and make what had happened just a couple hours before disappear like a bad dream.  Minutes after entering her home, I would receive the text message where the ex cut off communication.  Two hours later, I would have single-handedly consumed an entire bottle of margaritas on an essentially empty stom

I tend to be a voracious reader, but admittedly it is of a few select genres.  Give me a murder mystery, forensic thriller, and I will escape into that world, devouring the story at around 100 pages per hour.  Having a vivid imagination and the ability to connect deeply with fictional characters -- I'm not quite one of those people who cry at dog food commercials, but I'm pretty close -- books are a way for me to leave my real world and go visit an old friend or six. In spite of being a hopeless romantic, I'm not the biggest reader of romance novels.  I have a few on my rather stuffed bookshelf, down on the bottom below my extensive collection of Patricia Cornwell, Kathy Reichs, John Stafford, Dan Brown, Harry Potter, and many others.  I once read a Danielle Steel novel while on a gig; my homestay hosts had it on the shelf in their guest bungalow where I was staying.  One was enough for me. Non-fiction and self-help have held little interest for me.  I suppose the forme

As much as I love schedules and knowing plans, there are times where I just go with the flow.  Roll with it.  Be easy going and spontaneous.  My plans for this evening were just that: loose and changing.  And ultimately involved something I did NOT see coming. My original plans for tonight were to meet a friend at a local Italian restaurant for a drink and to chat.  She's recently made it through some major marital difficulties, and in addition to being a trusted friend and wonderful Christian woman, because of her trials and also because she found love later in life, she is a great "mentor" for me in many ways.  Well, around noon or so, she messaged me needing to cancel.  She's come down with a cold and she's supposed to run in a local race this weekend.  I told her to get better, and we'd find another time. My plans for tonight then became this: after teaching my two Thursday fitness classes, I'd go into church and finish up that which I needed to do

I have never denied that I am passive-aggressive.  I think it is a required trait of musicians, particularly singers.  We have an innate mastery of it, especially in rehearsal situations.  "Maestro, I noticed the tenors are singing that note long while the rest of us are singing it short... which do you want?" Of course, as I'm trying to control my desperation in wanting my ex back -- there, I said it plainly, I want him back, skeletons, scars, and all -- passive-aggressive techniques are about all I have at this time.  I'm not going to directly reach out to him just yet; we both need time.  I'm not going to text or email or show up at his home unannounced.  But I am carefully maintaining what tenuous ties I still have to him. The best tie I still have to him is LinkedIn.  Now, I've said before that I think that LinkedIn is the red-headed step-child to other social media, but it does have its advantages.  Until this morning, my involvement on LinkedIn was