Datehazard’s Blog

On dating, singleness and adjusting to being 30ish.

Filled with hope May 14, 2013

Filed under: breakups,Dating,Desire — datehazard @ 10:35 pm
Tags: , , ,

It’s 10:40 p.m., and I’m sitting in my living room, the muted sounds of a slow keyboard melody filtering through my ceiling. My neighbours are upstairs, crafting a quiet, repetitive tune.

It’s the perfect accompaniement to my pensive state. I just got off the phone after talking to Sparkling Eyes. I’d forgotten all about him until I ran across my post from 2009. And I was immediately transported to the magic of that evening; the way my breathing slowed when we spoke; the way that rare, deeply intimate space had been created that evening.

And then the discovery of his marriage and kids. And the devastation I felt, even as I’d lied in my blog entry, brushing off the blow as “just one of those things.” After that evening, I’d had words with Sparkling Eyes, accusing him of lying to me, and of being duplicitous. And he insisted he had not; that he and his wife were newly divorced, or separated–I can’t recall the specifics now–but the damage had been done, and I’d said too many unkind words.

Months later, when dating who would become my (now) ex-husband, I received a text, out of the blue, from Sparkling Eyes, saying that if I’d ever change my mind, to get in touch with him, and how sorry he was that things went sideways. It was phrased as though I’d spoken with him just the day before. And when I told him to move on with his life, he was confused; which resulted ultimately in a phone call clarification; he told me he’d sent that text six months prior, after our last phone call. Somehow it had gotten stuck in a queue and I’d only received it long after I’d given up hope, and moved on, ultimately marrying someone that I should never have married.

But one does what one does, and I moved on.

Revisiting my writing, I felt all the high and low of that evening as though it had just happened. And Sparkling Eyes’ full name came to me in a moment of quiet.

And so I contacted him at the last e-mail address I had for him, with the full expectation that my message would bounce back, stamped “unknown recipient”. And I’d breathe a sigh of relief, telling myself, “I guess it was not meant to be.”

Except that didn’t happen. And we ended up talking. And it ended up being amazing, as though those four years when we last spoke was just the day before. Towards the end of our conversation, there was a moment where we were silent; we remained quietly on the phone for a moment, smiling in wonder at each other.

And I just spoke with him again, and despite an awful family difficulty he’s having to deal with–or maybe because of it?–I feel deeply connected to this man in a way I have never felt connected to any stranger before.

I can’t explain it. And I want to linger in this wonder, and revel at its shimmer.

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Random thoughts about adjustment May 16, 2009

It’s funny. When you’re looking so hard for something, sometimes you don’t know what to do when you get it.

Things are going well with the Camera Technician. In fact, they’re going really well. So well that it’s freaking us both out a little bit. So well that everything is flying along at a breakneck pace and we’re suspending decision-making and rationality and living in an alternate universe where utopia is possible, unicorns are sighted with common-enough frequency that sightings aren’t worth comment, and where love and romance rule the day.

It’s that heady time at the start of a relationship.

And it’s also that time for the hard light of reality to shine, just a little, onto this utopia.

I had made summer plans before meeting this guy, so that I would be out of the country. Meeting him put a wrench in my plans and made me reconsider my options. Was there some way I could remain in New York? Should I forego my summer plans? Can I work around them somehow to include this guy? What are my options?

I started to look around for other opportunities in New York, and he did too. And we both realised that what was available was pretty slim and rather bleak. New York is an expensive and hard place to make a living, especially if you’ve just arrived. It’s not the kind of place that allows you to simply plug into some setting and hit the ground running. Eventhough there are expectations and pressures to do exactly that. Which is also what adds to the toughness of living in this city.

Meanwhile, back in utopia, CT offered me the chance to stay in his apartment, over the summer, as an option.

At first glance, it seemed like a great idea — here was the problem of space answered, I would sublet my apartment as I’d intended to anyway, and we could spend the summer getting to know each other. What could be more perfect?

But slowly the cold light of reality has started to creep in. I have a lot of catching up to do professionally and need to do some uninterrupted research — which I was planning to do this summer. I also had some plans to include some fun activities. And an expectation of feeling a little more grounded by being in familiar surroundings, amongst friends.

