The DateDoctor Diaries

I am not a huge fan of Sundays. That being said, I have many friends for whom that is their favorite day. They say that Sundays are the days they just relax and do whatever they like. I however disagree. Let's do some self-analysis as to why Sundays suck for me. My dad left our family on a Sunday. Whoa...how's that Freud?

I remember the day he left because I was still in my sunday church dress- white with tiny pink flowers, ruffled sleeves, white tights, and white patent leather shoes, which were pressed against my bedroom door, locking myself in from the outside world that included my father holding one of those small moving boxes with the last of his belongings.

As I sat, wedged between my wall and my bedroom door, I could hear my mother shouting, and kept thinking that was probably not the best tactic to take if we wanted him to stay. I heard our front door slam and sat there in silence as I wondered what was next. I don't remember much after that....afterall I was seven.

Fast forward a decade to the year 1997. I was 17 years old and was in a tumultuous on again, off again recapitulation of my mother and father's relationship with my first love- Marcus. Looking back on it, it was silly. I was a child. I loved this person like there was never going to be another. He treated me like any 17-20 year old boy would, and I took it.

Then one Sunday night, after returning from a trip to Chicago, he announced- "I'm moving to Chicago." I was devastated. I remember crying so hard and loud that I lost my voice. I remember my mother telling me that I needed to go anywhere but in her house because she did not want to hear my teenage angst anymore. I remember sitting in my 1988 honda civic and pounding the seats with rage. I remember wondering if anyone had actually died from crying too hard, and also thinking what sweet revenge that would be...How was this happening to me? How was I to go on? How could he leave me? and especially on a Sunday?

Growing up, Sundays were filled with picnics, playing outdoors, or dance/gymnastics lessons. Later, I was required to do my homework, eat dinner, take a bath, and could watch a few hours of TV, which iusually ncluded the simpsons and married with children. I viewed Sundays as a downhill slope that I painstakingly dug my heels into each week. It signified the end of a fun and carefree weekend, and the impending doom of school, and later - work.

Living in LA, the weeks speed by so quickly, so Sundays have somewhat lost their sting. Yet, last night was one of those nights. One of the benefits of being in a relationship is that you have someone by your side, also facing the impending crash of Monday's tidal wave. I think someone once said, "a problem shared, is a problem halved." This is probably also the reason psychotherapy has been so effective for many...I digress.

Recently Mr. Butterflies and I have gotten in the habit of sharing Sundays together. I am not even quite sure what his take is on Sundays..He is an actor, and they usually don't go by the typical workweek. My guess is its probably just another day. In any case, Sundays are magically better with him. We don't do anything special in particular, they just are.

However, I spent yesterday alone. Instead of spending time with him, we engaged in a 12 hour text war, which started around 2 am that morning. After reconvening with each other after we had just been at separate halloween parties, I noticed his skin smelled like women's perfume. The smell was that of cheap drugstore perfume, so pungent and strong that it seemed to keep poking my shoulder and saying "come on, what you gonna do now?" I recoiled and looked at him, wondering what he had been up to in the hours leading up to this.

Instead of reassuring me that it was simply because he had hugged a lot of friends that happened to be girls at the party, he immediately began to go for his things and was out my door before I could gather what was happening. This to me translates as defensiveness. If one is innocent, there is not a need for defense? Yet, he maintained his innocence, and stated that he "does not do drama or jealousy." Doesn't storming out my door only ten minutes after he just arrived, constitute drama? Isn't that what all actors do -drama?

The next morning when I came to, all the events of the night started to resurface. I laid there wondering what I could have done differently. Should I just have stifled myself, closed my eyes, and pretended I was making out with Sally O'Malley? I began to walk down the hall of shame that was the previous nights' texts- "ur pathetic," "u make stuff up in ur warped head," and my favorite, which was sent by yours truly "you could atleast have the decency to wash the whore off you before coming to my place." Classic. Right out of some cheesy 20's Harlequin novel. All I was missing was the 1920's Josephine Baker-esque accent.

I began to curse myself for drinking so much, and started to take a look inside, like how I imagined alcoholics might do right before they come to a meeting. I was given news about a car accident my friends were in the previous night, and like being shot out of a cannon, was able to take a step back and see how pathetic I was being. This was so small.

Immediately, I realized what was important and tried to call Mr. Butterflies. He did not pick up and so I texted for him to call me when he woke up. He responded "so that you can make up another story and wrongly accuse me- no thanks." Apparently he did not get the "there are more important things in life" memo that morning.

I busied myself by going to the farmer's market, working out, doing laundry, cleaning, painting my nails, reading, napping, and even organizing my bathroom cabinets. All thinly veiled attempts to avoid the inevitable- Sunday night - alone. As the sun set and night approached, the moon came out to watch how this was all gonna play out.

