Calling St. Jude

OK, so what a difference a day makes. I got an email on Saturday from someone a friend had suggested I meet as she thought we'd be a good match. Of course, a year had gone by since then, as we both moved on to other relationships and never met up. But now the earth and stars were aligned and we went out for dinner Sunday night and we really hit it off.

So now I am dating a most unlikely gentleman by the name of Francois. And in case you haven't figured it out, he is Chinese.

Kidding, he is FRENCH. A real Frenchman, with a French accent, the whole nine yards. He's an American however and has been for about 20 years.

When I got home at 1 in the morning after our date last night, I Googled him. Now I am totally intimidated. Professionally speaking, I have been merrily writing junk mail and spam for the last 20 years, while he has been (no shit) unraveling the human genome.


His last job title was "Chief Scientist" and got his (two) degrees from the University of London.


He is currently self-employed and is living comfortably off what I can only surmise is the massive profits of selling off the last business he co-founded. I think he created the search engine, or a search engine that other search engines use. Yeah, that's it. Christ, I can't even explain what he does - he's THAT smart.


I can only guess he is hanging out with me for comic relief. He lives in the town where I went to college, so I know he knows my decidedly blue collar background. Yet he called back, so I guess it's all good.


It must be my eyeglasses - what Chief Scientist can resist the "sexy librarian" look.


And unlike the fools of yore from this blog, he a) insisted on picking up the tab b) did not talk incessantly about his ex or his mother and c) did not take me to a strip club on our first date.

I hate to be hopeful. I hate that I hate to be hopeful. But I'm going to be, just a little bit for now. Even St. Jude catches a break now and again.

Fire Breathing Jesus

Happy Halloween. This time of year will always remind me of one of the first guys I dated when I got divorced, one I have occasionally and affectionately referred to as "Jesus" in this blog. In case you were afraid I was falling prey to religion, rest assured I was just referring to someone who had an uncanny resemblance to the Messiah, and trust me, only in appearance with no other shared traits.

Jesus and I met online when he was training as an EMT, taking a temporary break in this line of work from being a Super Gen-i-us (please read this like Wiley Coyote would) for a variety of technology companies. He wrote a book on XML which apparently was the bible on the subject (he he - get it? bible?) for some time.

He agreed to the long drive north to New Hampshire to meet up for our first date. As luck would have it, he was the first on the scene of a car accident on a dark rural road on the drive up.

He arrived, wild eyed with glass in his long hair, an hour late but excited about his first "real" EMT encounter. We went out to dinner as he regaled me about himself. Including a rather long story about his working on the TV show, "Kukla, Fran and Ollie"

We went back to my place where he read my tarot cards until 3am, whereupon he left and drove 100 miles home.

Our next date was in his next of the woods, northern Mass. I noticed his neck was bright red. Apparently it was from his attending a Halloween Party the night before where he went as Jesus. But not just any Jesus. He was a fire breathing Jesus.

In addition to being a super gen-i-us, life-saving, EMT, book-writin' computer programmer, he was also skilled in the art of FIRE BREATHING. This involved putting some sort of fuel in his mouth and lighting it as he spewed it outwards. For Halloween, he wore a Jesus robe and did his trick for his fellow party goers. Go figure.

I think one of the reasons he wanted to date me was to me was to prove that he was smarter than me. He was, but he was rather unattractive in his zest to prove this to me. My online ad said I wanted someone who could "keep up with me." Of course, I was talking about physically (skiing, biking, hiking, etc.) but he took it as a intellectual challenge.

I knew our days were numbered when he cancelled plans with me because he was having friends over. He couldn't include me in the plans because these were friends from his ivy-league college who shared his PhD level of education. No Bachelor's Degrees allowed, and certainly not one from a state college.

We ended it over a drink in Harvard Square. I had driven 2 hours to see him, to break things off. He was over an hour late and I stupidly sat at the bar waiting for him, to say goodbye. I hugged him and left minutes after he finally arrived.

So much for emotional intelligence.

Halloween will also always remind me of one of my first dates with PAL. In his off hand way, he did not really invite me to join him at a Halloween Party at a local bar. I arrived dressed as Paris Hilton and showed up an hour early by accident. The other patrons at the bar, there for dinner and not for the costume party, thought I was just a prostitute killing time at the bar.

After several hours, I gave up hope that PAL was coming when he came in, took my hand and swept me onto the dance floor to the strains of Prince's "Raspberry Beret." He had me at, "is that a Chihuahua in your purse?"

But we know how this story ends.

