Reflections from the South of France

Today is Monday. I arrived in Cannes on Friday. I am traveling on business and my flight arrived shortly after my colleagues, so they were waiting for me outside of customs in Nice. We hopped on a bus and arrived in Cannes around 3PM. Even though I felt like a zombie, since the flight over was very bumpy and my seat-mates on British Air decided that sleep was not an option, the beauty of the town was not lost on me. The bus drops you off at the harbor in Cannes. The air is warm and the Mediterranean is a mere 20 yards away. The streets are chaotic with scooters, SmartCars, buses, Mercedes limos with darkened windows (could that be George Clooney in the back?), and humanity. I have only experienced Cannes during the film festival so I have no idea if it is like this all year round or just because of this crazy annual circus. For all the negative stereotypes that Americans have about the French, I find them amazingly friendly (by French standards), and un-phased by the influx of foreigners who slaughter their beautiful language when asking where the bathroom is.

We walked a few yards (should I be using meters, since I am in Europe?) to the taxi stand. This is the one thing I can never get used to in Cannes. You cannot hail a taxi on the street. You must go to a taxi stand. There are maybe three taxi stands in all of Cannes. Granted, the town isn’t that big, but it’s a royal pain in the ass when you are shlepping luggage all over. We wait for a few minutes until a taxi whips up at breakneck speed and screeches to a halt in front of us. As per my usual mode of operating, I don’t really notice the taxi driver at first. I am searching through my bag for the address to our apartment, and my colleagues (both male) are grabbing the bags and hoping they will all fit in the very tiny taxi boot. Suddenly, the taxi driver is standing next to me, suggesting that I take the front seat next to him. My colleagues hop in the back and it’s then that I get a good look at the guy. Forgive me dearest DL, as I know you will be reading this and you know I love you, but the taxi driver is a total French hunk o’ man. I slide into the front seat and so begins the age old game of every red blooded European male. Flirt with the single American woman. Doesn’t matter that I’ve been traveling for 15 hours and look like total jet trash. Doesn’t matter that I’m clearly 10 to 15 years older than him. And it probably doesn’t matter to him that he has a wife and 2 kids at home. It’s like it is programmed into their DNA…try to score with the American chicks. It isn’t two minutes into the conversation and the guy is asking me how long I’m going to be in Cannes! Part of me is cracking up because it’s all so transparent, but I’ll admit there is a part of me that is saying, “Yeah, I still got it goin’ on!” no matter how delusional that thought may be!

Now, I have to tell you that my colleagues are in the backseat of the taxi with sly little smirks on their faces. Why? Because I have just been talking to them about how wonderful my relationship is with DL and that I’m really going to miss him on this trip. We arrive at the apartment, pay the fare and laugh all the way into the lobby. Ah, welcome to Europe! So far, I’m not disappointed. 

We settle into the apartment and decide that the best plan of action is to stay awake as long as possible to counteract the jet lag. And the best way to do that is to go have a fabulous French meal with lots of wine. Come to think of it, since I got here wine has been a big part of the festivities. I’ve taken a picture of every bottle of wine consumed so far. And here they are….

 

 

And just so you realize that it hasn’t all been a haze of drinking, here are some photos of some pretty French windows….

 

Oh, and in case anyone from work is reading this, don’t worry! I’m working too! 

 

Watch your words as you may be forced to eat them!

Trying to remember that phrase exactly, but I’m sitting in Cannes, France right now, getting ready for the start of the film festival. Between the jet lag, all the wine I had last night, and the fact that I’m in a lovely apartment in the South of France sitting on a terrace in the sun as I write this… well, the brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Well, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!

Being forced to eat one’s words – that’s me right now. I read over my previous blog entry and I had to laugh. Me… the wanna be “serial dater.” No sooner did I submit that entry and I met someone! Seriously. I submitted that last entry on Easter Sunday morning. After I put that entry on the site I decided to check my match.com account. And there he was… Doglover592.

