That Pillow Fight in Wal-Mart: 4 Years Later

Four years ago today, my (future) husband and I went on our second date.

The night grew long, but Billy and I didn't want it to end. We drove around looking for something to do. We found that Wal-Mart was open, so we went inside, roamed the aisles, and found ourselves in the pillow aisle having a slaphappy pillow fight.

I already felt different with Billy than I ever had with anyone else. I found him exhilarating and exciting, but I felt perfectly comfortable with him. Like I could leave all my worries and hang-ups and insecurities at the curb and just enjoy him. Us. The feeling of sharing space with someone who could turn me on, calm me down, challenge me, and take care of me. 

I could surrender to this man. But this time it was different, because I wouldn't lose myself. Billy adored me too, and made me shine brighter than I did alone. Only two dates in, I was already certain that I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life.

Fast-forward to four years later. This morning. We're doing one of our favorite things: watching a cooking competition on Hulu and debating who should win, and who actually will. Billy made me a big plate of eggs and fresh tomatoes, just like I wanted, and I try to finish them all so he'll know how much I liked them.

As he reaches out and drapes a hand across my leg, I sizzle with excitement.

Still true:

 

Rich Men, Poor Men, and The Best Kind of Men: How to Choose

This weekend, a lovely lady that I know was set up on a date.

She and the man went to a bar. He ordered several drinks while she sipped one. When their bill came, she offered to chip in. He paid for her drink, and said, “No, you can pick up the next tab.”

Then, at the next bar, the man ordered seven appetizers, including a platter of mussels that my friend was allergic to. Then, as promised, he let my friend pick up the tab.

Dudes, the jig is up on this one.

We know this trick. In my single days, it happened to me too.

Unfortunately, a nice girl will pay for “the next thing.” But that’s going to be your last interaction with her, because you’ve just revealed yourself to be a cheap, lousy date.

While we’re on the subject, let’s address “cheap date.” Why would an enlightened feminist like myself care about a cheap date? After all, some of my favorites dates — like a dog walk in the park with my now-husband — were free or inexpensive. 

Because being cheap with someone you’re supposed to like reveals something about you. I dated rich men and poor men, and learned that income doesn’t matter: the best men are generous men.

Ladies, ditch the man who orders shellfish on your tab.

Marry the man who packs your favorite candy for the movies.

He’ll be the one who gives you his jacket when you’re cold. Who carries a cup of coffee up the stairs to deliver it to you in bed. He will save you the last French fry.

This is the man who will love you best.

 It's worth holding out for!

How Are You Supposed to Know When You've Found "The One?"

How are you supposed to know when you've found the person you're meant to marry?

It's a question I asked myself a lot when I was single. I would scroll through pages and pages of Match.com profiles, feeling skeptical. I'd sit in my car before a first date and wonder if the next few hours were supposed to change my life forever. I wanted to believe that my person was out there, but it was exhausting wondering if each bozo who sent me a message on OkCupid was him.

I was worried that I wouldn't know if it happened to me. I heard stories about love that kindled slowly, over time, and I worried that I'd get bored with my date before discovering that I actually loved him.

I didn't know, then, that love would hit me fantastically hard. When I did meet the man I was supposed to marry, it would be obvious.

Now I only wish that I'd trusted that it would be. I wouldn't have wasted so much time.

Here's how it happened.

How I Knew I'd Found The Man I Was Going to Marry

• He took me on dates.
  Dates have become something rare and special. This is because so many men now expect women to hang out. This is often boring, and always sends a mixed message. ("Does he like me? Or are we just friends? And if we're not going anywhere, can I change into my yoga pants?")
  But not my Billy. He took me out. He made fun plans. He paid for me, he held doors open for me, and he bought me flowers. All of these things made it clear that he liked me and was working hard to win my affection.
  He won it.

