What to pack...

A couple of weeks ago I read a book on attracting my soul mate. One of the book's central premises was that one should act "as if" their soul mate had already arrived. It makes sense- I was given the same advice for logical things like pretending I knew what it meant to be an attorney and to act the part when I was interviewing at law firms, despite nearly crying from nervousness. The book suggested things like setting a place at the table for your nearly-arrived love. All I could think of was that I'd have to wash twice as many dishes without getting a single Friday night out in the process. But maybe it is worth trying.

Today I'm Packing for London. I have a limited amount of suitcase space, but I've been toying with the idea of putting the soul mate suggestions into practice. What to do? Take the oversized T-shirts I really want to sleep in? Or bring cute little slip nightgowns and at least one pair of black thigh-highs? Do I take an extra pair of earrings or bring Magnum prophylactics, you know, so I'll have something for "him" to wear when he arrives in my flat? Or maybe bringing Magnums is putting the hope a little high - maybe I should just ask the universe for a basic Trojan man and hope for the best.

There's a great scene in "Must Love Dogs" where the hot and heavy couple realize they have no protection, then go to a gas station, grocery store and a couple of drug stores before finally finding what they need, only to realize the moment had passed. I can't have that! Besides, I won't have a car, so getting to grocery stores and gas stations via the subway system sounds even less sexy than trying to find condoms with the aid of a car. But doesn't it seem a little crazy to use precious luggage space for a latex balloon that may come right back with me at the end of the trip? I'll feel it mocking me as I return, "Haha! You know I expire next month, right?!"

But what if my this stuff works? Surely, if tomorrow when I land in London and go into work, a tall Brit with blue eyes and a knowledge of good pinot noirs walks over to meet me, I'd be thrilled that I brought my hopelessly impractical all-lace panties, as opposed to the comfy cotton ones best suited for Sunday afternoons and sessions on the eliptical machine. I'm scheduled to work 12 hours a day, six days a week once I get to London. That hardly leaves time for shopping for nighties that push, pull, cover and accentuate in all the right places, so that candlelight can cast lovely hour-glass shadows as opposed to a paunchy, saggy one.

I decided to bring it all. I mean really, a little lace, satin, silk and latex doesn't take up that much space, and in the end may make me feel sexier, which in turn might help my chances at finding a bloke to bring back to my flat. Perhaps that's what all the acting "as-if" does in the end- it helps you get where you're inevitably going -and for me, that's London. Tally ho!

This City is Haunted

I was in the most haunted city in America this past weekend. No, I wasn't in New Orleans or visiting former slave quarters in the deep South. I was in Las Vegas. Ghosts of gangsters past you ask? Slain show girls? Hookers with a heart of gold bludgeoned over drug money? Nope- this city, like the poorly reviewed Matthew McConaughey movie, was haunted with the ghosts of boyfriends past.

Even though they're still alive, they're (mostly) dead to me. But their spirit lives on. My ex lived in Las Vegas for a year, so I know the city inside and out. While in Sin City, I planned a formal dinner for my family at a restaurant that I loved. As soon as I arrived I could feel his energy. We'd fallen in love there over a six course chef's tasting menu with wine pairings (the wine facilitated the falling in love part). Like incense, the smell of the restaurant flooded me with the memory of our conversation there- discussing where in the world we wanted to travel. His top choice was London. He was English by blood and wanted to go. We never did. Ironically, two years from that fateful dinner, I was back in that same restaurant, assigned to go to London, where he would not be joining me.

The ghosts haunt us in dreams. My family member roomie on the Las Vegas trip woke up on Friday morning having dreamed of her ex. Seeing his visage in her mind brought back so many emotions- fear, anger, loathing, sadness, regret - it's amazing that an apparition brought about by the sub-conscious can still have so much power. She didn't even see him or hear from him - but his ghost still lives in her memory, ready to pounce on her as a nightmare with Metallica's "Enter Sandman" playing as the soundtrack.

