Guilty Pleasure

I read recently that a good line to use when meeting someone for the first time is "what's the most embarrassing song in your Ipod?" I'm not sure about that, but the question made me ponder what I had in my Ipod.

My current response to the question, hands down, is currently Miley Cyrus's "See You Again." I discovered it this weekend when I was trawling the apple store looking for new running songs, and since then have listened to it running down the East River, commuting around town on Sunday, and before Court this morning to psyche myself up. Yes, it's by a girl half my age. Yes, she has a show on the Disney Channel. Yes, I'm pretty sure she lifted the main base line from the 80s classic "I wear my sunglasses at night" (she didn't know! she wasn't born then).

Despite all of that, the song is unequivocally awesome. I dare any of you to listen to the song and tell me otherwise.

Here's a snippet of the lyrics:

The last time I freaked out, I just kept lookin down
I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I'm thinkin bout
Felt like I couldn't breathe
You asked what's wrong with me
My best friend Leslie said, Oh she's just being Miley
The next time we hang out, I will redeem myself
My heart can't rest til then
I can't wait to see you again

You really can't get the full effect without listening, so take a listen. It's addictive.

Don't Be Scared

I'm deliciously happy today. Thanks to Global Warming, New York is a gorgeous 70 degrees and sunny today, and I'm reveling in it. It's so funny how little changes in the weather can have such a profound affect on one's mood.

I went out last night and saw "I Am Legend" with Will Smith. Overall, I really liked it. A lot of the movie focuses on how Smith's character manages to live on his own in Manhattan after all of the other humans have been annihilated by mutated, hyper-aggressive zombie-humans - the products of a genetically-engineered cure for cancer gone catastrophically wrong. Smith's character recreates human relationships with his dog, Samantha, and the mannequins positioned in an empty record store. He uses an almanac to chart meticulously the time the sun will set each day, listens to his Ipod, somehow has electrical power in his house though ConEdison has long since disappeared, watches Shrek and re-runs of the Today Show, and insists that Samantha eats her vegetables, all the while hunting the zombies in an effort to find a cure that will reverse the effects of the mutation and save humankind.

The parts with the zombies were tense and scary, causing me to bury my head into the shoulder of my obliging date, who whispered softly, "Don't be scared." As a general matter, I'm not good with scary movies; I have a very vivid imagination and find it difficult to suspend disbelief when faced with terrorizing monsters or serial killers lurking in the dark. And, unfortunately, my inability to suspend disbelief often stays with me long after the movie has ended, causing me to check under the bed, in the shower, and behind the clothes in the closet before gingerly crawling in to bed, listening in the darkness for the faintest hint of movement somewhere in the house - the tell-tale sign of something disastrous about to occur.

But, today, it's warm and sunny outside, life is good, and I'm so happy at the moment that the idea of zombies attacking is quite unthinkable.

Swedish Glogg Party

I had a total blast this weekend. Friday night, I went to a holiday party and out to dinner and then Saturday I threw a birthday/holiday party at my house, the theme of which was a Swedish Glogg Party since I'm part Swedish. I think the party was a success. There were about 30 people crammed into the living space in the apartment that I share with Rumi. In typical New York style, we had had to put the coffee table and living room chair out in the hall to accommodate our guests.

Here are a few things I would do differently that I want to remember for next year's bash:

1) Start the party no later than 8:00 pm - This year, I started it at 7:00 pm thinking that because there were other holiday parties I'd give my guests the option of stopping by mine first. However, no one came before 7:30 (also typical New York - actually, 7:30 is super early), and literally all of my girl friends were just walking out their doors at around 8:00 pm.

2) Have no ending time - I had set the party for 7 to 10 but a large group stayed until midnight which was perfect. I don't know what I was thinking imagining that I would be up for going out after the party (and after running around all day, baking, and getting everything prepared). Plus, it was pretty much the perfect end to the evening to turn around after shutting the door on the last of my departing guests to see Mr. Italian standing in front of me.

3) Have a bigger pot of glogg - The glogg was a hit. I went through three batches in a saucepan. Who knew it would be so popular. It turns out that everyone loves hot mulled wine, and frankly who wouldn't? It's hot, spicy wine filled with raisins and almonds. Yum. Next year I'm going to have a bigger pot or I'm going to use one of those catering things that dispense coffee as a glogg dispenser. How cool would that be?

4) Organize the booze so it's more self-serve - Next year, the booze gets its own table so that guests know exactly what where it is, what their options are, and how to get it. I ran around trying to get people drinks but I think if I had organized it better people would have been able to fend for themselves a bit more. Ideally, next year I'll be able to just direct them to the booze table and say, help yourselves.

Other than that, I wouldn't change anything. I made lussebullar (St. Lucia Buns), had Le Tur and fig jam on crackers, pepper-encrusted salami for my meat-eating friends, olives, pepperkakor, Swedish candy (bilar, salt lakris, and vine gummi), smoked salmon, and a bunch of snack that Rumi's boyfriend brought over. Also, everyone who said they were going to come came! It was fantastic. Pretty much all of my closest friends in New York came to the party, not to mention Mr. Italian (date # 5 for those of you keeping track).

It was a great way to celebrate my b-day and I was very happy.

Holiday Party Music Picks

I've been in a flurry of activity preparing for my upcoming holiday party. It's actually a holiday/birthday party as my birthday is at the end of December. Although I grew up hearing how December babies always get shafted, I can report, happily, that that's never been the case for me. I guess I'm lucky like that.

One of the things I've been working on, in addition to cleaning up and organizing my god-awful disaster of a room, lugging home bottles of liquor and tasty ingredients, and perfecting my Swedish glogg recipe, is picking the perfect play-list for the party. It's actually way more challenging than I would have thought. I'm doing it in order and trying to have some chill, but fun music up front and then gradually picking up the tempo. The hard part is that you don't want to bust out, for example, Britney's "Gimme More," too early, but you also don't want to let things lag in the beginning.

What are your music must-haves for a holiday party? Send 'em my way. Once I get my list perfected, I'll be sure to post it. It's going to be awesome.

In other news, for those of you who have inquired... yes, I've been rather preoccupied this past week with the Italian man. I'm not going to write much about it because, surprise, surprise, he actually seems cool and I'm genuinely interested in seeing him again. Me thinks blogging would not be a good idea at this stage. Now, if it all fizzles and goes to pot in some semi-painfully hilarious fashion, you can be sure that I will share all the sordid details.

