Meet Play Shove!

I fully admit I let myself get caught up in the Eat Pray Love phenomenon, but I did not read the book. I will eventually, but I do not need it yet. I am, however, listening to Elizabeth Gilbert's new book, Committed, on CD...it was at the library especially for me the day after I saw her speak in Burnsville. I cannot say what other women found in Eat Pray Love that resonated with their personal journeys towards love, but I can attempt to speak about the chords it struck in me.

Being single while wanting a partnership I have never experienced personally is very different from being single after experiencing a marriage that did not work. Elizabeth Gilbert and I are living our own roller-coaster rides, as everyone must, but a good memoir jumps the tracks and sidles up to a wider population than lived its story. Seeking for answers, understanding, and even love belongs to everyone.

My search for love feels like a compulsion. Part of me would be glad to be rid of this desire for that feeling of connection, harmony and passion. I am not at all surprised that there are similarities between infatuation and drug addiction at the neurological level; love is a blissful high! Am I slave to my desire? Drawn on like an addict to her drug? Perhaps this is why monks and other spiritual people attempt to overcome desire...to rise above our human programming. Unfortunately, this is not an appealing approach to me, devoted as I am to fully immersing myself in the human experience. I have to accept my longing to be partnered.

Making the decision to accept is far easier than doing so when finding a partner proves to be so difficult. I loathe the advice from married men and women who are happily or just contently partnered already about how I should go about finding someone. I have never liked preachers. And anyway, who believes that their love story is so prototypical: the test case for everyone to follow? Their unconscious arrogance is as amazing as their {selective memories}.

[A brief message to all my would-be advice givers: Thank you for your love and concern about my happiness. I truly know you mean only good in offering me your wisdom, but if I want it I will ask you, directly. With me, you know when I want something from you, but a blog about my murky love future is not in itself a plea for aid. Instead of telling me where I should go, you are more than welcome to compliment me on the steps I have already taken, the obstacles I have overcome or the lessons I have learned the hard way.]

I know I have not fully wrestled the demons that guard the path to my grown-up love, but I am content with this awareness. Through all of my relationships, and my many almost-relationships, I have changed and learned enough to know that I am not a mess. Self-improvement, such as this, makes me so excited that I want to impart my fresh wisdom to the world! However, no one can teach another through words what must be learned through experience. We all do not live and love in the same way, nor should we want to.

As for me, I would not change a thing about my love journey. I have tried many kinds of love on for size and would not have wanted to miss any one. For those people who are happy to marry their first love, my lessons may act as a small pickaxe weakening the walls of a once-sturdy structure should I choose to espouse what specifically I have learned. I have no desire to crack anyone's happiness, but am shamelessly comfortable with the knowledge that my heartbreaks will make me a stronger and better lover than I could ever have been had I only had one man I loved. So I raise my glass, in a solitary toast, to meeting, playing with and, if need be, shoving away men as I wind my way along this path.

A Spy in the Women's Locker Room

Sometimes, I feel like a spy when I enter the women's locker room at the gym. My mission is to look at all the women in every stage of undressing and record with my mental video camera. The two flaws in this fantasy, is that I have no idea why I need to do this mission (but it could be classified) and I have nobody to whom I should report back. So what am I doing?!

Men may think they are unique in checking out “the competition” when they are in the locker room, gym, or bathroom, but I do the same. I cannot speak for all women, but I find other women's bodies fascinating and of course beautiful. As I undress without modesty myself, I find my eyes roaming around constantly. It is as if I have special permission in this place to shamelessly look at women. I would gladly welcome co-ed locker rooms, where we all can ogle each other without censorship! My motive for looking at other women alludes me, but I can say that I do not believe I have competition in mind -envy, perhaps.

There are some things I love about myself and my body, but like everyone, there are things I wish were different sometimes! (The idea of bigger boobs is probably better than the reality, but I reserve the right to drool over big boobs sometimes, god damn it!) But who would not find the many differences in body type so interesting? There are very few places where one can see so much variety with so few clothes obstructing the view. You can often tell what area of a person's body they are concerned with, but I find it interesting how having some weight in choice locations actually suits people better than if they had less. But, if you thought about it, nice boobs are all about attractive fat.

