“You seem like a woman of action,” he said.  “Ah, yes!  You get it!  You are listening!  There will be no misunderstandings here.  Pumped!”

I took that statement as a compliment because if you really pay attention to the way I operate you get that if I am not down for something, I don’t ponder it.  I just don’t engage in it.  If I am interested in something, I want to get on with giving it a try so if I don’t like it, I am not pondering it further.  I am just getting on with the next idea.  Like trying snowboarding at age 37.  For 20 years I wanted to try it but I was too fat and had bad knees.  At 37, I wasn’t too fat anymore so I booked a weekend in Vermont and signed up for a lesson.  I hated it within the first minute and the moment I realized how easily I could break my wrists or ass bone.  I also had to admit, I just didn’t like the sensation of sliding down something slippery on a slippery object such as fiberglass.  I thanked the trainer and walked off the hill.  I handed in my gear and went shopping at the country store instead where I could get free samples of cheese and chocolate.  Way happier with that.  No regrets.

If I like it, then I want to know so I can immediately start enjoying it and adding it to my life rotation of things which interest me or make me happy.  Bike riding.  A friend piqued my interest in the local bike trails.  I was on a bike within 2 days.  I bought my first bike 2 weeks later.  It sucked at first.  I had tons of cuts and bruises but I liked it so I kept at it.  You see my pictures from the trail nearly every weekend.

I loathe idle time in between the two decisions of love and hate.  Basically, he was confirming he would not dawdle with my time.  Keeper!

I am a woman of action.  It reminds me of the phrase comedian Eddie Izzard has always used to describe himself – “Action Transvestite.”  I hear it said with his British accent as though he is on stage with body movement included.  If you haven’t seen him  you must check him out.  I hate comedians but I love him.  He is smart and worldly.

Since I am not a Transvestite, I have been trying to ponder what my “action” is.  I decided to do a mash-up with a Roxane Gay title (“Bad Feminist”) and refer to myself as “Bad Action Feminist.”  Because when you mash up all my crazy thoughts, that’s basically what you get.

We talked music.  Since I was about to see Depeche Mode I was explaining how they have influenced my style over the years.  He said “Of course, it’s the Anton Corbijn art they use for photos and videos.”  Was this guy for real?  He knew that?  Anton Corbijn also did the Joshua Tree and a ton of work with U2 also.  There is a very distinct style and art to it that has moved me my entire life.   In fact, I have never mentioned it because I figure no one knows Corbijn-just like I have been finding it hard to find people who know Depeche Mode.  Yes, that’s a thing.

This date went so well, we were making plans for the next one.  We got quickly familiar on the sexting level.  Yes, I am admitting to this because it’s my truth.  I have to share all the details including the embarrassing ones and the ones you might not approve of.  It’s real and it’s what is out here in the modern dating world.  They all want to talk sex online and via text.  They want to tell you what they want to do to you; sometimes before even meeting you.  And they want to know what you want them to do to you…at least the more open minded, liberal, feminist ones.  I like them.  I like sex.  It’s the most important aspect of relationships to me.  By the way, men from New Hampshire never want to know what I want done to me which is just another reason I don’t date men from NH.  I think they just want to bang and hope I will skin whatever animal they killed earlier in the day.

He wanted to see me the next night.  I actually had other plans.  I was willing to meet later if that worked but he didn’t want to rush through things.  He wanted hours upon hours of sex and nudity.  Intrigued and interested I was by that.  He then asked about Friday.  I had Depeche Mode at Mohegan Sun.  “Too bad you didn’t by a ticket when you thought of it.  We could have gone together.”  And then the Cape.  But I told him I could make late Monday afternoon work so that was the plan.

He texted me Saturday and Sunday.  He wanted to get back into the sex talk.  He seemed a little annoyed that my head wasn’t in it so much those nights.  Getting back to being a woman of action…there is only so much I want to talk about it.  I would actually prefer to stop talking about it and just do it. I planned on doing it a Monday so I wasn’t thinking about it otherwise.  It was already part of the schedule at that point.

