by Maggie Voysest

Why Thoroughly Confused?

So why was Gigi confused? You’d think from the previous chapter that her online dating experiences would make it more “The Adventures of a Thoroughly Amused Gigi” not a “Thoroughly Confused Gigi.” But no. Sadly enough it was the dates with the men that she DID like that so thoroughly confused her.

It was meeting those men with whom it could have worked out, should have worked out, WOULD have worked out if the planets had been aligned right, if Cupid-karma-destiny-fate-kismet had been so predisposed and inclined, if she’d just crossed enough fingers and toes, if she’d just snapped her fingers and blinked her eyes and twitched her nose and clicked her heels. If the world was a fair place and true love did exist. If… Oh no, when did Gigi go from being a hopeless romantic to a slightly cynical one?

These were the ones that confused her. The nice men with whom she did feel a connection. The ones who didn’t have her gasping with laughter the next day, as she recounted the date to her friends, who lived vicariously through her. The ones who were sweet and funny, romantic and affectionate, caring and thoughtful, even (gasp), an intelligent and educated one or two.

And then of course, there was the one who touched her heart and added a few new cracks all too soon to it. The one that made her cry. But David deserves a chapter all of his own, a sad one that Gigi is not quite yet ready to share with the world (or even think about too long). That will come one day, a four in the morning “think till you cry while listening to sad love songs and looking at his photo” night. Hopefully with a sweet someone to wipe away her tears and kiss away her sad memories.

But back to the ones who really confused her. The ones who walked away from her because:

• They were not ready for love, after all
• She was everything they wanted, someday, when they WERE ready
• Their ex had returned
• They had no time (too busy with work, with their kids, with feeding the dog)
• They needed time (to find themselves, to heal themselves, to analyze themselves , to discover the meaning of life)
• The “It’s not you, it’s me” excuses
• The “we are simply damaged goods due to crazy and unfit ex’s”
• The ones who left with no excuse, and yet popped up again, every now and then, just to peek in… Why she’d ask? Because you’re so special, she’d be told. Then why not stay? she’d ask. Because we can’t, they’d say. Then why come back? she’d ask. Because we can’t stay away, they’d say. Good God I’m stuck in an e..e. cummings poem she would have thought (if she’d read him back then that is).

But these nice men just didn’t work out. Their names at times escape her and even their faces are a little blurry now. Funny that she should remember the horror stories better than the successful dates. Thank God for her little black book. Very important thing to have a little black book when dating online, to keep names and faces and facts straight. And oh so very helpful when trying to recollect them, and distinguish Bob from Mike, Tom from Dan. But still slightly confusing when there were three Johns, two Toms, and a few Dans. Then their cities would help, and printing out their photos. You will soon learn that Gigi never did anything half-heartedly. When she did something, she did it seriously, giving it her all.

The truly confusing ones were the ones that seemed to be working out… until they didn’t. There was Bob. Bob was an engineer, good looking, funny, educated. But Bob had a list of rules a mile long. And by now you should know Gigi well enough to know she doesn’t follow rules well. She goes with the flow, with the feeling, with the goose bumps (More on Gigi’s goose bump theory later). Bob proceeded to tell her at what point in a dating relationship he would do certain things, and that he stuck rigidly to this schedule. NO exceptions. “Yeah, right,” she thought, “If I was tall and blonde and skinny, your book of rules would go out the window so fast your head would spin faster than Linda Blair’s in the Exorcist!” As he walked her to her car, he said he would kiss only after the first date, but never after just coffee. He set up another date for dinner, since coffee had not been a bust in his eyes. She felt like applauding, or curtsying, or thanking him for the honor. They met the next night for dinner. It was good, the kiss was ok (no goose bumps), but there was never a third date. Bob found someone else the next night that worked out better than Gigi. And I bet you Gigi’s bottom dollar, that she was tall, blonde and skinny, and that they made out like bandits that very first night…. sometimes it’s tough being a petite, curvaceous, not so skinny brunette.

Then there were the truly funny, out of this world coincidences. Finding Mike – a man who went to high school with one of her best friends. She showed her friend his photo on Match, and Susan yelped out, “That’s Mike! I dated his brother in high school!” Gigi didn’t get to meet him for a very long time, because he was very wishy washy, and when they did meet, he was one of the ones who wasn’t ready. Even though his screen name was Ready43! Go figure. Actually, he wasn’t even divorced yet! Doesn’t Match screen these men?

Then she was matched by eHarmony (From now to be known as E-malady, as recently coined by a new friend) with one of her first boyfriends from college! At least they got it right that there was a connection between them… a once upon a time connection from many years ago! How funny that day was when she got a message from Mike from Wyandotte, wanting to skip the many ridiculous steps set up by eHarmony. She accepted and opened up his email, which asked her how was she after 20 years, and what was she doing these days! Gigi and Mike met for dinner and she brought the one photo that remained of their month together. They tried to remember how it all ended, but their memories failed them at first. He did admit she was his first love, and she began to recall in slight horror that it all ended when she went off to study in Paris. I think his name was Gilbert and he was a French masseur… Who could blame her for falling for a sexy French man instead of an 18 year old virgin from Michigan (well, he was a virgin until Gigi got her hands on him) S’il vous plait!