• There were no games.
  I recently learned that some people are so calculated about dating, they'll even time their responses to their text messages in order to gain the upper hand. For example, if it takes their date five minutes to reply to a text, they will then wait ten minutes before replying to them.
  WHAT? Why do you need the upper hand if you (supposedly) like each other?
  Billy did not do this. There was no upper hand. In fact, he put all his cards on the table. He never kept me waiting. He texted me all day long. He confessed everything. He blurted out "I love you." He showed me a picture of himself at his chubbiest, and also his fittest, and asked me if I could be okay with either of his two extremes. I was so charmed, I gave him an emphatic yes. 
  
• He dazzles me.
  This is important, since I just told you that he texted me all day long. Billy is not the first man to ever come on strong. He's just the first man that I couldn't get enough of. He's funny, sharp, talented, a little crazy, and I never know what's going to come out of his mouth next. I love being around to witness what he's going to do next.
  
• He is generous.
  There are rich men, poor men, and the best, rarest men all: generous men. Billy is the most generous man I have ever met.
  I first saw this when Billy and I went to Kennywood on an early date. We shared their legendary French fries. Billy had never had them before and I wanted to make sure he enjoyed them, so I made sure I ate all the burnt, shriveled fries and left the crispy, golden brown ones for him. Soon, we were both done eating, and only the most perfect, pristine fries remained. It turns out that he was also eating the ugly fries -- to save the best ones for me.
  Billy is not a rich man. But he'd always go without to give me the best of everything he has.
  
• He is attentive.
  This one was the clincher.
  One day, before Billy and I lived together, I decided to Facetime him. He answered. Even though he was in the middle of checking out at the post office. Even though he was sublimely embarrassed when my enthused, "HEY BABY!" was heard by everyone in line. He always answers me.
  Billy lavishes me with all the attention I need, which is a lot. He checks on me. He lets me know when he misses me. I always know where he is. And he makes me feel loved, every single day.

That is why it didn't take me long to nail this thing down. It took me 33 long years to find him, and now, I promise to appreciate him every single day.  

He Left Me Uninspired: A Dating Missadventure Circa 2012 or So ...

I dusted this one off for my friend's blog, Not Your Girlfriend. Check it out!

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Reach for the moon. If you miss, at least you'll be among the stars."
 Um. What?

This was the text message I found after my phone wrenched me out of sleep. After I untangled myself from my sheets, and stumbled, confused, across my bedroom.

As I'd fumbled for my phone, I wondered what was wrong. Surely, if someone was texting me before 6:30 am, something must be gravely wrong.

But no. It was just an inspirational text. From a man I'd gone on a brief coffee date with the day before. I threw the phone down, disgusted, and went back to bed. 

The next morning, he did it again.

My phone chirped into the semi-darkness:

"Yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery and today is a gift. That's why we call it the present."

Oh no. No no no no.

Later that day, the man texted me: "Did you get my morning texts?"

I texted back. "I did."

He cheerily replied, "I only send the most special people my happy wake-up texts! :) "

I wrote back to explain that I didn't wake up until 8, and that the wake-up texts were hard for a night owl like me. I was trying to put an end to them. But he asked me of he should start texting me at 8 instead.

"That's still a little early," I told him.

What I meant was, "Please don't send me inspirational wake-up texts."

So the next day, he waited till 8:15.

"It's not the number of breaths we take, but the number of moments that take our breath away."

Oh dear God.

The problem was, the next day was SATURDAY. He did it on Saturday too?! Like most people, Saturday was my day off. I hadn't planned to open my eyes till at least 10.

Needless to say, the Early Morning Inspirational Texter and I did not end up together. But hey, there's plenty of fish in the sea, so dance like no one is watching, and if at first you don't succeed...

Well, he probably knows the rest.

What No One Tells You About Online Dating: Tips for Singles

My latest blog post is a guest post over on realgrownups.

What No One Tells You About Online Dating: Tips for Singles

Read it here! 

Men Should Drink Coffee

Coffee is delicious treat. And, it's a thing that you do.

I love making coffee, drinking coffee, and going out for coffee. When we were house-hunting, my husband looked for things like brick construction and whole-house air. I looked for a nearby coffee shop. For me, a coffee shop = civilization.

