Single Mom on Match.com, Part II

Yesterday’s post was a brief account of my becoming a single parent and my first attempt at Match.com. It ended with my future husband emailing me through the service and me ignoring him. A year later, I decided to try again and I renewed my subscription.

My tag line read: Adventure Girl seeks Adventure Boy. Hee hee!

I was still only checking my email account once a week and having a little trouble keeping up, but Sean’s email and profile stood out to me.

His tag line read: Clark Kent Looking for a Phone Booth.

I replied to his email, and he responded right away. So we chatted for a while through the email that first night…

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Hi Sean,

Thanks for your email! Your profile did pique my interest, and I'd like to learn more about you. What do you like to do for fun? What kind of dog do you have?
Hope to hear from you soon...

Tammie

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Hi Tammie.. Thanks for responding. Lets see.. for fun I travel a lot.. love the water ..love the sun...I have a timeshare in Aruba.. and love it there. I play golf - not too well, but I play. My dog’s name is Scruffy and he’s a 12 y/o cockapoo. So what are you up to tonight? Sean.

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Hi Sean,
That was a fast response! I'm only online every few days, so tonight I'm just checking the mail :) I like to travel too. I've never been to Aruba, although I've heard it's beautiful. Do you snorkel or scuba dive there? I just got into snorkeling this year, and I'm planning on getting certified for scuba. What are you up to tonight?

Tammie

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I was thinking of making some popcorn and watching a movie...would love company... how fast can you get here? Yes I LOVE to snorkel. What are your passions?

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Hmm... popcorn and a movie... very tempting!! I enjoy anything outdoors - hiking, the beach, biking - you name it. In April I took my daughter to snorkel with the manatees in the Crystal River, Florida. It was fantastic! We were signed up for scuba class and completed all of the course work, but we both had major colds that week and couldn't go under. We snorkeled instead, and I can't wait to go again!

I would say I'm most passionate about travel and photography. I love to go anywhere new - spontaneous day trips, weekends away, and those week-long excursions that are a wonderful hiatus from the daily grind. I just got back from camping in Canada on Lake Erie, about 1/2 hour from Niagra Falls. The next trip may be to Maine. There always has to be a next trip in the works - something to look forward to. What do you like to do for fun?

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I'm a fairly physical person.. I like anything outdoors.. even in the winter depending on the company. Yes I bought the DVD "Final Destination 2".. and I make a great bowl of popcorn and I share well :) Do you read? Like movies? If you had to pick the only vacation you would get for the rest of your life where would it be and whom would you bring? Am I on that list? :) What would you do for a Klondike Bar? S.

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Even in the winter? Do you ski? I just tried skiing this past winter for the first time. Not bad for my first time out - I'm pretty athletic. I'm going to start earlier next season.

Only one vacation?? You're hurting me. I love it out west - the Rockies, the mesas, the arid climate. But I love the ocean, too. I've never been to an island, and I haven't been to Europe... I don't think I'm qualified yet to make a decision like that, but I promise I'll work on it :)

Who would I bring? So far my daughter has been an excellent travel buddy and an Adventure Girl of the highest order, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't consider an aspiring Adventure Boy.

I do like movies, and I do read when I'm in that mode. Sometimes I'll have three books going at once, other times I put them all away so I can work on some artwork. There aren't enough hours in the day.

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? Have I mentioned that I'm an Adventure Girl?

Something tells me we could stay up all night talking...

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Well my profile does say I'm looking for someone who could keep me up til 4 am talking.. so this may work. To be very to the point.. I do visualize a family in my future… a premade one is GREAT but would love to add to it.. What are your feelings on that? S

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Oooh… the serious questions (usually reserved for after midnight)... Actually, I'm a fantastic mom and enjoy every minute of it. I've always thought that if I ever married, I'd gladly have more children (and I'd have a built-in babysitter!). And if not, at least I have my sweet girl, who is absolutely precious to me.

