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Forever Loving Your Crazy Self

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This photo, taken during that infamous home-ec class at Centerville High School, is perhaps my favorite of us.

Dedicated to Jason Braman.

Things I want to remember: Hissing “yesssss” at each other through the phone. Listening to “Arnold Layne” and “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” at full blast in your room with the strobe light flashing. Drawings created with ball-point pens and colored pencils ― your doodles. Hippie beads, scarves and that cape I made you from a red velvet bedspread we bought at the Goodwill in the Oregon District. The way you carried one of those ’70s flowered suitcases as a book bag at Centerville High School, circa 1988. Songs you wrote and played for me on the guitar. Trudging along in the snow-covered golf course behind my parents’ house admiring the sun’s glint in the ice-covered trees. You, an almost constant passenger in my red Chevette.

Remember how we could read each other’s minds? People thought it was something we, the wacky and iconic couple, made up. But we knew it was true. I wonder if you’ve been reading my mind in the weeks since you’ve been gone.

I’ve been wearing that silver and opal ring you gave me, on a chain around my neck. My body has spread a bit since that day in high school when you got down on one knee in home-ec class and proposed to me. It doesn’t quite fit my ring finger, but on the chain it lays right on my heart. Back then, we had read books about soul mates, astrology and numerology checked out from Woodbourne Library and we knew we’d be connected forever. Back then, forever was a philosophical concept we also discussed for hours while hanging out at Denny’s or in David’s Cemetery. I’ve been wearing this ring to remind me I once had that kind of connection with another human. Even though it has been years since I last saw you, I miss you so much now. Like crazy. You left me way too soon.

Homecoming 1988.

Things I want to forget: Visiting you in the psych ward at Grandview Hospital and Twin Valley Medical Center. Having to tell you I can’t see you anymore because you stole beer and over-the-counter medication from my house. The vague sense of relief I felt when you canceled plans for us to get together because you were “sick,” although I was sure it was because you’d had too much to drink.

All these memories I want to crumple up. After all, you are my coming of age story. We were inseparable for nearly three years during that time when we lurched through poems and art and music and books, grabbing pieces of who we would become. Pieces of me are swimming with your ashes in that Wisconsin lake, and I feel pieces of you in me like lumps under my skin.

You are the person who convinced me I could write, even though you, too, could cook words into a gourmet meal. I remember reading you a piece on the phone that began with a letter to you. At the end, you were crying. I doubt I’ll ever publish that piece. It’s about such a dark time in my life ― geesh, it’s titled “100 Days of Winter” ― but I reprint the letter to you here:

A piece of your artwork, titled "The Fear and the Struggle," from 1991-1992.

Dear Jason,

Sorry I’ve been out of touch this past year, but I’ve been really busy going crazy. Burying my I-can-hold-a-day-job self in a morass of self-loathing has taken a lot of my time.

I know I’m not supposed to say I’m “crazy.” Or “nuts.” I know those aren’t politically correct terms. They offend someone. But I am crazy now. Here’s how I know: Sitting in my doctor’s office, in the windowless basement of some rectangular brick building, I started to cry because some soft-serve song about “remembering people” played on Lite 99.9 FM. It’s supposed to be nothing more than the background noise in the office, dimming the buzz of the florescent lights, but this song was on a DVD played at Kier’s sixth-grade graduation featuring smiling portraits of all the kids who were moving on to junior high and lives of teenage malaise. I started sobbing ― guttural cries that made me double over and start choking. I freaked the receptionist, who took me right back to an exam room. My blood pressure was something nearly unheard of, like 100 over 200, and she told me to breathe, panic spreading across her face like a wine stain on carpet.

I also know I’m crazy because of what happens to me at night. The hand of a ghost reaches into my brain and turns up the volume to 10. Boosts the bass, too. I’ll think it’s time for bed, and all of a sudden the cells in my body are humming a catchy show tune and tap dancing. Some nights, my head is an engine running full speed with no oil, metal scraping metal, a pain so intense I am almost paralyzed with fear that I’m dying, for real this time. Still other nights, I’m sent scampering to my journal, freestyling verse like some hot shot hip hop from the big city.

At our perpetual high school hangout, Denny's.

At our perpetual high school hangout, Denny's.

The moments when I can’t breathe remind me I’m crazy, too. It’s always something trite that gigs me out. Like thinking about a meeting and I haven’t written my stupid weekly activity report. Or because of a kitchen cabinet, like when someone goes on a search for hot chocolate mix and then puts everything back in the cabinet pell mell. I have to pull out everything, check for sticky spots on boxes and crumbs, wipe down everything, and put it neatly back in the cabinet the way nature intended.

Now, you know normal people don’t do these things. So I say I am crazy.

But enough about me. What was it like when you went crazy? Did you know it in one flash, like the Three Kings seeing the Star of Bethlehem? Or did it creep up on you? Was it like the feeling you have when a wispy Daddy Long Legs crawls up your leg?

Remember when you wanted so badly to be Syd Barrett, the madcap laughs, be crazy just like him? We used to make fun of you and call you “Syd the hairclip,” remember? So it was kind of funny at first when you really did go crazy. We thought you’d snap out of it, that it was one more of your eccentric experiments in living. But as time passed, it seemed a trap set in your brain was clutching you tighter and tighter. We would sit around my dining room table with somber faces, clutching glasses of wine as we discussed your latest antic or despair. “What happened to Jason?,” we’d ask, shrugging. Not everyone believed you were crazy, but I did. I believe it about myself now.

One of your poems, this one published in our high school literary magazine.

One of your poems, this one published in our high school literary magazine.

I should have gotten in touch with you sooner. I know you understand me. You always have, and you have never judged me no matter what. I can’t say the same about anyone else. Please write back soon.

Love you,

Kristen

I wrote that so long ago, but it’s still tinged with truth, at least from my version of this story that was your life. In my version, your life seemed utterly tragic at times ― so tragic that one of the most intelligent, thoughtful and creative people I will ever know was smudged with medication and booze and schizophrenia and pancreatitis. Really, though, you lived through a bullhorn, lived on your own terms. In moments, it may have felt a bit pathetic that you hadn’t quite found your niche when the rest of us “adapted” ― I wear high heels and blazers to work sometimes for chrissakes ― but I wonder now who is pathetic and who is true and free. If you were here, we would talk for half a day about this alone.

I have rewritten this piece 276 times. Waited a month to publish it. Only tonight, during a discussion at my book club about a memoir that reminded me so much of the terror and raw beauty that was you, did I realize it’s a dishonor to not put it out there. And so I do, even though I feel as if nothing I could ever write will serve your memory justice.

One of perhaps a million "artsy" photos I took of you in high school.

I hear you were truly in love when you collapsed on your couch. This makes me happy, because that is what you deserved. And regardless the pieces we remember, regardless of the way we choose to fit them together, those of us who knew you will never forget Jason Braman.

I promise to remember you as the tortured genius, the effervescent teenager I so deeply loved, with that laugh and skip and wry humor.

See you on the dark side of the moon.

Just Another Stream of Consciousness

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I have this friend (I really do) who’s always singing a song about being a “challenge” and how mystery is the key to seduction. I haven’t written in a while, did you expect I’d come back talking about anything else but my constant curiosity about what works and what does not in dating and relationships? Clearly, my confusion has ceased to dissipate but I’m more comfortable about where I am headed these days.

I have a schedule that allows me little time for fun even less time for dating. There is a level of participation to assure someone that you’re interested and I sometimes find myself unable to cater to that need.  Sometimes though,  I’ll meet a person that makes it easier or find that maybe they’re worth shifting my schedule around for because I really dig them.  I like when this happens because it reminds that though entirely jaded there’s part of me that truly wants to settle down one day, and do that whole monogamy thing again. Maybe. The more I date, the more I see myself becoming comfortable with bending the rules a bit and embracing change from my behavioral norms like making time. According to above friend though, showing too much interest may be the wrong approach. There’s nothing more confusing than the male mind but in the spirit of trying new things I took her advice.

Tactical Dating?

Eagerness may potentially frighten because women and men think and feel at an entirely different pace, have different triggers and convey emotions in two completely different ways. Too much, too soon has never worked for me though I watch these movies like “He’s Just Not that Into You” and read books where the last page is always a happy ending despite the female’s irrational behavior throughout. The reality is that nothing about dating is so black and white.  I’ve noticed when I playfully adapted “mystery” that I wasn’t alone in my eagerness. The level of interest is noticeably different when you’re a bit of a challenge to reach and I personally felt like the playing field was leveled. So you see, sometimes change is good but is it really an approach per say? I think it’s more of a tactic than anything.

There’s nothing wrong with testing new tactics from time to time. If the end result of anything does not equate to your own personal happiness then yes, something has to change. Which is why I decided to listen to a friend’s advice for once.  I look at a lot of relationships and it’s more than clear that some people are just afraid to be alone, maybe even me.  Which is why often we settle. I think saying, “I’m just trying to make it work” in the early stages of any relationship is never a good sign. In the beginning, it should be easy and fun. You should be just trying to keep your hands off of one another and trying to not be too distracted by thinking about each other so often. You make it work when you’re years in, maybe even married and maybe even have children. That is when the dynamic of the relationship changes and when things truly become harder, when it’s not just about you. I’ve been down the “making it work” path in dating. A path that is paved with unconscionable compromises and uncontrollable loss of one’s self.  A path I am not interested in traveling down again. Change your tactics without changing who you truly are. That is the trick.

Letting go of Labels.

I think realizing the level of control we actually have in terms of how things end up is largely how we eventually find exactly what we want.  For a bulk of my life, I’ve looked at the relationships around me and the relationships I’ve been in as being the only examples of  true happiness. We’re living in a different age, singles don’t need separate sections at restaurants like smokers and we’re not that uncommon. There’s no written rule about settling down by a certain age either, though at times our families, friends. our faith and even this society push “happiness” labels on us.  Happiness comes in all forms and though the dogs may bark, I’m finding less of a desire to satisfy the masses and more of a desire to satisfy myself however I want to and without any regret. After all, it’s my own happiness that matters most.

I used eagerness merely as an example of how we tend to pick ourselves apart and think, “what did I do wrong” when a relationship ends or someone we’re dating loses interest. Some things just aren’t meant to be and it’s really that simple. We are made up of layers, created over time by our experiences in life. Our pain, our joys our love and our loss of love all play a part in who we eventually become as a person. Yes, there is a great deal of games in dating. Is it mystery or being a challenge that does it? Is it eagerness and making time? No. I believe it’s just being you. The right person will come along and like you exactly the way you are.  New tactics and thinking differently is important for self awareness and growth, but never forget or change who you are for anyone. That I am certain, is the wrong approach. If asked by anyone what does it, my answer is now confidence.

Be you, whether it’s extraordinary one day and irrational another, just be you and make no apology.

Twitter Tweeter

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A nice handful of people who are currently using Twitter today, actually have no idea how to use or why.  That probably is one of the main reasons that only 5% of users create 75% of the content that is curated on the microblogging platform.  Though I wouldn’t necessarily brand myself as an expert or guru on this social network, I do know that using Twitter is about 2 things and only 2 things: branding and engagement.

When you use Twitter, you give yourself a searchable online presence (unless your account is set to private).  This makes it extremely important that when first starting out, you think carefully about your username, background, and bio.  Like making a first impression, these are vital to letting your followers discover who you are and what you are about.  Whether you’re a job seeker, student, working professional or wandering nomad, you have control over what perception you want others to have of you.  Use those areas to your advantage!  Every time you tweet, you’re making a mark on your personal brand.

Twitter is great because it lets people connect in a way that could never happen in real life organically.  I’ve had some engagements with social media “rock stars” like Amber Naslund (@AmberCadabra) and her employer Radian6 (@Radian6).  In traditional business, I would never be able to get an email through to the VP of Social Strategy unless I was in upper management, but in social media, I can have a conversation with Amber and it’s no big deal.  For Radian6 and other companies who use Twitter, it really humanizes the brand and allows them to be reachable to the everyday person.  Aside from the 140 character limit (or as I say the 120 character limit to allow for retweeting), those bit.ly links, hashtags (#), and mentions (@) in your tweets are just as important as the message you share.

To boil it down, if you’re going to start using Twitter, some things to remember: use a profile photo, put a bio in – and don’t be afraid to be personal, change the background to something other than the default, and when posting – use tweets to talk with others at the very least.

Metrosexuals, Hipsters and Missionary Dating – Two Weeks of Dating Adventures!

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You read right.  Though in abundance and for some reason attracted to me, I find myself a little less than enthused about the options of late. Is it the time we live in that have changed men and is what I want even in existence anymore?

Where do I begin this week?

The Metrosexual.

Could I date a diva? In the last year, I’ve met a few guys that are well kept..love shopping…the arts…and enjoy discussing fine cuisine and wine tasting with me. I’ve thought how great to find someone who enjoys the same things as me, how easier could it get?  Then it dawned on me that I have enough gal pals. Coming from the east coast, I’ve been exposed to a breed of man with nicely kept eyebrows and jeans that cost more than most things in my wardrobe.  I’ve grown accustomed to the fact that they exist but I don’t want one on my arm. In previous articles I’d mentioned my tendency to type cast and focus too much on what the ideal guy for me would be, but I think just wanting a “manly” type man isn’t  too much to ask for is it? I’m not quite sure why I attract this breed … but I’m not entirely sure why I attract a lot of what I do.  I couldn’t date a diva this much I know. If someone spends more time in the bathroom getting ready than I, well it’s doomed to fail and I envision cat fights and hurt feelings.  Like I said I have enough gal pals so I am not sure this would really be my thing. Also, if you’re confused about you sexuality and not just a well groomed metrosexual I am not the gal to help you figure that out. Point blank. There’s a fine line between asking  to borrow a pair of heels and asking to put them over your shoulders. (Sorry, Mom if  you’re reading this)..frankly, I think I am still in search of that lumberjack with a beard.

Hipster Dating.

“I date cops and you date hipsters with diagonal parts” a friend uttered to me recently as being the reason why I have no success in dating.  I have a tendency to really be drawn to those I share common interests with, but does that make me a hipster? I’m loud and out there a true extrovert yet I at times attract these awkward socially inept quiet types. Granted they have great taste in music which makes me think, so what if he’s an introvert it could work. I am learning the hard way that no it really can’t. I can’t date a guy who looks better in skinny jeans than I and I’m too much of a social butterfly to really be hanging out at home. So my friend is probably right in her own way. Though I am totally against type casting in dating I still tend to do it. I’m convinced that sometimes common interests don’t really equate to a soul mate, moreso just another few hipster boy besties. Which I can deal with. In fact, it seems in two years of dating I have acquired a great deal of awesome guy friends. No loss there. Some of the best beards I’ve seen though, I will give them that.

Missionary Dating.

The last and final interesting to happen last week was the end of something before it even began because of my spirituality. This was a first for me. I’m pretty public with my bible hugging ways and though some may be offended or turned off by that, it’s not something I’d ever keep silent or pretend not to be.  I’ve never really thought about religion being a serious factor to consider when dating until recently.  I think at this stage of my life I’d have to really be connected with someone on all levels. Physically, mentally and spiritually. I don’t feel it’s out of the ordinary either, to think this way. I had been talking to someone who I saw potential with, character wise. There were a few things however that left me uncomfortable about the situation. Primarily the distance between us and the length of travel it would entail to see one another. Have I mentioned I am not a fan of long distance relationships? I think so.  Since I am a big advocate of being open and honest, I decided to take my own advice this time and be truthful about why I didn’t think it would work.  After mentioning several factors, the last thing that I mentioned in my little “its not you its me” speech was that I really felt it necessary that spiritually I connect with someone because in the future, if there were a future it would matter. If I were on the other end of this conversation I’d have a great deal of respect for such honesty. It didn’t go as I had planned which made me feel confident about my decision to not move forward and pursue dating. While one thing was said to me privately about my reservations being understood, good old Facebook told a different story when this person posted a Facebook status basically attacking my faith and accusing me of being judgmental. Now I’m Judge Judy, whatever.

It’s all good.

In the midst of all this however, I did realize one thing. Being single is really a joyous adventure in self awareness. Everyday I learn something new about myself that just makes me feel better about the future. You have to really get out there and meet all kinds when you’re dating to really understand what it is you want. So what if I still have no damn clue, eventually something will stick. I see a lot of people who are so focused on finding someone that they start to lose themselves in the search. It isn’t healthy and finding someone should be more of a benefit to life rather than a need.

So, I say focus on what’s good and what’s happening right now rather than worry about whether or not you’ll ever meet Mr. or Mrs. Right. For me, there’s been some great “Mr. In the Moments” that have made it interesting and entertaining enough to hold me over. I know I’m closer then ever.

Hurt So Good.

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It’s been over a week since I’ve written anything and it’s for no other reason then that finding the words has been difficult. Last week should have been a celebration of my successes over the last five years of living in Ohio; it should have been time for me to reflect on how far I have come and all the great people around me that have helped me through this transition. Instead of celebrating though, inside I was hurting and haunted. Though it may appear easy for me to open up and share my feelings and life happenings, it’s the farthest thing from being simple to do. Each week I really think about how what I write will affect my life and the lives of others. My mother used to say, “that mouth is going to get you trouble.” I must enjoy being in the hot seat.

Time Wasted or Lesson Learned?

For months I held on to the possibility of something happening with one of the first people to ever really trigger romantic interest in a long time. We find ourselves (well some of us do) after the break of a long term relationship having difficulty opening up and letting new people in. It’s only natural to be scared but I’ve started to think that this fear doesn’t allow us to really see clearly the things in front of us..the very obvious things. While those around me had told me time and time again to move on because this person not only had no interest but showed a complete disregard for my feelings so many times – pulling a few cards like the “I need time” and the “friend card.”  It’s as if I totally didn’t pay attention to too many times of being told “I’m sorry”, leaving me feeling sympathetic about some shyness or feelings of insecurity that really never existed… it was just a way to blanket nothing more than a lack of interest. If a person is sorry that much about the same redundant behavior, they’re not sorry. What was really happening was a person too cowardly just to say, “I’m not into you.”  Which would have been fine and perhaps a friendship could have even remained, but I think I’m done with second chances. It seems like no big deal really, right? Unfortunately it is. It hurt. When you find a comfort zone again after going through tough times, that allows you to open up and share personal things with someone again, actually talk and they treat you like that it doesn’t help. In some respect it hinders the overall healing process.  I see this all the time happening to close friends and yet when it happens to me it’s as if I’m completely blind to it.  If you’re reading this and thinking, someone could be leading you on or you’re doing it to someone, stop.  Be an adult and remember to treat people the way you’d expect or want to be treated. I thought I was passed dealing with nonsense like this but it’s good to know I’m still held captive by my naive thinking. The hopeless romantic isn’t dead she just sometimes needs a wake up call and a reminder that sometimes it’s better to focus on being the rule rather than the exception. Lesson learned.

In Retrospect.

For all the complaining I do in my columns, the rants about dating and the men I’ve met who just turn into creeps I think I’ve come to realize that perhaps it’s partly my fault. In thinking back, I’ve started to look at each of them and I’ve realized none were really anything I could actually see myself with. Which brought up an interesting point. They were a challenge and not the right fit at all, they were unattainable. Have I been focused on the unattainable in an effort to push away those who were attainable? Not that an army of bachelors is banging down my door but I’ve met some pretty awesome dudes, that I’ve totally blown off. Why? I’m not sure what revelation this is at this point, but I’ve concluded that because of past relationships and shit like the coward I just dealt with I have no faith in the attainable. While I know there is potential and that I could meet someone great, part of me doesn’t care to really have that. It would mean becoming vulnerable again something at this stage I’m still not ready to do.  So apparently, I am steal healing and there’s more on this journey to finding myself that I guess I need to do.  There is part of me that really still believes “the one” from a time long ago, was the only one. My head is sometimes a jukebox of the songs about us on constant replay and I hate it. Life and love would be a helluva lot easier if I could just forget. Most days I do, but others seem to be a struggle.

Where to Go, What to Do?

While I know there was a greater reasoning for my moving to Ohio, there are times when it’s still painful to be here. To think about what was and what could of been compared to what there is now. I try to find happiness in the little things and tell myself that one day it will really all make sense but there are moments when it’s the memories that are so abysmal it would be easier to just start somewhere new again. Run. While celebrating a silly five year anniversary in Ohio, inside I was really dwelling on the relationship that lead me here ending coincidentally around the same time it started. I don’t know why it’s so hard to let go of painful memories but it a nutshell I know that for you to leave a happy and fulfilling life, it’s really necessary to let go and do so entirely. If you’re dealing with something similar or just in general finding yourself down you have to know and believe that things really do turn around. I could dwell on every little thing that’s happened since, including what I roped myself into over the last few months but one thing I’ve learned is that what happens doesn’t change you. That no matter what you get over it and while hurt will remain you still have to move forward.

A Smile Returns.

I’ve been throwing parties since I moved here for silly reasons. I thought it made perfect sense to have a Pub Crawl downtown to celebrate 5 years in Ohio. It ended up being a great idea and for one reason alone.  This past Saturday night I was surrounded by friends. Real friends, who not only helped me to move forward but have helped me to move inward, to find my happiness and to believe in myself. We all have friends that come and go out of our lives and one’s we keep in touch with that were not as close with as we once were but I know in my heart, that these people will forever be people whom I can count on. While sitting around and watching them talk I realized what it means to have people who genuinely care and that is all that really matters in life. At the end of the day, it’s not what but who you have that reflects not only the life you live but the way in which you live it. Out of darkness, I’ve found a family here one that I cherish. That’s what has made the difference and why I am so able to bounce back from all of life’s happening since.

