Playing With Matches

What started as a means of chronicling the online dating experiences of two picky yet adventurous almost thirty somethings has turned into a chronicle of all that is, was and has made up their collective dating histories. Our two original daters are now joined by several other fun, breezy, sassy gals, and Playing With Matches is now a missive on dating misadventures, a cacophony of ups and downs, turmoil and bliss. With a bit of snark mixed in here and there.

Monday, July 31, 2006

I couldn't have said it better myself.

From T, a good college buddy, our guest blogger of the day, and a "victim," too, of the bi-polar, eighth grade mentality of the less fairer sex.

Take it away, T (my comments in blue):

We are two beautiful, fabulous, fun, smart and interesting girls (right on, friend. We are also witty, engaging, sassy, spontaneous, adventurous...). Why are we spending time thinking about boys like this? Note: we still call them boys. Why do whatever feelings we developed for them seem like enough to put ourselves through an abundance of agony? Because we enjoy the drama? Why can't they just grow up and get over their shit? My boss (he's young and fun, and occasionally gives completely unsolicited advice, but in a nonjudgmental way) (T: is he married?! Single? Can you date him?) says it's because men in their 30s are too set in their ways to change much (as opposed to men in their late 20s who need to change/grow up/deny their frat boy status/learn to commit). What they need is a good kick in the pants, and LOTS of alone time. Bastards.

It is irrational, why we do this to ourselves. (irrational, yes...but interesting we are all kind of irrational in the same way. I mean, while we can be egocentric, none of these experiences are unique to our single being. Your story is just like mine but with a different cast and vennue.) It is it because we are more afraid of letting go and risking again or potentially not finding someone else (Ouch. That might be it. We do not want to be old and alone) than continuing with someone who, without changing, would be an inadequate partner? Is it because we are (dreaded word) settling for less than we deserve, falling in love with potential (I heart potential) rather than who someone truly is or shows by their actions, and not just words? (As my friend E once told me, you have to listen to what people say. They are telling you who they are. You can't ignore it when someone says "this isn't going to work" or "I'm not what you deserve." You also have to be aware of his actions. He can't tell you he loves you and then act a different way, or act like he loves you and say he doesn't.) I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet. Sorry to break it to you, T, but I don't know that we ever will.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Being an adolescent must be hip. Or so they think.

Be it blocking you from his IM, calling and not leaving messages, stalking your MySpace account, just all out ignoring you...men, of any age, are the same. Immature. Idiotic. And so eighth grade.

Thanks, Carrie Broadshoulders, for a title that drew me in and a story that made me gasp in horror. And by horror I mean recognition. Assholes, I tell you. As if we even care.

Friday, July 28, 2006

My first fake boyfriend…

Or, why I didn’t really date in college. (Or so I keep telling myself.)

So there was this boy. Let’s call him Skip. Skip and I met, through a friend, the end of our second year of college. I helped him and friend study for an exam and, to pay me back, Skip took me (and friend) to dinner. Thought nothing of it. (OMG I just realized I remember what I wore, where we went and what I ate…not surprising, as I’m OCD like that. But still.)

Fast forward to fall semester the next year. I’m sitting in the hallway, waiting for a discussion section to begin and he walks up. I kind of pretend not to recognize him. He’s in the same lecture class but not the same discussion section, yet he decides to join mine, anyway. From that moment on we are pretty much (to the dismay of many) BFF (but not to the point of me bailing on my girl friends. I will never be that girl). Not surprisingly, I develop a crush on my new friend. If I were smart, I would have seen this as a sign of things to come, as the inception of a trend in my life.

Despite some bad decisions on his part (ie hooking up with TheHo, my slutty horrible roommate of junior year who hooked up with every single male (and I am NOT exaggerating) who stepped foot into our home) and my own best judgment, I continued to allow this crush to grow (fester?). We spent all of our time together, even when he had girlfriends. His name was on our answering machine because he was always at our house. His girlfriends would call me looking for him. He gave me Christmas and Valentine’s Day presents that rivaled those he gave his actual girlfriend. We ate one, if not two, meals together a day. At least two of the girls he dated in college broke up with him because of me. Awesome.

For the most part, we didn’t really ever say anything about what was going on or how it might look. We never took it past the “friendship” that it was. But it was always there as an undercurrent, that elephant in the room.

He was confronted several times about the situation by caring friends (thanks, girls) who thought he was taking advantage of me and my time and my friendship. He always said he loved me but would never jeopardize what we had by dating me (now, in all my wisdom, I know this is “he’s just not that into you”). He even personally imparted that sentiment onto me, when I was bold enough (after several cocktails late one night) to bring up the subject (thanks to my good friend Dave Matthews and a strategically cued “Say Goodbye” on the CD player).

