Has anyone else seen that “Millionaire Matchmaker” show on Bravo? New episodes air on Tuesday nights at 10 PM Eastern Time, but they rerun it throughout the week. The matchmaker in question, Patti Stanger, is a third-generation matchmaker who used to be the director of marketing for Great Expectations, “the largest and oldest dating service in the U.S.,” according to Bravo’s web site. She has long black hair and an intense air about her, and she doesn’t smile much, probably because she takes her calling so seriously. “I really feel like I’m in service to God,” she earnestly said at one point. (And hers is probably the most lucrative service to God there is!)
The series takes place in Los Angeles. There are apparently a lot of millionaire men in L.A. who can’t find the woman of their dreams -- probably because the woman of their dreams is a twenty-something model with Einstein’s brain. But have *you* ever tried telling a millionaire he can’t have exactly what he wants?
In the last episode I caught, three guys were seeking Patti’s “service to God”: Peter, a 46-year-old who got rich doing something dull but who also makes money teaching and selling instructional videos about Qi Gong, defined by Wikipedia as “an aspect of traditional Chinese medicine, some forms of which involve the coordination of different breathing patterns with various physical postures and motions of the body.” He claimed he wanted a woman who was at least 30 years old, smart and spiritual, and NO models or actresses (!). For a while there, I thought Patti was going to ask him out herself!
The other two guys, Tai and German (pronounced Her-MAHN), had been best friends and business partners since college, live in a mansion together, and swore they weren’t gay. ;) I actually liked them more than I’ve liked any other millionaire I’ve seen on the show, maybe because they were younger than most of them (31), so they were more playful and less intense about the whole thing. Ironically, despite ideally wanting to meet women who were sisters or best friends so that they could do everything together, neither of them gave off a gay vibe, which is more than I can say for some other guys who’ve appeared on the show.
Patti threw a party on a boat with 30 or so women she and her staff had hand-picked as potential matches for either Peter, Tai or German. I don’t like that part of the show. It makes me feel like the men are at a horse show or something, examining each woman to judge the best specimen. Tai and German were driving Patti crazy because they would NOT split up and talk to women separately, even though Patti kept trying to make them. Peter was also annoying her, because instead of talking to the mature, spiritual, smart (but still gorgeous, of course) 30-somethings she’d brought on the boat for him, he was chatting up the 20-something model/actresses he’d specifically said he didn’t want!
In the end, they each got to pick one women to go on a date with, and Peter picked a 20-something model/actress from the South who was sweet and friendly, but didn’t have a lot going on upstairs. Naturally, their date was an unintentionally hilarious disaster. At one point, Peter talked about how he donated a significant amount of his money to feed, like, 20,000 hungry families, and the woman actually said, “Yeah, uh-huh. Well, I’ve been trying to cut back on carbs.” !!!
Meanwhile, Tai and German insisted on going on a double date, which may not have been the best move. When the limo pulled up at their place with their dates, they showed up with no shirts on. It was pretty funny, actually, and of course they were only joking and put shirts on before they went on the date. But as Patti said later, that set a tone that they were fooling around and not taking their search for love seriously. They went dancing and then had dinner. German’s date was going well, and the more he touched and cuddled with his date, the more Tai did – only his date wasn’t nearly as into him, and she could tell Tai was being all touchy-feely to keep up with German. In the end, Patti told them they’ll have to – gasp! -- date solo in the future.
Interestingly, Patti’s parents were visiting during this episode. Her mom, a retired matchmaker, asked how her boyfriend was, and Patti admitted she doesn’t have enough time for him since she’s working 24/7 trying to find love for “her millionaires.”
“You never listened to me!” her mom teased her.
“I know, I know – if I had, I’d be married with a gazillion kids right now,” she said with a sigh. “But I always went for the bad boys.”
I guess even growing up with a matchmaker mom and being one yourself still doesn’t guarantee love.
February 25, 2008
February 22, 2008
Relationship Obituaries
On Valentine’s Day, I read a story in amNY (http://www.amny.com/news/local/ny-bc-ny--relationshipobits0213feb13,0,714272.story) about a new web site called Relationship Obituary (http://www.relationshipobit.com) where people write and submit “obituaries” for their past relationships. Kathleen Horan started the site soon after she and her boyfriend broke up. Sadly, her father died two weeks later, and she found writing his obituary so healing, she thought composing an obituary for her broken relationship might be healing, as well.
Some of the obituaries are boring and badly written (“he was jealous and hostel”). But the best ones stick to the true obituary or eulogy format, specifically listing things the boyfriend or girlfriend would be remembered for, what they would be missed for, and, probably more importantly, what they *wouldn’t* be missed for. Some of them are really sad (“the cause of death was an aortic aneurysm of the relationship, which was aggravated by a yearlong deployment in Iraq”).
