Well, I have decided officially (small panel consisting of three teddy bears, 1 cat and my workmate) to extricate myself from the 'dating game' and have removed my profile from findsomeone.
There i was last night, dredging my way through profiles, looking unenthusiastically into the same set of faces, lined with age, drawn by heart break and dulled by disappointment and the words: Grave yard, popped into my head.
Findsomeone is a grave yard.
A cemetry of dashed hopes and broken dreams, a cache of damaged, unloveable people.
And I heard my inner cynic, that had been muttering away the whole time, suddenly raise his voice to a shout.
I'm speaking from experience, i've met with say.. 6 guys from findsomeone? and they were all slightly... askew. That's not to say that weird, askew people can't be loved too. I just.. am not feeling that charitable these days I guess.
And the idea that any minute now... with just one eager finger click I will simply fall on ... not even the 'love of my life' which is an idea i matured into considering too unrealistic to put stock in years ago ... but even just someone GREAT.. it's just not holding water anymore.
Drip, drip, WOOSH. All the water has fallen out.
There's this aweful, underlying tone to dating and especially on line dating, that is that we are all judging and critquing each other SO HARSHLY. No one is given a fair chance, and we are all so incompatible because the only thing we have in common for sure is that we're single, and desperate enough to do online dating! Not a good start.
I'm sorry i shouldn't say desperate. The word that shouldn't be mentioned. But there it is.
Yeah yeah, i know this means me to. Dead as a doornail. Roll me over and inject me full of embalming fluid. I know, i know.
Maybe it's my menstrual cycle. But i'm just sick of the whole damn thing.
I'm sick of having the 'what single friends have you got' conversation with all of my various groups of friends.
I'm sick of pimping myself. I'm sick of being pimped.
Not that I've had any really terrible dates lately, but even the 'nice' average and good dates feel like a waste of time.
I'd rather be surfing.
I'd rather be sleeping.
I'd rather be reading, I should be playing guitar. I'd rather be with friends.
I'm sick of being defined by not being in a couple, what about: female, musical, naturopath, blonde, generous, good friend, fit, good cook.. what about all the other labels? I'm sick of them all getting usurped for that one. single. one.
I have one invite to jam and one invite to coffee and another invite to ice creams at devonport this weekend, and i don't want any of them. the dates or the guys.
I want to go away camping and surfing with friends, or by myself, with a book and a coffee plunger and a little gas stove, now THAT sounds like bliss.
I'm sick of having desire for something I don't have.
I just want to have what i do have. It's good here. Things are good.
If you know me, you know i'm as tempestuous as the seven sea's, changeable as aucklands weather and as contrary as mary and i'll probably be back on the pimp me out wagon waving the single and keen flag in no time.
But for now, shutting down my account has made me feel very calm.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Listening Tree
I recently saw a cartoon strip entitled 'phone sex for women'.
It was a picture of a man in a business suit, holding a phone to his mouth, with a speech bubble above his head that said: "Ooo yeah baby, I'm going to listen to you... I'm going to listen to you reeeal good, I'm going to listen to you allll night long'.
Yup, women love to talk. Some love JUST to talk. But most women actually love to express, communicate, share, connect, care, be cared about. Be listened to. Be heard. Be understood. Be seen. Every woman I know is the same. It's neolithic, it's biblical, it's simian. It probably served some function evolutionarily, and now it serves to keep us whole.
We have our girlfriends to talk to, and they are incredible, a few hours chatting to a girlfriend can rid you of nearly any plague. But still, we SO want this quality in our mate, in our men.
We KNOW it's not natural for them, we KNOW they are expressing their love in different, sometimes imperceptible ways... but just to be listened to, heard, understood, to recieve a simple 'a huh, i know', is better than the flowers and dinners rolled into one. Somehow through the labrynth of neurofibrillarly tangles in our brains, listening translates to love. Simple as that.
For all I know, 'the men' are listening and do understand. But if they are and do, they can do a bloody good job of hiding it.
