Archive for the ‘Out with Friends’ Category

ok, so:

Nothing happened with Virginia. He flaked on our second date and then decided he didn’t have any time to spare, even just for a casual sexual rendezvous type of thing. Bummer, cause he REALLY turned me on. Sigh.

Went out for dinner with the Slavic tech guy again. YAWN. Nothing there. NOTHING.

Met up with a friend for cocktails after that dinner with Slavic, yet again that friend kissed me goodnight, but he shows NO interest while we are hanging out. I’m too hot not to be touched. If you want me, take a page from Virginia’s book and put your hands on my arm, my ankles… kiss me DURING the time we are hanging out. Look AT me and not away. Not feeling desired = hey, we are friends and you will NEVER get me naked. NEXT

That’s it right now. The prospects aren’t good. I’ve got some morons who can’t spell…

“Hi georgious.hope to know u and read from u soon…..”
That barely has me keeping my clothes on. Damn!

“We’re you caught speeding lately?
Cause you have got FINE written all over you…”
Oh my god, so fucking witty. I’m ready and primed for you now! Really?! Does this work on some women?

So, that’s my current status. I’m considering asking my readers to set me up with hot geeks. Know any hot geeks?!

P.s. Here is a shout out to my Married Canadian friend who reads along. We had dinner the other night and were talking about my exploits and recent lack of exploits and after a few laughs, he mentioned seeing himself in here… so, here you are M.C. How aboot that? ūüėČ

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I woke today with the giggles of two young girls crawling into my bed. 3 and 7, my “nieces” are the most incredible children I have known. It was 70 degrees at 9 am when they slowly opened the door and ran under the covers. My best friends were asleep and it was sweet perfection for the half hour ¬†that the girls and I laid in bed chatting. While my friends snuck in an extra couple of hours of sleep, taking advantage of my presence keeping the kids at a slightly quieter tone than normal, I made a traditional Southern New Year’s Day brunch complete with braised ham hocks, Hoppin’ John, collards, pan roasted potatoes, and poached eggs. Once they awoke, we sat together outside, the sun on our faces, and ate too much and laughed just enough. I miss them terribly and wish my reality was a bit closer to theirs, rather than on the other coast. Perhaps that is a change I need to consider.

This year begins a lot differently than last. Last year I was in love with a complicated man, still technically owned my home, still technically owned a small business, although both were in the end process of being given back and dismantled, respectively. I had the very best dog, who was also one of my most dearest friends. Just when I thought my own personal identity couldn’t be anymore shook up, it was. Tested is barely scratching the surface with regards to how I felt many times over. Tortured is definitely how I felt most often.

I don’t believe in Resolutions. I don’t think I did anything necessarily wrong or bad to encourage the harsh events that had unfolded around me in 2011. Will I love less? No. Will I love differently? Quite probably. Each time we love someone, a new person or a past person, the love is a little bit different. It’s nearly impossible to ever love quite the same as you have previously. So, what will the year bring. I have hopes for it. I have wishes and dreams and preferences, but none of these things I can predict as the truth. I have come to learn, through my many painful experiences, that I have far less control over the outcome of things that I once believed.


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Friday night I called in a lifeline. I was having a drink with a date that I had already known walking in was a bad idea. Widowed less than 6 months ago by a depressive suicidal wife who took her own life, he was vulnerable, ¬†awkward, and also the epitome of software nerd. This guy, I knew he wasn’t a match, but yet, how do you cancel on someone who’s wife od’d on vicodin just months earlier, leaving behind a confused man and two young boys? You don’t. You go.

So: In the hour I was with him, he didn’t notice, nor offer to go to the bar and get me a drink, as he absent mindeldy just drank his as I stood there without anything in MY hand. He didn’t ask me if/what I wanted. He just struggled for words to fill the spaces. He likes video games and PBS reality shows about pioneering. He awkwardly interjected and introduced himself into conversations with friends I’d run into before I had the opportunity to get to that point in the greeting. ¬†We aren’t talking 5 minutes here. Maybe 45 seconds. He complimented me on my blouse and then asked WHERE I got it. Umm, where I got it? Are you really interested in WHERE I got it? And he can’t follow social cues on where a conversation is heading, instead he forces it into a place that he’s wanting it to live. Sigh. I couldn’t do it, it was painful, both to watch and be involved in, so I politely bailed out.

