The Slow Decider

I'm a slow decider. It takes me a few months to decide if I really love a new item of clothing, or new jewelry. It's not just a process of looking and deciding whether or not I objectively like it; I need to wear it for a while and see how it feels on me and whether or not it feels like a match for me. 

And boyfriends are no different. My feelings about exes tend to gradually morph and change shape over time. Sometimes they mellow and improve, like old wine or fine cheese; other times they behave more like rotten vegetables. Nearly four years after La Moustache broke my heart, I am finally ready to think about him as a nuanced person with faults as well as good qualities, and I even wrote him a couple of friendly emails this winter.  It took me a few years after our breakup, but I now consider l'Artista to be a good friend and one of the best exes one could possibly ask for. Dreamy, on the other hand, is like one of those vegetables that dry up and shrivel in your vegetable drawer. He's not really ever on my mind, not because it's painful to think about him but just simply because I don't feel any connection to him.

Monkeyboy, though a brief affair, is someone who I avoid thinking about because it's painful. In just a few short weeks he managed to win my trust, then break my heart in a way that seemed like it should be impossible in such a short time frame. His last communication with me was a note in which he refused to see me to talk about the breakup, and I don't foresee ever contacting him or hearing from him again. Leif Ericson is another one who I don't think about much, though in his case it's more because he just wasn't so memorable. By now I think more often of the delicious concoctions his friend cooked up than I do about Leif himself, whose personality always seemed a bit amorphous, probably because he was an alcoholic. And, although I only went on just four short dates with him, I continue to have a big soft spot for Theradate, to whom I managed to recount my entire life story on our first date and STILL have plenty to talk to him about on our subsequent dates. I ran into him at the movies a couple of months ago, and giggled when he told me that he managed to cry four times during 56 Up (I'm still not sure how that is humanly possible). He checked in with me after the bombings a couple of weeks ago, making sure that not only was I ok but asking about my sister and brother-in-law, too. He can be a bit over-the-top, but he's sweet.  

These days I'm dating 95%, and am beginning to wonder how I'll think about him in a year's time or two. He's kind and thoughtful and would do anything to make me happy, but after three months of dating I still don't feel that I really know him. He's smart, interesting and a great match for me in many ways, but I'm just not as excited after three months as I probably should be. 

Meanwhile, Theradate contacted me a week and a half ago to ask me to get together. He had told me when we broke up that he wanted to stay in touch, so I was happy but unsurprised to hear from him. I didn't really have time to see him, but I said yes anyway. It turns out he didn't really have time to see me, either, and he ended up canceling, saying he'd rather get together when we both have the time to hang out, maybe spend a weekend afternoon together. I didn't feel disappointed when he canceled. 

Still, it got me to thinking about Theradate, and a few days later I found myself doing some Internet research about him. I found out that he seems to be recently single, which made me wonder if his contacting me was in fact just the friendly gesture I had initially interpreted it as. I decided to check in about when we'd be hanging out. This led to an increasingly frustrating series of texts that went along the following lines: 

TD: Heeeeey!! Love to see you. I'll be in Boston twice this week: on Tuesday for a business dinner and then again on Friday. 

Me: Cool! Maybe we can get a drink before your business dinner or after?

TD: Not sure. There's a slim chance my dinner could be over by 9 so maybe we could see each other then. If not, I miiiiiight be able to squeeze you in on Friday before my plans. I'll check in with my colleague about Friday. 

Me: Let's aim for one or the other. Which one seems more likely?

Then, feeling that this was becoming ridiculous:  Theradate, much as I'd love to see you, all these "maybes" are making it difficult to plan my week. Let's postpone until you have a time when you're sure you're able to hang out. 

TD: Totally understand, Heathen. We'll do that. Sorry for all the craziness -- my schedule should be more open in a couple of weeks. 

Me: Okay, it would be fun to hang out the weekend after next if you're around!

Then,, in a last-ditch attempt: Any chance you are free for a beer tomorrow?

TD: Would LOVE to see you but I'm heading to Boston in rush hour traffic and I have to be there right after I'm done with work!!! 

At that point, I growled at my phone and gave up. Maybe it'll happen someday; maybe it won't. In the meantime, I'm finding myself thinking about Theradate and feeling annoyed at myself for doing so and annoyed at him for reappearing and making me think about him all over again after MONTHS of not thinking about him, but seeming incapable of making plans that don't include a "maybe."

