Not My Type: The New Reality Show

I’ll take the sporty blonde for 200, please.

As many of you may remember from The Baby Photo DatingStory, I started seeing someone who was “not my type.” I hemmed and hawed for a bit when we were just friends about taking things to the next level. Having mentioned that Five Eleven wasn’t my type while talking with My Sister the Pharmacist at the time, she gave me the best tidbit imaginable. She said, “Well, dating your type obviously isn’t working for you, is it?” Whoa. So true.

But, you know, Five Eleven is my type. She has all the characteristics of the perfect woman and perfect partner that I’ve always wanted. She’s caring and loving. Romantic, funny, sweet. She’s helpful, smart, sexy, creative, thoughtful, handy…and on and on. Plus, she’s absolutely crazy about me. What’s not to love and what’s not my type?

Kinda like Einstein's quote on the definition of insanity...doing the same thing
over and over and expecting a different outcome. Dating the same type can feel like Insanity.

Just because she didn’t fit into my typical physical what-I-was-attracted-to-before traits, I almost lost out on the best thing I’ve ever had. I used to tend towards the more sporty, feminine-edged lesbians. Not the girly, feminine girls either (those aren’t my type). Very rarely did I do a double take at a Boi or more Butchy-edged lesbian with the thought of perhaps dating. When we were “just friends,” I even told Five Eleven several times that she wasn’t my type. Dang, what a heartbreaker I was…

So, lately, I’ve been repeatedly giving this “not-my-type” advice to several friends. One of which is a straight friend who wasn’t having much luck dating in the last several years. I think she has finally got it! She’s dating a guy closer in her age range (though she doesn’t look her age). This weeded out the ones who don’t know what they want or the ones with young kids which she doesn’t want to do anymore. Responsible, working men who may not own their own companies and several houses will be there to lavish more attention on her which is her type. They also can spend time cuddling on the couch watching sporting events like she likes to do.

We are all so quick to judge people based on what they look like on the outside. That’s why shows like The Voice have come into play. You only initially judge the singer on their voice versus seeing who you’re listening to which may actually influence you.

I think that’s where I lucked out with Five Eleven. We started talking long-distance just as friends. I fell in love with her from the inside out. Now, when I see her, or when she sends a pic to my phone, my insides just melt. She is so physically my type.

So, I think there should be a new, reality dating show called “Not My Type.” Find out what people want in a partner. Find out what their type is…what are they looking for in a relationship? If it’s blue-eyed, blonde-haired movie star look, see what about that is absolutely necessary. If they’re looking for someone who is funny and who loves country music, cooking at home together and mountain biking, how is the blonde hair and chiseled jaw going to help that? Seriously?

Maybe start them off just talking on the phone for several “dates?” You can tell a lot by the sound of someone’s voice. Does their voice irritate the heck out of you? Intrigue you? Excite you? Calm you? (I told Five Eleven that she had a sexy voice the first time I heard her…even as friends).

And, hey, how about what they actually say? Do you connect with them? Have things in common? Do you like how they think? What do they want in a relationship? What have they had? How would they change things? What kind of future do they see for themselves? Does your conversation flow? Do you always have things to talk about? Are the quiet moments okay?

Those should be the things that really matter. Those connections and similarities make someone our type. Yes, physical traits and chemistry play a part. If you’re active and tend towards the athletic, you’ll hear how they run or hike in the stories they tell. And, if they aren’t in top physical shape, but would like to be more active again, you’ll have something to do together if that’s important to you. Just be honest.

Being truly honest is required. No cat-fishing allowed. (See that’s where the physical stuff comes into play more so than who they really are). You can’t lie and say you like something or you like to do something when you have no real interest in it. You need commonalities and knowledge up front. At least the realization of them. Don’t waste everyone’s time. You can have differences, of course, but some likes have to be there.

Are there things that Five Eleven and I don’t have in common? Yes. For one thing, I love the ocean and swimming. She doesn’t. At all. Will that work? Yes. She likes the beach and the outdoors. She can watch me boogie board or one day surf in the big waves and I can resuscitate her from her panic when I come back to shore. She can free-climb cliffs or repel down rock faces while it’s my turn to panic from down below (there’s no way I’m hanging off the top of a cliff to watch her). Important thing is we’ll be together in nature, which we both love. Thank goodness she is my type.

So, on this reality show, after the face-to-face date, when this “not-my-type” person turns out to be brown-haired and brown-eyed, is that really a deal breaker from everything you learned about them? What if they are the same height as you and you say your type is taller? Why do we have so many pre-conceived notions of what we want physically? Have those physical traits made a difference in your relationship before? Did it work out for you? Obviously not if you’re out looking again. What if this person who doesn’t fit your “type” turns out to be the most amazing partner, lover and friend? Would have been a shame to pass them up just because they weren’t blonde, huh? So, maybe it’s time to start making some real, life-lasting connections instead? Then, “Not My Type” just might become My Type.