I didn’t watch any of the video entries, but amNY talks about one where the woman says she broke up with her boyfriend after she caught him cheating in a Monopoly game with a "whole bunch of $500 bills under him." She said, “My philosophy is, if you're going to cheat in Monopoly so blatantly, what hope do we have really?" Hee hee. ;)
Maybe I should write an obituary for Almost Perfect’s and my relationship (see my January 30th post). We met the day after Valentine’s Day last year, so that could be why I’ve been thinking about him a lot over the past week. When I went to a talk the other night, I could’ve sworn I saw him a few rows ahead of me and I just about froze in my seat. But then the guy turned and I realized it wasn’t him. I know it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t even remember his name anymore -- we only dated for two months! It was such an intense two months, though. I just know I’m going to run into him in Brooklyn in a couple of years, with his new girlfriend or wife and their baby by his side. I can see the scene so clearly, I almost feel like it’s already happened.
At least I learned one lesson: never let anyone break up with you over e-mail if you can help it. A last talk, some closure, a cup of hot chocolate to drown my sorrows might have made it a little easier.
Or maybe not. Who knows?
Some of the obituaries are boring and badly written (“he was jealous and hostel”). But the best ones stick to the true obituary or eulogy format, specifically listing things the boyfriend or girlfriend would be remembered for, what they would be missed for, and, probably more importantly, what they *wouldn’t* be missed for. Some of them are really sad (“the cause of death was an aortic aneurysm of the relationship, which was aggravated by a yearlong deployment in Iraq”).
I didn’t watch any of the video entries, but amNY talks about one where the woman says she broke up with her boyfriend after she caught him cheating in a Monopoly game with a "whole bunch of $500 bills under him." She said, “My philosophy is, if you're going to cheat in Monopoly so blatantly, what hope do we have really?" Hee hee. ;)
Maybe I should write an obituary for Almost Perfect’s and my relationship (see my January 30th post). We met the day after Valentine’s Day last year, so that could be why I’ve been thinking about him a lot over the past week. When I went to a talk the other night, I could’ve sworn I saw him a few rows ahead of me and I just about froze in my seat. But then the guy turned and I realized it wasn’t him. I know it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t even remember his name anymore -- we only dated for two months! It was such an intense two months, though. I just know I’m going to run into him in Brooklyn in a couple of years, with his new girlfriend or wife and their baby by his side. I can see the scene so clearly, I almost feel like it’s already happened.
At least I learned one lesson: never let anyone break up with you over e-mail if you can help it. A last talk, some closure, a cup of hot chocolate to drown my sorrows might have made it a little easier.
Or maybe not. Who knows?
February 20, 2008
Dating 9 - 5: Part 2
I met the only other guy from work I ever dated at a junior high school where we both taught ten years ago. What attracted me to him at first was that he was incredibly smart, so I’ll call him the Professor. He also seemed shy, and I’ve always had a soft spot for shy guys. One time we had a staff lunch, and no one even realized the Professor was missing until I went down the hall to get him. I remember distinctly thinking to myself, “I wonder if he would ask me out if I paid a little more attention to him.” So a couple times I went into his classroom to eat lunch with him.
Sure enough, a few weeks later, he stopped by my classroom and asked me out – as he stood in the doorway, a good 25 feet away from me. I found it endearing.
We went out to dinner several times. Even after I ended up quitting the job suddenly one day after a quasi-nervous breakdown, the Professor never held it against me. Since I was living at home at the time, he met my dad. They’d both been history majors in college, so every time we went out, we would come back to my place and he would talk to my dad – at considerable length – about history. The day after I lay down on the living room carpet and fell asleep as they chatted away about esoteric topics I knew nothing about, I realized that he was a better “match” for my dad than for me! That’s when it became clear that the Professor and I were just friends.
Well, it became clear to me, anyway. Although he always refused my offers to pay for my share of dinner, I thought, “Oh, he’s just old-fashioned.” We had never so much as held hands, let alone kissed, and never had any sort of relationship-defining talk, so I assumed he also felt we were just friends.
I moved to Boston for a year, then moved again to settle in New York City. The Professor and I had known each other about three and a half years when I became unemployed again and began spending my time focusing on my social life and dating in earnest. One night my boyfriend at the time answered my apartment phone when it rang. It was the Professor.
When I got on the phone, he acted like everything was normal. But when we met for dinner a month or so later, he suddenly asked, “Who was that guy who answered the phone at your place?”
“Oh, we’ve been dating for the past couple of months,” I said.
“Really??” The Professor looked astonished, then became quiet. He didn’t say too much after that.
Until a couple months later, when we went to the beach. We didn’t bring swimsuits or anything, just walked along the water and had dinner. I was standing on the sand, gazing at the beautiful blue water, when the Professor moved to hug me – and then he kissed me! On the lips! I was stunned, almost literally!
So I did what any sane, mature person would do: pretended it hadn’t happened.
We went to dinner and then got in his car to drive home. But eventually he turned down the radio and asked, “Do you ever think of me as ‘husband material’?”
!!!
Of course I had to say no. I just didn’t feel that way about him at all. I explained that he was way too smart for me, that sometimes he talked about topics in a discussion I had no hope of contributing to, that he should find someone more traditional from his Orthodox church to date, etc.
And that, I thought, was that. We stayed friends, though as the years went on, we saw each other less often – every three to four months, on average – and most often when I went home to see my dad (the Professor’s true love :).
But just last week, we met for dinner one night, and I was telling him about my friend’s upcoming wedding. He asked if it was difficult for me to watch “everyone” getting married.
