Anchors Away: We all have a type

On July 31, 2013 By KathleenIn Dating, LoveLeave a comment

These days, it takes a sailor or two to rock this boat... — These days, it takes a sailor or two to rock this boat…

Whether we want to admit it or not, we all have a type.

Tall + Dark + Handsome.

Architects.

Blonde hair + blue eyes.

Drummers.

For most women, it’s the wrong guy. For me, it’s sailors…

It used to be cowboys. Macho, wild-bull-wrangling types who lived by a creed and by their own making. Men with stetsons who wore their jeans like they were poured into them.

Yum.

This was mostly the result of what I can only define as my “John Wayne Phase” — a period in my life when I’d abandoned romantic comedies (I mean, how many times can you really watch Knotting Hill?) and turned to westerns. I queued up classics like The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and contemporary remakes like 3:10 to Yuma (did I mention I was also going through a Russel Crowe phase… which I’m still in…) I even went so far as to stage a version of Othello set in the wild west. (Did you know I once wanted to be a screen-writer/director?)

As a result of this phase, I can single-handedly outfit the entire cast of Dead Wood.

But eventually, like Paul Cole* I came to ask: where have all the cowboys gone?

A light bulb went off: with the exception of the “supply-buying” round of Oregon Trail, they were never in New York.

Enter Fleet Week.

He mistook my RL Crest for my sailing club... I probably should have lied, but then I might have drowned... — He mistook my RL Crest for my sailing club… I probably should have lied, but then I might have drowned…

“So what club do you sail with?”

The question came from a tall, blonde, exceedingly handsome lawyer from New Zealand who was a good friend’s older brother.

“The Ralph Lauren Yacht Club.”

He had seen the crest on my blazer, and assumed I raced sailing vessels. He did. And that was kinda hot.

Shiver me timbers…

I did not race sailboats. I was simply embarking on my nautical wardrobe phase.**

I grew up around boats. Mostly speed boats and kayaks, but I had heard stories about my parents as a young, married couple learning to sail in Vancouver harbor.

This always appealed to me — the idea of working together to navigate around troubled waters… or to buried treasure. It certainly felt like a more appropriate metaphor for life than taming a wild mustang.

There’s that and then there’s the romanticism of the man at sea coming home to his loyal girl. A sort of Penelope and Ulysses. And then there’s the Navy uniform…

Yea, it’s really just about the uniform.

A girl is always a sucker for a man in a sailor's hat — A girl is always a sucker for a man in a sailor’s hat

*”This Fire” was one of the defining albums of my teenage years, along with Globe Sessions and Jagged Little Pill — both of which still have at least one song on every playlist I create…

**Apparently, the choices I make when I shop are completely analogous to the choices I make when I date (let’s not get me started on my “hippy” summer…)

Apparently my wardrobe choices and my taste in men go hand in hand... — Apparently my wardrobe choices and my taste in men go hand in hand…

An additional note:

My favorite Jane Austen hero is Captain Wentworth, from her final novel Persuasion. Not coincidentally, Wentworth raised himself from meager beginnings by distinguishing himself in the Royal Navy, where he eventually became, well, a Captain… and the object of every gal’s affection. Duh. Anne Elliot is the Austen heroin I most relate to. Over the decades, there have been several excellent screen adaptations of the novel… most recently starring Mi-5’s (or Spooks, for all you UK folks) Rupert Penry Jones as Captain Wentworth… swooooooooon. This might actually explain it all.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not: Considering a Romantic’s Romantic Past

On July 28, 2013 By KathleenIn Dating, romance2 Comments

All it takes is a rose to answer the question: does he like me? It's more complicated than that... — All it takes is a rose to answer the question: does he like me? It’s more complicated than that…

Oh! How many flowers have lost their rosy petals in an attempt to answer a simple question: am I the apple of his eye?

He loves me.

(petal down)

He loves me not.

(another petal down)

You can learn a lot of things from the flowers, Alice taught us when she fell down the rabbit hole. So surely if the falling petals tell you so, he must love you.

Not so fast…

I used to cheat. My flowers always told me exactly what I wanted them to. Somehow, whether I’d count the decapitated stem or count the petals ahead so I could “accidentally” pull off two petals at once, I’d always land on “he loves me.”

Of course, he rarely did. But when you’re young and your eyes are blinded by infatuation, you’re always optimistic.

Staying an optimist when you’re older: Or, enter “It’s complicated”

As I was deadheading my rosebushes this afternoon, I flashbacked to playground crushes and flowers as Magic 8 Balls shedding light onto my romantic fate. It occurred to me that whenever I respond with an “it’s complicated” to an inquiry into my relationship status, I was employing the grown-up equivalent of cheating at the “he loves me/he loves me not” game.

