My Playlists

I love music, but my tastes are beyond eclectic.  The last couple of days, I've been loving Mariah Carey's "O.O.C." because I have been out of control and I love the way it feels.  I've also been listening to Blink 182's "What's My Age Again," but in my head it's more like "what's your name again?" There are a lot of "sweeties" and "loves" lately.  It's a bit funny and totally sad.  My texting war with the ex last night was punctuated with texts from a few other men and it was a roller coaster until I decided I could "do not disturb" him.  Nice, right? I don't try to keep track of who I'm talking to like I used to.  Years ago dating was a game and I wanted to gather as many pawns as I could.  Now it's about finding the one I want to spend my time with and I almost hope they catch me because I'm playing a game I'm not interested in.  Really, I only respond to them for the most part.  When he's special I'll let him know I'm thinking of him.  Otherwise, my affections die off slowly.  I find men will go where the attention is and they'll seek it out elsewhere if they don't feel it.  And they call women shallow. I can date myself.  I have been.  I'm freaking awesome.  I just want to share my awesome, not my body. Not really.  I still listen to the DiVinyls song "I touch myself."  I was thinking about sex and the big "O." I can easily say that every time I've ever tried to give one to a man, he willingly and easily accepted it, whether or not it was reciprocated.  Amy Schumer gets it and she says, You're Entitled to Orgasm. (All of my gals and gays say, "love her - yas bitch.") Since my expectations are so low, I expect an amazing person to spend my time with.  His personality can make up for what I no longer expect, but he shouldn't expect it until he proves his awesome is in every ounce of him. (I can predict that tonight will require gelato.)

A fairly recent make out session happened when I was in an Adele mood.  I think it broke him because he was fairly sad when we parted ways. He may be too much of a sensitive type for me.

I indulge in peanut M&M's and Megan Trainor because that reminds me of Hollywood Sunsets and I love the feeling of those swoon worthy memories. Hotness overload, right?

Britney Spears, Katy Perry and Shakira bring out my inner vixen.  She winks at strangers with red painted lips and swaying hips while driving because that's how I get through traffic.

I was teaching my 9 year old pager codes because he'll need them for his cougar phase in a decade and a half if my online experience is any indication, but that usually comes with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" because I need to be in Junior High again for that, but I skip the black nail polish.

When I'm in an agry at the ex mood, I put on Alanis Morissette and Taylor Swift.  Those moments morph into loud singing and the singing brings on the happy again.

I listen to Metallica, Blackstreet, Jars of Clay, Bonnie Raitt and the Judds, Eve and the Ruff Ryders when I think back to lovers past.  DJ Quick too, but those were dark days and I don't revisit them often.

When my writing is more technical and requires deeper thought to decipher it, I will listen to classical music.

My sad moments belong to Mariah Carey and Natalie Merchant.

When I'm in a dancing mood, it vacillates without reason toward Madonna, The Cure, Lady Gaga, and anything else that doesn't hold me hostage in lyrics.

And on days when I just want to get lost in memories and feelings, I shuffle it all and skip things here and there because my words are born in my feelings and the music coaches it out.

Native Californian

I'm a native.  My Dad grew up in Houston, Texas and my Mom in Samut Songkhram, Thailand.  They met in Thailand when my Dad was on R and R from Vietnam.  When Dad finally got permission to bring Mom stateside, they landed in Houston, but set off for California to chase Dad's dreams of making it big in movies.  He acted.  He wrote screenplays.  He still writes.  I was born at Cedars shortly after they moved from the blue Scientology Building in Hollywood.

Last night was another beautiful beach sunset for me.  I spent the morning at the mercy of a headache and doing housework.  By the end of the day, my escape hatch became a craving.  I watched the sunset and smiled at text messages from a handsome skater boy.  I took the advice of another man with beautiful greenish hazel eyes and a gift for finding healthy and good food and walked to the Promenade to pick up dinner.  On my way back to the pier, I pointed at my ear buds and said, "I can't hear you," to the two men trying to talk to me.  I kept walking and a block later while waiting for a light to change, they caught up to to me to tell me how much they appreciated my walk.  It's more of a strut. One foot in front of the other. They walked another block with me, and we chatted a bit and once again I was struck by the awe of people who think being a native is a big deal.  I suppose we are.

Growing up we weren't well off, but we weren't poor either.  I had two parents that always made sure I had what I needed and often the frivolous things I wanted as well.  We lived in East Hollywood until we moved to Echo Park right next to Dodger's Stadium.  My next home was in North Hollywood and I'm now in Lincoln Heights.  I've never left my county. I don't want to.

We live in one place but visit every other area because we can.

Los Angeles spreads out pretty far.  From the time we were kids, it was normal to live in one area but get into shenanigans elsewhere.  When we were little we went into Hollywood a lot.  My sisters would take me to Westwood.  We would take the bus to Santa Monica.  When I was with the youth group in church, we were often in Glendale or Burbank.  I got older and Pasadena was where we would end up.  Being a native means we're less likely to want to stick to places that are walking distance.  We'll do it, but why?  We can go to the mountains to be knee deep in winter snow and be at the beach for a bonfire in the same day.

Hollywood is a right of passage.

We have decent weather most of the year, so filming a summer or fall scene in February isn't a big deal.  Set dressers make that magic happen.  We've grown up with film crews in our neighborhoods and on our streets.  My highschool is a fairly popular setting for television and film. Modeling or acting schools pitched our dreams to us in school and yes, my Mom shelled out tuition to John Robert Powers for me. (That's where I learned my strut.) I spent a few months being an extra or background artist. I was acting behind the actors in my favorite television shows and loving the free food and dating scene. Eventually you will know someone that is successful in their career behind the scenes and you went to school with at least one actor that has a regular gig that lands them on television. We have friends that get paid to work in local theaters. We know that going to movies means we will get approached by someone trying to get a screening filled for a free movie and unpaid focus group. People in the industry are idealists and a bit neurotic, but they feel like home.

We trust street vendors.

Most of us trust street food.  We had ice cream and produce trucks drive through our neighborhoods, playing a warbling tune on bad speakers or a fancy horn to let us know they were outside.  We walked through parks with men selling cotton candy on wood trees.  We wanted elotes, and tamales, and freshly cut fruit with pico de gallo, lime and salt. We know how good a bacon wrapped hot dog tastes with grilled onions and peppers.

Growing up with LA Nightlife  was a navigation.

We knew where to get the fake ID near MacArthur Park, but mainly we knew that getting into a club when underage was more about walking in with the attitude of someone that belonged there.  Our clubs were either empty warehouses painted black with a few go-go boxes, or plush couches, artwork to perch on and psychedelic paint jobs. I was also into flyer parties and raves with happy balloons, and dollar beers. We knew which homeless men were willing to buy our beer at the cost of a 40 ounce.  We knew which clubs would let ladies in free before 10.  At the end of the night, we always had Tommy's.  It tastes like nostalgia and makes a satisfying cold breakfast when you're fighting a hang over.

We know our weather.

We know our weather shifts but not by much.  There's rainy days where I wear flip flops.  Wet feet dry faster than wet socks, and it's warm enough that wet feet won't really suffer.  We know the warm caress of the Santa Anas and that she is dangerous during fire season and will make you suffer with allergies.  We know fire season scorches the hills before raining season and that's why there is flooding and landslides.  It's on the news but we're still shocked every year. Typically we won't need more than a sweater.  A hot day gives way to frigid temperatures when that day is spent at parks and beaches.  A hot day in Los Angeles means it will be comfortable in the local mountains but there's a good chance you'll end up in a summer mountain thunder storm in Big Bear, and if you head to the beach, expect it to be much cooler. We also know our water quality will make you sick, but we venture into the water anyway, knowing to dive beneath an approaching wave and to swim parallel to the shoreline when you notice a riptide is trying to take you away. You learn that jellyfish stings are quickly soothed by human pee and it's really not a fetish at that point.

Our freeways are not very free.

Growing up, we didn't have many toll roads.  There were carpool lanes and you just needed a travel buddy or two.  When travelling by freeway, expect certain times of day to be a parking lot and the 405 is good at making a short commute feel like 4 or 5 hours. This is when it comes in handy to know the many streets that will get you to your destination.  Sometimes there are feeder streets along freeways and other times there are long streets and side streets. I used to keep a Thomas Guide in my car and pull over for a quick alternate route, but Waze has replaced that in recent months.

Gangs were a reality.

Junior high was more than first periods and a new set of boobs.  Gangs were actively recruiting kids to join them because you were vulnerable during school and on the way to the house you had to let yourself into.  Kids were killed while we were supposed to be going to school dances and having first kisses.

Neighbors.

We had a few neighbors that we were able to call family because they came from other cities, but eventually having neighbors meant you didn't get to know them.  They wouldn't be neighbors for too long anyway.  People in Los Angeles often get sucked into the glitter and glam and spend through nest eggs to enjoy the sparkly bits until they have to go back home.

Earthquake Country

We have earthquakes.  The first one can be terrifying, but eventually you get used to the idea that the earth will shake and you just need to ride it out.  You will feel the ground rumble with trucks, but eventually you will look up to lights and anything hanging.  When chandeliers sway, you've just been through an earthquake.  Eventually you will try to guess the magnitude before the newscaster tells you.

Melting Pot or Bouillabaisse?  

When my parents arrived, interracial couples were still taboo. Even in church. They were asked to not return to a church once. Being mixed meant there really wasn't a cultural niche. We lived in an area with Hispanic people from all over Central and South America. We had black and white neighbors. There are areas that have now become Koreatown, Little Armenia and Thai Town, but when I was a kid there was just the old and new Chinatown. My hair and word choice made it hard to fit in with the black kids and my skin and lack of language made it hard to fit in with Thai kids.  I don't blame Mom for not teaching us Thai at birth.  She came here when it wasn't okay to be who she is, and her adaptability made our family the international bunch we are.  (One day I'll wow you with my family composition.) I have a hard time stomaching bigotry because it was never normalized for me. I've been to quinceaneras where I learned to salsa and punta.  I've been to bar mitzvahs and been lulled by the song of an ancient language.  I've tried to stomach chitterlings and menudo.

Love with a Native

I realize most of us are unique in our loving styles, but there is something about being from a big city full of people vying for that special snowflake attention.  We tend to see everyone as eye candy.  It's a geographical hazard.  Love becomes what we can feel from others, rather than what we can contribute to the lives of others.  Southern manners are desirable because we just don't function that way for the most part.  Relationships are fleeting.  Family and friends don't care unless it gets serious because we're used to it not getting serious.  Everyone will chime in because we can see the step down you just took and we know you deserve better because we are vapid and better is on the next corner. We can see what you are too busy feeling.  But when you find it and it's real, you hold on for dear life.  We all crave more but rarely look past what we would look like together.  A nephew from Alabama just introduced Facebook to his girlfriend, and all the southern family has greeted and introduced themselves to her in a comment.  In Los Angeles, we haven't met her and we're not holding our breath.  She'll come around eventually if it lasts.