'Tis the season for exes to come crawling out of the woodwork

It's that time of year when people take stock of their lives, feel lonely, get sentimental, and contact their long-lost loves. I've seen signs of it all over the place, from my roommate mentioning over breakfast that she'd written a boyfriend she's barely spoken to in two years to headlines in Love Letters like Should she reach out to an ex over the holidays? and Contacting a old love [sic].

Some people do it well, like l'Artista, who sent me a sweet note telling me he's been thinking about me a lot lately. These people express their emotions without letting themselves get carried away by them. Other people do it poorly, such as Leif Ericson, who sent me an impersonal, self-serving, AA-style apology note. Six months after the fact, it was utterly unnecessary, and left me feeling that any connection I ever felt to him was imagined. I didn't reply; or maybe I did. (Gmail is giving me mixed messages about whether or not the reply I crafted was ever sent. But it's the thought that counts, and I didn't *mean* to reply.)

I also got an unexpected message from a long-lost date who I never thought I'd hear from again. (I'm a little bit hesitant to link to old posts about him, because I didn't say anything very positive about him and I want to keep an open mind. But what the hell.) He asked me to give him a second chance. I felt ambivalent about it and wasn't sure how to respond, so I asked some friends what they thought I should do. You know when you get the same exact advice from two of your very best advice-givers that it is really quality advice, so I followed it and requested that he provide me with a reason why I should go out with him again. He replied,

Hi Heathen, In the spring what happened was that I started seeing another girl more seriously right around the time when we went out. I agree I screwed up and should have been more straightforward with you and told you what was going on. I regret and and I'm sorry I ruined your Friday night. 

I think you should give me another chance because I thought we had a really good first date, because I think you're very smart and interesting, because on our date I made you laugh (a lot, as I recall), because I think we have a lot in common, because I think you're cute, because I want to talk more about education policy and French things with you, and because I'd like to spend more time with you. That's more than one reason, but I think they're all good. Have I persuaded you?

Man-sprout

I was charmed by this (I like nothing more than a man who likes me!), plus I remembered that he introduced me to one of my favorite music videos of all time, so I agreed. Time will tell if I live to regret this decision -- unless the world ends tonight, of course.

Whiskey and friends, or the breakup cure

Theradate wrote me a very sweet email last week to tell me that, while he likes me a lot, he met someone else before he met me and feels that he needs to stop dating other people in order to give things a shot with her.

After just four dates, this news was hardly heartbreaking. It required a 12-hour recovery period, not even requiring a full day of recuperation. Theradate is a lovely person, and I hope we remain friends, as he said he wants to. I had fun with him, but was also frequently taken aback by his eccentricity, and I'm not sure that I'm meant to be with someone who is *quite* such an extrovert (an extrovert, yes, but this was really extreme). But one does get tired of having things not work out, whether it's because the suitor in question turns out to be issue-y and alcoholic-y à la Leif Ericson or is dating someone else à la Theradate or just doesn't feel like the right match à la a million other guys I've gone out with.

(In some ways, the "I met someone just before I met you" reason is particulary frustrating. It's not that you're incompatible or he's not that into you; it's just the timing. There's an implication that, if the timing of the first meetings had been reversed, you could be the one getting top priority.)

So I was happy after receiving this news to run into my friend L'il JC at the gym, fresh from her own disappointment of meeting a guy who really liked her who, try as she might, she just couldn't force herself to like back. And then M. came and joined us, and we went and baked ourselves in the sauna and I told her my newest poop story from work (the number of poop stories I've amassed this year should probably be a blog post unto itself, and this latest one managed to outdo all prior ones). Then the three of us headed to M's house for burritos and whiskey, and when I thought about it it seemed amazing how many evenings we've spent at M's house drinking whiskey after things don't work out with someone -- whether it be a big breakup or a little disappointment, like this one. It's not planned, but it seems that that's where we wind up every time. And somehow it makes me feel better every single time.

Life > Fiction

Most of the time in my dating life, things are pretty ho-hum. Nothing much to write home about, or to even think about the next day. But every so often something happens that reminds me of how crazy and silly life is, and how I could not make this stuff up if I tried.

Such an event happened last night. I headed down to Rhode Island after work, feeling woozy from a nasty cough and lack of sleep. Theradate was kind enough to tell me where to find his spare keys, so I let myself in and plunked myself down on the couch. I was too wiped to follow his directive to raid his fridge and snoop around; instead, I curled up with my New Yorker and read/dozed.