“No, not really,” I said. “Not all of my friends are getting married. And it’s not like I haven’t been dating.”
He nearly dropped his fork. “Really!?” he said. He was quiet for a minute, staring down at his plate. Then he looked at me and asked, “So I still don’t factor into the equation at all?”
It was so awkward! He talked about how we’ve known each other for nearly ten years now, how good we are together, we communicate so well -- though as two of my good friends said, apparently we DON’T if he really thought we still had a shot together!
Then he said, “I’ve asked you to marry me four times!”
Now it was my turn to nearly drop my fork. “What are you talking about?” I said. “A proposal is getting down on one knee and giving a ring. I don’t remember anything like that!”
“It was close enough,” he said. He considered the kiss at the beach a proposal, as well as another time a few years later when he looked at me and said, out of the blue, “You’re going to marry me one day.” (For the record, my response was, “No, I’m not. We’re friends.”) As for the other two times he supposedly proposed – I really have no idea.
So I had to explain again that I just didn’t feel that way about him, that he was a great guy but just not for me, etc. He wanted to know exactly why I didn’t like him in that way (“Is it my glasses? Are they too thick?”). I felt terrible. We talked for a long time, though, and finally he seemed to get the idea.
“Even though this conversation didn’t having the outcome that I’d hoped, I’m glad we talked,” he said. “I was craving intimacy. Not sexual intimacy, but spiritual intimacy.”
I know there’s something reassuring and comforting about a friend you’ve known for a long time; I can understand how for some friends, it turns into more. And it would’ve made my life so much easier if I could’ve just fallen in love with the Professor. If I had, we’d probably have been married for six or seven years by now. But after ten years, I think it’s safe to say it’s never going to happen. Hopefully he finally understands that.
Sigh.
Sure enough, a few weeks later, he stopped by my classroom and asked me out – as he stood in the doorway, a good 25 feet away from me. I found it endearing.
We went out to dinner several times. Even after I ended up quitting the job suddenly one day after a quasi-nervous breakdown, the Professor never held it against me. Since I was living at home at the time, he met my dad. They’d both been history majors in college, so every time we went out, we would come back to my place and he would talk to my dad – at considerable length – about history. The day after I lay down on the living room carpet and fell asleep as they chatted away about esoteric topics I knew nothing about, I realized that he was a better “match” for my dad than for me! That’s when it became clear that the Professor and I were just friends.
Well, it became clear to me, anyway. Although he always refused my offers to pay for my share of dinner, I thought, “Oh, he’s just old-fashioned.” We had never so much as held hands, let alone kissed, and never had any sort of relationship-defining talk, so I assumed he also felt we were just friends.
I moved to Boston for a year, then moved again to settle in New York City. The Professor and I had known each other about three and a half years when I became unemployed again and began spending my time focusing on my social life and dating in earnest. One night my boyfriend at the time answered my apartment phone when it rang. It was the Professor.
When I got on the phone, he acted like everything was normal. But when we met for dinner a month or so later, he suddenly asked, “Who was that guy who answered the phone at your place?”
“Oh, we’ve been dating for the past couple of months,” I said.
“Really??” The Professor looked astonished, then became quiet. He didn’t say too much after that.
Until a couple months later, when we went to the beach. We didn’t bring swimsuits or anything, just walked along the water and had dinner. I was standing on the sand, gazing at the beautiful blue water, when the Professor moved to hug me – and then he kissed me! On the lips! I was stunned, almost literally!
So I did what any sane, mature person would do: pretended it hadn’t happened.
We went to dinner and then got in his car to drive home. But eventually he turned down the radio and asked, “Do you ever think of me as ‘husband material’?”
!!!
Of course I had to say no. I just didn’t feel that way about him at all. I explained that he was way too smart for me, that sometimes he talked about topics in a discussion I had no hope of contributing to, that he should find someone more traditional from his Orthodox church to date, etc.
And that, I thought, was that. We stayed friends, though as the years went on, we saw each other less often – every three to four months, on average – and most often when I went home to see my dad (the Professor’s true love :).
But just last week, we met for dinner one night, and I was telling him about my friend’s upcoming wedding. He asked if it was difficult for me to watch “everyone” getting married.
“No, not really,” I said. “Not all of my friends are getting married. And it’s not like I haven’t been dating.”
He nearly dropped his fork. “Really!?” he said. He was quiet for a minute, staring down at his plate. Then he looked at me and asked, “So I still don’t factor into the equation at all?”
It was so awkward! He talked about how we’ve known each other for nearly ten years now, how good we are together, we communicate so well -- though as two of my good friends said, apparently we DON’T if he really thought we still had a shot together!
Then he said, “I’ve asked you to marry me four times!”
Now it was my turn to nearly drop my fork. “What are you talking about?” I said. “A proposal is getting down on one knee and giving a ring. I don’t remember anything like that!”
“It was close enough,” he said. He considered the kiss at the beach a proposal, as well as another time a few years later when he looked at me and said, out of the blue, “You’re going to marry me one day.” (For the record, my response was, “No, I’m not. We’re friends.”) As for the other two times he supposedly proposed – I really have no idea.