Are you with someone who wasn’t your type? What makes for a good partner? Please share below!

@Ybbeige

Erica Harding finds someone who wasn’t her type in this novel, Unexpectations.

Nothing Says Love Like a Chocolate Boob

Do you ever come across an idea and think, “Oh, my gosh, this is SO awesome!” and “Why didn’t I think of that?” Yea, but, then it doesn’t turn out so awesome (and, you’re kinda glad it wasn’t your idea?). I had one of those things happen today. I don’t know where I got the idea, so sorry that I can’t give proper credit. It was either in a long-distance relationship ideas article or maybe a romantic ideas article. Anyway, it struck me as super cool so I jotted it down. It said, “Mold a chocolate body part.” I’m thinking, chocolate and boob. Wow! Doesn’t get much better than that! You would think.

So, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner. Five Eleven still lives 2400 miles away and we can’t be together. A blizzard is bearing down on us here in New England. If I’m going to get this out in time for her to get it by the 14^th, it needs to be in the mail today.

After barely sleeping because of a headache, I grab a cup of coffee and take a quick shower. After all, if I’m going to put chocolate on my boob for her consumption, it should be a clean boob.

Maybe I should Google how to do this? No. Can’t be that hard. I went to art school. Melt some chocolate. Don’t make it so hot that I burn my nipple off. Slather it on fairly thick. Let it harden. Pop it off. Wrap it up. Voila! Valentine’s Day gift is ready to mail.

If only chocolate boobs were that easy. I’m afraid to say that is not how my chocolate boob adventure went. It started off like that…somewhat.

So, here I am wearing jeans and a zip up sweatshirt, fresh out of the shower. It’s too cold to be totally topless. I melt some nice 60% Ghiradelli chips down; add a touch of Grand Marnier…ready to go. I get a towel and some paper towels because I know me. Grace is not my middle name. Made a note to grab a hand mirror but forgot to. Lay down on the couch, bare my right breast and spoon on some warm chocolate. Hope I have the edges looking good. Can’t see because I forgot the mirror. Nice.

The fateful ingredients.

Flip on one of those morning shows that I never watch figuring it’ll only take a few minutes. Touch the edge. Still liquidy. Lick my finger. Hmm… Try to sip my coffee. I am not in a comfortable position. Hope this doesn’t take too long.

Test it again. Not even close. Lick my fingers. I shift to get more comfortable. The inside of the sweatshirt now has chocolate on it. The sun starts shining in through the window directly on my breast. Well, that balmy stream won’t help it. The furnace is running non-stop, too, since I turned it on. Should have left it at the 53 degrees like it was in here when I woke up. So, I carefully get up, turn the furnace down and reposition out of the sun. Of course, I get more chocolate on my fingers. Lick it off.

A half hour of morning show dribble goes by. Touch the chocolate. Dang! Not even close to solidifying. Lick my finger. It must be too warm in here along with my warm body temperature. So, I go to my side door, crouch down and open it up. I’m hoping the air that can now seep in around the ill-fitting storm door is cool enough to harden my chocolate boob. As I’m crouched on the floor, I can see movement at my neighbor’s. Oh my god, I think they can totally see me! They see everything I do anyway. No, wait, the window is fogging up. I’m good. Why is there so much glass on this storm door? I lean back against the inside door hoping to blend in, just in case.

The cool air comes in. Nothing is happening. So, I lift the storm window to let more cool air in. Did I mention that it’s 18 degrees out? Yes. One. Eight. So, now, my other nipple is totally erect and the chocolate is not getting any harder. Somehow, I manage to bump it with half my hand. I lick it off.

Okay, now I’m desperate. I need to get really cold. I grab the key to the shed. Cover the non-chocolate boob, hold my sweatshirt out like a wing to shield the chocolate boob so I don’t freak out my neighbors and I make a dash for the shed.

I close the door behind me. I can see my breath. It’s freaking cold in here. I start shivering. I can see goose bumps all over my stomach and chest. Both my nipples can now cut glass. The right one will drill itself out of its chocolate sheath if this takes too long. I test the chocolate. What the heck?! Lick my finger. I’ll bend over. Maybe if my boob is hanging away from my body, it’ll finally harden. So there I am. Bent over two Ziploc baggies full of smelly shells from beach walks and a five gallon tank of gas. Wow. This is a romantic gift in the making.

Hey, my boob looks like it’ll be a good shape though. Perky and round. I’m starting to feel hypothermic. I test the chocolate. Barely firm but I swear I feel it pulling away from my skin. It must be time. Maybe, just maybe it’ll work? I try to pop off my chocolate boob.

The chocolate in the bowl hardened up just fine.