Let me explain: saying “it’s complicated” is giving yourself a sense of hope that eventually it’ll all work out. “It’s complicated” is the optimist’s definition of an enigmatic, most likely dead-end relationship.

This realization occurred to me when “the one that got away” magically resurfaced after years of silence. For the first time since he was in my life, I was finally able to evaluate what we were without a biased heart.

For a long time, I defined our relationship to outsiders and even our friends as “complicated.” When I say complicated, what I really mean is that we were close friends, I liked him and wanted more from our relationship. We never talked about our fate or our feelings, in fact we avoided talking about those things even though everyone around us tried to instigate a happily ever after. For months, nay, years I believed we were teeter-tottering on the edge of “something.”

In my mind I had attached an “it’s complicated” status to us because it kept the possibility of an Us open. We weren’t complicated. We wanted different things. And while I waited for him to get on the same page (because, of course that was going to happen), I missed out on a few good, uncomplicated men.

Here is a basic truth: Relationships can be complicated, but feelings are not.

I’ll probably never really stop being an optimist when it comes to love — I’ll never stop cheating at the “he loves me/he loves me not” game. But hanging around in an “it’s complicated?” I think I’ve finally learned to keep it simple.

Yes, We can Play that Game, Too: Considering “Sex on Campus” and the “Plight” of the 20-Something Female

On July 15, 2013July 17, 2013 By KathleenIn Love, Uncategorized4 Comments

It’s all on us, isn’t it? The “us” being women under 35 and “it” being the fate of romantic relationships, and therefore, the modern family.

If you’re been keeping track of the New York Time’s Sunday Style section and the Atlantic Monthly of late, you’ve probably noticed a slew of pieces examining the current state of the dating world. The choices and mindsets of single women seem to garner the most attention. The verdict, it would appear, is that we’re the ones directing the dynamics of contemporary relationships based on how we decide to answer a handful of questions:

Do we engage in casual, no strings attached sex?

Do we purely practice monogamy?

Do we wed early?

Do we focus on careers first, family later?

Do we try to “have it all?”

Frankly, I’ve had enough… Leave me alone. The kids are alright, I tell you.

In this past Sunday’s NYTimes, in a piece entitled “She Can Play That Game Too,” writer Kate Taylor reported on the sex lives of college-aged woman enrolled in UPenn. Taylor seemed to give a fairly straight forward account of the mindset of the Ivy Leaguers who applied cost-benefit analysis to their romantic encounters and generally considered college a stepping-stone and vital life-directing period of resume-building. Surviving those 4 years with honors under their belts didn’t exclude also earning notches on their bedposts, but made seeking serious romantic relationships a low priority on the totem pole.

I flashed back to my own Ivy League college days.

My future was mine to mold... or make a total mess of — My future was mine to mold… or make a total mess of

I was an economics major — you bet I applied cost-benefit analysis to dating (and well, to everything else… and everything, including men, got rated in terms of its “utility.”) But more significantly, like the women Taylor interviewed, I realized the stakes were high. I had a very unique opportunity. I was a Division 1 college athlete and in 4 years, I would have a degree from one of the most lauded universities in the world. The molding clay that was future had been handed to me on a silver platter and I had all the power in the universe to turn it into a masterpiece.

I could also make a total muck of it.

And let me tell you, making a muck of it was far easier.

I’ll always remember that night during my final week as an undergraduate when one of my best male friends took my hand and said to me: “I’m so proud of you and happy for you for everything you’ve accomplished. But our relationship could have been very different if you’d been around more.”

Your first question is probably: Do I have any regrets?

My answer: Absolutely not.

I’m 19. I’ve Never Had a Job. Oh, But I’m Supposed to Know What I want in a Husband?

What irked me the most about this article was the seeming pressure it put on women to make-up their minds in their early 20s, or hell, even late teens about how their life was going to unfold.

And Susan Patton wonders why young women are cautious about getting married and pregnant young

Susan Patton, who was widely quoted as the “anti-feminist” in the article was disappointed when she asked a class of Princeton undergraduate females if they wanted kids and a family and met hesitation.

Susan Patton is absurd.

Today’s young women are the witnesses of an increasing divorce rate and pre-nups, and the beneficiaries of new job sectors. This is not the generation of my mother, who was married at 18, went through college a wife and left her country and family to follow her husband’s career.

Are you surprised a teenager or 20-something would proceed with caution when it comes to committed relationships?

What I learned in college, burning the midnight oil on papers, clocking my hours at practice, writing for the college newspaper, and making friends more important than lovers, was who I was and what was genuinely important to me.

At 21, no boyfriend was going to figure that out for me.

I wish I could say I went to Columbia to find a rich husband — of course if I did, my 6 years on campus would have been a complete and utter failure. But I went there to find me, Kathleen.

So, mission accomplished.

How do you like them apples, Susan Patton?

