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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

The Sex Talk

I am a terrible mother. Not for the usual reasons that I think I’m a bad mother, though those are many.

I don’t give my daughter all organic food, and if the truth be told she’s seen the inside of several McDonald’s (*astonished gasps from the audience*). Before she was even close to being old enough to read, she could easily recognize the large billboard logo of the corporate evil that is Wal Mart.

Plus, much to my mother’s dismay—and besides the fact that my mother was neither Catholic nor Jewish, she had a corner on the guilt market—Leah slept in my bed on and off until she was ten-years-old, probably increasing her need for therapy. She doesn’t always go to bed on time. I am constantly worried that I don’t expose her to enough fine art, quality literature, and great culture. Sometimes (wait for it here) we eat in front of the television.

All of those maternal shortcomings, however vast they may be, are not why I’m losing sleep of late. It’s… S E X.

I have read all of the parenting books that tell me I should talk to my child naturally and often about sex. I watch shows that suggest I use popular songs and media topics as a springboard to bring the subject up naturally into conversation.

What ends up happening is something very different. I wish there were scripts to follow for this (like Sex Talk 1, Sex Talk 2, and so on) or maybe a Sex Information Camp I could send her to which would absolve me of the responsibility (I picture it being something like the Cheerleading and Horseback Riding camps I’ve sent her to in the past only they’d learn all they needed to know about smooching and...everything else.

As I often do when faced with a difficult solo parenting problem, I ask myself WWLGD (What Would Lorelai Gilmore Do?). She would probably handle the issue with humor, ease, style, and finesse. However, my efforts have been more like a cross between Lucille Ball and June Cleaver. It makes me uncomfortable, and Leah senses that and feels uncomfortable too. It usually goes something like this:

Me: Hey that song reminds me that girls are not just sex objects, ya know? (trying to sounds hip and cool)

Leah: (horrified) We’re not going to talk about this again, are we?

Me: Well, all the books say we should talk about sex a lot and I want to make sure you don’t have any questions. Do you understand how everything works? (putting my hand on her arm)

Leah: (rolling eyes) Yes, I do. Mom, I get it. I’m a unique and special snowflake. I’ll kick anyone who tries to do something I don’t want, ok?

Me: That’s not all honey. Sex is beautiful when it’s right, but I just want to make sure that if you have any questions you can ask me. I could never ask my mom.

Leah: (double eye roll) Puhlease don’t tell me about the book that Granny bought for you and my aunts again. If I have to hear about the pictures of flowers getting pollinated one more time…and I know that’s not how people do it, ok?

Me: (uncertain) All right, but I love you so much.

Leah: I know mom, now can we go to Hollister?

I’ve asked friends for advice and they’re not much help either. One girlfriend said that she went into her daughter’s room every day and announced, “If you’re going to have sex, use a condom.” Another recommended a book, which I held off on ordering for a long time since I did in fact have bad memories of learning about the “Birds and Bees” from the book my mother gave Mary, Allyson, and me. While very colorful, it wasn’t exactly the most accurate piece of scientific information.

I finally bought the book which is called s.e.x. and it is by Heather Corinna (her website is here), and I have to say that Leah and I are both learning something. I will tell you that Corinna is more progressive than the birds and bees book and maybe more on the liberal end of the spectrum than some people would like. However, for us, I think it’s good. She deals with everything from homosexuality to kissing to sexual abuse to cybersex to friends with benefits. She EVEN has a chapter on Internet dating.

Most importantly, I think Lorelai would approve.

copyright © 2010  Tiia Jones

Magical Thinking

My daughter thinks I have a lot of superstitions. I like to think  of them more as magical thinking because I buy into it (or not) if and when it suits me.

For example, I never miss an opportunity to pick up a lucky penny. If I am feeling really in need of luck (like right now when I’m waiting to hear from agents and publishers), I look for those pennies as if my life depended on it.

I try not to step on cracks when I’m walking, and if I’m feeling particularly concerned about something that day then I avoid them like the plague. When my mom was sick in the hospital, I was a serious no crack stepper oner.

If I spill salt, I usually throw some over my shoulder. Well, unless I just mopped; then I figure the magic energy fairies understand. See what I mean; I pick and chose my magic?

I also have a lucky black first-date skirt. I’ve been known to post-pone or even cancel dates if it was at the drycleaners.

Numbers are important to me too. I like even numbers. I especially like multiples of eight because it’s my favorite number. So date #64, 144, 188, and so on were (I thought) significant; until they turned out to be not so significant. Date # 208, if I recall, was an ex-convict, but you just can’t judge an entire system of numerical possibilities based on one (or two or three) bad experiences.

Sometimes I think maybe things I do will create the luck. If I help the schizophrenic couple who live in my building with their groceries, I’m creating good life karma. Let someone go in front of me at the store; good things are coming my way. I don’t like to think of it the other way though. If I accidentally cut someone off in traffic, it’s not like I’ll never get another date again.

All of this is magical thinking. My editor keeps wanting to change the wording in my manuscript to “superstitious thinking” but it’s not at all the same thing. If I were superstitious, when we had a skunk infestation in our neighborhood, I might have thought it meant something bad (as skunks are stinky and generally considered unpleasant). Instead, because of where I was at emotionally, I searched online until I found a reference that said it meant that I have a growing awareness of self respect and that I needed to  "walk the talk."

Of course, that was probably what I already wanted to believe anyway, and it worked with my goals so…what the heck. It’s lucky to me, this luck thing, because it works when I want it to. If it gets unlucky, I’m definitely chucking it.