Mark, on the other hand, was a downright mystery! It all seemed so right. They talked on the phone for hours. He was so cute and eager to meet her. It was his first date in years, since high school in fact. He was recently divorced. His ex was an unfit mother, and he was raising his two little girls on his own. Oh right! Gigi hit her head in stupefaction. What was she thinking? Asking herself to explain the mystery of Mark! Was she meshuggenah, as her Hungarian grandmother Fannie would have said if she’d lived long enough to smack Gigi on the head? Those smacks certainly steered her father on the right path, didn’t they? Oh no, wait, maybe not, since Gigi’s Daddy had been married 5 times. He did stop after meeting Gigi’s mami though, so maybe there was hope for Gigi someday.

But back to Mark. It should have been amazing that he saw her two nights in a row, that he even remembered how to go out on a date and kiss. When he told her that he realized he wasn’t ready to date, Gigi choked back her sarcastic comments. She told him that he should concentrate on his little girls, that he should have a few meaningless flings before ever joining another dating website and deceiving women who were actually ready for a relationship. Oops, was that slightly sarcastic?

Oh goodness, it was all becoming a blur, even with her little black book, even with pictures. Was she getting the stories right? Sadly yes. Gigi didn’t need fiction in her life, when the non-fiction was so downright entertaining. After recalling all these men, only one of whom she actually got to third base with (or is it a home run? Having grown up in Europe, baseball metaphors remain a mystery to her). Gigi was amazed that she could even turn on the computer without throwing it out the window.

And then there were the ones that should have felt right, but didn’t. For some reason they just didn’t. And oh God she tried, she really did. It wasn’t about looks or being picky. It wasn’t about height or weight. It wasn’t about money or jobs, about the presence or absence of children. It wasn’t even whether or not they were recently divorced or long divorced, on good or bad terms with the ex’s. She didn’t even have a “type”. But Gigi always knew, within minutes whether or not there was a physical attraction. And being only in her 40’s and rather partial to the physical aspects of dating, she wanted that oh-so-important physical attraction! So why then did some extremely nice men do absolutely nothing for her? Was God that cruel? Why show her men with whom there was an instant physical attraction, but no mental or emotional one, or worse yet, men with whom she had a strong mental connection, but no physical attraction at all? Oh if only she could have mixed and matched men the way she did her outfits. She could even have picked out certain things from the horrendous dates to make one truly perfect man!

The truly sad ones were those who liked Gigi way more than she liked them. The nice guys who did absolutely nothing to her emotionally or physically. There might have been a mental connection and the beginnings of a friendship, but absolutely no sparks. None. Zip. Nada. Niente. Rien. Not a glimmer. Not a twitch. Not one raised hair. Not one solitary single goose bump.

Goose bumps. So important. Gigi only ever felt them with a few men. And they signified so much, those goose bumps: the promise of an amazing physical connection, which if combined with a mental and emotional connection meant: Woo hoo! Homerun! Touchdown! Basket! Slam dunk! Hole in one! Ok, I’ll stop now, you get the picture. Geeze, all these American sports! As hard to understand as their men. Wait, no, one more! Goal! Soccer she understood!

Sparks. Remember now that Gigi was only in her 40’s. She still wanted sparks. But there were no sparks with the next one. Poor Benito Bandito. It was his screen name that made her give him a try. She’d been heart broken at Christmas (yes, by David) and was ignoring the “Hey babies, what are you wearing” approaches. But Benito’s screen name made her think of a very special man in her life. So she answered him. And he was so sweet, this Benito Bandito. Sweet and intelligent and he wrote epic emails that made her laugh and sigh… dream and fantasize. Until that is – until he showed up at her door and was not what he’d said he was. He was so much shorter, so much balder, so much older and so much NOT in the same shape as that photo. Still, she thought she’d give it a try. And try she did. And try. And try.

Their first date was a romantic dinner for two at The Melting Pot. He kept winking at her, placing his chin on his hands and smiling goofily at her, followed by a romantic chick flick. The wrong kind though. PS I love you was so sad that she cried from beginning to end, thinking of the man who’d left her and broken her heart. Poor Benito had no clue and left to get her tissues. “How sweet,” she thought. “Oops, please don’t,” she thought as his slightly damp hand held hers, and he smiled, goofily at her. She had warned him she was heart broken and just wanted to be friends. But still he tried to warm her heart. He brought her a sandwich in the middle of her tutoring at the library because she had no time to leave to go eat. She tried one more time and even let him kiss her, wishing desperately for just one little spark that could be fanned into a roaring fire. But alas, his kiss made her almost throw up (just a little bit) and the Bandito was no more.

To read Helen’s Part III, see Helen’s Horrors of Dating – Part III