Meeting David

June 28, 2009. 

It had been several months that I'd noticed it - that feeling in my stomach, a tingling of nerves that people call 'butterflies'. A tangible feeling of anticipation. In this case, brought on by a simple walk down N. Washington Street a block, before turning left onto King Street, the Starbucks ahead of me another block, on the right. 

I'd taken to thinking of him as "the cute guy", because i could never remember his name - I wasn't thinking about looking at his name tag when I talked to him. I thought about how nice he was - his smile - and how genuine he seemed when he talked to me; to all the customers. Some people in coffee shops are just churn-and-burn, turn it over and get me out of here. The Cute Guy was different - he was working in the busiest Starbucks, or coffee shop, I'd ever been to, but he always seemed to be relaxed - he always had time to ask me something besides what i wanted to order.

I had gotten my hair done, and had a facial, so my skin was bright pink, a bit raw-feeling, and I had no makeup on. As I passed the 9West shop I ducked into Walgreens. I was being utterly ridiculous. Feeling self concious about being literally red-faced when seeing my barista, I spent $10 on a compact of Physicians Formula tinted face powder - the most gentle option I could find - and stood on the wobbly brick sidewalk patting it all over my face to try to not look like a highly embarassed or very sunburned customer when I ordered my coffee.

In line, I dodged back and forth to see past the sea of taller patrons, jogger strollers, and the coffee machines to see if he was working - I spied him at the drink side - yay! My brain did a little happy dance. The flirtation was all in my head. Until it wasn't.

Stepping up to claim my drink, he greeted me - and while he made some frothy espresso drink for the woman standing next to me, he changed our lives forever with a simple question.

"So what do you like to do when you're not working?"

I couldn't breathe. My mouth formed words that felt like "I like toreadandtravelandcookanddostufflikethat", while my brain yelled to my heart "He's going to ask me out!" It felt like an eternity - I just wanted to get the answer out of the way for what was sure to come next.

"Maybe we could get together sometime."

In my mind's eye, I can still see just a sliver of a profile of the woman who was ahead of me in line - a broad smile peeling back over lovely white teeth, eyes and face obscured by soft blond hair. 

"Sure!" 

Giving the only "tell" that he was nervous, he stopped right in the middle of making the Nice Woman's drink, and stepped away from the counter to find paper and pen. He wrote down his name DAVID and number and handed it over the counter. 

I've always been grateful to the Nice Woman who saw what was unfolding, and chose to let that moment happen for us. It would've been so easy for her to be angry that David stopped what he was doing, and took longer to finish her order. Many times I've wondered what she was thinking, if she was married or single, or why she smiled.

I don't remember what happened after that until i was out the door, and across the street, drink - and phone number - in hand. Staring at the tiny slip of paper, I was terrified that i would lose it. It was also an opportunity to put into action the "no games" policy I'd instituted for myself, newly entering the dating pool. There would be no "three day waiting period" before I called him. There would be no "keep him on tinterhooks". Quickly, I punched the number into a text message, and wrote something like "From Rebecca: I'm looking forward to hearing from you. This is my number." 

It was important to me that it was clear that I really did want to get together - that I was not just being nice, and most importantly, that I'd not walked out of the shop and dumped his phone number into the trash. I took a deep breath, hit "Send", and walked back down the street. Or maybe I floated. I honestly can't remember.

July 3, 2009. 

I picked jeans and a black shirt - the same one that I'd worn the day he asked me out. It was silly, but i figured it might help him identify me - as if seeing me every few weeks for more than a year, he wouldn't be able to pick me out of a tiny cafe with a dozen tables. Back to the wall, i waited. An Asian-looking guy in a red polo shirt and jeans was walking up to the door, opening the door, walking in. Oh my God he's so tall! When someone is behind a shoulder-high counter with a giant espresso machine on top, proportions become distorted. He saw me, smiled, waved, and sat down.

Afraid it would go badly, I made plans with a friend to see a movie at 7:30pm, but set my phone alarm for 5:00pm in case I needed to end the date early - anyone can survive two hours on a date, right? It was 3pm when David ordered a slice of cheesecake, and brought two forks and a flimsy plastic cup of water back to the table. 

"Dig in!"

Looking around, we noticed all the chairs were turned up on the tables, and the doors were locked. It was 7pm, and the cafe was closed. We never saw the others leave. We didn't notice the staff cleaning the tables next to us. 

August 21, 2014.

Five years, one month, and eighteen days. 

I love him so much. More and more, every day. 

Some reasons, you know; some reasons are only for us.

