the october line-up (slim pickins)

The line-up, seventy-one days after The Talk with Plan C.

38

We had a date Friday night. He was that ‘magic’ 38th man (my ex-psychiatrist said, ‘You may have to meet 38 men before you find the right one’).

It’s going to be more like 50, I think.

* * *

It’s now Monday afternoon, and my memory of Friday’s date is dimming quickly. Here’s what I remember:

– it was a beautiful evening, really lovely: soft air, a nice glow, the perfect evening to sit outdoors in a cafe in the Village, as we did, for hours;

– I seem to have listened more than I talked; that does happen…. He asked me a lot of questions at the beginning, during perhaps the first hour, but the last hour-and-a-half (out of four altogether) was pretty much entirely devoted to his family and their issues. (The other hour-and-a-half was more of a conversational exchange, I guess, though with a slight emphasis on him.) It got to the point that I introduced information about my family just to balance what he was telling me.

– Because he was good-looking — well, more interesting looking, but (to my mind) attractive –, because he was smart, because the evening was so lovely, this was the best date I’ve had since the end of Plan C. But the previous four dates were so bad (in varying ways) that any date with sustained conversation for more than two hours was bound to be better.

– There was some desultory talk of going to see the new Woody Allen film together, but no definite plans were made. He walked me to the subway station (polite of him), and as I turned to face him and say goodbye, there was an interesting pause; interesting because it was his opportunity to lean forward and kiss me, if he wanted to. I could tell he was thinking about it, trying to decide whether he should, in fact deliberating about it (this was all of 7 seconds, but I could feel his indecision) quite seriously. I was tempted just to lean over and kiss him, if only to end the agony of indecision. But that’s not the way it’s done, at least that’s not the custom of the country, or my country, so I didn’t.

And anyway, he was right not to, because if you have to think about it that hard, why do it? There really hadn’t been any sexy conversation. I guess it was even borderline un-sexy, though there were a few flickers of attraction…not powerful or overwhelming, but flickering.

As I turned, unkissed, to go down the subway stairs, I felt a kind of farewell pat on my left shoulder.

That was the form taken by his ambivalent desire to touch. I didn’t turn around but continued down the stairs.

* * *
And that was that!

Date #5 since the end of Plan C, and new man #38.

scientist

If I had to choose one of the men in the current line-up to be the one for whom I stop dating, it would be he. He’s really cute looking, with the kind of non-Jewish cutes I went for in college. He’s scientific and artistic, doing work that interests me (i.e. it’s not too technical for me to understand), and he seems interested in the arts, cooking — you know, lots of stuff I’d like. But we’re only corresponding right now (he’s a match.com guy who gave me his real email address at once, getting us off the match website, a move I appreciate). I wrote him first, and he has written back twice.

The only problem I see, and it may be serious or it may not, is that his emails don’t ask any questions about me. They comment on what I’ve said and respond to it, but I don’t see explicit curiosity about me (e.g., Tell me about your work, How old are your children, Where did you grow up etc.).

I’d really like to move to the telephone stage or even the meeting stage with him, but that’s his call. So I have to write another witty email, telling him stuff about me he didn’t ask, and commenting on his email.

That’s hard work. But work I must.

ape

Ape and I emailed a bit and (his choice) moved quickly to the phone stage. We had a conversation before I went to London, and I thought we were at the I’ll-now-forget-all-about-you stage or the When-can-we-get-together stage. However, he has just emailed to set up another phone date.

??

I don’t think I want to talk to him again. On paper he’s very impressive, but I found him just a bit of a downer. Oddly enough — but this does happen sometimes — I could imagine why his ex-wife wanted to divorce him!

Not a good sign, is it?

Of course I know nothing about his divorce, but that’s the way it struck me. Something didn’t feel right — was he a bit of a whiner? a drag? I felt that I would have to supply all the joie de vivre in a relationship with him. I have that in good supply, but I need to feel a little joyful energy from the other person, and I didn’t get it from him.

However, because he’s so good on paper, I thought I ought to give him a chance before I ruled him out altogether.

But I don’t really want another phone conversation.

Nevertheless, I didn’t write back — as I was tempted to — well, not in these words exactly, but more or less — Shit or get off the pot.

I wanted to say, Let’s meet or let’s decide not to meet, but no second phone conversation.

I wrote back suggesting a day this week for another conversation.

But please (thinking, not saying), not a long one! Come to your decision quickly, or I’ll come to mine first.

* * *

Why have I named him Ape, you ask?

Can’t say. It just seemed to fit his personality (not his look).

movieman

We’re having a slow (match.com) email correspondence, initiated by him. I was supposed to phone him either Sunday or Tuesday. I forgot on Sunday, so I’ll try him Tuesday. He seems pleasant, but I’m not very interested. The enthusiasm, such as it is, is on his side.

real live guy #1

A friend from high school dated RLG1 between marriages and stayed friends with him. When she last saw him, in May, he was still single…In August she said she would get in touch with him about meeting me. When I saw her in September, she asked, ‘Are you healed now?’ and I assured her I was. I reminded her by email before I went to London, and she said, ‘Get in touch when you get back.’ I wrote her Friday, and she said, ‘I’m at the airport. Get in touch Tuesday.’

So I shall; or rather, Monday night, for her to read first thing Tuesday morning.

Yeah, I’m dogged.

real live guy #2

A novelist friend who teaches a writing class for adults mentioned to me over the phone a retired widower in his class. Then suddenly lightening struck — I could hear it over the wires — and he got the brilliant idea of introducing me to this student.

FRIEND: But he’s too old for you. You like younger guys.

ME: No, I don’t. I like older ones. How old is he?

FRIEND: He looks like he’s in his 60s.

ME: That’s perfect!

FRIEND: I’ll talk to him next week.

It remains to be seen if RLG#2 is a non-smoker and an Obama-voter, but at least I know he fits my other main criterion: he’s not a never-married. My friend actually got excited at his power of introduction and wrote me, ‘It WOULD be funny if I was responsible for introducing you to the love of your life. Who knows? This old world we have is a strange place.’

*********************

Okey dokey so that’s it. If it weren’t for the election and some presentations I’m giving in the coming weeks, I’d be more impatient with the slim pickins that constitute my social life.

But hey I’ve got a life.

* * *

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