Now as I mentioned in the previous entry, I’d had a date with eHarmony guy the night before and I was trying really hard to feel excited about dating him. We’d been seeing each other for about a month and had been communicating for a couple of weeks before that.  He was a nice guy. Kind, considerate, had all his teeth…. But in my heart, I just knew it wasn’t something that was going to last. We just didn’t share enough in common, and to be honest, he was a bit of a yawn. Sorry, but for me he was pretty boring. Not interested in food, music, movies, or what was going on in the world. A pretty narrow view of things. True story, until he met me he had never eaten asparagus! THAT freaked me out a bit. If that makes me shallow, too damn bad. How could you be 48 years old and never eat asparagus? It’s not like it’s some exotic food that is difficult to come by in the Midwest! I guess we were destined to meet so that he could experience asparagus.

So, I justified it all by saying I wanted to “serial date.” And in theory, that was a good plan. I just figured I’d serial date until the right one came along. Who knew it would happen the next day? 

Believe me, I’d had my share of lunches and phone conversations with all types of guys. Some were interesting and fun, others not so much. For anyone getting back in the swing of dating, I highly recommend the internet – and match.com in particular. It really helped me define what I truly wanted in a serious relationship. And the only way you can do that is by communicating with a lot of different guys. 

So, when Doglover592 (DL for short, from here on out) showed up in my e-mail box I just had a feeling. From that Easter Sunday morning on there was an easiness in our communications. We were on the phone that evening for 3 hours. I’d never had that sense of familiarity and honesty with anyone I’d met up to that point. It was amazing what we had in common. And our differences were good too… nothing insurmountable, just enough to make things interesting. From our phone conversations I knew that DL was articulate, educated, spiritual, kind (hey, he has a dog, a cat, AND a fish!), interested in food, wine and music (the trifecta in my book!), and he was damned funny too!

Another thing that was surprising with DL was that he wanted to meet me soon after our initial conversations. Every other guy I had met up to that point seemed to drag their feet when it came to meeting face to face. The phone communication would drag on for weeks before they would want to set up a date. It was weird to me, since I figured that if there was genuine interest, why would you want to hold back from meeting someone? So, it was refreshing to me that DL was of the same mind as I was – basically, let’s meet and see if this is as good as I think it’s going to be! We decided to meet that next Saturday.

It wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. It was better. And, he likes asparagus!

More to come, but the Mediterranean is calling me and I’m only human!

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

I’m confused. No laughing please! I’ve met a really nice guy through eHarmony and we’ve been dating for about a month. He’s the first guy that I met on this journey, and I think I got pretty lucky for the first one out of the box. He’s not a player, seems honest, is quite pleasant looking, can carry on a conversation that doesn’t deal exclusively with NASCAR, and frankly he showed up at my house last night with flowers and a bottle of wine. A prince among men in my book!  Are my standards too low?

But here’s the thing. I want to be a serial dater! Here is a brief overview of my dating history up to this point in my life…. I was with the same guy for nine years, and believe me he was no prize! I did my time and got out relatively unscathed. Okay, emotionally I got beat up pretty bad, but I’m from resilient stock… check the excess baggage, rub some dirt on it, move on, or whatever other analogy makes it clear that I’m not a big baby! Before him, I always found myself in dating relationships that were exclusive right from the start. That’s what I wanted at that point in my life. During my 20’s and 30’s I was looking for Mr. Right. I wanted to find someone, settle down, get married, and be just like June Cleaver. I was a woman on a mission! And we see in retrospect that that didn’t work out so well for me. Now I’m in my (wince) late 40’s. I’ve been around the block more than once and the last thing I want to do right now is settle down. Hell, I’m just getting started again! Like the old line says, “I’m not looking for Mr. Right. I’m looking for Mr. Right now.”

I have a lunch date with a new guy on Tuesday. And there are two other guys who are interested in setting up dates next week. I should be giddy with excitement! After the years of drought, I’m racking up some serious dating time. Instead I feel guilty, which really sucks. I find myself worrying that maybe I’m leading “eHarmony guy” down the garden path. Is it just because I’ve been away from all of this for so long? Isn’t it okay for me to enjoy the dating smorgasbord? For once in my life, I want to think like a guy! I want to sample what’s out there and have some fun, with no recriminations. Okay, I know that’s probably a horrid generalization about the male of the species, so forgive me gentlemen.