After receiving what was probably the 43rd text-pong that day, I picked up the phone and called him (why did I not do this earlier you ask? because when it comes to pride...im about as stubborn as it gets). I wanted to speak in person and he quickly dismissed me, saying "I'm going to bed." "Ok, what about tomorrow?" I pressed on. "I've got things to do all day, maybe Tuesday." He might as well drove the stake that was in my heart, in deeper with a swift kick. How could he wait another 48 hours to see me, when I felt like the next breath I took was dependent on the call's outcome? Ok, a little dramatic, but you get the point.

Now if you aren't convinced that I am one big hot mess by now, you will after reading the next sentence. I booked a vacation for the both of us for his birthday which is approaching in a little over a week. Yes, that's right, one action packed, non-refundable holiday for two.

At the time I booked it, things were going really well. I felt like we were both on the same page and wanted the same things. I knew he was the type of guy that bought everything for himself as soon as he wanted it, and therefore would be hard to buy for. We had also talked about the possibility of going away together and both thought it would be fun. A vacation to a tropical paradise seemed like the next logical step.

The next logical step....for two people who both want to be in a relationship. My mistake was, I assumed he too wanted this relationship, and was just not keen on communicating that, or putting us "in the checkbox," as he liked to call it. What I didn't know, was that he was not on the same page. In fact, he said this little cherry "he enjoyed spending time with me," on my shit Sunday. The kiss of death as far as I'm concerned. This, combined with the following evidence that he was "just not that into me,":

-he's "just not that into you," if he immediately bolts as soon as you question him about smelling of women's perfume

-He's "just not that into you" if after getting in a falling out, he's not concerned when or if the issue will ever be resolved, or about seeing you for another 48 hours

- he's "just not that into you," if he goes to a Halloween party and doesn't care to take you with him, and later four different girls post pictures of them hugging 14 times on facebook

-he's "just not that into you" if he can go six days without realizing he hasn't seen you

- he's "just not that into you" if he would rather go to bed at 10 pm than see you, after you have offered to drive over to his place

- he's "just not that into you," if instead of graciously thanking you for putting time and money into such a thoughtful birthday gift, he begins to lecture you about the nature of his job, the life of being an actor, his plight and what a sacrifice taking five days off is going to be for him

So what the hell was I going to do about this trip? I certainly wasn't going to passively sit at home and mope the following week, knowing I could be sipping some fruity drink while looking into a windex filled ocean. I also did not want to look like some lesbian alternative couple at a romantic resort with one of my girlfriends, and I certainly did not want to spend all week listening to my mom ask the hotel concierge about their security system, coupons, and where to find the best early bird specials.

I decided that there was exactly 11 days until said trip. If I spent that time clearing my head, cooling my jets, and approaching this relationship from a different perspective, it is possible that we could still do this. All I need to do is get my head in the place, where this is just a person that I have a lot of fun with, a lot of laughs with, great conversation that lasts for hours, and I also like to look at him and make out with him a lot. No different than a fun fling right? No expectations anymore, and I won't be disappointed. Right?

He agreed that he was still up for going, agreed that he was not in the same place as I was as far as wanting the same things and said it would take him much longer to get there, if ever. He told me that he doesn't validate me, or his feelings for me, or even the fact that he wants to be in an exclusive relationship by now because he doesn't feel those things and doesn't want to say things that aren't true to how he feels.

He added "it has only been three months, " and "three months are three minutes" to him. He told me that was all he could offer, like one of those beer-bellied, cowboy-hat-wearing, auctioneers at a used car lot, and shortly got off the phone. So there it was, I was now on my own in the relationship world, yet still with an approaching romantic vacation.

I sat on my porch looking at the cars racing by on the 101, the capitol records building, and the flashing bottle of Patron. I wondered, "what the hell am I doing here? How did I get here?" I thought about where everyone on that highway was going. I wondered how they managed to find their place in LA. I wondered if I ever would, or if my expectations for a relationship were never going to be met in a city of people who lie for a living (actors).

I pictured myself still sitting on that porch at 74 with an actual bottle of patron in my hand and cat ramps and scratching posts stretched about throughout my apartment.

I woke my mom up in Japan and she immediately knew from my voice that something was not right. The floodgates opened, and I began my woe is me monologue for the next 25 minutes. She agreed with me, that regardless of all his arguments and rationalizations behind his behavior- it all added up to a conclusion I already really knew- he's just not as into me, as I need him to be.

Isn't it funny, how we tell ourselves these lies to perpetuate something that we silently know is a bigger lie? I mean, if I was one of my patients and I came in and talked about Mr. Butterflies behavior, or lack thereof, Dr. Colleen would tell me to grow a spine and hit the road.

Yet, there is still that little girl part of me, who wants to believe in the fairy tale. There is that part that wants to believe that this guy is different than 99.7% of most men and just has a very unique and different way of showing he cares. I'm pretty sure this is the rationale that all women live by to avoid reading between the lines.

Earlier that night, I watched the New Year's Eve episode of "How I Met Your Mother," where Lily tells Marshall that she has to go home and change out of her heels and that she will meet back up with him before the clock strikes 12. He becomes visibly upset and is fearful that they won't spend NYE together. She reassures him and then skips out from their limo into a cab. How different a dynamic I thought? She is certain that this guy cares about her, and her biggest concern is getting out of too tight shoes.

