Get-A-Partner

Part One: Three Stages of Healing 

Part Two: Get-A-Pet

It might be hypocritical for me to write about Getting-a-Partner when I’ve barely stuck my big toe in the water. My first priority was being a partner-to-myself. Seems to me that until a girl becomes her own best friend, it’s not very wise to be looking for her ‘other half’ elsewhere.

But I’m a good listener to all my brave, rejected friends who are still hoping to find a partner to love for the rest of their days. Yea, I’m also kinda annoying because I constantly remind them that this time, they’d best be certain a ‘special someone’ has the capacity to love them back.

Maybe none of us can know whether or not our commitment will be returned with reciprocal fidelity; but unless we're strong enough to accept a reality we don’t want to see, we’re better off sticking with topiaries and kitty cats. At least our nurturing skills are returned with delicate toe nibbles rather than losing a chunk of our hide. Besides, I can talk sweetly to my ivy plant and he doesn’t yell back. That’s a healthy-enough relationship for any woman post narc.

Towards the end of my divorce a few years ago, I succumbed to social pressure suggesting I cast my rod in the sea of abundance because there were plenty of fish for the takin'. The average person seems to think that because a divorced woman has suffered a blow to her ego, the anti-dote to her flagging self-esteem is to Get-A-New-Relationship. Friends say that as soon as we realize we are lovable exactly the way we are, we’ll quit blubbering over unrequited love and they won’t have to stock up on Kleenex.

Eventually, even I, a love jaded woman, yielded to common wisdom and attended a singles dance for people over thirty. Not that I figured there’d be much chance of a fifty-something female finding the man of her dreams, but I thought, “O what the hell…might be good for my soul to have some guy google my vast bosom of motherly affection."

Sometimes folk wisdom merits a critical think update.

I kept a handy dandy checklist in a mental pocket. A little something-something someone had written on a message board in cyberspace. She advised new anglers on deep sea expeditions to make sure the Game Fish met ‘keeper criteria’ by asking three things:

Does he have a job?

Does he have a car?

Does he have a house?

If he has a job, but doesn’t have a car, that’s her problem. If he doesn't have a car, a house or a job, that’s a social problem. If he has a house but doesn’t have a job or a car, he’ll be shacked up in her place shortorder quick. This is about as basic as it gets. Don’t accept a date from any fella who doesn’t meet the first three things a girl must check off her list before getting serious.

So I show up at this huge recreation room swimming with waltzing clingfish, a few obvious sharks and a small school of groupers, grunions and grunts: all them scanning the other half of the room for delicate widows, minnows and tuna. I take a seat on the closest chair to the refreshment table and begin growing moss on my underused dancing shoes. But I’m happy to tell y’all that I didn’t take it personally because there were plenty of cakes and cookies to sooth my crappie feelings.

The first prize catch gliding towards me was a white-haired guy with a walker.

The second catch of the day was a odd-looking man with foamy saliva dribbling from the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry,” my savvy neighbor whispered to me. “He’s harmless. It’s just his meds.”

Who am I to criticize anyone responsible enough to take medication? After all, my family keeps a crystal bowl of Prozac in the center of our kitchen table.

The first thing he said while spinning me in circles was, “Do you own your house?”

I’m figuring he wasn’t asking me that because he’d been reading narcissism forums. Most likely, he was looking for a place he could call his castle. I used the best crankbait in my tackle box to lure the fella closer and find out for sure. I answered, “O sure! I have my own house. And it’s paid for.”

“Paid for?” he queried. “Lucky you.” Then casually drifting along he asked, "Is that house of yours in a nice neighborhood?" 

“O, it's a really nice neighborhood. One of the best in the city!” He’s definitely interested now. 

“Do you get spousal support, too?”

“O, yes!” I offered. “More than one woman will ever spend in her lifetime.”

Now of course I’m dropping little white flies but when we’re trolling for sea bass, it’s no time to bait hooks with worms.

“Gee,” he mused. “I think we have a lot in common, probably more than either of us may even realize. May I be so bold as to admit that I felt something familiar when we met? Like meeting an old friend from another time. Another place. Another reality. Maybe we had a sacred contract before we came to this earth school. One can never know for sure.”

Yes. Another reality. Like something out-of-this-world, all right. Like did this man even realize his chin was wet?

The music stopped and I thanked him kindly and returned to my chair, still warm from an hour’s worth of waiting for the first fish to swim along. He walked back to the guy-side of the room and started chumming with his buddies. Before I even knew what had happened, CZ was the most popular woman in the room. These fellas couldn’t keep their hands off me, even if a metal walker separated our hearts from beating as one. 

Now my first time at sea in 1972, I managed to snag a sleeper shark. Even though it took me thirty years to end my struggle by letting go of the rod, I finally managed to set myself free. This time around, the wise Captain is more focused on steering her ship than being validated as a trophy simply because her ship was bought and paid for.

There are Red Flags and Warning Signs helping people discern whether or not they are treading dangerous water and would be better off sailing alone than fishing for compliments. Here’s a few valuable tips for all the people who are brave enough to be dangling poles in the deep, blue sea of available partners:

Start with the first three criteria for Getting-A-Partner . Then, just in case you've hooked a sleeper shark, add the advice of Martha Stout, author of The Sociopath Next Door.

"When considering a new relationship of any kind, practice the Rule of Threes regarding the claims and promises a person makes, and the responsibilities he or she has. Make the Rule of Three your personal policy.

"One lie, one broken promise, or a single neglected responsibility may be a misunderstanding. Two may involve a serious mistake. But three lies says you're dealing with a liar, and deceit is the linchpin of conscienceless behavior. 

"Cut your losses and get out as soon as you can. Leaving, though it may be hard, will be easier now than later, and less costly. Do not give your money, work, secrets, or affection to a three-timer. Your valuable gifts will be wasted." ~Dr. Martha Stout


References

LoveFraud's Red Flags for sociopaths
http://www.lovefraud.com/02_howToSpotAcon/spot_con_artist.html

Oprah's Red Flags for Abusive Men 
http://www.oprah.com/relationships/relationships_content.jhtml?contentId=con_200408_signs.xml

Vaknin, Sam. How to Recognize a Narcissist
http://samvak.tripod.com/faq58.html

Heartless Bitches. The Tale of Joe Smooth
http://www.heartless-bitches.com/rants/manipulator/joesmooth.shtml

Dr. Tracy's Women to Avoid, Part One and Two
http://www.loveadvice.com/ARTICLES/BITCHES1.HTM

Dr. Irene's, The Female Narcissist
http://www.drirene.com/female_nar.htm