With the clock ticking on my migration North, I decided to take a pass any dating opportunities in the Peach State. Instead, I placed my attention on meeting New York men through an online social app. It worked, exceeding my expectations as I my profile was getting a lot of traction.

One of the standout responses was Dr. Tony. Tony was a Texan working in Manhattan. He told me that he stayed North after completing his residency. I asked his specialty, and he hesitated in telling me.

“Usually when I tell men what I do, I am ridiculed,” said Tony. I responded with “You accomplished medical school and a residency and have a practice- what’s to ridicule?” Secretly I hoped that maybe he was a dermatologist that carried some filler and Botox with him at all times, which could be a real hit with my friends.

“I’m an OBGYN. I deliver babies and deal with women’s’ health.”

I told Tony that I know tons of women and that it’s important to keep them healthy. I saw no problem with his profession. Being a gay gynecologist was so not the red flag.

The red flag was that he was 45 years old and never had a serious relationship.

Scheduling our date became a bit of an issue. He was always busy with a calendar that was jammed packed. One night didn’t work because he was giving a lecture in Boston. Another night didn’t work because he had a fundraiser dinner to attend. We finally agreed on a Friday in December to meet for drinks. I received the call at 4pm that day, telling me that he had an emergency delivery and would most likely not make it. He wanted to reschedule for a late drink the next day. Of course I understood, and made a joke that we’d never forget our first date- December 7^th.

Perhaps a date that will live in infamy?

I had a dinner obligation prior, and met Tony for that much anticipated nightcap. He was even more handsome than his profile picture. This OBGYN was a great conversationalist, very charming, and again… exceptionally handsome. At the end of our date, he asked for a second date. Without hesitation I said yes. He said he’d call me in the morning and we’d schedule it.

Like clockwork, Tony called the next morning. This is where the fun started. After looking at his schedule and mine, his availability for our second date was…. January 11^th. Seriously, January 11^th. We scheduled the second date, but I suggested that if either of us had any cancellations of activity to call and let’s move our second date up.

My mother always said that getting in to see the Gynecologist takes an appointment made months in advance.  Never thought I’d learn this firsthand.

We texted and spoke a few times during the holiday season. It was really nice and a lot of fun getting to know Tony. What was not so fun was that he postponed the second date… twice. I reiterated to Tony that I thought he was a groovy guy, but he needed to re-evaluate his desire to have a relationship because if he truly wants one, he needs to make the time necessary to cultivate it.

1Gr8Lesson

As you embark on your dating mission, you are bound to meet a Dr. Tony. His intentions are honest- he sincerely wants to date someone and hopes to have a relationship. The challenge for the Dr. Tonys out there is that they don’t know how to make room for someone else in their lives. Making sure that your date has the desired intention to integrate a new person into his life and integrate himself/herself into yours is paramount. Remember the red flag I saw at the beginning? This was the reason Dr. Tony had never had a relationship in his adult life. Granted, being a physician takes dedication and a lot of hard work. But, there are plenty of physicians, attorneys and others in high-pressured careers that enjoy successful and meaningful relationships. I really hope Tony figures out the balance because I know he’s tired of coming home to an empty apartment.   Because it was 1FineD8, I left the door open- let’s see what happens!

My new adventures in dating started on a warm Atlanta Monday afternoon in October of last year. Eric had been a regular in the afternoon Spin class I taught at Atlantic Station, and he had been asking me to lunch for months. He was my idea of the typical Southern gentleman- slow talking, quick laughing, and very proud of the fact that he was not just an Atlantan, but one whose family most likely served sweet tea to Sherman. I made one thing clear to Eric before our lunch- my days in Atlanta were numbered, as this Yankee was going back to the Mother Ship.

“In that case, we’ll have lunch at Rosa Mexicana- that’s a New York restaurant, you know. And for dessert… I’ll give you some Southern flavor that might just derail your travel plans,” said Eric. Anyone who has ever gone on a date with a Southern Boy knows that the combination of charm and devilish grin can be intoxicating, and should come with a warning label. If anyone had the ammo to stop my move home, it was most likely this Son of the South,

We decided to have lunch after class, and the experience was complete with lots of laughs and lots of nachos. I enjoyed the conversation with Eric, and it was definitely mutual. He shared a lot about his life, his feelings and he even pulled out his iPhone to show me pictures of his son. One picture in particular was interesting- it was of Eric, his son and a very handsome man.

“Who’s the looker with you guys?” I asked. Eric swallowed a nacho and paused before answering. “That is my son’s other daddy.”

Now it was my turn to pause and swallow, but I wasn’t swallowing a nacho. “Oh, you mean your Ex?”