For now though, I'm going to remain pleasantly mum.

Distracted

All I can think about today is sex. Walking to the subway: sex. Reading cases: sex. At a meeting in a conference room: sex. Maybe this is what it's like to be a man, to walk around all day feeling a dull pulsing of desire and having it flare up at the most inappropriate moments when a stray vision of two bodies intertwined flashes across your mind. It's quite distracting. How do men hold it together if they really think about sex every 7 seconds? (Or other women, for that matter). Good god, it's a wonder they get anything done. As it is, I must have read the same paragraph over today at least 20 times, still without any comprehension.

Airports

Sometimes, out of the blue, delightful, completely unexpected things happen. Like, for example, meeting a ridiculously sexy Italian man at the airport on your way to London, having said ridiculously sexy man ask for your number while you're tying up the laces of your sneakers, and then having a terrific first date where you find out that not only is Mr. Italy hot, he's also smart, thoughtful, funny, considerate, accomplished, caring, chivalrous and possessed of a smoldering intensity.

These things happen. Isn't life fun?

Drafting Doldrums

I really quite desperately want to sleep.

Unfortunately, I have a rather gigantic assignment due that is taking literally forever. It's 9:00 pm and I'm stuck in the office and probably will not be able to go home for a while. Boo. As I have nothing substantive or interesting to say, I guess the point of this post is to whine. *frowning* This is the first OBIM day that I've had in a long, long time.

Which reminds me, it's actually Tuesday! Which is both good and bad. Good, because I'm that much closer to the end of the week and my coveted weekend. Bad, because I have a boatload of work to do and I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. I'm also supposed to go on a date tomorrow night with the Masked Priest, but it's unclear at this juncture how that's going to happen.

Help.

I'll leave you with a funny tidbit: The other day, I heard someone describe a person as ineffective by calling them a "one-armed coat hanger." Hilarious. Come to think of it, I kind of feel like a one-armed coat hanger right now.

Date Update: The Masked Priest just called and for the third time in a row he did something that left me feeling pleasantly surprised. How delightful. He called with an idea for a bar to meet at tomorrow night which was midway between both of us in a cool area. Then, during the conversation when I was saying that I might have to meet up a bit later because of work, he suggested that we meet for dinner instead (because I would not have been able to eat by then). He even had a restaurant suggestion. He listened, thought of me, and suggested something that would make my life more pleasant. He's confident, has back-up plans, and fun ideas. Remarkable. Wow. I kind of feel like a one-and-a-half armed coat hanger now. Once again I'm left with the impression that this guy might be kind of cool. Despite my work, I'm looking forward to dinner tomorrow.

Dips

I'm having a slight emotional dip. I'm not sure why. This is 10,000 times better than it used to be. It used to be that the norm would be a dip, and the unusual would be a feeling of well-being. Those were in the dark days of things long since past. Now, I operate, especially lately, on a plane several stories above the emotional wasteland that I used to exist upon. It's nice and warm and fuzzy up here, but sometimes there are the dips.

I'm not sure what precipitated this one. It's not even a full dip, but I find myself hanging on with my fingernails, scared that I might slide down all the way. I don't like the emotional wasteland. It involves feeling of isolation, being overwhelmed and anxiety. It feels a little like things are flying apart, like there's no sense of purpose, nothing concrete to hold on to. It evokes the desire to binge. It evokes a feeling of need. Need. Need for what?

Not cool, creamy, chocolaty goodness. Despite what I feel.

But, as I was saying, we're not in a full-blown dip. I think it started from a series of seemingly small, inconsequential things. I had to deal with the psycho-actress that I rent from about bills. Every time that happens it's a source of stress and I think why am I still living here? The apartment suddenly looks dingy again, I hate the lack of bath tub, my room looks like a chaotic mess. I think, I'm not together. I don't have the apartment of a woman who is together, sophisticated. My mom's coming in to town and I'm excited to see her, but it's also stressful. I have to think of what to do, where to go, will she be happy, will she be warm. I need to work because of something that came up last minute on Friday. I feel guilty. I also feel stressed about work.

And then, last night, I met the boyfriend of one of my new friends. She's white, he's Indian. Sound familiar? Well, it turns out that Indian boy, after dating this White girl for 4 years, finally told his parents that he was dating a white girl. Ooooooh. Yes, I intended that mocking tone - not to him, not to my friend, but to the past - my own past. It was a big deal for Indian boy to finally tell his parents, and of course he didn't tell the whole truth. He told them he had been dating her for 1 year (not 4). The mother cried, the father wrote an email asking him why he made his mother cry. They both asked him why he couldn't just date an Indian girl.

God, it's all so stupid.

Exbf's parents didn't want me to be with him at first either for everything that I was not. I wasn't Indian, I wasn't Hindu, I hadn't grown up in the Indian culture. Never mind that I'm respectful, culturally aware, and that I was genuinely interested in embracing their background and culture. My dad's an immigrant. I get it.

The funny thing was that eventually his parents did accept me. It actually got to the point that his father gave him his blessing to marry me. The funny thing is that it happened a few weeks before we finally broke up. That's hysterical. His parents came to accept me, actually embraced - to the extent that they could - the idea of us marrying, just before we broke up.

I have to admit that hearing my friend's story last night, I felt a tiny flicker of hollowness laced with a tinge of bitterness inside of me. An edge of harshness. I guess it's anger, maybe hurt. Still. I don't want to be with him. I haven't wanted to be with him or talk to him since the day, almost a year ago, that we broke up. But, things that I experienced with him still affect me now and then. Remembering still evokes some negative emotions.

I guess maybe this emotion is something like: You never saw how wonderful and special I was. And, that makes me mad. It makes me want to throw a plate at him. I tried really hard. His parents - people totally dead set against me from the beginning b/c of things completely out of my control - came to appreciate and accept me. But, not him. He was too selfish, too small, too weak, too insensitive, too self-involved, too cowardly, too insecure, too pathetic, and he had way too little to give.

Every time I remember these things it take me back to this: The re-realization and re-confirmation that he was not good for me and not good enough for me. He sucked.

So, why the lingering emotions that pick at the edges of the almost-healed scabs on my heart? I should be joyous, filled with elation that I'm not with him, that I didn't end up with him, that I was spared from spending one more year with him and his bullshit. And, I am. Truly. A day ago, two days ago, I was filled with joy. The world was warm and fuzzy, and I was so incredibly happy to be me, on my own, safe from that kind of negativity. But, as I'm learning, things are not black and white. I can be joyous about not being with him at the same time that I still feel, on occasion, sad about how he acted and what I experienced while I was with him.

