Ah, dear readers, I know you have been on tenterhooks all night waiting for news of my coffee date last evening. The good news is that he showed up, and is a very nice man and a pretty good conversationalist.The bad news is that the most exciting thing about the date is the writing of the blog. And this is the frustrating part about the whole dating thing....well, one of the frustrating parts......that someone can be perfectly nice, and have the qualities you are looking for and be attractive enough and be quite compatible on paper/computer screen.... but there is no magic. We old fogies call it "the spark". There was no spark. He actually seemed uneasy in my presence, as if I might suddenly and without provocation bite him on the face. The uneasiness appeared to worsen as the date progressed. I have no idea why. I am not a biter. And I was actually quite subdued (for me), and I think I even listened more than I talked. I didn't hear everything he said, though, because the voice in my head screaming "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!!!" was kind of loud.

In some ways yesterday's date was more disappointing than the encounter with poopyhead (still love the word).At least poopyhead gave me some drama, an intense reaction, a story to tell, a creative springboard. It was not Mr. No Spark's fault. He was courteous. Paid for my hot chocolate. Feigned interest in my life. Not a lot of interest but enough not to be a dick. To explain what I mean I will compare my date with Mr. No Spark to a recent date with Mr. "Occasional Smoker" who, in reality, is Mr. Chain Smoker. When I met with Mr. "Occasional Smoker" I realized immediately that he smoked a lot and that I would not , therefore,be dating him. So I relaxed. We had a very energetic conversation with lots of flirting, innuendo, genuine interest in each others experiences and laughter. It was fun. The fact that smoking is my biggest deal-breaker (besides being married or a Neo-Nazi) freed me up to just enjoy the time spent with an interesting and engaging person. Yesterday just fell flat. Like letting the air out of a balloon slowly instead of making it pop.

More and more, dear readers, I feel like packing this dating thing in. But then what would I write about in my blog??
Seriously ?!?

Wow.....I think my BFF Rhonda-Soo said it best tonight: "You always feel better after you barf". I do feel better. So much better. Just to be clear, we are not talking about actual barfing. It was crazy scary to go down the rabbit hole to my deepest darkest most neurotic vulnerabilities and "BLAHHHHHHH" just kind of barf it out there. But now I don't feel bad anymore. I'm still incredulous and confused by what it all meant but, hey, I'll never know what the hell that was all about. I just know it wasn't about me. And now that the toxic sludge has been expelled from my being I am totally over what that poopyhead pulled. More importantly, I started to write.....finally. Who imagined that such an amazing gift could come from such a poopyhead? As you can tell, I have re-discovered the word "poopyhead" and am enjoying it very, very much.

Last evening I went to a family birthday party. My sister approached me immediately having read, not my blog, but all the Facebook fallout around it. I started to remember who is on my FB friends list and the enormity of what I'd done started to dawn on me. It was out there and there was no taking it back. At work today it kind of freaked me out how many of my co-workers had read my deep dark neurotic fears and I started to be apprehensive about how the dynamics might change. But just as I started down that paranoid road I realized that I had touched people. Made them sad. Made them angry. Made them laugh wryly. And most importantly, shared a very personal part of myself with them. So ironic coming from the Queen of TMI but somehow this is different than the run of the mill vagina talk at the lunch table. Connecting at a subterranean level and feeling a depth of support that I hadn't imagined was there was just so comforting. Like a soft blanket straight out of the dryer.

So what is next? I have another "coffee date" planned for Wednesday that had been arranged before poopyhead even came on the scene. So now I will be meeting another soul who is also taking a chance that all that stuff written in the profile is a pile of crap. And this is what it comes down to........a leap of faith. I have so many of these dating stories (poopyhead is just the very tip of that iceberg) that it would not be unreasonable to conclude that the Universe just wants me to stop this foolishness and get myself some more cats. There is a Pollyanna in me, however, that just believes.I keep on believing even when I don't believe, if you know what I mean. I just have to.