Compare that to my situation, where I felt scared each time to even bring a concern up for fear that Mr. Butterflies would immediately fly away. Although fictional, there are relationships like Lily and Marshall's where each one knows the other will keep coming round the next day, because they are secure with how each other feels. Meanwhile, I feel like I'm trying to hold on to water.

It's like the difference between the first and second marriage. Take Lisa Hartwell from "Housewives of Atlanta," (yes I realize I watch entirely too much television, but some issues just are meant to be resolved folks). Her first marriage was to Keith Sweat. He was verbally and emotionally abusive. Her second marriage was to Ed Hartwell, an NFL linebacker. This guy spent an entire day cooking for her, and wrote "I love you," with rose petals. Like most women in their second marriage, she traded excitement for security.

I think the trick must be giving up on the fairy tale and going for reality the first time. Although there won't be any thrill as you hear the tick-tick of the roller coaster's hill, there will also never be those steep drops that plummet you to misery and make you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you.

Relationships are supposed to make you feel good. A healthy relationship allows for communication, both good and bad, without one person fearing that the other person will leave. In a healthy relationship, two people should be able to go out without each other and not have any concern or jealousy about what the other is doing.

Mr. Butterflies still maintains that this is my "issue" from my ex and that it has nothing to do with him. It is possible that this is now an issue for me. When I once believed people were innocent until proven guilty, maybe now its the other way around, or maybe not. Could it be that I just don't trust him, because I can read between the lines? Could it be that because of his actions, and the number one indicator- he has never said he is only with me. ding ding ding, that I may have some trust issues?

Regardless if this is baggage, his inability to open up after three months is clearly the only baggage he has room for in this relationship. To top it all off, as if dangling a carrot in front of me, he says "oh I was so close if you would have just left it alone, but you pushed me 'back' again." Go back to the start. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

As I sit here and find that I've lost another round in this game of life- I still believe there is nothing more tragic than a person who has crusted over and closed themselves off to the world. Even in my sadness and pain, I still know that in time- I will make myself open again. No matter how many times I get kicked in the gut, I will continue to put myself out there, again and again. Because all we've got is each other. I believe that the universe is all about love and interconnectedness- that's all that truly matters in this life, and really the only thing you can take away from it when you leave. You can't wait until you feel you know someone 100% to decide if you're going to give yourself completely to them and participate in an actual relationship, that is the very essence of a relationship- getting to know the other person...How sad that Mr. Butterflies won't get that opportunity.

"Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." - William Shakespeare

So there, you have it. I write these posts for two reasons: (1) its incredibly therapeutic for me to write as well as thumb through the electronic pages of my life and the lessons I've learned, and (2) I realize that there are many people, both men and women, who are struggling with their own relationship issues. Its my aim to be as candid and honest as possible to show that even someone who has a doctorate in human behavior and is supposed to "have it all together," still trips on life's obstacles....oh and (3) because my mom always says "write it down" ;)

DSM-IV Dude Diagnosis- "The Mandlord"

Presentation- This person is used to functioning with many tenants. You are torn between the excitement of being an occupant and the fear of an eviction notice, at any minute. His facilities are thrilling and welcoming, yet if you question his operation or his other tenants, he can become hostile, defensive, and accusatory.

Rx and Treatment Recommendations- The recommended course of treatment for this person is a dose of their own medicine. This will be best served cold, by a highly skilled femme who is trained in the art of mystery and evasive communication.

Prognosis- Fair...After receiving the recommended treatment, it is likely that suddenly "three months," will be "three months," instead of "three minutes," as he used to put it. Miraculously his walls will crumble and his biggest "issue" will be wondering when she'll come round again.

And now I'll let the Daves take it from here....

David Gray: Say Hello Wave Goodbye

Standing at the door of the pink Flamingo
Crying in the rain
It was a kind of so so love,
and I'm gonna make sure it doesn't happen again.

Take a look in my face, for the last time.
I never knew you., you never knew me.
Say hello, goodbye.

Dave Matthews: Grace is Gone

Excuse me please, one more drink
Could you make it strong
Cause I don't need to think
He broke my heart
My grace is gone
One more drink and I'll move on
One more drink and I'll be gone

Since my dating life is currently on hold right now, I have decided to write about my girlfriends'. This is not an arrangement we've formally discussed, but I consider it compensation for the time I spend listening to their dating woes on the phone each day (btw, this can become quite an undertaking when you hang out with a lot of single girls who are actively dating).

So one of my girlfriends has been "hanging out" with a guy for close to two months. I say "hanging out," because that's as far as he'll let it be defined. Now, she's no shrinking violet. In fact, she has tried several times to talk to him about their "situation." Each time, she is rebuffed and asked "why do we have to put a label on it? I don't want to be pushed into anything and I feel like you are trying to do that." This is the same guy who took her to his parents' home in Santa Barbara and introduced her to them...mixed signals??