It Is What it Is.

Famous last words. It’s no secret I’m a bit jaded and unattainable myself. There’s mystery to uncover and they tell me the right person will crack the puzzle. Whoever this guy is he has his work cut out for him. One thing to never forget, be yourself at all costs because when you’re through those who are still standing by your side, those who still adore you, those who are always there .. are the ones that truly care. There’s no reason to blanket the crazy and frankly I find being normal rather plain and boring. Let the losers drop off and focus on what’s really important in life, the people around you that really do care.

Trimming the Fat – “Lean Dating”

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Conversations with friends this week seemed to be all about when to cut your losses and walk away in dating. Determining a toad from a prince. It’s become a apparent however that a loss cause is not so obvious in matters of the heart. The signs are all there but instead of realizing a situation for what it is we make excuses to justify the road to nowhere we’re traveling down. A long list of common excuses or guy types which I will address in a few seem to be more common then I had thought. Earlier this week, I made a decision to eliminate my gaggle. A concept I learned about earlier this year which essentially just describes a group of men in your life who you “sort of” connect with but get no where with. They’re a good distraction while you sort out your wants but in my opinion at some point you have to walk away.

A Pack of Nothing.

Over the past couple of years I have cultivated a group of men who seemingly would be great dating prospects but for whatever reason I or they never pulled the trigger. The men in my gaggle are ones which I can talk to about everything, that are generally really good guys, have taken me out from time to time and feed my ego with flirting and really just boost my confidence overall. So what’s the problem, right? Well I started to think about two factors which I hadn’t realized. One factor being that with a great amount of testosterone goodness in my life, the search for something a little more meaningful wasn’t such a priority. All of my needs were being met so why would I take dating seriously? Don’t let your imagination run wild on the needs thing, emotionally I was covered..but only “sort of.”  They were nothing more than a distraction hindering me from finding the real thing.  The other factor is that a lot these guys were typically using me as well as some sort of crutch too. So in my eyes, it was mutually beneficial to call it quits. I’m the “IT” girl and not the in the meantime type of gal. I know and believe this.

If you don’t think you have a gaggle, perhaps this next part will make you rethink this select group of men in your life.  Here is where I discuss the excuses. A lot of my females friends seem to be going through the same thing right now and it’s odd but we all generally make the same excuses about why we decide to linger and hold on to something that really isn’t going anywhere.

Do You Know This Guy?


I Still Want You in My Life – This is the guy you broke up with ages ago that you still remain friends with.  A part of you secretly feels as though somewhere along the line the universe will land you both back together. That the love you had with this guy is strong enough to bring you back together at some point. You talk often. He complains about his new love interest and you complain about how you just can’t seem to find someone new. It’s going no where and it’s unhealthy. Pull the plug.

Digital Dice Clay. – Hopefully he’s not as dirty as Andrew Dice Clay, but you know this guy. The one who always has something a bit risque to say about you or your derriere. He makes you blush and you like it. You know nothing will ever happen with this guy but you look forward to his texts, dms and emails. He puts you in a good mood, but never really seals the deal. This guy is a permanent tease, nothing more. He talks a big game but really you need to send him out to pasture.  There’s a huge different between attention and affection.

Mr. Unavailable – He’s been in many bad relationships and just hasn’t seem to get passed them.  He likes you and it’s obvious but for whatever reason nothing ever happens. You hold to Mr. Unavailable because it makes you feel good about yourself that you can eventually swoon him. He’s like a prize of some sort but the reality is you’re wasting valuable time pining over someone who is just not that into you. Don’t get me wrong, we never know what the future holds but if you’re putting your life on hold for this guy you may find yourself with a lot of valuable time lost. You know you’re a looker, a real find and he does too..it’s all in the way he looks at you but looking is all he does. He’s on the outside looking in and you’ve tried inviting him in. It hasn’t it happened. There’s a good chance it won’t.

I Don’t Want to Ruin the Friendship. – This guy is my favorite.  He’s the guy that has something to say about every guy you date. He thinks you’re better than those guys, that they aren’t on your level. In short, he thinks you’re awesome..he’s even said, “I wish I could find a girl like you.”  Good luck, there’s no one like me. This is what you should say as you shut him out of your life. This may be one the most unhealthy situations I could address, because as erroneous expectations goes this guy will have you on a roller coaster. You’ll be analyzing his every word. Thinking he feels more than he really does and in actuality you’re just his friend. For now anyway..again it could change but why wait?

Hot and Dry. – The guy you like horizontally but doesn’t fit anywhere else in your life.  Yeah, I said it.  Everyone meets someone they just can’t resist. We’re human. This guy is fun, he’s all about living life spontaneously and not being tied down to anything. He as the ability to make you forget that ultimately you really do want to settle down. This guy is not going to settle down and if he does, he’s not going to do so with the girl that has been readily available for months on end. The dynamic of your relationship doesn’t extend further than between the sheets. You’re not a challenge and men tend to be all about the hunt. Though it could happen, I’ve yet to see it. I’m not telling you not to enjoy it though but in my experience these situations tend include one person who feels more than the other, usually it’s us..the ones who act on emotion not well you know. This guy won’t think twice about leaving you hot and dry if it isn’t convenient for him, make no mistake.

The Good Guy. – This man is always there for you. You’ve dumped all over him, lead him on and have generally just been all that you complain about when it comes to men and how they treat you to this guy. You’re a total douche and he stays. He’s pretty much the ideal guy but you’re just not that into him. Now, I’ve thought about this one for a really long time and wondered what it is that keeps me or a gal from wanting more with a guy like this. Well, it’s simple. We women like that hunt as well and this situation is just to easy. We know at any given moment with one look this guy will be in the palm of our hands. Easy street isn’t so hot.

These Guys are the Gaggle. ( Not a pack of wolves, not anyone you really want)

What DO You Want?

Well isn’t that the real question? What the hell do we want? If you take a look at the men in your life you’re bound to find a few with the right things you’re looking for. For me, I want a little of all of the above, cocktail if you will. Just the right mixture to keep you on your toes and wanting more, but for the right reasons. He’d be accessorized with a beard, somewhat tech elite and passionate about music , if I had my way as well. Here’s the thing about dating, you really have to have a clear mind and heart to actually see something good when it is in front of you. Wasting your time making excuses about the guys in your life now  is really just a waste of time, deep down you know it. Perhaps you’re not really ready to date and the distractions right now are good, which is fine but have an expiration date on distractions before you find yourself in the face of some really great missed opportunities.  If you really find one of these guys and feel in your heart it could develop into something more, give it a shot. However, if you find yourself making the same excuses over and over and nothing really seems to change…that is a sign to move on.

I always say, “It’s easy to get me on the hook. It’s an entirely different thing to reel me in.”

Think about what you want and deserve. Focus on that.

My Wild Safari in Ohio

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No. 1 in an occasional series titled “Never Been There, Never Done That,” in which the author reports on a brand-new adventure.

Bactrian camels lounge within spitting distance of our tour bus at The Wilds.

Bactrian camels lounge within spitting distance of our tour bus at The Wilds.

The date had been on my calendar for at least a month. “May 28: Columbus trip.” I’d added it when my girlfriend and I were on our way to a movie at The Neon and started talking about shopping at H&M when she mentioned this trip. But I had no clue what, exactly, I had agreed to do.

The Thursday before, I figured I’d better find out.

Turns out I agreed to go to “Africa” for the day, a.k.a. journey into the wild and feast on Ethiopian fare with her and some members of Reel Culture @ Sinclair, a club she founded at the community college. At 9 a.m. On a Saturday. After a friend’s 60th birthday bash.

I have no idea what The Wilds is so I Google it the night before and discover it’s a wildlife preserve in the middle of Uh Huh Where-evah, Ohio. So much for H&M.

But, hey, wild animals are cool. I have lots of zebra- and leopard-print tops, jackets, purses, shoes and scarves to prove it. Plus, I figure having to get up so early in the morning will keep me in check at the party.

I should have known better. Instead, I’m one of the last standing and lurch into bed at 3 a.m. When my friend calls a handful of hours later to make sure I’m awake, my head is booming as if resting on an amp at X-Fest. I can’t really feel my feet. My mouth feels as if full of peanut butter I can’t swallow.

Somehow, I manage to slither out of bed. I put on my cowboy boots in case I need to wrestle a rhinoceros. I guzzle three cups of water.

My friend picks me up, and the trip is immediately off to an amazing start with a stop at a Dayton gas station, where I see a punk rock little person, mohawk and

View of The Wilds, a wildlife conservation center near Zanesville (not Columbus), Ohio.

View of The Wilds, a wildlife conservation center near Zanesville (not Columbus), Ohio.

camos and all. Yes!, I think. Wild things already are starting to appear!

In the car, the conversation quickly turns profound. Psychics, animal spirits, Buddhism, quantum physics ― it’s all in there.

I fish my phone out of my purse and get on Facebook.

“In a car with a bunch of people who go to college,” I post. “Talking about how E=MC2 is really an equation about consciousness and the evolution of god and what is god anyway? I am a working girl with a brain full of last night’s bourbon. I want to talk about TV shows and bubblegum.”

Normally, I would be intrigued by such a conversation and happily contribute to an esoteric discussion about ancient times when goddesses held sway over the solar plexus of the Earth. The morning after a night when I was a driving force in the elimination of at least two bottles of booze? Not so much.

My traveling mates are all very nice, fine, upstanding ladies — all middle aged, not your typical college students. But I can’t help zoning out, staring through the windows until I see something so hilarious, I belly laugh until I nearly cry. I’m trying not to offend the fine ladies in the car, so I’m back on Facebook: “I just interrupted a conversation about the pain and glory of forgiveness to point out that the logo on the sign for the Lion’s Den Adult Superstore is silhouettes of two lions makin’ cubs,” I post.

***

As we near the capitol city, my friend hands me the directions to The Wilds she’s jotted on a Post-It note. I’m relieved I now can concentrate on navigation instead of trying to avoid the reality that I appear as intelligent as a washcloth to the fine ladies in this car. But I immediately have another concern.

“Girl,” I say, “this says we take exit 155, and we just passed exit 87. This must be a ways down the road. Are you sure The Wilds is in Columbus?”

Banteng, also known as "jungle cows."

Banteng, also known as "jungle cows."

“Oh, my bad,” she chirps. “I’m pretty sure that should say exit 115. I must have written it down wrong.”

