Meditation on productivity

What’s the first thing that springs to mind when you hear or see the word “productivity”?

Some people (my friends, who I unscientifically polled) think of work, workaholics, factories, grad school, software programs like MS Word, assembly lines, consultants out to make a buck, robots, drudgery, and exhaustion (or simply the subconscious thought that one is not being productive enough…ever).

For me, the term “productivity” is linked to business, academic, and creative output. When I teach, I am being productive. When I grade at Panera for four or five hours on my day off, I am being productive. When I am photographing images for my artistic development or gratis for a local non-profit or for money (portraiture), I am being productive. Even in purely personal terms, when I run errands, clean the bathroom, finish the laundry, change a blown fuse in my car…I am being what most people would accurately define and label as “productive” in a socially acceptable way.

Labels and definitions are on my mind lately because of what I have going with my Hard Salami. The longer we are together, the more I’m sensing external pressure to define or label what we have going. My students call him my “boyfriend,” although he is neither a boy nor my friend.

Personally, I dislike labels because once something is labeled, the label itself can impose change on a situation and not always for the better.

For instance, marriage. Once two people are “married,” they are obligated to love, cherish, and worry about, and take care of the other person…instead of just voluntarily wanting to and daily choosing to love, cherish, worry about, and care for the other person. “Obligation” and “marriage” go hand in hand down the aisle, through the garage and kitchen and into the bedroom, pervading every emotional and tangible aspect of life until (in my former marriage), the pressure of that obligation becomes too much for one person to handle. Then, snap. Done.

A life without labels seems more sensible (if a little less cleanly organized into comfortable compartments for everyone else to understand) because that way, without a clear-cut definition impressing its weight, the two people have more fluidity and flexibility to continually and voluntarily CHOOSE to be kind, be loving, be faithful, be engaged with the other person’s heart and mind. The relationship becomes more of a constantly fluctuating sea with protective sea walls, rather than the immoveable and inflexible sea wall itself.

It may seem silly, but semantics and precise terminology can be very powerful.

Back to “productivity.” If you, like me, also think of business-related situations or “getting stuff done” as the relevant and primary definition of being productive, then where does laying in bed for hours talking quietly, kissing, stroking hands and arms, and enjoying each other’s company fit in? Or gazing in awe at Picasso’s “Sunflowers” at a museum on a Saturday afternoon (not the replica – the original!)? Or daydreaming while your coffee gets cold? Or watching the ocean waves ripple, roll, and crash against the shoreline for two hours? Salami considers these activities to be “leisure time” instead of productive time, although he did make an observation that acknowledges how certain activities can be perceived as “productive,” depending on the situation and circumstance.

When did we lose our ability to consider the whimsical, the soft and romantic, the creative and the quiet activities that should bring our lives such joy and relief as productive pastimes? When did these slow-paced activities become a “waste of time” rather than “essential” to productivity?

I found myself saying, “This isn’t very productive” while Salami and I were laying in bed chattering away Saturday morning side by side, with an 80-pound pit bull (who thinks he is a nine-pound cat) leaning heavily against my leg with his head on my foot. We paused now and then to exchange a giggle, a kiss, or a hug and a smile. The moment I said it, I felt funny, like I was betraying my true self.

These are the moments that we remember, the ones that make up the sum of our lives and experiences. Our lives are not widgets. And here, I just diminished the import of this moment by labeling it “unproductive.” Fortunately, Salami immediately countered me by saying, “It’s romantically productive,” and then leaned in for a kiss.

Situationally and contextually, what is considered “productive” can change, but I would venture to suggest that most of us would not label these slower, softer moments of discovery and romance to be “productive” – certainly not in the widget-making way of capitalist-consumer society – and even in the circumstance of developing a deeper connection within a relationship.

However, I find myself wanted to have more of these unconventionally productive moments than less. Does this label me as lazy? I’ve been pushing and working hard – certainly more than 40 hours a week – for over a decade. And I’m tired.

I told Salami this weekend over sushi that I’m at a point now where I WANT to privilege my personal life over my professional. I’ve worked very hard to get where I am, I used to make decisions that would help my professional productivity but probably hurt my personal life, and now I’m ready to slow down a bit and just enjoy my life and every opportunity to  be as “romantically productive” as possible. Life is too short not to do so.

Thinking of it in a more pragmatic way, we get about 70 summers, 70 springs, 70 autumns, and 70 winters on average. I’m 40 years old. That means I have 30 springs, 30 summers, 30 autumns, and 30 winters left if I’m lucky (hopefully a few more, but this number is just more realistic).

I intend for these seasons to be personally productive. And if business, academic, and creative productivity come along, well that’s swell. But my priorities have shifted, especially now that I’ve met someone so wonderful and special and with whom I enjoy being relaxed and cozy in bed on a Saturday and Sunday morning. My first step has been to re-claim my weekends from the self-imposed grip of grading and other academic work.

In terms of being “productive” for these remaining 30-some years and seasons, I intend to make them count. Without labels and pre-definitions designed by a label-happy society if at all possible and for as long as possible. 🙂

The GPS made me do it

Driving into the city on Friday, I had to navigate two turnpike exchanges. My GPS seemed to be leading me in a circle (and here I thought this device would make my life easier), so I got frustrated, took an early exit, and ended up missing the necessary ticket for the second turnpike stretch, resulting in a $30 penalty for a section that should have cost $1.

Fast forward to Sunday night. Determined, I kissed my sweet Salami good-bye, turned on my GPS, and started faithfully following its lead around and through various neighborhoods (which was not the way it took me on the way in on Friday), ultimately landing outside an officepark and an on-ramp to the first of the two turnpikes that had no ticket booth. Not knowing the area, I didn’t know where to go and I was now about 10 miles from my honey’s home, and had made too many turns (and so was turned around).

I didn’t just do this again. I sat at the entrance to the on-ramp warning me that this westbound entrance was for “tagholders only!” I debated what to do. I didn’t just freaking do this AGAIN! Son of a….sigh.

I entered the turnpike, hoping the exchange where the turnpikes change numbers would have a toll booth like the one did on Friday so I could explain my mistake, gather my penalty, and pick up a ticket for the second leg of the drive.

No such luck. The first turnpike led seamlessly into the second, no stopping. Fantastic.

An hour later, I pulled off my exit and told the grandfatherly attendant this was the second time this weekend I had managed to make this mistake.

He took pity on me and gave me my once-in-a-lifetime-free-pass-for people-who-can’t-seem-to-figure-out-the-damn-turnpike-system to avoid the $30 full-price charge. And made me pay the correct toll of $3.25.  I gave him a five dollar bill and thanked him profusely, shaking my head at myself for having done this genius thing TWICE in one weekend. (I called Salami to tell him I made it home and to relate my twice-in-one-weekend genius move and he also couldn’t believe it. He’s going to show me the easy way to get to the turnpike – and an entrance with a ticket booth – the next time I’m down there.)

I’m getting a goddamn EZ Pass. Because I will be going down there again. And based on the way things went this weekend – and the fact that Salami wants me to meet his parents and family for Easter dinner (oh yes, you read that correctly) – I will probably be making many trips to the city in the future. So I will invest in this $12 little microchip stick-on box for my windshield that will simply register my charge each time I blow through the EZ Pass lane. No more $30 penalties for this Educated Crouton.

:p Blargh.

I will update more specifically later, but here is I how I feel after this weekend, to give you a sense of where my head and heart are. 😉 Good night, friends!