This particular girlfriend is drop dead gorgeous, and not in that seven-layer caked on makeup way, but in that natural wake up and look amazing way. She has the body of a dancer and also happens to be really freaking cool. The guy that she is pursuing looks like he could do stand-in for Adam Duritz.

My friend has even gone as far as telling him that she just wants to have "fun." She will text him in the middle of the night after having gone out and ask if he wants her to come over...now I ask you- what guy would say no to that??!! Her texts go unnoticed, and unresponded. Then the next day, he will say "maybe we can hang out tuesday," and of course, as a woman, we spend the entire tuesday getting ready (i.e- wax, shaving legs, hair, clothes, perfume, cleaning, etc..). Then he texts, yes TEXTS, not calls and says "I just really feel like I'm getting sick and have had a bad day, lets do another day."

I can imagine that after reading this, you are probably going to say, "she needs to drop the zero and move on." Here is the clincher, though: this guy is not a minority...he is becoming the new hybrid of LA...

Here is my theory as to how this hybrid species came into existence. LA is a land known for its magnetic draw of the most beautiful people around the world. Becoming large fish in their small towns, they begin to feel that maybe their interests might be better served, moving to a larger pond- LA. However, they soon realize that although they were once 9's in their small communities, maybe now they have been bumped to a 6 by LA standards. If their entire ego/self-worth has been built on something as flimsy as "being pretty," then their self-esteems can easily crumble in the face of staunch competition.

So when some Adam Duritz dimwit walks along and has the smallest bit of misguided confidence, a girl that might normally not even give him a second look, is now starved for his attention and affection. However, this is not his first stroke of luck. In fact, he is accustomed to women throwing themselves at him in their attempts to redeem their already unstable and tenuous links to self-worth. So this cycle then reinforces and perpetuates his attitude of indifference toward all females (which only make him more desirable).

We, then begin to have hundreds of beautiful females throwing themselves at guys who likely spend their days burping, scratching, and farting while watching TV, and live with their moms (recall Will Ferrell's character "Chazz" in Wedding Crashers). So then you get a guy who has an over-inflated sense of self that then meets someone like my girlfriend. While she is also beautiful, she has other characteristics that give her substance. She is a phenomenal dancer. She has an Ivy League education. She has a wicked sense of humor. So you can imagine she might be a bit thrown off when someone like him rebuffs her...maybe even a little intrigued.

So what's the solution ? How do we prevent the further propagation of this new hybrid species and lead to their extinction before they begin migrating to the midsection of our country and infecting those good ol' boys back home?

Dude DSM-IV Diagnosis- Man of Indifference

Presentation: This new species of man has evolved out of an excess of available women who have created an inflated sense of worth within him. This event has brought him to the idea that he must throw away the 8's, keep the 9's on hold, and wait for his deserved perfect 10...because after all, who wouldn't want to sit by and cook him dinners while he plays endless hours of Halo, shouting at 12 year old boys from different parts of the world (he's so well cultured...)??

Prognosis- Very good for him, until the female species' spine starts to resurface...

I feel that in the spirit of integrity, I must make an addendum to the last post. On Thursday, Mr. Butterflies sent me an email which contained in it an internet link. After clicking on it, a girl's facebook page appeared along with hundreds of well-wishes and prayers. The "lie" that I was 100% sure he was using as a cover for his major slip-up became my major slip-up in an instant. I felt like I wanted to vomit. I looked at her face and realized there was really a person who lost their mother and I was too entrenched in my own baggage to even recognize it.

Moments later, my phone conversation with Mr. Butterflies flashed through my head. Each word of mine, like a slap in the face now. I pictured him driving in his jeep, top off, pouring down rain to be with a friend, all to be capped off by a girl he's only known for two months doing her best rendition of psycho. My face grew hot and I felt an incredible amount of shame come to the surface. How could this happen?

Upon further reflection, my theory is that there was obviously a lot more transference from the attack of the British than I had accounted for. It is no coincidence that this guy brings up a strong transference reaction- afterall he has a lot of the same british characteristics (mannerisms, outlook, conversational style, humor, lifestyle, accent). Another factor is that Mr. Butterflies had not exactly been open and upfront with his agenda or feelings for that matter. As I began to develop deeper feelings, I started to feel like I was losing control. When I got that voicemail, I took it as a sign, and an emergency exit out before I got too hurt.

I immediately apologized and we sat down together at a coffee shop to talk about what happened. I knew I had to do damage control. This guy now saw me as a loose cannon. Heck, I saw myself as a loose cannon. As he recounted his experience, all I could do is shake my head in embarrassment.

Then all of a sudden, I felt angry. I realized that the original Brit took something from me (other than my money)- trust and innocence. When I met the first guy, we went from 0 to 90 very quickly. He was practically moved into my apt. and driving my car in 3 days. I met his parents on our 3rd date. At that time, I just took everything he said at face value. I trusted him. I trusted that someone could truly love me that quickly. Yet, he had another agenda and was leading a double life. A life that was made very convenient for him as a result of his relationship with me. All of a sudden, after living with him for 3 months in England and 3 months in the states, I was dropped flat on my face. The lesson taught me that not everyone should be viewed as innocent until proven guilty, and to always keep one eye open. Yet, here I found myself, no longer knowing which way is up.