Say a prayer for GPS on my phone.

“Aaaaactualllly,” I draw out the word as if pulling taffy out of my mouth, “The Wilds is outside Zanesville. We have to drive almost to West Virginia. According to Google Maps, we have another hour and 26 minutes.”

At least the fine ladies in the car have a scintillating conversation going to keep us all entertained.

“Speaking in tongues ― to me, that’s not unusual,” one is saying. “My mom speaks in tongues.”

This is the same fine (reminder: middle aged) lady who will spend the day talking about the “moo moos” and “horsies.” At one point, she begins squealing “Wheeee!” from the back seat of the car as we loop around curves and pop over hills. My friend looks in the rear view mirror and asks, “Did you all hear that siren?”

“It’s just me entertaining myself!,” she exclaims.

I am tantalized by her girlish exuberance. She is so innocent and carefree and bubbly and all the things I will never be, there in the front seat of the car, back on Facebook frantically trying to untag myself from photos ― as I’m getting text after text telling me I’ve been tagged in a photo ― that a friend took during last night’s party.

And the ride is an adventure unto itself.

We take a wrong turn and end up on a narrow, steep, winding road. “Uh, I don’t think this is the right way,” my friend says, stopping the SUV to ask for directions from a young, long-haired man bent over his pit bulls in front of a trailer. He stands up and we notice he’s wearing only his briefs. Pulled down reeeeal low.

He doesn’t know where The Wilds is, either.

Back on track, the scenery along the roadside is mesmerizing: A billboard featuring a huge, creepy hamster hanging on a rope. A tractor crossing sign. Coon Ridge Road. Top Gun Shooters Ammo & Supplies. A sign reading “llamas for sale.” Carl Rittberger’s Meat and Sausages. A catfish-shaped white mailbox. Mother Truckers. And, finally ― halleluiah! ― The Wilds.

***

We load onto a bus for our safari (in Ohio) of the 10,000-acre wildlife conservation preserve that is The Wilds. The driver, a polite young man who clearly has told his spiel countless times, tells us about some of the animals we’re likely to see. Although he notes we’re unlikely to see one of the three deer species roaming The Wilds. One woman who’s worked there for 11 years hasn’t even spotted one.

Not even the Przewalski's Wild Horses could drag us away from our wild adventure.

Not even the Przewalski's Wild Horses could drag us away from our wild adventure.

I raise my hand. “Which one is the elusive deer?” I ask. He answers. I poke my friend in the seat next to me. “We’re totally going to see an Eld’s Deer,” I proclaim. “I can feel the magic!”

“Uh, sure,” the driver says. “Well, let’s start the tour. It’s time for me to take you all out to pasture!”

Turns out, those pastures are lined with electric fences and motorized gates. We have to wait for the gate behind the bus to close before we can open the one in front of us, meaning we are temporarily trapped in an electrified cage. Making The Wilds feel like a scene in Jurassic Park. “What if we see a T-Rex?,” I whisper to our group. “That would be almost as cool as seeing the magic deer!”

But it’s no joke: We did see a lot of animals I never, ever — ever! — would have expected to encounter in the Buckeye State. We could almost stretch our hands out the bus’ tiny windows and rub the ears of the Bactrian Camels, Masai Giraffes and Przewalski’s Wild Horses. The Persian Onagers are so close they’re about to come on board. We look through binoculars to see the Grevy’s Zebras, Southern White Rhinos and Fringe-Eared Oryx. My friend is particularly taken with the Banteng, which she lovingly dubs “jungle cows.”

We disembark at two stops, one by a lake where we can get close to a rare species of swan and see invasive plants The Wilds staff calls “aliens,” so noted with signs sporting Martian-like creatures. The best is the carnivore area, where we wander around caged pens housing snoozing cheetahs and African Wild Dogs.

“I wish I had a hot dog in my purse that I could throw over the fence so we could see a little carnivorous action,” my friend says.

“Yeah, how do they feed these animals?,” I ask. “I mean they’re supposed to be wild, which means they’d need to hunt, which means they must put goats out or throw rabbits in their cages at night.”

“I feel like we’re on the set of M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village,” my friend says.

Still life: Cheetas with Cage.

Still life: Cheetas with Cage.

At one point, the bus stops for more animal viewing via binoculars. “Holy moly, it’s the elusive deer!,” my friend cries, handing me the binoculars. “It is! It is!,” I cry in return, jumping in the seat.

The bubbly horsie/moo moo fine lady looks through the binoculars. “No, that’s an Indochina Sika Deer,” she says, pointing to The Wilds brochure and noting the antlers.

“Dang,” I think. “I could have lived the rest of my life thinking I’d seen the magic deer. Thanks, girl.”

Still, I gotta say, I went on a bona fide safari in Kenya years and years ago, and The Wilds really does invoke those memories. Amazing.

***

Back in the car making the long trek home, we’re all starving. I’m about to jump the electric fence and hunt down a Scimitar-Horned Oryx. I swear I could eat an entire Sable Antelope.

Lucky for us, my friend has planned a special stop at an Ethiopian restaurant in Columbus. As soon as we drive the nearly two hours back to the capital city, we will eat like African queens.

She actually called the owner in advance to let him know we’re coming and arranged for him to give a talk about Ethiopian food and customs. Problem is, since the drive to The Wilds was double the miles and the tour took twice the anticipated time, we are about four hours late.

Yet the owner is still happy to accommodate us. At first.

Turns out, one of the fine ladies is gluten intolerant. If she so much as licks anything that even touched gluten, she’ll blow up like Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. But Ethiopian food is eaten with injera. Which is bread.

The owner doesn’t quite seem to understand “gluten intolerant,” but tells the fine lady he can bring her some rice. So after about a half hour of examining the exotic menu, we order. Samosas come out first. The fine ladies are mostly puzzled by the lack of silverware. “Um, where’s our forks?” one asks. But Ethiopian food is eaten with your hands. Which are not forks.

Bactrian Deer graze on the slope across from a lake filled populated by a rare species of swan.

Bactrian Deer graze on the slope across from a lake filled populated by a rare species of swan.

The owner brings my vegetarian friend, shortly after she finished telling a story about how she once spoke fluent Aramaic, a lamb dish. “No,” she says, adamant. “I am a vegetarian. I told you this. I can’t eat lamb.” I think she throws in a few Aramaic words for good measure. The owner huffs off with a dish of uneaten food. (The bubbly fine lady later points out, much as she did when correcting our false sighting of the elusive deer, that my friend actually did order the lamb dish. Oops.)

The owner brings the no-gluten fine lady and her friend a platter with the three dishes they’re sharing. All neatly laid out on top of inchera. The fine lady is a little petrified. There is another scuffle as she reminds the waiter she can’t eat bread, but all is resolved after my friend points out she can scoop off the food on the top that has not been in contact with the devil gluten.

By now, the owner has retreated to the back, where he’s probably downing Tej, and a waitress brings us our check. Which is wrong. We’ve been charged for items we never even ordered.

Time to get out of Africa. Fast.

***

But back in the car, for the remaining hour and half drive back to Dayton, all the fine ladies are jovial and appreciative

A Masai giraffe, my friend's fave. Thanks, girl, for bringing me along for this wild ride!

A Masai giraffe, my friend's fave. Thanks, girl, for bringing me along for this wild ride!

of the opportunity to travel to the grand continent for a day. They thank my friend for the experience.

“You are so cultured,” one gushes. “I would really like to hang out with you more. How did you get this way?”

“I attribute a lot of it to the company I keep,” my friend matter-of-factly replies. “Take Kristen, for example. She lived in Iran and Egypt and has shared her experiences with me.”

I turn around in the passenger seat, popping a grin. “And I kept a Turkish lover for awhile,” I add, forgetting that I need to keep myself in check when around nice people.

Really, though, it was these people, these fine ladies, who made the trip such an adventure. I expected The Wilds to be the crux of the escapade. But an entire day in the company of these ladies turned out to be the wildest of all. And isn’t that always the case? It’s the people, at least as much as the place, that turn out to be the most interesting part.

Readers: Tell us about some wild people you’ve met. And I need your help: Suggest some places I’ve likely never been and things I’ve likely never done for No. 2 in this series.

Check Your Baggage at the Door

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If I had to sit down and intentionally write a screen play about life and love, I’d probably find great difficulty doing so. However, if I refer back to my own hot mess of dating life the material is endless. I should feel blessed that the events of my life have become so comical and entertaining, that they are fueling creativity. Part of me is ecstatic but part of me yearns for normalcy to return if I ever had any at all. This week my thoughts are that people in general carry over way too much baggage from past relationships into their existing or new ones. This may be the only time in life when losing your luggage would be golden. Let’s examine this shall we?

Caught in the Act.

I’ve been cheated on numerous times. I think most of us have either been cheated on or experience a time when questionable behavior lead us to the belief that we were being cheated on. It happens. That should be the attitude though, “it happens.” In conversation lately, I’ve learned that many people refuse to believe in the possibility of the blank slate factor. The factor that allows you to look at every new scenario as a fresh start. Unfortunately, we tend as scorned and burned individuals to immediately punish the new for what the old has done to us. One word. Sabotage. If you’re going into something with the idea that it will fail, it will indeed fail. The thing about me is that I don’t really care what your ex did to you. I don’t want to hear about how they’ve hurt you and I don’t want to hear that they’ve damaged you. Why? Because at the point you’ve reached me the only way I would entertain you is if I knew you were two words. Over it. This may seem abrupt, but the fact of the matter is that if anyone has had to deal with terrible things happening in relationships it is I. I should be the first person to shut down and put up walls but I don’t. Call it lacking in sympathy, call it what you want but it’s really acceptance and knowing that the past doesn’t have to rule my future and it shouldn’t yours.

Partially Broken Up.

It’s not stalking when a person is still living with you after the end of a relationship. You’re not broken up if you’re still communicating daily and hanging out. You’re not fully over a breakup if you’re still talking about the relationship and well, the breakup.  I like to refer to this as being “partially broken up.”  You’re still emotionally attached and in some cases there are those of us who like to live on the edge and remain physically attached. I can’t tell you how healthy that is.  When you’re getting to know some one new, please take past relationships and current drama off of the table of conversation. In fact, you shouldn’t even be having those conversations until you’re fully out of that other relationship. ENTIRELY. The new person has given you time and consideration, thinking of you as a potential dating prospect why burden them with the anti climatic soap opera state your life is currently in? Do you think people find that alluring because I have to tell you I’d rather discuss the dynamics of the periodic table and the chemical elements of each compound than discuss your crazy ex and why your relationship ended (sorta).

