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SWF writer seeking man to provide me with valuable organizational tips to live my life exactly as he identifies it. Prefers to turn down numerous invitations from girlfriends to attend hip parties, gallery openings and spa weekends and instead watch hours of ESPN and channel surf with that special Average Joe. No long-term relationship necessary, just someone who will fit me in to his schedule when he feels the urge.
Although marriage can be highly overrated, dating is a big deal.
Meet my friend Clare*, a beautiful, 38-year-old doctor who’s been married, divorced and recently turned dating into a second career. She wants children of her own and feels the clock ticking away. I’ve warned her about the years of dark, baby-induced circles under her eyes and the privacy she’ll be giving up.
“You will not be able to pee alone for the next 10 years,” I implore. “Every time you close the bathroom door, a 3-foot chub will open it and insist that you examine the daddy long-legs he has smashed between his fingers.”
When that didn’t produce a look of doubt, I went for the jugular.
“Your gorgeous body that you’ve toned for two hours a day, seven days a week in spinning classes will go to hell faster than you can say Bert and Ernie. And,” I turned the knife, “you’ll have an unattractive right lean from schlepping enormous, over-the-shoulder survival bags stuffed with toys, binkies and several changes of clothes, since the child will constantly test your hygienic sensibilities by oozing nasty substances from every orifice that, up until this point, you were unaware the body was capable of manufacturing.”
She smiled, undeterred. “I want children, and I need a man.”
Clare is seeking much more than a mere sperm donor. Having grown up in an upper-middle class family in California with a handsome, witty, doctor dad; intelligent, gorgeous mother; and successful siblings (think The Cosby Show‘s Huxtable family), she has a keen sense of qualifications for the future Mr. Clare: culturally educated and experienced with similar socio-economic histories.
Clare is financially comfortable herself and well respected in her field. Energetic, bordering on restless, warm with a big laugh, she’s adored by all of her friends — including me.
For the past two years that she’s been pursuing Mr. Right, she has employed the services of Match.com, It’s Just Lunch and Single To Mingle, among others. Most of her colleagues at the clinic where she works are privy to her dating escapades. They’re rooting for her.
But, so far, it’s been a bust. Back to Clare later.
Too many crocodile G-strings
Joining the shopping spree is my perennial bachelor friend I’ll call Mr. Pan*. As in Peter.
Mr. Pan is looking for Wendy. Anywhere. Everywhere. He’s 40, good looking in a Marlboro-Man-meets-Frasier-Crane way; charming, witty, educated; and enjoys the financial success from owning his own general contracting firm. He beds a lot of women and tells me he’s “schooled in Tantric sex.” I believe him. He’s articulate and verbally seductive, as all good lovers are. Verbal seduction is the surest path to actual seduction. Despite his Kama Sutra methods, he complains that he ends up with the kind of women who make him wear crocodile G-strings.
“When you get an erection, the crocodile mouth opens.” he states too matter-of-factly. Even though we’re friends, I think this qualifies as over-sharing.
He’s not sure why he attracts the wrong women.
“What I really want,” he confesses in a conspiratorial whisper, “is a sweet woman to take care of me, preferably younger. Oh, and to share life with, of course.”
Too late. I interpret this to mean “anticipate and meet my every need.”
Mr. Pan has run several personal ads in local Cincinnati publications as well as Match.com, chat rooms and personal ads on the Internet. More recently he’s joined some “social clubs” and even sees his weekly yoga class as a potential dating pool. No one, as of yet, has applied for the job of Mother Wendy.
“I’m doomed to the dating equivalent of Groundhog Day,” he sighs.
I nod in agreement. “Your future is in your right hand.”
He’s not sure what I mean.
Why is it so hard to meet decent guys?
And then there’s my gal pal Anne*. Divorced for six years, she’s a 45-year-old working mother of four beautiful, well-behaved and smart children, ages 11 through 16.
Devoted, converted Jew, civically engaged, politically conservative, attractive, opinionated, glib and hilarious, Anne is resolutely “in the husband market,” searching through organizations such as Match.com and Single To Mingle as well as the trampled hunting grounds of the neighborhood tavern. She isn’t lacking for a social life — hers is rich with friends, faith, community, civic activism and family.
Not one shy chromosome exists in her DNA make-up. She’s fearless when it comes to pursuing men. If she meets someone she remotely likes, she asks him out or manages to confuse him into asking her out. The dating banquet has been feast or famine — with some pretty long dry spells.
“I measure the lean periods by how many packages of batteries I use,” she quips. I told you she was funny.
