Expiration Date
It seems that a person’s words, much like 2% milk or a five year automobile warranty, have an expiration date.
Thus content must be closely considered during pointed conversations where declarations of feelings or intent, impending plans or relationship status have been discussed, as there seems to be an implied deadline.
I remember a friend’s recounting of a conversation she had with her recent “X” that both puzzled and humored me; puzzling as the affirmative declarations of affection and continuity during the relationship were in direct conflict with his lack of follow through and subsequent termination of the relationship. Humorous as you will note the adjective used to describe her “X” is a one word name, with no verb following suit to lend clarity or defining status.
According to her “X”, (he is now merely her “X”, not ‘X” boyfriend) though he fondly referred to her as his “girlfriend” throughout the course of their relationship, post break up, he clarified that they were never really a committed couple. They were merely “seeing each other” casually and thus he is truly not her “ex boyfriend”. It seems he was “confused” and that she “read into things.” Yet she is possession of sufficient auditory and verbal faculties to recognize and process his exact words at the time. Nor is she a simpering girl to read volumes into simple words or gestures. Trust that she did not misunderstand him. In retrospect, what she should have done was to ask for the expiration date attached to his words, to determine longevity and validity.
They say hindsight is 20/20.
I return once again to the old adage, “say what you mean and mean what you say”.
Apparently he subscribed to the cliché of “I meant it at the time”.
Women and Men are both guilty of this. Impulsive declarations of affection provided without consideration beyond the moment (sometimes inspired by Jose Cuervo or an intense make out session) do often result in false hope and mixed perception. Worst case scenario you end up with midnight text messages, and dead rabbit stew reminiscent of our favorite stalker movie, for not truly meaning what you said “beyond the moment”. .
Some things to consider…
If on a first date, he tells you that he can see a future with you, ask him to clarify if that extends beyond the next 24 hours period after his proposed “night cap”. If after this he relents, perhaps he meant it but only “at the time”.
If she tells you that she feels a “close connection” twenty minutes into initial conversation, affirm that she will continue to feel this after you stick her with the bar tab after 15 more minutes have elapsed.
Don’t put too much stock into something said “at the moment” but rather consider the long term follow through to assess validity.
The small and simple moral to this story is, always consider your words and the impact, for the short term gratification may not be worth the long term and possibly negative affect on the person’s state of mind, and your own conscience..
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
"Fiery Car Crash"
I had a wonderful date, she pondered, and then I never heard from him again.
We were together for 4 months, she cried into her Kleenex, and then he just vanished.
He told me he would call, she pondered; I wonder if he lost my phone number? Yet I provided my cell number, home number, work number, work fax, home fax, skype address, home address, work email address-yes he lost all of this information soon after he was admitted to the rehab hospital for adult onset dementia and the loss of his limbs, thereby rendering it impossible to make contact.
Do any of these scenarios sound familiar to you? I know I have experienced this same disillusionment, where the stirring of hope, spurred by attention and affection from a person of seeming worth, are stifled before given time to flourish from possibility to improbability faster than I can gain a pant size. And that my friend is fast.
A strange and disturbing phenomenon is affecting a targeted male population between 22 and 50, unreported deaths and disappearances are occurring with no explanation, and the numbers are fearfully rising. I call this “fiery car crash phenomena” the inexplicable reason why the seemingly nice guy you spent your valuable time with, who acted with intent and gave promises of future encounters, disappears with out so much as a parting phone call or gift, leaving you a little saddened and a lot questioning. Unfortunately the questioning is of yourself rather than the individual who decided to flee the scene of the crime without nary a by your leave or “I am just not that into you”.
Stop the hopeless tears and questions of self worth. It is one of life’s inexplicable secrets I liken to the Bermuda Triangle or space flight. There is only one possible conclusion I can draw, that the guy you liked has mysteriously perished, whether deep in a comatose state in the nearby hospital ICU, where even in his healing slumber he is tormented by his inability to contact you. Or death by fiery car crash, where your name was surely the last word he uttered before perishing in the sharp rocks below.
What other answer could there be? What rational, kind adult would make that kind of promise but ultimately not deliver in the follow through?
I am unfortunately not the author of the creative title to this syndrome. A brash and creative old room mate of mine offered this an explanation one Friday night when I was crying into my cheerios, bemoaning my fate as the young man with whom I had spent two glorious weeks had simply vanished into thin air.