I was also at my parents’ house reading Eddie Izzard both times while trying to keep my mind off worrying about my dad’s pain levels and need for stronger medication.  It’s not unusual for my mom to knock on my door in the middle of the night to ask me to take care of the dog since they are headed to the emergency room.  Anytime I am in bed reading, I am anticipating that.  Also, I must admit to giving myself a bit of a hangover from Mohegan Sun.  I got a little excited about the drinking freedom and knowing I didn’t need to drive.  I was very, very tired and dehydrated and keeping very little food in my belly.  Not feeling real vampy on my end.  But relationships are about compromise so I gave a little bit of banter Sunday night so he could jerk off or do whatever he does with that information and promised I would be rested up for him to have his way with me Monday night.  He was happy with that response.

At 2:50 I texted him with my estimated time of arrival at home and a buffer time so I could shower.  5 should work.  No response.  I texted him again at 4:30 to remind him I had to work in the morning (he is on vacation so time is more infinite for him) and  was hoping it wouldn’t be too late of a night.  I sensed this was a blow off but was trying to talk myself out of pessimistic thinking because why would we have gotten this far and acknowledged I am a woman of action with little patience and allergies to time wasting?  I decided to take a shower and shave everything because I couldn’t remember which days I done certain shaving already.  So all of it got done at once just to be sure.  Man, I’d be a great date tonight.  Anyway,  Grabbed the good undergarments.  But I didn’t brush my teeth.  I would wait and see if he was on his way before I did that so I didn’t give up snacking on ranch wheat thins too soon.  Checked the phone again.  No response.

Decided to catch up on Real Housewives while I waited.    Nothing.  Decided to cook dinner for the week.  Nothing.  It was 8.  What happened?  And why did I rush myself off the beach for this guy?  Oh yeah, because he had mentioned my schedule would make it difficult for us to see each other so I felt like I needed to concede something up front as a show of good faith that I could eventually change some things around down the road should this continue.  Dick.

I know he has been back on the dating site and exactly at what times, including times he was blowing me off.  I know he has been back on my profile.  So what on earth happened?  A guy friend said he bets there is a wife or girlfriend.  I really didn’t get that sense.  We talked in depth about our feelings about how people should just get out of relationships or fix them in therapy if they are compelled to stray.  I really don’t think that was it.

Was he talking to other girls and weighing his options?  Maybe.  I was still talking to other guys and fully planned on seeing them for awhile regardless of what happened with this guy.  Performance anxiety?  I don’t know.  He seemed pretty certain of his prowess and our chemistry.  Did I play the game wrong when I said I was reading a book instead of lying and saying I was just thinking about him while touching myself?  I do suck at that.  One time a guy asked me what I was wearing and my response was “Like my real outfit or is this where I am supposed to make something up?”  So there’s that.  I can be a bit direct and sarcastic and not play along.  I guess I think I am a little too good to play that silly game with someone I barely know.  Get to know me better and I will do way better than that little game but I am not “blowing my load” all up front in the first 5 minutes.  I am no amateur or 25 year old girl.

I am not sad at all.  I am not mad either.  I am barely even confused and don’t even care all that much the reason.  I am supremely annoyed at the time wasting he knowingly acknowledged he wouldn’t fart around with and was serious about using every second he could to make the most of.  I mean really.  What kind of guy messes with the time and investment of a Bad Action Feminist?

This will be an ongoing project where I list out confirmed reasons for why I am unappealing to men and then my list of reasons which may be my deal breakers as I discover them.   I will add them as they happen.  The most common question I am asked is “Why are you still single ?”  The answer to this seems quite important to some people so I will attempt to answer it.

Points against me:

My body

My dog

I don’t make enough $

I like the beach 

I like summer

I want to go to Vietnam, Cambodia and South Africa but they have big bugs

I don’t mind driving distances to do fun things 

My schedule 

Apparently, I want sex when it has been promised.  

I don’t like motorcycles 

I drink too much

I am too honest
Points against him:

Married

“I have a cat and a bunny.”

Performance Anxiety

All sex talk, no action

He has a motorcycle….with a built in vibrator

He can’t handle me but expects me to handle him like there is some huge difference 

“I am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt.”

Sometimes you hurt people when you are actually doing everything you can not to hurt them.

Strangers.  I can have sex with them and walk away.  I don’t feel bad about ghosting or just leaving it alone as a one time thing.  Maybe that’s wrong but I just think it’s a low risk situation where no one gets hurt.

Then there are people I know well and care about.  I can’t just have sex with them outside of a defined relationship.  Once I know them, the line is crossed and I am responsible for how I make them feel.  I need accountability.  I don’t usually make them feel good.  The more I care about and respect them, the more distance I need to put between us when I know they are interested in more from me – any kind of more.  These are people I do not want to hurt and I am a hurtful person in relationships.  At least, historically.

