Incommunicado: the New Age of Dating?

I think the social experiment has gone horribly awry.

My attempt at 'dating' online (that is, starting there to end in actual life) has been disillusioning at best, and depressing at worst. Actually the "best" and "worst" lines are no longer that far from one another, nor even mutually exclusive!

Thus far, I have made efforts and connections (hard won, harder found) and conscientiously entered into each connection with openness, energy and enthusiasm as, apparently, have my cohorts (in the beginning anyway). Men are terribly interested in learning about me! They read my profile, they write I am pretty, amusing, clever, bad, sexy, kooky, Other; they want more pictures; they want a link to my blog (ha), they want to know if I am on Facebook; they mail me letters, await mine in return, put in efforts in clever replies, (as do I), they want to chat, or phone, or just get to the coffee thing. It's all positive, fun, respectful and seems like a great cosmic, kismetic, momentum-building exercise in hope. (No one is admitting how goal-oriented this exercise is, but that is ok!). It all seems so promising!

Then they meet me in person. (or...worse, in one particularly notorious incidence of abuses against my heart). The world continues to spin on its axis but something has drastically shifted in the inner cosmos.

To the onlooker, the date seems to go fine, my daters are chatty, animated, clever, attractive. But post-meeting they stop writing almost immediately. They are 'offline' in the chatter programs, yet start to openly peruse through the dating site (online) there. In short, they drop the ball. I am in the courtyard alone, still hoping to get another go at the game, still looking to kick it around a bit. Now there is a sudden sharp pain, a Craw in my (proverbial) side.

This Craw is: Why would prospective daters unceremoniously and absolutely 'drop the ball' like that? Well, I have a theory (or two):

A) because there is always Plenty of Fish, always another bus coming around the corner, always someone else who might be prettier, more clever, younger, sexier, richer, slimmer, taller, smokier, dirtier, cooler, sportier, blonder, artier, cleaner, different. There is always someone "better" out there. "This one's not exactly what I had in mind.." (loin? mind?) so they throw the fish back in, and keep looking elsewhere. Nary a moment exists for a thought that maybe, just maybe that Perfect Little Gal, that Dreamgirl who has it ALL (at immediate glance) is a myth: she may be gorgeous, you may have amazing 'chemistry' right off the bat, but that same chemistry may not hold if there is nothing else of substance to keep things interesting later. That hot girl you want to screw (supposedly "assessed in the first 3 seconds of the date..") well, you may be looking at your next Ex-girlfriend.

B) the Chemistry misnomer. Is this the only way to locate a prospective Love? by looking for Chemisty (read = heat) right away? Am I missing something here, because that sounds and looks an awful lot not like looking for love, but looking for Lust and settling for lust! hey, I like lust! Lust is good. I've been down that road and it starts off great, and has a great middle and an amazing climax (o, the humour is still there, lurking) but the ending..oh-how-badly-that-can-go!! It goes downhill and picks up speed if two people have not bothered to prop up the relationship by other means. I would like to think love can be found after the second or even third date if there are other potentialities and angles to scout!

C) No one really ponders the (unpopular) patient-laboured notion of Investing something! Investing...Time for example: anyone can become attractive to us the more time we spend wth them and get to know them, engage with their personality, hear what else they've got to say, understand where they are coming from, see where they want to go, laugh at their jokes. Why do you think there are so many office romances among co-workers? Cause they see each other nearly everyday. Hello? repetition, familiarity can breed closeness and attraction! There is more to see than the first 15 seconds of "is she, or isn't she (The One)?" My goodness, what a fast-food driving, insta-date, just-add-water, spoiled, I want what I want NOW, fucked up society we are quickly becoming! Those flings that started at lust, and moved to a careless, makeshift form of 'dating' always led me to the crossroads of Getting Hurt and Asshole.

I wonder, in these seemingly-hostile, rough dating waters where people are conceived of as 'fish' (expendable, as well as being abundant) through the misconception of habitating in a big, endless ocean - does anyone really stand a fair chance? There is a finite number of fish, and the real ocean itself is very finite and fragile in its own way (being polluted, and exploited beyond maximum capacitity by greedy bastards. And yes, we can all be greedy bastards). The same 'logic' holds true for cyberspace: there are no rules, no lines, no boundaries, hence, less personal accountability. Nobody exists until you see their "icon"! It's dating in a vaccuum.