I've Taken These Pictures Before. We went on a day trip to the Grand Canyon from Las Vegas, the exact same excursion I'd taken with a different boyfriend and his parents four years prior. As I stood on the lookout, I was reminded that this picture exists somewhere else- with me four years younger and ten pounds heavier, my arms around a man who wraps his arms around his fiance now. No wonder I lost it coming home from the craps tables at two in the morning the last night of the trip. I've heard when people see ghosts they often tremble, scream or cry. I know I did all three.

The Only Cure is to Release the Ghost. Like any good psychic or badly acted show on the Sci Fi network would tell you, the only way out is to tell the ghost to go into the light - to release it from its earth-bound life to the otherside. Maybe some of our ghosts go to hell- I can imagine a couple I'd like to send there. But mostly, I'd like to be free of them. Exes of the world, I release you, and hope in turn, you release me. I'd like to go back to Vegas soon- and I'd appreciate it if no ghosts, only Lady Luck, would accompany me next time.

Would I Do This If I Weren't Single?

"It's so great you're single! Otherwise you never would have done this!" my mother gushed. Was she right? Of course. She's rarely wrong, particularly when it comes to me. Four years ago I spent a semester in Australia because my boyfriend at the time was adament we go. I wanted to go to of course, but giving up our apartment, putting everything into storage, giving up my scholarship to the law school I attended and then taking on $30,000 in debt for one semester of school? I knew that made ZERO financial sense. But love took me with him. Now I pay $450 a month in student loans for the next ten years just for that one semester of law school. I think of him every time I hear the line in "F*ck You," "Cause being in love with your ass ain't cheap."

I've Based Many Decisions on Love. I'm single right now, and have been for about six months. I'm bored. I'm craving adventure. I need a distraction or a reinvention. I was in the elevator at work last week when someone I didn't know described the case he'd just been assigned to that was taking him to London for five months. I darted back to my office and aggressively pursued the opportunity, banging down the door of the partner in charge, hiking up my skirt-- wait, that was Saturday, not Wednesday --- I hiked out my legal resume and the partner agreed to add me to the case. I was Europe-bound.


"It's Destiny." That was the next thing my mother said. If, say, the guy from Waiting hadn't kept me waiting by the phone until I was severely dehydrated and hallucinating him in a mirage-like-state in my living room, I may not have been as eager to go. If I'd been in a relationship last week? I'd probably have made excuses in my mind, allowing myself to not be vulnerable in a different way - to the major partners at the law firm, who frequently reject advances from junior attorneys for plum assignments and trips to other parts of the world. I probably would have thought, "Oh, good for Junior B. That's so cool for him," gotten out of the elevator, microwaved my Lean Cuisine, and never thought of it again.


But no - instead, on my half birthday (32 1/2) I found myself packing and buying six months of food and rawhides for my dogs, who will be watched by a full-time pet sitter who is moving into my guest bedroom Saturday.


Maybe it is Destiny. Maybe the love of my life is British? Will he be more Colin Firth? (From Bridget Jones, the handsome barrister - God I love that English lawyers are called Barristers- so much fancier than "lawyer") Or more Hugh Grant - sexy, silly, outrageous (minus the cheating please)? I'm no American stick insect, but I am American, "something about confidence and all." If the previous paragraph made no sense to you, you may want to rent "Bridget Jones Diary" - aka best movie ever.

I'm about to go live my Bridget Adventure. Granted I'll be spending 12 hours per day, six days a week in a conference room, but at least the room overlooks Big Ben. And the guy in the elevator coming with me? He's awfully cute. Maybe two Americans can fall in love abroad. I'm sure it would't be the first time. Cheers!

An American in London

Ladies and gentlemen, I will post shortly (as soon as work permits) but for the sake of my own excitement I must let you know that I have been assigned to my firm's London office for the next four to six months. I leave Saturday. The blog will turn to international love this upcoming week. Let's see if I can't find a nice bloke to hook up with shall we?

I feel so Bridget Jones. Today I turn 32 1/2 - no really- it's my half birthday. This is quite a present and quite a way to spend the later half of my thirty-second year being single. I can hardly wait!