(I was just thinking, as I was writing, you should not be feeling this; it is over a year ago! But then I thought, Fuck it, I'm purging. This is how I feel. This is what I will write. So there.)

The Masked Priest: Part I

On Saturday, I went to two Halloween parties dressed as this femme fatale with a bunch of my friends. I had a nurse's outfit, a cap, a wig of platinum blond 2-ft long hair, red patent leather high heels, bright red lipstick, and a hatori hanzo sword strapped to my back. It was awesome. Technically, I should have had an eye-patch but it turns out that those things are super uncomfortable, so I scratched it. My friends were dressed as a pirate wench, a mammary gland, a pirate captain, a boxer, and Gogo (the psycho-Japanese girl from Kill Bill). I loved dressing up, loved walking around the streets looking at the other crazies, and had a total blast at the parties.

At the second party, I bumped into a very tall (I'm thinking 6'4" to 6'6"), broad-shouldered man wearing a priest outfit with a mask. We chit-chatted in the hall about our costumes and I couldn't help noticing that even in my 3-inch heels (which put me at roughly 6-ft), I had to tilt my head to look up at him. Nice. The party went on, Gogo and I hit the dance floor, had some cupcakes, filled up our champagne glasses, and continued dancing. The apartment where the party was held has this really cool set up with a DJ-booth in the living room, and the guys who live there all take turns DJ-ing for parties. The Masked Priest DJ-ed for about an hour while Gogo and I danced, occasionally catching my eye. When he finished, he joined Gogo and I on the dance floor and he and I started dancing and talking. At one point, he took off the mask and put it on my face, and pictures were taken. It happened so fast and it was dark on the dance floor, so I didn't get a clear picture of the top of his face. Or, if I did, the alcohol has since obliterated it from my memory.

Around 2:30 am, when Gogo was ready to go, I told the Masked Priest that I was leaving. He said that we should hang out some time, and I, looking up at him, said sure. I gave him my number and left with my friends, thinking that the evening had been fantastic, mildly flattered by the attentions of the Masked Priest, but not holding my breath for anything more. It had been fun for what it was, and I didn't expect nor need anything else.

On Sunday, I mostly recovered, more so from lack of sleep than from dehydration. After coming home at 3:20 in the morning on Saturday night, I had made the somewhat poor decision to watch the latest episode of "Gossip Girls" until 4 am. Upon waking around 9:30 am, I lazed around, cleaned, organized, and then did a little shopping later in the day. That night, I saw "Rendition," a very good and disturbing movie that I recommend seeing.

Monday, I worked and went to Swedish class - one of my new favorite things. Tuesday, I worked and went to therapy and talked about eating, emotions, and this new book I've become fascinated by, "Feeding the Hungry Heart." It's in the self-help genre and all about the emotional reasons people (women mainly) overeat and/or binge. I picked it up for research/exploratory purposes, and became totally hooked. When I finish it, I think I'm going to pick up another book about binging, anorexia, or bulimia. Maybe not anorexia - I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Reading it, I feel a little like "Fight Club" when Marla and Tyler participate in a cycle of self-help groups as a way to deal with their own emotional issues. Of course, unlike Marla and Tyler, I'm not a totally disconnected observer - I have my own issues with eating and emotions and it's so interesting to be exploring them and learning about other people's stories and perspectives.

Getting back to the main thread of this post... I came out of therapy and was in the midst of checking my messages when I got a call from an unidentified number. Looking at it quickly, I thought it was a Utah number and assumed it was Bean calling so I clicked over. Guess who it was?

The Masked Priest! My, my, my. Not only did he call, he actually called to converse. What unexpected behavior for a man. Rather intriguing. We chatted for about half hour about all the basics - where do you live, what do you do, what did you do on Sunday, I liked your Halloween costume, etc. It was so pleasant because he was clearly interested in me and the conversation - quite a difference from the leagues of self-involved men I've encountered during the last year who can only talk about themselves in between trying to take off my clothes. After talking for a while - having a perfectly nice conversation - he asked me to do something next week. After we had agreed, tentatively on the day (pending me checking my schedule), he ended the conversation by saying he would call me around Sunday to touch base and wishing me a nice week.

Me thinks the Masked Priest might be kind of cool.

Here's the funny thing. I don't exactly know what his face looks like. I know what the bottom part of his face looks like, but I have no recollection whatsoever of his eyes or nose. When I meet him, I'm going to have to cover his eyes and nose with my palm to see if I can recognize him. Thank god he's significantly taller than most men in the city. And what about me? The last time he saw me, I had 2 feet of blond hair framing my face. If we recognize each other, and like what we see, it will be nothing short of amazing.

Even so, I'm looking forward to it. I love Halloween.

Halloween Costume

Here's what I think I'm being for Halloween (or, more accurately, for the Halloween parties this weekend):
I think it might just be the perfect mix of evil, slutty, fierce and creative. I might ever go so far as to get a blond wig which I think could come in handy for the future.

What are you all going to be?

Lady Waiting (Revisited)

On July 13, 2006, four months before EXBF and I broke up, I wrote the following post and then promptly deleted it after he freaked out at me for sharing "our issues." He felt that me writing about our problems was a violation of his privacy, and even though I felt like it was productive for me to express my feelings through writing about them, I acquiesced to his request, pulled the post, and refrained - for the most part - from writing about things that made me upset while I was with him.

One of the many things he never understood that what I was writing about was not just him. When I wrote this post I was writing about my feelings. I was working them out and I was also imagining that other women had probably had similar experiences, where the actions of their partners fell short of their expectations. I wasn't blaming him totally for this incident, or even for my feelings of hurt. I was exploring the situation and how it had made me feel and I was working out what I thoughts about it.

Reading it now, almost a year and a half later, I think I was far too kind to him - as I was many times. I was there; he wasn't. That was the problem. Not my sensitivity, but his lack thereof. And, beneath that, his lack of love. If you truly and honestly love someone, you treat them with care. You think about their feelings and happiness. You consider them. During most of our relationship, he consistently considered one thing, and it wasn't me. When he said he "didn't think," he didn't mean he didn't think. He meant he didn't think of me. I didn't get it then, but I do now. And, now, when I read this, I want to run back to that apartment, grab that girl that I used to be and help her start packing.