So I had to explain again that I just didn’t feel that way about him, that he was a great guy but just not for me, etc. He wanted to know exactly why I didn’t like him in that way (“Is it my glasses? Are they too thick?”). I felt terrible. We talked for a long time, though, and finally he seemed to get the idea.
“Even though this conversation didn’t having the outcome that I’d hoped, I’m glad we talked,” he said. “I was craving intimacy. Not sexual intimacy, but spiritual intimacy.”
I know there’s something reassuring and comforting about a friend you’ve known for a long time; I can understand how for some friends, it turns into more. And it would’ve made my life so much easier if I could’ve just fallen in love with the Professor. If I had, we’d probably have been married for six or seven years by now. But after ten years, I think it’s safe to say it’s never going to happen. Hopefully he finally understands that.
Sigh.
February 19, 2008
Dating 9 - 5
Name: Work
What it is: The place where you show up every day and do stuff in exchange for money
Cost: Free – actually, they pay you to be there!
Random fact: According to The Office Life web site (http://www.theofficelife.com/work-dating-office-romance.html), “a recent survey of 610 working men and women by vaultreports.com showed that 58% of people claimed to have had a workplace relationship, and a surprising 23% admitted to having ‘relations’ on office property.” (Makes you think twice before touching anything in the supply closet, doesn’t it?)
The scoop: I know they say lots of couples meet at work, but if I were counting on my job to supply my social life, I wouldn’t have had a date since 1998. I’ve only been asked out by a co-worker twice, and I only actually went out with one of them – a pretty low number, considering I’m 35 years old and have had a TON of jobs (staying at each one for only a year or two). And both of those co-workers were fellow teachers -- kind of funny, considering the stereotype about 90% of teachers being female. (Middle schools actually have a more even ratio of male to female teachers, in my experience). When I was in my twenties, my single young co-workers had no interest in me, and the rest of my co-workers were at least ten years older. Now that I’m in my thirties, the co-workers in my age group are either already married or gay, and the others are at least ten years younger!
My dates: I’ll call the first guy, simply, the Lonely Man, because I think he was. We met right after I moved to South Texas as a naïve 23-year-old, ready to save the world by teaching eighth grade English. He’d moved there years earlier from some other state and was teaching gifted/talented English to sixth, seventh and eighth graders. A few of us teachers went out to dinner one night, and although Lonely Man was a little strange and didn’t smile much, I learned that he played classical guitar, which was cool. He was also in his 40s – twenty years older than I was.
In the teachers’ lounge a few days later, one of my female co-workers casually asked, “How old a guy would you consider dating?”
Having no idea where she was coming from, I said, “I probably wouldn’t go more than ten years older.”
“So, 43 is too old, then?”
I said yes. She looked pensive. “I feel really awkward about this,” she said, awkwardly, “but Lonely Man likes you and he wanted me to ask you if you’re interested in him. But I know he’s too old for you.”
That’s really how it happened. It was so junior high, you would’ve thought we were the students, not the teachers! But, he was only the third guy who’d ever asked me out in my entire life (the other two had been two years earlier, in college, and neither of those relationships had lasted very long), so I was still flattered. After school that day, as I posted my students’ work on the walls of the trailer that was my classroom, Lonely Guy came around. We made small talk for a bit, and he finally said if I’d be interested in doing something one night.... Because I was nervous, I cut him off by blurting out, “Sure! That’d be fun!” even though I had no romantic interest in him.
He said okay. But the weird thing was, he never actually asked me out after that. A couple months later, he actually made plans with my roommate (only two years older than I was) to attend a concert. But when she got a strange vibe from him, she said, “We’re just going as friends, right?” He said, “Yes, because I know you wouldn’t go otherwise.” Sufficiently weirded out, she cancelled on him.
A couple months later, I ended up even more relieved that Lonely Man and I had never gotten together when a group of us met for dinner, and he talked about some sort of pest that was being a nuisance in his yard – maybe groundhogs? And he proceeded to tell us all proudly that he had taken to trapping the animals and drowning them in his bathtub. !!! I was horrified. I’ve always thought drowning has to be one of the worst ways to go, whether you’re a person or an animal. It was extraordinarily creepy.
I moved away a couple years later, and a few years after that, I learned that Lonely Man had died. :O Yes. He had moved to a bigger city to take a new teaching job – surprising, because he’d lived in that small South Texas town for so long, I thought he’d retire there – and the rumor was that he had killed himself. :( I felt a little guilty at first. If I had dated him, maybe he wouldn’t have committed suicide. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s really, really, REALLY not a good reason to date somebody.
Tomorrow I’ll post about the other guy I met at work – whom I’ve actually (according to him) been dating for ten years (!). Stay tuned....
What it is: The place where you show up every day and do stuff in exchange for money
Cost: Free – actually, they pay you to be there!
Random fact: According to The Office Life web site (http://www.theofficelife.com/work-dating-office-romance.html), “a recent survey of 610 working men and women by vaultreports.com showed that 58% of people claimed to have had a workplace relationship, and a surprising 23% admitted to having ‘relations’ on office property.” (Makes you think twice before touching anything in the supply closet, doesn’t it?)