You see, the thing is, I really do believe that with age comes wisdom. What this all gets down to is that I don’t want to “settle” anymore. No more saying that “this is the best that life is going to hand me, so don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” For the first time in a long time, desperation is NOT part of the equation. So while I might be feeling a bit guilty, when I think about it there is a lot of freedom in this too. I’ve joked with several people, saying to them that this dating thing is a “numbers game.” But it really is.  The only way I’m going to find out who I might want to spend what’s left of the quality years I have is to get out there and “sample” what the dating world has to offer. Because God knows, they don’t make a “Consumers Report” for what make and model of man is the best. I’ll just have to do the research myself.  I feel better already.

The Good, the Bad, and the Slightly Strange

This gets filed under the “This could only happen to me” category. As I mentioned before, I joined match.com, which also owns another dating site called Chemistry.com. Now, to be honest, I really don’t have a clue what the difference is between the two, but I was on line one day and received a notice that said I could get 5 free matches from Chemistry.com by filling out their personality survey. If you haven’t figured out by now, I’m pretty much game for this stuff, so I filled out the survey and hit send. And here is where it gets a little weird…

Okay, disclaimer first! I’m a pretty liberal person. In other words, what someone wants to do in the confines of their own home, bedroom, or dungeon is none of my business. As long as no one gets hurt and everyone involved is consenting and of age, then have at it. If it’s an act that I find “icky” well then, I just don’t have to go looking for it. One person’s  “icky” is another’s nirvana, I guess. So, now that I’ve cleared that up let me share a surreal moment, brought to you by Chemistry.com.

A day or two after completing Chemistry.com’s survey, I received an e-mail saying I had 5 matches. I go to the site and sure enough there are 5 names, waiting for me to click on them. The first name on the list is “Lorelei.” Hmmmmm. Did I miss something on the survey? Did some computer decide that I’d have better luck as a lesbian? (Believe me, that thought has crossed my mind!) Of course, being the game gal that I am, I clicked on the link. The title across the page says, “I’m a CD TV – if you don’t know what that is, then we probably aren’t going to make a good match.”  I know what a CD TV is. Hey, I’ve got a theater background, and in my 20’s I logged a lot of time in movie theaters watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show. For those who don’t know what a CD TV is, it’s a cross dressing transvestite. Apparently, a lot of these guys are straight and really do like women, but they also like wearing our clothes too. It’s a toss up between what they like more, I think. 

I’ll admit, the first thing that went through my head was Eddie Izzard, the actor/comedian. I do find him incredibly attractive, and whenever I see him I find myself thinking, “oooh, I’m a bad girl and I’d do him in a minute.”  He’s hot, and I don’t care that he’s wearing more eye makeup than me, or wearing higher heels. There is just something about that guy…. If you don’t know who he is, here are a few pictures. Hey, just doing my bit of community service. But I digress… back to “Lorelei.”

 

What can I say about Lorelei? A stocky guy in a shoulder length red wig who bears a striking resemblance to Kathy Bates – not that I mean to insult Kathy Bates. The look is okay on her, very disturbing on this guy. He’s smiling brightly into the camera, and obviously he is totally digging on who he is and how he looks. Good for him! However, all I can think is that if I went out with him, he’d have my sweaters stretched out beyond recognition in no time. There are a lot of things I want to share with a potential mate, but my bra and panties aren’t on the list.

Needless to say, I sent a polite “no thank you.” But you know, in retrospect, if “Lorelei” had looked anything like Eddie Izzard, well let’s just say I would have sacrificed a couple of sweaters AND some bras and panties! I guess it’s just a matter of degrees….

Good luck Lorelei. We’re all looking for basically the same thing. And you know the old saying, “There’s a lid for every pot.”  - Vive la difference!

3…2…1…Contact!

First, let me start off by saying that I’ve expanded my horizons and also joined match.com. No, I’m not pathetically desperate! I just wasn’t receiving many matches on eHarmony after the initial surge. Sounds like a military maneuver, doesn’t it? Believe me, it feels like it at times.

 

Can I just say that the results have been amazing? I’m currently in contact with 6, count ‘em 6 men. After the long, sad, drought that has been my love life, it looks like things might be turning around. 

 

Yesterday, I had my first face-to-face meeting with someone that I met through eHarmony. I followed the suggested rules that eHarmony gives and arranged to meet him during the day for a “coffee” date. Apparently, this is to insure that if he turned out to be some sort of slack-jawed, mouth breather, I’d only have to suffer through one cup of coffee until I could break free. And if he happened to be an axe murderer, there would be a chance someone on the street would be able to identify him, since it’s broad daylight! 

