Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Star Trek

Now that I'm approaching the third anniversary of the dissolution of my marriage, I thought it was prime time to reflect upon the hits and misses of my dating life since then.

When I was married, I imagined dating to be much like going to Disney World, but with less cash changing hands. I couldn't wait! In fact, it's been more like being lost in a corn maze for 36 months. I know there's an exit here somewhere ...

But I digress. The local Maine TV station has been playing reruns of vintage Star Trek episodes and I watched several of them this weekend. I realized that Kirk and Spock could be used as an exercise in contrast in life and, yes, in dating.

Step One is determining if you are more of a Spock, or a Kirk. I would say I'm more of a Spock, definitely a left brain kinda gal. You can tell because of the eye-glasses. That and the fact that at age 43 I am blogging Star Trek, wondering why I can't get a date.

Step Two is comparing your style in picking up the opposite sex to Kirk or to Spock.

Kirk would go at it with anyone. Remember that female alien with the green skin? Yeah, he was good with that. He had no problem feeling up his subordinates either. Yeoman, Communications Officer, you name it. In a short velour mini-dress? Come into my quarters, baby! Kinda like Austin Powers but better looking.

Spock was more thoughtful. Because he was only half human, he only occasionally craved female companionship. But when he did, watch out. Kind of like me and too much vodka. Although in the most memorable episode, Spock gets doused by some sort of alien flower spore and runs amok, proclaiming his love for the first native he comes across. Definitely like me and too much vodka.

As an interesting side note ... in researching photos for this post, I came across a surprising number of homoerotic photos and illustrations depicting Kirk and Spock. I had never thought of this! How could this be? Yet there they are. This one is just funny, not racy. This is a PG-rated blog, after all. Google it yourself if you want to see the crazy-ass stuff. I will never watch Star Trek the same again.

So I think my new strategy is to be more Kirk, and less Spock. I need to be open to the possibilities that present themselves. Even if their complexion is a little green. Beam me up!

He's Just Not That Into You

After hitting some rough patches while dating early on in my single life-dom, I bought the popular book, "He's Just Not That Into You." It gives single gals all sorts of handy advice to help them understand that they deserve better than the losers they have invited into their lives, and how to avoid falling into the same trap over and over gain.

I think I should've bought more than one copy, or perhaps bought the extra large type edition as I seem unable to get even the basics right, charging again and again into the arms of the wrong man, then wondering what I did wrong.

Tonight I went out with a group of friends from work, including Spaceman, who is doing some photography for the company I work for. As I drove home (alone) afterwards, I thought how his behavior was so completely unlike what one would expect from a man that you've been dating for months. No arm around the shoulders, did not offer to walk me to my car when I left (albeit earlier than the rest of the group), no query as to when I might be free again later in the week. Just a rant on how terribly busy he is at work.

I had thought about asking him about a round of golf or inviting him over for dinner the next day, but why waste the effort when I already know the answer. He recently informed me (by email) that he "will be working every day until midnight or beyond until further notice." And to answer the question, yes, I do need a house to land on me.

So rather than get angry, I came home and pulled out my dog-eared copy of the book and re-read the good advice it offered:

He's Busy - Just because he's busy doesn't make him more valuable. "Busy" does not mean "better." The word "busy" is the relationship Weapon of Mass Destruction. Remember, men are never too busy to get what they want.

The He's Out of Town Excuse - If he's not making a serious effort to make sure that while he's out of town you don't go out and find someone else, then I think you've just boarded the he's just not that into you jet. Buckle up!

It's Better Than Nothing - Is better than nothing what we're going for now? Have you lost your marbles?

"I know that guy you are dating - he is the man made up entirely of your excuses. And the minute you stop making excuses for him, he will completely disappear from your life."

So it is with this re-reading that it is becoming increasingly clear that Spaceman must soon go the way of Machine Gun Man. I'm done making excuses. It hurts me to just sit back and watch the inevitable dissolution. But it brings to mind the childhood ditty:

Yesterday Upon the Stair
I Met a Man Who Wasn't There
He Wasn't There Again Today
I Wish That He Would Go Away

Do-A-Holic

This was to be a rare weekend, one where I had nothing to do for 2 out of the 3 days. I had no evening plans, and a stack of good books to read and DVDs to watch. I stockpiled my kitchen with goodies to cook and bake.

By 4pm Fri., I was in my sweatpants whipping up some of my famous red sauce when the phone rings. It's the guy who I dated 2 years ago who lived in an unheated cabin on a lake. Now, while I like him just fine as a friend, I'm not interested really in dating him. Plus, I was truly content just chopping tomatoes in my kitchen. So why in hell did I say yes when he asked me to go to a party with him in a town 2 hours from where I live?