Even though I barely made it past the front door, I could see that Theradate's house is very nice. Very grown-up and light-filled and beautiful. But I wanted to wait for him to come home to see all the details. So, it wasn't until half an hour later or so that I got the full tour, including the second floor bedroom/balcony with spectacular windows. Near the bedroom is a funky little twisty passage shaped like a snail shell that you walk through to access the bathroom.

It took a moment for this to sink in. Then: "Sooooo... you don't have a bathroom door??!"

Theradate: "Nope! You just walk through there to get to the bathroom."

Those of you who have been reading my blog since my Leif Ericson fling last summer remember the trials and tribulations and many trips to Starbucks I had to take while dating him due to his lack of a bathroom door. Seriously, what are the chances that I date two men within six months that don't have bathroom doors?? Is this phenomenon more widespread than I realized? Or do I have an unhealthy penchant for men with boundary issues?

Thankfully, Theradate's downstairs bathroom has a nice, solid door with a lock on it. Such refreshingly normal, healthy boundaries.

Exotic, familiar

I ran into Leif Ericson on Saturday. It was inevitable but traumatic, and I'm so glad that my friend M. was with me when it happened. He looked the same but even skinnier, still like a cross between the David statue and Gumby but a bit more on the Gumby side on that particular day, and still beautiful. He came over and talked to me graciously and pretended not to notice that I initially tried to hide behind my hat and sunglasses to avoid him. It made me really sad to see him, and I thought about him a lot all weekend.

Seeing him reminded me of how much I liked his exoticness. I've always had a thing for exotic men, ever since I was five and fell for the son of my soccer captain, who had olive skin and sleepy dark eyes that were constantly half-closed. (These days, we're Facebook friends and it appears that he works in the porn industry.)  I loved how Leif looked so exotic, almost like he wasn't really human, like a character from the film Avatar. I loved how his parents were from two different continents, neither of them North America. I loved how his house didn't follow any of the normal rules of a house, like having rooms and ceilings and doors.

But there's something to be said for the familiar, too. And that's where the Young Hottie lands: squarely in familiar terrain. There's especially something to be said for familiar when Familiar likes you and wants to see you two nights in a row and stops by to bring bubble wrap, because even though you didn't tell him you needed it, he figured it out when you told him about the huge pottery order you received. And when Familiar doesn't have weird relationship issues (at least that you know about so far).

I don't have butterflies yet, but I do have a solid, warm feeling when I think about Young Hottie. So, I think he may be in need of a new blog name, something less objectifying. Suggestions?

Kick me if I start acting crazy

A couple of weeks ago, Leif Ericson disappeared from my gchat list.

"He blocked me," I informed my friends. "Can you believe it? And I thought he meant it when he said he'd like to get coffee at some point. Clearly, he hates me and wishes he'd never met me. I mean, he could have just hidden me. But no, he had to go all the way and block me."

"Ouch," they agreed. "That's really hurtful."

or,

"Maybe it's for the best. After all, you'll stop thinking about him this way."

For a few days, I stared obsessively at the names on my gchat list every time I signed in. Finally, about two weeks later, Leif reappeared one day.

Last week, I joined Community Boating.

"Have you run into Leif yet?" my friends asked.

"Not yet," I said. "I check whether he's online before I leave. I figure if he's online, he can't be boating."

"But how can you tell if he's online if he blocked you?"

"Oh, uh. It turns out he didn't block me. I was just being crazy. I'm planning to stop being crazy now, though."

Packing up, moving on

This weekend, my friend M went off to work a craft fair out on the Cape. She crashed at the house of a friend of Leif's who she met a few weeks ago when we were both there for the weekend; at the time, he generously offered her his spare bedroom when she mentioned she'd be coming back. He also said she'd be welcome to bring a friend, so she told me I could tag along.

I was tempted. So much so that I seriously considered it, despite how impractical the timing is -- I'm in the midst of packing up my apartment and moving. I might have gone for it, too, except that I wasn't sure a) how Leif would feel about it (I texted him to say I was thinking of going, and by the time he got back to me to say he felt fine about it it was too late) and b) what my real motives were in wanting so much to go. Not that I was wanting to be all stalker-y and try to get to Leif through his friend, but I've been enjoying how carefree and fun this summer has been, thanks in large part to Leif, and I wanted to extend that/recreate it a little bit.

