Reality check

Theradate is personable and charming and likable, and it's hard to remember sometimes not to get too excited about him. He's been sending a steady stream of sweet texts and long emails, not to mention a tantalizing invitation to a chocolate party. Plus, I like him. But he's far from a sure bet, so I need to work to contain my enthusiasm.

I texted Slinky to that effect, asking her to please slap me as a reminder.

Little did I know that I had no need to ask Slinky for such a favor, as the person sitting right next to me could provide exactly what I needed. I was on a Greyhound bus (or "hell on wheels" as I fondly call it) with my mom coming back from New York -- a far cry from the comfortable Acela ride we were expecting that was canceled after a train wreck on Friday. As the bus inched along, it became increasingly clear that I was not going to make it back to Boston in time for Theradate to pick me up at South Station and take me to dinner as we had planned.

He suggested we meet later in the week instead. I told him I couldn't; I had plans with Slinky. But then Slinky graciously offered to rearrange our plans.

"Slinky doesn't mind postponing drinks, so I'll let Theradate know I can get dinner after all," I informed Mom.

"Well, who knows if he's still free," Mom replied.

"But that was only 20 minutes ago that he suggested Tuesday," I reminded Mom.

"My point exactly. Who knows how many women he's texted in the last 20 minutes to ask out to dinner," replied Mom in her most pragmatic tone.

I couldn't really argue with her. The woman had a point.

Later, Slinky checked in to make sure that dinner plans had been confirmed. "I guess all the other women Theradate asked to replace me turned him down," I reported, "so he's stuck with me."

Thanks, but no thanks

Theradate has not been making it easy for me to stick to my resolution to ignore him. He's been "liking" lots of photos of me on Facebook (prompting me to wonder if he really likes me or only "likes" me). He also invited me to the premiere of a movie he's starring in. The only communication I'm not getting from him is an invitation to spend time with him without his 500 closest friends. Until said invitation arrives, I will continue to studiously ignore his advances. (And by "ignore," I mean thank him for the invite to the premiere but lie and say I have plans that night, but I look forward to seeing it when it's available on the Internet.)

I gotta admit, though: I am DYING of curiosity. Should I take my roommate up on her offer to go with a video camera and make me a bootleg of it??

The Slow Decider

I'm a slow decider. It takes me a few months to decide if I really love a new item of clothing, or new jewelry. It's not just a process of looking and deciding whether or not I objectively like it; I need to wear it for a while and see how it feels on me and whether or not it feels like a match for me. 

And boyfriends are no different. My feelings about exes tend to gradually morph and change shape over time. Sometimes they mellow and improve, like old wine or fine cheese; other times they behave more like rotten vegetables. Nearly four years after La Moustache broke my heart, I am finally ready to think about him as a nuanced person with faults as well as good qualities, and I even wrote him a couple of friendly emails this winter.  It took me a few years after our breakup, but I now consider l'Artista to be a good friend and one of the best exes one could possibly ask for. Dreamy, on the other hand, is like one of those vegetables that dry up and shrivel in your vegetable drawer. He's not really ever on my mind, not because it's painful to think about him but just simply because I don't feel any connection to him.

Monkeyboy, though a brief affair, is someone who I avoid thinking about because it's painful. In just a few short weeks he managed to win my trust, then break my heart in a way that seemed like it should be impossible in such a short time frame. His last communication with me was a note in which he refused to see me to talk about the breakup, and I don't foresee ever contacting him or hearing from him again. Leif Ericson is another one who I don't think about much, though in his case it's more because he just wasn't so memorable. By now I think more often of the delicious concoctions his friend cooked up than I do about Leif himself, whose personality always seemed a bit amorphous, probably because he was an alcoholic. And, although I only went on just four short dates with him, I continue to have a big soft spot for Theradate, to whom I managed to recount my entire life story on our first date and STILL have plenty to talk to him about on our subsequent dates. I ran into him at the movies a couple of months ago, and giggled when he told me that he managed to cry four times during 56 Up (I'm still not sure how that is humanly possible). He checked in with me after the bombings a couple of weeks ago, making sure that not only was I ok but asking about my sister and brother-in-law, too. He can be a bit over-the-top, but he's sweet.  

These days I'm dating 95%, and am beginning to wonder how I'll think about him in a year's time or two. He's kind and thoughtful and would do anything to make me happy, but after three months of dating I still don't feel that I really know him. He's smart, interesting and a great match for me in many ways, but I'm just not as excited after three months as I probably should be. 

Meanwhile, Theradate contacted me a week and a half ago to ask me to get together. He had told me when we broke up that he wanted to stay in touch, so I was happy but unsurprised to hear from him. I didn't really have time to see him, but I said yes anyway. It turns out he didn't really have time to see me, either, and he ended up canceling, saying he'd rather get together when we both have the time to hang out, maybe spend a weekend afternoon together. I didn't feel disappointed when he canceled. 