“Well, sort of,” replied Eric. We’ve been together for fifteen years and have grown apart. We haven’t officially ended it.”

It was at that point I knew that there really needed to be an additional warning label on this man. “So, you’re in a relationship but you’re on a date with me- one that you’ve been asking for, for quite some time. Does your partner know we’re at lunch?”  Eric paused, choosing his words carefully and delivered them in his slow, Southern charming manner. “No. He doesn’t know. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

My response came with no pause for swallowing. “Damn right it’s a problem. It’s shit like this that brought me to this chair in this restaurant, sitting across from you.” I stood up, threw a twenty on the table and walked out.

As I walked out, I could hear Eric say, “See you in class next week?” I stopped, looked at him and made a face that I can only imagine making if I tasted overcooked okra and fatback.

1Gr8Lesson

Just because a potential date is attractive, charming and says the right things, you still need to ask a few qualifying questions before you say yes to or ask someone on a date. Those questions are at your discretion, of course, but I do recommend securing the fact that the person you’re interested in dating is in fact available and on the market with no complications. This is key if you see dating as the road to the end game of a relationship. Clearly in this situation, Eric’s definition of complications differ from mine, making him a not so fine D8.

I was the star of the 1993, 1997 and 2011 World Series. Each of those years I came in at the bottom of the ninth, suited up with the intention to score. I took the to the plate like those great hitters before me, and I hit it out of the park. I knew that feeling of victory- I had finally snagged myself a Championship Ring. Celebrations followed, and I really thought that parade through the Canyon of Heroes would last forever.

Unfortunately, the confetti stopped falling and each victory was short lived.

Relationships in trouble can sometimes be a lot like a stadium after a game. It gets very quiet when the excitement is over. The ground is messy, and there seems to be trash everywhere in sight. The silence that envelopes the stadium where there was once cheering and laughter is now home to all the voices in your head going over play by play as to how you lost the game. Standing on the field with your teammate, you have a choice to make.   You can start cleaning up the mess in hopes of a better game tomorrow with a teammate that won’t drop the ball in the bottom of the 8^th. The other option is to simply exit the stadium because there are just too many candy wrappers, hot dog trays and spilled beer stains that you just don’t know where the cleanup should start.

I’ve been in the position of clean-up three times, and all three times I chose to exit the stadium. Each exit came with its own emotional turmoil, but my last game was by far the worst. It was nothing less than taking a knuckleball at 96 MPH straight to the gut. After a year of what can only be described as a self-imposed seclusion minutes away from Turner Field, I am faced with a decision that is similar to the one faced by Andy Pettitte in 2012.

Do I come out of retirement and get back in the game?

It’s a given that every time you go to bat, there’s at least a one in three chance you’ll strike out. The chances for hitting a homer are even less. I wondered if it was even worth the risk of a torn rotator cuff or worse yet another broken heart. I couldn’t help but to think of my last experience in the stadium and the foul balls that my Ex pitched. Did I really want to run the risk of failure in what would be my fourth game?

I realized something very important. I was judging my abilities at the game by the skill sets of my last teammate, and he simply was an inadequate player. My last teammate was incapable emotionally, physically or mentally to even be in the pennant race with me. Was I going to allow one measly player the power to keep me from going for another ride in the Canyon of Heroes? Was I going to allow one bad pitch to keep me from trying to slide into Home? With time, the answer was easier than getting a loaded hot dog at Citi Field.  There was no chance in Hell that I would allow one bad player in one bad game to prevent me from going for the championship I deserved.

So here I am. My uniform is pressed and my cleats are clean. My bat is ready, and the post break-up weight loss has increased my speed around the bases. I am officially back at bat, and I’m looking forward to a full season of facing a lot of baseball players- funny, smart, and cute ones with confidence and swagger to match.

And the best part? You’ll get to read the play-by-play right here at 1FineD8.com. My goal is to share a little dating wisdom, a lot of laughter, and hopefully a dose of inspiration to those that are facing getting back in the game when they really didn’t expect to do so. I know I will make some mistakes along the way, and I hope by sharing them, finding the punch line, and learning the lessons will help you in your own game.

I call myself “accidentally single” because I sincerely had no clue that I’d ever be back in the dating stadium. I thought my last game was just that- a forever Home Plate that would last a lifetime.  Like many players, I was mistaken.  And like many players, I made it through Spring Training… and Summer Training… and even Fall Training to get over the disappointment of a failed relationship.

Now it’s time for Coach to put me back in the game. Coach knows I’m ready to hit that homer.  I’m excited to be back at bat.

Let’s play ball.