[Dating Papers]

Thanks to everyone who sent in “Dear Jamy” questions last week. I will answer all of you, but I had to start somewhere. As usual, if you have something to add, or disagree with me, please leave your insights in the comments.

Dear Jamy,

Sincerely,
“Veronica”

Dear Veronica,

A year? You’ve kept this secret for a YEAR?

Yes, you are obligated to tell Fred because it is the right thing to do.

By waiting so long, you’ve actually increased the odds of hurting Fred’s feelings. You were right, initially, not to tell Fred. It was appropriate to wait until you knew that your relationship with Jack was more than a fling. But you knew that about, oh, ELEVEN months ago.

How do you remedy this? You tell Jack that you’re going to tell Fred. Tell Jack that you are not comfortable keeping your relationship a secret from ANYONE any longer and that you are going to tell Fred. I don’t care what Jack’s reaction is to this. Tell Jack what you plan to say to Fred (see below).

What do you say to Fred? “I’ve been seeing Jack and it’s starting to get serious. I wanted you to find out from me.” That’s it. He doesn’t get an opinion either. If he presses you for details, tell him you’re not comfortable getting into specifics with him.

If you’ll pardon a digression, I’ll share a story that illustrates how keeping this kind of secret can be hurtful

I have a couple of friends (Brad and Katie) who started dating and kept it secret from our group for a long time (was it six months? I’m not sure, because it was a SECRET.). It was troubling, because I Brad disappeared from my life even though we’ve been good friends for years. I thought I’d offended him or he was angry at me. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. I even asked him, “Is there a problem? Did I offend you?” He said, “Oh no, I’d let you know if you’d offended me.” And then I didn’t talk to him again for a month. I even complained to Katie, because I knew they were getting to be good friends. “Is Brad angry at me? I don’t know what’s going on.” Still, they didn’t tell me. I suspected something—Pele and I even speculated about it—based on a few times we saw them together. Eventually, I said, to a mutual friend, “I think a couple of our friends are secretly dating.”
She said, “Who?”
“I don’t want to say, in case I’m wrong.”
“Say. Say!”
“Ok, I think it’s Brad and Katie.”
“Yes! Yes! They are! Don’t tell him I told you.”
“No way!”
I felt both relieved and irritated. No wonder I never saw either of them anymore—they were spending all their time together. Since the relationship was a secret (at least from me), they couldn’t invite me along, even if they wanted to. I wanted to confront Brad. I called him but I found that I couldn’t say, “I know you are dating Katie.”

Instead, I said, “So, um, if you have a secret, and you wanted to tell me, it would be ok.”
“What?” Long pause. “Oh. Ok…”
“Because, I don’t care about your secret. I mean, if you are happy, then I’m happy, that’s all I care about.”
“Ok. I’m not sure what to say.”
“I’d be happy for you. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“I have to think about this. It’s a lot to take in. I’ll call you later.”

Eventually, we did talk about it. Katie and Brad apologized to me separately, which, while not strictly necessary, I very much appreciated. And I felt better. The only sad part of the story is that I STILL never see them. Oh well.

People can get their feelings hurt when you keep secrets. Perhaps I’m more sensitive than most. (When I revealed the secret to Spesh, he said, “Don’t confront Brad. They must have a good reason if they’ve kept it a secret for so long. They’ll tell us when they’re ready.”)

I’ll get back to your final question, “Is it obvious to everyone…that I should break up with Jack?” Nothing in your situation is obvious to me. If I were you, I’d want to know why Jack was so set on keeping things a secret (and please notice who he is not telling). Then, I’d have to ask myself why I let it go on so long. It seems like Jack would like to keep his options open—at least hypothetically. He may not be cheating, but he’d like to move through the world with an image unencumbered by a girlfriend.

After a YEAR.

It’s time to start questioning the nature of your relationship with Jack. But don’t let yourself off the hook. Jack does not get to keep this secret without your cooperation.

I don’t necessarily think your relationship is doomed (others feel free to disagree with me in the comments), but you need to get it to function on a grown-up level if you want it to continue happily.

I do wish you the best. And, please, for the love of all that is holy, TELL FRED.

~jamy

Grateful for: no secrets.

Drop me a line.

