Oh How Great it is to be Single

Being single in London has been a whole new experience.  I’ve been single (i.e. never married) for a long damn time and in a lot of places – New York, Austin, Dallas, Melbourne, Barcelona.  But, none are like London.  When I first got here, I read that book, “Watching the English” – everyone does, it’s sort of a welcome to England guide.  Teaches you how to talk about the weather, love getting in lines (Or queues as they are called here), appreciate action-less sports (i.e. cricket, curling,) etc.  And, as excited as I was to find my sexily accented Colin Firth-like future boyfriend, I was so eagerly anticipating the dating chapter that I skipped right to it.  And, then I thought I’d missed it, so I flipped back a couple of pages.  Nope.  It was right there – basically, summed up in one whole sentence. 

English men get drunk and fall on the nearest girl.

Hmm.  Now, for this Texas girl who is used to the dating rules in Texas, this was confusing and not that enticing.  Because, it takes years to master the Texas Dating Rules and I just assumed those would hold me in good stead world-wide.  Yeah, not so much.  And, my English friends are all shocked to hear how it works for us:

1. Girl meets boy.  Boy asks girl out for date.

2. Date 1: always on a Wednesday or a Thursday (he hasn’t become weekend-worthy at this point and you certainly don’t want to waste a night when you could be out meeting someone else!)  This date is his chance to impress you, so it will inevitably be a fancy restaurant.  This was always a problem for me, because I can’t overlook bad table manners, so there were always a few casualties from this night. And, don't even ask.  Of course, he pays.

3. If you made it past Date 1, then there was Date 2.  This was the girl’s chance to show that she was not high maintenance. (this is, obviously, a lie.  We ARE talking about Texas girls here)  The way we perpetrate this fiction is by going to a cheap and cheerful Mexican or BBQ restaurant where we show we are down to earth and easygoing because we can eat with our hands.  (Natch, our beautifully manicured hands, but, hands, nonetheless.)

4. Now, if you make it to Date 3, which can be quite tricky for a guy, because there are any number of things that will elimi-date you, (for me, it was not opening my car door, wearing an 80’s style crocheted belt, suggesting that Date 2 was getting Chinese take-out and hanging at my house (please, I am not stupid.  This is clearly a ploy to fast forward to Date 3, also known as the Make-Out date), sporting any kind of jewelry other than a watch, bad table manners (as mentioned before) not discreetly paying the check while I considerately escaped to the ladies room so as to avoid that awkward “I’m going to pretend that I don’t see your shocked face when you see how much my grey goose cosmos and lobster tail/filet mignon surf n’turf cost on the bill” moment etc.  You get the point.  It is a veritable mine field for those poor guys.  But, when you’re dating 5 different guys, you can afford to be picky.), but I digress.  So, anyway, if you make it to Date 3, the gloves come off.  Well, sort of.  This is the Make-out Date, after all.

5. This cycle continues until you decide to have “The Talk.”  You know, the one where you decide that you aren’t going to see anyone else?  Now, smart girls know that this should happen before any sex.  Otherwise, there might not even be any talk.  Because the downside of all these dating rules is that the whole point – the whole structure and reason behind this dance -- is to make the man work for it.  To make him think that after all this effort and navigating all the elimi-date obstacles, lies the promised land.  And, any poor girl who doesn’t make him work for it, is clearly not a “Take her home to momma girl.”  Now, before you think that this is a bit harsh, remember that you are both dating 5 people at once.  So, it might be a bit fair to assume that if you’re shagging one, you’re shagging all.  And, again, not so unfair to assume that isn’t exactly what you want in a wife.  (Because, remember all dating in Texas is designed to lead to that strapless white dress, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, First Corinthians 13 extravaganza)

So, you can see that this Texas dating is carefully orchestrated, complicated affair.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that dating in England consists of women getting plastered and letting the nearest equally plastered guy fall on them. 

I won’t lie.  I can see some fun in that. 