We love our gays. 

I didn't grow up with friends getting beat up because of their skin, but because they were into people that shared their sex. When I was young, Sunset Junction was the only place to find an annual "Fag Fair."  That's what we called it and where we would enjoy carnival rides, eat great food off of trucks and watch men wearing chaps and a thong while holding hands. Some of my favorite men would talk about boys with me and we understood the fun and heartache of horny teenaged boys. My curious phase was met with acceptance and encouraged. Deciding that I was curious and then really don't like women was never about rebellion. It was something to try and no one cared either way so there was no pressure for me in letting go then letting it go.

Beautiful Sunsets

Friday was a good day at work.  I did a bit of a run around scavenger hunt for toner and was surprised that my security badge got me into places I didn't know I could go.  I learned new things, and I am really digging finance.  I left work and drove to Santa Monica for another glorious sunset.  I live a blessed life.

I walked the pier and saw that friendly photographer that once offered me a free picture and still offers a warm hug and a hot beverage.  He kept offering hot tea and I accepted. I watched people on the pier land small mackerel.  I looked for the seal that appears to prefer warmer weather.  I even watched a man toss back a crab he caught, accidentally knocking his drink into the ocean.

I answered a call last night that carried a redemptive value I never thought I'd see. It was a shift I didn't know was coming and it arrived long after I gave up on it. The freedom it brings comes with a weighted burden of the heartache that came as a cost to the person bringing my vindication. After being accused of insecurity and jealousy over a friendship, I was told that yes, my ex left me for another man's wife, and there is something wrong with what the two of them did and continue to do to my family, with blessings from those I once called my family. Being right doesn't always feel good.

I spoke about the ex for the first time in months and it wasn't painful. It was more a dull history lesson with angry highlights.  I'm moving forward and experiencing many beautiful first times in a long time. It tastes like freedom. It smells like aftershave and feels like facial hair and solid muscles.  I waited a long time for that conversation and last night I realized it didn't matter anymore. I don't feel happy about it.  I feel pity.  It sat on my shoulders and as the wind whipped through my hair, I couldn't toss back the weight of disappointment that this woman felt.

I made a last stubborn walk through forceful winds to look for the gamboling seal that often cheers me up, then headed to the parking lot.  I stood in front of Pier Burger and while I felt that dinner should be had, my appetite was gone. I met Patrick with beautiful and haunting blue eyes. He was searching for dinner in the trash in front of the restaurant and I offered him a hot meal instead. I looked in his eyes and addressed him by name.  In his uncertain smile I found the cloying weight was a layer of shame that I was feeling and I let go of that weight long ago.  I could see it in the way he looked at me, that the weight I was starting to shoulder was no longer my burden to carry.  In the glimmer of hope shining in his icy blue eyes, I found my anchor in joy.

Online Dating Tips or My Dating Cheat Sheet

I had a great date last night. If every date was this great, I wouldn’t have much to write about. I won’t go into details because he is my treasured memory for now but I will say I am willing to see him again and I’m even willing to spend some time on the freeway to do so.I’ve been a bit jaded and before last night I was seriously thinking a hiatus would be necessary because I was starting to believe men are horrible at being human beings when it comes to dating and mating rituals. This is my cheat sheet. This is my easy access list that will help secure a first date and keep you from getting ignored.

Hey! I see you. You should see me too, because I like you so far.

1. Winks

A wink from me means there was something in your profile I liked. It might have been your eyes or the line of your jaw. Maybe it was the fact that you are well written and witty. It’s also likely that I feel your workout routines are God’s gift to me. I can appreciate appropriate male aggression but I’ve winked, opening the door. Be bold and brave and take that to mean yes, I would like to get to know you better.

2. Messages

If I’ve messaged you, I see enough potential in you that I’m not willing to be passive with my aggression. I’ve very intentionally placed the ball in your hands and I’m willing to wait a bit. A very little bit.

If you’ve messaged me and I took the time to write back, I’ve given an opportunity for you to shine. If you really don’t care that my first few introductory lines are that I don’t date men too far from my home or age, you have already irritated me and only have a message or two to redeem yourself.

3.  Your Profile Picture

I like slightly snug jeans and a t-shirt. I also love a man in a crisp and fitted button down. I want to see your eyes and a genuine smile. I want to see a clean shaved face and a 5 o'clock shadow.

We’re messaging on the website that doesn’t allow pictures.

1. What I want to know

I like to take this time to share a bit about what we are looking for. Are you looking for a travelling buddy? White picket fence and a house full of kids? A drinking buddy? Do we have things in common? Are you 420 friendly, because I really am not.

2. What I don’t want to hear.

Please don’t call me a “good girl” or “bad girl.” I’m not a girl. I’m a grown woman and I know you can’t determine my worth because I already have. These phrases tell me you are probably into spanking and probably need to spend some time in a therapy session or twelve with your parents. I’m the average bear when it comes to dating. I don’t want to dominate you or be dominated. I’m looking for a partnership. Those of us that have walked away from a marriage have probably had our fill of a spouse telling us what to do. Personally I really dig my independence. Deep down I would love to follow the leadership of a good man. You just have to work on proving you are him first.

I’ve given you my number. Use it now. Not next week or in a few days when I get to guess who you are.

1. Here’s my number.

At this point, I would like you to give me a ring. I mean, yes, we can text, but you could do that from the website as well. It’s not like traditional dating where you should wait 3 days to not seem too anxious. We met on a dating site. That means I’m matched with someone that will look better than you every single day, and when bored, I will spend free time swiping left or right. Assume you might lose me because chances are that at this stage, you probably will. You have my number. That gives you an edge. Use it before it gets dull.

2. Texting Etiquette

As for pictures, I post most of the good ones and you’ve probably already seen them. I get that you are probably asking for a special private show, but do you realize you haven’t earned that yet?

I really am not interested in a picture of your penis. I have probably seen enough of these unsolicited pictures to know I will never choose to study urology.

It’s also not a good time to tell me you want to play proctologist and that I can be your patient.

While a good morning, good night and 4 am text may look endearing on the surface, if those are the only times I hear from you, I will assume you are horny or lonely and not really interested in getting to know me.

At the same time, it’s not wise to wait a week. If I’m into you, I will reach out whenever you cross my mind. If you don’t hear from me, I may have already forgotten about you, deleted our texts and moved on. A week later and I am scrambling to remember who you are and it’s a fun challenge for me, but I have already given you a hard pass. I try to keep it simple but it’s not lost on me that I can go for part of the day without hearing from anyone and go through a rush hour of navigating 7 texting conversations at once. I will assume you’re doing the same.

You’re calling me. Oh my goodness. 

1. Sensory Outcomes

I love hearing the sound of your voice. It’ll cover up your poor grammar and punctuation and I’ll have a better chance at getting your jokes because you can’t time that in a text. It’s also a good time to get me used to hearing your voice and looking forward to hearing it. Meeting you should be a sensory fulfillment. This is the time to tell me about yourself and what motivates and moves you.

2. Sex Talk? No. Not yet.

This is still not the time to talk sex. I’m sure you are excited. Think of it this way, you wouldn’t want me to tell you about my wedding dress and where we are getting hitched. Don’t put the cart before the horse when I’m still deciding if your juice is worth my squeeze.

3. Shop Talk

I’m curious about your work. It’s not an interview. I’m not going to offer you a promotion or raise. It lets me know if you are a gambler, or frugal, or if you have no sense of responsibly taking care of yourself, or if I may have to bail you out from time to time. It’s not necessary to lie about what you do.

1. Lying

I won’t be honest about how many people I’m talking to. I don’t expect you to be. I expect both of our numbers are high because that’s the beauty of hiding behind a keyboard. I am being picky because my time is valued. I may have exchanged numbers with about 30 men in the past month, but I’ve only met four. Hiding the competition is a kindness. Take it as such.

At the same time, don’t lie about what you do or who you are. If you have to lie to keep someone, they can never really appreciate and value you. If you have to lie because you aren’t worthy of who you want to be, then change who you are until you can look in the mirror without needing approval.

I have been cat fished enough times that it irritates me, but since I’m passive aggressive, I will continue to let them flirt and think they have another chance at my wallet, even though I will never graduate past texting and email.

2. Tips

Assume you aren’t the only one I’m interested in and assume I’m letting you tell me how interested you are in me before I move on. I will not go where I’m not wanted, but I may look at your profile a few times because I have a thing for beautiful things and I'm not above objectifying you.

If you gravitate toward talking about sex, your car, your wealth or your board room domination, I will see it as insecurity and that is unattractive. I get it, men are visual and they want to see that I can enjoy what they do. It’s a thing. What you should learn is that women tend to be aroused when their emotional needs are met. It doesn’t mean I care about how much you are spending. I care that I was listened to, and engaged with, and I don’t like the feeling that there is a deposit limit of affection and attention before you make your sex withdrawal. I will offer more than you need when I feel ready and it won’t be over the phone.

I want to know more about you as a person and that has nothing to do with what you can do or what you have. I’m already into you. Believe it or not, your rock collection and what makes you choose a rock is actually interesting to me. Maybe I'm exaggerating but hopefully you get my point.

If you’re still asking for multiple pictures, I will assume you are rubbing one out while imagining my voice. If you keep talking about your needs, I might suggest you find a prostitute. I don’t charge, but I also won’t offer what she would.

If I mention I'm kid free at the moment, do your best to join me. I can be spontaneous and that was your opening.

The First Date

1. Where to?

I don’t mind if you pick a place. I prefer that but I will overanalyze your choice. It’s who I am. If you want late night drinks close to my home or yours, I will assume you hope that’s where we end up on the first date.

If you choose a well populated venue for nonalcoholic drinks or a meal, you’ve gotten past apple points and there are now brownie points involved.

2. Wait for me.

I'm usually early or punctual. On the off chance you arrive before me, please order yourself a drink, but wait for me to order mine. I will assume a drink waiting for me has been drugged.

3. Don’t order for me.

I know what I’m interested in eating. I may have eaten earlier and have a smaller appetite. I may be on a special diet. I'm casing the menu for gluten free options.

4. Body language.

There is a certain amount of skill in not creeping me out.

So totally kidding. 

Keep the conversation going, but do try to mimic your mate. If you are staring at me, but my glances at you are fleeting, I will be creeped out.

