1. Asking me out for a same day dinner. Sure, once I know you, last minute is awesome, but for a first date? Don’t make me feel like I am a fill in for a plan that fell through.
2. Tell me that it’s super casual jeans and t-shirts attire. I don’t date like that. I don’t do jeans and t-shirts in general. I do pencil skirts, I do slacks. This to me just translates to “I’m lazy and can’t force myself to dress nicely for you, so rather than feel badly about my attire, I’m going to tell you to dumb it down too.” Brown shoes with black slacks and black shirt, really?
3. If you ask me where I want to eat and I offers three choices, don’t make counter suggestions because you don’t like mine. If you make it to a second date, then you can take me to one of those places, but the chances aren’t good if you make me feel that my choices and opinions aren’t good enough for you.
4. Tell me not to rush, but when I am ten minutes later than expected due to the September 1st student U-Haul migration, do not text me every couple of minutes to tell me how hungry you are and that you are going to have to run to the conveinance store for a snack. A snack? Really? As if he was LITERALLY about to die of starvation.
5. Tell me you can’t have a cocktail because it is a “school night” and you are a light weight. My ex fiancé was a raging shit show of an alcoholic, so I don’t want that type of drinker, but loosening up with a few cocktails and flirting is good stuff. Pencil skirts, stockings, and some Basil Hayden is a sexy way to spend a night.
6. Spend the entire time telling me about your ex-fiance who called off the wedding after the refund date, and your subsequent rebound relationship with the emotional abuser whom you fell in love with. Oh yeah, and your therapist… he thinks you only like damaged women.
7. Brown shoes with black slacks and black shirt? Really?

This is why dating sucks. This is why dating at MY age sucks. I shouldn’t have gone that night, I should not have said yes. The same hour Impatient Eater emailed me about dinner, Type Geek texted me about the offer his bosses just put in front of him. A Senior VP position. His own office… in San Francisco. Funny, no one ever talks about San Francisco, it never comes up in my life, until it does. The past 5 days have been unbearable as everywhere I turn, the voices say San Francisco. Customers, strangers blocking the sidewalks, new flat mates, fellow bloggers, even the internet. I can’t escape it, I can’t hide from it.

I canceled the rest of my dates for the next couple of weeks and planned a trip to NYC for the September 11th memorial. I was there ten years ago, in my office, watching the television in the boardroom with my colleagues as the second plane hit. Ten years. I want to wander the city alone this weekend and think about who I was and who I am and what it all means.

The first thing he did when I arrived at the café was offer me 5 different types of candy. Candy?! Maybe some people would consider that endearing, but it turned me off. I don’t want to date teenagers at 36; I want to date men. So, beyond the candy, what I found out next was that he was a workaholic for the wrong reasons, money and status. He mentioned twice that his jeans cost over $500. Let’s call him $500 Jean Guy. At 32, he had two divorces behind him, one wedding that cost him $80,000, which he felt relevant to tell me. The other, the most recent, resulted in his 4-year-old daughter and a contemptuous relationship with her mother, a woman, whom he informed me, before our first cocktail, within 20 minutes of meeting, that she was bipolar and abusive and that she is costing him enough money to afford her nice tropical vacations. All this before a cocktail!

Shortly after that admission we wandered out of the for some drinks and oysters. I needed a cocktail the way this was headed. We finally made out way into a little place in Harvard Square, and given a corner booth, he proceeded to sit a little too closely, keep offering me candy, telling me to look at him and slurping his oysters with sound effects. Eww. I like oysters, love them in fact, but you are supposed to let them slide down, not slurp slurp suck. Eww, as I write this I suddenly imagine that he probably has sound gross effects during oral sex. Eww.

We finished up at that restaurant and I found myself unnerved and in need of another cocktail to deal with him, so we wander to my local go to and sit at the bar. My date-saving waitress comes by and helps distract several times. The bartender offers great drinks, and a shot. The $500 Jean Guy? Well, he starts sniffing me, telling me that I smell sweet, like candy, and then asks me if I think he smells nice. I never ask a date this, I just assume I do. If they don’t like my parfum, they won’t go out with me again. I give big eyes to my waitress friend, who “happens to need to talk to the bartender” and $500 Jean Guy then proceeds to tell her how nice I smell, and how I smell like candy. Suddenly a co-worker of mine appears after spotting me from across the bar and he tells her too… how I smell like candy, as he starts to eat from his bag of candy he bought earlier this evening.

He walks with me for a bit until our paths, luckily, part, and then proceeds to text me and let me know that when I am over my ex and ready for something less than casual, that I can call him. He also informs me that I should have kissed him. No, no, really. Ok, umm, he was weird. Creepy weird. Something also reminded me of Brooklyn , maybe it was a similar body build, facial thing, propensity to just stare at me weirdly. When I met Brooklyn, I thought it was flattering; in retrospect, once I really got to know Brooklyn, from beginning to end, his intensity towards me was just uncomfortable and weird. How many times did I just say weird? I can’t help it because weird, creepy, and unnerving are the only words that match.

So, what does any frustrated girl do after such a date? She walks past the 24 hour grocery store and buys two different types of ice cream, because she can’t decide: cheesecake bites, raisin toast, yogurt raisins and cereal. I rarely buy any of those items. My heart wanted sugar and carbs to usher in the Hurricane that was coming.

So, I spent Saturday in torrential rain pours, feet soaked, dog soaked, body swollen from carb overload and heart heavy from missing TypeGeek. I had texted him throughout the day to remind him of things to do, just in case, like garage his car, secure any plants in pots outside, watch for odd behavior from his cat, etc. At one point, after he mentioned that he was at a party, I mentioned that I was drinking cab and eating pâté, and potentially by the 3rd glass, I would probably be thinking inappropriately naughty things about him.

He responded with a … “pâté, ewww, gross”.

I made fun of him, told him he was 4 and mentioned that I find it funny how he can eat the muscles but not the organs. He came back with a ,”still gross”.

To which I playfully remarked… ” lucky for you , I never had an issue putting organs in my mouth “.

Silence for a bit, and then “yeah, that’s very nice”.

“I would take TypeGeek over Country Pork any day”, I retorted.

“I’d take a blowjob any day over pâté” TypeGeek said

and so… I responded that ” all you ever need to do is ask”

With that comment said, I went silent for the rest of the evening. We then texted a bit on Sunday as he sneered at the lack of impact the storm had on his neighborhood, while I tried to get the 8 feet of fence that fell in my yard to stand back up and told him to shut it. Then for about 5 minutes on Monday. It’s no mystery or great secret that I want Type Geek and I don’t want to walk away. It’s also no great secret that he doesn’t really want me to go away, or he would not engage in conversations with me about oral sex. I want him back in my bed by his birthday. Sigh.

Meanwhile, I conversed with a couple of men on OkCupid, I didn’t sit and dwell and mope. I also touched base with my friend on Google+ who is going through a divorce after far too many years, and my old Kiwi friend who needs girl advice because he has met someone who sends him ass over tea kettle. It’s been a full week. I’m looking forward to a Thursday Night free without any dates or plans. I think I need a little time with just my dog, my bed and a book. Hope you all made it through the storm safely. Speak to you soon!

A few weeks ago, I suffered a birthday. At my age, I no longer care to celebrate birthdays. I merely endure them, as inconspicuously as possible, and hope no one else remembers. I am none too thrilled about getting older. I feel okay, but age does strange and disturbing things to the body. Plus, society in general tends to be a bit youth-obsessed, and gay men in particular can be extremely ageist. I’ve tried to keep myself in relatively decent shape; however, over the years, my skin has lost a considerable amount of elasticity, and I find that exercise doesn’t have quite the impact it once did. Mercifully, people rarely think that I look my age. Although, I’m not sure how my age is supposed to look. I consider it to be case-specific. I believe that genetics and self-improvement play a substantial role in determining how one does or does not display the influence of time. Personally, I often think I’m gross. And occasionally, I suffer, to varying degrees, from feelings of obsolescence. I’ve tried to rise above it, but it never fully dissipates. Being single doesn’t really help all that much.

Something happened recently that more or less put things into perspective and possibly made me realize how silly I am being about the whole aging experience. Several months ago, I registered on an online dating site. In creating my profile, I decided to list my age as being three years younger than I actually was. Let me just say that I am generally a very honest person. I am a huge proponent of full disclosure. But, for some reason (insecurity, a momentary bout of vanity, plain old stupidity, etc.), I fibbed. At the time, my online age seemed more palatable than my true age. In my mind, three years made a world of difference. A rounded number seemed more aesthetically pleasing. In hindsight, I realize this is completely absurd. It’s embarrassing to even admit it.

Initially, online dating was a less than pleasurable adventure, and a true exercise in futility. There were very few user profiles that caught my eye, and when those few were pursued further, the profiles and pictures never quite accurately portrayed what would be encountered during the face-to-face meetings. The whole experience was rapidly shaping up to be a huge disappointment. However, eventually, a few days before my birthday, I was contacted by, and subsequently met, a rather incredible younger man. Our first “date” exceeded my expectations, to say the very least. He was smart, funny, charming and absolutely adorable. We had a drink, then dinner. Everything went well, and we ended up seeing each other a couple of more times that week. On my birthday, we spent the day in Central Park, and it was undoubtedly one of the most enjoyable birthdays I have ever had. I was in the process of changing jobs at the time, and I wasn’t working the following week, so we saw each other almost every day. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to see him. In the short amount of time that we had known each other, we established quite a rapport.

One Saturday, we were at my apartment, and he happened to see my passport. He opened it up to look at my picture and, of course, noticed my birth date. When he asked me why my age online was different than my actual age, it took me a minute to remember what I had done when composing my profile. I explained to him that, at the time, I was feeling apprehensive and insecure about my age, and that I had completely forgotten (which I genuinely had) that I had even portrayed myself as being three years younger than I actually am. We continued on with our plans for the day, but things were different, and the mood deteriorated as the day proceeded. He was a little distant, and made several off-color comments about various things. Eventually, I asked him if he was okay and his response was, “Actually, no, I’m not.” He was bothered by the fact that I had been dishonest about my age. In other words, my being three years older than he originally thought I was didn’t bother him – it was the fact that I felt the need to shave three years off of my age and lead potential dates to think that I was younger than I really was that he found upsetting. He said it was a symptom of a larger issue, and that he felt his trust had been compromised. After a very uncomfortable evening, which included dinner with friends, he went home to his apartment. I have to admit, it was more than a little disheartening.

Attempting to analyze and rationalize what happened has been an eye-opening process, mainly because I always end up looking like a colossal hypocrite. I’m tempted to say that he completely overreacted to something that really isn’t that big a deal. But isn’t that exactly what I was doing when I lied about my age in the first place? I’d also like to be able to say that three years difference in my actual age and my online age is such an insignificant amount that it really shouldn’t matter anyway but, apparently, it was significant enough for it to matter to me when I created my online profile. And finally, with regards to my aforementioned disappointment upon meeting a potential date, only to discover that their profile and picture didn’t accurately portray the real thing…again, I wind up looking like a total douche. Granted, my deception was on a smaller scale, but it was deception, nonetheless. In the end, I can’t continue to beat myself up over my unnecessarily dubious online dating profile. I’ve already updated and corrected it. I’ve learned my lesson. It’s time to grow up and start acting my age. And that just pisses me off.

Last week, I went on one first date. This gentleman, the Legal Design Guy, doesn’t know my ex like I thought he might (thankfully. he was getting into the music school as Type Geek was leaving.) Also, it turns out he knows a circle of people who I know, who also don’t know Type Geek. So we had oysters, we had drinks, we had pâté and confit and more drinks. Conversation was fine, but it felt more friend than anything. There is something slightly smarmy that I can’t get past, that I don’t find sexy. I can’t pin point it exactly, but it’s there.

Remember my Jewish Sex God from the very beginning? The one who ushered me into the folds? Well, we were having a conversation the other night, our friendship never really being the same since my trip to visit him that weekend. In the course of the dialogue he mentions that we had no sexual connection and proceeded to tell me why. Now, it’s fine that he didn’t feel a connection to me, but it isn’t fine that he decided to tell me that my being nervous at the reality of having sex with a well endowed man after 12 years of non-penetrative lesbian sex translated into being a horrible lay who he felt ashamed to touch. WHAT? Yeah, so, he said that I was largely unresponsive — behaving as a victim of sexual abuse does — because I didn’t make much noise, because I didn’t show him how much I was enjoying sex with him. That I was too inside myself and didn’t give much to my partner, that he felt awful continuing to touch me because he felt that I must have been abused because I seemed to be in another place. Ok, once again, WHAT? Again, 12 years…non penetrative lesbian… flies to Seattle to have weekend sex romp with well endowed male friend… maybe, just MAYBE, I was nervous and shy and insecure about the entire thing?! What a dick, and I am NOT talking about his dick. I felt shitty afterwards, so I ended up emailing Type Geek for his take on my sexual style and he confirmed that Seattle is a DICK, and that I should NEVER give another thought to it, because I was obviously nervous and that he had zero concerns with my style. Thank you Type Geek. Grrr, Seattle. Seattle had no idea why I was angry, which at first I wasn’t. After I thought about it though, that is when I started to get angry, and offended.

So, yeah, Type Geek, we have texted. I apologized to him for not being able to pretend I don’t care and just cut ties. I’m not done with him. I can’t shake that a huge part of me believes that our story hasn’t ended yet. It’s just not our time. But, I want it to be. I know I can’t rush it, but I want to. I want the life with him that I know we can have, but he doesn’t have enough balls yet to have faith, to let go, to grasp something unknown, rather than his own fear. He needs time, he needs some self work, and I just need to live my life, which includes dating other people, while he does his work. Someday I will try again.

If you all think I am foolish, honestly, fuck you. I’m not on this journey for any of you, for how you would do it. It isn’t a choose your own adventure, and you don’t have the right to be angry at the roads I choose to take, because they are different from the paths and methods you would. This is MY story, and when I am laying in my final hours, I owe explanations to only my heart and the hearts of those I have chosen to embrace into my own. I thank you all for reading, for getting involved and attached and relating, but in the end, this story is uniquely my own and I have no regrets about how I am living it and loving through it, even if that means I am just filling the spaces between Type Geek. Even if that means I am frustrating the hell out of my readers.

Follow Student Driver, a life-long lesbian-identified woman as she dabbles in the world of heterosexuality, in the syndicated ladysex column “Learning To Drive Stick.”

I had a date last week. Meh. I mean, what do you say? I’m trying to avoid sitting at home and feeling badly for myself. Type Geek has to do some serious personal work, and I can’t help him with that. So, in the meantime, it is either go to Babes in Toyland and buy yet another vibrator OR start dating again. While option A may sound like the preferable one, I get desensitized too quickly with mechanical vibration and then when I have sex with a human, it’s almost impossible for me to get off. This much I have learned at my ripe old age of 36.

Last week was a 44 year old dad of two girls. Career-less and figuring things out, he’s okay, but I find drive to be a turn on, and nothing really DRIVES this one. We drank a few cocktails, had a few appetizers and watched an over-hyped “riot” in Harvard Square. A couple boys got into a fight, and because it was a group of kids, word spread of riots. Hardly.

This week, a 38 year old graphic designer that works in the legal sector. I don’t know much about him except that he and Type Geek went to music school at the same time, so I worry they may know each other in that way that former classmates do. We are meeting for oysters on Thursday or Friday night of this week, when the “end of days” rains cease.

I’m not rushing into anything, because I am not looking for a relationship. I stated clearly to each of these men that I just left something very meaningful to me and that I am not looking for a rebound relationship, but merely some casual dating and fun. I think 40′s Dad is looking for a relationship though. He sounds ready for more in his romantic life. He also sounds like he attaches quickly and easily. He may be a dangerous one to play around with, aside from my not being particularly attracted to him, I don’t want to hurt anyone.

Meanwhile, Type Geek… hmm. I miss him. Honestly, every moment. I can only work with the cards I have been dealt and at this time, he isn’t in my deck, maybe someday the cards will reshuffle, but now, what can I do? Only what I am.

I’ve learned how to put my desperation on mute. I tuck it behind my eyes. I’ve gotten so skillful at hiding my desperation that quite often I even hide it from myself. Perhaps it’s in remission.

Late lonely nights when I turn off the computer, fall onto my bed, and give my mind a break from the everyday noise, I realize that hunger is still there. The hunger to be held. The hunger to be understood. The hunger to connect. And I never do.

It’s so out of fashion to say it aloud. To stand on a mountaintop and scream at the top of your lungs “Goddamnit I want so desperately for someone to fucking love me.” These are the kind of things you are never supposed to feel. And if you feel them you aren’t supposed to. Never say it out loud. Neediness equals weakness.

Our society is rampant with slogans tailored to illustrate the point that severely wanting to be loved is bad. We’ve been told our whole lives that the only way to find love is to not want it, to not need it, and to not look for it.

“If you aren’t looking…you will find it.”
“You should love yourself before you can ever love someone else…”
“The best things come to those who wait…”

Abiding by those rules I’ve gotten it wrong my entire life. I’ve never stopped looking. I love myself a lot and am fully capable of loving someone else. And I’ve waited. And waited. And waited. It doesn’t click. I love men that don’t love me.

It’s easy to dismiss me with a quick retort suggesting I’m psychologically off, and my defense mechanisms draw me towards men who don’t love me because I don’t love myself. Or because I am afraid of being loved. Perhaps this is the case. But what if it isn’t? What if some people just truly have bad luck? What if some people’s lives are just a series of mishaps and misadventures and near-misses?

The loneliness in me is so severe I stay on my computer until 5 am so I am not left with my own thoughts. I look around me. Most of my friends’ relationships are disasterous. Either they are constantly fighting with their partner or they are broken up about an unhealthy relationship that didn’t work out. This doesn’t make me want love any less.

I am past the portion of my life devoted to broken love. I am not mourning any lost loves. I am not crushing on any new loves. I feel unemotional, void, empty, and unable to even hope about love anymore. But within this white blank numbness still lies this intense urge to connect. For something sensual. For something intense.

Tonight I will go to sleep gapingly open. Tomorrow I will wake up with my defenses on. I will be embarrassed I was vulnerable enough to tell anyone just how much I long to be loved. To admit how lonely I am. I will put on my steely smile and pretend it doesn’t hurt when the adorable boy I had a crush on ignores me. I will pretend it doesn’t sting when I see the boy I adore fighting with his boyfriend he doesn’t really love.

I used to pretend I’m a robot like I’m supposed to. I pretended so long in many ways I’ve become that robot. Except on nights like these…

So here I say out loud the most unacceptable thing possible. I WANT TO BE LOVED. Tonight. Right now. With every fucking cell of my being.

And now the masks go back on.

more Jeremy Gloff on Facebook.

Type Geek expected mayhem, anger and accusations. He assumed the worst, and it proved in the end that he really doesn’t know me. I told him that the last 14 months have been an example of his ordering the entree and only eating the garnish. He never took a bite of the main dish, only looked at it, pushed it around with his fork, and decided that it would cause him indigestion. You see, it never was about me, any of it.

Trying to love someone who doesn’t love themselves, who doesn’t trust themselves, and who is an eternal pessimist at their core -well, it’s pretty tricky and apparently doesn’t usually succeed. It is  impossible to show them how worthy they are; they need to find it and feel it in themselves.  He told me a story of himself as a child, to illustrate how long he has been this way. I explained that at some point we do have the power to make positive changes to our thinking patterns; that I was a very angry teenager and into my 20s; that it took a lot of work, and sometimes falling back into old patterns, but eventually I was able to look at things and see the positive in life, see how anger was affecting me and limiting me and shutting me off.

He told me that everything ends, and usually badly. That he hasn’t seen examples of it working, of there not being heartbreak, of him not being the cause.  Boy with a fragile sense of self enters the dating world and is eaten alive. Now, at 39, he is so deeply imbedded in a pattern of belief that everything he touches, everyone he touches, will break. How do you convince someone otherwise? How do you hold someone’s hand and show them that they deserve to not be alone? That they deserve to let someone in and be loved? How do you do that, when they don’t believe in their core self that they are worthy of any love and that if anyone does seem to love them, surely they must be fooled?

We had 5 hours of intense, heart-felt conversation. He teared up, I teared up. I told him some things that he missed while he was pushing me away, things I had told him but he hadn’t heard above his own inner chatter. He apologized deeply, as he realized that he really dropped the ball more than a few times. What it came down to is that his disordered thinking, his disordered sense of self, his belief that he isn’t worthy of anyone’s love and respect because everyone is being fooled and eventually everyone will realize who he really is and then it will all explode – all of THIS is what is standing between he and I. Looking into his eyes and telling him how wonderful he is and forcing him to look back at me as I told him what I saw in him, the level of disbelief in his own eyes, the degree to which he can’t see how amazing and loveable he is – that is what is heartbreaking.

I asked him, what does he have left, if tomorrow the career were to end? “Nothing” he said. He has nothing outside of work. Friendships have been kept at a distance, mostly built through his colleagues. He has his cat. I told him that it truly doesn’t need to be that way. That letting people in doesn’t have to result in destruction, yet he has only ever walked away feeling destroyed each time he has let someone in.  But he has the best of intentions, when he begins. He just can’t do it.

My flatmate came home and we moved our conversation to the bedroom. Later in the evening I looked up at him and asked me if he would be with me one last time. I felt so connected to him at that moment, I just wanted to hold on to it. He wouldn’t look at me, instead mumbling that he didn’t think it was a good idea. I asked him to look at me and repeated my question, asking if he wanted to be with me one last time. He said yes. We had an intensely passionate last few hours, we held each other tightly afterwards and slept for an hour, curled into each other, hands touching. In my hallway, we hugged. Longer and tighter and with more emotion than I have ever felt from him. He thanked me for everything. I told him that while I knew he wouldn’t, he knew where to find me, if ever…

Last night was the most senseless loss I have ever experienced. All because one little boy grew up thinking he was inherently not worth loving. If any of you have kids, please, love them. Let them know that they deserve it and that they are wonderful and unique and amazing. Otherwise, at 39, they may not be able to let people in, even those who are patient and love them beyond words and actions.

Before someone got the chance to know me I warned them about everything awful I was going to do and I filled them in on the childhood trauma I was using as an excuse for that action. Long before I let someone know my favorite soda, what I liked on my pizza, and what my favorite Joni Mitchell song was, I let them know each of my defense mechanisms and what all of my flaws are.

With the trap door flying open on all my discrepancies, it’s no surprise not many stuck around for the pizza.

But after eating a lot of pepperoni and mushroom slices alone I had time to reconsider my approach. I was mishandling my openness as a means to distract from my lack of confidence. By showing all of my supposed warts first I saved myself from the terror that I’d eventually be “found out.” By laying my inner-craziness out on the table I felt that if someone could accept THAT there’s no way they’d ever leave me!

The truth is we are all crazy. We’ve all had bad stuff happen to us. Oft times conversations about trauma turn into a competition over who went through the worst shit. “If you think THAT’s bad listen to THIS!”

All of us has a part of us that is jealous, that has defense mechanisms, and that is capable of doing some fucked up shit. I used to keep all my syndicated hardships close at hand to be used as excuse for crappy behavior. I used to get insanely jealous of my boyfriends and I would blame my crazy behavior on a relationship that had dissolved fifteen years earlier. I was using what happened many yesterdays ago to justify my being an asshole today.

To burden a prospective partner with all of our crazies isn’t indicating self-awareness; it’s simply making a horrible first impression.

I no longer lay my flaws out for anyone to see. In doing that it distracted someone from getting to know the good things about me. The kind of pizza I like is just as important as the jealousy issues I need to work on within myself. I hope my boyfriends will share pizza with me but I will try my damnest to never let him share in my jealousy. That’s on me, not him

And the truth is, if your partner loves sharing pizza with you, and watching TV, your sense of humor, and all of the golden things they’ve gotten to know about you then they will stick around to work through the bad stuff if it eventually emerges.

That’s the beauty of an established relationship: when the weather gets cloudy you have the bond to work your way through the storm. I used to force people’s heads into my clouds before they go the chance to enjoy my sun.

You don’t have to hide or expose your inner-crazy. Let it be. Maybe you aren’t as crazy as you’ve convinced yourself that you are. You don’t have to hide or expose your flaws. Those flaws are just part one small part of the huge quilt that is your being.

By focusing on the ugliest patch of your quilt you aren’t allowing someone the time to appreciate the beauty of the entire blanket.

My hair will never be long again, but don’t expect me to put a spotlight on my bald spot on the first date. How do you feel about green olives on your pizza?

More Jeremy Gloff on Facebook.<

Weeks. We haven’t talked. Emails not returned. Texts ignored. The silent treatment again. I get too close… Type Geek pushes back with greater force. My gut tells me it’s done. I have done all I could, said all I could, presented my best arguments for why YES, rather than why NO. Fear and shame are tricky things, and he has mountains of both.

I love that head of his though, the nose that twitches as he thinks of something, the pigeon sounds he makes when I kiss his back in the early morning hours and his tush, which is perfectly delectable and causes me to want to bite it every time I see it. In the marrow of my bones, I could grow old with him, but he can’t see me standing in front of him. How many more ways can you ask someone to try, when they can’t even hear you?  We are supposed to “talk” soon. This week. We shall see how delightfully he words his Dear Jane speech.

Basically, I spent 36 hours trying to get a bottle of scotch delivered to his hotel room prior to his arrival. The hotel kept screwing it up and passing me from department to department, until finally, 2 hours before he checked in, 7 people and multiple emails from where I began, someone was able to help me. He would not have known anything about this, because I specifically told the hotel that I was trying to surprise said gentleman friend with a bottle of scotch for his arrival and that I just wanted it, along with a note, in his room prior to his check in; however, the Front Desk Supervisor and the bartender took him aside separately, in front of the conference organizers, to apologize and make grand postures about how sorry they were for the difficult time. OK, he isn’t a goddamn diva with crazy demands that weren’t fulfilled. I was simply trying to get the man some scotch, I am the one who had difficultly and deserved an apology. Instead, I received an angry flurry of texts from him, moments after his arrival, moments after his apology attack, moments after his trying to explain what was wrong, or not wrong, to the conference organizers who witnessed it all. He felt I made him look unprofessional. My behavior negatively affected his well-crafted industry image. It didn’t  (not really) but in that moment, it did. He let me know that. So, I backed down and didn’t text or call, figuring I would touch base when he got back in town.

Only, once that day came, I decided I wasn’t going to be the one chasing after a phone call. Three days after he arrived home, he texted. One sentence, just saying that we ” should get together soon, no? ” I didn’t respond. I felt that perhaps a teeny bit more enthusiasm or interest in seeing me or finding out how my week had been would be nice, and that I was going to wait it out a bit longer. I thought I would hear from him within 48 hours of that message, only I didn’t. I suddenly feel that it’s really important for me to create that distance and find out if he would wonder about me, whether he would voice any concern or interest. It’s a game in many senses, but it is also just sheer emotional exhaustion in  bigger sense.

I’m wondering if I have hit my wall with regards to his insecurity and emotional dysfunction. I’m not sure. What I do know is that I find myself flirting back with strangers more. I’m looking at Google+ as the new OKCupid, which isn’t intentional, however, little bonds are being created here and there with different people, and I see how someone could bring that life from virtual to cocktails, quite easily. Am I doing that? No. I have not given anyone my number, it isn’t in the plan. Type Geek is still the man I love, it just is reaching a point at which I need some emotional B-12. It makes me sad to recognize it, but loving a two-dimensional man is growing to be exhausting and without some sign on his end, other than fear, I am finding myself lacking the ability to rally, as I had in the past. I love him, so much, but what do you do when loving someone isn’t enough to make everything ok?

Find me on Google+ !! ” Jane Michaels ” … if you need an invite to Google +, let me know, I’ll get you in.

Follow Student Driver, a life-long lesbian-identified woman as she dabbles in the world of heterosexuality, in the syndicated ladysex column “Learning To Drive Stick.”

When I was a little girl I loved John Cougar (Mellencamp). I still do in fact. Even when I was (my stylist loves this bit) GOTH (yes, you can stop laughing now), even then, I secretly rocked out to the simplicity of JCM’s world. If you liked someone, you just hung out at ice cream shops in the summer, it wasn’t so hard. But JCM’s world didn’t have lesbians that suddenly find themselves in love with the barnyard after swimming with the fishes for the majority of their adult romantic life. JCM’s world didn’t have complex behavioral disorders that resulted in emotional detachments. It had Jack and Diane, Link Pink Houses, and in his later years, it had him asking us to dance naked for him. None of these are so bad. I’d dance naked for Type Geek anytime. SIGH.

Apparently some people, other than Type Geek, wanted me to dance naked for them. The other night at work I was hit on by two people. Often I will get flirted with by one gentleman in an evening. Two is above normal though, especially considering that one was a woman. I must have sent out some sort of vibes, because that just doesn’t happen. I did tell both that I am seeing someone, which made the man respond that he was “fine with that”. French men, geez. I then said that I was in love with this other person and that I needed to decline his advances, which made him slip me $20. Huh, what? Apparently I do tricks for money, like give out numbers or get so impressed I will leave someone whom I am crazy about, for a French schoolteacher with piercings. Maybe I would have considered it once, before Type Geek, but not now. The girl? She was an adorable sweetheart, and IF not for TG, and had I still been interested in the ladies, if I could pull any interest together, I would have  jumped at a date with her.

So, I’m yearning for easy. For simple. A Saturday afternoon drive to a boardwalk, barefoot stroll through damp sand, with a cherry dipped vanilla soft serve in my hand. That isn’t what I am getting though. There is something I am not telling you all, that I may eventually, but that at this time, I believe needs to remain out of this blog. There is something I know now about Type Geek that keeps me here, keeps me trying, even on days most people would walk away. Trust then that while I may not completely know what I am doing, I am not completely walking blindly down a dangerous path.

With all of that said, I am on google+ and would like to invite you all to come say hello. You can find me by the name “Jane Michaels”, another pen name which I use. Hope to see you all on google+, and I hope that you are all enjoying your summers, replete with cherry dipped softserve.

This subject became the hot button topic last night among a wide circle of friends. My feelings on open relationships have fluctuated to the area of, “Perhaps it is necessary to have some needs met outside of a marriage, if ALL aren’t being met inside and the relationship is otherwise amazing,” to “Hmm, I don’t think I could handle the emotional and health risks of my partner or myself having an extracurricular partner.”

Years ago, when my sex drive was nonexistent and it created an issue with my partners, who always said, “When you want it Student Driver, it’s REALLY good, you just don’t want it much.” So, I got thumbs up for my performance all the time, BUT I would rather have bowled most nights. For full disclosure, it was a medically proven low hormone issue that was causing my body to have such ambivalence towards sex. So in those days, I realized that anyone who loved me, was also potentially subjecting themselves to a life of once a month sex. Definitely NOT enough. I considered it and decided that , at that time, I could understand and would be reasonable to a partner having an outside activity partner if it was only sexual in nature, didn’t interfere with our relationship, and they were safe.

Flash forward to 2011. I have the sex drive of a 19-year-old boy who snorted his dad’s Viagra while attending the Adult Video Awards. I could fuck all the time. Type Geek is lucky, only he doesn’t really get it. To find a woman who is attractive and wants to fuck you 24-7, well buddy, that is a real gift from the universe. Because my super human sexual prowess now, and because he always tells me how good our sex is, I would have a real issue with Type Geek having sex with other people IF he ever officially makes this a real relationship. On the side, is he having sex with anyone else? I don’t think so, at least, not on the more regular basis in which he is with me. Perhaps he has had one or two encounters this year other than me. We haven’t talked about it but we are back to using condoms even though I am on the pill, so I tend to lean towards him having been with someone other than me. Do I consider it unfaithful? Not really. Technically he isn’t my boyfriend. Technically I am not his girlfriend, but I behave as such, because I feel as such.

This post isn’t about Type Geek though. It’s about the bigger question of monogamy. How realistic is it? In the beginning, sure, maybe it is easy. How about after kids or after a decade? After health issues resulting in disability or significant weight gain/loss. Your partner loses their attractiveness, but you still love them. Is monogamy a black and white thing? Can relationships redefine a model of behavior that works for them but isn’t as stringent or as simple as a yes or no? Should a relationship just end, if any of these issues crop up, even if the relationship works on other levels?

What have been your personal experiences with monogamy? I am not asking about outright obvious cheating, but a more complicated type of infidelity, in which perhaps the act is what keeps the marriage together.

Me (the gay marriage Grinch) and my BF, in how I expect we will be married - solemn tasteful karaoke ceremony

This weekend something amazing happened – I started thinking about marrying my boyfriend.  When, in the past, I considered the possibility of marriage equality in New York I, of course, expected to feel happy, but what I hadn’t anticipated was how it would change the way I feel about my relationship.

As thousands gathered at Stonewall and celebrated in the streets Friday night I got the news via a text from the HRC.  I sat in my living room, watching a movie and flipping through congratulatory and triumphant messages on Twitter.  I didn’t shout out my windows, or jump and dance, though.  Instead a small new chamber in my heart opened up, and I began quietly exploring it.

My attitude towards marriage, as it relates to my boyfriend and I, has always been a bit “out of sight, out of mind.”  When things are just not an option I tend to stop thinking about them, and getting married fell into the category in my mind of “things that I might one day do if the extreme desire to develops and my financial situation improves dramatically.”  If you had asked me if I thought I would someday be married I would respond in the affirmative, with an emphasis on the someday.  The idea of a destination wedding in Massachusetts felt quite distant, and it also felt like settling.  Even setting the blatant inequalities aside, my options for marriage just didn’t ever seem to directly relate to the person I am right now.  Maybe someday the man I would become would have the money and time and dedication to wrest his wedding from the unwilling hands of an ambivalent society, but that man did not feel like me.

And of course a major part of the gay rights movement in the past has been a refutation of “straight” conventions.  You don’t want to honor our love as special?  That’s fine, we don’t need your validation any way!  Queer attitudes toward sex and relationships are going to have a lasting impact on this country because they were forced to choose themselves.  With no predetermined tradition of what relationships had to be, gay men and women have been creating unions around what works for them.  Straight people should be so lucky!

The thought that in 30 days my boyfriend and I could toss caution and consideration to the wind and get hitched is frankly sort of thrilling.  Though I have promised my father (whose heart I gave a mini stress-test to on Saturday morning by texting him that the boyfriend and I had gotten married, and sorry that we hadn’t involved the families but that we just couldn’t let our love wait another MINUTE. His deadpan, punctuationless, making-the-best-of-it reply was: “incredible”) that we will do no such thing.  But it’s the proximity of this possibility that makes me look at my boyfriend in a slightly different way.  The comparative way straight people can just fall into marriage and parenthood, in an almost haphazard taking-it-for-granted way, has always irked me a bit.  Now on one of the two, at least, we have an equal opportunity to take something beautiful for granted.

Boyfriend and I aren’t getting married any time soon.  Not sure that it’s even time to open informal discussions on the subject.  But it makes my heart jump just a little bit to watch him making breakfast, or to see him falling asleep next to me, and think easily, “Hell yeah, I could totally marry that.”

Submission by Student Driver. Follow Student Driver, a life-long lesbian-identified woman as she dabbles in the world of heterosexuality, in the syndicated ladysex column “Learning To Drive Stick.

You all may have noticed that I have been rather silent lately, posts have been non-existent. I have a few really difficult things coming at me currently that need attending to and thusly, I have been unable to even consider what to post. I need to take a step away and prioritize some mending of my psyche and my life. Perhaps take a new driving class on how to handle the car during poor weather conditions. Please be patient, I will be back soon, until that time however, I will repost some older, more popular posts, for your enjoyment. Thanks for your understanding and continued support!

Something about that yellow light made me take notice. His body language is vibrant and so is everything else about him. If solar power doesn’t replace electricity his aura just might. Enraptured by his glow I set out to find his name again. At least.

I created an Adam4Adam account. Partly to research for an article I wanted to write. Mostly to find Jay. Enduring the sea of shirtless douchebags was painful and tedious. Per usual I found myself irate and fiery over the stupidity of most profiles. But I found Jay. And it was worth it.

We began corresponding. With his Facebook friendship and cell phone number in tow I segued once again out of Adam4Adam hell.

The more we exchanged lengthy and personal emails the more I realize that I underestimated Jay. Beneath his fashionista garb and flashy public persona lies a sharply introspective introvert. The depth of his understanding made him glow a lot more than that 2 am club spotlight could have.
Color me impressed.

Emails eventually graduated to text messages. And then vulnerable and intellectual exchanges graduated to sexy talk. My exhibitionist tendencies got the best of me. I wanted him to see me naked nearly as badly as I wanted him to tell me his entire life story. Seldom do I find gay men whose minds are as appealing to me as their cocks. Jay piqued the interest of my head and my head.

Damned if I didn’t get reintroduced to a couple other old friends of mine. It was not with open arms that I was reintroduced to Mr. Longing and Mr. Vulnerabity. I found myself texting Jay almost daily. He always wrote back. He never text me first. I have yet to master the fine line between persistent and pathetic. An art I have yet to master. Near the early stages of my texting with Jay I believe I was cutely persistent. Later when he didn’t respond to my third invitation to hang out yet I still asked him a forth time…a simply pathetic Jeremy.

As time passed our sexting increased. With one hand on my cell phone and my other hand elsewhere I easily transmitted some photos and videos. The yellow light on Jay that first night had been so pretty…as had the vulnerability of his early emails that signaled a brightness of mind. I was crushing. There, I said it.

Our final sexting marathon lasted four hours. The conversation was deliciously graphic. He sent me photos. He was every bit as sexy (and sensual…oh so sensual) as I imagined. My hands wandered but my mind wandered much farther. First to a place between his legs. And then to a place where his head rested in my arms as the sun came up.

I may have told him how badly I wanted to come over. I may have told him in precise detail the hungry things I wanted to do to his body. I may have sent him a cumshot video where I called his name. I was wildly out of control but enamored with my own lack of restraint. Sometimes in life you have just gotta free fall. Or in this case free ball. Fuck it man. If anyone was worthy of my most pornographic moment I figured it was Jay.

The climax of our conversation wasn’t an orgasm. It was not a late night secret tryst at his place or mine. It was not even a warm fuzzy. It was with a full second erection that I received Jay’s text message: “hey I just want to make sure that we’re just joking about all this. Sometimes I get the feeling you are taking this seriously”.

Four hours earlier I was sitting on my bedroom eating sweet and sour chicken and listening to the Homoground podcast. And then I sent the first text.  Fuck.

My response to Jay was “of course I don’t like you ‘for real’ – Gay men never really like each other!” I was lying. Yes I liked him. More than a little but less than a lot. Enough to feel a tad bummed.

And so I found myself in the perfect 21st century moment. It’s so much easier to show jizz than to reveal a disappointment. With the hairline of a sixty year old and the heart of a child I stuck my phone on its charger and crawled to bed with my tail between my legs…and nothing else. I never told any of my friends about any of this. I promised him I wouldn’t.

Jay didn’t play me. Jay didn’t use me. Jay was bored and he hopped a ride on the adventure that I willingly laid out for him. There was no ill intention. It’s all fun and games. Remember that Jeremy. It’s just all fun and games. And then you’ll never get hurt.

After that night Jay and I text a couple more times. Sexual texts weren’t met with any eagerness. That ship sailed. Eventually I stopped texting Jay altogether. In the case that he was just politely responded to my texts I wanted to wait and see if he ever text me first. He didn’t.

Tonight I went to a club. It was the same club that I saw Jay at months ago, bathed in magical yellow light. He wasn’t there but I thought about him on the way home.

Next boy I’ll know better.

One of the most difficult aspects of a break up is adjusting to singlehood: Everything is back to single servings. c. Elizabeth Ann Colette, Wikimedia Commons

You know those movies where the entire day seems choreographed to a fairytale box office soundtrack? Every step synchronized, bending over to pluck a four-leaf clover, sun in the eyes so bright that your smile deflects its potency, a plot driven character about to hit the apex of their arch, and that one pivotal character waiting outside an apartment steps. Well, a few weeks ago that day was mine, and I should have suspected as much.