Now you have to answer some questions! Do you read? Who would you pick for your one vacation? What would YOU do for a Klondike Bar? What kind of dog is a cockapoo???

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Yes I love to read.. but seems like I only get the time while on vacation. A cockapoo is 1/2 cocker and 1/2 poodle. I on the other hand am 1/2 Italian, 1/4 Irish and 1/4 English. Well I go to Jamaica in October with a bunch of friends.. but my dance card is empty for my trip to Aruba in January. The whole Island is very family friendly, that's why I love it. Take care Tammie...hope to hear from you soon, Sean.

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I'll write back tomorrow. Have a great night...Tammie

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(The next night…)

Hi Sean, Did I mention I don't go online very often? But you've got me back on the very next day! I really enjoyed our email chat last night :) How was your movie?

I'm 1/2 Irish & 1/2 Italian, my dog is a yellow lab.

Some other random little-known facts about me: I know how to pitch a tent and start a campfire, I've been in a major earthquake, I have a mean round house kick, and I make perfect pancakes. I graduated 4th in my class from high school, I like rollercoasters but not ferris wheels, love popcorn with a movie and sugar cookies with a glass of milk.

What else can you tell me about you? Hope to talk to you soon...

Tammie

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Do you know a good caterer? :)

If you’d like to talk a little before we elope.. you can call me (phone number removed to protect the innocent). I’m up til at least 12 every night.. I’m off to watch that movie I never got to last night.. but please call.. I'd love to hear your voice :) S

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Soooo…. I called. We spoke for hours. We chatted for hours at a time every night for the next several nights. Then we decided we’d better meet to make sure there was Spark before we became too emotionally invested.

We met within a week of that first email at a restaurant near me for some appetizers and drinks. After chatting and laughing for hours over some soggy mozzarella sticks and yummy cocktails (he had a gin and tonic, I had a woo woo), we kissed in the parking lot. No, Spark was not a problem. We definitely had Spark. Sparks were flying like crazy.

On our 3rd date, we actually said the L word!

Within 3 months Sean had purchased a ring and asked Mandy’s permission to propose.

Three months after that, on the Natural Bridge in Aruba, Sean asked me to marry him. Mandy, who had kept this big secret for 3 whole months, was there to snap the pictures.

Mandy was also my maid of honor when Sean and I got married 10 months later.

Single Mom on Match.com, Part I

I was a single mother from the day my daughter was born, during my senior year of college. I knew it would be that way, just the two of us.

Not that I didn’t try to work things out with my boyfriend, her biological father. Heck, I gave it more than the ol’ college try. I gave it way more time, patience and leeway than I would most relationships. I thought I owed her that.

I even thought I owed him that. Or maybe it was more selfish. I know I didn’t want him to ever be able to blame me for calling things off between us, or for being the cause of our little family unit being separated. If Mandy grew up not knowing her father, it wasn’t going to be my fault. I gave him every chance in the world to step up to the plate and be a responsible, contributing part of our relationship and her life.

It didn’t work out. He left us. And other than a few sporadic dialogues where he tried to use Mandy as some sort of pawn with which to try and get back at me, I never heard from him again.

I dated here and there. I even had two very serious relationships that I thought would lead to marriage. For one I moved across the country. For both I moved us in, and we functioned as a family unit. Both men loved my daughter with all their hearts. Neither relationship worked out.

My daughter was and still is everything to me. When she was four years old and entering pre-school, I decided that I didn’t want her to be adversely affected by a string of serious relationships that ultimately failed. I didn’t want her to feel as if one father figure after another was abandoning her.

So I swore off dating. Not that I was swearing off men, or loosing faith in finding someone out there that was The One for me. I hadn’t become jaded and bitter. I just decided to take a break and concentrate on being the best mother that I could be. I’m a secure and independent person. I’m not needy. I didn’t feel lost without a partner.

So it was just the two of us for the next 7 years.

But then Mandy entered the 5th grade. There were Girl Scout camping weekends and sleep-overs with friends. There were weekends when she was out and about, and I was home alone watching a movie.