I then ran into a newish friend and we shared some Indian food and a few cocktails while chatting about men and their foibles.

The night before…¬†I had a great date. Sandwiched between the Man-Child cancellation and the Awkward Widower was a brilliant handsome Aussie¬†who surfs. We are heading out again tonight, a walk with the pup, then a bit of spaghetti western and cocktails. Perfect.


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I’m taking¬†this chance¬†to¬†sneak¬†a few minutes¬†to write¬†as I watch the children of a dear friend who is stuck at the airport in Japan waiting for his rebooked flight to depart, while his wife is hospitalized¬†with pneumonia. Slightly disruptive to my work schedule, some things needed rearranging, but worth it to help a friend. Besides, I love these kids and the sunshine in their backyard and the fact that their playground is on a beach. Warm temps, cool sand in the toes, and the laughter of children¬†makes up for any hassle or disruption to my schedule.¬†

Now,¬†on to the topic at hand, OkCupid and the ridiculousness of it all. I barely go on now, mostly to read the trends or see what the¬†most recent insanity that was sent to my inbox says. Which brings me to this.¬†Why does a published photographer/photojournalist who is a swiss trained chef and currently renovating a property in Istanbul feel compelled to OkCupid¬†message me not once…but twice in one evening? He told me I was his far more attractive doppelg√§nger, that we would have an interesting time chatting and that, oh yes, he forgot to mention that he is an ordained zen buddhist monk. Really? At some point¬†a woman must say WTF. If you are a reasonably attractive 52-year-old man who is financially well off enough to travel the world and take up residence in other countries while working on international photo exhibitions and accompanying books, as you renovate your Turkish apartment to Dwell worthy standards… I find it HIGHLY unlikely that you are perusing OkCupid and deciding to chat with a 36-year-old hot financial mess of a woman in New England. Surely you can find a firm bodied¬†26-year-old lady friend to lavish with your tales of travel while feeding her vapid dollar hungry eyes your homemade Turkish Delight. Part of me is just having a wee issue buying the authenticity of such a profile.

Meanwhile, I’m enjoying seeing Type Geek roughly once a week or so. Sometimes sex, sometimes just curling up and sleeping together.¬†His scent and the warmth of his body next to me has always felt like home. Not the home¬†of my childhood, but the home of my future.

Also, I have been hanging out a bit with one of you readers, and¬†I¬†adore her. She¬†has quickly become one of my favorite people and I am so glad I chose to cross that line from reader/writer to friends. The irony though, and reason I am bringing it up is hat she is now dating Doggie Daddy. He was only mentioned once, and I never actually met him, we just spoke several times via text and¬†OkCupid chat regarding possibly meeting. This was during the time¬†Type Geek and I were not together and I was trying to get him back, but believing he wouldn’t budge. I was looking for distraction, not actual connection.¬†I had two “dates” during that time and they were both awful. Weak men who showed all their cards early¬†and confessed feeling of insecurity about their ability to date me. That I was out of their league somehow. I find that incredibly unattractive.¬†I’m attractive and I have done interesting things and¬†I have tried and will try again to do interesting things, but this just makes me different, not better.¬†Just different.

Anyway, Doggie Daddy… so, this woman, who will be nicknamed Poppy because of her love of Orange and¬†her personality¬†which is as¬†hugely vibrant as an orange¬†poppy flower and just as intoxicating as the seeds they contain, is dating him. We gathered for coffee¬†recently and she invited DD to join us there as he was in the area. Meanwhile, both Poppy and I KNOW of the connection, and have laughed heartily over it, but neither of us had confessed to DD that I am the same girl he was chatting with on OkCupid or that we know.¬†Us gals knew he would figure it out once¬†he met me in person and he did, but only said something¬†after Poppy had shown our hand¬†while I was away from the table. It’s quite amusing I think. Upon meeting him I knew what I had already known, he was not my¬†type and it would not have lasted more than one¬†drink. They are so perfectly matched and adorable together. My type is a Type apparently. I am not sure that I will ever truly know what or why or how. I’m just glad that this Type is here and not in Istanbul or Constantinople.