All of this means I’m probably going to go ahead with my summer plans and be out of the country after all. Which doesn’t bode well, necessarily, for a burgeoning relationship. Most relationships are rather fragile at the beginning. Adding stressors and qualifiers from the start tends to break a relationship, or handicap the necessary gentle space.

Once again, the chaos of my life gets in the way of sustaining a meaningful relationship. It would be tragic if it weren’t so banal, and so common. I can see it now, the next blockbuster Hollywood film titled, “The Tragedy of Timing.”

Right.

 

Beginnings May 8, 2009

Filed under: Dating,Desire — datehazard @ 3:33 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

Well, it looks like I’ve started to date someone. He’s a camera technician who’s worked on a number of mainstream and arthouse movies. And I met him on e-Harmony, of all places. Perhaps it was elliptical harmony after all?

At this point, I’m not sure what’s happening between us; it’s all pretty new and barely a week old. So far what I can tell you is that we seem to be getting along really well. We have a lot of commonality in terms of our interests, and I find him quite compelling.

Which is a little odd, considering that my attention was completely on other people (The Poet, and the IT Guy). And that there are quite a few red flags that I have already encountered. When I met him, I was immediately put off by the fact that he is larger than he appeared in his photographs. Unlike that adage of the camera putting on pounds, this was quite the opposite. For a moment, I hesitated, considering turning around and pretending that I never saw him. But then he stood up and turned to face me. I smiled and stepped forward to shake his hand.

Date #2 included dinner, and, over dinner, a revelation that he was considering being a partner in a porno production. Yes. You read that right. That immediately made me think, “dealbreaker, of course.” I listened with a mix of curiosity and resignation, heard him tell me with embarrassment that this is not the kind of thing he generally does, and thought about what it might be like if I were in his position. I thought to myself, “well, at least he’s honest and forthcoming,” and appreciated the conversation for what it was. He told me more of the details of the production, and to be honest, it doesn’t sound as though it will proceed. There are too many roadblocks, not the least of which is the fact that the other principals seem more interested in living double lives, or carrying out some kind of fantasy, than in actually following through on a solid business plan. If this is his idea of getting rich quick (which seemed like his approach), I think he’s in for a few surprises. But he’s also no dummy. He pointed out these very issues and I could see that he was wrestling with the project on more than a few fronts, including the societal dilemma being in this kind of a position poses.

I’m not quite sure what compelled me to go on another date with him. It was entirely my suggestion that we go to Coney Island, and it was entirely a spur-of-the-moment decision. If it hadn’t been sunny that day; if I hadn’t been bored; if he hadn’t happened to pick up his phone; if he didn’t feel necessarily inclined, we would not have met. And we would not have embarked on this strange and curious relationship.

It’s uncharted territory for me. Once again.

And I’m still not sure how this will turn out. But I’m oddly not really worried. At this point I can take it or leave it. I know it won’t always be like this, but I also know that expecting disaster around every turn hasn’t helped me in the past: that approach has neither averted disaster, nor guaranteed happiness. Nor has the approach of embracing randomness and chance guaranteed or approximated any measure of reliable success, for that matter. But at least the latter approach has allowed for a more intriguing life: one that allows for possibilities and meaningful interactions.

Even if it might all blow up in the end.

 

Possibilities March 16, 2009

I spent the night at the Analyst’s apartment on Saturday. He lives all the way out in Brooklyn; it took almost two hours on the weekend trains to get to him. That was not fun.

I like his neighbourhood, though. It’s a quiet, family-oriented one, and it’s close to the sea. It was lovely to stand at a pier near his apartment, watch the waves and feel the strong cold breeze from the ocean. That alone made up for the 2 hour epic journey to get there.

I really like him. He makes me laugh. I make him laugh, too. I’m constantly making fun of him — which is an easy thing to do. He’s quite naive in some ways; he assumes that I don’t know very much (like when I deliberately horribly mangled the pronunciation of “rendezvous” to be “Ren-des-vohs”), and I play along, drawing out the “Please educate me” experience to its absurd extreme, until he notices that I’m smiling, or he has a “wait, this can’t possibly be true” skepticism. And then I start laughing, and he laughs too.

