Gatsby Socializing and The Real World

"Life may not be the party we hoped for,
but while we're here we should dance."
~Author Unknown~

I used to be fabulous. I used to be ballsy, and fun and outgoing, and well, just plain fabulous. Anything I wore I made look even more stunning. Anyone I met was intrigued by me. All of the lounges and pubs and clubs and bars I went to were the best.

Gatsby socializing is what I called it. Everyone dressed to be looked at. Everyone was fabulous, fascinating and desirable.  EVERYONE was perfect. I drank martinis, had bottles of wine or the best tequila ordered for me. We all smiled, feigned interest in each other's pretentious lives just long enough so we could tell them how fascinating and fabulous we were. Life was great. There was no threat of carrying anything meaningful in that backpack of a soul we were blessed with. It was empty, save for a tube of fabulous lipstick, the number of a cab company, and our real lives crumpled up somewhere in a side pocket like the homework the dog ate last week.

Gatsby socializing is exactly what I needed in my 20's, and I was good at it. Like really good. I read the paper, watched the news, travelled solo, knew the best places to dance, eat and play. Men actually dated me. I had fabulous meals, surprises, flowers, love letters. You name it. It was all fabulous. After all, when you're that good, who needs a meaningful relationship?

I wore my resume like a badge.  In all of those Gatsby moments, I was fabulous. I was not a single mother.  I was not lonely, or insecure, or tired from the demands of working, parenting and making ends meet that were never really long enough to tie a nice, neat, beautiful bow around my life.  And then it all ended. Kind of like a car crash that only dings the car a bit, but rattles the driver to the point they just can't drive any more. It didn't kill me like the Gatsby crash, but it definitely sent me into shock.

During the Gatsby socializing stage of life, I was looking for Mr. Right.  Mr. Right Hair Colour. Mr. Right Amount of Hair. Mr. Right Education. Mr. Right Height. Mr. Right Resume. Mr. Right Romantic. Mr. Right Traveller. Mr. Sweep Me Off My Feet In Every Possible Way. Times have changed.  Mr. Right's packaging looks a lot different these days.  Back then I had forgotten about Mr. Right Morals, Mr. Right Values, Mr. Right Kindness, Mr. Right Gentleness, Mr. Right Sense of Humour and Mr. Right My Intellectual Match.

Just today, two of my girlfriends came to my office door bemoaning their love lives.  One is in the early stages of dating a few different men. One of the guys is an old flame from years ago, and the other's new love interests she barely knows. My other friend is negotiating her way through a rocky relationship that she desperately wants to work out, but is struggling.  Personally, I don't know what the heck is going on with my romantic life, but I do know I'm home blogging in my flannel pj's with no testosterone filled man ready to snuggle up and keep me warm tonight. Not unless you count my cat Leonard. Even Leonard has been rendered useless to the opposite feline sex, and besides that, he's a little too hairy for my liking.

So, back to my girlfriends. One is on a dating bonanza, or hopes to be soon. We've talked, and I'm ready to go on yet another of my famous manbaticals (ironically the spell checker recommends "monastic" to replace my manbatical word!). I'll dig in and spend a very long winter with my electric blanket and full flannels alone with a few good books and needlework. My friend says she's had a bit of a lull in her love life , and is ready for, "another string of losers".  Nothing like a positive attitude going forward.

My other friend, on the rocks, and up and down with her man says he's loving, attentive, good with a foot and back massage, but a bit of bum and too protective.  She admits to just not wanting to be alone any more, and knows that she's going to take this guy back, that they'll work things out and carry on.

I'm jealous frankly.  I'm in a manlimbo-batical.  I just don't feel like cranking it up and cranking it out on a million and one dates.  As I said to my friend the other night, "It's a complete waste of make-up."  My friends, especially the married ones ironically think I should just go for the night out and meal.  Honestly, I think I'd rather just stay in and heat up some gourmet cat food than subject myself to awkward company. 

Dating is a lot like a job interview.  You always leave wondering whether you had something in your teeth, and either praying they do call, or pleading with the merciless-dating-gods that he loses your number faster than you can pull your car out of the parking lot. I do have to admit that I do hope the man I last dated calls. (Keep it all crossed for me).

There are very few "good" dates that I've had.  I've had numerous dates that I recall making me squeal in laughter, or roll my eyes and and hold my head in embarrassment.  Like the time I thought I'd go on a quick date before going out to another party. I ran into the restaurant from the windy parking lot, and proceeded to have a conversation with a piece of hair sticking up just like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals.  Or, there was the time that on a third date the guy asked me for a loan, just until he got paid of course. What on earth?! Then there's the classic, I-thought-we-were-friends-but-this-guy-thinks-it's-a-date, very awkward date.

Unless there's some very handsome man who randomly knocks on my door after dinner, and has a penchant for women who do needlework and grade school homework while making dinner and doing the dishes,I will likely not be meeting Mr. Right Anything, any time soon. 

My friends and I are as likely to go to a club or bar now as a form of recreation as we are to stay up all night  drinking pop, eating potato chips, chocolate and doing one another's hair. We just don't do that any more. We get together a few times a year for a yummy lunch, or quiet dinner. We go to the art gallery, or to a cute bakery, or quaint jazz bar.  Don't get me wrong, we still have our outrageous moments, we just weigh the pro's and con's a little bit more wisely. We know what it's like to wake up the following morning and want to pull the covers WAY up over our heads when we remember the night before, or just vaguely remember the night before.

Do you remember my Gatsby days girls?  When I'd come into work with the most outrageous stories and then go out that night and do it all over again? Remember the remote control, the pants pockets, the staying out all night?

I used to be fabulous. I'm still fabulous, just not that fabulous. I, and many of my comrades have become fabulous in a more subdued, confident, casual way.  I'm ballsy still, but not edgy (please don't take a poll on this because I know I have some work to do here).  Fun and outgoing? Check - Tick.  I'm even intriguing still, but not because I'm out there Gatsbying full throttle. Just the opposite. I'm loving the simple things in my life more and more. Some might say I'm becoming more "reclusive". I say "selective". That makes me more mysterious and therefore more fabulous - right?