Mental Reminder: This is Why I Hate Dating

Ahhhh romance!  Ahhh, the newness of meeting someone you might really like.  Ahh, the lessons you learn when it doesn’t work out!!!!  Why do we not catch on faster to the speedbumps lying in wait to tip over the relationship?  Why do we overthink, overreact,  but never overcome those redlights that are blinking madly at you through your rose colored glasses?  Is it romance?  Is it the courtship?  Is it the budding realization that there really are sincere people in the world and they haven’t all gone attention-greedy mad?

I don’t know.

I’ve had my fair share of romance.  A man once wrote me a song.  Okay, it wasn’t the greatest song, it was more like a song that would have been on the Beverly Hillbillies Soundtrack, but it was written for me.  And the man hired a band to play it and cut a few hundred copies of it for….I guess me.

Another man courted me with quotes from Shakespeare and Greek tragedy and unbelievable sex.  We were electric.  We were in sync.  He begged me to be Penelope to his Odysseus.  Of course, Odysseus had multiple affairs while Penelope waited patiently for him to grow up and come home.  You know the story.  And you can guess how mine ended.

The last romance I had was again, electric.  This man was  (in my mind) an intellectual without a degree.  A man with a large Italian family but no home.  A rebel with many causes.  And he wrote poetry.  Lovely, heartachingly beautiful poetry.  A few he wrote for me.  He was much younger (which bothered me greatly) and had HUGE emotional issues, but I believed that “love would overcome”.  He didn’t.  He believed in Sugar Mammas.  The feminist side of me thought it okay.  I mean come on, there are many women who get involved with older, rich guys so why shouldn’t a man?   The problem was I was older, but not that rich.  Okay, not rich at all.   And the true part of me thought getting involved with another strictly for mercenary reasons quite crass.   And so the story ended.

Here we go again.

I went out last weekend for the second time with a nice gentleman.  Before yesterday, I thought of him as romantic, intelligent and a little spontaneous: all things I truly appreciate.  He filled my emails with thoughts, book excerpts, poetry I should read, interesting stories and he sent me sweet texts throughout the week.  (do you see a pattern here?)  On our first date he drank more wine than I.  On the second date, he moved on to Scotch.  Not that it bothers me, Glenlivet is a dear friend of mine.  But I noticed he was quite, let’s say, dependent on having a drink in front of him before he could converse with me.  Am I that scary?  Does my mere presence push men to drink?   There I go overanalyzing again.  But it’s one of those character flaws (or plusses) I own.  Overanalyzing is my way of making sense of the whole relationship thing, heck, of the world!  So I overanalyzed, then stopped and mentally berated myself for being so neurotic.

Then I got this text:

“Gayle, I heard this today and it made me think of you”

Attached was the the following video.  Listen to the lyrics carefully.

I guess he does have a drinking problem. I guess he does think this is romantic (um….it’s not!) and I guess this is why I hate dating.  I won’t be seeing him again.

Another Night with Glen…Livet




Those of you who read this blog know that I have sporadic dates with Glen:  Glenlivet.   I have teens at home, so I don’t indulge in other recreational calmers at home, but Glen, well, he usually has the same effect on me.  One of the fun things about dating Glen is that he likes to get into deep conversations with me (Okay, he really doesn’t, but it makes me feel like I’m not just a drunk dating a bottle of Scotch) I usually share my thoughts the next day.  Here’s today’s synopsis of our date night:

  • Viagra.  Male Enhancement.  Cialis.  Okay guys, I want you to be really, really truthful.  You don’t have to answer in a public forum, but be honest with yourselves.  Promise?  How many of you who have taken the magic purple pill have secretly wished YOU were the one who had to go the Dr. after 4 hours of a sustained erection?  Come on, admit it!  Wouldn’t it make you feel virile?  Think of all the people that would look at you…not your fault, it’s the purple pill’s fault.  Right?  I know not of any other drug that would make someone secretly wish they suffered from the side effects except this one.
  • Male characters in modern movies that appeal to the sapiosexual.  I’ve noticed that the movies I like the most have intellectually gifted leading characters with emotional issues.  Mel Gibson in Braveheart.  James Spader in Sex, Lies and Videotapes.  Daniel Craig in Skyfall (okay, not just for his intellect).  John Wayne in the Searchers.  Al Pacino in The Godfather. Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind.  Guy Pierce in Memento. Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting.  Leonardo DiCaprio in Inception.  I could go on and on.    All of these men are the kind I’m attracted to:  they’re intelligent, they have principles and they’re flawed.  They don’t wallow in self-absorption, they fight against their weaknesses.   They have skeletons in their closets that they embrace, but don’t use as crutches.   All of them are attracted to emotionally strong women who can help them.   My kind of men!
  • Baseball Spring Training in 4 more sleeps!  So what if the baseball pundits say the Rangers are not going to make the playoffs?  I so love a challenge!
  • “we accept the love we think we deserve.”
    ―    Stephen Chbosky,    The Perks of Being a Wallflower
  • “And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.”
    ―    Stephen Chbosky,    The Perks of Being a Wallflower
  • “So, I guess we are who we are for alot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.”
    ―    Stephen Chbosky,    The Perks of Being a Wallflower
  • “It’s just that I don’t want to be somebody’s crush. If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am. And I don’t want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it too.”
    ―    Stephen Chbosky,    The Perks of Being a Wallflower
  • “And all the books you’ve read have been read by other people. And all the songs you’ve loved have been heard by other people. And that girl that’s pretty to you is pretty to other people. and that if you looked at these facts when you were happy, you would feel great because you are describing ‘unity.”
    ―    Stephen Chbosky,    The Perks of Being a Wallflower
  • As you can see from above, I watched The Perks of Being a Wallflower.  I read the book a while ago.  I forgot how much I loved it.  I love the movie too.  So did Glen.




Love Letters

beethoven love letter

Valentine’s Day is coming. Since I was a little girl, it has always been one of my favorite holidays. I love red. I love pink. I love purple, fuschia, raspberry, and any derivative thereof that connotes romance, love and passion. One of my bedroom walls is a collage of hearts collected or given to me for many years.

Hearts and bright colors are great, but love letters are the best.  I mean the VERY best!  Several years ago I had a stack of love letters from a man I adored.  Didn’t trust him, but adored him.  They were allegorical, they were sexy, they were romantic, they were touching.  Some were “in your face” sexual, others were written with poetic love.  In the recent past,  another dear man to me wrote me several poems….God, it gives me chill bumps to think about it.
I can honestly say I haven’t recieved one since last Valentine’s Day (cue the sad violin music now and don’t think I’ll be receiving one in the next 20 years)  So instead of wallowing in self-pity, I thought I would share some fun facts about Love Letters to inspire you to write one to your beloved or maybe your “soon to be” beloved.


In 1952, a team of scientists at England’s University of Manchester was eager to try out its super computer.  One of the scientists created a software program into which he input thousands of nouns, adjectives and verbs.  The result was a heartfelt string of love letters from the computer.


Ahhh Beethoven.  Not the St. Bernard, the Composer.  Though never married, he was faithfully committed to  a woman never identified, but dearly loved by the composer.  When he died, several love letters written to “his immortal beloved” were found.  Alas, she never had the chance to read them.  So sad!


A Sumerian clay tablet inscribed over 3000 years BC is thought to be the beginnings of the Bible’s Song of Solomon.  The tablets reveal two declarations of passion and love.


Abigail Adams wrote love letters daily during their courtship and later to her husband John Adams as he was away founding that country we know today as the USA.

Tinkerbell’s Lament

It makes me so angry that I am an option not a priority.
What the hell is the matter with you? Don’t you understand what you’ve got?
Don’t you know I am who?

I am not the third of your three wishes.
I am not the prank Lotto card.
I am not the short woman behind the emerald green curtain begging you to click your ruby slippers.
I am the finish line and I am the start.

I am the binding of your unwritten book,
I am the lyrics to your song
I am the misdirected woman you have lost
I know where you belong.

You don’t realize your place in the grand scheme of life. You are not only dust to fairy dust.
You are special. You are wanted. You’re not the minus you’re the plus.

Take off that mask of bravado
Your surliness turns no one on.
It’s a sad symptom of all the anger you wallow in
Feel the reaping of what you have spawned?

The future isn’t never-never land.
In your world asking is intruding
No asking, no communication, no understanding
In your self-imposed Tower of Babylon.

You bark about the entitled, yet you live your life “as if”.
Work is not a four letter word,
but nihilism is

Hurry and
Break the Bukowski bondage
seek your own happiness.

Don’t you know?
Don’t you know?

You’re a grown up Peter
Panning for another’s fool’s gold.

Open wide
Eat and Drink, then try very hard to see
It’s not too late, it never is
to find a star and maniacally swing

There they are
See them?
Fallen, shooting, sucked into a black hole

Grab one now! Love is precious!
Before you get too old.

What I’m Reading Today….

A Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan

A Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan

Who is this author? Why don’t I know him? Which woman is lucky enough to have a writer like this in her life? I need to find out more about him. I love his writing style, sardonic wit, outlook and romanticism. Sexy, sweet and smart-ass. My favorite combo!

The Perfect Drug

They say it heals all things those dealers known as “they”

That’s them, there…see em? Dangling on the second slow hand.

Doling out justice while examining all offenders.

Willy writes the slogans for their band.


Where are “they” when the pain won’t stop?

Why won’t they show you the plan?

The methadone is mean in Greenwich man

Represent you atomic never never land.

Indentured lovers lobby for raises

High on the thought of infinity.

Their hearts chained with keyless locks

Their thoughts reeling in rerun memory.

Damn that fucking drug.

You know the one.

The one that’s free but priceless.

The one you can’t own but you can use.

It won’t be kept, but can be spent

The one we treasure, waste, want and  abuse.

C’mon, you know the one

Vegas doesn’t have it.

The one that stops for no man.

The one that is everything,

The one that he promised he would always have enough of

Until he overdosed on its premature release.

Necessary Journey

Don’t obsess because it’s over again.

Don’t find stress where there is none.

The time, the situation, the duress

None of it could be overcome.

His life isn’t something you could live with

Your life was his with devotion.

  All the poetry, promises and plans were misguided

romanticized ideals, the Cancer of emotion.

His pride won’t let him show his loss

His machismo is chemically supported.

He’s surly, he rants, he’s a genius, he’s special

Self-absorbed, selfish and distorted.

Time is his biggest drug

He lives a life most would say is carefree

The alarm clock tolls for the responsible.

His alarm is that he has no sugar mommy.

YouTube, movies and books are his life

He’ll share a blip or two.  Or a

140 character rant when the liquor kicks in

Why would he need you?

Doesn’t he know he had it all?

Doesn’t he even care?

What the hell is the matter with me, opening my veins for him?


No one cares

No one cares

Someone cares.

Not him.

When The Honeymoon is Over…An Inner Debate


Ah…that phase that we all love and yearn for–the Honeymoon. You know what I’m talking about. That time in the relationship when you can’t wait to hear from him or her. He sends you love letters for no reason. She calls and tells you how wonderful you are and how she can’t live without you. You actually are “excited” that he/she is in your life. Have you ever wondered why it’s called a “honeymoon”? One explanation:

One piece of folklore relates that the origin of the word moon comes from a cynical inference. To the Northern Europeans the terms referred to the body’s monthly cycle and, its combination with honey, suggested that not all moon’s of married life were as sweet as the first. British prose writers and poets, in the 16th and 17th centuries, often made use of the Nordic interpretation of honeymoon as a waxing and waning of marital affection.
And, in Nordic tradition, honey mead was drunk each day of the new relationship to keep things sweet.

But what happens when the honey mead is gone?

Real life sets in. The ups and downs of work, family, tragedy and just plain moodiness rear their oh so ugly heads.  You lose your job.  You lose your financial independence.  You’re forced to live a life you weren’t planning to live.  These are the true tests of real love.

Why do so many fail the test?
Self absorption? Trouble communicating? Trust?  The need for daily sex?  The belief the honeymoon phase should be everlasting? All understandable, all viable reasons, some a bit unrealistic.

I think the reason for failure is that if you don’t truly know yourself you can never really know another. If the way you both view the world is totally different it’s hard to build a bridge of communication and trust.  You can love someone but not be able to live with them. Just look at your familial relationships if you don’t believe me!  How long could you live with your parents as an adult without wanting to commit Hari-Kari?  Love takes faith. Love takes belief. Love in a monogamous relationship is work. And if you have a distaste for being employed and working, you’re already screwed.  You have to want to sacrifice your wants/needs for your love. If your time alone is more important than your time with her, again, you’re screwed.  You have to believe she is the only one for you. If you think there are many women for many men, maybe you should be reading the Koran.  You have to know that your life won’t be the life you want to live without him. Or maybe your life is so wonderful you don’t need another in it. 

Does that mean time apart is a necessity? Does it mean that there’s no such thing as real love? Does it mean that its no coincidence that being committed can mean mental as well as marital? Okay, that was uncalled for wasn’t it?

Maybe its really not that difficult.  That’s my outlook.  I truly believe that anything worth having is worth working for.  I truly believe that true love finds a way.  I truly believe that each and every one of us has baggage, issues and hang-ups that can be dealt with lovingly.  I’m not saying any of it is easy.  But then again, I see my honey mead jar as half full.