This is not advice about finding Twoo Wuv online. I have no experience with that.
I do, however, have some suggestions about how to go on Nice First Dates. About four years ago, I tried online dating for the first time, and it was kind of a disaster. Not a disaster for my comedy routine, should I ever have one, but I went on a lot of bad dates. If we were friends then, you probably remember some of the stories: the suicidal robin, the tattoo artist and ferret breeder, etc.
This time, however, it's been different. I've gone on four first dates in six weeks with four different guys, and every single one of them has been pleasant. I am four for four! And while four is not a statistically significant result, but here's what I've done differently this time, and what I suggest.
Be honest. Or, in other words, own it. I am not apologizing about the PhD or hiding the fact that I have one. Nor am I hiding the fact that I'm short, curvy, and have a crooked nose and glasses. Get that up on your profile right away so you can weed out the guys who aren't into that sort of thing.
Be selective. In my first attempt, I decided to accept every date and write back to every (non-offensive) message, just to keep my options open. This was a bad move. It was a waste of energy and I spent a lot of time being frustrated that I spent time corresponding with jerks. So don't correspond with jerks. And don't get involved in elaborate correspondence with some computer scientist in Finland. Talk to people you could actually meet. Speaking of which...
Meet early. All the written chemistry in the world does not necessarily mean chemistry in person. So don't let the messaging go on for ever. A cup of coffee after three or four messages is totally fine.
Set low expectations. Remember that it's just coffee. Or dinner. Or a walk through the farmer's market. Or whatever it is. It is not a referendum on your attractiveness or lovable-ness. It is not a marriage proposal. So you go, then, not expecting to meet The One (tm), but rather expecting to have a pleasant hour or so.
Give him a chance. If the guy seems polite and reasonably attractive, then go. If it isn't pleasant, you never have to go again. But it's worthwhile, particularly for academics, to practice basic social skills. So give it a shot.
Be kind. Not working out? Say so clearly, kindly, and quickly. "Thanks so much for a lovely evening. You seem like a great guy, but I don't think we're a match." Done.
Be safe. I did this the first time, but it's worth emphasizing. Meet in a public place. Tell your best friend who you're meeting, where you're meeting, and what time you'll call her to let her know how it went.
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Moving on
I had a tough time in graduate school. Many (most?) people do, so I am certainly not unique in that. It was, however, nearly always grueling and very often traumatic. I felt like I was the worst version of myself: the most neurotic, anxious, tightly-wound, unhappy, irritable person I could be. But now, miraculously, I find myself in a vibrant small city, with kind colleagues and interesting students, with a paycheck and dental insurance. I feel the surfeit of anxiety and anger and cynicism and defensiveness beginning to wash away. And that---stay with me through the apparent non sequitur here---is in large part why I was so excited about The Dates. They seemed somehow emblematic of this new life, of new possibilities and opportunities, of potential.
Making a glass of wine emblematic of a major life change assigns it enormous weight, so I'm trying simply to note this feeling and do the next thing: grade the papers, find a place to jog, begin to meet people at my new church, reply to emails, go on another date... all without freaking out too much.
Making a glass of wine emblematic of a major life change assigns it enormous weight, so I'm trying simply to note this feeling and do the next thing: grade the papers, find a place to jog, begin to meet people at my new church, reply to emails, go on another date... all without freaking out too much.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Update: Actual Dates
So the first one was fine: nice conversation, nice guy. It was friendly and collegial. Sitting on a dock on a river watching the sunset while engaging in a little pleasant chatter with a beer in hand is a nice way to spend the evening.
The second one was...
Well...
The second one was the way I imagine first dates should go.
This is even though I was late [&@£$ one-way streets and poorly marked parking garages in new cities!!] and overdressed [Miss Manners would say it's better to be overdressed than underdressed, and my friend A. would firmly insist that there's no such thing as overdressed]. There was a glass of good wine and a stroll around the historic downtown of the city and a few art galleries. He was a good conversationalist, kind, funny, interesting, and well-mannered. I found him delightful. It was a lovely evening.
So now I am trying to remember that you can't know much about a person in half-a-dozen emails and one evening. I am trying to remember that a lovely evening is simultaneously both no small thing and a very small thing indeed. I am trying not to check my phone compulsively to see if he has called.
The second one was...
Well...
The second one was the way I imagine first dates should go.
This is even though I was late [&@£$ one-way streets and poorly marked parking garages in new cities!!] and overdressed [Miss Manners would say it's better to be overdressed than underdressed, and my friend A. would firmly insist that there's no such thing as overdressed]. There was a glass of good wine and a stroll around the historic downtown of the city and a few art galleries. He was a good conversationalist, kind, funny, interesting, and well-mannered. I found him delightful. It was a lovely evening.
