Not-so-Great Expectations

To refresh your memories, I have been communicating for what I now realize has been over seven weeks with someone who I feared may have been a satanic worshipper and who really seemed to have some sort of obsession with poop (see Deal with the Devil for the full back story).  That was the worst case scenario as far as I could tell.  The best case scenario was just that he was an extremely nervous individual who made a really poor decision in choosing his email address and who wasn’t too good at communicating on email.  Or the phone.   And was prone to using the word ‘poop’ a lot when he was nervous.  Which was most of the time.

Fast forward to this past weekend: I’m incredibly stressed at work and have no time to sleep or think or take reasonable care of myself so this of course made it the most perfect time ever to meet my match, Erik*, in real life.  Yep, there is virtually no situation that I can’t take and make it more difficult or prone to disaster.  But I had decided enough was enough, I had to meet him and see once and for all what the deal was; plus his requests to meet to meet in real life had reached a fevered pitch and this seemed the best way to end that.

We decided to meet on Sunday for lunch.  At high noon.  (cue the Western high noon shootout music).  He chose a slightly upscale-ish fast food joint.  Yep, fast food.  As in wicked cheap.  And no booze.  Wincing silently, I agree to meet him there. 

When I arrive, there were no visible signs of satanic worship on his person.  I don’t know what I was expecting but there were no pentagrams or triple 6’s.  He was wearing a black sweatshirt but that was as dark as he got.  He also was beyond highly nervous, the kind with the clammy handshake and faint sheen on his forehead.  In what was a further indicator that this was not going to be the best date ever, he didn’t pay for my lunch or even offer to in spite of the fact that the total came to about $5.00. 

What followed was a fairly reasonable conversation, in terms of not talking about the devil or poop, but all in all was kind of …well, bland and slightly depressing.  He was really nervous and a pretty negative person, but not evil.  He didn’t really have any interests or hobbies other than work and working out.  He said all his friends had abandoned him by getting married and having kids and not having any time to spend with him.  I tried to pick up the conversation by appearing interested and asking him questions that I thought would engender more positive conversation, but it fell flat.  Even when I tried to commend him for being such a good guy and helping his mom the day before, he sighed and said he didn’t want to help her but she made him. 

But I just kept thinking “well, at least he doesn’t seem satanic.  And he hasn’t mentioned poop either, so that’s gotta count for something….right?”  That’s the problem with going on these dates.  They make me question what I had thought were reasonable expectations to the point where it feels like I need to just lower my standards to: single, not evil, can carry on a conversation that doesn’t make me wince/vomit/cry.  When my goal is just to rate my dates above “licking my hair upon first meeting me” OR “doesn’t hate food and people” OR “doesn’t make me afraid for my personal safety” OR “doesn’t pee in plain sight of the customers of the nice restaurant where we just dined,” maybe that’s when its time to call it a day and give up the whole dating scene (see “The Eternal Truth of Seinfeld and Parisian Greetings” OR “Eating Before Dinner and Worst Date EVER” OR “At Least I Got To Hit Some Balls” OR “What Eventually Drove Me to the Internet” for more on those respective dates).

*Name has been changed.

Stalking the Dog Whisperer

I’m not the most observant woman when it comes to noticing a cute, available guy when I see one in real life.  Therefore, it should not come as a surprise that it took me a while to notice the cutie with the golden retriever living just a few hundred feet away from me.  Even so I did not realize that he had been living in the neighborhood almost three years before I met him.  I am also quite possibly the world’s worst flirt –not as in, wow that woman is outrageously flirtatious! More like, when I don’t think I’m being flirty I’m apparently all “come hither” and when I actually attempt to flirt, it’s hideous and grotesque.  These things have conspired to ruin my relationship with the dog whisperer before it even got started.

“Dog Whisperer” is the code name my friend and neighbor gave the cutie.  I think she actually noticed him first and staked him out for me months and months ago.  This is the kind of friend she is: when she saw the hot runner in our neighborhood, she attempted to chase him down for me despite the fact that she was approximately 8 months pregnant and walking her fairly sizable Labrador.  When I asked her what she was going to do if she actually caught him, she replied matter-of-factly that she was going to “bring him to me.”  These are the actions of a true, and at the time hormonally charged, friend.  The image of him turning around all wide-eyed to see a pregnant stranger and her big black dog charging after him still makes me smile.

So at some point, I think in the late summer, we both noticed “DW” walking his beautiful golden retriever.  They looked like an L.L. Bean ad come to life.  My friend and I started plotting ways I could throw myself into his path.  This became hugely complicated by the fact that when they first met, my dog HATED his dog.  Ok, so maybe Charlie (my dog) didn’t hate the golden, but he really didn’t like him.  He’d bark and pull at his leash and even growled once.  It was really a hindrance to my not-so-burgeoning romance. 

