Dating Without Novocaine. Lisa Cach

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      Louise made a duck face with her lips, her eyes narrowing. “I’m sure I could think of one.”

      “How long has it been since you broke up with that guy who worked at Intel?” I asked.

      “I wouldn’t call it ‘breaking up.’ We only went out a few times. That doesn’t constitute a relationship.”

      “But how long ago was it?” I persisted.

      “Three months, give or take, and I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience. I just don’t do well with technical men—I think it’s a basic personality conflict. They’re all Sensing-Thinking types, and I’m an Intuitive-Feeler, like Cass. But of course the only available guys work in computers. Why is that?”

      “It’s a major industry in the region,” Scott said, “so of course there are lots of guys around who work in computers.” We all gave him dirty looks. Sometimes he failed to catch the true substance of a discussion.

      “No, I think it’s because they’re the only ones left who are single,” Louise said. “And there’s a reason for that, in terms of their emotional development—or lack thereof. They’re all geeks, who’ve put all their efforts to learning about things instead of people.”

      “Geeks have their advantages,” I said. “They usually have good jobs, and they treat you well, they’re so glad to have you.”

      “Have you ever dated one?” Scott asked.

      “Well, no.”

      “I didn’t think so. They don’t seem to be your type,” he said.

      “What is my type?”

      “I don’t know. Someone edgier.” He widened his eyes. “Dangerous.”

      I snickered. “Yeah, right. The muscle-bound sort, with long hair and tattoos. Motorcyclists who ride without helmets. Bad boys, the type who group together to rent a house in northeast Portland and wouldn’t know a lawn mower if it ran over their foot. Probably don’t vote, either. That’s the type for me!”

      “Hannah, dear,” Louise said, “I don’t know a single woman who finds a man who avoids yardwork attractive.”

      “And long hair is only nice in fantasies,” I said. “In real life, it’s the sign of a guy who has to sell his motorcycle to find money for this month’s rent.”

      “I like guys with long hair,” Cassie said. “They don’t have to be losers—I know several emotionally aware ones in my yoga class, one of whom teaches English at Portland State. I think long hair’s sexy.”

      I looked at Scott, trying to imagine him with long hair, the heavy mass of it pulled back in a ponytail while he walked around his office in blue-green scrubs. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant picture, but it was pretty funny.

      He caught me looking at him, and saw the smirk on my face. “What?” he asked.

      “Nothing.”

      Our food came, platters of fajita fillings sizzling and steaming in dramatic fashion. For a few minutes all thoughts were turned to tortillas and sour cream, as we filled and rolled. With my first bite I felt fajita juice drip out the bottom and run over my hand.

      “I don’t know why I should be the only one pestered to start dating,” Louise said after we’d all downed the first crucial mouthfuls. “Not a one of you is doing so yourself. You’re projecting onto me.”

      “I’m trying to date,” I said. “God knows I’m trying. I just can’t seem to find anyone suitable.”

      “Her sex chakra is blocked up,” Cassie said.

      “What?” Scott asked, his pristine, undripping fajita halted halfway to his mouth.

      “My sex chakra,” I said, and leaning back pointed to the area just below my navel. “Cass was trying to help me free my sexual energy by taking me to a belly dance class.”

      “Men can sense when the Divine Feminine has been awakened in a woman,” Cassie said.

      “They can?” Scott asked.

      “Maybe that’s what I need to do,” Louise said, to no one in particular.

      “If you’re not seeing anyone,” Cassie said to Scott, “your own sex chakra might have a blockage.”

      “I’m not going to try belly dancing,” he said.

      “I don’t know the proper moves for men, anyway,” Cassie said. “The energies are different. Drinking a lot of fluids is supposed to help, though, for both men and women. It flushes you out.”

      Apparently water was not only good for conventional constipation, but emotional, as well. I refrained from making note of it out loud, considering we were eating. I saw Scott’s lips twitch. Our eyes met briefly, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

      “Where are we supposed to meet people these days, anyway?” Louise asked. “I don’t want to go to a bar, much less date someone who hangs out in one looking for women. Going through parents or friends is supposed to be what all the ‘experts’ advise, but my parents don’t know anyone of the right age—I’ve asked. All they can come up with is someone’s twenty-five-year-old, ultra-Christian son. And you all are no help. If you did find a single guy, you’d go for him yourselves.”

      “I wouldn’t,” Scott said.

      “You were supposed to find me a nice dentist. Where is he?” Louise asked.

      “They’re all married,” he said. “And besides, they’re not your type. You need someone who’d be willing to talk all night about Jungian dream analysis, not some guy who’d rather be out boating on the river, cruising by Sauvie’s Island to spy on the nude sunbathers.”

      “Is that what dentists do on their days off?” I asked.

      “Only when they’re not polishing their Porsches or hanging out at The Sharper Image.”

      We were quiet for a moment, each of us stewing over the perpetual adolescence of men, while Scott wrapped up another fajita.

      “This really can’t be as hopeless as it all seems,” I finally said. “Even if there is only one man in a million who would be right for each of us, there’s what, two million people in the greater Portland area? So one million men, which means one guy who would be perfect. For each of us. And one woman for you, Scott. They’re out there—we just have to find them.”

      “You can’t force these things,” Cassie said. “The universe—”

      “I don’t want to wait for the universe to take care of it. I’m going to be thirty years old on September sixth—that’s four months away. I want to be engaged by then,” I said, resolved on the issue, all my angst of the other night suddenly crystallizing on this one point. It was as if making a declaration would take away all the uncertainty, all the worry about what my future would be. Nothing had changed, but it gave me a sense of control, however spurious. “I don’t want to turn СКАЧАТЬ