Status Change: Engaged

i wasn’t expecting this. ok, maybe that’s not entirely true, because i never thought this was out of the realm of possibility. i just didn’t expect it to happen for another year, maybe two. we hadn’t discussed marriage much before. so when he got down on one knee on the deck of our house under a full moon, on his birthday, i honestly thought he was doing a lunge. we had spent that day at Disneyland and came home complaining about our achy backs. “that looks like a good idea,” i said right before i was about to join his lunge. then a ring appeared and rendered me motionless.

i’m not really sure he asked the question and i think my first flustered response was “where did you get that ring?” which was followed by several more flustered responses including “are you sure?” and “are you serious?” while he remained kneeling and looking at me sideways. finally, there was a “yes,” or something like “well of course i’ll marry you. duh,” followed by hugs and happy tears and me trying not to hyperventilate. very romantic!

taken roughly 10 hours before the proposal at the happiest place on earth, where Tico (real name: Warren) and i spent his 36th birthday. 

but let’s back this train up a minute and start at the beginning with the story of how we got together, a story i’ve never shared here out of respect for his privacy. but now that he’ll be the husband of someone who’s kept a blog for over 10 years, i think it’s safe to say this will have to be his first sacrifice for our marriage.

so once upon a time (roughly 4.5 years ago), in a neighborhood very much like my own, two people met randomly at an art gallery one night. the lady was there upon the invitation of a friend named Juan, whose then-girlfriend’s art was hanging on the walls. the gentleman was there because he was one of the partners running the gallery. but there was an extra element at play that night: a magical plastic chicken (appropriately) named Pollo Magico.

Warren receiving the magic chicken in May 2010, taken the night we met

let me stop a moment to acknowledge how ridiculous this chicken story will sound. let me also stop a moment to stress that this story is 100% true, because the story of the love between Milla and Warren, like so many other love stories, is seeped in magic (and delusion). in our case, the magic came in the form of a plastic chicken our mutual friend Juan was mass producing and passing out to all his friends that year, telling them it would make their wishes come true. he even created a Facebook page for the chicken that disseminates inspirational messages daily and wrote a manifesto he emails to every new recipient.

the principle behind the magic chicken is no different than the principle behind The Secret, in that we can attract whatever we want into our lives by asking the universe. the chicken is just a prop to get us visualizing our desire and then stating it in clear terms, accepting that it will happen on its own time and “with ease and grace,” which is the ending one is supposed to close every request to the chicken with.

naturally, as i listened to Juan tell me this while handing me my very own magic chicken, i rolled my eyes.   

taken the same night at the gallery moments before i received my own magic chicken and met Warren. (of course, i was hoarding the cheese.)

as my friend urged me to remain open-minded and try it out, Warren walked by us. i’ll confess my eyes followed him across the room while the rest of my body registered an immediate attraction. he was pretty goddamn cute. as a joke, i looked at the magic chicken in my hand and told it i wished that this dark, handsome stranger would kiss me (confession: the R-rated version in my head was a bit more robust but let’s keep it PG for the kids).

at that time, i was in the throes of a Big Breakup and wasn’t looking for a new boyfriend as i still had a broken heart to nurse. but i did want to get my groove back after many months of celibacy and solitude and figured a kiss from a sexy, bearded man might help. plus, he had really beautiful lips.

later that night and without knowing my first request of the chicken, Juan introduced us. we exchanged a cordial handshake, said “nice to meet you” and left it there. there was no kiss and sparks did not fly. the whole exchange was rather unmemorable. soon after, i went home alone and didn’t give Warren nor the chicken much more thought.

but i did return to the gallery over the months that followed. a second saturday art walk seemed a good reason to get out of my empty house and i did appreciate much of the art, eventually buying some to hang at home. plus, i kept running into old friends, as Warren and i had more than our crazy friend Juan in common. i also took various friends along with me, saw Warren there most times, chatted with him sometimes, felt my crush on him intensifying and went about my business without trying too hard to make much happen.



first photo of us taken at one of the parties at my house.

then things started happening. we began chatting on facebook messenger, which led to the occasional phone chat and him coming to my parties. still, it took a while to get things off the ground as i kept playing the part of disinterested girl while stealing glances at his lips. of course, i did recall my early wish on the magic chicken but shook my head at the ludicrousness of it all and kept it to myself.

eventually, that kiss came (around October 2010) and kept coming for about a year. the first eight months of that year were spent in this gray zone of dating but not really Dating, where we agreed to keep things relaxed and casual. there would be no expectations nor declarations of exclusivity and undying love. and i was comfortable with this.

until i wasn’t, because the heart wants what it wants and mine could no longer deny the fact that i enjoyed spending time with Warren and that meant something significant, even as i tried to convince myself that it didn’t.

game-changer day we spent together in February 2011 frolicking in the snow with my dogs. i remember coming home afterward full of feelings. a few months later, we had “the talk.”

the talk happened the weekend of memorial day in 2011, fueled by drinks and an intimate dinner when we managed to confess our growing love for each other. i even told him about my wish on the magic chicken. several lengthy talks later and with our heads spinning, we agreed to be in an exclusive relationship. 

but there was trepidation. he didn’t seem fully invested and that kept me cautious, with my instincts warning me to stay detached as his behavior alternated between loving and aloof. i could tell he cared for me but felt conflicted about committing. by October 2011, he called it quits.



my 36th birthday, June 2012

the quits calling hurt but it didn’t hurt like hell. it was kind and respectful, with him saying he couldn’t offer me the things he thought i needed in a partner and me nodding silently in resignation. it was not a bad breakup and we resolved to stay friends. but staying friends got muddy when dinners turned into breakfasts and i attended his family’s christmas gathering. so after more kind and respectful conversations, i requested a no-contact policy.

that kept us in our own corners for a little over a year, but not easily. i missed him terribly but wouldn’t admit it. he missed me and would admit it, often asking if we could hang out, even just for coffee. with a few exceptions, i refused. so he began stalking my Facebook page and if ever i complained about having a cold, a tupperware container full of homemade soup would appear on my doorstep. i found it slightly creepy but mostly romantic because i still cared too, immensely so, but i didn’t see a future together so i became set on getting over him with online dating.

cue the laugh track because my three months of online dating was a laughable experience. but it seemed to stir him into action and me into softening my stance, because after more than six months of not seeing each other, i agreed to meet him for lunch — as friends. three months later (June 2013), we were in a relationship again. by the end of that year, we were mostly living together, and nine months after that, he would be on one knee proposing to me on his birthday.

if you ask Warren the story of how we got together, he’ll likely say, “she put a curse on me with a magic chicken” and that isn’t entirely untrue. certainly, i asked the chicken to bring him into my life, and given the initial success, i did also ask it for a lifelong partner. that time, i was sitting on the edge of my bed, single and despondent over my lackluster love life, as Warren and i had split up over a year earlier and online dating wasn’t going very well.

i pulled the chicken out of its secret compartment in my wallet, where it still lives, and said, “ok, chicken. i’m tired and getting older. bring me not just someone, but the one. surprise me if you must. deliver on your own schedule. but make it real, make it right, make it long-lasting and make me happy. with ease and grace.”

