Sleeping Dogs (& Sleeping Birds)

Holy cow. I wanted to write a blog post last night but then I stepped out of my room for five minutes, stepped back in and couldn't find Persil. Thirteen hours later, I was STILL looking for him without having slept a wink, and finally found him hiding under a towel on the back of my door underneath about a million jackets, scarves and other miscellany. He's now having a looooooong time out in his cage to think about his behavior. (Update 3 hours later: His time out is over, I opened the door to his cage and he refuses to come out. Ingrate.)

Anyhow. After I'm done hyperventilating, I'll go back to reflecting on what I was thinking about before the shit hit the fan, which is my exes. Yesterday, I became Facebook friends with my very first boyfriend, the Modern Jewish Boy (so named because at one point he was reading a book entitled "The Modern Jewish Man"). I was in love with him from age 12 to 16, and we dated twice, once when I was 13 and again when I was 16. Both times he eventually lost interest, but rather than tell me that, he just faded away, letting more and more time pass before he returned my phone calls and being distant when we did talk. (Actually, I suspect that depression may have played some role in this behavior. But maybe that's just me making excuses.)

I still have a pretty big soft spot for him, and I was excited to see him on Facebook. I immediately went to his page and started to write a note saying hi, how's life, I'd love to get a beer with you sometime, I often think of you, etc. Before I hit "post" I glanced down at his page and read the updates he had written in his one day on Facebook. I had the same reaction I had the last time I saw him, which is: Oh, yeah. He's totally immature and exactly the same as he was when we were 13, and 16, and he's probably always going to be that way. Better to let sleeping dogs lie. I erased my friendly note.

This reminder caused me to reflect that, in the end, ALL my boyfriends have kinda been jerks. Not that they went out of their way to mistreat me (though I would say that La Moustache did), but they didn't treat me with the consideration I deserve because they were too wrapped up in themselves and their own needs. This is a worrisome thought. Do I go for jerks? Is that why I emailed the cute guy on OKC who sounded totally self-centered in his profile? I know I used to like the bad boys when I was in grade school, but I thought I was past that stage; have I moved on to the adult version of the same disease?

There is, however, one partial exception to my jerky ex-boyfriend rule: l'Artista, my painting teacher who I met when I was 18 and he was 28, who after my immediate family was probably the most formative figure in my life. I can honestly say that I would not be the person I am now if I had not met him. Yes, he should have let me go sooner than he did -- actually, he didn't exactly "let" me go, it was more like I had to claw my way out of that relationship, hanging up on him when he called, putting a block on my email, etc. It often felt like I was cutting the umbilical cord. So, in a way, he was a jerk too; but he did really, really care about me, and a huge part of him really wanted to be with me. He just couldn't do it.

I got the following email from him a couple of days ago:

Dearest Heathen,
It's always a pleasure to hear from you.
Prezzemolo [Parsley in Italian] is very cute. Be good with Heathen! You must be very happy now to have him at home.
And your vacation? What will the two of you do?
I am traveling in Germany, working a bit, it's not really vacation vacation.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Hugs.
l'Artista

Longtime readers of my blog may remember that, in an epic moment of bad timing, l'Artista asked me if we could be more involved in each others' lives at the very moment when I was breaking up with La Moustache. This prompted a very snarky response from me. I thought that my breakup with l'Artista would be the hardest breakup of my life, but that did not turn out to be the case. Hearing from l'Artista at that particular moment was a painful reminder that when I met Moustache I believed him to be the antithesis of l'Artista in so many ways, and I turned out to be very, very wrong.

Now I'm wondering again if I should perhaps let l'Artista back into my life a little bit, and maybe have a phone conversation with him once in a while. I've often considered calling him, even while I was with Moustache, and my friend Miami Nice always squelched the idea (feel free to squelch it again, Miami). I think I could handle it at this point without opening up a big old emotional can of worms, but I could be wrong. He feels like such an important part of my past, and I'd like to reconnect with that, but is it always better to let sleeping dogs lie?