I wasn’t meeting anyone in particular as I went out with friends or through work. What to do? Join a club? Take a class?

A friend at work suggested Match.com.

So I tried it. It seemed fun, kind of like shopping.

At the time, I was checking my email account about once a week on the weekends. During the week was just too busy with work, and then helping Mandy with homework, preparing dinner, bedtime stories.

By the end of the first week I had received some emails from potential suitors on Match.com. I didn’t have time to answer them all.

By the following week there were more. I started to make a list of those I had replied to and those to whom I still owed responses.

By the third week the list was longer. By the fourth week I gave up. If I can’t keep up with emails, I reasoned, I don’t have time to date. So I cancelled my Match.com subscription.

Somewhere in there, during that month, my future husband had emailed me. I had never replied.

And so I was single for another year.

I spent that year taking care of Mandy and focusing on my career. Oh, and getting out of that debt that is so easy to accumulate when you’re a single parent from a young age, with no financial help. That took a while.

When I felt like I was in a good place, debt paid off, career going well, Mandy entering into the 6th grade as a happy and confident young lady, I took stock of my current dating situation. Or more accurately, the lack thereof. I had nothing going on. No prospects. No nothin’.

So I decided to try Match.com again. Maybe this time I could keep up.

I found some interesting prospects. There were a few guys that seemed well-rounded, intelligent, and open to the fact that I was a mother. I even met one for coffee one afternoon on my lunch break. Sparks didn’t fly, but he was nice enough.

Meanwhile, after contacting me that first time, my husband-to-be had found someone to date and had left Match.com. He came back to it a year later, though, when things didn’t work out.

He noticed my profile and decided to try again...

Tomorrow... Part II.

Mini-Me

Last night I picked Mandy up from hanging out with her boyfriend.

Yes, she’s fourteen years old (15 next month) and she has a boyfriend. At first I thought it was so cute! She came home one night from the local arcade, all smiley and blushy and giggly, and she told me that this boy Mike had asked her out.

“What did you say?!”

“I said yes!”

“Woooooow! Mandy has her first boyfriend!”

Little did I know that it would be a long-term relationship. They’ve been together for over a year now. Actually, a year three months and two days if you ask either one of them. Had I only known, I might have considered telling her that she isn’t allowed to date until she’s sixteen. Hindsight is 20/20.

I mean, my first relationship lasted a month and a half. For our one-month anniversary Jarod gave me a little silver chain with a little silver “T” on it. I had never gotten a gift from a boy before. I was smitten! I couldn’t wait to see what he gave me for our “two-month”.

He dumped me two weeks later. First love was so fleeting for me.

But I do like Mandy’s boyfriend. He’s a nice kid and they are best friends.

So anyway, we are in the car last night, and she is telling me about this girl Pam at school that she doesn’t like. Pam is best-buddies with Mike’s ex-girlfriend, and she’s always so “fake.” One of those high-school girls that pretends to be your friend just so she can gather up enough dirt on you to throw in your face at some later time, hopefully in front of all the popular kids.

You remember these girls, the ones with their noses high in the air. The ones who will kick you when you’re down, or at least point and laugh. The ones who always try to hang out with the in-crowd and act so cool, so it makes you wonder what they’re up to when they come over and start talking to you.

“I know the type,” I tell her.

“She says stuff like, ‘Soooooooo, how’s the BOY Fa-RIEND’ all exaggerated and everything,” Mandy tells me.

My reply and Mandy’s reaction to her own story were identical: “Oh Puh-leeze!”

We even said it the same way and at the same time. It was probably one of those instances where you’re supposed to smack the other person and shout “jinx” or something like that. I forget how it goes. It’s been a long time since I was in school.

Anyway, I’m chuckling at this aligned response. We’ve done this so many times before. Mandy is just shaking her head.

“Congratulations, Mom. You’ve raised a little YOU.”

A Date Should Include Making-Out

He appears without warning from behind a tree, brandishing a handgun and pointing it unsteadily in our direction.

