A Reminder of What Hasn't Happened Yet

I promise I'm not one of those people who always thinks about relationships. That disclaimer is necessary because 5 days ago I went to a seminar organized by my church on the subjects of being single and dating. I know what you're thinking. But I'm definitely not one of those people, I promise. The seminar was fine and all, but it seemed the whole purpose of being there--at least for the people sitting around me--was to learn the shortcuts and tricks to getting a spouse. At one point, when a witty and fast-talking lady co-moderating the evening spoke about meeting her husband, I wanted to stand up and shout: "What if THIS is our final destination? What if being single is what we're meant to do?"

Marriage seems to be a great thing for many people, and I'd like to get married. But if I don't, life will not crumble around me like the ash of a cigarette. There is too much to do, too many things to see, too many people to know for me to think one path is all there is for me. Plus, mathematically speaking the odds aren't so hot. 20% of the people in that room were men. And apparently all of those men are considered deadbeats or playboys. The Atlantic Monthly published an interesting article recently that basically said:

"Recent years have seen an explosion of male joblessness and a steep decline in men’s life prospects that have disrupted the “romantic market” in ways that narrow a marriage-minded woman’s options: increasingly, her choice is between deadbeats (whose numbers are rising) and playboys (whose power is growing). But this strange state of affairs also presents an opportunity: as the economy evolves, it’s time to embrace new ideas about romance and family—and to acknowledge the end of “traditional” marriage as society’s highest ideal."

So, you see, the odds really are not looking good for all the single ladies to have a man put a ring on it. And that's OK.

In large part, I signed up for The Big E so I could tell people I'd given Internet dating the ol' college try and they stop pestering me about doing more to get hitched. I love life. I make it a point to believe wherever I am is the best place to be, and that has made all the difference in the world.

There are so many areas of our lives that could use this bit of love--taking whatever piece of real estate life has passed down and saying, THIS is mine, and I am going to make it fabulous. Instead of letting absence serve as a reminder of what hasn't happened yet, I'm focusing on what has been accomplished and daydreaming about the wide open spaces left for me to conquer.

The S.S. Elisabeth Sales Into the Sunset

The other night I went to see a horrendously bastardized interpretation of Wuthering Heights with two friends: J and N. After the film we got to talking about dating. J is in a serious almost-marriage relationship. N is single and has a bit more experience at the dating game than I do. Because N has tried online dating before, I asked if she had any advice. She said to trust my gut. Did she have any odd stories, I asked, because I sure was starting to collect them.

A few days into my membership with The Big E, I got an introductory set of questions from a guy in Pennsylvania. At first glance, Pennsylvania didn't seem a bit like someone I would go for, but I am taking an extremely open-minded approach to this whole online thing. So I played ball and answered his questions. (p.s. a lot of guys have asked about how often I lose my temper...interesting) We went back and forth answering generic questions about ourselves, as you do with The Big E, for a couple of days. And then, I asked him about a boat.

Specifically, I asked him what he would name a yacht if he were given one tomorrow. I also asked where he would take said yacht. I thought this would be a sort of interesting question for him to answer given all of the incredibly boring questions we'd been throwing back and forth. And I thought it might show if he had a sense of humor.

His reply went something like this: If I were given a yacht tomorrow, I would name it Sunrise because I believe in new beginnings and that would be such a great new beginning. I love this question, Elisabeth, it is so clever. Actually, now that I think about it, if you were my wife, I would name the boat after you. Elisabeth would make a nice name for a boat. Have you heard the song by The Counting Crows called, 'Goodnight, Elisabeth'? It's really good. I'm going to listen to it now."

His wife? Um, Pennsylvania, we're in the ICEBREAKER stage of the game. Really? Wife? Oh brother.

So, I told N and J, that happened. Being the kind guy that he is, J asked if I would like for him to accompany me on any dates. "That's nice of you," I replied, "but Pennsylvania lives on the other side of the country, so there won't be any dates with him anytime soon. Plus having a chaperone might be a bit overkill. Maybe."