Leif is good people, and I might like to be friends with him eventually. I would definitely like to be friends with his friend on the Cape, provided it didn't feel to Leif like I'm stepping on his toes. But I've learned that the only way to have a healthy friendship with an ex (if such a thing is possible at all) is for it to happen when you don't care so much anymore. The intensity of my feeling of wanting to go to the Cape was a red flag for me, letting me know that I'm not ready to have that kind of contact -- even though it's not even Leif himself, just his friend.

Back when Dreamy and I broke up, he felt the same intense desire to be friends with me. He told me, "All I want is to be good friends, the way you are with l'Artista" -- one of the most ironic statements I've ever heard. It's true that l'Artista and I talk, and that we care about each other. But we had little communication for a solid three years after our breakup. And it would be a stretch to describe our friendship as platonic -- when we talk, he invariably slips up and calls me "amore"; when I was in Italy last summer, I became irrationally upset when he refused to invite me as his guest to a wedding he was attending. He described seeing me again, after six years, as being like a bomb exploding -- not exactly the foundation for a healthy, comfortable friendship.

L'Artista and I want to be in each others' lives despite this tension, because we care about each other and are an important part of each others' history. Since that's far from the case with Leif, I doubt we'll actually become friends or stay in touch. Nonetheless, it comforts me to think that it could happen when I have to stay home on a rainy Saturday night filling boxes rather than watching the stars and eating fresh fish on the Cape.

Sometimes even when you know you're in the cocoon of denial it can be a huge comfort. And on that note, it's time for me to face reality and get back to my packing.

Sorry, my bird sent that email

Persil, my charming little lovebird, has only one bad habit. Well, some might say that his tendency to chew on important papers, poop on me and everything around, and his predilection for humping people's hands are also annoyances to be dealt with, but I'm fine with living with those aspects of his personality. However, when he hops on my computer and sends an email, that really gets my goat.  


Never has it been more embarrassing than when I'm in the midst of writing a goodbye email to Leif Ericson. Leif sent a kind note, reiterating that he's not in a place to commit to anyone right now. After reflecting on things over the weekend, I was happy to say goodbye with affection and finality; Leif is a good guy, but he may need years of therapy before he's ready to be a good partner to someone. And he hasn't even started therapy yet, so it'll be a while! 


I like to spend a long time on such emails, craft them carefully, do some soul-searching to determine if there's any anger I'd like to express, and go back to read them again and again before hitting "send." Unfortunately, Fate had other plans for me in this instance. Just minutes after I had begun work on my reply, Persil did his little hop on my keyboard. Rather than my carefully constructed epistle, I was forced to content myself with the following message: 


Dear Leif, 


I completely agree and am glad we've reached the same conclusion. I was thinking over the weekend that I'd prefer not to call it "putting things on hold" when that's not really what it is. While I like you and have enjoyed spending time with you, I don't feel that you're in a place to be a good partner to someone right now. 

I've been well aware of your complex emotional state, so you have nothing to feel bad about. Thanks for all the beautiful sailing trips, my first trip across the Longfellow Bridge, the fireworks on the 4th, 

That's when the little hippity-hop led to the message, "Your email has been sent." I shouted "noooooo!" and waved my arms futilely at the computer screen, then shook my fist menacingly at Persil. 

A few minutes later I followed up with:

Uhh, sorry about that. My bird has a bad habit of hopping on my keyboard and hitting "send" before I'm quite ready. Anyway, I think I was mostly done. You get the gist. Feel free to get in touch if you ever feel like getting a coffee and catching up. 

Heathen

Leif's comment in reply: "That's a very tech-savvy bird you have." 

I've finally done something I should have done long ago and enabled "undo send" in my gmail settings, so that should take care of the problem. 

Auf wiedersehen

One day recently, I biked over to Leif Ericson's house. I got a bit lost as I neared his address, trying to find my way among the steep, narrow, one-way streets. Eventually I got out my phone for navigation purposes, and when I did, I saw that I had a message from him: "I'm at the laundromat waiting for laundry to dry." Just as I read his message, I glanced up and spotted a laundromat in front of me, with the top of Leif's bright blond head visible through the window.

Things have just worked themselves out with Leif. It feels easy, effortless, stress-free. He's always available to me, whether I need a photo of his stinky plant, as I did the other day while teaching about the rainforest, or a massage and gin and tonic after a long day.