The scoop: I know they say lots of couples meet at work, but if I were counting on my job to supply my social life, I wouldn’t have had a date since 1998. I’ve only been asked out by a co-worker twice, and I only actually went out with one of them – a pretty low number, considering I’m 35 years old and have had a TON of jobs (staying at each one for only a year or two). And both of those co-workers were fellow teachers -- kind of funny, considering the stereotype about 90% of teachers being female. (Middle schools actually have a more even ratio of male to female teachers, in my experience). When I was in my twenties, my single young co-workers had no interest in me, and the rest of my co-workers were at least ten years older. Now that I’m in my thirties, the co-workers in my age group are either already married or gay, and the others are at least ten years younger!
My dates: I’ll call the first guy, simply, the Lonely Man, because I think he was. We met right after I moved to South Texas as a naïve 23-year-old, ready to save the world by teaching eighth grade English. He’d moved there years earlier from some other state and was teaching gifted/talented English to sixth, seventh and eighth graders. A few of us teachers went out to dinner one night, and although Lonely Man was a little strange and didn’t smile much, I learned that he played classical guitar, which was cool. He was also in his 40s – twenty years older than I was.
In the teachers’ lounge a few days later, one of my female co-workers casually asked, “How old a guy would you consider dating?”
Having no idea where she was coming from, I said, “I probably wouldn’t go more than ten years older.”
“So, 43 is too old, then?”
I said yes. She looked pensive. “I feel really awkward about this,” she said, awkwardly, “but Lonely Man likes you and he wanted me to ask you if you’re interested in him. But I know he’s too old for you.”
That’s really how it happened. It was so junior high, you would’ve thought we were the students, not the teachers! But, he was only the third guy who’d ever asked me out in my entire life (the other two had been two years earlier, in college, and neither of those relationships had lasted very long), so I was still flattered. After school that day, as I posted my students’ work on the walls of the trailer that was my classroom, Lonely Guy came around. We made small talk for a bit, and he finally said if I’d be interested in doing something one night.... Because I was nervous, I cut him off by blurting out, “Sure! That’d be fun!” even though I had no romantic interest in him.
He said okay. But the weird thing was, he never actually asked me out after that. A couple months later, he actually made plans with my roommate (only two years older than I was) to attend a concert. But when she got a strange vibe from him, she said, “We’re just going as friends, right?” He said, “Yes, because I know you wouldn’t go otherwise.” Sufficiently weirded out, she cancelled on him.
A couple months later, I ended up even more relieved that Lonely Man and I had never gotten together when a group of us met for dinner, and he talked about some sort of pest that was being a nuisance in his yard – maybe groundhogs? And he proceeded to tell us all proudly that he had taken to trapping the animals and drowning them in his bathtub. !!! I was horrified. I’ve always thought drowning has to be one of the worst ways to go, whether you’re a person or an animal. It was extraordinarily creepy.
I moved away a couple years later, and a few years after that, I learned that Lonely Man had died. :O Yes. He had moved to a bigger city to take a new teaching job – surprising, because he’d lived in that small South Texas town for so long, I thought he’d retire there – and the rumor was that he had killed himself. :( I felt a little guilty at first. If I had dated him, maybe he wouldn’t have committed suicide. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s really, really, REALLY not a good reason to date somebody.
Tomorrow I’ll post about the other guy I met at work – whom I’ve actually (according to him) been dating for ten years (!). Stay tuned....
February 14, 2008
Cybercourting
As a Valentine’s Day treat for you, dear readers, I’m posting a wonderful, sweet, funny story from the Feb. 10th New York Times Magazine about one woman’s experience with on-line dating (on eHarmony, it sounds like) at age 55. May it give hope to us all. Happy Valentine’s Day!
“Cybercourting”
by Laurie Kasparian
The New York Times Magazine, 2/10/08
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/10/magazine/10lives-t.html?scp=1&sq=Cybercourting&st=nyt
“O.K.,” I told my best friend, “there’s this guy online I think I have to go out with.” It wasn’t said with the enthusiasm of one who finds love at first sight over the Internet. It was with a sigh, more than a modicum of dread and the appropriate amount of resignation that I admitted this to her, my happily married friend who found it all too easy to urge me to “get out there” and date.
I was 55, 15 years divorced, and this Internet campaign took all the pluck I could possibly muster. But all the other avenues had dried up — blind dates, volunteer groups, classes, professional contacts (bars were never an option). The site I used would send me matches, and all I had to do was read about them and “start communication” or “close” them out. Mostly I closed — square-dancers, Fess Parker fans, TV-fishing-show hosts and fathers of three preteens. But once in a great while someone came along who had no zapworthy traits.
I was a year into the search when this particular guy came along: Steve. It wasn’t that he sounded like the love of my life; it was that I could find no valid reason to reject him. My friend kept me very honest about this. She was in favor of kissing every single frog, and I dutifully ran my matches past her for a second screening. Steve, she enthusiastically agreed, had potential, and I knew what I had to do — “start communication.”
