Tag Archives: men

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On Open Relationships and Monogamy

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1950s TWO WOMEN KISSING SINGLE MAN ON OPPOSITE CHEEKS HIS FACE COVERED WITH LIPSTICK MARKS2015 is proving to be a year of firsts for me. A good chunk of these experiences have been conscious, deliberate choices, to step out of my comfort zone, put myself in possibly uncomfortable situations and see if I can wiggle my way either comfortably into them or out of them. One of the more recent decisions I had made was to go out with someone in an open relationship. That sounds ambiguous. To be clear, the man I chose to go out on a date with had very specifically indicated on his profile that he was presently in an open relationship. I scoffed as I looked at the status, the same way I do when I read profiles with grammatical/spelling errors. So what possessed me to agree to head out and have a meal with someone who already kinda sorta belongs to someone else in a no strings attached relationship? I don’t even know what the fuck an open relationship is. Can it really be called a relationship if you’re allowed to see other people? There is a largely conservative part of me that finds this whole idea tainting the sanctity of a relationship between two people.

People struggle with commitment, I get it. But I’ve always been a strong advocate for monogamy. I have so much love to give but I’d like to smother one person at a time with love and affection. So, what does it mean to date someone in an open relationship? In a nutshell and thus far, you’re a time-filler, or at least it feels a lot like it. Do I mind it? I’m not sure yet. But I will tell you that it feels extremely odd sitting in a movie theatre with someone who holds your hand tightly like you’re the only person that matters; however, you know this person is not quite yours. He is yours, for that day but he belongs to someone else on another day. Or perhaps he belongs to no one at all. People create the relationship that works for them. Sharing has never been my strong suit. I always tell people there are two things in life I never share – my cake and my lovers. So why would I intentionally walk down this misty road?

I’m going to narrow my decision down to curiosity. Since our paths crossed, I have had burning questions on how such an arrangement, such a partnership works. And turns out, it’s not all that complicated. Thanks to the Internet, I have learnt that there have been a number of theories on people and monogamy.

‘Just because you have chosen to be a vegetarian, doesn’t mean that bacon stops smelling good.’ – Christopher Ryan

Christopher Ryan, a PhD of psychology and co-author of the book Sex at Dawn argues that “human sexuality has essentially evolved, until agriculture, as a way of maintaining and establishing the complex social networks that our ancestors were very good at.” He is also quick to note he is saying ancestors were promiscuous, but is not saying they were having sex with strangers, because, “There were no strangers.” Essentially according to him, we are sexual omnivores and that we all have closets we have to come out of.

He believes that monogamy is not hardwired in either gender. In fact, he says that sexual exclusivity came to be much later, with monogamy in many societies becoming the ideal way to raising a family. This, according to him was especially reinforced in the prudish/ highly conservative Victorian era. Ryan notes that while monogamy has now become the correct and proper way of life in many societies today where women and men are conditioned to believe that being faithful is the natural way, when in fact, our primal urges are simply to be promiscuous.

Deepak Chopra has said as well that it all boils down to ‘social revolution’ – born from the family structure and subsequent need for stability and security with a partner. The issue however is that these values tend to contradict basic human needs: for thrill, variety and on a primal level – to just get it on.

According to the National Science Foundation, only 3 to 5% of mammals are monogamous. Studies have found that sexual monogamy also relies on hormones and receptors that the brain releases. Humans’ receptors vary from person-to-person resulting in some people leaning more towards polyamory than others.

Perhaps, I’m not evolved enough, and trapped by my own inhibitions and conservatism. Or maybe I’m just too damn selfish to share the person I love with someone else. But Ryan is right. Bacon doesn’t stop smelling good. But since I have made the personal decision to be vegetarian, I will always choose brussel sprouts over bacon.

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“I like the way you say Raspberries”

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The internet dating pool is a playground. You meet all sorts of people. Typically, they’re engineers, bankers, accountants, pilots but every now and then, you speak to someone whose professional choice gets your full and undivided attention. “I’m sorry, but did you just say you’re a mathematician?” Sploosh. “A Human Rights specialist for the United Nations?” *fans self* or most recently, “You’re a chef? You mean a real one?”

