Category: Dating

In the Playoff Games of Love, I’m totally Billy Cundiff

On By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, Love1 Comment
It was a 32 yard field goal for love and I missed.

Sometimes, I feel like an a-hole. Like a few weeks ago on that first date. Enter seasonal sports analogy: Team Kathleen was in the playoff game for love and I was the team’s equivalent of Billy Cundiff. That’s right, I was the kicker who only had 32 yards to a game-winning field goal but MISSED. Yea, this was the date that was going to put me in the SuperLoveBowl and I had just kicked wide and had to go home without getting to play for the “championship” ring.

There’s nothing more disappointing than sitting across from someone you think could be “it” and feeling like you’re just not on your A-game. It turns into an almost outer-body experience where you get to watch yourself plummet faster and faster, but can’t seem to come to your own rescue.  My heart kept bouncing back and forth between my stomach and my throat – had it been only a flutter, I might have been able to get it under control and build myself a life raft. Instead, I found myself head under water, drowning in flatly-told stories and saying “all-the-wrong-things.”

Somewhere between the sandwich and the dessert menu, I sighed with the thought that “this just isn’t going to amount to anything.”

The walk to my next destination might as well have been a walk along the green mile.

The farewell walk might as well have been a walk along the green mile. He had been thoughtful enough to accompany me to my next destination, but I almost wished he had shown less chivalry. Mediocrity is exhausting, and I was plum worn out from three hours being a mediocre date.  I needed to walk briskly, add a few extra blocks to my trek and let the winter air numb an already aching heart.

The good-bye was awkward enough that, if I tried really hard, I could find a glimmer of hope that not all was lost. But I knew better. As I made my way home later that evening, I resigned to what would become the reality – he would evaporate as quickly as he had appeared.

Love really is a game. Luckily, I’ve been an athlete my whole life, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned on the sports field that’s also applicable to the quest for love it’s this: there’s always another season to be played, which means there’s always another chance for victory… that is, as long as you’re not too quick to throw in the towel.

When You’re Having a Bad Dating Week Just Don’t Read “He’s Just Not that into You”

On By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, Love, New York City, relationships2 Comments
Jack Berger was my favorite S&TC boyfriend... even if he was insecure and emotionally handicapped

I’ll never forget the first time I saw that episode of Sex & the City where Jack Berger (incidentally, my favorite of Carrie’s emotionally inadequate boyfriends) bursts Miranda’s bubble with the simple phrase “He’s just not that into you.” The scene struck a chord as I had recently tired to tell a good girlfriend exactly the same thing:

“Listen, Jess, he took the evil red-headed stick figure actress to his office party. And the book signing. And dinner. He’s not dating you. He just d0esn’t, ya know, like you.”

Albeit, my phrasing was perhaps a big meaner. But frankly, we had consumed so many bottles of sake that she didn’t pay much attention to my solo shake-up in a chorus of “He’s totally waiting for the right moment to tell you he loves you.”

Gag me with a spoon.

Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy claims: “A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.” I’ve never been one of those girls. But that doesn’t mean that once in a rare, rare while, I haven’t found myself face-to-face with a man who ignites daydreams of the possible. Once in a rare, rare while, this pragmatic romantic loses the pragmatic and becomes a full-fledged romantic.

I think the post-it notes say it all...

And it was one of these rare, rare moments that sent me running to the book that came out of that Sex & the City episode, that book “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I had bought it to give to my aforementioned friend. I kept it instead. She clearly had no intentions to read it anyway.

The writers confirmed my intuitions — his lack of follow-up to our enjoyable early dates were sign that he wasn’t interested enough. The reasons were irrelevant, all that mattered was he didn’t like me as much as I had liked him. Ouch.

The book may have been right on some points, but it was wrong to tell me not to chase a little. Years later, when he was on to someone else, he confessed:

“I didn’t think you were that interested. If you had called, I absolutely would have seen you again.”

Some women are barracudas -- flashy fighters worthy of a trophy mount

New York is a man’s world when it comes to dating — this was a conclusion a male friend and I came to not so long ago over coffee. In NYC, an accomplished man with taste and half-way decent looks is the fisherman that doesn’t have to drop a line into the water to catch a fish. The fish just jump into the boat.

In a sea full of well-educated, well-dressed, good-looking fish, a man has options. Some of those women are barracuda — flashy fighters worthy of a wall mount. Which means sometimes, if you don’t want to lose out on a happily ever after, you have to get in the game and hop into that boat.

Women Can Have a Graduate Degree or Love, but Not Both?

On By KathleenIn Career, Dating, Love3 Comments

Back at the end of December, the New York Times ran an article on women and post-graduate education. The piece, written by Catherine Rampell and entitled “Instead of Work, Younger Women Head to School,” offered me no new news — effectively, all of my female friends have gone on to receive/pursue Masters, Doctorates, or their equivalents within the 5 years since we graduated college, while only two of my male friends has decided to return to school for an advanced degree outside of the medical variety.

My MA degree represents more than more schooling -- it represents cultivated interests.