The music stopped about fifty feet from my apartment when I looked up from searching for my keys. My stride stuttered a beat, and I instantly meditated myself away to an endorphin filled fantasy of jogging along a tequila sunrise beach. During the time we dated my ex had not once just showed up unexpectedly and waited at my apartment steps. (Something I might add was a fantasy of mine- having her waiting at my door holding a colorful bouquet for me.)

That day was a bittersweet assault of torrential rain, lightning crashes, and dramatic thunder rolls- an emotional storm of sorts. There was no music playing as I cried myself to sleep that night; there was no knock on the door from someone running back into my arms; there was only the ringing in my ears, an empty pillow next to my head, and soiled tissues where a body would occasionally lay aside me.

After a breakup, we strive to make our lives better; to move on; to forget; to plead the away the pain; to second guess actions made; to wish we never met them at all. Some say we put the pieces back together [but we all know we aren't jigsaw puzzles]. We reassemble. We repair. We endure and advance. We find ourselves forging new relationships, reconnecting with those we strayed from, returning to our core, and grappling with circumstances that remind of us of those no longer in our life as we would like them to be.

I won’t lie, it has been difficult to admit this painful truth: Many of the smiles and gay moments I’ve had since the breakup were in situations that I would have never experienced with my ex. Sad, but true.

I find myself hesitating to enjoy the smiles and feel unrest stepping outside myself during the gay moments — forging new memories seems so contradictory; being open and willing for another queer relationship makes you vulnerable. It’s also been difficult to make decisions or evaluate things, regardless of how inconsequential or significant, without considering what their opinion would be. It’s not easy to remove a variable or operator from an equation, especially one that was so important and vital. (I equate it to attempting addition without using a plus sign- (f)x = x² ? 2x – 1; somewhere in there is a parabola but I don’t know where.)

The most difficult aspect has been the adjustment. Everything is back to single servings: single serving friends with their single server grande lattes. I keep waiting for that single serving frame of the man sporting gray pants and a worn red leather jacket wearing sun glasses to flash before me, or maybe it would be a wiry black haired, vitamin D deprived woman in black dress.

It’s not easy when you loved someone. You accepted them for who they were and are- faults, flaws, and all. (And all you perfect people out there that think you’re perfect, you do have imperfections; you just choose not to see them). Unravelling those feelings is a tedious chore that typically does not happen quickly. It’s the Knot of Knots, but once it’s completely unravelled it allows you to move on. There is a bit of a cheat code to help advance you to the next level- closure. (Power-up with a green little mushroom, and maybe the next brick you break is a flashing star making you temporarily invincible, except for falling off screen.)

Some are able to get closure; others aren’t. If you’re able to get that closure, it never comes neatly gift wrapped in a bow [and if it did, it would most likely be a pink rabbit suit from Aunt Clara]; most of the time it comes as shards or metal shavings we’re forced to swallow like a spoonful of toxic amoxicillin. Some prefer the ignorance is bliss analogy; others get hung up on or struggle moving forward because they never got it. If it does come, regardless of how it happens, whether in an email, phone call, a face to face conversation, or a friend on their behalf, know others have been through the same and your family and friends are there for you afterwards.

My originally intention was to write this piece on closure, and in part it serves as much. One chapter closes as another begins. We are faced, sometimes it feels more like being confronted, with new circumstances, experiences, and possibilities. We’re forced to rewrite the plot that had been developing but never actually unfolded — a happy couple: one pushing a stroller and the other with a kid saddled on their back, possibly holding a dog leash. Once done with the eraser head, flip that pencil over and start rewriting with a smart end — the end with a sharp point — because that is the end that matters most in life.

Submission by Student Driver. Follow Student Driver, a life-long lesbian-identified woman as she dabbles in the world of heterosexuality, in our new syndicated ladysex column “Learning To Drive Stick.” Check her out every Tuesday at 2PM!

I hate games, hate them. I believe they create unnecessary complication and drama. However, apparently some people thrive in a less emotive, more game driven setting.

Geek and I have a date set, tentatively, for Thursday evening. I said that I wanted to plan it, as I am tired of the predictable dinner and sex routine. The sex is great. The dinners always fabulous. But Jesus, the routine. I’m a sure thing, my friends are right. Until he realizes how lucky he is to have me, I will never have him. So it’s time to be less predictable.

What do men like? Competition. Apparently they also like challenges. So, my original plan was Atari arcade games and a DVD of Flash Gordon with some take-out, but I have changed my mind. Sexy shoes, Victoria’s Secret Miraculous Bra, a dress that turns heads, and a game of darts, some pints, a few laughs and me leaving him standing on his doorstep alone, as I head home to sleep alone in my own bed. Sure, I may need a vibrator when I make it home, but in the long run, will I gain more, by giving him less?

At our age, with our collective  history of former lovers, why waste our time on these types of games when there are better games to be played by lovers?

Submission by Student Driver. Follow Student Driver, a life-long lesbian-identified woman as she dabbles in the world of heterosexuality, in our new syndicated ladysex column “Learning To Drive Stick.” Check her out every Tuesday at 2PM!

I waited on two couples who were dining together on Sunday evening, a mother and father with their younger daughter and her husband. Amongst the many inappropriate things Mom said during this two-hour meal were that she disliked her other daughter while this one was her favorite, and that this present favorite daughter could pick up the tab because she made more than everyone else at the table … combined. This daughter blushed uncomfortably and looked ready to crawl under the table. Regardless of the humiliation, the two ladies actually seemed to quite adore each other. We deal with our loved one’s quirky flaws, right?

As an aside, the younger woman and I spoke a bit about what she did, a consulting job that required her “selling my soul for,” and how her husband was the most patient man in the world. The younger couple was one I found interesting though, because perhaps I am hideously vain, but I am not significantly overweight and because of this, I can’t imagine being with someone who is. As a youth I was. Then I made the decision when I became a teenager to no longer follow in the heavy footsteps of the rest of my family, and I lost it.

This isn’t to say that a.) some people aren’t attracted to heavy partners, or that b.) some people truly can’t see passed the physical and see the inside of a person. What I am saying is that while I am sure her husband was a wonderfully sweet guy, he lucked out on the hottie package.

This makes me wonder, though. How often do people settle in relationships their partner accepts that their current life scenario isn’t perfect and rides it out in a way that someone else might not? Maybe work/life balance tends to fall more on the work end of the scale? Long weeks, unexpected trips, canceled dinners and rearranged lives. How often are people with individuals that love them dearly, but aren’t necessarily what the busier partner considers to be in their league, so to speak, all because they don’t have the time and energy to find said “better” person or step up and give what might be required in a different relationship? By being patient, justifying, and loving, do these other halves make it easier for their “more successful” counterpart to neglect them and the relationship?

Am I one of those other halves? Are you?

I’ve been trying to look at the positives to being single again and it occurred to me there was so much I wanted to actually do in a relationship that was missing from my previous. So in order to remain positive, I started a Dating Bucket list of things I’ve always wanted to do with someone I was dating, but for some reason or another never did.

This list is not about the sacrifices we’ve made and want to make up for; it’s about what we truly enjoy, the personal pleasures. I’m also not referring to those “long term relationship goals” some of us may have: building our own family, finding a place to call “home,” and such. I’m referring to those moments that bring a twinkle to the eye and a deep warm smile from within- those ideal situations where an activity is being mutually shared.

Each passing day I think of something else to add to my list. It’s therapeutic to realize how much of a total buzz-kill bitch your ex was. [It may sound begrudging, but you can understand the point in trying to make breakups into a therapeutic exercise] It’s also been advantageous and different to have some dating activities that aren’t the typical “dinner and drinks” motion, which makes me want to vomit.