He never deserved her, and she always deserved a lot more. I just wish she had figured that out sooner...

Art found here.

It wasn't just twenty minutes.

It's that we didn't have any alone time together during the family vacation, and that I've worked like a dog for the last six days since coming back.

It's that during that time you went out with your friends, relaxed, and had fun while I sat at my desk and came home exhausted with no time for anything except crawling into bed and going to sleep.

It's that on Tuesday night at 9:30 pm you called me and asked if I minded if you went out for a late dinner with friends, which was thoughtful and sweet, and I had to tell you that I didn't because I was still sitting at my desk and could not have done anything with you, or anyone, even though I wanted to.

It's that when I asked you what time you would be home after your late dinner on Tuesday night, you said "twelve thirty or one," which made me angry because I thought to myself, is it really necessary go to a three-hour dinner?, and doesn't he realize that if he doesn't come home until 1 am, there's not even a chance that we'll see each other while we're both awake?

It's that I swallowed those feelings and got over them, and instead started looking forward to Wednesday night, a night that we have decided is supposed to be "our" night to enjoy one another, and to put each other first, above all other distractions.

It's that I told you how much I was looking forward to seeing you Wednesday night, and you told me the same, and that we agreed to be home at 8 pm sharp.

It's that we flirted and I told you in no uncertain terms that I was going to have two glasses of champagne after work and race home to be with you so that you could take advantage of me, and that we joked about the window of opportunity and our mutual excitement.

It's that during our flirting and joking, I said, "You're not going to make me wait, right?," and I was dead serious, and you said, "of course not."

It's that I was having fun talking with my work colleagues for once, while drinking my two glasses of champagne, but was keeping track of the time, and that I dropped everything, rushed out the door, and hopped into a cab, the moment I glanced down at my watch and saw that it was 7:45 pm.

It's that I called you from the cab feeling frisky and happy, missing you, and looking forward to seeing you in a few minutes but that you didn't pick up.

It's that three messages later, feeling disappointed, I walked into our apartment, which was quiet and dark, and you weren't there with candles and a bottle of wine waiting for me.

It's that it would have been okay if you were there, even without the candles and wine, because what I really wanted was you, but I couldn't even have that.

It's that when you called a little after 8 and told me that you were at the gym, it didn't seem like you realized that you should have been home when you said you were going to be home.

It's that when you finally came home at 8:25, you were sweaty from the gym and you sat down to eat a Cuban sandwich, neither of which made it appear as if the most important thing that night to you was me or getting close to me.

It's that I've seen you be on time for work, firm events, going to the gym, meeting your friends, and going to the movies, so know that you are capable of being on time when you want to be.

It's that I really, really wanted to be with you, and that I wanted you to want to be with me as much I wanted to be with you.

Emotional Purging (aka: My EXBF Was A Dick)

I'm reaching the one-year mark free from my EXBF and all of the selfish crap he used to do that made me completely miserable while I was with him. The official anniversary of him coming into the living room, sitting down on the chair and saying, "I just can't try anymore," is just around the corner, on November 9, 2007. Pretty exciting, right? I've decided to get all my girl friends together for wonderful weekend of drinking, dancing, manicures, and purging to celebrate. There may be some making out with random boys. Or not. New York is our oyster.

I've also decided to give myself permission to write about my feelings about him on this blog, or to talk about him - to the extent I want to - until November 9. After that, once the year is up, he's officially, 100% (in the words of JT) G-O-N-E. Finito forever. Now doesn't that have a nice ring to it?

For most of this year, when I thought about him (which thankfully has not been that often - Yay Me!), I haven't done all that much writing about him, mainly because he used to check the blog and it irked me that he could be reading my thoughts, thinking that he knew what was going on inside my head after reading just a smidgen. He never understood anything when we were together, and he most certainly wouldn't understand anything now. I knew that whatever I wrote about him, the only thing he would take from it was something along the lines of: She's not over me yet; I'm the greatest. Of course that's completely wrong. I was over him the second those words left his lips, and he most certainly is not the greatest. It's just taken me longer to sort out and move past my feelings for and about him, and how he treated me. It's also taken me a while to sort out how I feel about me for staying with someone who was such a dick (you may be hearing a fair amount of that during the next couple of weeks, only for therapeutic purposes).

I also haven't wanted to want to write because soon after breaking up, I felt like I should be totally over everything relating to that relationship. He was a dick, he made me sad, he broke up with me, I'm 10,000 times better off now than I was with him, so why would I be spending any energy on him reliving old feelings of sadness, hurt, tenderness, or anger? My friends all told me, He's irrelevant, Don't let him upset you, He's nothing, Move on. All good sentiments, all of which I have followed for the most part.

But, do you know what? There's a part of me that is still very hurt and very angry. It doesn't consume me; it just comes in flashes now and then when I'm forced to remember something. I'm OK with the angry part but I'm not OK with the hurt part of me, because I'm not totally OK with the fact that I let him hurt me. If no one can make you feel anything, then if you stay with them even while they're hurting you, then you must be letting them hurt you, right? I've mostly forgiven myself for that. I know that I was in a very vulnerable place when we got back together again and I know that I cared very deeply for him. Being vulnerable and caring very deeply for someone can both be beautiful things. However, they can also position you to be lacerated and chopped into tiny little pieces, which is what he did to me emotionally. What I'm most angry about is that he met me in a place of vulnerability, I gave him my trust, and he took my trust and buried it in a vat of slow-burning acid. It ate away at me bit by bit, until I had nothing solid left inside.

God, do I sound bitter? I don't think I am. For the last month, I was thinking a lot about this concept of forgiveness, thinking that I probably had to forgive him in order to let any residual negativity related to that relationship go. However, something happened over the weekend - a slut that he slept with while professing his love to me popped up on the edge of my social network - that made me tap in to my anger again. It was like a scab being ripped off, revealing some still tender skin. I'm sure there was pus too. I think that's what forgiveness would do, let the pus drain away.

On the other hand, I've never been a fan of letting pustules go their course naturally. I prefer to attack and pop the hell out of them so that the pus goes flying everywhere, never to return. That's how I started to think about anger this weekend - a force that clears away that pus. To be healing, I think anger has to be a specific type of anger. It can't be turned inward or be all consuming; it has to be energizing and empowering. I'm not consumed with anger. I'm happy and loving and was trying to be all zen about this - trying to focus on forgiveness. But, fuck it.