My friend was undeterred though and took it as her mission to introduce herself and her dog to DW and find ways to “naturally” bring me up in their conversations.  She was a force to be reckoned with and would insert my name and presence into conversation even if it seemed to be a stretch.  When he was talking to her about his commute, she said “Oh you know who has a bad commute too?  Adrienne! You know Adrienne, right?” and then would sing my praises.  When he talked about his dog, she would bring up me and Charlie.  I really think at one point he said he had to go to the store and she might have said something like “Oh, you know who just went to the store, Adrienne! You know Adrienne, right?”  In fact, once when she was walking toward him determined to bring me up again, a bug flew into her eye and she kept talking about me even though tears were streaming out her eye as she attempted to dislodge the insect. 

That time she invited him to a cookout at her house in the early fall which thankfully he did not attend.  I say thankfully as it ended up being me and like 4 married couples and several toddlers and infants.  Not exactly the best scene to casually strike up a conversation and win him over with my feminine wiles.  Hi! I’m the only single woman in the room!  Come! Talk to me!  Why are you running away?!?!

In the meantime, I was working my butt off at trying to get Charlie to be friendlier to DW’s dog.  I worked with Charlie on every walk, giving him treats when we saw other dogs, praising him when he didn’t bark or growl, and trying to reinforce positive thoughts about golden retrievers by comparing DW’s dog to one of Charlie’s favorite girl dogs, the golden retriever of one of my best friends.  It was more than a little insane, but it actually worked.  Charlie started to like DW’s dog and DW and I had several conversations when we met up walking in the neighborhood. 

I’m not that great at stalking though.  This is probably not a bad thing, but it has made it tougher to find casual ways to throw myself into DW’s path.  I still haven’t even established if he has a girlfriend.  I’m pretty sure he was dating this total skank in the fall.  Ok, I don’t know she was a total skank.  But she was all flippy with her blond hair and had this annoying “I’m so fun-loving” loud laugh that she would laugh when she flipped her hair.  Or at least she did the one day I saw her hanging all over him. 

I hadn’t seen her since that one time and haven’t seen any other women hanging around so I hadn’t given up hope.  I just couldn’t figure out how to get him to think of me in a way other than neighbor woman whose dog used to despise his dog. 

Our last series of interactions was at first highly positive and then deeply disappointing.  When it snowed like an absurd amount a few weeks ago, I was trying to dig out in the morning and head off to work.  DW came over and offered to help me finish my car.  Since it was like half a foot of snow, it took quite a while and we had a pretty great conversation.  I found out some more about him, he asked questions about me, and it turns out we had a lot in common and a lot to talk about.  He even helped me when I wanted to dig out one of my neighbor’s cars as her husband had the flu and she was at her wit’s ends as the kids were sick too. 

Here was my in!  I finally figured out how to woo him in a way where I wouldn’t end up freaking him out by my horrible attempts at flirting.  I don’t like to brag, but I am a pretty mean baker.  I can definitely hold my own when it comes to delicious baked goodness, much to the detriment of my own hips.  Anyway, I decided I would bake DW something to thank him for helping me dig. 

I seriously contemplated what I should bake him.  It had to be homemade but not too fussy –plus what if he had bizarre allergies or food aversions?  I decided to go with a classic: chocolate chip cookies.   This way, I could give some to him and some to a couple friends.  They turned out pretty good, although I burned quite a few.  I kept the burnt ones for myself and then took the rest out to deliver.   I went to my friends’ first and then made my way to DW’s casa. 

I was more than a little nervous as I knocked on his door a few Sunday nights ago.  His dog was definitely excited to see me, but DW seemed a little nonplussed.  I’m pretty sure my face was the color of a fire engine and I stammered something about wanting to thank him for helping me dig out the cars and that I had made some chocolate chip cookies and I hoped that he liked them.  And then….he invited me in, told me I was the woman he’d been searching his entire life for, and swept me up in his arms, and we laughed about how we’d tell the drawn out story of how we met to our future grandkids.

Well, that’s what would have happened had my life been one of the numerous Hallmark or Lifetime Valentine’s Day movies that have been advertised for the past week or so.  The camera would pan to DW and I walking off into the sunset with our dogs.  What actually happened was that he thanked me for the cookies, I stood there with what I fear was a ridiculously hopeful expression on my face, there was a slightly awkward pause, and then he closed the door.

And that’s been that.  I haven’t really seen him since then.  Then again, I’ve been working pretty much nonstop and have been struck with yet another cold, but I still haven’t talked to or even really seen DW or his overly perfect golden.  And to be truthful, I have to admit that what really ticked me off was that I wasted all my good cookies on him and was left with only the burnt ones.  I’m sure there’s a metaphor or life lesson in there somewhere.

In the meantime, I did manage to have at least one phone conversation with Erik* (see Deal with the Devil) where he did not mention poop or satan, so that’s good news I guess.  We still haven’t met in real life, but hopefully if works calms down and I stop sounding like Elmer Fudd with this head cold, we’ll be able to meet up for a drink or coffee or something innocuous like that.  But I’ll probably continue to pathetically sigh whenever I see DW’s house or catch a glimpse of him walking along with his dog.  

*Name has been changed.