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The 279th Date

Since it is Friday the 13th and since my magical thinking requires that I give the day the superstitious honor it is due, I’ve decided it is time to share some news. My type of superstition means that I believe in these things—or not—if I feel like it or if it happens to benefit me. So I’m not a paraskevidekatriaphobic: a person afflicted with a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the 13th (Urban Legends About.com).

However, I do think the day sometimes brings out the crazies. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say it makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do on other days.

I recently read how my bloggy buddy Swati Bharteey shared the fantastic news of her engagement here. Then, some new developments in my life happened and created a Friday the 13th karmic soup.

Soooo…I want to tell you about the 279th Date.

It goes something like this.

I dated for eight years and learned more about myself then I ever imagined or dreamed was possible. Over that time, I went on many Internet first dates. Some involved men with snakes in their closets or dungeons in their basements. As happens when you date, I fell in love with a few and contemplated spending the rest of my life with them. However, I still was growing and changing.

I bought a house, got a Master’s Degree, PhD, and went on an odyssey that changed my life. My daughter grew into a beautiful young woman, and we became self-sufficient. I realized that I no longer needed a man to make my life complete. We were happy just the way we were.

The end.

Except that wasn’t the end. After that, I didn’t give up dating, but it just wasn’t necessary. Perhaps because of that, two years later I met a wonderful man.

I had the 279th Internet first date.

It was wonderful, and we fell in love.

The end.

But that’s not the end either. It’s still not easy, is it? Blending families and dealing with emotional difficulties of a teenager is not simple. I’ve been single a long time. So has he. Exes are hard. I’m a teacher-turned-writer who shares half my life with the world.

Perhaps more than that, I was a single, solo mother for more years than I’ve been anything else. It is what I know best and I became good at it. I’m also an expert at online dating, and sometimes I wonder where that leads me now that I’m not doing it anymore.

On the other hand, Date Number 279 should give all of you hope because what I’ve been saying actually works. Tenacity and the numbers game works. I know your struggles. I am here for you. As my sister Allyson said, you may have to kiss a lot of frogs, but there is a prince at the end.

My mom told me this story about when she had her baby who died. She had fallen down a flight of stairs shortly before giving birth so the baby was in trouble and died soon after being born. What was possibly the most painful was that, after Brian died before she even woke up from the anesthesia, the hospital personnel immediately transferred her out of the maternity ward. It was as if she was no longer a mother.

My experiences matter and I have so much to offer. I hope you’ll let me stay in the club even though I’ve found my prince. It’s the logical result of dating, at least that’s what they tell me.

Now—my Cute Single and Available (CSA) friend needs a date... Any takers?

copyright © 2010  Tiia Jones

Undateable Women - A Girl's Perspective

First, you have to understand that what inspired this post was a television show called Undateable which highlights things guys do that guarantee that they will not only not get a date, but not be having sex.

I posted some funny highlights and my own additions on my Facebook Group page and also my Twitter page ([email protected]). For example, too much polar fleece was strangely absent from the show’s list as were money clips, panel vans, and bad table manners. These all make my personal undateable list.

What happened, though, is that my male friends (gay and straight), rebelled.

One tweet said, “How come these things are always about what men do wrong? What about women? I’ve been w/ some doosies!”

John said on FB, “On behalf of all men I worry that by eliminating these 311 things that we can't do, that we'll be left with about 4 things that we can. Women of the world, HELP!”

J—a gay man—said on FB, “I don’t seem to have a problem with the men I date doing things way outside the norm, but my brother dates women who are ALWAYS wearing, saying, or doing undateable things. Have you SEEN what some of the women out there wear?! You should blog about that!”

So here I am. My CSA friend and I (if you don’t remember her, you can get caught up here) went out into downtown Seattle armed with our cell phone cameras to capture what we think men think is undateable. We were having so much fun that we also made a list. I want to know your feedback; especially if you’re a man or a gay woman. Do you agree? Are they undateable? Should we start our own reality show? Oddly, we’ve already gotten a bit of feedback, and not all of it has concurred.