Ego Boosts and Comfort Seeking

What I have found is that there are a lot of “sorta” singles on dating sites or people in general scrounging for comfort on the internet. They are either in a bad relationship nearing it’s final countdown, in one and bored, or fresh out of one looking to jump into the arms of another. If I had only one wish, it would be that these people focus more on dealing with the issues at hand in their lives rather than seeking out innocent by standers to be there comfort through the storm. Part of being ready for a healthy relationship is having a healthy state of mind and not being bogged down by drama in an existing or recently ended relationship. Instead of seeking out someone new to jump in your bed, see a therapist. Abrupt again, but truth is truth. You need to work on you and allow ample healing time before you can even consider dating again. Otherwise, the things that happened to end past relationships, those patterns and behaviors have a really good chance of resurfacing. I’ve spent the last two years single. Both entertaining and difficult at times, I still consider myself being ready for something right, not something to pass the time. Pass the time being the underlining theme of this passage.  If you want a distraction you shouldn’t be on a dating site with a profile header that reads “Looking for someone to spend my life with.” Get a pet or something until you’re really ready for that.

Clean up your Act.

As the days go by, I’ve hardened my outlook a bit. There is very little I will succumb (charming, swooning etc.) to because I’ve lived it all and this kind of thing isn’t enticing enough to cover up the red flags. All of the above paragraphs, I’ve done. We’re human but if you’re reading this thinking that you exhibit any of what is mentioned I can only suggest that you rethink what you’re doing and who you are potentially hurting. It’s not just the new potential dating prospects. It’s yourself. You’re only prolonging happiness. Getting over an ended relationship is a tough battle at times. There are those that we walk away from thinking good riddance and those which we walk away from feeling as though we are forever changed. I have experienced both. Love doesn’t come along only once in a lifetime though and what surfaces in our lives is entirely up to us, how we project ourselves and how we approach life afterwords. I might be the only person that does not believe in some karmic force that rules our dating lives but that doesn’t mean you have a right to crease someone else’s otherwise happy life with your baggage. Going in, be real because you may inadvertently miss a chance on something great, on someone right because you’re too busy thinking about your past or still living in it.  That’s the only advice I can give.

PS. If you’re dating profile headline reads “Ready for Life” or anything of the sort, do yourself a favor and truly be ready.

That is all. Till next week.

A Lame Attempt at Car-Free Living

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The Great White Rattletrap

The aptly named Rattletrap has sat idle on McPherson Street for two weeks now as part of my car-less adventure as I hoofed it around downtown ― and I have to admit my life has been pretty much unchanged. Well, except for the fact that the act of walking has been a serious struggle.

See, I took a tumble ― ka-chump! ― square on my left knee at the time when I perhaps needed that knee the most.  Banged it up to the point where I really should have gone (on foot, of course) to the hospital for stitches. (My doctor later confirmed this to be true.)

What I actually did, however, was declare, as blood dripped down my calf and puddled in my shoe, that it simply was a scrape a little peroxide and a Band-Aid could cure. Shortly thereafter, I rode my bike three miles in sizzling heat, squated into a kayak and paddled across Eastwood Lake, and then biked the three miles home, my ad hoc gauze-and-medical tape bandage loosened in the fresh water and flapping in the wind as if I was an unraveling mummy. I was too excited about being back on my bike, which I had barely ridden since my now 19-year-old son was small enough to be in a seat on the back, feeling the wind brush my cheeks, delirious in the bluster of speeding by graduation cookouts and the Mad River.

Of course, this happened on Day Four. So I haven’t really walked many places. More like gimped, lumbering about town. Very. Slowly. Barely able to bend my left knee.

And that, my friends, is what caused me to cheat.

It was my honest intention to take the bus to get groceries for a dinnertime game of Mah Jongg I was hosting. I figured my first bus adventure might as well be XTREME: A trip to the grocery store. But on Sunday morning when a friend asked if I wanted to run errands, including a stop at Trader Joe’s, and offered to drive, I simply replied, my voice taut with pain, “Yes.”

And so it was: convenience trumped principle. Justification? It wasn’t my car. I wasn’t driving. I admit that wasn’t the only day friends picked up my gimpy self and gave me a ride. I never asked to be carted hither and yon, but it happened.

I also haven’t stepped foot in a bus. After reading Megan Cooper’s awesome series of articles chronicling her adventures riding the bus, it’s clear I need to be able to bring my bike along. (I mean, why not learn from someone else’s mishaps?) And this knee ain’t biking nowhere for a minute.

So my adventure will have to be continued at another time. Not to say I didn’t encounter some interesting things limping around the past couple of weeks: A drag queen on roller blades. Some dude rockin’ out with an ’80s-style boom box on his shoulder. Another dude riding a bicycle with a seat that appeared made from the seat of a rocking chair.

Walking forces you to be patient, slow your mind. Notice things. It leads to unexpected adventures.

At least I discovered a free boot camp at RiverScape I plan to attend -- once I'm able to walk.

For example, one evening (pre-fall), as I’m walking home from Drake’s Downtown Gym and jabbering on the phone with my BFF, I realize I’m walking right by her condo building.

“Girl, are you home?” I ask. “Scoot downstairs and join me for a soft-serve cone at RiverScape.” She does. We hang, chitter-chatter and get covered in melting ice cream. While there, we notice a big group of people doing jumping jacks under the pavilion. Come to discover it’s a free boot camp. (Mondays and Wednesdays at 6:30 p.m. and Saturdays at 9:30 a.m.)

I wanted to live the month of June as if I have no car ― which, considering the condition of The Rattletrap, could very well become the case. But in these two weeks it really hit me that if, like so many people, I did not own a car, the freedom of mobility to which I’ve become so accustomed would cease to exist.

Which brings me to this: In a country ― a society, a culture ― sprung from the idea that to be fully human is to be free, does that freedom include the ability to move about from place to place as and when one desires? Because if that’s part of the USA freedom equation, one thing now is clear to me: freedom of mobility = owning a car.

Or does it? Readers, share your thoughts while I sign off to bandage my knee …

Pattern Dating, Sexting and Great Shoes | The Correlation

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In the last couple of weeks a few seemingly unrelated yet similar incidents occurred. We’ll start with this. “Just because he’s into all of the same nerdy shit as you doesn’t mean he’s your soul mate.” Powerful little tidbit muttered by a close friend this week who also pattern dates might I mention. I admit, I have a tendency to pattern date and be very selective. I have an ideal mental image of the person I’d like to see myself  with and so when that surfaces I tend to over think everything and find myself pining over inevitably what turns out to be a lost a cause, still a learning experience none the less.  I am not sure if any other women or men do this, but I tend to typecast who I date and if you don’t fit that mold you haven’t a chance in hell. Am I sabotaging potential relationships by this picky behavior, probably so but like everything else in my life the details matter. For me anyway.

Opposites Attract? Shit.

Earlier this week it was pointed out to me that the phrase “Opposites Attract” has real meaning to it. My question is what exactly is that meaning because I’ve not come across a shirt and tie that I could see myself with; this would be exact opposite of me a bro, a jock, a yuppy or whatever, you know the type.  Is it the past that has scorned me (dated a few) or do I really just prefer the t-shirt and jeans type of guy? I prefer the t-shirt and jeans type of guy. A common thing I always hear among my circle of gal pals (blind leading the blind by the way) is that I need a man who knows what he wants and apparently they only come in shirt and tie fashion. This can’t be true?  The evidence to prove otherwise may be lacking and that is the problem.  I don’t think I’ve ever once been attracted to an opposite, whatever an opposite is.  So these guys on dating sites that have screen names which reflect their favorite sport teams, wearing it  as some badge of honor, are not my guy.  Yet the search results lead them to me. How unfortunate. I’m pretty forthright with what I want and who I am and I’m continuously attracting not anything remotely close to what I’d envision myself with.  Opposites are attracted to me and I not them. This presents a dilemma, one I am realizing has become more of an annoyance than anything else and certainly not flattering.  As a professional who’s pretty successful does this put me in some category where shirt and tie is my only option? There’s a whole other fun side of me that certainly hopes not. I’m at a roadblock and thinking that perhaps I need to try on something new, perhaps an investment banker or doctor and see where that goes but really I think it would awkward and forced. The rich, the doting, I find it dull and not my thing. I don’t want the male version of me but do opposites really have to attract?

Dirty Starts Go Nowhere.

What did you say? I find myself thinking this all the damn time lately. Creepy and lame pickup lines have now been replaced with digital dirtiness, fabulous.  Mobile devices apparently have given guys a right of passage to unsolicited and random premature dirty talk. I’m well aware that I have a great rack thank you for noticing please don’t comment further when I’ve never even met you, thanks.  I guess I’m just not that starved for attention that I find this behavior flattering. This is why I tend to go with the shy guy because either they have great manners or they’re just too scared to say such things. I’m glad that some men have enough confidence to say whatever their big head or little head triggers them saying so but trust me when I tell you that unless you’re some heart throb it’s just gross and unnecessary. I attract a lot of this.  Again with the opposites.  Shit.  Between Facebook pokes, Skype requests, unsolicited sexts and random inappropriate wall posts I find myself feeling like I’m surrounded by a pack of horny wolves who’ve forgotten the art of conversation. Is this really dating in 2011? What happened to slow paced getting to know you kind of stuff? The city is in heat and it needs to cool down a bit. Am I the only person out there who doesn’t budge for boob compliments? Those who do this are opposite of me and my character. Opposites don’t attract.

A Stunner in Heels.

And Chanel might I add.  As I re-enter the world of being a skinny bitch, I find myself more confident. With that comes new digs and lip gloss called Sugar Shag. I have to admit there isn’t a doubt in my mind that confidence attracts but again, what exactly? I wonder sometimes if the things said to me while I am out or the way in which I’m approached actually works on other women. My friends tell me I have a tendency to be wound up to tight and blow too many people off.  Perhaps I do, but again that mental image of what I want has only surfaced twice in the last 2 years and while neither worked out I’m still thinking my guy will fit that image, personality and gentleman like persona.   It’s all pretty confusing.  I admit that this weekend I got all dolled up (first time in a while) and it was really just for one person. To him, however I was invisible but to several others that was not the case.  Bummed about that I was pissy all night and I don’t really recall how many exactly I gave the cold shoulder to afterwards but there were a few.  Which brings me back to the theme in this stream of consciousness, is that mental image of perfection for me hindering me from meeting someone well, different?  Is Mr. Right really Mr. Opposite? Why is different so uncomfortable for me? I’ve thought about this for a few days and the only real thing I can determine is that different sometimes tries to change you. I don’t want to be changed. I like being simple, having fun, enjoying time with friends and not feeling pressured to be something I am not..something more like my opposite.  Gentleman wanted.

Curveball.

