Good Luck to You, Making Your Judgments, by Doris

Last night I told a coworker/friend about the Russian's marital status.

Even though it's over, I'm still careful about who I tell, and what I tell them. While it was going on--and remember, because of the holidays we communicated for about a month before we actually met--some of my friends knew I was seeing somebody. Only about four--Rock, my roommate Stan, my sister, and a friend who reads this blog--knew he was married.

Now that it's over, I will tell a few more friends. Many will never know.

It's not that I associate with a bunch of judgmental douchebags. However, more and more of my social circle is getting married. More and more have children. Some are very traditional in their views of relationships. I don't mean anti-gay (because if that's the case, they are not my friends), but I do mean I have a close friend who didn't even like me joking about making out with Joel McHale, because this A-list celebrity who probably wouldn't give me the time of day, is in fact married with two children.

I don't want anyone thinking I'm a homewrecking piece of shit, or that I'm after their spouses, or that I get off on dating married men. First, I would have never let it go that far if I suspected the Russian was lying to his wife. He was full of shit a lot of the time, but was always sincere when it came to his relationship. Second, I'd never pursue the spouse of a friend, even if it were an open relationship situation. That would just be weird for me. Third, though I was intrigued by the open relationship idea, it wasn't the sole reason I dated the Russian. I liked his profile. I was attracted to him. The conversation, both written and spoken, was always good.

Moreover, I don't want anyone pitying me, seeing me as the poor lonely misguided unmarried who is being taken for a ride by a cheater. I knew the score from day one. I wish it could have gone on longer and I would have gotten some closure, but I was never under the impression it was going to be a lasting relationship.

As it happens, my coworker/friend had the perfect reaction:

"I've always thought that it's on the married guy," she said, taking a sip of her beer. "He chose to go outside the marriage. Any fallout in that relationship, it's on him and not the woman."

Yay for non-judgmental friends!

I Know It's Over, by Doris

So Rock and I are getting back in the saddle on the ol' OKC.

To bring you up to speed, the Russian was supposed to contact me this week about hanging out again. Well, it's Thursday and I haven't heard word one. I got a feeling on Monday that it wasn't going to happen, but Rock said to give him until Friday before I truly gave up.

Not going to be necessary.

Here's what went down: just a little while ago, I logged back onto OKCupid for the first time in over a month. (I know, I know, I said I was going to keep looking while involved with the Russian, but then vacation happened. Then sick happened. Then busy week at work, third date with Russian, and awkward second date with Straight Anthony Rapp happened. Before I knew it, January and half of February got away from me.)

I was checking through my messages when I saw it:

Sorry, [Russian's username] no longer has an account.

Huh.

When I got the feeling it was over, I didn't get a feeling as to why. I wasn't sure if he'd met someone else or what. And I don't know how OKCupid works--maybe if someone blocks you it says they no longer have an account. Anyone know?

But something makes me think his wife put the kibosh on the whole open marriage thing.

Don't get me wrong--this is not me blaming some woman I don't even know for ruining my relationship. Not at all. He's her husband, a fact I was aware of from the beginning. She has every right to stop something she's not entirely comfortable with. And to be honest, after the first and second date, I halfway expected never to hear from the Russian again. I figured with a married man, it could end at any time.

That said, I do wish he would have contacted me personally. After a first or second date, with anyone, if you're not feeling it I'd rather you just let me figure it out. Otherwise it's just too awkward.

But in this case, after three dates, a helluva hickey, and having him over to my apartment, a text saying he couldn't see me anymore would have been nice.

At any rate, I clicked around, shook my head at some, messaged others.

Time to move on.

Like a Hallmark Card, by Doris

I spent most of this week wearing makeup in a place I usually don't, and it's all the Russian's fault.

You can probably guess what this is about.

I have had very little experience with hickeys. Once in high school, I really did burn my neck with a curling iron, and people teased me about it for DAYS (even, embarrassingly, my guidance counselor). Didn't matter that Excalibur was in college a few hours away at the time, so no one was around to provide me with an authentic hickey. (That same year, there was a rumor I was pregnant--started, ironically enough, by an underclassgirl who got knocked up a couple months later. Karma's a bitch, babe.)

Then, in college, I burned my neck with a curling iron AGAIN. Really. This time it was actually Excalibur's fault--it was a Saturday morning and I'd spent the night at his place. I was a freshman, so we were very new to the whole we-can-actually-spend-the-night thing. He didn't realize that it wasn't cute to hug me from behind while I was fixing my hair with a Burning Hot Rod of Death.

One scream and he learned.

(Incidentally, no one teased me for this fake hickey. I was, after all, a college freshman.)

In the years since, I've dealt with a few love bites: most of the guys I've fooled around with haven't been suck-ily inclined, and Excalibur gave me several, but only in places that could easily be covered.

The Russian? Not so much.

After a long two weeks during which I went on vacation with my family AND got the cold/flu/sinus bug that's rampant right now, the Russian and I were able to coordinate our schedules and meet up for drinks in my neighborhood. Per usual, he started out the date by being really annoying.

Can I just say I HATE when people rip on TV? Seriously. Like anything else, it's fine in moderation, and for every piece o' shit like Jersey Shore (sorry, Rock), you have a well-acted, awesomely written series like Mad Men or Community.

Yes, I do watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Shut up.

However, the Russian has this habit of becoming quirkily charming and self-deprecating juuuust when I'm about to throw in the proverbial towel. It's like he's got Doris Is Annoyed Radar, which takes many people years to develop.

And on drink number two, just when we were trading our best impersonations of Shirley on Community, he leaned over and kissed me.

In the words of NeNe on Real Housewives of Atlanta (yes, I watch that too, shut up):

BAM.

The Russian then expressed a desire to be alone with me. Per his agreement with his wife, who was out of town for the week, he could fool around with me above the waist only, and he couldn't spend the night.

My reaction: "You allergic to cats?"

"Nope!"

"Cool!"

I was actually fine with his wife's edicts. It showed that a) she knew about me, b) they were communicating, which is a big part of an open relationship.

Plus, I was looking at a twelve-hour workday the next day, and I wanted my bed to myself.

So we fooled around. As first semi-sexytimes go, it was pretty awesome. He's very limber.

Also, we compared foot injuries and geeked out about movies. He was very impressed by my DVD collection and asked for recommendations (among the Top Five Ways to Get in Doris' Pants Again).

Plus?

He really liked my cat.

Excalibur hated my cat. Not because of the cat itself, but because Excalibur is allergic. No fault of his own, of course, but it was really nice to be with someone who paid attention to the pussy. Cat.

After I kicked out the Russian ("You have to leave now." "Yes, ma'am!"), I started getting ready for bed.

That's when I discovered The Mother of All Hickeys on the left side of my neck.

Dammit, Russian.

Cue makeup, an elaborate necklace, and a cardigan with a shawl collar the next day.

Though I did tell my coworker, who thought it was hilarious.

In a weird way, I considered it a badge of making-out honor. A tangible mark to commemorate the end of a dry spell.

However, we WILL be having a talk on our next date.

Kiss On My List, by Doris

I am about to jump out of my skin.

Why hasn't the Russian tried anything yet????

We went out again Monday night. Vietnamese food, lovely local place not far from our first date. I was late due to GoogleMaps' NOT taking into account that a certain bus en route would put me in a shitty neighborhood. (Apparently there's not an app for that.) When I texted him, he said he'd order us an appetizer and asked if I had any food restrictions/preferences. (See, Rivers-a-like? THAT'S how you do it!)

Once I arrived, the back-and-forth began.

I may have alluded to this in my last Russian-related post: the guy is kinda pretentious. I mean, who says, "I've led a pretty interesting life" with no irony whatsoever? Also, he's a huge tea snob. I find this kind of hilarious.

But here's what I'm discovering, or maybe just putting into words what I knew all along:

I like arrogant guys.

First, the word "arrogant" has been used to describe me more than once. (I'd argue that a confident woman is more likely to have a negative word pinned on her than a confident man, but that's a whole 'nother post and Rock is totally rolling his eyes as he reads this.) Therefore, it's one more thing we have in common!

Second, there ARE arrogant dumb guys in the world. However, many of the arrogant dudes I've interfaced with have at least a modicum of intelligence and life experience. And really, I have no patience for dumb guys, no matter how cute (Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine, I'm looking at you). I'd rather date someone who errs on the side of smart, because at least then we can have a conversation.

Finally, I like arrogant guys because I love, love, LOVE taking them down a peg.

Which I did with the Russian. Many times. Hey, it's a fun time for me and a test all rolled into one smart-assed package. If a man doesn't like to be challenged, that's a deal-breaker, ladies.

Fortunately for him, the Russian kept up. In fact, I was just about to give up on him (well, maybe, he IS awfully cute), when the conversation came around to Joel McHale.

"Do you know him?" I asked the Russian.

And the Russian turned to me and uttered in the most serious voice I've ever heard out of him:

"Community is my favorite show ever."

Sold.

Granted, there's more to my attraction than a mutual love for one of the best TV shows of all time. (Not to mention, as we discovered, a mutual love for Italian mob movies.) The conversation's awesome. I'm attracted as hell. And there's no way this can go long-term. Check, check and check.

Which is why I was really disappointed when all I got was a hug.

As Rock told me later when we met up for drinks, it's possible the Russian just goes really slowly. Also, we haven't been alone yet, and I've never EVER been one for PDA's. Even hand-holding. ESPECIALLY hand-holding. For some reason it's just always bugged me.

And the Russian wants to see me again. I'm going out of town for several days, so the onus is on me to contact him when I return, but . . . yeah. He wants to see me again.

It doesn't help that I'm a 30-year-old woman and therefore operating on hot-to-trot mode at all times.

Rock says next time I can have him over to my place. When it comes to dates, three is often the magic number. Right?

I mean, even a makeout or an errant tongue would be nice at this point.

Open to Interpretation: A Date, by Doris

When my date walked into the coffee shop, he was wearing a wedding ring.

And I wasn't surprised in the least.

Let's call this guy the Russian, because despite all the hate over the second movie I still love Sex and the City, and because, well, he's Russian. I connected with the Russian way back when I first joined OKCupid (has it been a month already? Jeez). He's two years younger than I, has a myriad of interesting jobs, including a gig as a health care interpreter at a children's hospital, and like me, he always carries a notebook.

And he's in an open marriage.

Now before you say, "Doris, this is the biggest line of bullshit since Brody told Lauren that Brittany Canada Whore was just a joke," hear me out.

You should know that Dan Savage is my relationship/sex advice guru, and he should be yours too. What I've learned from my addiction to the Savage Love podcast is that, indeed, open relationships are more common in the straight community than one might think. Only because there's a societal taboo against non-monogamy, heteros don't talk about them as much as homos do. Case in point: when I told Rock and my roommate Stan (who is also gay) about the Russian's situation, they shrugged it off. However, I KNOW at least two or three of my straight friends would definitely not approve. Also my parents.

What Dan tells America is that if you date someone in an open relationship, you can tell they're for real if they talk about it. They'll not only answer your questions, they'll welcome them, because it's a necessary conversation. If, on the other hand, they don't want to talk about it, are very vague, or say "my wife doesn't know about it," well, that's not a real open relationship.

The Russian's profile mentions his situation first thing. It links to a Dan Savage video about non-monogamy. It also links to his wife's profile. She seems pretty cool.

And mind you, I didn't first contact the Russian because of the open marriage. Yes, I found it intriguing, especially since I'm trying for new experiences right now. However, it was just another interesting characteristic, like the notebook thing.

So the Russian and I talked for a few weeks. He asked me to coffee. And we talked. Boy, did we talk.

I usually don't bring this up at first, but I told him about Excalibur. Not any gory details, just that I'd been with the same guy on and off for fourteen years, and I'm 30, so you do the math. Which is why I'm seeking different types of dating and relationships. It fit right into the conversation, and the questions I had regarding his own marriage.

Did I mention he's really, really cute? Oh yeah.

So we drank our tea, we took a walk, and then I left because I had "plans with my friends." He asked me out again. I was very happy about this.

This was Thursday night. It's now Saturday and I've heard zilch.

Not sure if I should write this off yet or not. I mean, do guys really ask out someone again just to be nice? And this wasn't just "we should hang out again." This was, specifically, "when are you free?" Of course, he has to check with his wife and see what they've got going on. My question is: how long's it take to check?

Maybe he was bullshitting me all along. Maybe he made this whole thing up. I mean, I've seen Catfish. It's crazy what people lie about online. It's also possible that his wife has decided against the whole open relationship thing.

Or it's possible that, to quote Sex and the City again, he's just not that into me. (No matter what you think about SATC or the franchise that ensued from that one line, you have to admit it's a pretty great concept.)

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. Yes, he was kind of pretentious, but I'd rather date a pretentious guy than a dumb guy because at least with the former I can have a conversation. And the open marriage thing, quite frankly, appealed to me. Not just for the curiosity factor, but the fact is, I don't want to get emotionally involved with anyone right now. Here, I could have a fun experience but it would be physically impossible to get serious (that's one of the ground rules of the Russian's marriage: as of now, they're not pursuing anyone seriously. It's kind of a baby step into full-on polyamory).

And yeah, he was really, really cute and I have a sex drive. Sue me.

Whatever. We'll see. If nothing else, it was a really fun and educational first date! Definitely cooler than the practice dud that was Rivers-a-like.

And besides, I have another date in four hours.

P.S. Does anyone miss Rock's savvy commentary on Tales from the Going Steady Frontline? I do! Rock, my darling, where are you?