All the World’s a Match Maker

On April 10, 2013 By KathleenIn Bio Pics, Dating3 Comments

“When people ask you that, you should say: ‘I’ve just gotten out of a serious relationship.’ You don’t need them to think there’s something wrong with you.”

I javelin-tossed a wooden spoon in my mother’s direction after she handed me this unsolicited advice on how to deal with the line of questioning beginning with “are you seeing anyone?” and upon my negative reply, followed immediately by: “why not? you’re so [insert complimentary adjective]!”

“Since when has being single indicated there’s something wrong with me?”

Siiiigh.

It’s always a disappointing moment when your family turns on you.

There was a sort of cruel irony in the recent rise of people inquiring into my marital status — when I was dating someone rather seriously, no one seemed to ask. But the minute I went back to being a bachelorette? Well, “are you seeing anyone?” is as ubiquitous in my daily conversations as “hello! how are you?”

Is it the question that bothers me? No, not any more. I’ve learned to read “are you seeing someone” an indication of genuine interest in me. (Between you and me, I’m more troubled by the people who ask about my kids. I don’t have kids. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not even old enough to have A kid… but that’s a blog for another time….)

What gets me about the “are you seeing anyone?” investigation is the follow up question: “why not?”

Flashback to my first annual check-up with my gynecologist:

“Do we need to talk about birth control?”

“Umm…. Not this time.”

“What’s wrong? The boys you hang out with don’t like pretty women?”

I indignantly twisted my head around my knee and stared at the middle-aged man at the end of the table, who was holding a medical device probably invented in medieval times… by a man. Isn’t this moment awkward enough? Do we really need to go there? And do I really need to answer that? And why, all of a sudden, do I feel inadequate, despite the ill-timed compliment?

Every time someone asks me why I’m single, I think of my gynecologist and his exam table. I guess there’s just no way to avoid the awkward.

That's right -- I just made an art-nerd pun. Maybe that's why I'm still single... — That’s right — I just made an art-nerd pun. Maybe that’s why I’m still single…

“I bet you’re stuck up,” said a cab driver to me one late night in downtown Manhattan after asking me if I had a boyfriend. He decided he’d answer the “why” for me.

“I might be.”

“Don’t you want someone to wake up to?”

“Doesn’t everyone? But having someone to wake up to doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

As I paid my fair he handed me his personal card and offered to fill the vacant boyfriend position, despite the fact I was, apparently, stuck up. I declined and made my way into the night.

Inquiries into my marital status have always felt intrusive to me, but worse is implication that being single means I’m some how falling short. Perhaps its a consolation to know that at I’ve reached the age and point in my career where people stop prescribing a rich husband. Instead, they prescribe qualities in a prospective partner…

…Or a drink with one of their few remaining single friends.

All the world’s a match-maker, after all.

So, Let’s Hang Out? Considering “The End of Courtship”

On January 24, 2013 By KathleenIn Dating, relationships, romance2 Comments

“Ok. Let’s do this! Let’s hang out!”

I confess, I was caught completely off-guard. It wasn’t exactly the declaration of affection or attraction or, hell, even interest that I had hoped for from a guy I considered “most likely to be cast as leading man in the movie that is my life.”

"Let's do this!" was more game-time cheer than romance. I wanted romance. — “Let’s do this!” was more game-time cheer than romance. I wanted romance.

“Let’s do this!” was less romance and more pre-game pep-rally.

Were we going to jump off a cliff together? Maybe metaphorically. But if his “I want to hang out with you” was the 21st century equivalent of Mr. Darcy’s “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” then we were certainly in for a bumpy ride.

But such are the times we live in….

In all likelihood, you or someone you know shared that NYTimes Sunday Styles piece about dating in the age of texting and social media. About how traditional courtship has been replaced with the flippant one-offs of the hook-up generation.

For the most part, I thought the essay was a gross generalization that painted a bleak picture favoring an ever-increasing divorce rate.

But Alex Williams was on to something — “hanging out” has exited the realm of friendship and infiltrated the realm of courtship, leaving singles (particularly, single women) hoping to make the jump from “gone fishing!” to “got him!” in a perpetual state of confusion.

“Let’s hang out.”

When I was a college student with more male than female friends, this was something I heard fairly often. In those days, it’s meaning was crystal clear: we’re going to keep it casual, keep it low-key, throw on a movie or pull out a deck of cards, open a bottle, maybe some people will join us, and by the way, we’re going to keep it platonic.

Oh! How fast things change!

Imagine my surprise when, a half decade later, a “let’s hang out” has translated into everything from “I’d like to take you to dinner” to “let’s hook-up” to “I’d like this to be serious.”

“Hanging out” as a colloquialism is the new “hooking up” — an appropriately non-committal term that keeps your options open and your morning-after stories vague.

