Pop Quiz

I know its been a long time since I've posted anything and although I plan to rectify that in the near future, here's a quiz to keep you up to speed in the caliber of matches I've received.

Which of the following was the scariest elements of my latest match's profile?
a. A photo of him next to an assortment of weapons
b. A photo of him posed with his two hairless cats all wearing matching sweaters
c. A photo of him with devil eyes standing next to what appears to be a refrigerator that's been hacked to pieces
d. His profile headline, all in caps telling me "DO NOT FEAR WHAT YOU WANT THE MOST!"
e. All of the Above

Yep, that's right - the answer was posed in matching sweater with his hairless cats.  Actually "all of the above" would also have been an acceptable answer, but for some reason I found the hairless cats to be more frightening than the weapons or ordering me not to fear what I want the most.  In a brave act of self-love, I have not responded to the above gentleman's request to get to know him and what he's all about "without being all judgmental like the last chic." 

Thankfully, the holidays have been too jam packed for me to spend much time cruising either of the dating websites I'm still suffering from/subscribing to.  I'm still talking with a few guys who haven't frightened me too badly...yet.  But my next planned posts include a Wedding Survival Guide for Singles and Comparative Analysis of Way Too Many Dating Websites.

Hapless Holidays

I need someone to rig my television with some sort of holiday v-chip to prevent me from indulging in sappy holiday made-for-television movies.  I’ve hit rock bottom.  Like an addict, I can’t stop coming back for one more fix.  I’m not talking about the holiday classics or movies with actual plots or thoughtful dialogue.  I can enjoy those without overdoing it.  It’s the ones starring former child stars or completely contrived story lines where the girl gets the guy, Santa comes to the rescue, and they all live happily ever after – those are the ones that have me jonesin’. 

If you actually see me at all during the holiday season, it will be a miracle because between the viewing schedules of the Hallmark Channel, Lifetime, and ABC Family I’m having a hard time finding the will to leave my house.  I almost hyperventilated yesterday when I got back from the gym and realized I missed the only showing thus far this season of “Recipe for a Perfect Christmas.”  In this gem, an ambitious and straight-laced food critic comes to terms with her abandonment issues by spending the holiday with her irrepressible mother and of course manages to find an attractive, sweet, up and coming chef, fall in love, and land the job of her dreams.    It’s sappy and sugary and I feel completely guilty watching it and I totally can’t help myself. 

At this point I feel the need to admit something that feels even more embarrassing than my addiction to cheesy romantic holiday flicks.  I think it’s only fair after revealing in my previous posts the flaws and follies of the fellows I’ve dated.  So here it is: I have never, ever, in my 30-something years had a relationship during the holidays.  Bizarre surely for someone my age and who dates as compulsively, yet ultimately unsuccessfully as I do, but it is the truth. 

I realized this the other day after a gluttonous viewing of “A Boyfriend for Christmas” and “Snow Globe.” The plot of the first really is exactly as it sounds and in the latter, a woman irritated with her imperfect family and obsessed with the idea of a perfect Christmas, dreams her way into a snow globe and a perfect Christmas with a perfect guy only to realize that what she thought was perfect, of course wasn’t entirely perfect.  And somehow in between the dreams and the snow globe, she of course meets a great guy and they live happily ever after.  Wow, seeing it written like that has me wondering how I could have sat thru that movie.  And yet I know, deep in my heart of hearts that if I’m home the next time it’s on, I’ll be powerless to resist.

At first I thought my math had to be wrong; at some point from high school thru adulthood, I must have been in a relationship on Christmas, New Year’s, or Valentine’s Day.  But nope, I’ve reviewed the data and it’s conclusive.  I’ve had some near misses along the way.  I almost got back together with a high school ex-boyfriend over Christmas but came to my senses in time.  The closest I came was several years ago when I was dumped two weeks before Christmas—of course this was after I had already bought his gifts but somehow before he bought mine.  I’ve also been dumped one week before Valentine’s Day but just by a guy I had started dating after the New Year. 

Casually dating this time of year is a little perilous.  Things seem more romantic, more sentimental, and more fraught with meaning than they do during the rest of the year.  Add that with a dangerously high diet of watching sugary sap about how the perfect guy will be delivered to my doorstop by St. Nick and there’s no way to avoid disappointment. 

Now, I understand that all those in relationships aren’t necessarily living Norman Rockwell-inspired lives during the holidays.  With some couples, I’m amazed they don’t kill each other by the time Christmas actually gets here.  There’s just so much work that goes into the present buying and wrapping, decorating, baking, card writing, party attending, etc.  Trying to find a parking spot at the mall alone is enough to end in assault charges, let alone spending significant amounts of time with your in-laws wearing holiday sweaters and pretending to enjoy the crap they buy you.

The problem is that although my rational self realizes being in a relationship isn’t necessarily better than not being in a relationship, it is during the holidays more than any other time of year that it feels like there’s something wrong with being single.  As a precaution and also because of the sheer amount of holiday stuff that has to get done, I tend to go on fewer dates.  I don’t want to end up just sticking with a guy so that I have someone to be with over the holidays.  Civilians shouldn’t be exposed to my family during this time of year unless it is absolutely necessary and it’s really too much to go through for a guy for who I only have lukewarm feelings.  I’m still talking to a few guys on Physics* and may actually go out again with Bruce* (see I Kinda Liked It Better When My Dates Were Insane for more details) but I’m not really feeling it.

And to be brutally and painfully honest, there’s still that part of me that’s waiting for Santa to deliver the perfect guy with a big, red bow.  I just hope he delivers him soon enough so that he can get stuck writing the Christmas cards and I can get back to my holiday movie watching.   

*Name has been changed.

I Kinda Liked It Better When My Dates Were Insane

The week before Thanksgiving I went on two dates and neither of them was crazy.  That in itself is pretty novel.  What isn’t new is that the one I really liked has fallen into that black hole all desirable single men seem to fall.  But I’m getting ahead of myself so let’s start at the beginning.

On Tuesday I met Bruce* at a local bar.  He was intelligent, a good conversationalist and attentive.  We talked about traveling, families, stories of growing up, and the upcoming holidays.  I wasn’t a smitten kitten but didn’t mind the idea of going out with him again.   The next day he was leaving at like 5am to fly to Las Vegas for 5 days of fun with some friends and said he would call when he got back in town.  The one moment that gave me pause was when he turned to me and said that he had never been married or engaged before.  I said I hadn’t been either and thought that was the end of the discussion.  These are not the exact words that followed, but the general gist of what he said next was that he was an independent type person and whoever he ended up with would have to conform to his life. 

I don’t want to pick apart every guy that I date to find something that is wrong with him, but I also don’t want to ignore what could be red flags.  Was this a red flag or was it nothing?  I mean, he could have just been nervous and it didn’t mean anything.  Or it could have been that he was saying this now so that say we end up having a relationship and I get annoyed that he is expecting me to completely change my life to conform to what he wants and he says how he told me from the beginning that this is how it would be. 

I decided not to let his declaration of independence scare me away from him and responded to his email last week saying I would like to meet up with him again.  Of course, since I responded to his email he has fallen into the desirable single guy black hole. 

The desirable single guy black hole is not a new phenomenon.  In “The Dangers of Social Networking” I discussed how the black hole sucked up the dreamy veterinary surgeon (not to be confused with chinchilla neuterer from “Two Things I Never Thought I’d Hear”).  You know how it is, you go on a great date where the conversation is awesome, he is cute, you know it is going beyond unbelievably well.  You both agree that you had a great time and he said he’d love to go out again and will call you to set something up.  And then…nothing.  That’s it.  He is never to be heard from again. 