I'm just a girl who can't say no. 30 minutes later, I was out of my sweatpants and in his truck on the way to parts unknown. It was a lot of fun but we didn't make it back home until 11am the next morning. There went my morning of cooking and working out. But I still had time to go to the driving range and shopping Sat. afternoon.

Fast forward as I'm walking off the driving range. Who's there but PAL hanging out on the deck at the course with some friends. I was on a mission to finish up my shopping but did I stick to said mission? Hell no. Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the deck with the 3 of them. Then for reasons I'm not quite sure, went along with them to the next bar after that. Now that afternoon was shot. Have to finish up the red sauce next day.

The round of golf with Spaceman on Sunday was a lot of fun but took up a span of 8 hours. Great fun but definitely no time for sauce.

So I look back at my 2 days with no plans and ponder how it turned into a lost weekend. I think the call of the unknown and the spontaneous is just too much of a siren song for me. This would explain a lot of my exploits, including the entire span of time spent with Machine Gun Man.

I could've hung up the phone Friday night and gone back to my sauce. But I wouldn't have met some of the really cool people at that party. Or trotted past PAL and friends instead of joining them. But I never would've found that biker bar with live music on Saturday afternoons (and some of the dirtiest dancing I've seen in public in a long time, but that is a story for another blog). So I guess there are advantages to being a "do-a-holic." As Warren Zevon sang, "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

And on that note, I'm going to bed now. I have to go to work in the morning. After a weekend with nothing to do, I'm exhausted.

Why Do I Do It?

Warm welcome to new blog reader, A.P., who I met at a conference addressing how new media is impacting old media, otherwise known as "newspapers" and soon to be known as "those things we used to call newspapers."

Don't get me wrong - I love print. Reading on screen is not equivalent - experientially or qualitatively - with reading the printed page, be it a book, newspaper or magazine. I remember when a relative brought home an "E-Book" contraption 20 years ago. Guess what - it never took off. The well-written word will not be replaced by poorly written blogs. The means of writing have changed over the centuries, from cave drawings, to quills and ink, to typewriters, to computers. There's nothing like a good story and that's never going to change.

Speaking of good stories ...

... I played at a local coffee house last night. Spaceman had offered to come take photos of me. He was a no show. There was a small but appreciative crowd. I got paid a stipend and all the coffee and snacks I could eat. As I plowed through my large mocha latte and chocolate pecan pie after I finished up, PAL walked in. "I thought you started at 8," he said. "ENDED at 8," I corrected him. He never has been good with numbers.

We then went out to another restaurant that has a really cool bar out back with an open mic night. How I could have driven by this place for 6 years and never seen it, I don't know. Super cool room with lots of good musicians. Again I had to redirect PAL's hands at the end of the evening, but he gets lots of credit for showing up.

Unlike Spaceman who calls me today to tell me he didn't make it because he volunteered to fill out gift cards for a friend's business instead. "Plus I didn't want to intimidate you when you were on stage." Yeah right!

I'm taking Spaceman golfing for his birthday on Sunday. Provided there are no dogs or gift cards, I'm sure he'll be there.

A Play in Three Acts

I don't know what sign the stars were in this weekend, but it was a weird confluence of happenings that took place. I'll spare you the suspense and just tell you it has a happy ending.

Act 1
I unexpectedly hung out with PAL Friday night. He called me about a mutual friend's going away party we would go to together. We met up at the local watering hole beforehand. Talk about a sight for sore eyes. He was dishing out just the brand of Irish malarkey I was in need of that evening. He put a warm hand on my shoulder. "That shirt really brings out the color of your eyes." "Your perfume smells wonderful ." "Did you cut your hair? It looks nice." "You have such a beautiful smile." I knew it was just flattery but it was just the ticket.

We had a good time together at the party then went out to hear music and dancing afterwards. He walked me to my car, as I casually brushed his hand off my ass. "Call me when you're done depriving yourself," I said as I got into my car and drove away. I was proud of myself. I took the enjoyment of his company and left behind the usual disappointment when he fails me. I'm learning.

Act 2
It had to be done. Machine Gun Man needed to be dealt with. I locked myself in my bedroom and dialed his number. With my usual forthrightness I told him it was over. The secretiveness about his living arrangements, the distance, etc., were not working for me. I left out the part about his being a freakazoid and not wanting to be seen in public with him.

"I have something I need to tell you," he said. Oh boy. Here it comes. I'm married. I'm an ax murderer. But no ... he hasn't let me see his house because ... he has ROOMMATES. I chortled, "That's IT? You have had me thinking you were married or Jeffrey Dahmer. Tell me, are you married to one of your roommates?" So add lying to the list of offenses, on top of being a freak.