 

One other suggestion that eHarmony gives is that you give your date’s information (name/phone number), as well as where you are going and the time frame, to a friend so that there is a trail of breadcrumbs, so to speak. Maybe these are paranoid times we live in, but it makes sense. Let’s face it; you don’t have a clue as to what you are going to face out there – kind of like being a pioneer… or an astronaut! So, I dutifully sent an all points bulletin e-mail out to three friends and my sister. One dear friend suggested that I give her a photo of myself, so she would have something to give the police or the newspapers, in case of my untimely demise. Delightful. 

 

Preparing for said coffee date was a trial unto itself. I’m copping to the fact that I haven’t been on a date for 11 years. What does one wear to a daytime coffee date? Someone needs to put together a list of appropriate clothing for this! We do it for weddings – we need it for dating as well. I knew that I needed to keep it casual, but I also wanted to impress the guy. Would it be appropriate to show off a little of my finer assets – i.e. a wee bit of cleavage? Would he think I’m a slut? Am I a slut? Would he think he’s getting something on the first date? Did I want to give him something on the first date? Obviously, I was over thinking this. As I mentioned, it had been 11 frickin’ years since I’d done this. I was older, but apparently no wiser. I finally decided on nice jeans, a shirt that showed some tasteful décolletage, and a blazer. Subtle make-up, too. Oh, and boots that didn’t have too high of a heel, just in case he was lying about how tall he was! Before leaving the house I played some ass kicking music to get myself psyched up… kind of like my own personal Super Bowl. I looked in the mirror, assured myself that I could do this, and left to find my own dating destiny.

 

Halfway there, I started to freak out. For all my show of bravery and ballsy-ness I was terrified. Not terrified that I was going to be physically harmed, but terrified that this stranger was going to take one look at me and either run away screaming or start laughing and pointing while babbling on about “truth in advertising.”  I called one of my dearest friends and had him talk me down. He assured me that I had nothing to worry about. “Let’s face it,” he said, “It’s not like we’re in our 20’s anymore and this guy is expecting some supermodel.” Oh, he also told me not to worry because I was “…close to my fighting weight.” Now, I know he meant well, but in that moment, I wanted to kill him! That was NOT what I wanted to hear. I wanted, no needed to hear that I was a goddess and this guy was going to just fall on the ground in awe of my beauty and sparkling personality. Well, my friends are honest if nothing else. 

 

I get to the café where we are scheduled to meet a few minutes early. Scope out the terrain and try to calm myself down. In my head are a million affirmations, trying desperately to be heard above the din of my insecurities. Then my cell phone rings. Great, this will be him telling me that he’s not coming, I think. I answer the phone. It is him. He wants to know if I’m at the café yet. “Yes, I am.” I tell him. He says, “Great. I’ll be there in just a minute. I’m parking.” I hang up and stare at the phone. He’s not going to bail after all. Now, I want to bail. Why in God’s name does this guy want to meet me?!!!! What is wrong with him?!!!! There is an old Groucho Marx line where he says that he wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have him. That thought is going through my head in that moment.

 

A minute later he comes walking around the corner. How do you put into words that first moment when you meet for the first time? Your mind is taking in a million bits of information. Looks, clothing, eyes, posture. “He’s cute” I thought. Does he have all the digits on his hands? Is there a tell tale sign of a wedding ring anywhere? He looked at me and gave me a surprised smile. And it was the good kind. Sort of like he went, “Oh, thank God! This is okay!” We laughed and shook hands. Suddenly, in my head I thought, “I can do this! I remember how to do this!” I wanted to dance around that damned restaurant, laughing gleefully with the knowledge that this kind of stuff wasn’t just reserved for 20 something supermodels! There was hope. I made a resolution, half jokingly at the New Year. Getting a date in 2008. Shit. I’d done it. And it was only March 1^st.

 

Next time… Second dates and who’s next?

Great Expectations… will bite you in the ass every time.