I sort of think there should be a law against this type of misbehavior.  Why say you want to go out again and say you’ll call if you don’t mean it?  Did he say those things because he didn’t want to seem mean at the end of the date?  I’ve been in situations where I’m not interested in the guy but don’t want to crush his feelings and it is a tricky situation.  But I usually just try to be polite but clear and say something like “have a nice night” and shake his hand or if I want to be a little more up front that its not going to work, I might wish him luck on the dating site.  I don’t say I want to go out again if I don’t.

It didn’t bother me as much with Bruce* as it did with Eric.*  Eric* was my date on Friday night of the same week.  We met at a bar downtown and had what I thought was a terrific time.  He is funny and cute and I loved talking with him.  Eric* is wicked tall with red hair and has funky pointy teeth which I actually found adorable and a somewhat high-pitched laugh when he really got going.  He had been working in business before but hated it so started working with this charter school near his house and now works there full time.  He loves it and really likes his coworkers.  Crap, he even makes lunch once a week for his coworkers – like exotic stuff like falafel and homemade pestos.  He told me about his affection for those paranormal tv shows where they hunt ghosts and how awesome his dog is and how much he was looking forward to the holidays with his family.  We talked for hours and then he walked me to my car, hugged me, asked if he could call me to go out again, asked when I was free the following week, and then never contacted me again.  Yep, that about sums it up.

I remained strong though I almost cracked and called him.  It helped that Thanksgiving was crazy busy and then I became wicked sick and sounded like Elmer Fudd after gargling with broken glass.  But I was tempted to call as I really liked him.  I just had to keep reminding myself what I discussed in “The Art of Communication,” it has never worked when I call the guy.  If he really liked me, he would have called.  It sucks and its old school, but it seems to be one of those universal truths. 

Now I’m trying to decide what to do next.  I’m still talking with a few guys on Physics* and being contacted by increasingly scary guys on Barrel of Monkeys.*  In addition to the unibrow who told me he was tired of showering alone, I’ve been approached by a series of frightening guys who take pictures of themselves aiming guns into cameras or almost passed out on tables with their friends.  I’m beginning to feel like a more permanent period of hermitage is in order.  This is a dangerous time though, rife with sappy holiday movies where the single gal finds a hot date under her tree with a red bow or kidnaps a former star of “Saved By the Bell” and makes him pretend to be her boyfriend until they eventually fall in love.  If a prolonged dating detoxification period leaves me with extended periods of time to watch such sappy seasonal specials, the end result could be disastrous.

*Name has been changed

Personal Assistant Required

Wanted: Personal assistant to help organize my chaotic dating life.  Must have excellent organizational skills, be an active and good listener, and a creative thinker who can roll with the punches (not literal; I’m not often prone to violence and if it comes to that, I’m more likely to kick than punch).  Pay will be in form of high-fives for jobs well done as well as occasional baked goods, if I feel like it. 

Clearly things have gotten out of control.  That is certain.  I was having a hard time coping with the one dating site I had joined and the decision to join another has exacerbated my frustration and confusion.  I’ve never been a terribly organized person.  I fully admit my ability to excel in procrastination while others merely dabble in the art.  While I enjoy making a good “to do” list as much as the next woman, it is infrequent that all of my “to do” list gets “to done.”

I finally recognized that things had gotten this bad this past weekend.  Now to put things in a little context, I’ve had a couple of instances where a guy will contact me on one site and then a few months or years later, that same guy will contact me when I’m a member of a dating website.  This happened with this guy who found me on Mismatch* and then later on a free site I joined.  That dude came on WAY too strong, WAY too fast.  The details are fuzzy now but I do remember that Mr. Ticket* was obsessed with inviting me to events and he always seemed to have an extra ticket for things.  He also always wanted to meet in very out-of-the-way places before said event to make sure that he got the ticket to me.  As he emailed these details I could hear the theme song to “Psycho” playing in my head so I never took him up on any of his offers. 

But the most recent incident is slightly more disturbing as to what it says to my power of recall when it comes to my social life.  If you read my post “Beware the Ides of March” you may recall me talking about a guy on a previous site who talked excessively about his Mercedes and who I wasn’t sure if we had ever met in person.  I guess its not surprising that over a year later, I still don't recall all the salient details. 

I was just approached on the site Physics* by a guy who seemed like one I’d definitely like to get to know.  His profile was funny and approachable and his pictures showed a cute guy with a variety of interests.  There was something about him that seemed familiar but I’m honestly communicating with too many prospective suitors on this site to remember all of them, particularly the ones I haven’t met yet; don't get all excited though about the hordes of guys you think I'll be dating.  While I may communicate with a bunch at first, the wear and tear of the dating sites lower the chances of meeting all these guys.  So, back to this particular potential suitor, I clicked on the button for “interested” and went on about my merry way.  But something in the depths of my semi-consciousness kept bugging me until I figured out that this guy from Physics* and the guy with the Mercedes were the same exact guy.  And I still can’t remember if I’ve actually gone on a date with him.

This leaves me in a bit of a pickle.  Do I attempt to talk to this guy who seems interesting?  Even if I may have potentially gone out with him before which maybe he would realize if we met up this time?  And I would probably act like a total goober as I’d be super paranoid that he was waiting to give me a ration of crap for not remembering him or that I would get all angry that he didn’t remember me? 

All of this could have been solved if I had a personal assistant who took copious notes of my encounters with these men and helped me quickly decide which ones I wanted to try and which should be avoided.  Maybe the assistant could even be the one to stare at my phone waiting for it to ring from either of my two dates from last week who have yet to call.  But that, my friends, is another story for another day.  If you know of any personal assistants willing to organize my social life for little or no pay, bad hours, plus she or he has to listen to me whine excessively on the status of said social life, I’m currently accepting resumes.

*Name has been changed

Two Things I Never Thought I’d Hear

 When you think of smooth lines a guy is sure to try on a lady he is attempting to woo, did you ever think they would include the following sentences?

1. “Yesterday I neutered a chinchilla.”

2. “Last month I gave a snake a bunch of enemas.”

As I value entertaining my readers far more than I value my personal safety apparently (and despite what I try to tell myself I have not given up actually meeting a guy I dig who digs me before I reconcile myself to maiden aunthood), I jumped back on the horse last week and met another fella from one of my two current online dating subscriptions.  I decided to go with the site with a fee for my reentry into dating life since the disastrous golfing date with Glen* was from a free site.  So I chose Brick* from Physics.*  Brick* and I had emailed back and forth a few times but I have to admit that I was emailing quite a few guys at the same time on that site and they had all started to blend into one.  I remembered that Brick* was from the South and that his parents still lived there but I couldn’t remember precisely what he did for a living when I agreed to meet up with him for lunch last week. 

I had learned that Brick* was a man of few words.  His emails were way shorter than the other guys I chatted with – Brick* didn’t have a lot of free time and kept his messages short and…well, not sweet exactly but definitely short.  His 2^nd to last email was approximately 4 lines.  He answered a question I asked in a previous note, confirmed that we were meeting 2 days from then, and then closed off with saying “Yesterday I neutered a chinchilla.”

I cannot express how relieved I was when I checked his profile and confirmed that he was in fact a veterinarian and not just a guy with a deeply weird hobby.

I titled my return message to him “That’s a First” and explained in my equally brief note that I had never had anyone tell me that they had neutered a chinchilla before.  His reply, sent the day before we were to meet, was “Last month I gave a snake a bunch of enemas.”  This is far and away one of the most disturbing and intriguing things I have heard.   My mind still boggles at the thought.  I think that was actually one of the first things I asked him when I met him the following day.  How do you give a snake an enema?  Do you often have to give snakes enemas?  Did this one dislike it heavily or was he more agnostic about the process? 