Her criteria are specific as well. She’s seeking investment opportunity — no one who earns less than she does and someone to provide her with a secure financial future are the top requirements. Smart, funny and sexually stimulating follow. And, naturally, someone who’ll embrace four children.
“The ratio of men to women is totally imbalanced,” she wails. “Why is it so hard to meet decent guys?”
Why indeed?
Irresponsibility and dishonesty on the Internet
“We’ve become a disconnected society,” claims Peter Block, a consultant who works worldwide to engage communities and organizations through conversation. “The front porch has moved to the back of the house.”
“Well, we are trying to connect in a disconnected way,” Clare says. “We outsource everything these days. We don’t do our own laundry. We hire someone to clean our house, walk our dog, plan our vacations and help us find dates.”
And women have changed, she continues. “We’re postponing marriage later for careers. Suddenly we’re in our 30s, ready to settle down, and the choices are fewer. We chose careers over relationship, and now what do we do?”
My friend Douglas Pentz, a psychologist in his early 50s (“Could you highlight some of my positive attributes?” he asks, as if this article is one big personal ad), adds a behavioral element to the societal argument.
“Careers are less secure, and thus we work harder and longer hours in an ever-increasing competitive work environment,” he says. “We arrive home tired and stressed, insulating ourselves behind the anonymity of technology — television and computers. It’s passive interaction that creates habits of disconnection.”
He knows first-hand. He over-medicated himself with television for years.
Is courtship being undermined by technology? In the movie Sleeper, Woody Allen depicted a nightmare future where human courtship was reduced to a spin in the Orgasmatron.
With more than 60 percent of households hooked up to the Internet, love and romance were bound to become a part of cyberspace. Computers dispatch romantic greeting cards and valentines with the same emotion as they send Viagra offers. Internet dating services are a billion-dollar industry.
“It’s a numbers game,” says Anne, who’s used Match.com, “a huge dating bank of people with similar interests. It’s convenient, cost-effective and fits into my schedule.”
How’s it going?
“I’ve met some great guys, just no one who fits my goals,” she replies only slightly deflated. “I’m still open to the medium.”
Clare emits a big hearty laugh followed by a whoop, then an “Oh my God, where do I begin?” when asked about Internet dates. Still laughing, she says, “Really, I’m discovering that the kind of men that sign up for these services, I’m not interested in.”
Mr. Pan has been on “about 30” dates in the past eight years (by my calculation, it’s closer to 75 dates) with women he’s met on the Internet. Not one has yielded a relationship beyond two months.
“There’s a lot of irresponsibility and dishonesty on the Internet,” he contends. “I’m amazed at how many women I’ve met who paint a different picture other than who they actually are. Perhaps it’s who they wish to be.”
Apparently, this insight hasn’t kept Mr. Pan from logging on every night.
“I love the Internet,” says Megan*, a 22-year-old senior at the University of Cincinnati. “I’m not interested in college guys — they don’t have any money to spend — so the Internet is the perfect place to meet someone a little older who’s already established. Oh gosh, does that sound shallow?”
Well, she’s certainly not painting a different picture. I think I can hook her up with the ever-searching Mr. Pan.
“Do you possess a strong need to nurture?” I ask her.
Our culture lavishes attention on young singles, as an evening of television will indicate. So where are the twentysomethings in Cincinnati?
According to my Starbucks barista, 23-year-old Merlin*, most of them are “wary of venturing out of familiar territory” and continue to “hang with the same gang.” His quest for “something more” doesn’t understand their immobility. He’s moving out of Cincinnati and hopefully into more “adventurous” waters in the spring.
At a recent Do You Flirt “Dinner in the Dark” — a social events organization new to the scene — I talked with three college co-eds who only slightly disagree. “It’s mostly guys who play it safe with the same crowd,” one says. “Girls tend to be more social and mobile.”
In my research, I find young, single adults connecting in traditional meeting grounds like night clubs and Cincinnati’s vibrant arts scene. They’re the least likely to use the dating services because, generally, the services are expensive.
The exception is the less expensive Internet, where the twenty-ish crowd thrives on sites like Friendster.com that promote networking, community and dating — with profiles, of course.
It’s taken Mr. Pan only several years and “7,642 hits” on his numerous profiles to grow weary of Internet dating. He calls me one evening to proclaim, “I finally dropped the Internet connections. There was a creepy and, well, sad element I never considered.”
As a friend, I assure Mr. Pan I’ve never heard this, really, and that perhaps the crocodile G-strings were the sad element.
“Sitting alone at night in front of a 17-inch screen trying to desperately connect,” he sighs. “It wasn’t working. I’m still trying to connect, but I’ve gotten out of the house.”
How’s it going?
“Well, I haven’t found her yet, but I am having a lot more fun networking.”
Maybe I’m being too picky
“Here I was, suddenly divorced with two young children, new to the Cincinnati area with a small circle of friends who were all married,” says Pam Black, president of Single To Mingle, a networking organization for singles age 30-55 that she began in July.
“I felt as though I were starting over, ugh, single again, what do I do?” she says after I’d attended several of her events, intrigued by the concept. “It seemed obvious — get out and mingle, which is how the name was born.”
Single To Mingle arranges dinner parties for six to 10 members (equally split between genders) based on members’ similar interests and backgrounds. After registering online and completing a short profile, members sign up to attend Single To Mingle dinner parties at partnering restaurants such as Bella, Brio Tuscan Grille, Chateau Pomije, Pane e Vino and Tink’s Café. Members choose the best evenings that fit their schedule and agree to pay a $45 arrangement fee.
Single To Mingle’s “analytical program” develops the “ideal” match of dinner party guests based on gender, age and interests. In addition to the $45 (per dinner) arrangement fee, members are responsible for their food and drink. Participating restaurants automatically provide separate checks.
Black is quick to note that Single To Mingle is “not a dating service.”
“We help single adults meet new people for many kinds of positive relationships — professional, personal, special interests and, yes, maybe romantic,” she says. “But that’s not our exclusive focus.”
Despite Black’s efforts at a larger “networking” focus, 90 percent of the people I interview — including my three friends profiled for this article — have attended Single To Mingle events with hopes of “hooking up.” Romantically, not professionally.
“I think the Single To Mingle concept is excellent,” says Barbara*, a law clerk. “Unfortunately, the selection of men out there isn’t as good as the selection of women. I liked all of the women at the dinner I attended but wasn’t particularly impressed with the men. Maybe I’m being too picky.”
David*, a thirtysomething medical technician, describes his experience: “I saw the hope and desire. Not knowing a lot of eligible people, you come into that situation with a certain expectation. After all, that’s what they (single clubs) basically promise or hint at. I wouldn’t have minded if lightening struck, but there was only one interesting person in that group of people, and everyone ends up on a separate agenda when the evening is over.”
Theresa*, a 40-ish attractive and outgoing professional, says the name Single To Mingle implies “searching for a soul mate. I’m not sure I very often hear the term ‘single’ (in reference to a person) in any other context. I was disappointed in the men overall, but I also may be expecting too much.”
I ask Black if she thinks the name conflicts with her broader mission.
“I think some of these people are too focused on meeting quality partners, rather than quality people,” she says.
Black has responded to such feedback by adding Girls Night Out (one of which I attend and meet some great gals), wine tastings and “Mix ‘n Mingle” happy hours that benefit charities.
More than 120 singles attend a recent happy hour on a Monday evening in a downtown restaurant. Despite the declared pickiness and disappointment, our relationship immune system appears to be tenacious.
Just doing laundry and hanging out
Earlier this year, my editor tells me about a group called Food Chain Cincinnati. I give Mr. Pan a call to see if he’s heard about it, since he’s recently emerged from the insulation of his cocoon into a social butterfly.
“No pressure, no undertone of ‘hunger,’ ” he reports. “Mostly singles, a few couples, more ethnic diversity. I relax and open up more with this group and have even had a couple of dates.”
Well, how’s it going?
“Still looking,” he groans, although I detect a note of humor now. “Maybe I like the hunger.”
Hmmm. He’s sure turned into the self-reflective one.
Food Chain Cincinnati was born out of a desire from founder Shauna McKenzie “to have people connect across ethnicity, religion and gender through sharing a meal and building an extraordinary experience together. I wanted to simultaneously encourage intimate connection and support of local ethnic-owned restaurants.”
McKenzie, a 30-year-old photographer, says her goal is “to create cross-cultural relationships and build intimate connectedness” around Greater Cincinnati.
“The response has been overwhelming.” she proudly says.
With more than 450 people in Food Chain’s database and growing, the monthly arranged dinners have increased to twice monthly and now include brunches.
Participants sign up for dinners listed on the Web site (foodchaincincinnati.com) according to dates that work best for you. You receive a confirmation call or e-mail from a group facilitator before your selected dinner date with name of restaurant, number of people attending, directions and estimated cost guide (there are no fees to belong to Food Chain Cincinnati, just the cost of your dinner).