And, when my English friends took me to the Swan (also known amongst my Texas girls as the Kissing Bar) in Stockwell, I loved it.   Who doesn’t love a bar where everyone is happy and hammered, where they play songs like “9 to 5” and “Sweet Home Alabama” in between all the latest hits, where drinks are 3-4 quid each and shots are had a plenty, where you can wear a sparkly feathered cowboy hat with a blinking shamrock on the front and where everyone who is there is just looking to make-out on the dance floor.

Now, the down side of all this, is, of course, that none of these people are people you would ever want to actually date.  Or, even see in the cold sober light of day.  (I kid you not, I actually found myself dancing once with a guy once who had braces.  Now, he claimed to be a dentist.  Call me crazy, but I’m gonna go with, um. no.) 

But, if you’re not looking for the strapless white dress, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, First Corinthians 13 extravaganza, then who really cares? 

But, sadly, I have now moved to the other side of town and the Swan is a bit far.  Not to mention that those 6 am finishes (ah, yes, another benefit of the Swan is that it is open til 5 am!  Wait. Benefit? Hmmm, maybe not so much.) mean you are a wreck the next (Wait? Oh. Make that THAT) day.  And, now that I have given up smoking and am trying to eat well and run more, this sadly, does not hold the same allure.

So, now that I no longer have the Swan as my “dating” strategy, I realized that I needed a new one.  It sure didn’t entail meeting someone at work.  Because, in case you weren’t aware, I am a lawyer.  In an IT company.  So, pretty much the people I meet?  Can you say Geeks R Us?  So, yeah, not so much with the work dating.  And, while friends (mostly married and smug) relentlessly tell you how on-line dating is such a great idea, I just couldn’t get my head around it.  (And, by the way, married smug people, you are all full of it, you would so NOT be on-line if you were single.  It is like saying, “Oh if I were obese, I would go on a diet.”  Because, if you were obsese?  You’d have your head in a gallon Ben n’ Jerry’s, too.  Don’t be sanctimonious.  It makes us not like you.)

But, anyway, the on-line thing.  Yeah, see, I am a big believer in fate, destiny, serendipity etc.  And, shopping for a boyfriend on-line feels very contrived and false. But, then I realized I don’t actually want a boyfriend.  (I mean c’mon, if I did, would I really be at the Swan?? Have I mentioned that I’m not stupid?) 

I have a pretty great life – I love my flat and my friends, I live in an amazing city:  I can jet off to Dublin or Paris one weekend, go see a new play or exhibit the next, go for a run in the park or go to a great new restaurant or cocktail bar the next.  I make enough money to buy what I like and travel where I want and I enjoy my job most of the time.  So, really, there isn’t much missing.  And, I’m not interested in settling for anything less than phenomenal.  I don’t need a man to entertain me, to make me feel beautiful or to give me a sense of self-worth. 

BUT.  There is definitely one thing you do need a man for.  And, that my friends, is why I decided that maybe the on-line thing would be worth trying out.   (Again.  Refer back to the last blog to see why the last foray failed.  Although, to be fair, I only gave it 7 hours before I threw in the towel on that one!)

So, last week, I decided to put up a profile.  And, before I had even finished, I had about 50 men looking at it, winking and emailing and blah blah blah.  Sounds good, right?  Except.  Here are a couple of their on-line nome de plumes – “taxicabman56,” “chunkymonkey,”  “Smallman,” “AreUthe14Me?” etc.  Can you say LOSER?  Yes, my friends, on-line dating is like being at the Swan.  Only sober.    (refer to the previous paragraph if you are confused at all about why that ain’t great.)

It’s only been 4 days, so I will give it a few more, but I am not optimistic here.  Even if I am not looking for anything serious, I still don’t want a short, fat, desperate, taxi driver. 

Or, someone in Egypt, China, Syria, over 50 or unemployed.  Although, I guess you gotta give ‘em points for trying and punching above their weight.     And, I’ve certainly come to the conclusion that there are a lot of lonely and unattractive people out there.