I figured that Brick* had to either have an extremely quirky sense of humor (which I would dig) or be a very strange guy.  He was neither of these things actually.  He was a really decent guy, wicked tall and huge, a slight southern accent, occasionally made this weird throat clearing “ahem” sound after long sentences…and that’s about it.  We had a good conversation at first but it started to feel a little contrived about half way through.   Perhaps I peppered him too much with questions about his work (at some point I realized that talking about enemas was probably not a good sign on a first date).  Neither of us seemed too terribly smitten with the other.  We had a good lunch, okay conversation, he offered to and paid for lunch which was lovely, and then he walked with me in the direction of where my car was parked, telling me to have a nice day before he walked off to his own ride. 

There was no follow up call or indication of interest on either side really.  I probably would have gone out with him again to hear some more interesting work stories or at least to figure out how in the hell you give a snake an enema.

Whoa.  I need to think about that for a minute.  My dating life has come to the point where I would willingly go out again with someone who showed no interest me, in whom I was really not interested in order to find out how to do something I really hope I never ever have to do.  Well I guess there are worse things.  I wouldn’t have a long term relationship with such a guy just to find out bizarre facts in case I ever have to compete in the weirdest trivia contest ever.  But I did find him interesting enough to spend an afternoon or two with to learn his stories and expand my horizons in a way I never thought possible.

 

*Name has been changed

Weird Science

To more scientifically attack the problem that is my dating life and to probably hasten the complete abandonment of my sanity, I am attempting to be a member of two dating sites simultaneously.  This makes complete sense since I was already annoyed with the dating site that I joined a few weeks ago, why not join another one?  Sigh.  But to make this a more scientific study, one of the sites has a fee and one is free; this way I can try to see if the phrase “you get what you pay for” is accurate. 

Thus far, the site with a fee which we’ll call Physics* is crazily annoying.  I can’t block men who don’t have pictures attached to their profile, I get matched up with men named “New Member,” and apparently geography is different in the world of Physics* as the 50 mile limit I have placed on my matches has resulted in me being matched with men in New Jersey and North Carolina even though both are WAY beyond 50 miles.  I am emailing a few prospects right now.  None really stand out so far but as I’ve learned, this is a marathon not a sprint. 

In the wacko category, this site has already brought me a man who’s profile picture featured him standing in front of a row of teddy bears (See “How Not To Adorn Your Dating Profile” ) and this latest gem who had a picture of himself half naked and sent me the following email:

“i am single lonely man. I thought I would make first contact. I’ve always been approached. Check out my profile and let me know”

Act now, customers, and you could respond to this next gentleman who’s profile picture focused in solely on his forehead and who sent me the following opener:

“I True Man whith lots of drems, lots of happiness wiht a big heart to give to the one that’s real and dont play games whith life.” 

And this was from the site that charges a fee.

Its really too early to tell if my latest foray into the free dating website free fall which we’ll call Barrel of Monkeys* is any better.  The site has featured even more personality and relationship tests than Physics* but the results don’t seem to impact the guys that I’m matched with.  Plus it appears that anyone can attempt to contact anyone until you really get your filters in gear.  As a result, within the first 5 minutes of joining I had received 7 emails from a variety of guys living in various parts of the country.  Guys on this site seem to be a little more direct with their intentions but thus far the ick factor hasn’t exceeded any other site I’ve been on.  There’s only been one match that I’ve been interested in so far on that site but it’s hard to tell if he’s still a member of the site or just a profile they have running to make gullible women like me agree to put their profiles on the site. 

I’m trying to psych myself up to meet some of these jokers in ‘the real world’ but since my last date was the crazy golfer who actually made me fear for my safety, I hope you won’t think less of me for being a little reluctant to dive back in to the dating pool.  I’ll be sure to keep you posted on how the two sites compare and when I get the gumption to meet any of these guys in a very public place with no sharp instruments or blunt instruments either, I’m sure there will be an interesting story to pass along. 

*Name has been changed

Swingers Redux

The same week that I went out with Glen* the maniacal driving range date (see At Least I Got To Hit Some Balls), I was supposed to go out with another guy as well.  Marty* and I had emailed a few times through the dating website and he seemed like an okay guy.  He said that he had been on the site for a while and had gone on a couple of dates but nothing had really panned out.  His emails were non-threatening, pleasant chats; with the clarity that is hindsight, I now realize that in his emails he revealed very little of his personality. 

We decided to meet on a Friday for drinks.  I have to admit that after my disastrous date with Glen* on that same Tuesday, I was not looking forward to another date.  But I was about to head out of town for a mini-break with a friend and then would be swamped with finishing up my old job, getting ready to start a new job; so, Friday looked to be as good a day as any other.  Of course, I was forgetting at the time how much I excel at procrastinating.  By Thursday night I realized there was no way I could make all my appointments on Friday, pack for my early flight Sat morning, and meet Marty*. 

Earlier in the week Marty* had said that I should text him so we could chat and while I’m against texting when you don’t really know someone (I don’t think you really can get to know someone over text, there’s no way to read someone’s expressions, get their sarcasm, etc plus I’m not that skilled in the texting arena) I decided to send him a quick text Thursday night to let him know that I wouldn’t be able to meet him the following day and to arrange a time when I was back in town to meet up.

What followed was eerily reminiscent of a scene from the movie that first introduced me to one of my favorite pretend boyfriends, Vince Vaughn.  In Swingers, Vince’s character’s friend Mikey (played by Jon Favreau) meets a girl at a bar, they have a flirtatious conversation, she gives him her phone number, and he proceeds to leave a bajillion voicemails.  This understandably freaks the girl out and she instructs him never to call him again.

The following is a transcript of the texts that followed my first text to Marty* on Thurs night at 9:01pm apologizing for postponing and seeing if it was ok if we met up when I returned from my vacation.

Him (9:03pm): I’m gonna have to think about that

Him (9:07pm): Well, ya gotta do Whacha gotta do…I was looking forward to tomorrow but…when do you get back?

Me (9:16pm): 15 Sep not free til 17^th or 18^th.  Sorry but changing jobs & am swamped. Will email when back and we can plan.  Gotta run, on my other phone with a friend.  Talk w/ you next wk.  Have a good wknd!

Him (9:20pm): Ok.  Sounds good.  I sent you an email too btw…

Him (9:23pm): You don’t seem like crap at txting…I’m more of a phone person myself…but I have an awesome phone that makes texting easy…

Him (9:32pm): So tell me more about yourself.  Where are you going on vacation?  Are you excited?  Sounds like fun.  I’m jealous.  Can’t wait to meet up when you get back.

Him (9:41pm): Your turn…

Him (9:49pm): Hello?  Are you there?  What happened?

Him (9:56pm): Sorry, if you’re busy its cool, but if you have time and want to, gimme a call.  I don’t want to bother you but would love to chat!

Him (10:07pm): Seriously, I really want to talk to you.  Please call soon.

Him (10:09pm): What’s up?  What are you doing? I’m starting to wonder…

Him (10:15pm): You there?  Did I say something wrong?

Him (10:22pm): I had to put the phone down for a bit. Did you try to call?  Please give me a call soon.  I really really really want to talk to you.

Me (10:24pm): As I said before, was on phone with a friend.  You’re coming on a bit too strong for me.  Sorry but I don’t think we should continue with this.

Him (10:28pm): What? I’m sorry. I was just expecting a call from you tonight. I get a lil excited sometimes.  Don’t take it the wrong way.

Him (10:32pm): And I’ve never done this before so…I’m really sorry, please reconsider?)

Him (10:38pm): I also feel like txt msgs can be easily misinterpreted, gimme 5 mins and you’ll feel much better about this…can I call you?