Sometimes I know I am not at my best or not at the level of what I think they deserve.  So I do everything I can to avoid doing with them what they know I will do with strangers.  That hurts them anyway.

“I had all of and then most of you, some and now none of you.”

I crossed these lines once.  He’s dead.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do haunted by the ghost of you.”

I can’t take anything back.  I can only be who I am.  I know how not to hurt people presently.  I can have the conversations I used to hide from.  But I can’t treat them like strangers and remove the intimacy of our friendships/relationships in order to be icily intimate and walk away.  I can’t fabricate the time when I catch up or lag behind.

Sometimes I am a wounded bird, sometimes I am a Phoenix.  I can’t pick the one most attractive to the audience and play that out just as I can’t expect them to meet me at the pile of ashes I am soaring out of if they only want to save me.

Poor timing.  I can save myself.  I should be the one saving myself.  I have lost so much, so often and so immensely.  And, yes, I hurt too.

“When you had not touched me yet, oh take me back to the night we met.”

According to my new toy, the Fitbit Surge, my heart beats per minute were at 154 last night simply from anxiety.  My average, normal rate is about 70. 

 I have developed a keen interest in paying closer attention to my heart rate because Atrial Fibrilitation runs very strongly in our family as well as heart disease issues on both sides.  Yes, along with renal issues, diabetes, weight problems, alcoholism, depression, PTSD, blood pressure issues, COPD….reason 73 I don’t want to birth children out of this body.  The gene juju is very bad.    

Ever since developing anxiety I have been able to really feel palpitations and know when they don’t feel normal.  I now know what happens is some kind of tachycardia.  I even wound up in the hospital ER and kept for observation in the very early days of my PTSD.  They couldn’t find anything clinical but they definitely saw the blips I was feeling and they concluded it must be anxiety.  

Fine.  

But the physical aspects of anxiety do wear on the body so it’s something I think I need to pay attention to.  I had to take an anxiety pill last night.  I haven’t done that since flying and before that, it had been a few months.  That’s really good.

Now that I have one day back from vacation under my belt, I have a clearer sense of where this 154 bpm came from.  It’s not that I have a bad job.  I needed to clean up a bunch of emails, pay people and present at a meeting I wasn’t prepared for that I thought others took care of as they didn’t share 3 weeks ago that they too had conflicts.  That’s actually a perfectly usual and good day.  

I am waiting on some news which could be really good or really bad.  I have no control over it.  Just need to wait.  I have been waiting for news for the past 5 years now.  This is not a new conundrum.  It’s sewn into the pattern of my life quilt.  I am always on edge waiting for a phone call, email or text….especially when one email my mom sent to work years ago just said “accident” in the memo field.  I couldn’t immediately get to the part in the body where everyone was fine and they still got to the Bruins game because I was in meetings.  Or the time she called me 8 times one day and didn’t leave a message.  That usually means death.  On that day, it meant she wanted me to buy an ice cream cake for my brother.  I can’t win.

Got back to the gym tonight.  Killed it as usual so that’s done.  The dog slept all day on the couch so he’s fine.  I didn’t even look at the eclipse which I was worried about just because I am a clumsy person and unintentionally start zeroing in on anything I am told not to do.  It’s not like I am just trying to prove something.  I just think my wiring is inside out.

So what did my little heart get her panties in a wad about?  Me.  I love who I am when I am on vacation.  The clouds part, I see everything I need to see like every day is a perfect beach day.  I am learning.  I am relaxing.  I am challenging my body.  I enjoy my beer every day and make no apologies for it.  I am even open to relationship stuff I find harder to focus on when I am in my daily routine.  Meaning, I enjoy the idea of kicking back at a bar and talking for hours with no “routine” biting me in the ass, keeping me half focused and in a panic about what time it is or what texts I may be missing.  

I worry about me and how I might lose all that when returning from vacation – my inability to discipline myself to make lasting changes so that those vacation moments stay front of mind and become prioritized as they blend into my regimen.  If I don’t stay on top of it, the regimen takes over.  The heart hardens and becomes overly critical of anyone wanting more than an hour of my time.  It takes me months to finish a book so I can’t justify the hours I want to spend diving into a bookstore.  