So now I am trying to remember that you can't know much about a person in half-a-dozen emails and one evening. I am trying to remember that a lovely evening is simultaneously both no small thing and a very small thing indeed. I am trying not to check my phone compulsively to see if he has called.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Not Not-A-Dates
Stop the presses. I went on A Real Date last night (pint on a deck overlooking the river) and am going on another one tonight (swanky cocktail bar downtown). If you're counting, that's two real dates in thirty-six hours, approximately the same number that I went on in four years in my previous town.
I continue to feel as though I am leading somebody else's life, not my own.
I continue to feel as though I am leading somebody else's life, not my own.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Possible Theories As To My Interminable Singleness
Theory #1: I Just Haven't Met the Right Guy Yet
While having the merit of being most likely the correct theory, it is nevertheless wanting in terms of entertainment value. Thus I propose alternate theories, all of which contain hypotheses already thoroughly and successfully subjected to empirical verification...
Theory #2: My Uncontrollable, Frequent Bouts with Klutziness are Not As Charming As I Think
In moments of greater confidence in my physical appearance (typically corresponding with moments spent in the presence of good girlfriends, and typically in conjunction with an abundance of finely distilled whiskies) I used to joke that there was a Hotness Conservation Law (yes, I frequently make jokes involving conservation laws; cf. Theory #3): the hotter a person is, the klutzier he or she has to be. In other words, being the cause of numerous, nominally awkward social situations is necessary in order to, you know, make it up to the rest of the universe for having been, through no real design of his or her own, the receiver of a physical appearance our culture deems "hot".
I no longer hold to this conservation law, based on years of research: I manage to exhibit profound unawareness of the spatial properties of proximate objects on a daily basis (walking into walls, stubbing toes on steps, tripping on sidewalks, clotheslining self on tree branches) yet this large number of klutz incidences cannot be balanced in terms of hotness or I'd be getting a lot more dates.
Granted there are logical gaps in the above reasoning, to wit-- assuming that the better looking I am, the more often I'll get asked on dates. But whether or not we want it, this is a pretty darn safe assumption, is it not? Guys just don't approach strange women for date-getting-purposes unless they find them attractive. Since I'm an "extended tourist" in my current city, a majority of my daily interactions with men are with men I hardly know and who hardly know me. I haven't been asked on a date since October, so you do the math.
But that's boring, and the point of introducing this theory was really to tell a self-deprecating anecdote confirming this theory. One of many possible such, I am afraid.
Yesterday I was on my way to giving a 2-hour lecture at The University At Which I Am A Visiting Research Fellow on ... well, I won't say, but see Theory #3 again. I had some last minute prep to do, but it was a gorgeous sunny day and so decided to tackle said work whilst eating outside at a brand-spanking new, very hip café not far from the campus. Before taking a seat in sunshine, I went inside to ask if they had English menus. The owners (a lovely, sweet woman and her son -- very handsome, tall, about my age or a bit older, from this part of the world and therefore exuding that lovely and mysterious foreign je ne sais quoi -- you know what I mean, ladies) explained that they were still working on a translation of their menu into English. The son then talked me through their entire list of offerings, made excellent suggestions and helped me place my order all the while being adorable and flirtatious (even with his mother smiling at us from the corner -- gotta love that confidence). I asked if carrot juice was on the menu, and he said no but he'd make a fresh glass for me anyway.
During the meal the mother came outside and chatted with me a little. Wise businesswoman. She told me a bit about how her son had lived in America for a while, and when she asked what I was working on and I told her, she smiled and said: "Wow! A woman like you, so young? That's really amazing!" (To which I responded, in my head: "I know! Tell your son!")
When I'd finished devouring the extremely fine meal, I packed up my nerdy academic-ie things and headed back inside the little café to settle the bill. As I stood there shamelessly flirting with both the mother and son (let's be honest, you gotta win over Mom), that warm bloom of confidence began to build up inside me -- the kind of confidence that unfailingly leads to my doing something awkward, and probably involving limb flailing. Sure enough, as I handed over the money I knocked over the son's full glass bottle of Coca Cola, which then splashed its contents onto the mother's mint-green cardigan and trickled down into the cracks between the brand-new counter and the brand-new shelves and soaked into the brand-new decorative upholstery pastry board before crashing to the floor.