Him (10:42pm): Really, I’m so sorry.  But you can’t blame me.  I really wanted to talk to you.  That should be considered a good thing.  Please call or I’ll call you.  Please…

Him (10:50pm): You have got to think this over.  We could be great!  I really have a good feeling about us.

Him (10:55pm): Can you do me a favor at least and check your email?...if not, well…please!

Thankfully that was the last I heard from him.  While he was texting away and I was freaking out trying to discern if there’s any way he could have found out where I lived and was on his way to my house, I went onto the dating website and blocked him from being able to view my profile.  I nearly had a panic attack and called a friend as Marty* really did frighten me.  She tried to calm me down but agreed that he was bad news.  He had also lied at some point as he originally told me that he had been on the site for a while and dated a few women he met through the site, but in one of his MANY texts to me that night, he claimed that this was the first time meeting someone on line and for that reason I should excuse his habit of texting me approx every five minutes. 

In a brilliant fit of self-preservation, I have since quit that particular dating website.  While some of the guys I had met on that service were perfectly nice, there were far more crazies than I was willing to put up with, especially since they seemed to be getting scarier and scarier.  As for if the new site I’m on will prove to be any better (or please, God, no, please not worse), only time will tell.

*Name has been changed

How Not To Adorn Your Dating Profile

Fear not, faithful readers.  For I have continued to show that the possibility of psychopathic taxidermists will not deter me from providing a few laughs for those who take the time to read my blog (plus I hope to actually meet a guy that I dig and who is not crazy...at least not in a dangerous type way).  I joined a new and untested, at least not by me, dating website this evening.  Its far too soon to tell but there seems to be scads of potentials and some of them actually seemed intriguing.

There was one that made me want to update an older post on choosing what to put on one's profile on such a website.  Back oh so many moons ago (perhaps June or July) I wrote about some of the more unusual things I've seen on profiles.  For example, one guy had a picture of himself with crazy eyes and hair, standing next to a guy with some teeth missing.  The main guy was holding a paper sack that had the look of something that perhaps held a human head or something equally nefarious in it.  In another picture, a guy posed with his wife on a motorcycle.  They were both looking to add to his collection of wives. 

On this new site, which of course promises to help match you up with dates that fit to your personality and the character traits you desire in a date, there was a picture of a man standing in front of a row of teddy bears.  That's right.  Most significantly, this was his only profile picture.  I was left with many questions.  Were these his teddy bears?  Does he live with his mother or an aunt and they had a display of their teddy bears that they thought he would make a good backdrop for his picture?  He didn't have any kids so they couldn't belong to them.  Why would he think this would be a good look?  Was it to show off a softer side?  Did other women actually find this appealing?  Do women do this in their profile pictures too? 

All these questions made my head hurt so I finished sorting through the rest of the initial group of potential dates and decided to call it a night.  I still have one remaining old match from the previous site I was on and its a cautionary tale worth sharing so that will probably be my next post.  For now I'll just go snuggle up with my teddy bears and assorted other stuffed animals and dream of a date who does not scare me into hermiting myself away in the Twilight saga books.

**for the older post on what to put/not put in a profile, see "Is a Picture Still Worth 1,000 Words If Taken with a Cell Phone Camera?" http://extremedatingdiary.blogspot.com/2010/07/is-picture-still-worth-1000-words-if.html

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Find me a Blowtorch

If I don’t get the lead out and get a new site to try or the courage/stupidity to try one of the MANY dating sites I’ve already tried, this may be one of my last posts.  I must confess that my most recent two encounters (the latter being Glen* the golfer, the other you’ve yet to hear his story) have left me a little gun shy. 

But back in the spring of 2010 I was still raring to go and that was what found me emailing a guy that I not only had never met but my friend that was setting us up had also never met him.  This matchmaker friend and I have somewhat similar tastes and she knew the things I was looking for in a guy (stick fighting a plus, ability to do own housework essential).  She had met a fantastic guy at work but he was a bit older.  Ok he was old enough to be one of our dads.  This guy sounded awesome though; they had the best conversations and really connected.  Wonder upon wonders, he had a son our age who wasn’t having any luck meeting lovely young ladies in the area.  It seemed like a perfect fit.  The silver fox described his son in fairly glowing terms and it didn’t seem any crazier than talking to the freaks I meet on the internet, so I said she could give Chip* my email address.

We emailed for a while and that went okay.  He seemed a little shy at first but gradually we had some good conversations going over email.  We eventually decided to meet up for a drink.  When I walked into the bar I have to admit that he didn’t make the best first impression.  He had on a sweatshirt that had a few stains on the front, work jeans, and old sneakers.  Within the first two minutes he breaks the ice by telling me that he’s not a good conversationalist.  It’s really hard to make a conversation go anywhere good from there particularly when he was being honest.  He was a horrible conversationalist.  For the first few minutes of the date, he gave minimal answers to questions and didn’t seem interested in anything that I had to say.  And then it got worse.

I tried to work with the “I’m not a good conversationalist” comment; I teased him and said I was sure he was just kidding.  He soberly shook his head and assured me that he wasn’t but informed me that it was all his brother’s fault.  The next few minutes involved him blaming his brother for his own social ineptitude.  Apparently his younger (and apparently more attractive) brother was always the outgoing one with lots of friends who had a ton of fun and outshone his older, less appealing brother.  He whined on and on until I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was pretty sure I wanted to date his brother instead of him (sadly his brother had a girlfriend already).  So I asked him if it was only difficult for him to make conversation or extend himself socially when he was around his brother or when he was on his own.  He answered that it was only difficult around his brother, so I looked around and remarked that his brother wasn’t at the bar right then, so what was his excuse?

I thought my blatantly rude remark would have gotten his attention but nope, he was impervious.  He kept complaining about how it had always been this way –his brother had always been the center of attention ever since they were little kids—and how could he possibly change decades of history.  That’s when I told him that “at some point, you’ve got to take responsibility for your own actions and not blame people from your past and incidents from years and years ago for your behavior today.”  It’s like I was channeling Dr Phil or Dr Joyce Brothers or someone.  I thought this would get his attention, give him pause, something; but no, he remained untouched. 

At this point, he at least stopped talking about his brother and started making inane conversation about the weather, sports, etc.  I just stared at him in disbelief.  He was on autopilot.  It didn’t matter that I responded or listened or even that I was there.  I started making my move for the door, saying that I had to get going.  This put him in hyperdrive.  I should have known better as the same thing happens whenever I’m having a prolonged phone conversation with my mother and say that I have to get going.  She finds about 15 other things that she has to tell me right then and an additional 20-30 minutes are added to the conversation for every time I say I have to get going.  It was the same with Chip* but I didn’t feel the need to stick around.  I told him twice that I had to get going and as he kept talking about his upcoming trip to California and baseball spring training and the chances for rain later in the week, I signaled the bartender for the bill for my drink.  All the while, Chip* kept going. It was like a floodgate of autowitter had opened and there was no stopping it.  I paid for my drink, got my purse, stood up and pushed my bar stool in reaching over to shake his hand and tell him to take care. 

As I was fleeing, I heard him continue jabbering, finally realizing that I was leaving, and he yelled after me that he would call me when he got back from his trip.  I wondered then if we had been on the same date.  How could he possibly think that we had more to talk about? I must have misheard him. 

But no, when he got back from his trip he sent me a couple of emails telling me about his trip, asking how I was, and saying he wanted to take me to dinner.  I thanked him for the invite but said I didn’t think we had made a connection and I wouldn’t be meeting up with him again.  He responded that while it was my choice, he liked to give people more than one chance and that he didn’t believe in instant chemistry but that maybe he was a bad judge of character.  Of course with my predisposition to feeling guilty I wondered if I should reply back to him that he was right and meet up with him again but thankfully I contacted the matchmaker friend that had set us up in the first place and she told me to run.  She apologized left and right that Chip* wasn’t anything like his awesome silver fox of a father. 