• Leggings or leg warmers (especially in odd or fluorescent colors)
• Pajamas and/or slippers

• Crocs and other strange footwear not meant for this century or planet

• Women walking a pack of dogs OR dogs in a bag (this really opens up an entire category of odd pet ownership—see below and please note “I will not date that. I will not date that with a cat. Nor with a rat on top of her cat.” Actually there are so many things I could say about this one that I don’t even know where to begin. Did you SEE she has a cat and a rat on a leash? And blue hair?)

• Birkenstocks (especially with socks)

• Women who don’t shave or wax their: legs, underarms, face (A guy friend said recently there was a woman at Macy’s who had a bigger mustache than him--eww!)
• Rainboots

• Shirts that show a woman’s midriff (There was some contention on this point, with CSA saying that men like this sort of thing because they like to know if they’re, “getting a fattie.”)
• T-bar of thong or really any sort of underwear showing (Another argument ensued here with L. from FB saying this is sexy…especially bra straps. Why do women even wear shirts, I ask you?)
• Androgynous-looking women

• Lots of key chains and keys around wrist or neck; ditto lots of purses

• Bandanas
• Unnatural hair colors growing out (see also bun in above photo)

L. added after seeing this one that, “Men will forgive a thousand sins if she’s got a nice ass.” Conclusion: the girl’s perspective on what makes a girl dateable is necessarily flawed.

The Lawyer and the MILF

PROFILE   RJD80 “Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.” Friedrich Nietzsche Active within 1 week 42-year-old-man Albuquerque, NM  United States Seeking women 30-45 Within 50 miles of Albuquerque, NM, United States Relationships: Divorced Have Kids: Yes and sometimes they live at home Want Kids: No but it’s OK if my partner has kids Ethnicity: No answer Body type: About average  Height: 5’10” Hair Color: Dark brown  Eye Color: Brown Smoke: No way Drink: Moderately Education Level:  PhD/Post doctoral My Job: Legal Interests: Music/videos, fine dining, reading, travel (US and foreign), performing arts, museums, cultural events, music & concerts, home repairs

I was fat. No doubt about it. I’d gained fifteen pounds during the nine month relationship with Richard. Most people eat when they are stressed out, but I do the opposite. When I am happy and things are good, I like to have a good meal. Or two. Being in a relationship apparently agreed with me—but not with my wardrobe.

Richard had told me in the beginning of our relationship that his marital prenup consisted, in part, of a clause that said that if his wife gained more than ten pounds from the marriage weight, he had the right to divorce her. I knew my weight gain was a big deal and yet I couldn’t seem to find the gumption to do anything productive about it.

I finally started running again when I saw a picture of myself that I didn’t even recognize. It didn’t help that I had to buy pants with elastic waistbands and drawstrings.

Richard encouraged me with the running. I knew it was important to him that I get (back) in shape. I’m not petite under the best of circumstances, but I figured he had a right for me to look like I did when he first met me.

“You’re starting to slim down,” he said during a trip we took to San Diego.

I stared at him. The words stung because he so rarely doled out praise but was so free with criticism. “Yeah. I’ve been working at it.”

He was also critical of my parenting. He thought that Leah was indulged and spoiled.

One night at my house, Richard and I had planned to watch a movie. I’d put Leah to bed—in her own bed for a change, which I thought was progress. The house had such a strange layout that her bedroom door was up a short flight of stairs from the living room where the television was. Richard asked me to close her bedroom door.

I stared at him. “B . . . but she can’t sleep with the door closed.”

“Tiia,” he began forcefully. “This is a simple problem. You are the mother. You are thirty five years old. She is seven. Take control of the situation. Tell her you are closing the door. That’s it. You let everyone walk all over you and dictate how you live your life—your father, Leah, your friends, everyone. I won’t put up with it. I just won’t.”