Our initial online interchanges went well. Steve asked what I thought the three most important qualities of a lasting marriage were, and I waxed eloquent on two of them, then gave up trying to impress him and just blurted out the third, “a killer sex life.” He told me his sons were both voted “best hair” in high school. “I am so proud,” he quipped. “They have worked so hard.” Questions and answers flew across the ether. But our schedules prevented us from meeting, so instead we moved up to the phone. Nightly calls lengthened to three hours and more as we hungered for and found common experiences and intimacy and trust. This was heady. But we still hadn’t met. We had the online photos, and we quizzed each other on our looks, but I wasn’t sure I would be attracted to him in person.
On the day we finally had our first date, I was having a major case of the vapors. My anxiety would settle for a moment, and then the thought of our meeting would set it off again. He seemed just as nervous. We each had mentioned that we had sensitive stomachs, so when he said, “You know we won’t go out to eat,” it didn’t sound as if he was cheap or weird.
Our rendezvous was at a bookstore in Newport Beach. I was to find my favorite book, and he was to find me. Was this cheesy or romantic? More troublesome was what book to pick. I did not want to be pretentious, superficial or predictable. I finally went with my true choice, “The Sound and the Fury.” I love its tale of the disintegration of a family in the South, and I especially love one line in the appendix, in which Faulkner gives all manner of family history. When it comes to the black family servants, he merely says of them all, “They endured.” It always touched me.
I nervously stood, book in hand, awaiting Steve’s arrival. I finally sat down in the aisle, leaned against the books, read lazily. I would see his sneakers approaching first, I thought. Finally they did. I looked up, saw what I felt was an old friend, jumped up and gave him a little hug. “Are you nervous?” he asked. “Not anymore,” I replied. “Me, either,” he said. “Let’s see what you picked.” I showed him the book. He took it in his hand. “Good choice,” he said. “Isn’t this the book that ends with something like ‘they endured’?”
We took the ferry across Newport Harbor, walked along the strand, talking and stealing glances. He didn’t look much like the picture. He was clearly older, decidedly heavier. Different glasses. We finally did decide to eat, and shared pictures of our kids as we did. It was clear he loved his children heart and soul. I liked that. Still, he seemed rather shy and stiff. Our phone calls had become very intimate, yet he steered clear of any intimacy now. I could tell he liked me, even though he did not smile much. I felt uncertain.
On the way back across the ferry, we were silent for the first time that night. He hadn’t touched me at all. Sitting side by side, I impulsively leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, and stayed there. It was comfortable, and I felt him relax. “How many people do you have to call tonight to tell about our date?” he casually asked. I counted up in my head: “Nine.” “Great,” he said, “the Supreme Court.” As we parted, he turned to me and said, “Thanks for the lean.” I smiled and realized bargains are made in an instant. For my part, I could see I had to start rearranging the old furniture in my head to make room for this strangely familiar stranger.
Three years later, we endure.
*
Laurie Kasparian is a high-school English teacher in Irvine, Calif.
“Cybercourting”
by Laurie Kasparian
The New York Times Magazine, 2/10/08
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/10/magazine/10lives-t.html?scp=1&sq=Cybercourting&st=nyt
“O.K.,” I told my best friend, “there’s this guy online I think I have to go out with.” It wasn’t said with the enthusiasm of one who finds love at first sight over the Internet. It was with a sigh, more than a modicum of dread and the appropriate amount of resignation that I admitted this to her, my happily married friend who found it all too easy to urge me to “get out there” and date.
I was 55, 15 years divorced, and this Internet campaign took all the pluck I could possibly muster. But all the other avenues had dried up — blind dates, volunteer groups, classes, professional contacts (bars were never an option). The site I used would send me matches, and all I had to do was read about them and “start communication” or “close” them out. Mostly I closed — square-dancers, Fess Parker fans, TV-fishing-show hosts and fathers of three preteens. But once in a great while someone came along who had no zapworthy traits.
I was a year into the search when this particular guy came along: Steve. It wasn’t that he sounded like the love of my life; it was that I could find no valid reason to reject him. My friend kept me very honest about this. She was in favor of kissing every single frog, and I dutifully ran my matches past her for a second screening. Steve, she enthusiastically agreed, had potential, and I knew what I had to do — “start communication.”
Our initial online interchanges went well. Steve asked what I thought the three most important qualities of a lasting marriage were, and I waxed eloquent on two of them, then gave up trying to impress him and just blurted out the third, “a killer sex life.” He told me his sons were both voted “best hair” in high school. “I am so proud,” he quipped. “They have worked so hard.” Questions and answers flew across the ether. But our schedules prevented us from meeting, so instead we moved up to the phone. Nightly calls lengthened to three hours and more as we hungered for and found common experiences and intimacy and trust. This was heady. But we still hadn’t met. We had the online photos, and we quizzed each other on our looks, but I wasn’t sure I would be attracted to him in person.
On the day we finally had our first date, I was having a major case of the vapors. My anxiety would settle for a moment, and then the thought of our meeting would set it off again. He seemed just as nervous. We each had mentioned that we had sensitive stomachs, so when he said, “You know we won’t go out to eat,” it didn’t sound as if he was cheap or weird.
Our rendezvous was at a bookstore in Newport Beach. I was to find my favorite book, and he was to find me. Was this cheesy or romantic? More troublesome was what book to pick. I did not want to be pretentious, superficial or predictable. I finally went with my true choice, “The Sound and the Fury.” I love its tale of the disintegration of a family in the South, and I especially love one line in the appendix, in which Faulkner gives all manner of family history. When it comes to the black family servants, he merely says of them all, “They endured.” It always touched me.