I froze, mortified. The mother said repeatedly, "Don't worry! Don't be embarrassed!" while I proceeded to do both those things. I didn't even collect my change -- dashed out of the café and across the street, and then had to stand there in full view of the café and its patrons and - most crucially - in the line of sight of both mother and son - while I waited a full 13 minutes for the No. 7 bus to whisk me off to the university. I tried burying my face in the book I was reading, but I'm pretty sure they could still see me from across the street.
Oh, and guess what? Tall, handsome, dark foreign entrepreneur with excellent maternal relationship did not, in fact, ask me out on a date.
It was such good food, too. That part I really lament. When is an acceptable time for me to revisit the café? Because even if I ain't getting a date, I sure as speckled robins' eggs ain't gonna forsake good food on account of my klutziness.
Theory #3: My Uncontrollable, Frequent Self-Exposure as ÜberNerd is Not As Winsome As I Think
More on this later. Oh, so much more...
While having the merit of being most likely the correct theory, it is nevertheless wanting in terms of entertainment value. Thus I propose alternate theories, all of which contain hypotheses already thoroughly and successfully subjected to empirical verification...
Theory #2: My Uncontrollable, Frequent Bouts with Klutziness are Not As Charming As I Think
In moments of greater confidence in my physical appearance (typically corresponding with moments spent in the presence of good girlfriends, and typically in conjunction with an abundance of finely distilled whiskies) I used to joke that there was a Hotness Conservation Law (yes, I frequently make jokes involving conservation laws; cf. Theory #3): the hotter a person is, the klutzier he or she has to be. In other words, being the cause of numerous, nominally awkward social situations is necessary in order to, you know, make it up to the rest of the universe for having been, through no real design of his or her own, the receiver of a physical appearance our culture deems "hot".
I no longer hold to this conservation law, based on years of research: I manage to exhibit profound unawareness of the spatial properties of proximate objects on a daily basis (walking into walls, stubbing toes on steps, tripping on sidewalks, clotheslining self on tree branches) yet this large number of klutz incidences cannot be balanced in terms of hotness or I'd be getting a lot more dates.
Granted there are logical gaps in the above reasoning, to wit-- assuming that the better looking I am, the more often I'll get asked on dates. But whether or not we want it, this is a pretty darn safe assumption, is it not? Guys just don't approach strange women for date-getting-purposes unless they find them attractive. Since I'm an "extended tourist" in my current city, a majority of my daily interactions with men are with men I hardly know and who hardly know me. I haven't been asked on a date since October, so you do the math.
But that's boring, and the point of introducing this theory was really to tell a self-deprecating anecdote confirming this theory. One of many possible such, I am afraid.
Yesterday I was on my way to giving a 2-hour lecture at The University At Which I Am A Visiting Research Fellow on ... well, I won't say, but see Theory #3 again. I had some last minute prep to do, but it was a gorgeous sunny day and so decided to tackle said work whilst eating outside at a brand-spanking new, very hip café not far from the campus. Before taking a seat in sunshine, I went inside to ask if they had English menus. The owners (a lovely, sweet woman and her son -- very handsome, tall, about my age or a bit older, from this part of the world and therefore exuding that lovely and mysterious foreign je ne sais quoi -- you know what I mean, ladies) explained that they were still working on a translation of their menu into English. The son then talked me through their entire list of offerings, made excellent suggestions and helped me place my order all the while being adorable and flirtatious (even with his mother smiling at us from the corner -- gotta love that confidence). I asked if carrot juice was on the menu, and he said no but he'd make a fresh glass for me anyway.
During the meal the mother came outside and chatted with me a little. Wise businesswoman. She told me a bit about how her son had lived in America for a while, and when she asked what I was working on and I told her, she smiled and said: "Wow! A woman like you, so young? That's really amazing!" (To which I responded, in my head: "I know! Tell your son!")
When I'd finished devouring the extremely fine meal, I packed up my nerdy academic-ie things and headed back inside the little café to settle the bill. As I stood there shamelessly flirting with both the mother and son (let's be honest, you gotta win over Mom), that warm bloom of confidence began to build up inside me -- the kind of confidence that unfailingly leads to my doing something awkward, and probably involving limb flailing. Sure enough, as I handed over the money I knocked over the son's full glass bottle of Coca Cola, which then splashed its contents onto the mother's mint-green cardigan and trickled down into the cracks between the brand-new counter and the brand-new shelves and soaked into the brand-new decorative upholstery pastry board before crashing to the floor.