Dream a Little Dream of Me

The Discovery Phase

That’s where Salami and I are currently – the “discovery phase” – also known as that limbo state between casual dating and serious relationship. But serious relationship seems to be where we are headed. And I’m not even scared! 🙂

First things first – I mentioned the moontime issue shortly after we got back to my place on Saturday afternoon and we were playfully making out (before going out for dinner) – as a “by the way, fyi” thing – and as predicted, he didn’t care. He did understand why I would be nervous about mentioning it, though, because he knows men who would be turned off by this fact. But my Salami is a trained biologist and unafraid of normal bodily functions (thank god). So I was worried for nothing. 😉

He also did something very “boyfriend-like” this weekend (but he is neither a boy nor my friend 😉 – he surprised me by showing up to my presentation at a local conference where I was slated to speak. Which was actually a good thing because he was one of three people in the audience and the one guy was on his laptop the entire time (oh, academic conferences, how you give me heartburn). This was seriously so sweet – not only did he show up unexpectedly (all he said Friday night was “no promises, but I might try to surprise you” and I honestly didn’t expect him because I knew he had stuff to do around his property), he listened attentively to my entire 40 minute talk AND understood what I said (smart guy…smart is so sexy).

The other “boyfriend-like” thing he did was writing his legislators about these abominable education budget cuts that might affect my job…he made a rational argument and didn’t bring me up, but when he texted me that he did finally write to them, he said, “Told them the cuts might potentially displace the best woman I have ever met.”

Oh my goodness. What a sweetheart. And he says things like this to my face as well – not constantly as that would be odd – but when we are laying together in each other’s arms, gazing fondly into each other’s eyes. He’s a big teddy bear despite his gruff and manly exterior. 🙂

He’s far from perfect (who wants perfect?), but I told him I feel/sense no red flags with him. I suppose I could have counted the MS or his penchant for large and potentially dangerous dogs or not wanting to marry again as red flags, but with all of his other qualities, these issues pale in comparison. He is so kind, considerate, generous, gentle, easy to talk to, fun to kiss (among other things), skilled in bed, and willing to try new things and share unknown experiences with me that even being a gun nut doesn’t turn me off.

Salami has a good soul.

Now, he did tell me something on Sunday (in honor of the discovery phase that we are in) that he was clearly concerned would completely turn me off, given my tolerant, liberal, and open-hearted nature…his father is racist. His words, not mine.

I told him that we are not our families, that my family is ALSO made up of some borderline racist/definitely prejudicial people who make assumptions about entire groups of people based on either their skin color or religions. So I know how to deal with such people because it is futile to try and change their minds – I just don’t engage and avoid conversations and subjects. I have been known to walk out of a room in mid-conversation when my uncle gets so offensive that my options are to walk away or jam a fork in his temple. Salami seemed a bit relieved when I told him all of this – I think he envisioned either me telling him to leave or a terrible argument when I meet his family. But it’s not my job to be the bigot police, especially when my man isn’t one (well, not really – but his experience with very tough and dangerous inner-city types has colored his attitude about certain people, but I did get him to stop using the word “alien” when talking about illegal immigrants. I argued that they are people and the term “alien” dehumanizes them and unless any of us understand their individual experiences, it is unfair to be so derogatory without cause. Surprisingly, he understood my point. I told him I can’t be with a racist. So I hope he isn’t one and just hiding it for my benefit. He really does seem open to considering new perspectives.)

Saturday we enjoyed a diner dinner and went to see The Lincoln Lawyer, which was really quite good. Salami is a good movie-watching partner – just enough hand-holding and snuggling to be comfortable, but not so much as to distract from the movie. We also shared a few whispered observations, but not many – we both actually engaged with the movie.

We didn’t get to sleep until 3 am. Mostly because we were talking. I love these early-on discovery talks when you’re just getting to really know each other, exchanging information and stories, sharing laughs and embarrassing moments in your personal histories.

After not nearly enough sleep (hello 8am), and some serious snuggling that led to some passionate morning love-making (neither of us is a first-thing-right-after-you-wake-up-morning-sex person…we both enjoy some lazy snuggling and talking – quite a bit, actually, which is just too adorable, I know). 🙂

Believe me, we are both asking each other if this is real and repeatedly telling each other how happy we are to have found each other. And we both agree that it is weird how natural this feels. Salami said Sunday morning, “It feels like we’ve done this for a long time.” And I knew exactly what he meant. I feel that, too. It’s as if we’ve leapt through some time warp and we’ve been together for a year, not weeks (six, to be exact). The comfort level that we share feels more like a stable, steady, relaxed, long-term relationship comfort than a brand-new, discovery-phase, six-week-old relationship that’s barely out of the dating zone. So although we both keep waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop, we are proceeding happily and cautiously.

Cautiously. We were wrapped in each other’s arms talking Saturday night and I told Salami, “I feel like I don’t need the walls with you.” He immediately and gently responded, “But they’re there anyway.” I laughed, said yes, and hugged him. He was very reassuring. He said he’s not going anywhere, he is my man and is in this for the long haul. He also knows that my trust will grow with time and he’s patient and willing to ride this out with me.

Sigh. I didn’t think I would ever meet anyone this wonderful and who so obviously cares for me. This is an entirely new feeling. This is not how it felt when I met my ex-husband when I was 21. But I think that’s because I was 21 and you are a very different person at 21 and at 40. This feels richer, more real, more stable, and more heart-filling, and yes, more romantic than anything I felt in my 20s.

Saturday morning as we were cuddled up, yawning, and waking up together, kissing and conversing, he said, “You are so good for me. You make me a better man.” And he turned my head so that he could say this while making eye contact – an indicator of seriousness. He knows my experience with men who jump the “love” gun (saying I love you on the second date – ick!) and men who seem to be into me and then yank the rug out (Bachelor #1), and he is tireless in reassuring me (only when it comes up) that he’s not those guys. At one point this weekend he said with a smile, “I don’t love you…yet” and that was very comforting to me.

No one can truly be in love after six weeks, although I’m definitely falling for him. It may well turn into love, but we both know the complexity of love and right now, we’re just in “discovery.” 😉

Salami also understands my hesitation to leap too far, too fast. He respects my need to take things slow on the emotional front.

I told him a few weeks ago that I’m not good expressing my emotions verbally, despite being a sophisticated speaker and writer – I’m better at writing my feelings than I am extemporaneously expounding on the spot about them. But Salami told me this weekend after I’d told him how I felt at various points that he thought I expressed my feelings just fine. (I think it’s because it is him and I’m starting to trust him – really trust him, beneath the surface. I didn’t tell him that. Not yet.)

This upcoming weekend should be a further test of our compatibility. I’m going to his place Friday night (meeting the dog and seeing his not-quite-finished interior – he said his joists are exposed, he owns two chairs in the living room, and his bed is in the basement on a concrete floor with area rugs – not nearly as “nice” as my place – he was worried about that, too). I don’t consider myself to be a materialistic person, although I do enjoy having a comfortable living space – we’ll see if his unfinished bachelor pad and big dog turn me off (at least he owns the property!).

But he’s got two different local places in mind for dinner Friday night and Saturday we are spending the entire day at the big art museum in the city. Sunday we’re driving to where his boat is docked so that he can do an inventory to figure out what he needs to buy and do before he launches…he asked me in a hesitant fashion if I’d be interested in going with him.

He didn’t think I’d really be interested, but I agreed because I AM interested – he adores the ocean and loves his boat, so I want to share in his passion. After all, he shared in one of mine Sunday – hiking. He went on a five-mile hike with me Sunday afternoon in my favorite nature preserve and was totally a good sport about it, despite it being longer and steeper than he anticipated. (I bought him dinner Sunday after the hike – I told him it was the least I could do after running him ragged up and down all those hills – he was appreciative and sweet. He’s used to paying for everything, but thanked me a couple of times for dinner. Such a gentleman.)