If you sit next to me, and I don’t pull my leg away when we graze each other, then it might not be a bad time to brush my hair out of my face, or go for a light pat on my thigh so I can feel the warmth of your hand, but not so I feel felt up. See if I reach for your hand when you reach for mine. If I pull away, maybe we can change subjects and see if I’ll warm up. A warm hand on my upper back that is brief is always worth an attempt, but make sure to watch for a reaction before going further.

While we have an audience, it’s best not to try to feel out my tonsillectomy scars. I don’t mind a chaste kiss on the lips if I have not denied your other advances first.

I like being walked to my car, and it’s nice when I have a chance to put my purse inside of it before you go for that goodnight kiss. Keep it calm. If I’m into it, I will move in closer and there’s no need to guide my hands to your high and low points. You’ll know where you are invited and where access is being denied. I may grant access and then never intend to see you again. If I feel you are looking at my smile and body but aren’t interested in my large brain or engaging personality, you will get a hard pass on any future shenanigans or debauchery.

5. Goodbyes

Parting is such sweet sorrow . . . But I’m an early bird wearing contact lenses and I will need to get going. If you are interested nail down a date. We can talk specific locations and times later, but the less we nail down, the more my attention will drift to the other men that have been texting me all night.

Cat fishing

Last night after work I drove to Santa Monica. I took freeways and streets and got there in less than an hour. I had a beef tamale for dinner because I was in need of a masa comfort food session. It was cold and windy.

I talked to a few anglers and watched them catch a few mackerel. One man caught a bass by the eye. I didn't see the seal I always look for at the end of the pier.

My cat fishing suspicions were confirmed yesterday.

I'm not heart broken. It's frustrating that I'm perceived as so naive. Or maybe I'm too caring. Part of the fun of online dating is meeting so many people. I don't keep all of my eggs in one basket and I prefer to meet right away. My gut instinct is strongest in person.

There's a pattern. They meet but are always busy being hugely successful. I have a weakness for foreigners appearantly. They say sweet things and hope they're the only one. You exchange pictures and boring details about day to day life.  Everything is right now with meeting one day and no real future plans or dreams. After a while they feel you are comfortable and they will start professing life altering love and a desire to take care of you. Then they ask for financial favors. I had a feeling about this man for a while.

Happy Days

Usually a new job interview means I arrive super early so I can check out the neighborhood.  I want to know how safe I’ll feel leaving work after the sun goes down.  I want to see what my lunch options are and how close my nearest bank branch is.  I chose a brick and mortar bank with the highest APY I could find.  That means fewer branches are available.  I get to the job and the first two things I look for are the break room and bathrooms.  You can tell a lot about a company by the way it treats its employees in places unseen. I’m no longer funemployed and job hunting at the beach on phone apps. Honestly, if I had not landed this job, I would have been happy with the 40 minute interview. My supervisor is phenomenal and every ambition I've ever had danced a jig during our conversation. I have a desk and not a view but the people are nice.  The bathrooms are huge with many extra supplies in plain view.  They not only have girl products available, they’re free and each sink has Bath & Body Works soap and lotion bottles.  The coffee bar is insanely huge and stocked and while it isn’t as beautifully designed as my last job, they clearly love us here.  I walked in and was given a mug, pen, and notebook with my onboarding signatures.  They’re pretty sly.  My marketing swag also helps them cut costs and save the earth in not needing to provide paper cups.

I’ve learned my lesson and can’t afford another workplace crush that will keep me distracted and giggling, so I’m keeping my head down.  I still think about him and that's insane. The job I’ve been waiting for is here, and the greatness I experienced on my first day made me appreciate what waiting means, and I got home and let go of someone I was trying to make worth my time. I needed yesterday's work lesson to sink in to get that it translates to dating too.  I can wait for the right one and I don't need to settle in the mean time.

Online dating is amazing and funny and insanely crazy.  I’ve had the bad.  I’ve had a creepy man not notice when I flinched from his lean in to kiss me.  I had one tell me about wanting to live out a rape fantasy and needing me to fight him to excite him.  I’ve had the ones that wanted to dominate and the ones that wanted to be dominated.  I’ve had the ones that wanted me to want them, knowing they were happy sleeping around with anyone willing.  There was the one that keeps checking in with me to see if I’ll give him my banking information. But there’s good too.

Yesterday was my first day, and throughout it, I had 4 to 5 men check in to see how my first day was going.  There was my first kiss in over a year and the first kiss I willingly gave to someone other than my ex in the last 16 years. There was the one that is too young, and too far, but I wanted to bend my rules for him.  He's beautiful. There was the one that is willing to teach me computer coding.  He's kind. There is the business man half way around the world that texts me at random moments.  I'm on his mind and he keeps telling me he wants to shower me with his love, but I'm skeptical. He may be catfishing me, but that’s okay too.  There’s the one that isn’t that cute, but determined to show me a good time. He gets that he comes after my boys. And of course the deployed men that I’ve turned down, but haven’t had the boldness to tell that my Dad’s PTSD ruined their chances with me.  They get turned down, but don't seem to read or hear my rejections because they think an email will change my childhood.

These men are clearly only interested in how I can make them feel and not me, because my blog name is in my profile and I can always use a boost in my stats.  I can see how many hits I get at any given time.  I’m really not worried they’ll read my words.

The best moment was after work last night. I was dealing with co-parenting issues on my way home and when my anger was peaking, I got a call that made my ride home special. He is beautiful and has a really thick Italian accent.  I can’t understand half of what he says, but it sounds so sexy that I don’t think it matters. I can hear him tell me I'm beautiful and he wants to spend time with me.

I’m having fun.

Healing, Growing and Helping Others

Lately the power of "no" has been an elusive friend.  She watches me from her corner booth with a dry vodka martini in hand and the solitary light of an inhaled ember that is a beacon in her ephemeral haze of cigarette smoke.  I can hear her laughter cutting into me like a slap across the face that is kissed into tenderness.  My life has been vacuuming away my choices, so I can only see decisions.  These decisions have a heavier weight to them.  There's an honest clarity that we can't always coat in confectioner's sugar and the independence of a choice is shackled in duty when it becomes a decision.  We must do what is right, even if it is not easy.  Especially when we know it doesn't feel good. It's the stress of the last couple of weeks that has had me blogging less, but it's not so much about being busy or distracted as much as I've been holding the choice to be a dutiful "person to ______" as more important than the choice to be selfish for myself.  Right now that means I'm taking on a little too much and processing it all just before falling asleep and the meaning escapes me in dreams but I wake up with hopeful anticipation. Stress relief looks late late night flirting into early morning hours because I can and a nap is never not an option. I'm reminded fairly often that I need to take care of myself first and this late morning while still in bed is me doing just that.

I am mother before I allow myself to be me. It has been a few days of frustration, disappointment, powerlessness, and when I wait patiently, I can even see Grace.  Yesterday Facebook reminded me of what I went through "On This Day" last year. I'm editing out a few names, but essentially I wrote:

May 20, 2015 at 4:29 PM

It's been a rough few months.  I'm not ashamed.  It is part of life.  Alone with the kids at bedtime last night, I was feeling too low to want to read to them.  Kid3 had a tantrum, so I went ahead and started reading.  I keep telling them that giving them less than what they deserve because I might not be happy is a choice and they need to call me on it when I do that.  Kid1 called me on it. It's not their fault life is unfriendly to me right now, and I won't punish them for it.  So I started reading, and as I'm reading, the tears start and so do the sniffles.  My throat gets tighter and the words struggle free and choke with emotion.  They didn't say a word.  They listened quietly and said thank you with goodnight kisses when I got to the end of the chapter.  Their hugs were loving and gave as much as was received.  It's a new day and looking at last night, it encouraged me and right now it's lifting me up a bit. I have great boys.  I want the world to know how great my boys are.

Kid2 is going through a rough patch right now and last night Kid3 blamed their Dad.  It wasn't until after I defended him that I realized how well I'm doing.  At first I was devastated.  I was happy in my marriage and blindsided that he wasn't.  I've found there is true joy in my daily life now that I am single.  There's so much joy that even when situations are out of my control, I can find peace and laughter if I dig deep enough.  I'm learning how to deal with what life hands me in a way that lets me react in making difficult choices and tough decisions without selfishness and greed.  I can hear my son blame his Dad for the family falling apart and I can hear the pain when he feels hopeless in helping his brother.  Hearing his concerns allowed me to comfort him and remind him that I have fallen apart myself and it's a choice to decide you want to get back up.  I reminded him that his Dad is much happier now.  I told him that I've found ways to be happier now and we all just need to find ways to move with what life looks like to us.  I felt the weight of truth in stating that this situation with Kid2 really isn't anyone's fault and that we just need to find a way to help each other feel better and be better.

I saw my cousin and sister late last night and he shared some of the pain from his break up.  I told him I've found my joy in crashing waves and smiling at strangers. I love matching bra and panty sets.  My sister asked who is going to see them and I pointed out I see them in the mirror every day.  I showed them my latest tattoo which is over a year old and we talked about online dating.  In the end, there is good with the bad, and I am having fun with it.  I've found fun on one site and I can let go of the other one.  We made tentative plans to go to Florentine Gardens because that was a club we all went to when we were fledgling adults and it would be fun to revisit.  Mainly we talked healing.

I love my cousin. He is beautiful and feminine and so full of deep love.  I reminded my cousin that he was born at a certain level and lowered himself to be with his ex.  I told him he keeps entertaining his ex to offer another opportunity to get kicked. I did it too. If he stops looking below him, he'll see all of the many beautiful men at his level and above.  He needs to stop looking down and back and look forward.  I told him he may never find closure for the relationship but he will one day find closure for why he thought he needed to allow someone below him to act as if he was above. He wanted to know why his ex would enter another relationship right away and accept an obvious downgrade with worse treatment.  I told him that his ex sees him as better than he deserved which is why he's often the object of aggression.  Say "have a nice day" and hang up. I do.  He looks at what he has and knows it's a downgrade.  He takes whatever he's dished because he's afraid to look lower.

I told my cousin about the many great men I've been meeting and he started to say that I would find someone better than my ex. I don't look to compare him to anyone. Not anymore. He's a good Dad.  He does what he thinks is best for our kids, as far as he can see. We're just no longer together. I compare these beautiful and intelligent men to me. Can we hold a meaningful conversation? I have goals, does he? I'm taking care of myself, is he doing better than I am?  Things are looking better from this vantage point.

I went home and realised the pedestal we place our loved ones on are designed for us.  We just need to look around, up or down, but we'll eventually see where the people we love are placed, and we will eventually see that we don't need to put them in our place because they won't always be willing to set us on their pedestal and their pedestal doesn't always lead us forward. If we're lucky, we can hop from stand to stand, side by side and not feel like one needs to be displaced for the other. And sometimes it's not worth it to date a charity case.  Letting them go and washing off their sticky insecurities can be a little exhausting. That really doesn't refer to the ex.  We're happier apart, and I'm happy with casual dating.