“He must have died in a fiery car crash” she simply and emphatically stated.
I looked up in surprise.
“Of course it was a fiery car crash, what other reason could there be for his non responsiveness?” She pondered momentarily, and then added “or his hands were cut off and he has no way to call you.” I likened the secondary rationalization to the old adage of “the dog ate my homework” and reverted to the initial proposal. “You must be right” I exclaimed as I feverishly checked the obituary section of the newspaper for any trace of his demise.
This recently happened to me again, after two dates with a very attractive and successful man (age does not preclude this disaster) he simply vanished, no email, no contact, no nothing.
“How is Fred doing” my friends queried. (names have been changed to protect the guilty) “Oh, he is unfortunately in a coma” I proffered, explaining his lack of contact. And of course they all agreed, for surely he would not simply decide to end contact without an explanation. We turned this into a humorous saga, with weekly updates that went as follows
“How is Fred?"-"oh his brother called and his prognosis is not good. However they know he is thinking of me, for when they speak my name he blinks his eyelids twice.” This then progressed to “oh, his brother told me that he unfortunately passed away last night. They asked me to speak at his funeral”. So that is the sad reason why he never called me again.
Putting a humorous twist to a potentially disappointing situation made it that much easier to endure, and reminded us all of the true insignifigance of this in the big picture.
So what is our request? I presume to speak on behalf of womankind when I simply say that though it may be easier for men to merely walk away without any type of explanation, it is difficult for us. Please provide some type of closure. Don’t worry about how you words of rejection may affect our frail egos. The repercussions of the silent, non responsive rejection are far worse.
The moral to this story is, girls, if you don’t hear, shed a tear over the tragic demise of the one for whom you held affection. Dust yourself and move on, for there are plenty of others with the kindness and fortitude to not treat you this way.
We were together for 4 months, she cried into her Kleenex, and then he just vanished.
He told me he would call, she pondered; I wonder if he lost my phone number? Yet I provided my cell number, home number, work number, work fax, home fax, skype address, home address, work email address-yes he lost all of this information soon after he was admitted to the rehab hospital for adult onset dementia and the loss of his limbs, thereby rendering it impossible to make contact.
Do any of these scenarios sound familiar to you? I know I have experienced this same disillusionment, where the stirring of hope, spurred by attention and affection from a person of seeming worth, are stifled before given time to flourish from possibility to improbability faster than I can gain a pant size. And that my friend is fast.
A strange and disturbing phenomenon is affecting a targeted male population between 22 and 50, unreported deaths and disappearances are occurring with no explanation, and the numbers are fearfully rising. I call this “fiery car crash phenomena” the inexplicable reason why the seemingly nice guy you spent your valuable time with, who acted with intent and gave promises of future encounters, disappears with out so much as a parting phone call or gift, leaving you a little saddened and a lot questioning. Unfortunately the questioning is of yourself rather than the individual who decided to flee the scene of the crime without nary a by your leave or “I am just not that into you”.
Stop the hopeless tears and questions of self worth. It is one of life’s inexplicable secrets I liken to the Bermuda Triangle or space flight. There is only one possible conclusion I can draw, that the guy you liked has mysteriously perished, whether deep in a comatose state in the nearby hospital ICU, where even in his healing slumber he is tormented by his inability to contact you. Or death by fiery car crash, where your name was surely the last word he uttered before perishing in the sharp rocks below.
What other answer could there be? What rational, kind adult would make that kind of promise but ultimately not deliver in the follow through?
I am unfortunately not the author of the creative title to this syndrome. A brash and creative old room mate of mine offered this an explanation one Friday night when I was crying into my cheerios, bemoaning my fate as the young man with whom I had spent two glorious weeks had simply vanished into thin air.
“He must have died in a fiery car crash” she simply and emphatically stated.
I looked up in surprise.
“Of course it was a fiery car crash, what other reason could there be for his non responsiveness?” She pondered momentarily, and then added “or his hands were cut off and he has no way to call you.” I likened the secondary rationalization to the old adage of “the dog ate my homework” and reverted to the initial proposal. “You must be right” I exclaimed as I feverishly checked the obituary section of the newspaper for any trace of his demise.
This recently happened to me again, after two dates with a very attractive and successful man (age does not preclude this disaster) he simply vanished, no email, no contact, no nothing.