The article presented some interesting statistics but some pretty traditional explanations for the reasons why, in this particular economic climate, women might be more inclined to return to school than men.

Moments after skimming the piece, I got an email from Columbia’s Art History Department announcing a post-doc program at Duke. The following line was bolded in red:

Particular focus is on fields in which women and minorities are under-represented.

In all the studies Ms. Rampell cited, she forgot to look at the number of scholarships/grants set aside specifically to serve women who choose to pursue education beyond the college level.

I’m not going to find the numbers for you. You’re a grown up. You can google. I have bigger fish to fry…

The day after the article ran, I got an email from a friend pointing me to a Gwaker response:

“Women be schooling! [Pause for laughter.]…Which, ironically, only isolates them further from the majority of men in the dating pool, leaving them to fight over the relatively scarce (and concomitantly self-entitled) educated men of their age.”

I wish Mr. Gwaker was wrong, but here’s thing:

A graduate degree represents more than a few more years of schooling. It represents cultivated interests and a self-awareness of what things, beyond shelter, food and an income, are really important to you.

Once upon a time, I may have been happy with a Hendrix-loving sporty type, but now, I need someone who enjoys spending afternoons here too.

Mr. Gwaker, like the woman who told me “you’ll never find a husband, half the men aren’t good enough for you, the other half will think you’re too good for them,” you’re tragically onto something.

When I graduated from college, I would have been content saying “I do” to a sporty Wall Street type with a dog and a predilection for striped shirts and Jimi Hendrix. An MA, PhD application, and several curating attempts later, I realize he also needs to enjoy museum-going and have the “intellectual bandwidth” to discuss the merits of Braque vs. Picasso over coffee shortly there after.

The dating pool is a lot smaller for me than it was a few years ago.

So yes, splashing around in the dating pool is harder for me now than it was 4  years ago. It’s a tall order to ask for a literary, sporty, artsy, humorous, dog-loving outdoorsman with good taste in music, a joy for cooking, a sophisticated sense of style and a stable career… who likes you back.

But I’m reasonably optimistic… mostly, because I know that if all else fails, I’ve at least got my glorious gaggle of fellow over-educated females who’ll join me at MoMA for the Diego Rivera murals.

Take that, Mr. Gawker.

This Year, I Resolve to Become a Giant’s Fan

On By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, New York City6 Comments
aww poor Packers. haha NOT!

The Giants made the playoffs. And then they beat the Green Bay Packers. As a New York sports fan generally speaking, I know this was excellent news.

“The Gaints? That’s the team Eli Manning plays for, right? The ones in blue?” I shyly asked my friend Sarah, a diehard G-Men fan (apparently, diehard Giants fans call the Giants “G-Men”… a nickname that, if you ask me, sounds a lot like a bad Vegas boybandesque act…regardless, this was one of many things I’ve learned about football this weekend.)

“That’s a shame,” I replied. “Tom Brady is so dreamy.”

Tom Brady makes me want to be a football fan. Oh! If only he was one of the "G-Men"

I’ve never been a football fan. As the daughter of a former international rugby player, I grew-up believing real men don’t wear helmets and that real games are organic, ever-moving team endeavors. However, in 2012, I resolve to become a football fan… and here’s why:

Men dig girls who dig sports. And being a one-season sports fan is limiting…

“You follow baseball!?!”

The guy standing across from me on the Metro-North train couldn’t believe the suburban-bound girl in the  red heels and low-cut blouse was a die-hard Yankees fan. I couldn’t believe the handsome youngish-looking  guy lived in suburbgatory.

“Common, man! I have the MLB app!”

I quickly whipped-out my phone to prove it. The background picture of Jorge, my traveling Yankee garden gnome, only confirmed that I was legit.

We chattered back and forth for a few stops. He had just come from Yankee stadium and had watched our team loose a tragic game to the Rays, 1-5. I had just come from dinner in the West Village. He was slightly drunk and eager to convince me to skip my stop.

“It’s getting close to Fantasy Football time,” he eventually said. “I’ve just updated my NFL app.”

As he moved to pull out his iPhone, I sighed.

“Sorry. I don’t follow football.”

“You were a 10. I’ve just downgraded you to an 8.”

To me, an 8 rating was still pretty flattering, fantastic even, if not a bit inflated. I shrugged. It was my stop, and so, to much protestation, I bid him good night.

This is, like, totally gonna be me come next football season.

The baseball season is a long way off, the Rugby World Cup has come and gone and I’m now forced to take my pom-poms and move on to another season.

I’ve never cared for basketball. It’s just not one of those sports I can get behind with any sort of enthusiasm, feigned or genuine. I grew up the daughter of a Canadian, so hockey seems the most natural winter sport fit. The problem is I root for the Vancouver Canucks.

Luckily, I have a week to go shopping and start researching. If I’m going to watch the Giants take on the San Fransisco 49ers at a sports bar next weekend, I’d better have my number 10 jersey broken in, my NFL app loaded, my football lingo ready on the tip of my tongue, and my player stats uploaded to the little grey cells. Because this rookie QB is throwing for a touchdown…

The Hazards of Online Dating In a Suburban City

On By KathleenIn Dating, Mr. Right, New York City1 Comment
Am I the Samantha Jones of suburbia? No... not exactly... but I do love a good cosmo.

