Welp, I canceled another date. I know what you are thinking. No wait, I don’t. I am afraid you might be thinking that all I do is set up dates and cancel them. Like the girls, I used to see at the polar bear dips in Barrie Ontario every January. Holes cut in the ice, the pretty ladies in their little bikinis would run-up to the water, look, scream and run back into the sauna. Grabbing a beer and a man on the way.
Sigh. The hell with that. I jumped in. By the way, lake water in Canada in the middle of January? Back then anyhow before the weather went wonky? It was like a thousand needles entering my skin at once. But I still did it. Got the participation ribbon and everything.
I don’t back down from scary things. I may be terrified, but you’ll never know. Last night I went to a great singles event. Utterly terrified. Had a panic attack (again). Yep. The lady who can manage marketing for global clients, content strategy, community management, big traffic generating writing, optimized like I am half search engine. And half-human, I guess. Maybe part dog.
I’ll fight through that stuff. Because I realize that I have to in order to achieve anything. Including a wholesome social life again. Locally. Trying to open up the vault and shine through because I think I can be a lot of fun. If I allow myself to be social. I haven’t for years. So, the training wheels are on, but I am proud of myself last night. Two drinks, sex trivia in a crowded but small bar, surrounded by some really great people. Part of a social club I have recently joined (and completely love) on Facebook.
What was my point? Sorry, the hostility from the guy kind of messed my brain up a little. I’m not a whimp. And I can certainly defend myself verbally. But the switch from seduction playbook to “F you bi*ch” horrified me. I’ll get into that in a second. I slept in my invisible emotional blanket fort last night. While five dogs licked my face and cuddled up. I just couldn’t stop crying.
I’m cool like that.
Marketing and Entrepreneurialism Was the Common Thread
So, dating apps. That’s where this guy found me. And actually, he started talking to me in August. But I guess I detected a red flag and I wasn’t keen on meeting him. So I lied (I knowww… but sometimes they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer). I told him I met someone. It was the easiest way to get rid of him.
Then he reached out again a week ago. This time, no red flags. Like maybe he had learned his last approach didn’t work? He was mature, responsible, spoke to me about parenting his two sons. His businesses. His marketing experience. His Jeep and his dog. Common threads. Also, he loves fishing and being outside like I do.
Cool cool. We can talk. After about four days of chatting by IMs, he tells me that he likes to record his partners on video. When they are having sex.
Uhhh HECK NO! There are no images of me anywhere on the internet because… wait for it… I care about my reputation. I respect my reputation and myself. That doesn’t mean that I don’t get inundated with unsolicited pickle-pics from would-be lotharios… please, don’t. I won’t even open attachments anymore since the last guy dropped a comparison shot of his member, juxtaposed to a can of air freshener. [insert dead stare]
I actually thought maybe, he was joking. He said he kind of was, but … RED ALERT. And all he wanted to talk about was sex. Now, let’s be straight here, I’m an Italian woman. And I am 48. Haz libido. BIG TIME. In fact… never mind. I am not a prude. Far from it. Being single for me is like being a vampire, staring in the window of a blood bank… salivating. But I don’t act on it. Pandemic? Yeah. Fear of STDs? Yep. Fear of being hurt emotionally or physically? YEP. Class? Big time. I’m not a drive-thru.
I am not convenience sex. I am not so desperate for the attention of a man that I would bend the knee, or back or … whatever. Besides if I am being honest, it’s not usually the man that drives in my bed. When I am in a relationship. So, the approach to acquire an all-access pass for YOUR convenience? Clearly, you did not understand the assignment.
My body parts are connected to my heart. And my heart and body parts are connected to my head. And inside my head is a very big brain. One that sees scripts and strategies. Manipulations. I used to only see the big picture, now I see every damned tree in EVERY forest I encounter.
Go ahead… try me. It’s cute. Because after my last partner? I have a Ph.D. in pathological lie detection. Games. Scripts. Gaslighting? Whatever the hell people are calling it these days. You may get a chance and fly briefly under the radar, but eventually…
Red Alert: All Hands to Battle Stations!
Proton cannons set to KILL. Well, not really. Set to thoroughly damage your ego and make you rewrite your playbook. Because those games only work on women that are desperate for love, attention, and affection. I crave those things, but I don’t allow them to motivate my decisions. About who I date, or whether I have sex or not.
It’s cute however that you think you can run that game on me. Make me question myself. Call me apprehensive to date? Nah. I’m dating with the purpose of finding a great companion. Because I deserve that kind of man in my life. That intelligent, independent, geeky, brilliant, techie, gamer, old school Mad Men kinda fella. Who still appreciates a woman in a skirt, blouse, and heels for dinner every now and then. Masculine to my feminine, but two lions in life. Ambitious, responsible, hardworking, kind, generous, loyal, honest, and passionate.
I believe those qualities (all of them) can exist in a man. I have proof. I just have to find someone like that who thinks I am great too. I’m the strangest combination of feminism. Do I need your money? Nope. Do I want you to fix my problems? Nope. Do I want you to be ‘the man’. YEP. Am I cool with ironing your shirts and cooking dinner? Yes. If you work just as hard as me. I enjoy expressions of conventional female. My baking needs some work though. It’s pretty bad.
None of those things make me less of a career professional. Independent woman. My independence doesn’t equate to man-hating. If I date someone who is suppressing his maleness? I am not interested. So, by proxy, I tend to pick men that are comfortable in that masculinity. And that’s how I end up canceling so many dates with womanizers.
I am not a ‘princess’ womanizer. I am not a queen either. I’m not a diva. Welcome to your worst nightmare as a single man in your forties. An empowered, independent, strong, resilient woman who knows her worth. I know I am a great person. Not a model, but still pretty. A quality human. Fun, passionate, strong, and loyal.
You have to be “THIS TALL” to ride. And it has nothing to do with your muscles. Your height. The size of your house, your pool, and your hot tub that would probably glow under black light.. ewww… crime scene. *gag*
You’re playing a numbers game.
I’m not playing a game. Just the girl next door looking for the boy next door. And that’s not you. Aim for lower hanging fruit. Like women who hate themselves. I don’t.