I am the third and youngest child and so as my family vote always held the least stock, I became a louder child, more demanding, more opinionated. To add to which, I was just born noisy. My very first report card from school when i was five, described me simply as 'chirpy'. I will never forget my dad erupting into laughter when he read that line (yes i do remember that far back).
At the time I didn't know why. I thought maybe 'chirpy' in itself was a funny thing to be, like a bird. At some point of maturity I realised dad was laughing, because I'd been so goddamn 'chirpy' .. noisy, bubbly, singy, chatty and basically all forms of loud, that it frequently drove dad to his attic to eat his tea. And he was laughing in camraderie with my teacher, knowing that now, it was his turn.
Needless to say, my natural setting is to chirp.
And I want to be chirped back at. Chirrup. Chirrup. Chirrup. Tell me things, what did you read, who did you see, how was your tea? Talk to me, what's on t.v.? Did you read about x, y and z? Did I tell you about me? Can you see, what i see?
I know a man, socially, who every women who knows him has a small crush on. He's handsome and talented and dresses well and is likeable in all sorts of ways, but then there is this. When he see's you, no matter how removed or tenuous our relationship, no matter how long it's been since we last chatted, he comes over and stands close but not too close, he smiles with his eyes and looks right into your eyes and says 'hello clare! how are you, it's been ages (as if he's even potentially missed your company), and the he will say 'how is the...' and hark back to something you spoke about last time. Something you had forgotten even mentioning. Because he was LISTENING to you. Then, he ducks his chin slightly, and tilts his head slightly so his ear is closer to you, and looks up at you from under slighly furrowed brows, and LISTENS to you intently. Looking right into your very soul...
Where was I.
I always, always, feel like the biggest blundering luddite when talking to him, like a child in a dance recital pushed out onto centre stage suddenly wondering what they are doing in the spotlight, because NOTHING i have to say can be worthy of such intent. It's quite delightful. His mother should be very proud.
Last night I was out having a fucking awesome time at a friends gig, great crowd, happy party vibe, and I see a guy who is smiling and hugging his friends and chatty and dancing and having a really unabashed good time. He seemed so light and fun and I thought absently how i wished i was his friend. Everyone who came over to him, his face lit up and he threw his arms around them and they danced and talked and grinned. We left the bar to go to another great party and i am sitting there around the bonfire, singing along to the guitar that's being played, and he, the guy from the bar walks in, and over to where i'm sitting, and asks my friend on guitar (turns out they know each other) for cash to pay the taxi because it doesn't have eftpos. Well, my friend doesn't have cash, but i do, and i offer it to him, for which he is suprised and greatful. When he returns with my change he sits down next to me and says, i noticed you at the bar. I saw you going to leave and i wanted to stop you. So i asked around where everyone was going to and thought you would be here. So I came here to find you. And there he was, come to find me.
I like to think in a way, when i thought that i'd like to know him, he had listened to my thoughts across the sea of heads and din of chinking glasses and laughter, heard my silent wish, and so come to tell me that he, too, would like to know me back.
It was a picture of a man in a business suit, holding a phone to his mouth, with a speech bubble above his head that said: "Ooo yeah baby, I'm going to listen to you... I'm going to listen to you reeeal good, I'm going to listen to you allll night long'.
Yup, women love to talk. Some love JUST to talk. But most women actually love to express, communicate, share, connect, care, be cared about. Be listened to. Be heard. Be understood. Be seen. Every woman I know is the same. It's neolithic, it's biblical, it's simian. It probably served some function evolutionarily, and now it serves to keep us whole.
We have our girlfriends to talk to, and they are incredible, a few hours chatting to a girlfriend can rid you of nearly any plague. But still, we SO want this quality in our mate, in our men.
We KNOW it's not natural for them, we KNOW they are expressing their love in different, sometimes imperceptible ways... but just to be listened to, heard, understood, to recieve a simple 'a huh, i know', is better than the flowers and dinners rolled into one. Somehow through the labrynth of neurofibrillarly tangles in our brains, listening translates to love. Simple as that.
For all I know, 'the men' are listening and do understand. But if they are and do, they can do a bloody good job of hiding it.