We continued this obviously dysfunctional and masochistic (at least on my end) relationship until graduation. I almost followed him to grad school, until my dad called me on it (way to be so astute, Dad). We’ve maintained our friendship through the years. Seven years after graduation, we still talk regularly.

He called the other day and said he was thinking about coming to my neck of the woods for Labor Day weekend. With the new girlfriend (who was barely in middle school, mind you, when he and I met). Is it bad that I’m kind of excited?

Thursday, July 27, 2006

What are YOUR drawers like?

Having a bad day? Easy to solve if you're a female. Sometimes you just need to cry. Other times you need retail therapy...oftentimes in the form of new underwear (I hate hate HATE the word "panties"). I, myself, find great contentment when I buy some new duds--whether "hot" or "functional," they're still new and fun.

Now, I know this is supposed to be a dating blog...but undergarments, in general, and underwear, in particular, are an important part of a female's dating arsenal. So bear with me and make this work, as I have no other outlet for my confusion and frustration on this subject.
Now, this isn't going to be a post about the best and worst of female undergarments. In fact, it's much more tame than that. Really, it's more of a question I have to pose to my female compatriots out there. Let me give you some background.

The other night, a good friend of mine came to my house (we will call her PF, for Pregnant Friend). The night prior, I had spent my Entourage/Simple Life hour folding laundry. Specifically, underwear. More specifically, over 75 pairs. Yes, I have a problem.

Back to the point: those who know me know that I hate nothing more than folding and then putting away laundry. So, while my pretty underthings were folded, there were still in neat little piles in the living room. Key word here is folded. You may have paused the first time you read it and, much like PF, exclaimed "OMG, you FOLD YOUR UNDERWEAR?"

Doesn't everyone?

Apparently not. I find this horrifying. How do you find the pair you're coveting when you have to dig through a drawer? Don't they get stuck in the back, clogging the drawer? Or tangled up with each other? How do you differentiate between fabric and style and cut? I did not think I was the only one who folded such clothing items, but it appears that even the most OCD of you guys don't waste the time. Appalling.

So, am I really the only one out there who does this? I mean, I have even mastered how to fold pairs that are not conducive to folding. This behavior is not something that is new to me or a result of my age induced clothing related neat-ness. I have always been like this (thanks, Mom). In fact, one time, when I was in college, it was my sole responsibility to remember to record Melrose Place. I happened to forget. The wrath of my suitemates was felt that night, when I walked into my dorm room to find my underwear drawer disheveled and all of my socks separated and thrown haphazardly into the drawer. They knew how to hit me where it hurt.

I could not sleep until everything was back in order.

And, in case you're wondering...PF came over on Monday because we were going out for dinner and drinks with Objection and another friend...because Objection lost a bet. A dating related bet. But since she doesn't talk to you any more, you have no idea what is going on in her life.

Ahem, Objection.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Your Cheating Heart.

As of late, I’ve had conversations with several different factions of my friendship pool regarding the issue of cheating. Brought on by such ubiquitous things as Brangelina, www.stevenisacheatingdog.com, and the fact that many of us can’t go to a bar or restaurant without being accosted by obviously attached (hello, wedding ring! Hey there, girlfriend standing in the corner!) men, the topic is one that has sadly made its way into our vernaculars.

We’ve managed to have heated discussions (with varying opinions depending on experiences of lack thereof) on some of the following:
  1. When, if ever, is cheating okay?
  2. Is it okay if you are with someone and you do not know that he actually has a girlfriend (or, as we get older, a wife)?
  3. What if you suspect but don’t ask?
  4. What if he’s separated but not divorced?
  5. What if he’s been cheated on and feels like he’s justified?
  6. Why do we find it easy to “forgive” or “overlook” or “accept” celebrity infidelities?

Because I have an eclectic group of female friends, our opinions were varied and our conversations always in depth. Here are some of the things that came up and some of our conclusions—a good example of how different people’s opinions and experiences are and how effed up and dysfunctional and bizarre relationships can be (and why, I contend, they are a lot of work and trouble and when you have a good one you should appreciate it for what it is).

Some of our conclusions/talking points, in no particular order:

When did our moral fabric disintegrate to the point that we are able to say to ourselves, “He’s the one who’s doing something wrong. If he doesn’t have a problem with it, neither should I.” Oh, but you should have a problem with it. You know you’re in trouble if you start justifying like that. You are contributing to the breaking of a promise, to the mocking of a commitment. You are making decisions that don’t just affect you, any more.

However great the feeling of attention and misplaced love may be, it’s not right. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to him. And it’s certainly not fair to the actual significant other, whether she is also participating in such illicit activities or not.