I know these updates lack a snarky edge and smack of gentle romance, but I can’t help it…I’m so happy! 😀

What is a gentleman?

A gentleman is always respectful to his lady, regardless of the situation or who might be around (or not).

A gentleman is trustworthy and doesn’t mind progressing as slowly as the woman wants, for her comfort is of utmost importance.

A gentleman listens to a woman, remembers what she says, and engages in all manner of conversation without judgment or derogatory comment whether he agrees with her or not.

A gentleman is always courteous, considerate, and caring, whether playing chess, cooking dinner, or enjoying sexual activities.

A gentleman plans ahead, pays for dinner, and carries enough cash to cover incidentals like taxis and cover charges and takes care of these things with no mention of it.

A gentleman is honest, especially when telling a woman how he feels.

A gentleman isn’t afraid to become vulnerable in romantic interactions.

A gentleman consistently expresses interest in his woman’s work, hobbies, passions, friends, and life, and then acts on those expressions (ie, not just talking about hiking, but actually going hiking; not just talking about playing chess, but actually bringing over a chess board and playing a game; not just talking about wine, but actually going on a five-winery, five-hour wine-tasting tour.)

A gentleman helps you over rough, rocky walks, rubs your lower back when it starts to hurt from standing too long, and brushes your hair out of the way so it doesn’t fall into your drink.

A gentleman is not a remnant from a dead age; gentlemen may be rare, but they exist and are walking amongst us. And I’m seeing one. 🙂

What a gentleman isn’t

You’ll never guess who texted me yesterday during my delightful weekend with Hard Salami. Go ahead, guess.

Those of you who have been following my adventures will likely be shaking your heads in disbelief because you figured out who I’m talking about.

Text #1 (March 20, 6:25pm): “Hi this is [Jalapeno] i hope u ok and i just want to apoligize to you for evrything i said you wr amazing with me and i care i wll care about you for a long time sorry

(My immediate thought…are you learning-impaired? Did you not get that I have no interest in communicating with you after your last insulting interaction via text with me? Go away!)

I ignored this text because I was at dinner with my Salami and two other people from the wine-tasting adventure, was having a wonderful time, and had already determined not to respond to Jalapeno since our last disastrous text exchange, no matter how pleading or insulting his future texts. So Salami and I continued our delightful evening and were making out on my sofa when my phone beeped.

Text #2 (March 20, 8:45pm): U don’t need to write back i m not specting that just let me know if u got mi mesage beautiful is important for me to know that u read mi worlds please

Honestly, this guy just doesn’t get it! So now I’m back to looking around the parking lot to see if I now have a stalker. Salami knows nothing about Jalapeno, but I have a feeling if I shared what’s going on, he may well let me borrow one of his guns. He cares about me – has said it and has shown it in a multitude of ways, which is so refreshing. He doesn’t want to hurt me and doesn’t like hearing about times in my past when I’ve been the target of any hurt…so I know he would not like to see this distressing persistence from Jalapeno. But I’m not saying anything.

Once again, I’m hopeful that Jalapeno just goes away and stops having these one-sided conversations with himself where he makes discoveries and decisions about me and then involves me after the fact.

Sigh.

I’m so happy I found the Salami, a real gentleman amongst men.

P.S. I have pulled my profile off the dating sites and canceled my subscriptions, which doesn’t mean I get my money back. It just means that new guys won’t be emailing me or winking at me even though my profiles will be “active” (but not visible) for two more weeks on one site and four more months on the other. Salami has also pulled his profiles – he was on four sites. So that’s a form of commitment, sort of. 😉 Certainly a commitment that we’re willing to move forward together – just us. Definitely a gentleman’s move.

In defense of the common

Exciting! Unique! Creative! Reflects the existence of an imagination! Proves presence of a decent job! These are my expectations for a first date. And frankly, a second date.

Because most of the men I’ve dated this year never make it past the second date, I’ve not had to contemplate too extensively what else I want, beyond good sex and intelligent conversation. The idea that I might meet someone who I’m deeply compatible with on multiple levels (without the “help” of E-Harmony, btw) didn’t really occur to me because all of the men on my salad  bar up to this point have caused me to question, doubt, and reflect upon who they are (and who I am) and what they want (and what I want) by the second date (even if they make it past that point – take Bachelor #1 and the Jalapeno as my prime examples).

Being taken to an expensive, hip restaurant, a hot dance club, a museum or a theatrical performance on a first (and even second) date demonstrates the effort and expense my date is willing to extend in order to impress me with his expectations, knowledge, and bank account. I truly appreciate and thoroughly enjoy these efforts, as well as the activities because this is courtship, and therefore, an expected part of the whole dating experience. If a man isn’t willing to do these things, we won’t be going out. At all.

However, my post today involves defending the common because of my experience yesterday with the Hard Salami. While I expect to intermittently continue these adventurous types of activities (and even more variety) as we progress, I have discovered the pure, sigh-inducing delight that accompanies the most banal and common activities with a man whose company you honestly enjoy to the extent that you’re bummed when he leaves and makes you look forward to the following weekend.

When I started this dating blog on Jan. 1 this year, I was as green as an unripe plantain. But I now find myself mellowing into a sweeter, more pliable version of my former self just two months ago. Why is this?

Well, at the risk of sounding as cheesy as one of those sugar-coated Hollywood romance movies I like to publicly mock, but secretly watch whenever they are on (and whose existence in my DVD collection further proves my hypocrisy), my change of attitude about what I expect from dating a man is the direct result of my continued association with the Hard Salami.

(Aside: The use of “continued association” is getting me teased mercilessly by Hard Salami because of its formality and sterility, something I realize that I deserve and it is funny to me that I’m so protective of myself and so aware of words that I chose this phrase in an email to him last week: “I look forward to our continued association, whatever that means.” As we laughed about my need to use this phrase at that point, I told him I thought it had the makings of a good inside joke. Ha.)

Yesterday, Salami drove his requisite hour and a half to meet me at 10:30am for my Humanist group meeting. While that might be out of the ordinary for you, consider (if you are a religious person) the equivalent would be if the man you were dating agreed to drive a long way to meet you for a church service – as common as anything in a given week. Salami even told me later if the speaker and his subject matter (he was a former cult member discussing cults and mind control) hadn’t been so interesting, he wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did.

After the meeting, we elected to go to lunch alone (instead of staying and dining with the group). Did we try a unique Kenyan restaurant (like we did last week)? Or a local Cuban bistro? Or a vegan café?

No. I drove us to a diner just outside the city.

You can’t get any more common than a diner when it comes to foodie experiences, but I absolutely love diners – their history, their kitsch and flare, their reliable home-cooked menu options, their…commonality. We both ordered gyro paninis because while we both love gyros, we didn’t really feel like bathing in them (as is par for the course with traditional gyros), so we opted for a cleaner and more streamlined version. It was delicious. And guaranteed that we both had equally strong onion breath, requiring some breath mints and gum in preparation for the kissing later. 😉

After lunch, I asked him if he would like to meet my cat and see my apartment, but not to get the wrong idea. He agreed and we stopped for about two minutes, where he met my cat, admired my dad’s paintings on my walls, and stroked my very unique river stone place mats, before we were on our way to my university, where I drove him around and we talked about the buildings, college education in general, and the attack on teachers in particular by many societal elements these days.

