Category Archives: dating

fat girl in love

It feels a little weird, not writing here. It shouldn’t, I guess, since I’ve gone through periods of not writing much before. The difference is now that I actually have lots to say… it’s just that I don’t want to say it here.

(It’s funny, because I definitely think of you folks as my friends. But even with my friends, I have a hard time talking about things like this. It’s not that I want to keep my feelings to myself, not at all, it’s just that I struggle to know how to express them.)

The relationship that I mentioned last month is going strong. No, that sounds weird. It is going strong, but what I really want to say is that it’s beautiful, exciting, grounding, life-altering. I’m a logical person, a rational person. I work hard to make decisions based on the facts, on my best guesses, on pros and cons. But with M? I can’t. I just know. This is it.

Eek.

In other news, best troll comment ever: “FATTYS MUST DIE! ALLAH ACKBAR!”

confession

Ok, it’s been a little while. I was at home for the holidays, and then I came back and had a crazy-busy week, and I have all sorts of very good excuses.

But here’s the real reason: Through a series of coincidences – not through any of my attempts at online dating, and he’s not the man I wrote about here – I met a really nice man. I don’t know where things are going with him, yet, but it’s good, and it feels private, and I just don’t feel comfortable talking about it here, even in my semi-anonymous form.

So wish me luck! I’ll be back with other bits of commentary, but for the time being the whole “on a date” bit is going to go dark (again).

crazy gone nuts

You know how I said I wish I had an excuse for breaking it off with A?

I kinda do.

It’s not that I’m seeing someone else. But there is someone else, and I’m kinda crazy about him.

This is not going to happen, him and me. It’s complicated, and there’s nothing about it that’s changing any time soon. In the mean time, I’m driven to distraction by it, by him, by myself.

Here’s the thing: Over the past few months, I’ve realized that I’m Ready To Get Married. I want to. I maybe even kinda want kids. (Whoa, nelly! That’s so not something I expected.) A couple months ago a friend, a friend who had just fallen crazy in love, said that we spend all our time trying to find the right person when what we should be doing is becoming the right person. That’s not a major insight, it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before, but this time is resonated, and I realized that I am. I’m the right person. I’m ready.

(The kid thing, that came up in a different conversation. Another friend, talking about running a school – she was a principal – said that she learned everything she needed to know about running a heart-centered school by being a mother, and I thought Oh. Maybe the reason you have children is not that you’ve dreamed about babies all your life, but because having children changes you, opens your eyes to new ideas, makes you a different and more whole-hearted person than you were before.)

And this guy? God, who knows. We’re not together, I don’t know, who knows how things would turn out if life took that turn. But he’s a marvelous man. He embodies the kind of life I’m learning to lead. He’s committed to the things I’m committed to, he holds my gaze when we talk, he’s filled with peace and he fills me with peace, and he’s kind, and he’s so thoughtful about himself, the world, me, everyone, and, and, and.

no mojo, and what to do about it

A and I got together again the other night. To cut to the chase: as I suspected, there’s no mojo there.

(God, I haven’t even told him yet. That’s kinda terrible, isn’t it, that I’m telling the whole word – even if it is anonymous – before I tell him? But more on that in a sec.)

We got together at a bookstore. Browsed a bit. Found our way to another coffee shop, and, like the first time we got together, we talked and talked and talked. Talking, we’re good at.

But it was immediately clear to me that that’s all we’ve got going for us. He pushed a few of my buttons – the wrong ones, I mean: he loves science fiction and computers and video games, and I harbor unreasonable mistrust of people who love science fiction and computers and video games. (I know! It’s not fair, and I’d be pretty pissed if someone dismissed me because I love poetry and horses and board games, but there you have it. I’m a sci-fi bigot.)  More than that, though, was just a feeling: This isn’t going anywhere. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not the guy for me.

Trouble is, I think he’s pretty into me. I’m going home to Minnesota for a few weeks, and he joked around how he was going to pine away for me. He asked whether I was planning to stay in the area after I finished my sabbatical; I said I didn’t know, that it would depend on where my life took me; he said “I hope I can be a part of your life.” He talked about driving up to Centralia when I get back.