I am reading Sex at Dawn: The prehistoric origins of modern sexuality (Dan Savage had nothing to do with my reading it), and the authors neatly deconstruct the beauty of boobs and buttocks by comparing them. So perhaps there is no such thing as a true boob-man or ass-man...in effect they are the same. I guess that means I can be happy with my nice ass and my un-sagging breasts! I am also lucky that, unlike primates, I can vocally state that I am available to the opposite sex.

The one hint that may indicate I am indeed competitive is that I prefer to be in better shape than the other women around me at the gym. I do not feel this way in life, but at the gym, I like wearing tight pants without being called for a fashion foul because I look good! I cease to be so unique with other fit and attractive women around me (especially if they have better tits). I do not feel guilty about this feeling, because I cannot be the only one who feels this way. I do think it is funny that I do not care about who wears a better dress to a party, but I do care who wears their spandex better!

Am I vain to think this way? The main definitions of 'vain' contain the words 'conceited' and 'futile' implying a false pride that serves no purpose. I am proud of myself and my body; I want to be health, fit, attractive and comfortable. I just like to improve things, even if they are already good (otherwise I grow bored). So working out, building strength, toning muscles are all activities I am doing to make myself better. If I am not proud of my accomplishments will I continue to go to the gym?

How can we bitch about what society is “telling” us we have to look like, when we ultimately do it for ourselves? Seeing a skinny model on TV or in a magazine is just that...seeing a picture. If you take it on yourself to look like her, well go ahead, if you can, but what makes her a better role model for you, than your mother, your sister or your friend? Women's libbers feel free to yell at me, but I refuse to accept women are passive receptors to society's messages on beauty! We make the decisions in our life about what we eat, how we exercise, and how much we spend watching the tube and reading those magazines. In the real world there are plenty of examples of different forms of beauty, but for some reason we do not care about them.

Next time you are at the gym or out for a walk, try to see that every body has its own beauty, but remember also, that healthy (physically and mentally) is the most attractive look!

Pets and Ice Cream

For some reason, I find that I cannot just think of men as men, each one different in his own unique way. I am compelled to compare men to something else, ascribing metaphors to explain my attraction or my indifference. One explanation for why I might do this could be that men are such complicated creatures and I have no idea what I want or need in a partner because of this.

During the times when I am seeing more than one guy, I compare them against each other. This is easier and normally more fair than comparing them to ex-boyfriends because both men are present. Of course, it is hard not to remember what felt good in the past and also what caused the end of a relationship. Comparison is inevitable, so I make no apologies for it, but if you think about it, it ends up being useful for all parties. I have all too often continued to see a man I really was not interested in when I was without two choices. I am able to truly commune with my feelings about each man when I have a choice, so I can treat the men better and avoid dating out of desperation.

Whenever a girlfriend asks me to talk about my choices, weighing pros and cons, as we distill where my attraction is leading me, it is hard for me to find any words. But gut feelings are not always clear either. Often times my body is attracted to one man more than another while my domestic desire points straight to the other. There is no stranger battle than when two parts of yourself turn on each other, leaving to you only watch.

Sometimes, a perfect metaphor settles on to my two suitors, offering me a way to explain the feelings I have towards them. Of course, it is a simplification, but it becomes a tool that can bring peace to my internal landscape. Metaphors are often the only way I can bridge my rational mind and my emotional being, they become a language both sides have in common in their otherwise deadlocked language barrier.

Two men came into my life on the same weekend recently, and the perfect metaphor on their heels. Both men were of a same age, homeowners, content in their jobs, and manly enough in physique to interest me. One began with instant attraction and sexual tension while the other started off with companionable activity and ready laughter.

Mr. Sexy and Mr. Smiley became a puzzle after day one, pulling me in opposite directions. Mr. Sexy seemed unavailable while he stayed in contact and Mr. Smiley seemed too ready to do something for me. How frustrating! I was not happy with either response. Then the metaphor hit me; Mr. Sexy was a cat and Mr. Smiley was a dog! How ironic that they each owned the pet they resembled.