On and Off in Three Minutes Flat

"Danny from Los Angeles has answered your five questions!" Oooh - yay! Somebody likes me! Whoo hoo! But wait, something was wrong. The "Next Step" gave me only one option- "Close Match." The options usually include "send must haves" and "email." Huh? I'm so confused.

This guy answered my inquiry, then immediately shut down communication. It was like we'd gone through an entire relationship in five minutes. First the intrigue of reading the profile, with the simple joy that an attractive person was in the photos. We've read the same books! We like to go to movies and concerts! We've both dreamed of a destination wedding in the Mayan Riviera! OK, that part wasn't in the profile. But still! Apparently then he looked again and started to see the flaws. Maybe in my third picture I looked 5 lbs. heavier. Maybe I like Thai food and he hates spice. Maybe I live 2 miles farther than he likes to drive to see a girl. All cracks in the armor. Then he looked again and decided that I'm not worth it. Whatever spark we had was snuffed out, and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.

How did I manage to both turn him on and off so quickly? Did he accidentally click on my profile to answer the ice breakers, only to come back and think, "Crap! I didn't mean to write the dog-loving lawyer!?! I meant to write the actress/model/bartender who loves the smell of cigarettes because they help her not eat! Abort! Abort! Don't let the professional chick think I like her!" CLOSE MATCH.

Is it really that easy to decide you don't like someone? Maybe. I came across a profile that was going well, until I reached the part where he said, "I'm part Mexican, but I don't speak Spanish. I do however, garden and do lawn work really well ese." Sheesh- do yourself a favor and avoid racism in your profile. Every once in awhile I come across someone I think I like until a deal breaker comes up. Yesterday the guy was doing amazing until, "I have full time custody of my twin preteens." Bless him, but honestly, I don't think I'm ready for full time teen motherhood. Next.

Whatever it was that I said, I'm sorry. Danny in Los Angeles, our profiles had a brief three minutes of intense and passionate connection, followed by the inevitable decay of a relationship that will never get off the computer screen. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. As for me, I'll do the only thing Eharmony will let me do - Close Match. Too bad- I actually really liked your answers to my questions.

Facebook Status

Status: Single. Status: In a Relationship. Status: Engaged to. Status: Married to. Status -- that's quite a term to use actually - status of course can mean how one is feeling or what one is doing right now, but another use of the word means prestige. Many single women I know feel less prestigious or worthy than their paired-up counterparts - as if the validation of a man or relationship says that they are now better than they were pre-relationship. I usually think my paired-up friends have a better status than I do.

I currently have no relationship status on Facebook. This is on purpose. I listed myself "in a relationship" when I joined Facebook three years ago or so. After the break up, all I wanted to do was hole up with both Ben and Jerry under a blanket while listening to songs about puncturing the lungs of my ex. I changed my status from "in a relationship" to nothing. That's how I felt anyway- my emotional void was mirrored by my relationship status void. I thought no one would notice. I was wrong. Suddenly I was bombarded with public commentary asking what went wrong. My ex called to yell at me for outting our breakup- something he wasn't ready to do either.

So I learned my lesson. In my next relationship, I never changed my status from void to "in a relationship." I continued to be a big black box. Except of course, that I changed my picture to one of us snuggling up at a football game, and posted pictures of us frolicking next to the dolphins in Cancun and on a hot air balloon ride. One day, anyone who'd been paying attention would notice that none of those pictures were there anymore.

We broke up six months ago. I was at a party this weekend where two acquaintances were shocked when I described myself as single. After I explained the whole had-another-girlfriend-in-another-city thing, their first question was (and I'm not kidding) - "Why didn't you post anything on Facebook?" Why? Well, posting, "[ex] was banging Susan in Vegas for the past several months. Avoid him like the plague and send chocolate if you want to encourage me to live," seemed a little extreme - especially since current co-workers and at least two of my high school friend's mothers are my Facebook friends.