I mentioned the other day that I started using a site that has free IM capacity. It’s a lot of fun and totally addictive—sort of the way all other internet dating sites are addictive at the beginning. But this site is a little more random and freewheeling than others I’ve visited. People will IM you for the hell of it, from all over the world. I’ve gotten messages from Sweden, Cuba and Italy (from an American Serviceman who just wanted to talk to someone back home). Once, an African woman contacted me (that was odd). I feel no compunction about answering because I know they didn’t spend an expensive credit to contact me. I’ve also struck up a few very interesting conversations and a few very annoying ones. I’ve been asked out twice and gone out once.

One of the first guys I met, the one from Georgia who wants to “mate” with me, took his profile down the day after we first chatted. We continued to chat, though, on regular, private IM. And, boy, were those conversations were weird. He pissed me off repeatedly and yet, I kept on with him. My patience finally wore thin, and I got bored, but I think I learned something from the encounter.

I’m tolerant, sometimes to a fault, of the bad behavior of boyfriends. (I’m also impatient and end relationships when I am sure they can’t be saved.) I’ve observed myself to be tolerant of a complete stranger, over IM, with whom each encounter makes me angry. Why tolerate this? Do I like feeling angry?

I am not insane. I don’t like to be angry. But what I do like is to be engaged. And I haven’t been engaged with anyone, regularly, compellingly, for a while. I think friendships have this aspect, but I don’t have enough close friendship to engage me regularly (I’m working on it). Really, there are few people in this world who can deal with interacting with this level of intensity regularly. Even I will start to withdraw if I go at it everyday. But I crave it. I crave connection. And if the only engagement I can get is negative, I’ll take it.

There are two guys from the new site with whom I hit it off, intensely. (There are a couple of others with whom I have friendly, less intense, chats.) One lives here and I don’t know if we’ll meet or not. And the one who lives in Georgia. When I told a short version of the Tim (most recent separated-but-not-divorced boyfriend) story to Georgia he said, “He was a liar. Why do you go out with losers?” When I told the story to the local guy he said, “I feel sorry for that guy. It’s good that you got out.”

When I realized that negative engagement can satisfy my craving for connection, I thought, “No wonder I stayed with Tom for so long!” (Tom, my important grad school boyfriend.) Even when we were fighting, we were connected. In fact, I still feel connected to him—which is why I decided to stop calling him.

When Tom and I were friends, our conversations were amazing. We could talk about anything for hours. I could listen to him for hours. Just being around that voice and those gestures was enough to make me happy. Later, when we were romantically involved, it was more complicated. We started to fight. Our dating life was one big roller coaster ride. We fought about anything—yes there were particular sore spots we constantly returned to—but I always wondered why I hung on when things were so contentious. Sure, I loved him, and we had time in, and all those other reasons you stay when it’s not quite right. I think I didn’t stay for the fighting, I stayed because we were completely engaged, completely connected to each other. The fighting was just a different, though negative, way of showing it.

I would like to feel connected to someone without the fighting. I hate the fighting, but my parents fought. That’s what they did, all the time, about who knows what. And I knew they loved each other, and me, and boy oh boy did it do a number on me. It’s at such a deep, visceral level that I don’t know if it’s possible to change.

That’s not to say that I’ve fought with every boyfriend. I haven’t. Actually, it’s less and less common. But I always knew it could happen again. Maybe now I have a better handle on why.

Grateful for: connecting.

Drop me a line.

This week is going to be a little nutty. I’ll be in Herndon all week for work (with the contractor who makes me want to cry). I’ll drive to Herndon each morning, go from there to rowing practice, then come home and eat dinner. Then, Friday afternoon, I hop on a train to New Jersey to visit my brother and family. Since I’ll be working (shocking!) and rowing almost every waking hour, I won’t have much time to write. I have written ahead (trade secret!) so you can expect the posts to continue (if things go as planned), but I probably won’t have time to respond to comments individually. I will read and appreciate and love comments, as usual.

I went out with friends to a new bar (Palace of Wonders) on Friday. Interesting place and good conversation. Because I was there with a blogger, meeting another blogger, when the other people in the group asked how I knew who I knew, the answer was, “We all have blogs.” And then I had to tell a group of complete strangers that I had a blog and what it was about. I was embarrassed. The three guys I told then proceeded to harass me about it for the rest of the night.

I admitted that it was a challenge to write a blog about dating when I wasn’t doing much dating. Kristin helpfully pointed out that I sometimes go into the archives.

One of them said, “So, you have a blog where you complain about guys?”