I shook my head. I wanted this to work for so many reasons, not the least of which was my current low self-esteem and ongoing lack of confidence as a single parent. “But it’s not a simple problem. Don’t you see? She has abandonment issues. She has seen a therapist for years.”

“No she’s just manipulating you and controlling you. It’s utterly ridiculous.”

After more than 150 dates and almost four years, I was getting weary and discouraged; I knew something didn’t feel right for me, but I was on a relationship path that I didn’t want to or couldn’t leave.

Then in walked Graydon—literally. Leah and I lived in a converted mobile home that butted up against another small house. A young man had recently moved into the house next door, and I had seen him a few times and waved.

He was tall and built like a body builder with bulging muscles that he liked to display by wearing muscle shirts and shorts. One afternoon after dropping Leah off for a sleepover at Jenny’s, there was a knock at the door and there was Graydon.

“You left the trunk of your car open,” he said with a winning smile, “I thought ya might want to know.”

Oh boy, did I. “Thank you. Hey, come in. You’re Graydon, right?” His eyes were a pale blue, and he seriously could not have been more than twenty-five (he was twenty-two as I found out).

“OK just for a minute, but I have a cold so I don’t want to stay long.” His voice sounded gravelly and his eyes were a little bloodshot. Poor baby!

“You poor thing! What are you taking for it?”

He looked despondent. “I don’t have anything. What do you think I should take?”

I suggested a variety of cold remedies, which when I brought them over to him later that evening, included a backrub. He assured me that this was a necessary component of his getting well. I didn’t want to argue with his medical needs.

Backrubs, as we all know, often lead to frontrubs. Graydon was no exception. For being such a young pup, he displayed no lack of sexual experience.

I so would like to say that I thought of Richard as this hot, young stud fulfilled his MILF fantasy. I would even more like to say that I remembered that Richard, like most lawyers, had serious trust issues and had made me promise over and over to be faithful.

The fact is, it made me feel good. For a change, my self-image and even my body image was the one reflected back in Graydon’s eyes and I liked it. He wasn’t what I was looking for in a long-term partner, but Graydon made me realize that the one I had wasn’t what I was looking for either.

***To Be Continued***

Image of Joe Mantegna courtesy of Forensis Channel.forumfree

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

Single Mom in the City

As you might have guessed, my CSA friend (of the Tiffany's bracelet) and I went to see the new Sex and the City 2 movie. The movie was fun and a great afternoon for girlfriends, but we both felt like the two and a half hours were a little much for the plot—mostly because the filmmakers needed that much time in order to get in all of the costume changes. There were many, and they were something else. The shoes were high, the bags were sparkly, and the fashions were extreme. They were nothing most ordinary people would ever set foot out of their houses wearing.

Charlotte and Miranda have this great scene where they are sitting at the hotel bar commiserating over their cocktails and sharing their mom war stories. It goes something like this.

Charlotte and Miranda’s Mom Woes:

“Being a mom is so hard.”
"The baby cries all day long and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes, I just go in the other room and shut the door.”
"I’m ashamed to admit it. I love my child more than anything, but sometimes it’s just not enough.”
"No one said it would be this difficult. All I ever wanted was a family and now I have one and I can’t understand why I’m unhappy.”
"We have full-time nannies and husbands and I’m tired all of the time. I just can’t help but think, how do people do it when they don’t have any help?”
"Here’s to them.” They toast.

I thought I’d let them in on a little slice of reality--single mom style.

