Posts Tagged ‘dating apps’

You Got Some ‘Splain’in

September 3, 2016

To do.

I have not told you guys something!

I’m off Tinder.

Yup.

It’s official.

I cancelled the app and deleted it off my phone.

Now comes the hard part.

The sit and wait part, the let it happen without looking for it part, the re-integration of lost things and places and experiences, the growing up part.

The.

Oh, dare I say it.

The adulting part.

I did some work at Burning Man and not all of it was fluffing, a lot of it was spiritual work, growth, therapeutic work, allowing myself to look at it like a dusty spa of spirituality and a sort of recovery conference in the desert.

I got my God on.

Heck, I even did a shaman journey.

Yeah, I know, shush.

I have been living in California for 14 years, please, it rubs off.

And I was ready for it.

Especially.

When I ran into my friend who was at the first camp I stayed with ten burns ago.  We hugged and reconnected and talked and I shared my experiences being in graduate school for therapy and psychology and that I want to pursue a doctorate now, I mean, really, it might be time for a new playa name, Dr. Carmen has a nice ring to it you know.

Anyway.

We chatted, he’s a therapist and he also does shaman work and I recalled a time when he had offered to take me on a spirit journey and how I sort of pooh poohed it.

Then.

I found myself wanting to ask when I saw him this past week at the burn.

And.

I found a great big lump of fear on my chest.

Oh.

How interesting.

When I feel that much resistance to something it is rather indicative to me that it’s time to do some work on something.

So.

I asked, and I admitted my fear and then we laughed and he said, of course and then asked me to ponder a question or to sit and be with what it was that I wanted to address.

What popped into my head?

Sober boyfriend.

Yeah, like that.

We met the next day in the heat of the afternoon, in the middle of a white out dust storm.

Things were said, deals were done, navigation of emotions, experiences, lots and lots of therapeutic theory.

He knows his stuff and I recognized a lot of the techniques he used and I wasn’t uncomfortable with the way it went, despite, yes, there being some fear there too, but mostly a curiosity to see what would arrive and an eagerness to address these baffling relationship issues that seem to crop up for me often when I am least expecting or most wanting to have a relationship.

It’s like a wall, glass, that I can feel, that I can see through, but can’t quite figure out how to get to the other side.

We talked and talked and got down to some root things, which when expressed from his perspective was obvious, so obvious, it made me feel a bit baffled then I realized how I am most often unable to see what others see so clearly, I have no perspective on my own life or abilities.

None.

Hearing all the things come out of my friends mouth, with a broader perspective of my history, trauma, and adult male patterning that I did when I was a little girl.

Well.

Fuck.

Of course I tend toward being single.

Hello safety.

I am either chasing after the unavailable boy or I am being the mother to said boy.

I don’t date adult men.

I don’t know how since I hadn’t seen healthy adult relationships growing up as a little girl.

I often tend toward two ways of being in relation to men I want to date.

I have been the mother–my longest lasting relationship was five years and I was definitely the care taker.

And then.

A long series of men, boys, that I chased, who were not often, or ever really interested in dating me romantically.

These paradigms made a lot of sense to me and I think I have been dancing around this knowledge for such a long time that when it was finally revealed it was less a great big aha moment, but more of a softening and relaxing into myself.

I had a lot of compassion for myself and a gentleness that I found so tender that I was in tears just from the relief of that.

So.

My friend made some suggestions.

Stop chasing.

Stop being the mother.

Write it out.

What does an adult man look like, what qualities do I want?

And lastly.

Be patient.

Don’t expect it overnight and stop looking for it.

It won’t be the impetuous passion of a sixteen year old in a romantic crush.

It will probably not be someone I’m crazy wild about at first glance, it will be softer, and I will be pursued and I will be seen and my power, who I am will be my calling card.

He will be strong.

He will not complete me.

I won’t have to mother, and I will not chase.

What a relief.

At first when I deleted Tinder I was pretty ok with it.

Then.

Yes.

I did re-install the app for a half day.

But.

I realized.

Nope.