How banal. Driving around the location where you work. And having a conversation that reflects and responds to that environment. But it was so much fun. And helped us continue deepening our understanding of each other, despite our differences (for instance, he owns six guns of varying strengths and believes the world consists of enough dangers and dangerous people to be well-armed – he has a conceal carry permit, and I’m more of an idealistic peacenik who thinks guns solve nothing and the world is full of mostly good people, despite the fact that I understand gun safety and know how to shoot.). 🙂 What’s that saying about opposites attracting?…

After that, I gave Salami the option of a vineyard visit with wine tasting (there are nine to choose from in my area) or a visit to the wildlife sanctuary where I do volunteer editing, writing, and photography (and go to think, explore, and photograph for fun once the weather improves…it is one of my favorite local spots). He chose the sanctuary.

(Nothing overtly exciting or imaginative about this choice or our day so far.)

It was raining almost all day yesterday, so Salami used his giant, oversized umbrella for us to snuggle under as we walked to various locations in the sanctuary to look at the creek where the Sanctuary folks had removed a dam (he’s a water guy, so I figured he might be interested…he was). He pointed out what looked like the first crocuses of the season blooming, but upon closer examination, we agreed that those were not crocuses, but some other equally beautiful and tiny flowering plant. We stood kissing in the rain under his umbrella for quite awhile at three different spots on the path, including the section of preserved wetland at the farthest point. In between kissing sessions and walking down the path, we discussed the viability of building a house so close to the edge of a creek (prompted by our view of the neighbors’ houses abutting the creek across the way), and the importance of wetlands to flood prevention and general environmental health.

Returning to the car, we kissed some more and then talked more, revealing more of our individual backgrounds and experiences. More kissing, pretty hot stuff. The sexual tension is definitely increasing on both sides. At one point, I laughed mid-kiss, noticing the completely fogged-over windows in my car, and said, “See? What’d I tell you? Fire and water. We make steam.” We both shared a good laugh over that and then kissed some more. It’s pretty obvious that we want each other, but this whole taking it slow plan is nice because it allows knowledge and anticipation to grow. At one point, I was leaned into him, just sharing a long, warm hug while he stroked my hair, and I said, “I feel safe with you,” which prompted him to reiterate a former statement that he promises not to hurt me intentionally. We both recognize that in the course of a developing…scenario (?)…and over time, things just happen, but we are also both committed to being consistently delicate and honest with each other out of respect for our distinct and influential relationship histories.

Also, nothing is more common than making out in a car while the rain steadily falls, creating a soothing, relaxing vibe as the light gives way to darkness as time slowly progresses. The addition of the rain and waning light introduced a sense of romance, but making out in a car? Commonplace.

We returned to the scene of the Humanist meeting for dinner (meetings are held at a very good local brewpub). And although he had an hour and a half drive and had to work early this morning, we enjoyed dinner, conversation, two beers apiece, and then sat in his truck until 11:15pm looking over some photos that he’d brought for me to see (of his former beloved dog who is now enshrined forevermore in a tattoo on his leg, his current dog, his best friends, his boat, and his many fishing adventures). He wanted me to see more of his life, since his life is not an open book on Facebook (unlike mine). I appreciated the gesture and information.

I admit, I am pleasantly blind. I also admit that I am falling for this guy. In a serious, but steady and progressive way, as opposed to a lust-eyed impulsive reaction. I have no idea where this is going. But I’m really enjoying the journey. And he is already planning our date for Saturday.

Interestingly, I told him that if he couldn’t think of anything, I would be happy to cook dinner for him if he wanted to come over on Saturday. And yes, this is my invitation to move things into the overtly sexual territory. Much to his credit and in honor of our agreed-upon strategy of taking it slow, he suggested today that we go to the flower show in the big city (something he really doesn’t like because it clogs traffic and the train with tourists, but something he knows that I want to do because of how often I mentioned it this week) followed by exploration (on foot, which means sensible shoes for this girl!) and dim sum in Chinatown, not exactly a common experience.

While I am glad that we will share this upcoming less conventional experience on Saturday, I also maintain my new-found appreciation of the common.  Slowing down the pace of excitement and activity allows for more fervent and heartfelt exploration of each other’s thoughts, expectations, fears, and attitudes as we both have only each other to deal with, sans any distractions. After all, this isn’t a race and neither of us is in any hurry. The slower and more steadily we proceed, the greater the chance that we will both win. And isn’t that the goal?

(I feel an Oprah moment coming on…)

Better to enjoy the journey than rush to finish it. 😉

And the truth comes out (in Two Part Disharmony)

Grab some coffee or tea or your favorite beverage and settle in. Storytime.

Before I get to the pleasant part of this story, which involves Bachelor #11 (now known hereafter as The Hard Salami because he is more savory than spicy, somewhat set in his ways on the surface, but malleable inside once he opens up, and complements almost any vegetable), three very strong and unusual drinks, a lot of honest conversation and laughter, and a general positive meeting of the minds, let me thrill you with the continuing saga of the jalapeno, who texted me last night while I was preparing to leave for my date with the Hard Salami.

Part One: The Lingering Jalapeno

Let me preface this by saying that the jalapeno is either seriously mentally imbalanced (as in, needing medication off-balance), a cold, lying bastard who pretended to be otherwise just so he could bed me, or is so hurt by my rejection that he is lashing out in any way he can muster. The first text at 6pm merely asked when I would be able to return the movie he left here. I apologized for forgetting about it this week, said I would try to drop it off in his door today (Sunday), but after the proceeding texts came in, I’m mailing the sucker because I don’t want to go anywhere near his place.

At 6:31, my phone buzzed. I thought it was the Hard Salami. Wrong. Jalapeno again. But this time, he wanted something else:

6:31pm: “Have to tell you, [Educated Crouton], that I have never met anybody like you and I always going to like you no matter what.”

6:35pm: “I don’t want other women. I’m going to go back just to date. If not you, I don’t want nobody else.”

I was on the road, so ignored it. Besides, what the hell do you say to that?!

6:59pm: “I just wish to make love to you one more time before we said goodbye, that’s all.”

I was watching my GPS and driving in traffic, so this got ignored as well. I already said goodbye. Sans sex.

7:10PM: “We are 2 adults and that’s the last thing I want from you so I can live in peace, make love to you one more time babe.”

I was looking for the parking garage and driving around the block, so was just annoyed at this line of texting, so adamantly ignored it. Besides, what a selfish bastard – what about what I want? And I clearly don’t want him – hence me breaking it off. Duh. What part of NO doesn’t sound like NO, genius?

7:19pm: “At least think about it. Please, I need to have that last night with you babe, please”

I didn’t even get this one until 3am when I got home and was changing into my pajamas, but that’s not the only text awaiting me.

11:29pm: “[Educated Crouton] I like you a lot and I love this country too, but what a joke of an american you are. Phd and no character wao (his version of wow)”

I actually laughed right out loud when I read that and contemplated just going to sleep. But I couldn’t resist.

3:01am (Me to jalapeno): “The answer is no. How sad that you think I have no character because I won’t have sex with you after we stopped seeing each other.”

And really, of all the ways I could have reacted, this is the mildest and most diplomatic. He does know where I live, after all.

I went to sleep and woke at 9:30 this morning to find six text messages. Oh please, oh please, let them not be from jalapeno, I thought, touching my touch screen. Whew. Only three were from him. The other three were from the Hard Salami. And actually, both were just long messages divided into three easily deliverable chunks by the cell service provider. I had texted Bachelor #11 when I got home to tell him I made it, had a great time, and sweet dreams.