The end, when it came this morning, unfolded with equal naturalness and ease. He said again that he's not ready for a relationship, this time a bit more definitively than he's said it before. I said that in that case I don't think we should continue to see each other. We agreed to be in touch in a few weeks, when he returns from a trip he's taking. We both said how much we like each other and how sad we feel. And then I left, feeling regretful but not heartbroken.

I miss Leif a lot already. I think I'll miss him for a while. He's a decent, kind person and someone I truly consider to be a friend. And I'm very glad I didn't let myself get more invested.

Boys do cry

Leif Ericson told me a story last night. It was about a conversation he overheard on the subway between a teenage father on drugs and a woman giving the father advice. The story ended with Leif donning his aviator sunglasses to hide the fact that his eyes were filling with tears.

My first thought was, that's nice that Leif wanted to share this anecdote with me that he found touching. My second, more cynical thought was, he wants me to know that he's the kind of guy who cries.

Probably there is some truth to both thoughts. I certainly pick and choose which moments of my life I talk to him about; I want to share moments that reflect well on me, not so much stories that highlight my weaknesses. I do want him to know about my recent hike in the White Mountains, but not about the day when I woke up sick from drinking 2 1/2 beers and couldn't do anything but sit on my couch all day.

These days, it seems to be a trend that men are not only crying more, but they are talking about it more. Leif may have used his aviators to cover his tears in public, but was eager to tell me about them as soon as he got home. Dreamy admitted on his OkCupid profile that Ira Glass makes him cry on a regular basis. He once told me that as a kid, he used to pretend to have allergies to hide the fact that he cried constantly in music lessons because he thought the music was so beautiful. Monkeyboy told me that he once burst into tears while driving when a song came on the radio that reminded him of his childhood.

We've come a long way from the days when Ed Muskie's political career ended because of public tears. These days, Terry Gross reduces male interviewees to tears on a weekly basis. (The most recent example I heard was Louis CK.)

I think we still have a ways to go in terms of helping boys grow up into men who are in touch with their feelings. First and foremost, the admonishment "Be a big boy!" needs to be abolished forever. The shirt I saw recently that proclaims "Tough like Daddy" should be adjusted to "Tough like Mommy" or maybe "Sensitive like Daddy." Still, I suppose it can only be a positive thing that modern men are comfortable with their tears. Keep the waterworks flowing, boys!

If only I had superhero powers...

My friend Surfer Girl claims to have the amazing ability to instajudge a person's character. I wish I had that superhero-like quality; it would have saved me a lot of heartache over the years. If only there were a laser, similar to the infrared thermometer Leif Ericson purchased recently, that you could aim at a person's forehead and get a reading from: "A good egg," "The Antichrist in disguise," or maybe "Meh -- nice enough but boring as hell."

Even though I've always been skeptical of SG's claim, I was curious to hear her take on Leif Ericson after meeting him yesterday. He arrived at the tail end of my craft fair, and was confronted with three of my good friends. This was an intimidating scenario, and the intimidation was probably compounded by the fact that I had asked him a couple of days before why he had been so quiet when he met my friend M last weekend. (The answer: a wacky brownie had taken its toll.)

Leif was friendly, affectionate toward me, and generous toward my friends, buying everyone a cold drink even after they declined his offer. He helped me pack up my wares and offered to buy everything at double the price when I told him I was disappointed by my sales.

Nonetheless, my overprotective friends expressed some doubts. "I wonder what he's going to be doing while he's on vacation in Asia in August," said one skeptically, hinting with her tone that there could easily be inappropriate behavior planned during his Asian jaunt. (The answer: he'll be spending every waking moment with his mom. They're even sharing a tent.) "I'm not sure if he's genuine," said someone else. And from Surfer Girl: "I couldn't get a read on if he's a really kind person. And if he's the right match for you."

