Trivial Pursuit

So the funny thing is, right before I'm about to hit the official "middle-age" mark, I've sort of become a little more conventionally attractive. Not a lot. I'll never be a "10"--but let's say I'm somewhere around the 7.5 mark, so so.

All my life, I've been treated poorly because of being fat. Sometimes from just being ignored, sometimes malicious, sometimes abusive.

And now I'm still 'plump'--but I'm thinner and the rest of me is attractive enough that it makes a difference.

And now there are men who are nice to me only because they think I'm cute. I despise them. It is this visceral response that I can't believe this is so important to them, and why did the world treat me like shit for so long.

Not exactly a good start for a relationship.

It doesn't help that I figure I have maybe 5 years before the world starts to view me as middle aged. I think I'll be lucky and get 8, but I won't have 10. I know that. Although in five years I may very well try to cheat the number with Restalyne.

Do you remember in the 80s when Trivial Pursuit became the thing to do? Everywhere, people were playing this game. And I sucked at it. It was no fun because I was so bad--I tried to get it and just couldn't care. So I got left out while other people played this and I'd watch them, trying to figure out why it was fun for them--but it was like watching my dog chase her tail--I just don't get it.

That's sort of how I've always felt about beauty--why does this matter? Why should this one thing be so important? To me, it felt like it should be like being double-jointed, but it felt like it is the only way worth is defined.

Lately, I've felt like beauty is a trick--you have to be pretty enough so the guy will get to know you and not mind that you're not a vacuous pin-up, because I feel like that's what men want. Stupid, giggly, incompetent girls. But if you're beautiful, he might not mind if I'm opinionated and intellectually focused and relatively independent and all that. I don't need a man to kill a spider or change a light bulb--I crave a man to explore the world, support me when I'm scared, push me to take risks and always have my back. And I'd support him, push him to take risks and always have his back. And he'd know there were areas I was as smart (or smarter) than him, and I'd know there were areas he was smarter than me, and we'd respect those elements. And at the end of the day, he'd give me that look, and I'd fall to my knees, and he'd have his way with me.

But if you're not pretty--nothing else I ever do will make up for that. The world will disdain you. And now that I'm almost 40, I know it will only get worse from here.

And I hate that that is how the world is made.

Twenty years ago, I thought I could change the world. And I tried. And tried and tried. And I failed. (What a shock, no?)

And now I've been trying to change me enough to get what I want. Not to judge what I feel and think, but just to take it as it is.

I wish I could take a pill and become a lesbian, but I'm just not attracted to women. Or most men.

And it seems SO unfair to me. John's most recent ex--I think I'm move conventionally attractive that she was, and yet she clearly had something that I don't. I think it was that she needed to be rescued.

And that's the kicker. I don't know why John ended up not wanting me. But it wasn't my looks. Being rejected for my looks, it hurts so badly. It isn't fair. But it is easy. It is a clear little narrative that explains away the pain and leaves me relatively blameless. John clearly thought I was attractive (and he took lots of pictures of me that proved that). And yet he didn't love me. Couldn't love me. Couldn't even be attracted to me. I can't let the looks thing become a narrative that prevents me from figuring out what else is going on.

And I can't allow myself to be bitter or angry. I have to look at the issue, without judging men for how they are, or me, and let it just sort of be and try to find the best I can out of how it is, not how I wish it could be.

Picture Perfect

It's a gorgeous photo--almost iconic. And I could never have taken it before John's careful tutelage. Even though I don't have an SLR, even though I took it at night, I got a low ISO for good resolution, a low aperture and did a good job hand-holding it. Then, as I whispered "I wish there was a bit more fog" and heard a voice say in my ear "the photographer can control everything in the picture" god must have blown in a bit more fog so the top just disappears in the fog and poof. A beautiful picture.

So good, I can't quite believe what I have on my camera. And I promptly burst into tears, on the street, in public, mascara and all.

I ached to show it to John. He would have been pleased and told me my pride is well deserved. No one else will really care. Oh, sure--if I post it on facebook someone will say "nice job" -- but they won't realize that just because you can buy postcards of very similar shots, doesn't mean it is easy to do something like that.