It doesn’t serve, not after the experience in the dome, in the dust, in the heat, my heart opened, the little girl response to dating laid to rest in the resplendent gold dust light.

My friend said write about it, at least once a day, a paragraph, what my adult man looks like, what I want.

And.

Then.

Heh.

Text him when I start dating.

It won’t be long.

I’m ready.

I am happy, healthy, smart, employed, in graduate school, sober, loving, lovable, funny.

It’s on.

And I’m done with the dating apps and the chase.

I am here and available.

And I don’t need to chase.

I am fucking awesome.

I would date me in a heart beat.

I don’t need fireworks, although passion is lovely, I’m not going to try to make anything happen.

I don’t need to.

It already is.

 

 

Everything Is Coming Up Pink

June 19, 2016

I mean everything.

Fuck me.

Ugh.

I got my hair done today and it’s awesome and fun and I had a really nice time at the salon reading trashy magazines and drinking coffee and discussing dating with my hair dresser.

You know.

Tinder versus OkStupid.

And it was a great time.

It’s nice to let myself be pampered.

I love, love, love, having my hair played with.

Seriously.

Offer to brush my hair, wash my hair, play with my hair, I’m yours.

Give me a scalp massage?

Dude.

Yeah.

So.

Getting the hair done is always an extraordinary treat.

And not one I do all that often.

Although when I do.

I do like to pull a bit of a hair geographic.

Today’s was pink.

Pastel and hot pink and it looks fantastic and my colorist was a doll and mixed up some extra color for me with some conditioner to put in my hair the next couple of times I wash it.

And away I went to Sephora on Cloud 9 to go match my hair color to my lipstick.

Because.

Please.

That is how I roll.

“Oh, I like the glitter,” my colorist said, referring to my nails which are painted sky blue, robin’s egg blue, and overlaid with, yes, pink glitter.

Because.

Again, I ain’t nothing but subtle.

Anyway.

I came back to grab my scooter and head off to my first date of the evening.

Yes.

I said first.

I had two dates tonight.

Yeah, I’m a hussy, get over it.

I’m also making up for lost time, the cancelled dates over the past few weekends, the one guy not available and the other that just never bothered to confirm, so I figured, fuck it, book two, one is bound to not be good.

They were both good.

But in very different ways.

Anyway.

I get a head of myself.

And yes, Virginia, I don’t normally do that, I have never actually done that before, but it just sort of happened and it just sort of worked.

So.

I head back to my scooter, replete with my pink hair and blow out, that’s the other thing, I got a blow out and that is so much fun, I have wild curly hair and not one iota of desire to blow out my hair, it would take me days, no thank you, not going to do it.

But put me in a salon.

All bets off.

Blow it out.

Side bar.

I can’t believe I’m blogging right now, I should be in bed, considering what time I got up this morning and that I did yoga as well, but I also had a late, as in way past my normal cut off time, Americano and I think that has just jazzed me up a bit.

So.

Blow out, new lip gloss, matches the hair like spot on and is glittery, natch, floating in the late afternoon, early evening golden light bathing the downtown and open my purse to get out my keys and check my phone.

And what the fuck?

Oh.

No.

Oh.

Shit.

Oh.

Pink.

EVERYWHERE.

The jar opened in my purse, I managed to finagle out my phone an wipe it down and my wallet, but all the stuff, all the lining of the purse, the canvas tote I got from the Jeu de Paume in Paris all of it, doused in hot pink hair dye.

Ugh.

What I am happy to report is that I did not lose my shit.

Nope.

Just took the jar wrapped it up in the bag, wiped off what I could and got on my scooter and said, well, I’ve been wanting to replace that purse anyhow.

And off I went to the first of my dates.

We met for sushi, I recognized him at the corner as he was crossing over to the restaurant, yay for looking like your profile, always a plus.

Yay, also for being on time, in fact, just a tiny bit early, which I totally appreciate as that’s how I tend to roll.

Yay for being tall.

I mean, hello, 6’5″.

I could have worn heels.

It was a slow to start date, but in the end, the dinner was nice, although I was slightly surprised to be asked to go dutch on the date, I was like, ok, whatever, not the first time, although, I had expected…

Oh, sneaky, expectations, I know where you lead.