(actual photo of me in 1986, Pre- Attack of the Brit)

I looked around at the people in the coffee shop, most of them tuned out, listening to their music and typing on their laptops. I imagined them all going home to normal relationships and normal lives. Yet, in just a few minutes I would return to my patients that were seeing me to help figure out their lives. Ironic?

So, there you have it. I was so sure of my hunch that I was willing to let Mr. Butterflies fly away. I am still no more certain of his current flight path, but I am ok with that. If there is one thing valuable that I learned from the past relationship, it is that what starts fast, ends fast. Mr. Butterflies' slow pace is exactly what the doctor is ordering.

As you may have noticed – the Date Doctor has been on a brief two month hiatus since meeting “Mr. Butterflies.” Usually those butterflies tend to wane as time presses on, yet mine stayed. Part of me was highly skeptical, part of me was enjoying the ride and secretly/childishly hoping it would never end. 

Scientists maintain that those so-called “butterflies” are merely subconscious fear mechanisms.  Romantically, this usually translates to us being  afraid that our lover will leave us. This also explains why butterflies tend to disappear during long-term relationships, as security increases.

However, us hopeless romantics (with much help from the Hollywood entertainment industry) unflinchingly hold the belief that these butterflies are some magical sign that we have found a good thing. I’m going to make an assumption that the majority of hopeless romantics are not scientists, because if a scientist gets punched in the gut long enough, they know when to walk away. How I became both will remain a mystery for now.

Needless to say, things did not work out with “Mr. Butterflies.” After two months of dating, I was in the check-out lane and he was still browsing. Although he never communicated to me that he was still “just looking,” he never had to- his phone did it for him.

Last night I got a voicemail from him that lasted about five minutes of a conversation he was having with another person. I could not make it out at the time because I was out to eat with a girlfriend. I texted him to tell him what happened, and within the next 20 minutes received two calls from him. The first saying it was “james,” (his friend whom I’ve heard of before, but he also just saw two nights before), and then 10 minutes later he called to pre-empt me listening, saying “did you listen to it?” I said “not yet,” and then he went on to say “oh I went over to see a friend- her mom died.” He even went on to give details like her mom’s temperature reading the night before, and the girl was flying out to Sacramento.

Immediately, my stomach flipped as to tell me- “alert alert something is not right.” My legs began to lose their feeling and start tingling. I felt myself grow hot all over and I told my friend that I just needed to sit and gather my thoughts. She asked if I wanted to go out with her and her friends and I told her that was the last thing I wanted to do (I never understand why people think that is what is best for you when something like that happens??)

Although my arms were shaky, I held the phone to my ear and listened to the voicemail. It was of him and another girl that lasted about five minutes. It sounded as though they were in a restaurant or a bar. He was laughing and telling her a story about him on the 405, and she was flirtatiously giggling. He was asking if she walked there, and they continued to chat. I could not make out all of the details of the conversation, but it was definitely not the sound of a friend empathizing with someone who just lost their mother (who uses the death of a mother to cover up their lies, AND give a flippin’ made up temperature reading? Who does that?).

Immediately I was catapulted back to the exact place I was 10 months ago in the Iphone store with yet another Brit. Feelings started to come to the surface simultaneously; hurt, embarrassment for doing this to myself again, surprise, anger, fear of what tomorrow will be like, anxious because I knew I’d have to confront him, and sadness for being here yet again.

Now, no psychologist worth their salt would ever experience this and not consider “transference.” Transference is the process by which one situation mimics an earlier situation in life, and we begin to draw conclusions based on our past experience, vs. the reality of the current situation. Was I just transferring my bad experience with my last British boyfriend to this one?

So before making the call, I sat down and considered the facts:

1)      If he were truly to have had an innocent conversation with a friend, why would he have been concerned enough to pre-emptively call me twice in 20 minutes?

2)      If this were really a friend that he would drive all the way over to west LA to comfort (keep in mind, it was a rare occasion that he would leave his house for me and I live 10 minutes away)- why hadn’t I ever heard of her before? He told me of his friend that was a girl who lived above him. He told me of his friends that were guys that he regularly hung out with. Yet, never a mention of this girl.

3)      This is a person who rarely made plans with me. He told me that he “doesn’t believe in clocks,” and I would not know if I was going to see him until around 9 each night. At which point, he would get to my house around 10:30. Conveniently, just enough time to have had a date beforehand.

It all began making sense. I was being played like a fiddle, and what was worse- I had allowed this. I compromised the things I felt to be right, and put aside my values (such as making plans in advance and being accountable and on time), just to be with Mr. Butterflies. I was accommodating his poor treatment, and moreover- his dating agenda.

So, I made the call. He began chatting as if nothing had happened. I told him that I believed he was lying, and included my reasoning above. He asked if I wanted her number to call her (can you imagine? “hi this is Colleen and I would just like to do a quick fact check- now when did you say your mother died? Was her temperature actually 103? Ok thanks have a great day).