Saying "let's hang out" is like putting on a suit of armor to protect yourself from harm — Saying “let’s hang out” is like putting on a suit of armor to protect yourself from harm

It’s a sort of self-protective statement, one that doesn’t put your heart on the line while still implying an interest in spending time with the other person. A sort of “let’s see if we click as friends” is partially implied — and isn’t the fundamental base of a successful relationship a strong friendship? Isn’t it a good idea to see if you can be friends as well as lovers?

What’s the problem?

More of my 20-something friends are married or in domestic partnerships or engaged than are single. Is Williams’ point, that this behavior might be fostering the kind commitment-phobia that makes it more difficult for people to really develop worthwhile relationships, accurate?

Maybe it is and I just cultivate romantically stable people? (unlikely…. you’ve never met some of the guys I dated…)

Let’s be honest, if you’re an urban singleton, getting a foothold in the industry of your choosing, filling-up your time with friends and social groups, drinking up all your environment has to offer, the notion of keeping it casual when it comes to dating is your best laid plan (pun intended.)

Here’s the problem — it’s the phrase itself.

Instead of "hanging out" consult the thesaurus. Let's phase out that phrase — Instead of “hanging out” consult the thesaurus. Let’s phase out that phrase

“Hang out.” It’s still flippant, casual, an afterthought. If saying “I want to see you” carries implications of serious commitment and so you shy away, say you want to “get together” or say you want to do something specific.

We don’t need the guy that says “I want to spend every waking minute with you” (though, when faced with a choice between him and Mr. Let’s Hang Out, Mr. Let’s Hang Out is shown wanting). But it’s nice to feel like we’re more than an addition to a plan.

“Hanging out” leaves lots of things hanging in the air. And frankly, hanging out gets old quick. Before you know it, she/he will be hanging up the towel on this casual courtship and moving on.

The Family that Hired Me Takes Note of My Love Life

On August 29, 2012September 5, 2012 By KathleenIn Career, Dating1 Comment

My Boss and I have an unusual relationship: we mutually respect and like each other. A lot.

Sure, whenever an exhibition nears opening time, I broadcast a less-than-praising text message to whatever set of eyes I think will listen. But generally speaking, I really dig the woman that hired me and signs my paychecks. However, there is a catch to the somewhat familial relationship with my superior: in the time I’ve been her protege, she’s taken a keen interest in my personal life.

Signing me up for young professional focus groups.

Sending me to regional business development meetings on her behalf.

Introducing me to the “social media coordinator” for the nearest BMW dealer.

Whenever an opportunity to throw me in front of eligible, single, high-income, young (and local) bachelors arises, my boss is quick to act and sign me up.

She’s no dummy. Get me settled and happy with a boy who can keep me clad in Diane von Frustenberg and I’m more likely to stay happy right where I am as her Gallery Director. If I had to bet, I’d say she figures getting me off the single-girl streets is a win-win for everyone.

When I strolled into the office the Monday morning after my college 5-year reunion, I was notably still groggy from a weekend of catching-up with old schoolmates. The massive multi-tonal blue temporary tattoo of my college’s mascot on my right bicep was a sure indicator that it had been a good time.

414682_417351461642442_751404745_o — Her first question the day after my college reunion: Did you meet any men?

“How was the reunion?”

“Fun!”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“Yea! I caught up with some friends I haven’t seen since graduation. Met some of their friends… it was a great time and good networking.”

“No. I mean did you meet any MEN? MEN!?!”

I quickly moved my hand to my neck and brushed my hair around to the front. There was an ambiguous bruise that needed hiding — one that could as easily have been a result of last week’s fencing practice as evidence that yes, boss, I did meet a man at the reunion.

“Ummmm…. yes. I met one.”

“Only one?”

A few weeks later, she caught me in the office with a shopping bag, indicating that I had made more than good use of my lunch hour.

“You went shopping without me! What did you get?” (my boss likes my taste in clothing/jewelry and frequently suggests we go on shopping excursions together, despite our obvious salary differences…)

“Nothing interesting.”

Miranda--Andy--Emily-the-devil-wears-prada-205003_1400_930 — Luckily, my boss is no Meryl Streep a la The Devil Wears Prada… at least not when it comes to me. Unluckily, she’s keen to play matchmaker.

“Common! What did you buy?!?!”

“Underwear.”

“Oh! Is there a new boy?”

“Not a new one….”

She raised her eyes and gave a fist pump.

“Boss, this has nothing to do with him. I needed new underwear,” I replied, but I doubt she heard me.

“Is he interesting?”

Pause.

“Very.”

My eyes and single-word response must have been telling:

“Well then! Good. But don’t do anything brash without talking to me. I mean don’t run off and elope or anything.”

“I’m more likely to run out and buy another pair of underwear.”

“Good. Of that I approve. Get something slinky. Now, where’s that sponsorship proposal you were working on?”

They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband

Tag: love