under Date Night
There is no greater freedom than the kind you return to at the end of a mercifully short first (and last) date that in no way, shape, or form matched your pre-conceived notions of what she’d be like.
What’s the recipe for letting these pre-conceived notions bamboozle you yet again? Mix one part of her phone voice and reasonably flattering isolated moment in time her pic captured, with the subconscious essences of women you were drawn to in the past you’re thinking this total stranger looks and sounds like, simmer for a day or two and voila – your goose is cooked!
Why do I keep running for the football, expecting “Lucy” not to grab it away this time? I’m done with cooked goose. From now on, I’m Mr. Chicken.
When it comes to what people ask for in their ideal prospective partners, the age cutoff dates are fairly predictable. With many women in their mid 40s, for example, the day he turns 50 or maybe 55, it’s all over. If she’d met him the day before he turned 50 or 55, it would have been a whole other story. But the milk carton freshness date is what it is. Those middle years or years that end with zeros are killers. I understand; that’s when the warranties run out and it’s tough ordering new parts.
More women seem to be opening it up to considerably younger than they are, while extending the upper limit to only a couple of years beyond their own “freshness dates.” If men can, why not women, I suppose?
One thing to keep in mind, ladies: The expiration dates shouldn’t apply to those of us hermetically sealed in our apartments. In our air-tight containers, we’re liable to stay fresh forever.
I believe there’s one cardinal rule when it comes to dating: Whatever you think she’s thinking, she’s thinking something else.
It’s why you wonder why they’re mad. It’s why you wonder why they sent you a Dear John email after you thought they had a great time. I had an inkling it was coming when My AOL mailman cheerily announced: “You got dumped!” Yeah, I’m still on AOL. At this rate, I’ll be getting my first smart phone when a phone is actually smart enough to tell me why Anderson Cooper has nine jobs.
Relationships may be about sharing, but wavelengths are about not sharing. I tried to share her wavelength. Turns out I had the wrong wavelength. It was my wavelength. If she’d tried to share my wavelength, maybe she would’ve understood what I’m talking about here.
She doesn’t even need to share my wavelength. What good’s it doing me? She can have it all to herself.
A sure sign of a budding relationship is when you can once again relate to love song lyrics. You’ve got the keys to the kingdom back - Those 3-D glasses that let you marvel at the artificially enhanced dimensions of Dating, Doting and Doing it.
“So true, so true – All you do need is love.” I’ll leave songs from this century for another post.
And a sure sign of a relationship that’s sputtering to an end is when you can once again relate to the blues.
“So true, so true – Everyday I have the blues!” (Again, a song from last century).
If you love getting out of the relationship, and staying in the relationship gives you the blues… forget everything I just said.
Summer unofficially begins tomorrow. Giving us plenty of time for back to school ads to pop up again by late July. God forbid, we observe life when it actually occurs.
What’s your memory of the perfect summer date? Mine goes back to the summer after my senior year in high school, when I picked up my girlfriend in my parents’ Pontiac, on which I’d added an aftermarket wolf whistle. My folks couldn’t have been thrilled. After I’d hinted on the phone that I thought eye makeup made her look sexy, she went overboard and opened her front door looking like a cheap painting. It was the thought that counted.
We tore off for the drive-in. For you kids out there, that was the place you’d park your car to watch coming attractions, like your date’s cleavage. Oh, and occasionally, the movie.
Hope your summer flings gets off to a rousing start. If it doesn’t happen this weekend, you can always wait until it’s actually… summer. Woo-hoo!
Tomorrow they crown the new American Idol. Who can forget last year’s American Idol? Besides nearly everybody. The finale couldn’t be happening at a more opportune moment. Steven Tyler was running out of “You nailed it” comments.
The question is, on the relationship front, who’s your idol, American or otherwise? Is it healthy to idolize another person? To worship the water they walk on? To mentally wipe out their all too human flaws? This tends to happen more if you’re of a certain age and yet to become cynical and bitter. Say… 12.
At what point do the chinks in their armor start do infiltrate the image you’ve been idolizing? It’s how you come to accept their all too human foibles that impacts whether, to quote Randy Jackson, “you’re in it to win it, dawg.” Human. Dawg. I’m getting confused.
In mature relationships, as in karaoke with a live band, you can learn from your mistakes, work at more compellingly tapping into honest emotions, and maybe even make some beautiful music.
As for me, I’m in between relationships. Crown me the American Idle.
Some divorced women will only seek out a fellow divorcé, as opposed to a yet to be married untested guy like me. If marriages were akin to presidential terms, I’d wonder about this logic, seeing as how subsequent terms are usually less successful (but I’ll still take a second term of Obama over a first term of Romney, thank you).
Then again, I’m missing a woman’s ultimate seal of approval, her willingness to take my name, along with the ultimate seal of disapproval, her willingness to return my name, after quite possibly calling me a name.
Shouldn’t the lack of these two seals cancel each other out?
Exclamation points pop up a lot in our emails to one another.
Thanks! … Have a great weekend!
I admit they add a built-in warmth and friendliness. Even when we apologize… My bad!
As much as we may overly exclaim our sentiments when typing or texting, we under-exclaim them in real life. Otherwise, if you passed me a napkin on our date, and I exclaimed, “Thanks!” you’d either think I was insane or resent me for sarcastically over-praising your napkin pass.
So how do we sensibly add the warmth and friendliness of email chatting to the real world, so maybe we could develop a healthy addiction to face to face chatting vs. screen to screen?
How ‘bout implanting miniature iPads on our eyeballs, so you can check your email when you’re looking into my eyes, and I can check my email when looking into yours? EyePads!!!!!!
Give or take an exclamation point.
I’m always nostalgic around college graduation time. Looking back, it’s truly amazing (not to be confused with the plain old “amazing” that’s applied to everything else) how my Bachelor’s Degree unexpectedly prepared me for the real world… the one in which I’ve so far, at least, remained a bachelor.
I still remember my courses… Intro to Lack of Commitment… Advanced Lack of Commitment…The first one was so effective, it took me awhile to commit to the second one.
Intro to Becoming Engaged in your Career. Intro to Staying Married to your Career. Intro to Ms. Right, On Second Thought, Maybe Not.
But I still hold out hope of one day settling down with my better half. I learned that being the sole master of your universe isn’t healthy… from my Masters Degree.
When a guy courts a woman on his best behavior, he’s running for office.
After she agrees to start seeing him, he’s secured the nomination.
After he suggests sitting home and watching a movie in lieu of going out, he’s begun easing off of his earlier campaign rhetoric. (He’s also moved to the center… of the couch.)
As for moving in together, that’s when he’s elected.
Finally, in order to get things accomplished, he compromises.
I’m Andy Cowan, and I approve this message.