Chick On a Date

adventures in online and offline dating

Dating a DILF

Dating someone with young kids is tough. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with little kid stuff, and I’m not sure if I’m up to the job. I had my own daughters when I was very young (like really way too young), so they’ve been adults for quite a while now, and I’ve kind of forgotten how difficult dating can be when you have children to consider.

I’ve begun dating someone with two pre-teens, and it’s a challenge. For one, it is sometimes difficult to even find time to get together. When he has his kids (and he has his children a lot of the time), it’s understandable that he wants to spend that time with them. The problem comes in when he says he also wants to spend time with me. The two don’t exactly fit together at the moment. I mean, it’s going to be a long time before (and if) I even meet his kids, so it’s not like we can all just do something together. I want to be very sure about a situation like this before I meet any children. I mean, what if I totally love them and then he and I break up?  That would be devastating. What if they hate me and it ruins our relationship before it even really begins? I don’t take this kind of thing lightly, and neither does he. But even if we’re on the same page with this, how the hell do you make time for everyone concerned? We’re moving more slowly than I normally would because of this, but I like him enough to tough it out for a while and be patient.

Another thing that makes dating this guy…. let’s say interesting… is their mother constantly calling him. I’m not a jealous person usually, and they’ve been divorced for quite a long time, but it seems strange how every single time we are together she either calls or texts. He doesn’t answer these calls when he’s with me, and I give him props for that, but it makes me wonder if she could be a problem in the future. I don’t need any psycho baby mama drama in my life. We all know I am not equipped to deal with that shit.

I think it’s very cool what a good father this man seems to be, and I enjoy hearing him talk about his kids. I also like feeling all knowledgeable and stuff because my own daughters have already made it through to adulthood fairly unscathed (I love giving advice, whether wanted or not). I admire his honesty when he says he feels torn because he wants to see me more than once a week or so, which is sort of impossible during the weeks he has his kids–and no, I don’t think he should be getting a babysitter all the time–at least not at this point in our relationship.

So for now things are moving slowly, and although that’s mostly because of his children, it’s not necessarily a deal-breaker. I’m not thinking exclusivity, though, either, so we’ll see what happens on that front. I’d love to hear any tips on dating a man with young kids: what works, what doesn’t, and even if it’s worthwhile in the long run. In the meantime, I’m still going out with other people, because it’s early for us and, honestly, because I don’t know if I’m even ready for this kid thing. We’ll see.

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You Never Can Tell

What’s the old saying? “You can’t judge a book by its cover”? True, and you also can’t judge a man solely by his online dating profile.

I have a confession to make here: I’m sometimes kind of a bitch when it comes to this dating thing. If I don’t like your pictures, or if you strike me as boring, I’m probably not going to go out of my way to talk to you much. I mean, I’ve completely blown off a lot of guys…and I’ll bet some of those guys are pretty great in person. I just wasn’t bowled over by something about them that I saw online.

But here’s the thing. I was doing this to a guy recently, kind of just ignoring him. Somehow we gotten to the point where we had exchanged phone numbers and everything, but we hadn’t met in the flesh yet. That’s probably because I just wasn’t all that excited about him. His photos were okay, but nothing really exciting. His profile was decent, but nothing really stood out to me. So every time he asked to meet, I would either make up an excuse or really be busy doing something I didn’t want to change.

But then one day I said, “What the hell” and we hung out for a while. And guess what? I really liked him. I mean, he was way cuter and smarter and funnier than I would have ever guessed. He made me laugh, made me think, and boy, does that guy have gorgeous eyes. I didn’t get ANY of that by looking at him online.

So this guy has forgiven me for being a bitch at the start and we are going out again soon. I’m pretty happy about that, because I could have ruined this whole thing before it even began. Lesson learned: no more judging a book by its cover. I’ll at least read the first chapter from now on.

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Living Like I’m on Fire

Wanna know the best thing about dating? Yep, you guessed it: It’s meeting all those cool people. So I haven’t met The Man For Me yet; I HAVE met some amazing, interesting, fun, and fantastic guys. And I’ve realized that even when I’m sick and tired of going on first dates, ready to call it all off and just buy a bunch of cats and eat Mexican food every night, and dread the thought of meeting yet another creepy asshole, I can’t stop looking.

I’m looking because I know I’m better when I’m in a relationship. I know I’m more comfortable when I have someone to care for, to laugh with, to share my innermost secrets with. I realized a long time ago that I’m a snuggler. Sleeping alone drives me crazy; I’m always searching around, half-asleep, for the man I know is supposed to be sleeping over there on the other side of the bed. I love holding hands, kissing in the rain, getting a phone call in the middle of the day (that always cheers me up). I like eating with someone, traveling with someone, being excited to see someone at the end of a long day.