So to balance the obnoxious jalapeno texts, I got this message from my date last night:

“Yes, I’m home safe and sound, all tucked in. I 2 enjoyed being w/u. The miles be damned, I want 2 do it again! Ur smell is strong on the backs of my hands and is intoxicating 2 me. Very sweet scent u wear. Had a wonderful time. Thanks 4 granting me special “cute” dispensation 2 call u [shortened version of Educated Crouton]. I will only use it 4 special things…a respect thing u might call it. Look at me, I’m texting here! (He said doesn’t text. Heehee.) Have a great night lovely lady.”

Happy sigh. Enjoying the moment.

……..

Moment over. Back to the jalapeno.

7:19am: “lol what a joke, so many degrees sweetie i don’t want to have sex with you, i knew thist was coming that y i never stop dating in [online dating service]. what u think i will trust some one that have me as a rebound date? U were replaced before u make the decision I dit not trust you. rebound date thats a huge red flag for dating just for future reference lol”

At 9:22am, I sent the following response: “Thank you for confirming what I suspected about your character. Please do not contact me again.”

And hopefully, that is finally the end of the jalapeno. Let’s hope.

…..

As I was writing this post, my phone buzzed. Thinking it was the Hard Salami wishing me good morning, I happily touched the screen. Sigh.

Jalapeno again. As chipper as ever. And clearly determined to have the last word.

10:27am: “jajaja yes u know me what a joke u are im nobodys rebount now you know good bie” (Btw, this is a direct transcription – I usually cleaned up his texts for the sake of reader friendliness and clarity on here, but this is the level of English skill I was dealing with…remember what I said about me now fully embracing my writing snobbishness because of what language skills portend? Yeah.)

I have no idea what prompted him to ask me for post-dating sex, or what caused him to then deny it, backpedal and say the rest of those things, but it all just confirms that I made the right choice by ending it and not trusting the situation. And the little man can have the last text word because I’ve moved on, and quite happily so. (However, part of me wants to warn other single 40-something women in my area about this guy…not sure how to safely do that. But I wish my sisters the best of luck in dealing with this spoiled vegetable.)

I also hope that I don’t now have a stalker on my hands. I will be vigilant and on alert for a couple of weeks. Don’t think I’ll tell my already-worried mother about this little texting episode.

Part Two: Bachelor #11, or The Hard Salami proves his mettle

As I was parking my car, the Hard Salami called me and when I told him where I parked, he said he’d walk up and meet me in front of the garage (he had parked in the same one). We met on the very cold and windy sidewalk, did a sort of handshake, half hug greeting where he kissed me lightly on one cheek. Smiles all around. We walked to the restaurant and stood packed in like pad thai noodles in the tiny entranceway of the highly rated and popular Thai restaurant, waiting for the host to call one set of us reserved noodles to a table. I wormed my way to the front-ish area of the packed space and when the guy came back, I said, “Reservation” and my last name, since I’m the one who planned the evening (per salami’s request – he drove 1 1/2 hours to meet me, was unfamiliar with my small city, and wanted me to be comfortable with whatever we were going to do, which I thought was just fine even though I prefer to see how imaginative the gentlemen can be in setting that first date precedent).

I got the pad thai (I always like trying that dish in new Thai places because I love it and like to experience variations and know it’s safe); he got the wild boar. (Which was delicious, I tried a piece. And can I just say that I was super impressed by the unflinching adventurousness of his palate? But he’s had boar before. I’ve never had boar. But as this was a first date, I didn’t want to chance any digestive fireworks, so my adventurous palate took a backseat to practicality.)

Our conversation ranged from language and rhetoric to industrial waste management (our disparate work), from abortion and politics to Columbus and religion, from unions and work ethic to shark fishing and pets and nicknames. We joked about whether we would be having a fight because I am liberal and he is moderate/leaning right. But we both treated all subjects with a light and respectful hand, conceding points and understanding each other’s different perspectives.

By the end of dinner, he still hadn’t indicated that he wanted an exclusivity commitment from me by the end of the night, which I counted as a success. But before we left the restaurant, he did ask me what jalapeno and I had fought about (all I had told salami was that the guy I was giving a chance to picked a fight with me when I was sick, which was the wrong thing to do, and that’s why I had resumed communication with salami). I said I needed a drink and would tell him once we got to the jazz club (the Thai place was BYO, which we didn’t).

We left the restaurant in search of a cash machine because he only had credit cards and the garage where we both parked was a cash-only operation. He asked to hold my hand as we walked, to which I agreed. We found a machine in the business center of a nearby hotel, then walked hand in hand continuing our varied and interesting conversation back to parking garage.

We decided to drive to the jazz club in one vehicle – salami left it up to me, so I drove and he held the gps and navigated. It was really funny because we couldn’t find it. The place is a speakeasy-style establishment, so has no outward indication that it is a bar. We had to park and did locate it on foot, well-hidden sucker that it was. But we arrived to discover that we should have made a reservation (my bad) because they were full, so I left my name and cell number and we took the suggestion of the hostess to walk three blocks to a cool little martini bar to kill time until a table opened up.

This martini bar featured the first of three very strong drinks that I enjoyed last night – a S’mores martini with a rim of Fluffernutter and graham/chocolate bits. Dessert in a glass!! Salami got an imported beer. Conversation continued and we sat side by side at the bar with arms touching. The flirtatious aspect of dating emerged a bit more, but not into overkill territory. Just enough to indicate that we are both attracted to each other. At one point, he gently moved a piece of my hair as I leaned in to take a sip of my sticky, sweet drink, chuckling as he said this drink is going to get into my hair.

When my phone rang with an unknown number, I had a momentary flash of panic that it might be jalapeno calling to harass me, but it was just the speakeasy club hostess letting me know they had a table for two.

Let me just say that if you have a speakeasy style club in your town, TRY it! It was so much fun. Like stepping back in time. And the atmosphere was extremely conducive to conversation and romantic connection. Some couples were up dancing softly between the tables, many groups of friends were having philosophical conversations and laughter, and we continued our honest exploration of each other’s minds and expectations.

I told salami that jalapeno wanted to commit to exclusivity after the first date, something that I was exceedingly uncomfortable with and that he wouldn’t back down, so that led to many overly serious conversations that were inappropriate so early on in the dating phase. This also gave me the opportunity to honestly lay out my need for dating time before committing. And instead of balking, protesting, or otherwise finding fault, salami just nodded and agreed with me that committing too early without time to get to know each other doesn’t make any sense.

!!!

Ohmygoodness. A man who agrees with me on this point? Not only that, during this phase of the evening, we covered a lot of serious expectation territory about what we’re both looking for, etc. Although we certainly disagree on some surface issues (as evidenced by our restaurant conversation), we do have a similar mindset about some things that I consider to be of more importance. Namely neither of us wants to get married again. He says definitely not, I said the jury was still out, but I told him exactly what I’ve expressed on here – that marriage is a box and I don’t want to be put in a box, but that ideally being deeply in love makes it more liberating than boxing, but I haven’t yet met a man who has made me WANT to get married again, which is why I haven’t decided yet. He said that made sense.

Neither of us has children.  And neither of us wants children.  This is a big issue. So nice to find someone with whom I match on this second non-negotiable point. And he is the first man I’ve dated where we are in complete agreement on this.

Neither of us is religious. We didn’t really get into religion or spirituality, other than to indicate that both of us were raised in Christian religions, but neither of us is religious. And that’s good enough for me.