In the end I'm sure there are many Facebook friends of mine who are certain that ex and I are still together. Ironically I found out my first ex had poppoed the question when I asked our mutual friend how he was doing and his response was, "Well, he changed his Facebook status to engaged..."

My status is still void. Maybe someday someone will help me change it to "engaged to," but I'm not changing to "in a relationship" - that status seems much to volatile for me to voluntarily assign to myself.

Chevy and the Status Updates

There's this adorable ad for Chevy running now, where a couple walk up to a door and say good night. The man walks back to his car, turns it on, and tells the electronic system to look up the Facebook status of the girl he was just with. "Best First Date Ever." AAAHHHHH. It's just so cute. It's also sooo dangerous.

Social Media is Dangerous to Dating. One of my favorite readers commented that social media may be part of the reason dating - and follow up dating- has become so complicated. One has to know that his date may very well, through a status update, tell three of his coworkers, his Mom's best friend and two cousins in Norway that they went to Le Bernadin for dinner and he tried to feel her up after the third cocktail.

I tend to reveal very little about my dating life on Facebook (that's what blogs are for!), but what if that were different? What if, like many others, I posted everything about my dating life? What if the girl on the Chevy commercial's Facebook status said, "Tongue darted in and out of mouth like a drunk kimono dragon's - do NOT kiss Jeremy- EVER." Or worse, "He had the passion of a rotting turnip" or "Jessica I'm not speaking to you- how could you set me up with that loser?"

Facebook sets people up for public judging. This is particularly true when one meets their date through the normal mediums- through work or mutual friends. People usually meet when they have something in common, and people with something in common commonly become Facebook friends or follow each other on Twitter. This allows for instant mass communication. A girl doesn't have to call her best friends in the morning- she can tell them- and everyone else she's ever met -exactly how it went in 140 keystrokes or less.

It's so Instant: I was watching "Kitchen Nightmares" (side note- I have an unreasonable attraction to Gordon Ramsey- I know, this indicates some deep-seated psychological problems) - and he was, during the episode, watching the live feed of a food blogger who was at the restaurant re-launch to see if she liked the food. She was sending the message to her 10,000 readers live - and he was watching while cooking. Can you imagine if that were to happen on a date? The guy goes to the bathroom and sees her tweeting about what he was wearing and how his cologne smelled?

I suppose ultimately I'd love the validation of coming off a date only to see the status update of my potential beloved reading, "Miranda Bridget is the coolest chick I've ever met." But since there is always the possibility of getting, "God why did I waste three hours of my life on that drecht?" I guess I'll just not "friend" my dates until long after the first few dates have gone by, because frankly, I don't want to have that much instant feedback- even if his 800 friends do.

Review: How to Make Anyone Fall in Love with You

“How to Make Anyone Fall In Love With You.” The title of the book evokes in me two reactions – (1) innate disgust at the author who must be a snake-oil salesman who promises to revive the dead with her magic potion and (2) intense hope that this may in fact the magic pill I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

The basic premise: The author collected all of the available social and psychological studies on what makes people fall in love. She creates a how-to, describing everything from “toffee eyes”- letting your eyes hold on your queries’ for four to five seconds - to suggestions on giving "killer" compliments.

How to make ANYONE fall in love with you? Well- almost anyone…she does have an entire section on how to relate to the rich (dress expensively and mirror their language choices, learn about politics, business and sports like polo and tennis) and beautiful (don’t compliment them on their looks – go for compliments about their intelligence or a unique quality about them).

The best advice: Commonality and chemistry are found in (1) common things you do for fun, (2) common ideas on life/religion/politics/family and (3) the tacit assumptions we each have on what a relationship should be. This third one caught me off guard- if you’re really trying to make someone fall in love with you- mirror and exhibit what they think the perfect relationship is – including how often you chat on the phone together, how many times a week you see each other, whether you’re affectionate in public etc. Obviously it helps to actually have these ideas in common, but to make someone fall in love with you- mirror their thoughts back to them.