Sometimes, I get excited about going to bed, because I know that when I wake up, I get to have coffee.

I'm so glad that my husband Billy loves coffee. I remember my dating days, and how bitterly disappointed I'd be when a new boyfriend told me that he didn't drink coffee. I'd suggest "getting coffee" as a fun activity, and the guy would say something awful like, "I'll have a hot chocolate."

At which point, I'd picture the barista handing my date something like this:

So embarrassing.

I love that Billy loves coffee. When we wake up on a road trip out of town, we know our first priority: finding good coffee. When we have a long drive ahead of us, we stop for coffee. We know that Sunday mornings are made for coffee. And we don't have to worry about offending each other with coffee breath. We just drink more coffee.

Men should drink coffee.

Love is What I Got

Tonight, during a conversation that briefly brought up exes, Billy told me:

"It took me less than a year to realize that I wanted to marry you. Actually, I think it took less than three dates. I knew that quickly that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Whether you wanted me to or not."

My family

How I Fell So Hard

I met a man named Billy. 

But it felt more like I recognized him. As soon as our mutual friend introduced me to him, I thought, "Finally. There you are."

I watched him play guitar in his band that night. I stared at him for hours, right up until the moments when he looked back at me, and then I got embarrassed and looked away. When we parted ways a few hours later, I was counting on Billy to find me again, and he did. 

Billy and I stayed up late every night that week to talk to each other. After what seemed like forever (probably three days) he finally asked me out. 

So, we went on a first date. I tried not to get too excited about it. I hate first dates. I always pull out the same stories. I always force the same laughs. I almost always get the guy to like me, and then, to my chagrin, I have to let him down gently or else psych myself up for a second date--which is always much worse. I hate the whole awkward routine. 

But then I had my first date with Billy. 

He was waiting for me at the bar, with a water and a straw carefully angled towards my empty seat. I sat down on the bar stool--facing him. Without even meaning to, I stayed that way all night, leaning in to him, eagerly telling him things and taking in every word he had to say. 

Our date was perfect. Billy is gorgeous, but nervous enough to convince me that he doesn't know he is. He's funny, and appreciative, and doesn't bother making idle small talk. We talked for hours, and when I realized that I kept leaning closer and closer into him, I apologized. That's when he put one hand under me and pulled my stool up against his. We were almost intertwined. I felt dizzy. 

Billy took me to my car and kissed me goodbye, and when my knees started to buckle, he caught me. 

His band was playing across the state the next night, but we kept in incessant contact until our second date the following day. We went to dinner, bowling, and finally, because it was very late but neither of us wanted to go home, we went to Sheetz and to Wal-Mart, where we picked out food for Billy's cat and had a pillow fight. 

That second date was an exercise in polite restraint...going through the ritual of getting to know each other despite the fact that both of us knew we were all in. He made me feel exhilarated, adorable and uncharacteristically fearless. All of this means that I finally got to be myself -- my undiluted, starry-eyed self. 

A day or two later, Billy and I walked my dog through Frick Park and sat down at a sidewalk table in Regent Square, where we ordered dinner. At dusk, we started walking home. I held on to my adorable little Beagle with one hand. Billy took my other hand in his and folded me into a long, sweet, mid-summer kiss. For a second, I stepped outside of myself and tried to really see what was happening to me. That girl, on the sidewalk, with the Beagle she always wanted and a man who made her feel so perfectly adored, was me. It seemed like I was watching myself from inside a dream. 

Billy and I have not left each other alone since we met. Since that night, I've discovered that I sleep the soundest when I'm in his arms, and that no one else can entertain me as well as he can. I love watching him interact with other people, and the friendly, gentle consideration he shows them. 

When he talks, and moves, and plays his guitar, I feel like I am drenched with delirious adoration. And when I remember those early dates, I can't believe that -- as excited and hopeful as I was -- I didn't even know him yet. I would come to find that he is even kinder and more loving than I could have possibly imagined.

I can't wait for each new day with you, Billy.

I'm flipping sad.

I went to a glass mosaic class at the Pittsburgh Public Markets on Sunday, and I was a little startled when I made this.

