Thankful He Tries

consanguineous \kon-san(g)-GWIN-ee-us\, adjective:

Of the same blood; related by birth; descended from the same parent or ancestor.

Only one of my eight half brothers and sisters actually speaks to me. When I found out about all of them about a year and a half ago, I tried to develop a relationship with each of them, but most attempts failed for one reason or another. It's just really, really hard. Of course.

My younger brother Brandon and I were both born in the same calendar year. I was born in January. He was born in August. He says it makes us "Irish Twins" even though technically Irish Twins are children born in the same calendar year by the same mother; we share a father.

"Bring!" "Vibrate." "Text from Brandon." Click...
"Happy thanksgiving."
"Happy thanksgiving B!! What are ur food faves??"
"My food favs for t-day? Or in general?"
"Tday!"
"White meat and stuffing...Thats all I really need. What about you?"
"Mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. Yum."
"Haha not a pumpkin fan."
"I only like it on thanksgiving. And with lots of whipped cream."

So now I know on Thanksgiving he likes white meat and stuffing. And he knows I like mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. With lots of whipped cream.

And that's actually a lot more than I knew yesterday. And everything more than what I knew two years ago, when I didn't even know I had a younger brother Brandon who is my sort-of Irish Twin.

He's a Marine. He seems like a nice guy. Doesn't sleep around but falls for girls hard. Is that a weird thing to appreciate it a sort-of brother? He sent me shot glasses from Japan with fat sumo wrestlers on them when he was based there about a month after we wrote our first letters to each other. He's a runner like me. He's actually a legit runner. Small and lean and skinny and ran track in high school. I'm slow and tall and chubby. But we both love to run and we discuss our distances and times and workouts at times. Sometimes it feels like he's the exact same person as me, just a guy and just with a different mom. We are both sarcastic. And...

We seem to have figured out how to become friends. He came up once with a buddy from their base in North Carolina. The only time I've ever met him in person. I was already out drunk at BlackFinn with friends. I was sitting outside smoking a cigarette and all of a sudden he was there. And I knew. From his pictures and because I knew. We all did shots and talked of nothing of consequence. Me and him and our two friends went back to my parents house and the boys passed out in the basement. They were gone by the time I woke up. I called him and said: "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to, you know, really talk." "Next time," he said. "This was good."

And he's right. One text at a time. One get-to-know you factoid at a time. No more and no less. No pressure and no expectations. A hello here. A "happy thanksgiving" there.

It's going to take a long time to make up for a lifetime without each other. But I'm thankful he tries. I'm thankful he's my brother.

Happy thanksgiving and cheers, T.

Over Men Again?

*Sorry it has been so long. But now I’m giving you a very long post. Try to read it all. Thank you to Phnx65, Christie, Sassy Marmalade and WashingtonTina for keeping me honest and pressing me to write. If you like what I have to say check out their blogs linked to their names above for some entertaining reads.*

Last time we left off with this single heroine, (as I like to think of myself), I was pondering whether or not to go on a Blind Date. And then I did indeed schedule my very first ever Blind Date. And because I fear the outcome might disappoint those anticipating the episode, I promise I will get to it, but first…

I’m sitting in my parent’s house bored stiff, waiting for the cable guy. Because nothing technological ever seems to work in my parent’s house and I, of course, because I’m younger and more tech savvy, (what a joke), have to handle it for them. I want to be a good daughter but still – ugh – kill me now. The cable guy should be here ANYTIME NOW, that is to say, between 11am and 2pm. Seriously? How in the eff do people in the service industry STILL get away with this? Can I just say that 3 hour appointment “windows” are Bull. $hit. But I digress…sort of.

I mean I am waiting on a man am I not? Yet again. A man to call. Or text or email or show up at my doorstep. Finally show up in my otherwise complete, fulfilling and happy life, for what? To fix something that’s wrong? Provide a service that I need/want/enjoy? Perhaps. But still- I have to wait for it. And PAY for it. And ask for it. And schedule it. And not know exactly when it’s gonna happen, if it will go smoothly, and even if it does work out whether or not things will work out in the long run. History would suggest that looks may fade, static could occur and total disconnection isn’t impossible and even probable. The question isn’t if the eventually glitches or problems and break downs in service will surface, it is only truly a matter of when. And then, I’ll need another man to appear and revamp the overhauled system. Or woman. (It could happen).

