So Ticked Off

I sat in silence today. For a really long time. Silence and darkness. It was a freezing 9 degrees and rainy with dark and ominous hail clouds. Very fitting to my mood.

I did something I never do. I took care of myself. I gave myself what I really needed: I nurtured my heart.

I bundled up in the middle of the day, closed the blinds, shut off the lights and sat. And did nothing but feel what I was feeling. Just let myself be where I was at.

Where I was at was angry. Angry and furious. Seething. So angry I could barely see straight.

I usually try and bypass this anger by ‘getting to the bottom’ of what’s really going on.

Fuck that. Today I gave myself permission to be mad as hell.

And from that, I burst into tears. And I cried. All by myself there in the dark.
And 35 minutes later, I got up, dusted myself off, opened the blinds and got on with my life.

I’m listening though. It opened the communication between me and my heart. It is hurting.

I asked it, ‘what are you sad about?’ and then I listened to the answer.

And I nodded my head. I understand.

I treated my heart like a friend today.

Instead of trying to boss it around and control it, I listened.

And I heard.

I know what I want now.

And the anger is gone.

Which makes my path really clear.

And I feel much better.

Shedding the Good Girl

Your good girl role will rob you of your life. Piss off one person per day for the next 30 days.
~Cheryl Richardson

This quote rocked my world. I’ve been rolling it around in my head for the past few days. I’m someone who’s approval addicted and I really do want to make others happy, but sometimes at my own expense. I’m playing with the idea of genuinely and truly doing what’s in my best interests at all times regardless of what that’s going to mean to others and regardless of whether or not they like it.

And I feel very audacious even CONSIDERING it, like the mere suggestion of pissing others off is so outrageous that never can it be spoken, let alone written down in print!

Bee in my Bonnet

So it has been a while since I’ve written. When did I start internalizing everything? When did I STOP using this blog as my outlet?

I’m dating someone new. Which has just opened me up to infinite vulnerability and raw crazy.

The crazy has always been there, of course, just getting naked with someone - physically, emotionally, spiritually – makes it spill out from the controlled container I usually have it in.

So here it is: My biggest fear in life is that I’m going to spend the rest of my life alone. And so far, I’ve been doing a pretty good job of making sure that comes true.

Sabotage, poor choices and of course, the stark raving craziness.

Here are things I’ve been pondering:
*The best way to learn about relationships is to be in a relationship
*I’m really needy in relationships.
*And insecure
*I look to man to fulfill me, make me feel safe or like myself better.
*Everything that I seek from him I need to first give to myself.

I’m really fucked up about men. I didn’t realize it until recently. Of course I knew I had some ISSYOUS, but I didn’t realize how deep they ran.

I’m having a hard time really tapping into the heart of it, like I used to. I’m buzzing around on the surface, hesitant to dive in, but knowing that I have to.

Stay tuned...

Building the New - the Next 35

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
~Walt Whitman

The good thing about having a birthday is that is the perfect opportunity to take stock of life. It’s a good time to see where I’m at, to laugh, cry, mourn, celebrate. It’s a time to pause, and catch my breath, look forward, look back, look around. It’s a snapshot of a life in full-speed.

It’s a time for gratitude, release, grief, hope, resolve and affirmation.

This year has been one of phenomenal growth. I look back on the last year and can only shake my head in awe. I feel like I’ve done a lot of growing up. Mine is a rags to riches story, emotionally, spiritually, mentally and physically.

I am learning more and more about myself daily, striving for better, but also standing in happiness and acceptance and harmony and awe. In awe daily of all the wonderful things I have created.

There has been a monumental shift for me these last 3 months and I am pushing forward, but still turning my head back, hand extended to those in my past who I am reluctant to leave behind.

I still miss my ex-boyfriend. I am still waiting for something to happen there; for the door to close, the rope that connects us to be cut. I have been visualizing a giant pair of scissors cutting this big, thick, sinewy rope that connects us and there is always a struggle. So I have to stop and ask why? And realizing from this, since I can no sooner move forward with him, that I don’t let go easily. Realizing that I am loyal and that change is hard for me. And that I am needlessly hanging onto something that never really existed in the first place. And mourning that loss.