 As a distraction, he became even more angry than I was. He attempted to turn around the argument by name calling and saying things like you are “100% wrong,” “jaded” “jealous” and my personal favorite- “pathetic.” He accused me of being “unempathic,” (how could you be like this when someone’s mother has died?), and said he was “gobsmacked,” and “disgusted.” I told him the feeling was mutual. He quickly said he wanted to get off the phone and hung up.

For a moment there, I doubted myself. What if I was 100% wrong as he labeled it? What if I completely showed my ass and am too much of an emotional shipwreck from the first attack of the British to see the forest for the trees? Part of me wanted to believe him. That childish part of me that was not yet ready to let go of Mr. Butterflies. She wanted to glue together all his tenuous lies and stay on the ride a bit longer. Yet, there was one little factor that kept turning- my gut. No matter how confused I feel at times, she never is. In fact, she knew his game on our first date.

So I have to say goodbye to all the late night calls, the three hour conversations that I cherished so much. They opened me up and made me feel in a place of comfort that is oftentimes foreign out here in LA LA land. The british banter that I have come to love so much, and all the intellectual wit that goes with it. Mr. Butterflies made LA palatable. For two months, there was somebody here who really got me…the problem was that he was getting many others, as well. Which is not only hurtful, but dangerous in 2009.

So here I find myself again- alone and heartbroken. I guess the alone piece is inevitable. We come into this world and go out of this world- alone. The heartbroken part will just have to pass with time. I’m old enough to understand the drill by this point.  Yet, I feel really stupid. I keep putting myself in this place.

It’s not like I’m going for the guys who would not let this happen- you know the ones…the ford focuses. When will I be ready to settle for an economy size relationship? A reliable, affordable, and dependable situation.  Am I having a reverse mid-life crisis…going for all these high maintenance relationships in my twenties?

In, Marry Him- The Case for Settling for Mr. Right Now, Lori Gottlieb posits that this is exactly what we should be doing. Yet, there is still that person in me that doesn’t want to end up the cliché rom-com movie character who has given up on love, only to be side swiped by a porsche mid-marriage to a ford focus (I hope I’m not losing folks with the metaphors).

So there it is...I can’t seem to manage high-maintenance cars for too long, and I am completely averse to ford focuses. I tend to wonder if a long-term relationship, or marriage, family, etc… is ever really in the cards for me. I want someone who excites me, who keeps me guessing, and who keeps me on my toes and all those things aren’t necessarily conducive to the long-term.

Why can’t I be ok with this fact? You know, like how I’m ok with the fact that I am going to go through this life, die, and never know what mayonnaise tastes like. Why can’t I look at romantic relationships like mayo…just ain’t gonna happen.

Being single has its advantages...you can go out with whomever you like, you can come in whenever you like with no one to answer to, you can do crazy stuff to your hair without worrying whether the other person will approve or disapprove, and you can generally maintain all the high points of budding relationships (going out to dinner, seeing a movie, holding hands, first kiss, butterflies in the stomach) without having to endure the lows ("we have to go to my 3rd cousin's nephew's sister in law's stepdaugthers bat mitzvah this saturday," or trying to mentally block out a chorus of snoring that seems to be aggressively unrelenting and almost taunting you, saying "you'll have to listen to me for the rest of your life.")

However, last night was one of those nights I was reminded why being in a relationship is so important to me. We're not talking about a gentle, tap on the shoulder reminder either, we're talking a cartoon like anvil dropping on my head reminder of why I do not want to stay single forever.

It was a Saturday afternoon...just finished playing flag football and began to shiver. Keep in mind it's usually around 98 degrees this time in Los Angeles. As I could not shake this chill and noticed goose bumps on my legs, I asked my roommate to turn off the AC. I realized this was not normal. I completely lost my appetite but knew I could go to Jamba Juice and slurp down the appropriate nutrition I needed by that point. I was still so cold, I waited out in my car until the two people in front of me walked out, confirming that I was next in line.

Being the hypochondriac/google-symptoms-finder-and-diagnose-myself- afficionado that I am, I wisely used my wait time in my car to try and figure out why I was feeling like this. After typing in "chills, fatigue, lower back pain, and fever," I diagnosed myself with a Kidney infection. Not great...but better than my original suspicion- Avian flu.

I came home and took a scalding hot shower. Not even that took away the chills that were now almost causing my entire body to seize. Although I knew my body was hungry, because I could hear the little cells desperately running around my stomach looking for some morsel of fuel, it became hard for me to even sip my glacial "razzmatazz" from Jamba Juice. I took my temperature and realized it was spiking to 102. I knew I needed to take action, so I made a decision in my mind that I would check into the ER to figure out how much time was left for me on this planet (I have no idea why people accuse me of being mellodramatic).