I am the third and youngest child and so as my family vote always held the least stock, I became a louder child, more demanding, more opinionated. To add to which, I was just born noisy. My very first report card from school when i was five, described me simply as 'chirpy'. I will never forget my dad erupting into laughter when he read that line (yes i do remember that far back).
At the time I didn't know why. I thought maybe 'chirpy' in itself was a funny thing to be, like a bird. At some point of maturity I realised dad was laughing, because I'd been so goddamn 'chirpy' .. noisy, bubbly, singy, chatty and basically all forms of loud, that it frequently drove dad to his attic to eat his tea. And he was laughing in camraderie with my teacher, knowing that now, it was his turn.
Needless to say, my natural setting is to chirp.
And I want to be chirped back at. Chirrup. Chirrup. Chirrup. Tell me things, what did you read, who did you see, how was your tea? Talk to me, what's on t.v.? Did you read about x, y and z? Did I tell you about me? Can you see, what i see?
I know a man, socially, who every women who knows him has a small crush on. He's handsome and talented and dresses well and is likeable in all sorts of ways, but then there is this. When he see's you, no matter how removed or tenuous our relationship, no matter how long it's been since we last chatted, he comes over and stands close but not too close, he smiles with his eyes and looks right into your eyes and says 'hello clare! how are you, it's been ages (as if he's even potentially missed your company), and the he will say 'how is the...' and hark back to something you spoke about last time. Something you had forgotten even mentioning. Because he was LISTENING to you. Then, he ducks his chin slightly, and tilts his head slightly so his ear is closer to you, and looks up at you from under slighly furrowed brows, and LISTENS to you intently. Looking right into your very soul...
Where was I.
I always, always, feel like the biggest blundering luddite when talking to him, like a child in a dance recital pushed out onto centre stage suddenly wondering what they are doing in the spotlight, because NOTHING i have to say can be worthy of such intent. It's quite delightful. His mother should be very proud.
Last night I was out having a fucking awesome time at a friends gig, great crowd, happy party vibe, and I see a guy who is smiling and hugging his friends and chatty and dancing and having a really unabashed good time. He seemed so light and fun and I thought absently how i wished i was his friend. Everyone who came over to him, his face lit up and he threw his arms around them and they danced and talked and grinned. We left the bar to go to another great party and i am sitting there around the bonfire, singing along to the guitar that's being played, and he, the guy from the bar walks in, and over to where i'm sitting, and asks my friend on guitar (turns out they know each other) for cash to pay the taxi because it doesn't have eftpos. Well, my friend doesn't have cash, but i do, and i offer it to him, for which he is suprised and greatful. When he returns with my change he sits down next to me and says, i noticed you at the bar. I saw you going to leave and i wanted to stop you. So i asked around where everyone was going to and thought you would be here. So I came here to find you. And there he was, come to find me.
I like to think in a way, when i thought that i'd like to know him, he had listened to my thoughts across the sea of heads and din of chinking glasses and laughter, heard my silent wish, and so come to tell me that he, too, would like to know me back.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
the slimy end of the dating pool
Hi. So I was with friends last night and one Frank Friend was like:
"So, Clare, we got married and had a baby; samantha* and brad* (names changed to protect identity) got together and have been to x, y and z exotic travel ... what have you been doing?
And I am like AARRRRGGGH.
First of all, you should have emailed me that question a week ago so I could formulate an answer that would make everybody happy.
Second of all AaARRRGGGH!
One of my best friends actually will not go to things: parties, dinners, birthdays etc. because she hates being asked 'so what are you doing now?'
"Oh, you know, working in a really dissatisfying office with the culture of a toilet bowl earning just enough to subsit on because it turned out i didn't really have the talent/guts to become what i dreamed of becoming since i was five"
So i'm like AAARGH, i've been doing stuff!
Fortunately i have my 'band' to talk about, it makes people comfortable when you have hobbies to talk about, that's mainly why i have hobbies actually.
And then seriously, Frank Friend says: WHY are you stil SINGLE!?
It's the eighth wonder of the world, isn't it?!