A cat-man is very independent and aloof. You can always tell he likes his space and things to go his way. He is most likely the man that sleeps with a girl and expects her to go home right after, without sleeping over. He is also the man who sends mixed signals, sometimes being very affectionate and then sometimes lashing out unexpectedly. Mr. Sexy did not do all of these things to me of course, but cat-men are too choosy about when they want attention and do not come when called, even with bait!

A dog-man is very social and loyal. You can tell that he likes you because he wants to be with you a lot and is very affectionate. He is the man who brings flowers, or makes you dinner, and always asks for another date before you can wonder if he will. He is the nice guy your mother wants you to marry, who seems stable and sweet. I remember thinking how easy it would be to fall into Mr. Smiley's life when he made me dinner and just be a nice girlfriend again. But soon after, Mr. Smiley became too smothering with his affection and I realized I am not ready for that lifestyle.

So if I clearly do not want a cat-man OR a dog-man boyfriend, what do I actually want? Is there an animal that mimics the kind of love I want to nurture? Perhaps a penguin...devoted mates that share the parenting duties so well? No, there is something too tragic about the penguin. A deer...an independent female being fought over by many bucks? No, there is no romance to that love, nor to time alone after mating. I think I will eventually conclude that I want a human man, but I guess I am waiting for one who knows how to love me as the complicated human woman that I am.

So, I remain single, but joyfully so. Many of my girlfriends are partnered, engaged or married and do not envy me my singledom, but I am having too much fun meeting new people and tasting the many flavors of affection that I couldn't be less interested in getting into a relationship right now. Since Mr. Sexy and Mr. Smiley (both who remain in my life for now, as friends) I have met three new men who attract me, had two lesbians hit on me, and made some awesome new friends dancing salsa and riding public transportation in our underwear! Every person offers me a new sensation never yet felt. I feel as if I am developing a sixth sense for social interaction and I want to try as much as possible. Just like ice cream, there are so many flavors...and there is no way to have a favorite.

All the Single Ladies...should salsa at Loring Kitchen!

Feeling the need to go out and shake things up somewhat, I decided I had to to go out this weekend.  The snow slow-down on Friday banished all interest I may have had about going out that night, so Saturday seemed perfect.  I had a prime parking spot on the right side of the snow-emergency parking rules, so therefore, did not want to move my car.  When I mused over my options, I remembered that my hot tub conversation partner from the gym last week mentioned a free salsa dancing night on Saturdays at a place near my new apartment.  Using Google Maps, I determined it was only 8 blocks away.  I was sold.

I quickly donned a combination of warm and dance-capable clothes, threw some strappy heels into my purse, and headed out into the snow.  The leggings under my skirt did not really keep me warm without pants over them, but I persevered anyway, reminding myself that I grew up with this weather!  I trod happily along, not knowing what to expect, but confident that this adventure would be fun.  It is sometimes surprising that I am the same person who sometimes cannot decide with which foot to start walking!  My nerves were steely, is that how one might describe nerves?

I crossed over the Nicollet Avenue bridge that spans across I-94 with excitement; I can walk to downtown so easily now!  This was a momentous crossing, my virgin voyage.  My joy was fleeting, as my mind does not dwell on anything, even happy thoughts.  My thoughts hopped around madly from such things as how easy it would be for someone to climb over the fence and jump to their death on the highway to how like a child one moves when all swaddled in winter garments.  My skirt felt like a costume, marking me a hipster who wear skirts in bitter cold because looks are more important than warmth?  With my knew high boots, which are conveniently practical and trendy, I looked almost badass, in an army-boot-chic sort of way.  I delude myself, I am simply incapable of badassitude!

For a moment I thought I turned on the wrong street, as apartment buildings lined the street and no flashy lights signaled a salsa place that I could see.  But pushing along further, I suddenly spied the place...it's side entrance having been obscured by one of the apartment places.  My feet slowed for a beat, because this almost looked too fancy for me, what a surprise.  I think it was my certainty that the man from the gym would be here, welcoming me with a smile and an instantaneous lesson in salsa technique that kept my feet moving inside.  Once through the door, my poise returned.

But certainty is a funny thing...it always get's the last laugh with me.  I believe people much too easily!  He was not there, and I did not see him for the entire night.  After changing into my shoes and taking up a graceful pose by the side of the dance floor, I began to surrender to the music, and the night.  While I sipped my first glass of wine, I continued to care about finding the man and dancing with him first, to gain some experiential confidence.  Before long, however, I was approached by a man, who swooped in on me as if I were a juicy field mouse and he, a hungry owl.  How unexpected and delightful!  This was no high school dance.

Going out alone has only a few downfalls I have found.  The most despicable is the matter of the unattended drink.  It is a definite NO-NO to leave your drink unattended as a single female.  The small chance that there is a scheming man ready to drug your drink and slyly make excuses for carrying you out like a sack of potatoes deters most young ladies from taking such a risk.  Consequently, when drinking for one, each drink becomes a commitment...until it is finished you are wed to that glass or plastic cup.  At a salsa dance, a wedding ring would not deter a partner from asking for a dance, but a wine glass in hand caused me to have to turn down 5 men!  Next time I am going to do shots!

(I was able to hang my coat on a hook that held no allegiance to a certain table, shove my boots under an unused stool, and even find a sort of cool place to hide my purse while I danced...on a chair at the bottom of a stack of chairs near the floor.  I felt the place was dark enough to obscure it, but still think, next time I will stick everything in my coat pockets.  It felt very freeing to walk around with just my wine glass.)

Sadly, as I result of my two glasses of liquid courage (which definitely helped, but were not not needed), I dance with only three men in all, after receiving at least 8 invitations, a constant stream.  I was content with that.  I covered the gamut of partners and feel sure of my imminent return.  My first partner, a middle-aged man with a little girth about him, thought he was a better leader than he really was.  We danced for a bit with out much issues, as he guided me through the basics.  Then he tried to tell me a new step, with words that did not match how he led me and I struggled to comply...he coaxed me with words and more words, until I had to tune him out and pretend he was leading me better.  I figure it out eventually, but he was hard to follow even then...could it be the girth?

My second partner was a younger, thinner man, who exuded a sense of boyish propriety.  When I told him I had very little experience he assumed the role of teacher and tried to tell me the basics I knew already.  Then he led me through only very basic steps, changing in up only slightly.  Our dance helped me to loosen up some, but I felt was banal overall, lacking soul.  It was a very proper dance, exactly what I would expect from such a man.  I have heard that you can really get to know a man by the way he dances, and now I am starting to believe it.  What would someone say about me after I danced with them?  I shall have to put out a survey.  I saw this guy later dancing with someone else, and this dance seemed to have more energy and fun, but I could still a stiffness to his sensuality that spoke volumes about him. I just wish he could have set the bar a little higher for me...why not see how far I was able to go?

I took a little food break partly so I could finish this glass of wine without interruption, partly so I could interact more with a particular bartender.  Some serving people put just a little extra effort in order to personalize your interaction with them, and it makes all the difference: a smile, eye contact or a slightly unique way of asking the generic questions.  It is hard to say if he was doing his job well or flirting with me or doing his job well by flirting with me, but I wanted to interact more.  So I ordered some food, and while I did, I noticed he had some words tattooed on his forearm.  Unconsciously, I must have felt a reason to ask about it, for I suddenly did.  He told me they were the lyrics of a Leonard Cohen song!!  I almost thought I heard him wrong for I absolutely love the 76-year-old singer!  I have completely forgotten the song, and did not read the lyrics, but some time when it is not busy, I will return to ask this bartender what compelled him to permanently mark himself with the words of my darling Leonard!