This year, I'm making sure I'm occupied for Halloween. I'm working until midnight. No use inviting the ghosts of Halloweens past to remind me of where I've been.

Blinded by the Light

It was unexpected and hit me like a fist to the stomach. I logged into Facebook after being away at a family wedding for the weekend and scanned my friend updates. A former boyfriend (and minor blog character) was listing himself as "in a relationship." Even though I had long ago determined we were not really a good match, it was a sucker punch to see another person advertising his new happy relationship, a task seemingly impossible for me. I saw him last about a month ago (see the "Lost Weekend" post) and somehow always thought if all else failed, I could always call Erik. Another one bites the dust.

Perhaps my bitterness has to do with the date. You see, today would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. Not that I'm sorry about that or anything. But that fact is compounded by my attending a wedding this weekend, that of my niece.

She has married well, a man of Indian descent with a large and prosperous extended family. In fact, I have never been to as large or lavish a wedding in my life. Part of the ceremony involved the groom riding a horse towards the temporary Hindu temple set up at the private country club where the wedding took place. He was on a horse only because an elephant was not easily available.

Since my niece has a Facebook page, I am certain wedding pictures will be posted soon. Another Facebook friend announced to all that she was engaged - a flurry of congratulatory comments followed. I doubt I would know that this minor acquaintance was engaged were it not for this device. Nor would my former paramour's new found love be rubbed in my nose as it was so blatantly today. And no, over the months we dated he never swapped his profile from "single" to "dating." And neither did I.

That's the problem with the Internet and this so-called "social media." It makes you transparent. Unless you are a comment on my Facebook page, in which case you are a snub I can't seem to erase. I was able to tell Facebook I wanted to "see less of Erik," which alas did not make the offending comment go away. Nor am I bitter enough to delete him as a friend all together.

Speaking of transparency, blogs apply to this category as well. About a month ago, I stuck my neck out and asked Spaceman to join me at the wedding this weekend. He declined, citing a trip out of town to Tennessee for business. But a post to his blog yesterday morning seemingly has him in the very local environs of western Maine.

I think I prefer the darkness of ignorance to the blinding truthfulness of the Internet.

Now as I wrap up this post, I try to come up with my customary funny or ironic close. Much like a good man, it's just not coming to me right now.

Aiming Too Low

I was reading a news article today on CNN.com and realized I have been aiming too low. It's time to cast aside the men of northern New Hampshire and Maine and head to New York City.


You see, I read that my all time favorite movie star celebrity comedian Bill Murray is getting divorced!


In reading this article, I can see he is clearly in the same situation I am in. Except he is a world famous actor and comic. Other than that, EXACTLY the same.



Targeting the newly divorced is a great strategy for 40-something women to use to find dates, or so I heard. Movie stars are no exception.

Look back at my last post. Now look at the headline of this article. Coincidence? I think not. Surely the earth and stars above are aligned now, pointing me to his home in upstate New York. His ex claims that he is addicted to alcohol, marijuana and sex. Sign me up!

People who know me know I can figure out just about anything. So I am truly thinking about how to get myself in front of Bill Murray. Of course, in my head, I have Bill Murray circa 1992 in my head, say, from his Ground Hog Day era. The Bill Murray of 2008 is a little more gray around the temples. But at age 58, he is likely to be salvageable. Plus all the money and fame will help me see beyond the age difference. And his ex-wife is 42. Coincidence?

Another thing I have in common with Bill ... golf. But his last public golf outing included driving a golf cart when intoxicated in Sweden. Now who hasn't done this? Of course, he wasn't on a golf course when he did it - but that's merely a detail. It just makes him more loveable.

So clearly Bill and I have enough in common to sustain a relationship. Now I just need the introduction. So please, if you know Bill, just forward him a link to this blog. I'm just a few hours away from New York by golf cart.

Waiting for Columbus

Many of my friends are married and in their 40s and 50s. They listen to (or read) my dating stories with amazement, much as I'm sure early astronauts returned to earth and told their wives and kids about their adventures. "Are you sure it's safe, going up in that rocket?" they'd ask in amazement.

Most share with me that they could never ever do it, that they would rather die alone than dive head first into the world of dating again. To help them better understand the ship of fools on which I sail, I have categorized my potential paramours into 3 categories:

1. The Tragically Single - This is the life-long bachelor. He usually has reached his 40s and is proud to never have been married and is childless. Ladies, if you think you can change him, you are delusional. You do not reach this stage of life remaining unmarried without it being a single-minded (ha!) and deliberate effort. Trying to inject yourself into his universe is an exercise in futility. Especially doomed if you have children as they can relate better to your pets or your PC than to anyone under the age of 18.