It was all anticlimactic. Another proud moment. I didn't back pedal or mince words. He emailed me this morning after ruminating on our conversation. He is such a good writer. I wish that was good enough.

Act 3
Last Friday, Spaceman had me in a dither. He had sent me such a cryptic email that, as far as I could tell, he was cancelling our date on Sunday so he could dog sit. This is what I read. This is how my girlfriends (who of course I immediately called and read the email) interpreted it.

Now, those of you who are dating know that you usually don't take the gloves off, verbally, for quite some time when you are in a new relationship. This email pissed me off enough that I didn't care if it was the last exchange we had.

I called him, and he was on the golf course with the iPhone. It was unfair to launch into things when he was about to tee off, but that I did. "You are cancelling with me to DOG SIT? That is the LAMEST excuse I have ever heard," I complained.

"But you're a CAT person," he desperately tried to explain in the 60 second break before it was his turn to drive, "you wouldn't understand." This didn't help his cause.

His voice mail message, several hours later, was effusively apologetic. I must've misunderstood. He has awful communication skills. Of course we were still on for Sunday.

Ultimately, the rain on Sunday cancelled our game of golf. But it was a nice night to stay in (with the dog) and watch the Pat's game. He cooked us dinner that evening and brought me coffee in bed the next morning - not a bad means of apologizing.


EPILOGUE

I'm laughing as I type this -- a song is on the radio, "Hooray, Hooray for Tom" - the stars are definitely aligned over Madison this week.

Hello, God, It's Me, iPhone

So MGM is not one to get shaken off easily. I got an email from him this a.m. He went to a trade show where my company was exhibiting, even though I was not there.

He went up to one of my employees who was working the show, and talked her into taking a photo of him in front of the booth.

I am immensely grateful that he did not disclose his identity to him, so horrified I would be to be associated with this odd person doing such an odd thing.

His bizzaro email:

"So if ((name changed to protect the innocent)) tells you how great it was, casually ask if she took any pictures. She got at least one - it was me standing next to the poster. I asked her to take it and show all her friends at work, maybe email me a copy - but actually I just wanted her to take one of me for you, and now it's up to you to get a copy."

"Be casual about it, don't worry about letting on (I didn't 'out' you to your friends from work - I figure when you're ready to introduce me to your friends, you will.) But get a copy."

So yeah. Weird is as weird does. What do I expect from Mr. Best Ad Ever on Craigslist.

And not to be out-done, Spaceman called me last night, invited me to play golf with his league today, then called back this a.m. to un-invite me.

Now one other funny thing about him, other than his complete lack of manners, is his iPhone. It mis-dials easily. So I frequently get calls from his pocket. After he called to cancel, his iPhone called back. I whistled loudly to no avail. This happens frequently enough that sometimes I just listen in case something interesting gets said. I can hang on as long as I like - the iPhone will not hang up once it inadvertently dials me.

You know - now that I think of it, the iPhone has called me a few times after Spaceman has called to cancel on me. Could it be ... the iPhone is ... his CONSCIENCE?

I imagine conversations like, "There, Tanya. Are you happy? I blew her off again. Now let's go dancing." But usually I just hear the wind blowing or the sound of fabric brushing against the receiver.

If only the iPhone could talk. "Hi, Kathy? It's me, iPhone here. I gotta tell you. You can do a LOT better than Spaceman. You know the golf league? Bunch of drunken losers. You're much better off hanging with your kid tonight. Oh, gotta go. Call you later!"

Completely apropos of nothing, let me share with you the blog of a business associate I had dinner with last night: www.livingoprah.com

It's interesting enough - but what is really interesting is that this blog has generated so much interest, she now has an agent, book deal, TV appearances, etc. She's living my dream!

So please, loyal blog readers - share this with anyone (who doesn't know me) and get the word out. My blog is much funnier than hers. And why give Oprah more media coverage than she already has.

These Happy Golden Years

Loyal blog readers are wondering ... so what does the Spaceman LOOK like anyway? One would think that someone who works as a photographer for a living would have ample shots of himself. "I'm rarely on the other end of the camera," he advised. So the best I can give you is this Doonesbury cartoon.

Duke properly embodies his approximate appearance and attitude. Bill has more hair and he doesn't smoke, but everything else is spot on.

I had occasion this weekend to go on a business trip to a golf resort in Vermont (I know, tough job). I met up with a personable married couple about my age who have been together over 20 years. Despite 2 decades together, they still appeared to like one another. What novelty!

