The Parade of Dates

Facebook is showing me profiles of “People You May Know” and somehow they have managed to be spot on.

Scrolling through those profiles is like rolling through the last 12 years of my life, in dates.

It must be because I haven’t deleted their phone numbers from my phone.

That is the sole connection I have with these men.

Some of them I dated right after my divorce in August of 2006.

I must say, they’re quite the handsome bunch of men, if a little eclectic.

There’s Charlie (yes, ANOTHER Charlie) who texted me FOREVER and yet managed to never actually take me out on a date.

Then there’s Matt – tall, blond, handsome, and very lumberjacky – who was basically MADE FOR ME but dropped me after three dates.

OMG, then there’s Link – I went out on a date with him and brought a friend because she liked his profile too so we figured we’d give him a choice.   However once meeting him, we decided he was for neither of us.

Of course there’s Louis, who is married to a young bride and (I suspect) has more children in his future, despite pushing 50.

And then, a regret. Kurt. I went out with Kurt 4 times before ghosting him. Not a proud moment on my part. He was a wonderful man.

It seems the only man who I dated who ISN’T on this list is my ex-boyfriend Luke, who has BLOCKED me on Facebook. Not because I tried to add him as a friend. Not because I was messaging him. But because he cheated on me with another woman while I was recovering from a miscarriage and the taste of his own betrayal is so bitter he has to avoid any reminder of his slimy behavior.

It’s at times like these, when I’m considering a do-over with these men, that I realize something very important.

IT’S TIME TO PURGE MY PHONE.

The Best Lover

charlie_beachBy far, the best lover I ever had was an Australian living in the US named Charlie.

He was the first bald headed guy I ever went out with.

And he was also the first married but separated man I attempted to date.

Charlie was extraordinary in bed, not because he had wicked skills or some special talents, but because he was so ALL CONSUMING IN BED HE LEFT YOU TOTALLY SPENT.

Now, I tend to be a take charge kind of girl.

But Charlie would have none of that.

When he kissed me, it was like he was POURING himself into me.

He’d grab me by the back of my neck and wrap his hand around my cheek and all of a sudden there was nothing.

But.

His.

Kiss.

I remember that sense of losing touch with reality when I was with him.

Of course as the clothes came off, things got even better.

Being held in his arms was like being enveloped in the woods – you were surrounded by masculinity, hardness, muskiness and strength.

Technically, you could find your way out, but why would you want to?

He was all hands and mouth and they were constantly seeking out your sensitive spots. I always felt like he was everywhere all at once.

And Charlie had a “thing.”

He liked being pressed into the mattress.

I remember this well.

He’d be on bottom, I’d be on top with my hands splayed out on his chest, pushing my weight down on him into the bed.

It was a style uniquely suited to him.

In doggie style, he’d wrap his body over mine and grab my wrists, squeezing me into his body, like we were going to merge into one.

There was so much skin to skin contact I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

All I know was that it felt good.

I’ll never forget the kind of lover Charlie was.

Maybe that’s why he holds a special place in my heart even though it was just a short lived fling.

And beyond being a spectacular lover, he was also just an all around great guy. The kind you’d go camping with, go fishing with, or take on a just-for-fun road trip.

That kind of man is worth his weight in gold.

Sigh!

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All you need is to succeed once

IMG_7892Dating.

No one said it would be easy.

And technically, you get it wrong all the time and only get it right a fraction of the time.

Those aren’t stellar odds if you ask me.

I once dated this guy named Paul and for the life of me I couldn’t remember his name. It was like I had a mental block against his name. He finally gave up on me and (I am sure) filed me away under “disastrous dates.”

There was another guy who I went out with who was Lebanese. He had hummus the night before and he FARTED the whole time we were on our date. Nasty, stinky, garbanzo bean and garlic farts. Ugh. I filed him under “NEVER AGAIN!”

But the absolute worst date I went on was with a lawyer who brought his 6 year old daughter and two standard size black poodles with him. Somehow I wound up walking those dogs and letting his daughter watch the Adult Swim station on TV while he ran out for dog food.

And the best dates, we’ll they are like magic in my mind.

Charlie, the Aussie I adored, took me to see Hearst Castle and we strolled along the beach, just like the cliché, hand in hand, chatting about his life in Australia and my life in the US. It was a little bit of heaven and that boy deserved every blessedly wonderful thing that happened to him.

Jason and I hit it off instantly. It was unimaginable chemistry and an instant connection. To this day, I remember how he said my name with gravity and weight, as if it really mattered to him. That boy could say ‘Michelle’ and get a response from me in a millisecond.

Finally, there’s Drew. Drew was a 6’10” volleyball player who literally made me shiver when I saw him, such was the nature of our attraction. Our romance was brief but intense and when he held my hand in a jazz concert at Stanford, I got moist. Yeah, that kind of attraction.

The thing that all the good dates and all the bad dates have in common is that I usually knew, within minutes of meeting the guy, whether it was going to be great or awful. No exceptions. I’ve never expected a bad date and had a good date. Likewise I’ve always known when I was about to have a really good date.

As much as I love going out and having fun, regardless of who I am with, I’d like to meet that one person who connects with me on a deeper level.

So I guess I’ll just keep putting up with the bad dates, getting one step closer to having that good date.

I have a lousy success rate.

But all you need is to succeed once and you’re golden.

Totally, utterly, completely golden.

Birth control!!!

72084bf4937cd6d775193a5a0fbc745aI need birth control. And LOTS of it!

I took one look at his big bare chest and his sexy smile and realized I was in deep.

His wolverine swimmers could find a way to impregnate me if you drove them in circles, dropped them off in the Australian Outback in a teaspoon of water surrounded by saltwater crocodiles and challenged them to find my egg.

They should hang a large warning sign around his waist that says, “For God’s sake woman, proceed only with extreme caution and an overabundance of birthcontrol!”

Chawlly

Okay, so it’s Char-lie, but since he doesn’t pronounce the “r” I like to call him Chawlly. You can blindfold him, drive him around for hours, drop him off in the Australian Outback with 2 liters of water and he will find his way back to civilization. I would eat bugs with him.

He has kayaked with crocodiles. He has sailed a 75 foot sailboat from Australia to Indonesia. He speaks 5 languages. And he has walked through downtown Bern, Switzerland with naught but a speedo on. He likes to dance (boogie, as he calls it) and like me, he always goes into the bounce house to jump around with his kids at parties, regardless of what the other adults think. He likes the way my hair smells, and if I kiss him like I mean it, he tells me he doesn’t want me to leave and wraps his arms around me.

sailing2

If he wants to make me laugh, all he has to do is say the word “harbor.”

“Chawlly, say harbor,” I ask him.

“Haw-buh,” he replies.

He he.