Here’s what I’ve got going on in my Dating Bucket list:

To Do:

• Do some water oriented activity where we get wet
• Watch a sappy rom-com under the covers and not have to pretend I don’t get emotional over them
• Do some form of exercise together, like jogging, yoga, or cycling; walking around town because you don’t want to take a bus or taxi does not count
• Give a massage and get one in return
• Watch some goofy 90′s tv shows- like MST3K or Ren and Stimpy just because
• Volunteer at a soup kitchen
• Layout under a full moon with candlelight, or at least a balcony with chairs
• Go to concert or local show and let go with some goofy-cheesy-happy dancing
• Be spontaneous.
• Have sex in parking garage; car optional
• Blare the car stereo and obnoxiously sing along to a song that moves you (singing on key is not important, especially since I cannot sing; it’s about the release)
• Babysit for a friend so they can go out for the evening; Provision: of course this date would have to be someone I knew really well and trusted around someone’s little one(s)
• Have a hang-out date where we each do our own thing, like homework or read a book, and just hang the fuck out without making it into something pressured, planned or scripted
• Wake up in the middle of night just to have sex and then cuddle back to sleep
• Do something creative together like painting, drawing, or sculpting a snow duck or turtle
• Brave the masses and DC crowds in order to attend a political rally
• Go to the beach, sun it up, and people watch
• Make out in a library
• Look at houses or apartments, just to look
• Sit around a campfire, make smores, and tell horror stories [embarrassing horroric stories about yourself]
• Learn something together like a Groupon for dancing lessons, karate, or something equally fun and challenging

Done:

• Try cuisine I’ve always wanted to
• Walk from my apartment to a nice restaurant for dinner
• Stroll around the National Arboretum for an awkward, yet stimulating, conversation
• Sit across from each other with laptops, catching up on the news, talking, and listening to music
• Bail on your personal plans for an evening while your already out just to go do something else. [Meaning bail on an evening with friends while your already out for a text message opportunity to go out with someone]

For the singles out there, or those dating, what’s on your Dating Bucket list? What have you crossed out?

Submission by Student Driver, TNG columnist

Follow Student Driver, a life-long lesbian-identified woman as she dabbles in the world of heterosexuality, in our new syndicated ladysex column “Learning To Drive Stick.” Check her out every Tuesday at 2 p.m.!

This time last week, Type Geek’s brother was slowly bleeding to death, kept alive by constant blood transfusions. His hospital has a dedicated out-of-the-box thinker and suddenly his brother found himself with his own version of Gregory House — an insane genius minus the drug addiction, limp, and snark. So with a Hail Mary surgery that concluded with brother stuffed to the gills with self-dissolving gauze, Dr. Not House was able to slow down the bleeding long enough to allow the body to start clotting on its own and retaining some of the blood being pumped into him. He is still in the hospital, he still has a huge upward battle, and a bigger war after this fight is won, but currently he is stable.

I felt defenseless. I love the Geek so much and felt like I needed to do something, but there wasn’t anything I could really do, except listen; except be available.

So I cooked. I made him a dozen small loaves of Italian Easter Bread to take with him to Easter dinner with his family. I brought him fresh Tuberose, blooming for such a short time and only available in New England for such a short window of time. They smell like heaven, they smell like my perfume. I also bought myself some and placed the bouquet in a pitcher in my bedroom so I can wake up to their smell each morning.

Friday night, after finishing up the bread, I took a shower and grabbed a cab at midnight, placed the warm treats on his table, the flowers in his sink, and crawled into bed next to him. I was asleep, spooned against his back, my hand resting on his forearm and nose nestled into the crook of his neck, in less than 10 minutes. It was warm and soft and felt like home.

Type Geek is my just right — Like Goldilocks. I have tried the beds that are too hard and too soft, the porridge that is too hot and too cold, and the men and women who are just too big or too small. In many ways, Type Geek is my just right. Sure, there is no perfection. Our schedules don’t allow us to spend more than once a week with each other. Sex doesn’t happen three times a week like I would love. Still scarred from his past two relationships, he isn’t ready to swim in the waters that I dove into, but he dangles his toes on the edge and smiles as he talks to me while I swim. For now, that is fine. For now, I am happy just to have those toes.

It’s easy for some people to do the dumping. At the first sign of trouble, they run for the hills. It’s a way to protect themselves and a first resort.

Others have a more difficult time. They don’t want to hurt the person they’re dating, so they wait until it’s unbearable. Maybe they bring up small problems they have first, and try to make it work. When the issues aren’t resolved and they’re even more unhappy, they break up. While this is admirable and often the case, it can result in an even more painful situation for the other person. Because the dumper has been unhappy for so long, she is likely ready to move on shortly after the break-up. The dumpee will probably view this as insensitive and question the validity of feelings shared during the relationship.

On the other hand, if the person is broken up with immediately, she may wonder if her girlfriend cares at all, and why she isn’t interested in trying to remedy the problem(s).

The thing is if one person wants to break up with the other, whatever the reason, if she’s come to that solution —which is the most extreme — it probably doesn’t matter whether you work on the issue or not. It’s only a matter of time before the idea comes creeping back.

Of course there are always exceptions. It also depends on how long you have been in the relationship. But at the end of the day the unfortunate reality is that break ups are one-sided. You should try to be sensitive, but at the end of the day it is what it is: Over.

For those doing the dumping, try to be sensitive. Remember that though you want this, your girlfriend may not. You can be firm while being friendly. There are always circumstances of fighting or feeling like she doesn’t deserve your kindness, but if you’re doing the dumping remember that you’re probably hurting her, so you may need to be the bigger person. If you’re ready to move on but it’s new news to her, be sensitive, don’t flaunt your dating life and make sure it’s over with her before you start a new relationship or you could have problems down the road.

If you are being dumped, there are a couple things to keep in mind. First, if you’ve been in the relationship a long time and she’s breaking up with you, chances are it was a difficult decision for her too. You can try to reason with her or work through the problem but at a certain point if it’s over, it’s over and you will have to find a way to accept that. One of the best things you can do for yourself in this situation is to stop talking to each other. Girls have a tendency not to do this, but it is usually healthier, and though hard at first, will make healing easier and quicker in the long-run.

Surround yourself with friends or family or work, pets or TV, remind yourself that you are not alone. Eat if you need to, listen to music, watch good movies. Exercising can also be a good outlet. You may need to rebound but you may not be ready. My advice is, as painful as this time is, try to be honest with yourself about what you feel and what you need. Was she really the one? Are you upset because you miss her or the relationship? If it’s the relationship, focus on yourself, heal, and when you’re ready, you will date again and meet someone new. It’s the cycle of life, and whether you believe it or not, it is a big pond and you will find someone else.

If you miss her for her that is harder to overcome but it is possible. Let yourself grieve, be kind to yourself. It’s an awful situation to be in and unfortunately the one thing that will fix it is not going to happen. The first step is to recognize that – you have to accept that she is not coming back. The second step is to internalize that despite that, you will be okay – and maybe, probably, even better off. If she were the “one” she would still be with you. Since she’s not, you have to believe that there is someone else out there for you – probably more than one person. Or maybe you will decide that you prefer to be alone.

Who knows what can happen! The important thing is to take hold of your life and live it. She broke up with you, don’t let her take anything else. If you can start to live again and live well, you will start to heal. You will pick yourself up and realize that you did that not her – and you’ll be stronger because of it – you’re responsible for your own happiness. And soon your pain and hard feelings will dissipate and you may get to a place where you can be friends, where you want her to be happy, because you’ve moved beyond the pain and you just see her as a person again. Or maybe not. The goal should be your happiness and health for your own sake. It can happen, and it will if that is what you want – as hard as that is to believe in the midst of angst.

There’s no right way to break up or to heal. But there are ways to alleviate the pain. Focus on yourself, love yourself, live your life and before you know it, you will find happiness again.

I had seen previews of Sucker Punch over the last month at theaters and online. It didn’t look appealing — well about as appealing as making vegetarian meatloaf from mulch chippings and transmission fluid.

I’d like to think I know what I like, stand up in my beliefs when the time comes, and love adopting and altering all aspects of my life in order to grow, invite, and welcome others into it. This also applies to any relationships I’m in. Being similar has its grounding benefits, but gets stale; differences are interesting, refreshing and welcomed. My concern is where does that threshold fall where you personally value relationship differences, remaining who you are, and where there is just nothing.

Steph, this woman I recently met, offered to take me to Sucker Punch… [bring on the fork, napkin, and emergency response units].

For a movie this girl wanted to see, she didn’t get it at all. Several times through the movie I responded to her questions because she couldn’t follow it. She just didn’t get the symbolism and metaphors going on. I was shocked by her inability make the connections.