I froze, mortified. The mother said repeatedly, "Don't worry! Don't be embarrassed!" while I proceeded to do both those things. I didn't even collect my change -- dashed out of the café and across the street, and then had to stand there in full view of the café and its patrons and - most crucially - in the line of sight of both mother and son - while I waited a full 13 minutes for the No. 7 bus to whisk me off to the university. I tried burying my face in the book I was reading, but I'm pretty sure they could still see me from across the street.
Oh, and guess what? Tall, handsome, dark foreign entrepreneur with excellent maternal relationship did not, in fact, ask me out on a date.
It was such good food, too. That part I really lament. When is an acceptable time for me to revisit the café? Because even if I ain't getting a date, I sure as speckled robins' eggs ain't gonna forsake good food on account of my klutziness.
Theory #3: My Uncontrollable, Frequent Self-Exposure as ÜberNerd is Not As Winsome As I Think
More on this later. Oh, so much more...
Friday, March 21, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
What a small town
I'm sitting in the common area of our library, waiting for a student, and up walks a librarian I know a little bit from my teaching. He's a nice guy: in the two conversations we've had, he's been friendly and helpful.
So I say hello, he sits down, we're chatting about my class, and then he says, "I was looking up your class, and I saw your photo on the department website, and I realized why you looked familiar. You were one of my matches on [online dating site] about three years ago!"
I restrain myself from going into hysterics, but only barely. "Wow!" I gasp. "What a small town!"
And then I ask him if we corresponded through said dating site. "Well, I wrote you," he says, "but I don't think you ever wrote me back."
Zing!
So I say hello, he sits down, we're chatting about my class, and then he says, "I was looking up your class, and I saw your photo on the department website, and I realized why you looked familiar. You were one of my matches on [online dating site] about three years ago!"
I restrain myself from going into hysterics, but only barely. "Wow!" I gasp. "What a small town!"
And then I ask him if we corresponded through said dating site. "Well, I wrote you," he says, "but I don't think you ever wrote me back."
Zing!
Saturday, February 8, 2014
One thing to tell your single friend
Not sure I'm totally persuaded, but it's interesting, at least:
"If you have a friend who is single and is motivated not to be, there is one thing to tell them that is actually helpful and it is this: 'I am going to work hard to try and find someone for you.' Dolling out insight is easy, taking action is hard."
Read it all.
"If you have a friend who is single and is motivated not to be, there is one thing to tell them that is actually helpful and it is this: 'I am going to work hard to try and find someone for you.' Dolling out insight is easy, taking action is hard."
Read it all.
Friday, January 31, 2014
A Date or Not-A-Date
I went on a very nice Not-A-Date recently. That is, I spent a chunk of time one-on-one with a straight, attractive, single man whose company I enjoy doing reasonably Date-Like things.(1)
As a side note, how, you may ask, do I know it was Not-A-Date?
Because he did not ask me.
These days, I really do think it is that simple. I didn't always. I have spent lots of time trying to interpret and re-interpret behavior. I am also a committed egalitarian, and I do not believe that All Men are one way and All Women are another. But increasingly, I am becoming enamoured of letting the guy make the move, and here's why: if they really like you, they will ask you out. The pulling petals off of daisies disappear, the angels sing, and everything is clear. There may be plenty of room for ambiguity in human relationships, but I do not think it is here. Want to know if he likes you? Here's what you do: ask yourself, "Self, has he asked you out on a date?" If the answer is "yes," then he does. If it is "no," then he does not.(2)
Anyway, we know this nice day was Not-A-Date because he did not ask me to go on a date. And that's fine with me. I was not expecting a date. He is my friend, and I like spending time with him, and we were doing things I wanted to do anyway.
But some time later, I find myself a little bothered by the whole thing. First, it did look awfully like a date, and while I'm not going to spend a lot of time worried about the thoughts of random passers-by, I am going to note that when I mentioned it in passing to a couple of good friends, each of them asked, "Wait, was that a date?" "No," I said, "he didn't ask me." "Well, it sounds like a date," both retorted. So appearances were, at least to my female friends, a little suspicious.
Second, I've been down this path before. Most of the women of my acquaintance have been. In fact, between the two of us here at the Béguinage, this story arc has happened with a good half-dozen men. Here's how the story usually goes: guy and girl are friends. They enjoy each others' company. They spend some time together. They go on some Not-A-Dates. They have lots of fun. Then the guy meets another girl and the friendship dissolves overnight, leaving the girl to wonder what happened.