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It’s funny, meeting someone in person whom you have been virtual friends with for over a year. Nearly 13 months of sexual tension and in person, we are comfortable pals, yet beyond that, perhaps not much else. Internet Skype boy was having a weekend of bad reactions to some new migraine meds which ironically were causing low drive issues. The irony does not sneak past me here. I wanted a weekend of unbridled¬†carefree fucking¬†after 11 months of loving someone who had low sex drive issues and low interest issues. Nonetheless,¬†we did have sex on Friday night, but the first time you fuck anyone is odd, grooves not found, rhythms¬†not synced, and so I extended my trip one more night, to see whether things could line up more.

In between my first and last night… Parisian¬†Macarons from BisousCiao.¬†in flavors like Sour Cherry, Champagne Cocktails from Bubble Lounge and strolls through the Bowery. Apple Cider from The Union Square Greenmarket, naps on $7,000 couches at The Conran Shop, viewings of Time Bandits, and jokes about how I have lost my NYC street cred after ten years away.

So, how was the sex, second go around? It’s different. It’s not Type Geek. I was detached, yet forced to be present because of the sensation of fucking someone¬†much larger than¬†your¬†previous partner. We fucked, it was fine. It was the punctuation, the¬†ending to my one-sided¬†relationship with a man I loved who couldn’t give¬†anything except the occasional¬†dinner,¬†concert or overnight snuggle. Until there was sex with someone else, there was always just going to be Type Geek in my rearview mirror. After Skype boy and I fucked, after he washed up and went to bed, I laid there. The¬†only night I was unable to¬†relax and sleep. I missed Type Geek, even the small amount that I had him, the small amount that snuck through without him seeing it¬†cozy up to me. I couldn’t help but wonder, has he thought of me at all since¬†he saw me last. Did he ever miss me or was I unable to imprint¬†myself even that much on him. I know it isn’t a reflection on me, it is merely a reflection on him and his bigger deeper issues, but nonetheless, I feel the loss and miss¬†the him that¬†I knew in those dark quiet hours between dusk and dawn.

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I’m forced to consider this question after an intense conversation with my new neighbor over a brunch I hosted on New Years Day. He’s adorable and 26…looks like Bradley Cooper’s younger Doppelganger. He’s setting up a dating profile on OK Cupid, or wiggling through considering it and running from it, and I was offering some advice on the types of profiles that get responses and the type that don’t. Explaining how certain profiles may subtly attract what he doesn’t want and doing or saying something that may appear counter productive will help him attract the type of woman he DOES want.

All of this was fine and good, until we ended up in a discussion over my spicy pickled veg bloody marys about etiquette on paying for dates and outings. He wanted to know if he was expected to always pay for them all¬†or¬†at the least, was he expected to pay for the¬†first ones. I explained that as much as we “hate” gender roles, sometimes they have a place in the irrational world of dating. A woman wants to feel wanted, desired and, as much as we say we don’t want to be taken care of, knowing someone wants to and could, if needed, is sexy. Maybe that is generational. When I was younger I found door holding not only unnecessary, but at times condescending. Then when I dated women, I was the one that paid and took care of. As a nurturer, letting go of this control, which is what it was, is extremely difficult when dating men. So, the point I was trying to make is that paying for the first date makes the woman feel good, unless she offers, and then it gets tricky cause you need to¬†know the difference between her offering and when you should accept her offer and her offering and you needing to say, no, I have this. If it is going to offend her irrevocably that you won’t accept her offer, than let her pay.

Do I sound antiquated because I enjoy some compartmentalization in a world that lacks it most of the time? Always paying dutch takes the romance out of dating, removes the woo. What separates the romance than from hanging out with my guy friends? Oh, sex? Well, I can sleep with my guy friends too. I don’t always want to be an equal in the bedroom, in my romance. Sometimes I want to be treated like a unique and special non-equal.