2. The Devastatingly Divorced - This guy has been married at least once and sometimes twice. Usually he had not been married for long. Regardless, there is often much bitterness and enough baggage to employ a Red Cap for a lifetime. Either has gone years without dating or is barely divorced - either way, he still is just not ready for this. There can be a lot of overlap with this character and the Tragically Single.

3. The Paralyzed Parent - Shares custody of his kids with an Ex who keeps the custody schedule in a locked vault in an encrypted file. Despite the divorce, she manages to completely run her Ex's life by dictating when he can see his children. Unable to make any plans further out than 48 hours, just in case his parental services are needed. Unwilling to introduce even a long-time girlfriend to his kids because he "doesn't want to confuse them."

So let's see, never married; married then divorced with no kids; married then divorced with kids. They all suck. But what other options are there?

I hear rumors - more like fairy tales, or unicorn sightings. A business acquaintance was divorced at the same time I was. We traded divorce war stories on a business trip together shortly after my divorce was final.

10 months later I get an email from her announcing her name change. Yes, she managed to get remarried in those 10 months to a man with 2 kids, in her home town, to a guy she had known in high school. They were now happily married and living together with their Brady-like blended family.

After re-reading her email, I called her angrily and left a message on her voice mail. "How did you do it?" I insisted. "How does ANYONE do that?"

Put this in context. I have been living in Splitzville for going on 3 years. As anyone who reads this blog knows, I have no trouble meeting men. In those 3 years, I have not introduced a single boyfriend to my kid or had a date for the company Christmas party or family wedding, any of the hallmarks of being a "couple." If I were honest with myself, perhaps I would categorize myself as a #2. How damaged am I? How ready would I be if Mike Brady materialized tomorrow?

"Just stop looking for a while," gal pal Michelle suggested today. "Have you thought about getting your MBA? That would be a nice distraction!"

But since when does giving up result in success? After all, didn't Christopher Columbus finally find what he was looking for? Just when the entire crew was ready to give up and turn around, didn't they find the passage to India?

Well, maybe that's not the best example. Maybe Michelle is right. Maybe I need to board a ship full of Italians and sail for parts unknown. Now that's a ship I'd gladly board.

Sanctuary

I am trapped at a coffee house on a Friday night, thanks to my locking my keys in the car out front. Luckily they have internet access so I can kill time writing here.

I had stopped at a restaurant across the street after work. I walked in and found my ex-husband there and, with no other excuse to avoid him, killed some time together. Fortunately we have a child in common and that filled the time. Still, not what I wanted to deal with.

Last night I went out out with Spaceman after completing a phototgraphy project at work. As we walked towards our cars at the end of the evening, he regaled me again at how busy he was, and how his place was a wreck and how he could not possibly invite me back to his place. "It's awful but I guess you can come back to my place if you want."

"Eactly how little self esteem do you think I have that I'd take you up on that?" I said as I turned on my heel. As I walked away I thought I felt him tug on my jacket to stop me (but I was mistaken).

The next day, just to be sure I was playing my role in my dysfunctional fucked up un-relationship, I invited PAL over to dinner tonight hoping to have an adult discussion about things. He actually said "I think I have something else to do tonight but I don't remember what." So I prompted him, "quick, think up something!"

Ater which, when I got into work I was walking around in the jacket I was wearing last night when someone pointed out that there was a lift ticket stuck to my back. Spaceman had stuck it on my back as I walked away from him the night before. I realized the furtive tug was nothing of the kind.

He called today to ask me out to lunch to make up for the night before, at which point I told him the ticket thing wasn't funny, that it was a childish thing to do. "I can't help it - I'm a 12 year old," was his excuse. Not one to turn away a free lunch, I took it but it really was just a chance to look at the photos from last night. I let him pay, fucker.

I hate them both, honestly.

I'm going to a concert tomorrow night with new blog reader Amy and she has invited along a single male friend - she insists she isn't setting us up but at the very least he sounds interesting. I can do no worse.

So this coffee house I am stuck in - now waiting 90 minutes for a tow truck - has a journal that people are invited to write in. All sorts of information in there and some surprising confessions. I was going to write but realized I could buy computer time for $5.

But the reading was compelling. One person confessed she was cheating on her husband. Another said he was moving out of town. Who would think a coffee shop could provide such sanctuary on a chilly fall evening?