It’s me I am afraid of.  And I am trying to get sugar back out of my system so that makes me much crankier.  The regimen is stronger than me and I am trying to fight it without sugar wafers.

This title is from a Van Morrison song off the “Healing Game” album.  It has nothing to do with body weight but it occasionally gets stuck in my head as some kind of “alt mantra” that puts itself on repeat when I am body shaming myself.

I just finished reading “Shrill” from Lindy West.  When I first started reading it I thought she might be a little basic and precious.  By that I mean she grew up fat and had to deal with fat shaming plenty.  But her parents weren’t pressuring her to be thinner or to think less of herself because of it.  She got a decent start on confidence that may have deteriorated for awhile as a young adult starting out in comedy and writing but she got it back.  She also had some decent financial backing from her parents which helps with confidence when taking risks and starting out.

Maybe I was a little jealous.  Weight was absolutely a topic with me and my parents.  I would estimate my first diet to be around age 12 and that’s generous.  It’s possible they started me even before that.   By the time I went to college I had been on the Scarsdale Diet, Hilton Head Diet, grapefruit Diet and Weight Watchers.  Beyond college came Atkins and South Beach where I compared notes with my parents who were also trying those out.  At no point was I ever considered to be “ok” just as I was.  

This wasn’t from a malicious place.  My parents didn’t want me to be made fun of for my weight or held back from any opportunities because of it.  They were trying to be proactive.  They somehow knew the world would be cruel to me long before I did.  That’s the unfortunate part.  They put it in my head long before my brain was probably developed enough to manage the message.  I learned early on that I wasn’t good enough from the wrong audience.  Therefore, I didn’t go into adulthood with any level of confidence in my self worth that could be detached from my body size.  If I lost weight it was a good time.  If I gained weight it was bad.

Junior high was bad.  Those were the “pink porker” years.  High school, I lost weight before starting so I felt good during that period.  I even got upper class boyfriends which only the cheerleaders typically scored.  But, I still made my boyfriend turn around in the pool with his back facing me when I needed to get in or out because I didn’t want him to see my thighs in a bathing suit.  By senior year of high school, I was able to wear a size 8 dress so heading to college felt hopeful.  But freshman 15 was probably more like 40 for me.  And getting into the working world I was running between a 12 and 14.  And then there were the 16, 18 and even 20 years.  No confidence or self worth at that time.

Reading this book definitely made me reflect that I really wish I could have had that childhood time where my parents emphasized how great I was no matter what.  Once I admitted that to myself, I kept reading and gave it a chance.  By the end, I had more revelations like my suffering from imposter syndrome all these years.  It held me back from writing because I figured my writing is crap.  But real writers know you have to write a lot of crap in order to get something good so I started again this year.  But I feared it for 20 years.  And staying in my role at work as long as I have, total imposter syndrome.  Yet, I do have this private little superhero that kicks me in the butt on occasion which resulted in buying a house by myself, getting a masters, losing 80 pounds.  Maybe that’s my imposter.  

The biggest realization which hit me was reading about her experiences around falling in love and marriage.  To quote:

“When I think back on my teenage self, what I really needed to hear wasn’t that someone might love me one day if I lost enough weight to qualify as human – it was that I was worthy of love now, just as I was.  Being fat and happy and in love is still a radical act.  That’s why a wedding mattered to me.  Not because of a dress or a diamond or a cake or a blender. (Okay, maybe a cake.)”

Whoa.  

Who is this women and how did she see into my soul farther than I allow myself to see?  I mean getting married for me has a lot of angst around my dad and wanting it to happen while he is still alive, can walk me down the aisle and dance with me.  I have had that song picked out for about 20 years now.  Every girl who has a good relationship with her dad wants that.  I am desperate for it.  I have pre and post 9/11 dad.  All you folks hear about is the idyllic dad I have now and how every time he gets cancer I can’t get myself off the floor to vomit.  But pre 9/11 dad was pretty awful at times and life pliant meaning all of it factored into my every bend of personality ; good and bad.  It created the endless nadir need of validation I cannot ever satisfy.  To have all that normal dad wedding stuff is critical to topping my cake.  Seeing my sister get it made me happy for her but also really, really, really sad for me.  I was fat so it was never going to happen for me.