So here is the backstory to the coffee date that will take place on Wednesday--assuming everyone shows up, of course. I have been on a number of dating sites, one of which is Dharmamatch--which is supposed to be more for the spiritually inclined types. I get very little communication from Dharmamatch and usually just delete anything from there that ends up on my phone. A couple of weeks ago I got a match.com wink from someone with the screen moniker of "Strongsoul....blah, blah..." I noticed the name at the time though I didn't respond. Then I got an email from Dharmamatch which I looked at, discarded but then noticed that there was another email there from LAST JUNE that I hadn't seen or opened. It was from, you guessed it, Strongsoul....blah, blah.....it was the same guy! I recognized the picture.It was a lovely email. And nothing gets my attention like synchronicity. So we connected and decided to meet for coffee.....this coming Wednesday. Stay tuned!
Seriously?!?

Do you, like me, often say to yourself "Seriously?!?"? Several times a day, it seems, I am astounded by the crazy shit that comes my way. You would think that as a hospital social worker I would no longer be taken aback by the vicissitudes of  human behaviour. After all, I've spent over 30 years working with people at the very times when they are at their worst. What could possibly shock me? And yet, I am still floored. A lot.

So yesterday I had one of these Seriously?!? moments. A big one. Big enough to be the impetus for starting a blog. For years I've contemplated writing about my experiences in the dating world--particularly the online dating world. But...... I lack discipline. I lack stick-to-it-iveness. So I never did it. And I've never really seen the point of blogging. It seemed kind of self-indulgent and narcissistic to me. I'm not really sure what changed my mind but my mind is changed. I want to give it a try. 

Here's what happened: a guy on match.com wrote me an email in response to a wink I sent him.His profile described how he wished only for a woman who is "compassionate, kind, and deep". He described me in his email as a "woman of substance"--a quality he apparently gleaned from my profile. He gave me his cell phone number and invited me to call or text him. I texted him and he immediately called me. I don't like a bunch of communication before actually meeting in person; I have learned from experience that it never ends well. So I suggested we meet over a beverage and see what was what. We decided to meet at a Timothy's at 6pm. I arrived a little early and got a hot chocolate and texted him at 6:03 that I had arrived. In the 20 minutes that followed, I was sure I saw him approach the Timothy's but the person I saw kept on walking. At about 6:20 I received the following text:

"Hi Joni. My apologies. I do not believe I have done this before but it is not right to represent yourself falsely. I am not a bad person and I only wish you the best in your search."

I texted back that I didn't know what he was talking about and that he at least owed me an explanation. None was forthcoming. So what could he possibly see through a Timothy's window that would convince him that he had not been told the truth about me? There are two pictures of me posted on my match.com profile.

This is the most recent, dated August 3, 2013

The only thing I can think of that might be seen as "false representation" is my answer to the question about "Body Type". The choices: Slender, Athletic and Toned, Curvy, About Average, A Few Extra Pounds, Big and Beautiful, Stocky, Heavyset. Seriously?!? All of these descriptors are way open to interpretation. So I picked "Curvy". Am I guilty of false advertising? I have met two other men using this profile and neither of them accused me of lying about myself. And really, if you are reading this you know me at least a little bit, do I hide anything about myself? The usual accusation is that I am too open, too honest, and that I overshare.

The worst part of this experience is the accusation that I misled this poor schmuck somehow. But something lurks underneath this righteous indignation. An ugly, shameful feeling that has haunted my whole life. The belief that I am not only not good enough but I am so repulsive, so deficient, so undesirable that I am unworthy of love. This is the standard package for a Jewish child of Holocaust Survivors and it is a legacy that I have struggled with since birth. Maybe before birth. Divorce only serves to reinforce this belief. Lack of a partner who loves me doesn't help either.

I had heard of prospective dates not showing up after seeing the person they were supposed to meet but this has never actually happened to me before. What is my takeaway message? The Jewish Child of Holocaust Survivors me pipes up enthusiastically, "What did you think? That you are attractive enough for someone to actually sit in your company long enough to share a hot beverage? Haven't you been paying attention?". Of course, JCHS is not the only character seated at the table of my psyche. There is Hippie Joni who, steeped in New Age wisdom, realizes that this is just more grist for the mill....just a test of the high level of self-esteem I have developed through much therapy, many workshops, huge life changes and a determination to transform the legacy. Hippie Joni is usually the strongest voice at the table. But when something like this happens it's like a trap door opens beneath my feet and I free fall into a very dark cold place of feeling unloved and unlovable--destined to be alone forever.

Yeah, so this was kind of a bummer. 

Seriously?!?