But, I was like, ok, whatever.

And moving on.

But.

Not exactly moving on.

We walked down Valencia Street, which is odd for me to walk down when it’s the weekend and also when I’m not working, I ran into a lot of folks I know and that was amusing, always nice to be seen and to be seen on a date, I think too, is nice.

We went to Ritual, aforementioned late Americano, we sat outside.

We discussed some things.

Talked over some things.

And oh.

There.

Ha.

I wasn’t sure.

He was indeed attracted, just a slow burn sort of deal.

And that’s ok.

Some times quickly, sometimes slowly.

He had friends to meet and I had a friend to meet.

Well.

I should clarify.

I had a friends with benefits to meet.

Which was fantastic and fun and none of your business.

I can’t put it all out here, now can I?

I did find out some lovely things about myself in the whole process.

First.

Guys don’t notice, and/or care, that I had a huge, awful patch of pimples on my temples.

Like bad.

Like haven’t had a break out like this since high school.

Hello hormones, fuck you, I’m 43, enough already.

If they were noticed, which I noticed them, gah, get off my face, nothing was said.

Of course, said dates could have been blinded by the hot pink hair.

Second.

That despite getting thrown a curve ball, one in which I would have used previously as an excuse to cancel or delay, pink dye all over my purse and stuff and things, was just a small impediment to the evening and nothing to get worked up about.

What I found is that by not caring so much about how I look and presenting myself as I was, pink hair, purse, pimples, and all, I was just more me somehow.

More human.

Less put together.

And perhaps.

More approachable.

I sure hope so.

I like this new part of me emerging.

Oh.

I’m sure I’ll get wound up about something.

But for right now.

Despite the ruination of my satchel.

I’m really sitting pretty.

And.

Very.

Very.

Very.

Pink.

 

Epic Fail

March 3, 2016

Come on Tinder.

What the fuck.

Ugh.

Well.

At least I got to get dressed up.

I do love putting on a dress and hey, I used the guy’s height as my excuse to go traipsing about in my heels.

I mean.

It’s not every day that I have a date with a guy that is 6’4″.

Unfortunately.

He was not as upfront about the weight, it was a bit too much, there’s I’m a bit of a bear, and there’s what showed up.

Le sigh.

I gave it two hours though, he was nice, smart, but the chemistry was not there and we tried a little, but it was not what was promised, heh, I had a friend warn me about that, some guys really have a great text game.

I thought I had this figured out, at least this guy was the age his profile said he was.

Just not at all the body.

Unless those photos were, well, taken at really flattering angles.

We even Face Timed.

Oh well.

Chalk one up to I tried and I had fun being pretty today.

I did.

I loved being out in the world on my scooter in my crinoline and gingham skirt, my pink scooter jacket and my glitter star helmet.

I make quite the picture.

I waved at this little girl in a stroller and wished her a pink scooter for her sixteenth birthday.

Grow up and be fierce little lady.

I also admired the glitter mary janes she had on.

Seriously, sometimes I just want all the sparkle.

I also want a real god damn date.

I suppose it’s for the best, I do have a lot to do this week, yoga, school, school, school.

Work, work, work.

Recovery, recovery, recovery.

I was just hoping for a little canoodle in the mix.

Le sigh.

Ha.

I don’t mind, I don’t really.

And I know, from experience, that the online dating, the phone app, the whatever, it’s, well, it’s just a game.

I mean for fuck’s sake Tinder’s little prompt is to go back to “playing” if you’ve succeeded in making a match with someone but aren’t partial to sending them a message right away.

I haven’t started up my OkCupid profile again, I figure one is enough.

Frankly, though, I really did have better luck in the grocery store.

Of course, that was unexpected and also just goes to show what can happen when you look up, who knows who is looking at you.

I mean, most of the time I don’t know when someone likes me, I have gotten a little bit better at it and I heard something recently that I really like–assume every guy likes you until you are told otherwise.

Ok.

I’m about to cancel the damn app again.

Ugh.

It was suggested that I keep trying.