Then I decided to have gastric bypass surgery.  Yes, I am leaving out other fully formed stories to jump ahead to this but it’s important to admit that the main reason I did it when I did at 36 was because I figured once I lost the weight, I would immediately attract the man I would marry and I would be able to fit into a great dress that I could try on in the store.  When I got my bridesmaid dress for my sister’s wedding, I had to just pick out something I thought would be ok and they ordered it in my size.  I didn’t know until right before her wedding when the order came in that I hated it.  I was not going to go through that for my own wedding.

I had a plan.  I figured I would still have time to meet the right person and be married before 40 with the option for kids still on the table in case I changed my mind.  I had a plan.  It hasn’t worked.  I forgot I still had depression and I didn’t know I would eventually get PTSD and become a binge drinker.  

So here I am now, still single.  Why does that matter so much to me?  Because a wedding would validate that I am love worthy just as I am.  Until then, every….

pink porker

your face is so pretty, imagine how beautiful you would be if you just lost weight

You crazy bitch

She has a great personality

Do you really think you should be eating that

Too much drama

Why can’t you just be happy

Yes, I was with another woman

I’m really looking for someone whose body weight and height are more in proportion 

I really want this other girl first but I should keep Christine on the back burner in case the other girl doesn’t work out.

And all the “unsaid” but implied reasons “she” always gets picked over me 

Every one of those sentiments and sayings is valid.  They have yet to be unproven.  I have nothing to show to combat any of it.  This revelation happened last night when I finished the book.  My wedding is the only validation I can see and I don’t get to have it.  

Today, at the beach, there was a man sitting alone on the private side.  I am pretty sure I have seen him there before.  Equal parts cool that he is chilling by himself and also just as creepy because it’s pretty rare to see a dude alone at the beach.  Anyway, he “just happened” to head to the water right after I was in and he was striking up conversation about what I was seeing – regular crabs or horseshoe crabs.  Pleasant enough. In the past I would have figured maybe I was being hit on and I wouldn’t be interested as he wasn’t for me.  But today I was in my bathing suit and instead of having a healthy confident thought like “hey, this guy is hitting on me while I am in a bathing suit so he can see it all and still thinks I am attractive” I thought “oh, he can see my fat so he figures I am an easy target and he can easily get me because what other options do I have?” 

 Hence, what Lindy wrote so much about in her book.  Because, let’s face it.  While I have dropped a lot of weight and look like a different person, I have been deluding myself by thinking I am not fat.  To everyone else, I am still fat.  That’s what they see.  They don’t see “way less fat.”  They don’t see super active, strong girl.  They just see fat is fat.  While I get hit on a lot, it’s probably been more of the “she’s fat, she’s easy and good in bed” variety rather than “I am so visually and mentally captivated by this woman, I can’t stop buying her drinks and let the night end.”  I actually believed it was the second one.  So yeah, getting married kind of carries a lot of weight.

I haven’t had much to say while on vacation.  I was expecting a meditative beach experience like last summer but the weather hasn’t totally cooperated.  My thoughts are choppy and not fully formed.

I feel ill at ease.  This is John’s time of year and where I was when he died so I feel at peace about him sometimes and also unrest and anger/grief at the same time.  His loss simmers just a little hotter right now.

I have read 2 books from very strong female bloggers.  What they talk about resonates on so many levels but the weight thing is bothering me most.  First, they are dead on in their societal breakdown of fat shaming.  Second, I have started feeling insecure about my body again….even though it has been doing a lot of working out on this vacation.  It’s strong.  It’s just not pretty enough.  So I have an agitation in my head I am working on.

The civil unrest in our country right now is so wrong, dark and evil.  But I don’t know how I feel about tit for tat and outing people at their jobs, no matter how awful they are outside work.  I have very strong feelings against that in general as we are not beholden and blood bound to turn ourselves completely over to the work day. Yet, I get images in my head of news reels showing African Americans being fire hosed, attacked by dogs, beaten by police, hung from trees so Is a Nazi losing his job so bad?  I just don’t know how we respond.

I saw a map online today of hate groups by state and was shocked to see how many are in Massachusetts.  I want to say they are in Western MA or closer to the NH border or that NH has more than MA but I can’t because none of that would true.  They are suburban and urban – places I wouldn’t expect because these are more affluent and educated communities.  It’s my community.  Am I working with these people?  Am I trying to date them?

Lots on my mind as you can see.