They golf together, hike, ride motorcycles ... all sorts of fun, convivial activities. I felt the same way after meeting them as I did last month on another fun-filled trip to a Penn. resort, when I saw a family walking towards the tennis courts together. Mom, Dad, Biff, & Bunny - all on vacation together - oh, these happy golden years!

So what happened to me? Not that I'm bitter or anything. But I should be walking around the swanky hotel with my happy nuclear family, reaping the rewards of a lifetime of hard work, finally resting on my laurels and sharing the bounty with my loved ones.

But no -- I'm cruising websites and hitting the bar scene at a time of my life when honestly, I just want to bake up a batch of flax seed muffins and fold laundry. What a cruel joke it is, being thrust into the dating scene at age 40.

Of course, cartoon characters are ageless. Duke and Honey have been circling in the gray area of their non-relationship for 30 years now. He, always unattainable and cynical. She always hopeful. Now, I've only been dating for about 3 years so maybe there's hope for me yet. I can't imagine still going at it at age 73. Talk about your happy golden years.

King of Pentacles

It is probably telling that one of my best girlfriends is a tarot card reader named Ruby. Whenever I meet someone new, I am under strict orders to ask for his sign. You see, I have a man in my future, and he is the King of Pentacles. An earth sign. A highly ambitious, successful and steady man who is absolutely positively in my future. Just not the near future. He has been hanging out there in the ether for about a year now.

As I have suffered through the pantheon of fools, Ruby has steadfastly told me that each of them absolutely was not the one. Leo? Tons of energy, but no. Scorpio? Lots of fun, but no way.

"Ok, Ruby, he sounds great, but WHEN." She flips a few more cards. Cards showing beggars. Walking in snow. (This can't be good.) "After the snow flies," she promises. This reading was in June. So in the meantime, I look for a great man in flowing robes and a crown, sitting in a throne holding a shield of Pentacles. Wish me luck.

Back in reality-ville, I had back-to-back calls last night from Spaceman and MGM, the Dumb and Dumber poster-children of my dating life.

MGM asked me to go to a concert for the next night. It became clear he hadn't actually bought the tickets yet. Then he allegedly pulled up a website and said the concert was cancelled. Click.

Then Spaceman calls for what, I don't know. I think he woke up this a.m. hung over and vaguely recalled calling me from a party he didn't invite me to. Maybe that was it.

So tonight I'm home with my two favorite males - Biscuit and Martin. A woman could do worse while waiting for her King to arrive.

Kill Bill

You would think that during a blissful vacation in beautiful Down East Maine that I would surely be lacking in tales to share with you from the dating front.

However after pitching my tent I realized that the last time I had been in this very same place, I was VERY newly divorced and just starting to date. I had just gone out with a realtor from Maine (what is it about guys from Maine) and thought we had hit it off. He had called me several times during my camp trip just to stay in touch, which seemed sweet at the time, but now in hindsight I realize it was significant of nothing. Because that is exactly where things went when I returned from vacation that time.

However, this time, I did fall in love ... with a National Park Ranger named Kirk Lurvis. Kirk Lurvis, Kirk Lurvis! How I love that unlikely combination of vowels and consonants as it rolls off the tongue. All cleft chin, park ranger uniform and chock-full of useful information about the rocks beneath our feet, Kirk Lurvis joked with the kids, winked at the mothers and walked into my dreams. Don't try Googling him - he's clearly off the grid. But I can dream, can't I? Take off your ranger hat, embossed leather belt and sensible shoes, Ranger Lurvis. Not since Yogi Bear met Ranger Smith was there a more momentous meeting.

OK, now back to reality. I came home and unpacked when my phone rings. It's Space Man. There is much raucous laughing in the background - he is obviously at a party. "I noticed you called me," he said. I had called him during my 5 hour drive home from KirkLurvisVille the previous day. "Yes, I'm back! Where are you?" He was indeed at a party - a party being thrown by a company he works with. Clearly everyone had brought a guest or their kids -- everyone except him. "Too bad you're not here - it's a lot of fun!" -- yes, he actually said this.

I pointed out he hadn't invited me. "Yeah, I thought about calling you earlier but ..."

But But But ... but you DIDN'T you loser. "I've only been here since 2 or 3." It was now 8pm, meaning his excuse was ... he didn't call me because he was only going to be at the party for 6 or 7 hours. Barely worth bringing a guest.

And the coup de grace -- as our conversation wound down, he said, "Have a good week." And with those 4 words he telegraphed his non-intentions as far as seeing me at any point in the near future.

Now, those readers who know me know I have custody of my kiddo every other week. This is my off week, and he knows this. So "Have a good week" might as well be "have a great month!"

So I'm diving back in online - don't try to find me, because it's not a mainstream dating site. And it has special functionality to block guys from Maine.