I decided to leave for the ER, but not before I put blush on my cheeks ( I pictured me lying there after they pronounced me dead and saying "even to look at her now- dead, she's really got that healthy summer glow going, how does she do it ??!!), and biosilk in my wet hair (although I did not have the stamina to blow dry my hair, I was not going to be buried with split ends). I also opted not to put back the medications and vitamins I had used that day back into the medicine cabinet just so the autopsy person would have an easy day, "oh she took tylenol AND gingko biloba.....its all coming together now, well today was an easy one. What am I going to do with all this extra time now?" Yep, I'll be a people pleaser to the end.

As I walked to the ER I began to wonder if I should call anyone. What if I seriously didn't make it? What if I was walking into my final resting place? My mom was fast asleep on the other side of the world in Japan, and my dad wouldn't say anything other than "are you sure you want to pay that deductible? its going to cost you an arm and a leg and you know- you DO have another kidney."

I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to be strong and go this alone. As if I wasn't already feeling alone enough, it seems Kaiser Permanente's system is set up to remind you of this fact over and over again. Upon checking in, the receptionist asks, "and ms. long what is your marital status." After seeing the nurse, "do you have an emergency contact we can call just in case?" and the best was the doctor, "who brought you here today?" me: "I brought myself," doc sensitive : "you came here ALONE?!" me: "yes"  Mc-sensitive: "hmmm...I see"

As my temperature climbed, my heart rate registered in at 111. Various people were prodding and poking at me and taking tests of all sorts. I laid there in that hospital gown (which btw sucks every last ounce of pride from you with its backless drawstring design) and tears began to well up in my eyes. I was scared. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I didn't know how much worse it was going to get, or I was going to feel. I didn't know how long I was going to be in there, and more importantly - I felt so very alone at that moment.

I listened to the families next to me comforting their loved one and telling them it would be alright. Through the curtains that divided us, I would see them giving their significant other a sip of water and generally looking at them with love and concern. I named one couple Egbert and Millie (because those were probably popular names during the time they were born, which judging by the looks of them was somewhere around the cretaceous period). I imagined how many nights Millie must have endured Egbert's barrage of snoring and constant rants about "back in my day Millie women knew their place was in the kitchen." But now it all paid off, for Egbert was feeding her some sort of apple sauce product and had a look in his eyes that said "if I lose her, I'm not quite sure what I'll do."

It was right then that I decided  "single" is not the box I want to be checking off on those sinister Kaiser permanente judgement forms for much longer. If only for those moments in your life when you don't know how much you have left, I want to have my own "Egbert" spoon feeding me applesauce when I'm knocking on death's door.

I watched some TV while they looked at my blood and tried to figure out what was wrong with me. I was watching entertainment tonight, but thought better of it and changed it to CNN. In case I checked out, I wanted the report to read, "she transitioned peacefully watching recaps of the G20 summitt in Pittsburgh vs. she died watching an exclusive interview with Jon from 'Jon and Kate Plus Eight." In the end, it was found I had a kidney infection. I was given some IV drugs and released within a few hours. I was sent home with some motrin, antibiotics, and a strengthened perspective of the important things in life.

Date Doctor is currently experiencing technical difficulties...Turns out Mr. Butterflies may be more than meets the eye

To Be Continued...

You must listen to this.....Really?

As I was plummeting through the forests of Mt. Fuji today, I realized zip-lining, is a lot like dating. With zip lining, you are always navigating foreign terrain in hopes of getting to a high enough point so that you can get all the butterflies that come with falling. As you try to get from one point to the next, ropes are constantly twisting and turning on you, challenging you to compensate with your entire repertoiry of strengths. If one muscle doesn't work- you try the next. It's a lot like dating. If one of your character strengths is not valued, you try out the next one and see if that works..."Hmmm..he doesn't seem to get my dry sense of humor, let's see if he's in to politics..

Maybe you lose your footing and slip and fall (rejection sucks blog). Maybe one minute you are flying high on the zipline of life and the next you are shot down, climbing up yet another slew of new and unpredictable obstacles. But if your goal is truly to get to the top, you just keep climbing.There are a variety of obstacles in your way before you are able to get that butterfly in the stomach feeling that comes from falling again. You must jump through hoops, cross over tight ropes, and climb ladders. This is no different from dating in that you are constantly trying to find the right one whom you can picture yourself staying in on a Saturday night for...

This adventure got me wondering today. Is dating just a means to an end, or should the journey be enjoyed as a whole? Personally, I don't enjoy dating. I don't like having to be on my best behavior, making sure every last hair is curled, or feeling nervous about how I'm being perceived. I like the comforts that a relationship provides. I like going for coffee last minute with someone I care about and not worrying about whether my mascara is smudged from the night before. So for me, dating is a means to an end. I am putting myself outside of my comfort zone, trying my best to brave new and unpredictable terrain out there in hopes that this will soon all be over and I will find the one that puts my life in HD/stereosound.

Yet, When I finished the zip-line course today, I wasn't disappointed, that I was once again grounded on my feet, down on the ground (much like I imagine I would be if I come out of this whole dating journey never meeting mr. right). I looked back at that course of ups and downs and felt proud of my accomplishment. Altough the free-falling of zip-lining was gratifying, it was the challenges that got me to that point, which made it all worthwhile.

