The Bold Soul

Surpassing my understanding

It's been a while since I had any reason to post about my past as a single woman, let alone to THINK about it. Having just passed our 1-year anniversary of meeting and our 3-month wedding anniversary, suffice to say that I have plenty of good things to think about that are happening in my PRESENT, so I'm not putting any energy into dwelling on the past.

Today, though, two things sort of coincided that made me reflect on some of my ex-boyfriends. One was that I've been re-reading every blog post since the beginning, sifting through them for material to include in my book. And I got to this one about one of my exes who had been lurking on the blog. After that post, he got the hint, his cryptic encoded comments ceased, and although for all I know he may still be reading the blog, at least he's not up to his old games in my comments box.

In that same post, I also referred to another ex, one who continued to contact me over the years despite his being married, then married with children, then married with children and professing to have found Jesus (um, yeah, right). Each time, he would claim to still have feelings for me, no matter what was going on in my life and no matter how inappropriate it was for him to voice his feelings. And each time, I would tell him go away, and he would do so, but only for a while, and then years later he'd pop up again out of the blue.

Today was one of those times. He's "popped" again, more than five years after the last time. (I'm hearing the "Jaws" theme music... just when you thought it was safe...) This time, he tried to establish contact via a LinkedIn request where he listed himself as a "friend" of mine.

I couldn't believe my eyes. And all I could think of was: WTF????? IS HE COMPLETELY INSANE? I can't imagine why he'd think we are still friends. I've done everything I could do to make it clear I desire NO contact with him, that there is no earthly purpose in it as far as I'm concerned. Our original relationship lasted no more than three months but here he is, roughly FIFTEEN YEARS LATER, still hanging onto some imaginary thread of a connection between us. Not only is it annoying, it's pathetic.

In re-reading that blog post about ex's who won't stay ex-ed, at the same time as I received this LinkedIn request, it just served to remind me of how glad I am that THAT part of my life is behind me. And how blessed I feel to have a man in my life who never leaves me wondering about how he feels about me, the way my exes did.

I have no idea whether or not this ex-boyfriend reads this blog, or whether (if he doesn't read it) he even knows I'm married. Judging by his past track record and his casual disregard for his own marital status, he might not care if I'm married or not. But it doesn't matter. I simply have no interest in anything he might have to say to me, even if it's the most innocent "Just wanted to say 'Hey'".

And to his request to be Linked-In together? I clicked the button that said: "I don't know this person". Because he certainly doesn't know ME if he thinks I'd be even remotely interested in resurrecting something that was dead long ago.

I only hope it will be the last of him. He's not annoying or scary in a stalker-ish sort of way, luckily. I just have no patience with people who live in the past and don't see the present reality. Which in this case is: "What part of It's Over and Hell No, We Can't Be Friends don't you understand?"

For the LAST TIME, he's NOT into you if...

About once a week (more if I'm really bored), I like to look through my blog stats to see who's linking here. What is the most interesting about the stats is that they show me the search words or phrases people are typing into Google (or whatever search engine they're using) that end up leading them here. And here's what I just figured out, much to my chagrin: the greatest number of visitors (a whopping 20-25%!) who find me by searching on words other than my own blog name are women who are trying to figure out if some guy is "into them" or not. They end up here, a post I wrote in April 2007 and which now seems to show up THIRD (out of 486 million) on the Google list for "Is he into me?" Go figure. I wrote that post on the heels of the realization that the Australian guy I'd been dating had gone missing without so much as a G'day. His last words to me were: "I'm looking forward to seeing you when you when you get back to Paris" before he was about to move back to Australia; we both wanted to get together one more time. Or so I thought. I never heard from him again.

Afterward, although I had really grown to like him and even to be able to visualize that relationship going somewhere (like maybe Australia?), and although of course I was hurt, I found it astonishingly easy to get over him by applying the philosophy of "He just wasn't that into me", instead of trying to hunt him down to get an explanation or "closure", or wallowing in "was it something I said or did? Why, oh why didn't he like me?" ad nauseum. I was amazed at how simple it was to stop blaming myself and chalk it up to the fact that no matter how fabulous I was, he just wasn't into me enough to behave differently than he did. And there was nothing I could do about that. It felt so much better to view the end of the two month relationship in that light, than the way I always seemed to do in past situations.

Oh, this is just so frustrating, the realization that so many women are stuck in that pattern of hyper-analyzing whatever guy is drifting through their lives at the moment. Lord knows I used to ask myself that question many times in the 45 years I was single. "Is he really into me? Or is he just yanking my chain?" I used to make myself crazy and insecure, desperately searching for the answer, the key, the secret to making a guy be into ME.

It wasn't until Georges entered my life that I really, once and for all, "got it": That there IS no secret formula. There is no perfect outfit, lipstick, or boob job that will make him want you if he doesn't want you. Changing your hair style, being able to quote Shakespeare or waxing your legs won't make him call when he says he will, if he really doesn't want to call. There is no right thing to say or wrong thing to avoid saying that will hook the man of your dreams, if he doesn't want to be hooked. It doesn't work that way. It just doesn't.

All those excuses you're making for him? That's just your fear and desperation talking, forcing you to sit with your girlfriends for hours while you try to figure out "what it all means" and "is he really into me?"

And guess what? While you are busy pouring your precious energy into chasing that elusive man -- the one who isn't calling you back even if he's on a business trip, who isn't bending over backwards to book the next date, the one who shows up for a booty call and then goes AWOL for a month -- some other totally AMAZING man could be sitting right next to you on the bus or at the theatre, and you'll just pass him by while you're crying in your Cosmopolitan over the loser who can't see what a great girl you are.

Realizing how many women and girls are "desperately seeking" makes me sad. Sad for them (and a bit of an urge to shake them until they wise up), but also a little sad for the many days and sleepless nights I spent doing the exact same thing over the course of my dating life. I find myself wishing I could write to each one of these seekers personally, to answer their questions, set them straight, and save them from wasting even more of their lives on these losers. Like the poor misguided girl who apparently typed in this entire Google query: "We've been dating 2 months, he says we're free to date other people, is he into me or not?"

Ummm, honey? If he was into you, he wouldn't want to date anyone else and he sure as hell wouldn't want YOU dating anyone else. By all means, you should start dating someone else, someone worthy of you... but tell him to lose your phone number.

And hey, you there, Miss "Into You Platonic Friends"? Of course he could be totally into you as a platonic friend. Why not? You're fabulous, and why not have a platonic man friend (gay or straight) who appreciates you! But if he's straight and interested in you as more than a friend, he's going to let you know it. You shouldn't even need to ask. Men are not that complicated, seriously. When their hormones are engaged, it's pretty obvious. Even if they ARE the shy and introverted type.

Then there are my three friends "mixed signals during dating" and "wrong dating signals" and "mixed messages does he ignore me cos he likes me". Hello? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there ARE no mixed signals in love. None. If he is not clearly signaling that he's crazy about you and can't get enough of you, then by default he is signaling loud and clear that he's not that into you. Not enough to treat you the way you deserve to be treated, where you're not left wondering about it and typing these queries into Google.

And does he ignore you BECAUSE he likes you? HOLD THE DAMN PHONE! What are you, 10 years old? Because maybe 10-year old boys act like they hate you when they really like you (or at least that's what your mother probably told you, to get you to stop crying about why little Billy was being such a brat on the school bus) but after the age of 15, that's no longer a valid excuse. Men who are into you NEVER ignore you; quite the opposite.

For Mademoiselle "Signs he's not into me"... DAH-ling, do you really need signs? Don't you sort of already know? OK, let me go over this again -- signs he's not into you (and this is only the short list):

• He doesn't call or show up when he said he would.
• He nearly always calls last minute or late at night and wants to know if he can come over (yeah, right).
• He may use pretty words to sweep you off your feet, but he's not backing those words up with actions that are in sync with his words. Like calling and asking you out again and again and again.
• He's been "too busy" or "working too hard" or "traveling a lot" or "coming out of a bad relationship" (if more than 4 or 5 months have elapsed, this is another lame excuse) or any number of excuses for why he hasn't been able to get together with you, but where he still claims he's interested. This is just his way of keeping you handy but keeping his own options open, nothing more. If he really wanted to see you, even if he WAS busy, he'd find a way, or at least he'd be calling and/or emailing and/or texting you daily to stay connected until he can come back and sweep you into his loving arms again.
• And the bottom line? He doesn't make you feel special. Instead, he makes you feel anxious, worried, and doubtful of your own fabulousness.

And finally... for the dozens who Googled with simply "How to tell if he's into me" or "Is he into me?" I refer you to the list I came up with, the first WEEK I met Georges, comparing "not into me" vs "into me" -- because it was already THAT obvious to me that he was TOTALLY into me, so obvious that I looked back on every single prior relationship and couldn't believe how STUPID I'd been, wasting myself on those guys who just weren't into me enough (and worse yet, often blaming myself for not being able to attract or hold onto them). If you need more clues than that to know if your guy is into you or not... well, then maybe what you really need is some therapy to help you get your self-respect back. I'm not trying to be cruel, but really -- do you need to be hit over the head to get the message?

My dear friends, single ladies wherever you are, in all seriousness: you can stop searching for the magic answer. You can stop over-analyzing every single thing he says or does, trying to figure out if he really likes you. Because it's very, very simple. Are you ready? Here it is (drum roll, please):

When he's into you, you will KNOW it. There will be NO doubt. None. It will be effortless, and you won't be turning yourself inside out for him. You won't need to, because he'll adore you just the way you are. And THAT is how you'll know. You'll know it's right because you'll just know it. And deep down, you already KNEW this, didn't you?

If you are with a man who adores you, you'll know it. And don't you deserve to be adored? The man who will appreciate and adore you, his words and his actions will be in sync, and they will let you know that you're the one for him. You won't have to wonder. You won't have to read his mind. You won't have to manipulate or tiptoe your way around the relationship, in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing that will make him go away.

A man who is truly in love with a woman, who truly values her, who feels like he won the lottery because he found this incredible woman and he can't believe how lucky he is... that's a man who is going to jump over lawn furniture to meet her -- like my brother-in-law did, the day he introduced himself to my sister at a barbecue... they met 23 years ago this summer, married a year later, had two kids and they're still going strong. Another example is the man I know who, when the woman he liked was a bit hesitant to go out with him, wooed her with creative and hysterically funny gifts to get her attention and let her know he wasn't giving up so easily -- I'm talking about the husband of my best friend, who finally got her to go on a real date (they were co-workers) after giving her a dozen roses in a weed-whacker box, a giant salami in a florist's box (don't ask) and a bee-keeper's helmet because he knew she was afraid of bees. THEY have been married nearly 20 years, and they have four kids and have been through it all together, and he's still nuts about her.

Or my favorite example of all... the man who met a new woman, he at 53 and she at 46, and kissed her in front of the French Senat and everyone in the Jardin du Luxembourg on their first date. He then spent every day since then letting her know how much he loves her, making her feel like she's the most beautiful woman in the world for the first time in her entire life. And finally, he one day dropped the melon and dropped down on one knee on a sandy beach, and asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. Georges was just THAT into me. And I, smart woman that I am, I'm so into HIM that I said YES. Because I now know real Love when I see it. Everything up until now? It was all just "practice love", opportunities for me to figure out that I'm fine and worth loving, just the way I am.

So please, I implore you, if you're one of the women who came by here looking for the answers... stop wasting your time, energy and your beautiful self worrying about whether this guy or that one is "into you" or not. Instead, go and live your life the way YOU want it. Do what YOU enjoy. Don't wait for a man to make you happy; make yourself happy (because that's how you'll be really attractive to the right guy, by the way). Be the person YOU want to be. Make your life incredible, just the way you already are. And that's when he'll show up, and be completely WOWED by everything about you.

It will be so worth it. I promise.

And in the meantime, in a few more months you can go and see the new movie based on the book that started all the fuss in the first place. Yes, it's true -- someone actually made a movie based on that book, and maybe I'm the last one to know about it, but He's Just Not That Into You is coming to the big screen (October in the US, November here in France). Go with your single friends and remind yourselves of just how wonderful you are. Let the Universe worry about the right time and place for you to meet that perfect guy.

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.

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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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LATER THAT EVENING... I did write to Monsieur Pinocchio with one last, brief message -- prior to blocking him from contacting me further, of course -- to advise him that I discovered both his Myspace page AND his real age. I looked up the French for "liar", and used it. I did not ask him "why?" as the answer is really quite obvious.

I then wrote to the system administrators at Meetic to advise them that this person has been misrepresenting himself in his profile, and I thought they should know and take whatever action is appropriate.

I love putting my writing skills to good, practical use like this. Writing well IS the best revenge.

Wink, wink... nudge, nudge

I got a bit of a "wink" from the Universe yesterday afternoon, one that further supports my view that when we are willing to let go of something that isn't working in our lives, something better will always show up, and often very quickly. I received a very interesting e-mail from a new Meetic guy, who lives in Avignon in the south. The letter was written entirely en français, but I was able to get the gist of it with the help of my trusty Larousse. In the letter, this 51-year-old man (older than me, for a change) really took the trouble to be creative in his approach to getting my attention -- and it worked. Most men will write just a few simple lines, like "Hi beautiful, want to have a drink?" or "Here's my cell phone, call me" as their oh-so-originale opening line, but without much effort to be remarkable on their part. And for some silly reason, they all seem to think I want to be called "Princess". Yet I am not a pink French poodle. So give this man points for NOT resorting to the nauseous-making "Princess". Ick and double-ick.

Monsieur Avignon is a Taurus and a writer (ditto and ditto), both of which contributed, I'm sure, to the above average quality of the letter. I am often captivated by men who can express themselves well in writing; it's how my last serious boyfriend got my attention. Good communications skills are a turn-on for me, and this guy was able to get me to take notice without pouring it on too thick or insulting my intelligence.

Instead, he painted a picture (with words) of the distance between us making it perhaps a bit difficult to enjoy a cappucino together in a café in a "perched village" while watching the sun set over the Lubéron (sounds delightful!) But the distance, he said, was not insurmountable; he comes to Paris periodically, and spoke of having a soft spot for the gardens at the Rodin museum (also one of my favorites here in Paris) and being able to enjoy a hot chocolate together in a cozy corner of "Lutetia" (the old Roman name for Paris - which I knew). Avignon (also of Roman origins) is only 2 hours away by TGV, so that's not the end of the world -- not convenient, perhaps, but not the worst example of LDR I've ever heard of (after all, AussieLass and her Prince Charmant were half a world away, and THEY somehow managed to get together and eventually get hitched; when one is very motivated, anything is possible). Monsieur Avignon even has a PhD and reads Socrates, but seems to have a sense of humor about it. OK... he's got me there; an intellectual, I'm not -- whenever I see the name "Socrates", I still flash back to Keanu Reeves in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, calling the great philosopher "SO-craytes". But maybe he could do with a dose of someone in his life with an earthier sense of humor. He's a non-smoker, divorced and has no/wants no children (check, check and check). He's tall enough, fit enough, attractive enough (assuming his photo is accurate). So far, on paper, he's stacking up pretty well.

I have no idea if he speaks, reads, writes or understands English at all, and if he doesn't, this will definitely go no further, as we will be unable to communicate beyond my pitiful grasp of French -- which enables me to go shopping, order a meal in a restaurant, ask for directions and comment on conversational topics at the level of a 7-year old. Beyond that, I'm sunk. I couldn't construct a meaningful and coherent thought in French if my life depended on it. I had enough difficulty conversing with French Gardener, and he wasn't an egg-head, pas du tout.

This is an intriguing development on the romance front, but I'm not writing about it because I necessarily think it is going to be "anything" -- geez, not after just one e-mail, albeit a really good e-mail. I'm writing about it because, whether or not this goes any further than one terrific e-mail, receiving this letter within 24 hours of my mentally and emotionally writing off the French Gardener is like getting a little nudge from the Universe, telling me: YES, there is something better out there. There are interesting, creative, grown-up men with wit and charm who know how to talk to a woman, even when they may not be able to talk in her native language. They are motivated to make an effort. If they want something, they go for it.

This is why it pays not to clutter up your life with stuff that isn't working. Cut bait, move on, and clear the decks for whatever is coming next. Wink, wink... nudge, nudge.

Cloud-less

Today's title, a bi-lingual play on words. This lovely cloud-free view of the Paris skyline is brought to you by the delightful Parc de Saint Cloud, where Saint Cloud is pronounced "Sahn Cloo".  As in "clue". As in "get a clue". Clueless.

Need I say more?

Frog-Dating 101: Mixed Signals (?)

OK, is it just me or is this weird? I cannot figure French Guy out. I know he seems to like me - he keeps asking me out - and when he's with me he seems to enjoy my company.

And yet he hasn't... uh... made a move. Nothing. Not a kiss, other than the Frenchie-2-cheek-bise. Not an arm around my shoulders. Not even an attempt to hold my hand. What's up with that?

On top of this... he never pays for anything (well, barely). We're in France, but we are apparently "going Dutch". Is that normal? I know I work and earn my own money and I have no trouble sharing some of the finances in a relationship, but we are not yet IN a relationship and therefore I believe it is customary for the man to pick up the tab, at least some of the time, during the early dates? So far the only thing he's paid for was the one drink I had with him the first night we met. Since then... rien.

Last Sunday night, we talked on the phone for quite a while, and agreed we would do something together on Saturday or Sunday, and he was supposed to call me later in the week to talk about the what, when and where. He called at 6:05pm on Saturday evening as I was getting ready to meet some friends since, by that late hour, I'd basically written French Guy off for the evening. But he called and suggested we could go to see the sunset view from the top of Tour Montparnasse, if I had not already seen it. I hadn't, and thought that sounded great. He said he thought he could be in my neighborhood to meet me at around 8:15pm (he lives in the 'burbs so it's a bit of a commute). Shortly before 8pm my phone rings, and I think it's going to be him saying he's just down the street at the metro station. Yes, it's him, but he says he won't be there for another NINETY MINUTES. Which means around 9:30pm. [sigh]

Talk about keeping a girl hanging (around). Not cool, and he didn't offer an explanation.

He arrived at just before 9:30, and we hopped the bus to Montparnasse. There, we stood in line for a long time (as usual, lines move slowly in France), and by the time we got to the top it was 10:15. (Note: I paid for my own ticket. He went to pay first and only gave the ticket girl enough money for ONE. So there you go. That was the first thing he's done I didn't really care for. And another mixed signal that is perhaps NOT so mixed.) I will say, the view is worth the wait, though, especially at night. We missed the sunset, of course, because he was so late. But we enjoyed seeing the 360-degree view from the open-air roof, and the weather was truly perfect for such an outing. The Eiffel looks even prettier from that vantage point, when it sparkles at the top of the hour, too.

Now... call me old-fashioned but I would have thought that having a girl in such a romantic place as this, with all Paris at one's feet, that one would have made some sort of romantic gesture if one were interested in said girl. ANYTHING... I mean, stand shoulder-to-shoulder as you're gazing out over the city identifying famous landmarks. Hold a girl's hand while you are admiring the stars while standing smack dab in the center of the helicopter landing pad. Do SOMETHING.

But... nothing. I'm thinking... well, maybe he's not so interested now. I mean, I wore the right shoes this time, but maybe the right shoes aren't enough to sweep a boy off his feet these days (hah).

Then he asked me, if I wasn't doing anything Sunday, perhaps I would care for a walk in the Parc de Saint Cloud (advising me, with a laugh, to wear very good walking shoes - seems my footwear has become our little private joke). So I'm thinking, OK, he MUST like me... maybe he's just a little shy and maybe spending a little more time together will give him (and me, too) more to go on, to decide if there is perhaps "something there".

Sometimes, I think there is; other times, I am clearly unclear.

We agree to meet at 1pm at a particular spot in Saint Cloud, a short walk for me from the bus stop. By now it is around 11:30pm and we have descended from the tower, and I'm thinking we will go to get a drink or a late bite to eat as we had talked about having dinner when we made our plans. But he is looking anxiously at his watch and I realize he has to leave in order to avoid being stranded in Paris if he misses his last train home. So... I walk him to the metro, and we bise-bise goodbye until tomorrow.

Am I imagining it, or are the bise-bises getting a little softer, a little closer to the lips, and lingering just a fraction of a second longer than necessary if you're "just friends"?

I get to the bus stop in Saint Cloud and as I am checking the local map to see where this street is that I need to meet him at, I hear a scooter behind me, turn around, and it's French Guy. Surprised, laughing, he parks and locks up the bike and off we walk (the bise-bise much the same as last night, I might add... just a hair more intimate than usual. I notice he smells really good, just a touch of cologne of some kind, and I can detect a whiff of minty freshness on his breath. Ideas run a-muck through my head...)

The Parc is very grand, and I mean that in both the French and English senses of the word - both large and spectacular in its way. I'm sure we only saw a fraction of it, and it would have been even better had all of the amazing fountains been running, but much like they only run the fountains at Versailles on Sundays, I'm sure it's a water conservation tactic.

Walking in this park was definitely more of a hike - it's very hilly and to get to the two best vantage points where you have a great view over Paris, you have to work at it (unless you came by car). He got to see a less attractive side of me, that's for sure - it was hot, clear, sunny day, we climbed some very steep slopes, and I'm not in the best shape. But he seemed to take it in stride, having to stop once in a while to catch my breath or watch me wipe sweat off my face. In a totally feminine, lady-like way of course. And I did not whine about any of it, either. It was good exercise.

So we're walking, and talking in both French and English, stopping occasionally so he can look up a word in the dictionary he brought with him. We admired the great views. Eventually around 2:30 we stopped for a light lunch in one of the two restaurants located within the park. I deliberately choose something very inexpensive, thinking if he was going to pay for lunch, and I know he might have a limited budget, I didn't want to make it difficult for him.

We enjoyed our lunch, with a side order of a lovely view over the park's many terraces. When I excuse myself for a moment, and then return, his face lights up when he sees me again -- I have noticed he always looks pleased to see me in that way. So, he likes me, right? Then the bill is presented by our serveuse, to Monsieur, of course. Because apparently in France the waitresses also assume the man is going to pay. Especially if he is happy to see the woman.

He looks at the check. I do not reach for my wallet. He pulls out... some money. Then, he slides the check over to me so I can calculate MY portion of the meal. He does not appear in the least embarrassed by this.

OK, now this is not only confusing to me, but it is pissing me off a little bit. I say nothing, of course, because I am now going on the assumption that maybe he just enjoys my company as a friend, or a language-exchange buddy... although we DID meet on a dating web site.

As we are continuing our walk through the park, stopping at a little bookstore where I bought a postcard of the Grande Cascade, French Guy confuses me further by asking if I would like to come over for dinner one night during the coming week.

At his mother's house. We could enjoy dinner in the gardens there, he says.

I momentarily panic thinking, "He wants me to meet his MOTHER? What the hell?" until I remembered that he told me his mother had left that morning for two weeks at a seaside spa (lucky lady!)

Then I really did not know what to make of that invitation. Had there been any physical contact between us by this point, I would not think it so odd, but he had me alone in the park all day (where we observed -- and he commented on -- several couples clearly lounging on the grass in various intimate poses) and he never touched me, other than once or twice to touch my shoulder, checking for sunburn. Is this strange invitation his way of leading up to finally "making a move"? And if so, just how MUCH of a move are we talking about here? (I should state that he does not live with his mother, or so he says. He says he has an apartment not far from where she lives, in Saint Cloud also.)

But is it not strange that he should invite me to a secluded dinner alone at his mother's house when up until now there has been no strong indication of any romantic interest, other than the occasional "vibe" I seem to get from him (yet another reason I'm confused). I sincerely do not know what to make of all of this, and as I left the park and we said our goodbyes at the bus stop (I had plans to see a movie with a friend later which was my "escape hatch", and by this time I had too much sun and too much French Guy confusion, and NO "sweet lovin'" as one Frenchie I know would call it. Not so much as a foot massage in sight. I'm happy he's not the kind of guy who would just try and climb all over me, but at this point I have no idea WHAT to think anymore. It's not very flattering, not having him try anything.

So I think what I am dealing with is one of several realities here:

(a) He is interested, but he is just plain cheap. Even when he likes a girl he expects her to pay her own way. Because even a guy on a limited budget could afford to buy his date a 9.50 ticket to the observation deck of a tall building when he made the invitation in the first place. This is two dates now where he's paid for NOTHING despite being the one to do the inviting. (Yes, if I invited him somewhere special I would expect to pay his way, too. I'm not a total diva, you know.)

(b) There is some strange French cultural thing going on here that I do not understand, where not only will a French guy not kiss you unless he really likes you and wants it to be serious (as has been suggested to me previously) but he also won't start paying for things the two of you do together until  you are officially "a couple". Whatever that means. If this is true then someone better tell me now because clearly I am then literally in Gallic no-man's land without a translator. (FWaB , where are you when I need you? I know, I know... off taking photos of phallic symbols found randomly in nature...) I somehow doubt this is the case however -- that there is some odd French dating custom where men won't pick up the tab -- because I have some single non-French friends here dating French guys who pay for EVERYTHING.

(c) He really does just want to be friends and language-exchange buddies. That would be OK if I understood that was what he wanted and no more, but like I said there are these vibes, these looks, these comments. Very strange.

(d) He does like me and he does want to be more than friends, but he is totally clueless when it comes to women and dating protocol, and none of this has anything whatsoever to do with cultural differences (language barrier between us notwithstanding). He is a nice guy, I can still vouch for that, and a gentleman in every other respect so far. But if it's none of the above, then it's this. And if this is HIS idea of a great, promising relationship, that's not so great either because it is certainly NOT mine. I shouldn't have to teach a nearly 35-year old man how to treat a lady he likes. Maybe there is a good reason why he's 35 and unattached. Cluelessness will do that to a guy, every time.

Cast your vote and feel free to write in your alternate suggestions. Let's see what we come up with.

Having said that, I am 75% of the way to deciding that as cute as he is and as nice as he is, and even while I do enjoy his company, he is going to be too much work and I'm not sure there's enough of a pay-off in it for me. The language barrier is work, although it's fun to a point. But while I am all for emotional growth as a byproduct of a relationship, I don't think educational growth is all that romantic. The fact that he lives at a distance and rarely comes into the city, and his job schedule is such that we would not see each other very often, makes this feel like a lot of work. There's the fact that, whatever the reason, after three encounters I am no closer to having any idea of what he is looking for from me, if anything at all. And I have no idea how to bring up the subject, either. Bottom line: I had been very intrigued by French Guy, felt that there was some attraction there between us, or at least on my part, but this is starting to be less and less attractive of an arrangement. The "magic" is wearing off already. I suspect that we are not very compatible after all. Maybe we want different things, have different expectations, are at different places in our lives. As nice as he is as a person, if this is going to be something where I am in the position of being the teacher, the leader, the adult, the mommy, or whatever it is that happens to a woman when the man she's with isn't at the same level in most respects... that's not what I want or need in my life.

So that's where it stands right now. I don't know if I'm going to bother going to this suggested "dinner at Chez Maman" because that kind of feels not right to me. Not that I don't trust him or can't handle him, but it doesn't feel right that he would have guests at his mother's house when she's out of town; it sort of feels like when you were 17 and your mom and dad went away, and how you'd want to plan some bitchin' party that the entire school would be talking about for weeks afterward. And he's not 17, and neither am I.

You know, men are confusing enough sometimes, even when you speak the same language. This is giving me a headache, all these mixed signals. Of course, HJNTIY lore would tell us that there ARE no "mixed signals" - either a guy is really into you and is going to let you know it, in no uncertain terms, so that you are never left hanging, left dangling, left wondering how he feels about you -- or he's not, in which case he's really not that into you.

The problem is, have these French Guys read that book?

Skipping

I am on the métro, making my way home after seeing a movie over in La Défense with a friend. In a good mood, having enjoyed the crazy movie (believe it or not, Transformers), and dinner and stroll with my friend as we caught the tail end of the sunset behind the Grande Arche. I am checking for any text messages, and see I have two! My heart skips a beat... I wonder if one of the messages will be from him. I had texto'd him earlier in the day on my way to the movie... inexplicably compelled to make contact again, with a little "Hi, how's your day going? Enjoy the rest of the weekend" kind of thing. I even took the time to text him en français, since he always takes the time to translate everything for me in our e-mails and phone calls. Our great conversation on Friday night allowed me to feel comfortable enough, for some reason, to do this, to say "I was thinking of you". I picture him checking his phone, maybe while he's working or perhaps not until the end of the day, and seeing a message from me... hoping it puts a smile on his face, as it did for me when I was typing it. Funny how technology suddenly seems to be a conduit for romance.

The messages awaiting me are from two girlfriends. As I'm reading and then replying to the first, the phone suddenly vibrates and rings in my hand, interrupting me with a call. I read the name on the display, my heart skipping again because this time, it IS him.

Texto to friend momentarily forgotten, I answer the phone: "Bonjour?"... only to realize it is far too loud in the rattling M1 train to hear a word he's saying. I say (loudly) where I am, that I cannot hear him and I will call him when I get home, having no idea if he is even able to hear me saying all this. I hang up... now eager to skip home as quickly as possible.

He called. I couldn't even talk with him, but he called. My head is spinning with possibilities.

I spend the rest of the train ride texting my Parisian girlfriends with this latest "breaking news". We're all single, all "out there", all at varying stages of meeting and getting to know new men. We are in our 30s and 40s and still, it's as much fun as being back in high school, passing notes to one another under the desk or between classes, talking about this or that cute boy, our school-girl excitement a tangible thing. "Do you think he likes me?" "He smiled at me during chemistry class - do you think that means something?" "I saw him watching you in the cafeteria!" "Oh-my-God, you'll never believe it: he asked me to the prom!"

I get off the train and hurry home, the anticipation skipping through my heart as I get closer to whatever may be awaiting me on the other end of the phone line. Our conversation is still made awkward by the language barrier and a spotty phone connection, but there is laughter and the novelty of discovering new pieces of the puzzle of who we are, what we like, what we're up to. We are putting the puzzle together, piece by piece, not knowing if we will ever finish said puzzle of course, not at this early stage where there are only unknowns ahead and nothing is on firm ground. He is working until 8pm all week, and I learn more about how his work at the city park is scheduled - it's not always a 9 to 5 job. Duly noted. How I enjoyed the movie I had just seen and how one of my friends happens to live in French Guy's suburb. He bought himself a new 24-speed bike on Friday after having had parts stolen off his scooter the week before, the same day we met for drinks (he never let on that he had had such a bad morning, either!) and now he's using his bike to get to work and keeping the scooter locked up off the street to avoid future problems. Details, it's all about details. The details are the mortar between the bricks (the big stuff) in the foundation of any new relationship. The bricks are important but without the mortar, the bricks won't remain solidly in place. So the details do matter, in the grand scheme of things.

Not all the details are going to be good news. He seemed a little disappointed to learn I am not an avid biker as he has another bike and was planning to ask if I'd like to go biking on the weekend. My less-than-enthusiastic response was all about me knowing that what I do NOT want is to spend our second date sweating like a pig (which I would be certain to do) and showing off my anxiety about riding a bike in Paris traffic -- I've been thinking about it with the new Vélib bike rental program in Paris, but haven't had the nerve to try it yet -- not to mention my complete lack of grace and athletic ability and that, truth be known, I fear that I may be a bit too out of shape for biking, certainly for anything super-strenuous. My feet hurt on our first date, so badly that it almost killed the date itself, and I'm not anxious to have a sore tail-bone or aching knees on our second date. Of course I am not telling him all this, yet... I just admit to being a bit scared to bike in Paris with the crazy drivers and say I'm "not much of a biker". So we agreed to think of something else we could do together instead; he asks me what I would like to do (it's nice to be asked), and I ask him to show me something in Paris he thinks I might like to see, since there is so much I still haven't seen. I promise to wear the right shoes this time.

Fifty minutes later, nearly midnight, we say our Bonne nuits and hang up... with plans to see each other next weekend affirmed and a promise to connect by phone closer to the weekend. I hang up the phone with a smile in my heart and I'm sure, on my face as well. I suspect he is the same. It's all part of the magic of new romance.

At 2:00am, I am still awake, watching a late movie, and my cell phone dings the familiar sound of an incoming texto. It's a girlfriend, just returning from what must have been a very nice date with her new French guy and dying to share her feeling that this "might be something", passing me another note under the virtual desk.

Something is definitely in the air this summer in Paris.

Are sweet nothings still sexy if you have to ask for a translation?

For once, I think I might have made the right choice.

I did it. I asked him out, via an email yesterday morning, suggesting we just meet for a coffee or a drink on Sunday afternoon or evening (I already had plans for a girls' night out tonight and I am not the kind of woman who normally ditches her girlfriends for a guy, especially one I'm not even involved with yet.) No big deal, just something casual, and I did it by email in case he wasn't interested, it would just be easier that way. No expectations, just a willingness to take a risk.

So, I put it out there. And then promptly put it out of my mind.

Until my cell phone rang last evening... I looked at the display... Him!

He (in rapid French, so I'm paraphrasing): I was happy to get your message inviting me out. But unfortunately I have to work on Sunday this week. Next weekend I don't work.

Me (never entirely sure I'm understanding much of ANYTHING he is saying when it's in French):  Ummm... OK....  [lightbulb goes on in head] oh, I get it, you have to work every other weekend!

From that point on we struggled and laughed our way through over 30 minutes of fractured French and anguished English that included me trying to explain to him about the allure of Jane Austen and the wonder of Pride and Prejudice (and being thrilled that I remembered the word for "pride") because I was watching the movie when he called. I have to hand it to him, he is one uber-patient guy. Right now it's just so damn funny, albeit a bit frustrating, that every conversation we have requires a freaking dictionary. Sometimes he'd stop in the middle of the conversation to look something up and he's reading it in French and English but I'm not sure if he's reading or if he's talking to me or asking me something. I'm all, like, "Quoi? Repetez?"

At one point, I had him in stitches because he was talking about something that involved the verb foutre (I think) and I said, "Oh, you mean like in 'Va te faire foutre*'?" and he burst out laughing, totally caught off guard that I sometimes can't string two sentences together correctly but I knew how to say THAT*. I told him I always make a point of knowing the bad words when I travel because you never know when you're going to have to tell off a nasty cab driver or a rude waiter, but that so far I haven't had occasion to use that particular phrase.

There were frequent references (from him) to "when we next see each other":  "When we see each other, you will have to tell me what work you are doing now".  "When we see each other again, I will bring the dictionary". We didn't make firm plans but left it that he should call me to make plans this week or weekend. Normally it might bother me that there was nothing firm scheduled but you know what? I'm not worried. The guy likes me.

How many guys do you know who would go through all of that stuff in two languages, play translator and tutor, and even email me after the phone call to say he was happy to have gotten my email and again mentioning "when we see each other" -- and taking the time to write all of THAT in both languages (because he seems to have decided he is now my French teacher).

I am intrigued. I am interested. I am sensing that something is brewing here... who knows what, but it doesn't matter. He is a nice guy, a gentleman, nice manners, patient, a decent person from what I know so far. And nice-looking. Every reason to see where it might lead.

Odd how I feel comfortable with someone I've met only once, talked to on the phone 3 times, and with whom I can't even communicate in the normal way.

Oh, hell... if nothing else I will improve my French a bit. But I admit it. I'm hoping I'll get more than a good tutoring out of this.
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*The rough equivalent of telling some one to fuck off, or "go fuck yourself". Yeah... I make my momma proud.

Humeur de Toilette

A friend sent me one of those joke e-mails today, one which still, hours later, has me L.M.A.O. (that's Laughing My Ass Off for those who don't know the code). The e-mail was entitled "Restroom Signs" and had some of the best gender-bashing one-liners I've heard in a long time. Even if you've already seen 'em somewhere else, they're still good for a laugh.

My disclaimer is that I have no idea if these are real signs or if all the locations are real; if you're familiar with any of these places and can check it out, report back to us. And if you get easily offended by low-brow humor, stop reading now and go read The New Yorker while the earthier among us have a few chucks.

Bon week-end, mes amis!

Friends don't let friends take home ugly men.
-- Women's Restroom; Starboard, Dewey Beach, DE

Beauty is only a light switch away.
-- Perkins Library, Duke University, Durham, NC

No matter how good she looks, some other guy is sick and tired of putting up with her shit.
-- Men's Room; Linda's Bar and Grill, Chapel Hill, NC

Make love, not war. Hell, do both! GET MARRIED!
-- Women's restroom; The Filling Station, Bozeman, MT

If pro is the opposite of con, then what is the opposite of progress? Congress!
-- Men's restroom; House of Representatives, Washington, DC

Express Lane: Five Beers or Less
-- Sign over one of the urinals; Ed Debevic's, Phoenix, AZ

You're too good for him.
-- Sign over mirror in women's restroom; Ed Debevic's, Beverly Hills, CA

No wonder you always go home alone.
-- Sign over mirror in men's restroom; Ed Debevic's, Beverly Hills, CA

A Woman's Rule of Thumb: if it has tires or testicles, you're going to have trouble with it.
-- Women's restroom; Dick's Last Resort, Dallas, TX

Teeter or Totter?

I am sitting here wondering if I should make the next move. Or not. I can't decide.

On last Saturday's date with French Guy, the evening came to a rather abrupt halt because I did not have the presence of mind to choose more sensible footwear. (In fairness, walking wasn't supposed to be on the Official Date-with-French-Guy Itinerary; and besides, up until I bought these, every pair of flat but dressier shoes I own bothers my feet and I am always choosing from the best of a painful lot.) The drinks part of our date was quite nice, actually, and in theory so was the walking through the Tuileries and down along the Seine, except that all I could think about was how much my freaking feet hurt. I'm not sure how the evening might have ended otherwise; would he have asked me out again right away? I did get an offer of a foot massage... at the end of the evening, might there have been more than the traditional two-cheek French social kiss? Mystère, et boules de gomme.

I admit... I am intrigued by the unrealized possibilities, hinted at by several glances exchanged where I, for one, felt a definite spark. I am also torn by indecision and my own neurotic biases.

On the one hand... he's rather nice-looking; much more attractive, to my tastes, than the Wizard ever was, if the truth be known. He has amazing eyes - something I always look for (no pun intended). I keep remembering his eyes, at odd moments here and there, and how more than once during the evening I caught myself thinking: Hmmm... I could get used to looking in those eyes. "So you like your work but not the people you work with?" I wonder what it would be like if he were to lean across the table right now and... "So do you have any brothers or sisters?"

He has good manners, and a polite, rather quiet way about him. A bit shy, perhaps. He appears to have virtually unlimited reserves of patience; I am basing this not only on his willingness to tolerate my Franglais but on his repeated insistence that he would be delighted to help me improve my French skills.

He asked me questions about myself and was willing to answer questions I asked him. He was the one to suggest taking an impromptu walk to the Paris Plage after we had been talking about it, when he could have let the date end at the bar where it started, and he seemed very pleased I said Yes; so there must have been something about me that interested him, too. Even though at times the conversation was a bit awkward, I chalked that up to the language barrier as well as normal first-date stuff; otherwise, I was surprised that I felt fairly comfortable with him.

He must have felt comfortable around me, too... he said as much in a later-that-night e-mail in which he seemed to think he needed to apologize for having gallantly offered me a foot massage while we were on the Plage. I'm sure he was wondering if his offer had offended me, scared me off, considering it was not even ten minutes later I was telling him I couldn't stand my shoes anymore and just had to go home. I can see why he might have gotten that impression, and I hastened to reassure him that it really was the bad choice of footwear and that I wasn't offended. I told him that "next time" I would wear something more comfortable for walking... dropping the hint that I would be open to a "next time".

In his e-mail, he said had enjoyed meeting me. He also said he would like to help me with my French and maybe I could help him improve his English as well. Just when I thought perhaps he wanted to language exchange buddy instead of a girlfriend, he wrote that I looked very jolie.

He thought I was pretty.

My hesitancy about whether or not to make the next move is tangled up in a convoluted mixture of (what should be, in 2007) antiquated ideas about correct dating protocol and my own issues with what I perceive my "ideal guy" should be. #1: I am a lousy dater. I have no patience for it, never have. I am not "smooth" or "graceful" in social situations involving the potential for romance, although I do fine in every other social venue in life. I do not enjoy "the chase"; I want to skip all that and just BE in love with someone who loves me back. I am too direct by nature (and a bit insecure, too) to be very skillful at playing games with my own feelings or someone else's. Therefore, when faced with a dilemma such as "Is it OK to ask a guy out?", my inner Jekyll and Hyde take over, and inevitably, whichever I choose, I choose wrongly. Whether I wait to be asked or I do the asking, it rarely seems to work out the way I hope it will.

And #2: I'm kind of attracted to French Guy and am curious about what might be possible, but I am already mentally checking off all the ways in which is is NOT my "ideal", starting with what he does for a living. He is a gardener here in one of Paris' many lovely parks. I can hear you sharpening your poisoned darts even from here, some of you, ready to accuse me of being a total snob, but believe me I have already had that conversation with myself. And upon thinking about it, it's not so much that I care that he IS a gardener, it is that I am used to being with men who just happened to have different ambitions for themselves in life. When I say "ambitions", I am not talking about how much money a guy makes because I've been madly in love with men who made less money than me or who had job titles less impressive than my own -- so this is not about him not being "good enough" for me if he's a "mere" gardener. My concern is: is he HAPPY, and I mean really happy, being a gardener? Is it his joy, his life's ambition? If the answer was "yes", then I wouldn't be worried, and I could look forward to a lifetime of being with a man who is in tune with nature, secure in the knowledge that I would never again have to worry about killing all the houseplants (which I generally do) or who would cut the grass (which I always hate). But I don't think gardening IS his ambition, and from what I know now, he's been doing this for just about 5 years, and before that he was a security guard, and before that he worked in his father's (now closed) antique business. I am wondering if he is either just not ambitious at all, if he has no real direction in life for himself, if he is one of those people who is just content to float through life without really thinking about it, where they put up with whatever shows up in front of them but where they aren't steering the boat. THAT, I would have a problem with, in terms of a long-term partner.

Another thing is: the not-inconsequential age difference. Twelve years. On the one hand, I'm fine with it; there are a lot of things I like about being with someone younger than myself. Younger men are often fun, playful and energetic. They have a certain zest for living that is often lacking in more mature men. And although my chronological age may be 46, I don't FEEL 46 at all. Someone recently asked me how old I felt on the inside and I immediately snapped back with "35". So there. Seriously, if Demi Moore can snag Ashton Kutcher and even marry him, then yippee-yahoo-yowza for me if I find someone I want to go out with who happens to be a lot younger. If I were a man and he were a younger woman, no one would bat an eyelash.

But a big age difference could be problematic in some ways. Will we have enough in common, given that we may be in very different places in life? Tough to tell. One of the things that did bother me about my last serious relationship (where he was six years younger), was that sometimes my boyfriend exhibited a lack of maturity that often made me feel more like the mother than the girlfriend. And that is NOT very sexy. I am not anxious to go down that road again. I don't want to be with someone where I feel like I am perpetually the teacher, coach, mother, plan-maker, or "the strong one". I want to be with a man where I feel we are more or less on an equal footing, emotionally and in how we are approaching life, where we BOTH have things to offer and teach the other, where it is not so one-sided. I am a strong person and a strong personality, and I feel I will blend best with a man who (a) is the same way and (b) wants a woman who can match him in his strength rather than a woman who is just decorative, like a lamp.

There is also the language barrier. Neither of us is fluent in the other's language. It could work out fine over time but for someone who lives by words, both in writing and verbally, not being able to communicate freely feels like an obstacle to me right now, even though initially it's kind of amusing to play this game of "What did he just say to me?" and "Can you repeat that again please?" because he seems to have taken it on himself to be my new French tutor and insists on primarily speaking French to me.

Flipping back over to sanity for a moment, I do realize that I could also stop over-analyzing it and just shut up, relax about it, take a chance and ask him out, and see where it leads. If it doesn't lead very far, but he treats me nicely and I have fun spending a little time with him, even if it "goes nowhere special", is that a problem? Absolutely not.

So with French Guy, this is some of what is going on in my head while I am trying to decide if I should suggest another meeting this weekend. Normally I would feel like I "should" wait to see if he asks me out first (again, the "dating rules" police are in my head), but given that I'm the one who ran trotted hobbled off so rudely the last time, it's possible he might not ask if he's concerned I ditched him because I wasn't having fun.

Or... maybe he's really just not that into me. (I wonder how you say THAT in French?)

I got a good vibe from his post-date e-mails; he told me about the walk he took after we said goodnight, and that he came home prepared to e-mail me and was pleased to see I had already e-mailed him first (which I did - to thank him for a nice evening and to apologize for my abrupt departure). In his e-mail he even took the time to write in BOTH French and English (more "practice" for me, I guess!) But he didn't mention actually getting together again; the ego-part of me wonders "why hasn't he called?"

And there is the little matter of the fact that this date was supposed to have taken place nearly six weeks ago, but he never called when he said he would call to firm up the date and time, even though we had decided on a place. I never heard from him after that, and after two weeks I threw out his phone number and deleted his e-mails, figuring that was that. Until Tuesday of last week when I got a rather abrupt and brief e-mail from him out of the blue asking if I was free to meet on the weekend. I was tempted to tell him what he could do with his suggestion but I was curious about going on a date with a Frenchman, so I decided to go in the name of doing a sociological experiment. And having something to put in my book when I write it. When I asked him, over drinks, what had happened and why he hadn't called, he didn't really have a good excuse at all... something about the weather having been so bad and him acting mildly surprised that I thought he was supposed to have called me. Huh? Silly me... ummm, aren't you a GARDENER? Don't you have to work outdoors in all kinds of weather? So why is the weather a factor in why you didn't call me on MONDAY which was when you specifically SAID you would call after you got back from your weekend with "a friend" in Normandy? My guess is, he was seeing someone else around the same time but it has since not worked out well between them. And he figured he'd see if I was still "out there". I'm not thrilled by that, but we weren't and aren't a couple so as they say, "All's fair..."  I'm letting it go, but I'm a bit on the lookout now.

Teeter... totter... the pendulum swings one way, then the other. Do I or don't I? Should I or shouldn't I? Ask or wait to be asked? OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!

For someone who is normally so decisive that I can, oh... up and decide to move to Paris in a heartbeat, I find these dating decisions to be exhausting. My brain literally HURTS right now.

And I still don't know what I am going to do.

Two dates in one night

Since I am NOT TALKING ABOUT HARRY POTTER (Kylie), but I have a "date" right now to start the book, let me tell you about the OTHER date I went on tonight. This was my first date with a French guy since arriving in Paris.

However, since Harry is calling my name right now, teasing me with that "come hither" look as he sits on my coffee table, I will have to give you the Cliff Notes version of the earlier date. You can fill in the details any way you like. Or I will, after I resurface from reading the the 7th book.

Age: 34. You do the math. What's good enough for Demi Moore is good enough for me.

Very nice hazel brown eyes, and a nice smile. Slightly better looking than his photo on Match.com, and that is rare. Slightly taller than me.

Met for drinks at Barlotti in the 1st, which has good date ambience.

Conversation: not bad considering I am not at all able to HAVE a real conversation in French, and his English is only marginally better than my French. He not only is patient with my bad French, he seems interested in helping me learn. Give him points for patience.

After drinks, went for a walk along the Seine. Good idea in theory. Not so great in practice, and totally my fault: wrong shoes for walking ANYWHERE. Got to Chatelet and decided I couldn't walk another step, and there were big black rain clouds hovering. Told him I just couldn't walk any more, so we did the 2-cheek French social kiss thing (he did walk me down into the Métro) and said A Bientot, and that was that.

Will he call? No idea.

Do I want him to? Don't know.

If he does, will I go out with him again? Probably. No reason (yet) not to. Certain things about him I'm not sure about but needs more investigation.

All in all, I've had better dates, and I've had far worse ones.

OK, I've kept Harry waiting long enough. More later.

Risk

A single friend and I were talking today about dating, sex and relationships: the good, the bad, and the sometimes VERY ugly of finding that elusive "good man". And how difficult it can be, sometimes, to figure out which of those three you might be dealing with when you're first getting to know someone new. Because honestly? Men seem to be getting better and better at camouflaging the reality of which category they fit into. And that makes it a lot harder to know who is worth the risk -- and who isn't.

Take the late Wizard for example. I now call him the "late" Wizard, not because he's dead (or even because I WISH him dead) but because he is now nearly three months late for what was supposed to be our next date. This was a man who seemed to be a real gentleman, a take-charge kind of guy, someone who was successful in his work and knew how to treat a lady on a date. He brought flowers. He complimented my culinary skills despite knowing darned well I bought the chicken already roasted. He seemed to be totally into me, we seemed to have some things in common, and there was chemistry. It was just getting to the point where I felt I could open up a little bit, and I found myself thinking about him at odd moments in my day. It had all the signs of something that was "going somewhere interesting".

Until the moment where he apparently fell off the edge of the earth into the Great Black Hole that swallows up all those boyfriends who mysteriously disappear from our lives with nary a word or a trace. He must have fallen into that hole, because otherwise it means I TOTALLY MISSED THE SIGNS that he was a complete asshole, i.e. the kind of guy who would just stop seeing me without the courtesy of so much as a break-up texto let alone a phone call. I wouldn't say I'd put him in the "ugly" category, but his exit strategy at the end automatically earns him the "bad" title.

My friend, the one I was talking to today, has been going on a number of first dates lately, none of which has particularly impressed her (a lot of "bad" and "ugly", or at the very least just boring). And she's met one guy where she says there might be "something there". She seems to like him, she's definitely attracted to him, and it seems to be reciprocated. But she's hesitant to invest her emotions much further because, as she pondered today, "How do I KNOW?" In other words, is he what he seems to be? And how can she tell for sure?

Well, right now, she CAN'T know for sure. It's too soon. Any more than I really could have seen The [Late] Wizard for who he really was after just a handful of dates. And that's the problem, isn't it? The whole problem with dating and the early stages of fledgling relationships is the fact that it's virtually impossible to know someone's true character or motivations or interests until you've both put in some real time together. Where you've both seen each other in action, in public, around other people, out in the real world. Where it's not just an internet, long distance or off-and-on relationship, which is an OK place to start but which has obvious limitations and pitfalls. Where you've maybe hit a few bumps in the road and can see how the other person reacts under pressure. And where you've taken the relationship out of the intimate sanctuary that new lovers create in the beginning where it's just you and him and take-out Chinese food that you feed each other in bed.

Until you take the relationship out of the showroom, ramp it up past first and second gear, and put it on the Autobahn of Life for a REAL test drive, there are things about that other person that just won't surface. Sure, we can have gut feelings and intuitions about people, and I believe they're usually right. But sometimes what we THINK is "intuition" is really "wish-fulfillment" - we're projecting what we need to see onto the other person, and it clouds our objective ability to see what's really in front of us.

In order to get to the point where we can see the person we're dating for who he (or she) really is, we have to do one really, big, scary thing. We have to take an emotional risk of some kind, and sometimes we might even have to take the risk first. Until we risk being OUR true selves (because let's face it, girls, we're just as guilty of trying to sweep our own imperfections under the carpet as the men we're dating) and until we risk asking for what we want, we won't know who we're really dealing with and whether or not the relationship will go the distance. We want assurances we won't get hurt, but life doesn't give those kinds of unconditional, money-back guarantees.

What we tend to do is put all our energy into focusing on our partner -- who he is or is not, is he treating us the way we want, is he trustworthy, blah-blah-blah, him-him-him, it's all about HIM -- instead of looking at ourselves first. We get so caught up in trying to analyze/decode/decipher HIS signals ("What do you think he meant when he said/did/wrote THAT?") that we disconnect from what WE think, want and need. We're so busy asking ourselves "What does he want, and how can I be THAT?" that we neglect to ask "What do *I* really want? And is HE that for ME?"

I suspect we do this -- this focusing on the guy rather than on ourselves -- to hide out from the fact that we're afraid to take risks. We run around looking for, or trying to create, a "sure thing" before we'll lay our own hearts on the line, and by putting our attention on our partner we effectively distract ourselves from looking in the mirror and dealing with our own issues, wants and needs.

I can't speak for other single 30/40-something women out there, but for myself, the risks I'm afraid of taking in entering Relationship-ville are that I'm so used to taking care of myself, of being independent, of not having to answer to anyone else, and of generally being "the strong one" in my past relationships that I have some fears of letting my guard down and letting myself lean on a man for anything.

Yet I know I do not want another guy in my life where I'm the "mommy" or where I'm the one who is always leading, initiating, planning, or doing the emotional work, because it's exhausting. I don't have control issues in the typical sense of trying to control others or needing to manipulate them into doing what I want them to do, but I do have a strong need to feel in control over myself, my own life, and my choices. I've been doing it for 46 years and it's hard to let go of that "do-it-myself" mentality even when I know I WANT someone wonderful in my life. And that will mean making space for someone, physically and emotionally. I think somewhere in the back of my heart, there lurks a fear that in developing a truly healthy, inter-dependent relationship with a strong, loving, successful, and charismatic man who wants a strong, loving, successful and charismatic woman, I may have to let go of something that is the essence of ME, that I would have to lose part of myself in order to gain love. And that scares the shit out of me; I don't want to be one of "those" women.

But what I REALLY have to be willing to lose are a few erroneous beliefs, a.k.a. lies I tell myself in order to keep people at an emotional distance, thus avoiding taking those big emotional risks. Lies like: the belief that it is weak to want or need a man in my life because I can take care of myself, damn it! The belief that men will always love having me as a friend, but not as a girlfriend or a lover. The belief that men can't be trusted or depended upon, and they will always hurt you and then leave. The belief that I am not worthy of lasting love or that it's conditional, that I can't have it unless and until I am a size 6, until I stop all my bad habits and insecurities, until I've reached certain career or financial milestones, until I am perfect in some obscure, vague way -- because if I'm not that person, who would want me the way I am? The belief that when I open myself up for love to come in, nothing will happen, because OTHER people get to have love and happiness and partnership with people who adore them and value them and STAY; but not me, I don't get to have that.

It's the "I'm not enough" thing again. I'm not thin enough; men want thinner girls. I'm not young enough; men seem to be looking for the 45-and-unders and I seem to have passed some cosmic expiration date even though I know I don't look it. I'm not pretty enough, interesting enough, graceful enough, and on and on, to attract the kind of man I really want (and deserve) in my life, and because of that I will have to settle for less than I deserve, and I'd rather be single than settle.

It's nauseating to realize I still have all this stuff lurking in here. Because I know the ONLY reason I am REALLY "Still Single" is because of these beliefs. It's not that the kind of man I want would NOT want "someone like me"... it's that I BELIEVE that kind of man would not want me; that I believe that kind of man is always going to prefer someone else, but never me.

It's not logical that I think this way; I know that, and I don't need you to write in and tell me how fucked up that thinking really is. I could come up with a solid rebuttal for every one of those beliefs, and in my more rational moments I would know they make total sense. There are fatter, plainer, less intelligent and less accomplished women than me who have found love without settling -- they are everywhere, in love with and being loved by amazing, wonderful, good men who appreciate their women just the way they are. I see them every day, these women in love, and it's not just the young hot chicks getting it. So it stands to reason that if that is possible for these other women, it's possible for me too.

I get it; it's just harder to CHANGE it than I thought it would be. Changing the beliefs just doesn't come easily; no matter how many times I think I've got 'em licked, they seem to resurface when I'm least expecting it. We need awareness before change can take place, but awareness doesn't automatically guarantee change.

You know that saying: "Feel the fear and do it anyway"? The only way I know to change an inner belief is to start with action, to "act as if". To do the thing you're afraid of doing, even when you're still afraid, don't know how it's going to turn out in the end, and when you don't feel "ready yet". In the case of Me vs. Love, "acting as if" means putting myself out there even before I feel "enough" of whatever it is I think I need to feel enough OF. To face the mirror - not the one that shows me my OUTER self, but the one that lets me see the INNER self - and deal with my gremlins, my not-enough moments, so I can put them to rest and replace them with the truth.

And the truth is:

I deserve love now, not tomorrow when I am someone "different" than I may be today.

I deserve to have the kind of man I want now (and the Universe knows who he is because I've "put it out there" often enough), not "someday" when I'm this, that or the other thing.

I am worth opening my heart and taking a chance on love. And I'm worth someone else taking a chance to love me back.

I deserve to be happy NOW, to feel good NOW, to have it all NOW, and to experience love and connectedness NOW.

Love is my birthright, because I exist, and I don't need another reason for love to be in my life.

And you deserve that, too.