Category Archives: Singlehood

Text Break

We all know that smart phones have become a permanent fixture in our daily lives and that texting has become the predominant form of communication in society.   Why make a phone call when you really only want to leave a message anyway? Why compose a well thought out email when you can get your message across with just few acronymthrowback_thursday1_larges and a silly emoticon? Why bother talking to the person in the other room when you can save yourself the physical exertion of getting off the couch and send them a text from a seated position? I accepted these things as the new standard as I once accepted being tethered to a rotary phone by its coiled wire. It’s just the way things are done. What I never considered though was the effect this would all have on a relationship, or more specifically the end of a relationship.   Having an argument via text is like having a barroom brawl at the bottom of a pool; no matter how hard you struggle everything moves in slow motion and loses momentum well before it hits. There is nothing “instant” about instant messaging when both sides are trying to express complex emotions and hurt feelings with their thumbs. At one point, knowing that the argument was going to go into overtime I went out to run my errands rather than waiting for the delayed fallout. I went to the game store, did a reply. Filled up the car, did a reply. Picked up the groceries, did a reply. The argument was still in play, but at least I felt productive. It didn’t all strike me until I was back at home cleaning up after lunch that this was not the proper way to argue. Something just didn’t feel right. The simple fact that I was able to multitask probably didn’t bode well for whatever the original point of the argument was,… probably something about how I wasn’t emotionally invested in the relationship.


Online Dating

From the male perspective, online dating is a completely different game. In the predatory world of the bar scene typically the male has the dominant role of hunter,… or so I’ve heard. In my lifetime I’ve probably engaged in this sothrowback_thursday1_largert of bar room drama less than a dozen times back in college and even that was under duress because friends and roommates, driven by alcoholic delusion, were convinced that their boyish charm would score them some dance floor groping if not a full-fledged one night stand. And since misery loves company I came along for the ride and was therefore blessed with the opportunity to bear witness to their drunken failure and inevitable shame. But despite me and my friends’ lack of success I was able to observe how the game should play out by individuals more dedicated to the craft. The perfectly puffed up male swaggers confidently over to well-positioned and well-manicured female and engages in some level of inane small talk for the sole purpose of stalling for time while they mutually access their sexual attraction; the woman evaluates his potential as a lover, a provider, and his ability to make her friends jealous while the man evaluates if she’s at that alcoholic sweet spot safely between “willing” and “passed out”.

Ok honestly, what do I know? I just admitted very little experience with this whole process so maybe I’m just jaded and there really is some soul searching being exchanged out there. My point, though, is that the role of the male in these situations is still very clear, regardless of the depth of conversation or the sexual end game. When this moved into the online dating realm the gender roles remained the same. Everyone fills out the same profile information, posts the same self-portraits in the bathroom, and pads their preferences with the same white lies – guys pretend to not be couch potatoes, gals pretend to be really in to sports, and everyone pretends to enjoy hiking.   But after all that it’s typically the guy that initiates the first contact. For the woman this plays out with them receiving a stack of invitations from a variety of suitors from which she can choose or simply ignore the lot. For the man this plays out with them firing off introductions in a shotgun pattern hoping that something will hit and trigger a random spark. Sure you can spend all your time combing through profiles hunting for your perfect woman, but chances are a dozen other Romeo’s before you have already filled up her inbox with the same attempts at witty banter and romantic propositions that you were so proud of just moments before. After a week of the virtual cobwebs and crickets you realize that your perfect woman, who the site promised was a 92% match with you, is not going to be writing you back much less bear your children or share matching rocking chairs on the porch of the retirement facility. “Ok”, you think, “how about this one, she’s an 88% match?!” This process continues until you find yourself, late one Saturday night, after one too many rum and cokes, writing to a 65% match that is 10 years, 60 pounds and 120 miles outside of your acceptable range, waking up the next morning with a hangover and a vague recollection of the romantic promises you made to this mystery woman only to reach the sad realization that she too has chosen not to respond.

Having exhausted my pool of prospects in this manner I start to consider perhaps it’s not me (of course, how could it be); perhaps I’m just not on the right site! In this age of online dating the variety of sites that has cropped up is staggering. Now days I can sign up for a specific site based on my age, race, religion, occupation (at least if I’m a farmer) or even my chemical composition. This all sounds like a fantastic idea until you consider that any restrictive classification only further limits the pool of available prospects. Think about it; you can fill out as many questionnaires as you like detailing your preferences and ideal qualities but if there are only three 40 year old, Jewish farmers in the Sacramento area how meaningful is any of that amassed information really going to be? It’d be like if I walked up to a vending machine looking to score a package of peanut M&M’s only to have it spit out a bag of stale trail mix with carob chips because that was the closet match. Did I benefit any from finding my own personal vending machine? I could have stepped into Costco and ended up with the same bag of trail mix but at least I would have had more options for substitution. I could have settled for a jumbo bag of Goobers,… like that night I had one too many rum and cokes.

So am I bitter because the online dating world isn’t just handing over the girl of my dreams? Wasn’t that subliminal marketing promise? Isn’t it written somewhere in the cosmic small print that your efforts will be rewarded?   Ok, so maybe it is just me. Maybe if Gerald Butler felt he needed online dating to meet the right woman he too would find a flooded inbox filled with provocative propositions. Maybe that’s the part I’m bitter about. Why can’t I lie down and be the proverbial prey for a while? I want the woman to abandon the old fashion traditions and take some initiative damn it. I did find one site that was basically the online equivalent of a Sadie Hawkins dance; it’s all about the woman being in control and initiating the selection process.   This sounds great in theory but doesn’t it come down to the same principle; woman having the ultimate power of selection over multiple suitors. I guess the only real difference is I enter into the process accepting my passive role in the equation hoping that perfect bag of peanut M&M’s is already out there just waiting for me to pick it up.


Start Anew

The packing tap screams out across the final box. And then the silence returns. It is the calm before the storm.  My final moments in the house that I made into a home after the divorce.  When I first moved in to this renovated house it was stark and empty. All the walls were white, all the surfaces new.  There weren’t even mirrors or shower doors in the bathrooms.  It was a blank canvas, which was oddly appropriate coming from my home of 10 years which had been so stuffed with memories and emotions.  That house had the rhythms of life that I had grown accustom to.  My family and the only life I had come to know all evolved in the house I left behind.  And then into this blank canvas. No wife, no kids, no cats, no dogs.  An empty house.  A quiet house. A quiet that was once overwhelming.  A quiet that I would banish with the TV on all day just to hear another voice from outside my office.  I was lost in the silence and emptiness.

As time went on the new routines became a part of me.  The walls eventually filled with pictures of new memories and the house filled with a new life with the kids.  “Daddy’s house” was a new concept for all of us, but we made it work, and learned to love it.

Then eight months ago another change for the better.  A new love and a new family awaits. Nicole and I have found a house to share.  A new home in which to combine our families into one.  One dad with two kids now becomes a full couple with six kids total. As much as I look forward to the new chapter in our life and the incredible memories and traditions we will share as a family, I reflect now on the silence and the quiet house that had once haunted me.  And in a few months from now, when kids are arguing, kids are screaming, dogs are barking and TV is blaring, I’ll look back and think, “what the hell was so bad about silence??!!”