An ongoing project
Tim's First Rule of Dating (and a Corollary):
If she/he is
interested in you, she/he must be psycho.
(Therefore, you should only date people who are not interested in
you.)
Tim's Last Rule of Dating:
You'll never know; it doesn't matter; move on.
There's nothing like a love song to give you a good laugh.
—Ingrid Bergman, in Notorious
OK, so this page is relationship related. It's for all those folks out there who have bounced around in the dating world only to end up bruised, battered and, yes, bitter.
A
cynic is not merely one who reads bitter lessons from the past;
he is one who is prematurely disappointed in the future.
—Sydney J. Harris, journalist
There are certain tests of qualification that all prospective members of the Bitter and Cynical Club must pass before full membership can be granted.
If
love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
—Mercutio, Romeo and Juliet
1. They have lost track of the names, faces and, definitely, the phone numbers of all the people they've dated in the last year. Rather, they keep track of them by codeword: The Vegetarian, Weenie Boy, Ms. Perfection, and, my personal favorite, The Woman Who Shall Remain Nameless.
2. They cannot currently be in a relationship, regardless of how empty or doomed it is. To be truly Bitter and Cynical absolutely requires an absence of physical and emotional intimacy beyond that usually encountered with house pets.
3. Using the same logic, prospective members cannot be having regular sex with the same partner. They are allowed to have any number of ill-conceived one-night stands as long as those experiences, once the glow is gone, leave them feeling hollow and a little used.
4. They can assess, within the first three minutes of meeting someone, whether or not there is any chance of any kind of relationship with that person, how that relationship will manifest itself and can usually visualize the inevitable dismal breakup in excruciating detail. ("Gawd," they think as they wait for the first coffee to arrive, "this is going to be ugly.")
5. They have resigned themselves to a solitary life—not because there's not someone out there for them, but because it's just too much damn work and too painful to keep looking.
Cynic.
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things
as they are,not as they ought to be.
—Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
Real life story:
In July I met this woman online, we decided we should talk, we made arrangements, but she called on a Sunday when I was out and left this message:
"Hi, Tim! (very cheery, bright voice) It's XXX. I wanted to call you before your day got crazy and you went to the junkyard. Let me give you my number .... Call me, yeah, I'll be around until 2, then I'm going to some art opening gig with a friend of mine then I'm going to a play tonight. Call me."
I called, we talked--good, fun conversation--and decided, OK, let's do the casual get a drink thing--that tentative, first, sizing up meeting.Between my schedule and her schedule it took quite some juggling, but we settled on a place in San Francisco, the coming Thursday evening.
Tuesday I get home and this message is on my machine:
"Tim, its XXX. (flat, monotone voice). I just wanted to let you know I've got a job offer back east, I'm moving in September-- so I didn't think it was going to be that easy to move. But I need to be back with my family--my mom isn't doing that well--so I don't think it's a good thing to start dating in California because I have 3 million things to do between now and September and I wouldn't be able to put the time into it and then I'll be gone. So, anyway, I'm going to cancel the Thursday night date. I wish you well and good luck in your search. Thanks for writing me back. Good-bye."
Gee, all I wanted to was meet her for a drink to find out if she'd be fun to spend some time with.... Adios, to you, too, baby.
Nowadays
love is a matter of chance, matrimony a matter
of money and divorce a matter of course.
—Helen Rowland, journalist.
Another real life story:
In my mail today was a short letter from a woman friend (let's call her "L") who wants me to co-write a book on men and women and relationships. I absolutely refuse to do so because I know that part of the creative process would involve the death of one or both of us.
Am I being too harsh? Well, let me share her letter with you:
Hi Tim,
I was reading in a woman's magazine how the shorter a man is, the smaller his dick—white men, of course, being the worst—(though I didn't need a magazine to tell me that...)
Good luck anyway!
XXXOOO
The non-cigarette smoking
genius, me
Now, before you read further, let me say that, despite our ups and downs, I still have a great deal of respect for "L." She's incredibly intelligent, well read and one helluva a writer. But, she does have her flaws, including a fair bit of vanity about her appearance (most men, regardless of height, would find her physically attractive, especially if they were attracted to well-endowed women). Hence, my response to her:
L,
Thank you for your letter. In an extraordinary coincidence, it came just after I finished reading a very interesting article in a men's magazine. It said that the bigger tits a woman has, the smaller her brain and the less likely she is to exhibit any social graces whatsoever....
Tim
Dinner is dinner:
First dates are always tough, especially if you're dealing with someone absolutely phobic about the word "date." (I once went out with a woman for about three months--dinner, movies, evenings out and, on several occasions, evenings in followed by breakfast--who later denied that we'd ever "dated." But I digress....) I've found, however, that first dates go much smoother if you trim your expectations and really focus in on the most basic question of all: Am I really enjoying myself enough to ask this person out again. But oftentimes my date has other thoughts.......
For example, there's the question of the difference between an evening meal and romantic/sexual commitment. You wouldn't think those two would be hard to differentiate. Ha! You haven't met the women I have.
It arises, seemingly naturally, out of a very simple invitation: "Would you have dinner with me?" The request is made openly and usually in earnest, the invitee actually being someone I would like to share a meal and conversation with. She might be a new acquaintance; she is often attractive and she has always captured my interest with something she has said or done that marks her apart from the common masses (she is usually very intelligent and often far smarter than I).
But, I am ONLY seeking dinner with her; an opportunity to get to know her a little better, maybe share some laughs along with insight. Depending on the evening, I might be interested in a different kind of relationship. However, when I ask for a dinner date, I am looking for a dinner date--not a sleep-over, love-of-my-life, bear-my-children life-long commitment.
The women I meet, however, will immediately jump from the offer of a meal to somewhere on the far side of the galaxy. Enroute, they will divine that I am a.) madly in love with them, b.) want only to bed them, or, c.) both a and b. From that, they will extrapolate an entire relationship between us, beginning in the warm, intoxicating glow of romance and then ending in the cold depressed chords of a third-rate country song (with the possibility of broken dishware).
This whole process generally takes under 15 seconds, at which point the woman will decline dinner, mutter something about doing it "sometime soon" and quickly change the subject. Within 24 hours she will have changed her phone number, found a new job and moved out of state.
Sheesh
More, yes, more!
In the 1990s taking out a personal ad is perfectly OK. There's a recognition there, that with our busy lives, advertsing makes sense: you maximize your chances of meeting people who are interested in some kind of relationship. Right?
Maybe.
Take Lady J. She's 36, a retired dancer who now makes her living giving therapeutic massage. After playing telephone tag for a day, we finally connected late one Wednesday evening and talked for a good hour, until nearly 11 p.m. Things went so well we decided to take a plunge and meet for coffee after work the next day, 7 p.m. at a local bookstore.
So we meet. I'm actually on time and am just sitting down with my decaf, no whip mocha when she walks in. We do the introduction thing. Then it comes: The ex-boyfriend who she swore, at 11 p.m. the night before, was total history is back. They are back together and she's sorry. And the only reason she came was that she didn't think it was right to stand me up (she gets very big points for this).
But, J adds, "keep my number" because things with the boyfriend might not work out. Uh, how would I know that? She gives me an odd look and then says she'll keep my number -- just in case.
Then she leaves. I finish the mocha and walk home in the quiet stillness of twilight.