I’ve written a post or two about how I feel about dating in the past (See my post on why current dating practices suck by clicking here.) But I think you can tell that this new series aims to be a little less academic. Random poetry written late at night is often more expressive than a five-paragraph essay, in my opinion. And I’m glad you’re enjoying it, even if you don’t quite know what to make of it (and I don’t always, either).
I’m now one week out from that first date I wrote about in the last Dating Files post. In the aftermath, I called Mr. J back once about a day later, and he was gracious enough not to press for feedback or ask for date two quite yet. I think he could tell I was still stewing. However, he did call/text at least twice a day throughout this week, which was making me a bit antsy (stalker, much?).
Part of this, I understand, comes from our cultural differences. I am Anglo in heritage, primarily, and he is Hispanic. His tendencies, to me and my English courtesy-based-wait-at-least-18-hours-before-calling for-the-second-date-rule, seemed invasive. To him, they were complimentary and meant to express continued interest. He’s just now figuring out that he’d made me feel flighty and cornered, since I only just this afternoon called him back.
But to my feminine intuition’s credit, I was right to take some time and distance to consider the things I’d learned about him on our date and during our conversations before and after.
For starters, I was able to accurately relay to him this afternoon that I felt that our cultural differences, when combined with our age difference, were hard for me to overcome at this life stage. He is over thirty, and he spent most of his childhood and adolescence in Mexico. His knowledge and experience of modern American popular culture, dating culture, politics, language, and even technology all reflect this. Needless to say, it was hard to feel like we had more in common than an interest in salsa dancing and a shared love of Johnny Depp’s films (We went to go see “Alice in Wonderland” last week). It also forced me to stretch and focus really, really hard on my Spanish, which is rusty, to the point that his hour-long conversations gave me headaches from simply trying to keep up. He was having to stretch to understand my theological perspective (which, admittedly, is complicated, even when I discuss it in his own language), my aspirations for love (no, I’m not your typical postmodern female who will accept dating/shaking up for several years before even considering marriage), and even my references to rather common books and films (at least, in English).
I think you get the picture: I was struggling to keep up and struggling to drag him along with me, in every encounter. We just didn’t fit.
He accepted this graciously, remembering that I was young, and conceding that I was the first American girl he’d dated. And then he decided, while we were being honest with each other, to tell me that he was divorced, and that he had two children here in Indianapolis (ages 10 and 14) that he neglected to mention on our first date or in any of our eight phone discussions. Huh.
I know, realistically, that since I didn’t find my mate in college (or, because I was a depressive psycho in college while my dad was dying, I ruined those chances I might have had), I am now entering a wider and less-polished dating pool, full of minnows, sharks, and slimy eels who have various degrees of education, sexual experience, and relational expectations. I have even accepted that I might, like my mother, wind up marrying closer to age 30 than to 20, and marry a man with some baggage (my dad was previously married for a few years, with no children, before he had his divorce).
But a divorced expatriate with two children, an actively meddlesome ex-wife, no desire to pursue better English or education, and no plans to (re)marry any time soon? No, God, no.
So here’s my early evening poetry.
A Decent Man
“Dear, God,” I said, “I need a seasoned Jewish matchmaker double-quick
because I am tired of the finding/chasing/dating/dumping/hurting/waiting schtick.
The record shows that I clearly seem to stink at choosing my own mate,
and at $50 a month for aliterate (yes, a-literate) goonies, eHarmony isn’t so great.
My matchmaker friends are quickly running out of stock and luck,
so I’m begging here, God: please, please, just send me a guy who doesn’t suck.”
God smiled a Cheshire grin at me, then winked, and then he said,
“Dime con quién andas, y te diré quién eres, m’ija. Así encontraremos tus errores.”
And I answered, “I’ve been hanging with my friends, mis amigas–las mejores–
who accept who I am, but don’t reflect my values, or my belief in you,
but I would have thought these men who met me knew–”
And God raised a hand to interrupt me, smiling still, and sad.
He didn’t speak, but I understood. And, briefly, I was mad.
“Are you saying this is my fault? For chilling with my friends?
Drinking a little, dancing a lot– all these things are just trends,
things I enjoy innocently. Are you saying they give the wrong idea to men?”
He said, “Like in appearance attracts like in substance, child.
The players, the slicksters, they see only a girl being wild.
You can’t expect them to know that you want quiet,
solid character, and goodness when you’re standing in a riot.
Go where there is good work, and peace, and kindness, and then,
You’ll be surprised to be surrounded by so many decent men…”
Ah, good advice. Good advice. But then, that’s God talking, so don’t be surprised. That about wraps up this post. But before I go, I am going to up my flagging hit counts for the blog with a dash of Robert Pattinson news that’s all over the web this week. In light of Rob’s obvious humility, and Obama’s obvious hubris in the form of the recently-forced passage of a bill that conflagrates our Constiutional rights, I thought this news was pretty. damn. funny:
Robert Pattinson tops Obama in Time‘s list of influential people
Published 02 April 2010
Time Magazine has released the preliminary results of its poll on the 100 most influential people in America.