Birthdays are tough.  I know the other day I said I was happy.  That’s still true.  I just pause and get sad on my birthdays.  That’s probably why I disappear for the day.  It’s easier than waiting on plans that can’t happen and disappointment which is the norm,

As advanced as I am when it comes to self awareness and progression, I can’t separate myself from the little ankle shackle of birthday expectations.  Like by every birthday I expect to not be alone and each year passes without that changing.

I am super grateful to the attention from my family and the fact we make a big deal of celebrating our birthdays as a family.  Not everyone has that tradition and it’s one I don’t take for granted.

It’s just I still want to roll over in bed to more than Fergus on my birthday.  I want it to be someone that I get to spend my day with doing cool stuff or doing nothing more than chilling on the beach and grabbing drinks at the end of the day.  Each year that goes by without this gets a little sadder every time.  

Every year I feel like there is just a little more wrong with me than the year before.  And the years between now and harder weight loss, wrinkles and parched looking skin just don’t seem too far off.  A window closing, a chill trapped in the air.

I don’t regret my life.  Most days, the way I see it is I have a whole lot of life ahead of me where married with kids might not feel quite the same….that can feel more like missed opportunities and winding down to some.  So I get that I am lucky.  But I still feel sad and like my opportunities for love are winding down.  I love my life and all the cool shit I do.  I just would prefer to share it with someone and not always be making the best of things.

So I am sitting here in my lazy pants, my Billy Idol tshirt, wet hair I have no reason to style, a beer and a cake made for one watching another year pass by where I have met at least 20 goals and still lament the one I have not.  Sitting here with only a few hours of “my day” left and nothing spectacular to it.  I only ever feel like this on my birthday, Xmas and New Years.  So that’s not bad in a 365 day year.  But it’s more than enough since it kind of feels like pointing an accident out to a dog.

Do you ever hear a song on the radio that is decades old and used to be on heavy rotation in your house when it first came out and suddenly listen to it with new ears out of nowhere?

When “In Your Eyes” came out it was so beautiful.  I listened to it all the time.  It was one of “our songs” with a boyfriend.  It was the theme to one of his proms and I got a champagne glass with that song title printed on it.  I made out in cars to it.  I chased down the expanded version.  I watched “Say Anything” a dozen times and bought the soundtrack as well as the Peter Gabriel “So” album.  I was a little in love with Lloyd Dobler. I have secretly fantasized that a boy would some day make that kind of boom box declaration of love for  me.  It was on the mix tapes my boyfriend and I made each other.  When it came on, all conversation froze and we just sat there in teenage, Gaga, awe of each other.

And then one day, it just faded into the background and became one of those songs played on every station, from alternative, to listener supported to soft rock.  It was still a good song.  I could leave it on in the background but didn’t have any special reaction to it.  Or, sometimes I would change the station to look for something newer I may not have heard before.  But never did I not appreciate the song.  It was just part of the every day noise.

Today, it was on and for whatever reason I was open to hearing it again like it was the first time.  I listened to every lyric to see where in my present day the words might resonate.  I fondly remembered some of the old high school memories like the Catholic retreat we went on and were asked to come up with a quote that resonated with us.  Kris Ann picked a line from that song because she started dating a boy that day at our retreat and they were googly for each other.  Why that memory stuck with me, I have no idea.  And I remembered how Steve and I sucked at being comfortable with silence so we would occasionally just develop this nervous habit of repeatedly saying “I’m sorry” to each other for no reason.

I also thought about the sound of the song, the amazing African influence and all the songs I have heard since then with similar roots.  In fact, I love all African influenced Peter Gabriel songs the best of all his work.  “Biko” was always a pretty cool song.  I developed a whole different understanding and appreciation for the song today just driving to work.

I wondered if this is how long term relationships operate.  In the beginning, you pretty much overplay each other because you can’t get enough.  And then, eventually, you just get used to it. You never hate your love.  But you don’t get excited about him/her the same way as time goes on.  You haven’t stopped loving but you have stopped longing.  Sometimes you even tune him/her out but without malice.  Just the indifference of habit.  You may even meet someone new and flirt for the excitement but don’t cheat.  You just needed to experience something different.  And then one day, you are doing something routine like driving to work.  You hear a song and all that excitement and depth rushes back to you.  You experience your love with new eyes and you get excited again – you re-ignite.

I took a little adventure last night in meeting someone who is traveling for business.  I was nervous because I have been expirementing with one of my dating profiles and he reached out to me through that one.  That’s the one where I can be a little more direct and expound upon dating philosophies which most folks would not understand or approve of.