I suppose if Jason hadn't disappeared (what the fuck is it with me and men just disappearing? I should get a job managing modern-day Houdinis! I guess I should have talked sexy more quickly after all), maybe I wouldn't have been so susceptible. I've been doing good. Clearly not good enough, though.

I feel pathetic. Why the fuck can't I get over this and move on? But move on to what? That's the real problem. I have no over-arching passions at the moment. I've been reading a great book, but when it is done, well, not much to be excited about. I'm feeling like my creative life is a failure, my political involvement is now moot, and there seems little chance of meeting someone. I feel like I should accept reality, but accepting it feels a form of defeat.

I'm trying to write a short story to submit to one of my favorite magazines, and the story is good (something that happened in real life that is a little more dramatic and less vulnerable than my typical blog entries)--but I can't find an ending for it. Same with more and more blog entries. I end up not hitting the "publish" button because artistically I want an "end," a lesson, a moral, an upbeat note--something that makes it fell complete. I want that for my life too, but the only ways to get that are nihilistic. I keep living in Checkoff, wishing for Jane Austen, but rejecting Sartre. Checkoff is better than Sartre. But only barely.

Possibilities

It is very odd. OKCupid is the only dating site I'm on right now, and as I've become less gracious, more men have been interested. They keep track as to whether you 'reply frequently,' 'reply selectively' or 'reply very selectively.' I used to send polite notes to earnest men I wasn't interested in like "Thanks for you nice note, but I'm looking for someone closer" sent to a +20 who also lived 300 miles away, that sort of thing. Anyway, I've stopped doing that and only reply to the men I'd actually want to talk to, so I'm now at 'replies very selectively' so I now get a lot more e-mails. Very odd. I guess there is something to this "playing hard to get" game. Problem is for me, it is never a game. I've been open with the men I liked and dismissive of the men I haven't.

Anyway, I'm corresponding with the first person I've been genuinely interested in a long time. We haven't met, much less accepted a second date, but I'm actually interested in someone not called John. Well, actually, this man happens to also be named "John" (not John, but he has the same name as "John," which is quite odd), but I'll call him Jason, just to keep it straight.

Anyway, "Jason's" profile has a couple of allusions to wiitwd (although nothing specifying whether he likes to lead or follow). At this point mine has none. My first inclination, of course, is to share with Jason that I did get his allusions, and while we're at it, why not mention everything else I ever shared with "John" or anything else.

And I stopped myself. We have several other things to talk about (and talking we're doing)--we're both kind of in the same field, although we've made slightly different choices, we share a hobby and several other things. So why not flirt?

I think my first view is "I want to know--if he wants to lead or follow--why waste each other's time?"

Closely under that, though, lies an insecurity that I'm too much work for a vanilla guy--only a kinky guy would want to put up with me because there are less kinky chicks around. Now, the funny thing is, I define "too much work" in this instance as being too intellectually focused, as well as my occasionally bouts of introspection. Why would he want to send me 2-page e-mails, well written and spell-checked, if he doesn't know there's a kinky chick at the end? And yet, the 2-page e-mails arrive. And they're spell-checked. ;)

I'm going to try this slowly. I want to flirt instead of blurt. We'll see how that works out.

Boring Blog: Update

Well, I seem to be blowing off a number of men.

+15 had no chemistry. His picture was probably 10 years old, and he has since gotten braces and the uncomfortablity that comes with braces. He tried to kiss me and it made my skin crawl.

+5 was an asshole. How's this for insulting (keep in mind he's 5 years older than me): "Well, if we hang out, people will think you're a cougar because I look so much younger than my age." WTF? Since when is a cougar a woman who dates men 'only' five years older than her? And, frankly, I look more younger than my age than he does. He had grey hair at his temples and wrinkles around his eyes, even when he doesn't smile.

Also, English isn't his first language, and he just wasn't fluent enough that I didn't have to work hard at understanding him.