As I was reaching for my coat to leave, feeling no further inclination to dance, a tall, dark and handsome man asked me if I wanted to dance.  I did not need much cajoling, but a little was fun to wait for...and I was convinced!  He seemed a little buzzed, just to the point of careless boldness.  He scoffed at my admission of being a beginner, unconcerned.  We started to dance and instantly I was changed into a sassier self!  He led me with precision, joyously challenging me to have fun above all else.  We laughed out loud as we danced and I fell in love with salsa right then.  Our dance felt like a true partnership, a true meeting of two people who both had value.  I was not a simple-minded follower or a a prop for show in this dance.  We did not get everything right all the time, but we laughed about that.  He was not always paying attention to the other dancers around us, so I sometimes bumped into them on a turn, but I did not pause to apologize for him...the dance had caught me and it is likely we will dance again...if he remembers me without his beer-goggles.

What a gem of a place to find so close to home...it is a one-stop shop for flirting, dancing, wining and dining...I have found my match!

"Singling" in a Winter Wonderland

Minneapolis is being dusted with snow tonight, which I hope appeases my snow-loving friends. Snow really is beautiful and magical, but making a twenty minute commute turn into 100 minutes is not my idea of tranquility. After finally making it ho,e and wrestling with mailbox, I headed out in the downy night for a peaceful cup of hot cocoa at the Spyhouse Coffeehouse.

Sitting in a dark corner I was able to observe many patrons easily. As I watched some of my treasured Korean dramas I also noted that I have migrated to an area where there are more young people (and by that I mean, young MEN!). My new neighborhood is more fitting for me, a single gal still figuring her way in the world. I lived among too many families back near Powderhorn...all the men at nearby coffeeshops wore gold rings...and I am not about to hit on an attached man! I will have to work on my flirtation skills as well as my ability to engage in conversation with strangers.

Last night, I swam at the end of my workout at the gym. The hot tub, whirlypool-thingamabob seemed like a nice conclusion for my muscles. Two men were in the tub already and engaged in conversation about swimming. I got in, conscious of the fact that I had not shaved my legs but not caring if they judged me for it. I tried to create a private space around me, for no reasonable reason, and tried to pretend the water was as hot as it should be.

The older of the two men soon rose to get into the pool for his swim, and I stretched out a bit further, hoping the water would get warmer through sheer patience. The younger man across from me saw right through my invisible barrier and started a conversation. Personal boundaries are amazingly hard shells for something you cannot see!! As soon as he spoke, I felt the shell crack and fall away, revealing a soft and gooey me inside. Conversation oozed out of me and all semblance of aloofness shattered. My attitude completely changed so I became immediately approachable...but, only after I was approached. Hmmm...

We spoke for a long time, of dance, work, dance, travel and dance. He is a ballroom dance instructor and wanted me to visit the studio sometime. He is clearly the person that I have not yet learned to be...completely unabashedly affable. I haven"t master the unabashed part. Two things I took away from the conversation: one-he told me how I spoke reminded him of dance...it was easy, flowing; two-he commented that a person may look like they do not want to talk, but perhaps they are like me, and just need someone else to make the first move.

I vow, today, to practice talking to people more often at the gym, at the coffeeshop and anywhere I can. In fact, I did this already! As I wrested with a screwdriver and my mailbox (there being no key to it yet) two men came out of the apartment closest to me. I asked them if they knew how to break into a mailbox. With some hesitation, they gallantly came to my rescue and one of them in under 5 seconds had the mailbox open and my mail was in my hand! I opened the door for interaction and literally had another door opened for me! I think I am learning my lesson - this WORKS!

Single with Mice, past-tense

For the last three months, I have been forced to share my home with mice which makes me very thankful to be moved into a new place.  I never would have predicted how low my tolerance level for mice actually is.  I hate mice.  I have been transformed into a girly mess over these rodents.  Spiders are fine, box elder bugs are fine, I would even prefer a Rabies-infected bat!  (I also really hate those house centipedes that are super speedy and come out of drains! eew!) Mice are not easy to get rid of and the poop EVERYWHERE!  It is very disconcerting to know where the mice has been by their excessive excrement.  As I prepare to move, I feel almost like I have lost to the mice.