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Now if you know me well enough, you’d know that I have a massive weakness for food, nay, a deep and dark love affair with food. I’ve gone out with people who have actually mentioned things like “wow, you really like to eat, don’t you?” or “You talk a lot about food!” Why yes, I do, thank you very much. So imagine my absolute delight when I found out that I was talking to a chef. When you put two people who love food together at a table, some kind of magic happens. Immediately, you are given free rein to go into explicit detail about the creme bulee you once had at a tiny little French restaurant that still haunts you to date. Suddenly, you no longer sound bat shit crazy when you passionately talk about your lobbying for the ban of Vanilla essence and Matcha-based desserts. And just like that, everything’s on the table for discussion.

There are things people don’t tell you about dating a chef. They’re intense, wildly intense. It’s almost a little intimidating. They’re also constantly working – The kitchen is their mother, wife and mistress. They make this crystal clear, from the very beginning so if you date a chef, you find creative ways to fit into the crevices of their busy lives..

When I first started chatting with Mr Chef, I didn’t know what he did for a living. We had a heated discussion on what is the definitive American dessert – Pecan Pie or Carrot Cake. To which I said, I’m not a fan of neither but I can make a delicious pie and cake. He said he could too. But because I’m an arrogant asshole, I said “I’m sure you could but mine probably tastes better.” Of course, once I found out that he was a chef, I pretty much swallowed my words whole and felt a little embarrassed. “If I had known you were a chef, I wouldn’t have made that douchey comment about being a better baker,” I texted, sheepishly. To which he replied with much class, “I’m sure you’re still the better baker.” Sploosh.

I met Mr Chef for dinner a week later. We had been exchanging messages all week on discussion topics ranging from food (big fuckin’ surprise!) to films and Mr Chef’s life in the Big Apple before coming here. It’s very rare that I would agree to a dinner on a first date – feels like too much of a commitment, having to sit through an entire meal with a stranger. What if you’ve realised you’re having a terrible time by the time you’re done with your appetiser. You can’t just feign an emergency and run away. It’s 2015 – People know all the tricks there are in the books! So my strategy is just to go for a drink and see where the evening takes us. However, it seemed only right that two foodies (one professional, one amateur) should bond over a meal. Indian, it was – my choice, of course. I was 5 minutes late, something that always leaves me unnerved on a date. I like being early. Alas, traffic fucked me over. He politely waited outside the restaurant. I gave him a peck on the cheek and led him to what could quite possibly be the best Indian meal of his life. Unlikely. But I enjoy dishing out the hyperboles.

Statistically, it takes 1200 seconds, that’s 20 minutes, to decide if there is chemistry between two people. I might have over-generalised this statement but it is true to me. It takes me all in all 20 minutes to decide if there is a spark. I mean sure, we could all argue that chemistry can be built over time. The question here is, could this time be spent doing something else worthier?

Mr Chef was quick to inform me from the very beginning of the evening: “I just want to say that this is my resting face. It looks like I’m always annoyed or bored but I assure you that it has nothing to do with how I actually feel.” What an unfortunate resting face. I chortled, and we proceeded to commence selecting our food – He sank at ease into his seat and told me he trusted me to make the right selections off the menu. As we perused the menu, I wondered at what point was I going to feel this said chemistry, if at all. I looked up and sneaked a look at his face. Was there a facial feature that gave me the butterflies? Nope. What about his hands? Hmm. How does one find chemistry when it doesn’t want to be found?

We talked about dessert – easily one of my favourite conversation topics – and the varieties that we enjoyed baking and stuffing our faces with. The topic of tarts and pies came up. “I am rather selective when it comes to tarts. Lemon and raspberries are acceptable. I don’t understand the appeal of pumpkin.”

Mr Chef smiled and said, “I like the way you say Raspberries.”

Sixteen minutes in. Damn it. Where are you hiding, Chemistry? Show yourself!