I hit the ceiling on that relationship, but I haven’t been able to figure out why I’m still hanging on. Then I stumble on this post from last September and am both saddened and encouraged, reminded that what we had did in fact mean something, that it was a powerful force, a beautiful thing, a forward motion. So what I’m hanging on to is love. What I’m mourning is the loss of what could have been. There is grief that we couldn’t make it work; anger that I can’t control my emotions, or events or their outcome…or other people. Bitterness and hurt that I feel he didn’t appreciate me; that I wasn’t enough for him to step up; resentment that the man I fell in love with was a mirage; disappointment at my sqaut behaviour. And finally understanding that it’s got nothing at all to do with any of that. How could we go from the Centre of the Universe to…arguing about eggs? How could we go from walking down a path of security, commitment and trust to…bickering and tension and friction and constant power struggle? Why is my loving cup always so empty?

So I sit with it, lean into it. Instead of feeding it with food, or alcohol, or television, or conversation, I sit with it. I sit with the sadness, the fear, the loss, the rejection, the failure and the loneliness. I sit with it and I wait, I observe, I love. I don't judge or scold myself. I just sit with it and accept it for what it is.

And then I turn my head forward. I look around at all my great, great friends. I am bathing in gratitude, receiving all the love thrown my way, taking it all in. I am listening to music, being good to myself, treating, indulging, breathing in and out and taking new, slow, tentative steps in a direction that scares the crap out of me and exhilarates me all at the same time. I am surrounding myself with people who push the limits of my comfort zone on a daily basis and believe in me and see all the potential in me that I only started seeing for myself.

I am daring to dream again…to audaciously make choices and decisions that make my heart sing, skip a beat, beat faster….that turn my stomach into a blended drink. And in the midst of all the forward motion, this chaos, this intense energy, this higher vibration, I am learning to ground myself, to breath deeply, to carve out a sense of security, a sense of myself. I am learning to accept, to surrender, to feel the undesirable feelings, to receive goodness and love and to stop apologizing for my choices, for my body, for who I am becoming. I am 35. I am learning and practicing to be giving, to love freely and be generous with grace. I am learning to think the best of people and see the good in them instead of clutching onto fear and hate and lack. I am growing up, growing out, expanding, daring, reeling, crying for change, letting go, making bold choices and endeavoring to live a big and audacious, scary, exhilarating, life. I deserve this life, these riches, this power, and I accept it now.

I am 35 and I am beginning the new. This is the song of myself.

Today's Post: Dating

My roommate Erin and I are co-authoring a book about dating. Since she's the only one of us actually doing any dating, I am sucking the raw research materials out of her before she goes out. I'm the Ed McMahon to her Johnny Carson.

Today's post: Predate primping. Subcategory: Hair.

Gravitational Pull

Something weird has been happening to me lately. On Sunday, I spent the entire day with my boyfriend and then came home and promptly spent another 30 minutes talking on the phone with him. Completely new experience for me. Wanting more from someone that I just saw, that is.

I have always been the type of person who spends time with others, gets my fill and then is happy for time to myself. I like my space. I like to do my own thing. I have a cap on the amount of time I can spend with people before they start to get on my nerves. I may like you, I may love you. But there is a limit before I start getting your coat and ushering you quickly out the door.

See ya!

I seriously always pictured myself as one of those women who was somehow flawed; some sort of aberration…devoid of the Mommy gene and the Marrying gene. I had this notion of myself as the type of woman who would take lovers, but always keep a separate home from them; one who would quite happily see out her days in a Katherine Hepburn-esque existence. In love but (*deep booming voice*) IN CHARGE. Forever keeping my wits about me.

Well, har de har, har har. Joke’s on me.

There is this invisible force around me, around us. It is pulling me towards him despite my best efforts to maintain my footing and stand my ground. I am reluctant to get swept up in the force of it, lest it be a black hole, a vortex, a no-man’s land out of which I will never be free. It’s like he is his own planet, with his own orbit. And pretty soon, we are going to collide. And pretty soon, I am going to be in deeper than I would like. So deep that getting out unscathed will be impossible. Are we there yet? At the point of no return? It’s inevitable. It’s like I’m on a plane that is about to crash and burn; I’ve still got my finger on the button that will catapult me out of the Ejection Seat to safety. But if I wait too long, there’ll be no turning back.

It’s starting to really sink in, the reality that we could actually really be together long term. It’s seeping in, trickling through my bones and taking root. And it’s scaring the shit out of me.

I told him this last night, how I am fighting his gravitational pull. And what a new experience it is for me. I rambled a bit, trying to gauge his reaction.

Quiet, as usual.

And eventually: ‘Are you even listening to me?’

He just said calmly: ‘I feel the same way. Our orbits will collide, and pull us to the Centre of the Universe.’

‘What’s at the Centre of the Universe,’ I asked him.

He replied: Love. Respect. Honesty.

~SWOON~

If this is where he is taking me, then so be it.

Bristling (Un)Certainty

BF: Hey, can we go to Shoppers?
Me: Sure
BF: I need to buy a toothbrush and some deodorant and leave them at your house.
Me: Ok
BF: I am tired of bringing them over all the time.
Me: Mm-hm.
BF: Does that freak you out?
Me: No.
BF: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.

For the first time in 10 years, there is a 2nd toothbrush in my toothbrush holder that does not belong a) to me b) to visitors or c) to a friend who was too drunk to drive home.

It is green and looks very majestic...almost regal, all hanging out by my purple one. As if to announce: everything as you know it is about to change.

As if to say, I'm not going anywhere. So get used to me.

What is it about toothbrushes? How can that seemingly ordinary and mundane thing suddenly become simultaneously so LOUD and so damn INTIMATE?

I feel like I am announcing: MY BOYFRIEND STAYS OVER OFTEN ENOUGH THAT IT WARRANTS LEAVING STUFF BEHIND. It still catches me off guard. It's been there for about 3 days now and I am still taken aback every time I see it. I still do a double-take.

That doesn't belong there.

Except that wait. Yes it does. It does.

And even more fascinating to me: it doesn't scare me. No, no. On the contrary, it fills me with a great and overwhelming sense of security. And maybe that's what scares me a little. Who knew that stability could be so sexy?! (Ah right: everyone but me.)

People may look into crystal balls to tell the future. I look towards the green toothbrush. I say, change is in the bristles.

Head in the Clouds

So, I haven't been posting. Usually, the reason for that is that there are things going on that I'm not ready to talk about.

And it's obnoxious to come on here and say there are things going on that I'm not ready to talk about, so I end up saying nothing at all.

I will say this, my goal of going on FIVE DATES in 8 weeks will be met tonight. Done and done. And in fact, I think tonight might even be Date #7 because I've kind of lost track and stopped counting and what constitutes a date anyway? Is it actually seeing him or does some sort of cash transaction/public appearance need to be involved? (Wait, that sounds bad...

I have just spent 5 minutes typing and erasing sentences on 5 or 6 different topics. Dating, my birthday, my glasses, my move, my business, the crippling indecision which has got a hold on my murky brain. But it's Spring, the sun is finally shining and all I can't type another word.

Someplace New

So. I think I might be at the stage where my dating life is off-limits. Not up for conversation, ridicule or opinion.

Let’s just let that sink in.

It’s nobody’s business but my own.

You are probably sitting there and nodding your head. Yeah? Yes. Of course.

Except that this has never been my M.O. It's never been the way I sail my ship. My private life has always more or less been up for public consumption. I’ve always considered it the juiciest and most interesting thing about me. And usually the funniest. Looking back, trying to take my emotional pitfalls with aplomb and make sense of the mess in my head just seems sad.

I’m not anymore.

Suddenly what’s going on with me isn’t about notches on my bedpost or bragging rights or sense of identity or success. I have been trying to measure success by my relationships with men. If I was in a relationship/if I could find someone who loved me, I mustn’t be all that bad; I must be a success; I must be a good person; I must be lovable; I must be accepted, safe, valued and secure. I must be (fill in the blanks.)

I can give that security and assurance to myself now, so looking for your approval and outside validation just doesn't seem all that important anymore. I really don't give a shit what you think. And suddenly the appeal of sharing the most intimate details of my dating life don’t seem so important or appropriate anymore.

So friends, what I might be saying here is that Dates # 2, 3, 4 and 5 might just have to remain shrouded in mystery.

But maybe not.

Let’s call is discretionary writing.

Do I really need all my missteps and failures broadcast for the entire world?