But inside i'm like:
ARE YOU KIDDING ME SERIOUS FOR REAL??
What does he expect me to say: Oh! my god! (like i just remembered i left rice on the stove), gosh you're right, gee i just got swept away watching survivor samoa on tv on demand and playing internet checkers and COMPLETELY forgot to get around to finding my SOUL MATE!
But hey, never too late! let me get right on that!
But what I say instead is the truth: the dating pool is full of slime.
And my Frank Friend says, so write about that in your blog!
So here I am trying to get the guts up to tell you about what it's like out there.
But it's a bit like telling you about my really ugly, contagious rash: interesting to others to view, but not touch, embarrasing and shameful to me. Ah.. sigh.
After my last date. I am thinking seriously about writing a 'how to' dating book for men. I am not going to go into detail about the date, except to say he was Too Old for me. In a way that made me cringe the second I saw him. Not that I didn't give him a chance, but ... well, he talked too much, okay maybe he was nervous i'll give him that, but he stole every story out of my mouth, you know i'd start talking and he'd launch right in and go YEAH YEAH ME ME ME THIS ONE TIME I I I
but he was probably trying to impress me and i'll forgive that.
he was just too old, i'll be honest.
But not old enough to pay apparently!
Because when we go to leave, and are standing at the counter, he says 'go ya halves'?
And i imagine i'm visibly shocked, and go, oh, yeah sure.
And he goes 'yeah, don't know what the deal is with paying these days'
And i'm thinking: BUDDY.
same as it's always been: You pay.
Nothings changed since the first time you were dating in the 60's (lol).
You asked me out for drinks and you're the dude and it's just bad manners not to pay!
Man.
Am I right here though people?
You know, women, we'll work, have the babies and just keep right on working, be in the army, fix cars, lift our own heavy shit (mostly), do all the cooking and cleaning and other women's stuff, keep our vijayjays waxed and pour cream on our faces so they'll be nice for you to look at, and all we ask is a little bit of manners and romance from our boyfriends and dates, and i think they should just f*cking well MAN UP.
Right where was I.
Oh well long story short cuz i'm not really giving any juice goss, there was no touching, i established a nice, wide personal boundary around me that i imagined had blinking lights saying 'NO We WILL NOT BE HAVING AN END OF DATE KISS'.
And it was all very 'nice' and i stifled yawns and he walked me to my car and as he walked away i saw for the first time that his really ugle Auckland Man shirt was clinging like a clingy two year old to his old man love handle fat back and his really ill fitting jeans were escaping up his wedgie and he kind of had a limp and while i wish him nothing but happiness, I just am not going to get toe up under a man like that. And tha's final. (i mean, you know, not on the first date, i mean like, EVER).
And then i started thinking about giving up dating.
it's like if you walked for hours and hours up a steep track in the summer sun imagining there was a cool, fresh water pool at the top of it and you were parched and exhausted when you got there and the pool was actually a very shallow puddle of warm water in a rock pool of slime with grit at the bottom and maybe oysters to scratch your ass.
wouldn't that be your last jungle trek?
But then Brad* and Samantha* gave me a twinkle of hope, Brad* has a few lovely single guy friends for me to meet and Samantha* and Brad* are going to have a barbecue that will actually be a covert operation to get all their single male friends in one room, and me, and no other hot girls (how is this for personlised dating programme) so i can meet them all, and it will be like the show the bachalorette, but i won't give them a rose each and tell them they can stay in the house.
Please let there be one guy who is at least simultaneously nice looking, interesting, and nice. It seems like the impossible triphector for some reason.
I seriously am about to give up and become a cat lady.
"So, Clare, we got married and had a baby; samantha* and brad* (names changed to protect identity) got together and have been to x, y and z exotic travel ... what have you been doing?
And I am like AARRRRGGGH.
First of all, you should have emailed me that question a week ago so I could formulate an answer that would make everybody happy.
Second of all AaARRRGGGH!
One of my best friends actually will not go to things: parties, dinners, birthdays etc. because she hates being asked 'so what are you doing now?'