I wasn’t upset with her – I knew what I was getting into.  She said up front that she hadn’t met this guy, just that if he were anything like his dad he would be a good catch.  And it wasn’t the end of the world – I have had far worse dates with far worse guys.  In the end, I’m glad that I gave him a shot and am grateful that she was thinking of me when she met the awesome client.  Next time, I’ll just have to make sure that she meets and verifies that my actual date is the catch and not his dad.  Or I’ll have to make sure he at least pays for my drink. 

*Name has been changed

They Don’t Make Phone Booths Anymore

Sadly the most noteworthy thing, the thing that you would not believe about the next guy to grace my extreme dating diary, is something I can’t reveal. I’ve been avoiding using guys’ real names which is a real shame as the guy after the two professors named Mike* had the most awesome of names. His name sounds like he should be a mild mannered grad student by day and then hop into a phone booth, change into some tights and a cape, and go about fighting crime, leaping over tall buildings, and wooing women with a single, smoldering glance.

I’m trying to think of a similar name to give him in this post, one that truly reflects the awesomeness of his real name, but I’m falling short. For now, I’ll call him J. Frisco Blingtime* or Frisco* for short. Frisco* was yet another date where I’m not really sure what went wrong. We met up for coffee one day after I got off work and he finished with classes; he’s in the middle of getting his PhD in economics. Frisco* was a total cutie; average height runner with adorable reddish blond hair, aqua eyes, teeth so white it almost hurt my eyes….crap, the guy even had a dimple! Plus he could talk – he was smart and interesting. We talked for almost two hours over a cup of coffee. He’s lived all over the place and had really interesting stories. He did have pictures of himself in his profile with his two cats, which a friend thought was strange, but I was so far gone that even seemed cute to me.

I knew though, at the end of the date, that there was not going to be another. He walked me to my car and said he had fun talking with me, gave me a hug, but left me with no indication that he wanted to meet up later. It was entirely civil but definitely not leaving the door open for another date. For a few days I wondered what I had said wrong or if the pants I were did not adequately disguise the junk in my trunk, but eventually I decided to stop beating myself up as maybe he just wasn’t feeling any spark-type feelings. At least he didn’t do the “it was so nice meeting you and I’ll call you and we’ll go out again” routine; that has grown beyond old.

After Frisco* I had a similar experience with Joe.* I met Joe* for a couple of beers one night. There’s nothing to memorable about him but he was a decent enough guy. Joe* worked for a university and was getting his masters in sociology. He wasn’t as cute as Frisco* but he wasn’t too shabby. We shared a good, but not great, conversation and he introduced me to a new pub with nice microbrews so I guess that’s something. I didn’t have any warm tinglys with Joe* but thought I wouldn’t mind seeing him again and since he had said he’d like to go out again, I emailed him the week after our date. By the time I emailed him, however, he had changed his mind. This time I was more annoyed than disappointed. Joe* was definitely not superhero material.

Well, friends, if I don’t get off my butt and join another crazed dating site or scheme, my next post might be my last for a while. There is a doozy of a date that I still have left to share – not from a site but the blindest of blind dates possible. The current site I’m on has proved a little too hazardous; after Glen* the crazy golf date there was an even scarier one that I might share after the blind date.

*Name has been changed

The Notorious Tale of Professor Hickey

Once upon a time there was a weary, heartsick Princess who had been wandering alone for years in the land of earls of mediocrity and dukes of douchebaggery searching tirelessly…except for when she had better stuff to do like travel, yoga, bake, volunteer with her dog, drink mint juleps, go the spa, or attend roller derby bouts. The Princess had looked hither and yon for a Prince – not just any prince, but a Prince who was single, mentally balanced, intelligent, kind, with some semblance of a sense of humor, and at least minimally attractive. Also the Prince should live in his own castle and not with his mommy; or if not a castle, at least a decent apartment. Initially the Princess thought that these were reasonable qualities but after surviving date after date where at times she felt lucky to escape with her life, health, and some of her sanity, the Princess began to despair. The Princess vowed that if she met a Prince imbuing even some of the qualities she once thought not all that rare, that they would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.

That is just a fairy tale of course; a real life happy ending for this particular Princess has not been written so succinctly or neatly.

In all my dating trials and travails, there are really two guys that I totally kick myself for not feeling all mushy about. The first was Phil*, winner of the title of nicest guy on the planet (see “Beware the Ides of March”). The second guy was the first of two professors named Mike* that I dated in 2010; henceforth he will be referred to as The Professor or Professor Hickey.

The Professor was everything I was looking for. He was tall (ok I know that wasn’t one of the qualities previously listed but after dating the Angry Midget, tall seemed good), extremely intelligent, an interesting conversationalist, funny, and attractive. He was a professor at a small college and was working on a book. Our first date flew by – there was witty repartee, lengthy discussions about numerous non-confrontational topics, and he seemed wicked normal and totally lacking a rage problem. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel any sparks or hints of attraction but it was a first date and sometimes nerves can play a part. He was a perfect gentleman, said he would like to see me again and would be calling in a few days, and then asked if it was ok if he gave me a hug.

Our next several dates took place much along the same lines. We talked on the phone and emailed, made plans to meet for dinner, movies, etc. It was all good. But it was just good. It wasn’t great. Still, I remembered all too well the sorts of guys I had been dating before and thought to myself that I was lucky to meet such a gem.

The problem was that I couldn’t be sure there was absolutely no chemistry. I couldn’t be certain because the Professor kept our dates extremely platonic. Each date ended with him saying what a great time he had, asking when he could see me again, promising to call, and then a hug or a firm handshake. While not a brazen hussy, I decided after the third date to take matters into my own hands. It seemed absurd - we had to at least kiss to see if there was ‘something’ there. So I kinda threw my head into the path of his head as he was coming in for a hug. It was not my most graceful of moments and I’m lucky I didn’t actually knock him or myself unconscious. The end result was that he almost kissed my forehead and then gave me a weird high five as we parted ways.

I’d heard of guys who think of themselves as gentlemen and try not to rush a date, but this was becoming more and more ridiculous. Did he even like me? Here I was practically assaulting him, and he gives me a high five? I was pretty sure I would never hear from him again.

But no, we went out five or six more times over the course of several weeks. He called almost every day and was beginning to get a little mushy when ending the conversation. I did not take it as a good sign when I found his endearments irritating, but figured I should resist becoming too easily annoyed and try to tough this one out. In spite of all his vocal mushiness, he remained completely platonic on our dates.

Then we went to see Avatar. I was not really in favor of seeing this movie but he had chosen some romantic chic flick and I thought that might really push my irritation factor over the edge. Avatar seemed safer. He even attempted some physical contact during the movie and held my hand. Here’s where I’m not sure exactly what happened. It was either the 3D movie or my growing aversion to his mushiness, but I became severely nauseated. I mean severely. I kept trying to wrench my hand back but he was like a vice. Then he started rubbing my hand and I had to fight not to vom.

Although I knew the feeling of wanting to vom on a date was not a good sign, I decided to press onward. Really the Professor was a great guy and I was crazy not to be interested in him. So what if we had a totally platonic relationship! It would be sort of sweet. I had already decided that I wanted to platonic-marry Paula Deen’s son just so I could have her for my mother-in-law; how would this be any different? Ok, it would not be nearly as awesome because in spite of how wonderful The Professor’s mother is, there is only one Paula.