I feel like I have better things to do with my time.

But.

I also understand that dating is weird and hard and goofy and I can’t expect that I’ll even find someone or they will find me.

I have had love.

And I am grateful for that.

I would like, however, to have some fucking sex.

How hard can this be.

Or at least decent make out.

That’s a challenging thing too, I have someone who was, well, the best kiss of the past decade in recent memory and that does make a good make out session hard to find after that.

But that, as I well know is so not available.

It’s so funny how that happens.

I keep getting messages, like, oh, if it wasn’t meant to be, there’s better out there, and there might be, but apparently I have to wade through a few crappy dates before I get there.

I know that anything worth having takes time and effort and work.

Despite the instantaneous “feel” of the app, it’s all really just fantasy.

And frankly, I want reality and yes, boys and girls, for the last time, I just deleted the app.

Screw it.

I have other ways to meet guys.

I think that it’s not to much to ask to be asked out.

I don’t think it’s too much to engage with a person face to face.

And my date was right–he said I may change my mind when I meet him, but I really wasn’t expecting that much of a difference.

I so wasn’t feeling it when he showed up looking like he did, especially after some fun conversation and some flirtation that led me to believe he was a bit of a different person than the one who showed up, but I am happy to say I gave it the old college try.

Ah.

Oh well.

I am not resentful and I am not sad, it was what it was and I’m not changing the Universe by telling my little story, it was just an experience.

Not necessarily the one that I wanted to have, but that’s ok.

I bet there are more experiences out there to be had, in the real world, face to face, person to person and they don’t have to be dates, and there doesn’t have to be expectation and I can still dress up.

I really am allowing that for myself, the dressing up the last few weeks has been a lot of fun and I am going to continue to let myself have that fun.

Heh.

Speaking of.

I got a cute flower clip today, thank you Etsy, and will be putting that into the mix at some point, a bunch of pink vintage roses, very sweet and it looks quite adorable in my hair when it’s all piled up.

I’m thinking of wearing it tomorrow.

Although, I’m not certain what tomorrow will bring, the weather seems to be turning.

I could be on my scooter, but I haven’t yet ridden it in wet weather and I’m a little loath to start.

I may be on my bicycle.

That will be fun, it’s been a minute.

But I feel safer on my bike in the wet then I think I would on my scooter.

I’m sure there will come a time when I am out and it rains and that will be how I learn, but I have heard one too many tales of people wiping out in the rain on a scooter for me to just be considering that I might call a car or ride my bike.

And since my date was so short, fuck, I might get up early and do yoga before work.

Or school work.

That was actually a handy excuse to end the date faster, I was like, it is a school night.

Sort of.

I do have homework, but I was not planning on doing it tonight.

Tomorrow will suffice.

A new day, a new date, but this time the old fashioned way, or at least not the way of flipping randomly through strange photos of men on my phone.

I deserve real life chemistry.

I deserve hot make out.

And stupendously good sex.

Seriously.

I mean.

Who doesn’t?

That Didn’t Last Long

February 9, 2015

Tinder me no Tinder.

This thing sucks ass.

Not for me.

Less than twenty-four hours of using the app and I am burnt out on it.

I have not been obsessively using it, I just don’t care for it.

It manages to suck me right into my phone, which no way man, not on my day off, I have things to do, books to read, walks to take, women to sit with in my kitchen and be present for.

I have food to cook and things to write.

And I just don’t like it.

Partially because it just seems so patently surface.

“I don’t like it,” I told him today on the phone, “I want it off my phone, but I haven’t figured out how to get rid of it yet.”

I have turned off the notifications and I haven’t used it in a few hours and I am going to get it off my phone.

Online dating seems one thing, this random roulette of photographs and profiles apparently works for someone out there, I know lots of folks are using it, but it turns out, not really news to me, I am a little more old-fashioned.

But not too old-fashioned.

I managed to knock another one off my list of ten.

And I replaced one of the guys on the list with a more viable option, if I suspected I was not going to want to go out with the gentleman from last night because he’s a heavy smoker, he should never have gone onto the list.