So I keep looking. I know, without a doubt, that I will find someone incredible to spend my life with. I’ve never doubted that. I may get frustrated because it’s taking so damn long for us to find each other, but I have always known that I will have someone holding my hand at the end of my life, someone to kiss me good night.

I know how to find him, I just don’t know when he’ll show up. I will keep going on those first dates (and seconds, and thirds…), and I will continue to talk to strangers and dance with friends of friends and take snowboarding lessons and join running clubs and take Italian classes. I will smile and keep an open mind and bitch about the losers and always be hopeful. I will live like I’m on fire, taking on too much that I don’t have time for and looking into the eyes of strangers to find that spark that will tell me we are supposed to be together.

Life is much too short to give up on love.








Down at the coffee shop,
Hoping you’ll come in,
Hoping you’ll sit down with me
So our new love can begin.

I don’t know who you are,
But I need a brand new start,
So come on to the coffee shop—
You’re welcome to my heart.

— Betty L. Killebrew

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What’s Cooking, Hot Stuff?

Last night I attended a cooking class, a Stir ( event. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a very good cook. I get impatient, I throw things into pots and pans willy nilly and just hope for the best, so I thought this would be a good way to actually learn a skill while I meet some cute guys and have a good time. Mission accomplished. Well, except for that cooking thing, because probably the only thing I came away from it with is how to make gnocchi. Oh, and I will never eat anything but homemade caramel again.

This was a FUN class. The scariest thing about it was that the cooking school is in this weird warehouse area of Minneapolis. The streets around the building were actually deserted at six p.m. on a Tuesday, and the place itself doesn’t have any real signage until you walk right up on it, so I wondered at first whether I was even in the right place. I wasn’t the only one who thought that, either, because as soon as I walked in, the first thing I heard were people going, “Thank goodness this is it. I wondered where the hell my GPS was taking me.” But anyway, it was the right place — a very cool warehouse-y type joint with big open garage doors (you can kinda see that in the photo) and an industrial type feel to it. There was some soft jazz playing (because, duh, isn’t there always soft jazz playing at places like this?) and as soon as I signed in I was given a couple wine tickets. So of course I made a beeline for the booze and poured myself a nice big glass before starting the weird middle-aged mating dance that these things really are at heart.

Guess who the first person I saw was? Yep, Mr. I’m Gonna Kick Your Ass from the last happy hour thing I went to. He complimented me on my dress and boots and then refused to leave my side. It was a little flattering but a little weird. He said, “Oh, I decided to come to this because when I saw you last week you mentioned you were going.” Uh huh. And THAT was your reason? Is he not aware I’m not into him?


I am nothing if not a social butterfly, so I just jumped right into the closest conversation happening around me and ended up sitting with a great woman around my age (yes, we exchanged numbers; how does that always happen?) and two single men. The ass kicker noticed, I’m sure, that I grabbed the last seat at a table so I wouldn’t get partnered up with him, but he sat right behind me so I still had to talk to him for about half of the three hours or so we were there. The guy sitting next to me was cute in a nerdy sort of shy way, and we hit it off pretty well. In fact, after the class he walked me to my car and asked me when I was available to go out. Success! But my poor new friend across the table ended up with a much older, bleary-eyed gent who managed to somehow look creepy while he was mixing up the flour, egg, and potato for the gnocchi. For some reason, my table put me in charge of forming the little gnocchi balls and pressing them down a little with a fork before we threw them in the pot. Apparently I look like a hell of a good forker. I do love a good fork, I have to say.

It was fun learning how to cook, hearing about starch molecules and why Rachael Ray is a condescending twat. So we cooked and ate and laughed and talked and the time flew by. Midway through the cooking instruction, we were told we could swap tables if we wanted to. My new friend and I immediately made eye contact, raised our eyebrows, and started scanning the room for a couple of hot men we could sit next to. We moved down to the other end of the room, leaving our partners with new ones. It wasn’t the nerdy shy guy we were escaping from, though; it was mostly the guy who looked like he was raping his dough.

So now we were set to make some risotto. I love risotto and, although I’ve never made it myself, I consider myself an expert in how it should taste. So I was pretty interested in this part. Unfortunately, however, I got sidetracked by talking to the new people at my table and didn’t really pay attention (I know, big surprise, huh?) and therefore never caught on to what the hell we were supposed to be doing. I just let some woman at the table do all of it while I clinked glasses with the men around me and talked about politics and music. I did give the chick who did all the work a big smile and a “Thanks, this is awesome” while I ate her creation; I’m not RUDE, damn it. (She did forget to add the parmesan, though, and I could have called her on that, but since she did all the actual cooking while I got my flirt on, I kept my mouth shut.)