But I digress…this brings us to a few days before I have to leave on a work trip. We’d been on countless dates with a total lack of action and that just seemed to be how things would continue until the end of time. This night, however, things turned out a little differently. I don’t know if he got jealous by the fact that at dinner my hair stylist (from Turkey, cute, straight, obscene flatterer and pursuer of tips) practically tried to make out with me when we ended up at the same restaurant or if we had just reached the magic number of dates. But when the Professor drove me home after dinner, he sort of lunged for me. It wasn’t frightening at all…just…I don’t know…not good. Very not good. The Professor was a bit older than me so I assumed he had plenty of experience in the kissing department, but what happened distinctly reminded me of junior high where the guy practically gives you a tonsillectomy because this is the first time he’s ever attempted to stick his tongue down a girl’s throat. It was a bit awkward and kind of bumpy.

And then he gave me what has got to be the most permanent and ridiculous of hickeys ever given to a woman. I firmly believe that hickeys beyond the age of 15 are just plain wrong. Even more so when you give one to a woman in her 30’s in the middle of her throat in a location that cannot be hidden by the biggest of cowl neck sweaters or the most swaddly of scarves. And it is definitely unsat when you give the hickey in such a manner that it lasts FIVE WHOLE DAYS. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. He then accidentally wrenched my grandmother’s earring out of my ear, where it became lost in his car.

So yes I became that woman, the one who goes to work with a ridiculous hickey, trying desperately to pretend it wasn’t there. For the most part, people seemed willing to go along with my delusions. This was because they would avoid asking me altogether in favor of asking my friend what the hell was on my neck. I had tried to cover it up to no avail. My sweater did no good, neither did any makeup. My niece who was living with me at the time (don’t get too worried about me corrupting a minor – she’s only seven years younger than me) said that her friend recommended holding a really cold metal spoon against the offending mark to breakup the blood cells or something. None of it worked.

And better than having to go to work the day after said hickey, the following day I had to get on a plane traveling to a climate where sweaters would be ridiculous at best. I attempted to pull off the summer scarf look but there’s only so many days in a row that you can wear a scarf in 80 degree weather without drawing more attention to yourself than what you hope is your drastically faded hickey.

This of course was how Professor Hickey got his nickname. He would have stayed in the running longer had it not been for some non-internet date-like activity that convinced me that I could not be happy settling for a platonic relationship where my neck was permanently scarred. While this little dalliance was fun for a brief time, it showed me again that not all dukes of douchebaggery are found on the internet. But in a way I was grateful, as at least I remembered that there was something out there better than awkward platonicness/feelings of nausea.

It made it somewhat impossible for me to carry on with the Professor. We attempted another go, but it didn’t work. I did manage to get back my grandmother’s earring and then quickly spurn the Professor’s advances in an unfortunate inebriated text (if he could decipher the words, the gist of the message was that he was a wonderful guy but why would he think anyone older than a junior high student would dig a hickey).

I think of The Professor now and again and wonder if I made the right decision. In spite of the hickey and the awkwardness, he was a really great guy. I’m 99% certain that I did make the right decision. I’m not 100% certain that I’ll find a guy as nice or smart or fun as him but I’m 100% certain that he’s way too good of a guy to settle for someone that’s not sure she wants to be with him. I’m 100% certain that if I have to be embarrassed by having a hickey, at least I want it to be fun receiving said blemish. And I’m 100% certain that the only platonic relationship I’ll settle for is one where I get to eat butter-laden goodness prepared by Mama Deen herself for the most grateful daughter-in-law-to-be in the world.

*Name has been changed

At Least I Got To Hit Some Balls

The notorious tale of Professor Hickey will have to wait for another evening as I have just returned from what is one of the best worst dates I’ve survived. I received an introductory email from Glen* last week. It was a longer email than most guys send, filled with questions about me and my interests, and ending with a request to meet up in “real life.” He wrote that he would like to walk around the Smithsonian with me to check out some of the exhibits or maybe go to a driving range since I like golf; something so that we could chat some more and get to know each other. He also wrote that if I wanted, we could exchange emails back and forth for a while, chat on the phone, and then finally meet in person but that since meeting in person was the only way to see if we really had chemistry, we might as well cut to the chase and meet up.

I have received similar requests in the past and have chosen to go the less direct, more traditional route. This time I decided I would do things differently. Walking around the Smithsonian could take a while though and was not as convenient so I agreed to the driving range. It seemed like a fun way to get to know him and even if it didn’t get to work, at least I would get to hit a bucket of balls.

I must point out that at that point in time, I knew very little about Glen.* I knew that he was a former Marine, self-employed, enjoyed the outdoors, and lived in Annapolis. There were pictures of him hiking and hanging out with friends. I also knew that he had taken the time to at least glance at my profile since he suggested the driving range because in my profile it said that I had taken golf lessons. That may seem like a small thing but not all the guys that have tried to chat me up have even read my profile all the way through.

We weren’t off to a great start when Glen* texted to say he would be a few minutes late. Even though I got there early I wasn’t too annoyed at first as I decided I could get some more practice before completely embarrassing myself in front of him with my lack of skills. However, things got worse before they even really began as he ended up being 30 minutes late. Not because he worked late but because he got lost. He got lost because he refused to look up directions before coming – he just figured he would find it out on his own. He told me that people rely too heavily on things like maps and the internet when they should be more self-sufficient. Then he laughed a little too loudly, a little too strangely.

Shaking it off I decided I was getting ahead of myself and trying to find things wrong with him before I even took the time to get to know him. So we settled into a somewhat comfortable silence as we both started taking some swings. The rest is all a blur of semi-enraged, rambling, vitriolic monologues by him while I became more and more afraid for my personal safety.

First Glen* started on a rant about reality TV. I’m not sure how we got there but I think it began with him talking about how selfish people are as of the last 10-15 years and how no one helps each other anymore. Glen* blames reality TV for this breakdown of society. I said early on that I really didn’t understand what he was talking about as I’m not a big fan of reality TV and I can’t see a link between the popularity of reality TV and a decline of altruism. He then asserted rather loudly that “A whore is still a whore. It doesn’t matter if she’s on tv. It’s still wrong.” I asked him to repeat that a few times as I wasn’t sure how he had come up with that statement and at first, as he was virtually yelling at me while saying this, it seemed like he was calling me a whore or blaming me for all the whores on tv. It had something to do with him not being able to go to a grocery store without seeing something on the Kardashians, a group who I have to be honest I’m still not sure why they’re famous and why I should care about what they do.

This first rant went on for a few minutes and was alarming more because it happened only 10 minutes after he arrived.

Next up on his list of pet peeves, Glen* began a tirade on the federal government that would last for the rest of the date. Now it's generally accepted that it's a severely bad idea to talk about politics in general on a first date. That is especially true when your beliefs are of the extreme variety, you're at a public place where loud conversations are not encouraged, and you cannot speak about politics and the government without working yourself into a foaming rage. Glen* believes that the federal government should be struck down. He said that there was nothing remotely redeeming about it and that we lived in an Orwellian nation with no rights and no responsibilities and he was sick of it. Glen* reminded me a little bit of the crazies that would call the office when I worked as an intern for a congressman while I was in college. I had a few crazies who called the office whenever I was scheduled to work, to tell me that they had built tin foil hats to prevent the government from listening to their thoughts and if I would send them my head measurements, they would build one for me too. Most of these guys seemed fairly harmless though – I had one who after we talked about his tin foil hats, he would recite me some patriotic poems he had written. Ok, so he was wacky and so were the others. But they were on the phone and didn’t have any of my personal information so they seemed relatively harmless.

Here I have to point out that Glen* was a physically intimidating person – a tall guy who works with his hands as a landscaper and general handyman – and the more inflamed he became during his vitriolic speeches, I actually began to get a little frightened. Thankfully we were in a public place and I did have my golf clubs close at hand, but still.