N's advice? Be open, that's good and all, but more than anything trust your gut. And, maybe put Pennsylvania in the no-way-on-earth column.

The Big E

Well, I finally did it. I signed up for a paid online dating service. I've been on it for just over a week now, and--well, where do I even begin? Maybe you're wondering what prompted me to sign up at this stage of the game, so I'll start my funny tale there.

Being single is expensive and, at times, a little scary. You either have a tiny studio and live on your own, or you find a roommate so you can afford a place that actually has a kitchen and maybe a scrap of outdoor space. And then there's the fear factor: nary a single woman hasn't faced the fear of slipping in the shower, bonking her head on the floor--which of course would render her unable to move--only to be found weeks later by a landlord looking for their rent check. So, yes, you're right. My decision to sign up for The Big E was motivated in large part by my desire to have a kitchen of my very own and a night watchman.

Don't get me wrong; I have a wonderful roommate and a lovely kitchen at the moment, but all that concerns my beloved apartment is completely and utterly temporary. I am hesitant to hang anything on the walls because I know I will be moving at some point. I'm eager to have a bit more permanence in my life. I'd also like to consistently share memories with one person, instead of a smattering of friends spread all over the place.

All of this leads me to my little online profile and the seemingly desultory matches that have come my way. Already, just a week into it, I hate it. I suspected I wouldn't enjoy meeting people out of a catalog, and maybe this prejudice is why I dislike it so. Everything about the process goes against the grain of what makes me--me. Creating a slideshow of photos of yourself (Look! This one shows you how much fun I can be! And this one with the baby shows you what a natural I am with kids!) and writing brief blurbs of copy about your ideal match is downright embarrassing for me. And don't even get me started on the back-and-forth communication. It's so contrived and awkward and superficial, which is exactly what it should be.

But I've gone to enough singles mixers and signed up for countless volunteer activities in hopes of expanding my network only to find I've collected more girl friends. And as far as the men in my life, well it's safe to say I am firmly planted in the Friend Zone. Which is well and good and all. But guys don't seem to want to marry their friends these days.

So, I'm online and looking for love. It takes time, so I expect it to be a bit of a battle..err, I mean journey. In the meantime, I'm finding loads of material to share. Just wait until I tell you about S.S. Elisabeth.

Noted!

via stumbleupon via pininterest created by littlemissanj.

Hello, From the Friend Zone

This past Sunday, I saw a friend of mine named Michael. Our conversation went like this:

"Hey, Elisabeth."

"Hey, Dude!"

And that is why I am writing to you as a permanent resident of the "friend zone."

Songs for Crushing

Those who know me well know that I'm not much of a dater. However, I am a master at the art of nurturing a crush. I don't get them often but when I do, katy bar the doors. Not to fear--I'm not the sort who stalks and calls at all hours of the night. I tend to be the opposite, actually. After about a week of a crush, I usually want to be rid of it. It's a scary thing to be crushed by a person who hasn't a clue of your feelings (or sometimes even of your existence).

I've carried this current crush around since the Spring, and it has become suffocating. My mind wanders back to this particular person at the oddest of times (traffic, cleaning the kitchen, making copies at work), and my imagination seems to take off like an Olympic sprinter. I act shy when I'm normally quite outgoing, and my nervousness turns normal actions into bizarre actions. Case in point: I did a slight curtsy once when shaking this person's hand. Strange. It is as though I am not myself.

Recently I heard someone compare a crush to an idol. And with an idol, it is the worshiper who is seeking control over the relationship. Given that most idols are made of wood or metal, it is very easy for a worshiper to have the upper-hand in the relationship. As for my crush, I guess I look to create a controlled environment where every comment is insightful and full of wit, and every day resembles a photo shoot for a J Crew or Boden catalogue.