I know that having expectations can be problematic, especially when dealing with matters of the heart. Yet knowing this doesn’t stop me from having them most of the time. Here is an example. I joined eHarmony last month. Now there is a big old steaming pile of expectations just waiting to happen. I think everybody goes into a process like eHarmony with expectations. No matter how intelligent a person might be, there is still something in the back of their head saying, “I’m going to meet the man/woman of my dreams here.” Otherwise, why would you be doing it, right?  I mean you’re paying good money for some computer to set you up with complete strangers, on the off chance that you will meet Prince or Princess Charming.

Now, I’m not criticizing eHarmony. I think it’s an interesting process, and does give people a chance to meet where they otherwise wouldn’t. I’ve gotten a lot of matches, some with potential and others that I just thought WTF? The first day that I signed up, I was like Pavlov’s dog every time it heard the bell. I couldn’t go an hour without checking to see if I’d been matched with anyone. The reasons for this were: I just forked over $110 for three months of matches; I’m a wee bit compulsive; and I was terrified that some damn computer was going to confirm my worst fear… that I was unmatchable!!!! 

For those of you who don’t have a clue how eHarmony works, I’ll fill you in. First, you complete this VERY long survey, which basically outlines your personality, for better or worse. Once completed, they give you a run down on what “type” of person you are, covering such scintillating categories as agreeableness, openness, emotional stability (my personal favorite), conscientiousness, and extraversion.  After that you complete basics such as where you live and how far away you would travel to meet a match, smoking, drinking preferences, religion, children and things of that nature. Now, by this point I feel like Cleavon Little in Blazing Saddles when he says, “Where are all the white women at?” I mean, come on, I want a date, not the guy’s friggin’ dental records! Finally, they ask you for your money. After dutifully forking over my credit card number and downloading a fabulous photo of myself  in which I try to portray myself as a cross somewhere between June Cleaver and Mae West, I was ready for action.

Well, on day one the floodgates opened. eHarmony must have thrown 30 matches at me within a 24 hour period. On the next day I received another 25 or more. I kept thinking that if it kept up like this I would have to find someone, just based on the law of averages. Frankly, I was amazed that there were that many single men left on the planet. Well, single men who were straight. Now, I have to confess that out of those 50+ matches, there were only 10 worth a second look and only 5 that I felt were date worthy. (Think about that Seinfeld episode with Elaine and the “sponges” and you’ll get my drift.)

I decided to be proactive and contact 5 of the men that eHarmony thought would be my “soul mate.” Hell if I was going to sit around waiting to be contacted! So, I made the initial contact with the first 5 and received a response almost immediately from one of the guys. I was excited – validation that I WASN’T UNMATCHABLE! We proceeded to have our “guided communication” (another eHarmony procedure – don’t ask) for a couple of days and then poof! Nothing more. He stopped communicating. I had not heard from any of the other guys I had contacted either. I waited… and waited… and waited….  No one else responds. That’s when I found out through the eHarmony FAQ thread that many people, unfortunately, just don’t respond if they aren’t interested. Great. Cyber rudeness!

And what you hear is the sound of another expectation crashing into the side of a mountain.

Well, after about a week I did begin to hear from some of the gentlemen who were, in eHarmony’s eyes, destined to be my soul mate. Next week’s installment… CONTACT IS MADE! Stay tuned.

Welcome to my world…..

I am a woman of a certain age – late 40’s to be exact. Look, I’m not going to give up the exact age, so get over it.  Two years ago I found myself struggling to hold together a marriage to an philandering alcoholic. One day I finally woke up and thought “Why am I holding on to something that is so obviously over?” And so I let go…….Of course, at the time I never thought I’d ever want to be in a relationship again.  I guess I was wrong. 

About 6 months ago I began to think that it was time to dip my baby toe into the dating pool. How did I know this? I began to find myself gravitating to “chick flick” reruns. On Saturday nights I’d find myself watching movies like Bridget Jones’s Diary, Love Actually, Pride and Prejudice, hell, even The 40 Year Old Virgin (God knows, I felt like one again). It was then I realized that I was horribly out of practice with all of this crap. After being “off the market” — makes you sound like a side of beef, doesn’t it? — for 9 years, I suddenly had to dig up all those skills I had joyfully packed away.

So this little corner of the internet world will be the story of my journey as a newly single, slightly lonely, and very uh, how does one put this… in the words of Michael Keaton in Beetlejuice, “anxious”  40 something woman. Pull up a chair, fasten your seatbelt, grab a good stiff drink, and join me….