Déjà déçu

It is not news to me that men can be disappointing. I've been reminded of that time and time again, in big and small ways, ranging from l'Artista's inability to decide whether he wanted to be with me to my live-in ex-boyfriend La Moustache's midlife crisis at the worst possible juncture in my life and his decision to travel the world solo to the failure of men I've gone out with to follow up after a date or send a quick note saying "Hi, I enjoyed meeting you, but I don't think you're what I'm looking for."

Nonetheless, I must be the most doggedly optimistic person on the planet, because I still have hopes for men. Most recently, I had hopes for Le Canadien. I've been looking forward all week to our weekend date, which started out as a plan to watch a movie in the park and ended up involving a trip to a lake for a swim. When he got here this afternoon, he told me that he had an appointment to go see an apartment later on, and he had to stop by his lab to do a bit of work. Fine, I don't mind having a break in the middle of the date, and I assumed he'd come back shortly thereafter.

So we drove to the lake, doggie paddled around and joked about how we're both terrible swimmers, drank surreptitious beers, and kissed on identical beach towels. It was nice. I feel a connection with him, maybe because he reminds me of the Quebecois boys I went to college with. I feel comfortable talking to him, and I think he feels the same way. I told him the story of how I fell in love at age 18 with my 28-year-old Italian painting teacher, l'Artista, and the sad ending to that story. I even told him a bit about La Moustache. He talked to me of a girl he liked and professed his love to while he lived in Italy (she liked him back, but the timing was off and nothing ever came of it), his father's death, and the house he inherited from his father in Quebec that he remodeled and rents out. He told me he is now leaning toward staying in Boston rather than moving to California, and I felt glad about it, without having any expectations. I like the idea of having the chance to get to know him better.

Eventually we moseyed back to the place where I'm housesitting and settled in for some more kissing. When 5:30 rolled around, I reminded him that he needed to get ready for his 6:00 appointment, and he tucked in his shirt and asked if he looked like someone I'd accept as a roommate. I assured him that he looked fine. He got up to go, and as he kissed me goodbye, I said, "You'll be back for the movie at 8, right?"

"Oh, maybe... I'm not sure I can make it. If not tonight, we can go another time," was his response. Oops. Not the right answer. It reminded me of a game I used to play with La Moustache where I'd ask him a question, then when he answered, I'd do my best machine voice and say, "Réponse incorrecte," until he gave me an answer I liked. This was definitely an incorrect response. I explained that this is not a movie that is in the theaters, it is a one-time showing in the park. He said he'll try to make it back, but somehow I doubt I'll be seeing him again tonight.

Am I overreacting to feel so disappointed? Other than that, from what I know of him so far he seems great -- thoughtful, smart, funny. He has thirteen days before he has to be out of his place, and he's (justifiably) stressed about finding a new place to live. However, a date is a date, and I'm not interested in spending time with someone who's unreliable and lets me down. Now, how to let him know that this is unacceptable without sounding high maintenance?

Three hours and five minutes in the life of a single girl

On Tuesday afternoon at 4:56, I sent my friend Slinky a message to inform her that I had just discovered a new guy I was excited about on Match. He's from Maine, is well-traveled, liberal, wants to own a used bookstore, and good-looking; all the basic ingredients for a good boyfriend. I sent him a friendly note to say hi.

"When is the wedding going to be?" she asked.

"Very soon! I think I'm in love," I joked back.

At 5:42 PM, I had to disregard Slinky's instructions not to talk to her because she was busy at work. "Mayday! Mayday! I got a reply, and he wants to have drinks TONIGHT!"

With Slinky's help, I decided to accept, even though I was less than impressed with his message (he told me he wanted to get drinks because he was very bored). Half an hour later, though, I had not heard back. "I think I might need a divorce," I mournfully told Slinky.