Which, come to think of it, makes me like my life even more.   So, maybe I’ll go for a run before I meet my friends later today for a museum visit and dinner. 

And, you never know, a trip to the Swan might not be such a bad idea after all.

Diet PhD

I once described myself as never having married but of having an on/off relationship with 20 lbs for the last 15 years. Well now I thought that was pretty funny, but, turns out, maybe not such a great idea to list that on my “bio” on an online dating website? (Clearly, my foray into online dating was short-lived and fruitless!)

But, hey, I believe in honesty (I mean c’mon everyone has a little bit of crazy, some just hide it better!); I believe it getting it all out there. Sort of a reverse bait and switch. Which, come to think of it, may explain my single status? Hmmm.

In any event, being from Texas I am an expert on food and diets. For those of you not familiar with the extremes of weight obsession in Texas, a little background may be helpful: you see, Dallas is the Barbie doll capital of the world and Houston is the weeble wobble capital of the world. I figure if you live somewhere in between on I-45 you got a fightin’ chance at normalcy (which for Texas means you’re an aerobics instructor with platinum status in the Dairy Queen frequent flyer program!)

So, having lived in both cities, I consider myself a veritable PhD in diets and my resume is extensive: Jenny Craig, Weightwatchers, Nutrisystem, Atkins, South Beach, even, Richard Simmons Deal-a-Meal (remember him? Sweatin’ to the Oldies, shiny plastic cards you can deal out like a round of poker. Yeah, except I kept looking for the full house, also known as brownie, beer and ice cream cards, but, uh, yeah, not so much.)

At one point or another, I’ve given up fat, sugar, meat, carbs, solid food (but, thankfully this is before that ridiculous baby food diet came along!), tomatoes, wheat and dairy. Not all at the same time, of course. (although that might have fixed the 20 lbs issue, or, actually, maybe the whole living issue?) I’ve done fat free (which we all know is really code for flavor-free), low-fat, fibre pills, diet pills, slimming tea and, once when I was in college, in a delusional attempt at group exercise, even took a weightlifting and running class. Unfortunately, I figured out how to take a shortcut on the run and used to hide out in the stadium bleachers smoking a couple of cigarettes while the rest of the class “caught up to me.” (Yeah, despite the whole 70’s diet philosophy of smoke more to eat less, turns out that doesn’t work so well either.)

But, since I have come to England, the dieting and I have parted ways. Diets aren’t really that popular here. And, as I wrote about earlier, exercise not so much either. But, then again, no one is really that fat here. At least, not Texas fat. (And, if you wanna see what that looks like, head down to a Walmart in any Houston suburb and park yourself by the Blue Bell ice cream freezer – you’ll think the cows are coming to get their milk back).

As a matter of fact, they have this show where they bring an overweight person and a skinny person together for a week of switching diets and “feeding treatment” and, guess what? Part of that treatment involves a video message wake-up call from some poor American slob who is so fat they can’t get out of bed. So, either no one gets that fat here or they just love our accents. (Yeah, you can probably guess which it is.)

But, I finally did discover a new “diet” that showed promise – a detox subscribed to by Elle Macpherson and Hugh Grant. Seemed a bit extreme to me: no alcohol, sugar, carbs, dairy, caffeine or processed food for two weeks, which basically just described my 5 basic food groups. You are probably asking yourself right now whether I have now discovered the air and water diet (Um, yeah, I thought the same thing) but, no, I actually “got” to eat protein, green vegetables and healthy fats (avocado/nuts) and green tea. Oh, and one cup of coffee per day. All organic. But, let’s not forget, I am a career professional here. Easy stuff!

Well, not so much. The first 3 days were sheer torture. I actually licked my coffee spoon after I finished my one cup of coffee. And, I am pretty sure I used broccoli as an excuse one night to have butter and salt. At one point, I began hallucinating about my pink highlighter – it just looked so much like sugary sweet goodness that is double bubble bubble gum, I couldn't help myself!