The word love is such a blunt instrument to express all the shades and depths and types of love. As if my tongue has been cut out and my hands tied, I cannot articulate the bone-deep, heart-aching love I feel. So I sink against his chest and listen to the beating of his heart against my ear, and let a woosh of air from my lungs, and his chin tips down to rest on my head. There are no words in any language that feel that good.

I love him so much it's ridiculous. 

And that's all you really need to know.

Lost in Translation: Dating Websites and the Definition of "Casual Sex"

A young woman posts a profile on OKCupid (see article here,). She's striking - raven hair, scarlet lipstick, porcelain skin, and a multitude of tattoos. She receives hundreds of messages a week. Unfortunately, many, if not most of them "vulgar" (her word). Why are so many of them offensive?

She made the fatal mistake of ticking the box for "Casual Sex", as well as one for "Short-term" and "Long-term" dating.

I asked a couple guys what they would define as "casual sex" in a profile on a dating site. They universally assumed that meant literally they would contact the girl, the girl would come over (they didn't mention going to her place, interestingly), strip naked, have sex with them, and leave.

However, when I think of 'casual sex' in that context - on a dating site - what I, and most of my girlfriends, think of is dating without commitment, sex maybe on the first date - something more like a f*buddy than a one-night-stand.

And herein lies the reason this woman is being bombarded with vile propositions that would turn off even a professional call-girl (e.g., "I would swim the Amazon upstream with an airtank filled with Rosie O’Donnell’s queefs") Just...Eww.

When a dating website gives users an option to identify the type of relationship they're interested in, it should be mandatory that the site provide a definition of that classification!

While there are exceptions to every rule, in general women go to dating websites because they want, shockingly, to go on dates.

However, men are often confused by the term 'casual sex' appearing on what is referred to as a "dating" website.... women seem to generally consider 'casual sex' as part of a continuum, while men seem to see it as an invitation to a one-night-stand without having to go to the bar and find a girl who's drunk enough to let her guard down and go home with him.

And so, pity the woman who really does want casual sex and admits it, and thus crosses an invisible line in men's imagination, becoming a kind of live-action sex toy with a brain who shows up at midnight, has sex with you, dresses and leaves you sated and snoring the night away in your own bed.

Women: if you really do just want sex, no strings, one-night only, then have fun, be safe, and tick the box and watch the offers roll in by the thousands! But if you expect 'casual sex' to mean you want a guy to go on dates with and will have sex with no strings attached and no expectation of monogamy, you're probably safer sticking to "short term dating" as a definition of your interest.

Men: if you really do just want sex, no strings, one-night only, then you should not be trolling for it on a *dating* website, and you'd be better off on one of the many hook-up, sex-only websites that proliferate - or else, be prepared to be shocked when a girl who marked "casual sex" on her profile expects an actual date, or doesn't show up at your door in a trench coat naked underneath ready to do the dirty in the first five minutes you meet her.

Men have a biological drive - a need - to have sex in a way women generally (and we are dealing in generalizations here, I know) do not. Women generally want or need to have at least some chemistry with a guy to get turned on, and that doesn't happen in the distance between his doorstep and the bedroom.

So let's do each other a favor...

Women, be mindful of the way men think, and take responsibility for clarifying what YOU think your status means, BEFORE you agree to meet up - and you'll avoid a lot of confusion.

And men, stop confusing the experience you get with a girl who checks "casual sex" on her dating site profile with the experience you'd get from an escort service.

She is not going to behave like an escort, so save yourself the mental and physical frustration when you open the door in your boxers and the look on her face tells you when you told her you wanted to eat out, you didn't mean at the local sushi place...

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On a related note, women, if you think I'm kidding about the guys you're inviting to contact you if you say you're into 'casual sex', check out this blog post I found while doing research for this post... I'm not attributing it because the douchebag who wrote it is so vile, I'm not willing to credit him and inadvertently promote his site. 

Mr. Douchey says, in part...

"Let’s face it, OKCupid is a site for getting laid. If you want long term dating, you sign up to Match, pay your fees and actually go on dates with a purpose. OKCupid is for sex, and sex alone.

I was on it for 2-3 months, I would see the same girls saying “I’m seeing someone now” before a few weeks later saying “I’m available now”, and repeating the cycle.

The funny thing about it all is that the girls don’t want to appear slutty, and they’ll write their profiles about wanting a nice, loyal, down-to-Earth, pseudo characteristic, guy so as to make out they’re not sluts.

They’ll un-tick the “looking for casual sex” bit for extra authenticity and the worst thing is that guys lap it up."