Shifting Gears and Lane Changes

I have a habit of auto piloting to familiar destinations.  I tend to get behind someone and follow their path and pace until I realize I can go around them.  Frustration becomes joy when I check the lane on my left, and slide over while speeding up. Sometimes I feel more creative and will zip in and out, weaving through traffic because somehow that feels good. I used to hate driving.  I wasn't trying to get my license right away.  In fact, I got my license the day I graduated high school at 18.  It was a couple of years later than necessary. I didn't want a license.  I could just ask my parents to drop me off, pick me up and give me some spending money. I got my license and I would borrow my mom's car until she bought me one.  She valued her ability to pick up and go when she needed to. She kept finding and buying used cars for me because she understood my need for independence, even when I didn't.  I would let other people drive for me because I loved falling asleep while giving someone else control of my wheels.

Earlier this year I leased a car and for the first time in my life, I did it on my own.  I went in and negotiated on my own.  I set up a down payment and have been following through on my obligation without failure.  The payments are larger than necessary, but I accepted terms I outlined.  In fact, I only went 3 cents over my planned monthly expense.  I love the independence I felt in doing so and I love driving now.  I've only had one other person drive my car, and it was my niece who needed to take her driving test.  I love sitting behind the wheel and being in control of my time and destination. I keep my car neater than I ever have, although she's due for a deep vacuum session and detailed scrubbing.

I've been spending the last couple of days thinking about driving and the other controlled choices in my life. I have enough control to decide what route to take.  I can take the scenic route. I can take the straight shot.  I can look out the windows around me and catch a coastline or a hunky driver racing alongside me.  I don't have to focus intently on the car right in front of me, because I believe in a large amount of following distance that my peripheral vision can easily discern from the brief flitting glances at all of my surroundings.

I'm seeing the correlation in my dating life.  Most men are still compared to the first crush I've had in a decade and a half.  That crush had the benefit of my vivid imagination and I'm faced with the realities of knowing what is right in front of me is a game and I'm expected to lose. Most are given the full weight of thoughts that will beg my intuition to kick in.  It always kicks in.  It might take a day or two but it kicks in.  It is the flinch that pulls me back instead of leaning into a kiss.  It's a look that lingers and shifts from soft desire to the hope of a guaranteed conquest and fills me with dread.  It's a tingle that crawls up my scalp while focusing on the eyes that can't match the rest of the features I'm watching.  It's questioning motives and looking for meaning.  I'm listening. I follow their script as they discuss wanting to tie me up, and live out a rape fantasy.  I hear their choices and lack of leadership or empathy for others. I hear the fantasies of control and the push and pull of who holds it is a dance that I'm swaying to but these shoes aren't for that dance and I am not ready for those blisters.  I let them blather on about my smile and what pictures they like the most while I hear their lack of drive and determination.  I hear their insecurities in trying to impress me because they can't understand how I may already be impressed or talking to them out of boredom.  I can't offer my motives if I refuse to delineate between what I want, and what I want to entertain myself with. I hear their need to be desired and know it's stronger than their need to connect on a mental and emotional level.  I hear it and it's fluffy noise.  I want a companion that can become more.  They want to fulfill the fantasies born in an album of vapid self indulgence that can't capture the moods and thoughts that have slipped through my mind faster than they were able to make an introduction.

I change lanes.  I don't have to stay the course to the destination they have in mind because I'm in my own car and headed to my own escape and I don't need permission or an escort to do what I have been doing. I've slipped into old habits of shuffling between conversations and switching lanes with the nausea of exhaust fumes clinging to my clothes.  I shuffle them around and give the illusion that I'm playing their game by their rules but I'm in my car and looking to the traffic jam ahead of us.  I'm plotting my lane changes and deciding on dinner because I have no problem eating alone.  I can even take the streets. I'm not a player playing a game.  I'm just two steps from becoming a pawn, but this game is familiar and the moves and rules haven't changed.  I'll be fine with wind whipping through my hair and a radio to sing along to.

Hook, Line and Sinker

Late last night I was at the end of the Santa Monica pier and looking out for that friendly seal that is usually quite a ham and hungry for free bait.  Most performers and vendors had left for the night.  It was after 11, and I noticed an angler next to me with funky fishing line. I'm used to a monofilament line that is transparent or slightly blue and maybe green.  I sent all of my fishing rods to the ex but we used a 4 pound test for freshwater fishing.  This man's line was white and blue and it looked like twisted string.  He was fishing with an 80 pound test - braided line and trying to hook lobsters.  He used really large treble hooks  stepping up along the line and a 5 ounce or so weight to sink his line to the bottom.  I watched him cast his line, and he let it sit.  We chatted as he watched his rods for the bounce of a strike.  I watched him yank upward to set the hook in his prey and he reeled in quickly.  He showed me the leg of a lobster he had maimed, and told me he had caught small lobsters and crabs but I didn't see him catch anything because his questions wandered into my fishing knowledge and the husband I don't have anymore.  He started telling me he just filed for divorce from his wife, and I decided it was time to go.  He seemed nice enough.  I just wasn't interested in talking to him about marriage and divorce because he was looking at me in a way that said he found a connection in me and he thought it was worth exploring, but I didn't.  He was lobster fishing without a trap and using treble hooks which was so many shades of illegal and his moral compass wasn't pointing in the same direction mine was because he was doing it, but I watched and felt it was wrong.

A few days ago I wrote about a man that I felt was reading a script when he was flirting with me and not getting to know me.  I thought he was a bit of a player casting a wide net for the most possible results in his search for the right person or a good time.  I was entertained.  It was interesting.  I was enjoying it for what it was and not taking it seriously.  This morning I got a text from him.  I responded.  He responded back, then repeated the very first text as if he was copying and pasting and going through a list.  He would text me throughout the day and ask about my plans.  He'd call me every dessert imaginable and talk about eating me up.  He said he was in my city but he would ask what time it was and what the weather was like.  Yesterday I mentioned I was at the 3rd Street Promenade.  I was.  People watching and a long walk make me happy.  He sent me a text that I'm sharing, because I can.

I can't make this stuff up.  I wasn't heart broken.  He wasn't breathtakingly beautiful.  He wasn't an intense conversationalist.  He wasn't even someone I really wanted to meet.  I was mildly curious about why he wasn't interested in meeting in person.  I wanted to know why my mind was telling me what I knew in my gut.  I wanted to see things through until there was a clear picture.  I don't know what I plan to do.  Part of me wanted to respond angrily.  Part of me gets a kick in him wasting his time on me.  The part of me that felt anger was mainly upset that he thought I couldn't see through his hustle.  At the end of the day, it's not a game.  It's a hustle and he's trying to make money.

On the way back to the pier, I was liked by a really hot profile picture that was actually a woman posing as a man.  It's amazing that she would so clearly know my taste in men. Three days ago she started reaching out to women to compile a list of men to beware of.  She has nine men listed so far with a profile name and a description of their wrongs.  There are scammers, sex offenders, catfishers, and felons.  I just added one to her list this morning.

Yesterday I was determined to go out and explore the Promenade and smile.  I was determined that I would enjoy being in my skin.  I would be in the moment.  I would take slow steps and I would walk swiftly in a pace that felt good to me.  I suppose some would call that interval training.  I was smiling at strangers and getting smiles back.  I even got a high five.  It was a friendly kind of day.

I was still thinking about this scammer and the whole climate of online dating as I walked across the uneven wood of the pier.  I thought I would try ghosting him. I hear it's a thing and I wonder if there's satisfaction in it or if I would feel guilt and shame.  I typically try to be kind and I don't know if I'm ready to confront him or ignore him or just tell him his game with me is over. I'm just as guilty.  I am starting to really enjoy rejections.  It started out as being picky but became control in being able to reject people based only on my choice.  It became an exercise in confidence boosting.

Grace shows up in the most random and beautiful moments.  I found a bench to sit on.  There was a man sitting there already and he didn't seem bothered that I would share a bench.  After a while we struck up a conversation.  We talked about veterans, mental illness, homelessness, dating and God.  We sat through the sunset that was only visible in brilliant rays across the ocean.  We sat for hours and talked about everything in a way that wasn't pressured or uncomfortable and he gave me great dating advice.  I made a new Facebook friend.

A while later while on my way home, I was in a great mood and smiled at a stranger driving to his home.  I think it caught him off guard.  He asked if I knew him and I didn't.  He asked if I needed something and I didn't. I just wanted to smile at him.  After about the 3rd light of driving inconsiderately for others, I offered for us to pull over and we stood and talked for a while.  Over the ocean the cloud cover was dense, but where we were the sky was clear and he pointed out the big and little dippers and told me how I could find cassiopeia.  How awesome was that? We were on different paths, and I made another Facebook friend, but it was great to feel so confident and empowered by a smile at a stranger going in the same direction I was.  There was a shift in our conversation where my choices and perspective shifted his thoughts and perspective.  It felt amazing to be able to create change in just being who I am.

I had been building a profile (or two) with the hopes of casting a pick up line in an email and hooking a great guy to spend time with.  I had been hoping my endless selfies would prove I am who I say I am and I had been looking at profiles (mainly because I like looking at handsome men) and trying to imagine tomorrow and next week and a comfortable future of companionship because I can be alone but I don't enjoy it.  I had a night of learning that sometimes all it requires is a warm smile and a willingness to respond with kindness.

Pen Pals and Communicating for the Sake of it.

I had pen pals as a kid.  I picked out stationery and carefully wrote out each word, phrasing each thought carefully because writing in ink means I would often have to start over.  I would spritz a bit of my favorite perfume in the air and fan the letter in the mist so it was scented and keep fanning until the strength of the scent was less aggressive.  (I do the same thing when I put on perfume.  Spritz and walk into it because too much would make anyone sick.) I would send pictures and cute shaped confetti.  I haven't hand written a letter in a long while.  Email has taken over. Correction: Email, messaging, phone calls, texting and social networking have taken over.

I won't date military men, but received an email with many great questions from a soldier on deployment this morning.  It came after my thoughtful rejection.  I gave him a solid block of undivided attention in responding to his first email. I was upfront that I wouldn't date him, but I don't mind writing to him.  He's worth the carpal tunnel because I will always respect military men and have a soft spot for our military on deployment while I get to do whatever strikes me as amusing. His email reminded me of being a kid and teenager with the thought in my handwritten notes.  He had many well thought out questions that were designed to get to know me and many that were superficial but detailed in a way that felt genuine.  That's so hard to find online.  I still won't date him, but it was more about what I think or feel than when I might be free or some witless banter about looks and when am I available to meet for a date that might end in groping.  I'm only sharing three of his questions.  The rest are mine and I will enjoy them alone.