Lifetime movie lessons come into play in situations like this: “He is not going to leave his wife/girlfriend for you. Ever. No matter what he says.” He can have a relationship with you, take you on vacations, buy you things, but he still can’t (read: won’t) bring himself to leave her. Don’t give the guy too much credit. It’s not a conscience thing, it’s a guilt thing. He's not a nice guy trying not to hurt her; He’s not staying with her for fear of her getting hurt by the truth. He just doesn’t want to be caught. Somewhere along the way, he learned about actions and consequences…but there was faulty wiring somewhere, something short circuited and he began to think, in this situation, there would be no consequences.

Now, if you absolutely know and you continue, you are in the wrong. Fate, love, star crossed lovers, whatever. No matter what. If you suspect, you should find a way to find out. If he’s cheating, there are issues in his relationship and you don’t know if he is the cause of them or not; of course he doesn’t seem to be the cause of them. But sometimes your eyes need to be opened a little wider.

Cheating spouses are not only an issue for the spouses but for society as a whole...it contributes to the ever-growing mockery of marriage and fidelity. Marriage today is no longer "til death do us part"...it's "until this gets too hard" or "until I meet someone hotter" or "until I have my mid-life crisis." Divorce is seen as a remedy to a problem, a solution. Unfortunately, we’ve all seen many relationships come to blows like these. And what type of message does that send to children, teens, young adults? Not only does it say that you can easily walk out of (or cheat your way through) a relationship, it begs the question: who ARE you loyal to? Would you trust your deepest secrets with a woman who can't stay faithful to her husband? Why would she be faithful to you? Cheating boyfriends/girlfriend are often cheating friends, as well.

Some of us consider Hollywood to be the foremost contributor to the disintegration of relationships/demoralizing of marriages problem. Marriage is a joke, fidelity is a joke, and "bad boys" and "bad girls" are glorified. Angelina carries on with whomever she pleases, has a child with Brad and openly states she has no intention of marrying him. When will she get bored with him and move onto her next [married] man? And yet she is still glorified for all her U.N. work while it is never acknowledged that she carried on an affair with a married man. Denise Richards and Richie Sambora. Peter Cook and his 19 year old assistant. Prince Charles and Camilla. Kevin Federline and Britney Spears. Jude Law and the nanny. These celebrities are doing whatever (or whomever) the hell they want. No matter how rich or how beautiful you are, you are not immune to this. That’s the sad part.

I realize that these thoughts run the gamut…but it all comes down to the basic Golden Rule. Is it really that hard to treat others as you want to be treated? And that brings us to the always hard to answer question of: If you come to realize that your paramour happens to have a significant other, do you find a way to tell her (after you immediately break things off, of course)? Does it make you look bad to tell her? Does she deserve to know? Is it best for her to figure it out on her own?

Stepping off the soapbox, again, your friend,
RD

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

I hope you don't think I'm stupid.

I'm not one of those vapid, complacent girls you dated/slept with/whatever before you met me (and I'm assuming you continued to gravitate toward after you had had enough of me).

I. Am. Not. Stupid. I know you've blocked me from your stupid IM list. There's no reason you wouldn't be online. You're there, just hiding. You aren't there under another alias because I know you can't change your screen name.

The only reason I care is because you think I don't know it. Or you want me to know it. Or suspect it. I know it, effer. You think taking yourself off of my radar will make me not talk to you or want to talk to you. Have you noticed that I've neither wanted to nor attempted to in months? I care but not in the way you want me to. So you lose. Again.

How old are you again?

(And she steps off her bitter, cynical soapbox).

Monday, July 10, 2006

"You have one new message...

...and six saved messages." The same six messages you've had saved for over a year. Every time each of them comes up to be deleted you, instead, renew it. You are not reprimanded by the Verizon voice. In fact, she just merrily tells you that, "This message will be saved for forty days." She should say, "Idiot. This is the 53rd time you've resaved this message. Enough is enough already." You'd listen to her, an outside party. Maybe.

The messages, needless to say, are from jerks. Or, five messages from one jerk, one from another. None of the messages say anything of substance; but you wouldn't know, because you don't even listen to them when the voice mail system plays them prior to asking if you want to delete. You hear the first few words, "Hey, RD, this is..." And that's enough. You hit "9" to save before he says anything more.

You just want to hear his voice. And hear him say your name. And remember the days he used to call just to say hello. Or when he knew your schedule and what you were up to so well that he'd call because he knew he could leave you a message. Or to say he was on his way to see you. Or that he was thinking about you.

Even though the thought of him doesn't conjure the same emotions, and even though his voice no longer makes your heart fall into your stomach (in a good way), you can't bring yourself to hit "7" to delete the stupid things.

You've hit "7" on the relationship (with his help, of course), but you can't do it on the messages. Go figure.