I’m terrible at this sort of thing. Letting him down easy, whatever you want to call it. I’m a disaster. My preference would be to just disappear, pretend it never happened. And maybe that will work, without unfairness on my part, by virtue of the my long absence over the holidays. Maybe I’ll come back and we just won’t get back in touch and everything will be fine, no problem, no hard feelings, back to regular programming. But I doubt it; I think I’m going to have to call him, or see him (or could I just email me? please tell me I can email him!) and tell him that I just don’t see us headed in the direction he seems to want.

God, I wish I had some excuse. The last time I had to do this – when I broke up with a guy named Ben, I guy I’d known from the first date wasn’t for me but, when he said “So, are we ‘go’?” at the end of our second date, I was too flabbergasted to protest, and thus was born a three-month relationship – I pretended that I wasn’t over an ex. I said I was so sorry that I’d mislead him, that I was still in love with someone else, that it had taken me a while to realize it. This was all a lie, and I wish I could do it again, but these days I’m not lying, it’s a thing I’m trying, and that means I have to tell him the truth.

Shit.

first date report: A

Ok, first things first. Here’s what I wore:

victoria-dec-4-2008-9

The top is new; it’s from Fresh Ayer. The jeans are apair of Calvin Kleins I bought over the summer (from Nordstrom Rack! only $20) and had never worn, because they needed hemming (to hell with it, I said, and wore them long).

It was stupid, maybe, to buy a new top. (I also bought a pair of jeans, which  am returning – the Calvins are cuter! – and the Perfect Black Pants, pants I have been searching for, pants I have been longing for, pants that will change my life.) I’m on sabbatical, I have no income, and, um, maybe I shouldn’t be buying new clothing. But have you ever had a perfect clothes experience? Clothes that just feel right, that make you feel beautiful and comfortable and happy and yourself? This top felt that way. As soon as I bought it, I stopped worrying about the date. I knew I was going to be fine.

(An aside: I’ve noticed, looking at the picture up there, that this outfit makes me look a little bigger than I am. Such is the nature of flowy tops, I guess. It speaks to how far I’ve come in fat acceptance that I chose something that I thought made me look beautiful, rather than something that made me look thin.)

And I was. I met A at the coffee shop. I was there first, which was not my intention. I got a chai, I grabbed a paper, I nabbed the two easy chairs in the corner and I started reading. He walked in right while I w as reading a commentary about how Minnesota’s senate election (it’s still not resolved!) might wind up being decided by lot.

So he walked in, I was feeling beautiful and happy and comfortable and myself, and I had just read a fascinating article about my home state, and I was ready to go. He grabbed a coffee and sat down and we talked, and talked and talked. We talked for three hours, and then I had to get to a meeting, and we hugged and said we should do it again, and then I went home. (And then I went to an incredible meeting, a life-changing meeting, but that’s another story for another blog. Yeah, I keep another blog. Under my Real Name. Imagine!)

We got along splendidly. What I’m not sure of is whether – as my friend Jeremy would say – there’s any mojo.

That sounds more negative than I mean it to. I mean, really, that I’m not sure. He talked a lot, he rattled on and I had some trouble getting a word in, at first, but that’s just nerves. That’s why I believe in a two-date minimum, before you can make up your mind about someone. I’m sure that we could be great friends; I’m just not sure whether there’s any zing, you know?

pre-date jitters, part II: The Man

I got so hung up on the clothes angle that I neglected to say anything about the man in question. Riiight, the man. It’s not all about the clothes!

(But about the clothes: I succumbed. I went shopping, and bought new clothes, and feel much more comfortable in them. I went to this wonderful shop and will have more to say about it soon).

The man shall be known as A, until he earns the right to a not-so-clever nickname. He seems like a very pleasant fellow. He’s a liberal. He’s from around here and knows the place I’m living – before I even told him what it was called, he figured it out, which freaked me out a little bit. He skis. Our email exchanges have been goofy and friendly but hard to say much more about it until we get a better sense of each other in person.

We are getting together for coffee, in the late afternoon – my town is on his way home from work, so it’s easy for him to swing by. He seems like a pro at internet dating; he suggested something low-key and relatively short (anyone is tolerable for the time it takes to drink a latte; the same cannot be said for dinner). My schedule is surprisingly difficult – I’m on sabbatical, so you’d think it would be easy, right? – but we found a time quickly and here we go.

If his pictures are accurate, A is a little bit chubby. I hardly noticed this until, when I told him that I just started running, he said that he had lost 100 pounds when he was a runner a decade ago – and has since gained 50 of them back. He said this casually, easily, comfortably. Then he said (or rather, he wrote – this was via email): “Health/fitness is one of those things I’m going to be struggling with for the rest of my life.” That was it. No commentary about how much he hated his weight gain, or how he wished he was that slim again.

