The Bold Soul

Don't hold your breath, girls

I read an article on CNN.com today that was cross-posted from Oprah.com. It was written by Martha Beck, Oprah's current resident life coach and author of a number of books, on the topic of "How (not) to get a man". Having done all the wrong things myself for over 30 years of my dating lifespan, I was curious about what Beck's take on this would be.

Beck holds the "Rules" (yes, I'm linking to it but I wouldn't recommend it) and similar other manipulative dating strategies up to severe scrutiny, and I'm rather glad she did. Because they definitely do NOT work. Forget what your momma told you: "Play hard to get, keep him dangling"; "Don't act smarter than he is"; "Don't eat a lot at dinner, he'll think you're going to get fat"; "Don't sleep with him on the first few dates" (although in fairness, that one often makes good sense).

Also, forget "perfect", if "perfect" means "without flaws of any kind". If you are looking for a guy who is a GQ model, making $250K a year, driving a silver Mercedes convertible, who never belches, farts or forgets to put the seat down, you're going to be alone. And let's face it, you're not so perfect either, right?

I liked Beck's approach, one that is also touted by "He's Just Not That Into You", which is, in a nutshell: Go and live your life. Do things that interest YOU. Be your own best, most fabulous and fascinating self, but don't worry about fascinating OTHER people (i.e. men), figure out what makes you fascinating and interesting to YOU. Work on being sincere, straightforward, someone who doesn't need to hide who you are or play games to get some guy to fall in love with the "fake, public version" of you (where you will then spend the rest of your life terrified he might discover the "real" you, and THEN where will you be?)

When I met Georges, I think I literally broke every dating rule in that book, plus all the others that weren't in that book, AND a few more of my own that were a product of my own past. [Warning: this is about to amount to a bit of a confession so if you are easily offended -- or my mother -- you may want to skip the next few paragraphs.] I did everything you are not supposed to do according to conventional dating wisdom handed down to women for generations. We kissed on our first date, within the first FIVE MINUTES, and not just a nice polite kiss. One kiss led to some serious making out on park benches, before and after lunch. And after our lunch, I called him ON THE SAME DAY and asked him to meet me for dinner THAT VERY NIGHT. I ate in front of him, without worrying "am I eating too much?"

Dinner turned into... breakfast, at my apartment, which was a complete mess (proving that I had no intention of inviting anyone here). I hadn't shaved my legs. I even brushed my teeth in front of him. The first date lasted the better part of 25 hours. This was definitely NOT in the "dating rule book", and by all rights, most people would predict total disaster, yes?

But you know what? I wasn't worried. That is the bottom line: Other than being a little concerned that my apartment was embarrassingly messy, I could tell that this man didn't care about any of that. He was totally into ME, just as I was, right then. He didn't care that my body was imperfect; he saw only the good stuff and accepted the rest. He didn't care that my apartment had dirty dishes in the sink and laundry hanging up to dry; he cared that we were there, just being together, and that he felt comfortable with me from the beginning. And I got him a new toothbrush for himself.

He saw me as an equal right from the start. He has said from the beginning that not only did he think, "Wow, she's gorgeous" when I stepped off the bus that first day, but he was attracted to my brain as well. He says, every day, "Don't change a thing". I could not have lied, cajoled or manipulated my way into getting a man like this to notice me. He noticed me because I was willing to just be myself and because I cared more about being myself than I did about his good opinion. Yes, NOW I care about his opinion, but I also didn't have to turn myself inside out to get it. THAT is the difference.

I'm not saying all this so you'll write in and say "Oh, you're so lucky; Georges is so wonderful; blah blah blah". I'm saying it because I finally GET IT, what I was doing wrong all that time. I was so busy caring about what some guy I didn't even know THOUGHT of me, that I forgot to be happy just being ME whether some guy liked it or not. Once I switched my attitude and my perspective, it was amazing how quickly Georges showed up in my life. (And sorry, ladies... he is well and truly off the market now.)

Beck is right: if you raise your standards and stop settling for less than you deserve, if you just go out and do what you want and be who YOU want... will it decrease the number of available partners you might encounter? Yes, absolutely. But so what? Who says the "numbers game" works anyway? It doesn't, and that's the whole point. It's not about how many men you can get to ask you out; it's about being who you are, and who you want to be, and getting out there doing what you love doing, so that the "perfect" (as in Perfect for YOU) guy will cross your path one day when you least expect it.

And he will notice how complete you already are, as your own woman. He won't care that you don't need him to "complete" you (apologies to Jerry Macguire fans). He will be attracted to the fact that you are already a "total package", because HE is a "total package" himself, already complete, doing exactly what you're doing: living his life, making it the best life he can for himself, and being his own man.

When you're already your own, fabulous, fully complete woman, one with a mind and an opinion, one with people and interests in her life she enjoys, someone who gets out there and lives life to the fullest -- this is the sexiest, best aphrodisiac going. Sure, there will be a large pool of men who will not want a woman like this; they're the ones you've BEEN dating all this time, the ones who don't want you to speak your mind, who don't call you back, who aren't interested in what interests you, who won't love you even though you've got cellulite on your ass and your breasts are heading south as you get older. They're the guys who can't handle a strong, confident woman.

But the guys who CAN? The guys who will be attracted to you, just the way you are right now? Who will look at you when you are in a room full of younger, thinner, and possibly even prettier (according to Vogue) women, and still tell you that YOU are the most beautiful woman in the room -- and MEAN EVERY WORD? The ones who will LOVE it that you've got a brain, an opinion, and you're not afraid to use it? The ones who will encourage your success, your goals, your dreams?

THOSE are the men worth waiting for. They're the ones you want. Don't settle for anything else. They're out there. And it only takes ONE.

And while you're waiting to bump into him in the dry cleaners or while waiting in line for your mocha latté, or even on an on-line dating site, you will be busy doing your own thing, creating and enjoying the life YOU want, RIGHT NOW -- instead of sitting back and waiting for your life to start once you finally snag some guy who maybe looks good on paper, according to some quiz in Cosmo, but who will make you miserable and insecure about yourself every day of your life, and who will eventually dump you for someone younger and thinner with bigger boobs.

He's out there. Trust me. Just go live your life, enjoy it, and let HIM find YOU. And once he does, he'll make you happier than you ever thought you could be. He'll be someone on your level, and you'll be on his. You will be able to blend your lives together almost seamlessly because you will already be two totally complete people, in your own right, who automatically make a perfect fit for one another. You won't be able to get enough of each other. And you won't worry for a single second about whether your hair is perfect, or if you forgot to shave your legs this morning, or whether you accidentally farted in your sleep, or do you have spinach stuck in your teeth. Because he won't care that you are a whole human being with imperfections, just like you won't care about whatever imperfections he happens to have. Neither of you may be "perfect" in the classical sense, based on what the media tells us we "should" be looking for. And it won't matter one little bit.

He'll think you're wonderful no matter what you do, and you'll think the same about him -- even in those moments when perhaps one of you is annoying the other one, or when things go wrong in life as they sometimes do. At the end of the day, you will still wake up and look at each other and think how damned lucky you are to be together, and you will think: "Now what can I do today to make him just a little bit happier?" Not because you need to bend over backwards to keep him, but because it will make you even happier to give something to this person you love so dearly. It will stop being all about what the other person can do for YOU, and become about what you can do to show your love, your respect, your caring.

And THAT -- believe me, from the bottom of my heart -- is worth staying single for, until you finally do meet him.

Stop holding your breath, waiting for love to come along, waiting for some guy, ANY guy, to "make" you happy. Stop trying to manipulate your way into love. Instead, make yourself happy. Love yourself. Be good to YOU. Enroll in that class you wanted to take for years. Take that vacation to the most romantic place you can think of and get yourself a gondola for one. Buy that house, all by yourself, and decorate it to your own tastes. Move to the city or country of your dreams, if that's what you really want to do. Set your life up the way YOU prefer it. Exhale, already.