No one around me is really breaking the pattern yet they’re advising me to think outside of the beard box for a little while and get a taste of the opposite life. I’m not entirely sure that I am ready to give it a go but it’s certainly something I am analyzing, obviously. Last night I ran into a reader and invited him to sit and chat with my friends. He said he’d rather read about my dating debacles in my column. We were only discussing what I was going to write about this week for a short while but his statement got me thinking.  All of this being single and dating talk really doesn’t do anything to help myself or my friends. I’d bet money that most guys I meet also fear they’d become a topic for my column. If you’re a douche your behavior may be mentioned but no names are ever dropped.  If you’re that worried about it I’d suggest rethinking that behavior and lessoning the level of column worthy content then before asking me out.  So, back to the curveball. I guess I really have no objection to trying something different or changing my approach because obviously my mental perfect image has yet to surface and pine out.  The funny thing, some of the greatest guys I know who are my good friends are exact opposite of me and we get along great. So perhaps, there is something to it. I plan on doing some investigative research and will probably have a future column on this supposed “Opposites Attract” theory.

The juxtaposition of this column is at best a way for me to sort out my own chaos but as always I hope it triggers some provoking thoughts for my readers. If you exhibit pattern dating behavior, I’d love to hear from you and if you’ve stopped the cycle.

Summer of Love “Sizzling Hot Ideas for Date Night”

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Tis the season for love or a summer fling or a really hot date. Hopefully I will get to experience one of the above before the leaves start changing colors.  It’s this time of year that I am reminded why I love Dayton so much. From festivals to concerts to some of the best bar patios around, this city is filled with great things to do. This week I bring to you the best spots in Dayton for a great night out with that special person but if you’re into self love like myself you can also take yourself out to one of these places.

Play Ball!

What’s better than peanuts, cold beer and baseball on a Summer day or night? Not much really. If you haven’t been to a Dayton Dragon’s game, I suggest you do. It really is the perfect setting for a date, especially a first one. A relaxed setting and sports tends to make it easier on the guys. So if he doesn’t suggest it, you should. If you’re a planner, here’s their season schedule. I’ve always found that my favorite dates are those at sports events. They’re fun and simple.

Patio Perfect.

On a summer night, what’s better than an outdoor patio? There are a lot of great places in Dayton to sit outside and enjoy conversation under starlit sky. Some of the places listed in my last column on dating by mood would apply here. Locally, Sidebar if you’re looking for fine dining, Blind Bob’s if you’re looking to just relax and have a cold one but there are more. Since I spend enough time there though, for a date there are other place I would suggest. I love Yellow Springs, especially this time of year and there is a little place I visit at least a few times in the summer, Ye Olde Trail Tavern. Nothing fancy about it, but the patio is great and if you’re a people watch you’re right on the street and can stare at passerbys. This maybe convenient if your date is a real dud. Also for a great patio experience and a great margarita there’s always Elsa’s on Linden in Kettering, though sip Bad Jauns gingerly. Being a drunk hot mess on a date could effect the chances of being asked out again, or not. While we’re on latin food, El Meson is one of my favorites and the patio, also great.

Wine Tasting. Outdoor Excursions. Dairy.

Back to Yellow Springs, The Winds Cafe. If you have not been here yet I suggest you really take a drive and do so.  Seasonal menu with wines to fit. It’s a great little place, casual yet a fine dining experience. I’d like to also add that it’s very close to local bike trails. If you’re into that sort of thing, cycling that it, bike paths and hiking in Glen Helen and John Bryan State Park would be a great way idea as well. I once rode a 30 mile trail on a date, it was great. If wine is not something you’re looking for after exercise .. cool off with ice cream. Young’s Dairy is close by. What’s better than a good old fashioned date over an ice cream cone? I was born in the wrong time, I think or just enjoy the simple things either way it still works.  I also hear Peach’s Grill is great, it’s on my list to try.

Music and More.

Feel like keeping it indoors and staying cool. Tis the season for great shows! The Lion King is coming to town along with many other productions. The Victoria Theater Association has events listed on their site. Riverscape downtown always has something going on as well and really is one of my favorite spots downtown, especially this time of year. Sitting on bench for a few hours talking at times can be better than anything else you’d do on a date.  Check out their Summer Concert Series as well. Also, if you’re into music I would also check out Gilly’s and Blind Bob’s for there upcoming shows as well.

Festivals.

I saved the best for last. One of the things I love most about Dayton in the summer time are the festivals.  Music. Food. Art. Three staples in my life. This list below are some of my favorites, but if I’ve missed something feel free to add one in comments.  I’m sure I’ve missed plenty, being a transplant and all. These are upcoming.

CityFolk

Celtic Festival

Alefest

Americana Festival

It’s sometimes hard to come up with ideas for a date because usually the first ones can be pretty awkward. I always like to go with anything that involves having fun, is simple, in a comfortable setting and local for a few reasons.  The more comfortable and fun what you plan is the less it feels like a date, the part that makes you nervous. If that doesn’t work and the date sucks, if you’re local it’s easier to plan your getaway by meeting friend close by. Yes, I’ve done this. It is what it is. If you’re in a loving relationship, these ideas also apply to you. Mix it up and have a little fun.

Till next time, thanks for reading!

Once Upon a Time – Where the Unrealistic Expectations Began.

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Over the years I’ve held onto some pretty intense grandiose expectations of love and relationships. The hopeless romantic in me has sent me on voyage of unmet fantasies. Now, with most things I would tend to feel that I am unique and that others aren’t as delusional as me but fortunately I have friends who are just as misguided about love as I am.  How can this be? When did it all begin? I didn’t grow up with June and Ward Cleaver that’s for sure so my parents or upbringing had nothing to do with it. I’m sure my mother will read this and be ecstatic that I’m not blaming them for this too. No it wasn’t my family or watching my parents marriage so what really lead to my thinking that “Happily Ever After” involved a night shining armor and lifetime of singing birds, candy and roses?  

I wondered about this for a few days as I found myself once again with a head riddled with wild fantasies.  Then started to think about the movies I’ve loved throughout the years, the books that have had me enthralled for weeks, the shows on TV that turn me into a wishy washy mess. The sugar coating from otherwise sources of entertainment that really have just filled my head with a bunch of bullshit that doesn’t apply to the reality I am living in. The Real World.

With that said, I thought it would be interesting to examine some of the rubbish I grew up on, read and even watch today.

Fairy Tale Princesses – What a Crock.

I admit it, I dressed up and pranced around like a magical fairy tale princess when I was kid. Who didn’t?  With movies like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White heck even Aladdin it was very easy at a young age to let my imagination run wild, problem is I still tend to do it. Let’s look at Sleeping Beauty for example.  Asleep for 100 hundreds years waiting on a kiss to bring her back to life?  So, there is a man out there that has the capability of wakening her from a curse and with one kiss she finds herself awake from death and living happily ever after?  Hmm. This to me would mean that no matter what has happened in the past, out there is a man who is so remarkable he has the ability to lift a gal out of years of endless bullshit from one guy after the other, or sadness, or just plain boredom in my case. Who knows, but I just don’t think it happens that way. Which is probably why I started watching Horror movies at such a young age, perhaps at a young age I knew Disney was nothing but BS.

Molly Ringwald – Hope For Awkward Girls.

I loved every single one of her movies.  Why?  Because for some reason they made me think that awkward and somewhat socially inept gals could find themselves in the arms of a hunk.  With the exception of the rather creepy Andrew McCarthy,  Molly kind of managed to land the awesome guy all the time. I have to tell you, I spent four years in high school, a red head even at times and never once seemed to pull off being somewhat geeky, awkward and also attractive.  The weird girl in high school doesn’t have allure and never once did I actually end up with some boy I had a crush on. Great movies and I still to this day love them but they kind of gave me false hope.  I think my parents even forgot my 16th Birthday and frankly I would have rather ended up with Bryce (John Cusak) anyway. High school was far from any John Hughes movie frankly.

Nicholas Sparks

I won’t lie. I own and have watched The Notebook over a hundred times I’m sure. I’ve read it and several of his books. He’s become my nemesis of sorts because I think he, more than anyone contributes to my twisted contorted views of love and romance. I can’t help but get sucked into to any story that involves people growing old together though. I cry like a baby and then I walk away wanting that very thing, which really I do. Don’t get me wrong it’s a goal of mine to be that old couple you see holding hands in the park. I still believe that true love lasts forever, I just wish he wasn’t so damn good at painting that picture because sometimes it doesn’t exactly happen that way. It doesn’t help that close friends have often compared me to Rachel McAdams in that movie, either. Though I’ve yet to stumble across a guy who finds my irrational temper tantrums cute enough to fall in love with me, not one that looks like Ryan Gosling anyway. Side note, his beard in that movie is marvelous.

Even Vampires Find Love

Am I wrong for being a little bitter that even a corpse and an allbeit nerd find their way to love?  The Twilight Series, maybe you’ve heard of it?  Another awkwardly clumsy dork “Bella” ends of up with this GQ looking vampire and they live happily ever after. If you haven’t read the books, please do though.  They’re great. Thing about it however is that love sometimes doesn’t conquer all. I know couples that can’t even get passed the guy not putting the toilet seat down yet these two manage to stick together  one obstacle  after another. I also know couples that have been through hell and back and are still together, but the numbers are diminishing.  Life is hard and it’s difficult to find a person that will still hold your hand through all of life’s trials and tribulations, really difficult.

The Truth

I think life is more like romantic comedies where the weirdest situations sometimes land you in love. I am a bookworm which means I will more than likely not stop reading this nonsense, a girl has to have some guilty pleasures. The “love” in my life has lessoned my belief in finding “the one” though. Nowadays I’m just hoping one out of five guys I meet is half way decent. I have crushes but I try not be unrealistic about them, I mean whatever happens happens. I don’t think I am going to end up with some guy who I’ve been pining over for months anymore then the possibility of meeting someone while spilling coffee on myself at Starbucks. However, I’m more inclined to think that some random moment of awkwardness will lead me to this guy I’m supposed to end up holding hands in the park with, because if he likes me after that we’re meant to be.  My point here is that sometimes the things we see on tv, movies or read in books can leave us hoping for unrealistic things or worse, doubt our current situation and wanting more. I remember after reading Twilight  and thinking that my boyfriend at the time wasn’t being romantic enough, that he should be more like that pasty Cullen kid. Sad right?  But we do it..well, ladies do anyways.

I’ve probably lessoned my chances of love after this rant.

I wonder what guys read or watch that gives them false expectations, I bet Weird Science would be on the list. I guess I’ll have to wait on my rival columnist Jason Webber from The Dayton City Paper to see what he thinks about all this.

Till next week, thanks for reading.

Hoofing It: One Girl’s Guide to Walking the Streets of Dayton

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Things I remember seeing during my 20-minute commute: Tree limbs swirling in a rain-swollen Great Miami River. Aged buildings with elaborate cornices rubbing shoulders with their modern-day glass and steel counterparts. Phil staggering down the sidewalk asking for spare change to buy a muffin.