Still, it got me to thinking about Theradate, and a few days later I found myself doing some Internet research about him. I found out that he seems to be recently single, which made me wonder if his contacting me was in fact just the friendly gesture I had initially interpreted it as. I decided to check in about when we'd be hanging out. This led to an increasingly frustrating series of texts that went along the following lines: 

TD: Heeeeey!! Love to see you. I'll be in Boston twice this week: on Tuesday for a business dinner and then again on Friday. 

Me: Cool! Maybe we can get a drink before your business dinner or after?

TD: Not sure. There's a slim chance my dinner could be over by 9 so maybe we could see each other then. If not, I miiiiiight be able to squeeze you in on Friday before my plans. I'll check in with my colleague about Friday. 

Me: Let's aim for one or the other. Which one seems more likely?

Then, feeling that this was becoming ridiculous:  Theradate, much as I'd love to see you, all these "maybes" are making it difficult to plan my week. Let's postpone until you have a time when you're sure you're able to hang out. 

TD: Totally understand, Heathen. We'll do that. Sorry for all the craziness -- my schedule should be more open in a couple of weeks. 

Me: Okay, it would be fun to hang out the weekend after next if you're around!

Then,, in a last-ditch attempt: Any chance you are free for a beer tomorrow?

TD: Would LOVE to see you but I'm heading to Boston in rush hour traffic and I have to be there right after I'm done with work!!! 

At that point, I growled at my phone and gave up. Maybe it'll happen someday; maybe it won't. In the meantime, I'm finding myself thinking about Theradate and feeling annoyed at myself for doing so and annoyed at him for reappearing and making me think about him all over again after MONTHS of not thinking about him, but seeming incapable of making plans that don't include a "maybe."

Fergusons

The label "Ferguson" was invented several years ago when my brother-in-law, the Sensitive Bostonian, was moving in with my sister. Everyone who was involved in the move was required to take at least three plants that were cuttings given to him by his father. I mentioned that once a vendor at the Grand Army Plaza farmer's market had told me that these rainforest-type viney plants are called Fergusons, and the label stuck: anything that is given away because the owner no longer wants or needs it is a Ferguson. Basically it's a new word for hand-me-downs, but with more of a ring to it.

My life is filled with Fergusons these days, ever since I came home from pottery class one night to find three cop cars facing the wrong way in the middle of the street in front of my house and my roommate's window wide open. The cops had me wait in the hallway outside my apartment while they checked the house for prints or anything that would contain DNA, but luckily I could hear my lovebird squawking loudly so I knew he was ok.

After I inspected the damage and mentally tallied everything I had lost, it turned out that I had two necklaces left to my name -- one that I was wearing, plus a pearl necklace from my grandmother (that I've never worn) that the thieves opened, looked at, and rejected; zero rings, since the two diamond rings from my other grandma were in a box awaiting cleaning that the thieves lifted; two pairs of earrings, one of which I had taken off at the gym and left in my bag; and one bracelet. I had often thought how terrible it would be if I were to lose one of my favorite pairs of earrings or one of my rings, but it never once crossed my mind that I could ever lose everything at once.

Friends have been so kind, pooling together their Ferguson jewelry for me and giving me a gift certificate so I can pick out some non-Ferguson jewelry as well. I hope to score a Ferguson camera off someone so I can take real pictures for my Etsy site, rather than the crappy cell phone pictures I have been using of late. After a while the Fergusons will no longer feel like Fergusons, but right now they don't quite feel like mine. I know jewelry is only stuff, but all the pieces I had that were made by friends, or came from faraway places, or given to me by people I love felt like more than that to me; many of them I had worn so much they felt like extensions of my body, and without them I feel naked. It's hard not to think, when I put on my orange sweater in the morning, "I can wear those orange earring my aunt in France gave me; they will match perfectly!" or, fifty times a days, "Did I take off my ring when I was washing the dishes and forget to put it back on?" I hope my subconscious brain catches up to reality soon.

Putting my geography degree to good use

I have a long reverse commute to work. The downside of this is that I spend a long time in the car every day and feel guilty all the time about all the horrible, toxic gases I'm releasing into the atmosphere; the upside is I don't mind being in the car and I rarely have to deal with traffic. Oh, and also I love my job, which makes it all worthwhile.

Because of my guilt as well as my concern that too much time in the car is bad for my mental health, I try hard to limit my non-commuter driving. I spend lots of time on the weekends on the subway, or trekking around Jamaica Plain on foot. Above all, I certainly do not want a relationship that involves any extra driving. Therefore, for the past few months one of the qualities I've looked for in the men I date has been "lives northeast of Boston" (along my route to work). I was derailed briefly in the fall when I dated Theradate, who lives a whopping 45 minutes in the opposite direction in a completely different state (what was I thinking??), but since then I've stuck pretty closely to the north-of-Boston types.

This week, after months of trying, I finally had a major commuter-dater win. Like I said, I rarely deal with traffic -- but every so often I do, namely when there is a Red Sox game or when it is raining. (Boston drivers, among their many other quirks, are apparently incapable of driving in the rain. I'm not talking about a driving rainstorm here; more like a light drizzle.) One day this week, there was a light, intermittent rain falling, and true to form the highway was backed up about 8 miles north of the city. My co-workers reported the next day that it took them close to two hours to get home, and they don't even live as far as I do.