I spent the next hour or so obsessively checking my email and talking to various friends about how weird and rude men are. By 8:00 I had given up all hope of ever hearing from my husband again, and was considering giving up on online dating forever.

At 8:01, a message finally popped into my inbox. Not from my ex-husband, but from a handsome lawyer I had emailed three days ago and already given up on hearing back from. "I think I found a new husband!" I told Slinky excitedly.

24 hours later, in keeping with my new philosophy of not putting up with rudeness, I emailed my first husband to tell him how rude he is, and that I am disappointed that someone from Maine would behave that way. Then I asked the handsome lawyer if he wants to get drinks. By now, I've completely forgotten about Husband #1, and am looking forward to a date with Husband #2 next week.

Ahh, the ups and downs of life as a single girl.

Changing the world, one man at a time

I went away to beautiful, bucolic Martha's Vineyard this weekend for a brief getaway with my college roomie and her family. Unfortunately, my mind was filled with disappointment and chagrin after my latest unpleasant encounter, courtesy of Le Canadien, and a fruitless 6 months of dating. It's not that I expected to meet my next boyfriend in the first six months, but the rudeness and lack of communication I've encountered are disheartening, to say the least. Not all of my friends have experienced this, but lately I've been talking with a few friends about how it seems that some people believe that, when you meet someone online, the normal rules of politeness do not apply, and one can be more blasé. Of course, I've had plenty of experiences of people I didn't meet online being rude as well...

Two days of sand, sun, babies, beer, and gingerbread architecture later, I felt better, though still not excited to get back on the wagon. I did anyway, but with a new mantra: "Believe the negatives, ignore the positives." A real, professional dating guru -- though, in my opinion, no more qualified than my non-professional gurus -- recommended writing this and posting it on one's mirror.

Furthermore, I made a decision. For my sanity's sake, when people are rude from now on, I will inform them of what they did that I didn't like, and tell them how I wished they had behaved differently. I'll do it in a friendly, polite manner. Culprit #1, the Brazilian, has already received his missive. Now I'm contemplating whether it is worth my while to vent my feelings to Le Canadien or not; it's hard to even think of what I might say to him. Some of these guys are just beyond hope.

But who knows, for the ones who aren't quite beyond hope, maybe my email will help them to be more upfront with the next unsuspecting female who crosses their path.

"The Classic Dip'n Run"

I was introduced to a new term by my friend Slinky last week: “the classic dip'n run.” This is apparently what has happened to me with the Brazilian.

The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the term is a similar expression from Michael Chabon's amazing book, The Yiddish Policemen's Union. The expression is “dip his beak into him/her,” and it refers to sex (yes, it's totally gross and I love it because it aptly conveys the sleaziness of many of the male characters in the book). Dip'n run could be interpreted as a reference to a man who disappears after sex. However, I choose to interpret it in a nonsexual way: my personal definition is that it refers to a situation in which a member of the male species tries out a relationship with a female for a short time, dipping into relationship territory, then flees out of fear of commitment, weird personal issues, or other mysterious reasons. (Who knows what they're thinking; when I asked my friend Li'l JC this question, she responded, "They're not.")

Presumably, the Brazilian made it back to the U.S. after his extended, volcano-induced stay in Europe. However, he has neglected to contact me, and I have not received a response since sending him a questionnaire several days ago inquiring if he a) is too busy to have a social life, b) doesn't want to see me again, or c) eloped in Europe and is no longer single. This is frustrating for a number of reasons, number one being that I left a pair of cherished earrings at his house, and number two being that I haven't seen him in a month but have spent much of that time thinking that he was excited to see me again. I didn't just think that because he offered to bring me back a gift from Italy or talked about going to the Cape together this summer, I also thought it because when I told him to let me know if he didn't feel excited about going out with me again he replied, “Still very excited!! [Please note the two exclamation points] I just haven't slept very well lately and spent way too much time in a windowless shop. Sorry about that!”