This first question made me question myself in a way that forced accountability for my choices: Are you a player or for real?

I'm not a player.  Not really.  I'm not in a dating relationship with any one person.  Not yet. I'm talking to several people.  The people I'm still talking to that I'm not really interested in were given a flat out rejection but were persistent enough that I don't mind chatting from time to time.  I remind them that I won't date them fairly often, but I also haven't blocked them and respond to my emails.  Actually, I respond to almost all of my emails.  I'm likely to respond, if only to say I only date men in my age range and city.  Otherwise I'll start chatting and keep it polite if disinterested, and eventually the conversation fizzles. I think some men crave rejection and like blatant disinterest. It was suggested I should just ignore people I'm not interested in and I may start doing that, but then I'm also having fun in exercising my right to say no.  Maybe I really am too nice.  At the same time, false hope is quite evil. I am looking for a long term monogamous relationship.  I'm also being picky because I'm trying to listen to my gut and the reactions I feel in my body.  I admit to ignoring some of those feelings while I sip on an Original New York Seltzer (because it's like drinking my childhood) but I'm not silencing them.

This question is about what I like about me and it wasn't him telling me what I should value based on his opinion: What's your best attribute?

I usually say my super power is in my love of writing.  If you ask about my personality, it's my optimism and ability to redirect my mood for the most part.  If you ask about my body, I'm likely to point out my legs.  I love my legs.  Or my ability to handle pain and disappointment.  I like what my strength looks like now that I've seen it.

This question was about an obvious desire to give me pretty things that would make me smile.  This was about my choice and I liked being asked: What color of roses do you like?

Fire and ice roses.  I love the dual tone roses that are blood red and white.  Or the ones that are pink and orange.  I like the tips of the petals in contrasting colors, but my favorite flower is the California Poppy.  I love a field of orange flowers that wake with the sun and close with the moon.

I'll respond to his email tonight.  There will be a day of doing what I must, a night of doing what pleases me, and in the end I'll write to my new pen pal.

Handwriting is a dying art.  I still write in cursive, but I also spent nearly 20 years scribbling out every thought in my mind when I was journaling.  My handwriting is messy and flows from cursive to printing to block letters.  It's full of my personality in the way it flows without rhyme or reason. Like me, my writing just is.  Don't question it, just go with it.

The Lonely Hours

There is something about the middle of the night that pulls you out of a deep sleep to remind you that you are in fact alone.  I experienced it early in my separation.  There were nights when I would wake up and the feeling of loss would grip me and wake me.  It was a physical emptiness that squeezes uncomfortably until you can't sleep through it.  It gnaws at your insides because even in sleep, your body knows that something is wrong.  Something at the core of who you are is broken and alone.  Your arms and legs reach out for comfort and you wake because it won't be found in your bed, or your home or any of the other places that once brought peace. I sleep really well now.  The sleep I had during the early separation was much like the sleep I had for most of our marriage.  I was used to staying up with a crying infant or toddler.  I was used to waking up because my autistic kids have insomnia from brains that don't usually slow down.  I was used to waking up and feeling alone in the quiet.  Now sleepiness takes hold around 10 and every single morning, my eyes open naturally around 6.  I wake up and stare at the soft light filtering through the curtains.  I listen to the water flowing from a tiered waterfall into the pond outside of my window.  I hear birdsong in the trees, and the soft deep breathing of the child who is next to me half of the time.  I wake and there isn't a list of tasks to do and expectations to meet.  There is joy and presence for the moment I am in and there is a blessing of wonder and muted excitement.

I was always a light sleeper.  I would hear the soft cries of an infant and wake to tend to his needs. I can still hear the suction from a refrigerator door opening while half asleep when my kids have been sent to bed. I have started to switch my phone to "do not disturb" when I go to sleep because emails and text messages will wake me.  I would like to think I can be counted on to be a friend at any time in an emergency, but not when you are up and bored. For the right person, I would be happy to be boredom relief.  For the right person there would be giddy surprise at a late night call or text. But I don't currently have a right person.

I wake up and most of my dating site messages come in between 2 and 4 in the morning.  I get some likes and emails right around 10 at night.  Early in the morning, I see plenty of people online and looking.   When my kids are with me, those are the times when they need me most.  We're shuffling feet out the door for school, or settling in for the night.  We are sleeping and enjoying quiet moments of hugs and laughter.  And I get pings and bells and alerts because there is someone in need of the busy sounds of life that are filling my home.

When my kids leave, I will often find myself at the beach.  I have always been a water baby, but when I had kids the ocean became a terrifying place where I remembered every time a wave crashed fear into me.  I remembered being in the ocean and the man that worked his way closer to me with each wave until his hands were groping through sea salt and my own innocence.  I remembered the many times my autistic children wandered away and the fear that I might lose a child took that joy and washed it out to sea in a riptide of fear.

When I wake alone, I enjoy the solitude and work on tasks to do and consider what I would like to do.  It's an endless option of finally doing what I want to do and not being accountable to anyone. I can go where I want and stay until I decide I've had enough, and I don't need to make sure someone else is okay with that. I can eat as much or as little as I want and there is freedom in that as well.

When I'm talking to strangers that find me attractive, I hear their list of demands and remain silent.  I hear their constant need for approval and attention.  They want to know that I care about their pictures or how they spent their day and I feel the needy hands reaching and take a step back. They are so self involved that they rarely notice I don't reach out to them or ask more than polite questions.

They like to ask what I like to wear because they have a preference for skirts and dresses that has nothing to do with my sense of style or comfort.  This tells me they are more visual than empathetic. This tells me they will care what I look like to others.  I'm not looking to be recognized for my looks when I have thoughts that jump out and demand attention. I haven't found a worthy audience except this blog.

I hear them ask if I like to cook.  I respond that I like good food, even if I have to make it.  I hear them not say that they need someone to cook for them and care for them.   I don't mention that I make a mean hollandaise and will whip up eggs benedict if the mood strikes.  I don't tell them I cook most of my meals from scratch with fresh ingredients and have a love for French and Italian styles because I don't want to sign up for a relationship where someone else never feels like I might want them to cook for me.  My loneliness is a tender friend to me when compared to servitude and I can sleep at night knowing I'm content with a tuna sandwich for dinner.

The Vulnerability of Men

Last week my online dating frustrations hit a point where I was whining to my big sister.  She was online dating for a bit and reminded me that our step brother found a wife on Ok Cupid and we all adore her. We were talking about the men that send pictures of private parts or ask for those pictures.  We talked about the conversations that get pulled aggressively into non consenting sex over a WiFi connection.  Those men never get in touch with me again. These things just appear to be the cost of the convenience of meeting someone without going out to do so.  Our talk was one where my perspective was shifted.  I was putting too much care into finding the right person to kill time with. I had my heart set on going out with someone and the ideas of where that would lead are still uncomfortable for me.  It's a nebulous idea that dances at the edge of consciousness and my calm has been in looking at profiles because looking is easier than leaping into another life of being with someone and the good and bad that come with it.

On Match, I wasn't getting many responses. I have hundreds of views each day, but not many people that want to talk or express interest.  I reached out to a few people, but realized that most of the people I was matched with are not actually visiting the site anymore.  Their idea of who sees you filters down to; seeing, clicking on and viewing, liking, winking and messaging.  It looks better on paper than in reality because in reality, many can look, but without a subscription, can not talk to me.  I have more responses and emails on OK Cupid, and a little more fun as well.  They have quiz questions that read into personalities and that helps with matching.

I have gotten messages but they fall into categories of NO.

The really cute ones that are submissives looking for a dominant woman to humiliate them with a strap on  - "You are truly beautiful, but not for me."

The boys that are 21 and 22, and unafraid of rejection.   - "You are cute as a button but I don't date younger men."  - They are persistent.  - "Really, I have a 14 year old and have been able to buy my own booze almost as long as you have been alive.  Hard pass sweetie.  Thanks for the ego boost." They tend to believe in a friendship that will convince me I want more and they ply me with words like "gorgeous, beautiful, goddess." There are a couple I will communicate with in kindness, but there is no interest on my part. I decided I will not date men that are younger than me. I was wrong in my ideas of being a shameless cougar.  I can't do it. She's not me.

There are a few requests from other cities and countries.  I am only looking to date someone in my city because that's the point of finding someone to spend time with. I want to spend time with them. What they are offering is not my idea of dating.

There are the older men.  I won't go above 45, but I've had a lot of requests from men in their 50's and 60's and even an 80 year old.  These men are persistent and ask for a chance.  They'd probably treat me well, but they aren't what I'm looking for.  I give my appreciation and say I'm too uncomfortable with the age gap and wish them well.

Men that want to talk about sex, and have a tantrum because I won't send pictures of my body parts: I block them or ignore them.  It usually comes with another tantrum.

There is one that I'm allowing to think he means a lot to me. It's an externalized abuse for my internalized issues.  When I met my ex, I was dating 7 different men.  I let them all go for my Mr. Right, but at the time, it was a balancing act.  This was when cellphones were about calling, and not about texting.  This was when people were still using pagers.  I would doodle through every call, and make sure to keep track of details about our conversation.  This man I'm texting is emailing pictures of himself to me and acting like I'm the one that holds the key to his forever, but I can hear his missed details in repeating conversations with me, as if it's a rehearsed script and he's lost his place.  He tells me how amazing I am and that I'm his priority and he wants to be mine, but I can hear the false ring to his words and know he's putting in a lot of work and will be disappointed but it's his choice to mask his polyamory habits so I can be the evil person I don't want to be because he deserves it.  That's my justification.  I'm sticking to it. Besides, he is many cities away and I turned him down flatly.  Is it my fault he isn't interested in what I want in his proposed relationship with my pictures? Maybe.  Maybe I should just cut off contact.

There were a couple of men that are looking for their forever.  They are well off and situated in life and looking for someone special.  I tell these men that I'm not the person they are looking for.  I have baggage that will look like I'm playing games and they deserve more than I am capable of offering, but I wish them all the best in finding the right woman. They tend to respect my answer. There's something beautiful about these rejections.  There's something in the vulnerability of their honesty and their desire for a connection.  There's something in me saying that I am not in a position to start a relationship that they would find fulfillment in.