I suppose it isn’t the kindest way to joke with someone; I’d always be a little guarded around someone who I knew was going to make fun of me, or find an opportunity to joke at my expense. I have told him on a few occasions that he should tell me if he ever gets tired of me being silly in this way, and he laughs and says, “no, it’s fine.” I have a feeling he means it. I spoke with my friend Kind Ninja and she remarked that he probably appreciates being around intelligent people who can challenge him.

After we walked around the neighbourhood, ate at a local restaurant and had a drink at his neighbourhood bar, we went back to his apartment. His apartment is cluttered and messy, with books in various spots, and the strange sight of two shedding feather pillows on his living room floor. He explained that he left them there from when friends would come over and he needed extra seating. It seemed an odd explanation, but I didn’t pry.

I would go into some of the details of our intimacy, but a sense of privacy and tenderness prevents me from disclosing too much. I will say that he enjoys playing as much as I do, and doesn’t shy away from a challenge. He seems to understand as well as I, how provocation quickens the pulse, and heightens desire. He pinned my arms behind my back at one point when I was getting the better of him in a tickling match, and I found myself suddenly not struggling and not laughing. Instead, my body reached for his, and we kissed with hungry mouths.

He has a lovely, long body, smooth, soft skin, and hair in all the warm places: over his heart, his groin, a soft covering over his firm rounded bottom. I’ve never been a fan of hairless men. And frankly, I think shaving is overrated, and waxing as something that should be reserved for practices of torture.

The night ended in a tangle of limbs and blankets. We slipped from exhaustion into a broken sleep. I kept waking up to get water, go to the bathroom, or to simply lie, disoriented, checking the time and gazing crookedly at his poorly hung blue curtains. I would wonder where I was, recall, listen to his surprisingly rapid breaths, and drift off into a fitful slumber.

The night before, we had talked about the sea, and the waves. I told him about the time I lived in a little house by the sea, how the fierce wind would scare me when I first moved there, and how I would hear pine cones drop on my roof at night. And how these initial anxieties eventually became sources of wordless joy, reminding me simultaneously of both qualities of my frail existence.

I don’t think I’d ever felt more alive. And I had almost forgotten the experience. As the years went by and I moved away, it had become buried under all of the pragmatic toughness and hardness one needs to deal with the hustle and bustle of big city living. That little house by the sea seemed almost to exist in another lifetime. It was good to be reminded of it.

He’d listened with shining eyes and a faint smile of understanding while I talked; he also loves the sea. He told me about growing up amongst olive trees and harvesting ripe olives by hand. He talked about the back-breaking labour involved, but I could see his nostalgia in his eyes. He seemed far away, existing for a moment in the bright sun, the aroma of ripening olives rising around him.

Something about this man makes me both so incredibly happy, and so grounded at the same time. I am able to breathe deeply and slowly in his presence, and my worries evaporate.

 

Dating Dhervish March 14, 2009

Filed under: Comedy,Dating,Desire,frustration,Singleness — datehazard @ 10:57 am
Tags: , , , , , ,

Last night I went out on a first date with the Hedge Fund Trader. I almost called it off, I was feeling so tired from partying a little too hard two nights ago. I’d gone out with the Grad Student and his gay former roommate, and ended up stumbling home after a series of gay bars filled with cute, uninterested men, at about 4 in the morning. Yesterday was pretty much a write-off in terms of work.

The date with HFT went well. But I felt no spark.

I am seriously getting irritated with what exactly it is that results in that heart-fluttering reaction anyway. If someone can bottle this, I will pay them for it, for the chance to spray it on a Suitable Nice Person like HFT so that I can reciprocate his affections.

Because he was seriously digging me. I mean, he didn’t lose his head and say something ridiculous, or promise some kind of everlasting love and affection, but I definitely got the “I am interested in taking things to a more serious level with you, if things keep going the way they’ve gone tonight.”