“We live in the country with few neighbors,” say Amber and Brian Fulmer, a young double-income-no-children couple I meet at a Food Chain Cincinnati dinner at Beluga. “There aren’t a lot of options for us to meet new people other than organizations like this. It’s nice because it welcomes all people, single or married.”
I’m curious, though, if singles are using Food Chain as a shopping mart. I pose the question to McKenzie.
“We do get about 70 percent singles, more women than men, attending Food Chain dinners,” she says. “I won’t say the hope doesn’t exist for some, but I sense that most people attend to widen their circle, share ideas and perhaps experience a new restaurant.”
Bob — or “Available Bob” as he requests to be called — is single, 40-ish, working in high-end retail and has attended both Single To Mingle and Food Chain Cincinnati dinners and echoes McKenzie’s statement.
“Ten people getting to know each other while eating great food, no social pressure, no audition,” he says. “I plan on attending regularly just for the reason of connecting, but I’m still going to Single To Mingle as well.
“By the way, keep me in mind for the droves of women you meet,” he appeals to me. “Attractive, in shape, exercises regularly. Someone to share life with, just doing laundry and hanging out. She should have good friends and a family she gets along with. I want to know them.”
Naturally, I wonder what his salary is and if he includes children in that family equation. Four of them to be exact. I know a nice Jewish girl….
We’re already complete
I check back in with my three friends.
“I don’t know why this is so hard,” Clare moans. “I’ve yet to find anyone interesting enough from a culturally similar background. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking in such a land-locked portion of the country.”
Mr. Pan doesn’t seem currently to be feeling the burn of dating hell.
“I’m trying not to ‘shop’ anymore,” he says, “but rather open myself up to possibility.”
I should have seen this coming, but I still ask if he’s on drugs or religion.
Anne e-mails me: “Addendum to my ‘dating,’ I’m completely frustrated with the general male population’s complete lack of interest in me, and I’m giving up.”
I’m predicting two packages of batteries, tops. She’ll be back.
A devoted Seinfeld fan, I consider how brilliantly the show satirized relationships. Sponge-Worthy, Crazy Laugh and Big-Hands all were exaggerated examples of our laundry lists of neurosis when it comes to our need for connection — and our fear of it.
As these stories stack up, I keep wondering: Why is it so hard? Does it have to be?
With all of the efficient, time-saving ways to connect — through the Internet, the dating services and networking organizations — why aren’t we connecting? Has the solution become part of the problem? Is it too contrived?
Don’t our checklists, must-haves, must-wants and must-bes help raise awareness of what works for us, thus ensuring a healthier union?
I contact Dr. Doug, the psychologist (“Please write ‘sexy and handsome too,’ ” he says; even the good doctor isn’t immune) to get to the heart of the matter. Can we take the least scientific enterprise there is — intimate connection between two people — and try to make it scientific?
“It makes it cartoonish,” he says adamantly. “To draw a list of ‘musts’ or to list personal characteristics like we’re shopping for a house when you’re talking about two people connecting is ludicrous. You connect with others in a deep and internal way that you can never predict, no matter how many preferences you list.”
He’s just warming up.
“A shopping list of characteristics is a projection — not so much looking for a mirror image as looking for a mirror image of what we want ourselves to be. Like the ‘you complete me’ tag line from that movie (Jerry Maguire). We’re looking to complete ourselves. We don’t need to. We’re already complete.”
He’s flowing.
“There was fascinating research done on identical twins, where they were followed from birth to marriage. Twins who grew up together in the same household as well as twins separated at birth. Some of the most compelling data came from the ones separated at birth. All of their lifestyle interests — hobbies, favorite colors, food and music preferences, the way they dressed, choice of careers, etc. — were nearly identical. The one area that was across the board radically different was the love partners each twin chose. No two were similar.”
He is lava.
“I think the same is true for all of us. Passionate love, intimate connection is the most mysterious thing in the universe. We don’t know what love is, or should be, until we find it.”
Perhaps Pam Black, Shauna McKenzie and Mr. Pan have it right: We simply need to remain open to meeting good people and must surrender our checklists of rights and wrongs. Perhaps ordering up a mate like fast food can create problems. In a society filled with need-it-now appetites, instant gratification often tramples the slow process of falling in love.
SWF writer seeking, well, not actually seeking, rather creating an open atmosphere of possibility for just about anything or anyone with nice teeth. But absolutely no Low-Talkers, Big Hands, Crazy Laughs or men who wear puffy shirts.
This article appears in Jan 7-13, 2004.