“No. No! I tell stories.”

When I mentioned that sometimes I did an advice column thing on the blog, the same fellow said, “Why would they ask you for advice?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Again, Kristin saved me, “Jamy gives good advice. She considers several scenarios—it’s good.” What would I have done without her?

Saturday, I got up in time to go help out with the novice rowing class again. It was so incredibly hot that the very tiny bit of exercise I did had me soaking wet. Oh well.

After that, I had coffee, an afternoon party and errands. A fine day.

Sunday, I took it easy. Did some writing, ate some lunch and then went to play softball. It wasn’t my greatest game ever, but I showed up, which is the point, I think.

And, now, it’s time to sleep and get ready for a big day in Herndon tomorrow. Oh joy.

Grateful for: interesting questions.

Drop me a line.

No sailing this weekend. No date with Frank. How did it come about?

Today, I sent Frank this email: Hey Frank–any sense of the timing–Sat or Sun? I need to get a few other things squared away so it would be helpful to know…

Frank responded: bad news - just called my skipper - tomorrow is out…next sunday is a go though.

I wrote: Oh, that’s a shame. I’m out of town next weekend….so maybe the time after that?

Frank wrote: exactly.

And that was that.

I ran down the hall to tell Diego the news. It really was about sailing! I said, “There’s no sailing and there’s nothing else.”

“Did you ask him?” Diego said.

“How many times am I supposed to ask him? I think I did enough already.”

“Well, at least you know.”

“I didn’t need to know.”

“But you liked him! You said you liked him.”

“No, I did not!!”

Geez. I really have to stop letting Diego bully me into these things.

My feeling about Frank? I like him but I don’t think he has boyfriend potential, so that reduces my romantic interest. However, I find him very attractive and if I were inclined towards casual dalliances, he would be an excellent candidate. He is fun and easy going and would possibly make a good friend. That’s about it. I was not crushed out on Frank. I was subject to some situational anxiety because I put myself way out there by suggesting alternative plans. I’m grateful that Frank is ignoring my suggestion and not giving me an outright reject. Because, really, I still want to go sailing someday.

There is this guy, Jeff, in my rowing club, who I’ve had my eye on for a while. He is a former coach, getting back to the sport. A big, tall, likeable guy. He’s been rowing in the morning and coming out in the afternoon as well. He’s not quite in shape to row twice a day yet (according to him), so in the afternoons he volunteers to cox. That makes him a good citizen, which I also like.

Earlier this week, he coxed my boat. I was in four-seat and he noticed a problem with my stroke (nothing too serious, but a little tic that’s hard to correct). He watched me for a few strokes and told me when I fixed the problem. The next time I saw him I was stretching before practice, and he said, “Were you four-seat in my boat the other day?”

“Yes.”

“You know what you were doing, at the catch, you were sinking the oar in too deep…”

“Yes, I remember you told me that.”

“But the good thing is that you would bring it right back up and pull through the whole stroke at the right level.” (I did something right! Cute boy noticed!) “You just have to figure out how to drop it in at the right level.”

“I know. When you were telling me I did it right, those strokes fell very shaky. I know I’m sort of ‘attacking’ the catch. It’s too strong.”

“Yeah, you have to lighten up the catch. It’s hard to find that balance. And not waste that energy.”

“Right. It’s funny, I can’t remember if this is a problem I had before or not….”

Then another woman came up and started talking to Jeff so I went back to stretching.

The same day, after practice, we all went out for a beer and a bite to eat. When we arrived, our table wasn’t ready yet, so we crowded in at the bar. I managed, not by accident, to sit next to Jeff at the very end of the bar. He said, “What beer do they have here?” I read the set of taps nearest to us. “But what about down there? Those taps in the middle—they look different.”

“I can’t read all the way down there!”

Jeff said, “Me neither.” We laughed. “I guess I should go down there and look.”

But he didn’t go anywhere and when I ordered, he had what I was having. After we got the beers he said, “So, what do you do when you’re not rowing?”

I said, “I work at [federal agency] doing research.”

“What kind of research?”

“Program evaluation. I study what we do.”

He laughed, “You study yourself? Isn’t there a problem with that?”

I laughed and said, “You might thinks so, but no. You have to keep track of how your programs work. Anyway, the research is mostly done by contractors. I just tell them what to do.” There was a slight pause. I almost kept talking about my job, but instead I said, “So what do you do?”