Meanwhile, there have been several men I've been willing to chat with who all steered the conversation to sex right away. One was fine because he was upfront about it and no hard feelings when I said I didn't want that, but one really annoyed me because I felt like he was trying to play on insecurities. Maybe he wasn't, it just hit close enough to my insecurities that I felt that. I don't know.

There was a lovely man, who was 3 years younger than me, who was sending substantive e-mails, but slowly, but I thought nothing of it. Till he said he was seeing someone else and couldn't e-mail me anymore. I'm happy for him. But that made me sad. (We hadn't met yet.--It didn't feel like a rejection.)

A variety of 20-somethings who say "hey" and I ignore them.

And that's all she wrote.

Or not quite. My ex is single. He's been contacting me more, but I just found out he's single. I've thought about sleeping with him--figure it would be a quick way to get John out of my system. My sister pointed out, it would only make me want John more, for aside from the whole "emotional unavailability" thing, they are complete opposites. I think she's right. I know I don't want a relationship with the ex, but I would love to find something to take away this deep ache. Well, something that doesn't need a prescription.

Too High Standards?

When one person tells me something that doesn't feel right, I usually ignore it. When two do, I try to pay attention.

A year ago, a woman that seems to often cut me down, always from a "I'm just trying to help you" way said my standards were too high. (Or if I lost 50 pounds, they'd be OK.)

Today, my best friend said my standards are too high.

My best friend said the only thing that should matter is if he's into me. Nothing else should matter. I said that wasn't true. I told her I wanted someone who was:

• My intellectual equal--give or take. I have no intention of administering an IQ test, but if he is someone I have to constantly watch what I say so he doesn't feel (or I don't feel he might feel) like I'm smarter, it just won't work.


• Someone I share common interest with. I don't know what it would be, but I needed to have some common interest.


• Shared values. For me this means several things: not materialistic in the common sense of the word. It is totally fine if he loves some of his things, but I'd really prefer not to be with someone that has to have the latest gadgets. I think most people all judge people based on what they own. But I'd rather have someone who judges based on the word "organic" or "carbon emissions" than how much something cost or whether it is trendy.


• Someone I'm attracted to. For me, this chemistry has come either from physical surrender (which at this point would probably only be ballroom dancing, as I have no intention of going back to wiitwd) or from sharp, fast, sexy conversation, or from slower, wiser introspection and shared vulnerabilities. Those are really the only ways I have ended up being attracted to men.


• Someone who is financially independent. This doesn't mean rich. But I'd like someone who can pay his own rent and dosn't go into debt for stuff.

So my best friend thought that was an impossible list. I ended up getting really defensive after she told me I should meet someone at my gym (which has never happened and the idea sort of appals me--the gym is SUCH a meat market--I don't think I could go if I were looking at it as a pick-up joint) and then that I should move. (This seemed to come out of no where. She's right I haven't really been happy for the last few months, but I hardly think moving would solve anything.)

It made me really insecure that she thought I was asking for too much. She has an insanely handsome boyfriend (who happens to have the same name as John, so it doesn't help that she always talking about how amazingly wonderful he is and how much she loves him and how happy he's made her), and has compromised only on his height. He's the same height as she is. (I can't judge how important height is to her, because I'm 5'3" and she's 5'11", so I can totally see why that would be an issue. But there was a guy I went out with maybe 3 years ago who was my height that I would totally have dated if he wasn't so clearly looking for no strings attached.) And he works weekends. But I somehow feel like asking me to compromise on being as smart as me isn't the same thing. And, honestly, my ex probably had 20 IQ points less than me, and that really wasn't an issue--he was still as smart as me on a how it feels to be with him.

After we got off the phone, I realized I have an even longer list. What I didn't mention, but is also on my list is:

• Someone who is willing to turn the tv off. It is fine if he has shows he loves, but I can't live with tv on all the time.


• I need someone who is willing to tolerate my bouts of introspection. It would be amazing if he would share them, but toleration is a necessity.