The final list, based on the votes of the American public, features several Hollywood actors at the top.
According to the preliminary findings of the poll, conducted by the American news magazine every year, the US public seem to find English actor Robert Pattinson, known for his role in the Twilight trilogy, and the US talk show host, Conan O’Brien, more influential than President Barack Obama.
The initial results were based on the first 5,000 votes counted.
The poll asks votes for leaders, artists, innovators and icons who they think merit spots on 2010′s list of the 100 most influential people in the world.
The poll has nominated 200 individuals and calls for votes before it finalises the list.

From Fablife.com's report of the TIME poll. I thought it was clever. See link below to their article. Hail to the---er, God save the---Oh, what the hell. America, let's just go back to being ruled by the British, so long as it's Rob on the throne.
There’s a more detailed article on the subject here, as well as this clever bit of Photoshoppage (above, which looks great except for the fact that Rob is equally as tall as Obama in real life. Tru fax!).
April 5, 2010 at 9:02 am
Yikes! What a nightmare-I’m glad you backed out before you got sucked in too deeply (considering the huuuuge amount of baggage the guy is carrying around).
Your assessment of how you attracted the fellows that have been pursuing you was very insightful. Such self-examinations can be painful, but they are worthwhile. I hope you will be adding happier entries to the dating files soon!!
April 6, 2010 at 8:31 pm
I’m sure I will. God can’t be that correcting all the time. He likes us to be happy.
Miss you, girl. By the way, I’m trying to take up running. Any advice for someone with a bad IT band on their knee?
April 7, 2010 at 9:23 am
stretch stretch stretch! My IT band used to bother me like crazy when I was in high school on the c.c. team. Kevin showed me a great stretch (allow me to attempt to describe it…);
Find a good wall on your right side and stand about 2 feet away. Put your left foot over your right foot. Crouch slightly, put out your right arm, and lean against the wall. You should feel a good stretch in your hip. If you don’t, crouch more. “But it’s my knee!” Yes, and that tendon runs all the way up and down your femur. It is stretching in your knee, it’s just harder to feel. Repeat on opposite side, and do it every time you run, no excuses, complaints, whining, or bargaining. It will help, promise!
April 8, 2010 at 8:01 pm
Thanks for the advice, girl! I will definitely try that. I knew the IT band HAD to be connected to my hip somehow, because when the IT aches, I sometimes feel it all the way up into my hip socket, too. Why does it have to be such a malfunctioning little stinker of a tendony-thing?
April 10, 2010 at 10:05 am
b/c it hates life. Or something.
April 6, 2010 at 9:40 am
What a great picture!!! And yes, that guy was a creeper; I’m glad you’re done with him.
And I’m glad you’ve had a good convo with God about your dude situation. If I’d have known that’s where we were supposed to look, I would have gone to some volunteer activities with you and made the transition a little easier. I don’t want the big guy to think it’s my fault that you were partying and drinking
I miss you terribly and am suffering from some severe homesickness. But I’ll post about it later. *kitty kisses* Love you!
April 6, 2010 at 8:32 pm
You should call me, lonely girl!
But I will enjoy reading your blog.
And even the good guys go drinking sometimes…It’s just that they usually have girlfriends by the time they go out partying. SIGH. Can’t win.
Love you! Whiskery kisses!
April 6, 2010 at 10:51 am
I had a similar culture-clash experience with a French guy. We went on two dates. Both times the conversation was horribly forced and too polite. The language barrier and culture gap was too much for us to have anything in common. All it did was leave us both feeling awkward. Oh well, there are more fish in the sea. Let us become fishers of men, lol!
April 6, 2010 at 8:34 pm
I’m glad I’m not the only one. I felt silly and shallow a little thinking, oh, geez, I studied Spanish. I can’t be racist because he’s hispanic! I even think he’s cute! But it really was the cultural barrier. And it was a big, big barrier, too.
I am going back out into the sea. We’ll see—maybe if I cast my net on the other side of the boat, Jesus will make sure I catch more fish….
Biblical allusions right back at ya, babe!
BTW, just had coffee with Marisa. She misses you badly. We both do.
April 8, 2010 at 10:55 pm
Wow, I couldn’t even think of marrying a divorcee, myself. It’s good to see you processing–that poem’s incredibly wise! I have no idea what it will or should end up looking like in practice, heh, but you’ve got a great perspective on things. Keep at it, darling.
May 2, 2010 at 10:59 pm
[...] Mr. J called—yes, that Hispanic guy I went on a date with in Dating File #2 that I reallly didn’t want to see again–and he KEPT calling, even after I texted him [...]