And he told me! Right about then, I noticed a woman from our club standing just behind us, making a triangle of our group. I’d rowed in front of her that day (I was in four-seat, she was three-seat)—but this is when she chooses to introduce herself, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stacy.” We shook hands. She turned to Jeff, “And you’re Jeff, right?”

And then the three of us were talking. I saw what she was doing and I didn’t like it one bit. The problem? There aren’t many guys in our club—it’s probably three women for each man. Of the guys, many are coupled and the rest are too old (20+ years) or too young (10- years) for me. Jeff appears to be single, he’s over thirty and he’s attractive. Stacy is at least ten years younger than me, slim, blonde (irrelevant) and very pretty. I wanted to say, “Stacy, you have way more options than I do, could you please BACK THE HELL OFF.” Instead, I smiled, nodded and actively participated in the conversation.

Jeff didn’t ignore me in favor of Stacy, but he didn’t seem displeased at her presence either. But, that’s just the kind of guy he is—friendly and kind to everyone. See why I like him?

When it was time to move to our table, Stacy boxed me out. Boxed me out. She stood in the narrow aisle, blocking me, and waited for Jeff to sit. He chose a seat near the middle, with one chair taken to his right and one empty chair on his left. Stacy swooped in and got the empty chair next to Jeff. I sat one seat over from Jeff on his right—there was a person between us (someone I like, luckily). On my right was a very cute, ten years younger than me guy who I could not appreciate because I was too busy subtly monitoring Jeff’s level of attention to Stacy. (Wait, that’s not really true, I’m exaggerating for effect. I had a fun time talking to the cute young guy, even if he was a Dookie. But I’ve talked to him before, and even if you ignore that he’s too young for me, we just don’t click.)

I had to ask, where is Pele when you need her???

I’m a little concerned since, Jeff, being a rare bird on our club (single, attractive, male) sort of has his pick. I don’t want to be one of a bunch of women running after him. I want him to come to me! That may be asking too much.

I just told this story to Diego and guess what he said? “Ask him out!”

Oy.

Grateful for: options.

Drop me a line.

An interesting experience I had in college recently came to mind. These events unfolded over at least a year and did not occupy the forefront of my mind. I searched my “source material” (old journals) for entertaining details, but I could only find one off-hand reference to James, the main character in this story. Nevertheless, I will proceed.

My senior year in college, I became friends with James. James always sat at the same table at the HUB (Husky Union Building, aka Student Union, where our cafeteria, bookstore and student groups were housed). I took to stopping by to talk to him around the same time every day. I usually had him alone for an hour before his other friends stopped by. Sometimes, I’d stick around and talk to those friends too. Once, we all left campus for lunch. With that one exception, I never saw James outside the HUB during that time.

James was a philosophy major, slightly older than me and I was impressed by his knowledge. I poured out my romantic and family troubles to James across a tiny window table. I was troubled by the heartbreak of losing my first love and my unhappy teenage summers in Berkeley with my father. I had plenty to wonder and worry about. Even though I was only 20, I felt a failure at relationships and wanted someone to help me figure it out (some things don’t change). And James was there to help me. He played armchair therapist to my very willing pseudo-patient.

You might ask, did I have a crush on James? Not at first. But, as we grew closer, as I opened up to him, I grew curious about the possibility of a relationship with James. My feelings were mixed, I didn’t find him terribly attractive, but if he’d asked me, I probably would have gone out with him. But there was a problem—isn’t there always?

James had a girlfriend. A girlfriend whose name he never mentioned. But I knew he had a girlfriend. But he didn’t know that I knew. I started to play a game with James. I would hint, allude, ask leading questions—to try and get James to mention his girlfriend. Over several months, he never bit. Never. When his friends would show up, I stopped the game. His friend, Eric, might in passing mention her name (Barb) and James would quickly change the subject. Eric didn’t get it, but he followed James’ lead and would change the subject.

How did I know James had a girlfriend? I’d met her—and him—together, some months before we began our friendship.