I nervously stood, book in hand, awaiting Steve’s arrival. I finally sat down in the aisle, leaned against the books, read lazily. I would see his sneakers approaching first, I thought. Finally they did. I looked up, saw what I felt was an old friend, jumped up and gave him a little hug. “Are you nervous?” he asked. “Not anymore,” I replied. “Me, either,” he said. “Let’s see what you picked.” I showed him the book. He took it in his hand. “Good choice,” he said. “Isn’t this the book that ends with something like ‘they endured’?”
We took the ferry across Newport Harbor, walked along the strand, talking and stealing glances. He didn’t look much like the picture. He was clearly older, decidedly heavier. Different glasses. We finally did decide to eat, and shared pictures of our kids as we did. It was clear he loved his children heart and soul. I liked that. Still, he seemed rather shy and stiff. Our phone calls had become very intimate, yet he steered clear of any intimacy now. I could tell he liked me, even though he did not smile much. I felt uncertain.
On the way back across the ferry, we were silent for the first time that night. He hadn’t touched me at all. Sitting side by side, I impulsively leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, and stayed there. It was comfortable, and I felt him relax. “How many people do you have to call tonight to tell about our date?” he casually asked. I counted up in my head: “Nine.” “Great,” he said, “the Supreme Court.” As we parted, he turned to me and said, “Thanks for the lean.” I smiled and realized bargains are made in an instant. For my part, I could see I had to start rearranging the old furniture in my head to make room for this strangely familiar stranger.
Three years later, we endure.
*
Laurie Kasparian is a high-school English teacher in Irvine, Calif.
February 13, 2008
Soul Mates: myth or reality?
When you’re in the initial communication stages with someone on eHarmony, one of the questions they can ask you (or you can ask them) is:
What do you think of “Soul Mates”?
A. there is no such thing
B. each person has one soul mate, whether they find them or not
C. a person has several soul mates in a lifetime
D. through work, any person you truly love can become your soul mate
Whenever someone asks me that question, I’m stumped. I have no idea how to respond. I was reminded of it yesterday while reading a magazine article in which a woman wrote, “That’s where I ended up meeting my soul mate.”
“That’s sweet,” part of me said.
“I’m gagging now,” the other part said.
It’s such a romantic notion to believe there’s one right person for everybody. It’s also kind of depressing. Not to be morbid, but what if your soul mate died as a child? Or what if he or she is alive and healthy but you skipped the one party, missed the one train, didn’t join the one web site that would have led you to meet?
It would explain why so many of us are still single, anyway.
And what about people who were widowed but got re-married, and truly felt both their first AND second husbands or wives were their soul mates -- though perhaps in different ways?
I just typed “soul mates” into Google and learned some interesting soul mate theories. The idea is assumed to have begun thousands of years ago when Plato wrote a story, “The Symposium,” about a race of human beings who were half-male/half-female, until Zeus split them apart. Forever after, they – we -- are consigned to spend an inordinate amount of time searching for our literal other half. Just as I was wondering what that meant for gay people, I found another web site that said Plato actually wrote that some of the beings were half-male/half-female and some were androgynous; therefore, some of us have a soul mate of the opposite gender, some the same.
Some people believe a soul mate is someone you’ve been with in past lives. But I have no idea if past lives are true, either. And others simply think your soul mate is someone you find easy to be with, someone with whom you feel a strong connection.
There’s an article by Gary Thomas titled “Soul Mates or Sole Mates?” on a web site for Christian college students, TrueU.org (link: http://www.trueu.org/dorms/menshall/A000000145.cfm). Interestingly, Thomas believes the concept of a soul mate, one person who completes us, is a myth, and is not Christian or biblical at all. He writes, “In a biblical view, there is not ‘one right choice’ for marriage, but rather good and bad choices. We are encouraged to use wisdom, not destiny, as our guide when choosing a marital partner. There is no indication that God creates ‘one’ person for us to marry. This is because Christians believe that God brings the primary meaning into our lives. Marriage — though wonderful — is still secondary….It really doesn't matter whether my spouse is a ‘soul mate,’ as much as it matters that I choose to love her with Christ's love. That means a sacrificial mindset marked by generosity, kindness, and mercy.”
When my sister (who has found her sou lmate, by the way) and I talked about it last week, she said she thought there are a range of potential soul mates for each person. After all, she said, “considering all the people in the world, and all the people that you meet, how can there be only one?”
I hope that’s true. Because even if I have a whole LEAGUE of soul mates out there, it’s been hard enough to find just one of them!
What do you think of “Soul Mates”?
A. there is no such thing
B. each person has one soul mate, whether they find them or not
C. a person has several soul mates in a lifetime
D. through work, any person you truly love can become your soul mate
Whenever someone asks me that question, I’m stumped. I have no idea how to respond. I was reminded of it yesterday while reading a magazine article in which a woman wrote, “That’s where I ended up meeting my soul mate.”
“That’s sweet,” part of me said.
“I’m gagging now,” the other part said.