For the moment, I'm not forgiving him. He was an asshole. He treated my feelings and emotions with complete disregard. He didn't prioritize me or our relationship. He was not there when I needed him to be. He had inappropriately intimate relationships with scores of "female friends." He checked out women in front of me. He didn't make me feel loved or cared for or special. He slept with a pathetic slut while telling me he was still in love with me. He slept with that same pathetic slut a week before we got back together. He was a dick to the pathetic slut and just used her for sex (or so he said, but how knows). He made a mix tape of the worst summer of my life and then played it while we were on vacation. He almost never thought of me or my feelings. He always said things like, "I didn't think." Three weeks after I had moved in to his apartment, he wrote an email to one of the girls he had slept with in between us and told her that he still thought about her often and all the fun they had had together. He also told her that he was "trying to get back together with his ex" - keeping the door open after we had been back together for 5 months. I could go on.

But, I won't. Not right now. I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that I wrote any of that down. Isn't this a sign that I'm not as far along as I "should" be (by whose measure?)? On the other hand, I'm actively focusing on letting go, and I think that in order to let it go, maybe I first just have to allow myself to express this into the ether.

Blogsphere, Friends: My EXBF was an asshole. I loved him, but he was a dick. This scenario has happened to better women than me. There were things about him that were beautiful and times we had that were wonderful, but overall, he was just a selfish person who didn't have a lot to give outside of the bedroom.

Does it hurt me a little to say these things? These mean things about him? A little bit, which then makes me think maybe I shouldn't have said them at all. Maybe I'm calling negative energy to me by expressing these feelings? Whatever, I'm not second guessing it. I have about two weeks to purge my mind of all thoughts of him before he fades away permanently into nothingness.

I will end by saying I am unequivocally grateful that I was not with him during this past year. Being single and on your own has its challenges. It's hard sometimes to feel like you don't have someone special "there for you" (except for yourself, friends, and family - the saving graces). But, I learned from this last relationship that it's much worse to be in a relationship where you don't feel like there's anyone there for you, than to be single. Compared to that destructive emptiness, being single is a cakewalk.

One Grind At A Time

As many of you know, I've been trying to create the type of life that I want to have, one in which I feel in tune with myself and my ideals, where I nourish my soul and feed my passions, where I'm at peace in the present, balanced, and completely happy with me. It's harder than one would think. I date the beginning of this effort to around the time I eliminated two major causes of toxicity - a job and a boy - from my life. With those two negative elements pruned away, I was free to focus on making positive changes for me (many of which were kind of about rediscovering me), and that's what I started to do.

I found a new job that I really enjoy, built new friendships, and took a trip that I had been wanting to take for years. I tried a diet, started going to the gym more frequently, and opened myself up to new social experiences, dating, and enjoying this amazing city and all that it has to offer in the way of restaurants, clubs, museums, outdoor space, and, of course, shopping. Kidding (kind of). I assumed a new motto, which though not neatly encapsulated in any little phrase, is about living life in the present, trying to focus on being happy now, and making each moment the best that it can be. It's about making the changes that I want to make now, at once, and not waiting any longer to be who and what I want to be. A worthy goal.

Though I have accomplished a lot, there's still a lot I need to do. I'm still far away from where I want to be, and I don't know why. Attaining balance, for example, has proved elusive. I understand that many people, including yogis, struggle for years and entire lifetimes to attain a state of balance, and I recognize that I'm in good company in my current state of failure (or current state of partial success). However, I want it now, and it frustrates me that I haven't done a better job of reaching that point.

Part of it is the city. There's so much going on here all the time - much of it fantastic, pleasurable, and stimulating -it's hard not to feel stretched thin on a regular basis. Part of it is my job. I'm a lawyer for a large corporate law firm in New York. Even under the best of circumstances, working with the best people, it's stressful, and it's a challenge to make good choices to deal with that stress (such as yoga instead of happy hour). Part of it is being single. I'm on my own - along with my friends and family - in this journey at the moment; I don't have that sense of stability, security, or added strength that comes from being involved with a loving partner. I'm also dating, which with its ups and downs, uncertainties, doubts, and unknown future poses its own challenges, many of which, on occasion, pluck away at my best efforts to be wholly happy in the now.

I don't like that dating does that to me. I don't like that I'm the type of person who could have my center pricked and bruised and thrown off kilter by the unknowns of the dating world. As I think I've expressed before, I'd like to be impervious, invulnerable, and perfectly and absolutely one hundred percent happy in my singledom. I hate, loathe, and despise more than words could ever say that sometimes I feel like I'm missing something from the present by the mere fact that I'm not in a relationship. Ugh, did I just say that? I don't want to be that woman - the type of woman that needs a man to be happy. I know that I'm not that woman. But yet, I also know that I'm not completely 100% happy in my singledom, and I must admit that I think it would make me happy to fall madly in love with someone terrific. Or to go on a date with someone terrific. Or someone remotely interesting, for that matter.

I don't like nor want to get emotionally caught up in the dating thing. I realize that's a funny thing to say for someone who also says that she wants to fall in love, which would presumably involve the embroiling of emotions. That raises the question of whether I truly want to fall in love right now. Good question. The truth is that I just don't know.

No, that's not right.

The truth is that a part of me does not want to fall in love right now. I haven't yet attained in my singledom the life that I want for me. I want to fully maximize and appreciate this time when I'm on my own (and that's why it irks me that sometimes the pitfalls of dating make me blue). I want to make more of the changes that I've been trying to make forever. I'm sure your familiar with the litany by now: yoga, going to the gym regularly, meditating, being healthy, etc. I want to prune away the rest of the negativity, get my shit in order, fill up on positive elements, and make my life how I want it to be, now. Before some boy waltzes in and mucks things up.

This weekend, I took some much-needed me time and turned something that could have been negative and discombobulating into a positive wake-up call. I spent Saturday cleaning my room, sorting though piles of paper and boxes that I hadn't gone through since moving out of my Ex's place, getting rid of old clothes, and reorganizing. The end result was a far less cluttered bedroom that is actually quite cute and inviting now that a portion of the junk has been cleared away. Internally, I feel less cluttered as well. On Saturday night, I went out but kept my alcohol intake to one drink and then called it an early night (1:00 am) so that I could wake up refreshed on Sunday morning for yoga and church.