 I knew if I told people what I was doing and shared that my range of expectation went everywhere from one drink-awkward date to ending up back at his hotel that I would get a bunch of texts warning me of the dangers and worrying there is something more wrong with me than I let on.  I tend to get patronized a lot and I let it go without saying much.  I know it comes from the best places in everyone who loves me.  But at this point, I would say I have far more experience alone in this dangerous and odd world than anyone I know.  I just need you to keep track of my check-ins and call the cops when I fall off the radar.

  I have been navigating my own little ship for the same 20 years my friends have been shacked up.  I watch the same news programs.  I see the same horrific stories.  I definitely worry a lot about my safety.  As for my choices, they are mine.  I am not seeking approval.  We all worry so much about approval and doing what we “should” we lose sight of what we really want and can spend our lives denying who we truly are.  By being single this long, I actually have been given a gift to truly know who I am and not deny myself what I want in an eventual relationship.

For example, I just assumed when you get married the whole sex thing is already figured out.  Meaning, you know what the other is into and you are doing it happily long before the ring. After many years and several attempts from married men to hook up with me, y’all don’t always figure this stuff out ahead of time and one of you ends up hiding something you want in bed or the other refuses to do it.  You may get married, but those needs don’t go away.  A lot of people just learn to go without.  Some take up porn.  Some cheat.  I say, lay it all out there.  If there is something I want to do that he won’t, then I should be allowed a free pass to get that elsewhere and the other way around.  I know, I know.  It goes against everything we are supposed to do and say.  Well, I am still single so I get to say it.  I get to negotiate my destiny the a la carte wayang I don’t want to be pitied or patronized for it.

So I am working it out and trying a few different things which is why agreeing to this date was a little scarier than usual.  This scenario could be the perfect set up for a guy who murders dates in his hotel room or it could be a nice guy looking to shift gears from talking shop and trying to just meet someone different.  I planned for both.

Turns out, he was delightful.  Not normally my “type” but super smart, super funny, irreverent like me, a bit adventurous and open to new experiences, and worldly – aware that in “our” culutured little dating cosmos, this was perfectly acceptable behavior.  

I would absolutely see him again.  But he lives in San Francisco and is originally from Germany.  Not very likely.  It is also not lost on me that I was probably so relaxed and able to take this in because I knew there were no expectations and I’d never see him again.  But considering I have never been on an online date where I want to see the guy a second time (mind you, they always ask so what a loss for the guys who ask me on dates and ghost when I agree) I think I needed this freedom from societal constraints to just be open to how I felt in the moment.  I think it will actually make me better at managing the next time I meet someone for the first time.  

It also brought my head back into gear a bit as it validated there is nothing wrong with me.  There is a lot wrong with the guys who keep reaching out to me.  I may start giving them my therapist’s number as he agrees this is odd behavior which could use professional analysis before it makes it onto a dating site.  And, by the way, my hairdresser is experiencing the exact same thing so it’s the guys.  Not us.

Granted, when the body image tab opens, it’s hard to shut it back down.  It is still open and it’s a shame that a guy who calls himself a feminist was able to do that to me….intentionally.  When you grow up fat, everything revolves around it.  Every perception, the way people talk to you and about you – it’s all up for grabs.  I would say I spent a good 30 years in that orbit where I did extreme dieting, binged and purged, set a size limit in my head that if I ever passed it, I would kill myself.  I passed it a few times and stuck around but the fact I carried that my whole life is pretty sad.  

For the past 6 years, I have given myself a reprieve from that and just focused on maintaining my weight loss and living a healthy lifestyle.  There are plenty of things I still don’t like about my body but my focus has turned solely to what I have learned to appreciate and accept what I just can’t change no matter how hard I try.  I will always have a belly, big thighs and a big butt.  I am short, that shit just doesn’t distribute at any weight or size.  But I am strong, kicked a bunch of health issues and medications out of my life, and surpass personal records all the time.  But that was taken away recently and I am back to focusing on what I don’t like and seeing myself as that 13 year old fat girl in pink pants they called “pink porker.”

That said, I do at least know that I see it worse than the boys do as confirmed to me last night.  It will take some work to undo the fat girl body shaming I am doing this week but I am at least aware of where it came from and I am still the girl that warrants a second date or gets hit on within 20 minutes of entering a bar.  There are other ports in the storm around me in those situations but they pick me so at least I am the best storm in the room.