95% and I had plans to see a movie at my house, but when I saw the traffic situation I quickly called him to suggest a change. Thankfully, he agreed, and I pulled off the highway after a mere ten minutes in traffic, stopped at my favorite Mexican place to get takeout, and was at 95%'s house 20 minutes later.

Hooray for pragmatic dating!

Heathenisha finds her man

I don't know whether to feel elated about this, or depressed, or both. But I think my fake OkCupid profile who has taken on a life of her own, Heathenisha, has found her perfect man -- before me! How is this possible when she's been online a solid two years less than me and hasn't gone on a single date??

Heathenisha is the profile I created back when I was dating Dreamy. At first, she was just a blank profile for me to use to check out friends' dates. But gradually I started giving out the password, and when friends asked if they could fill out her profile, I assented. By now, at least 15 people use Heathenisha, and "to Heathenisha" has become a verb amongst my friends (meaning "to look up profiles from a fake account"). Meanwhile, she has taken on an eccentric, communally-created personality: She is well over 7 feet tall and loves two things above all others, namely her cat, Rudolf, and the color red.

Yesterday Slinky and I were gchatting and she was simultaneously Heathenisha-ing when she brought the following profile to my attention:

Username: MarryMePronto

Self-summary: I'm just a romantic man looking for love. I already have the ring. I just need the finger. Like Cinderella and the glass slipper, your ring finger could be just the ticket to a fairytale wedding. No long courtship. I just want to be a Mister with a Mrs.

What I'm doing with my life: Looking for the one. I've been trying for years but, as you know, dating is hard. So finally I just decided to wish it to be so. So I bought the ring and I know it's going to happen. I just have to believe.

I'm really good at: Knowing what girls like. Seriously. I've got the china patterns all picked out. I like long conversations. I WANT to hear about your day. Every day. In our house. Where married people live.

Favorite books: Anything by Dr. Phil. I also like "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work". And the "Twilight" series. It's so romantic.

Favorite movies: Legally Blonde, Pretty Woman, Cinderella (Disney version), Sixteen Candles, and Ever After

The 6 things I could never do without: My ring, my future wife, my sense of romance, my cat, Britney, aromatherapy candles, bubble Baths

I spend a lot of time thinking about: My wedding day. I know women usually do this and it sounds cliché but I can't wait to say "I do". It's going to be the best day of my life.

And the photos? All pictures of a dude holding out a diamond ring. AMAZING. 

I think Britney and Rudolf are going to have a very happy future together. 

Dating like a grown-up

I'm feeling good about my dating life lately. Not that anything terribly exciting is happening; it's still rare for me to get to a third date, and I seem to have dates with an endless parade of men named either Matt or Dave. (Last week I had four dates, out of which 75% were named either Matt or Dave.  Can't anyone get a bit more creative with the names?) They're smart, interesting men, and I have fun with them, but it's hard to feel like I have skin in the game with any of them.

In the past, the men I've been seriously interested in I've liked instantly. It took me all of five hours to fall hopelessly in love with l'Artista (and there were no words exchanged during that time, since I spoke no Italian and he no English), and I became smitten with La Moustache the second time I met him. I was even quite taken with Dreamy on our first few dates, strange as that now seems. But these days it's hard to imagine that happening. I have a career, and a craft business on the side, and a million other things going on. I'm not sure I have it in me to meet someone and have them become the immediate focus of my attention (though if I have gleaned one rule about dating from my experiences, it's to never make predictions because you NEVER know what will happen).

There are a lot of positive aspects of not having skin in the game. For starters, I am finding it much easier to put myself out there. So, last night I was able to tell my date flirtatiously, just before I raced out the door to meet Slinky, "We should have a proper date next time!" My date eagerly agreed, but the next morning I thought back to the part of our date when he showed me about 30 photos of his cat and wondered if I had made a mistake. Last weekend, after a few glasses of wine, I walked up to a Bavarian-looking mountain man in a green vest and said, "I liked your moves on the dance floor." I started to walk away, but he was excited to find himself talking to a cute blond girl and stopped my progress. He didn't end up asking for my number, and I was fine with that; I knew he wanted to and probably kicked himself that he hadn't. And the other day I told Pottery Crush, who I've been sitting across from every Wednesday night for the past 1.5 years and somehow just noticed recently that a) he exists and b) he's a cute, single guy, that we should check out a concert together sometime. We also talked about getting together for some glaze firings... HOT!! (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

So even though I'm not feeling particularly excited about anyone, there are plenty of eligible bachelors out there. I'm not planning to get invested in any of them for a while. But I am looking forward to a sledding date later this weekend with 95%, a man who seemed so good on paper that I fully expected to feel an immediate connection with him when I met him. I didn't, but I'm going to keep going out with him and see if a connection starts to develop, because I think he's a good egg with a lot of potential. And maybe it's time to stop expecting to find someone who'll make me feel like a teenager, seeing as how it's been a decade and a half since I was one.