If this idiot actually thinks every woman is a slut-in-waiting, who's manipulating everything she does just to avoid looking slutty, it's pretty much a sure-fire bet this guy is a hugely insecure little prick (pun intended) who I would definitely NOT look to for advice on getting laid. As if OKCupid somehow has magically filtered out all women who actually want to go on dates with real men who also actually want to go on dates, and only allows "closet sluts" to register. (This isn't just douchey, it's delusional.)

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Let me be clear: this is NOT about OKCupid. This is about the inherent problems we encounter when we speak different languages. It's about bridging the gap between wishful thinking and reality. It's about being a grown-up and being honest with yourself and your partner about what you want.

Yes, there is an internal conflict within many women about sex - our brains typically need to be stimulated for our bodies to follow... we may have hang-ups passed down from our mothers about what good girls do and don't do... we can change our mind at the drop of a hat. And we have constant dialogs in our heads - with ourselves - about how we feel about something or someone, and what we'll do or not.

Yes, we are complicated.

So guys, if you really think when we tick a little box, two simple words "Casual Sex", that our complicated minds literally mean we will walk in your door, pull down your pants, and go for it, please re-read this post until it sinks in. (And if you're that desperate to get laid, just get over the idea that sex only counts if you don't pay for it, call the escort service, and take care of your business.)

And ladies, if you really think that when you tick the little box, two simple words, "Casual Sex", that guys - who are very literal - will expect anything other than free sex, no strings, one-night-stand, then this post is for you. Which means you need to change your profile...Like, right now...

Love is.

 

He slipped out of bed, shuffled on slippers, and disappeared downstairs. I figured he had an early appointment. I only had thirty minutes myself to get up and out the door for a meeting, having wrung every last drop of sleep from the night. But when I hit the bottom of the steps I saw him walk in the door, shivering off the cold.

He'd gotten up early just to start my car, so it would be warm and ready for me to jump in and go...

This is what love is.

I'd been so sick for so long... I needed to take a nap before the movie. He kissed me and said he was running to the store. While I slept, he stood at the counter and opened the bag of popcorn. He took the small paring knife in hand, and cut out the kernels from every piece, because I couldn't eat them and he didn't want me to have to go to the movies and think about the fact that I couldn't have popcorn.

This is what love is. 

The first gift he ever gave me was a silicon soup ladle. I was puzzled momentarily until he explained,

"I was in the grocery store, and I saw this and thought of you - you have these nice pots but you only have a metal ladle, and I didn't want you to scratch up your nice cookwear."

We'd been dating maybe two months. Imagining him in the grocery store, thinking of me, made my heart happy. 

This is what love is. (And we still use the ladle!)

They say you don't know what love is till you know. The idea that something so fundamental and important to our happiness can remain undefined, unexplained, and unable to be conjured or controlled is maddening - but makes it so much sweeter when you do find it.

He held my hand for hours in the emergency room, while I squirmed on the gurney, delirious with pain. He wakes early to cook a hot breakfast for me on days I have an important meeting. When my new patent leather heels were being ruined by the brick sidewalk that was gobbling them up as we walked back from dinner on a freezing February night, he gave me his shoes, willing to walk the icy pavement in his socks.

This is a love that has made me a better person - a kinder, more patient person.  This is what you hope love is.

I remember when I was single how bad Valentine's Day made me feel about being single. It puts immense pressure on men to live up to an ideal created by mass media, card companies, restaurants, jewelers - even my grocery store has giant red heart balloon arches and a sea of red-packaged food products that smack you when you walk in the door!

So I swore that if I didn't celebrate it as a singleton, I would not celebrate if and when I was coupled. And that's why this is most definitively NOT a post for Valentine's Day.

What it is is a reminder that love is something that cannot be expressed in flowers, cards, chocolates, jewelry, restaurants, no matter the color, value, shape, or size.

Love is a big thing made up of a million small - sometimes microscopic - things.

It's opening a jar that's too tight. It's refilling a drink without being asked. It's singing a beautiful song off-key because the words remind you of them. It's when they pull the blanket over you when you're sleeping. It's turning your alarm down so it doesn't wake them. It's loading the dishwasher, and doing a load of laundry - and thanking them for taking the initiative - period. It's knowing sometimes they need to *not* talk about it just yet - and knowing that just because you're talking about it he doesn't have to do anything but listen. It's letting him rest his hand on your soft, fleshy hip when you are lying next to each other instead of swatting at his hand or turning away...

It's knowing there are twice as many good things as bad, and that every day he or she is in your life is better than if they weren't.

That's what love is.

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