It’s such a romantic notion to believe there’s one right person for everybody. It’s also kind of depressing. Not to be morbid, but what if your soul mate died as a child? Or what if he or she is alive and healthy but you skipped the one party, missed the one train, didn’t join the one web site that would have led you to meet?
It would explain why so many of us are still single, anyway.
And what about people who were widowed but got re-married, and truly felt both their first AND second husbands or wives were their soul mates -- though perhaps in different ways?
I just typed “soul mates” into Google and learned some interesting soul mate theories. The idea is assumed to have begun thousands of years ago when Plato wrote a story, “The Symposium,” about a race of human beings who were half-male/half-female, until Zeus split them apart. Forever after, they – we -- are consigned to spend an inordinate amount of time searching for our literal other half. Just as I was wondering what that meant for gay people, I found another web site that said Plato actually wrote that some of the beings were half-male/half-female and some were androgynous; therefore, some of us have a soul mate of the opposite gender, some the same.
Some people believe a soul mate is someone you’ve been with in past lives. But I have no idea if past lives are true, either. And others simply think your soul mate is someone you find easy to be with, someone with whom you feel a strong connection.
There’s an article by Gary Thomas titled “Soul Mates or Sole Mates?” on a web site for Christian college students, TrueU.org (link: http://www.trueu.org/dorms/menshall/A000000145.cfm). Interestingly, Thomas believes the concept of a soul mate, one person who completes us, is a myth, and is not Christian or biblical at all. He writes, “In a biblical view, there is not ‘one right choice’ for marriage, but rather good and bad choices. We are encouraged to use wisdom, not destiny, as our guide when choosing a marital partner. There is no indication that God creates ‘one’ person for us to marry. This is because Christians believe that God brings the primary meaning into our lives. Marriage — though wonderful — is still secondary….It really doesn't matter whether my spouse is a ‘soul mate,’ as much as it matters that I choose to love her with Christ's love. That means a sacrificial mindset marked by generosity, kindness, and mercy.”
When my sister (who has found her sou lmate, by the way) and I talked about it last week, she said she thought there are a range of potential soul mates for each person. After all, she said, “considering all the people in the world, and all the people that you meet, how can there be only one?”
I hope that’s true. Because even if I have a whole LEAGUE of soul mates out there, it’s been hard enough to find just one of them!
February 12, 2008
How bizarre, how bizarre
How could I have neglected to write about the weirdest speed-date I’ve ever had, at New York EasyDates’ “creative singles” event!? (See my 1/25/08 “EasyDates” post.) A guy we’ll call Paranoid sat down across from me, and we started chatting. When I mentioned that I do grantwriting, he said, “Oh, I’ve written a few grants – for my research.”
“Research on what?” I asked.
He then proceeded to tell me that twelve years ago he got a grant to do some scientific research, but he finished in record time, so his mentor told him to come up with an additional project. It was fall, and Paranoid had a lot of leaves in his yard, so he decided to figure out a way to make ethanol out of leaves – and within just a few months, he did it. He got a million-dollar grant to perfect the process, and his mentor started flying to different countries to introduce the technology to them.
“He was flying from Taiwan to Brazil when he died of an aneurysm on the plane – well, that’s what they SAID happened,” Paranoid said with a suspicious air.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I think they got him,” Paranoid whispered. “The big businesses that grow corn, they don’t want to see ethanol made from leaves and grass and lose their profits. In fact, I think the Brazilians stole our technology and are using it now – that’s how they can produce so much. They SAY their ethanol is from sugarcane, but they’re definitely using our technology.”
Paranoid said that his mentor’s “murder” scared him so badly that he ended up changing his name, getting a different social security number, and moving “to a dead end dirt road on Long Island. I still live there,” he added.
Paranoid certainly got points for being, uh, “creative,” but I didn’t choose to see him again. I would’ve been looking over my shoulder the entire time!
I will note, however, that Brazil IS at or near the top of the world in global ethanol production – from sugarcane. So who knows? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you….
“Research on what?” I asked.
He then proceeded to tell me that twelve years ago he got a grant to do some scientific research, but he finished in record time, so his mentor told him to come up with an additional project. It was fall, and Paranoid had a lot of leaves in his yard, so he decided to figure out a way to make ethanol out of leaves – and within just a few months, he did it. He got a million-dollar grant to perfect the process, and his mentor started flying to different countries to introduce the technology to them.
“He was flying from Taiwan to Brazil when he died of an aneurysm on the plane – well, that’s what they SAID happened,” Paranoid said with a suspicious air.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I think they got him,” Paranoid whispered. “The big businesses that grow corn, they don’t want to see ethanol made from leaves and grass and lose their profits. In fact, I think the Brazilians stole our technology and are using it now – that’s how they can produce so much. They SAY their ethanol is from sugarcane, but they’re definitely using our technology.”
Paranoid said that his mentor’s “murder” scared him so badly that he ended up changing his name, getting a different social security number, and moving “to a dead end dirt road on Long Island. I still live there,” he added.
Paranoid certainly got points for being, uh, “creative,” but I didn’t choose to see him again. I would’ve been looking over my shoulder the entire time!
I will note, however, that Brazil IS at or near the top of the world in global ethanol production – from sugarcane. So who knows? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you….
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