And trust that when he does arrive, it will be "perfect". You won't need to change a thing.

Overwhelmed

In the past when I have been in a relationship, one of two things has happened:

Either (a) the new man in my life would be emotionally distant, unpredictable in his affections (except when sex was on his agenda), and inconsistent in his attentions outside of the bedroom. Or (b) he would be not quite so distant, rather affectionate (and even more so, when sex was on the menu) and fairly consistent in his attentions to me outside of bed, which meant he would actually have a conversation with me as long as the game wasn't on.

I know what you're thinking: that I wasn't doing a particularly good job of picking the right guys. And you'd be right. I have had a track record of being with men who were always unavailable to me in one way or another, the kind of guys whose behavior -- while never abusive in any way and not even horrible by most people's standards -- would push every button to trigger my baser insecurities and deep-seated abandonment issues (yeah, I've read all the self-help books and done the therapy, so I know the big words).

And whenever I would get the feeling the relationship wasn't going anywhere, I would do what I thought was the only sensible thing under the circumstances: I would try and leave him before he'd leave me, as I inevitably assumed he would do, sooner or later. The more I liked him, the harder this would be for me to do, but I would do it anyway, out of nothing more than fear of being hurt even worse if I stayed until he left me, and a desire for self-preservation. It was my defense mechanism: be the one who leaves first because at least you have control over THAT. You can't make him stay, you can't make him love you or even to call you when he says he will, but you can sure as hell have the last word as you walk out the door and leave him standing there. And maybe if you're lucky he will regret you for the rest of his life and die penniless and alone. Be honest, girls: isn't that what we are secretly hoping will happen to all our ex-boyfriends?

It didn't always work out quite this way -- on occasion he'd beat me to the punch and bail first -- but 9 times out of 10 this was more or less the scenario. Hence, a string of short-term relationships punctuated by much longer stretches of singledom.

As I got older and a bit wiser, more self aware, and a bit more confident, the relationships got a bit longer and even a bit healthier, even when they ended -- as in when I finally, at 32, broke up with a guy for all the RIGHT reasons, and with no acrimony or second guessing afterward. He really WAS unable to give me what I needed, as he was still suffering from being unceremoniously dumped by his fiancée (and in fairness, she was quite horrible about it), and we both agreed he was not in the right place to be the kind of boyfriend I had a right to expect, so we parted ways. It was the first time I could recall leaving a man, not out of fear of him leaving me first, but because it was the healthy thing for me to do for myself.

The next relationship after that was the one I thought was The One. We fell for each other quickly... just one date and we were pretty much "in a relationship" by the following weekend. We spent every weekend together after that, and eventually a change in job for him brought the opportunity for him to stay at my place for half of the work-week as well -- a sort of "semi-living together" thing only with none of the commitment or sharing of finances (hmmmm... this should have been a red flag for me). But at the time, I thought it was fantastic, the best thing I'd ever had up until that point. I couldn't imagine anything "better" -- even while I was patently ignoring the clear signs of long term incompatibility, such as his overwhelming need to declare to my friends and family (without being asked), "No woman will ever force me into marriage". I knew this to be evidence of his own insecurities and never took it personally, but nonetheless this was not a desirable quality in someone you think is The One. We lasted about a year and a half before the shit finally hit the fan.

Recovering from that one took a very long time. On the one hand, I felt like the breakup was the right thing to do (and yes, I was the "dumper" not the "dumpee"). On the other hand, my early conviction that he WAS The One had been shattered, and I began to doubt my ability to trust my own intuitions about men. I had been "so sure" he was right for me; how could I have made such a terrible mistake?

As time went on, and I replayed parts of my relationship with that man over and over in my head, I began to see that maybe he wasn't as different from "the others" as I had thought at first. I realized there was the same emotional unavailability in him that had appeared before, although it showed up differently and was a little harder to recognize. And worse yet, I was as insecure about myself in the relationship with him, even though I know he did love me sincerely, as I was with any of the losers I had dated previously. Bottom line: I never felt safe, secure and sure of myself in that relationship, ever. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I finally admitted this to myself, it felt, suddenly, like all the work I had thought I had done on myself, on growing and evolving as a person, had been for nothing. I knew that we were not really right for each other, and from that perspective I grew to accept that he was NOT The One and never would be; but my confidence in my ability to make good relationship choices was battered and bruised. I doubted myself. I was older, wiser, and still hadn't gotten it right. And now, I was 36. Uh-oh.

I think on some level, I made a "decision" at that point, and chose to believe I would most likely never find the kind of love I wanted -- a love where I could be myself, feel accepted and cherished, and where I would never doubt how he felt about me. I still had some small hopes in that direction, but no real ability to believe. Maybe, I thought, I was destined to be one of those people who would have a great life otherwise, but where love was concerned, would never have that one special person. Would never be respected, adored and wanted the way I had witnessed with some of the women I knew who were in fantastic relationships with excellent, loving, attentive, caring men. Oh sure, I thought, I might be able to have little bursts of romance here and there, but maybe I would have to accept that some people end up alone and single forever, and as horrible as it sounded, maybe I was supposed to be one of them. So I decided to pour my energies into the things I COULD control: my career, my friendships (which are first rate and a source of great joy and comfort, every one of them), and in enjoying my life solo in every way. To cement this decision, I (mainly unconsciously) packed on a huge amount of weight to an already pudgy form, to make doubly sure no one would find me attractive. Self-fulfilling prophesy, you know.

Fast forward nearly 10 years to the present date. Occasionally I made half-hearted attempts at dating, but never going beyond the first date and always being disappointed by what was "out there". During the later part of this decade of self-imposed emotional exile, I finally started to emerge from this emotional cocoon I had built around myself. I started to realize that I was not living my life fully, consciously, but I was living only half a life that was so work-focused that it was unbalanced and unhealthy. I was grossly overweight and bored out of my mind with my life. It was during that time I started making a new plan for my life, and a commitment to start living boldly, to start doing more things I really wanted to do in order to create the kind of life I wanted, even if I was overweight and single at the moment.

I started to imagine, just a little, the possibility of finding some love in my life again. I lost some weight, although not as much as I wanted, but enough to start to feel attractive again and much more bien dans ma peau. And I began to focus on starting over, creating a new life abroad for myself, in Paris -- even if that meant being (and perhaps staying) single in Paris. I thought: "I have always wanted to live in Paris, so why am I waiting until I have a man in my life to do it? Why not just GO?"

I have been here in Paris nearly a year now. A year in which I have had time to reflect, shift some of my thinking and begin to be open to love again. This has not been an easy task for me, being open to love. My track record does not exactly lend itself to inner confidence in this respect. But I worked on it, really worked on it, and over time, especially in just the past couple of months, I did begin to really, TRULY believe I could not only HAVE love, but that I DESERVED it. And this was a first for me, the actual BELIEVING.

It is less than three weeks since Georges and I met. I know, without a doubt, that he is the one, THE ONE, I have been waiting for my whole life. He is the one with whom I NEVER have doubts, insecurities or fears of abandonment. He is the one who is ALWAYS predictable in his feelings towards me (although he continues to amaze me every day with his ability to express himself so freely), emotionally available and consistent in all respects. He never leaves me waiting, wondering or guessing. He lets me know every single day (and usually MANY times a day) that he is thinking of me, and WHAT he is thinking. Sometimes he makes me laugh, and sometimes he makes me cry with the intensity with which me looks into my eyes at certain moments. He shares information about himself without me having to ask. He shares his vision for how he sees us, as a couple. He is his own man, he is confident and secure in himself, and does not feel the need to try and dominate or control me, and as a result I can let myself be vulnerable, emotional, softer, and I can give up control. I feel no need to run, to leave, because I am not afraid of "being left". He puts his arms around me, and I am already Home. He is everything I asked the Universe for, and more, so much more.