"Oh, you know, working in a really dissatisfying office with the culture of a toilet bowl earning just enough to subsit on because it turned out i didn't really have the talent/guts to become what i dreamed of becoming since i was five"
So i'm like AAARGH, i've been doing stuff!
Fortunately i have my 'band' to talk about, it makes people comfortable when you have hobbies to talk about, that's mainly why i have hobbies actually.
And then seriously, Frank Friend says: WHY are you stil SINGLE!?
It's the eighth wonder of the world, isn't it?!
But inside i'm like:
ARE YOU KIDDING ME SERIOUS FOR REAL??
What does he expect me to say: Oh! my god! (like i just remembered i left rice on the stove), gosh you're right, gee i just got swept away watching survivor samoa on tv on demand and playing internet checkers and COMPLETELY forgot to get around to finding my SOUL MATE!
But hey, never too late! let me get right on that!
But what I say instead is the truth: the dating pool is full of slime.
And my Frank Friend says, so write about that in your blog!
So here I am trying to get the guts up to tell you about what it's like out there.
But it's a bit like telling you about my really ugly, contagious rash: interesting to others to view, but not touch, embarrasing and shameful to me. Ah.. sigh.
After my last date. I am thinking seriously about writing a 'how to' dating book for men. I am not going to go into detail about the date, except to say he was Too Old for me. In a way that made me cringe the second I saw him. Not that I didn't give him a chance, but ... well, he talked too much, okay maybe he was nervous i'll give him that, but he stole every story out of my mouth, you know i'd start talking and he'd launch right in and go YEAH YEAH ME ME ME THIS ONE TIME I I I
but he was probably trying to impress me and i'll forgive that.
he was just too old, i'll be honest.
But not old enough to pay apparently!
Because when we go to leave, and are standing at the counter, he says 'go ya halves'?
And i imagine i'm visibly shocked, and go, oh, yeah sure.
And he goes 'yeah, don't know what the deal is with paying these days'
And i'm thinking: BUDDY.
same as it's always been: You pay.
Nothings changed since the first time you were dating in the 60's (lol).
You asked me out for drinks and you're the dude and it's just bad manners not to pay!
Man.
Am I right here though people?
You know, women, we'll work, have the babies and just keep right on working, be in the army, fix cars, lift our own heavy shit (mostly), do all the cooking and cleaning and other women's stuff, keep our vijayjays waxed and pour cream on our faces so they'll be nice for you to look at, and all we ask is a little bit of manners and romance from our boyfriends and dates, and i think they should just f*cking well MAN UP.
Right where was I.
Oh well long story short cuz i'm not really giving any juice goss, there was no touching, i established a nice, wide personal boundary around me that i imagined had blinking lights saying 'NO We WILL NOT BE HAVING AN END OF DATE KISS'.
And it was all very 'nice' and i stifled yawns and he walked me to my car and as he walked away i saw for the first time that his really ugle Auckland Man shirt was clinging like a clingy two year old to his old man love handle fat back and his really ill fitting jeans were escaping up his wedgie and he kind of had a limp and while i wish him nothing but happiness, I just am not going to get toe up under a man like that. And tha's final. (i mean, you know, not on the first date, i mean like, EVER).
And then i started thinking about giving up dating.
it's like if you walked for hours and hours up a steep track in the summer sun imagining there was a cool, fresh water pool at the top of it and you were parched and exhausted when you got there and the pool was actually a very shallow puddle of warm water in a rock pool of slime with grit at the bottom and maybe oysters to scratch your ass.
wouldn't that be your last jungle trek?
But then Brad* and Samantha* gave me a twinkle of hope, Brad* has a few lovely single guy friends for me to meet and Samantha* and Brad* are going to have a barbecue that will actually be a covert operation to get all their single male friends in one room, and me, and no other hot girls (how is this for personlised dating programme) so i can meet them all, and it will be like the show the bachalorette, but i won't give them a rose each and tell them they can stay in the house.
Please let there be one guy who is at least simultaneously nice looking, interesting, and nice. It seems like the impossible triphector for some reason.
I seriously am about to give up and become a cat lady.
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