I was living in an apartment above a Japanese restaurant (sadly, before I knew I liked sushi or had enough money to buy it). I had a date with the young lawyer from the office where I worked as a file clerk. When he found I was Jewish, he actually said, “some of my best friends are Jewish.” I laughed but he wasn’t joking. I was waiting for him to pick me up, but he was terribly late and I knew I was being stood up. I sat alone, feeling sorry for myself. Then, after a short call to find out if I were free, a group of Amanda’s friends (and Amanda) showed up at my doorstep (it was actually Amanda’s former apartment, so she directed them there). And Barb was part of the group—so was James, her boyfriend. They scooped me up and we all went to the College Inn. It was fun and cheered me up. I never did go out with the cute, bigoted lawyer.

Somehow, James didn’t remember this incident. Or he didn’t think that I knew Barb was his girlfriend.

But, from the beginning, I knew that James had a girlfriend.

When the school year ended, I didn’t see James as frequently, and we no longer had the same, intense conversations. I know that we met up in San Francisco once, where he was from, when we were both there to visit family. It was awkward because we’d never been away from the protective HUB cocoon and we didn’t know what to make of each other, standing up, outdoors, in the plain light of day.

When I was close to graduating, and I had moved into a new apartment, I bumped into James on the Ave, in the University District. We were very happy to see each other and talked about graduating and taking the GRE. I’d decided to take it right away, rather than wait until I knew what I wanted to study in grad school. James also wanted to take the test. I said, “Why don’t we study together?”

“Great!” He said.

“Hey, want to see my new place?” I asked. “I just moved in right around the corner.”

“Sure.”

He followed me up to my apartment. There weren’t any chairs. He sat on the edge of the futon bed and I sat on the rolled up single futon. We discussed study strategies and he admired my place. He said, “There’s something I want to tell you about.”

“Oh?”

“I have a girlfriend. Barb.”

“Right. I know.”

“You know?”

“Sure, of course I know.”

“Oh. Well, we’re having some problems. I think we’re going to break up.”

“Oh. I’m sorry…”

“Well, I wondered…if we break up, would you want to go out with me?”

I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him correctly. He’d finally told me about the girlfriend and the next step was to line me up to be his future girlfriend? Did I miss something? What was happening?

“What?”

“Did you not understand?”

“Um, I think I understand. I think, um, maybe you could, you know, break up with Barb first. And then we can see what happens.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?”

“That you want to wait?”

“Yes, I think we should wait until you actually break up.”

“Ok. Can we still study together?”

“Sure. Why not?” Why not? I can think of a few reasons.

We made plans to study together. We did meet, but we didn’t study (or have any physical contact). Once, I he helped me move my scooter from one garage to another. The last time we had a study “date,” we ended up back at my apartment, talking. I was annoyed and said, “You have to stop flirting with me. I can’t study like this.”

“I’m not flirting with you!”

In truth, he wasn’t that afternoon, but he had at our other meetings.

For example, he’d said, “Did you know that you have green in your eyes? You have these little crescents of green. It’s very cool.”

“Um, thanks.”

I did know about the green crescents—I had only recently discovered them after staring at my face in the mirror (I was 20, remember?). I don’t know if they’d always been there or if they were new, but to see them, the light had to be shining in my eyes. I thought they were cool too, but I also knew that you had to be looking at me very closely to notice the green in my dark brown eyes.

The day I told him to stop flirting I said, “You can’t say that stuff about my eyes. That’s flirting.”

“Ok, you’re right.”

After that, we called off the GRE studying. Maybe a week later, James called me, “Do you want to go to the movies with me and Eric?”

“Ok.”

Then Eric called, which was a first. He said, “Why don’t we go over to James’ together?”

“Ok.” And we did. When we got there, I met a pretty young woman named Cassie. (How young could she have been?). I wondered how she fit into the group because I hadn’t met her before. Eric seemed to know her and she was quite cozy with James.

Then it hit me. I was on a double date with James and his new girlfriend. Eric was my date. I was furious. How could he! First, he couldn’t wait another week and ask me out again? How had he moved on so quickly? How many new girlfriend candidates were lined up? How did I end up out with Eric, who I had never found attractive? What the hell was going on? Everything was upside down and backwards.

That night, I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hate Cassie. She was too real, funny and interesting. I tried to remind myself that I’d never made up my mind about James the whole time I’d known him. I’d only ever been curious. It didn’t keep me from feeling rejected, though.

