Reasons 4 - 205 Why Dating Is Rough: What burner am I on?

Internet dating has been on the back burner. Simply put, I cannot be bothered. Dating in general and internet dating in specific requires a certain amount of fresh-faced, bright eyed and bushy tailed optimism, lest you come across as one of those jaded, life-weary, angry types. And every once in awhile enough becomes enough, and even the most good-natured, happy go lucky dating warrior runs low on the mental energy required for another turn up to bat. Any coach worth his salt will bench an exhausted athlete to allow for “strategic disengagement”, but in the sport that is dating, I am my own coach. Thus, this charm city newbie has hidden her profile for a bit and in the cold winter months is choosing the company of her TiVo, her cat (now where have I heard that phrase before?) and real life opportunities as opposed to another wink and a plate of overcooked chicken at Baltimore’s newest trendy bad restaurant.

Have I declared a strike? No, no, that sounds so hostile. More like an indefinite Match Mancation. Wouldn’t it be nice if I went all “The Weather Is Here, I Wish You Were Beautiful” and never came back?

As relaxing as this is, it has posed a problem, though, the problem of writing material. While I can get away with a post or two about Boeuf Bourguignonne every once in awhile, let’s face it. Yes, it is heavenly to motor through a plate of the stuff; however, you and I both know it’s not why you tune into this particular blog. No, no, you tune in because God Almighty you love a good old fashion train wreck. And I ask you, reader, what’s a better wreck of said train than my ass expanding due to a chronic case of datis interwebis horrificus? I’ve been half-tempted to take the profile for a spin just to have something to write about, but this seemed wrong. Horridly, karmically, God will afflict me with the world’s largest impacted colon as punishment wrong.

Besides, it’s too damn cold out. And did I mention real life?

Back to the problem of writing material. Lucky for me, a Baader Meinhof happened recently when in the span of a day or so the concept of “Back Burner” relationships came up as a trending topic of conversation. Seems as though everyone’s got a thought or two on them. More interestingly, everyone’s got a different place for them in their dating line up. These conversations struck a cord with me, as I’ll admit to at times having as active a back burner as the next gal. Moreover, I am acutely aware of situations where I have been the person on someone else’s back burner. And all this interests me. So for a series of upcoming posts, I decided to put the tens of thousands of dollars my parents spent on my science degree to good use. I canvased some friends via email, collected data on the subject and have been trying to tease out trends (or as my former boss would creepily say “massage the data”). I’m comparing it with my own observations and attempting to write it all up. Probably not what my faculty advisor envisioned all those years ago, but really. What has he done for me lately?

I’ve been working on this topic for nearly a month now, and I sense a few folks getting impatient, as more than one person shot me a “what’s this piece of crap?”-type email upon reading the nickname post. My humble apologies. Turns out that the back burner has a little more meat on its bones than I anticipated, and I’ve been spending quite a bit of time scratching my head and staring at it, circling it, kicking it, and wondering if I should throw good judgement out the window and brazenly forage ahead or disappear into the night and pretend this topic never existed.

Much like inviting two dozen people over for a sit down dinner of Boeuf Bourguignonne.

Why do I do these kinds of things to myself???

Upon hearing I was having so much difficulty, my vertically gifted West Coast readership suggested that I calm the $%^& down and break this topic into a series of posts. (BTW, way to use those Wharton management skillz to get some productivity out of me. That degree just paid for itself...) What a great idea. So in a rare display of common sense, I’ve decided to simplify, to eat this elephant one bite at a time. Thus, back burner musings will be coming to you piecemeal.

And the Boeuf Bourguignonne will be a buffet.

By the way, to the freeloading jerks who are reading this now but never shot me a reply, thanks, you know, for being so supportive of my dream and stuff. Duly noted. Now would be a terrific time to send me some thoughts. Just sayin’.....

Firing up the stove,

khop

Pants 1, Khop 1. Final Score: Push.....

I am not going to lie to you.

Internet dating is rough. There are bad dates followed by worse dates followed by dates that leave you wondering just what kind puppy holocaust you spearheaded in your last life. Dates with the guys you hope never call (they do) followed by the rare dates with the ones you hope do call (they don't).

Serenity now!

Most of the time I find it pretty easy to stay upbeat about the hilarity of it all. After all, in what other venue would I have wound up dining with LifeIsShort443, who shared with me a detailed account of his self-diagnosed "abandonment issues" before the first round of drinks hit the table? And I ask you, how else would I have ever crossed paths with HeyItsMe, who's foolproof wooing techniques include referring to the city I openly love as "Filth-adelphia" a record three times in less than five minutes? And dear, blessed reader. Please, oh please, don't get me started about what happens when a good friend in the same metropolitan area who happens to share a pretty good physical resemblance with me also hops on match.com during the same time period. Truly, truly, that topic alone breeds enough material for a series of posts and perhaps an episode or two of "Facts of Life". Of course I would be remiss in not mentioning the fact that I have also met some very cool people, people whom fate chose to bring into my life via a good old fashioned "wink".

However, my heart is not made from tin, and when I am cut, I do actually bleed. Therefore, it is impossible to be immune from the lows that come with online dating. And those lows, boy are they low. On the walk home from dinner with LifeIsShort, my mind was assaulted with visions of married ex-boyfriends, a future with fifty cats and holiday after holiday after holiday of being A-L-O-N-E. Not surprisingly, I wound up working myself into quite a state. It's a good thing the path home didn't include walking across a bridge, because I can see the headline now: "Online Dating Drives Local Girl to Jump: One Meal with "LifeIsShort" Caused Life to be Long Enough".

If this does, in fact, happen, will somebody please take in my fifty cats?

Anywho, aside from the mental trauma, the other morning I discovered another side effect of my online search for love. On Thanksgiving morning I was preparing to head over to my parents' house for a day of American-style gluttony when it happened. Simply put, my pants betrayed me.

And it’s all the internet’s fault.

I don’t know about you, but I hate it when that happens.

Guys, you’re undoubtedly confused right now, but ladies, you know how this rolls. Life is good, not a care in the world, perhaps you’re even singing a little Debbie Gibson throwback number in your head. One leg goes in, followed by the other, pull ‘em up, go to button - wait. Uh oh. What’s going on here? What should be lose is obscenely tight. Lemme see if some squats will help stretch ‘em out. Crap. It’s wearable, but it’s certainly not comfortable, OH DEAR GOD WHY? [Cut to several moments of uncontrollable weeping.]

Such was the scene in my bedroom Thanksgiving morning, of all mornings, and when I finally peeled myself off the floor, I confirmed via measuring tape my worst suspicions: my ass had undergone a secret expansion of epic proportions, coming in at a full quarter inch above what I term acceptable for ass circumference. (Yes, yes, I do have a predetermined measurement of what’s an acceptable ass circumference. Don’t you? Doesn’t everybody? Hel-LO???) This news would send me into a tailspin on any day of the year, but that day was so much worse. Goodbye, pumpkin pie. Adios, stuffing and sweet potato casserole. Farewell, second meal two hours later. Perhaps next year we will be on better terms.

How did this happen? At first I was stumped. I've been swimming just as much as always and have even been throwing some running in. What was going on here? Pardon my language, mom, but what the fuck?!?!

Then it dawned on me. My week used to go like this:

Monday: Swim

Tuesday: Stay in, cook healthy meal.

Wednesday: Swim

Thursday: Stay in, eat healthy left overs. Rejoice in health.

Friday: Perhaps some happy hour, followed by dinner out

Saturday: Swim. Think smug thoughts about the ridiculously good shape I’m in. Perhaps go out

Sunday: Whatever. Hey Steve, care to go running?

Lately, though, my week has gone like this:

Monday: Swim

Tuesday: Date

Wednesday: Swim

Thursday: Date (sigh.)

Friday: Crap. Another date.

Saturday: Swim. Think smug thoughts about the ridiculously good shape I’m in. Perhaps go out

Sunday: Really? Another *&%$ing date?

What, perchance, would you think the caloric difference would be between those two schedules? I can’t even begin to guess, but you know the result: a quarter inch above acceptable.

At this realization, I stomped into my office and shook an angry fist at my computer.

GOD DAMN YOU, INTERNET, GOD DAMN YOU!

Knowing that Thanksgiving Day serves as the starter’s pistol on the beginning of a month-long marathon of holiday over-indulging, I decided damage control needed to begin that very moment. I’m a firm believer in putting into place conditions that prevent bad behavior and setting up consequences for if it happens anyway. So what did I do? I took out my tightest, most constrictive pair of jeans, defied a few laws of physics and jammed my rear into them before heading off to a day of No Carb Left Behind at my parents‘ house. I wore those horrific things all day as a reminder of that quarter inch and as a pledge to not allow that quarter become a half. I’m proud to say that I made it until 8PM in those jeans, until I couldn’t take it anymore, grabbed a pair of my mom’s sweatpants and collapsed on the sofa. Moreover, I became the first person in the history of my family to actually have some salad with my Thanksgiving dinner, every bite of which was eyed with suspicion and contempt by my loving clan.

This month is going to be a constant two steps forward, one step back situation, a balancing act between enjoying the holidays and getting rid of that quarter inch. You know what the real kick in the crotch irony of it all is? What do you think is the Number One, Never Fail, Reliable as the Sun Rising Each Day method for Khop dropping a few pounds?

Going through a bad break up. Yep, yep, the pounds slide off my rear like water off a duck’s back.

Seriously????

Off to fat camp,

khop

Reason 539 Why Dating is Rough: Check, Please!

Recently, a certain vertically gifted gentleman and I were catching up over email, and of course the conversation wandered on over to our love lives. He was recounting the various twists and turns he’s currently experiencing when he wrote this (quoted with permission and name changed btw):

“On Thursday I went out with Jennifer (who my friend met at her second cousin's wake). Guess what? I bought two rounds of drinks (as is proper form), but Jennifer neither said thank you nor offered to buy a round. Guess that's how she rolls. Is that weird that I think that's weird? It seems petty on one hand, but strange on the other.”

Upon reading his email I was struck by déjà vu. I just had this conversation not too long ago, but from the opposite viewpoint. A girlfriend of mine had just come home from a first date she had been extremely excited about. The rapport had been great, the signs all good. But then, out of nowhere, I get a text: “I’m done with him – He made me PAY!”

Huh. First dates are so god damn rough. There’s opportunity for fatal error with every word uttered, and I think all of us can probably recount a first date where the evening took a sudden sharp left turn from promising to “well, this was great, but I gotta get up real early….” From “Woo hoo!” to “Uh oh…” From a strong heart beat and good prognosis to flat-lined and morgue-bound. As Wise Cassie recently posted for her gchat status (presumably after a first date), first dates “are like job interviews, except with cocktails.”

Dear God, how do recovering alcoholics and Mormons get through them?

Added to the confusion is this whole “Who picks up the tab?” minefield dance that goes down just as the date is rounding third. As seen from the two aforementioned examples, a perfectly good evening can go down the tubes if this spot is handled incorrectly by either party. A budding relationship nipped in said bud. Good times, but no happy ending. We no longer live in the world of Mad Men when the rules of engagement on this topic were so crystal clear: Boy asks girl on date. Boy pays for date. Girl bats eyelashes, smiles, says thank you, and goes home hoping a marriage proposal is next. This day and age, playing a quick mental game of WWDD (What Would the Drapers Do?) does not a clear answer give.

I don’t know a lot about dating. In fact, some could say I’m the last person that should be handing out advice. This particular spot, however, I do feel as though I have mastered and can execute flawlessly every time. That being said, allow me to recommend a few guidelines for both sexes on how to successfully navigate this oh-so-precarious spot. (a.k.a. “How shit should go down”)

Section 1: “The Main Tab”

Note: The term “Main Tab” is somewhat self explanatory and refers to the main event of the date, usually the meal tab, not including tip.

Guys, as a rule of thumb, know that you are on the hook for paying for the Main Tab at least for Dates One and Two. That being said, pick somewhere you can afford. We’re not looking for you to wipe out your bank account; we’re simply looking to be courted and made to feel special. Plus, it’s cringingly nails down a chalkboard awkward for us if there’s even the whisper of a wince when you see the total. So if pizza by the slice is all you can manage at this juncture, then slices all around. Just be sure to hunt down the best slices in the city.

Normally, I’d like to say Date Three is where it’s acceptable to let the lady pick up a Main Tab, but by all means, if you are aiming to send a strong WOO message, go for it. Think of it as Extra Credit. Please know that if you cruise past Date Four without allowing the lady to treat, you are conditioning her to expect you to treat at all times from now until eternity. Do not, then, get your panties all up in a bunch when after two years of dating her and picking up the Main Tab each time, your lady stops even reaching for the check. You did it to yourself. (Woops, how did that piece of baggage slip into this conversation??)

One you’re past the initial chunk of dates, I think it’s perfectly acceptable to alternate who foots the bill, especially if both parties are gainfully employed professionals. It is never, ever, under any circumstances, in my humble opinion, acceptable to go “dutch”, no matter how long you’ve been together. Nothing kills the romance quicker than the look the waitress gives you when you ask her to “split it between both cards….”

Section 2: “The Secondary Tabs”

The person who has just been treated should now seek out a Secondary Tab to pay for as a gesture of gratitude and reciprocity. This could be as simple as offering to leave the tip at the restaurant (see below suggested script), or to grab the next round of drinks. Or it could be to pick up the next activity on the date: the movie tickets, dessert at a neighborhood ice cream shop, a round or two of ammo… You know, whatever. Whether or not your date chooses to take you up on this offer is immaterial. As you can see from the account my gentleman friend gives, it is the attempt that matters.

Section 3: “It’s the first date, and the check has arrived: A suggested script”:

Scene: The check has arrived. It’s sitting on the edge of the table in the little black sleeve. No one has touched it; the tab is not known. Lighthearted conversation is still bouncing back and forth, as if a time bomb has not been just placed six inches away. However, all mental energy on the part of both parties is now focused on how to navigate the next five minutes. Assuming both diners are even somewhat interested in a repeat of the evening, may I suggest something similar to this:

Man – picks up and looks at the check. Places credit card in folder and closes it, if possible without even pausing in what he’s saying.

Woman – in a timid voice, gesturing towards the closed folder, “Can I help with that?”

Man – “Oh absolutely not. I’ve got that covered.” Smile, showing teeth.

Woman – Show surprise and slightly exaggerated gratitude. “Oh! Thank you so much – that’s so sweet of you!” Touch his arm here, if at all possible. “Perhaps… I could leave the tip?” (Note to women – Always carry enough cash in the right increments to make this easy if he says yes.)

Man – You have two choices. You can either say, “Um, well, ok! Let’s see, looks like $15 should be plenty.” OR you can say, “Nah, I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though. Why don’t you grab us a round of drinks at this great bar down the street.”

See how easy this can be? No muss, no fuss.

I’ve been told the average male dreads this moment during a first date, because he is presented with a potential lose-lose situation. In this age of female empowerment, his date may get offended if he won’t accept her money. On the flip side he may be labeled cheap if he does, as was the case of the guy with whom my girlfriend dined. Upon further review of that particular play, however, a blunder on her part became evident. The bill came, and he picked it up. She offered to chip in, and he declined. Instead of thanking him, though, she went around the bend one more round, asking if he was sure. He froze in panic and then after a long pause finally blurted out, “Err, fine. Why don’t you just give me a twenty?” Yikes.

Don’t worry, fella’s, she’s got the script down now. We’ve rehearsed it several times.

Now, if only the rest of dating could be this easy…..

Buyin’ the movie tickets,

khop