I have seen mice in two other houses where I was sleeping; both were ex-boyfriends' homes when they were there too.  Hearing and seeing a mouse when in the presence of a man was completely different to finding them on my own.  I have tried to reflect on this difference and really hope it is not about having a big strong man to protect me.  The two mice seen with boyfriends were only seen once by me, and seemed to stay in areas I was not about to sleep.  I did boot-up when I saw one in the kitchen where I had been cooking barefoot, but I then proceeded to sleep on the mattress on the floor 10 feet away from the kitchen door.  Having arms around me did not hurt too of course.

I first discovered definite mousage problems when I had just returned from Europe this summer.  There had been a brief suspicion earlier, after some dirt mysteriously jumped out of a potted plant, twice, but without any other evidence.  I was home alone, at night, sitting in my comfy chair watching something on my computer, when I heard a crinkle of plastic on my art table.  The fan may have been on, so I thought nothing of it.  However, your brain can somehow tell when something is not correlated...and this noise was not caused by the fan.  I went to investigate if a box elder bug had landed on something.  I picked up a box to move it, and a mouse leaped out and ran across the floor!  Talk about a surprise!  I squealed and probably ran away or did a little dance!

In my bedroom, one door over, I sat on the bed heart thumping.  There was more light in this room and I was clearly there, but nonetheless a mouse or the same one decided to run into my room from the other room.  I squealed again, and I like to think the mouse squeaked in response, and ran back the way it had come!  This was not pleasant, not exciting at all.  We were as far from the kitchen as possible and I was not happy to think about going to sleep that night.

I woke up three times that night hearing mice and worrying about mice.  It was not enjoyable trust me.  Mice are cute when they are pets for some reason, but little lightening bolts of fur streaking across the floor where your bare feet just were is eerie.  I ever since worn shoes or heavy slippers when walking anywhere in my house.  Besides the thought of little claws digging into my flesh as a mouse sought refuge in my pant leg, I did not want to step on any carcasses when we put out the poison that made them drop dead anywhere.  Finding dead mice made me scream just as much as seeing a living one!

How I missed a man during these mousy months!  I wanted to surrender into a man's arms, relinquishing my tough shell to fully expose the gooey girly core.  But alas, I was -am- single.  I have survived the mouse house and (fingers crossed) have not brought any stowaways along with me.  I now reside in a sweet bachelorette-pad near downtown Minneapolis.  It is as if I have moved to a Midwestern New York City neighborhood.  Living in an apartment is quite a change from the homey family-friendly neighborhood where I left, and I hope to become a person worthy of this younger-, hipper-, and much more appropriate-apartment.  I raise my paper cup of lemonade to my new adventure...and now to find my drink glasses...

Book Review: Have Him at Hello by Rachel Greenwald

As I have mentioned, I have been reading dating advice books lately.  Before I begin to share my thoughts on them, I want to issue a disclaimer.

Disclaimer:
I do not believe any book has all the answers to help anyone get a boyfriend/girlfriend and I do not recognize any author as a true authority whom I must obey.  I read these books as a form of meditation on the issues I have, and I use them only to help direct my self-analysis.

Title: Have Him at Hello: Confessions from 1,000 guys about what makes them fall in love...or never cal back
Author: Rachel Greenwald

Three reasons women think are why men do not call:
1) Timing -not ready for a relationship
2) Fear -of being hurt again
3) Why bother? -perceived her disinterest and decided not to pursue a lost cause

The author researched why men actually did not call a woman back after a first date.  The top ten reasons describe how their date was too much like:
1) a Boss Lady, someone who acted too dominant, which appears controlling, unfeminine, and competitive
2) the Blahs, someone who is just generally boring, hard to engage and unopinionated
3) a Bait and Switcher, someone who creates a false impression of themselves in order to get asked out
4) a Park Avenue Princess, someone seen as high-maintenance or overly concerned with money/things
5) a Closer, someone overly focused on obtaining a boyfriend, husband or child, which seems needy
6) a Flasher, someone who reveals a lot of negative personal information and baggage right away
7) a Bitch-in-Boots, someone who just seems mean, acting rude towards her date or a third-party
8) a Debbie Downer, someone who constantly complains or is generally bitter and cynical
9) an Ex-Factor, someone who talks too much about her ex-boyfriend/ex-husband
10) a One-way Street, someone who dominates the date and acts self-absorbed

