I had a flashback, the other day, of a truly awful date. Let me say that again, a truly AWFUL date. It was a brunch date, a double date, at a popular brunch spot to which I can never return. The restaurant is ruined for me now.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

There’s a back-story here. And it’s really all about the back-story.

I used to be really pro set-up. I went through this phase (in my early to mid 30s, I guess) where it seemed like everyone I knew was a part of a couple. And suddenly I was odd woman out. So one of the ways I coped with this (other than lots of online dating) was to tell my friends that if they knew any single guys…

And there was my big mistake. I was way too unspecific. I’m sure I implied that they should set me up with guys I’d actually have things in common with. Guys I’d like. But, I probably didn’t SAY THAT. I probably said, “do you know any nice single guys.” Or something wishy-wishy like that.

The result of which was a series of extremely painful set-ups. With extremely inappropriately men. Guys who, it’s important to note, didn’t like me any more than I liked them.

It was as if our friends decided that all I needed was A MAN.  Any single man would do. And all they needed was a woman. Any single woman would do. Because, you know, it was time we all joined the couple club.

So, back to this date. An old college friend tells me that her husband has a good friend who’s newly single and they’d like to set us up. I foolishly did not ask a lot of questions (I probably got name and age). She suggests that we all meet for brunch that weekend. It sounded easy and pleasant enough, so I said yes.

Like I said, great brunch spot. Amazing food, good prices. Haven’t been back since. I’m weird like that.

Turns out, the guy was still living with said ex. In another city. And massively depressed/angry about their uber-messy break-up (and trying to figure out where he was going to live). And he was a jackass. Maybe not always. Maybe in different circumstances he’s an awesome guy. But that day he was a jackass. I recall a bizarre sports related argument that went from friendly to nasty in about 2 minutes. I believe there might have been some name-calling. Not by me. Note: I am a serious sports fan and will not back down from my opinions. Girls like sports, too.

The worst part, the very painful worst part, was his telling his buddy on the way out that I wasn’t hot enough. Loud enough for me to hear. Because, I guess, he thought I was auditioning for him.  And he wanted me to know that I’d failed.

My friend called after brunch and apologized. She thought I’d be “good for him”.  I had no idea what that meant. I still don’t.

Anyway, I stopped being so enthusiastic about set-ups after that. Not that I’m completely closed to the idea. But I’m pretty special and I’m not going to waste any more time (or potential humiliation) going out with guys who I’m paired with because they’re male, straight and available. I’d rather eat brunch alone. Forever.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love brunch?

I love brunch. Going out to brunch and also having friends over for brunch. I love the way people can just arrive when they arrive, and come and go over the course of the afternoon. Casual and mellow.

Anyway, I had some friends over for brunch this past weekend and we got to to talking about the fact that some people have very specific height requirements/preferences for the people they date (for example, I won’t/rarely date men who are over 13′ inches taller than me, which tops out at 6’1″, whereas most of the other women present are really into tall guys).

And from there we talked about other, um, tastes. Body types, ethnicity, race, random kinks people may or may not have.

It’s a big, wide world of strange. And hallelujah for that. I, for one, am grateful for the diversity of types and tastes. I wouldn’t want to live in a world of bland sameness.

Yet, we all, even out here in the blogosphere, pussyfoot around this stuff.  Sure, every few months someone writes a post about liking tall guys. And then a lot of people get on her case because a) she’s judging guys on something completely superficial b) she’s being too picky c) she’s shallow d) I’m sure I’m forgetting some other insults.

But so what. So there are women who like tall guys. There are men who only date women with big boobs. Or women with great asses. Or blondes.  So the fuck what?  People like what they like.

I don’t really have any physical traits that I go for, exclusively (although there are some that certainly catch my eye). But there are personality traits that I find irresistible.  For example, yesterday I got an (online dating) email from a guy who I didn’t find particularly attractive and who lives in the ‘burbs. Two big strikes. But I read his email and it made me smile. So I read his profile. Which made me laugh out loud. Loudly. And he has awesome taste in music. So I wrote him back.  Because I was attracted to his intelligence and sense of humor (from what I could see of it).

Maybe that wasn’t a good story to tell. It makes me seem more noble than I am. The truth is, I don’t know who I should or shouldn’t be dating anymore. So I’m just bouncing around, looking for a good fit. Kinda like grocery shopping without a list. I’m just randomly putting things in my cart.

Here’s a better story/example, one I shared with my friends at brunch. There was this guy. He and I went out a few times. Pretty early on, he let it slip that he was into s & m. He wasn’t a lifestyler (in other words, he had a very vanilla life outside out of the bedroom) but his sexual tastes were pretty hardcore. His sexual fantasies included things like caning, whipping someone til she bled, breathplay.  Stuff I’d never in a million years consent to. I’m very open-minded, but I draw the line at letting someone hurt me.

So he and I decided to just be friends. Skip forward a year or so and he meets a woman that he really likes and he decides to not say anything about his sexual tastes. She’s very vanilla and he decides that he’ll just try to live w/o the kink in his sex life.  Skip forward another year and he’s cheating on her, having kinky trysts with random strangers he met online. She finds out and is devastated.

Here’s my take on the topic = We are who we are. We like who we like. We get off on what we get off on. As long as it’s between 2 consenting adults, people should follow their hearts and their libidos.

Or is that just me being shallow, again?

So, a few weeks ago I was out with friends, at a bar, and I overheard a women (who was a good 10-15 years my junior) say that she didn’t think it was age appropriate for older women to be out drinking in bars, acting like they were still in their 20s.

She was a stranger, talking to her friends, and happened to be sitting on the barstool next to me. I don’t know if she was talking about me (as people are always telling me I look younger than 40 – my actual age) but maybe she was. And maybe she was one of those super-rude people who says things like that in the hopes that she’ll be overheard by the person she was insulting.