The most questionable advice: The entire last section of the book deals with sex. She suggests men read romance novels and women watch hard-core porn in an effort to learn how to f*ck like a porn star- or at least to not laugh when yelling “do it baby, harder!” Intriguingly, she believes “avowed bachelors” (handsome, successful George Clooney types) are frequently unmarried because they’re into damn kinky sex, and they haven’t found a suitable life partner who also appreciates that they’d prefer to be spanked with paddles, or to dress up in women’s lingerie while the woman plays the part of the man. She suggests if you’re dating a guy who should have been taken off the market long ago, that you should hop onto his kinky leanings- wholeheartedly- if you want to bag him.

Is it worth reading?: Yes. It’s pretty basic when it comes right down to it- look your potential partner in the eye, be engaging in conversation, stroke their ego, stroke the other parts of them – voila!- love. This book is a good reminder of how to be a good date, and when you find one worth keeping, how to show him how right you are for him in the long haul.

What blog???

Every once in awhile I’m aware that this blog might someday bite me in the ass. It hasn’t happened yet, but it may. As I wrote about in Waiting, I’ve begun casually dating someone I currently have an overwhelming crush on. Nothing is serious yet at all, but I’d like it to get there. Which brings me to – when does one explain that they have a dating blog? You know, and that a description of him might just happen to be on said dating blog?

Oh Crap, I wrote about you: I have changed some details to protect both the innocent and the detestable, not to mention the totally unstable (e.g., Overtry), but really, lots of people who read my blog know me in real life. The fact that my current crush works at a job I used to have means that at least one of my friends called me to say, “Oh my gosh, that crush you wrote about is totally (insert correct name here)!” Yep. He is. And we went out. And made out. And had a great time.

I love this blog- it gives me the opportunity to pour out my sadness and neurosis and hope and occasional desperation. I get to be Usher and sing my Confessions via keyboard strokes to a mostly-anonymous group of readers. My insecurities are not things my dates need to know about though. And the fact that its online for the world to see? Ummm…at least I was flattering???

But I wasn’t flattering. The fact is my current crush is slightly over 40. He’s a decade older than I am. Before I re-ignited this flame from several years ago, I wrote the post “The Male Biological Clock,” which is continually one of my most read posts. I re-read it recently and it is brutally judgmental about men over the age of 40 dating. Can I take it back? Delete the post? Sure – but do I really feel differently? Yes- about him, not all single never-marrieds over 40.

So I hope he’ll never figure it out. My crush and everyone else I ever like simply can’t see this blog, right? There is a danger in posting your true feelings- the good, the bad, the ugly- the judgments I make, the fears I have, the self-loathing I occasionally experience, and the soul-wrenching day-to-day experience of having a crush on a man who may or may not ever love me back. What happens if someone at my past job tells him about the blog and he casually checks it out to find a description of himself?

I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now I choose naïve bliss- the false belief that no one I date will ever happen to come across the blog, or if they do, that they’ll be so in love with me at that point that they’ll think its cute that I wrote all about how great their hair is and how spicy fun I thought they always were, even before our first date. Here’s hoping at least!

Choosing an Online Dating Site

As I mentioned yesterday, Eharmony charged my Gold American Express card $137 dollars automatically yesterday to renew my membership for another three months. I didn't ask them to do this- they have an automatic opt-in policy. In other words, I'd have to tell them NOT to renew me in order to save the cash. This got me to think- I'm spending a lot on trying to find love. What have the various sites done for me and are they living up to their reputations?

MATCH.COM: Ah Match.com - the original love site. Match was the dirty little secret of the internet world until shortly after the turn of the century, when "we met online" became normative as opposed to the dark secret of those who got bored with online porn who decided to try to connect to the other 25 singles actually attempting to find love online.

I think of Match as the hook-up site. It's the place to find the young and sexy and those looking for a good time with similarly situated good looking hotties - at least until next weekend. Match has tried to revamp its rep lately, claiming it is resposible for more relationships, more marriages and more love than any other site. If that's true, and I assume their lawyers vetted the veracity of that statement, it's gotta be because it's the aging giant of matchmaking, not because the quality of the singles on the site leads so often to long-term love. I cancelled that $45 dollar per month kill-joy.