As I'm looking over this post, I am cringing with embarrassment. Who gets caught up in a crush after high school graduation? Well, it turns out quite a lot of people crush. I've noticed coworkers declaring someone a crush with enormous pride on Monday and then tearing that person down on Wednesday after they've been sighted smoking or wearing pleats. I've noticed movies where a crush leads to true love and sunsets. I've noticed that I am swallowed up by my insecurities. I've noticed that I'm jealous over the most trivial of things, and that is such a heartbreak to me. But it is not my crush who delivers the heartache; I'm the only one breaking things around here.

But, as one friend reminded me, crushes aren't all bad. Somehow they can inspire a bit of hope. I don't know why in the midst of feeling vulnerable, insecure and like a three-year old hoarding blocks on the playground, I am hopeful that someone will soon come along and walk beside me. I feel genuine excitement when I listen to a coworker outline details of her upcoming wedding. I am thrilled to the point of throwing air punches when I talk to a friend who has recently entered into a new relationship.

So that's where I am. Fighting off this crush as though it were the flu and feeling more like a middle-schooler than an adult. I prefer myself with no strings attached or distractions. And this poor man has me all tied up in strings.

Here's some music inspired by the art/war of crushing:

A song for when I want my way:

Please, Please, Please, Let Me...

A song for what I wish for one day:

You Picked Me - A Fine Frenzy

A song with a beautiful idea:

No One's Gonna Love You - Band...

Maybe someone is singing this song somewhere:

For Elisabeth Wherever You Are...

The Pizza Text

When you think about it, internet dating is a lot like interviewing for a job. You comb through descriptions you are know are exaggerations, distribute personal information about yourself that is probably exaggerated, dress to impress, and (sometimes) pray for a call back that will lead a second date/interview.

Both are exhausting and require a thick skin. It also helps if you have a good sense of humor about the whole thing, as my friend *Audrey* does. Cue the story about Audrey and her pizza text.

Audrey has been on a particular dating site for a little while now. She has gone on dinner dates, wine dates, beach dates, and hiking dates. Audrey is very smart, funny, a great listener, authentic, and--this is important--very fit. So when *Vince* asks her out for a date at a wine bar, Audrey says, "Sure. Why not?"

Upon arriving at the wine bar, Vince tells Audrey that he has changed his mind about his venue of choice. Instead of hanging out at a wine bar, they should get pizza and ice cream instead. Being the good sport that she is, Audrey says this sounds like a good time.

There they are, eating pizza (Vince = a couple of slices / Audrey = one slice) and covering the usual first-date topics. The date ends, and Vince tells Audrey that he had a nice time and that he would like to see her again. Truthfully, Audrey tells Vince that she will be traveling over the next several weeks. She suggests that maybe they meet up for a bicycle ride in two month's time when she is back in town for a weekend.

Two months pass and Vince texts Audrey about meeting up for a bike ride. That day, over lunch at work, Audrey tells the story of Vince and their pizza date to a small group of coworkers and asks for advice on how to proceed. You see, Audrey really wasn't that into Vince. She hoped that her being away for two months might allow him to get distracted and move on, forgetting about that whole bicycle thing.

A couple of our male coworkers counsel Audrey on the situation. "Don't lead him on," they say. "Be up front about not feeling a connection," they advise.

So Audrey calls Vince and thanks him for his text. She kindly explains that while she had a nice time on their pizza date, she didn't feel a connection with him. Vince says he usually gives people two or three dates before he decides if there is a connection or not. Audrey says she respects his time and thinks it is important that she is honest with him. They say goodbye.

An hour later, Audrey receives another text from Vince:

"You were very presumptuous just now. You really should go on a bike ride with all of the pizza you eat."

WOW. WHAT A GENTLEMAN. It's a wonder women aren't beating down his door.

Coronas, Basketball and Topless Women: A Terrible Way to Meet People

I'm just gonna cut to the chase. At 30, being single isn't so much fun.