And then, there was Eric. Who proceeded to: ask me out on a date (I said yes, then made him take me to a screening of West Side Story (one of my top two favorite musicals of all time)); drop by my apartment to give me a bottle of champagne (we did not open it) and a copy of the magazine he co-edited; volunteer to drive me to the airport (not accepted); leave a gift with a note on a postcard of West Side Story and some very nice chocolate truffles by my door (I ate the truffles and felt guilty since I already knew I wasn’t interested); and generally give every indication that he wanted to be my boyfriend.

Poor Eric. What a sweet, smart, thoughtful guy. Too bad I was never going to like him. Instead, I was going to hurt his feelings. (I eventually sat down and told him, “I like you, but I think we should just be friends.” He never spoke to me again.) I blamed James. Eric’s feelings were sacrificed to James’ need to sluff me off on someone else.

At the next opportunity, I sought out James at the HUB. I found him, alone, and I let him have it. I said, “What were you thinking?”

“What?”

“I don’t know what you said to Eric. But you put me in a terrible position.”

“What do you mean?”

“You encouraged him. You gave him some wrong idea about me.”

“You said…you said you liked him.”

“No I did not! I like him, sure, but not that way. I mean, I like him, he’s a good guy. But I don’t want to go out with him.”

“Oh.”

“And you gave him the impression I did. Or you said something. I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? I can talk to him?”

“No. What I want you to do is never talk to Eric about me again. Stay out of my business. This is a big mess now. I have to hurt his feelings. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t gotten in the way.”

“I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Fine. Just…don’t do it again.”

“Ok. I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t the last time I saw James. There were drinks after his graduation many months later. There was the exchange/return of a futon I’d loaned him. But after I moved away to for grad school, we didn’t keep in touch. I didn’t try, I didn’t wonder, I didn’t care. Today, telling this story, I’m curious, but I don’t think James and I would be friends again. Last I knew, he was still with Cassie. If she married him, I hope she’s happy. She deserved it.

Grateful for: having some sense.

Drop me a line.

I have this friend at work, Diego—I’ve mentioned him before. He’s only one of two people in the office who actually knows about he blog (the other is TR). Of the two, he’s the only one who’s read it. When I first mentioned to him, he scrunched up his face and looked unhappy. “Oh no, not a blog. You shouldn’t waste your time with that.”

“I’m not!”

“But if you really want to write…what’s the point?”

“But I’m really writing, consistently, for the first time in my life. And people even read it!”

“I don’t know.” Diego said.

“Well, you don’t have to read it.”

“Oh no, I’m going to read it!”

Of course he had to read it.

In fact, he read a whole a whole bunch that weekend and sent an email telling me how much he liked it and that he was wrong about it being a waste of time. What a relief! But, now, when the blog comes up in conversation, he’s back to poo-pooing it. What can you do?

Diego doesn’t read the blog anymore, so I have to tell him verbally what’s going on with me. Today, we walked over to CVS and I told him about Frank calling me and emailing me about sailing. I said, “I think it’s just about sailing.”

Diego rolled his eyes.

“No?” I said.

“No!”

“Really?”

“Really.” Diego seemed about to lose patience with me. “Why didn’t you suggest that you do something?”

“It seemed like it was just about sailing.” I ended with an upturn in pitch that made me realize that I doubted this all along.

“I hate people like you.” Diego said.

Le sigh.

“I want you to email him and ask him to do something. Just say, if there’s no sailing, maybe we can do something else.”

“Really? I don’t know.” I said.

“You want to date him, don’t you?”

Well, that’s the thing, I hadn’t thought it was an option. “I don’t know. I don’t know him. He’s so young. He’s really cute.”

“So? Do you just want to date losers?”

“No. Wait, are you saying I date losers? I do not!”

Diego gave me a skeptical look. “He’s not a loser, is he? And he’s cute.”

When I got back to my desk, I sent an email, “Hey–if there’s no sailing this weekend, you want to do something else?”

I felt the most outrageous nerves before and after sending the message. I had those deep-pit of the stomach butterflies and I could hardly sit still. I was certain that I would prefer him to not respond at all. Or just reject me. With feelings like that, I really have to wonder if I’m available for dating at all. If you’d asked me what I was thinking, I would say that my mind was a blank. But my subconscious sure went into overdrive.

Frank responded within a minute. I didn’t want to open the message. What if he said yes? Instead, he said, “There is sailing this weekend - I had a game and it was just cancelled so I can go sailing…”

Whoa. That made me feel dumb. I wrote back saying that was great and asking for the day and time. He sent a hasty reply that a bunch of people were going and he’d get back to me with the details. I left it there and I’ll wait to hear from him.