It's a broken heart. It's quite literally my broken heart, and when I got home, I tucked it against a wall so I wouldn't have to look at the feeling that I'm already carrying around with me.

I want so badly to escape from this feeling. Sometimes, I get blissful moments of clarity--that life could be much worse and it will all get better. And my best friend reminds me that the ratio of good-to-bad moments will start to shift until the good moments finally start to crowd out the bad ones. 

But the days feel so long. And my feelings feel so big. 

Usually I like being this way, because I feel like I get to be a lot more enthusiastic and excited and exhilarated than most people do. But right now, everything hurts so oppressively badly... I can't seem to figure out how to take on this life. 

Soul Clean-Up: When Being Happy Takes Work

Why do we shy away from doing the things that will make us feel good?

Taking five minutes to pay my bills (instead of frantically transferring money the day before it's due) makes me feel good.

Reading a book or contributing to my neglected blog gives me a zing of happy satisfaction.

Having a clean house makes me feel really good. It's nice when my things are put away and easy to find; it's more comfortable to lay on crisp sheets than tangled ones; a shiny and clean-smelling bathroom is nicer to get ready in than a dingy one. But in reality, my house is trashed more often than it's not. I'll collect a messy pile of shoes at the door for days -- despite the fact that I relish seeing all my lovely shoes lined up in their boxes and sorted by occasion.

The list goes on. Regular exercise makes me sleep better and enjoy more energy. Whereas playing DrawSomething on my iPad for two hours can make me feel tired, sluggish, and ashamed of all the time I just wasted. But there is a 90% chance that I will be tired tomorrow because I will stay awake scribbling pictures tonight.

So where is the disconnect? If I know how to make myself happy, why don't I? Is it just sheer laziness?

I don't think so. I'm definitely not lazy at work; I get shit done all day long! In fact, I've risen up the ranks at my job because I complete projects and create procedures and lead a productive staff.

So why, when it comes to my personal life, am I apparently sabotaging my happiness? It seems all too easy to fall into lazy patterns...the wide, easy grooves I've thoughtlessly worn into my daily routine.

It never bothered me when the issues in question were minor (Why don't I paint my nails more often if it makes me feel so darn pretty?). But today it dawned on me that I have been doggedly returning to a relationship that doesn't really make me feel good. In fact, it makes me feel bad pretty consistently.

I've been raking my heart over the coals by dating the same man, unsuccessfully, on and off for three and a half years. At this point, it's pretty laughable how often we split up...my friends have got to be sick of holding my hand through breakup after devastating breakup. But every time I find myself in the depths of such despair (the weepy, sick, I-can't-go-on-like-this part), I call him. Many times, I'll call him repeatedly, never relenting until we work things out.

And before long, he and I are status quo again, and I've switched from regretting our demise to lamenting a relationship that leaves me feeling unsatisfied and lonely. This is somehow preferable.

I never saw this routine as a reflection of laziness. Quite the contrary. I always felt confident that I was working hard to salvage something wonderful: a relationship! But if I really try to identify the good parts of our relationship, I start to realize that they were few and far between.

In fact, I think I confuse feelings of longing with feeling good.

When I think about times that I remember as happy, the highs that apparently cancelled out our lows, I remember times when I loved him. I remember staring at him on the couch or in the car, thinking that he looked so handsome, and I was so lucky to be able to shower him with adoration. I remember times when he was funny, and I responded with a swelling of affection... It was a feeling that came from deep within ME.

I love to love him so much that it feels good even to remember it.

But while I have been good at loving him, he hasn't had the stamina to keep up with my devotion. This relationship has left me feeling uncute, unhappy and unloved. Even though it really did, one or two or maybe three (yikes) years ago, it definitely doesn't make me feel good anymore. Now I feel like I'm banging my head against a wall.

So, now that I know this, I guess I have to do the work.

 Taking care of my day-to-day happiness requires work: chores and clean-up and discipline.

So I have to do the work of clearing out the crap in hopes that soon, my life can feel comfortable and good.

Here we go...