It didn’t make an appearance that evening. We did however, have an enjoyable meal and comfortably discussed many things from useless trivia to David Sedaris to our shared love for Wes Anderson films.This comes easy for extroverts. I think I was hoping for chemistry. Chefs are supposed to be intense, passionate and ooze fiery sex appeal. False advertising, I say. This is what happens when you’ve watched too many episodes of Parts Unknown, lusting after Anthony Bourdain. I have no one to blame but myself.

I paid for dinner, like I usually do when I ask someone out. No big deal. Controversial decision, I hear from the people I speak to regarding bills on the first date. To go Dutch? Should the Guy pay? Should the Girl? This is perhaps best left for another entry. Mr Chef didn’t seem too pleased with the idea of me paying but he didn’t persist. I don’t like the drama. He walked me to the train station and we parted ways with a quick peck on the cheek.

“Shall we see each other again?”

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“Maybe we can watch a movie or something next time round. I have a crazy schedule. I never plan things so you’ll have to let me know.”

At this point I thought, “never plan anything? Well, that’s just lazy.”

I smiled very politely and said “I guess I’ll let you know then.”

Because 20 minutes was all I needed to figure out that there wasn’t going to be a second date. Maybe I’ll need to manage my expectations and find myself a pastry chef next. In the meantime, I suppose binging on re-runs of Parts Unknown and No Reservations, while fantasising about my life with Mr Bourdain will have to suffice. Sploosh.

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The boy with the gift of laughter.

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(Contribution)

I met a boy last weekend – A boy whose laughter sounded like the chimes of church bells. The first time he laughed, I felt a somersault deep in my belly. It was an entrancing laugh, the sort of laughter that could light up an entire room. Whoever said that a smile could light up a room didn’t get the best possible deal. A bellowing laugh that could illuminate any room – now that, that is something special.

“You’re funny,” he said.

“I like hearing you laugh. Looks like I might have to try and be funny all night,” I replied and meant every word of it.

Church bell chimes and somersaults all night. Sometimes that’s all you need to feel, on days where you feel like you couldn’t feel anything at all.

His gift of laughter was paired with incredibly beautiful eyes. Somersaults. I couldn’t quite say if they were gray or green. Somewhere in between and I loved that they were undefinable. It always makes me flutter when I can’t quite find the right words to define something. That mystery of it makes me feel like there are so many things and instances where there aren’t words in the lexicon to describe, perfectly. It makes me feel like there is so much I don’t know.

The eighth time I made him laugh, I recall vividly; He said he was shy and yet, he was quite the rebel – leaving his home in Brazil to travel the world and get paid for it. I called him a Unicorn and said shy rebels don’t exist. I gently poked his forehead with my index finger and jokingly and accusingly asked where he was hiding his horn. He laughed, touched my hand and kissed me. The church bells in my head chimed.

The boy whose laughter sounded like the chimes of church bells was sweet, affectionate and gentle. It would be unlikely that we would see other again. And yet, our paths had crossed for some reason. Later that evening, in bed, he rested his head on my chest and we talked about why we do the things we do. We talked about the people we love. We spoke of the places we love, the music we listen to and our fears.

“Am I too heavy for you?” he asked.

“No, I think you’re just fine.”

We made love later that evening. It was intimate in every sense of the word. I had never been with anyone who kissed every inch of my body or someone who wanted to look at me throughout the night, every line, scar, mole and fold on my unforgiving body. Somersaults.

“You have beautiful eyes”, I said.

“You have a beautiful smile” he replied as he kissed the tip of my nose.

Short of breath and exhausted, I sought to remember the moment. I attempted to memorize it all. The pursuit of pleasure often involves feeling good in the short-term. We take what we can get and continue to stay on the hedonic treadmill with the hopes that one day, we will reach a permanent state of eudaimonia. But this was different. It wasn’t just a one night stand. It was a feeling that was going to stick. And that the lesson to be learned from this was that I could be loved the way I deserved, even if only for one night. And it reminded me that physical affection is something I couldn’t do without, even if I tried. As we lay exhausted and wrapped around each other in bed, we enjoyed the silence. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was perfect. I strived to remember the moment.