EHARMONY.COM: I'm still amazed every time I open my profile to see that I've been matched with five or six new guys. Honestly, the eharmony commercials almost make me commitment-phobic with their lovey-dovey let's-do-forever happy-couple lore. I'm shocked that a single man -- I mean any man -- has ever signed up for the service. That in itself, I suppose, proves that men actually do want love and long-term happiness. How else do you explain the fact that 225 or so marriages per day occur because of eharmony? Amazing. And I'm still not in one of them.

OK CUPID: Online dating for cheapskates, the broke, the artistic-types, and those not willing to put $30 per month into cheating on their girlfriend. OK Cupid is the most eclectic - hell- it's got categories for people willing to say out loud on a public site that they're looking for casual sex, for three-some or more-some partners, and for "activity partners," which you can interpret any way you want. It's also got an annoying IM feature that makes it easy for "SleazyRick_69" to ask whether you'd like to see his picture of his love rod.

I've actually had the most luck on OK Cupid. Perhaps its the lack of monetary barrier to entry that brings so many. Maybe it's that I'm too serious for the general Match.com member, or too free spirited for eharmony? I'm not sure. I'll keep this three-month subscription to eharmony- they're not giving my money back anyway, right? But maybe I'll try some new sites in the future. Suggestions welcome.

How hard should I be trying at this?

I have a dear friend who recently fell IN LOVE. Head-over-heels, your-bridesmaid-dress-will-be-periwinkle, he's-the-one IN LOVE. She and I have known each other since college. In those 14 or so years, I've nearly always had a boyfriend, and when I didn't, was running around dating and going to singles events and trying to be "out there" as much as possible to maximize the number of people I met and hence the likelihood I'd fall in love.

This was never my friend's approach. She completely believed the right person would find her and she'd live happily ever after. I thought she was crazy. Apparently, she was right.

Her method was unorthodox, but effective. Over the weekend I listened to a podcast from a spiritual love coach whose method essentially was believe he's out there with all your heart. Now wait for him to appear. Huh? That's it? Sort of a Field of Dreams for Love- if you build it, they will come. Or more accurately he will come, but if he's the right one he knows that the woman should come first and often before he does.

This love guru, who has been giving seminars for two decades promised that love would find you- even if you only stay home, proceeded to give examples of this from her work. One of her clients was a tailor in his home who fell for his client when she came to have pants hemmed. Perhaps the fact she took off her pants helped? One woman fell in love with the electrition who came to fix her wiring, and yet another's soulmate literally got into a car crash in front of her house, knocked on the door and asked to use the phone.

So maybe I've been trying too hard? I don't know. Sitting home and leaving it to fate seems a little iffy to me. Then again, eHarmony just charged me $137 for my three-month renewal and that hasn't exactly brought the rainbows and roses it was supposed to. But hey- blind faith worked for my college friend, and my method has thus far left me with a hangover and some ugly first dates that went nowhere. Just in case, I'm working on believing that he's out there. I'm building my field- he's welcome to come any time he wants.

When do I get to be myself then?

I went to lunch with two of my single mid-thirties girlfriends this past weekend. One of them has become a devotee of the book, "The Rules," -- the new and improved version has been updated for online dating. For the unfamiliar, "The Rules" is a throw-back to the bygone era where gender roles were clear and men were hunters. "The Rules" is the perfect manual for how to play hard to get. I'll review it soon, but to give you the flavor, it recommends keeping an actual timer next to your phone so you can get off a call with a man within five to ten minutes, never planning a date for a man, and never, ever leaving a cute little messages for him or, well, really, doing anything for him.

