Are You a Good Date or a Bad Date??

Here's the quandary for today...what if you believe that you have had a good date with someone but it becomes crystal clear that the other party feels differently? A week ago, I met a "gentleman" for dinner at a local restaurant. He had contacted me via an editor I write for and we had a pleasant email exchange and then a nice, short phone call (personally, I hate the phone). The evening started off well - he was waiting for me when I arrived, was nice looking (no Clooney but a Philip Seymour Hoffman type) and clarified from bite one that dinner was on him.

Our conversation flowed and it was clear that, although our backgrounds were extraordinarily different, we had similar interests and beliefs when it came to relationships. His wife had left him for another man and my husband had left me for another woman so we were on common ground there. He loved literature, film and theater - threee of my passions. I went home thinking that there would be a second date or at the very least a friendship.

The next day I get an email that says simply this, "That was FUN!" No indication of wanting to have a second date so I respond and suggest we meet some time for coffee and discuss the latest AM Homes book. No response. I wait a couple of days and send a follow up email asking how he is, how his kids are, what he is working on. He responds with , "HEY!" and proceeds to outline his kids' schedule for the week. Again I suggest a meeting.

That was the last I heard from Mystery Date and I don't know why. Really, I have no clue. Did I wear the wrong thing? Did I eat too little? Drink too much? Have a booger hanging from my nose? At the very least I would like to learn from my mistakes so I don't make them again...until then I remain destined to repeat them and destined to remain clueless. Men, at the very least let us know if we are a good date or a bad date.

I Wish I Had Thought of This

Is it Too Late?

Life can be strange...I wrote an article for In Town Magazine (http://lohud.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080327/CUSTOM02/804030451/0/RSS01) on dating after divorce. The piece was brutal, honest and out there and I was positive that after its publication, no one would ever want to date me again. Much to my shock, I received an email from a man who expressed his interest in me based upon the fact that I mentioned that I liked Norman Mailer in the article. Impressed by his sheer chutzpah and the fact that he claimed to be one of Mailer's editors, I emailed him back and gave him my cell number. Soon we talked and I agreed to meet him for dinner on Friday night.

Dinner went well. He was/is smart, educated, well read (any man that can quote the work of Ambrose Pierce woos me) and has two kids he adores. His wife left him so there is no betrayal on his part (always good) and he seems ready for a real relationship. Immediately he made it clear that he was paying for dinner; a statement that eased any potential tension after our sushi meal. He even made it clear that his WASP background did not prohibit his dating a Jew. Overall, a decent date...but...and there is always a but. I want to believe that I can still find my true love, that I will meet someone and my stomach will do flips, my heart will pound and my forehead will become moist with sweat. Maybe that ship, the ship that is filled with Cupid's arrows, has sailed and my age prohibits any hope of it returning to my port. Maybe that type of romance is over for me and all I can hope for is a slow, steady relationship that builds over time. For now I should be content with a guy that pays for dinner.

I'm Mad as Hell and I'm Not Going to Take it Anymore

What in the world has happened to men? While I consider myself something of a feminist (I went to Smith College, the bastion of seven sisterhood) I do like to be treated with some level of decency, some meager amount of respect. Just the other day, as I was entering the sterile office building where I work, a man rushed by me and harumphed. Under his breath (but loud enough for me to hear), he said, "Don't wear high heels if you can't walk on them." As he opened the door and then slammed it in my face, my first instinct was to take my fist and shove it smack dab into his mouth. Don't worry, I held my entering the office rage and made my way to work.

Later that day, I was asked to ship the tenth box of premiums (I am now working as a publicist when I am not trying to be a writer) out to one of our local system areas. Now these boxes can weigh upwards of 50 pounds and even under normal circumstances,that would be too heavy for me to lift. I, however, do not live in a world of normalcy and six months ago had spinal fusion surgery which means lifting is a big no, no. So I nicely asked my boss, a man, to assist. He nodded and held the cart as he watched me attempt to anchor the huge box against my bended knee while my skirt rode up precariously and my back screamed in pain. Okay, I'll give him the benefit here in that he did push the cart back to the mailroom as I crawled on the floor behind him. Let me tell you- you don't want to ever have the ass of your boss in your face.