We hugged and kissed for minutes after, remembering the features we like on each other’s faces.

“Never stop laughing, okay?” I demanded gently as I kissed him one last time, after clothing myself slowly, relishing every remaining moment of his company.

“Only if you never stop smiling,” the boy whispered.

Somersaults.

“Deal.”

The church bells chimed again, a little softer, almost as if it were far in the distance but I could still hear it. I can still hear it.

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#1- Three dates and a reality check

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black-and-white-car-couple-drive-Favim.com-1690014“I think a car ride is an intimate experience. For a period of time, two people are confined to a space. You get to know a lot from a person just by driving with them. My favourite dates are roadtrips…” 

Date Expectations welcomes the first contribution on its page. Melissa* dropped us a note to share with us her story:

If anything, I’m guilty of setting my dating expectations too high. I expect butterflies, hours of conversation, the man sending you home; the whole enchiladas. As a (serial) monogamist who hasn’t been single for close to a decade, I had problems admitting that that’s not the game anymore. But I mean, why go out at all otherwise? I was faced with the reality and this was the story.

One fateful night, my girlfriend and I stumbled upon an empty club and decided to download tinder. I swiped right on one guy, who swiped right back at me. We had a good banter. So he asked me out. We went on three dates in total. It was a cold slap of reality check.

I was nervous on the first date. Luckily he played everything by the book. He picked me up, ordered wine, ordered dessert. He had so many brownie points that it pains me to say there wasn’t any chemistry! What’s going on there mother nature! So even after he brought up the stories of his ex, I was adamant to go out with him again. I mean, it has to work, right? He played by the book!

So we went out again, he picked me up after work and we went for dinner and drinks. No wine this time, which worked against my will to make this date a successful one. I was hit by the reality that we shared nothing – absolutely nothing – in common. He tried to ‘fix’ everything I did, which was awful.

I tried at jokes, to humor the sad situation I’m in. Strange twist of event, he was actually charmed by my humour and asked me out again. But this time I knew better to manage his and (more importantly) my expectations – I told him to wait for another two weeks.

“Perfect,” he said, “I’ll be travelling anyway.”

Great. So I didn’t push for it. We didn’t contact each other for two weeks straight and I actually started to forget about him.

Until two weeks later, he texted me, all worked up and upset because I didn’t contact him.

Huh?

This was one of the few ‘huh?’ moments in my life. Whenever two parties have working mobilephones with working 4G connection, a non-contact is a mutually agreed upon condition, no? Well at least that’s what I thought. And I felt bad, so I agreed again when he asked me out the third time.

The last time we met was in a cafe for brunch. Food was paltry bordering superficial, just like our conversations. He was evidently nervous. He had to burn two sticks before coffee. We caught up for an hour before I made up an excuse to leave. During the conversation though, for some unfathomable reason I mentioned I would be somewhere around his house the next day. Logic failed me but we agreed to meet (again!) the next day as as we were leaving. 

Here’s the thing, I refused to let him send me home. I think a car ride is an intimate experience. For a period of time, two people are confined to a space. You get to know a lot from a person just by driving with them. My favourite dates are roadtrips and he’s just not someone I’d take roadtrip with.

So he walked me to the bus stop. My bus stopped while we were a few metres short. He then told me, I could run for the bus if I wish.

So I did. I didn’t think too far. We exchanged polite texts afterwards to thank each other for the company. I thought that’s the end of it.

The real cold slap dawned around 5AM the next day when we’re supposed to meet. He texted me that he was drunk. He told me to check with him an hour before we’re supposed to meet if, and I quote, “I’m not dead yet”. I told him to rest and have a good life, basically.

What I failed to understand was that he then told me the blow by blow accounts of what happened that night, with an amazing recollection for someone suffering a deathly hangover. I replied, man this isn’t working.

He told me, he wasn’t sorry.