She hit the nail on the head. That's exactly what I've been trying to get a read on, too. And unfortunately, since I don't have an infrared personality gauge, the only way I know to get a read on those questions is by spending lots of time with him, observing how he behaves in different situations, and thinking about it. Here are a few of my observations:

• He is incapable of passing a piece of trash in the street without picking it up. A stroll down a city street or through a park usually ends with both our arms full of empty beer bottles and soda cans. We almost tumbled into the river the other day going after a few pieces of plastic that we spotted from afar. I can't think of anyone else who I'd think to describe as "a good citizen," but Leif undoubtedly is one. 
• He's generous. When I mentioned that my cousin-cousin (the term my sister and I invented for the cousin of our cousins) who is in town from Paris is interested in going for a sail, he immediately offered to take us. 
• He wants to include me in his life. He has introduced me to lots of his friends, who I like a lot. 
• He wants to make an effort with my friends, too. 
• He likes me. He texts me or emails me every day and is always affectionate toward me, whether we're alone, with his friends, or with mine. (Remember when him not being in touch enough was an issue?? Not anymore.)
• He wants to be helpful to me. He gave me plants for the hanging planters I've been making recently and offered to come to camp to talk to my students about electricity. 
• He's smart and has a wide variety of interests, from horticulture to sailing to animals. 
• I feel really comfortable with him. I slept like a rock until 10:30 in the morning the other day at his house. 

It's been a month and a half now and ten dates, more than I've had with anyone since Dreamy. I'm still far from feeling sure about him. Sometimes the process of getting to know him can be stressful, because the reality is I don't know how it will turn out. But all I can do is keep spending time with him until I do feel sure, one way or the other. 

Leif to the rescue

The last two weeks have been dedicated to studying electricity at the summer camp where I'm teaching science. Turns out I'm not the world's most talented electrician. Here are a few of the experiments we've tried:

•Acid circuit with limes - failed
•Circuit with a potato - failed
•Circuit with salt water - failed
•Car that runs on salt water from a kit - failed

And that's not even a complete list. You get the picture. If there's one thing the kids have learned, it's that their teacher is a failure. I even managed to screw up the project that came from a kit.

Yesterday was the day we were going to hook up the big, final project: a bike generator. The kids were excited; despite the many failures, they still had some faith in me. But before they even arrived, I managed to blow the fuse on the multimeter, the doohickey that reads how much electricity is being emitted.

That meant there was no way to figure out what was going wrong when we hooked up the plug, plugged in a light, pedaled, and -- surprise, surprise -- nothing happened. So, I texted Leif Ericson to ask him what I should do. Because, ya know, he's a man. And men know about electricity.

Without a multimeter, he was fresh out of ideas for me. But later on he emailed me: "I hope your day went well despite the technical difficulties. I wish I could have shown up with a hard hat, a multimeter and a cable to help you."

Who knew that Leif doubles as a combination electrician/fairy godmother! *swoon*

P.S. We did finally manage to light a teeny-tiny lightbulb. So it wasn't a complete wash.

Sea, sun and deadlines

I had several long talks last week with my friend M in which we discussed what I should do about Leif Ericson. Leif and I have been spending a lot of time together, and things are feeling pretty couple-y. But, we're not a couple, and the flags are still there. I had to decide: should I back off and slow things down a bit, or go for it? While I do believe in some level of caution, I have also observed that my friends who behave very cautiously end up seeming to waste more time on dead-end relationships. In other words, sometimes by behaving less cautiously, you figure out the issues sooner and get the inevitable breakup over with.

With M's help, I decided not to go the cautious route. I packed my bags and headed off to meet Leif and a couple of his friends for a fun weekend on the Cape that involved lots of delicious drinks, sunset kayaks, fresh fish cooked on the grill, naps curled up together on the hammock, as well as some less romantic but still fun activities, such as people watching during Bears Weekend in P-town.

However, I am not completely throwing caution to the wind, as is evidenced by a couple of upcoming dates on my calendar. One is "Stop putting up with Leif day," to be observed a month from now. Another name I considered for it is "Shit or get off the pot day"; it is the day when Leif needs to decide if he wants to be my boyfriend or not (provided I am ready to make that decision by that point, which frankly I don't right at this time). Later, in early October, I have "Decide about Leif day" -- assuming he gets past the first hurdle, of course. This day is based on my friend Kansas' theory that you should give men four months to prove themselves. If you don't feel certain about them by the end of four months, move on. Early October is the four month anniversary of our first kiss; my new rule is to put that date on my calendar as soon as I kiss a guy I like.

I had an amazing weekend on the Cape. It was unforgettable. I didn't come away from it feeling weak in the knees about Leif, or certain that we're meant for each other. I did come away from it feeling that I know him better and have a better sense of how compatible we are, as well as still having a lot of questions about our compatibility.