I was watching one of my favorite films the other day, Fools Rush In (which, by the way, is based on a true story), and afterward I told Georges about the plot (he hasn't seen it) and my favorite line in the movie. These two people meet "accidentally", and they are from two different worlds, two different cultures, but they have an instant connection and strong chemistry. She is used to being very independent, on her own, and she tries to push him away; he is used to going through his life emotionally unattached to any woman. But it is bigger than both of them, and in one scene he describes how he feels about her, how he got up that morning and he couldn't decide what to have for lunch, but his life made sense. Then she shows up in his life, and he knows exactly what he wants, and now his life doesn't make any sense. "Because you're The One," he says. "You are everything I never knew I always wanted."

Georges said: "That's us." Neither of us thought this -- Us, this love we have between us -- was "out there". I didn't know it even existed outside of "movie love", and I doubted (even while I harbored hopes) whether I would even find anything remotely close. He wasn't even open to it, never thought he'd ever want to go down that road with someone again. It is crazy (I know, I keep saying that), but there it is, and it's real. We love, and it's done. We are completely overwhelmed, and accepting it anyway. It is so much better than anything either of us ever dreamed possible -- and we know we're only at the very beginning.

As my best friend -- whose husband is also one of the best guys around and still totally crazy about her even after many years and four kids together -- said to me the other day: "Isn't it wonderful to be adored?"

Yes. But even better is the knowledge that I can trust myself, trust him and trust love this time. When you know, you know. Even after just 19 days.

Endings and Beginnings

Today I realized, as I was sifting through ideas for upcoming blog posts, that I've been posting about my new love, Georges, (a.k.a. My Parisian -- yes, he DOES have a real name... Take a bow, mon coeur; you've been "outed") under the category "40+ and Still Single".

It now feels completely wrong to do that. While I am still over 40, I am no longer "still single". We are both hooked... "trapped" in the very best sense of the word. Off the market. Together, even while apart. Life has been forever altered, in the best way imaginable. Les jeux sont faits.

So it is with amusement (not sadness) that I bid au revoir to my former single self, wave her cheerfully off into the sunset, and effectively retire this blog category. Oh, I may still post in it from time to time... reflections on the past, or posts about single life in general.

But now is a time for new beginnings, turning the page, a new chapter. And a new category to match. L'Amour: Ça Existe après 40.

Love: It does exist after 40.

The Franglais Connection

My French has been improving rapidly already since meeting Mon Parisian. For one thing, this is the most consistent daily contact I have had with a French-speaking person since moving to Paris, and I'm so relaxed around him that I'm not so embarrassed to make faux pas around him. So that is part of it. The other part is, he's really great about helping me and even correcting me in a way that does NOT cause me to want to hit him over the head with my Larousse Advanced (that's the big HEAVY dictionary, the one that would really leave a mark).

Our conversations, both verbal and online, have taken on a Franglais-ish quality, especially on my part because I have further to travel to the point of fluency, but I'm making more of an effort to speak in more complete sentences or at least phrases, to use the correct accent marks when writing (even though it means extra keystrokes for me with my American keyboard), and even to try and correct myself when I catch my own mistakes. And I find myself thinking more in French, and even talking to myself in French more often. Tonight, we were both watching the football match on TV (from our separate homes, while chatting online) and I was cursing at the stupidity of the players who missed one scoring opportunity after the other (until the last minutes of the game when they finally drove home 2 goals, final score 2-0 France) and YELLING at the TV -- en français. Crude, perhaps, but it's progress.

However, I'm not the only one in this relationship who is improving his second language. Let me state for the record that his English is LIGHT YEARS ahead of my French, and it is nearly flawless most of the time (he does not always agree with me on this, however). Mon Parisian tells me he has surprised himself by thinking in English when he's not with me... and the other day he nearly spoke to a French colleague in English. He works in an organization that is all about French education, so speaking French is, well, the way it is. He is now concentrating more when sending emails at work, worried he might accidentally type something en anglais and hit the send button without realizing it. Quel scandale!

The other thing that completely gets me laughing at myself is that I have noticed that not only do I interject the French words I know smack in the middle of the English I'm using the majority of the time, I have also (albeit unconsciously until now) adapted HOW I speak English to him, to try and make it easier on HIM to understand ME. I speak it more the way a French person would speak it, less colloquially, less naturally the way it would be done with two modern English-speakers. I often drop contractions -- "It is" instead of "It's", or "We will" instead of "We'll" and so on. I don't "do" the French accent (well, only when I am teasing or need to imitate someone else to make a point), but it's more a change in the syntax and rhythm, sometimes even the word choices of the language, and I come off sounding more formal than I would normally do in everyday American-speak. Par example:

AMERICAN ME might say: Sweetie, how 'bout if we head up to the Espace Champerret  Saturday? There's a food and wine expo up there, all kinds of really cool stuff to see and do. We can hang out together there, sample all these really great wines, champagnes, cognacs, food from all over France. Let's hook up at 11am and we'll head out from there. I'll bring the wheelie cart in case we want to buy stuff and bring it home. Sound good?

FRANGLAIS ME might say, instead: Chéri, mon coeur, we go to the Espace Champerret, on Saturday, yes? There is the salon fermiers there that day, really fun. We can be ensemble, try some good wines, champagnes, cognacs, and foods from toute France. We can meet at onze heures, and go from there. I will bring the cart I use for the shopping, juste en cas we see something we want to bring home. It's a bonne idée? You want to do this?

Last but not least, is the part where we are losing words in our native tongues -- the Franglais-ementia is setting in! "I'd like a glass of... wait, uh... whada-u-callit? Oh, WATER" -- because I'm thinking "eau". He's had the same thing start to happen only in reverse, poor man. For his sake, I only hope it doesn't happen in the middle of an important business meeting or something. Or in my case, I often pronounce English words that are spelled the same in both languages, with a French accent -- even when I am NOT talking to a French person. Like when I was back in the States two weeks ago and starting talking to someone about "Wee-fee" access, and they looked at me like I had two heads. I blinked a few times, then remembered:  "Oh, Why-Fy"  Yeah... WiFi.

We are clearly having une grande impression on each other. Sometimes, one that is très amusante. We're having some good laughs at our own expense.

But where it counts most, we speak the same language. Need I spell it out?  L.O.V.E.

One Week

A week ago today, I didn't know it at the time, but I was meeting a man who is unlike any man I have ever met before. And I do not exaggerate. I stepped off the #89 Paris city bus, found myself looking into the eyes of a man I had never met, and sensing instant mutual recognition. Five minutes later, I was being kissed by someone who was technically a stranger, but someone who I felt I'd already known my whole life, even before we had officially met. Hours later, we were still together, discovering each other, unwilling to be apart. We weren't thinking "love" then, but whatever it was, we were both willing to ride the wave.

At the time, all I could do was marvel at how strange it should feel, but didn't, to be having that kind experience. And it wasn't just about being swept away by physical chemistry (although that was definitely there, right from the start). There was complete mental, intellectual and emotional compatibility, too. "Wow" was all I could think. My brain went into auto-pilot. I was fully aware of where I was, and what I was doing, and it all felt perfectly fine, natural. I had no worries about him, none. I intuitively trusted him, despite having no concrete "evidence" or knowledge about him, and certainly no idea of what would happen later.

Which is a pretty strange thing for me, as someone who has an almost compulsive need to over-analyze new relationships from the get-go. It's always: "What's he thinking? Does he really like me? Is he going to turn out to be one of the good ones? What did he mean by THAT, that thing he just said? Why hasn't he called yet?" On and on, ad nauseum. I am the type who could make a career out of making myself crazy with a new guy... and not crazy in the good way, either. I am a woman who has always felt totally "together" in nearly every other area of her life, except in my ability to find, create and sustain a wonderful, loving relationship with a man.

Until now. Now, I know what I've been missing all this time... you know, for the past 30 years (the amount of time I've been dating, since I was 16).

A week later, here we are. IN LOVE. Yes, in love. With each other. Not one-sided. No games. No tricks. No withholding of information. Totally at ease with each other. Accepting of one other's foibles, imperfections, ways. Completely comfortable, including being comfortable with the fact that there is still a lot we don't know and many things that need to be dealt with before we could have the kind of relationship we really want.

Whether or not either of us set out looking for this 10 days ago when we first connected, this is where we are now. And we are in it. A couple. Whatever that is going to mean.

Logical, caring, well-meaning people I respect have been cautioning me to "be careful" and "don't take it too fast" and "don't forget, you don't really KNOW him yet", even while they are happy for me to have found someone. I appreciate their concern for my welfare, I really do. It is perfectly sensible, what they are saying. And in any other situation, I would be the first to second those words of caution. Outside of "movie-love", where the two lead characters on screen gaze across a room and "know" they are "meant to be", I have been a bit skeptical of that whole bit about "knowing" you have met the right person for you. Love At First Sight, yes, I can believe in that, and have even experienced something like it in the past. But THAT "love" turned out to be fraught with insecurity and anxiety right from the beginning, even though the love was genuine, such as it could be. I wanted that guy, loved that guy, but never felt I knew with certainty that the guy and I were really right for each other.

Now, I know. This is the first time I've ever had this sense of complete confidence in being with someone; the confidence of knowing exactly how he feels, of never having to guess -- because he is constantly telling me, showing me. He is the most emotionally open man I've ever met. We are at a place in just seven days that it can take other people weeks or months to reach, and some of them never do. Even the fact that there is so much to be cleaned up, worked through, and discovered isn't putting either one of us off. I may wonder or worry slightly about certain aspects of what the future might bring, of certain decisions that will have to be faced in time, but I have NO fears about HIM and how he feels about me. None. THAT in itself is a testament to what we already have between us. We can't explain it, and have decided not to try anymore, because there is no "why".

It just IS.

And that is enough for me and My Parisian. Gros bisous, chéri.   

I Heart Paris

It is 5:55 am Paris time as I begin to write this. I have been awake for over two and a half hours. I woke up thinking, again, about My Parisian. Happy, so happy. Can't stop smiling. Isn't it nauseating, when people are newly into a romance? I always thought so. Yet here I am again, after a very long Romance Hiatus, and I find myself BEING one of Those People. The ones who make you sick with those stupid grins on their faces. The ones who kiss passionately in public places (like, get a room already, will you?) The ones who want to ramble on and on about the person they've met, until you want to smack them upside the head and say "Get over it, already!"

Nah... don't expect me to apologize for it. I'm too damn happy to care what anyone thinks.

I felt compelled to get up at around 3:30 am, get the computer, and re-read some of the text of our on-line conversations again. Then I felt compelled to write, to have an outlet for the tumult of emotions that I am experiencing right now.

Because these precious words shared between us, when we are apart, which we have to be just now for a little while, are Just That Wonderful. They fill me up inside in ways I didn't think were possible. I don't even feel like eating most of the time. Who wants to think of food when I can think of My Parisian? (Hmmm. The "My Parisian Diet"... if I can bottle it, think it will sell?)

When I first told friends I was going to move here, some of them thought I was coming here specifically to meet a debonair Frenchman. "Ooo, maybe you'll meet a handsome French guy!" was the usual reaction, but I figured those people had seen Gigi or Moulin Rouge one too many times. I responded that I really didn't think I would necessarily be interested in a Frenchman, to be honest about it. I had already had one experience with a Frenchman, a very long time ago, that was less than ideal, and I'm afraid that in the back of my mind, I was still holding it against all Frenchmen. Plus there is that stereotype of the smooth but philandering Frenchman. I figured, who the hell needs that? So, to Paris I came, single, looking, trying not to be biased against the French, but a bit dubious of my chances at finding amour avec un homme français. Despite Eartha Kitt's Je Cherche Un Homme ringing in my ears.

That being said, in coming to Paris, I had hopes of possibly meeting another ex-pat, someone English speaking, like a Brit, Aussie, a Kiwi, even another Yank. I thought it would be fun to meet a man who was as into travel and living in Paris as I am. I tried to be open to les Français, too, after meeting the very lovely husbands of some of my friends here, who began to shift my thinking about what French men could be.

Still, my forays into French dating have been, as you have witnessed over the past 10 months, a bit disappointing to say the least. In addition to the experiences I have written about here, I have dozens of lesser tales to tell from all the bad, sleazy emails and online "winks" I have received from men of all ages, all over France and even beyond, all of which were anything but impressive. They did not make me more eager to meet a French guy.

And then, a week ago, I was on-line, minding my own business, logged onto the Meetic site but not really doing anything much there, having just logged on after finishing up a client project. And suddenly I got invited to chat by an English speaking Frenchman with no photo attached to his profile.

Normally with me, it is a "no photo, no dice" policy with me on these web sites. But having a French man contact me in English, I thought "well, what can I lose?" And so we began.

Here we are, only a week later, but where life feels changed somehow. Still both overwhelmed at what has transpired in so short a time. Still coming to terms with things that, if we told them to someone else, they'd think we were both insane. But the craziest part is that it doesn't feel crazy, even though by all that is logical and rational, it damn well should feel crazy. Yet... not from where we're sitting. We are bringing out qualities in each other that neither of us knew existed. Even my writing feels different somehow... more expansive, less inhibited, more eloquent. (Of course, maybe I'm just caught up in the whirlwind and my writing is complete crap!)

Two days ago, when we met -- has it really ONLY been two days? -- he told me he couldn't believe that I was still single, and he wondered what was wrong with those American men. I had to laugh at that, and said I had wondered the same thing many times myself. I replied at the time, "Maybe he - The Guy - just wasn't in America. God knows I looked long enough".

It is too soon to know where this may go. I am in no hurry, despite how fast things have been moving, of their own volition, not that either of us is forcing or pushing a thing. Where it leads, this path, I am prepared to follow, to see what's there. Whatever it is, or is not. It has a life of it's own, this new "nous".

One thing is clear, though: I think I had to come to Paris to meet My Heart here. And he's French. Mon Coeur.

Who knew?

Clues

Being with My Parisian has been a remarkable experience in more ways than I have words to describe right now. But one thing I have immediately noticed is a marked contrast between how My Parisian treats me, and how other men may have treated me in the past, in terms of letting me know he is really "into me".

There are always subtle and not-so-subtle clues that a man will drop, to let a woman know how into her he really is. The authors of He's Just Not That Into You will tell you that there ARE no "mixed messages" in relationships, as we women are wont to believe (and make endless excuses for), but sometimes we girls are not so quick to make the distinction because we are too busy chasing after these losers who are not treating us the way we deserve.

So, as a public service, in case you are someone who is struggling with "is he, or is he not, INTO me?", here are some real-life examples, from my real life, to help you distinguish the difference.

"Not into you" looks a lot like this:

• doesn't remember things you say
• isn't interested in who you are; asks few questions about you
• won't look you in the eye for more than 2 seconds together
• doesn't bother getting in touch with you in between dates
• "booty call guy" -- only calls (1) last minute, (2) when he's drunk and horny, or (3) when his wife/girlfriend is out of town (or all three)
• would rather watch television, look at porn, play computer games or [substitute obsessive hobby of choice] than spend time talking to you and being with you
• doesn't tell you he misses you when you are not together
• doesn't tell you how he feels about you without you having to weasel it out of him
• never tells you you're beautiful
• never looks at you like he can't believe how lucky he is
• doesn't volunteer information about himself, his past, his flaws, his concerns; you have to constantly go digging for information
• long after you have broken up and he has told you he doesn't want to talk to you any more because he has "moved on", he secretly finds and lurks on your blog, playing a game for his own amusement by leaving obscure comments and waiting for you to catch on -- instead of just emailing to say "Hi, how are you, what's new?" like a civilized person
• cheap; won't pay for things, ever (not that he should ALWAYS pay, but never paying means he's cheap with his money, and probably his affection, too. Which leads me to the next one:)
• is only affectionate when he's got a "get-you-into-bed" agenda; otherwise, you could go weeks without him even holding your hand
• is a loser who tries to hand you over to his loser of a brother, who already has a girlfriend but is looking for some action on the side
• tells you he'll see you before he has to leave the country because of his job transfer, but then disappears without another word
• doesn't really see you as an equal, a partner, on his level. Either he acts superior to you, talks down to you, and/or he only wants you as "window dressing" to make him look good but doesn't like it if you have a mind of your own; OR he is looking for a mommy to take care of him -- a boy disguised as a man
• doesn't seem to see into you at all; is not interested in the person you are as a human being.

After only a week of having My Parisian in my life, I now remember that THIS is what it looks like when a man is really, really into you:

• He remembers things you have mentioned in conversation, even the things that aren't so important. 
• He notices how you drink your coffee.
• He can't take his eyes off you.
• He can't stop holding your hand across the dinner table (except to take a bite of food once in a while).
• He can't wait to see you, you can't wait to see him, and neither of you is getting any work done.
• He sighs when he looks into your eyes for long, lingering moments. It makes you sigh back when you look into his.
• He asks you questions about yourself, and is interested in the answers.
• He values your mind and your spirit as well as your body. The attraction is on all levels.
• He encourages you to speak his language and teaches you more about it, but is brave enough to speak yours, too.
• He tells you, often, the things he likes about you already, and how you make him feel, with complete ease and naturalness. No idle flattery. When he tells you he thinks you are beautiful, you know he is sincere.
  
• He accepts your imperfections, tells you not to change a thing about yourself. And means it.
• When he looks at you sometimes, his look says that he feels like he just won the lottery.
• He is open with information about himself, personal things. There is no sense of him being deliberately secretive or evasive. You do not feel like you need to become a professional spelunker to get to know the Real Him.
• The two of you can talk about, or reveal, things that often take other couples weeks or months to talk about. And it feels OK to do this, even though it is very soon and who knows where it is going.
• When it is raining after dinner, he gives you his chapeau to wear (and tells you how lovely you look in it) and holds the umbrella over you so you won't get as wet.
  
• He holds the door open for you and lets you get into the taxi first, even when it is pouring rain.
• He sends you IMs and SMSs many times daily to let you know he is thinking about you. When he is "away" from his computer, he changes his "away" message to something personal, just for you, something only you will know.
• He thanks you for things. Like just being with him.
• He reads your blog, loves it, supports it, encourages it, and even joins in and comments. And after reading the first blog entry you wrote about him, he tells you "Tu es merveilleuse".

Ladies... trust me: don't settle for less. "Into You" is SO much better.

At the speed of light

I am sitting here, reflecting on my lunch date yesterday. Wondering why I never noticed before that the Jardin de Luxembourg is such a terribly romantic place to be on a Tuesday afternoon. I have just upgraded this garden to my favorite romantic spot in Paris. There is nothing like a garden in Paris, on a nice cool October day, to make you want to walk with someone special, holding hands, even sitting together on a bench... doing what Parisian couples tend to do on Parisian park benches in Parisian parks. Sort of makes one wonder how the Senators at the Senat building (also in the park) get any work done at all, if they are distracted when looking out of the windows with all the kissing taking place under their very noses.

And yes, we did have lunch. At the restaurant in the park. Outside. Romantic white-clothed table for two. Wine... birds. We ate... something... I don't remember what. Neither does he. Too busy just being together, talking. Gazing.

He is very French, every bit the well-dressed, well-educated Parisian and yet in some ways not. Sense of humor, for one thing -- he's definitely got one! I am relieved to say that in person, he was not only just as he had represented himself online (WHEW!) but the more I got to know, the more I liked. Articulate, thoughtful, affectionate, very attractive to me, considerate... lovely smile, and eyes that looked directly into mine without hesitating. I get the distinct feeling he really SEES me, the person I am on the inside as well as on the outside. And he is making it very clear that he likes what he sees. I am liking what I see in him so far, too. There is a sense of égalité between us.

This is more than a little unnerving right now. For both of us. How is it possible to feel this comfortable, this soon? We don't understand it. It is overwhelming. Unexpected. More than a little confusing. But I am enjoying it... more than words can say.

Wow. That's the only word right now. Wow.

After lunch, I had to be back home for an afternoon client meeting, and amazed myself by actually being able to concentrate on the client after such a head-spinning afternoon, and ended up having a very productive meeting despite my inner distractions.

But I met him for dinner later.

Word Playmate

When you're single, trying to meet someone new and compatible is always a challenge. It's the "compatible" part that is difficult. One can meet hordes of highly incompatible people, but finding those rare souls with whom you might actually "click" is, well, rare.

Which is why, when you think you maybe, just possibly, might have met one of those rarities, it's both exciting and unnerving. Especially when you haven't met yet in person, but when your "meeting" has been confined to the on-line medium. And when you are on the cusp of actually meeting him face to face, in less than 24 hours.

I've done on-line dating, off and on (more off than on, probably), for the past decade or longer. I've had lots of failures or false starts at it, and I have my share of funny "war stories" from the trenches of internet dating. I've also had a few successes as well, including my most serious relationship to date. I have friends who have met their husbands or wives on-line. I know it can work. I no longer find it odd or feel the need to hide the fact that this is primarily how I am meeting men. When you meet a man in a bar, the chances are high that he will at the very least have the flaw of a drinking problem, let alone whatever other flaws he might have, so that's not an option I choose. If you meet him at a sporting event, you might end up a "sports widow", so that isn't fool-proof, either. And since I work at home, for myself and by myself, the internet provides one of the better, if not sometimes the ONLY, means I have of meeting someone. And frankly, while it may have its drawbacks, it has some distinct advantages.

For one thing, there is something about meeting a man who can actually write, who can express himself and be articulate in writing -- even when there is a bit of a language barrier between you -- that I find very attractive. Not just attractive... seductive. I can be seduced by the well-written word as easily, if not more easily, than a look, a touch, the sound of someone's voice. (I can also be completely turned off by badly written garbage, so it works both ways with me.) This is not to suggest that I am some dumb push-over, a woman who will believe any pretty thing a man says to her. Quite the opposite: I have a highly-tuned radar for male bullshit; and NOT being a hopeless romantic, I tend to take most "sweet nothings" with a grain of salt, at least until I get to know a man and can more accurately gauge the level of his sincerity.

But two people using the power of the written word to communicate, to get to know things and share things, without the benefit of eye contact, voice or body language, can be an intense experience. To be able to discuss ideas and opinions with a man, whether you agree or disagree... to create an intimacy with an exchange of word-play that has nothing at all to do with sex or physical attraction, but is based solely on a meeting of the minds... to be able to flirt, make one another laugh, or conjure up visual images through the power of your imagination and creativity... I think this is a rather special thing, and not to be discarded lightly. I think when you find someone with whom you can have that kind of written rapport as a starting point for something else, it is worth sitting up and taking notice.

Maybe I am merely a throw-back to the days of pen-and-ink letter writing, the days when lovers would hand-write their thoughts to one another when they couldn't be in the same place at the same time. Like in the days of Jane Austen... when couples, constrained by societal norms to withholding all physical affection until engaged or married, were forced to pour out their feelings in a letter. Where a woman would wait in anticipation of the post arriving, hoping for news of her beloved who was far away, sitting in a fox-hole or on a ship during war-time. Where sometimes, even marriage proposals were delivered in a letter, instead of on bended knee.

Technology makes it possible for us to connect with ease now -- we now wait not days or weeks for a letter, but minutes, and it will have a time-stamp on it rather than a postage stamp -- but most people today are not at all at ease with letter-writing. It is truly becoming a lost art, and more is the pity. Instant messaging means that even good English (or good French) has been abbreviated to the point where it's unrecognizable.

Meeting someone to whom I could spend (and already have spent) hours WRITING, instead of talking even on the phone, is something I have not experienced in a very long time. Until now.

It is exciting. It is heady stuff, the stuff which makes the papillons flutter, albeit cautiously, inside. The stuff that makes the tips of my fingers tingle when I realize I will meet him tomorrow. For lunch. Just hours from now. I have work to do today, but I am finding it hard to concentrate on it. Because I would rather go back to my little chat program and "talk" to him some more. I am waiting, breath slightly bated, for the next time I get a "Bonjour, Miss Writer Lisa" popping up on my screen, the same way as in days gone by, I might have waited impatiently by the front garden gate for the postman to arrive.

I think he is feeling a bit impatient to meet me, too, and I am already flattered by his interest; I, who am not easily flattered, even (or perhaps especially) by charming Frenchmen. He knows about this blog, by the way. He's already read about the Gardener and Frère, assured me he has no such brother, and teasingly asked me what pseudonym I'd be giving him and when would I be writing about him (and told me I should be making notes on our chat sessions for future blog material!) The nickname will have to wait until I know him better, but if he's reading, then he knows he has been immortalized on this blog already! Although he has no website or blog of his own, I can Google his name -- as he, himself, encouraged me do -- and find many references to him (and none of them appear to be disturbing or off-putting). While we are neither of us "all knowing" about one another's complete history, we've already disclosed some things that might normally take a few dates to uncover, and I sense this is not a man who is going out of his way to hide anything. And I am not compelled to be anyone other than my self. (I even "warned" him not to expect some skinny Parisienne; after all, what's to hide? He'll take one look at me and see I'm curvy and packing a few extra pounds, even though I'm making moderate progress in that area.) This is a good start.

From this first meeting -- dare I call it a date? -- I am expecting nothing, because it's never good to have expectations at a time like this; too much margin for error, as it were. Despite what we have already, with unexpected candor, shared about ourselves, there is still much we don't know, and any one of these knowns or unknowns could be a "deal breaker". So I am not expecting anything, but I am planning to have a very nice time at this lunch meeting. If we can laugh and talk and connect in person the way we have already done on-line, then it will be a lovely afternoon, no matter what happens afterward.

And yes, I admit it. I am hoping -- me, the hopeful (not hopeless) romantic -- for potential and possibility, in a way I don't normally do on a first date, where I normally would be rather calm and "who cares?" about it all. Being a singleton of 30 years active dating experience (see my C.V. for details) can make a girl a bit blasé about the whole romance thing. In this case, though, and I could be wrong (wouldn't be the first time), I am sensing... something. There is something here. I don't know what, and that's fine, but there is something flirty... something intriguing... something delicious going on. Will lunch tomorrow never come?

It's the writing. It's the word-play. It's the anticipation. I am already being intellectually seduced. 

And having a marvelous time.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Painting: "The Love Letter" by Henry LeJeune, 1871. Image from Art.com... buy the print here.

The Brothers Grimy

When we last left the leading lady of "As the Bold Soul Turns", she had discovered that the brother of the GARDENER, an UNEMPLOYED ARTIST who had phoned to say he was interested in meeting her, secretly had a girlfriend! She had relayed to the GARDENER her disgust and displeasure at this discovery, and then promptly put it out of her mind while she crossed an ocean to deal with a family situation. Now, having returned to Paris, our heroine wonders if the ARTIST will call or if his brother has already told him he's been "outed" as being a cheating S.O.B. She doesn't have long to wait.

Join us as we see what happens next in the (anti-)climactic conclusion.

1:50 pm. Cell phone rings. BOLD SOUL look at the display, doesn't recognize the "06" cell number. Suspects it is the ARTIST brother. Ignores the call. Compares that number to the number of the ARTIST from when he called last month (caller ID is so handy, isn't it?) Yes, it's him. Not planning to speak to him at all. He leaves no message.

6:30 pm. Cell phone rings again. It's the ARTIST again. BOLD SOUL still not answering the phone when this guy calls. Still no message left.

7:23 pm. Cell phone rings, again. It's him. Not picking it up. No message left.

7:49 pm. Cell phone rings, AGAIN. This time, an "01" number, unidentified caller so it's not a friend. Again, not answering the call, sure it's the ARTIST calling from a land line.

This time, he leaves a voice mail message. "Oh, so charming, smooth French voice. (Damn.)" she thinks to herself. He says he's calling because she had told him he COULD call on Oct. 3rd, but he also has learned from his brother the GARDENER that she was very displeased with his having called the first time. NO MENTION OF THE GIRLFRIEND WHATSOEVER, but he apologizes for having displeased her with his unexpected call. He says if she does not wish him to call anymore, he will not bother her further. Says he will wait for a few days for her call and if he receives no call, he will know not to bother her. He hopes her grandmother is well. Hopes she is well also. Oh, so smooth, this one. Sociopaths and compulsive liars often are the smoothest, the easiest to fall for. Not THIS time, though.

No need for drama. No need for a scene. No need for so much as an abrupt "Get lost, loser" in a text message. She thinks, with a touch of relief, "But he has answered his own question: he will wait for my call, and if I don't call, he'll get the hint. Good. Let him wait. Because I have nothing to say and if I did say anything, it would not be pretty. And I choose not to waste my energy even aggravating myself about these slimy, grimy brothers. I'm done, and they're toast."

She smiles mischeviously, a glint in her eye, as she reaches for her laptop and keys in a quick blog post before going back to editing the manuscript she was working on before the interruption. Writing well is truly the best revenge.

Fin. The End.

As All My Bold Soul Turns

Every time I turn around, there seems to be some new twist in this facsimile of a love-life I am having here in Port Charles Paris. It is starting to feel rather soap-opera-ish, worthy of Susan Lucci, with or without the Daytime Emmy. Which is not comforting, as I hate soaps...

. . . . . . . . . .

[Cue sappy dramatic music] In our last episode, our Parisian ex-pat heroine was blind-sided by an unexpected phone call from the older brother of a former dead-end date, asking to meet me. A day later, we find her still ruminating over this unusual turn of events, her imagination running rampant after her (suspicious but caring) sister in America plants a suggestion that perhaps the brothers are up to no good. Our heroine wants answers, and decides a texto to the Gardener is in order.

BOLD SOUL TO GARDENER GUY: I was very surprised to get a call from your brother. I am sure he is very nice but I am not happy you gave out my phone number without asking me first. Please explain.

Hours pass with no reply. She knows he sometimes works weekends at the Parc. She is patient, and fills the space by having dinner with a visiting Americaine friend and watching American football in a Grand Canadian bar. She sees some nice recent acquaintances there and makes a few new friends. She also gets into a small argument with the bar's complete ass of an owner after he berated the event's organizer unnecessarily for asking some people to please not block the screen. But that's another episode...

After American footie gets switched to the France-Namibia Rugby match, and she enjoys singing a rousing "La Marsaillaise" in public for the first time with all the French fans and watching France score several times, she tires of the bar scene. We watch her enjoying her stroll through Saint Germain-des-Pres to her bus stop, it being a lovely Indian summer evening in Paris with many people out and about at 9:30, and many interesting shop windows in which to browse.