Both of us values “alone time,” but hope to find someone to share life’s adventures; I don’t want to be controlled, he has no interest in controlling anyone; he is fairly set in his ways, but is willing to try new things and get outside his comfortable life groove with the right partner, I’m seeking adventure, but am willing to settle into a comfortable groove with someone who can meet me halfway.

Both of us seem to know who we are  and are comfortable with our personalities and expectations and are fairly unwilling to bend to conform or change for someone else. We both want to find someone who can accept us just as we are. This is always easy in theory, but harder to accomplish in reality. A good desire, nonetheless, and a point on which it is pleasant to agree up front.

Bottom line, the Hard Salami was a perfect gentleman, paid for everything (and it was quite the pricey evening), held my hand more as the evening progressed, was honest and forthcoming about what he wants, was receptive to my ideas about dating over time before any serious decisions occur, and asked if he could kiss me goodnight before doing so (and yes, he’s a good kisser). The kissing itself was appropriate – just enough passion to indicate (again) a mutual attraction, but nothing so insistent that I fear being sexually pressed the next time we’re together. In the looks department, he’s pretty average and fairly cute, but his personality, humor, honesty and intelligence make him even more attractive to me.

All in all, a very successful first date and I have no negative feelings or red flags this morning as I relive the evening for your benefit. And I don’t think it’s because I missed something or wanted it to work too badly. I think it’s because we both seemed to be bluntly honest and that honesty was consistently met with agreement instead of resistance on both sides. That’s just so refreshing.

He knows it is his turn to plan something and I very much look forward to seeing what that will be.

🙂 I’m a happy crouton this morning.

On flash fires and the adjacent possible

The Flammability handbook for plastics states, “Extreme rapidity of flame propagation seems to be generally considered as characteristic of flash fire” (59). This is also how I would describe my short three-week failed* romance with the jalapeno, who has been returned as gently as possible back to the salad bar after the flash fire of our desire burned out.

* Not that failure is a bad thing. Sometimes, we must fail frequently in order to eventually succeed. 😉

That’s right. I broke the jalapeno’s heart today. Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t intentional that this conversation occur on this supposed “romantic” holiday, but I couldn’t bear to wait another day to tell him. He deserved to know and I’m a big fan of ripping the Band-Aid off fast.

He had a meeting at 10 am with advisers at the school where he plans to get his CDL license, so I didn’t want to call him before that. I had to leave for work at 11am, which I hoped was enough time for him to meet with people and be available to talk. I called him from my car.

The actual conversation was low-key and quick with me putting the blame all on myself (I’m just not ready for someone like you; you’ve done nothing wrong; I wish I would have met you six months to a year from now after I’m done exploring). He thanked me for being honest with him (which I wasn’t completely or in detail, but blaming myself is easier and less painful for the guy, and I’m a kind person, so there it is) and said he hopes that I don’t regret this decision later down the line.

The full truth is that if I felt I was with the right person for me AND it took place over time (months, not weeks), I do feel that I could comfortably settle into a relationship routine…but the jalapeno wasn’t the right one. And the fact that I’m playfully emailing a couple of guys right now on my two online dating sites tells me all I need to know about whether I will regret this decision or not.

We started hot and spicy, but the flame spread too wildly and fast, quickly got out of control, and our serious conversations completely drowned any remaining spark.

Which brings me to the theory of the adjacent possible. Without the experiences that I’ve been having and without the jalapeno in particular, I would not now have the knowledge about what I want (or at least a clearer idea of what and who I want) in a man and a potential relationship. The theory is cited in Steven Johnson’s Where Good Ideas Come From: The Natural History of Innovation, which I’m reading partially for my students and partially for fun (once an intellectual, always an intellectual). In fact, he has one entire chapter titled “The Adjacent Possible.”

Some key quotes:

“Good ideas. . . are, inevitably, constrained by the parts and skills that surround them” (28).

“The strange and beautiful truth about the adjacent possible is that its boundaries grow as you explore those boundaries” (31).

“The adjacent possible is as much about limits as it is about openings. . . the history of cultural progress is, almost without exception, a story of one door leading to another door, exploring the palace one room at a time” (36).

So what does this have to do with me, the Educated Crouton? Allow me to explain. I was reading this book on Friday night and Saturday morning, before seeing the jalapeno for the last time Saturday night (which I did not know would be the last time until Sunday morning after a good sleep).

When I came upon the chapter explaining the adjacent possible, two ideas collided in my head that would not have collided three weeks ago because neither idea existed yet – because I hadn’t had my three weeks of experience with the jalapeno yet. The ideas were: 1) Too serious, too fast makes me too uncomfortable; so much so, that I can’t get past it and 2) the idea of the adjacent possible. These two ideas combined in my brain thusly: This explains why I’m uncomfortable – jalapeno and I leapt beyond the adjacent possible – we skipped the middle room of dating for a period of months before landing at a place where these types of conversations naturally occur.

Essentially, we jumped the evolutionary timeline on the relationship scale. That’s why it didn’t fit. That’s why I felt so uneasy. I NEED the rooms in between. I need to explore the adjacent possible so that the discovery of relationship feelings occurs organically (if at all).

Back to the salad bar once more! 🙂

The Ideal Date

I’ve been asked by several men, “Who/what is your ideal man?” And I never know how to answer because I honestly don’t know until I see and experience him. Plus, idealism is overrated in dating. No one is perfect and to expect too much is to set yourself up for flat-out failure or perpetual disappointment as each man fails to live up to the “ideals” you have established in your mind.

While it is probably good to have a baseline (good conversationalist, respectful, fun, smart, good looking…and if you’re me, he must also love sushi) it is probably dangerous to expect too much beyond that and wiser to just go on the date and see what happens. That’s what I’ve been doing. And last night, that’s what I did with the sexy jalapeno. In my last post, I said that I was planning to ask him what he expects from a woman in his life. But that never came up. It will eventually, but I decided that last night was just about having fun and the serious conversation topics that arose did so in an organic fashion, effortlessly.

He arrived with six red roses, which went immediately into the refrigerator because I didn’t want to spend the time cutting them and putting them in water just then. He met my cat, got a look at my apartment’s main living space and seemed to like what he saw, and then escorted me to his Pathfinder, helping me around my neighbor’s car, which is parked at the end of my walk and surrounded by plowed snow banks (irritating, that).

(Btw, I bought thigh-high black stockings for my outfit last night and by the time I got into his vehicle, I already had two runners. I hate hosiery – it looks so good but is so hard to keep unsnagged. If only it wasn’t so sensitive!)

Conversation flowed easily as we drove to the Japanese restaurant and focused primarily on his choice of vehicle (4WD, older model, very reliable in ice and snow, which I really appreciated – and he likes the fact that I’m not negatively judgmental about his ride – apparently, some women are very picky about their man’s ride…odd thing to focus on), immigration issues (something very close to his heart – he has his green card, plus being a citizen of his home nation), and music. He’s a rock guy (Metallica, Iron Maiden, Nirvana, Green Day, White Stripes, etc.), but likes other types of music as well – at one point during the evening, we discussed classical because he will be my date next Saturday for a fellow faculty member’s piano recital. The music will be Rachmaninoff, which the jalapeno hasn’t heard before – he likes Chopin, Tchaikovsky, and Mozart. I explained that on a scale of pleasant harmonies, Chopin would be on the far right, with Tchaikovsky on the line to the left, Mozart in the middle, and the discordant Russian on the far left. He seems a bit concerned and curious, but very interested in experiencing this with me.