“Freeze!!! Drop your weapons!!!”

As I raise my hands above my head, I shoot Chuck a look that pierces his skull and burns out the little area of his brain that had thought this would make an enjoyable afternoon.

This day was just not going the way I had planned.

Let me set the scene for you. It’s 1987. I’ve succeeded in teasing my hair to lofty new heights with a combination of Aqua Net and Aussie Mega-Scrunch Mousse. I’m wearing black stretch capris, black granny boots, and pink slouch socks that match my pink, gray and black sweater. I’m also sporting earrings that are large, dangling pink stars.

I know this all sounds rather hideous, but my tiny ass (it was just a modest bubble back then) looks smokin’ in the stretch pants.

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my boyfriend Chuck’s car. It’s a little blue Toyota something-or-other (I’m not good with cars). He’s survived many car accidents in this little beauty, and it shows. Every corner of this vehicle has been smashed, bashed, and dented in. The back window on the left side is completely gone, but he has woven a formidable replacement out of layers of duct tape.

And on the hood of the car, the crowning glory: a white body outline (a crime scene staple), as if someone met their maker right there, cursing out this reckless lead-foot teenage hooligan with their last screaming breath. From the looks of the car, you consider for a moment that the body outline might actually be real.

No Sleep Til Brooklyn is booming through the sound system. Chuck knows every word.

I’ve been waiting all week to hang out with my boyfriend. We planned on seeing a movie. I’m pretty sure that after the movie, we’ll park the car behind the theater like we always do and have a hot make-out session. That’s the part I’m looking forward to.

“Why are we going this way?”

“Malaney called me. He wants to come to the movie with us.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a third wheel. My plan has been foiled.

“Are we still gonna see Who’s That Girl?”

“Nah, Malaney wants to see Predator.”

A dude movie. How romantic.

Billy: I'm scared Poncho.
Poncho: Bullshit. You ain't afraid of no man.
Billy: There's something out there waiting for us, and it ain't no man. We're all gonna die.

Oh yeah, this shit has them going. They come out of the movie all juiced up on buttered popcorn, Milk Duds, and dangerously high levels of testosterone.

We head back to Malaney’s house to get some BB guns. You heard me… BB guns.

Then we park the car (you know, the one with the body outline) at the end of a very residential street. We are heading into the woods to play Ambush.

What’s Ambush, you ask? I don’t freakin’ know. Malaney gives us a head start.

Reminder: I am dressed like an extra from a Madonna video.

We dart down a trail and scamper up an embankment. I’m skewering dead leaves with the heels of my granny boots. We duck down between some boulders which form a cave-like area. We have a perfect view of the trail below us. Chuck has the BB gun aimed and ready. We wait.

We wait.

We wait for quite some time. Sparrows have begun nesting in my teased mane. Malaney has obviously taken a different trail, and has most likely found himself a similar vantage point. I’m sure he’s got his gun aimed too, ready and waiting.

And waiting.

“This sucks. Someone’s gonna have to make a move in this stupid game.”

We begin our covert mission to uncover the hidden Malaney Hideout. Maybe we can sneak up on him from behind and fire a BB at his ass.

I’m not sure how stealthy I can be in heels. “It’s all fun and games until someone looses an eye,” I whisper.

Chuck’s not listening. He’s spotted something.

Suddenly, shots are fired. Our position has been compromised!

Chuck and Malaney have sprung into action. There are diving rolls, dashes behind trees and rocks, peals of laughter, and BB’s flying everywhere. There’s even some cursing to coincide with the sting of the BB’s.

I am staying a safe distance away, in the middle of the trail, with my arms crossed, pouting. I bet I look quite fetching standing here, with the trees all around me and a nest in my hair. And he’s not even noticing.

I’m not very happy with this date.

I guess from the perspective of the elderly couple on Crestview Drive, it did look a bit menacing: Two men with shotguns... yeah, shotguns! leading a young (cute) girl into the woods. I suppose I would have called the authorities, too.