On the bus home, her cell phone rings. It is the Gardener. She answers, but has trouble hearing him and says she will phone him back shortly when she arrives home. Phone conversation starts out with the usual pleasantries exchanged, then goes something like this:

BOLD SOUL: I was very surprised that your brother called me last night.

GARDENER: Yes, and I know eet was not very proper for me to geeve heem your phone number weethout asking you. I am sorry.

BOLD SOUL: So what is going on? I don't understand.

GARDENER: Well, after I met you, I was telling my brother about you, and I showed heem your [dating website] profile and your peecture, and then he said he wanted to meet you very much. Do you theenk you want to meet with heem?

BOLD SOUL: I really don't know. I am not used to meeting people this way. I told him I wanted to think it over and he could call me in a few weeks when I come back from my trip to the U.S. I am not sure what I want to do.

A few moments of generalized chit-chat follow, then...

GARDENER: My brother, he has a girlfriend, deed he tell you theese?

[cue dramatic "duh-da-DAAAAAAA" music blurb]

BOLD SOUL: Ummmm, NO, he did not. He has a GIRLFRIEND?

GARDENER: [chuckling softly] Uh, yes.

Segue to dream sequence in which our leading lady mentally takes a baseball bat, reaches through the telephone, and clubs both Gardener and his brother with it.

. . . . . . . . . .

Suffice to say, I will not be accepting any meetings with the Artist. Gee, I wonder why it is that French men have the reputation for being unfaithful to their women?

. . . . . . . . . .

In the final scene of tonight's episode of "As the Soul Turns", we see our main character sending another texto, this time to...

Dear Universe, Please sack whomever has gotten my order for my Ideal Partner confused with the order from some poor, pathetic woman somewhere else who is willing to take whatever lying, cheating, worthless, unemployed losers she can get. Because that isn't me. I don't mind having to wait until my real order can be properly filled and delivered, but in the meantime, stop sending me the "irregulars" from the clearance bin as "filler". Thank you.

Yours cordially, The Bold Soul

Just when I thought dating in Paris couldn't get any more bizarre

Well, now. I do not know what to think. I am sitting here, stunned, even an hour later. Even after texting some of my Parisian girlfriends, and phoning my best friend back home to say "What the HELL?"

I just received a phone call from someone I do not know. A man. A FRENCH man, to be exact. And to be even more precise, he is the BROTHER of the clueless gardener I dated a few times over the summer!

The gardener who, while friendly and seeming to be interested initially, never made a single romantic overture, never paid for anything and who never got in touch with me again after our last walk at the Parc St. Cloud (which I was relieved about because it saved me from having to turn him down if he asked me out a fourth time). It seemed we had both written each other off, no harm done, yada yada. His lack of real interest was abundantly clear to me, and it was mutual on my part after spending more time with him.

So my cell phone rings an hour ago, and I see an unfamiliar "06" number (French cell phone numbers all start with "06"). I expect it to be one of my friends or acquaintances here in Paris. Instead, it's a male voice. He immediately introduces himself with his full name, and says that perhaps his brother has told me he would be calling me?

Beh... non.

I did know that Gardener Guy had an older brother. I found this out on our last date, and also found out that he is 38, single, and is apparently an unemployed painter. (Dear Universe: Did you NOT get my last memo in which I clearly specified that all men who want to date me MUST be gainfully employed and able to support themselves without sponging off the System? Someone is asleep at the switch!) In fact, I got the distinct impression from the Gardener that even HE was not very impressed with his big brother's lifestyle choices; I asked what his brother did for work, and he said "He does not work. He is an artist", and there was a hint of condemnation in his voice. I don't believe I acted impressed either.

So what made Gardener think Starving Artist and I would be a match?

Artist Brother proceeds, in halting English (which he apologized for -- I do the same here, always apologizing for my bad French), to explain that his brother had said some very nice things about me, that I was a writer and very nice, had a very happy personality, etc. etc. He thought he would like to meet me; he likes talking to Americans and he has a friend in Phoenix... I just basically let him keep talking because I was a writer who had temporarily forgotten how to form complete sentences.

As he continues on with explaining himself, pausing every so often to acknowledge that perhaps I will find this strange, or rude, or unusual, and to say that he would very much like to MEET ME, I am struggling not to laugh out loud at the utter craziness of this entire conversation. Five minutes earlier I was sitting here, minding my own business, working my way through my DVDs of Ally McBeal. We'll talk about why I identify with that character another day, but for now suffice to say I was watching the end of Season 4 in which the love of Ally's life has left in a very painful breakup, and I was thinking how much I would really love to have someone special in MY life... when the phone rings, and it's a MAN on the other end.

Normally, I might take that as a "sign". Only this guy is unemployed. And got my number from his little brother. Does this make me a "hand-me-down" (or perhaps a "hand-me-up", since I'm being passed from younger brother to older) date? Should I tell him I think his brother had some nerve giving out my phone number without even warning me, let alone asking me? Should I lie, and tell him I'm seeing someone? Should I be flattered, or insulted?

I am thinking all these things as he continues talking. I, of course, am saying very little, but at one point I did laugh out loud as he rambled on (seriously -- how do these Frenchies do it? How can they be so charming even in the midst of the most awkward circumstances?), which I think he took to be a positive sign that I was not about to tell him where to stick it. He asked me more about the kind of writing I do, as he seemed to know I am a freelancer. So I did explain a bit about the ghostwriting and he knew what that was.

He tried reverting to French for a few moments until I had to stop him because I couldn't keep up (same problem I always had with his brother), and I told him that perhaps his brother had forgotten to mention that my French is not very good. Then he reiterated (in English) that he would like very much to meet me, if I would not think that too strange given the circumstances, and he'd be happy to offer me HIS phone number in the interest of keeping things "equal" (I think he meant to say "fair", but I got it).

I finally tell him that, No, his brother did NOT tell me he'd be calling, and that I'm just really surprised and I really don't know what to say. I did not think it was rude (he wasn't being rude, he was as polite in his speech as his younger brother) for him to call but I am just caught unawares. I explained that I am going out of town at the end of the week to visit my very frail grandmother and I won't be back until October 1st.

Then, I surprised myself... by telling him he could call me after the 1st if he wanted to. I was honest and said that I really don't know how I feel about this and I wanted time to think it over, the idea of maybe meeting him, because I don't know him at all and this was very out-of-the-blue. But I said he could call me in a few weeks and then I'd see how I felt then. I declined to take his phone number right now; if he's interested, let him make the effort.

He said that was OK with him, and he was very nice in wishing me a safe journey, and he even said something about understanding if my grandmother is ill that this may not be a very happy time (I'm paraphrasing). Then he babbled something about "don't take this the wrong way but God Bless You, and I mean that like in Star Wars when they say 'May the Force be with you'". And I had to giggle at that as well.

Have you EVER in your life heard anything so strange? And the strangest thing of all is, I might actually agree to meet him, out of total curiosity (if not out of total boredom with my love life). I have never gone on a date with anyone (in either country) where after seeing me a couple of times, the guy thought, "Well, I'm not too keen on her, but hey, maybe my brother might like her!" I suppose this is a compliment of sorts; the Gardener thought I was not his type but good enough to date his brother?

On the other hand... there was no physical, romantic contact between me and the gardener at all, so it's not like he "got lucky" and now the artist brother thinks he might get lucky, too. I'm not being "passed around". So I know it's not about THAT. And at least, if I DID date the Artist, there wouldn't be any emotional baggage with his brother. Yet, I am trying to picture how on earth this conversation between the two brothers must have come about in order for the Artist to pick up the phone and take a chance on calling a woman he didn't know. Did the Gardener think of the idea, and say, "You know, I met this nice American girl a few weeks ago, and I wasn't that interested, but she really seemed nice, and kind of cute even though she always picks the wrong shoes, and she's a writer and you're an artist..."

I just don't know. I will defer deciding about this until I come back in two weeks. After all, he might not bother calling anyway -- lord knows his brother wasn't that consistent with contacting me, and maybe it runs in the family. I figure if nothing else, it will make great fodder for the blog and my book. Still, I must admit... I am intrigued. First of all, I am often attracted to creative types: artists, musicians, actors. Second of all... the charm was OOZING off this guy and at the same time I could detect a note of sincerity. It may warrant an exploratory espresso, minimally. After all, I'm not seeing anyone else, and it's just good to get one's self "out there" now and again. (I only hope I will not need to use the new French slang I picked up this week: poser un lapin, which means "to get stood up".)

But unless he was top of his class at the Sorbonne and is looking for a day job as a curator at a gallery while still practicing his own art, or he turns out to be the next great French artist (he works in some kind of medium involving plastique, is what I think he said), someone who can be successful at his art while he's still ALIVE (and we know how rare THAT can be)... I will be royally pissed off at the Universe if I meet him... and actually LIKE him. Because it might make me shallow but I really don't see myself with a guy who is even more financially challenged than I am, given the erratic nature of freelancing; couples break up over money problems even more often than for infidelity, and this is not a relationship stressor I want in my life. I don't need, want or expect a man to foot all the bills, or that he has to be a millionaire (though I sure wouldn't turn down a guy with money, either, provided he had the other things I'm looking for, like character, affection, and common decency) but he should be financially stable enough to not wonder where his next rent check is coming from. I have enough of that in my own life already. I have told the Universe this, time and time again, as well as telling it all the other things I am looking for in a partner.

It would be nice if for once, the Universe would take the hint.

How to get me NOT to want to date you

Received in my email via one of several dating websites I've been trying out (same one where I met The Wizard, come to think of it). Personal details concealed, but otherwise this is word for badly written/punctuated/misspelled word:

"Hello Angel! Hello Dear!
How re you doing today and your health,hopes fine, Wow,incredible profile & you are stunning, gorgeous actually. I saw your profile on *******.com and it caused and unusual impact, you re looking pretty cute and gorgous i must confess to my heart you re looking sweet like a queen, i am 55yrs, from virginia state.. i have a hazel eyes and dark blonde hair,6'2 ft, 190 lbs,and i know how to treat a lady well,i need a one and only in my life,i am widowed and i have been single for three yrs now ,looking for a long term relationship to show her the deepest love from my heart, to me now is like am a sky with out know star and i will like you to be my sky and also my star..is you cares to contact me so we can talk more about our self...i am always on yahoo e-mail address at (*******@yahoo.com ) you can e-mail me on there so can add you to my yahoo chating list so we can share an instant messaging so i can express my emotional feelings and passionate wordings to you,have never feel like this before i mean to me now is like each steps i take i do breath out the feelings about you i am looking at your pic now wondering when to hear from you .becuase is like am fully intrested to meet you and to show you the deepest love from my heart i am really waiting to hear from you asap pls."

This was from a man who had never written to me before, who lives in Michigan and claims to have a Graduate School education. His profession is "telemarketing". He is quite good looking (two photos on his profile, although they both make him look more like 35 than 55 so hard to know if they're recent photos or not).

Leave aside the fact that he's in Michigan, and not here. And the fact that he has children, which I don't want. And even that he might be in telemarketing (because perhaps he OWNS a telemarketing company rather than being the guy who makes the annoying dinner-hour phone calls we all hate).

There are two things that seriously turn me off about this email. (1) The writing is beyond horrible. We are not talking about a few bad typing errors or even a few random misspellings. But this is the work of someone who is from Virginia (and last I looked, they speak English there) and someone who allegedly has an advanced college degree; even if he wasn't a native English-speaker, I can't imagine he got through grad school writing papers like this -- so is he lying about his education? I can't help but wonder. And (2), the SCHMOOZE in this thing is so far over the top that I can't believe any man would think a woman would fall for that. I don't think I'm being jaded when I say: "Ick!" This is right up there with the Frenchmen who email me and start out with, "Bonjour Princesse!"

So, how to get me NOT to want to date you? Write to me in a way that makes me question your intelligence, your integrity and your ability to be sincere.

Yeah. That's a turn-on. I'll get right back to you on that.

Do you think he'd be offended if I sent him his email back... corrected?

The Dark Side of Dating in the 21st Century

I just noticed that it's 9:30pm (21:30 if you're on the 24-hr clock) and it's dark outside. A month ago, it was still light out at 10:45. Guess we are headed over to the dark side of the seasons again, little by little.

The other dark side I've experienced in the past 24 hours was the realization that Monsieur Avignon is not 51 years of age after all.

He is 60.

SIXTY! As in six times 10. Six decades. And for me, that is way too big an age gap.

Not to mention that he's a 60-year-old liar.

How did I find out this tidbit of information? Not from the liar's forked tongue, that's for sure. I was in the process of responding to his second e-mail (which was also very good), and was doing so in painstaking (and probably mistake-riddled) French. Before I sent my response, I got an idea: I Googled him. He gave me his full name and his profession was listed as "writer". I thought, Hey, wonder if he's got any writing credits out there. Maybe he's a journalist... maybe he's a novelist. I was eager to find out what kind of writer he is.

Whoa, Nellie, did I get an eyeful. He's got a Myspace page. The photos on his dating profile matched those on his Myspace page. The Myspace page listed his book titles and critic reviews, and these matched some of the other Google hits that surfaced as well. Definitely the same guy. The look and tone of the Myspace page: kind of dark, ego-driven writer-ish in nature. And he seems to have a lot of Myspace groupies who are young, hot women all with artistic black-and-what photos of themselves. Odd, I thought. I start getting an inkling.

Now, all of these links, and his Myspace page, are in French, right? And as is usually the case when I am trying to translate French, I'm never quite sure I am getting it right.

But it doesn't take someone with a PhD in French to be able to read and comprehend two vital details:

(1) Age: 60

and

(2) Pornographe (a word used by critics to describe at least one of his books)

Suffice to say, this is one man I will NOT be communicating with further, other than possibly to send having now sent him an email asking why he felt the need to misrepresent his age so drastically? Whether or not what he writes is actually pornographic in nature, or the subject of one of his books was that he was writing ABOUT someone who was into pornography (he wrote about some artist who apparently had that reputation, but again my understanding of the French may be incomplete here), the fact remains -- he lied about his age, by 9 years. My upper age limit is 55 and in most cases it's more like 53, unless the guy is in exceptionally good shape and aging well.

This is a new one for me. I don't think I've ever communicated with someone online and then found out such a big whopping lie. Sure, lying about one's age isn't as big a sin as say, lying about being married or having children or having had a prison record -- or even saying you're a Yankees fan when you really root for the Red Sox -- but it's still not desirable in someone you want to be able to trust with your heart someday.

So couple the age-lie with what appears to be a somewhat strange or bizarre literary inclination, and this just makes me uncomfortable. Therefore: he's French Toast, too.

On the up-side, I'm glad I found out when I did. In the past when doing the on-line hookup thing, I never thought to use Google or Myspace to get more information, but when you think about it, it could come in pretty handy. So if you're single and "out there" trying to meet someone, give it a try. You might not find anything at all. You might find out something really great -- like he/she donated a million dollars to a children's charity last year (rich AND generous!) Or you might find out something you wish you didn't know, but you really needed to know. Like with Monsieur On-My-Merde-List Avignon.

[sigh] Back to the drawing board. The Universe has clearly NOT been paying attention, as I specifically ordered a man with honesty and integrity, please. And no pervs need apply.

Does anyone know how to call customer service for the Universe? Who's in charge of Universal mix-ups?

As a writer, I should know better: don't believe everything you read.

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