And, just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I had a really nice reinforcement; or, rather lack thereof. I had twisted in my seat to talk to the really nice proper British guy in my new office when I felt and heard a ripping sound. And, me being me, of course, I said (yes, in my out-loud voice) “Uh, I think I just ripped my pants.” To which my officemate turned beet red and looked away. Which, is when I realized that I should have clarified that I meant AMERICAN pants. (Even as friendly as we Texans are, we certainly would not find it normal to discuss our underwear with someone we’ve known only two days.)

So, I persevered. And, finally, I was able to shake off the caffeine/sugar DTs. And, surprisingly, organic food is not only easy to come by in England, but is really good. And, I really did feel 1000 times better. (and, by the end of the first week, had dropped 5 lbs!) So, result! But, then….came the real challenge. You can probably guess it – yep, alcohol. Because while no one in Britain thinks it’s odd to say you are only having organic food or aren’t eating sugar or drinking caffeine, no one can fathom why you would possibly entertain the idea of a booze-free life.

But, I was determined.

And, then I faltered.

I don’t know what it is about bad parties and me, but the two times in the last year when I decided to branch out and explore a new adventure, I have ended up in extremely painful social situations sans the one saving grace guaranteed to get you through. Now the ironic thing is that these two events could not be more polar opposite. The first was an exotic romance party (which is really code for sex toy party) in Garland, Texas. Ever seen King of the Hill? Yep, that’s Garland. Enough said.

And, this party (and I use that word liberally) was on the side of a highway hosted by what I am sure were some meth addicts. AND, contrary to my expectations of lovely glasses of white wine and giggling girly bonding time, turns out it was more me passing giant floppy phallic devices to the guy sitting next to me while trying to avoid touching things or spilling things, all in spite of our hostess’s offer to try things out in the bathroom. I kid you not.

And, booze? Not a Natty light in sight. Yes, folks, I had to listen to and observe a woman describe how to plant the suction cup dildo on the coffee table for an “afternoon delight” stone cold sober in a room of male strangers. Needless to say, we jetted as soon as possible and hit the first bar we came to.

So, really, in hindsight, this other party wasn’t so bad. They did have alcohol at least. Of course, I was supposed to be booze-free during this detox. But, as we’re in the taxi heading to this 40th birthday party for my friend’s architect friend, she informs me that not only are we heading to the suburbs, but the architect has kids. Now, I am not against kids, but when I have in my head that I am going to a fancy party with professionals all my age and I realize that I am, in fact, going to what does turn out to be a bad “wedding” in the suburbs, replete with kids doing backbends on the dance floor, running around with balloons, and playing chase amongst the buffet of white bread and bologna triangles and platters of deep fried chicken wings, I am a tad disappointed. Not an architect in sight. All parents of the kids' school friends. Sooooo not my scene.

But, luckily, there is an open bar! So I sidle up amongst the suburban moms who are having their one big night out this year, poured into shiny brightly colored sateen dressed with swollen stocking covered feet squeezed into strappy one inch high sandals, and patiently wait my turn for my double vodka. Too patiently, it turns out, as the bar tab finishes right before I can order.

So, guess what? We jetted as soon as possible and headed to the first bar we could. Just in time to miss the Macarena. Damn. Or, not.

So, as I did a little retox on the detox, I decided I needed to venture once more into that unchartered territory of group exercise. Now, I know I have consistently run for the last few years, and I have done my number of 5k fun runs. But a small group of really fit people in a contained room scares the bejeesus out of me. I have this irrational fear that I will be the uncoordinated person in the back of the room falling of the step or unable to twist into a pretzel and the teacher will single me out as the “What Not to Do” chick. But, I ventured forth. And, one yoga session and one step class later, turns out it wasn’t such an irrational fear. Yay me! (I think you get the picture)

But, I am nothing if not determined! And since discovering organic wine and, apparently, a complete lack of dignity when it comes to public sporty type stuff, I think this may actually be the answer.

And, those 20 lbs? Well, so far, we’re on a trial separation. (And, yes, it is great to be “single!”)