Dont Mince Words

There’s probably a 12-step program for me somewhere. It wouldn’t be sexual addiction, but maybe it’s fun addiction or baggage avoidance. Whatever it is and no matter how much I try to date men my own age, I find myself going back to younger stock.

Last week, after I washed the gray right out of my hair, I shea buttered my skin, poured some ice tea, and sat in my Hugh Heffneresque robe while I went online and reactivated some of my online dating profiles. My fishing yielded a 30 year old who wrote me I was the hottest girl he’d seen on the site in a while.

Right, whatever. That may get you laid.

He asked for my phone number, which scored him points because I don’t do the back-and-forth local email. He opted to make his communication to me a text message. Then he emailed me to ask me if I received the text message.

This is the downside to dating babies. They have no old-school communication skills. I wrote him back, “I don’t believe in text messaging. If you want to reach me and talk to me, punch in my 10 digits and call me.” Five hours later, I got a phone call.

“Hey, ah, what are you doing? You want to hang out sometime?” he asked.

Hang out? What exactly is hang-out in the Gen Y lexicon? Where I come from, that would mean making popcorn, renting a Betamax movie, and playing foozball in someone’s basement. I said sure and he said he’d call me to organize something this weekend.

That call came Sunday morning. It was another one-minute conversation. I tried to assertain what hang-out was and suggested we meet for coffee or a beer.

“Oh, I’m kind of in the mood to just make-out. How about we do that,” he suggested.

I told him that was tempting, but generally the way dating worked with me was we’d meet a few times and get to know each other and determine chemistry/common interests before there would be any making out.

He called later in the afternoon and cancelled on me, but not before asking me what I was looking for. “I am looking for a man I connect with – who I can get to know, date and then evolve into a long-term relationship.”

“Whoa. You are the real deal,” he commented

Yeah, so ante-up baby, and ask me out so I can really blog your ass.

I’ve never been one of those need-a-man girls. I barely dated in high school and college because I had so many other interests besides stupid assholes. When I announced I was engaged at the age of 26, my friends were in awe. The person least likely to… was. It was no shock to most when I separated. My mother consoled me by saying, “Your father and I were probably not good relationship role models.” Of course, two weeks later she was asking my brother if I was a lesbian.

My relationship with RC ended a couple weeks ago. It was another short-lived (but long in Hollywood dog years) connection that resulted in me reciting my mantra “trust your instincts.” I knew I shouldn’t of gone out with a man who was openly separated, but I figured that after nearly a year, the end had to be in sight. Unfortunately, the drama swirled. Being a great guy didn’t out weigh the obvious negatives: nutbag wife, little kid commitments, unavailability, and distance.

A great friend from college says, “Marna, men are all assholes, you just have to find one you can put up with.” It is so easy being single in LA because the choices are…limited, at least in my circles. Besides, a fresh crop of girls with perky tits turns 18 each year.

I’ve lived in LA nearly four years now and I haven’t had a relationship last longer than 80 days. It’s a hard place to date, but I’m also committed to not dating the wrong people. That means I’ll have a lot of trial and error. Relationships are hard work, especially if you are looking for the right asshole.

It’s been more than 12 years since my divorce was finalized and I’ve enjoyed dating a wide variety of men ever since. My mother still checks in with various people to determine if I’ve “gone gay” yet. Don’t worry mom, I’m still tragically heterosexual.

I’m number one. I don’t usually consider Spring my season. I’m more of a fourth quarter girl; however, the tides are changing. Two very unusual things happened to me recently. I got a full-time, permanent job and a boyfriend within the same 30 days.

Nearly all my jobs have been fourth quarter hires where I’m part of the end of the year “use it or you’ll lose it” budget spending frenzy. The MAN grants FTEs and that same man shall take-ith away positions unfilled. I get hired and do a few things right around the same time the old timers are burning up their time off before the end of the year.

Romance cycles always peak in early November. If you don’t find someone before winter, you are usually screwed until after Valentine’s day. RC and I met at the end of February. Perfect timing.

Now I’m faced with an even more unusual dilemma. Or as a friend put it, “Now that you aren’t trolling Monster.com for jobs and match.com for men, what will you do with your free time?”

I spent my first week home revising my resume after work. Anyone who has been laid off one, two or a bazillion times like me knows, it has to be fresh and up-to-date. The second week I found myself spending a lot of my free evenings with my boyfriend and making lists of things I need to do.

I asked my friend what employed, attached people do in the evenings. “Marna, they watch American Idol.”

Oh yeah, I forgot. I think I’ll log on to my bank account and wait for my direct deposit to hit, that is until my boyfriend gets here to entertain me further. Or, I could do something really novel and get back to. . . writing.