There are variations on this narrative. Sometimes the girl falls in love with the guy in that process of spending time together and going on Not-A-Dates, and then is heartbroken when the guy tells her -- or doesn't tell her!! -- that he's seeing somebody. Most times, she doesn't fall in love with him, but she still tortures herself by wondering what the new girlfriend has that she doesn't. Sometimes, the guy intentionally asks the girl on Actual Dates for some time before confessing that he isn't really ready to date anybody, as though dating were some sort of arctic adventure that required outfitting a year in advance instead of what they had, in fact, been doing. And it is this messiness that I want to avoid. I don't want to be a placeholder, the cardboard cutout girlfriend until somebody cuter, somebody who's really girlfriend potential, comes along. And I don't like losing my friends when they fall for somebody.
So I don't know what, if anything, to do. I can refuse to go on Not-A-Dates, but that's not a great solution, because I like my friends. Deciding not to spend time with them on principle because they're men is obnoxious. I can keep doing what I'm doing, and try to be at peace with the inevitable replacement. Or I can abandon friends, dating, and social interaction altogether and just write my dissertation...
Thoughts? Advice? Suggestions?
Yes, I am footnoting my blog posts. Too long in academia, friends. Too, too long.
(1.) Not kissing. Kissing is usually a pretty good indication that you're on An Actual Date instead of Not-A-Date.
(2.) This is where I give the obligatory reminder that a date, even An Actual Date, is neither a declaration of undying love nor a marriage proposal. It is only a date. This has been a public service announcement.
As a side note, how, you may ask, do I know it was Not-A-Date?
Because he did not ask me.
These days, I really do think it is that simple. I didn't always. I have spent lots of time trying to interpret and re-interpret behavior. I am also a committed egalitarian, and I do not believe that All Men are one way and All Women are another. But increasingly, I am becoming enamoured of letting the guy make the move, and here's why: if they really like you, they will ask you out. The pulling petals off of daisies disappear, the angels sing, and everything is clear. There may be plenty of room for ambiguity in human relationships, but I do not think it is here. Want to know if he likes you? Here's what you do: ask yourself, "Self, has he asked you out on a date?" If the answer is "yes," then he does. If it is "no," then he does not.(2)
Anyway, we know this nice day was Not-A-Date because he did not ask me to go on a date. And that's fine with me. I was not expecting a date. He is my friend, and I like spending time with him, and we were doing things I wanted to do anyway.
But some time later, I find myself a little bothered by the whole thing. First, it did look awfully like a date, and while I'm not going to spend a lot of time worried about the thoughts of random passers-by, I am going to note that when I mentioned it in passing to a couple of good friends, each of them asked, "Wait, was that a date?" "No," I said, "he didn't ask me." "Well, it sounds like a date," both retorted. So appearances were, at least to my female friends, a little suspicious.
Second, I've been down this path before. Most of the women of my acquaintance have been. In fact, between the two of us here at the Béguinage, this story arc has happened with a good half-dozen men. Here's how the story usually goes: guy and girl are friends. They enjoy each others' company. They spend some time together. They go on some Not-A-Dates. They have lots of fun. Then the guy meets another girl and the friendship dissolves overnight, leaving the girl to wonder what happened.
There are variations on this narrative. Sometimes the girl falls in love with the guy in that process of spending time together and going on Not-A-Dates, and then is heartbroken when the guy tells her -- or doesn't tell her!! -- that he's seeing somebody. Most times, she doesn't fall in love with him, but she still tortures herself by wondering what the new girlfriend has that she doesn't. Sometimes, the guy intentionally asks the girl on Actual Dates for some time before confessing that he isn't really ready to date anybody, as though dating were some sort of arctic adventure that required outfitting a year in advance instead of what they had, in fact, been doing. And it is this messiness that I want to avoid. I don't want to be a placeholder, the cardboard cutout girlfriend until somebody cuter, somebody who's really girlfriend potential, comes along. And I don't like losing my friends when they fall for somebody.
So I don't know what, if anything, to do. I can refuse to go on Not-A-Dates, but that's not a great solution, because I like my friends. Deciding not to spend time with them on principle because they're men is obnoxious. I can keep doing what I'm doing, and try to be at peace with the inevitable replacement. Or I can abandon friends, dating, and social interaction altogether and just write my dissertation...
Thoughts? Advice? Suggestions?
Yes, I am footnoting my blog posts. Too long in academia, friends. Too, too long.
(1.) Not kissing. Kissing is usually a pretty good indication that you're on An Actual Date instead of Not-A-Date.
(2.) This is where I give the obligatory reminder that a date, even An Actual Date, is neither a declaration of undying love nor a marriage proposal. It is only a date. This has been a public service announcement.
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