Year of the Tigress

Gretchie Greetings, hope everyone is slipping and sliding through the last of the ox shit into the year of the tigger (are we there yet?). May he bounce on his tail most pleasingly and purr and meow for you.

So far, things are looking up. You may recall several weeks ago a rant on the various ephemeral males in my life, and how golly gee wouldn't I just like a date with a physically present man who was neither prepubescent nor decrepit.

Well golly gee, didn't I get my date? Two, actually. Third on its way.

As you might imagine, the concept of dating for me is like looking at a periodic table. Old but strangely familiar; full of baffling symbols and polarities. In the last decade I've had one long-term steady relationship with very little romance (even by LTR standards), and in the last year a couple of mad hotel trysts with a longtime penpal (hothothot, but very little quaint). No dates.

I attribute that to several factors, not the least that my small town is rife with the very old and the very young, and not the very middle as is yours truly. After being asked out a few times by the dude who asks everyone out (to no avail, he projects an air of desperate nonchalance), and a hilarious miscommunication with an old man who really should've known better, I resigned myself to not having much luck with 100-mile dating. I'd get my male pheromone fix at the boxing club, invest in batteries, wait for my peripatetic lover to come through my time zone, etc.

Yes, I also recognize that a kickboxing entrepreneur with a sarcastic sense of humour and fastidious tastes might be a little intimidating to most men...but, well, fuck them anyway. If I wanted to date a pussy, I'd date pussy.

So lo and behold, I was pleasantly surprised to encounter and (after what I'm told is an appropriate interval of 3 days) be asked out by a dude around my age, taller, full head of hair, displaying an ability to hold a conversation, earthiness, wry sense of humour, great shoulders and promising body. Good face. Very good. I'm catholic in my tastes, and am attracted to rugged men. I'll take a Clive Owen or Daniel Craig over a pretty boy any day. I'm probably the only gal who developed a crush on ear-chopping psycho Michael Madsen in Reservoir Dogs.

Anyway, the verdict is that I like this dating. It's fun. It's quaint and cute and has a tickle of anticipation to it. It's the promise of dawn, or the dawn of promise, or whatever makes sense in that things are unknown. You get to discover a person, and in turn be discovered.

I understand this may be a very optimistic spin on things, and that one may get jaded fast after awkward or dull dates. But with two under my belt, all I can speak to is the fun part.

It's like watching a good audition, one that gets progressively better as the night goes on. Waiting for the red flags, shoes to drop, etc. and instead becoming intrigued as attitudes and manners and tastes are revealed that not only are respectable, but downright cool. More so because they're not feigned, nor echoing mine to impress me. A natural ease with one's self is dead-sexy.

So much so that I was compelled to kiss him, and kiss him I did, and it was good. I've grown wise enough in my advanced years to truly appreciate what all's contained in a good kiss.

Half of you might already have skipped ahead many chapters and married me off happily ever after; the other half (the married gals) may just be giddy with the prospect of new romance (don't fuck it up, follow the rules!). Me, I've decided to take a different tack.

After many years of wanting to define and predict and control, getting emotionally wrought with little return, being a Do-Right Woman and getting downright obsessive over lovelovelove and Making It Work--well, I've decided the tiger year is one of relaxed pleasure.

A tiger is just a large cat, after all, and if any of you are fellow spinsters then surely you also possess a cat. My own is completely selfish, gives love-bites to get attention, sleeps two-thirds of the time, and is supreme at being comfortable. In return, he gets well fed and patted and adored and his freedom. Not a bad role model.

It may seem risky or just morally perverse for me to go after what pleases me without protecting others (we girls are indoctrinated with Be Nice so early). I certainly don't want to harm anyone, or be deceitful or cruel.

I do want my own pleasure. This doesn't automatically equate monogamy or a Relationship, nor does it negate it; however, it won't be determined unilaterally by me. If someone wants to make me exclusive to himself, then he will have to articulate and demand that all on his very own i.e. without careful or insistent prompting.

In short, I want to be pursued. It may sound regressive but I wonder how well being straightforward and relentless has served me in the past (conclusion=not so well).

Sisters, I've made it too easy for men to take me for granted in the past. They sense a relationship is wanted, which gives them the confidence or indifference to play dumb and get their good times in until the Conversation is initiated. It's a very smart play, actually. (Contrary to popular belief, boys ain't dumb.) I'm going to try it out for myself.

I'm interested to see what happens when I restrain my impulses and refuse to grow a set on their behalf. It takes balls to demand a commitment, and I admire cojones these days more than any other attribute.

In the meantime, wish me luck in Tigerland. I'll avoid the packs of hyenas and lionesses and wild pigs, and try not to choke on my own hairballs. Purrrrrrrrrrrr.