He’s Da Wan

My nephew Finn scares his mom half to death when he would suddenly exclaim, “DA WAN!!”  It could be interpreted in so many different ways, like “that one” to indicate a preference, albeit a demanding one that clearly unnerves my sister.

Baby Finnster

Or perhaps he’s trying to say “don’t want,” like the aforementioned but in the negative.  We’re often asked what it is we want, and in the absence of that, we say, “Well, I know what I DON’T want … .”

But if he were following my dating life, perhaps he’s giving me a cryptic message: “The One.” I didn’t know he was quite the romantic.

It’s probably frustrating for a toddler to communicate with grown-ups, and I want to tell him it’s even tough sledding between adults.  Of course he’s only two.  He has lots to learn, but if I were to venture a guess, he just might be smarter than I will ever be.

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My Brilliant Dating Career

It was one of those low-maintenance Friday nights, in which there was no need to get gusseyed up to venture into the singles jungle, since I was simply going to my local village grocer, Canyon Market, for a wine-tasting of Bonny Doon wines from Santa Cruz, California.  But just like that I was transported back to the company of an old flame who introduced me to Le Cigar Volant, Bonny Doon’s whimsical red.  That night, an Albariño and Syrah were being offered, which were both lovely.  Later when I was at Bird & Beckett Books & Records up the street, walking through the old-fashion bookstore’s ever pregnant shelves while a live jazz band played Gershwin and Cole Porter, I spotted a record of the jazz great Thelonius Monk, the last CD I bought that same old beau.

It seems as though I am having a lot of those Marcel Proust moments lately, an object or thing evoking whole memories, like a business card of a French restaurant in Cow Hollow where I had dined with an insignificant other that, I discover, is now resurrected as an American bistro in the Castro.  Perusing through more business cards, I found one of a restaurant in New York City with a waiter’s contact information, which reminded me a rather complicated situation with the above-mentioned boo.

So now it’s time to change things up.  I recently met a published fiction writer whose stories are about young, volatile love.  There’s no such thing as deal-breakers but simply the torrid feelings between the two main characters.  Love goes through walls regardless of the circumstances.  I wish I believe it were so simple, but that isn’t my experience.   I was older when I was properly in love.  Heartbreak came and went, and I’ve learned to manage my expectations when it comes to relationships and dating.  I’ve tried e-harmony and internet dating.  In the 90s, there was, believe it or not, telepersonals.  The bars will never go out of style as well as meeting-cute on the streets or public transportation.  They’re really all a zero-sum game.

Dating isn’t my strong suit, but I realize I’m better hanging out with friends who are open to meeting other people or willing to introduce me to others while we’re out and about.  There’s no pressure or expectations, just pleasant conversation and sharing things we enjoy.   As much as I don’t mind remembrance of things past, the opportunities before me are also exciting.  It’s the thrill of something new, and if it happens that he’s an old soul who laughs easily and has a passion for living (as well as a fan of my beloved sports teams—well, this could be trained), then I suppose that’s a pretty good place to start.