Things I remember hearing during my 20-minute commute: The splash and giggle of kids jumping into a puddle. A glee club of birds overhead. The distressed screech of an ambulance .

I live in a historic neighborhood downtown, and since I live, work, hang out and work out downtown, I can walk pretty much anywhere I need to go.

Key words: Pretty much.

Places I drive: Kroger. DeWeese Park. Village Thrift Store. Taqueria Mixteca. Cookouts at friends’ back yards. And, I admit it, sometimes places as close as Drake’s Downtown Gym and the Dublin Pub.

One of my favorite shots taken during a walk home, shot from the Main Street Bridge looking east toward the Dayton Art Institute and Masonic Temple.

I’m about to find out exactly what “pretty much” means as I join Megan Cooper in an experiment in using alternative transportation to get from here to there. We’re both ditching our gas-powered rides for at least one week starting June 1. Megan will be trekking across town primarily via bicycle and the bus. Be sure to read her columns leading up to and during this adventure, in which she gives a frank and funny account of going car-less.

I will continue to get around primarily on foot, but I’m also going to figure out how to ride the RTA and rediscover my inner cyclist. The last time I rode the bus, I ended up at Children’s Medical Center while trying to get to Five Oaks, which is closer to Grandview Hospital. The last time I rode my bike any significant distance, my now- 19-year-old son was in a kid seat on the back.

But, like Megan, I’m determined to give this a whirl. Unlike Megan, my research and preparation for this adventure is a total zilch. Well, I did grab a fresh journal in which to chronicle the sights and sounds of this voyage. When I finish writing this, I’m going to try to figure out how to work a pedometer a friend gave me two years ago. I made a solemn vow to look at RTA’s web site tomorrow night. And cross-my-heart-hope-to-die, I plan to check my bike’s tires really soon.

I’m rolling ad hoc because I figure I can hoof it most places. I mean, perhaps my favorite thing about living downtown is the ability to walk so many cool places. I like having to step around Canadian Geese and their goslings on the gravel pathway atop the levee. I feel lucky I can stop at the RiverScape Metro Park concession and grab a cone of soft serve to enjoy on my way home. I even like the pitter-patter on my umbrella on rainy days and getting away with wearing rubber boots to the office.

Daffodils in full bloom at RiverScape MetroPark, taken during a recent springtime walk home.

Really, though, I am in denial.

I may live in a handy little city where I can walk from one end to the other in less than 30 minutes, but getting around is about to get a lot more complicated without a car. While visiting my sister in Piqua on Memorial Day, I realized I’d have no way to get up there to play cowboy and Play-Doh with my nephews without a car. Mulching some new plants tonight, I realized I’d have to travel toughman style if I needed to grab another bag of this heavy, goopy stuff and lug it on a bus.

View during my 20-minute commute on a recent May morning.

I also realize I am lucky to have a car, even an 11-year-old contraption missing the passenger-side window and in bad need of a new catalytic converter I lovingly call The Rattletrap. I feel like Barbara Ehrenreich as she recounted her experiences working as a maid and other minimum-wage occupations in Nickel and Dimed, a book I found so horribly patronizing I couldn’t finish the first chapter. I hope to be able to give you, dear reader, an authentic and entertaining account of this adventure with respect to those who have no choice but public transportation to reach such destinations as their workplace, school and kids’ day care. I hope to be able to examine the impacts of our auto-adoring culture on our health and environment with a fresh perspective. I hope to better understand the myriad ways transportation affects our daily lives.

And I hope you will help us: Do you get where you need to go without a car? If so, tell us your stories and (please!) give us some tips. Do you rev an engine to make it where you need to be? If so, tell us how you think your life would change if driving were no longer an option. Please share in the comments below.

And we’re off: One foot in front of the other!

Fear and Loathing…in Relationships.

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I’m finding lately that the best material for my column is that which derives directly from my own life, whether chaos or calm and depending on the week, the trials and tribulations of Shana are pretty amusing. Over the last week I have started to really see the affects of past relationships and how those experiences sometimes leave us jaded and apprehensive to enter a new one. I’ve been single for two years and felt for a long time that it was merely because I wanted to “find me.”  In part it has been mostly about that but the dark side of it has been more about me just being scared to do it all over again, sad but true. Though I’ve dated a few people here and there, my feelings were always questionable and it was more like I was doing it just to do it, not because I genuinely had feelings for them. If anyone I dated reads this, sorry but it is what it is…I just wasn’t that into you. I’ve been lucky up until recently though. By lucky I mean not having feelings has been an act of grace because once you do or I do rather, strange things start to happen. For me an alternate version of myself surfaces..awkward and socially inept. Hard to believe, I know.

Is it Them or Me?

One of the questions I’ve asked myself lately is whether or not I was just with the wrong type of guys and perhaps I need to steer completely away from that type and embrace something different? People have been telling me for months who would be perfect for me and the more I see what they come up with the more I realize that they haven’t a clue. I’ve have however been a person to type cast my dating life and the only three relationships I’ve been in were all similar in nature, how they started and how they ended. Was it them or was it me? In the last two years, I can tell you that I think without a doubt it was me. I rush things, I push and pry, I analyze and over think and all it did was land me into 13 years of something not right. Certainly not a waste of time, it’s just taken me a longer time to realize exactly what I want and what I deserve. I can tell from most of my friends who are single that we all do the same thing and I know my  married friends are thinking, “Thank God, I don’t have to go through that anymore.”  The blind dates, the setups, the online dating catastrophes .. I am pretty over it. I think I have the capability of knowing when someone deserves a second look, a third and fourth..so the steering committee in my life can take a seat. I will commend however, a few strangers for handpicking someone I was already interested in though, gold stars for them.

Don’t Ask My Neighbors. – The Emotions Had it Right.

The other problem, though I love them dearly, friends. They tend to allow their own jaded perspective interfere with rational advice giving. I offer the same kind of ridiculous advice myself so I recognize it now. Assumptions are really a cancer to any relationship and why do we so often seek the advice of others rather than going directly to the source? Dating is tough enough without the noise pollution of assumptions by others. No one could possibly know exactly what anyone is thinking especially someone outside of the situation. Yes, there are patterns and signs of things but there are also exceptions. If a guy doesn’t answer my text right away or call, most would say “Hey he’s not interested, move on. Can people be busy anymore, or just shy.. or want to take the time to get to know someone, where did all these rules come from?  What happens then is I start to pull away because we all believe what were told in some way and though we boast that we are confident in the decisions we make on our own, sometimes we really aren’t at all. We’re just under the influence of craziness, yes craziness.  Having feelings for someone can do that. My advice, take time to get to know someone. If something upsets you address it, let the person know why you feel that way and if it continues despite your mentioning, then you know .. yeah, they are probably not interested or don’t really care that much. Communication is a marvelous thing.  In general we make way too many assumptions in life. Everything depends on something and anything CAN mean anything. Why search for answers when most things are eventually made evident? Live for the day and whatever happens happens, it’s not going to change you unless you let it.

Did I let It?

Yes, but with good reason. I did need to find me. I recognized that after the end of the last relationship that the only person that needed to change was me.  The great thing to come of my “time off” is that I realize the benefit of things happening over time and I no longer think of dating as “Eventually I have to meet someone!”  Eventually tends to mean things need to happen within a certain time frame or they will never happen at all. That thinking is a very constricted way of living and not really living at all. Worry takes over and reading into things really is just worry. Worry is useless.

What Does Work.

It’s great to be attracted to someone but what I’ve learned is that attraction over time can fade and successful relationships in love are based on friendship and can not exist without it. Though I’ve never been a person who really weighs looks, none of my relationships were based on a real emotional connection immediately and I know that now. The connection happened over time with some but I was more in love with the idea of love than actually being in love. What I want is friendship, a person who I can be myself around someone who fully excepts the dork in me but also sees the extraordinary things in me that I sometimes don’t see in myself…and I in them. We are all going to be old and wrinkly one day, I really just want a person who can have a good conversation, is nice and makes me laugh. There’s not much of anything more attractive to me than that, well other than beards a love for coffee and an appreciation for nerds.  Whoever said that it happens immediately, that comfort level was wrong.  How could you possibly be comfortable with someone you’ve just met?  Take the time to get to know someone and don’t be scared of the outcome.  I think it’s okay to be awkward and shy, I’m starting to think that it may even really be a good sign. Whether a person is meant for you or not, nervousness may be a good thing…for me it means I can feel again. Something for a very long time I didn’t think possible.  I could have easily been the person to jump right into something new two years ago, but I didn’t .. sometimes it makes sense to hold out and wait.  Let go of what you think you need and want and let nature run its course. I’m okay with being the nice girl that finishes last if last means I end up with the right person at the right time and that’s not something I control.  I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason or a season..and that depends on you.

Hey, thanks for reading. Not sure if this helps you or not but it was therapeutic to get it off my chest.

Data Collecting, Dating and Relationships – Has the Internet Changed the Game?

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We see it in the headlines all the time, “Facebook Affecting Relationships.” For social utilities designed to bring people together there are many who have found themselves in relationship turmoil because of Facebook or things in general that they find on the internet and other sites. Dating is hard enough without the eruption of instantaneous data and information in our faces but is the internet to blame or is it us?

140 or 420 – Who Knew?

The characters that destroy. Seems a bit dramatic wouldn’t you say? Perhaps but with the ability to voice your emotions so freely and openly these days there is always the chance that what you say could hurt another. We all have our own ideas and perceptions and things said on social networks have a tendency to lack tonality but who’s at fault here? Social networks though seemingly appear as a platform to convey the trials and tribulations of our lives, where is the line? I don’t view Facebook as the diary I kept under my pillow and there are details of my life that I would never put out there but others do and I think that may be where the problem lies.

Offline Engagement – A Thing of the Past?

The great thing about social networking is conversation. This morning I asked a question on Facebook to gather the thoughts of others for this very column. It took less than a few minutes for me to really understand how several others felt about the topic of researching mates on the internet or pre-date screening on the web. I learned a lot and it was valuable, however it was planned and purposed to identify specific data. Meaning, I asked for it. Conversation is how we learn about one another and in the olden days offline conversation was the thing that carried us through the “getting to know you phase” in dating. Are people still embracing this or have we become a society that weighs what we learn on the internet more heavily than what we learn in the real world?