That’s the end of it. Rather than placing his actions on a petri dish of a psychoanalytical microscope, I accepted the reality that after so long, I’m single again. I’m back in the game and it’s an unfamiliar territory. I accepted that I need to adjust my expectations. But chemistry? I think everyone needs to have chemistry to date. At least enough to last a car ride.

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 *Names have been changed, for obvious reasons, suckers.

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From a stand up guy to the guy who stood me up.

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tumblr_mdjqg1zz9u1qdv42bo1_500Two months ago, while I was sitting around with a broken ankle, feeling sorry for myself, I found some comfort in watching re-runs of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. In one of the episodes, Ross gets stood up on a date. I mean in truth, he didn’t really get stood up because his friends (Joey and Phoebe) intentionally wanted him to realise how shitty the dating world is so that he would try and make amends with Rachel, so they set him up on a fake date. But poor Ross is sitting at the restaurant sipping on his water, wondering why his date isn’t showing up. I remember seeing this and thinking “oh god, how awful it must be to have your date not show up. What would be even more horrible is if you’re on a blind date, and your date walks in, takes a look at you and decides to walk out.” Who does that, you ask? There are assholes aplenty and while I could never do that to someone, no matter what a bitch I can be, the same can’t be said for the rest of the population.

So the seed was planted and when I started venturing out on dates this year in January, the thought did cross my mind a couple of times. On my first date with Mr January, he was 15 minutes late. He was lost and didn’t have wifi but during those 15 minutes, I wondered if perhaps I too like Ross had been stood up. That wasn’t the case though 🙂 And what a relief that was.

Last night, I was to meet someone who asked me out for dessert. We exchanged interesting messages on Tinder and there was a great flow of communication. He was in town for a couple of days and while he obviously had a jam-packed schedule, he asked me out for cake. I never say no to cake so I said yes. We were to meet after his dinner party that his friends were hosting him for – I’m quite a stickler for proper times and plans – but I was being flexible. “Between 9.30pm and 10.30pm”, he said, to which I replied “10.30pm sounds good.” He loved carrot cake and while I teased him about why anyone would enjoy vegetables in their dessert, I remembered a bakery in town that sold quite possibly the best carrot cake in the city.

I like being early on dates. At least 10 minutes earlier than stipulated to allow me to settle in and get used to my surroundings. So I arrived 15 minutes to 10.30pm at the cafe, went up to the second floor, found myself a cosy table and ordered myself a glass of Chardonnay and waited:

10.30pm – It’s time. He’s not here yet. I suppose the cafe is tucked in a corner and he may take some time to find it.

10.35pm – Okay, maybe it’s time to look at the menu and decide on what dessert I’d like to have while I wait so I don’t take too long to decide while on a date.

10.40pm – Still no sign. I look at my phone, trying to open up text messaging apps to see if there was a text I missed out on. Nothing. Okay breathe.

10.45pm – Maybe tonight’s the night I get stood up. Oh don’t be silly. Let’s look at the menu again. Do I really want that coconut tart?

10.50pm – 20 minutes late. Should I text him? Profiterole is a funny word. Also choux pastry sucks. I wonder what he’d order, you know if he actually shows up. Breathes.

10.53pm – No show. Maybe he walked up, took a look at me guzzling down my Chardonnay and decided that’s not how he wants to spend his evening. Oh don’t be silly. Text your friends. They’ll calm your nerves.

10.58pm – Empty glass of Chardonnay and a dull ache in my tummy. Maybe he is waiting downstairs at the bar, thinking I’m late. So I ask the waiter if I could sit downstairs. At least this way, when he walks in, I might be able to wave and be like “Here I am! let’s eat cake!”

11.01pm – This is ridiculous. Maybe he died? These things happen right? Maybe I’ll text him, just in case. But first, another glass of Chardonnay. “Hello mister, am I seeing you soon? Drinking alone is not quite as fun and dessert beckons.”

