I’ve been thinking about London lately.
About how easy it was to get around the city, even with it’s hushed voices and last-calls at 1 a.m., instead of 4. I’ve been thinking about how the men were such gentleman, wishing me a good day and commenting on how ‘quite lovely, quite everything, quite was’ in their darling accents that stupidly remind me of Hugh Grant. I’ve been thinking about how even though I tried to have an afternoon delight in Kensington at lunchtime with a tall, handsome character I met in Shoreditch the night before – he refrained. I’ve been considering the echoes in my head from all the women who complained – over their cigarettes and their pimms – that the men are far too serious, that they want relationships too soon, that they just bore of them ‘quite quickly, I’m afraid.’ I’ve been thinking that maybe, a British man might be what I’ve been looking for, after all.
I’ve been thinking about Paris lately.
Like clockwork every single night, I get a text message from my dad. It’s usually a mix of “I love you” or “I miss you” coupled with a few sentences about being proud of me (awww). But a few weeks ago, his message read:
“Your mom had a busy day today, and she fell asleep on the couch. She’s so beautiful, Linds. She’s been so good to me. I’m a lucky man. You’ll find your lucky man one day, too. Goodnight, daughter.”
Now, before you get misty-eyed (it’s OK, I did, too), know this: my parents’ relationship and their marriage is not typical. It’s one of those stories that people write about—the kind of love that could be made into a movie (after being a best-selling Nicholas Sparks book). Theirs is a marriage that’s more of a goal rather than a standard.
I went on a date on Sunday… with my literary agent.
If you could see me right now, you would see a grin ear-to-ear, and if you could get inside my heart, you’d feel it beating frantically out of its chest. There are very few words to describe just how happy – and excited and thankful! – I feel to have someone actively trying to turn this little ‘ole blog of mine into a book. (When it happens, you will all be the first to know, I promise!)
Even so, I was nervous to meet him (and afraid he wouldn’t like me) – but my gut was right: it was two hours of constant rapport, brainstorming and storytelling. And then he said something that just about made me cry:
In response to a blog I recently wrote, a man named Mark from Denver wrote to me to share the male perspective. I’m excited to share this inspiring blog with a message that I try to send through this blog, and one that I think all women – single, taken or otherwise – need to be reminded of. It’s even more refreshing to hear it from a single guy. Thanks for contributing, Mark! Check out his blog here, ladies.
“There is always someone prettier”
I heard this come out of my friends mouth as we were walking down the streets of NYC last week. She had flown in from Hong Kong for work and I was in town visiting my potential place of residence. We met up to hang out and spend a few days together.
Sometimes you go on an amazing first date and all of the “signs” seem to point to a second. And then, he disappears into the land of guys-of-great-first-dates-past, never to be seen again. Or what about those times you flirt endlessly with one of your vendors at work—and he gives the signal that he’s interested too—only to mention his wife (WTF?!) the next week.
I often find myself looking for “signs” on dates (or let’s be real: all the time) that they’re interested. He places his hand on the small of my back, he casually mentions seeing me again, we happen to like the same kind of cheese when ordering the platter, whatever. But more often than not, when it comes to reading signals…I kind of suck at it.
Such was the case with Matt.
I really (really) liked David.
I was a 19-year-old, wide-eyed, excited kid that immensely enjoyed the attention from an older (by um, two years?) guy who wanted to wine-and-dine me. (Mostly from his apartment, since I couldn’t, you know, order a glass without being carded in my quiet, sleepy college town.) He was an engineering major with a big passion to design skyscrapers (and I wanted to live in NYC, it was fate!), and though his room was messy and his shirts smelled like mildew, after two dates, I was pretty much smitten.
This was originally published on eHarmony’s blog.
If you’ve been single for a while, you’re probably used to the first date dance by now: he asks where you’re from originally, you ask about his job. He asks if you prefer red or white wine, you ask about his hobbies. It usually feels like the same ole’ conversation just with a different person, unless you stumble across a truly magical (and rare!) amazing date.