Whatever. Whether she was talking about me and my friends (who were in my age group) and/or wanted us to hear… completely irrelevant.  Life is too short to worry about nonsense like that.

I was more interested in the idea. Is it somehow NOT appropriate to go out and drink with your friends after 40 (or 35, or 45 or some other random number)?

Really, what I find interesting is the concept of age-appropriate behavior. I hear the phrase (age-appropriate) tossed around a lot. And it frequently baffles me.

I’ve had people tell me that my lifestyle is not age-appropriate. Because, I guess, I’m still single and am not rushing to settle down (and am comfortable with the idea that I may never settle down). And I go out with my friends for brunch or dinner or drinks and still occasionally go out to parties and don’t have anything or anyone tying me down.

Like, I guess, I’m still in my 20s.

Except, what difference does my age make? I do these things because I enjoy them. And because I CAN.

Sure, lots of people my age have spouses and/or kids and responsibilities that preclude weekly brunches and frequents nights out.

But I refuse to buy into the narrative that those other people have made appropriate choices and I am, somehow, living an inappropriate life.

Sorry, no.

Different, yes.  Nontraditional, absolutely.  Inappropriate – bite me.

I’ve rarely been accused of being shy. But I am a Gemini. So while there’s a part of me that thrives in social situations, there’s another part of me that likes to just stay home and read.

And lately, I gotta admit, the quiet side of me has been pretty much in control. I’ve turned into a total homebody. OK, this is a slight exaggeration. I was in Miami for a conference last week and did plenty of socializing while I was there. And I’ve made time for brunches and lunches with friends. Just no parties…

Anyway, that’s about to change. I decided that I need to FORCE MYSELF (notice the caps) to get out more. Even when I’d rather stay home and read, or work.

I’ve just had just a string of bad luck with online dating lately.  So maybe I need to shake things up and meet more guys IRL. And that’s not going to happen if I’m spending the vast majority of my time at home, alone, in my apartment.

So I have plans to got to 3 different social things in the next couple of weeks.  And will continue to book my calendar up with more. More parties, more events.  More trying.

Not that I’m giving up on online dating. Not at all. Though truth be told, it’s been over 2 weeks now since I’ve dealt with my inbox. I just need more variety in my dating/social life.

What’s the worse that can happen?  I go out to all of these parties and I don’t meet anyone.  So what?  It kinda doesn’t matter either way. All that matters is that I enjoy myself, with my friends.  And I’m sure I will.  So it’s a win-win either way.

I love Sundays. For me, Sundays are all about sleeping late, brunch and A Guy’s Story – what’s not to love?  This week’s Guy’s Story is by my good buddy Tom Miller, aka Tomfoolery (his blog is guaranteed to make you smile, NO JOKE).

Being Mean For No Reason

Everyone’s been the bad guy in a relationship one or two times. Sometimes we justify our actions as protecting ourselves or not letting someone get away with something. But generally, it’s spite or malice or vengefulness or willful negligence that makes us do crummy things. Despite being a largely well meaning and genial fellow, I’ve been spectacularly mean on a few occasions and I don’t care for it one bit.

Back in college, it seemed like there was an art to being mean to a girlfriend and it mostly had to do with looking cool in front of your buddies, it was the summer of 1998 and no one knew any better. I had the feeling that it was just a power dynamic and nothing I really wanted to get into. But years later I dropped a very douchey and mind game-y hammer on a lady I was dating seriously.

We’d entered into what I would call a relationship low-swing. When we were apart, which due to physical distance was often, she got a little clingy and wanted to check in pretty regularly. In her past were a bunch of hardcore lamebots when it came to boyfriends, so she felt a need for vigilance and I wasn’t always sensitive to those needs. In fact, I felt those dick-o-sauruses had caused her to play judge, jury and executioner without provocation. I spent a night at a club with some friends, many of whom had lady parts rather than man parts. We got boozed up and danced our faces off (that’s not a drug reference, I didn’t have a face for 12 hours). I checked in with a “good night” text and thought everything was okeedokee.

The next morning, at the crack of 11 AM, I was fielding a lot of very accusatory interrogatives, declaratives, exclamatories and imperatives. I almost felt guilty for just hanging out. Feeling parched, faceless and like my brain had swollen to Tarantino-esque dimensions, I fired back, hard. Having a massive ego, I decided that rather than talk it out, I was putting my old lady on a 24-hour timeout. I punished her concern and discomfort by cutting off contact for a day. I did need to put the conversation on ice as I was too hungover and she was too mad to talk about it, but killing discourse for a day was mean. The texts came after a few hours of cool-off time. They started consolatory, moved to apologetic and took a hard turn into frantic as the day wore on. Because I had a goddamned chip on my shoulder, I didn’t want to reach out and accept the apology and offer an olive branch.

When we did talk at 11:01 the next day, I found that the cruel power play worked but I didn’t feel like a victor, I felt like a grade-A asswad. There’s something inherit about shifting power dynamics in a relationship, and bullies tend to use mind games to stay on top. Probably very few people see themselves as bullies. They’d label themselves as assertive or, if mostly self-aware, as aggressive. No one who has ever met me would classify me as either of those things, but I took someone’s love and esteem for me and used it as a weapon against her. While I plan on never doing that again, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do it again if given the chance, if that makes sense.

While I’m sure that’s not the meanest thing I’ve ever done in a friendship or relationship, it’s one that’s eaten at me since it happened. There’s a great David Cross quote that I can’t find about not being able to psychologically afford regretting or lamenting some of the things we say or do, so I’ll have to save the really rotten things for my personal judgment day. One way or another, there’s always a reckoning.