Another reason that I feel frustrated is that, in my humble opinion, he is significantly less attractive than me. This is a first for me; usually I have boyfriends who I consider to be my equals in attractiveness, but I liked the idea of being the more good-looking person in the couple, and plus I did feel attracted to him. If I were the Brazilian, I would be very excited to date me, and I would certainly not play with my emotions in this inconsiderate way.

I do feel a bit disappointed that I won't get to see the Brazilian's futuristic machines or taste the allegedly delicious chocolate that they emit, but in the end, I got few fun days with him and a whole lot of anxiety and annoyance. Not worth it. And if anyone thinks I'm going to mope around about this minor setback, think again! After my ordeal with La Moustache, this is child's play. As my friend Li'l JC put it, “You are more seasoned than a good wok.”

The Amazing Disappearing Man!

It's only been six months or so since my breakup, but in that short time, I've been kissed and dissed an astonishing three times. I'm not talking about the “I've enjoyed spending time with you, but I'm not sure we're meant for each other...” kind of diss. I'm talking about the Amazing Disappearing Man diss.

You probably know what I'm talking about. You hang out with someone, you think you like each other, things are starting to heat up... and then BOOM. The phone calls stop. It's like a stone wall has descended, and you have no idea why or where it came from. It's immature, bewildering to the dissee, and indecent on a basic human level, and I will go on the record as saying I want nothing to do with men who engage in such practices.

Thankfully, I haven't cared about any of the men this has happened to me with recently, although the most recent – a Jewish Paul McCartney look-alike with a shaggy mop of gray hair – was very cute, and kissing him was quite fun. Still, the fact that when my friends asked me to tell them something about him all I could say was, “I don't know – but he's so cute!” was not a great sign. I had some indications that he was not very reliable before I went out with him, and considered calling off our date. In other instances, I was getting ready to do the dissing myself. (My dissing, however, involves a thoughtful e-mail.) It's a weird, unpleasant experience when someone disappears, even when you're not into them. And, in this digital age, there is absolutely no excuse for it. Yes, it's hard to pick up the phone and make a breakup call, but sending an e-mail – even a text message would be better than nothing – is easy as pie. Plus, after you've done it once, all you have to do is cut, paste, change the name and details, and hit send! Or if you haven't done it before and don't know what to say, ask your dating gurus to send you their breakup templates, as I did last week. (Yes, in the past week I've been both disser and dissee.)

It's happened to friends of mine in particularly painful ways. One friend was dating an older, very put-together man some years back, and was nervous about bringing him to her apartment. When she finally did, he seemed distracted and left early, never to be heard from again. Another friend slept with a man she really liked for the first time, only to have him vanish into thin air shortly thereafter. Men, it is always unacceptable to disappear, but even more so after you've slept with someone!

Even though you know in your heart of hearts that when he stops calling it's over, it can be very hard to give up hope after someone disappears. You keep making excuses in your head: “He's just so busy with work. Maybe he went on vacation. He might have had a car accident!” I actually Googled a guy who kissed and dissed me recently just to make sure he wasn't murdered, because he had seemed so into me up to that point and I was genuinely worried. (Turns out he's still alive. Until I blocked him, every time we were on gmail at the same time he would swiftly go from green to gray. I can see you making yourself invisible when I log on, lame-o!)

Which leads me to another point: When you pull your Disappearing Man stunt, from that moment forward it will be very awkward if you ever run into her. Easy to avoid by just writing a quick e-mail to say it was fun getting to know her, but she just doesn't give you that quivery feeling in your tummy. Some men who have disappeared on me in the past were friends of friends or classmates of mine, and they had to know we would inevitably be at the same party or cross paths at school one day.

I'm sure there are women out there who do this, too, but it does seem to be something men are particularly prone to. Women are more courageous in such situations. So men, if you just aren't that into her, woman up and send that e-mail, or chat, or text message, or tweet, or Facebook wall posting! (Okay, some of these may not be great choices due to their public nature. But the point is, there are plenty of options.)