I enjoyed spending time with Leif's friends, too. Last night, we hatched a plot to make dinner together the next time they're in Boston. One of his friends has gone squidding a bunch, and has quite a supply in his freezer. I suggested we use the ink in my pasta dough, and create squid ink ravioli with lobster stuffing. While Leif was using the bathroom, I had to resist the urge to whisper, "Psss -- give me a call and let's do that dinner, even if things don't work out with Leif!"

Feed me

One issue that comes up a lot while dating is eating. I was impressed when a potential date suggested, a few months back, that we meet up for a Restaurant Week dinner. I thought it was a nice gesture, that it showed he was excited to go out with me, and I didn't think far enough ahead to consider what would happen when the check arrived. So it came as an unpleasant shock when the bill came and I realized that I was stuck between a rock and a hard place: I didn't really want him to pay for my $50 dinner, given that I had no intention of ever seeing him again, but I certainly didn't want to pay for it either, $50 being an entire week's budget of fun on my Austerity Budget. In the end, we split the bill, parted ways, and never spoke again.

On the other hand, some dates go too far in the other direction. Doctor O, who I went on five dates with last winter, had a bad record in that regard; he suggested a dinner spot for our first date, but when I arrived, stomach grumbling, he ordered only drinks. The trend continued through our subsequent four dates, until, just before we were due to meet for a tapas dinner, he dumped me. At one point while we were dating Slinky reflected that she wasn't sure if I really liked him or if I was just light-headed due to hunger. I guess I'll never know.

So far, Leif has struck a happy medium. Our dates have all been inexpensive, but I've never left a date with an empty stomach. On date 2, he grilled oysters for me. In the middle of date 3, he stopped by the grocery store to buy goat cheese so that we wouldn't be drinking champagne on an empty stomach; late that night, we made avocado and tuna salad. When I suggested we meet at the cemetery for a walk on date 4, he promised to bring along a few victuals, and arrived with a backpack full of goodies plus a picnic blanket. Now, as I prepare for our patriotic date 7, I received the following text from him: "Happy 4th. I will feed you tonight unless you have other plans. See you soon."

I have a friend who says of the men she goes out with that, prior to the first date, they aren't real people in her mind; it's only after date 2 that they begin to seem like little embryos. At date 7, Leif is starting to be semi-formed. He's past the stage of looking like a tadpole, with four real limbs and a head and torso, but he's still far from being a fully formed human. He certainly is a promising little fetus, though.

Don't think about elephants

Leif's got pasta skillz

Leif Ericson continues to be charming and kind, and he helped me make an amazing batch of beet ravioli with my new pasta maker two days ago. He also continues to be flaggy. I resolved not to think about him much or be in contact with him to try to minimize my attachment to him. This is difficult, because I have an attachment disorder (probably because I breastfed for a long time as a baby) that makes me attach too easily.

An hour or so after I made this resolution, I got a text message from Leif asking how I slept last night and if I had heard about the Supreme Court decision yet.

Two hours after that, I saw the news on Facebook that the Coen Brothers are making a sequel to the Big Lebowski -- Leif's favorite film. Real or hoax? I'm still not sure. Obviously, I had to pass on the news.

After receiving his excited reply, I went on OkCupid to try to find some new men to go out with. Guess who came up as one of my first suggested matches??

Grrrr.

Well, maybe leaving the country will help. Peace out, folks, I'm heading to Canada. (For the weekend.)

Flaggy

Leif Ericson is very sweet and very cute, but he's also a little bit flaggy. As in, yellow flaggy (no reds so far). He has three yellow flags; the most prominent one is that he's terrible at getting in touch after dates. After Date 3, I had to wait four long days before he contacted me to schedule Date 4. By the time he got in touch, he was lucky my weekend still had a little bit of time in it for him.

So, I decided to initiate a Diff Con about it with him on Date 4. I tried to address the root of the problem: I mentioned that he doesn't get in touch very much, and told him I'm confused about how interested in me he is. I got some valuable information from the conversation. But afterward, I worried that I hadn't been very clear in expressing that I'd like him to be in touch more. Then again, do I really want him to be in touch more? Having little contact with him between dates is a reminder that we don't know each other well and is helping me not get too invested. I like how cautious he is -- after dating lots of non-cautious guys who turned out to be duds, caution is a characteristic I value a lot -- and I want to be cautious, too.