• Someone who will, at least on occasion, be willing to see in my the parts of myself that I want him to. This means coming dancing once a year. Or maybe once. Let me sing for him at least once in a way that allows me to show off. To appreciate me when I have a sparkle in my eye.

And, of course, John is the only man I've met who lived up to all of these. Post-John, I have one more thing to add to the list:

• Interested in me.

So there's the list. But there are other things too. Lofty things about respect. Kindness. Integrity. And less lofty things about the fact that I tend to be more comfortable with people that have a somewhat similar background to mine. The fact is, I work in the housing projects a lot. And I don't date men from the housing projects. I suppose one exceptional man could appear, and I'd be open if one did, but I'm not looking in the housing projects. I'm not flirting. I'm succinct and straight to the point. And that makes it unlikely that anyone from the projects is going to be looking at me. (And I'm fine with that, but with so much of my social interaction there, it is an issue to be considered.)

My friend thought I was shallow for saying that. And I suppose I am. But she never goes near the housing projects, so she doesn't really know what it's like).

The fact of the matter is, if I could lower my standards, I would. Honestly, if I could reduce my IQ by 20 points (or more importantly, slow down my brain, so maybe I'd be a little wiser and a little slower), I really, truly would. I've tried. My ex was a compromise on many levels--mostly his unwillingness to humor my introspection, his uninterest in seeing me as I want to, at least occasionally, be seen, and our complete lack of shared values. And I was with him for almost 2 years, trying to make that work. But it was never going to work. I could compromise a little--I'd have no problem with someone who wasn't financially independent if he had a plan to become financially independent (that didn't involve my credit cards!). He doesn't have to make as much as I do, but I don't make all that much (I really don't--I'm right around median income).

I figure there are about 4 million people in my area. Figure half are women, and only maybe 20% are in my age range (35-50), and half of those are married, you're down to 200,000. Now figure that I'm interested in one out of 20--that leaves me with 10,000. But figure only one out of twenty are interested in me, that still leaves me with 500. But how to meet one of them?

Layers and Expressions of Vulnerability

It is a beautiful, hand-crafted journal, with hand-made paper that has flecks of rose petals throughout, not just the cover. Cream with pink petals. A delight. The first entry is from 1999. The second entry is from 2003. The rest is blank.

I thought I should start keeping a journal so that I have written notes of the issues I want to work on in my group therapy thing this summer. I can't bring myself to write in it. It feels so vulnerable to keep a journal. What if I left it at a job? What if I died and someone found it? Much too vulnerable to commit my feelings to paper.

Why does paper feel so much more vulnerable than a public blog? Such an odd paradox.

I have been more vulnerable here than anywhere else.

Several things, I feel, protect me here.

I believe it would be impossible for anyone to track me down from my blog to me. I have been very careful with the information I've released here.

And, frankly, there is safety in numbers (and boredom). With all the blogs, I doubt seriously than anyone would try to track me down for more than a few minutes. Once it wasn't easy, someone would get bored.

But why do it I do it? I suppose I yearn for the human connection. I yearn for someone to recognize me, as I am, warts and all, and say "yes. I feel that too." I fool myself into believing connection is possible.

If you went onto my computer and cracked the first password to log on, you still couldn't find this. You'd have to know exactly what you were looking for, as I only access blogger through a blackbox site so there is no search history, and the account name and password are not saved. (As a comparison, you can access my credit cards, checking account, 401(k) stock funds and paypal from my computer if you just go to my financial bookmarks. I trust my password for the computer to protect my finances.)

But why? Do I honestly think anyone would care? Chances are, my laptop is far more likely to be stolen than to fall into my parents' hands after an untimely accident. Thieves would care about transferring money via paypal far more than reading about my navel-gazing. Even if I died, my parents would probably respect my privacy and anyone else who found my laptop, objectively, nobody really cares. But I am so vulnerable through this. It has to be protected. With many layers of dissembling and diverting.