For each of the above unattractive perceptions, the author describes the behavior, quotes many different men, then provides a checklist for the reader to see if she may be seen this way.  The last part of each section covers ways to counter the perception proactively, by doing other things instead.  Thankfully, I do not believe I fell into every category, but using the checklist I was able to identify a few areas where I can improve.

Although, I consider myself independent and able to accomplish things, I am by no means a Boss Lady.  Since I am not exactly where I want to be in my life jobwise, I have no identifying ties to my title.  Without any vanity, I am happy to say I am not the Blahs, a Bait and Switcher or a Park Avenue Princess either!  I thought it was possible I could be the Closer, or the Flasher or the Ex-Factor because I have, contrary to all advice from everyone, done whatever I wanted on a first date thinking honesty was the best thing.  So I have been attracted to someone's marriage potential and revealed some baggage...about an ex-relationship too soon. But I did not quite fit into any of these top personae.  So I read on.

I, also, did not meet the criteria for the next five date-breaker issues which were so interesting the author felt she had to include them.  I was not (11) a Seinfeld, someone with a particular quirk that didn't sit right with the man (e.g. eating your peas one at a time ala one of Jerry's girlfriends), (12) a Never-Ever, someone who make an absolute statement about having kids or something else of importance to the man, (13) a Birds-of-a-Feather, someone on whom friends or family negatively reflects based on simple association, (14) a Psychobabbler, someone who spews too much therapy-inspired language, nor (15) a Wino (no explanation necessary).

This book was fast becoming wast of my time, so I had to flip through the rest to find something more interesting.  I turned doubtfully to the next section on post-date problems that cause a man to lose interest.  Part of me screamed, "I am bot even having FIRST dates, let alone SECOND!!  Where is the book for me?!!"  This section offered me better insight surprisingly.  The top five reasons the connection is dropped after a first date are very similar to the first meet, at least for me.  I manage to blow a first meeting and never even get to a first date, even when their were sparks!  I think I am just bad at fanning the flames without putting them out completely! Sigh.

Five post-date-breakers:
1) The Sadie Hawkins, someone who pursues a man too hard herself before the man has had any fun chasing her
2) The Flame-Out, a relationship that begins with intense emotional or physical intimacy, but it was too much, too soon
3) The Busy Bee, someone who has too many other commitments to make a second date or seems too popular in general during the first date
4) The R U 4 Real, someone who gives a bad impression through electronic communication, either through a confusing message, poor spelling or inexplicable silence
5) The Tailspin, someone who gets so upset about how long it takes a man to call her back, that when he does she acts aloof

I am, unmistakably, a Sadie Hawkins...sigh...sigh...sigh.  I do not want to sit on my hands just to let the men have all the fun of the chase!  Why must women always make sacrifices of their own happiness for that of men?!  (Ok, I fully acknowledge that hyperbolic statement is inaccurate, but let me please artistically express myself.)  Sadie Hawkins was a character in a satirical comic of Li'l Abner who literally chased men in a race held by her father for her to find a husband.  Modern women are doing more and more on par with men, but it makes me ill when I contemplate letting men chase me and being the object of the chase.  I may be incapable of preventing myself from chasing something (anything) I want.  The world should be thankful I have not truly wanted the moon!

Men, do you know how hard it is to flirt with a man but then not pursue him?  Do you realize that make-up and clothes are our plumage which is flaunted just to catch your eye and make you come a running?  (And do you realize how rarely it works?)  I have been going to bars looking smashing and yet to find someone who is truly interested in approaching me to ask for my number.  Maybe I just have to wear this one red dress that caused quite a stir last summer...hmmm....who cares if it is winter?