I feel fine and I don’t think I blew anything. But, if things are weird and awkward and Frank doesn’t get back to me and I never go sailing, I blame Diego, 100%.

And, in the midst of all that nuttiness, I forgot to eat my lunch. I don’t think I’ll ever learn. Super sigh.

Grateful for: Diego.

Drop me a line.

I’ve been here before, but regarding blogging these days, the word is: unfocused.

Because, if I were focused, how could I have failed to share with you some surprising recent non-dating events? “Events” might be too strong a word, because all we’re talking about is a phone call and an email.

Remember Frank, who I met at the frisbee party, then bumped into a week or so later? I hadn’t seen or heard from him since May.

I get a call from Frank. “Hi, it’s Frank. I don’t know if you remember me. But I have your name in my phone and it says you are interested in sailing.”

“Oh, right. I met you at that…[I wanted to say “kickball,” but I knew that wasn’t right] frisbee party. Then I saw you that time on my bike.”

“That’s right. Sure. Well, give me your email and I’ll get in touch with you about sailing.”

“Ok.”

I gave him my email then we said goodbye.

On Monday, he sent me a short email with some sailing details, but no specifics as to dates. I wrote back, thanking him and expressing a positive interest.

I really think it’s about sailing. And, you know what? I would love to go sailing. If this actually happens, it will be a blast. One summer, in Berkeley, I took sailing lessons. I met a couple of cute brothers and learned how to capsize a boat. (And how to rig the boat, haul sails, tack, etc.) We sailed on tiny Lasers, usually two-handed. A girl in the class admired the tan lines on the top of my feet (the only place I truly tan). I wasn’t an exceptional sailor, but I passed the class. I’ve been out in dinghies and larger boats a few times since, but most of my water time has been spent rowing. To sail again would be awesome.

My question? What kind of shoes do I wear? I have the ugly red shoes (which I wear all the time, and have even been complimented on—who knew?) or some Chacos. I also have ancient deck shoes. Dilemmas, dilemmas.

Grateful for: sailing.

Drop me a line.

Did you miss me? No? Good. I didn’t go anywhere, I’ve just been busy.

Busy, lazy and exhausted. Also, not so inspired to write—but I have been writing. I worked on a little story about my past, which I’ll post soon. I worry about the sameness of describing the goings on in my life. Yet, I enjoy reading the daily details on other blogs. At the risk of boring you, I will give a brief sketch of the last couple of days.

Thursday: work was busy. Very busy. I worked all day! Crazy. After, I went to a book club my friend Diego organized. It was interesting and I met some new people. I like the theme, but I don’t know if I’ll have time for it.

Friday: I didn’t go to work. I was a little under the weather and a lot overwhelmed by life. I was staring at a busy weekend and I needed some time to myself. I fooled around on the computer, watched some tv, did the crossword, worked on the yet-to-be-posted story. Sadly, I didn’t read. I did make oatmeal—the kind that takes a long time. I also signed up, really, activated, an account on a free dating site that has instant messaging (IM) capacity. In the late afternoon I had a fun chat with a guy in North Carolina. Pointless but pleasant.

By the end of the day, I was restless and needed to talk to a real life person, so I called Kristin. She wrote about our visit to the Argonaut. I concur with her assessment. It was a good night.

Saturday: I went rowing in the morning. On the weekends, there is a novice (beginner) class and they always ask for the more experienced rowers to volunteer. I was finally in town and energetic enough to go. I ended up rowing with the novices. It was not exhausting, but it was two hours of rowing in the sun. Hey, at least I’m getting plenty of vitamin D.

I ate lunch with some of the experienced rowers after practice. It is a good group.

I went home to take it easy. I ended up back on the internet, chatting with some folks on the new site. Why, why? When I thought I’d lost all interest in this approach. I think I need to stop—stop the endless boyfriend hunt. Yet I don’t stop. I keep going.

The next thing I know, I’m hitting it off with a 25-year-old guy, who is in DC for the summer. We chatted for a good long time and eventually decided to have dinner together. The flirting was mild, the intentions (friendship) were clear. I did not follow the guidelines. He came over and picked me up and drove us to dinner. (Don’t worry, I let Pele know where I was.) We had a good time. We did not flirt but we were friendly and only slightly awkward. I couldn’t stay out all night because I was going swing dancing later with CK. He dropped me home by eight and I said I had a good time. He said, “Yes! We should go eat again.” We made no plans and I wasn’t sure if I would hear from him again.