Suddenly, I am just feeling very protective of my experiences. It's so soon and I want to savour them. Saying them out loud almost ruins them, making them cheap in their inadequacy and causing them to wilt in the daylight air.

Date # 1

So I literally expected to start dating simply to have blog fodder. I thought it would make great material for me to come on here and treat you to all kind of horror stories and hilarious anecdotes.

Hm.

Date #1 last night exceeded my expectations. Was probably the best date I’ve been on in 4 years. The man picked me up at my house, showed up 10 minutes early and paid for dinner. The date lasted 6 ½ hours and left me wanting more. He texted me on his way home to wish me a good night and has already texted me this morning to set up Date #2. That is a good date in my books. I still have some serious reservations. A second date is definitely in order.

And that is all you are going to get out of me.

You've Only Got 5 Dates to Save the World

So my latest foray into the limits of my comfort zone involves a new goal to start dating. Now you may remember my last date and how well it went. It was bad enough to put me off for 9 months and a valid enough excuse for me to bury my head in the sand and hibernate like a grumpy bear through the long winter months.

Well, it's Spring, and I am coming down from the mountain. And I'm hungry and foraging for food. So I've decided to just jump in with both feet, and set myself the goal of going on 5 dates in the next 8 weeks.

Now I'm talking about real and active dating. Not pseudo- or lazy dating where I kind of sit back and let everyone else do the work. Not ‘dating’ where I spend most of my time lamenting my single-hood or feeling sorry for myself. No more of me feeling like a victim, like I have no control, like no one would even want to date me. I’m talking about dating where I take am actively participating, where I’m getting used to regular rejection, not taking anything personally and gettin’ myself out there.

I’ve been waiting. Waiting til the “right” time. Waiting until I am ready, waiting until the book is done, waiting until I lose 30 pounds, waiting until I feel better about myself, waiting until I feel less vulnerable....waiting, waiting, waiting.

And here I am, on the doorstep of my 34th birthday. Honey, time’s a wastin’. I will wake up at 50 and have waited my life away. There is never the ‘right’ time or the ‘best’ time. So I’m gonna get my ass out there. And oh yeah, try and have some fun.

A Pint of Bitter

Alternate Title: Men are pigs. And I am Angry
Other Contenders: Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting

I can now officially state that I am running in the Bitter Bitch Marathon, and coming in first place.

It has been a long, dark road outta hell, lemme tell you—the journey I have been on this past 15 months or so to really get to the root cause of why I am single. Because you can only blame the men for so long. The only common denominator in my singlehood is me. It’s a battle to be accountable and since November, I have been trying to swallow the bitter, BITTER pill that not only am I accountable, I am in fact creating the situation. Yes friends, I am CHOOSING to be single. I have been trying to come to grips with the fact that I have complete control over my situation despite having felt desperately helpless about it my whole life. Helpless and hopeless, that’s what it feels like. It still scares me and angers me and I regularly shake my fist at the sky in frequent bouts and fits of rage and anger at the injustice of it all. I am long past celebrating everyone else’s Happily-Ever-Afters and do not suffer advice on the matter gladly. If one more person tells me that I should try online dating or I just need to “be myself”, I am going to foist myself onto a stripper pole and make you stuff my string bikini with fivers.

I also have this crippling and embarrassing belief that no one will date me because I’m fat. I actually believe that if I was skinny, that the men would be flocking towards me. Which is why, three years ago, I made it my personal mission to get skinny. And when I did, you know what? Absolutely nothing changed. The joke was on me.

So if that wasn’t it, then what was? If men don’t really care how I look, then why am I still single?

And you know what, I still don’t have any answers to that. If I did, I wouldn’t be single. But I’m clearly not learning the lessons I am meant to and clearly still repeating patterns.

*sigh*

So last year, one of my New Year’s Resolutions was to create and foster more positive male friendships in my life. I was blessed with a flood of really good, decent and single guys my age who practically reversed the damage done by years of dating the slimy dregs of the male species. Yes, I continue to see prime examples of quality men in my work and be surrounded by them—each nice, decent, hard-working guy changing my view on men one at a time. I don’t seem to be attracting any of them, but I have been dealing with that too. I have been honest with my feelings and up-front with men and generally feeling pretty good about the progress I have been making.

Until Saturday night, that is.

I went out with one of said male friends and one of his married buddies completely shattered my spirit.

It was the first time in my life where I’ve actually met the ‘Smug Marrieds’ that Brigit Jones is always referring to: Married Guy A was talking to Married Guy B and I passed by and said “What are you guys talking about.” Married Guy B said: “How great it is being married.” I kept walking.

One of them in particular was very happy to pigeon-hole me and had all sorts of judgements about “the type of girl” I was. Two of them practically took pleasure in telling me that all the good guys are already married and that I am essentially shit out of luck. I am going to die old and alone. For someone whose biggest fear it is to die old and alone, to have two men tell me casually and maliciously over a pint of beer that I am going to die old and alone was devastating. I barely know how I managed to keep drinking. But I did. Married Guy B assumed I was only out looking for a one-night stand and then later labelled me as a Bitter Girl.

Oh, it was fun times.

The worst part is that a) that I put up with it and b) I think he might be right. I realized with HORROR that I am Bitter Girl. I have turned into something I have been fighting so hard against for years.


Let it be said that the guy was an asshole. I know this. He had his own ego issues and obviously his needs are not being met. He accused me of having an AGENDA if I stopped talking to a man in a bar once I found out he was married.

I was drunk, yes. But mostly I was hurt, insulted, offended and angry, but the night left me feeling vulnerable and worthless and really brought out the worst in me.

Other than the anger, I am also disappointed in myself. I took a kind of freakish pride in the fact that I still had faith in men and still believed in love despite all the drama.

It was a horrible night that highlighted how horrible I am feeling about myself, and how much bitterness I project towards men, married or otherwise. And I didn’t realize it until just now.

One thing I know for sure: I am officially on a serious HIATUS from men and from now on, my time is going to be better spent with the women who love me, trust me, accept me and see me for the fabulous Goddess/Diva/Howling Ladywolf that I am. I don’t mind being tested and having my opinions challenged, but it needs to come from a place of love and acceptance. This was coming from a place of small penis/large ego.

I don’t need to go out and spend my Saturday night feeling like shit, thanks gentlemen. Just because you're married, doesn’t mean you have to stop treating others around you with respect.

I’m mad as hell. And I’m bitter. And I am going to hang out here for a while instead of being in such a damn fine hurry to move out of it. My name is Karen and I am going to throw myself a Bitter Party. I am setting sail on the Bitter boat to battle the bitter seas... Bitter, Table for One. Well, you get the idea.

Song of the day: 'Bang on' the Breeders

Send in the Clowns

I happened to catch Steve Harvey on Ellen earlier this week (yes, I work from home. What?) I never watch Ellen, and I vaguely remember the comedian. In any case, I have survived--quite successfully I might add--another Valentine's Day. Or Singles Appreciation Day as it is known 'mongst some crowds.

So since that hurdle is over, I'm wondering if there is some new dating advice I could get out there from...oh I dunno. Possibly a washed-up-mighta-been-funny-once-upon-a-time-Comedian?

Harvey has a new book out called Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man: What Men Really Think About Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment.

Uh really? Isn't he on marriage number three? Isn’t this the same man that cheated on his second wife with his third wife, and screwed his second wife in an ugly divorce settlement?

I'm taking advice from middle-aged black men, people. Send in the clowns.

Well except that he kinda, maybe has a point. Or two.

His angle is that if a man is approaching you, it is because he sees something he likes and he is coming over to find out how much it is going to cost him to get it.

Men are either playing you or planning with you. (See how clever he was with that wordology?*) Anything else they tell you is just bullshit. It's smoke an mirrors. (Or, as I like to call it--smoke and morons.)

Raise the bar and the man will rise to meet it;If he doesn't he's playing. In fact, if he does anything other than be serious, honest, open and commited, he's playing. Doesn't call when he says he's going to? Playin.' Lies to you? Playin.' Telling you that things are moving too fast? PLAY-IN. This is basically Steve Harvey's version of 'He's Just Not That Into You."

What I did find intriguing was that he thinks women should institute a 90-day rule. He enjoys likening it back to the Ford Motor Company's probationary period. You don't get the benefits package until the 90-days are up and the employee has proven that he is fit for the job. His take is that if the Ford Motor Company makes you wait ninety days, then why are women only making you wait three dates?

So what he's saying is not rocket science. Nothing new. Old as the hills. And so totally and completely and embarrassingly obvious that it should go without saying.

So...why is it resonating so much?

Could it be?

I'm finally?

listening?

The interesting thing is that my friend L has been trying to drill this EXACT SAME INFORMATION into my head for the better part of a year now (not to mention countless years previously invested by other friends) and I have more or less dismissed it because she is a Christian.

I think those Christian folk play by an entirely different rule book. You see, when they were handing out the rule books in kindergarten, I didn't get the 'You're-worth-waiting-for' handout or the 'Wait-until-marriage-or-you'll-burn-in-Hell handout'; Nope, I got the 'take-what-you-can-get' handout and the 'Get-it-while-you-can' handout. Me and Janis Joplin.

So I wasn't rejecting outright what friend has been telling me, I just don't really think we play by the same rules. Different handouts. I don't need God in my bedroom; and so I don't need the same God rule book.

I hate the game; I hate the rules. Why can't it be about two adults in a mutually beneficial agreement where everyone is happy? Well, because that would just make too much sense. And also, I think for that mutually beneficial thing to work, it might help to have clothes on.

So yes Friends: I am going to take dating advice from a thrice-married brother. And then I'll probably sleep with him. But not until the ninety day probationary period is up.

Ha! (Even typing it makes me laugh out loud.)

Place Your Bets.

*not a real word, I know. But Steve harvey might think it is.

Bad Date Stories

A friend of mine knows someone who is publishing a book of Worst Date Stories. Sadly, the toughest part about this assignment was deciding which Bad Date I would pick. Most of you have heard this one before, but here is my submission:

*****
About two years ago, I went on a first date with a man who seemed quite promising. I worked days and he worked nights and weekends. After weeks of trying to coordinate our busy schedules, we finally managed to settle on a night that worked for both of us.

He showed up at my door in a stretch limousine! Was he trying to impress me? Sadly, no. He was, it turns out, a limousine driver and was squeezing me in between clients. Needless to say, it was the last thing I was expecting to see when I walked out my front door. I was already starting to second-guess my decision to venture out on this cold winter’s night when I realized that there was actually no room for a passenger because he had so many papers and business files in the front seat. So I had to sit in the back. Of the limo. So I’m way in the rear trying to carry on a stilted conversation with him, sliding around on the faux-leather seats yelling up at him through the little window.

We had agreed to go for coffee, but arriving at a Tim Horton’s parking lot in a stretch limo is awkward and embarrassing. Definitely not the tone to be set for a first date. Because of our conflicting schedules, we couldn’t get together until 9:30 at night, so it was way too late for me to have a coffee. He decided that he didn’t want one either. For our “date” we ending up sitting in the back of his limo in the Tim Horton’s parking lot talking for two hours, where he proceeded to break all kinds of first-date protocol by telling me far too much about himself.

He laid all of his cards out on the table. Stop! It’s too much. Too soon! And basically what he had on offer was stunningly disappointing; I appreciate that he wanted to be honest and straight-up with me, but at the same time, I really wished he had scaled it back. All of his rambling and telling it to me straight did nothing except suck the romance and intrigue out of someone who I actually thought had quite a bit going for him. He managed to wipe all of it out in less than 2 hours. I guess I should be grateful to him for not wasting my time, but on the same token, I wish I could have been afforded the luxury of discovering things about him for myself, instead of just being told. I came home feeling like I’d been ripped off; he made me feel like I didn’t deserve, nor would I ever get more than what he was offering. And then he tried to kiss me!

The evening left me wondering what happened to the art of a good date. Dinner. Movie. The magic of discovery? And why did we drive all the way to Tim’s just to sit in the back seat? We could just have sat in the back out front of my condo. Maybe for Valentine’s Day, he'll take me to the Starbuck's parking lot, I thought wistfully...

So Long, Meet Market

For the last two weeks, I have been spending my Thursday nights on a Family Single’s Night. You heard me.

I went out with my sister, my brother and his ex-wife. Uh-huh. Yes I did say his ex-wife. To a mix and mingle at the Amsterdam Rhino. And I have got to say that it is a good time to be a lesbian, ladies, because the wimmins was reprezen’in. The event was “top heavy” meaning that the women far-outnumbered the men. Those that were there were well dressed, well-coiffed, well put-together and possessing all-around confidence and sass-a-frass.

The men?

Sneakered, hockey-jerseyed, scruffied and frankly, a little lost. Not all of them, mind you. The old men looked good. Which is another thing? Didn’t we tick off age brackets? How did so many forty and fifty year-old men end up with all of us thirty-something women? Heck, I’d be feeln’ much happier if I was in my fifties at this same party. But the male thirty-somethings. Where were they? Oh pardon me—the good-looking, well-put-together thirty-somethings?

Nope. Not us lucky ladies. For us, it was a sad and motley crue of rejects. The energy in the room was one of desperation and loneliness. And how’s a girl going to get her groove on with that kind of dismal and feeble air?

I did manage to find someone whom interested me and struck up a conversation with him, only to cut my losses after his eyes began to dart busily around the room. Clearly, no interest here.

And I also got a phone number. From a girl. I couldn’t resist telling her how fabulous she looked and how much I loved her necklace. Turns out, she organizes a single women’s group and loves to drink and party. She was from Newfoundland. So the night was not a complete loss.

After about two hours when I realized I was actually cramping my brother’s free-wheelin’ style (being one of the few good looking men in the room), I abandoned all hope.

I went to meet my friend P-diddy at an establishment where there was no Singles Night but where apparently, all the single men were. You see, ladies, you don’t need to pay twenty bucks to go to an event: you just need to show up at a pub when there’s a hockey game on. And let’s note here that not a hockey jersey was to be seen, the energy was not one of desperation and I didn’t even have to resort to my old stand-by pick-up: stepping on a guy’s toe.

Dating 101

Memorandum To All Single Men Looking For Love:

Yo, buddy. If you are out on a first date with a woman and you’re trying to impress her, here’s a pointer: PAY FOR HER MEAL.

Show a little class, gentlemen. Please.

It is 2008. Yes, women are now liberated. Sure, we are independent. Of course, we can pay our own way. But we are on a date to see if we can build a life with you. We are not all gold-diggers. If we’re out there, it’s because we are looking for a man with confidence who can show us that he can take care of us. If you have neither the means, the inclination or frankly, the manners to do so, then you are wasting our time.

I spent many years in turmoil about this very issue. I used to get insulted when a man tried to buy me a drink, a meal, a movie, an anything…because I thought it meant that there was a certain expectation attached to whatever it was he was buying me.

Now that I'm over thirty, I realize that's bullshit.

No matter how freethinking, enlightened and open-minded the modern-day woman is, this is what it boils down to: She is on a date with you looking for safety and security from a possible future life partner. What she is most definitely *not* looking for, is to go dutch with you. We have friends for that.

I work two jobs and am in the middle of writing a book. There are close friends of mine whom I have not seen in weeks. If I am going to make time to go on a first date, it had damn well better be worth my while. The truth is, if I was going to pay for my own lunch, I would rather have gone out with one of my girlfriends and had a good time instead of feeling like I was sitting through a painful, dead-end job interview.

It's an hour-and-a-half of my life I'm never going to get back. I mean, I could have been in the library doing research.

And let’s be clear here, folks. I had a salad and a glass of water for lunch. Our entire bill came to $27.00. We each paid fifteen. I did not break the bank with extravagant lobster and a never-ending line of Cosmos. Salad and water.

Men, if this is a murky area for you and you’re not sure what to do, err on the side of caution. Pay the whole damn bill. Or at least offer to. If your date isn’t comfortable with you doing so, she’ll let you know. And contrary to whatever you’re thinking, women are not just going out with you for a free meal. If you don’t want to pay or can’t afford to, then come up with some lovely original date idea that will cost nothing. There are plenty of walks in the park and summer festivals to be had where you can gauge where the girl is at before deciding whether or not she’s worth shelling out the $15.00 for.

And as one of my friends says : "Abort! Abort!! No good ever comes from having to pay for your own ANYTHING on a first date!!!”

Amen, sista.

And don't get me wrong, if the fellah had talked about something other than a) Jr. High School b) Internet dating c) Synagogue, I wouldn't have minded shelling out for my own meal. But man, if you are unwilling or unable to pay for my meal, that is a DEAL.BREAKER. I am going to be gone faster than you can say ‘cheque, please.’