Data Collecting and Dating

Online dating is an interesting phenomenon, something I discuss often and not something I personally embrace. It has it’s perks and it’s dangers. I’ve recently starting wondering however that if essentially you are meeting someone online and those initial conversations are in text that you unintentionally may develop damaging patterns early on. I’m no psychologist, but based on my own experience in one relationship where I met the person online I can tell you that this theory of mine is spot on.  We had absolutely no problem communicating in text, whether instant message or email or sms..it was all good. It’s how we started and how we went through 3 years. In person, however .. I had a strong discomfort with really saying what was on my mind, that was never the case until this relationship. I found myself more and more searching for things online rather than just asking him questions face to face.  The assumptions made based on my perceptions of what I found, inevitably lead to turmoil in the relationship and it wasn’t Facebook it was me. Facebook and Myspace just became the catalyst for stalking or information gathering, which is a nice way to call myself a creep. That experience however changed me, I really don’t engage in personal conversations online when dating. I know that if there is anything I am curious about or want to know .. asking the questions in person allow for a better and more meaningful connection between myself and that person. Sure texting back and forth is great but it shouldn’t replace communication in a relationship.  Neither should comments on a Facebook wall or other, replace offline affection. I’ve found that most of that we see is sometimes blanketing what’s going on real life. If you have a person right next to you, tell them how you feel right then and there..it’s a more valuable share.

Pre-Screening

Safety is always a concern when it comes to online dating. You never know what you’re going to get come face time. I think it’s  natural to want to do a little pre-screening prior to but there is a line and crossing it could be damaging. Predators exist and being naive about that can be damaging as well, but unless you find something criminal in nature then it’s best to just rely on initial conversations and questions while on a date or in person meeting…a “non-date” they call these days. If you want to know something, ask and if the time isn’t right to ask, hold off and wait before searching on your own. Prejudging someone based on something you see on the internet could really lead to missed opportunities based on false assumptions you may make. Listen, just because it’s easy to do these days doesn’t make it right. I could sit on the internet all day looking for dirt on someone but again assumptions sometimes lead down a not so great path.

Remember Trust?

Last I checked it was the whole basis for any relationship. If you’re starting out in a relationship on an endless fishing expedition for dirt how is that trust? Things will happen no matter what and I firmly believe that no relationship or date is a waste, it’s all a learning experience so using the excuse that you’d rather know right away than later down the line is a cop out. Social Networks are intended to be fun, engaging and informative but should not be a  threat to a relationship or your dating life.  I don’t believe they were intended to be an analytic dating tool or a platform for dealing with your relationship issues.

“A spokesperson for Facebook said: “It’s ridiculous to suggest that Facebook leads to divorce. Whether you’re breaking up or just getting together, Facebook is just a way to communicate, like letters, phone calls and emails. Facebook doesn’t cause divorces, people do.” – I have to agree.

Open for Discussion..

This topic presented a lot of great thoughts online earlier and I’ve asked a few questions in this column that I would love to hear from you on. Has the internet changed the game for you? Are you more of a creep these days? Do we know more from keywords and search engines then we would after 5 or 6 dates now..and is that the problem?

Notes on Parenthood

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Barbara and her adopted baby girl.

I’m downloading photos of a baby from Facebook to email my mom and dad when I begin to cry.

I know why I’m weepy even though, to be honest, babies give me the heebie-jeebies with their tiny, fragile bodies and late-night cries. It’s because this baby is special. Already, even though we haven’t met, I love this baby in some instinctual way.

It’s because this baby is adopted. And because I’m adopted, too.

*****

There is a woman. A woman with a womb. A womb that once held me. Her baby. Stretching and breathing and squirming with a heart beating in a balloon under her belly. A woman. With a womb.

I do not know her.

*****

I am a little girl, sitting on top of the counter in my parents’ blue bathroom. I swing my legs and watch my mother at the mirror in her bra and panties squeeze her eyelashes and pat them into shape.

Adoption. I’ve always known the word. Somehow, as if whispered to me during my sleep. Uh. Dah. Puh. Shun. But now, here in the blue bathroom, I want my mother to tell me what it means.

It means God and destiny and some other woman. A woman. With a womb. It means I am wanted, I was chosen, I am divine. Literally an answer to prayers sent up to heaven like smoke signals.

Adopted. I wrap my tiny mouth around the word. I feel the way it creates a hollow space in the curve of my tongue.

*****

Little Kristen, spoiled rotten.

I have a playroom. My parents had it built on the back of their tri-level house in the suburbs on Pine Knott drive. To hold my dollhouses, crayons and paints, even a ’50s-style jukebox. The carpet is yellow, orange and brown. I transform its grid-like pattern into avenues for my Barbie vacation van. The playroom cabinets are filled with stacks of MAD magazines, old textbooks I use to play school and boxes of supplies for craft projects.

While I play, my mother sets up a TV tray, pushing the legs into the shag carpet in the living room. She brings down my lunch and a glass of milk. I sit, eat. Watch Three’s Company. On school days, my mom makes my lunch and puts stickers on the baggie that holds my sandwich: ghosts and pumpkins in the fall, bunnies and tulips in the spring.

I am spoiled. Divine, wanted, loved.

*****

So how is it, after all this, I turn on my parents? Betray the two people who sat up late at night, frantically praying for a baby to pop into their lives?

It happened when I was 13, riding home from school, staring at the C on my report card. In health, of all classes. I am a straight-A student. I don’t make Cs.

But this is back when report cards were hand-written, and my health teacher had even used a pencil to write in this disastrous grade. I look around the bus to see if anyone is watching. I erase the C. I write in: A.

My mother finds out. She confronts me two days later when I get home from school. I watch words fly like bullets out of her mouth, ringed in red lipstick. I create an elaborate lie in which I am innocent. But she knows.

*****

High school: When the angel baby transforms into a vile teenager who thinks it's fun to scare people at the Dayton Mall during the holiday shopping season.

I am 17 and I hate my mother. I have hated her for awhile now. We have been in fights ― big fights with scissors and heavy textbooks hurled through the air, fights my kid sister has had to break up, sticking her skinny body between the two demons we’ve become.

I run away from home. I get in my red Chevette with a plastic shopping bag full of cassette tapes by bands with names like Suicidal Tendencies and a gym bag full of polyester thrift store clothes, black tights and ripped T-shirts. My mother will not see me for three months.

She will have time to think about this woman. The woman with the womb and half my DNA, the man who also contributed his DNA. My mother will tell herself it is them, the mystery, that keeps me away. My mother will search for them, try to capture something about them and hold it in a jar, like fireflies, keep it to show me when I finally turn up again.

*****

I am back home, and my mother wants to discuss why I left. I’m sitting at the counter in her blue kitchen. I swing my l legs and listen to her tell me what she discovered. They were young, in college. She worked as a waitress. The Womb. He was studying architecture. The DNA.

My mother reaches in the pantry and takes out a roll of beige paper. She unrolls it across the counter as I reluctantly move the bowl of homemade minestrone I’ve been eating out of the way. The paper is filled with drawings I made as a child ― crude blueprints of an entire city: houses, schools, streets, libraries.

“See? Remember?” My mother draws in close. I can see the flecks in her red lipstick. “You drew all this. And he is an architect.”

Can I feel who I am now? Do I see it, written in pencil, on this paper?

*****

Holding my baby at my Grandpa Wicker's house, standing in front of framed photos of me and my parents when I was a baby.

I can feel when it happens. Like a pinch.

I know it as we hike the Grand Canyon, up steep trails carved in sheathes of limestone, across the Tapeats plateau peppered with brush and cacti. We stop for a break and eat crumbled Oreos, some of our last food from the backpacking trip for which we packed too lightly.

In a few weeks, I will pee on a plastic stick. I already know what the double pink line means. I also know I will keep this baby. This baby is mine.

What I don’t know is how hopelessly unprepared I am to be a mother. I also don’t know that the experience of motherhood will finally darn the frayed quilt that has become my relationship with my parents.

*****

My father had circled the ad for summer jobs in Grand Canyon in the Dayton Daily News. I’d gone for an interview at the Holiday Inn on Wagner Ford Road, was immediately hired as a housekeeper. Drove West. Decided to stay.

Now, it is fall. I am back in Dayton for a visit. And I need to tell my mother.

I sit on the white antique bed in my old bedroom. I’d had a mattress on the floor and painted the room a dark purple. Now the walls are covered in blue wallpaper. Stuffed teddy bears sit on a shelf above the bed.

My mother sits beside me. I chew my nails. She wants to know about my life thousands of miles away. I tell her about my job. I tell her I’m pregnant. I tell her I’m getting married. She can come to the wedding if she wants.

The next day, we go shopping. My mother buys me a white dress.

Hiking with my baby in the Grand Canyon.

She drives me to the airport a few days later. In the car, we talk. She apologizes for the flying objects, the punches, the big, big fights. I nod. I tell her ― and I really mean it ― I am sorry, too. On the plane, I look out the oval window at flat, green Ohio and cry.

When I get back to Arizona, I get a letter from my father. My mother has told him. He tells me he’s disappointed. He expected more. I am too smart. But we are a family. His love for me is what I see when I look up at the sparkling, never-ending Western sky. He will love his grandbaby fully in just the same way.

*****

I am filling out a medical form at Planned Parenthood. At the top of the “family history” section, there’s a small box. A box you check if you’re adopted.

I’m surprised. By now, I’m nearly 40 with my own baby grown up, graduated from high school ― and I’ve never seen this before. Usually, I write the following: “Adopted: Don’t know family medical history.” Instead, I check the box. How nice that I don’t have to explain!

Next to me is a stack of magazines. Red lettering on the cover of one reads, “Adventures With My Adopted Daughter.” I pick it up, turn to that page. The nurse calls my name. I cough and tear out the magazine pages. I must finish reading. I stuff the pages in my purse.

When I see the doctor, she asks about my family medical history. I tell her about the box I checked with a thick, black line.

She apologizes. She is embarrassed. Tells me she’s not used to looking at the box. Not many women check it.

Later, I will not be able to find the pages I ripped from the glossy magazine discovered in the office lobby. It’s as if they dissolved into the lining of my purse.

*****

My parents. Mom and Dad.

I am holding the special baby. Her mother glows like the moon and almost sizzles she is so happy. This special baby has a pacifier with her name embroidered on it and little tights with a Mary Jane shoe design sewn in the feet.

She already is spoiled. And loved, madly, just like my parents love me ― as deep and vast and intense as the Arizona sky. I hope it doesn’t take this little girl as long as it took me to realize how special she is.

Recently, my mother told me about a friend, also adopted, who searched out his birth parents. She thinks it’s strange, and I know she’s really asking if I’d ever do the same. I have parents, I tell her. The womb, the DNA: They are only those two words. They are not the ones who helped raise my son, taught me to cook and sew and ride a bike, sent me cards with notes of encouragement when I was distressed.

I imagine my parents, 40 years ago, as happy as my friend is while she holds her special baby. Then my friend says something that sticks to me like paste: “We don’t say, ‘Our daughter is adopted.’ It’s, ‘We adopted her.’”

What a beautiful way to arrange those words.