When the children finally grow bored with their Predator games, we start up the trail toward the car.

He appears without warning from behind a tree, brandishing a handgun and pointing it unsteadily in our direction.

“Freeze!!! Drop your weapons!!!”

As I raise my hands above my head, I shoot Chuck a look that pierces his skull and burns out the little area of his brain that had thought this would make an enjoyable afternoon.

The boys slowly lay their weaponry on the ground. We all have our hands above our heads. A painfully obvious rookie is pointing a gun at us with a precariously shaky hand.

And my hair looks so good today. I even did my nails.

I decide that next week I'll make Chuck take me to see Dirty Dancing. That should increase the odds of a post-movie make-out session. And decrease the odds of anyone wanting to join in.

It would be many years before I looked favorably on the prospect of someone joining in...

*wink*

The Worst Thing I've Ever Done

Okay, we all do stupid things in our lives. Especially in our relationships. I’m sure everyone can look back on some wrong committed in a relationship and shudder. And then you file it in the back of your brain and leave it there, hoping it will get lost and fade away.

Well screw it. I’m pulling out my shameful file and posting it. Let me tell you about the worst thing I’ve ever done…

It was a relationship I had during college with a guy named Chris, who would eventually become one of my stalkers. But that’s another story.

Chris and I are dating for a few months, and we become attached pretty quickly. Scarily, obsessively attached. Well, he is anyway. I’m just enthusiastic because he’s a nice dresser and he knows how to dance.

We are having a little spat. I can’t recall what it’s about. All I know is that it starts to become irrational. There is no sense in continuing an argument with an irrational person. You just have to walk away and resume the discussion when both parties are calm and in a better frame of mind.

That’s my way of thinking anyway.

So I declare, “That’s it. I’m going home. I’ll call you later.”

Chris subscribes to a different approach, called Never Leave Until It’s Settled.

So he says, “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere until we work this out!”

“Uh, this isn’t going to be worked out right now, because you are a crazed lunatic and I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not!” he says.

“Yes I am!” I am grabbing my purse and heading out of his bedroom.

He leaps from the couch and positions himself in the doorframe like Vitruvian Man. This is supposed to block my exit. I duck under his arm and head for the stairs. Again, he dives in front of me and tries to block my escape. Again, I duck under his arm.

I run up the stairs like a gazelle being pursued across the veldt. He is chasing me, yelling, “No! You can’t leave! We have to work this out!”

But by now I’m out the front door and in my car. I’m locking the door and rolling up the window as fast as I can. And then immediately doing the same on the other side of the car as he tries desperately to get in.

“Open the door!”

“No!”

“You can’t leave!”

“I have to get the hell away from you!”

Now he’s standing in front of my orange Vega hatchback. He’s blocking the driveway. I start the car.

“I’m not moving. You have to stay and finish this.”

“I’m already finished with this.”

“I’m not letting you go.”

I shift the car into drive and I slowly roll up to where he is. I’m not even applying the gas; I’ve merely removed my foot from the brake and I’m rolling.

He adjusts his stance as he attempts the Herculean feat of holding back my car. I continue rolling forward.

“Get out of my way.”

“No! I’m not letting you go!”

He is backing up as he tries to halt the car. I can see the veins popping out of his head as he strains to keep me from moving. I do not stop.

Since the driveway is a steep hill, I have to gently apply the gas to continue. It is taking every ounce of patience in my body not to mow him down. I think I hate him.

He is shuffling backwards faster now as I begin to accelerate, but he’s still attempting to keep me there through the sheer force of his manly power. Finally, he gives up and does the only thing he can do.

He jumps up on my hood.

“Get off!”

“No!”

“Well I’m not stopping!”

I continue driving up the hill to the road. It’s about 11:30 at night now, and there’s no traffic on Jean Drive.

Good thing, because now I’m driving down this winding back road with a man on the hood of my car.

I decide to stop and give him one more chance. I feel that I am dangerously close to blowing an O ring if I can’t get the hell away from this idiot.