Two days after Date 4 ended, I got an email. The title of the email: "It is Tuesday."

I guess he got the message after all.

Subconscious commitment

I told Leif Ericson that I don't quite know what to make of him. (His response: "That makes sense, since you don't know me that well. But feel free to ask anything." Hmm, touché, Leif.) Case in point:

Following date #4, Leif reported that he spent all night last night dreaming about me. Some of the dreams were good, some were bad, but he could only remember one enough to tell me about it: Someone had died, a distant aunt or uncle (unclear if it was his or mine). We were headed to the funeral. He felt stressed and took a Xanax, and I got upset with him. In an attempt to placate me, he went out and bought me a sticky bun and coffee.

It seems that Leif's subconscious has skipped the courting and honeymoon phases and gone straight to the nagging wife/henpecked husband phase. I'm not sure if I should be offended that I'm nagging him in his dreams or take it as a positive sign that he knows that the way to placate me is with a sticky bun.

"How about me? What did I do in your dreams?" he queried.

"You weren't in my dreams," I said, feeling vaguely guilty.

I guess my subconscious isn't as ready to commit as his.

How to date a guy with no doors in his apartment

Uhhh, well, I really don't know how. But it looks like I'm going to have to figure it out, because it's probably not realistic for me to go pee at Starbucks every single time, like I did today.

Ideas, anyone??

My mom always taught me that if you say one negative thing you should counter it with at least two positives. So: He keeps a little pot of honey next to his bed for midnight snacks, like a bear. His house is full of plants and feels like a rainforest (so full that a few came home with me). Drinking prosecco on his roof is magical.

The no-door-on-the-bathroom thing is a real doozy, but the positives certainly outweigh the negatives.

Action in the bullpen

I've been crazy busy lately. I'm thinking about moving and starting to plan for it. I have two interviews on Monday. I'm working on creating a curriculum for my summer job, which starts the day after school ends. And, like I've said before, I've been dating a LOT the last few weeks -- I had triple headers (three days of consecutive dates) the past three weekends. During the third-to-last one, just before I met up with Leif, I found myself smiling and nodding at my smart, interesting date and thinking, "Please stop asking me questions. I'm too tired to answer them." Not good, since a boyfriend who doesn't ask questions is the last thing I want.

I've gotten so busy that I've stopped putting any effort into dating. But somehow I need to find the time to do so, because what with my diminished effort recently, I find myself with no dates lined up. The 27-year-old who bought me dinner last week seems to have gotten the message that I'm not interested. The handsome Indian doctor wasn't interested in me. And then there are a few people who have contacted me who I never bothered to reply to, which means no action in the bullpen to distract me from Leif Ericson. I need distraction, because even though it's only been two dates, I have been thinking about him a lot ever since we went out last weekend. I'm trying not to get attached, but it's hard when I've met his people, gone sailing with him, and spent so long smooching on the street that we needed to find something for me to stand on so my toes didn't get tired (he's very tall). In between running around trying to get stuff done, I find myself daydreaming about him or signing into OkCupid just to see his tiny little photo next to his old messages to me.

So, I'm forcing Leif out of my head, burying myself in my work, and accepting a date from a non-Internet man who asked me out yesterday. And if you see my gazing off into space with a silly grin on my face, please kick me.

Searching for the trifecta

Ever since my landlord's revelation late last week that he's raising my rent, I'm officially now searching for the trifecta: a job, a boyfriend and an apartment.

The good news is I'm making headway in at least some of those areas. Back in New York, my Wise Woman noted that I frequently used the word "charming" to describe my boyfriends. (In that astonishing/helpful/sometimes annoying way that my Wise Woman had, she remembered my descriptions years later and would repeat them back to me verbatim.) I still like a charming man; who doesn't? I certainly wouldn't want to date someone who is NOT personable, outgoing and funny.

But lately, I've noticed that the word that I use most often to describe men I like is no longer "charming." A new word has come along: "gentle." And while there are lots of other words I could use to describe Leif Ericson -- funny, intelligent, and interesting come to mind -- I really like his gentleness. We went for a pretty sail on the Charles today, and he was patient and kind while giving me sailing lessons. I also appreciate that he's willing to break the rules and invite me to meet a whole slew of his friends at a barbeque on Date #2.

I found a pearl in my oyster at the barbeque, so I think I may be in for some good luck! Cross your fingers for me that the trifecta will come along, sooner or later.