What foolish, fallible creatures we seem when we are so ready to believe in myths, rather than understanding ourselves by accessing our inner knowledge, and questioning our expectations, what's Ideal, where these ideas have COME from, etc. in order to better understand and appreciate others. How do WE appear to others in the world? What are WE bringing to the 'table'? How are WE accountable for our dating situation? How can WE improve ourselves, first and foremost? Maybe not-so-rhetorical questions we should be asking ourselves next time we plan to meet an attractive stranger that we might be projecting all sorts of shite onto.

walking contradiction

here is my blatant rip-off of the Morissette's "Hand in Pocket" whilst freeflowing poetrizin'


Seem drunk but I'm sober
I'm smart but I'm fun
Sound flat but I'm bumpy...baby

calm but I'm restless
Shy so I'm bold
nice but I'm naughty...baby

Light but a Dark horse
cute but I'm overdressed
Sweet but I'm spicy..baby!

what it all comes down to-o..
is that everybody's mostly full of shit!
I've got one hand in my pocket
and the other is flippin a ..hello!

I'm contra in diction
I'm left but I'm right
(anyone smart would know that!)
great yet SO humble!
smooth but a bumble-ler
watch as I tumble..baby!

what it all comes down to my friends, yeah
is that silence is the answer most giv-e-n
one is giving you the finger
when you hear crickets in the dark...

yep. what it all comes down to my friends, yeah-m
is that no one's got it figured out just yet
they keep putting off replying, now I'm lying in
doggie shit.


peace. out.

Where is my Elliot Garfield?

maybe Mother Fate has an ironic sense of humour...or has other things in store for me. While my social life may be thriving, whenever I get remotely interested in someone (and, it appears mutual at least!) some odd occurance sharply severs the tie just like that! Poof!! all gone. not gonna happen. I am seeing a pattern here. "Not yet! Not yet! oh, oh...oh, this one..looks like...maybe...OH-no, Not yet!!" (sucka.)

Maybe I should set my sights on something more realistic and attainable. Maybe I should focus on becoming famous this year! Why the hell not?! I've never gone for this goal, and it's about time I tried something just 'wacky' enough! haha wouldn't that be f* great?? (rhetorical question, no need to get excited about an actual 'answer').

Theoretically, if I cannot muster an interesting coffee companion in say, the next 2 weeks, I will throw caution to the wind, career-wise, do the counter-intuitive thing (which, if I really break it down, is actually the true, correct and INTUITIVE thing I have had boring a little hole in my jacket pocket near the vest [heart] all along) and go for the Gold and act my little butt off! social convention, timing, sense and reason be damned! ;)

Maybe I may even meet my own Elliot Garfield in some dark theatre hall with a silly little hat atop his head, dressed as a pirate. za-wooee! now that would be poetic.

Girls will be Boys

So I'm listening to Bowie's "Boys Keep Swinging'" walking around the mall, heavy sack of Stuff slung over one shoulder. I am looking to replace a cell phone (and an excuse to trade UP into an iPhone or Blackberry, truth be told!) and as I look around me I think: I cannot wait to gtf outta this mall. This lone thought would quash any stereotypes about girls who love going shopping or partaking in 'retail therapy'. Not me! I want to get what I need, get the cheapest version (of passable quality of course) of the Thing I need, and get OUT as quickly as possible! and there are signs all over the place, signage for everything, "water, water everywhere but not a drop to..." understand wtf they are all stating..! And all these pretty Things, and displays and clothes just keep getting in the way of seeing those signs clearly, especially the ones marked "Exit"!

I'm not antisocial- far from it- but the mall and people in it all seem to gravitate toward fallin' or leanin' on me, brushing their bags and backpacks against my personhood (!), or stepping right in front of my path exactly onto the spot I am about to step into. So I wind up doing a little waltz, half a dosey-do and curtsey about a dozen times along a single corridor. But hellz bellz, all that bouncing and cajoling, is throwing me offa my game, and I am the hunter seeking what I need- on a mission and NOT to be confounded by these so-called- Wants! Finally my mind can't handle all the collisions, shiny things, bouncing bags, and dosey-doeing making it oh-so-much-easier to mentally check-out and into a fuzzy fantasy world with bad musak where rose coloured lenses depict pretty things as not being Costly, no sir! only as investments to be MADE..."Things that will make my life BETTER-er!" There is merit to having and purchasing Things, of course. I should know, I have plenty of them! But I hate Shopping, the recreational pastime, the stereotypical hall of female bonding, or the 'retail therapy'. It aint too therapeutic cracking open your VISA bill and having stark realities squelch your eyes and squeeze your heart a might.. Therapy? I think NOT. More like Crisis Management! Collateral Intervention!

The only type of shopping I do enjoy, oddly enough is for food (go figure). In this way, my anti-shoppping stance might be labelled by some traditionalists as being more 'manly' and less 'girly', I suppose. But I shrug at that, and think "I pity the fool who thinks such stupifying, arrested and dichotomous thoughts. I pity the fool!!" (MR. T style)

I also like to fix things. Got a problem? Ask me! (mind you, my specialty is of the social or emotional kind- am I Handy in that dept!) But if all you want to go is marinate in the same old drudgery and misery and whine about the same issue you have done nothing about since the last time we 'talked* (*meaning= the last time you whined using a different angle, and different words...you clever thing, you;), then I am not interested. Tell me about a problem you are having, I will listen intently. Then I will put in my two cents of how to help you! I want to help you in earnest, especially if it sounds like a sucky time for you. Sorry, I guess I am thinking like a 'man' again! Do you really want to do something about it, or am I just a pretty sounding board? I think you are sounding bored, myself...

Another little chink in my armour, I hate being 'coy' based on some gendered expectation of 'proper' behaviour. If I like a guy I will probably want to do something about it in time. I might want to do stuff with him, or kiss him or better! :)) I don't want to play hard to get, or act aloof to get him to 'chase' me. Life is short, man and it's getting shorter after 35, so either pee or get off the pot! (god, I am feeling colloquial and colourful tonight! hoo-aahh!!) I don't want to be chased, nor chaste! Am I thinking like a man, because I want to do the same stuff that you, boy, want to do? Nope. I am thinking just like me.

I want to be authentic, and act based upon my own feelings about the world, and I know it's up to me to figure out which messages are genuinely mine, and not someone else's, that is my cross (your heart bra) to bear. I like pink and pink is only a colour, yet it is loaded with meaning based on what our culture has projected on it, via socialization, symbolism, language and institutionization. Everything is coded. What would Noam Chomsky say about the lexicon of language and our codes and their purpose and subjectivities..? that is perhaps another rant in the making..

Still, why is yellow the only supposed gender neutral colour for a baby room?? Why not make pink the new gender-neutral colour? Why not imprint and encode, re-code messages over the no-longer-relevant or less non-productive ones? I would like to think, that if I were a guy I could like pink without having to resort to justifying it as being 'salmon-coloured'. cough* cough*

As we stumble into each other at crowded malls trying to be happy, buying cool stuff to feel good, we are all mirroring one another, by embodying endless dynamic combinations of Yin/Yang, and light/dark and blood/water, male/female, the Moon the Sun--and everything in between...and it is usually IN-BETWEENS where we really 'live, if you ask me.

The bigger question begs, "why are there no f* cell phones on sale anywhere?"

"Should I stay or should I go now?"

Ahh, decisions, decisions...
the most painfully chronic has of late been the what-the-fuck-am-I-supposed-to-do-in-the-dating-world kind.

I try to live with integrity -as much as I can- when it comes time to sharing with people I like and care about. With friends I want to feel that I am really with them and honour their prescence, as I hope they do mine. I want to share of myself and also listen, through a natural ebb and flow, so to let moments 'occur'. So...why doens't this concept extend to the Dating world? do the Rules suddenly change there?

For me there is a sense of "should I feel something...or should I not"? When is it 'safe' to FEEL when one is starting to date? After all, if one is to be in the presence of someone to try and get to know them, isn't it right to be 'present' emotionally as well? To laugh when something is funny, to smile when there is something endearing, to blush when there is something blush-worthy. But Jeebus H. C. BillyBobThorntonWilder, what happens if you like a guy?? That's a NO-NO! just BADDDD news!! But why?? It confuses the shit out of me. (ok, I'm tired, I'm slinging out dirty colloquialisms. I pronounce tonight "Freeform Sweary night"!)

I feel like I am expected to be passionate one minute (or in certain scenarios), then dispassionate and emotionally 'detached' the next. Internally flicking an invisible On and Off switch just in case 'they', the TM's (Timid Men) don't want to get closer or you know, actually feel icky things..like feelings and stuff. I am to Keep Disengaged and coyly come out only IF and when there are clear and distinct indications that he is feeling positively about me. Oh. Joy. (Why don't I just go and charge the vibe batts now..)

But why is it up to TM's? Why are these men the proverbial deers-in-headlights, easily-spooked, emotionally fragile creatures, darting off into the forest at the merest whisper of feelings? How and why do THEY get to wield so much power with respect to issuing the "green light" relationship-wise? What does a 'green light' look like these days anyway?? "Hey, I could maybe fuck you again." "how R U doin" (thru the texting* medium), or "Wow, you parallel park pretty good...for a girl." Huh?? this shiz be-confu-fuddles the f*ck outta me!

It is easy to keep a cool head if one is 'not that into' the dude (no, not the Lebowski ~we loves him~), but it becomes a messy string of turns if one should actually become (gulp) innerested in a person. The Rules state I have to play hide the heart while he tries to play hide the sausage...or something like that. But the point is to hide something from the other. Thing is: I hate hiding, suck at poker, wear my fuckin heart on my sleeve most of the time, and have a hard time unplugging my Bullshit Detector. It is always ON! It is my downfall, it is my greatest ally. I Curse the Skies! (in dramatic fashion a la Charlton Heston circa first Apes movie) "Damn you, Bullshit Detector, damn you for cajoling me into being real and earnest, even when I bloody know I oughtn't be! Damn. you. to HELL..!" (and.........Scene.)

Maybe that is part of my problem. Maybe I AM too earnest. But is it really so bad to say to someone, "Hey, I like you. Do you want to hang out again?" Yet suddenly this blockade is erected, an underworld of emotional and sexual politics comes to the fore, where truths are veiled, details spun and distorted, and behaviour altered and manipulated, in order to Keep the Upper Hand! God forbid you become vulnerable, and say, "(gulp) golly, Beav, I guess kind of like you too. Ok, let's hang out." Why was this easy when I was 22? But now, are the stakes higher the higher the number..?

After a string of one-night-stands-that-looked-and-sure-sounded-like-they-were-meant-to-be-more faltered, I did the math and realized they had all died Harakiri style immediately upon me starting to Trust (aha- tsk* tsk*) that the other person may have meant what he said. Examples: "I definitely want to see you again," "no, I WILL call you," "Sure, we can hang out again.", "Let's just keep trying to connect." (And some, if I really admit it, were nowhere romantic to begin with, the post-coitus having been met with a limp-handed, grazing handshake some eye-avoidance and a mumble like "ok, 'night." WTF. Literally?)

I don't know how the hell I am supposed to be Present, or Real, or Open to feeling 'Feelings', while at the same time aiming to protect my heart so much from terrible rejection and regret. Is this not a contradiction in nature? How do you reconcile being a passionate, feeling person and keeping cool and emotionally detached in games of the heart? How can I date without engaging my heart?? Isn't that the whole POINT of the exercise? oy to the f*cken vey.

Today, I am trying to keep my uh, expectations in check, and by "in check" I mean non-existent. "Don't expect courtesy, kindness, honesty, or reciprocated admiration, or the courage to be real with you, Missy! But don't forget to act surprised IF and when they drop you a text bomb to invite you to tea!" Now, Sit up, stick your tongue out, and pant quickly! (oh, how cute! Girls are SO cute, when they deny themselves the full spectrum of the human experience! :))


These heart/head games suck because they dampen any joy, contentment, or the tiny blush that threatens to keep my mind entertained for days on 'afterward'. It sucks because somehow I must repress ANY inklings of happiness "just in case" I am to be met with horrible impending rejection. "Don't even bother feeling excited about the prospect of anything promising, gurl. Just get to a poundcake now and unplug the phone. Uhm-hum."

Honestly, the "stay or go" game is such an emotional rollercoaster, that I feel like bowing out completely, and going to projectile v. somewhere nearby. I sometimes wish my spirit DIDN'T strive for hope, truth or that elusive thing..romantic happiness! Things would be SOO much easier without the want of it! "Damn you, Spirit! Damn. You. To. Hell..!"

For me the Feeling stuff comes easy, but this despondent and detached shit- now THAT is hard.

setting sights and aiming...

losing a job to a 15 min. break? damn right I did!

I remember one particular cold fall when as a student I got a PT job at the local mall. This particular kid-centered retail outlet...ahem* had a certain professional tendency to hire young female things who would not mind nor balk at there not being a 15 min. built into their 4 hr (and sometimes longer!) shift. Well, along came I, somewhat more jaded as I clambered into my 30's with my 'been-there-and-dun-that-and-I-sure-as-shit-don't-wanna-go-there-again 'tude. Upon my first real shift, I was informed that (insert co. name) does "not really do that" in reference to my query of when my break would occur. I was dumbfounded...but not dumb. So I insisted and claimed some psychosomatically-embellished condition impacting the weariness of my feet and compounding my thirst (I believe...) until the manager finally relented.