Besides the movie, she is trans (male-to-female). Her spunk, muster and energy is unrivaled to many. I brushed aside her 6-foot efforts to doofily skip along while holding onto my arm and defended my physical and personal space. Normally I would welcome such goofiness and courage, but not that day- [an ice cream cone pressed up against warm radiator].

Over instant message she kept apologizing for her failed efforts. Both of us were a little off and awkward, that was all. I reminded her of my situation. I made it clear where I was and that I did appreciate her efforts earlier that day. I explained that because of my current state it would be difficult for me to be that up-beat, perky, warmer gal I normally am. At this point I feel like I’m a ship that’s run aground in low tide- one hundred gallons of water may seem like a lot of water, but it’s just not enough to get freighter back to sea.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t interested in the movie. Her drive and offer to pay persuaded me. I clearly desired something to fill that now empty space [and I guess it was with a shitty movie]- I wanted to get out and do something, anything; I wanted to get my mind off of past toxic events; I want to move on and move forward. I fear though, that I sold my soul in watching that movie. It’s beyond what I could normally tolerate. I’m trying to take the same open approach as always, but really- Sucker Punch?

I’ve also never considered a relationship with a male-to-female transgendered individual. My comfort is with a gender-queerish lesbian, and have considered a female-to-male transgendered individual. I would not be against a relationship with a male-to-female transgendered individual, but I’m just not sure if it’s right for me. Please understand that I’m not the most feminine Strawberry Shortcake out there; I’d like to think of myself as the soft-queer-butch culmination of Rainbow Brite and He-man. I still struggle with my own personal boundaries and insecurities with femininity and masculinity, and I’m not looking forward to addressing my past and issues with someone new… [the quirky little quirks we have].

It’s been a several weeks since my last relationship ended. How it ended leaves an unsettling feeling, but then again if things didn’t end badly they wouldn’t end at all. I still find myself missing her. Michelle’s aura was unlike anyone I had ever known- goofy, extremely smart, bold, brave, motivated, and stubborn as all Hell. How do you say it – secksy?

For all the positives about Michelle, there were negatives. Her life was very segmented- you were either in or out of it. Towards the end, clearly she did not want me in. The fun activities dwindled to nothingness, and more and more revolved around the TV. [I'm not opposed to excessive TV watching, but I felt it was used as a defensive tool or crutch to restrict and prevent communication]. Conversations shriveled into monologues, which then turned into snappy one way rants and lectures, which then sharpened to short stabs and jabs, and ultimately became exit spats of dusty words drifting through stale air. Sadly, she knew so little of what was going on in my life because she would either change the topic or bluntly state she didn’t want to know right now. It was all about timing; right now became critical because everything revolved around timing and execution.

For the time we dated, if that’s what you want to call it because I’m hesitant to have even called her a girlfriend let alone a friend now, all I ever wanted to do was to hang out- each at a laptop doing our own thing but including each other in our thoughts. Weird how we change.

Last evening I had that moment, but not with Michelle.

I invited Steph over for a crappy dinner and a movie- not a date, just to hang out, and she drove an hour just for that. We spent two hours at my dining table face to face with a laptop in front of each other. She listened to music, watched anime youtube vids and trolled on a few sites posting long argumentative comments. I went through my feedreader catching up on my geeky interests and occupational endeavors listening to NPR clips from my laptop. Occasionally there were moments of silence with no music or video, and sometimes there was conversation about what was being watched, read or thought. We even managed to cram a hurried dinner down between over a clever video she found. All this between Steph’s cigarette breaks.

I felt so distant though. I finally had that evening I’ve always wanted, but it wasn’t with the person I wanted it to be with. My head would get lost switching back and forth thinking Steph was really Michelle. Unsettling, but true. I found myself stepping outside of myself asking “Why couldn’t I have this with Michelle?”

Conversation. Time together. Catching up with each other’s day, showing interest, not waiting for the other person to finish talking so I could interrupt their oration about my day or what I was thinking.

Afterwards we watched a movie. Once again I found myself stepping outside of myself and the situation thinking “Michelle would love this movie. I gotta tell her about this. Wait… she’s … not here- not in my life anymore.”

Panic stricken in my head, thoughts go racing back and forth, and around in destructive circles. What does all this mean? It felt like my head was turning side to side like in the cartoons trying to discern what the little figures on my shoulders were telling me. At one point I thought I was going to pull a Regan and do a 360 with my head [...next comes the vomit and foreign tongue].

I went to bed with a calmness I had not felt for many nights [except for the desire to get Michelle's thoughts on last night's budget outcome]. Even this morning I’m left questioning what this all means. Who am I? What does it mean to be me- watching Sucker Punch; hanging out a person when I’m clearly thinking of someone else; having that evening I always wanted but with someone else? Does driving an hour to hang out with someone mean anything?

How do you move forward when you’re still struggling with remnants? How flexible are you in modifying your life to make room for someone new, someone else? What are your experiences in dating a non-binary gender person? I’m interested in hearing from others.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of When Harry Met Sally early 90s meditations on gender, a gravestone of the most clichéd contemplation lies:

Can Men and Woman Really Be Just Friends?

Hopefully we have all moved past such a woefully simple perspective on gender and relationships to a place where friendships can exist without sex and sex can exist without friendships. Where men and women, gay or straight, are all a part of one community with individual differences not characterized as whole groups. There does, however, still seem to be one question looming out there: When is the right time to “out” yourself?

A couple weeks ago a friend of mine encountered two similarly frustrating situations. Weeks of friendly flirtation with a male acquaintance finally culminated in the passing mention of his fiancé. A fiancé who had not entered conversation even once in the previous weeks, leaving my friend, let’s call her Audrey, a little confused about why the two had been flirting at all. Within weeks of the fiancé conversation, Audrey had dinner with a new female friend of hers. The dinner was fun — drinks and the tipsy divulging of secrets — but Audrey was nonetheless surprised to face a next-day email inquiring, “Where is this going?” – the admission of her new friend that she doesn’t want to fall for the “straight girl” again. Does dinner automatically mean dating?

Sometimes you meet someone at a gay singles night. You can estimate pretty confidently that the people you meet that night are, A.) into same sex relationships; B.) single and interested in meeting someone. But sometimes you meet people at a mutual friend’s birthday party, a writing workshop, a work conference. Then what?

If men and women (or gay men/men, gay women/women) can be friends, then our conversations shouldn’t have to begin with, “I’m in a relationship.” If people of all sexual and gender identities can exist socially (without having to have sex with each other) then the first statement in a new friendship doesn’t need to be a full run down of sexual identity and orientation. Right?  You might meed a cute girl at a party with short hair and a button down shirt on – you might start to flirt. How long can she wait before she tells you shes straight? If she says it right away, are you offended that she assumed you thought she was hot? If she waits, do you feel like she lead you on?

But if it’s not the first thing you tell someone, how long do you wait? When does it become lying by omission? Is an engaged man chatting with a woman without offering information about his relationship acting deceptively? Is a gay woman meeting and befriending another woman without “coming out” mean she’s being sneaky? Does not admitting your sexual identity or relationship status in a job interview somehow mean you are hiding the truth?

When do you acknowledge that the person you are spending time with may be interested in you romantically? When do you come out as unavailable, unavailable, straight or gay?

****

Charlie Sheen doesn’t make me laugh, he doesn’t make me chuckle at his wisdom or ponder his deep thoughts, and I certainly don’t consider him to be… WINNING. I find the saying to be anything but proof of winning. I find people who use his phrases in their daily speech to be slightly sad as well. That’s why it makes me cringe and disappoints me when Type Geek makes some utterly Sheen-esque comment… and finishes it with…”WINNING.” Cause, you know what, it’s the antithesis of winning, in fact.

Tomorrow night he is going to check out the Sheen show, and due to some connection he has, he’s going to hang out with Sheen after the show. I shudder to consider the ramifications of such actions. Sheen is a fiery ball of a train wreck, going 250 mph at an iron wall without breaks and no common sense to avert course.

All I could say was be careful, be smart. Tiger blood? More like diseased plague blood. Can I buy a full body prophylactic for Type Geek, so he doesn’t come into contact with Sheen’s venomous nasties and be tainted forever?