At the restaurant, we actually had a lively debate about religion. Remember how I said I was concerned about this? Well, I stood my ground, didn’t back down, and sparred with him. We ended up debating religion almost through the entire meal. And you know what he said? In addition to suggesting that I actually finish reading the entire bible (which I admitted I couldn’t get through – I read Genesis and then all the begetting and begatting started and I got bored and skipped to selections in the New Testament and Revelations – better stories!), he said this is one of the things he loves about me – my mind and how smart I am. I think it also drives him a little nuts that I won’t be swayed, but I’m a challenge to him and he seems to be intrigued by this. I’m fiesty and stubborn and I think he likes that – I don’t give in, I make him wait, and I disagree, something I don’t think he’s used to with women. (For instance, in his 30s when he was in Miami, he frequently had multiple women to dance with at the same club in the same night – and whom he could do whatever he wanted with…he has since decided that single lifestyle isn’t for him – it’s not fulfilling on any level and is exhausting – so he has been searching for the right woman…and he has decided that I’m the right woman.) 🙂

Once we got to the dance club, he led me to the back of the bar away from the speakers and dance floor so that we could sit, have a drink, and talk away from the crowd. Conversation continued and there isn’t anything I heard that concerned me. He seemed to really open up and share some things that he said he doesn’t usually share with women (like that bit about his crazy single days in Miami), but he feels comfortable sharing with me because I said that I don’t judge people based on their pasts, that I live in the now and am more concerned with how a man is with me today, not how he was before he met me.

At one point I told him about my wildchild days, dancing on bars and partying pretty hard in my 20s – he asked if I considered dancing with someone else cheating if I’m in a relationship. Because I was in a relationship with my now ex-husband in my 20s, pre-marriage. I responded that I used to tell guys to buzz off when they would approach me in clubs because although dancing isn’t having sex, and it’s not necessarily emotional cheating, it IS sensual and therefore, off-limits. He seemed to like that answer.

We traded stories, laughed together, and danced many times throughout the evening, fast and slow. After the last dance we shared, he paid me a great compliment. He said I can move, that I have rhythm for a white girl…apparently most white girls don’t move that well. This cracked me up.

He likes my flexibility with plans and easygoing nature, alongside my smarts and toughness. At one point he playfully asked if I wanted a sugar daddy, to which I laughed and said no. He said he’s never done that before, but he would be happy to do so for me. I said I take great pride in being able to provide for myself, but that I was flattered by the offer. He’s clearly smitten and willing to wait on sex until I’m ready – he went to great pains to express this to me so that I know his intentions with me are honorable and serious. I’m delighted by this.

Our evening ended at about 1:30 am when he came into my apartment and we snuggled on the sofa for a bit while listening to one of my Pandora stations through the TV. He likes to snuggle. And he’s so snuggly. Bonus! 😀

He left a little after two, even though I know he would have preferred to sleep here (even without sex, I know he just wants to be with me).

The sexy jalapeno is a good man, a respectful gentleman, a fantastic conversationalist, a passionate thinker with excellent dancing, kissing, and snuggling skills. He is fun and effortless to be with. I’m very much looking forward to our next date (which might be today – we’re tossing around the idea of seeing a movie later, because yes, he’s also a movie buff like me).

Swoon.

The Day-Old Crouton

Meeting Bachelor #10 for lunch a half hour away from my workplace seemed like a good idea when I agreed to do so. I’m not sorry that I went, but the meeting merely reinforced my desire for and enjoyment of my sweet and sexy jalapeno (who is taking me out for sushi and dancing Saturday night – our second date).

Before I proceed, you need to know that I am a teacher.

After teaching two classes (and having to kick students out for not being prepared – always disappointing, but I have high standards and this sets the precedent for the rest of the semester as the remaining students look at each other in shock and awe), I sped down the highway to arrive at the restaurant in the nearby city. Handily finding a parking space on a cross-street, I arrived at 11:30 – right on time. We had decided via email on the 11:30-11:45am range to meet. Bachelor #10 gave me his number, but I didn’t give him mine (because I knew going in I was just curious and not overly interested, just hoping to meet an interesting man and have a good lunch at one of my favorite local restaurants).

I sat on a bench inside the establishment’s front door and waited. 11:45 came and went. 11:50. 11:55. Noon. I wondered how long I should wait before I considered myself having been stood up. I decided on 12:15 as the cutoff time. At 12:05, Bachelor #10 walked in the door, looking every bit the harried and successful businessman that I suspected him to be. We were escorted to a booth, wherein the following exchange began…

Oh wait. No. There was no initial exchange because he immediately got on his phone and started talking to someone, probably his secretary, making arrangements for his upcoming trip to Thailand.

This call took about five minutes, during which time, the server came over and looked at me and I exchanged a look with him that said, “seriously?!” I had his sympathy. He retreated momentarily until the uber-busy exec finally ended his call and turned to me to ask, “So you went to a liberal college?”

I could tell by his accent that he wasn’t American-born, but given his looks, and not being an accent expert, I couldn’t discern exactly which country he hailed from.

“I went to a liberal arts college, yes.”

He shook his head, almost sadly. “But it was a LIBERAL college, correct?”

At this point, I was confused, wondering if there was some cultural/language/communication barrier that I crossed over when I walked in the door. My expression reflected my confusion, my brow somewhat knitted as I thought about how easy it was to talk to my jalapeno even though his accent is considerably thicker….

I responded, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you went to a liberal college and yes, got a liberal arts degree, and teach at a liberal school, but you are too young to be teaching.”

Now I was really confuzzled. WTF?!

I frowned and said, “I’m 4x years old. What do you mean, I’m too young to teach?!”

He smiled sadly and shook his head, as though he just felt sorry for my obvious ineptitude and inadequate grasp on reality as he responded, “I mean that you are young and have so much to offer, you should be doing something to contribute to society.”

……

I’ll give you a moment.

…..

Your face probably looks like mine did in that moment.

I still feel an instinctive vitriol rising up my throat as I typed that statement, the memory of hearing it flooding my emotional centers with bile.

I even told my 1:30pm students what he said and they were decidedly horrified.

Anywho. Based on this comment, Bachelor #10 will hereafter be known as “The Day-Old Crouton,” for his stale attitude, crusty statements, and general lack of appeal.

My response to his “contribute to society” statement was to physically recoil back into my seat, put my hand on the table and say, “Excuse me? You don’t think that teaching is contributing to society? Are you serious?!”

He’s lucky I didn’t slap him and walk out. But I was hungry. And morbidly curious about where this line of questioning was headed.

He proceeded to give me a ten-minute lecture on the virtues of business and how BUSINESS actually runs and benefits the world more than the public sector. That people in higher education have no perspective on what makes the world work, that his professors when he got his PhD in economics only had theories and had no practical applications or skills to teach him. The private sector works with but is not dependent on the public sector; in fact, the country would probably be better off without a socialist public sector unless it was run by businesses. The free market is where it’s at, don’tcha know?!?! And as we get older, by the way, we need to let go of our idealistic, liberal tendencies and become more crotchety and conservative in our thinking and actions.

I felt like I was being lectured by my dad (except that my dad is proud of my accomplishments and doesn’t insult them).

Ew.

Skeeva.

I smiled ever so mildly, nodded, and wondered how fast I could eat my spinach salad.

The Day-Old Crouton is also clearly used to getting his way, as he got frustrated reading the menu and just told the server to bring him a burger on a salad bed – not something on the menu. What a pain in the ass.

The remaining conversation wasn’t unbearable because we started talking about travel, as well as the art form that I practice. I also revealed my business background to him and he suddenly seemed relieved, as though I’d told him that yes, sir, your tumor IS operable and you will survive after all.