That's right. How much to I rock? I did yoga and went to church this morning, and I'm not even religious. I did yoga on my newly de-cluttered floor from a DVD that I had bought months ago but never opened. The DVD is called "Yoga For Happiness," and the guy who leads it is not only hot, but also really funny. His name is Eoin, and I think I just might make him my new imaginary boyfriend. To give you a taste of his sense of humor, while I was leaning into pigeon pose, Eoin said, "Feel the honey in your hip." Recall that pigeon is not the most comfortable pose to hold for more than a few seconds. He encouraged us to lean into it more, and while I summoning my energy and grimacing, he said, "it should feel good, like someone licking ice cream off of your body." What?? Bent over my knee, I burst out laughing and then easily leaned in to the pose more.

This is what I need more of in my life. Eoin. OK, fine, not him. Someone like Eoin? No, focus. I need yoga and other activities that give me something positive in return when I put my energy into them; activities that make me feel happy, healthy, grounded, and balanced. Things that cultivate and nourish the happiness that I have within me, and build a sense of security, peace, and satisfied joy. Visions of hot men licking ice cream off of my yoga-fied body are also perfectly acceptable.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that this weekend, though it started off with a little emotional dip, I managed to turn it into something really great and productive that ultimately made me feel balanced and happy - exactly what I've been striving for! Granted, it's how I feel now, and tomorrow may be a totally different story. But, for right now, I'm proud of me. Along with cleaning, yoga, and church I also bought a host of new kitchen appliances that I've been meaning to get for ages, including a super fancy blender and a programmable coffee-maker.

One of my dreams has been to become the type of person who has her life so together that she wakes up each morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and then sets out to face the day with her non-Starbuck's coffee-filled, eco-friendly, reusable mug in hand.

Sometimes it takes big changes to become the person you want to be. Other times it takes small ones. Tomorrow at 8:00 am, barring some technical malfunction, I will be just a tiny bit closer to becoming the me that I want to be. I can't wait.

For The Inquiring Minds

I had a nice time, but my date tried to hold my hand.

Ok, he did hold my hand. But, only for a minute until I could comfortably reach for my wine glass.

I have this thing about men being overtly affectionate on the first date. It weirds me out. Hand holding, cheek stroking, and other romantic, sweet, deliberate gestures that say "I like you and I want to be close to you," - instead of the more usual "I want to rip off your clothes" - when there's no way the former sentiment could have had time to develop.

I understand the latter sentiment and men who sleep with women on the first date. Although I'm not personally in to that, I generally understand why people do it and what they get out of it. When I'm faced with that, it's fairly easy to deal with. Either I say no, blow the guy off, or say yes. It's relatively simple when it's clear that it's just about sex and nothing more, and though it can make me feel many things, awkwardness is not one of them.

But, hand holding on the first date is a different matter, and it usually makes me feel super awkward. For me, holding someone's hand is about feeling a connection to them, genuinely liking them, and having a certain warmth for them, feelings that take more than a few hours to develop. When someone takes your hand when you're not expecting it, when you've basically only just met them, it's a little off-putting. It's like they're stepping too quickly across an emotional chasm that exists between two strangers for good reason.

Looking at my hand last night as it was being held by my date's hand, I felt like it was a strange thing disconnected from my body, like a dead fish. I was aware of feeling vaguely uncomfortable, even though the experience itself was fine. I mean, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with physical touching and affection. As a general matter, I'm quite affectionate. But, not on first dates, and not with people I don't know.

My brother Frey understands my feelings. He called today from London to see how I was doing. When I told him that my date had held my hand on our first date, he paused for a second to ponder it, and then said, "Weird."

It is weird.

Drink Time

I have a date tonight with a guy that I met last weekend while out with a bunch of my girl friends at Pravda. One of the girls in my group picked up my date and his friend as they were walking by on the street outside of the club, and they ended up hanging out with our group for the remainder of the night. While his friend was canoodling with one of my friends over vodka martinis, he and I started talking and then ended up dancing until 3:30 am at Vig Bar.

It's good to have proactive girl friends like that.

The evening ended with him walking me to a cab and asking for my number. A couple of days later, he emailed, then I emailed, then he called, then emailed, I emailed back, and ta-da, we have a date for this evening. We're meeting up around 8 pm for drinks. I think we might go to an outdoor place as it's beautiful out today, and it's probably one of the last days we'll have like this before summer fades away.

In terms of stats, he's a lawyer, but as I explained to my Dad, so are half the men in New York so it's a hard thing to avoid. He's also a few years older than me, a partner (gasp!), taller than me by a few inches (nice), and he appears to have a sense of humour along with being a friendly, decent guy. I think he also might be environmentally conscious - which would be a pleasant surprise - based on a comment that he made about riding his bike as a means of trying to limit the burning of fossil fuels on the weekend. It was cute; I liked it.

I think I'm looking forward to it. If nothing else, I'm sure it will be fun and it will be nice to be outside. Worst case scenario, I'll leave after a drink and resume watching Season 1 of Heroes on DVD. I can't wait for next week's season premier!

The Man For Me

What type of man do I really want?

That's the question I've been pondering since my most recent match.com date last night. I seem to be of two minds on this question. On the one hand, I want a man who is not superficial, not materialistic, sensitive, socially aware, intelligent, a bit of an intellectual, and someone who appreciates books. I'd also like him to be progressive, liberal, and a bit artsy (by "artsy" I mean something other than a lawyer with no outside interests). Stereotypical traditional men need not apply.

Or, so I was thinking until last night.

My date was a 34-year old European-American with a background in theater and film. Good age, check. Interesting background, check. Cultured, check. Decent job, check. We had good conversation about law, America's obsession with designer handbags, travelling, music, the challenges of supporting oneself through public interest work, and the dark underbelly of non-profits. He's tall (6'4"), blond, and relatively good-looking (with the exception of one errant tooth - but the Europeans aren't as into braces as Americans so you kind of have to let that slide) . He also seemed considerate, like a good listener, and over all like a decent, interesting guy.

The problem?

No chemistry. Not a flicker.

Instead, while he was talking about fashion, I was musing to myself that he might be gay (which didn't make sense because no gay man in New York would have been caught dead in his multi-colored shirt). I decided he wasn't gay, and that he was just European and artsy, but then we started talking about sports.

He, like me, hates sports. Readers of this blog have heard me express my disdain of sports on numerous occasions. You've heard me talk about how my EXBF inflicted Michigan Football upon me against my will (and also chose it over me on many occasions), and you've heard me complain how wretched it is to come home to my apartment to find Sven glued to the TV watching one sports show after another, day after day. In light of this history, one would think that my date's dislike of sports would have been a plus in his favor, right?