It was a cheat so I could cross it off without having to do the actual work.

And it is work, let me tell you, asking someone out without hiding behind the screen of my phone, rather actually using my phone.

Not sending a text.

But actually calling a live human being.

Who’s voicemail, of course, I got.

And I flubbed it so bad.

Oh my god.

It’s funny, it was funny when I was doing it, it was the most artless, graceless, idiotic, could be made into a bad dating comedy movie script, of an ask.

In fact.

Ugh.

I called him an asshole.

I meant, I am the asshole, because I can’t quite cleanly articulate what I am saying.

Shocker.

I haven’t gotten a response.

Oh lordy.

But you know, I tried.

And he’s actually a friend, someone I have known for years and off again, on again, wondered about whether we might have some chemistry–it seems we do, but sometimes that’s hard to tell.

My picker appears broken, so I could be wrong.

He also has a sense of humor, so I’m sure he will actually find it funny that I called him an asshole.  I also said I was practicing and in the spirit of taking suggestions I was asking him out to coffee, not as friends, but to see if there was a click there.

Then I laughed maniacally.

Dating.

So much fun.

I have decided that I am going to let the OkStupid profile stand, although I am not a huge fan of it, I prefer it leaps and bounds over Tinder.

And I am going to continue to knock of the names on the list.

One by one.

Each day.

That is my goal anyway, one name a day.

One phone call or one message.

Of the ten on the list the guy I called today is the only one who I actually have a phone number for.

The other guys I’m going to have to message on Facebook or ask out in person.

One of them I will see tomorrow and I have been trying for the last couple of weeks to get up the gumption, but I believe I was still clearing out all the stuff from my previous relationship and I was stymied whenever I got close to saying anything.

But I am sick of the fantasy.

I am a dreamer, but I want reality.

I’m going to kill the fantasy with the guy I usually see on Mondays.

I don’t think there’s interest on his part, but I have to get it, him out of my head and out-of-the-way.

I am not obsessively thinking about him, but he’s there and every Monday for a little while now, I have thought, I really should ask him out for a cup of coffee.

He’s not on a Facecrack as far as I can tell.

Two of his close mutual friends are and I have done enough Facecrack stalking to ascertain that he probably does not have an account.

This is a good thing.

That is one thing on my ideals list, someone who can be present for me and I for them and not interfacing via social media.

It’s too one-sided.

I want to be with someone who wants to be with me, not my profile picture.

Anyway.

That’s the plan.

Ask one guy out a day.

Get dates set up.

One a week, just like I was trying to do before I got into the relationship with my ex.

It worked then.

And as I have learned so much about myself and dating and romantic relationships and breakups and being human through that experience, I can only have faith that it has made me a better woman to date.

I have grown toward my ideal.

Beyond grateful for that.

I have so much more clarity around what I want it is refreshing and I know that God will do for me what I cannot do for myself, that God’s plan is so much better than my plan.

I mean really.

It is.

I don’t want to be alone, though I isolate at the drop of hat, so I’m fellowshipping and seeing ladies.

I got a ticket to Basement Jaxx to dance, I’m not going to wait for someone to take me.

Although not a single person I know is now going.

Which is ok.

I can still go and dance and if it gets weird being there on my own.

Well.

I leave.

Novel idea that.

And who knows.

Maybe in the work of doing this, in the changing and growing I will, without even meaning to, stumble into the exact place I am supposed to be.

That’s what I suspect.

And I’ll be ready for it when it happens.

Because I am not sucked into Tinder.

But present to be in the gift of the moment.

With whomever God wants me to be with.

I suspect he’s dreamy.

I am.

If I Ever Have Kids

November 14, 2014

I’m hiring you.

Or that was the gist of what my friend said, in not quite so many words.

I ran into a friend today at the Farmer’s Market, he perused the fruit and vegetable stands with me, giving me ample shit for the amount of apples and persimmons I bought for myself as well as running to grab me a coffee from Ritual when I realized the coffee stand was not present at the market.

Had I known, I would have hit up Grand Coffee on Mission between 22nd and 23rd.