Next up on his list of things wrong with the world: seat belts. He’s against seat belts and feels strongly that there should be no laws requiring them. How dare a policeman pull him over and make him pay money for not wearing something that a government who’s authority he did not recognize order that he wear! This somehow turned into a 5 minute rant about the evils of Blackwater and Haliburton and the defense industrial complex in general. Apparently these evil contractors had stolen the only opportunities that “stupid Americans” had to get paying jobs to take care of themselves: the role of army cooks. Yes, Glen* morphed his rant on seat belts to one against contractors to a spittle-laden speech about how much trays of food cost in the army.

Then we were on to his obsession with the concept of survival of the fittest. This came up when an idiot on the other side of the range walked onto the grass to retrieve several of the balls that hadn’t gone far. I pointed the guy out to Glen* and asked him to hold up until the guy moved. Glen* tried to take a swing as he said it would teach the guy a lesson. Apparently a lot of idiots needed to be taught a lesson and if I would stop espousing the general “coddling and caretaking of society” then we could “weed out all the idiots who were ruining the gene pool.”

I don’t know at what point I changed from fear to anger but toward the end of the date I started getting really ticked. I had far too many bad dates to put up with this shmuckatelly for much longer. He had got in my face and ordered me to explain my opinions, defend myself as to why I thought his view of society was not what our forefathers had intended, and answer if I thought that everyone should be given a home and a car and everything they need while sitting on their butts waiting to collect welfare.

I didn’t rise to the bait. Not because I was afraid of what he would do if he got an angrier. But because I was too fed up to even waste my breath on this guy. Instead, I picked up my driver and took a swing at the ball, imagining I was hitting a different ball entirely.

Today I learned that I play better angry. Not when I’m angry at myself for missing the ball or for doing something wrong or playing poorly. But when I’m angry for someone wasting my time, attempting to blow out my small flicker of remaining hope that there is a funny, kind, unique guy out there waiting for me who is not stone cold crazy – that’s when I can really haul off and knock the stuffing out of that ball.

Amazingly, or not perhaps given my history, Glen* said that he had fun and that he’d like to go out again. I put down my club (but kept it close at hand), took my sunglasses off, looked him in the eye and said that while I respected his right to believe whatever he wanted and to express those beliefs, I didn’t want to listen to him anymore and that his beliefs, personality, interests, and pretty much everything were anathema to me. I told him that I was leaving but hoped that he enjoyed the rest of his evening and I may have even wished him good luck with his future matches, while under my breath I wished all his future matches better luck.

*Name has been changed

Book Learning Don’t Mean All That Much

At some point around the time of the self-tattooer, a friend pointed out that I was dating a lot of guys that had never gotten around to finishing school. They’d all graduated high school and had done a few semesters of college but had never graduated; one of my exes spent a total of almost 6 years in college flirting with a variety of different majors. When we were dating quite a few years ago (before my internet dating hobby began) he first decided to be a songwriter and then a dentist, requiring him to take a few more courses before he could even think of applying for dental school. We haven’t seen each other in a while but I’ve heard he’s made his way through several more career choices and still hasn’t decided on a major.

At first, I didn’t really think too much of my friend’s suggestion as I have seen enough educated jerks to realize that a degree doesn’t always mean the guy is a prince. But the suggestion that I make criteria for dates even stricter than previously was a novel idea. I’ve had other friends offer up the opposite of the Air Force motto. “Aim Low,” they tell me. In their opinion I have grown far too particular and have significantly reduced the size of my dating pool to a point where it will be impossible for me to find anyone.

My friend’s suggestion coincided with a time when I was getting quite a few suggested matches that were professors, PhD candidates, and other professions requiring post-graduate studies so it seemed as it was fate. First up was Matt.* Matt and I only went out once and I’m trying now to remember what the hell he did – I know he was in some sort of engineering. His emails were well-structured and slightly humorous. What was most intriguing about his profile was that in each of the 5 pictures he posted on his profile, he looked like a completely different individual. It was highly odd. Only one of them was unattractive; the rest were all okay.

We met for coffee at one of my favorite coffeehouses, a joint that I had gone to in high school with my best friend after play practice and we would buy frothy beverages or chocolate concoctions and just shoot the breeze. The place has changed hands over the years but it’s still a good place to hang and one of the few non-chain coffeehouses that has been left standing. When I walked in, I realized that of course, Matt* looked the most like the unattractive photo. Undeterred, I brazenly ordered some steamy caffeinated goodness and sat down to learn all about Matt.*

What I learned first was that Matt* had some sort of nervous tic/eye condition. He spent the majority of the date blinking at me non-stop with his mouth slightly ajar. When I would speak, he would stare at me with no expression on his face other than what appeared to be the concentrated look of someone hell bent on not blinking. When he was speaking or when there were uncomfortable pauses (you guessed it – there were PLENTY of those), he blinked approximately 634 times a minute. I might be exaggerating slightly but that’s what it felt like.

What with all the blinking and uncomfortable pauses, it might have been difficult for even the most determined of men to make a favorable impression. Matt* was a perfect gentleman, but the stilted conversation and switching between staring and prolific blinking had me shaking his hand firmly at the end of the date and saying it was nice meeting him and wishing him luck on the site with his future matches.

After Blinky McStaresalot, there was a period of time when I dated two professors both named Mike.* The first professor stuck around longer so I’ll probably have to get to him in another post. The second professor Mike* was yet another one-date wonder. He was a research professor who worked in artificial intelligence. Saying he was wicked smart is a bit of an understatement. Saying that he was wicked obsessed with his facial hair is the biggest understatement in the history of dating.

In his profile pictures, there was one of Mike* with a full beard and several of him clean-shaven. The night I met him, he was sporting a very oddly pointed goatee thing with weird sideburns. I think he was it was kind of like a Vandyck. I had no idea what the hell this was so I guess I have no one to blame but myself for his 20 minute monologue of the various stages of his facial hair. At first I thought he said he had a Van Dyke as in Dick Van Dyke and thought that he was indicating a preference for dressing like a chimney sweep or wearing a full white mustache. But apparently a Vandyck is a legit style of facial hair. Well, its not legit in my book but it is apparently a style that other people have heard of and condone.

So Mike* went on for about 20 minutes about how sometimes he likes to have a full beard and sometimes he likes a flavor saver, sometimes he likes a goatee, etc. etc. He explained how it related to his moods and his goals at the time, blah, blah, blah. I zoned out a bit as I kept thinking, “is he really talking this much about his facial hair? Would he notice if I got up and left? If I reached across the table and shaved off his facial hair would he change topics or just keep going?” After the monologue, there wasn’t really anywhere else to go conversation-wise. I flirted with the idea of trying to start up another area of discussion but my heart wasn’t in it. It may not have been fair of me, but it really felt like I had learned all I wanted to learn about Mike* and it was time to run off into the welcoming dark night and hope that my next date would not be as fussy with or fond of his facial hair.

Alright, I will definitely have to wait until later to tell the notorious tale of Professor Hickey to really do it justice.
*Name has been changed

Putting the Aw in Awkward

Considering how much of my life must appear to be consumed with dating if you’ve read this blog for any length of time, it may startle some of you to know that I have other less extreme activities that take up my time. But given the ridiculous amount of dates that I’ve been on relatively recently, it was just a matter of time before this somewhat hazardous hobby spilled over into the rest of my world.

I’m getting ahead of myself as usual. My next date after being propositioned by a man technically old enough to be my father was with a cute young whippersnapper. Kurt* was ridiculously adorable – he looked like he should be in a boy band. Not the lead singer or that guy with the weird sideburns who can’t really sing and just speaks in a deep voice in a rhythmic manner, but the cute guitarist. And Kurt* actually was a musician. He played in a metal band.