When I was a kid and my parents sent me to touchy feely summer camp (TFSC) (think EST-wanna-be for kids), I learned about faking vulnerability. You had to be really open about some insecurity. It just didn't have to be an insecurity that bothered you. Before camp, you'd pick what sort of revelation you could have, where you could share, and where you couldn't. And this was actually an important skill because teenagers and cruel and what happened at TFSC didn't always stay there. One time a TFSC counselor started talking about my weight in front of all the kids. A colleague from high school brought it up for the following 2 years as he 'borrowed' money from me nearly every day. Genuine vulnerability has its cost.

I think I overlearned that skill, however. I had a shrink I saw for years, with whom I never learned to be vulnerable. We would analyze my carefully recorded dreams for myths and archetypes. But I didn't believe in that shit, so it didn't really matter. Meanwhile, my carefully constructed persona grew stronger.

I think I could be vulnerable with John in part because our relationship happened as much (more) through writing as through in-person contact. Days of 50 exchanged e-mails delved far deeper than face to face, because I could write my revelations without him seeing my face that could betray the pain the words attempted to belie. Meanwhile, as I peeled away each layer of the onion, he peeled away a corresponding layer. Never with judgement. Always with kindness--with "yeah, we've been through hell--let's explore that journey together."

I don't trust easily. John appeared at a moment, after I'd done a year of therapy specifically to learn how to be more vulnerable and open, but I don't think I'd ever be that open again. There are healthy reasons to protect that side of myself. It is too vulnerable to be that raw. The layers of persona serve healthy purposes.

I'm actually doing a different, adult version of Touchy-Feely-Summer-Camp this summer, and I will force myself (with lots of preparation and plenty of determination) to be vulnerable, to try to work through the stuff I'm dealing with right now. But it is in Massachusetts--I'll never see any of those people again. Like the blog. As long as it is anonymous, it is safe. But there is a separate pain from not allowing anyone to get close enough to hurt.

Boring Blog: Finding Patterns

I want to really explore this issue about whether I "pick men who are emotionally unavailable" so I'm going to start keeping track of the men who express interest and how I react.

I'm afraid, however, that this is going to mean a series of boring blog entries. I've never liked the sorts of blogs that say "then I did this, and then I did this." I'm going to label these with a "Boring Blog" note so y'all can skip them, but I feel like I need someplace to be accountable. (After I'm done figuring this issue out, I'll start posting everything when I eat, when I eat it. Then maybe a list of my household chores. ;)

Now any man that contacts me with anything sexually explicit doesn't count. A "You'd look better with your lips around my dick" is a pretty obvious reject and I don't need to psychoanalyze why I'm not interested.

I also have a really strong bias against men who are more than 5 years younger than me (or so). I tend to cut off men who are more than 10 years older as well, but more of those get through the cracks by dint of good conversation.

So this week I have dates with 2 men, one of whom is 5 years older than me and the other is 15 years older.

The +5 I didn't really like because he kept talking about how much younger he looked than his age and how people would think I was a cougar if we went out, because he just looked so young. I kind of blew him off 2 weeks ago with a "I have a really big project at work--I'm just too busy," but he then remembered the project, e-mailed me before it was done to wish me luck, then e-mailed me again after it was done to ask how it had gone. This seemed really thoughtful and sweet, so I am going out with him--we'll see.

The +15 I think has really possibilities. He is smart, engaged and seems thoughtful. We have similar interests. On the negative, he has three kids already (all grown!) and is in the process of a messy divorce. We'll see if he says he absolutely doesn't want more kids. If he says that, I'll probably stop anything--but I'm not going to bring it up. (It seems to me men bring those things up quite quickly.)

There are other men I've blown off without the courtesy of a date, but I think there were real reasons: Colorado keeps sending sweet notes, a guy we'll call Flint and a guy I just don't trust--he claims to work as a full-time astrologist, but only has 4 clients a week, and there were several other things that seemed wrong. I got the sense he was on the make. I also wasn't attracted to him physically (shallow!). I might have tried to overlook that if the other things weren't sending warning flags. Flint lives in the West-Coast equivalent of Flint Michigan: one of those towns that is synonymous with decay and poverty. It is about 3 hours from me and is one of those towns that has been profiled on 60-Minutes type shows as 'all-that-is-wrong-with-towns-dependent-on-manufacturing.' Anyway, we spoke several years ago off e-harmony, but I didn't want to move to Flint and he wouldn't consider moving either to my town (which is not synonymous with decaying poverty) or someplace in between. He started e-mailing me again, but was very clear that a) I had to come out to his town for coffee and b) I would give up my career to move to him. Total turn-off.