Finally…dessert. Chocolate cake with caramel sauce. Bliss. Again, though, I didn’t really do the actual dumping in of the ingredients or the stirring or any of that, I just basically chatted and had a good time while the women around me worked. I would have hated me at this thing. Our table’s caramel sauce didn’t turn out so great, so I turned to the next table and ate some of theirs. Hey, they let me, so whatever. There were no rules saying I couldn’t eat from another table or anything. And it was delicious. Best part of the whole night, really. And I was also pretty tipsy at this point, since I had two very nice gentlemen with good intentions filling my wine glass all night.

How about the man thing, you ask? Well, that was good too. Again, I met two men I probably wouldn’t have given the time of day by looking at their profiles online, but talking to them and getting to know them a little in a real-life setting showed me how attractive they really are. So there are at least two dates that are going to come out of this, and a possibility for a couple more. And yeah, I got two women’s phone numbers as well…somehow I think I’m getting different stuff out of these things than I’m supposed to, but I have nothing against making new friends, no matter their sex.

I still can’t figure out how we get invited to these things, as about half of the people I spoke to last night have been invited to the next happy hour and half have not. I seem to be invited to everything. No idea why or what criteria Match uses to figure out who to invite. One of the women I met didn’t get an invite, but I can bring a couple guests, so I went ahead and added her so she can go to the next event too. See how this “chicks sticking together” thing works? I’m actually looking forward to the next event. I just hope the ass kicker guy won’t be as hard to shake next time.

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What’s the Deal With Pretty Boys?

ImageI’m pretty much like other women, I think, when I say I enjoy me some eye candy every now and then. What chick doesn’t like a good looking man hanging around? Although I like to think I don’t have a type, I often find myself attracted to tall, dark-haired, muscular men. I know, who isn’t, right? And if they have a beard or goatee….mmm.

But here’s the thing about really fantastically good looking men: Mother Nature must try to even stuff out in some ways, because a lot of these guys are just sorta dumb. No offense to handsome men out there, but what’s with so many of them just being outrageously stupid? And boring. And sometimes they’re even completely ridiculous.

Case in point: I recently went out with an extraordinarily handsome guy. I mean, this guy could be a middle-aged Abercrombie & Fitch model. I’m not even exaggerating. Piercing gray eyes, dark, curly hair, and 6 feet 3 inches of pure lusciousness. But as I walked over to where he was sitting, I realized he was dressed like a bro: sports logo t-shirt, baggy(ish) jeans, and shoes with no socks. (I hate the shoes with no socks look on men. Their feet and shoes have to smell like dead ass after a couple hours of that.) Not altogether a bad look, but definitely not first date material, especially when you’re 45. And especially at a fairly upscale restaurant, where everyone else is dressed in shirts WITH COLLARS and WEARING SOCKS.

But sometimes guys just don’t know how to dress themselves. Not a deal-breaker in itself, but what came next was.

“Ain’t you just a sight?” he asked, while remaining seated. I’m not a big etiquette person, but it seems rude not to get up and either shake hands with (if you’re One of Those) or hug (if you’re like me) a date upon first meeting. Am I right? So I just seated myself and awkwardly reached across the table to shake his non-extended hand.

It continued to get worse. He talked extensively about the Vikings this season, and then we moved on to his summer fishing stories. At one point I asked him if he had read some book or other (I thought of it because of what he was talking about) and he said, and I quote: “No, reading takes too long.” I. Am. Not. Kidding. He also informed me that he thinks Jersey Shore is “a hoot.”

Around this time I was starting to wonder why I’d agreed to meet this guy. I thought back to his profile. I thought it must have been okay. I mean, I was here on a date with this guy, wasn’t I? And, of course, he was beautiful. But how was everything spelled right in his profile? And why did he seem interesting, when in real life he wasn’t at all? Then it hit me: I remembered seeing some ad on the side of my own profile: “Want to get more visitors to your page? Have our experts write your profile…” Ah HAH, motherfucker. I am so on to you.

The rest of the evening was a blur of talk about The Dukes of Hazzard (his favorite show of all time, I kid you not) and how he fell off the back of a pickup truck a few weeks ago. At about the Dukes of Hazzard portion of the evening, I was slamming back drinks like there was no tomorrow. I don’t kid myself that I’m some great genius or an expert at scintillating conversation, but it really was unbearable. Worse yet was the earnest look on this guy’s face while he was talking.

At the end of this what-seemed-like-eight-hours-but-was-really-only-two evening, I made some weak excuse about having to get going as I had an early morning the next day, and he followed me out of the restaurant. He walked me to my car. He leaned over to kiss me… And even that was dumb. His lips felt like they were covered in slimy spit. Needless to say, I got the hell out of there as fast as my stumpy legs could carry me. I may have even burned rubber on my way out of the parking lot.

Bless his good-looking heart, I hope he finds a woman who finds him beautiful AND interesting. I’m just not that woman.

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