Single Mom Woes:

Being a mom IS so hard—deal with it. Guess what, in our worlds, there’s never anyone there to help.
The baby sometimes does cry all day or is sick all day or even (later when they’re not babies) not very nice all day, and you never get a break. It is exhausting. There’s not a manual or instructions. I do recommend going in the other room and shutting the door, but not for long because great destruction will often occur on the other side of the door.
Every once in a while, I have a little self-pity party and think about how hard it is to raise a child all by myself. Then I remember this is the most important job I will ever do and since I’m doing it solo, I better not screw it up. There are no do-overs or sick days.
Oddly, my child is so very much more than enough. Maybe it’s because I don’t wear those uncomfortable clothes that I couldn’t afford anyway (see picture below). They might be

making Miranda and Charlotte grumpy. Try staying in your sweats and not putting on your makeup. It seems to improve my mood lately. So would a Prada bag but I don’t see that happening.
What also makes me happy is having enough money for a vacation every couple of years. With my child… We usually go to Disney World or, last year, the Redwood Forest in California, not Abu Dhabi.
Full-time nanny? And a husband? Now that’s just crazy talk! How do we do it? We don’t have a choice.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

Rationalizing at Tiffany’s

“Well when I get (the mean reds) the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then—I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!” Holly Golightly played by Audrey Hepburn

I was shopping recently with a girl friend—Cute, Smart, Available—who had a gift certificate for Tiffany’s. We stopped by the famous jewelry store to see what she could spend the $50 certificate on.

First, as film references go, if you’ve never seen "Breakfast at Tiffany's", and watched the classy Audrey Hepburn window shop at Tiffany’s while eating a pastry out of a paper bag, you should immediately curse your lack of cultural archetypal knowledge and go rent the movie. I can’t adequately communicate light reflecting off sparkling facets of diamonds in the highly-polished glass window. Audrey longs for what’s inside as much as what it represents.

The solace found in Tiffany’s bejeweled offerings isn’t cheap, however. My friend (CSA) and I—assisted by an overly helpful and extremely efficient saleslady—soon found that her gift certificate would not go very far in the store.

This is where I come in. I am one of the best rationalizers (definition: one who rationalizes) I know. If I want something (or I see that someone else wants something but they haven’t crossed the line to convincing themselves), I will find a way to make it obvious that not only is it the best solution, but that it is the most ethical, humane, fiscally-sound, environmentally-conscious solution as well.

When CSA despaired at Tiffany’s and made sounds like she was going to leave, I could not let that happen. I summoned my powers.

“Ok, so someone gave you this gift certificate, right?” I knew she wanted to feel that Tiffany’s magic, but she needed to justify it.

CSA looked at me somewhat hesitantly. She knows I can be convincing. I’d already helped her justify valet parking at the mall and having someone wash her car while we shopped.  “Yeeessss.”

“Well, if someone gives you a gift then it is rude and selfish not to enjoy it right?”

“Right?” CSA answers my question with a question as the hovering saleslady eavesdrops nearby.

“In fact, if you don’t use this gift certificate, it would be just like throwing away a present someone hand-made for you, and you wouldn’t do that.” I know she would never hurt anyone’s feelings in such a thoughtless manner.

I see her eyes dart to a display of sterling silver bracelets that we’d already looked at. “But there’s nothing in here that even comes close to the price range.” The helpful saleslady has unobtrusively taken the bracelets out of the case.  OOOHH…she is perceptive.

“I know, so in order to use this gift and do the right thing, you may have to supplement it a little but think of it this way—it’s your responsibility as a friend. Not only that, it’s an heirloom piece. Just look at it! It’s practically an investment opportunity.” I gesture to the bracelets while the nice lady begins removing them from their velvet cocoons.

Her eyes shine as she fingers one of the bracelets and (I assume) imagines herself walking into a room sporting this trinket that so obviously came from such a high-end store.

CSA addresses the store employee, “Can you size them?”

“Of course and we’ll ship it directly to your house.”

“I don’t know . . .” she wavers.

I’ll have to up my game. I’ve used some guilt and fiduciary responsibility, but what about self esteem and the mother of all rationalizers, love?

“Also, you deserve the best. You’re the only YOU there is, and if you don’t treat you well, no one will.”

CSA and the saleslady are both nodding their heads vehemently.

“And think what a conversation piece this will be. People might ask where you got it. Heck, men might even ask you out.”

“I’ll take it.”

CSA and the bracelet picked me up for coffee last week. I’m pleased to report that both girl and accessory are doing well and are very, very happy.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones