And.....here's what HE said:

Check out his side of the story - the unedited version of an article appearing in the "He Said/She Said" column on The Stir, to which my friend, Matthew Wells and I were contributors.

If you missed HER (my) side of the story, check out yesterday's post!!

 photo: courtesy of www.photobucket.com

Sorry; a question? Sure. Shoot.

What's that, you say? “Who should pick up the check on a first date?”

Hmm. Let me give this absolutely no thought at all. My automatic answer: if it’s a date, the guy picks up the check, because that’s how you know it’s a date in the first place. Or at least that’s how you know the guy thinks it’s a date in the first place, or wants it to be. Picking up the check is a signal of intention and interest. It’s the guy saying, “I’m not just looking at you as a friend.”

But it’s also a sign of respect, in a way that has nothing to do with romance. When I say, “Do you want to go out to dinner?” and you say, “Yes,” then that means I’m paying. Why? It’s all part of the package. We wouldn’t be sitting across from each other sharing a meal if I hadn’t popped the question, and picking up the check is understood as a given the moment I hear your “Yes.” It’s not even an option. Think chivalry.

Of course, chivalry may seem quaint and even sexist in our courtesy-challenged society, but again, it’s a sign of something. All first dates take place in a Signals Bar. Everything I do and say will be interpreted a hundred different ways, like a speech at the United Nations. If I pick up the check, it says a couple of interesting (and hopefully interest-related) things about me. (Like, y’know, “Look out, girls--he’s a man with a job.”) If on the other hand I say, “Let’s split it,” that says something, oh, half-interesting at best (which implies half-uninteresting, and lemme tell ya--if you’re more than 40% uninteresting on a first date, it’s the kiss of death). And then, if I’m stupid enough to say, “Your treat, right?” or, “You had the $30 dollar special which means you owe me--wait--hang on a second while I pull up the calculator app,” or, “So is it okay if I leave the tip?” then that is what most women politely call a deal-breaker and profanely call something else entirely.

Another deal-breaker is the guy who goes into a first date saying to himself, “I will only pick up this check if there’s a spark,” or, “I’ll pay if I think this is going somewhere other than two separate cab rides home.” This guy you do not need, ladies--any hint of quid pro ho is a sign that you are having dinner with someone who is totally prepared to dump you for somebody younger or prettier at the first available opportunity. Since his feeling is that a date is like a high-risk investment, that means he orders the wine believing that he’s owed something in return, and if he doesn’t get it, then he’ll put his money somewhere else. (This probably also means that he’s involved in insider trading, and treats his secretary like crap. Run; don’t walk.)

The point is, dating is not an investment. In reality, dating is a gamble. It’s like a game of poker--you raise, you call, and you always pony up to see the other player’s cards. And once that game starts? That’s when it gets really interesting. Once I raise the stakes, it is then up to the woman to decide whether she calls or raises back. The call would be by saying, “No, let’s split it.” The raise would be by either making a half-hearted attempt to pay and then backing down, or by saying, “If I had known you were pickin’ up the tab, I would have ordered that Johnny Blue.”

And, like poker, if you raise? The game continues. But if you call? The hand is over. If a woman insists on paying half, then there is no date. As a guy, if someone I’m interested in throws down a couple of 20’s and says, “No, I insist, this is for my half,” that translates in my brain as, “I am not interested in you romantically.” And I’m fine with that; in fact, I’d rather hear that than the actual words, “I am not interested in you romantically,” because the actual words hurt like hell. That’s why, when a woman says she wants to pick up half the dinner tab, it’s the rejection equivalent of French: a really nice way to say something that in reality sounds like a slap in the face.

But--and I cannot say this strongly enough--it is also a heart with a line drawn through it, which is the universal symbol for NOT INTERESTED. So if I do continue seeing this woman, it will have to be as friends, unless I want to delude myself into thinking that through the liberal application of persistence and three-course dinners, I can get her emotional barometer to swing from COLD AND DISTANT to HOT AND HEAVY. And don’t think I haven’t spent years paving a road through that emotional jungle, okay?

Oh. You too? Really?

Iteresting. Want to talk about it over dinner?

Comments are welcome!

Who Pays?? A commentary from BOTH sides of the table.

Here's the unedited version of an article appearing in the "He Said/She Said" column on The Stir, to which my friend, Matthew Wells and I were contributors. 

Here's what SHE said........

 
“I’m having an amazing time,” Drew said, his big, brown eyes smiling with delight.


“Me too,” I almost giggled as I took another sip of wine.

It had been a great first date – one of the best I can remember. We laughed and talked with the ease of a couple dating for months, not hours. He was scoring high on the first-date-checklist: Good conversationalist – check. Great table manners – check. Polite and Courteous – check.

So when the bill arrived and he gently pushed it toward me saying simply, “You got this, right?” I was speechless.

The shock of it all prevented me from doing anything other than paying the bill. My disappointment was palpable. The night was going so well! It was as if someone just pulled the plug on one of those old record players, the needle scraping against the vinyl with a horrible screech.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” My friend demanded the next day when I told her what happened. “He invited you out, didn’t he?”

“Well, technically he suggested we go out, but it was more of a mutual thing,” I countered.

“That’s crazy!” My friend snorted. “The guy should always pay on the first date.”

This got me thinking. Why should the guy pay on the first date? It’s the new millennium after all. Isn’t it a little antiquated to expect such chivalry?

All of my friends said, emphatically, that they prefer the guy to always pick up the tab – especially on the first date. I wasn’t convinced, so I took it to my blog, asking all my female readers to weigh in on the subject.

The comments varied from women in their twenties to those in their mid-forties, but most agreed that whoever does the asking should most definitely do the paying. The reasons behind their opinions were more interesting though, varying from not having to “owe” anything at the end of the date to maintaining the masculine/feminine polarity. Take a look:

“The guy should always pick up the tab on the first date, especially if he asked the girl out in the first place.” –B, 23

“The person who requests the date should pay for the date. If a woman asks a man out, she should expect to pay. This lends itself to the notion that if things are going well, keep it goin-with the counter offer. Dinner was great and thank you, now let me buy you a drink, a coffee a piece of cake.....” –F, early 40’s

“…I insisted on going dutch the first date; unless the date was precipitated by him asking: "Can I take you out to dinner," in which case, he paid…..I kept the dutch rule because, firstly, I've always been proud when it comes to money (perhaps a character flaw); and, secondly, because I believe that equality between men and women begins with treating each other as equals in everyday circumstances. If I depend upon a man to buy dinner, that dependence could stretch into other categories as well.” –A, 33

“The guy should definitely pay on the first date. I think for the masculinity/femininity balance to work out, the man has to be the provider, especially at the beginning. He has to show that he can look after her. She’ll then feel safe and be able to open up to him…We all have both masculinity and femininity within us, and to keep the chemistry alive in a relationship, you need to be mostly in the opposing trait to your mate.” K, 41

A week later, he called to ask me out on a second date. I thought about my own relationship to how I feel about the guy picking up the tab. I’m an independent woman. I own a home and make a decent living, so why would I need a guy to pay my way? In doing so, wouldn’t I be defeating the very purpose of being a strong and capable woman?

But here’s the thing. The very reason that I would like the man to pay is because I’m an independent woman. I work so hard at taking care of myself and holding it all down that it’s nice to have a man who wants to take you out, show you a good time and insist on paying the bill. For me, it’s like a mini vacation or more importantly, it gives me the chance to relax a little and let someone else be in charge for a change.

Just because I’m a strong woman doesn’t mean that letting someone else take charge will threaten my ability to take care of myself. If a person is truly comfortable in her personal power, allowing the guy to pick up the bill isn’t anything more than a nice gesture. It is just as much an act of power to receive as much as it is to give.

I say, keep it simple. If you’re interested in a second date, let him pay and offer to take him out the next time. Otherwise, politely decline and offer to split the bill.

Either way, always remember, you’re just as much a part of the date as he is and however you feel about him, you still get to choose what’s best for you.

I thought about it and Drew really did ask me out on that first date and my reason for declining a second one was simple. Dating, especially the first few, is all about putting your best foot forward and I’m not ashamed to say that I expect the very best from a man who’s interested in me. Drew didn’t deliver and put his best toe forward and in the end it’s not about the money – it’s about the effort.

For the Ladies.................

photo: courtesy of photobucket

I want to hear from the females out there!!

Ladies, on the first date, who should pick up the tab???

email your thoughts to gari47@gmail.com

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts!

Worker Bee

photo courtesy of www.photobucket.com

Thanks to everyone who's emailed me over the last couple of months wondering, "When will you start posting again?" and "Is that book finished yet, or what?"

It's been an intense couple of months and I'm happy to report that I'm in the homestretch.  Bear with me as I put the final touches on my first draft - good thoughts and energy sent my way are always welcome!!

I'll be back soon and when I return, stay tuned for some exciting news!

All the best and as always, thank you for reading.

On Love and Surfing........

photo: courtesy of photobucket

I’m a control freak. Make that a self-control freak. Okay, an emotional control freak. Some people prefer to control others unleashing a litany of passive-aggressive behavior in order to get their way. Me? I’m more of an eyes-on-your-own-paper kind of girl. When things get too sticky- code for “You’re getting too close to my emotional edges” - I shut down and head for the hills taking my vulnerability with me.

I’m not a coward, though. I push my limits in all other areas of life. I’m the girl, who travels to Mexico for a month, knowing not a soul. I’m the one who left a lucrative job in the corporate world to pursue my creative passions.

So, signing up for Surf School in Costa Rica was right up my alley. It was Winter; I was pale; and I always wanted to learn how to surf. For five days, I stuck close to my adorable, South American Surfing Instructor, Rodrigo, whose shouts of “P-AH-ddle! P-AH-ddle! Get Up!” rang in my ears long after school was over.

On the third day, I had a revelation. As I paddled out to Rodrigo, who was straddled on his board, sitting upright, feet dangling in the water, he gave me the usual, “You ready?” I was exhausted. The muscles in my arms were on fire, my nose running like a five-year old, and the waves seemed bigger that day than they had all week. But, I’m no slouch. I nodded and got into position.

As I lay there on the board, Rodrigo offered some last minute reminders. “Fit W-EYE-d. Bock foot fearst. Then front. Okay? Let’s go. P-AH-ddle! P-AH-ddle! Hard!”

Determination kicked in and I focused on everything he told me. As I waited on the board, face down and ready to paddle, I thought about how bizarre the whole experience was. I couldn’t see the waves coming and I was completely reliant upon Rodrigo’s judgment and direction. It was a total loss of control.

I thought of Rob. Tall, dark and beautifully chiseled Rob, whose deep voice alone could drive a woman to orgasm. We dated for almost a year. He was a Personal Trainer who liked his weed and his workouts – pretty simple. He loved my spirit and the fact that I spoke my mind. He was also a great listener.

“I have a fear of losing myself in relationship,” I told him early on. “I’m not sure I know how to be independent and committed.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Liz,” he said quietly, deep voice soothing my mental chatter. “Just, do you.”

Unfortunately, “doing me” consisted of bobbing and weaving like Muhammad Ali

And Rob was a good opponent, dipping left, when I went right, never doing that hug-thing boxers do when they want to stop the fight.

I tried, but I was terrified. What if I really let him in and actually got used to it? Then, what? What if he leaves? What if I couldn’t function without him?

I give him a lot of credit because he never pushed. Though, sometimes, I wonder if he had pushed a little harder, if we’d still be together, but, alas, we aren’t.

I just couldn’t let go – of myself.

In Costa Rica, I realized that learning to surf is a lot like love. Sitting there on my surfboard, I had to put myself in someone else’s hands. I had to let go and not only trust my instructor, but I had to trust the fact that when the time came for me to ride that wave, I could do it. I wondered how I could lay there, my back to the waves, with no idea of the height or the timing of the oncoming wave, waiting for that moment every surfer feels when the swell of the wave takes hold and challenges you to ride along with it.

Love is just like a wave – it swells, takes hold and the rest is just a ride. All you can do is remember to keep your feet planted properly and your focus on what’s in front of you. Sometimes, you fall – hard. Other times, you find that wave and everything slows down, as you truly feel like you are one with the ocean.