Unless Vin Diesel shows up with a skunk and some salt. Then I’m putting on my black skirt and we’re going out; even if it’s at the drycleaners.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

Ten Ways to End a Date: Guest Blogger Leah

As you probably know, I have a daughter. She has played a pivotal role in my dating—both in making it happen and in making it NOT happen. She very much wants me to be in a relationship and wants a new Dad, but she rarely likes the men I date.

Many single moms I know report similar problems. They have a hard time dating because of their offspring. I don’t mean the logistical concerns, either (even though those are sometimes great—see an example here). What I mean is the barriers and difficulties the children put up because of their jealousy, insecurity, and feelings of potential abandonment. And, in some cases, they may just know they guy is a dud. So following is Leah’s guest blogger post with her advice on ending a date . . . from the kid’s perspective. FYI: This is in her words, so cut her some slack!

Leah’s Advice for Ending a Date

1. Be mean (make sure both your mother and the date know you are NOT happy to be there-say things like, “When are we leaving? I’m tired. I’m bored.” If all else fails, try faking sick.)
2. Be obnoxious (throw fits in restaurants and cling on to your mother at every opportunity; get in between the man and your mom)
3. Be annoying (try spilling your drink and definitely don’t like the food; you could try using bad table manners like chewing with your mouth open and slurping but I’ve never tried this but here are some ideas; interrupt a lot and pat your mom’s hand; repeating “Mommy, mommy, mommy” is very annoying.)
4. The name of the game is “Be the Center of Attention.” Do not let the conversation revolve around anyone else but you. Talk about yourself constantly whether it’s dolls or cheerleading. If they start to talk about something boring (jobs, football, weird hobbies, really anything that isn’t about YOU) jump in.
5. It is out of the question for him to touch your mom for any reason. Even if she is choking. He is the enemy and must die.
6. Sometimes, the man may really be a sicko, a hobo, or a dork. If you notice that, try telling your mom. She might not listen at first because she’ll think you’re just being selfish. You can point out all of the weird things he does and roll your eyes a lot and try “huffing” your breath out really loudly. One guy showed us a video of his dog playing in the park while we were eating dinner. That was a lot of eye rolling and huffing. If that doesn’t work, do the things above. Sometimes moms are a little slow.
   (These next few are for when your mom tries to leave you with a sitter:)
7. Cry and scream if they try to leave you at home.
8. Once you can use a phone or even better you have your own cell phone, you have much more power. Call your mom a bunch of times. Say, “I just wanted to tell you I love you.” They like that. They already feel guilty for leaving you at home.
9. Call to ask questions you already know the answer to like:  “When will you be home? How long do I heat up soup in the microwave? Do you like Jon and Kate Plus Eight?”
10. The last one is only for when you’re desperate. Call grandma. She will make your mom feel way more guilty than you can.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

Oxygen Mask: Online Dating Saved My Life

I’ve been thinking a lot about why I decided to “try” Internet dating in the first place. Why not blind dates or want ads or a root canal?

Partly, it’s my best friend Arianna’s fault. She was the one back in 2000 who signed me up for Match.com. Ari was one of my best friends from college. She is now a balls-to-the-wall entertainment lawyer. We are getting older but her boyfriends keep getting younger. Her concern was that I might become some dried up prune of a cat lady. Maybe she regrets it now.

It could also be the fault of the inventors of the Internet, though it’s a little unclear who that is (according to snopes, Al Gore didn’t make the claim). It might even be argued that, without the Internet, I’d be on date number 30 or 40 instead of over 250.

What I know for sure is what my mom said when I first told her about my online dating those many years ago.

    ***

“I hear you’re going to do some dates on the computer.” I could hear her smiling.

Nothing goes uncommunicated in my family--well nothing like that. If I were to fall and break my leg, I could expect the entire web of my family to be notified within seventeen seconds—cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents--the whole kit and caboodle. Then I could expect a complicated system of visitations and casseroles to be arranged for the next two weeks. So I wasn’t surprised that she was already in the loop about my dating, even though no dates had even taken place.

“Yes,” I said hesitantly not knowing how she was going to react to this. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, here’s what I think. You were married to a man who treated you pretty darn bad for a long time. You have been living for Leah these past two years and doing a good job of it. But there’s a reason on airplanes that they tell you to put on the oxygen mask first ‘fore you put it on your child if it drops down. It’s so you can save both of you. So go ahead and put that oxygen mask on!”

   ***

I have had an awful lot of dates, it’s true. Not all of them have been great. In fact, some have been really horrid. I’m thankful, though, for each and every one because they all taught me important lessons that I needed to learn for myself and for my daughter.

It taught me:
+to be more assertive
+that I deserved to be picky
+to stand up for myself when accusations were wrong (I was faced with pornography charges after a stalker-date posted naked pictures on the Internet and almost lost my job)
+that being intelligent was not the same thing as having common sense
+if you don’t feel a connection within three hours of a first date, you’ll never feel it
+people lie on the Internet; verify
+sometimes all you can do is just keep getting off the couch (and try again)
+that being a single means you never get a break; just deal with it
+religion is a very touchy business and it’s run by people who are flawed (I was fired from a Christian school for premarital sex)
+my family may be a little nuts, but they’re the only one I have—men will come and go
+my daughter and I do a surprisingly good job all by ourselves  

Internet dating destroyed me in many ways, but it also saved my life.

Today, as I remember my mom (she died two years ago) who never got to see me truly happy, I am thankful that I no longer need an oxygen mask. I hope wherever she is that oxygen masks, figurative or literal, are not required.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones