http://qeglpqjluthw.com/positively passionate about life

So where the heck have I been for two months?  Hiding in my cave of perfectionism, afraid to peak out and take a risk.  After my last post, I just froze.  I came up with a new name for my blog (Stepping Out–I’m still not sure this will stick) and I was going gang busters in my head with all of these wild ideas for directions I would take with this new theme.  I got so excited about my vision that my perfectionism got the best of me–I knew I’d never live up to my own expectations so instead of doing anything to move it forward, I got stuck.  And here I am two months later.  (Wow, I could start a whole new blog on that topic!)  I had a talk with my friend and colleague, Marc, about the whole thing.  After a swift kick in the butt (thanks, Marc!), I promised him I’d post another blog entry by this Saturday.  So, here I am.  In the spirit of my new theme, I’m going to step out and share a very personal, and somewhat humiliating experience.     

Last fall I took a creative writing class–my very first foray into creative writing. (A big step out for me–I’ll write about that experience later.)  Long story short, I wrote a series of stories about my internet dating experiences (and even bigger step out!)  Ultimately it was a very positive experience–I met my husband through the process!–but along the way I had had some crazy times with my e-Harmony companions.  Here’s one of my favorite stories…. Sit back and enjoy!

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At age 37, with the demise of a long-term relationship, I was single again.

I found the prospect of being a free agent again less than thrilling. I wasn’t into the bar scene. I didn’t have a lot of time on my hands with a demanding job and an intense graduate school schedule. And I could hardly compete on the O.C. dating scene, where dyed blond hair, fake boobs, a size 2 butt (courtesy of liposuction) and the perfect white smile prevail.

After a few months I decided to give internet dating a try.  One Saturday afternoon, I peeked onto the E-Harmony website.  What harm would it do to check it out?  Forty-five minutes later I’d gotten sucked in. 

I filled out the 200-question “personality profile” designed to match me with Mr. Right. Then I got to design my ideal guy—height, build, religion, geographical area, smoking status, marital status, educational background, children, you name it.  That was kind of fun, like building your own toy teddy bear at the mall.  Thirty-five dollars later, my internet dating journey began.

I met a fair number of normal, nice guys during my internet dating days.  And I also met some that still provide a source of entertainment when I pause to remember.  After 18 months, one serious relationship, a dozen or so dates and a few voluntary and involuntary dry spells, I met Paul.  Paul was definitely part of the hard to forget group.  He had an appealing profile going for him—he was attractive, lived in Irvine, divorced with no kids, the CFO of a financial services company. And he had thoughtful, articulate responses to the standard profile questions like, “What qualities do you have to offer a life partner?  What are the five things you can’t live without?”  Paul was serious about finding a woman to share his life with.  He was 48, 10 years older than me and the upper age limit I selected for my build-a-guy profile.

We arranged to meet for a drink at Houston’s in Irvine, quite the hang out for the singles crowd, I was soon to learn.  It was a Thursday night.  I got there a few minutes early and sat on a tall stool, in the waiting area at the front of the restaurant, knowing full well that everyone in the place knew I was there on a blind date. 

Those five minutes felt like 50 minutes where the only form of possible relief to my pre-introduction anxiety was either throwing up or the guy actually arriving.  It was torture every time. Paul showed up and my misery came to an end.  I recognized him right away.  He was tall with dark hair, graying around the edges, slim and nicely dressed.  He offered a big smile and said, “Hi, I’m Paul.”  “Hi, Paul, I’m Suzanne.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Then came the stare.  The “I’m sizing you up to see if I think this could work” stare.  It usually lasts for 3-4 very long seconds. His smile didn’t fade—I had passed the initial stare test.  He suggested we go to the bar and order a drink so I slid off my stool and followed him over.

Forty-five minutes later, I’d learned quite a bit about Paul.  Little did Paul know, I had a knack for drawing people out. 

Paul was from the East coast, raised as an Orthodox Jew but was no longer practicing.  He was divorced after a 20+ year marriage.  “That must have been very difficult for you.  What happened to your marriage?”  He looked down and shrugged, “She didn’t want to have sex with me any more.”  Paul had enjoyed a very successful career, but he wasn’t fulfilled.  He had decided to pursue a new career as a high school math teacher, had enrolled in a teacher certification program and was soon to start on his new path.  He’d made a lot of money and was able to afford his career shift.  In fact, he told me, “If we were to end up together, you would never have to work again.”  Wow, that was quite an offer—not bad for a first date.  But kids were definitely not part of the picture.  About a year ago he’d ended a serious two-year relationship with a woman who desperately wanted a child, one he was not willing to father.

