Don’t Cry for Me, St. Petersburg

It’s definitely not a good sign when you end up literally crying on a date.

Not all out sobbing, mind you, but teary eyes, blinking, red cheeks, etc.

I had myself convinced that I was embarking on a major depressive episode and should get screened by a doctor right away.

But as soon as I got home and climbed in bed with my favorite long-canceled TV drama, I felt so much better. And I realized that the reason I didn’t feel connected to this guy, whom I’d seen three times in the past week, wasn’t because I was depressed.

It was because he kept pushing me for a connection I didn’t feel.

Honestly, I should have gotten up and left when, a half hour into our first meeting, he tried to convince me to go back to his place for “just some light making out.” But he was cute, with amazing eyes, and we had a lot in common – books, TV shows, bands.

And I hadn’t been out with someone I genuinely thought was cute in quite a while. So I tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter that he was pushing to get physical, or that he kept interrupting me (all men seem to do this), or that his track record with women and jobs was abysmal.

He was cute! And he lived close by.

But at dinner he tried to press me into going back to his place to drink. “I’ll get you an Uber home,” he said. And when I tried to feel some kind of connection to this guy, and ended up with nothing, I teared up.

When we sat on the beach at sunset, he said, “I had pictured us kissing at this point,” all I could picture was getting the hell out of there.

I told him that I needed time to heal. I apologized for thinking I was ready for a relationship when I clearly was not. When he dropped me off at my front door, he didn’t even wait to see that I was safely inside before peeling away.

And slowly, I realized the truth. I am ready for a relationship. Just not with him.

When the right guy comes along, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m accepting no substitutions.

Can it be called ghosting when there was never a body to begin with?

Everyone is familiar with the term “ghosting” – you’ve been ghosted when a friend or romantic interest suddenly stops replying to texts and calls. It’s painful because there’s no reason why, never any attempt at closure… the person has just disappeared, like a ghost.

That hasn’t happened to me yet. Everyone who has disappeared from my life has been very kind about explaining why they weren’t going to be in it anymore. But I have had its weird predecessor – cricketing, maybe? Named for what happens when you’re expecting a reply, but instead there’s just silence. A silence so loud you can hear crickets. You’re in the middle of a text conversation, and suddenly that person just. Stops. Answering. For no good reason.

“Text” isn’t really the right word here; I don’t give out my phone number to men I haven’t met in person, so all these conversations have happened only on the dating apps.

A few times, it’s happened because I’ve refused to give a man my number. We’ve liked each other on the app, exchanged some messages. Now he wants to chat; I tell him I prefer a face to face meeting rather than give my phone number to a stranger on the internet. The response: crickets.

Or they are suddenly going out of town and strangely enough will not have access to the internet while they’re gone, but they will definitely get in touch as soon as they get back. Instead, you guessed it: crickets.

In one case, a guy answered my standard opening message of “You seem great; please check out my profile and write back if you think we have important stuff in common” with a message thanking me for writing and complimenting my smile. I thanked him and asked a question about his neighborhood. Cricketing ensued. Perhaps he thought I was already planning to stalk him?

Another time, I was the cricketer. A guy asked me what I meant by “progressive St. Pete.” I said I was a progressive looking for another progressive. I then proceeded to receive a string of messages on how I should move to L.A. Not only did he get crickets from me, I blocked him.

Disappointing, yes – especially the guy I messaged first – but ultimately good that they reveal themselves early.

And the guy who blew me off last week because he was sick? He’s been messaging me often, and now we plan to get together on Friday. Will he actually show up this time? Stay tuned.

Whose Job is it Anyway?

I was a teenager in the 1980s, not the 1950s, but even then, my mother sounded like Lorraine McFly in Back to the Future, putting down Marty’s girlfriend Jennifer Parker for being the one to call him. (To be honest, calling him three times in the space of a few hours when they’d already been together after school is really excessive.) “I don't like her, Marty. Any girl who just calls up a boy is just asking for trouble…. I think it's terrible! Girls chasing boys. When I was your age I never chased a boy or called a boy or sat in a parked car with a boy.” (Of course later we find out that Lorraine was pretty hot to trot, or maybe it was just Marty was so irresistible, she couldn’t help herself.)

My mom was the same way, warning me against chasing boys, telling me that any boy I called would see me as desperate, and opining that if a boy liked you, he’d call you, so if he hadn’t called, it meant he didn’t like you, so why bother calling him?

I didn’t listen to my mother, but she had a point. The guys I went after were not as into me as the guys who went after me. Still, it was an easier time then. Men were still expected to make the first move. Women were expected to be asked. It was such a big deal for a woman to ask out a man that an entire dance was dedicated to it.

Now… not so much.

Of course, this is both good and bad. Women are expected to go after everything they want in life – sports, jobs, etc. Of course they should go after a man they’re interested in. At the same time, as the term “emotional labor” becomes more and more prevalent in recognition of how married women run the household, even in households of two earners, it’s interesting to note that this phenomenon is creeping into the dating scene as well. Men don’t just want wives who’ll arrange their social life, make their doctor’s appointments, sign up their kids for school and make the grocery shopping lists… they want girlfriends who’ll make the first move, plan their social lives, come up with creative dates, and keep the passion fires burning.

It starts online. There’s even a dating site where women have to make the first move. Yes, it’s based on the premise that online dating can be dangerous for women, that men will harass them, and of course this is one hundred percent true. But it’s also true that many men can’t even be bothered to get someone to take a decent picture of them, to write out a profile, or to send a message that says more than “Hi.” Why have a website where only women can make the first move when so many of us are forced to anyway?

It’s possible that just as many women are equally brief online. I wouldn’t know; I don’t see their profiles. But I’ve lost track of the number of profiles I’ve clicked on, wanting to know more about a man, only to be told to “ask me anything! I’m an open book!” So much easier to put the onus on the woman to ask questions, rather than taking the time to write out a profile explaining who they are and what they are looking for in a mate. And there’s the old “I’m new here; will update later” from four months ago.

Last week an attractive guy “Hi!” ed. Usually I ignore these brief ones. But he was cute, so I sent back “hey there.”

I heard nothing back.

Men, you’re not just competing with the other lazy men on the site. You’re competing with our friends, with Netflix, with Meet-Up groups. There are so many other things we can do rather than wait for Mr. “What do you want to know about me” to put together a few sentences to describe himself.

If you’re not going to put any effort into your profile, I don’t think you’ll put in any effort to meeting me.

I was supposed to have a date tonight. I reached out to him; said I’d liked his profile and please check out mine and write back if he liked what he read. He said he did. We made plans for tonight. This afternoon, he begged off sick. I was, of course, understanding.

I’m not expecting to hear back from him again. Oh well. It’s rainy tonight, and I’ve heard good things about that Netflix series “Typewriter.” I’ll be fine.

This is why you should read the entire profile

The weather was bad on Friday – lots of scary thunderstorms. I’d been chatting with a guy on POF during the week (he reached out first), and we agreed to meet Friday night, but play it by ear in regards to the weather. I sent him a note Friday afternoon, went to my writers’ meeting, then came home and settled down with a good book. The storms passed around 7, and I waited to hear from him. And waited.

Oh well. It was a great book. Definitely not a wasted evening.

This morning my phone beeps with a message from him. I’m already done – not a big believer in giving second chances to make a first impression – but curious as to what he might say. This was it:

“Sorry Hun, not political at all but I can’t stand illegal immigrants, and ur party seems to thrive on them, I’m sure simply for more votes, plzz think about the well being of the country ty MJF.”

So, definitely dodged a bullet there. I thought about sending a note back saying, “Here’s a thought: Why don’t you read someone’s profile before contacting them; you can save yourself a lot of time that way,” but I realized I’d save myself even more time by not replying at all.

I have two bestsellers waiting at the library for me.