Kurt* didn’t look like he belonged in a metal band at all. He had hair vaguely in the style of the Jonas Brothers and he was beyond clean cut. He could and did talk at length and without lacking in authority on the differences between metal and hard rock. He also didn’t drink at all, was vocally anti-drugs, and very much into healthy living. It was vaguely intriguing but a little off.

What was wrong was that he seemed so darn young. He was young enough to date my niece. At the time, my eldest niece who is only seven years my junior, was staying at my house. At some point during the date with Kurt*, I thought to myself how great I thought he would be for my niece. That’s when it became impossible for me to date him. For although apparently some men actually want to date women half their age plus seven years (google it – the fact that this theory is prevalent is for realsies not just the idea of a misguided few), the idea gives me the heebie jeebies. At that point in my life I wasn’t cut out to be a puma so I said goodbye to Kurt.* Notice that I didn’t say that I’ll never become a puma as I realize such a statement would ensure that my next date would be dangerously young and even as I write this I’m remembering the age of some of my exes in real life before I started this internet dating craziness so I’ll move on to the next thought.

Here’s where we get to the particular awkward moment that I referenced at the beginning of this post. One of my non-dating activities is volunteering at nursing homes with my dog. Its fun and he and I both dig it and the residents seem to as well. Basically we just go there and visit some of our regulars in their rooms, stop by the common areas, and spend time talking or just hanging out with the residents.

Anyway, I took my dog to the nursing home the night after my date with Kurt* and we met a new friend in the lobby. I hadn’t remembered meeting with Sharla* before but she kept saying she thought she knew me. As the residents have varying levels of mental coherency I just smiled at her and continued chatting away, coaxing my dog to do some tricks to entertain her. She became more insistent though, she definitely knew who I was and grabbing my name tag she stated authoritatively that I had in fact dated her grandson.

I assumed that she meant Kurt* as he was the most recent date I’d had; I started babbling embarrassed as she began asking me why I didn’t like her very nice grandson. I assured her that her grandson was great and a gentleman and that I wish that it had worked out, etc, etc. In the back of my mind I was a little freaked that I had only gone out with him once and that he had told his grandmother about me but I was becoming more and more embarrassed as she looked at me unflinchingly and asked again why I didn’t like her grandson. I assured her that Kurt* was a great guy and that maybe the age difference wasn’t that bad. At this point, things slid downward on the mortification scale as she asked me who the hell Kurt is. It turns out her grandson was Jim* who I had dated a few months prior (Jim being the slightly over-serious, loner, hiker, self-tattooer).

If I thought she was upset before, that was nothing compared to how she felt after she realized I had dated people after her darling grandson. Here I was a floozy, working my way through all the wonderfully sensitive gentlemen of the area and picking them off one by one, snubbing her grandson and not even remembering it right away. I hoped that the floor would open up and swallow me whole, but sadly I had to stand there and take my comeuppance shamefacedly while my dog became increasingly bored. I attempted to apologize again and shrank off into the building. I was going to go home at that point; chastised by a resident, I really just wanted to crawl under my covers and not come out. Thankfully I saw one of my regulars down the hall and decided to suck it up and press on. I can’t blame Sharla* for sticking up for her grandson, but I don’t blame myself either for not being in love with Jim.*

Next up, Blinky McStaresalot and a Tale of Two Professors. Or at least I’ll tell the tale of one – I might have to give the main professor his own post all to himself.
*Name has been changed

Never Say Never…or You May Too May End Up Dating Yukon Cornelius

I had heard a couple friends mentioning joining free dating websites and I said I would definitely never do such a thing because you get what you pay for. Having made such a statement it was only a matter of time before I joined a free website. I can’t remember how I found OkCupid but I did find it and created my free profile and prepared to sort through even more crazies than I had on the sites that charge a fee.

One of the first guys I happened upon described himself as “fixing up my house some whenever I gets some cash. When I finish that up I’m debating some other options to broaden my horizons.” That coupled with a picture of himself with Carrot Top like hair holding a paper sack and standing next to a guy with teeth missing helped me realize that although this site did not charge a fee, there was definitely still a cost. I was very curious as to what was in the sack but since I decided the answer could have been something like “a human head” I decided against emailing him to find out.

The next guy had a picture of himself with a snake wrapped around his neck and he used his profile to talk about how much he liked to poop. He believed that this is when he gets his best thinking done, during an activity he referred to as “dropping some booty fruit.” Once he thought so hard he fell asleep and almost fell off of the toilet.

Compared to these first two members of the site I chanced upon, Jim* was Man of the Year. He really was an extremely nice guy, but a little bit off. Cute, but too skinny like one good hug would break him in two, he didn’t talk about his pet snake or pooping so he was already ahead in the game. He seemed like a bit of a loner, liked to hiking by himself for long periods of time and didn’t really talk about any close friends. We went out a few times but there were no sparks for me. I was slightly alarmed at his proclivity for giving himself tattoos, but other than that the really only negative thing was that he wanted to get really serious, really quickly and I wasn’t feeling the same way.

Next up was a doozy. Up until fairly recently, I had never really been into facial hair on guys. I mean on some guys it looked ok, but a full beard kinda weirded me out. When I started chatting with Christian* on the website, the current status of his facial hair was unclear. In one picture, he had a full dark beard. In another, he was clean-shaven. In yet another, he had a goatee. There were other intriguing things about him, such as playing guitar in a band, claims of inventing recipes featuring chocolate and bacon, and an interest in archaeology. I definitely wanted to meet this guy. By this point, however, I should have learned that it’s easy to have some chemistry on email but that you need to have an actual conversation with someone to see if there’s something worthwhile there. You also need to meet in real life to discover that he has the longest, bushiest, red beard possible. The type of beard that will collect food and beer foam without his knowledge or worse still that you will witness him take some crumbs from his beard and eat it.

It took me forever to figure out who he reminded me of. I had some time to ponder this as the minutes dragged on during our stilted conversation. He really didn’t find our conversation enjoyable. Or if he did, he chose to express this by staring at me with his mouth slightly ajar. I think of myself as being at least slightly humorous but not once on the date did he laugh or even smile. He just alternated between looking serious and looking semi-catatonic.

The date with Christian* was in January of this year and I was really racking my brain to figure out who he reminded me of; I had definitely seen him or someone like him in the not too distant past. I was pretty sure it was around Christmas time. That’s when it hit me: this guy was Yukon Cornelius from the animated classic Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. You remember the guy – the arctic prospector with the pointy red mustache and bushy beard? Well I dated him.

Needless to say that was not a match made in heaven, I closed out that month being hit on by a man who I’m pretty sure was married. He traveled to DC quite frequently and wanted to meet up with me on his next trip. He is memorable only in delivering what has to be the best worst pickup lines I’ve had in quite some time. Here is a transcript of the email he sent me:
Hey! Please read my profile? I hope that you find me intriguing, as well. I think that the first thing I notice are your eyes. They are very sensitive and adventurous!
I travel to DC frequently and plan to be in town on February 7 thru 10. I thought that I might reach out to you to see if dinner or drinks might be of interest to you. If so, maybe we can talk. (I much prefer talking on email (and phone) rather than cupid)
I am a 55 yr old professional white male seeking an articulate woman who is honest, fun loving, adventurous, and has a great sense of humor. I'm not someone strange. I am just a nice guy who enjoys meeting new people and loves to laugh and have fun. Oh, and I love younger women who have depth and maturity. I do hope you like mature men who are stimulating intellectually, as well as physically.
If I have piqued your interest, please write back? Who knows? We might hit it off. I look forward to hearing from you.

While I do think I might need to consider older guys more than I have been since men my age seem to be looking for girls between the ages of barely legal and not old enough to rent a car, I decided to pass on this one despite his affinity for my sensitive and adventurous eyes. Next up, some more misses and how I almost became a puma (youngish cougar).
*Name has been changed