“Does this mean you’re officially the Samantha Jones of Westchester?”

If only she was referring to that time a Vanity Fair editor told me I was a young Kim Cattrall!

Instead, that was my best friend’s response to an email — the exclamation point to a series of stories — referencing an awkward encounter in an elevator with an artist my gallery recently decided to represent.

“That would imply I’ve slept with every unmarried man in suburbia,” I replied. “I haven’t slept with them — I’ve just met them on OkCupid.”

Donnie’s email was the last in a string of run-ins with local guys the world of WWW dating suggested I fall in love with. When I had been matched with a good-looking artist who recently moved into the neighborhood, I was obviously tickled pink. Even better, he happened to be a sculptor and I happened to be coordinating a sculpture exhibition. The opportunity to meddle in both business and pleasure could not be missed, and so I sent an introductory email — a rare act of self-pimping.

Immediately upon hitting send, I forgot I’d ever read his profile.

And then, this week, my guest curator announced the addition of a new artist to the roster for our summer exhibition. A meeting and tour of our space was scheduled. The artist made his appearance.

“Gosh, he looks familiar!” I thought as I attempted the requisite pleasantries in the elevator (it’s so good to have you on board! The exhibition really needs your aesthetic… etc).

"Gosh! Why does he look like I'm about to steal his wallet?!" Yea, it was an awkward elevator moment

“Gosh! He looks like he’s afraid I might steal his wallet.”

The next day — the email came with all the answers.

“I recognized you from OkCupid. Sorry, I saw your message but I’m seeing someone. I’d be happy to go for a hike or meet for coffee as friends some time.”

As uncomfortable as it was reading that email in the office, my real-life encounter with Donnie was the least awkward of all similar encounters. Sean was the nice real estate agent I eventually began exchanging text messages with. We found each other during my job’s peak season and I was frequently cancelling our scheduled rendez-vous. Eventually, the inevitable happened — we met standing in line at Starbucks. He was less than cordial.

Thanks to online dating, I can no longer buy coffee from the Starbucks across the street from my office, go to the movie theater a block away or order tostones from the Puetro Rican restaurant around the corner. All of these places are frequented by the men I’ve either asked out, been asked out by or been on a date with. Westchester is not a small county, but the number of single men under the age of 40… well, that is a relatively small number, and apparently, they all know my name.

“I guess it’s better to be the Samantha Jones of suburbia than a Desperate Housewife.”

Only a best friend could say something like that and live to order another cup of coffee.

I guess when it comes to suburban dating, it's better to be a Samantha Jones than a Desperate Housewife... for now...

We Had Dinner. We Kissed. Now What?

On By KathleenIn DatingLeave a comment

It wasn’t just a random hook-up. They had met through a Friend. Spoken on the phone. Gathered for dinner. Caught a movie. And made out in the parking lot like a couple of wayward teenagers.

He told her she was amazing. They agreed it had been a fun night and stared into each other’s eyes with clear intent. She turned to make her far-too-early departure, but not before he planted one more kiss and said:

"Soon" is non-specific. How soon is soon? 72 hours later or 5 months later?

“Let’s get together again soon.”

Recounting the date over brunch with her girlfriends, this was the phrase that raised all our eyebrows, hers included. “Soon” is non-specific, and we all tacitly confessed to having done it before — met someone (an old friend, a new friend, a recent date) and said “let’s get together soon,” with plans to avoid a follow-up.

Over the course of the last year, I’ve run the full gamut of date follow-up possibilities – from the guy who calls tomorrow because he can’t wait to see me again to the guy who stays in touch, but waits 5 months before suggesting a second rendez-vous.

Both blooming relationships faded away. But I’ll confess, the boy who sent me the “So rarely does a woman meet my expectations, let alone exceed them…You’re wonderful… are you free next weekend?” was the boy more likely to win my heart than the one who took 20 weeks after our first kiss to ask me to dinner.

More often than not, we walk away from a first date with a certain ambivalence. We had a nice time, but we’ve yet to make a decision about what’s next. He had a great sense of humor, but can he be serious? He had nice eyes, but do you really want to take his shirt off?

When it's more than a kiss, it's more than an stamp of approval -- it's a slobbery promise.

Sometimes, to help us make a decision, we need a nudge. A kiss at the end of a night is supposed to be a good sign — things went well, the attraction is mutual, here’s a stamp of approval. When it’s more than a kiss, it’s more than a stamp of approval. It’s a kind of slobbery promise that there will be a next time.

But more than a kiss followed by a “let’s get together again soon” or “…one of these days” and well, the scale hasn’t been tipped in favor of a round 2.

When you’re out there playing the game for love rather than lust, both sexes need to take some Jane Austen advice to heart: “In nine cases out of 10, a woman had better show more affection than she feels… he may never more than like her, if she does not help him on.”

Frankly, a “soon” doesn’t help me on.

Next, please!