I pass on military men.  They are a special breed of human willing to set aside their needs and wants for freedoms I can't imagine not having.  They live by rules I don't and deserve more than I'm willing to offer.  My Dad is a Vet from Vietnam.  I remember PTSD as that thing that makes me wake him up by shouting from far away because his fists wake up before he does.  It's that thing that makes him forget names and dates because the trauma that feels as fresh as yesterday reminds him that those he meets may be gone in 5 minutes.  I remember fireworks shaking terror into him and Thanksgiving meals that looked a lot like doomsday threats to unsuspecting boyfriends.  I remember the slow walk and hounding trepidation as we would visit the traveling Wall of black stone that was engraved with names of heroes that our nation tries not to forget.  I remember my Dad finding names and touching the cold stone in a moment of profound grief.  It's the sorrow that sits on shoulders, never offering relief, but the weight that flooded his features that day showed me that my Dad was capable of human frailty. It showed me that beneath his bravado he was broken and the shards he held in his heart were sharp and delving deeper as each year of survival pressed guilt on his frame. I feel a military man deserves an equally amazing woman and I choose to not be her.  I choose selfishness and will thank them for their service before saying, "happy hunting love."

I see the props they showcase in children, pets and cars.  I see the backdrop of global locations in their pictures.  I get the need to showcase what they can offer, but I'm not comfortable with being materialistic like that, so I have started skipping past men that are less attractive to me than their dog.  I see their stories as a way to say that they are amazing and as uncomfortable as I am, I try to see how they might be special through the worries that they would be seen less than their accomplishments.  I'm looking at their eyes and some of them have eyes as blue as the deepest seas.  I laugh when I read someone's impression of my body because clearly, they spend enough time in the gym to let their pectorals declare whose body means the most to them.  They tend to like my eyes (no idea what they see, but I'll take it) and my body and a few even mention my verbose blathering in my profile.  They get the apple points for saying I'm articulate and they want to know more of what I think .

I am looking for moments of shyness and insecurities because that is where I am humbled that they took a chance to approach me. I find their vulnerability attractive and I want more. I also enjoy telling the little boys I'm too old for them.  It eases the feeling of being thrown away that creeps up every so often when I slip in my vigilance.

The Art of Gift Receiving

It took a long time to realize that when people give me something, it's because they want to and the best way to honor that is a gracious acceptance and open appreciation.  I'm not an asker.  If I ask for something it's because I have lost hope and I will ask my parents first, and only.  Actually, my kid's school is looking for donations for a new adaptive playground.  I ask for them sometimes.  Something about being born to my parents makes them always the safe people to go to in asking.  There's safety in knowing they always want what's best for me and there's security in knowing they will sacrifice their own needs for my sake when it's possible. A beautiful friend of mine just made a huge career jump from finance to acting.  The payoff was huge.  There's something about people in entertainment.  They are all of the dreamers and visionaries in our society.  They are idealists. They have really strong beliefs. Like me, they desire attention for their craft.  When I was working as a television extra (I'm a native from L.A., it was a rite of passage) I loved that I could get a job because I was cute or beautiful or had a great smile.  Casting directors always compliment when booking.  It was what I needed and helps keep me grounded when weeding through the dating sites full of men that want to get to know me better, even if I am only being polite.  I'm starting to be a little rude and even catty.  I may have to take a break soon.

Squirrelly rabbit trail aside, this beautiful friend of mine is acting which means character development looks like intentional play and scavenger hunts.  She was working on bartering a few weeks ago and I was happy to help.  She was contacting person to person to trade goods and services.  I gave her Japanese panel art that had been sitting in storage, and she gave me a session with a certified spiritual life coach.  I wanted to help my friend and she wanted to gift me with something that would help me grow.

I am a Christian, and most Christians would freak out at the idea of seeing someone who is a clairvoyant and practices candle magic and tarot reading, but I'm not going to ever be typical or like most others.  Look here for That Time I Was a Practicing Witch.  I looked at the session as receiving a gift and when you receive, you take it as it is given, being open to the blessing they offer.

I was early in the area and spent some time in Pan Pacific Park.  There were children playing and people with their dogs.  There were so many baseball Dads and it felt good.  I walked around to the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust and read the inscriptions on the black granite pillars. I walked along to the children's museum and had a moment of indescribable grief.  The weight of all I was surrounded by really hit me and I was crying in solitude as I touched the tiny holes left as symbols for children.

I remembered a man that always wore a cap on his head, with a faded number tattooed on his forearm.  I remembered the ghost of a smile that would touch his lips but never his eyes. No matter the burdens on his heart or the sorrow in his bones, he always had kindness for others in his warm and calloused handshakes or the care he took in seeing to the needs of his wife. Years beyond his passing and I am still blessed by the memory of his gentleness.

She was petite. She greeted me with a warm hug and her energy wrapped around her in a way that was expansive, but held in check.  It reminded me of a cat, playful and powerful yet indifferent to anything that didn't grab her attention. We walked to her home and the sounds, smells and sights were very east asian.  There were rich reds and bright oranges with dark woods and plush silk pillows.  The lights were dimmed and the room was bathed in the light of the setting sun in the west from a south facing window.  She had me stand with my arms out to my sides and fanned the smoke of burning sage all over my body as she spoke out her intentions or "smudged" me.  It's not a scent easily forgotten. It was a purification to start the work she was preparing me for. She offered me something to drink and it's a habit to decline.  We sat and talked.

I went through the dramas and traumas that are in the blog and even a few details that I normally keep much closer to my chest.  She is intuitive and repeated the same thing a really long Meyers Brigg test and Core Values Index told me.  I shoot from my heart and everything is grounded in love.  She asked what I wanted to do next and I told her I was receiving a gift.  This is her time to bless me in any way she felt was right.  She did a tarot reading and it reaffirmed what I had been hearing from her and others anyway, but there was a shift and I heard what I needed to.

In love, she pointed out that right now I am balancing everything and it is a heavy burden.  Right now finding love would mean I'm attracting someone else to care for and my spirit guides are trying to protect me from that.  I need to be filled to attract someone who is also filled.  I told her about a situation that had been on my heart and she described the meaning of mishegas, and told me there is plenty of hope for a shiksa like me. She said the name, shiksa with love and joked about there being plenty of jaffrican americans before me that have been willing to convert. She is Jewish and had never dated another Jew because it felt like she'd be dating her relative. It inspired hope.

We moved on to candle magic.  She mixed essential oils in a mug and picked out an orange candle.  She anointed the candle and placed some oil on my hands and I placed it behind my ears.  Years ago it would have gone around my third eye, but I wanted it behind my ears where the smell would wrap around me during the guided meditation when we lit the candle.

I spread out on a comfortable and blood red couch and let my eyes focus on the blue tchotchke hanging above the tall window facing her balcony. I lit the candle and she started playing soft music and began her guided meditation to clear any chakra blockages and purify any energies.  It had been many years, so being intentional with not allowing racing thoughts was more of a challenge, and at times my mind just went blank in being in the moment.  She asked right away if I had felt anything.  She said she felt my third eye was going mad and I have my own clairvoyance.  It wasn't until I woke up this morning that I remembered the familiar tingle that settled around my chest and the weight of energy flowing through my forehead.  I imagine it as energy.  It might have just been a buzzing feeling of stillness that can't be processed because I'm not used to it. I left in a much better mood than I had been in.  She was a gift to me and I highly recommend her. Visit Gypsy Rogue here

I stopped at the Grove because I had never been there before, and I wouldn't let the fear of it being a couple destination stop me.  It was so much like the Americana.  I enjoyed walking around for a bit and was really excited that I left and didn't have to pay for parking because I didn't make it an all day trip.  On the way home I sang too loudly and laughed into the wind.  I stopped at Phillippe's for a French Dip and potato salad dinner.  I didn't take it to go, but sat alone and smiled at other diners. It was a night of self care and a blissful evening of healing and fullness.

That Time I Was a Practicing Witch

Part of my adolescence was fighting through patriarchal ideals that I couldn't fit around me.  I grew up in a strict Christian home where Dad held the bible over us.  We were taught the 10 Commandments and that our body is a holy temple.  Tattoos would send me to hell.  Then I got older and he would threaten that if anyone ever gave me drugs he would kill them, and he had PTSD from Viet Nam.  I was convinced he would get away with it.  The joke was on him because the childhood trauma was unnecessary.  I hated being high the couple of times I tried pot. Growing up, my parents were okay with me going to other churches.  Dad grew up Baptist, but I was at a Foursquare (pentecostal Christian) Church on Sunday mornings and at a Thai-Presbyterian Church on Sunday afternoons.  I visited Baptist and Catholic Churches with friends.  My Dad followed our family tree to find we are Sephardic Jews.  It makes sense because my maiden name is a typical Egyptian name.  I've never read the Torah, but it's important to my Dad and in his reclamation of a lost heritage, I have a prayer shawl, Chumash, and Mezuzah at my front door.  The family recipe he guards is a challah recipe.  Before I was born, he was studying Hebrew and there is no "J" sound in Hebrew.  To honor what he was learning, he picked my name that typically starts with a "J" and made it start with a "Y" as in Yeshua.  He calls me God's gift.  He would be so tickled if I brought home a nice Jewish boy.  I would be too.  Actually, my ex was part Jewish, but it was a forgotten and discarded heritage for him as well.

For a while, all of my crushes had one thing in common . . . They were all born in 1976.  It was a thing and my thing.  I liked boys that were a couple of years older than I am.  And I went through plenty of them, or rather, let them go through me.  I was looking for something more and something greater.

I was 21 when I first learned about Wicca.  It was beautiful in female empowerment.  There was dancing naked under the moon and it appealed to me.  There were colored candles and intoxicating scents that were part Catholic church and part eastern tradition. There was intention and ceremony and traditions that had order and it was centered on being female. I read books and set up an altar and after all of that performed only one spell and it was a spell to love myself.

It was more about learning how beliefs and religions borrow from each other.  I had grown up seeing a vesica piscis in trinity form printed in gold leaf on my Dad's bible.  It was circled, and stood for the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.  In Wicca, that symbol stood for the Mother, Maiden, and Crone.  I started to see that it had meanings in other traditions too.  I was all different and borrowed from each other.  It was the same for the pentagram.  When I was a kid, it meant devil worship, but in Wicca and elsewhere, it is a symbol of protection. I read about the many high holy days of Wicca and saw the Christian overlap.  After a few months of trying to clear Chakras I couldn't see and Astral Project, but ended up falling asleep, I let it go.  I figured I had been there and done that, and even got the tattoo.

My tattoo is a garter on my thigh, made up of symbols.  I wanted to remember that the trifecta's meaning is about the intention of the person using it.  I wanted to know that the symbols were what I made of it, whether it be my roots in patriarchy or the transformational learning through Wicca.  I chose the vesica piscis because I loved that one translation listed it as a symbol for a vagina.  It was empowering to me.  The band is made of the ing symbol and it wraps around my thigh.  It's a symbol for fertility.  I wasn't planning on ever having kids at that point, and I wanted fertility in thought and creativity. I needed to feel like belief was not control, but a source of empowerment and freedom.