“Chris, listen to me. Get off of my car. I hate you and I’m going home.”

“No! You have to stay and talk to me!”

“Get off!”

“NO!”

I floor it. He is gripping onto the hood for dear life. I’ve seen spiders do this quite well, little bodies blowing in the ever-increasing wind as little spider feet (do spiders have feet?) stay firmly planted on the windshield. But I've never had the pleasure of seeing this act performed by a dumb-ass soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend.

I feel like I’m going to go insane if I can’t get away from deranged human being.

I’ve got the car up to about 40 mph now. And I do the only thing I can do: I slam on the brakes. This sends him careening onto the roadway. But Spiderman doesn't even need a stunt-double. He executes perfect tuck-and-roll form!

Then he grabs his leg and starts writhing in pain. “Help me! Help me! I think it’s broken!”

I know he’s faking. I drive around him and go home.

I know I probably sound like a callous bitch at this point, but hold tight. That’s not even the end of the story.

I live across town. 45 minutes later, the doorbell rings. I turn on the light to see who’s out there. It’s Chris.

“Hon, I ran all the way over here. We have to talk.”

“We are not talking tonight. Leave or I will call the police.”

“Can you at least give me a ride home?”

Yeah right. All that work to get away from him, and he wants me to drive him back home. Not a chance.

“Go away.”

I turn off the light and go to bed.

NOW maybe I’m a callous bitch.

He’s probably still in love with me.

Turtlenecks

Turtlenecks. Oh, how I hate them!

I’ve never liked them. I feel so claustrophobic in them, like I’m being strangled. I get all hot and sweaty and nauseous. And who the hell wants to look like a turtle?

When I was in nursery school, I had to stay home for a week while I was getting over the measles. Soon afterwards my school was going on a trip, and we were going to take the train to get there. I don’t recall anything about the trip. The only thing I remember was that my mother said I had to wear a turtleneck that day.

I was already dressed for school, but she sent me back to my room to change into one of these torture devices. My dear mother said I couldn’t go on the trip unless I wore it. She had me under the impression that the turtleneck would prevent me from spreading my highly contagious disease to the other children. In retrospect, I wonder if I was really over the measles at all? Maybe she just didn’t want to miss the trip. She was the chaperone, after all.

I finally went to my room, to the bottom draw of the dresser (the one that always stuck and was hard to pull out), and there they were: two pristine (read: never worn) white turtlenecks. One had delicate little yellow flowers on it, and the other had precious little pink hearts. I hated them both. I cried on the train.

I loved the 80’s. We all stretched out the collars of our oversized sweatshirts or cut them right the heck off, a la Flashdance. I stretched all my t-shirts out too. Nothing touched my tender neck. Life was good.

In college I even broke up with a very handsome boy named Benjamin because of my neck phobia. He was a good kisser. Killer blue eyes too. I was in love. We were in my dorm room, lying on my bed, talking and chatting and getting to know each other. We both liked the new song by Janet Jackson - he would say “Miss you much” when we hung up the phone. He was hot.

He said he couldn’t have anything touch under his chin. “Really? Omigod! I can’t have anything touch right here, at the base of my neck. Freaks me out.”

“Like this?” And my big, handsome, square-jawed boyfriend, he pokes the VERY SPOT, with his great big pointer finger (yes, big hands too). When I regained consciousness, I told him to get the fuck out.

Fast forward a good decade later, when I was riding in the truck with my dad. We’re discussing crappy Christmas gifts, like ugly sweaters and such. I told him I hate those socks that have individual compartments for each toe. They make my feet itchy and clammy. Freak me out. “And turtlenecks,” I say. “Turtlenecks with candy canes on them and stuff like that. A turtleneck is horrid enough without putting stupid stuff all over it.”

“Uck,” he chimes in. “I can’t stand turtlenecks. I can’t have anything touching my neck.”

So apparently this shit’s hereditary. Don’t worry, I’ll never make my daughter wear one, even if she gets the measles.