I don't normally talk about dating (or the lack thereof) or my faith, but last night I experienced something so ridiculous it was both hilarious and incredibly depressing. What to do with a story like that? Tell it to the World Wide Web!

I begin my story 5 weeks ago on a Monday night. My church--well I'm not technically a member yet because that process is lengthy and so involved that I half expect the pastor to ask me for a DNA sample--held a series on Christians, dating and sex and blah blah blah. I stopped attending lectures on the subject of being single a while ago; I'm practically an expert on the matter. But I'm new at this church that I'm almost a member of, and I thought this would be a good way to meet people. It was a good series; I learned a lot, not just about the wild world of being single, but about myself. So that was indeed a good thing.

To wrap up the series, the church hosted what I can only describe as a mixer for those who had attended the series. And so begins my encounter with Coronas, basketball and an illustrated poster of a topless woman.

I only went to this mixer (that's what I'm calling it even though I imagine this label would make the church staff cringe) because I have always griped about how churches never do enough to encourage people to meet. "Suck it up," I thought. "Just go and have a good time. At least you'll meet new people." So I talked a friend who doesn't go to my church and didn't go to the seminar into going with me.

We arrived about an hour after this mixer began and promptly ordered 2 Coronas from a surly woman in a low-cut tank top. The Lakers were playing and every.single.tv.in.the.place was blaring the game. My friend and I were talking (yelling) at each other over the roar of the crowd when several kind people introduced themselves to us. I haven't a clue as to the readership of this wee blog, so I'm just gonna say there was interesting conversation, dull conversation, a new friendship forged over a mutual love of coffee, a person who talked so much you couldn't get a word in edgewise, and a person who spit in your face when they talked.

My friend and I spent the evening smashed between a wall, the bar, and a beer pong table. From our viewpoint we could see the entire crowd, and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. There was the single woman in her late 30's I met once who had that I-am-here-to-find-my-husband-and-you-are-competition look in her eye. She couldn't be bothered to be polite to my friend and me because she had a single pastor from our church centered in her crosshairs. I thought the poor man would be trampled by her at one point. Then there were the guys who so badly wanted to know if you were The One that they asked embarrassingly intimate questions before you had the chance to tell them your name. When it was apparent that my friend and I were not The One, these boys wandered off mid sentence.

At one point, my friend and I were actually having a pretty funny conversation with a guy I shall call John Coltrane. I was on my 6th or 7th glass of water when I turned into a total klutz. I knocked my friend's cup of water all of the floor, caught my jacket on a nail, and, much to John Coltrane's amusement, my wildly flailing hand slapped the bare boob of a woman featured on an old Buzzcocks poster. Turns out this poster was directly above my head the entire night. That might explain why a lot of guys constantly looked in our direction.

It was then that I decided I was tired. Tired of talking, tired of being claustrophobic, tired of wading through nights like this.

I haven't a clue as to why that "roofie bar" was chosen as the place to host a mixer for people who just finished a lecture series on Christians and dating. It was as though the church said, "let's see how well you swim when we throw you in the deep end without swimming lessons!"

I left that circus feeling incredibly disappointed and discouraged. I can only relate it to a line from a book I read where the author said something to the gist of Christians who try to date and follow God trade with a currency the world doesn't use anymore. If I can't meet like-minded guys at my own church, where else am I to go? Does no one else value the same things I value? Granted, I only met a few people, but the scene was so similar to the pub I used to go to. Only at that pub I wasn't shouting, and I was surrounded by friends--not people putting the pressure on to quickly determine if you were their wife before moving onto the next woman at the bar.

My gut reaction to that dismal failure of an outing was to quit. Why bother putting yourself out there when all you ever get is disappointment? But then I emailed this story to a friend and laughed so hard as I pictured the ridiculousness that was last night.

So while I will more than likely never go to another gathering where everyone has a target on their back (a.k.a. mixers for people without significant others), I'm not going to give up on finding someone who still trades in my currency.

Either that or I'm going to start trading in credit.