What I’m trying to say, as inarticulately as possible, is that I’m sick of men. Or at least sick of dating them. For awhile. I go through ebbs and flows of dating determination, deflation and defeat. Every few months or so. It’s not like I’m in a drought. On the contrary, I was hit on by several men just last night. I just don’t see the point. And I can’t seem to muster the optimism, gumption and fortitude that other serial single daters like my blog buddy DateMeDC tirelessly appears to do. Ad infinitum. I mean -6 guys in the mix! Sheesh girl! I think I did 5 guys once in the early months of year 2009. But that was almost 2 years ago. And I’m tired. Tired of texting, emailing, dating, drinking, flirting, kissing, facebooking, calling and being called by all the wrong men.

I don’t want you to think I’m being cynical. Or depressed. Or a quitter. The greatest thing I feel right now as I’m writing is this: I. Am. Happy. I mean, really and truly happy. I haven’t felt this great in so long. My family and I are in a really healthy, balanced, loving place. I feel like my mom, dad, big brother and grandmother are all really good friends. And though I haven’t been back in D.C. that long after my return move, I’ve started to develop solid relationships with some really cool, good people to spend free time with. Additionally, I’m in a stable place at work. Of course I’m still a peon attorney on the bottom rung of the ladder, but I sense I’m starting to get noticed and at least my intellectual curiosity is constantly being challenged and sated and the pay check is helping me FINALLY get a hold over my finances for the first time ever. And I love being back in my hometown. Moreover, my recent significant though short-lived health problems have reminded me to enjoy life and not take myself so seriously. Things are good. I am not cynical. I’m just, well…happy.

Every night, I stretch out over the whole of my $1000 (my most expensive possession except for my car and baby grand piano) Queen-sized, extra long, pillow-top mattress, immersed in blankets and plush pillows and I don’t have to share a single square with another. I sleep great. I’m not waiting for someone to call for our next date. I’m not wondering if he’s cheating on me. I’m not excited for when I’m supposed to see him next. I'm not trying to spice up our sex life or goading him to do the dishes or help me fix something or go to some bull shit event with me. I don't have to put up with his video game addiction or his friends who act like they're still pre-pubescent pissants. Instead, I do what I want when I want. I don’t have to check in with anybody. I don’t have to explain that the guy I had lunch with REALLY is JUST AN OLD FRIEND, the thought of whom sleeping with really would be awkward torture. Really. I’m just getting up and living my life and right now it’s enough. More than enough. And while sex is great, don’t get me wrong, and when I’m having it regularly it’s all I want and all I think about, I’ve found that being a long-distance runner, workaholic and alcoholic, that I can go long bouts of time without it and not feel all that deprived. There is also something to be said in the comfort of being a girl, and having the confident knowledge, that if I really really needed to get some, that no doubt I could find a man in less than a day who would help me itch that scratch. Just sayin'...

That said I don’t want to get any more Pollyanna on you. (I am often described as overly enthusiastic and cheerful.) And I’m trying to find a way to wrap up this blog post if I haven’t lost you all already from my nauseatingly passionate banishment of coupledom and ovation for singledom.

So let me tell you what you asked about…Blind Date Guy. Who I never even went out with. Sorry. Fail. I know. Here’s why…