“How is Fred doing” my friends queried. (names have been changed to protect the guilty) “Oh, he is unfortunately in a coma” I proffered, explaining his lack of contact. And of course they all agreed, for surely he would not simply decide to end contact without an explanation. We turned this into a humorous saga, with weekly updates that went as follows
“How is Fred?"-"oh his brother called and his prognosis is not good. However they know he is thinking of me, for when they speak my name he blinks his eyelids twice.” This then progressed to “oh, his brother told me that he unfortunately passed away last night. They asked me to speak at his funeral”. So that is the sad reason why he never called me again.
Putting a humorous twist to a potentially disappointing situation made it that much easier to endure, and reminded us all of the true insignifigance of this in the big picture.
So what is our request? I presume to speak on behalf of womankind when I simply say that though it may be easier for men to merely walk away without any type of explanation, it is difficult for us. Please provide some type of closure. Don’t worry about how you words of rejection may affect our frail egos. The repercussions of the silent, non responsive rejection are far worse.
The moral to this story is, girls, if you don’t hear, shed a tear over the tragic demise of the one for whom you held affection. Dust yourself and move on, for there are plenty of others with the kindness and fortitude to not treat you this way.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
"Athletic and toned" is a subjective description.
Subjective is defined as “not impartial: based on somebody’s opinions or feelings rather than fact or evidence. Existing by perception: existing only in the mind and not independently of it.”
Our perceptions are inherently subjective, comprised of our thoughts, and experiences, refined by a lifetime of self scrutiny and reaction, supplemented by feedback and assessment from others, which is unfortunately not consistently accurate or honest. One would assume that most rational, intelligent adults would possess a fairly accurate perception of themselves, their appearance, demeanor, and would therefore present an honest description of said perception, when requested. Well you know what they say about “assuming” anything, and this is infallibly applicable to the world of on line dating. The subjective perceptions of appearance and demeanor, freely provided by millions of subscribers to various internet dating web sites, vary from significantly underestimated to glaringly dishonest, making the already precarious navigation of said medium prohibitively daunting in the attempt to filter truth from untruth. All we girls have for a basis of determination in a potential matches profile is what they have detailed before us. And the most subjective and abused category on a user’s (men) dating profile is the descriptor of body type. There are various categories to describe one’s build, “athletic and toned”, “average”, “slender”, “a few extra pounds”. And these descriptors are used liberally in the subjective sense, i.e. dishonestly, to compensate for body type deficiencies. I must have missed the memo that provided a blanket exemption for the use of “athletic and toned” to describe an individual with a beer gut. A hard stomach does not include a basketball sized abdomen disguised under a conveniently baggy shirt, courtesy of Pabst Blue Ribbon and fried cheese sticks. An athletic lifestyle is not inclusive of beer pong and channel surfing, though I am sure strong and developed index fingers from frequent channel changing reps would cause the strongest hearts to swoon. Don’t post “athletic and toned” pictures from your high school yearbook on your dating profile, when you were sculpted and sharp from Varsity football and photo shop out the mullet with a current facial view. If you are hoping that your charming email repartee will sway us so definitively that when the first meet occurs, the real “you”, (dishonestly portrayed and 20 lbs heavier), won’t matter, then you are severely mistaken. And while you mutter and moan over how superficial we are, you must realize that this has nothing to do with superficiality and everything to do with honesty. While looks matter to some extent, reality dictates that once one ventures beyond the 20s, age and gravity set in, complete with figure flaws. And most discerning girls would much rather spend time with someone who may not look like Brad Pitt, 12 pack and all, but who is witty, attractive and kind, with the temerity to present an honest profile from the onset.