In response, I said: “As for struggling with health and fitness: tell me about it. (I mean, I can commiserate, although if you want to actually tell me about it I’d be quite interested). But I console myself with the reminder that it’s something that everyone struggles with – even folks who are naturally lithe aren’t doing themselves any good if they take their size as an indication of fitness.” A sneaky bit of Health at Every Size. He gave no response to this, in his next email. We’d moved on to other topics, for the most part.

So? I’m thinking this is good news. I’m thinking this is a guy who understands body issues, has been up and down in size himself and doesn’t seem too hard on himself about it. He knows my size, roughly – I haven’t told him, but I have a recent and honest photo on my page, although that’s another story because whenever I look good in a photo it seems like it isn’t really honest; how messed up is that? – and he seems unperturbed. I’m thinking he’s among the first men I’ve met with whom fat acceptance might be a natural topic, at some point, and I’m thinking that that sounds like a relief.

Big News… of the first date sort

Ok, y’all. I have a date on Thursday and I’m trying hard not to talk myself out of it. I mean, I want to go. Of course I do. Right? I put an ad out there (on okcupid), he responded, I responded to his response, we’ve been making witty repartee for a couple weeks (too long! I know, but I’m such a nervous twit, I kept putting off the whole meeting-in-person thing), things are going well.

But in addition to my general level of… oh, what should I call it? Panic? … relating to dating, I have a legitimate problem: I have nothing to wear.

Or, alternatively, I have everything to wear.

The argument for the “nothing to wear” camp is strong. I packed weirdly, in moving to this intentional community. I dedicated my closet to comfort and thought not too much about little things like “cuteness” or “seductiveness”. You think I’m kidding? Here’s a complete list of the pants and skirts I brought with me:

  1. Five pairs of Old Navy’s Smoked Jersey Gauchos. These look surprisingly good, for pants that have the mother of all elastic waists and cost $9.99. If it were warm out, I’d throw on this t-shirt and call it a day.
  2. Four pairs of jeans. Two are so old they have holes in them. One is the notoriously stinky Right Fit jeans from Lane Bryant. One is lovely, Calvin Klein, but they need hemming (seriously? I’m nearly six feet tall and they need hemming?) and, um, yeah, I’ve been here for two months and I haven’t gotten around to that yet.
  3. A floaty, cotton, hugely seasonally inappropriate skirt from The Gap.
  4. No more. That’s all.

I also have an overabundance of dresses. Just where, exactly, did I think I was going to wear dresses? Here’s what I do every day: I eat breakfast. I clean up after breakfast (clean up after 60 people, that is – this is a messy thing, not just wiping the Cheerios I spilled on the counter into the trash can). I go to community meeting. I nap. I eat lunch. I rake leaves. I sit around and think about God. I email people about what I’m thinking about God. I talk with other people about God. I cook. I eat dinner. I go to bed. On Fridays, I take a class.

I could wear a dress. (If I found acceptable tights, sometime before Thursday. Tights have been my pre-date nemesis before and, no, I didn’t adequately solve the problem last time.) But, thing is, these days at least, I’m not much of a dress-wearing type. Don’t get me wrong. I love dresses, I love dressing up, but fact is I’m living at a retreat center and the fanciest I get is throwing on a necklace with my ripped jeans.

The other day, another woman here – a staff person, who lived here as a student thirty years ago – told a story about a date she went on while she was a student here. She said she got herself all worked up over what she was going to wear and rushed out to buy something new, only to realize that if the woman she was seeing didn’t like how she dressed normally the relationship probably didn’t have a lot of staying power. It’s an obvious point, but it’s stuck in my mind this time.

So, the argument for everything to wear? I have all my clothes here. Nine pairs of pants. A skirt. Several dresses. All sorts of shirts – mostly fitted t-shirts and sweaters – that I haven’t discussed at all. Maybe I should stop worrying so much and just pull something out of the closet. Like this (scroll down). That looks pretty good, right? I have both those items of clothing with me here, although they’ve seen some wear and tear since then (and those are, after all, the smelly jeans. But then he’s not going to be getting up close and personal with my pants. Not on the first date! Heavens, I’m not that kind of girl.)

Pep talks would be deeply appreciated. Wish me luck!