I got ready for dancing and drove up to MD to meet CK. I danced a good amount. I gave myself permission to say “no” when I didn’t want to dance with someone. I tried to smile at everyone. I was tired but I enjoyed the music. I had a good time. I left at 11:30pm but I didn’t go to sleep until 1:30am.

Sunday: I woke up very early because the dear, sweet kitty needed to be fed (she must be obeyed). Then, at 8am, after digesting breakfast, she insisted that I get up. Sigh. I got up and got online. Guess who buzzed me as soon as I got online? The fellow from dinner. Felix. I was surprised to hear from him. We didn’t make plans, but I will probably see him again. He’s quirky and sweet and a good summer friend.

I met Pele for brunch. We talked about my “date.” We talked about the many couples we know who are on the verge of breaking up. Oh, right, that’s something else I want to write about. Later.

After brunch, I went home. I had softball at 6:30pm and I planned to relax until then. I was still tired from my big, active Saturday. I got back online.

I was IMd by not one, not two, but FOUR guys age 26 or under. What’s that about? I also had a very long, very interesting chat with a guy in his 40’s. He lives several states away, so I considered it pointless but…challenging. Not good. Not good when all I ever do is pursue men who are 100% not available. This particular 40-something guy from Georgia? He wants to marry me and have babies.

Ok. That’s what I want too—to get married and have babies. But not with someone I haven’t met who lives far away. Who the hell is this guy? I can’t deny I was flattered, though. Oy. I think I give up on me. Hopeless.

Grateful for: sunshine.

Drop me a line.

I hope you enjoyed yourselves on the 4th of July. I re-instituted an old tradition of mine by getting nice and schnockered for the holiday. Three drinks will do that to me. I attended a small gathering, and, while I skipped the walk to the Mall to see the fireworks, I enjoyed myself.

I spent a great deal of the day in another flurry of sorting. A few stray photographs were placed in albums. Old images were uploaded to Flickr. Empty boxes were deemed ok to dump. For example, I still have the box from the computer that was stolen a year and a half ago. Why? I’ll never use it again. It must go. (I haven’t actually thrown it away yet, but it’s out of the closet and will soon be out the door.)

And, if I have no dating stories from my own life to share, I do have another “Dear Jamy” question to answer. Better late than never.

Hello Jamy!

Thanks!

–
Sandra Dee

Hi Sandra Dee,

I’ve always thought it’s a fine idea to stay friends with an ex. But, I must admit, I’ve never done it. Not that I’ve ever stayed enemies with an ex—it’s just that usually, the old feelings are still there and it is too complicated/ uncomfortable/ awkward to keep up a full-fledged friendship. It has been done, successfully, but not by me. (My brother, B1, has done it—but I suspect most of those friendships did not survive his marriage. Many of his ex-girlfriends did attend his wedding, though, which was amusing. In fact, it was an ex-girlfriend who introduced him to his wife.) I’m not counting exes with whom I occasionally talk on the phone or see on the odd visit to their home towns, but these are rare events, not regular friendship-style contact. And I would never recommend keeping someone around for casual sex, though I know that is pretty common.

However, before starting a friendship with an ex, I think you need to take a break from seeing him. You need time to get into an ex-free routine. If you keep seeing him regularly in the aftermath of a break up, you may not leave enough space in your life for someone new. So, take a break from seeing AND talking to him for at least a few weeks and then decide if you want to keep up the friendship.

Your second question is impossible to answer. You should wait as long as you need to wait before you get back out there. People have all kinds of rules and formulas about this, but I don’t. When you are ready, you are ready. If you rush it, it won’t matter, you can’t force yourself to be ready. It’s probably a good idea to time limit the moping, but as to actual dating—if you are good to go in two days, that’s fine. If it takes two months, so be it. When it’s time, I think you’ll know.

Take care,
Jamy

Grateful for: being ready.

Drop me a line.

I went to a party a few days ago where I met some new people and saw some people I’ve met a few times before. I spent the first part of the evening quietly listening to the conversations around me. Everyone there seemed to know each other well. They’d been busy spending time together while I’ve been busy rowing or doing who knows what.

I drank a beer and was less quiet as a result.

One of the