A person has to give it to Four Barrel to have the foresight to be setting up, ala Trouble Coffee, in a small walk up space on Mission Street in an area that is so rapidly becoming gentrified I almost miss the used and rent to own furniture stores on the street.

Almost.

I have to admit, I don’t mind the gentrification of the Mission.

Oh.

Yeah, sometimes it gets weird or strange to be in a neighborhood that I have known rather intimately and be run over by some kid who gives me a snotty look as I navigate the stroller down the sidewalk, but for the most part I really like having umpteen coffee shops and markets and art and nice things to look at.

It makes my work environment rather a treat and it was a treat to see my friend and to acknowledge to him later that he was a part of the process of getting the job.

Not directly, mind you, but through the vast amount of encouragement he gave me to find better work.  He and a number of my friends, including the one who did refer me to this current job, all said the same thing.

You can do better.

You can make more money.

You are amazing.

“You are stellar with kids.”

Thanks man.

I appreciate that.

I don’t have any plans to have any of my own, I was asked that yesterday by the nanny I met in the park who knew the boys from their previous nanny, I mean I am just trying to get a date up in here, let alone planning on having any little guys of my own.

Therefor I feel privileged to get to work with all the babies and toddlers and children I have gotten to work with.

It’s been quite a journey.

I really never expected to be a private, professional nanny, it just sort of happened on its own with me struggling against it for a very long time.

But when I acquiesced, said ok, let’s make this the career, things started to happen.

That’s not to say that I won’t pursue other goals, I really have to.

I couldn’t nanny like I do if I didn’t have outside aspirations.

I may not have a book offer, or a book I really feel like putting back out into the atmosphere, but just knowing that I do write and do have books in me and words and blogs and poems and such, it makes the nanny career palatable.

Enjoyable.

I have a well-rounded life.

A life that includes dancing too!

I was able, finally, after much messing around with my computer last night, to log onto the site and purchase tickets to Opulent Temple’s event Gratitude at The Armory, for next Saturday, November 22nd.

I will be doing my usual gig up in Noe Valley until about 10 p.m. then scooter over to the Armory down in the dirty Mission, and get my dance on.

The party goes until 2 a.m.

I doubt I will go that long, but I can if I want to, I can sleep in the following day, or nap, or not, but I have a chill Sunday next week, so far.

I have nothing happening this weekend.

Yet.

Who knows.

The weekend is not quite here yet.

And.

Oh dear.

I did it.

I just downloaded Tinder.

I have no idea if I am going to like this thing, but I am pretty over OkStupid, just not having any luck with it, nor have I gotten asked out over the last weekend, so, time to take an action.

Any action.

I know that action is the key to getting things happening.

I also know that Tinder may not be the thing that gets the date, it’s sort of like saying, hey, Universe, see look, I am trying new things, I do want some different results, what do you say?

Let’s go on some dates.

It could be amusing at the very least.

The app is still downloading to my phone so nothing to report yet.

Hahahaha.

See how impatient I am?

I decided to flip the dating switch and keep trying to do it.

I haven’t gotten much feedback from friends in regards to how they do it, the dating, that is, but I have gotten a lot of encouragement for putting myself out there, for asking guys out.

“You are so brave.”

Or stupid.

I’m not sure which.

However, as I pass another old growth tree in the Pan Handle on my way home from the days journey, I know that ultimately what I do with this life is of little lasting consequence.

Therefor, go for it.

I mean, why the hell hold back.

If there’s something you want to try.

Try.

If there’s somewhere you want to go.

Go.

I, speaking of which, want to go to Hawaii.

It’s come up again for me as a friend recently got back from a trip and the photographs she sent me as well as the coffee mug from Kauai Coffee with a hula girl on it and the tea and well, damn it.

I want to go.

So.

I’m going to.

I think there could be a conference or something I could hook into of like-minded people.

I know I will be heading to Atlanta in 2015 for one, I could probably do the same in Hawaii.

Anyway.

Thoughts for today.

I’m a great nanny.

I’m single and available for dating.

I’m going dancing next weekend.

And I want to go to Hawaii.

Ready Universe?

Go!


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