He’s been all over the world, owns two businesses (one with a plant in Shanghai), and is from Crete. Once I found that out, all I could think about was the Greek father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Well, that and I wondered if this is how older Greek men woo women? By insulting their intelligence, education, career, and giving lectures on the brilliance of conservative economics?

I noticed that he sent me an email last night, so I just opened it to find a nice note thanking me for lunch and about it being a pleasure to meet “such an attractive, fiesty, Irish” teacher, along with more words of advice, via his “patron saint,” Audrey Hepburn:

“For attractive lips, speak words of kindness. For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful hair, let a child run their fingers through it once each day. For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

“People, even more than things, have to be restored, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone. Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, and one for helping others.”

Do I really look like the kind of woman who requires or wants a lecture? I already have a father, thank you very much. And if things don’t work out with the jalapeno (who is my age), I will no longer be dating anyone 11 years my senior. Not even out of curiosity.

And so into the dustbin of my personal dating history goes The Day-Old Crouton and his odd, lecturing, pro-business, conservative ways.

The Sexy Jalapeno

Breaking up is uncomfortable to do, even when you aren’t heavily invested in the other person. I just got off the phone with Bachelor #8 (The Noble Beet). Here is what I said:

“I’ve been thinking about you and us for a few days and I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re in very different places emotionally (he’s more invested than I am and is more attracted to me than I am to him, but I would never say that because there’s no need) and you deserve to be with someone who is in the same place that you are and that’s just not me. I’m sorry about this because you are a great guy – positive attitude, fun to be with, very chivalrous. You’re a good man and I know you’ll find a woman who will appreciate all that you have to offer.”

Ok, so I tightened it up a bit to make it more concise for the sake of the post, but this is almost exactly what I said. Honest enough, diplomatic, apologetic. Mom says I need to be nice to leave a good impression (the opposite of what I did with Bachelor #1 when he crushed my desire. I’ve learned and grown.). He took it very well and said he had fun with me and if I wanted to still go out, he’d be game. I said no because I know it’s not going anywhere and that’s not fair to him. He got it then. I wished him the best of luck and then excused myself to make dip for tonight’s Steelers watching party. But first, I unfriended him on Facebook.

Note: I am done accepting friend requests from men that I am casually dating. No matter how much they beg, I’m not budging on this. Unless we are in a committed, semi-permanent relationship, no more new men will be viewing my Facebook life. Period. I am resolved.

And so the noble beet exits stage left.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon and evening at a blues bar (nothing like live blues to warm up a cold day and make a woman want to ruminate over her what she really wants). Here is what I wrote in my journal while the live blues music thumped my organs at about 2:30pm:

Why is ‘normal’ not enough for me? In physical looks, I don’t want a man to be prettier than me, but I do expect to find him attractive, manly, and sexually appealing. But what that means is independent of body type, hair, eye color, and height (mostly – I admit, I do like a tall guy). I will admit that “manly” men – taller than me, filled out and somewhat stocky are usually appealing. Add confidence, intelligence, and a good personality and that’s a powerful combination. But he might look like John Belushi, Keanu Reeves, or Tom Colicchio. Doesn’t matter. But I have discovered something about myself.

I expect more than “nice” and “normal.” What do I mean by that?

My age, experiences, and education have instilled in me the following desires:

1. I don’t want to be the most exciting, adventurous, and experienced person in the relationship. I don’t want to be the teacher, the mentor, the guide, the one who knows everything and has all of the answers. Instead, I do want to meet a man who is my intellectual equal, who knows more than I do about something (or several things) so that we can teach each other. I want to be excited. Surprised now and then.

2. I want a man who has more (and preferably different) travel experiences than me, who can share with me the places that he knows (that I don’t) and who has the means (time and money) to travel when schedules allow.

3. I want to be with a man who doesn’t talk about money. Who pays for the date and never brings up how expensive something is, or how strapped for cash he is. I make a good living, so yes, I do expect the man to make as good, if not better, a salary than myself. I’m not materialistic, but I do like to LIVE and live well.

At about 5pm, Bachelor #9 entered stage right. And will be known hereafter as “The Sexy Jalapeno.”

He took my breath away.

The attraction and desire I feel for him trumps what I felt for Bachelor #1 by a power of 5.

Not only is he a tall, dark, handsome, witty Dominican with a sultry accent who speaks four languages and has a very good job as a logistics manager for a local distribution company, he is a confident horseman who loves food (except Indian), movies, and knows how to merengue, salsa, and cook. He told me about his family (including his dad, who was apparently not very supportive), his about-to-turn 15 daughter (who is getting, by request, a $35,000 birthday party, to which he’s contributing $15,000), his work, his background, his immigration story, and the briefest of info on his two marriages. He plays baseball,  loves NYC, Gettysburg, and Santo Domingo, and has a sister and brother who are both in the area with their families. And I could tell from the way he held my hand, touched my waist and back, and kissed me that he will be an amazing lover. (One of my best friends told me that my life is becoming a Danielle Steele novel. I cannot disagree.)

To balance all of these wonderful attributes that seem to directly correspond to the discoveries I wrote about in my journal, here are some potential negatives:

1. He’s a Methodist. And a pretty devout believer. He’s reading the bible. For the second time. And has read the Koran and seems fairly knowledgeable about other world religions. At best, I’m agnostic. I’m a member of a humanist organization and believe more in evolution and the power of humans to help or hurt each other than in some great father overseer in the universe somewhere. But I don’t begrudge anyone their faith and can be quite tolerant, as long as I’m not asked to participate. This could be a problem down the line (for him, not me).

2. He likes exclusivity. Being as this was our first date, I admitted to seeing other men and he lightly suggested that I tell them what I originally told him (back when I thought the beet was worth pursuing) – that I’d met someone I’d like to give a chance to. I said, “Are you seeing other women?” He said no, that the last one he saw was a week ago. (that long ago, eh?) And she texted him at about 9:30pm to tell him she was going to bed…I said, see? She clearly likes you and doesn’t think anything is over. That’s a request for a bootie call. He fluffed it off, said he wasn’t interested in anyone who drinks as much as she does, then leaned over to kiss me. At the moment, I only have a tentative lunch date this week with Bachelor #10, the busy 51-year-old mechanical engineer with his PhD and who runs two companies (one with a branch in Shanghai). And really, I’m just going out of curiosity because 51 is a little high for me on the age scale. Also, I told the sexy jalapeno that I know from experience that I don’t want to screw this up by moving too fast – he says he “gets it,” really likes me, and felt something with me last night that he hasn’t felt in years. So here I am, with an amazing guy who wants to see me exclusively from the get-go (something I was hoping for, but never outwardly mentioned, with Bachelor #1) and I’m…hesitating?! Have I lost my mind? I honestly don’t know right from wrong in this instance. Jalapeno asked me to go with how I feel (and I’m the emotional reactor trying to be more logical now!) – and how I would feel if he was seeing three other women – and I said, well, I guess I wouldn’t like it, but that’s part of the game and I’m in no position to tell him NOT to do that. So now that I have a man who is willing to give me what I want upfront, why am I responding like, well, like Bachelor #1?!?!

Despite these potential potholes and confusions, once again, I’m cautiously optimistic. I really like this guy. We both felt something powerful and potentially special last night and neither of us want to ruin it. I just know that I will need extraordinary self-restraint with this man. He’s so sexy, and romantic, and fun to touch (face, chest, leg – nothing too drastic just yet!). (heehee) But I’m committed to waiting at least two weeks before succumbing to his sexual wiles. I really would like to get to know him a bit better. Really.

Wish me luck. 😉