I put my figurative broomstick up after a couple of months.  I am open to understanding about other religions and beliefs but my God is real to me, and I understand that it is all a matter of interpretation and faith and it's not something that could be forced on another with meaning.  I realized that faith and religion and beliefs are what you make of it. I believe that my pentecostal roots were born of a kabbalistic Jew and what Jesus would do covers love, healing and kicking a few tables around. The reward reflects what you've put into it.  I have no problem with other religions because I find people that are accountable to an omniscient being or authority greater than the self are generally more likely to behave in a way that makes them good people.  I won't mock or dismiss what brings meaning to someone else's life because I would hope my God was serious about loving others.

Measure Twice, Cut Once

Life is full of measurements.  We measure the relationships we value against each other.  We place more value where the reward is greater.  We measure out minutes and hours and prioritize how we spend them.  On my dating app, I visit a profile at least twice before I remove them from my search results.  Actually, I spend more time clicking an "x" than saying hello.  The problem with too many options is I find too many reasons to decide how each person won't measure up and I cut them.  I love a good measuring tape and have been known to take one shopping.  I don't love shopping for clothes, but I want to make sure the junk I like will fit where I plan to stick it. I have a haphazard building style.  I know what I want to do and I visualize it and for years I would just make it happen. In recent years, I've learned to carefully diagram what I'm after.  I'll now measure what I want to do and measure it a second time before cutting.  It's a great skill to be mastered if you ever want to get into woodworking.   I will snap a chalk line and use clamps and squares where necessary.

It's like my plans to go to school again one day.  I don't have a date in my mind when I want to go back, but I know  I want to one day go back.  Becoming a geologist isn't as exciting now that the realities of volcanology are more exhausting than my energy reserves could accommodate. I wouldn't put my dreams of a JD to pasture because that's how I plan to fill my empty nest.  In looking at my transcripts, I would need to measure the grades in those math classes, and I may decide to take them over again.  Not as a perfectionist, but to make sure they don't hold back future plans.  Measure twice, cut once.

I've been spending my day looking at areas in my life to measure and cut.  I wish it were as simple as throwing out rotting tomatoes that I forgot I had.  It's not. It's a careful examination where I look at the beautiful memories that were made.  I look at where it fit in my life, and how it made me grow.  Then it's time to cut and release something that meant so much to me, no matter how insignificant it was to the rest of the world.  Tonight I held the tattered remnants long enough to sigh in sorrow and I exhaled in gratitude for what it was.  I know that it still means a lot but what I had wasn't enough as a memory to build a dream on and it's time to let it go.

Letting go of something and accepting the change means something gets changed around my homestead.  The day the ex moved out, I swapped out my bathroom sink and vanity.  I worked around my project, shoving a shim where it needed balancing and ensuring there were no leaks.  Plumber's putty and tape were used and shoving parts in anger meant my blood was poured into the project as well.  I caulked the countertop to the wall and it eased the transition in my life.  I couldn't control a separation I didn't want, but I could put in a sink.  Tonight I put shelves in.  They were first installed in another room, but tonight I moved them to store an insane amount of shoes that I couldn't otherwise keep organized. No injuries happened tonight.  It felt good to hold my power drill and get used to the torque.  My last one was cordless and had more control.  The one I bought a few months ago is corded because I don't use it often enough to keep a battery charged. Both projects were haphazard and I didn't measure.  It just feels better.

It's a night of letting go of a dream that was fueled by fantasies that I couldn't control and its passing will be comforted with homemade corn tortillas and champurrado because thick hot chocolate settles in my belly with love and satisfaction.  In the tearless mourning of heartsongs forgotten, love looks like masa.  It also reminds me of that first broken heart where a boy's mother showed me more kindness than she showed her son.  Masa.

Testing, 1, 2, 3

I love tests.  It sounds insane because tests are usually terrifying and stressful, and believe me, I've had plenty of those that I didn't enjoy.  The tests I love are the ones you can't study or prepare for.  I like the ones that tell me more about who I am. I just watched a video that takes you through the 5 levels of the Stroop Effect test.  I was slower than I'd like on the last stage of the test, but didn't misname any of the colors.  You're given a set of words at a set speed and the words are written colors but the font is in a color other than the word you're reading.  It was a challenge and I loved it.

Briggs Meyer ENFJ-A

As a surrogate mother, I was having a moment of questioning if my motives were the right ones for wanting to carry another child for another couple.  I can't remember if it was my 2nd or 3rd surrogate pregnancy.  I felt like I was doing it because I loved being pregnant and it helped me to relive the joys of pregnancy without any of the fears and concerns that plagued my pregnancies with my children.  I felt I was being selfish. As a surrogate, I saw a therapist on a monthly basis with other surrogate mothers and she suggested I take the Briggs Meyer test. I don't think it mapped out an answer to my worries, but I my personality is a Diplomat and Protagonist.  I'm supposed to be charismatic and an inspiring leader but I'm still trying to get my sons to not pee on the toilet seat.  Honestly, reading the whole list of strengths and weaknesses in different areas of my life really hit me in waves and when the wave ebbed away, there was a clarity I didn't expect.  My personality type gave me closure with my marriage.  I was able to point at my personality as the reason why I held on for so long, and it gave me peace when I saw that I had decided to walk away and never look back.  It's who I am and there are others like me (President Obama and Jennifer Lawrence, so cool people all around.)

Core Values Index - Merchant/Innovator

My favorite part about job hunting everywhere is the testing.  Everyone wants to know how capable I am with various software.  I do very well, but so does everyone else because software is pretty user friendly, or it wouldn't be used everywhere.  Some companies insist on personality tests and another one I've taken is the Core Values Index by Taylor Protocols.  I'm a merchant/innovator which means I'm all about love and wisdom.  It's another set of insights where I can absolutely see myself in their explanations.  It tells me what motivates me and where I find fulfillment.

If anything, these personality tests make me feel like I should be more of what they say I am, and it's not a bad push toward being a better version of me.  I enjoy these tests because I love moments when I see more of who I am with a shifted perspective.

Just before I started writing this, I had edited my dating profile.  Again.  In all of my writing, this blog included,  I tend to write furiously to get it out of my head because if I don't write it, I'll lose it in the many other thoughts that crowd out my mind.  My brain doesn't shut off.  Typically I'll quickly post it and later go back to read what I've written. I then will read and re-read what I've written until I've edited it into submission.  This last reading of the "In my own words" section of my dating profile helped me see what I couldn't the first few times I read it.  I was writing parts to a specific person.  I got to a point where I started addressing the man I'm looking for and I wrote:

I want to be challenged and I want you to be unafraid to say something that will open my eyes and shift my perspective. Call me out when I'm wrong. I want to spend my free time with you. I want to get lost in your beautiful and intelligent eyes. I want to know what makes you tick and what makes you happy. I want to obsess over every observation I’ve made about you and I want you to be so great I’m driving everyone nuts because I want to share my secret so badly. I want you to be smarter than I am and I need you to challenge me on an intellectual level. I’m excited about the day a single random text from you will make me smile uncontrollably, giggling with giddiness, and seeing you will make every thought disappear. I'm looking forward to sharing a meal with you. I want to converse with you about silly things and major life. I want to walk through sifting sand along the Pacific with you and I want to learn how to play your favorite sports with you. I believe there are rights to exclusivity. If we're dating, you won’t find me entertaining someone else in the ways you’ve claimed as your right, and I expect the same assurance. I will never leave you wondering because I believe in transparency and have no reason to lie to you.

I wasn't writing to some idea of someone but I was writing to someone specific, echoing words I've already put into this blog so long ago.  Yikes.  With the shades of shame heating my cheeks, there's also a moment of pleasure because those memories are fond ones.  And this man isn't my ex.  Good times.

The Commodification of Affection

This should be a rant about paying to meet someone. It's not. Dating sites have a service to perform.  I get it. Life is all a varying shade of prostitution if you choose to see it that way. For example, I give you words and you pay me in views and likes. I think I make off like a bandit, because I believe I've expanded your perception, and no one ever tells me differently.  I also don't get a lot of feedback, and that's okay. I've been chatting with men I'm meeting on Match.com. No one blog worthy has gotten my attention. There are no Obsessive Observations of My Latest Crush Because He Was Hot (and so fun to watch). I'm consistently generally insulted once we really start talking past hello and how is your day going. That's when I'm objectified and used for a fantasy I was never invited to, because I would have declined the invitation.

There are a large amount of men sharing pictures of their cars or talking about how successful they are and it feels rude to say I don't care, so they blather on while I flip channels or brainstorm my next rant or blog post. I don't care about what someone else drives. Their car isn't registered in my name and I'm not on their insurance.  I will not have to worry about parking it or washing it, or filling up the tank and checking oil.

I have a car. I love it. I got it on my own and there is so much pleasure in reliable brakes, tires that aren't bald, and working seat belts. My car is registered in my name and I make the payments on my lease. I don't really care what someone else is driving. It's not status.  A car is the worst possible investment a person can make because outside of transportation, it depreciates the minute you drive it off a lot.  It's about freedom and independence to me and I won't find that in someone else's car.

The job thing gets me too. I understand an identity formed around a job title or profit margins, but I'm not offering their next career move. I'd rather see them offer a hot meal to the person sitting outside the restaurant we go to because it's something I would do.  I will listen to someone talk about work, but it's for their benefit, and not mine. I carried babies for wealthy couples and couples that were comfortable.  I never once expected their wealth was a reflection of mine, and a child grew in my body for them.

You can buy me dinner but if you expect me to accept anything more than an amazing date after I've just met you, I'm not the one for you.

I love the many places being travelled to.  It's awesome.  I have young children and shared custody.  At this point, my ideas of travel are short jaunts that won't take more than a weekend.  I'm good with small escapes.  I have a life here, and won't be travelling to every distant land.

I'm a single mom. My kids are my world and even if I forgive my ex, I don't want him back but we are still legally married, even if we only communicate through terse emails on a website. I'm not in a hurry to share someone new with my world. Not my kids, or my family. I want to meet someone to spend free time with and look forward to talking to. I want to meet someone smarter than me that will challenge me on an intellectual level. I want to see amazing leadership qualities because on some level, I like the idea of following a strong man into a new life that I have yet to imagine.  Think Aladdin and Jasmine.  She had to trust him first.