I "took" those 15 mins, boy, like it was the first taste of ice cream for a prisoner who had been locked away in a dungeon bereft of the flavours of food and left with scarcely any water for sustenance. I TOOK that fuckin 15! If I could have had sex with it, I would have.

In fact, my irritation and pull for subversiveness propelled me to 'make a point' by not-so-subtely taking, that's right...over 17 minutes (SUCH a radical!).

Then I was met with a lecture, er, I mean a rather involved discussion with the manager whereupon I argued for the virtues and benefits of giving us peons a short break and how it would overall improve productivity (trying the money angle, having assessed they were not the least bit receptive to any human rights angle), whilst she proceeded to explain to me how she blew the female president's cock on an nightly basis, administering to her every whim, including parting her hair to the exact follicle, holding it back upon fluid exhalations into a porcelain bowl or wiping the phlegm from under her (snide) nose, anything in order to 'protect the company assets'. Jaysus H, who are you kidding?! you are protecting your own ASS-ets so that by sucking every 'authoritative' proverbial cock (I said it again, it bears repeating!) you can remain with your foot solidly in managerial peon mode, carefully cemented into the landscape of the company's mosuleum for years to come. Well, do whatchu gotta do, sistah! and to each her own!

I get it, the co. wants to save money! Duh! but this is NORTH AMERICA, where presumably we are among the more fortunate when it comes to worker's rights where the min wage is shit, but it is still better than an assembly line Honduran worker's min wage, and where a 15 min break is a RIGHT not a privilege to be bestowed upon the hearty many who intend to complete their 4 hr. shift. Aint it...??

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...mgr. and I spent over 20 minutes going back and forth (diplomatically, I will attest and give props to) but nevertheless, "wasting" the company's precious time instead of being fruitful and letting little New Peon enjoy her 15, then come back refreshed and pumped up, ready to perform to the public how she cares about kiddy clothes, rarin' to help young parents get the right toddler pants size! That's the way to get geared up right, right? All it would take is a certain amount of dignity, respect afforded to the worker, to acknowledge her as a human with needs like water, food and yes, the ever, grossly under-valued concept in our society: REST!

No, my foot is not broken (nor sprained), no, I am not internally bleeding, not I do not need to "run" to the washroom, no I don't "feel ill". I do not need nor want a legitimizing excuse. I wish we did not have to feel guilty or ashamed without justifying a respite, or rationalizing it in some small, semi-apologetic way. Remnants of shame are so deeply woven into our collective fabric of consciousness, creating concepts like 'being idle'. Well, I do not speak in 'idle' terms nor laziness, nor weakness. I reject these terms and claim my respite because I am a human being and not a robot. PERIOD. full stop. No shame nor stigma need be attached.

Why the big deal? you ask. It's just a 15 min break! Because it's about taking our space, it's about seeing ourselves as worthy of space and having needs and considering the human aspect of the worker, the rights inherent to all workers the world over.

I am taking a break for those who may never get one, for those who deserve one too, for those whose voices are stunted, or forcibly quieted, for those who fear retribution of job loss or those who feel threatened or alienated. It is about claiming our power as people back. You can't rob me of my humanity, Big Fucking Corporation, Big Fuckin Governmental Body, Big Fuckin Institution (applying such discourse to make it 'ok' to devalue the human, and attach shame to rights we ought to claim). I don't give a shit if this year's aim is to 'tighten' things by squeezing everybody else's waist. You don't own me, you rent my time and labour, RENT it, while I hold my end of the contract to uphold your rules, and do my assigned tasks to the best of my abilities. So why aren't you holding your end up of the bargain up to respect me as a human being, as a critical part (not merely a peon) in this money-making, mass-producing system called capitalism. I don't like the deal one bit.

I WANT MY FUCKIN 15 MINUTES.



(NOTE: this author would call in 2 days later and resign from this unfortunate post, feeling that staying there would perpetuate all those things about injustice and mis-use of power that make her feel sick in her heart, and feelings of anger and shame that make her sick in her belly. Above all, she was humbled and thankful she could 'quit' a job, any job.)

It's a small gesture of resistance, but the personal can't help but be political. We need to look beyond the price tag to the lines between the stitching...where there are nameless, faceless workers often bereft of their rights and dignity as human beings.

Please, Mum - let's not shop here.