We did make plans to watch NFL Football (a passion we both share) on Sunday afternoon but we didn’t hash out specifics until the morning of. I was actually feeling comfortable and encouraged about him because I hadn’t been feeling well on Saturday, our originally scheduled date time. He had wanted to take me to the Botanical Gardens downtown and then throw a Frisbee or football around on the mall. Sounds fun right? But when I wasn’t feeling well or up to it Saturday, we decided sitting and watching football might be more my speed for this sick stricken weekend. Sunday morning he called, right when he said he would. I asked where he wanted to watch the game and I suggested some of my favorite sports bars. “Fuck that!” he said. “Excuse me?” I said. “Fuck paying overprice for food and beer at a bar, we can go to your place or mine.” “I don’t really feel comfortable with that, since I don’t know you well,” I countered and then suggested several places with very good and cheap beer and food specials during the games. “Come on,” he said. “It’s not like I’m a serial killer. You’ll be fine. Come to my place.” “No,” I said. “In fact, I’m sorry to do this to you so last minute, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to see you at all. I hope you enjoy the games if you still watch them and thank you for your interest in me but I won’t be dating you. Take care.” He was understandably upset. And he may actually be a nice guy. But I don’t think he is. I got a bad, creepy vibe from him. And I trusted my instincts. Besides, I know this make me sounds like a materialistic bitch. But I can’t deal with anyone that cheap. On a date or otherwise. I’m an attorney and I make a comfortable salary. I like to go out and drink and eat. I don’t need to be wined and dined but I like to enjoy the city. How can I be with someone who isn’t able to do that or doesn’t want to? And I’ve found that guys who make considerably less money than me or less period, lose interest or get frustrated with that fact sooner rather than later. And I said to myself, why go hang out with someone that you no longer want to see? That you have doubts about when you’ve never even met him? That makes you feel creeped out and unsure and uncomfortable? I was told it’s a number game, but maybe I don’t want to play. Or maybe I have a good feeling this guy wasn’t my particular jackpot lotto combination. Regardless, I didn’t go out with him. And I never will. And I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been a waste of a perfectly fun Sunday afternoon which was alternatively spent drinking beer margaritas with new friends.

To add to my dating misery, last week I met another guy- a stand-up comic (who also has a day job) at a comedy club where some of my other friends were performing. He came up to me after the show and asked for my contact info. He facebooked me later that night (don’t get me started on facebook) and I began to message back and forth with him. But he never asked me out and stopped writing back. After a few short pleasantries. Typical, typical.

So after all this dating disappointment, I went out last night to Wonderland Ballroom in Columbia Heights to play trivia with my girl and guy friends and I had told myself I was Over Men! (yet again). And set out to enjoy my single self. Which I did-until…

It became very apparent that the entire bar was FILLED to the brim with MY TYPE of men. Extremely tall, thinly-muscular guys, with glasses and oh my god geekiness galore! The kind of smart, clever guys who are interesting and kind and have NO IDEA how incredibly good looking they really are. So when a British babe in spectacles asked for my number…how could I possibly resist? I couldn't. So, will he call? I don’t know. Will I wait by the phone? Certainly not.

But am I, in fact, over men again???

Cheers,

Toddy.

Since You Comment, I Will Blind Date...

Okay, okay, okay...I'm convinced. Convinced that it's a numbers game, convinced no date is a bad date, convinced you never know who or where or when...yadda yadda yadda.

So thank you for all your comments. Yes it was a desperate ploy to finally get some action on my blog. Shameless, I know, but hey- it worked. So there. The comments were and you all are truly appreciated. After all, I only began blogging to be a part of this community. Of women and singletons and smug-marrieds and girlfriends and ex-girlfriends and professionals and writers and thinkers and artists and yes I guess to hear what the men had to say too. I wanna hear what you think. I want to engage and be engaged. Even over silly non-life-changing things like first dates.

Therefore, since you commented, I will in fact blind date. This Saturday at noon my self-imposed blind date will commence. While I've been single for years now after 6 years of coupledom before that and been on at least 50+ first dates, if not a 100, I never have in fact been on a blind date. I know it must change the way you approach the date or how things might go but I'm not sure how. Fear of physical rejection I suppose. Not liking the way he looks. Him not being attracted to me. Lack of that je ne sais quoi chemistry that usually sparks an interest in dating by two people who meet organically beforehand.

I'd love to hear from you. Tales of blind dates. The good, the bad, THE UGLY and of course the eye opening and enlightening. Tips for handling the unexpected? How to deal w/ the fact that I don't remember meeting or talking w/ him in the slightest?

I could spend a lot of time being annoying and anxious and overanalyzing all of this. But fortunately I unfortunately had a freak metro accident which left me mildly concussed. (Is "concussed" a word?) At any rate, I'm far too busy lying in the dark with two bags of baby corn on my forehead to give it too much more thought than this:

He called. He asked me out. He may not have a sexy first name. But he has a sexy voice. Other than that, I'm too tired and drugged up to wonder or worry. I'm gonna get some rest and mainly just try to where something clean, not get drunk and try to remember him this time. And maybe, just maybe, Mr. SexyVoice will turn out to actually be Sexy. Here's hoping...