Wrong. Instead - and I swear this is true - when he said he hated sports and never watched football, I viscerally became less attracted to him than I had been up to that point in the evening. What's wrong with me? His comments struck me as effeminate and slightly suspicious. Did I just call a guy effeminate? That is not the type of reaction an ardent feminist who vehemently believes in the abolishment of traditional gender roles should have. I say again, what's wrong with me??

It's true that as a general rule I'm not a fan of sports. But, I'll admit (just to you) that I've enjoyed, on occasion, curling up with a boy while he's watching sports, even if that sport was Michigan Football (there's a lot I'll do as long as I'm being continuously petted). I've enjoyed the back and forth that comes with having different interests and bargaining over what he'll do for me if I do something nice for him, like snuggle with him while he watches a game. I think boys are kind of cute when they get all riled up about a team, as long as they're not choosing sports over you or planning their activities around sports every minute of the day. I also really appreciate getting an occasional dose of this and this.

The idea of a man not liking sports at all strikes me as a little strange. Or not even strange, per se. It's actually worse than that. It strikes me as ... not sexy. Right, because beer guts and Superbowl parties are so sexy. Clearly, I have a lot of ambivalence about this and need to process.

But, getting back to my date. I definitely had a negative reaction in response to learning that he did not like sports. It was the last straw that made my body (or my gut?) say, "Oh, we can't like this type of man." This happened despite actually enjoying this male's company.

And that's the thing that's got me atwitter. If on the one hand I'm actively looking for men that are atypical men, but on the other hand turned off by qualities shared by those same men, we're going to have a problem. I'm going to be single for life!

In actuality, both my body and my mind know what they want. They want a man who is traditionally masculine on the outside but sensitive on the inside. That man does not have to like sports. But, he does have to know how to pet me...

...along with being socially aware, sensitive, a bit of an intellectual, progressive, cultured, considerate and emotionally available.

Is that so much to ask?

Slightly Envious of Sleeping Beauty

How quickly things change: Three weeks ago my biggest obsessions of the moment were random boys that I was sort of dating and the whole nutritionist-weight-loss-rebellion debacle. For the last two weeks, work has eclipsed all of that. I find myself longing for the days when I had nothing more than food and boys to plague my dreams.

I still like my new job about 10,000 times better than my old job, and it is rewarding enough and the late nights are relatively infrequent enough to make it worth it for now. But, be that as it may, I have been getting killed at work. My sleep is suffering, and when my sleep suffers, I suffer. My little jaunt to Fire Island and the world of everlasting college-dom, drinking games, and raucous partying did not help matters. And, I just found out yesterday - 6 hours after booking a flight to visit my friend Wood over Labor Day weekend - that I have to fly to California this weekend for work instead. I was so looking forward to chilling in D-Town with Wood and her family, but alas, no break for me at the moment.

Despite the busy work schedule, I'm squeezing in another match.com date tomorrow evening. My first match.com date went remarkably well. The guy was friendly, fun, and entertaining. We talked a lot about music and shows and very little about work - amazing as we're both corporate lawyers and work's often all corporate lawyers have to talk about. He also taught me two random things, one of which was that the northern part of Texas is called "the panhandle" because it looks like a Panhandle!! Who knew! I can't remember the other random thing, but it was interesting at the time.

A funny thing happened on the way to the bathroom when I was crossing a stretch of heavily polished floor, thankfully out of sight of our table: I totally bit it. My heel slid on the glossy floor and I landed flat on my back in the middle of the hotel lobby (we had met at a hotel bar for drinks) surrounded by a crowd of milling gawkers, none of whom offered me their hand. I'd had three drinks so it was no easy matter rebalancing myself and getting back up on the slick surface. Yikes. I was still laughing about it by the time I got back to our table.

Tomorrow night, I'm meeting another guy from match.com for a drink after work at a place near where we both work. He sounds smart, interesting, and relatively normal. He's also bi-cultural (one European and one American parent - like me!) and 6' 4". Very nice. Overall he seems like a nice guy, so I'm almost - but not quite - looking forward to it. One can't get too crazy about these things, as I learned several weeks ago when one of the match.com boys cancelled on me 4 hours before the date! Hmph.

I'm headed to bed now to get my beauty sleep, and I'm crossing my fingers that work goes relatively smoothly tomorrow.

I'm starting to feel like I need a vacation!

Date Antidote For Chocolate Addicted Personality Disorder ("CAPD")

Wow, thanks for all the support and great ideas about my apartment! I can see that the black mold really freaked y'all out. Me too! You guys truly are the best. I love and appreciate all of your comments so much. Thank you!! Candyminx, I'm totally buying a mini-pedicure tub. Awesome idea.

* * *

This past weekend was so-so. It limped by on Saturday, owing in part to the fact that I completely and catastrophically BINGED Friday night and was still in a food coma and too ill to rouse myself into action on Saturday. OK, so it wasn't "catastrophic." I mean that's being a little dramatic. It was however 12 fudgsicles, some cottage cheese, blueberries, and a pile of cherries. Twelve Fudgsicles! And you thought eight was bad!!

Actually, after just re-reading that post, I, err, don't think I even told you I had eaten 8 in an earlier binge. Dang it. Well, the truth is out now. As I said, fudgsicles should come with a warning label. A huge one, similar to the skull and cross bones that the Senator in "Thank You For Smoking" wanted to put on the front of cigarette packages. Except the skull and cross bones should be an obese person who is at least 800 pounds, like a "Feedie," who has sacks of flesh hanging down their legs pooling around their ankles. Or better yet, that naked guy from the Borat movie who rolled around the bed with Borat and gave me an image of what some men look like that I'm still trying in vain to forget.

So... I binged and I don't know why. I had had a great week, a good day, and had just come from seeing the Bourne Ultimatum with Em (it was AWESOME by the way). Life was good, I was craving something sweet, and after foregoing my usual junior mints at the movies I felt like I deserved something sweet. I was feeling so good and strong that I conned myself into thinking that I could handle buying a box of fudgsicles and eating just one.

Hah! I showed Me! To Me's horror, I ate the whole box. That'll show Me next time she thinks about tempting us like that. Humph.

... But, that's not the whole truth. It's the truth, but it's not the whole truth. The whole truth is that in addition to feeling happy and good about myself, I was also feeling just the slightest bit ... discouraged about other things in my life. I was feeling a tad blue. It was Friday night, I was home by 12:30 am, had no one to snuggle with, my friends were all going out of town for the weekend, and me with no date for Saturday night. Need I say more? It's funny how your feelings can ping-pong around so rapidly from one day to the next, or maybe that's just me?