Here's the problem- when do you get to be yourself? There are two schools of thought on this. One is the "all men are the same" school- there are rules regarding how men and women should act and behave. If you follow the prescribed "rules," then at the end you will "win" the game. The Rules women really believe that if they run fast enough, the man will chase them until they end up married. The women who wrote The Rules gleefully remind the reader that they have a sparkler on their left ring finger and you don't, so you should listen to them, or be doomed to being the 50-something screechy blond at the karaoke bar singing "My Way" while trashed on white zinfandel every Saturday night until she dies of liver poisoning.

But what if I'm the kind of girl who likes to have more than ten minute long conversations with someone I'm dating? If I'm constantly getting off the phone quickly, aren't I sending the message that I'm either (1) not interested in talking to the guy or (2) the kind of girl who doesn't like to talk on the phone. And ultimately, isn't that just plain unfair - if the guy hates being on the phone and say, ten years into your Rules-based marriage you talk for thirty minutes, and he feels like you've been lying for a decade, isn't that your fault?

I think it's false advertising. We all want someone to fall in love with us for who we are. Granted, I think books like "The Rules" can help overly-needy girls (you know, like 92% of us) curb our over-giving instincts early on, but ultimately, I'm gonna be me in a relationship, so perhaps pretending to be someone who wears "bright colored dresses with black stockings" because men like color and the tease of the covered-leg -- that just isn't me. Maybe someone will like me if they meet me in a sundress and high-heeled sandals. I'm convinced someone will love me - bare legs, twenty minute phone conversations, lovey text messages and all.

Be the hunter!

I watched a marathon of “The Millionaire Matchmaker” recently, and while doing so I noticed a disturbing trend. She kept yelling at the men, “You’re a hunter! Be a hunter! BE the man!” Why were these castigations required? Because the men, many of whom had truly enjoyed their dates, said things like, “She’ll call me if she likes me,” and “I’ll hear from her if it was good.” One simply said, “If she calls and asks to see me again, I’d love to.” Huh?

It is assumed that if a man likes a woman, he’ll ask her out. The entire concept of the famous book, “He’s Just Not That Into You” is that if a man likes you, he’ll call. He’ll pursue you like a rabid raccoon. He’ll make firm and specific plans for your birthday six months from now. But does it always work that way in practice?

We assume men have great self esteem. In order for the model to work the way we think it does, the underlying assumption is that every man has the confidence and guts to go up to a girl he likes and ask her out, and to ask her out again and again after that. And, for “He’s Just Not That Into You,” if he loves you he’ll ignore or deny crisis at work or in his family, to constantly reach out for you and to chase you. We also assume men know exactly what they want- and that they always have the confidence to act on their feelings.

Maybe that’s true. The female ideal generally involves being worshiped and adored, held on a pedestal of femininity, called twice a day, sent love poems in the mail and presented with flowers just because. But what about in the real world? Is it really wise to hold out for the flower-wielding one, assuming he exists, or is it smarter to date someone who has real world conflicts, forgets to call sometimes, and occasionally ends up late at work?

And what about the fact that women have been pursuing for so long? Men today grew up with tremendous fluidity in gender roles– women were their doctors and lawyers, many of their moms worked, some of their moms made more than their dads, and women were their senators or mayors. I for one read all about asking a man out and calling him in Seventeen Magazine, followed up with Cosmo in college and Marie Claire now.

Gender roles have become so blurry – is it possible that a woman following the traditional model might actually lose out on someone she likes because she’s acting in a way he’s frankly unfamiliar with? If the girl who went out with the Millionaire Matchmaker’s client called him, would they end up happily ever after? Or would he really have proven that he was just not that into her by not calling?

Traditional gender roles made dating way easier. I don’t have any answers for these questions. I wish I did. Cultural and dating norms have changed so dramatically, it’s hard to know what’s expected, or what is reasonable to expect, even for the millionaires who meet knock-outs and seem to have a great time. If they can’t figure it out, with millions of dollars and professional help- what chance do I have?

Can you tell if someone would be good in bed?

Can you tell if someone would be good in bed? We are told all day long by advertisers that long-haired, tiny-waisted, fake-breasted girls between the ages of 17 and 25 are great in bed. Why else would Axe body spray sell to boys just discovering hair on places other than their heads? But really, objectively, can you guess if someone will be good in bed?

Example 1: The Prosecutor. I was in trial today. As I listened to a ruling on a case other than being read, I noticed, for the first time in detail, the prosecutor. He was classic government lawyer- a bad scratchy suit, faded overly thin white button down shirt, graying hair and a voice that lulled with all the passion of a sedated 25-lbs cat. Out of habit I noticed his wedding ring. This, in my boredom, immediately made me imagine him, lumpy and beer bellied demanding that his poor wife get on top because "he had a bad day controlling crime in the city." Like he was Batman or something.

Example 2: The Judge: Every once in awhile someone completely breaks the stereotype. Judges are usually in their 60s and 70s, clad in tweed jackets under their robes with bellies that they hike their pants up over. Not this judge. This one was HOT. So hot that the first time I went in for a pre-trial hearing, I found myself trying to lean over to show the slightest bit of cleavage from beneath my fancy law firm approved-designer suit. Then I saw his wedding ring. Crap! Not that I could ever date a judge assigned to my case. But let me tell you, I would not mind examing his briefs. I think the feeling may have been mutual- he sat and talked to me - and just me in his courtroom- for 40 minutes after our court day ended. Sigh- I hate hot and married.

Would the hot one be better in bed? If neither were married, obviously I'd only want to sleep with the hot one, but does the fact that he's hot, necessarily mean that he'd be better in bed? One would think that the hotter guy had probably had more sex partners, and hence, would be a better lover. Unless of course the poor prosecutor, trying to make up for his distinct lack of charisma and outward sex appeal decided to earn himself the nickname "the tongue" for all who dared cross the threshold into his office.

I know I'll never really know. But in my boredom I do wonder. And I've had it go all ways- really hot dates can turn into bad lovers and guys I fell for because of their personality can turn into amazing born-to-please magicians. Ultimately, sex appeal comes down to chemistry between the partners. That or Mr. Prosecutor paid for his bride from a Thai mail-order bride catalog, because honestly, I cannot imagine anyone wanting to see if he can in fact bring the moves- even if he is doused in Axe Body Spray.

How Long is Too Long?

“So where’s Brittney?” I asked. John and I have been acquaintances since we went to college together. We see each other yearly at our friends’ Oscar party. The last couple of years he has brought his brunette bombshell girlfriend Brittney, who I was told, this year, was visiting her aunt in Montana. They’d been together three years. “So – you planning on proposing?” I asked. “Nah- maybe we’ll move in together this year. I don’t want things to go too fast.”

Three years is too fast? Maybe when you’re 19 and have been in love for three years – but this guy is in his early thirties like me. How long is she supposed to wait?

I went to a workout class over the weekend where the instructor was teased by a student about his girlfriend. “I never get married. No – I tell her my religion forbids marriage.” “How long have you been together?” “Eleven years.”

WTF? At year eleven, I have to believe this woman had either joined his religion, named something like, “The Evangelical Society of the Non-to-Weds” or “Congregation of the Ringless,” or simply accepted that this is how life is going to be.

I have friends on both sides of this debate. I left two relationships I enjoyed- one after five years and another after four – after it became clear to me we weren’t headed for marriage- possibly ever. I have other friends who have chosen to stay regardless of the conspicuous absence of a diamond on the left hand. Some eventually did get married- seven or eight years into it. Others just accepted that living together would be their fate.

How long is too long? I guess that depends on where you are in your life – whether you value marriage, want children, what age you are. For me now, I probably wouldn’t date someone more than a year and half or two years without a pending engagement. I feel like if you can’t hear wedding bells by the second time you’ve bought Christmas gifts for each other, perhaps it just isn’t meant to be.

Ultimately it’s hard to know when to pull the plug if marriage is your goal. I guess you have to listen to and trust your intuition. That or wait until he’s in the shower every day to search his wallet for receipts from Tiffany’s.