Today was yet another reinforcer that, much like life, dating should be about the journey and not the destination.

I am writing this blog from the orient as I am visiting my brother and his family in Tokyo. I did not think I would be doing much blogging while here but after marinating in my cultural observations for the past few days, its simmered into a boil...

The Japanese culture is fascinating to me. They are very respectful, joyful, clean, and humble. Their city is immaculate and spectacular at the same time. It overshadows NYC's population of 8 million by 4 million more and lacks the distinct smell of urine in the streets. They treasure children and the innocence that youth holds. As I walk with my two year old nephew, they stop and say hello to him. They genuinely are entranced by his purity and tender nature.

Yet, there is something still amiss. I am a people watcher. Of this I am sure. I have become quite skilled in the art of watching people without them knowing they are being watched. Creepy, I know. In the days that I have spent here in Tokyo, I have exhaustively observed the women....or should I say girls? Now before Gloria Steinham pounces, I use the term "girls," because women in Japan purposely attempt to mimic the look of young girls. They dress in doll shoes with kitten heels and bows. They wear dresses and walk pigeon toed as a sign of submission toward males (after researching this, another theory is this behavior developed back when they had to walk this way to keep the kimonos from coming open as it would if you were to walk normally).

The culture is obsessed with all things "cute," or their term "Kawaii." It evolved out of the 70's and has been maintained since then. Women here tend to dress in a regressive fashion, donning victorian dresses in what has become known as "lolita fashion."

It seems astoundingly ironic that in a city known for its advancements towards all things futuristic, it also carries with it a subtextual cultural imperative which dictates women to regress. Furthermore, the cultural norm here is that it is acceptable for men to procure a mistress after their wives have children, as it is expected that the wife's new duty becomes primarily to the infant and only secondary to the man.

An interesting stat to point out is that Japan's divorce rate is nearly half of America's. What does this all point to? Does this mean that in order to maintain a successful marriage, women must once again "learn their place?" I was raised by a single mother who taught me to always have enough education and enough money that I would never have to stay in a bad situation. Yet, I wonder if all this independence is for naught. Is it possible to have too much independence?

So had date two with Mr. Butterflies last night at The Village Idiot. I was not sure if the date was even going to happen because since our first encounter, all I received were texts around 12 or 1 am in the morning saying cheeky little things like "woz happenin ma' lady" and so I went with my usual rule of "he's just not that into you." I put him in the box of "whatever you thought about the first date going really really well, he did not."

The problem was, I was not able to move on so easily. Like a salesman with little self-respect, I thought "maybe if I had just one more date with him..." I continued getting cryptic text messages from him, and so finally one night, I flat out responded "so are we going to hang out again, or are you going to leave a girl in suspense while she is in the far east?" (I am leaving for Japan in two days)...

Got a text later the next day (it takes him close to 4 hours to respond to texts btw) that said "yep wot time do you finish filming today? lets meet tonight :-) " He is a fan of the emoticon. Like a crack addict who just did a bump, a flurry of dopamine filled butterflies surged through my veins.

So fast forward to last night, when we met. After a few cup fuls of liquid courage, I told him about my confusion. I told him that his lack of calls expressed to me his lack of interest. He said " well why didn't you call me, then?"

Me: "Well I dont call guys. Guys call YOU if they are interested."

Mr. Butterflies: "thats bloody ridiculous, you have a phone just like a bloke does, wot kind of bleedin rule is tha?"

Me: "Well its the rules of course. Men are hunters, women are nurturers. Men like a chase, they don't like to be hunted."

Mr. Butterflies: "nah I don believe tha, you keep putttin rules on everyone, nah everyone are going ta follow those rules are they?"

Me: "its an evolutionary imperative, we are hardwired to follow these rules...men hunt, women keep them guessing, otherwise they dont feel like the prey is worth capturing,"

Mr. Butterflies: (staring at me by this point in disbelief..)

Me: "stop looking at me like that, think back to when you really liked a girl...you immediately called her the next day because you wanted to know what she was doing, what she was thinking, and more importantly- when you were going to see her again

Mr. Butterfiles: my last girlfriend of six years and I didnt talk for two weeks after our first date, and she was the one who called me, maybe I like to be chased

Now MB does have a point. We are all human. We all have the need for validation and narcissistic redemption (not to be confused with ego stroking, but a more psychologically healthy need we all share). Why hadn't I thought of this? How to walk the line between making the other person feel equally "hunted," and not stalked.

The second thought immediately cropped up- what if I had falsely applied this rule to a bevvy of other beaus that had come before this very honest bloke? How might life be different? Was it true that men needed to be the hunted some times too? Afterall these men I have been dating in LA are a different sub-species...they are among the neediest of validation, many of them actors all flocking here to catch the slight glimmer of a director's eye...

I am not sure that I will completely burn the "he's just not that into you," and "the rules" bibles just yet...but the conversation did get me thinking...are some rules made to be broken?