I learned long ago that love isn't a game and if you're playing then there are no winners.   Finding several men interested in my looks alone was easy enough when I was an adolescent and if the requests for sex over a phone line I've gotten in the last few days are any indication, it likely still is.  (Side note, your endowment can't scare this mother because I've walked around with a crowning child.) I'm not really looking for love as much as companionship, but I'm not closing my eyes either.  I'm looking for a person who can change my mood with a single random text. I'm looking for someone to share a meal with and converse with about silly things and major life.

Dating in Bold Audacity

I had a great day with my cousin yesterday.  We're not really related, but we might as well be.  Our parents knew each other about a decade before we were born and we crawled and toddled together.  One summer I ended up with a cast on my leg, and a week later he had a matching cast on his arm from doing the same thing.  He ended up in a hospital bed for a while and a couple of years later, I ended up in the same hospital bed.  When we got older, he was the one I would drag clothes shopping because I trust his judgment.  He is the best wingman and buffer when needed. Yesterday I picked him up for a slow route down Santa Monica to the 3rd Street Promenade.  It was like being the person I was before I met my ex.  Instead of rating each man 1 to 10, I was giving a quick "yes" or "no" with a description of a shirt color or the really cute guy talking in French.  I'm not a fan of shopping, but he is and he wanted to stop in all of the shoe shops.  We walked the pier and saw a sea lion swimming below us and hoping an angler would toss fresh fish to it.  At the end of our walk, we sat on a bench and he made some changes to my dating profile. There was a handsome man walking by, and I gave him a slightly inviting smile.  It wasn't predatory.  It was enough to make him smile back, then look at my cousin as if he was defiant and afraid.  We laughed about it because I wasn't that interested.  The day made me feel like I was a teenager again.

We talked about the time we were shopping at the Pier 1 Imports in Hollywood.  I got home and couldn't stop thinking about the boy that was helping me, so I called the store to leave my number for him.  He was too young for me, but that was a boldness I let go of.  Even when I first met my ex, I was at the bar, and I told the bartender what I was drinking and nodded toward the ex, saying he would pay for it.  Once upon a time I didn't need a wingman.  Once upon a time I would have leaned out of my car window with a set of cards I had made.

You've just received my card which means I would like to see or talk to you again.  Give me a ring sometime.

(With my name and number on it. Yes, I was that person. I still have one around here somewhere, I'm sure.)

As much as I'm still hating online dating, it still seems like the best option for now.  I saw several beautiful men in person.  There were none that made me forget what I was saying, but there was one today that made me forget where I was going, and I missed a turn this morning. . .  I was saying, plenty of beautiful men, but I don't have the boldness I used to.  I noticed that now I'm much more careful about looking for a ring or a partner attached.  I was watching for body language and I'm sure I read a few indicators incorrectly.  I'm not a drinker, so bars aren't really an option.  At the grocery store, there was a really attractive man picking up a cranberry goat cheese log, but his boyfriend was a few feet away.  So I'm resigned to the website for right now, and I expect one day I will get back to the person I once was.  For now, I will continue to be nervous about opening emails, and becoming a sexual fantasy based on my pictures, and I will hold out fistfuls of hope.

Another online dating tip: Seriously, even two days of texting is too soon to assume I want to know the size of your endowment. When you are doing something, you're less likely to talk about it.  If you have to announce what you are doing, that sounds like insecurity. Don't assume I am afraid of what you're wielding because an insult is likely to make me want to hurt your fragile feelings.

A Really Bad Start to Online Dating

I've been looking for a date online for the third day in a row, and it has yet to impress me.  When you are online, people can hide behind a keyboard, but it also makes them bold and there isn't always beauty in boldness.  I understand the need to not feel alone, but does it have to feel so dirty? There's a certain age range I want to stay within. I couldn't date someone if I'm old enough to be their teenaged mother, and if he's old enough to have fathered me it is just as disgusting to me.  I want to meet someone that will get my pop culture references.  I want to meet someone that is smarter than I am, but not from many more years on the earth.  The benefits of being able to sit in pajamas and meet and greet people from home mean that I went from one or two random meetings a week in person to over 300 views in the last two days alone.  The numbers and bad behavior have me jaded and disgusted already.

A large bit of disgust is about the random men that say hello, you're sexy, and start telling me about the ways they want to satisfy themselves while looking at my picture.  They lead with questions that are more about how I can satisfy them and have nothing to do with what kind of person I might be.  How people think that is okay, is beyond anything I can understand.  Last night I asked a man to tell me what he loves about the work he does.  It went from laying pipe, to making love and I had only been talking to him for a few minutes.  It always escalates quickly.  I don't have that level of disrespect happen in person.  It's not flattering to be used as a fantasy.  It's gross.

I'm not a fan of the 20 something year olds or the men in their 50's or 80's that want to imagine something romantic with me.  It feels creepy.  It feels dirty.  It is amazing that so many men that are older than me, see my age as too old for them.  I found myself dreading the notifications that announced new emails and winks or that someone liked my picture. In the few days I finally decided I might be ready to date, I've had a few men make me wonder if my skin really isn't thick enough for this.

On the plus side, I'm really getting to see what I like and it's not just about who will talk to me or what kind of chance I may have.  I've always had a thing for a certain look, but I'm really into blonde hair and blue eyes.  I like redheads with green eyes and I love freckles. I'm into upper body strength, but I have my limits because there really is such a thing as too much when muscles have muscles.  And I'm weird about facial hair.  It works on some men but definitely not on everyone.

I might be better off finding a wakeboard I love, and teaching myself something new.  I'm not giving up yet. I'm stubborn sometimes.  If you happen to be looking for a connection online and the opportunity comes to force someone to go for a ride along in your x-rated fantasy, just don't.  Don't prey on the loneliness of others. Be a better human being.

Self Confidence and Online Dating

I spent many years as a stay at home mom.  My days were spent chasing babies, cleaning up messes and doing yard work.  The yard work made me happy.  I love fresh dirt under my nails and working up a sweat in pulling stubborn weeds. It was often done in bare feet or running shoes.  Mainly bare feet.  When I went back to work in January, I decided I wanted to wear heels, but it was hard on my calves and I had to work through some seriously solid comfort zone fears. I wasn't used to walking or standing in heels.  I used to be.  I could spend a night dancing in heels at one time.  I still miss my black Esprit Mary Jane pumps with a chunky heel. It was a long time ago.  Pushing Past My Comfort Zones To Reclaim Ownership of my self-imposed value system came with rewards, but the first few days it mainly came with serious calf cramps. I was talking to my regional manager about my shoe issues, and she said she never wants to lose her confidence in heels.  The word, "confidence" immediately shifted my perspective.  It shifted everything.  That was when I really saw that confidence is something you decide you are going to accept as part of your identity. When I was walking without confidence, I had this fear that my ankles would twist and I would teeter and fall.  When I realised it was about confidence, I started walking as if I knew I wouldn't fall because my confidence made the decision that I wouldn't.  The change in my stride made my calf pain go away.  I wasn't walking like I would fall and my muscles didn't have to compensate for my insecurities.

I'm building my confidence in my dating profile.  Funny story:  I set up my preferences based on my type, and someone I know ended up in the search that pops up when I open the app.  He's not my dating option, but he pops up, and I remember his smile and the real life person I know.  For some reason, the views and likes and messages I've gotten since yesterday are all compared to him and they all fall short.  I'm chatting when I'm I get an email or chat window, but they're already rejected based on the person I know in real life.  It's sad.  On the other hand, it was a moment of joy to realise that I'm no longer comparing everyone to my ex.

The app and website are boosting my confidence.  I don't have to go out and turn down polite interest, I can do it from my phone in my pj's while getting laundry done. And there's something that feels good knowing that in 24 hours, I've had over 150 men click through my profile.  The numbers may be average or sub par, but it's far more than I was getting while out and about. Some of them might have read my verbose ramblings and checked out the profile I've plastered with several vapid examples of vanity.  I like reading, "nice smile, " and that I'm a "striking eyed beautiful woman," even if the smiles he can screenshot are all he'll ever see.

Right now my confidence is looking for balance.  The person I was the last time I was dating was intimidating and aggressive.  She was also a bit of a slut. I'm at peace with that.  It isn't who I am now. I'm trying to dial it back a lot and this in between gray area is foreign and frightening.  Besides, I still feel that I am having a great lot of  Fun Dating Myself and I feel I am pretty phenomenal.

There's something to be said about online dating.  I like real life interactions where I don't really pay attention to cars, status, or even looks until a man has said something that makes me want to learn more about him.  In real life, I can feel the guilt when I start to become materialistic, but online it's expected and I'm eased into it without the real life person in front of me to remind me there is a person with genuine feelings before me. The online version has made me look at these men in a different way, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.  Realistically, I look at profile pictures and the first thought I have is, would I be willing to see this man naked and be attracted to what I see?  It happens in person within the first two minutes, but I can usually get past that.  Getting past my vanity and physical attraction is how many of my long term relationships were born. Online, he won't get a chance to make an impression.  I usually like conversations about interests and likes but online they become a blur.  I'm missing the expressions and cadence in a voice that makes me obsess like I did when I wrote That’s cute, and Getting Back on that Flirtation Bike.

Everyone's profile duplicates each other after a while. The profiles in my searches all have readers and outdoorsy types.  They like children and animals and water.  They want someone fit and attractive and happy.  And they all make insane amounts of money. The woman they are searching for needs to be driven and make him a first priority.  So many of men want to show women a great time, snuggle and travel the world. I'm just hoping to find someone that's already survived their midlife crisis, but I won't add that to my profile. They like motorcycles and fast cars, and I can't help but remember I'm not dent proof and will lose in a car fight and become a victim to their need for speed.

I find lots of really driven men that have worked so hard on a career that they missed the part about starting a family, or stayed in a relationship for longer than it was working.  I was in a marriage that I thought was working.  I get it.  I was putting our kids before my career and now I'm starting over, but on my terms.  I'm not the financial powerhouse I plan to be one day.  That confidence will grow once I start a career path that I'm designing, and not one that I'm trying to fit into, and once I find work I can be passionate about.

I can't help but see the lack of confidence on these profiles.  It's not always obvious, but it is often shy and insecure in the last line of an open invitation.  It's in the pictures of places they've been and their pets, children and cars, instead of a bright and wide smile.  It's hiding behind sunglasses as if they can't imagine anyone getting lost in their eyes.  It's in their disdain for a sales pitch they know is a sales pitch that they aren't fully confident of. I'm just as guilty, talking about the places I like to go and feeling like I may be padding a resume while I do it.  At the same time, I'm not advertising my blog and a full visual of what makes me who I am.

I am being honest though.  That is huge for me.  I'm not lying in my profile or in private messages.  I have no reason to because I'm not ashamed of who I am or what my life looks like right now.  I'm not even lying about my lack of gainful employment.  Go, me.