I keep thinking of trying and go out at least once a week to meet people, but I don't really now how it is done in ways that I don't find uncomfortable. But I'm wearing make-up and sexier outfits, so maybe I'll meet someone someway or other. Who knows?

Hurt or Angry

"Anger is a masking emotion" intoned the EST workshops. "Anger is a masking emotion" intoned the knock-off workshops that pretended not to be EST. "Anger is a masking emotion. Immature. Not what you really feel" intoned my parents. "Anger is a masking emotion" I told my shrink.

Now I wonder. I can choose to be hurt or angry -- that is true. And if the other person will take the time to resolve it with me, hurt is easier for the other person to feel and to resolve. Hurt inspires guilt and, voila, the conflict can be resolved.

But what if the other person won't work through things? What if he just disappears? Furthermore, hurt gives the other person power.

Hurt leaves me vulnerable. It leaves me questioning myself and my validity. It leaves me insecure. It is directed inward. Hurt avoids blame, but, somehow, the blame falls on me because I know what I could have done differently. Hurt burns slowly, steadily, insidiously.

Anger burns hot, but then it is done. Anger lets the other go, because you see his flaws, and not your own. Anger is directed outward.

But when anger is directed at me, I shrink. My parents practiced what they preached, and I didn't grow up with anger. Criticism that cut at my sense of self as a lovable and worthwhile person, guilt galore, but never anger.

I experience two kinds of anger directed towards me--that which leaves me vulnerable and that which leaves me self-righteous. The former makes me frantic. There are maybe half-a-dozen people in the world who have the power to direct that kind of anger at me (and, frankly, with a few exceptions, like my writing, which leaves me very vulnerable, my weight (a cliche, I know)those are the only people that can criticize me and have me really feel it). But criticism from them doesn't make me feel as frantic as their anger. If those people are angry at me, I will do whatever I can to make their anger stop.

I swore I wouldn't right about John anymore, but I swear too much. John seemed to go straight toward anger (with me it was always more muted--frustration definitely--or he would say "disappointed" which played into my insecurities, but I never saw more than hints of his anger). I went straight for hurt. I apologized a number of times in our relationship. Even if I felt like I we could both share the blame, I'd apologize for my part in that. It was only when he hit the self-righteous side of my anger anger that I couldn't apologize and have it be true, and told him that I wouldn't drop something (I'd set it aside because he was having a very difficult time, but brought up the threat I've always hated when my parents did to me of needing to discuss it later) that he disappeared this last time.

I had also become aware that I had to have this issue, or some issue, resolved my way (not that I won, but that we talked about how we felt and both of us looked calmly at how our words affected the other). I couldn't trust him until he was willing to accept the validity of something he did hurting me. He didn't have to say "I was wrong"--but I needed him to say "I'm sorry you felt hurt."

I was going to write "John hurt me too badly" (with his comments about abstract expressionism) but actually--that isn't true. John insulted me in a place that didn't hurt me too badly, and so I chose that as a place to say "there has to be give and take here--I'm not going to be the one that is always wrong." If it hadn't been a place where I didn't feel my sense of self threatened, if he hadn't been so outrageous in in his insult, I could never have stood up. Always before with John, I'd been so frantic to get my sense of self back that I'd apologized for things that I didn't think were all my fault.

I think John and I pushed each other's buttons. With him, I fell into my need for male approval and disapproval cutting so deep it threatened the fabric of my center. And clearly, I pushed his buttons in ways I can't articulate for him.

But that is a power I really shouldn't give over anyone. And I will never learn to retain that power until I learn how to be angry sometimes and not just hurt.