Instead of a nice chocolate cup that I was envisioning (ooh, to fill with ice cream?), I get a handful of thick, mushy chocolate. I jam it into my mouth. Scrape off another handful. This is breakfast. Way past breakfast time. I wipe my hands off on some of those manly blue paper towels I keep in the shed, pull my sweatshirt closed and run back into the house.

Strip off the sweatshirt and jeans and jump in the shower. Again. Sadly, the rest of the chocolate boob goes down the drain. I still had to go to the post office to mail other things. Just not a chocolate boob. So, sorry, Five Eleven. You’ll be getting a nice Valentine’s Day card from me anyway. But, wait. Did I mention that I took pictures of this whole adventure? Just for you. Nothing says love like pictures of a chocolate boob.

@Ybbeige

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

www.barbarabeige.com
Unexpectations on Kindle

So, You Finally Met Your Girlfriend? And, She Wasn’t a Catfish?

Here’s the scoop. I just spent the past month with Five Eleven (formerly known as 5-11 SexyBoi SexyTwang). Day in. Day out. And, it was absolutely wonderful. Better than wonderful. But, she’s your girlfriend and you’ve been dating, like, eight months, you say? Yep. So true. But, it was long distance. 2400 miles apart. We hadn’t actually met until December. Things just came up. With jobs and travel plans and stuff. And, with my head injury, I couldn’t travel out there, so that also limited things.

Friends would say that we just needed to meet. Hurry up, already. To see if we liked each other. To see if there was chemistry. Sparks. Fireworks…that kind of stuff. What if she wasn’t a good kisser? Um, no, that was not the case. (Phew! That could have been bad!)

Five Seven and Five Eleven isn't that much of a difference...

I met Five Eleven online. On Twitter, actually. I wrote about her in The Baby Photo Dating Story. I started talking to her as just a friend. A friend going through a breakup just like me. Only her most recent relationship was a longer one. But, I had once been there too. We talked as friends about chocolate. If you know me, you know I love chocolate. She does too. And, we talked about life. About love. About our hopes. Our dreams. About sex. Or, lack thereof. We talked “as friends” for months. She wasn’t “my type.” But, she seemed safe. She was good people. Yea, I was wrong on that. The not-my-type thing. I was totally right about the good people part.

After my heart did its flippy thing and I fell for her, at times I’d feel the outside pressure to have to meet her. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from having a brain injury, it’s patience. In our world of technology and high speed everything, things that are worth the most, aren’t always immediately attainable.

I feel that we were fortunate to have time to build such a good relationship long distance. Based on friendship first. She also helped me a lot with my head injury and keeping me organized with appointments, helping me ask the right questions, get the right treatments… Most people could have walked away right then and there. And, I always half expected it. But, not Five Eleven. Like she says, “through thick and thin, sickness and health.” Even while she was here, she took care of me. Drove me everywhere I needed to go. Did the things that she knew made me most nauseous. She made sure I rested and didn’t do too much that would have hurt my head. How lucky am I?

So, when I first met her, she was exactly what I imagined. Maybe better. Yea. Better. Watching her movements and mannerisms was nice. And, her swag. Yea. She’s got swag. She was as sweet and as kind as I had thought. And handy. Holy handiness! I thought I could rock a toolbelt. Wow. Not quite like her. And, after an entire month, things never changed…well, not for the worst…they just got better and better. Plans are already in the works for more face time.

Sorry the eucalyptus is covering up some of the swag. Dang! That's good swag.

Isn’t this how people used to date? In the “old days?” The really old days? Get to know someone over time with hand-written letters and correspondence? (I recommend doing that, too, even with technology). Other people are also doing this long-distance dating thing from what I hear. Unfortunately, for some of them, it turns out to be a scam. Can you believe that? A scam! It’s called catfishing. Or, to catfish. There’s a movie and TV show about it now. Both called Catfish.

Catfishing is trying to find love online and someone totally misrepresenting themselves as someone else. I couldn’t imagine doing that. Life is too short to lie about anything and to not be yourself. It’ll come back to bite you if you do. Just look at the case of the Notre Dame football player, Manti Te'o. Lying about having a girlfriend who dies from cancer? Really? Why? What the heck? Google that story and tell me what you think.

Meeting someone and dating long distance takes trust. And, honesty on both sides. Pics and videos are helpful. Along with the talking on the phone. Long distance rates aren’t like they used to be…most everyone can afford some talk time. You can hear a lot in a person’s voice. And, hopefully enough to know if they are sincere and good people. Or, if there’s something fishy about them. Catfish fishy.

Have you ever been in a long distance relationship? Five Eleven and I have found the link above (dating long distance) to have helpful ideas. What has helped you? Would you ever date someone long distance? How long would you wait before you met them? Please share!

@Ybbeige (follow me on Twitter - you just can't date me)

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

www.barbarabeige.com

Unexpectations on Kindle