Anyway, why did I not leave town with my friends, you ask? Why did I not have a date for Saturday night? In response to the first question, I could have left the city and gone to the Hamptons or out to Long Island but I didn't want to. Instead, I wanted to stay in the city, get some good rest, and go running in Central Park both days. I was really tired from last week and needed to chill. I also didn't want to eat a lot of junk, and I didn't want to get trashed. My intentions were pure, productive, and positive. It's in the actions that everything fell apart.

Now, on to the second question, the date-less issue. I suppose there are many reasons why a relatively good-looking and fairly spectacular human being like myself would not have a date on a Saturday night. I mean, I'm only in this boat with thousands of fantastic women all over New York (and the rest of the country). A lot of the reasons have to do with the fact that this 32-year old has standards, isn't into meaningless hook-ups, divides men into the kissable and non-kissable category and in the past has only gone out with the former, refrains from dating cocky male-chauvinist pigs, and would rather be alone then spend her time with someone she wasn't interested in.

Putting those reasons aside, the two other main reasons I didn't have a date last Saturday night were that (1) I had been putting my dating energy into texting with a dashing though unavailable 42-year old who's currently living in California, and (2) I had refrained from seriously considering going out with anyone from Match.com, mainly because all of the internet prospects were dull, old, totally incompatible, or not cute at all (and I was crushing on IP - the dashing 42-year old).

Now that I've dragged you through this tortured post about binging and boys, allow me to leave you with something positive. This week, I decided things were going to be different. I am not going to be a slave to my ping-ponging emotions, and I am not going to drown my sorrows in fudgsicles, at least not for another month. Instead, I resolved this afternoon that this was the week that I was going to go on a date with some lucky gentleman from Match.com. Yep, this week's the week.

As of two hours ago, I had 2 dates set up, one for tomorrow night, and the second one for Friday, and I'm angling for a third. The best part of all of this is that all three guys, at least from their pictures, emails, and profiles seem cute, interesting, and relatively cool. Maybe they do exist in cyberspace?

Take that fudgsicles! Take that Me! We're going on 2 dates, maybe 3. You're sneaky, but even you couldn't find the time to binge on that schedule.

Zenning Out

If you're sick of me talking about dating, skip this post. If you're not, read on!

As of today, I'm adopting a new aspirational goal in terms of my dating philosophy: I am going to be zen about dating. Zen, zen, zen. From here on out, Buttercup + Dating = ZEN!! (Imagine a chorus of red-robed monks raising their voices to the heavens and crying zeeeeeeeeennnnnn in perfect chanting harmony).

I know a lot of you are shaking your heads incredulously at what you no doubt imagine will be a fleeting sentiment on my part. You're aware of my penchant for over-analyzing everything, for parsing texts and spoken words, for agonizing over the possible meanings behind a delayed call or text back, and for constantly pondering the meaning behind the smallest actions or omissions.

It's true, I'm guilty as charged of all of those things. Although those are all facets of my personality, and in fact part of my considerable charm, I'm personally sick of the knots in my stomach, I'm sick of the worrying, and I've decided that the over-analyzing MUST END. It's either this, or I get out of the dating game now and resign myself to a life of spinsterhood (which frankly, when compared to the knots in my stomach looks quiet peaceful and appealing).

Now, in terms of what it means to be "zen" in dating, as this is a new concept for me, I'm still figuring that out (and I'm open to ideas). For starters, I'm going to try to channel my thoughts into the now instead of worrying about possible future repercussions of this that or the other [insert dating issue]. I'm also going to try to focus less on how the male in question might be perceiving things, and more on what I want in the present. I'm going to try to have faith that all of this will work out eventually, and focus on having fun in the present.

How's that for a philosophy? What's your dating philosophy? (Or, for you taken types, what was your dating philosophy?)

Art found here.

In The Dark

The problem with the whole dating thing is that, at least in the beginning, neither party knows what's going on in the other's mind. If you don't know the person from school, work, or through friends, there's no social context to ground your impressions and interpretations of the person. Instead, you have to go off of limited interactions to try to get a true sense of who the person is. Your impression of those limited interactions are further colored by your own expectations, your past personal experience, and your own set of generalizations, assumptions, and biases which all come together to create a lens through which you experience the other person.

I try to view each new person that enters my life as a chance to learn and grow, and I believe in the idea that things, people, and ideas are sent to you for reasons, such as to provide opportunities to learn certain lessons. I guess my concern is that I wonder if I've learned the lessons I was supposed to learn from past relationships, or if the universe continues to send me the same "opportunities" cloaked in different forms? I'd like to think I had learned my past lessons, had become wiser, and was no longer going to make the same mistakes, but I'm not sure about that and that uncertainty makes me nervous.

A mistake I've made in the past is to fall for unavailable men. By unavailable, I don't mean married, I mean unavailable emotionally. Men who are limited emotionally, or who simply have other priorities that take precedence over caring for someone other than themselves. Not all of the men that I've dated, nor even most of them have been like that. However, it's been a reoccurring theme that I've noticed in my past relationships that came out most starkly in my most recent one. I don't want to set myself up to become involved with another emotionally unavailable man, but I'm not sure I trust myself fully to see the signs of unavailability (especially because, try as I might to resist, I have a penchant for strong, traditionally masculine types). I certainly missed the signs in the past, so it seems possible that I could miss them again.

On the other hand, so what if I miss them? What's the worst that could happen? I could feel disappointment and hurt again, but I've already experienced that and I know I can handle it. I guess my worry goes beyond any fear of temporary disappointment or hurt; it's about being caught in a cycle and failing to progress. It's a fear of failing to learn lessons, more than a fear of the consequences of each of those failed lessons.

Unfortunately, in order to learn lessons, in order to progress, you have to take risks. Unless you give someone a chance, you don't know whether they will turn out to be unavailable or not. You don't know about their capacity for selflessness or caring. You don't know, for example, whether they've decided to be a bachelor for life and whether the time they're spending with you is destined to be nothing more than a fleeting affair...

Dating, and more specifically the uncertainty attendant to dating, is nerve-wracking. It would help things out considerably if we could read each other's souls - not minds because minds can be fickle things - but our souls because they expose our true selves. Then we could figure out before we even begin whether the risks outweigh the benefits.