Our perceptions are inherently subjective, comprised of our thoughts, and experiences, refined by a lifetime of self scrutiny and reaction, supplemented by feedback and assessment from others, which is unfortunately not consistently accurate or honest. One would assume that most rational, intelligent adults would possess a fairly accurate perception of themselves, their appearance, demeanor, and would therefore present an honest description of said perception, when requested. Well you know what they say about “assuming” anything, and this is infallibly applicable to the world of on line dating. The subjective perceptions of appearance and demeanor, freely provided by millions of subscribers to various internet dating web sites, vary from significantly underestimated to glaringly dishonest, making the already precarious navigation of said medium prohibitively daunting in the attempt to filter truth from untruth. All we girls have for a basis of determination in a potential matches profile is what they have detailed before us. And the most subjective and abused category on a user’s (men) dating profile is the descriptor of body type. There are various categories to describe one’s build, “athletic and toned”, “average”, “slender”, “a few extra pounds”. And these descriptors are used liberally in the subjective sense, i.e. dishonestly, to compensate for body type deficiencies. I must have missed the memo that provided a blanket exemption for the use of “athletic and toned” to describe an individual with a beer gut. A hard stomach does not include a basketball sized abdomen disguised under a conveniently baggy shirt, courtesy of Pabst Blue Ribbon and fried cheese sticks. An athletic lifestyle is not inclusive of beer pong and channel surfing, though I am sure strong and developed index fingers from frequent channel changing reps would cause the strongest hearts to swoon. Don’t post “athletic and toned” pictures from your high school yearbook on your dating profile, when you were sculpted and sharp from Varsity football and photo shop out the mullet with a current facial view. If you are hoping that your charming email repartee will sway us so definitively that when the first meet occurs, the real “you”, (dishonestly portrayed and 20 lbs heavier), won’t matter, then you are severely mistaken. And while you mutter and moan over how superficial we are, you must realize that this has nothing to do with superficiality and everything to do with honesty. While looks matter to some extent, reality dictates that once one ventures beyond the 20s, age and gravity set in, complete with figure flaws. And most discerning girls would much rather spend time with someone who may not look like Brad Pitt, 12 pack and all, but who is witty, attractive and kind, with the temerity to present an honest profile from the onset.
Monday, September 22, 2008
"Oh where, oh where have the normal men gone, oh where, oh where can they be?
I will preface this posting by stating emphatically that I am not a man hater. Rather, I love men, for their broad shoulders, adorable inability to multi-task, tactical avoidance of confrontation or any type of serious discussions with their "women", and especially for their wonderfully emotion free, pragmatic decision making abilities. And I firmly believe that there are still honest, kind, relatively tall and at least fairly handsome men left out their for us single gals to choose from. Yes, you read the verbiage correctly, "relatively tall, fairly handsome." I am not a defeatest, and I retain my faith in an exciting, compatably matched partnership for us all. However that is tempered with practicality (which I have been sorely lacking in my life) based on my own observations. The proverbial check list we all secretly harbor, (I am the biggest culprit) comprised of our perfect matches "criteria", inclusive of a six figure income, Fabio's hair, the abs of Adonis and wit of Robin Williams is unrealistic.. Create a new checklist with important, attainable criteria, back shelve the unrealistic, and sigh in acceptance of the realization that Prince Charming's horse broke a shoe, his navigation system is on the fritz, he missed the fork in the road, and the perfect man died in a fiery car crash. Or as my friends and I like to put it, "Kevin is still in a coma." The good ones are still out there; I hold steadfast to my grocery store fantasy of the frozen food aisle, where my true match, a kind, successful, attractive, funny, imperfect man will pop his head around the economy size freezer and compliment my taste in Lean Cuisine.
The philosophical out of the way, a segue into the blog title for tonight, "where have all the normal men gone?" serves as the humorous recounting of a close friend's ridiculous and semi horrifying experience of not once, not twice, not thrice, but seriously, and I repeat, in honor of our favorite medical drame, "seriously" a four time occurence of being stood up in one evening. I know the good ones are out there, but why do we keep meeting the losers?
They met that fateful night on her 28th birthday, nearly one month ago. The girls were kicking it up 80's style on the dance floor when he glimpsed her face and knew he had to have her. Ok, really, he and his buzzed friend asked the birthday girl and her friend for their numbers, and they planned a potential meet up for the following weekend. The first red flag was that the wing man of the birthday girls friend decided not to show to the first double date. Though I am sure the two girls and only him on the date were the fulfillment of his adolescent fantasy, as for the female counterpart, being the third wheel can do hell on the ego. The girls chalked it up to the unchecked randomness that is life and moved on. Then this last Friday, Heckle and Jeckle decide to contact my friend and her friend again for another attempt at the proverbial double date,. Out of boredom they agreed to meet up at a bar/restaurant near the beach, or rather the beneficence of second chances. On the drive to the restaurant, visions of the last debacle flashed through her mind, but my friend, if anything, is a random free spirit, and thought "what the heck?". . Famous last words. The girls waited for over an hour for these clowns, and then left the restaurant for another bar to try and salvage some semblance of a fun evening. Later that evening, idiot one calls my friend and makes all sorts of excuses about running late, the dog at his homework, excuse after excuse for never showing up, which nearly fell upon deaf ears. However, out of pity the girls opted to provide one last chance..Again fateful words, for the girls arrived at the second destination of the night only to be stood up again. The! guys! never! showed! up! Secretly hoping they had suffered from the fiery car crash that undoubtedly prevented their arrival at each bar, my friend received a 3 am phone call from the loser, and a repeat text the next day insinuating that it was her fault the plans got mixed up. She very succintly detailed the events of the evening, and finished with a polite but firm explanation as to why she would not be able to go out with him again. These were not 21 year old children, but rather 34 year old men with the obvious brain span of infant monkeys. Girls, repeat this daily affirmation, "there are still good men out there". And always bring a compass to assist navigating the lost souls worthy of your direction.