When I arrived home from work sometime after 7 that evening, I found a note on the door from Fedex indicating that they had attempted to deliver a package. Realizing that I had seen the truck at the bottom of the hill (only two streets down), I left my starving children and drove quickly to catch the truck. I swear to you that Mr. Fedex saw me coming and actually sped up; when I started to honk at the truck and yell out the window, I thought I saw a middle finger rise.

Here I sit, Friday night, on the computer. My kids are out socializing and I am home, sweats on, angry at every man that ever walked the earth. Is it me or has every male lost their freaking mind?

Ha Ha...You are So Not Funny

I know, I know...it's March 11 and I haven't written for some time. Work has been nuts and life that much nuttier but no excuse for total and utter writer's block. Even today, when I was home sick from work, I should have been finishing my book (only a couple of chapters to go) but I am utterly blocked so...what could help but hours of television. It was time to catch up on my Emmy reviewing (yes I get the privilege of voting on the television shows that actually deserve the golden statue) and so I spent the day watching the entire season of Showtime's Californication.

David Duchovny as the down and out Hank Moody, a writer who can't replicate his one hit wonder (turned into a crappy film) is incredible. He captures the total essence of every man I have met in the last two years. Guys who can't get their act together, guys who follow their private part rather than their mind or heart and guys who are positive that they (and only they) are god's gift to this earth. Take for example a guy I met over the Internet and was engaged in an online correspondence; we even spoke on the phone a couple of times and things seemed good. He was older than me, had grandkids and a successful career and best of all lived miles away. However then he started to send me email jokes, email pictures and email attachments filled with one pornographic item after another. Jokes that always included sexual organs, email pictures that included women wearing t-shirts alluding to "beavers" (please do not ask me to discuss this further) and attachments that included stories from his favorite porno magazines and outlined all the different ways and different places to have sex. After three months of up to twenty emails a day, I have had it. Does he really think this makes me interested in him? My first inclination when I see an email is to delete...delete...delete. He is firmly deleted from my heart and interest.

Now David Duchovny, on the other hand...foibles and all, numerous sexual partners and all, Tea Leoni and kids...David, if you have a joke you want to send my way, feel free.

Lost Love?

As I was driving home from work the other day, my thoughts began to wander to memories of my first real love. It was my freshmen year at college when I met DB; we had actually gone to high school together but he was popular, captain of the soccer team and I was the nerdy, smart girl who faded into the grey walls of the school building. Thanks to a wonderful plastic surgeon, I entered college with a new nose and a new look. When DB saw me across the room of the fraternity party, he had no clue that I was the same girl he had ignored all those years at school.

We fell in love quickly and passionately. A virgin, DB was my first in every way - first real love, first real lover. I knew that I could not live without him and my life revolved around his soccer games, his fraternity brothers and his desires. When he told me that I had gained weight, I stopped eating (and end up in the hospital being force fed). When he cheated on me, I played dumb and looked the other way...until he betrayed my love with a girl who lived down the hall from me. I broke up with him and he became distraught enough to break my collarbone.

The dream of a life with DB ended the day I was brought to the ER unable to move my arm.The violent end of our relationship left me with no closure and I have to admit that I never, in my heart, forgot him. Try as I might, DB held a huge part of my heart in his hand. I married, had two children and moved to the suburbs. One afternoon as I was picking my son up at nursery school, I saw DB holding a young child in his arms walking into the building. My heart skipped a beat. Through the grapevine I discovered that he was married, lived in the town next to mine and had two kids. I never saw him again and years passed...until the day I started to dream of him again.A Google fanatic determined to reconnect with my old love, I researched and found his email. I emailed him a simple, emotionless note asking how he was and what he was doing. He responded with a rather cold email that clearly shut down any hope that I would see or speak with him ever again. Remarkably, I am sad, heartbroken yet again. Maybe it's all those shows where you hear about people finding lost loves and falling again; maybe it's that I am lonely and vulnerable; maybe it's that you never get over your first true love. Whatever it may be, the fact is that life moves forward and you can't go home again.