(it should come as no surprise that i’ve asked this dirty piece of magical plastic for much more since and will continue to in the coming years.)



Dre Day Los Angeles, February 2014

ok, so what now? there’s a wedding to plan, details to iron out, guest list to create and many questions to be answered. the true response to all of this is i have no idea how this will look. ok, maybe i have some idea but i don’t want to think about it much. i would rather have an invitation show up at my house a few months before and then arrive at the appointed day and place in a classy white dress with perfect makeup applied by elves, who also sucked 20 pounds out of me.

this fantasy is fueled in large part to the myriad married people who, after finding out i became engaged, advised me to save myself the expense and headache and just elope. i could get behind the eloping idea but my beloved wants something more substantial. so we’re thinking a very small ceremony populated by family and close friends followed by a big party for all friends, but probably not until 2016 due to extenuating circumstances to be mentioned later. then we can ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after, as getting married will surely solve all our relationship problems, right?

on a boat in Costa Rica, September 2013

when i consider what marriage means to me, something i’ve been doing a lot of recently, my answer is “i’m not really sure.” this is not meant as a copout nor a red flag, but i honestly don’t believe any newlywed can speak about marriage with authority. that is for people who’ve had long marriages and have plenty to reflect on.

that is for people like my parents, who’ve been married 45 years, most of them happy but many of them rough like the first 10 when they were two of nine people living in a three-room apartment in soviet russia. of that time, they said they fought every day and likely would have separated if they didn’t have children. i’m not sure i could have remained as strong.

my parents — who are thrilled by my engagement as they love Warren as much as i do — have been full of marriage advice and, for the first time, i’m listening. first among it is staying committed to the commitment, which is what carried (or maybe dragged?) them through those first 10 years. they also remind me that marriage is not 50-50 and that i shouldn’t expect to get my needs met all of the time. depending on life’s circumstances, it could be 70-30 or even 100-0, and that’s ok as long as the scales shift back eventually. they tell me to choose Warren, to really really choose him in heart and mind, and envision the rest of my life only with him by my side. 



top of the rock in New York City, January 2014

Warren and i have also been having lots of conversations about what marriage means to us, not all of them pleasant but all of them necessary. through our talks, i’ve realized how much i’ve been clinging to the idea of myself as the independent single girl who doesn’t believe in the permanence of love. it’s the mindset i’ve entered all my relationships with, probably to my detriment, and despite finding myself with a ring on my finger and a man who really loves me, this useless outlook still informs many of my thoughts and actions.

i’ve been working hard to overcome this and heeding my parents’ advice of really choosing Warren with the sense of finality that accompanies entering into a marriage as i am not looking to ever get divorced. not that anyone ever looks to get divorced before they marry, but in my case, the bar was raised so high by watching my parents’ marriage that i convinced myself i should never risk taking the plunge lest my marriage crash into disrepair like all of my prior relationships with men have. 



being crabby in San Francisco, August 2013

thankfully, it feels different this time. it feels healthier, primarily because of our communication. with rare exceptions, Warren and i have managed to work out our disputes with maturity, a stark contrast to my past relationships where even a minor disagreement could erupt into a world war. but now, there is kindness in the honesty, respect in the delivery and openness to the responses. we go out of our way not to hurt each other. 

plus, i really love hanging out with him. we have fun together, share plenty of common interests and make great travel partners. my heart still quickens when i hear him opening the front door and slows when it’s pressed against him in bed. with Warren by my side, i feel calm, safe and at home, regardless of where we are. he’s funny, sweet, passionate, motivated, sensitive and, just as i suspected when i first saw those lips while holding the magic chicken, the best damn kisser of my life.  



in front of a world heritage temple in Kyoto, Japan, May 2014

so now comes the happily ever after part. i’m excited about all that and (marginally) excited about planning a wedding, but if i’m totally honest with myself and the internet, i’m most excited about the other and perhaps more pressing major development in my life: the arrival of a son, due next March.  

OKStupiding

if you are my friend on Facebook, which i encourage you to be (but send me a note with your friend request if we don’t know each other in real life, otherwise you’ll fall into subscriber category), you may have seen me post a few OKStupid Awards that showcase the best of the worst of my experiences with this internet dating experiment i started earlier this year.

it’s been almost six months since i joined the site, having made a new year’s resolution to get out and date more. in those months, i have received around 300 messages. i don’t know if this is a lot or a little, so the inclusion of the number is not meant as a brag nor a complaint. i’m guessing that in a place as big as Los Angeles for a woman my age, it’s an average amount. to date, i have initiated contact with zero men, replied to maybe 25 who’ve contacted me first, and gone on four dates.

in short, it’s not going very well. i’m not really sure how to make it better, nor am i sure that i want to try. everything about it feels unnatural to me, even though i realize that in today’s day and age, online dating is as ubiquitous as Starbucks. everyone goes there for a fill because it’s convenient despite the fact that the product is shit. i say this with complete awareness that i make up a part of the product.

my friends tell me not to give up. the messages from douche bags and idiots are just the cost of doing business, they say. a friend’s sister-in-law’s manicurist’s hairdresser’s half-cousin’s barber’s plumber met her husband this way, i’ve been told. don’t get discouraged. he’s out there! every bad date brings you a date closer to the good date when you finally meet him. giving up ensures failure. keep at it, keep at it!

before i continue, i want to emphasize that not every single message i’ve received has been ridiculous. i know there are decent guys on these sites, my friends among them, and i don’t think i’m attracting more idiots than the average girl. the overwhelming majority of messages are innocuous — mostly of the “how, hi are you” variety — and from seemingly normal guys.

i have noticed that a good chunk of the messages have been from men who are either an Aries, a creative type or black. i’m good with everything but the Aries, which is known to clash with my sign. i definitely like the creative types, though i prefer ones who are more established than aspiring, and i’m generally open to all races (though closed to most religions). here’s an example of a great opening message to prove that they do actually exist:

when i have replied, the guys usually ask for a date very quickly, which i refuse, saying i’m a slow mover. i do this because a) i am a slow mover with this stuff; and b) if i wait long enough and keep the messages coming, the guy will usually disqualify himself by saying something overly sexual or stupid, which spares me from needing to sit through a bad date only to find out what the internet already knows — that it would never work.

the other scenario that happens quite frequently is that i’ll begin messaging with someone, and it will be going fine, with us doing the resume exchange where we discuss standard details like our hometowns, families and jobs, and then, without reason or warning, i’ll lose total interest in the exchange and quit responding. this generally happens when i sense that they are about to ask for a date.

i know it’s more me than them, but it’s a little them, too. because for me to be moved to action, to spend some of my very limited and always precious free time primping for and then enduring an awkward blind date with a stranger, i need a compelling reason that goes beyond just an opportunity to have a conversation with a new friend. i have old friends i don’t see enough. i’m not looking to add to that pile.

as i’ve noted before, i’m running this operation entirely on instincts and, most of the time, my instincts have told me to just walk away, so i have. but there have been a handful of times when my instincts have said, “what’s the harm of one drink?” admittedly, this usually happens after a long stretch of being holed up at home and working nonstop while eating packaged food and wearing yoga pants covered in dog hair. but if that’s what it takes to make a date happen, who am i to judge? so far, it’s happened four times, none of which resulted in a second date. (good job, instincts!)

1. the tech guy/writer: this one was a great starter date. i didn’t run out of the bar screaming, so i considered it a success. he was plenty nice and smart, resembled his profile, and we had a decent chat over two drinks. but ultimately there were no sparky sparks so we hugged goodbye and wished each other well.
   
   
2. the former wall street journal reporter (or so he said): obviously, his career was a big draw for me, as was the fact that his witty messages arrived largely free of grammatical errors. i had high hopes for this one, but he showed up smelling like marijuana and mentioned in the first hour that he had been arrested before, noting that “the jail in west hollywood was much nicer than the one in new york.” sigh.
   
   
3. the neuroscientist: leave it to the scientist to manufacture the chemistry. this guy was super smart, funny, cute, engaging and a great listener, and i was certain we would have another date, but, alas, he never called and my one message to him went unanswered. i can’t say it didn’t sting a bit, and i’ll never know why he vanished. my assumption is that other variables were at play at the same time i was (e.g., other girls), but he could have just thought i was ugly. through him, however, i learned a very important lesson about this internet business: not only will i have to sit through lousy dates that go nowhere, but also great dates that go nowhere. awesome!
   
   
4. the smart bodybuilder: this one was the science experiment that burned the lab down. he hit all the check boxes on paper: 6'4", jewish boy from LA, harvard degree, pursued two PhDs, lived in europe, and that bodybuilder thing made me curious. we met at a country club, which should have been my first red flag, but i’m into “trying new things” like a good internet dater, so i didn’t protest. another flag came when he mentioned his daughter for the first time, who was at the club’s daycare and would i like to meet her? this came at the end of the hourlong date, a time in which he never made eye contact with me and basically talked into his meaty shoulder, which convinced me he had Asperger syndrome.
   
   i declined politely, saying that i didn’t sense a love connection so i would be on my way. when i got home, i looked him up on facebook after hearing his surname at some point during the date and hey now, i had been on a date with a married man. exciting! naturally, i shot off a quick message calling him a “dick.” he wrote back saying his wife knew all about me and that they had had “several long-term, meaningful relationships with girls from Cupid.” this would have been nice to know BEFORE THE DATE. 

i could stay mad about the last one but it’s just too damn good to waste a grudge on. i’m quite happy to have it in my Horror Dating Stories Repertoire. imagine how much duller my complaints about online dating would be if i didn’t have this gem to throw out when the eye rolls started? it’s always been about the story, my whole life.

so where does the story go now? clearly, internet dating is failing me as much as i’m failing it. maybe it could work if i had a better attitude about it, as i know plenty of people who’ve met their partners this way. i’m just not sure that this is how i’m going to meet my partner. 

yet still, my bad attitude and i are desirous of love — that deep, meaningful, cloying type of love with butterflies and rainbows and dilated pupils and a long life spent together making each other alternately miserable and happy. i’ll stop short of saying i deserve it, because we all deserve it. so instead i’ll admit that i want it.

so i did the thing that i’ve done every other time i’ve wanted something in this world: i asked for it.

i sat down and had a long talk with the Powers That Be — be they buddha, allah, einstein, jesus, the universe, moses, dalai lama or bob marley. (to my areligious yet spirtual self, they are all the same anyway.) i commended them on all the funny jokes they’ve been playing on me before kindly asking them to stop already and instead offer me the thing i really want.

i told them that i’d stop, too — stop trying too hard to drive my love life. i’d put away the list and set my natural willfulness aside to make room for whatever is intended for me; i’d throw my hands up in surrender and focus on keeping the faith that life will take care of me in the way it always has before. “surprise me,”

i said, knowing that they would anyway. “bring me what i really need instead of what i think i want,” i asked, “but make it right, make it long-lasting and make me happy.”

i felt better immediately — lighter, freer, less panicked and burdened. i may have even done a happy jig while listening to Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds. it may have included jazz hands at one point (but only briefly). this is not to say that my love problem has been solved and i’m currently dating the man of my dreams, as i’m still dating no one right now, but at least i’m not preoccupied by it anymore.

i’ve used this set-it-and-forget-it approach with many other desires in my life, with things as simple as needing to find a parking space to more complex matters such as being published in The New York Times. i figure this everlasting love business is somewhere in the middle.

so now there’s nothing left for me to do but wait for that tall, dark, handsome stranger with soccer thighs to drop out of the sky and onto my doorstep, no doubt wrapped in a big red bow. or maybe he’ll start out as a thumbnail on OKStupid and magically hit all the right notes, prompting a date and a romantic walk on the beach. perhaps it will be someone i already know but haven’t seen in that way before or someone i don’t know who sees me in that way already. or maybe i’ll stay single for a few more years before some scenario i haven’t thought up yet plays itself out.

however it happens, it doesn’t matter. i just need to have faith that it will happen, on its own terms, not mine. and if it never does, i will be sad and disappointed and ultimately OK.

Stuff and Things

not that anyone has been clamoring for my return to the blogosphere, but i’m going to apologize anyway for my absence. it’s been a busy few months for me. curing cancer is hard work. not that this is why i’ve been away. just saying that curing cancer is hard work. applause to all those who try. as for me, my time has been spent on the following, less glamorous, more tedious things:

• work: i’ve been silly slammed with the stuff, because i can never seem to say no to a paycheck. this has done wonders for my debt reduction, but has had poor implications for my social, leisure and fitness life as all i ever seem to do lately is sit on my ass and rot in front of my computer. GEEK magazine, for which i serve as copy editor, has been the biggest time-suck, so it’s a good thing i love the work and client. (related: GEEK has finally started offering subscriptions to the print magazine. get it, get it!)
  
  

i also had to complete a quarterly project for Cedars-Sinai that has me alphabetizing its donor list, a painstaking task that involves 200+ pages of names and funds that i organize into a hierarchy that only makes sense to me and them. then there’s the edit (total rewrite) of a self-help book written by a personal trainer, which is thankfully in its final stages and should be finished in the next week.
  
  

once that’s done and the next issue of GEEK ships, i hope to have a few days off to recover before i have to focus my weary eyes on the Haiku Wednesdays book, an essay i’ve been working on, and my abandoned to-do list that’s full of enviable tasks like cleaning out the garage and painting the bathroom. oh yeah, and blogging. i’ll be doing more of that, too.


 

• house: the blue tarp i had over my roof since december started to look a little unseemly so i called up my contractor and had him replace the entire roof. the leak had been in the front bedroom, where a water bubble the size of a softball would appear in the drywall after a heavy rain. with the roof done (looks sexy, right?), every part of the main house has seen an upgrade, save the bathroom, which is why i plan to paint it.     


  
  late march also saw the five-year anniversary of my being a homeowner. to commemorate the occasion, i called up my local credit union and began the fun-filled process of refinancing my mortgage. that’s been another time-suck with its maze of bank statements, good faith estimates, missing paperwork and frequent phone calls. i’m happy to report that the appraisal went well enough to ensure that the refi would be possible, but fell way short of reflecting all the money i’ve spent on the house. of course, i have no plans to move anytime soon and, if anything, am looking forward to reducing my mortgage so i can take that extra money and pour it into the next project — either the landscaping or garage conversion. 


 

• okstupid: there’s a lengthier post coming about this, which details the handful of dates i’ve been on since joining okcupid in january, but let me get to the punchline now: i am still single. there has been no knight in shining armor sweeping me off my feet and onto his horse so we may gallop into the sunset together. there have been a couple court jesters, though. but mostly it’s been as dull and ridiculous as i thought it would be.
  
  the dates are infrequent and my attitude is still as shitty as it was when i wrote this post about joining the dating site. at this point, i’m not sure how much longer this little experiment will last. what i do know is that i have no plans to kick it into high gear and become some super dating machine, as friends have suggested. i’d much rather spend that energy being my natural social self and hopefully meeting men the organic way. 
here’s to hoping. that’s all i really have.

OKstupid

i’ve recently come to understand what so many internet daters already know: joining a dating website does not make dating easy. if anything, it makes it ridiculous. it’s been three weeks since i joined OKCupid (renamed OKStupid), a literal meat market where men are displayed like questionable meat products, flash frozen in glass cases for my consideration, where strangers have messaged me, “hi, how r u” — some of them shirtless, others illiterate, one a bisexual woman and one man who asked my bra size — three weeks of feeling more alone than ever before.

i have not gone on a single date, because nothing has gotten that far. the handful of men i did start a correspondence with were quickly discarded once their messages turned too stupid and/or sexual. i’m frankly stunned by the amount of men who think that reminding a woman that they want to have sex — an unremarkable fact understood by every adult — is the way to make the sex happen, when, in fact, it does exactly the opposite.

i’ve actually come to prefer it when a profile just lays it out there by being overly sexual, usually under the guise of flirtatiousness (though i did see one that read, “message me if you want to fuck,” which i found refreshing). those are better than the creeps who camouflage as seemingly decent guys, like that one landscape architect who lived in my neighborhood (just what i need right now!) and appeared cute, thoughtful and mild-mannered and then engaged in a messaging session with me that mentioned my boobs no less than four times.

(note: i realize i listed “big boobs” in my attributes, which seems like an invitation to discuss them, but their inclusion is really a litmus test to weed out the lotharios, and so far it’s working quite well.)

that guy was quickly dismissed because in this digital minefield, all red flags are fatal. even a pink flag is fatal. and if other indicators seem suspect, a white flag that may have been washed in a load with one red object can be fatal. this endeavor shall be run entirely on instincts, and i make no apologies for this. i admit to being extremely picky, which is probably the reason i’m failing at internet dating. but after 20 years of non-internet dating (except for those three months back in 2004, searchable in the archives), i have a good idea of what will and won’t work for me. 

and why shouldn’t i be picky? this is my life. i want to like my reality. it’s better i end up alone than with a bad match whom i still feel lonely next to. trust me, no one is more aware of the possibility that i’ll end up alone than i am, so spare me the stories of your spinster aunt patty and her cats.

at 36, i already know the odds are stacked against me, yet i refuse to settle, because at 36, i also know myself pretty damn well. still, i don’t doubt that i’ve passed on decent guys just because they had goatees. or maybe they listed “weekends in vegas” among their likes. or maybe they were actors. or listed their favorite book as “The Alchemist.” or they lived in Brentwood. 

it is superficial and no doubt makes me an awful person who deserves to die alone. three weeks in, my profile already reads “replies VERY selectively” in red letters. i know internet dating is a “numbers game,” having heard this from countless people, but i have neither the time nor desire to go on 100 bad dates before going on one good one. i’ve decided to use OKStupid as more of a supplement to my dating life than the main lifeline. i prefer to meet men organically and if OKStupid brings me only a handful of dates a month, i’m ok with this. less than a handful is also ok.

plus, i’m trying to avoid the “overdater syndrome.” i’ve seen it too often with both male and female friends of mine, who spend too much time on dating sites, enduring the requisite parade of stupidity, and then begin to make sweeping generalizations about the opposite sex, with the women interjecting, “ugh, MEN!” any time a story about a man acting foolish is being told, and the men shaking their heads and adding, “that’s because all women are crazy,” when the fool in question is female. 

i’ve also seen it on countless profiles — this speaking to the bad experiences, where men write to the “liars, the fatties, the bitches who don’t write back,” where people assume everyone is fake and fixate on the deal-breakers over the attributes. to survive in the world of online dating is to have low expectations that need constant reinforcement, as hope can be a dangerous thing when one’s heart is on the line. so it looks like i’m fitting right in.

i hate the way i sound talking about this. i really do. and i know i’m about 10 years late to this roast. this post is so dated, this story so tired and old. trashing online dating is about as cliche and uninteresting as it gets. but considering that i only bought an iPhone a year ago, i’ve always been a bit of a “late adapter.” and here i am arriving late to the school dance only to complain about the music.

i don’t want to be at this dance. most of the time i’m standing around awkwardly and looking down at my shoes. i can’t bring myself to dance with anyone, but still feel compelled to stick around to see if it gets interesting because i know it’s worked for others and i know i’m not giving it its rightful chance. i want to dance. at least, i think i do. it’s just been so long, and the truth is that i feel a bit rusty, a little wobbly on my heels, and also extremely nervous.

plus, it’s never been this much damn work before. love has always hit me like a train and dragged me along its tracks. i’ve only known chemistry that overwhelms and leaves me at its mercy until i can’t see past it. the last time i felt this way was eight years ago when i first started dating Mo. our first date was on a wednesday and by the weekend we were inseparable. in those early weeks, i would throw up before meeting with him, not because i wanted to, but because my wiring had become unhinged and my organs were shifting. i couldn’t eat, sleep or focus and finally landed in bed with a miserable flu that confirmed my suspicion that it was really love. 

i don’t doubt that i’ve done everything in my power to prevent these feelings from returning, and for all the right reasons that rational people would warn against them. i know should keep my head screwed on straight. i don’t want to run the risk of falling in love with the wrong person. i know i should start as friends first with someone new and then ease into it.

that’s no doubt the healthiest approach, though it’s not the one that ensures i’ll stay rapt and dedicated because unless i feel that train make contact, it’s easy for me to be dismissive on the basis that nothing is holding my attention. love has never been a choice for me, especially one laid out neatly in thumbnail images and personal details that read like an ingredient list.

some days, i think it’s better that i just remain on my own. i’ve grown fond of my independence by now and have moved past the idea that i’m searching for my better half. if i learned anything in 2012’s Year of Solitude (and sad, sad celibacy) it’s that i can be happy on my own. i can make all executive decisions about my life without needing to consult anyone and feel confident in my choices. i can feel great about my achievements without relying on someone else’s approval to validate their worth. these were lessons i needed to learn.

other days, there is a longing for someone to sit beside me and hold my hand while we watch TV together. those are the days when i notice how seldom i cook elaborate meals anymore, how empty the bed feels when i get in and out of it, how my heart sits securely in my own chest doing nothing more than pumping blood.

that’s when i enter fantasyland and begin to romanticize the past or envision a future where i wake up next to some tall, smart, handsome, funny, kind, thoughtful, interesting, aggravating, odd, curious, confusing, hairy, smelly and delicious beast who complicates my life in a way that i don’t mind. there’s no fear in this fantasy, no fear of opening up or being vulnerable, of not being able to make compromises that i haven’t had to make in years, no fear of getting it wrong or failing again, of committing to someone who ends up disappointing me, or worse, gets disappointed by me.

then i turn my head and see my dogs snoring beside me, realizing that i’m alone on my couch on a friday night with my phone in my hand and no one to call, so i’ll jump on OKStupid to search for prospects in the same way i search for products on amazon before getting overwhelmed in 10 minutes, closing my laptop, sighing heavily, and then getting up and moving on with the rest of my night. 

The Conversation Chronicles: Dad’s Dating Advice

pops: so what’s going on in your life, Meel? anything interesting?

me: same stuff as always, Pops. mostly work.  

pops: what about social life? got something?

me: nothing worth mentioning.

pops: no? you know you not young girl anymore, Meel. you a woman now. time to get serious.

me: yeah, Pops, i know how old i am.

pops: it funny. all these years i never meet one man i think be good for my daughter. something always wrong. this one a cheat, other one a drunk, this one a gambler, this one lazy. 

me: and now you know what i deal with.

pops: but i got a feeling for you. i think somebody out there special just for you. he’s looking for you and you looking for him. but when he’s over there, you’re over here. and then you go over there and he comes over here, like you just miss each other. so far you don’t meet but you will.

me: oh yeah? and what’s he like?

pops: well, i think he a little older than you. good if he has own business. maybe married before but no kids. and he smarter than you, not too much, but enough to know how to deal with you. you know you’re not an easy woman. you need special man.

me: really? how am i not easy? this is all very interesting.

pops: you don’t like to listen to nobody. if you did, i would tell you what to do and you would do it long time ago. but you do what you want to do always. you too independent. not all men like it. they get scared, so you need special man that like it and look for it. but not a weak man. somebody strong that wants somebody also strong.

me: ok, i hope you’re right.

pops: i’m right. i got a feeling for you. take it easy, baby. you meet one day. 

Behind the Headlines

seems like i’m all too happy to write about my love life for the new york times, but when it comes to the milla times, i stay silent. not that there is so much to report. i am still very much single and very content to remain this way until someone extraordinary comes along and moves me toward a status change. currently, i’m not doing much to move myself or anyone else toward that change. i am not internet dating, nor am i actively going to bars, clubs, book stores or art shows to meet men. i’m fairly apathetic about the whole matter, which can be tricky when I have a choice between attending a party or sitting in the bath with a book.

still, there have been rumblings here and there, none of which i care to go into in any detail as 1) it’s none of your damn business, nosy; and 2) see note above about there being not much to discuss. yet through these rumblings i’ve learned quite a few things about myself and others that i am willing to discuss.

in terms of myself, i’ve come to understand that i am not going to be every man’s cup of tea, which is ok as the inverse could be overwhelming. this is not said in a self-deprecating way. it’s just that i’ve realized that only a small pool of men would be interested in me and what i have going on. it’s a realization i’ve come to after being told repeatedly by my male friends that i’m “too intimidating,” “too successful,” “kinda scary” and that i “act like i don’t need anyone.” i’m never sure how to respond to this. i’ve also been told that i need to “dumb it down,” which is probably good advice in a parallel universe but not anything i would ever consider doing in this one.

in this one, my plan is to be thoroughly myself with the hope that the right people will respond, be they friends or romantic partners. it’s taken a long time to get comfortable in my own skin, and now that i’m here i couldn’t imagine misrepresenting myself or remaking my life into something that’s aimed at attracting a husband. maybe i just don’t want it that bad. see note above about apathy. 

of course, i do want a healthy, happy partnership and believe i’ll have one again eventually, but the process of getting from here to there seems to involve a bizarro world that i don’t understand at times. for me, it’s always been pretty simple: i find someone i really like who really likes me; we decide to be together and we’re together — end of story. of course, there has always been a breakup in those stories, but the getting together part has never been complicated.

in this world of dating, however, nothing is easy. there is always a game to play, a battle to win, a oneupmanship to outdo, and the constant pretending that you just don't care. please note that i’m a 100% complicit in these games. i do plenty of pretending i don’t care. i don’t like to relinquish control of a situation and i’m great at hiding every shred of vulnerability. this game is a game of chicken and the strength of my resolve will usually crown me the winner — or loser as the case may be.

the more caught up i get in this vortex of modern dating, the more drama enters my life and the more jaded i begin to feel. this makes me nervous. being jaded is the enemy. i never want to reach the point where i’m making sweeping generalizations about men, because i am no man-hater. i have a nice daddy and know plenty of quality men so i know they are out there.

the secret is having patience and the courage to stick to my convictions. admittedly, i’ve lacked both of these things in recent years but am hell bent on getting them back. i’m also committed to restoring my no-bullshit policy when it comes to dating, as being grown means acting like a grownup. it means listening to people even when they are telling you things you don’t want to hear, which leads me to the other things i’ve learned.

i’ve learned that when a man tells you he’s messed up, he knows what he’s talking about. i’ve learned that i should never discard the obvious for the possible, that i should never force anything or chase anyone, that things either work out or they don’t, and both outcomes are perfectly acceptable.

it’s back to basics for me, where actions are more important than words, reality is more telling than fantasy, and trying too hard indicates a bad match. it will be hard for me to forfeit all the games in favor of transparency, as i’m a champ at playing the hide-your-heart game, but i’m going to try as the alternative hasn’t worked out too well. so i’m going to give this honesty thing a try as i’ve heard good things about it. i’ll let you know how it goes.

Of Zen and Men

yeah, baby. cue the sexy music. it’s the update on my romantic life, an update you have surely been breathlessly awaiting, you voyeuristic pervert. but before you bring out the box of tissues to shed a tear or do whatever else you might need tissues for, pause the sexy music and put your binoculars away because i’m not revealing much.

truthfully, there isn’t much to reveal. i am still single — and happily so. the worst of my breakup is decidedly behind me and i’m finally beginning to feel like my old self again, the self i’ve always known myself to be. that self enjoys answering to no one and relishing in the freedom that has always suited me so well.

and now that i’m living alone again, among my two furries, in my own house, where i get to hog the bed and take comfort in the fact that every item is exactly where i want it to be, the thought of entering another serious relationship soon is as inviting as a cold sore.

that’s not to say there aren’t many things i miss about being partnered, and i don’t doubt that i’ll find myself in another serious relationship eventually, but until then, my plan is to focus squarely on myself and do the things i always tell my single girlfriends to do when they find themselves delightfully unattached.

so far, i’ve been doing just that: spending plenty of time with myself, my friends and my dogs as i exercise, shop, socialize, read, write, loiter, lounge, indulge in spa days and prepare leisurely meals for one at home. at times like this i can understand why people stay single forever. i’ve found myself in this rare place only a handful of times before, where my heart is neither swelling nor aching.

but i know my heart all too well. i know it’s only a matter of time before it will want to wander and climb and soar and sink until it finds a pocket to burrow into. and i’ll allow that — eventually — but for now it will remain grounded, relegated to stay locked up home while i go out and... date.

yes, i’ve begun dating again, whatever that means. it doesn’t mean going out on a lot of bad dates with a lot of strangers as i refuse to dabble in the online personals this time. in fact, i’ve gone on very few dates so far, choosing instead to spend my time with one costa rican cutie. but that’s not a story for today.

today’s story involves the general weirdness that comes with dating at 34, which, i will admit, is far easier than dating at 24, when i would agonize over an unreturned phone call. as a single 34-year-old, however, there is far less agony and far more perspective. i keep my expectations tempered and my outlook realistic, which protects me from becoming too disappointed when things don’t turn out perfectly.

i’m sure that sounds cynical, but it’s actually been very liberating. it’s allowed me to appreciate good times as just that — good times to be cherished. bad times are also just that — brief and fleeting moments that are in no way indicative of times to come. thankfully, i’ve had more good than bad times in recent months, and i’m sure this has something to do with my rosy outlook that doesn’t take anything too seriously.

the last time i felt this footloose and fancy-free (in 2004!), i was dating multiple men without a second thought or feeling. (old-schoolers might remember the “harem.”) and while i don’t have the time, energy or interest in reverting back to those old ways, i have found that a few long dormant habits have reawakened themselves in recent months, particularly my guy-like superficiality that draws me to looks over substance, that keeps me unwilling to commit and uncomfortable with heavy emotions. i’ve also begun to hear things i’ve heard too many times before — that i’m bitchy and hard to get close to, that i act as though i need no one. “self-possessed” is a common refrain as is “control issues.”

i wish i had a defense for this beyond “i don’t know how to be any other way,” but i don’t. all i can say is that i’m working on it (sort of). more to the point, i’m keeping the faith that things will work themselves out as they are supposed to, that i’ll eventually encounter someone who will ruin my life by making himself indispensable to it, offering a space for my heart to burrow, where it will stay and do the things it was built to do.

but until then i’ll continue to enjoy the lightness of being, which isn’t so unbearable.

The Elephant in the Room

i’ve been struggling with this post and too many times considered deleting it. i thought i didn’t really need it, that the people closest to me already know this stuff, and that in the interest of moving on i should just move on and never mention that whole breakup thing again.

i worried about writing something i’ll regret, recognizing that the way i feel today is not indicative of the way i’ll always feel. but i suppose the same thing could be said of everything else i’ve written here over the past seven years, so perhaps it’s moot. this is how the conversation with myself has been going — point, counterpoint.

but, ultimately, this is the place where i chronicle the events in my life. it’s as much for me as it is for any audience that cares to read it, and i would be remiss if i didn’t address the breakup of my relationship, which lasted five years and played a major role in my life.

the truth is things were rocky for a while and then got ugly at the end. this is due in large part to the fact that we kept living together after breaking up, a circumstance that made us forget all the reasons we got together in the first place, reasons i’m only starting to remember again with the help of time and distance. it’s a shame, because if this post were written four months ago, when we initially decided to split, i’m sure it would read very differently than it does today.

today, it reads more like relief than grief, more best of times than worst of times. nowadays, i’m happier than i’ve been in months. i’m sleeping better, enjoying the outdoors with my pups more and feeling optimistic about my future again. i’m not saying that to be an asshole; it’s honestly the way i feel. that’s not to say i won’t cherish the memories we shared and all the rest of that jazz, but they all seem so remote to me now, relegated to a past lifetime i no longer want to revisit.

if you’ve been reading this for any length of time, you know that Mo and i have played makeup-breakup a few times over the past five years and you may assume that this is just another one of those breaks. (lord knows enough of my friends have said this to me.) if there is any bright side to the ugly ending, it’s that there is no ambiguity this time. it is over. we are currently not speaking to one another, and as far as i know he has left town. so there is no longing for the past. there is some heartache, yes, but it’s more fleeting than paralyzing. on the whole, i feel pretty good.

though i admit it’s odd to find myself here: newly 34, one year from advanced maternal age, with no partner to walk into my future with. i’d like to think that it will all work out for me in the end — that i’ll find my prince and get my happy ending — but i don’t want to be naive.

i also don’t want to be a cliche, so you won’t find me on jdate among the countless other thirtysomething jewish girls, their clocks ticking, looking to land a lawyer husband. marriage is not my life’s goal. if it happens at all, it will be only once and to the right person.

motherhood, however, is a goal. thankfully, i have several years left before i reach menopause so it’s still on the table. maybe i’ll hit my scary age, visit the sperm bank and go it alone. maybe i’ll adopt with a partner later in life. it could happen in a number of ways, all of them equally valid. of course, my preference is that it happens the old-fashioned way, but i’m no longer beholden to that as the only approach.

which leads me to... dating. re-entering that world both terrifies and excites me. i dread it, but well remember the sweet possibilities it can bring. if nothing else, it should make this blog more interesting to read. though maybe not right away as i don’t intend to become anyone’s girlfriend anytime soon, but i don’t intend to sit in a dark room and cry either.

right now, my only intention is to have a fun summer. i sense myself approaching the requisite post-breakup phase of carefree days and endless socializing. and i intend to enjoy it because i know i’ll become someone’s girlfriend eventually. my heart will reconstitute itself in time and want to be given away again. there will be future blog posts filled with declarations of love and cheek-to-cheek photos.

but until then, the good-time gal is back. i am single and ready to mingle.

The Single Life

three months ago i blogged that my two-year relationship ended and i’m again a single woman. it went something like, “we broke up. the end.” i didn’t feel like talking about it much then and i still don’t. perhaps i’ve finally learned enough to know better than to be consumed by the melodramatic sadness a breakup brings, or maybe the fact that i saw it coming this time cushioned the fall.

whatever the reason, i’ve been surprisingly at peace with singledom. i have zero desire to jump into anything serious anytime soon. it’s been liberating not to be waiting on anyone’s call or dealing with the stress that comes from entangling my personal well-being with someone else’s. i cannot remember the last time i found myself in this enviable position, where my heart is neither swelling nor aching.

and i like it. life is so calm lately, so full of the simple pleasures — the smelling of the roses, the easy like sunday morning. my emotions look like clear blue skies. and the thought of anything coming in to disrupt this rare internal equilibrium and my happy home life with the pups is repulsive to me. for now.

for now.

i know me and y’all likely also know that time and restlessness will create an itch that only a ravishing man can scratch. and given my history i’m sure he’ll be tall and dark-haired and wrong for me. and i’ll blog about it with a conclusion that will go something like, “we broke up. the end.”

there are times nowadays when i’ve felt that tug. it always arrives with the witching hour, around the twilight, after i’ve finished my work for the day, have had my dinner, read my book, cleaned my house and catered to the dogs. then will follow a moment of stillness when i look around, largely pleased with what i see: the safety and stability, abundance and comfort, and the unyielding warmth from the cuties. it'll absorb me and evoke a wide smile.

then something will bubble up, as much as i’d like to deny it, the feeling will rise up and wash over the moment — the desire to share it all, to sit on the couch with someone who’ll hold my hand while we watch TV.

for now it’s just a flash that disappears as quickly as it comes, but i know it will grow into a primal need as it has before, with the maddening loneliness that grows with it. i’m not there yet, and i sense i still have a ways to go. but when i do get there, i hope i’ll have the fortitude to bypass the hunt altogether and allow things to happen organically.