11.02pm – I get a reply. I’m not going to quote him but in a nutshell, he apologised that dinner was delayed and so he is still at his friends’ home and isn’t sure when he can leave. To which, I then I asked if I should wait. And he replies a minute later with something along the lines of I have waited enough and he couldn’t ask that of me, that he hopes I’m not too mad at him and that he needs to get back to his friends before they think his phone is more interesting than the dinner conversation. I could have snapped at him. Instead, I told him to have a nice night, finished up my second glass of wine, got the bill, walked out of the cafe, dramatically dumped the box of carrot cake that I had purchased for my date into the rubbish bin, and went home.

So, how did it feel being stood up? Sure, it wasn’t really a conventional sense of being stood up. He did text me and I suppose he did have a marginally valid excuse. But I was upset. And as I write this, I wonder why a grown man didn’t have the intuition to text his date earlier to inform her that dinner was delayed and thus, our date would be too. Or if you can’t be at two places at the same time, don’t make double bookings.

It irks me but I shall shrug it off. Did I cry about it? I won’t even try to deny it. I cried myself to sleep last night, not because I was humiliated that my date stood me up. I am far too thick-skinned for that. But rather, last night as I sat alone sipping that glass of champagne while the waitress asked me a couple of times if I wanted to order dessert and I kept telling her “I’m waiting for my date,” I wondered if I was going to spend the rest of my life waiting. Looking at my now empty glass, I felt a wave of loneliness hit me. You know how much I love the dating game but last night, I got played. The Universe had a go with me. Well played, Universe. Well played. Me – 0, Universe – 1.

Who’s next? Let’s play.

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Let’s stop taking pictures with sedated tigers.

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Revisiting an old post of mine from an old blog:

This year, I made a commitment to myself that I would consciously try to find dates and with much zeal, I turned to my friend Google and typed in the words “best online dating sites”. I was very pleased with the results. Where do I even begin? They have dating sites for EVERYBODY, which might come across as sounding a little far-fetched but I kid you not. There is a site to cater to people of every kind: Indians, Jews, over 40s, Vegans, Catholics, pet-lovers, activists and the list just goes on. I’m sure if I looked harder, I might even find a site for Sociopaths to find love.
So I’ve put myself out there on a variety of general dating sites. It’s my first week into this new commitment and I’m already dying a little. Granted that not everyone looks great in pictures, why do men insist on doing things to make them look stupid in their profile avatars?  Maybe it’s just me but do women actually find the following observations/ trends in profile pictures of men, attractive?
– Holding up freshly caught fish in both hands
– Showing appreciation for hard rock music with the rock is alive sign along with tongue out.
– The James Bond look (Making a gun with thumb and index finger while holding it under chin)
– The topless mirror shot
– The pixelated webcam shot which almost always looks like it was taken in a basement or worse, your very own custom-built dungeon
– Close-up of the face with head at an angle, placing a lot of emphasis on one’s nostrils.
– The backward cap
– The I-work-out-hard-at-the-gym shot
– Selfie at the steering wheel
– Petting sedated tigers. WHY? no, really. WHY?
– The Group shot. You really want me to scroll through all your pictures to figure out which one is you? Ain’t nobody got time for that, son.
– The group shot surrounded by scantily clad women. We get it. You are popular with the ladies. So why are you on a dating site?
– The middle finger/ double middle finger shot. Keeping it classy eh?
– The elevator selfie
– The infinity pool shot
and my personal favourite, the selfie indoors with SUNGLASSES. Generally, if they fit into any of the above categories, I just skip their profile and move on to the next. If you can’t put up a self-respecting shot of yourself, I doubt you’d have taken the time to fill out your bio and details with dignity. However, when I do read through profiles, I am overwhelmed with disappointment and frustration over men including things like “the god-given ability to give good head to women”. Really pal? Of all the talents you might possess, that’s the one you’re going with? NEXT.
Perhaps this is why I’m still single. I heard on NPR recently that it’s possible to find love, however temporary, anywhere so long as you lower your expectations by 70%.  Stay tuned for more misadventures where I carefully unravel the shit men write in their dating profiles.
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