For me, I decided if I can ride the wave of Mother Nature, I can certainly give love a try.

As for Rob, he’s got a new girlfriend. I hear she’s teaching him how to surf.

Rinse and Spin

photos by julia aron

This morning, I said my final “Adios” to LAOra as today is the last day of school. Julia is finished with her classes for the day and has agreed to join me and my surfing peeps on the beach. She’s bringing her camera which is exciting to all as we’re all anxious to document our surfing progress.

I’ve got cramps, a condition not conducive to surfing; It takes almost half my energy to tolerate them – not a good thing, considering I need as much strength as possible to get my surf on.

At the beach, the waves are looking a lot like they did yesterday in Hermosa – a fact that still excites me today – in spite of my cramps. I’m ready to make my last day of surfing here, a memorable one. We do the usual splitting off – Ben, Mike and me with Rodriguo and the others with their respective Surf Instructors. Julia’s on the beach, camera in-hand, excited to take pictures of me riding the waves.

I give her a small wave as I make my way into the water and out to sea. Getting out proves to be fairly simple because the waves have died down for the moment. I paddle over to Rodriguo who’s already sitting on his board, legs straddled, dangling in the water. “You ready, Leez?” he asks, flashing me that sheepish smile I’ve come to appreciate over the past week. I want to tell him that I’m feeling less than 100% and that I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up, but that’s not really my style. Fake it ‘til ya make it, right? “I’m ready Rodriguo!” I say, mimicking his seated position on my board.

And then, we wait.

There’s a lot of waiting in surfing. Some of this has to do with the fact that I’m still an amateur and not ready to take every wave that comes. But, even the others who’ve been here much longer, don’t necessarily take every wave that comes. So, we spend the first hour waiting a lot. I try to catch a few waves, but they don’t really pan out. I imagine it looks like I’m descending down a flight of stairs from afar as I sink slowly down into the water, atop of my board.

Finally, Rodriguo calls out to me to get ready. I paddle closer to him and get into position. He reminds me to keep my “fit wEYEd” as he yells for me to “P-AH-ttle! P-AH-ttle!” With that, I can feel the wave coming up behind me, I try to steady my breath and focus on getting my feet wide on the board.

I’ve got good position and as I stand up to full height on the board, I instantly realize something – this wave is freakin’ HUGE! I am way the fuck up here! Maybe I’m not really cut out to surf, ‘cuz this doesn’t excite me – THIS SCARES ME! And with that, I panic, pretty much jumping right off my board and into the water. Doh!

I don’t even bother to look back at Rodriguo because I know he’s going to give me that familiar shrug of his shoulders, a silent gesture of “What happened?”

But, I’m not off the hook because Ricardo, the Head Instructor, calls out to me, “Why you jump off yer board?” I don’t even bother with an answer. I’m sure it would go over real well if I yelled back at him, “Because I got spooked!”

And like a chorus of hecklers, Carlos, Surf Instructor/Photography teacher calls over to me. “How beeg you think tha’ wave wuz?”

With my palms on the board and my feet still in the water, I lean forward and yell, “I dunno. 20 feet?”

This sends Carlos into a fit of laughter and I ignore him, getting back on my board to paddle back out to the others.

He calls out to me, “Four feet!” And I hear the laughter behind me as I make my way back to Rodriguo.

“You okay, Leez?” He asks, pulling my board closer to his.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just got a little scared.”

He tells me not to be scared, which, of course, is easy for him. He’s only been surfing a million times in his life.

After some more waiting, I try to take another wave. My footing is off and I barely get past a kneeling position, finally slipping off the board completely. The only problem is there are a few larger waves behind me and for what seems like an eternity, I am thrown around in the undertow like a rag doll, swallowing a ton of salt water. The good thing about having a leash is that you’ll never lose your board. The bad thing, that I quickly learn today is that while I’m being thrown around, it is too – pulling my right leg practically out of its socket.

I finally reemerge from the water and get my bearings. I’m a lot further in than I expected. I grab the leash and pull on the rubber tubing to retrieve my board. Mike’s about ten feet away from me and we shoot each other a quick, “Holy Shit, that was intense!” look before we begin the long paddle back out to the others.

As I paddle out, I take stock of my physical condition. I didn’t hurt myself on that last one, but I am completely exhausted. I think I’ll just chill for a bit when I get back out to Rodriguo. My arms are sore and tired from paddling and I feel like I’m not really getting anywhere.

The waves have picked up and they seem to be coming faster and harder than before. If I can just get past the point where they are breaking, I’ll be fine. The only problem is that I can’t. The wave coming toward me is a doozy and I know that I’m going to have to get under my board for this one. I just hope I can hold onto my board once the wave breaks.

I paddle vigorously towards it and as it breaks about five feet in front of me, I grasp my board, flip over and under the water, hugging it close to the front of my body. The wave is so strong that my board lurches upwards, pulling my arms and the rest of me with it. I learn later that, in this case, I should just let the board go, but right now, I hold on as if my life depends on it. Unfortunately, once the wave passes, the board comes back at me with a WHAP! - hitting me in the forehead. More swallowed salt water. Much more pain my body; and the sinking feeling that I’m not even close to reaching the others.

I pull myself together, get back on the board, and do it all over again. This time, I know what to expect and unfortunately, it creates more fear rather than less. As I see the next wave coming towards me, two things cross my mind – the first is the fear that I won’t be able to handle this and that I’m going to get seriously hurt. The second is to Carlos: Four feet my ass!

As expected, it’s more of the same, me flipping the board and getting whipped around like Raggedy Ann. Finally, I get back out to the others and Rodriguo tells me to “Take it EE-see for awhile.” No arguments here.

I must be feeling better because while I’m taking a timeout, the frustration starts to build. I don’t want to go out like this! I want my last day of surfing to be a success. I have to get up at least one more time. And with that, I tell Rodriguo I’m ready to get back in the game.

After more waiting, I’m finally ready to go. With my board facing the shore and my arms paddling as hard as they can, I feel the swell of the wave lurch me forward indicating the point at which I’m supposed to get up. I pull myself up and plant my feet on the board. It’s not a perfect plant, but I’m up and I try to cheat my feet outward a bit. Unfortunately, this screws up my balance and I go down – hard!

After more spinning and lurching, I get above water only to find that the entire left side of my body has gone numb. This can’t be good. I can barely hold onto my board as the waves continue to throw me around. It’s not like the ocean’s going to wait until I feel better. I look out to Rodriguo so I can let him know that I’m done, but he beats me to it and gives me the fingers across the neck sign, calling it a day.

The numbness in my body overtakes the disappointment of ending on not-such-a-great note and as I make my way to shore, I’m not sure what to do. Ben’s already on shore, wrapping the leash around his board. “You okay?” He calls out to me, as I stumble out of the water. “I don’t know. My whole left side is numb.” I say, struggling to hold the board while I unhook my leg from the leash.

I want to cry – mostly ‘cuz I’m scared. But, the numbness is now accompanied by a general pain in my left arm. I do my best to pack my board up, wrapping the leash around the back fins and dipping the front-end into the water to get the sand off.

Julia has no idea what’s going on and while I’m doing my best not to throw myself onto the sand screaming, “Ow! Ow! Help me!” she’s all about taking my picture. The sun is setting behind me and in spite of my pain, I know it’s a great shot. So, I move closer to the water to give her a better shot and give her a phony smile.

When I reach her, she’s all excited. “How was it? You looked great out there!”

I tell her about my pain and numbness.

“Oh shit, girl. Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure.” And I mean it.

Ben’s sweet and offers to load my board onto the van for me. Rodriguo and I pose for a picture and we all pile into the van and head back to school.

So, my last day of surfing wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be, but I loved the experience. And…call me crazy – but I’d do it again.

St. Paddy's Day & Mutlitasking

 




photo courtesy of http://www.acclaimimages.com/


Check out my friend, Matthew's blog about the madness of St. Patrick's Day.  He's a great friend and an even better writer.  ENJOY!!

http://matthewslikelystory.blogspot.com/2010/03/100-proof-amateur-night.html