So, then he argued that he ends up investing more in dating then. Oh really? I reminded him that all of the things that he likes and appreciates and notices about women, the things we do for ourselves but ultimately for them, because we know they appreciate it, all of these things cost. Being a woman just costs more than being a man. Now, I could choose to shave or go au naturale, to let my gray grow out and not highlight, to go to a barber, not a stylist, not to wear any make up or expensive body creams to keep my skin soft or “glowing”, I COULD buy cheap bras and cotton panties that exist for practicality, versus attractiveness, and I could wear cheap jeans and t-shirts, rather than trying on 30 dresses for that one that shows off my figure without showing too much, a wearable wink wink, nudge nudge that promises garters and stockings and sex on the kitchen table later. Sure, we could forego that for cotton/poly blend hairy legged Pollyanna with a fuzzy upper lip and natural caterpillar brows, ¬†but I bet you all prefer the silky smooth skin of I am woman hear me purr, rather than I am woman, when you weedwack your way through the bush and find me… hear me snore.

Then there is birth control. Sure, you guys sometimes buy condoms, so do we. Then, when we get sick of condoms, we pay for birth control, we take the need for you to worry about it, deal with it, and we swallow that every day, so that we can be more spontaneous and we, as a couple, can enjoy greater pleasure during bed without stopping and searching all the time for the elusive condom.

I’m not saying that women shouldn’t contribute at all. I make Type Geek expensive home cooked meals with groceries I lug over. I buy him little gifts and send him flowers. I spend money on him in other ways, but on the dates, I like when he takes me out. I do. It makes me feel less like a friends with benefits and more like a special person that he appreciates. I can’t explain the rationale. It’s a unconcious thing that exists. Rather than change it, I am just admitting that it makes me feel good. I don’t feel ashamed that I enjoy having someone treat me now and then.

Now, lets review, what do men really do to get ready for a date? Maybe paying is a nice way to show they notice and appreciate the time and¬†expense we went through getting ready for them. They may say it doesn’t matter, but lets face it, they notice and if choosing between the one that invests more behind the scenes and one who doesn’t… we know which girl is getting the calls.

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The year started off with blueberry dotted chipotle, cracked cayenne, and alderwood¬†smoked sea salt chocolate cupcakes … frosted with nutella. Some Lambrusco¬†I picked up from my new local wine shoppe, conveniently¬†run by a woman whom I had hot sex with for 3 months back in my late 20’s. The southerner whose Baton Rouge oozed out during orgasm when she let out her Oh Gawd’s with a twang. Jesus, that women was hot, and she still is pretty good-looking, if I am to be honest. We hadn’t seen each other¬†in¬†5 years, since running into each other¬†one evening at a bar.¬†She was surprised to see me, but pleasantly so, it appeared.

Originally I had hoped to spend New Year’s Eve¬†in varying degrees of undress… and¬†giddy drunkenness. Unfortunately, the universe decided that Type Geek needed yet another colossal¬†crisis that needed solving and so he trekked through the woods and¬†went ice climbing to a mountain peak, where he then proceeded to camp, alone, and find the answers for the questions he has been presented. I get it, they are big¬†questions, life and death questions, with very real consequences. I am disappointed,¬†that is natural, but I do get it.

The universe then decided to test my own resolve… by bringing an old flirtation back online… he is back in the states from Argentina, where he has been doing some graduate work. Drunk, he flirted incessantly, and sent me a photo I had sent him a year prior. He thanked me for being an exhibitionist and, in his¬†sexually aroused state of drunkenness, was asking to come over, asking for more photos. He ” didn’t want to¬†ruin my relationship” though, didn’t want to interfere. Didn’t he understand that he doesn’t really have that power? I declined, explaining that things have changed for me. I’m sexually exclusive with someone I love, sure he isn’t my boyfriend, but he is someone whom I care deeply for and wish to keep around for a pretty long time.

I’m beginning the year¬†in love, in frustration, in¬†less control than ever before. I have¬†moved in with other people, and realized one roommate is passive aggressive and quite intolerable, the one who confessed his feelings for me regarding his favoritism on OK Cupid. I have found myself in a job that can sometimes border on unhealthy¬†due to a member of the management team who relies on bullying, physical and emotional harassment¬†and a tendency towards too many French 75’s while working. Then of course, there is the being in love, with someone who cares enough not to want me to go away, but is petrified of letting me in far enough that he could actually fall for me. Oh sigh.

All of this begs the question… in 365 days, where will we all be?

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