Meet the Parents

even though we had been living together for the last six months, dating for a year and a half, Mo still hadn’t met my family. this was the result of equal parts accident and intent -- ok, mostly intent. i’ll confess the thought of the Big Family Meeting made me uneasy, so i didn’t push it on Mo, who never asked. my parents, however, were asking often, and when they started up with “what should we get Marlin for the holidays?” i knew i could no longer delay the big reveal. we settled on the saturday before christmas at my parents’ house where we would exchange gifts and have dinner. my sister would be there with her husband and two kids. i would be there with Mo and my furry kid Juice. easy as pie.

truthfully, i had avoided the Big Family Meeting because it was too damn important. given that i’m 30, unmarried and jewish, such a meeting was incapable of being unimportant. and it was incapable of being easy: Mo is not jewish, nor is he russian — he’s actually a black man whose light skin allows him to regularly pass as white, a disorienting concept for most. he’s also without full-time employment, spending his free time daytrading and writing articles for Archinect. for me -- and probably Juice especially -- having him home often is a welcome treat, but for my parents, he’s probably not the guy they would have picked for me out of a crowd, especially with all the “nice jewish boys” on JDate.com.

plus, my family had grown close to my Last Serious Boyfriend and were as heartbroken as i was when things didn’t work out. during the unraveling of that relationship, my ex even told me, “tell your dad i’m sorry,” a message i relayed to my father who choked up and declared, “it’ll be hard for me to trust the next important man in your life.”

thankfully for him and me, there were plenty of unimportant men to keep me distracted until Mo came along. and while i know he’s important, i’m not sure that he’s “serious” in that one-thing-leads-to-another way that tends to be the hope of jewish parents with unmarried daughters who are 30. i feared that Mo might not be serious enough for the family introduction. his move-in was circumstantial and presumed temporary. we never discussed “our future,” never explored the mystery of “where is this going.” i always figured that our relationship would continue until it began to suck, at which point it would end, just like the relationships i’ve had before.

*******

i woke up early the day of the meeting to begin chewing my cuticles and planning my exit strategy. was that pneumonia i felt coming on? doesn’t my numb left arm signify the onset of a heart attack? no, i probably just slept wrong. Mo gets up and i begin the prep pep talk while he fixes his morning coffee — “my sister’s husband is Patrick. he probably won’t talk to you much but don’t worry about it. my parents’ dog is Chip. he’s small so careful not to step on him.” Mo is barely awake, looking at me askew, but i keep the facts coming, regaling him with details, life stories, russian proprieties he must follow in order to make the right impression. (“you have to drink vodka with my dad.”)

Mo nods, or maybe it was an eye roll. he grabs my hands and squeezes.
“it’s too early?” i ask.
“it’s too much,” he says. “you’re worrying too much. today will be fine.”

i shake him off and keep going all the same, stuffing him like a holiday turkey. more information, warnings on their temperaments. i begin to think aloud: “maybe we should develop a secret language for today, like hand signals to let each other know what’s really happening. are you getting all of this?” phone rings. it’s my Ma confirming the time and asking whether Mo has any dietary preferences.

“i was just telling him all about you guys. you know, preparing him for today,” i say.
“what type of ‘preparing’? you think we’re all monsters or something?”
“no, mom! i’m just telling him everyone’s name and profession, that’s all,” i lied. an argument could easily erupt from here. “let’s have a nice day today, please.”
“ok, fine with me. come by in the afternoon around 5 p.m.,” she instructs.
“what should i bring?”
“your boyfriend and a good attitude.”
“i always have a good attitude, damnit!! Ma?? MA???”

but she had hung up. “damnit, she knows how much i hate it when she hangs up on me!!”
i feel the steam release from my ears, followed by a big exhale. i look at Mo, who’s quietly sitting on the couch, sipping his coffee.
“you know, my family,” i start, “they’re not going to be your ideal family to walk into. hell, they’re not my ideal family to walk into.”
“the craziest people anyone knows are always in their own family,” Mo says. “when i was growing up, the fabric of our couches matched the pattern of our wallpaper. they were both plaid.”

*****

as we approach the front door of my parents’ house, i could feel the flight instinct taking over my body, making all my limbs twitch. for a moment i consider dropping the holiday presents i have in my arms, the bottle of vodka and bouquet of flowers i made Mo buy for my parents, just tossing it all aside and running toward the horizon, but Juice manages to snake her leash around my legs in a way that renders me immobile. i glance down and catch her big brown eyes, wide with encouragement. she had grown to love Mo as much as i did. there’s no reason the rest of my family wouldn’t do the same.

i look over at Mo for added encouragement and sense strain on his handsome face. in my selfish paranoia i had disregarded his feelings. immediately, my thoughts turn to his thoughts and i conclude that our thoughts are identical and still center around me. he must fear, like i fear, that the Big Family Meeting would make me too human, too flawed, too prepossessed of traits i couldn’t overcome. any remaining mystery that shrouded me — the exotic, lovable goddess i had imagined myself being in Mo’s mind — would vanish upon the unearthing of my roots, like cinderella at midnight.

door opens. cries of “hello, happy holidays” bellow from everyone. gifts are unloaded, hugs and introductions all around. my father and Mo stand facing each other, eye to eye, my two big loves, both six feet tall, dark-haired, bearded. the resemblance is undeniable. handshake. hug!
“do you drink vodka?” my pops asks.
“yes. definitely,” Mo replies, scoring points.
“good! hey Meel, i like him already. go help your mother set the table.”

and then, i don’t know. i helped set the table. we sat down, ate, drank, laughed, told stories — same as always, only now with Mo at the table. he fit in nicely, warmed up to everyone. there was no weirdness to sort though, no visibly tense moments. my family never brought up his job situation, and as i sat at the table looking over at my sister’s chinese husband and two biracial kids, i realized how silly i was to worry that Mo’s race would be an issue in my family.

my father seemed to appreciate that, like him, Mo wasn’t fond of cats, and he even found funny Mo’s story on how, during high school, Mo and friends used to record soft porn off the television in my childhood home, taking advantage of my family’s illegal “black box” that received all the cable channels, including the naughty ones. i beamed when the joke went over well, declaring dumbly, and perhaps a bit too loudly, “see, we all have the same sense of humor!!”

even Juice had a grand time, rummaging as she was through the pile of dog toys set aside for my parents’ miniature pinscher, who sat nearby looking forlorn. my sister’s kids were sparkling angels, despite my young nephew’s attempts at joining Mo as he used the restroom; and my parents and i got along splendidly, keeping our respective monster claws under wraps. Mo and i received various gift cards as holiday gifts, and were sent home with warm wishes and tupperware full of leftovers. on the whole, the night was thoroughly anticlimactic, almost unmemorable.

as the night was closing, i managed to steal a few moments with my parents for the debrief, which amounted to “so far, so good. bring him back!” on the ride home, i got the debrief from Mo, which amounted to, “overwhelming, but not bad. i could do it again.”
“‘again,’ really? it wasn’t too hard on you?”
“no, it wasn’t so bad,” Mo says with a smile. “i told you today would be fine.”