The philosophical out of the way, a segue into the blog title for tonight, "where have all the normal men gone?" serves as the humorous recounting of a close friend's ridiculous and semi horrifying experience of not once, not twice, not thrice, but seriously, and I repeat, in honor of our favorite medical drame, "seriously" a four time occurence of being stood up in one evening. I know the good ones are out there, but why do we keep meeting the losers?
They met that fateful night on her 28th birthday, nearly one month ago. The girls were kicking it up 80's style on the dance floor when he glimpsed her face and knew he had to have her. Ok, really, he and his buzzed friend asked the birthday girl and her friend for their numbers, and they planned a potential meet up for the following weekend. The first red flag was that the wing man of the birthday girls friend decided not to show to the first double date. Though I am sure the two girls and only him on the date were the fulfillment of his adolescent fantasy, as for the female counterpart, being the third wheel can do hell on the ego. The girls chalked it up to the unchecked randomness that is life and moved on. Then this last Friday, Heckle and Jeckle decide to contact my friend and her friend again for another attempt at the proverbial double date,. Out of boredom they agreed to meet up at a bar/restaurant near the beach, or rather the beneficence of second chances. On the drive to the restaurant, visions of the last debacle flashed through her mind, but my friend, if anything, is a random free spirit, and thought "what the heck?". . Famous last words. The girls waited for over an hour for these clowns, and then left the restaurant for another bar to try and salvage some semblance of a fun evening. Later that evening, idiot one calls my friend and makes all sorts of excuses about running late, the dog at his homework, excuse after excuse for never showing up, which nearly fell upon deaf ears. However, out of pity the girls opted to provide one last chance..Again fateful words, for the girls arrived at the second destination of the night only to be stood up again. The! guys! never! showed! up! Secretly hoping they had suffered from the fiery car crash that undoubtedly prevented their arrival at each bar, my friend received a 3 am phone call from the loser, and a repeat text the next day insinuating that it was her fault the plans got mixed up. She very succintly detailed the events of the evening, and finished with a polite but firm explanation as to why she would not be able to go out with him again. These were not 21 year old children, but rather 34 year old men with the obvious brain span of infant monkeys. Girls, repeat this daily affirmation, "there are still good men out there". And always bring a compass to assist navigating the lost souls worthy of your direction.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
More than an age old question..
Let's face it, I have been accused of over thinking everything my entire life, rarely accepting the status quo or things at face value, questioning the rationale or motivation behind people's actions or decisions. That is inherent to my inquisitive nature, and has led to both success and failure in my life. The positive is that I constantly observe, assess and retain, the negative is that all things observed therefore elicit over analysis that can sometimes lead to insomnia and compulsiveness. The proverbial hamster upstairs never stops the wheel turning. And thus in this spirit I feel compelled to question and assess a prevalent and challenging issue that affects my friends and myself, dating and singlehood. Today's dating challenges are vastly more complex and far reaching than faced by our parents, they encompass far more than the age old question of "why am I still single?" We can categorize dating difficulty by age group, zip code or profession. And yet I still come back to another question, when did it become so hard to find that special someone? My friends comprise a group of beautiful and accomplished girls, ranging in age from 28-44, yet most are single, myself included. We are neither a bitter nor troubled group, and our experiences range from naive first daters to divorcees with small children. We have endured our battle scars, triumphed in our relationship successes and gleaned insight and lessons from our bad decisions and disappointments. The commonality that bonds us are our wonderfully joyful, hilarious and horrifying dating experiences that help us more clearly navigate and define the journey. My blog will summarize and recount these experiences, to perhaps lend clarify and assistance, or at the very least inspire limited laughter..Girls, you are not alone.
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