After the first half an hour, Paul admitted he found me a bit aloof at first. “You seemed kind of distant, kind of cool,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if this would work out. But, wow, you are terrific.  This is great.”  I’d managed to learn a great deal about Paul yet still remained a mystery to him.  By this time, he wanted more so he asked if I’d like to stay for a light dinner.  I agreed.  The waitress took us to our booth. I slid in to my side.  He also slid into my side, right next to me. 

Our waitress quickly took our orders. Two glasses of red wine and two dinner salads.  As we were waiting for our meals, I noticed Paul’s college ring.  I took his hand and brought it closer to get a good look. “Nice ring.  You went to Case Western. Impressive.”  His graduation year, 1974, was cast in gold on the side of the ring.  “Wait, you graduated in 1974?  You can’t be 48.  That doesn’t add up.”  “Well, actually I’m 50,” he said.  “I’m sorry.  I know my profile says 48.” My mental calculator was still at work. “No, that’s still not right.  I graduated in 1989 so you graduated 15 years before I did.  That would make you 53.”  He looked at me straight on, eyes wide open, a little stunned. “You’re right.  I’m 53.”  “So, you lied.  Not once but twice.  I’m not sure which is worse—that you lied, or lied about lying!”  I was feeling pretty self-righteous and rather clever for making this discovery so quickly and from something as benign as a school ring.  “So, you’re going to give up on this, just like that?” he asked.  “No, I didn’t say that.  Tell me, though, why did you lie about your age?”  Then I got the “I don’t feel 53” explanation—he feels much younger than his age, therefore he’s entitled to stretch the truth a bit.  It was either the wine or the promise of never having to work again that got the best of me. I don’t know which, but I let it pass.

Big mistake.

After dinner, we walked to the restaurant’s parking lot.  I was parked in a separate lot, across the street.  Paul offered to drive me to my car, I agreed.  He drove a Mercedes—an older sports model.  He pulled up to my car.  He asked if he could come sit with my in the car for a few minutes.  Because I didn’t want to disappoint or seem ungrateful, I said yes.  We talked for a few minutes. Mainly I listened while he recounted our evening and shared how excited he was to have met me.  I was flattered.  He asked if he could kiss me and I said yes.  There we were, in a parking lot, in the front seat of my car.  A sweet little good night kiss turned into a full on high school-grade make-out session. 

He was a horrible kisser.  Wildly enthusiastic, but horrible.  He was so excited I wondered if it had been two years since he had kissed a woman!  I thought for sure he was going to swallow my chin and eventually my whole head.  Thankfully, the stick shift kept him at a safe distance.  After a few minutes, I managed to get some space between us long enough to make the case for needing to go home.  We said good night, and he said he would call, suggesting maybe we could get together in Long Beach next time, where he worked.  I thanked him for dinner. He got out and shut the door behind him. 

The ride home was consumed with those “not quite sure how I feel about this one” thoughts.  It wasn’t so bad, was it?  He’s a nice guy, super responsible, financially secure.  Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?  He was just a little overzealous.  Don’t be too harsh.  Guys lie about their age all the time.  He was pretty open about his life—he’s probably a pretty good communicator.  And on and on the commentary went. 

The next morning, I was on my way to the counseling clinic where I was working as a marriage and family therapy intern.  It was about 9 a.m.  My cell phone rang.  It was his number!  I just couldn’t bring myself to answer it.  I just wasn’t ready. I still had that “excited icky” feeling in my stomach and wasn’t sure yet whether the “excited” or “icky” part would win out.  Time would tell.  By 7:30 pm that night, I had 3 more phone calls.  I was hiding, and thanking god for caller ID. Each message was the same—wondering where I was and why I hadn’t returned his calls.  By now the “icky” part was the clear winner.  Oh, well, chock another one up to experience.

Saturday morning rolled around.  At 7:30 am the phone rang.  Yes, it was him again!  How did he get my home number?  I just couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and face him. Yes, I’m a chicken.  It’s why I let him get in my car and how I practically got my head eaten off by his voluminous kisses. 

“Hi, it’s Paul again. I’ve figured out by now that you’re not going to call me back.  I guess I did something wrong.  Hey, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just call me back or send me an e-mail.  I’d like to know what I did wrong so I can learn from the experience.  I’d really appreciate it.”  Whoa.  This guy actually wants to learn from his mistakes.  That’s an admirable quality.  NO, Suzanne, you are not going to change your mind on this!  I decided to be respectful of his humility and I sent him an e-mail.  It was short and sweet, direct yet sensitive.  I let him know that it was all a little too much and I felt like I was being swallowed up by him.

Little did he know, I meant it figuratively, and literally.

That could have been the end of my internet dating adventures. I was tempted to just drop out. Good thing I didn’t. Only four months later, I met John, the love of my life and husband of almost two years.