He’s a nice guy; intelligent; funny; attentive but laid-back; not too bad to look at; and a great kisser. And not at all interesting to me.

Meanwhile, I am really looking forward to seeing The Analyst today: the guy who seems reticent, a little depressed, lonely, and probably more in need of hobbies and finding personal fulfillment than getting a girlfriend. But he’s exactly the kind of person I always go for. When men make me work, I chase them. When they chase me, I’m skeptical.

It would be great to have a rational, orderly relationship, but chaos, heartbreak and comedy are generally the order of the day.

And I’m STILL obsessing about The Charmer. We never met this week because he was too busy, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m leaving it up to him to get his stuff together and get in touch with me. Even as I’d like nothing better but to call him and see how he’s doing. Crumbs from this guy keeps me going for days. It’s humiliating, and embarrassing. And I’m doing it to myself.

 

Loneliness

Sometimes, I hate romantic movies. Or romantic scenes in movies. They bring up that aching, yearning sensation for intimacy, physical and emotional, which is generally present in most romantic relationships, even if the relationship’s going off the rails.

Yesterday afternoon I spoke with The Grad Student, who told me that he’d had a rough night, dreaming about his ex. He dreamt that he asked her why she just left, instead of telling him or talking to him. He’d awakened, angry and disappointed, and called me to talk about it. We went through the usual “why are you in this spot, what do you need to move on” stuff, but something he said made me think about the way that loneliness is so hard to delimit. It’s one of those things that just seeps up in quiet moments, a nagging lack.

Work is a good distraction, but no one can work all day, all the time. Friends are great, too, but the conversation ends, and echoes of that intimacy slowly fade into the emptiness.

 

Back on the dating scene (again) March 10, 2009

Tonight I’m going out for date #2 with The Analyst (same guy I had the Best First Date Ever with). We’re going to meet at a public monument, then meander and figure out what we’d like to do. Basically take it easy and wander around. It sounds like a lovely way to spend an evening with someone.

I know this will sound like I’m jumping the gun a little bit, but I’m not sure whether The Analyst and I have all that much chemistry. When we spoke on the phone last night, he was really hesitant and quiet. It made me think about the fact that I thought he seemed pretty depressed when I first met him. I mean, he laughed at all my jokes, and he seemed to really appreciate my sense of humour, but it seemed to be because he was really in a sad space and needed cheer, rather than that he was really genuinely appreciative. There wasn’t the witty back-and-forth or the one-upmanship that one would expect from someone who was really following.

Then there’s another guy who I’m meeting up with on Friday: let’s call him Hedge Fund Trader. Yes, yet another finance guy. He is hilarious and sarcastic, and seems pretty high-energy. We’ve been texting back-and-forth, and the jokes keep flying. I haven’t yet met him, so I can’t tell for sure, but he also seems like he might be a bit self-centred and maybe a touch of an asshole. The kind who would do something to someone else and not apologize, because as far as he’s concerned, it was funny/amusing. And his opinion is all that matters in this situation. He reminds me a bit of my good friend the Computer Programmer, who would also never intentionally set out to hurt someone, but who also has that “I’ll do what I want, thank you,” attitude, at times. We’ll see what happens.

In the meantime, the Charmer called. He called yesterday, and we had a brief conversation. He sounded guarded in his language and mannerisms, but said he’d like to meet up. He wasn’t sure about timing for this week, but wants me to text or call on Wednesday or Thursday in case he can meet up.

I spoke with my friend Kind Ninja (yes, she really is that fantastic), and I told her about how I’d reacted to The Charmer and everything that happened. She told me that she thinks I should just follow my heart and seize my desire with both hands. I said that I really just didn’t want to be heartbroken — that the problem I have with the Charmer is that my reason and logic are completely overtaken by a kind of senseless desire when it comes to him. And that I have no idea what to do with those emotions, let alone how to handle it if things go badly.

And then she said the sweetest thing to me that I have possibly ever heard: she said, “DH, listen to me. If things don’t go well and you’re heartbroken, I will come to you, and I will pick you up. Really.”

I am so lucky to have a friend like her in my life.

And today, I am feeling happy and confident, and optimistic.