90 Days

I recently responded to an ad on Craigslist - something I haven't done in close to a year. But since there are so few eligible bachelors here in my little town, when you find some advertising, it can be worth a little investigating. He's a computer programmer, fresh from the city, now telecommuting. A snappy dresser and martial arts expert with a shaved head, he definitely is not the typical north country guy. Which is fine by me.

 

So we met for dinner Monday night. Then drinks and music on Tuesday. Then dinner at his place Wednesday (he's a good cook), followed by going out for more drinks and music after. Three nights in a  row - a record! And this from someone whose ad stated he wasn't interested in anything long term or serious. He is new in town and wants someone to show him around.

 

I confessed last night that in my four years of dating, I have never made it beyond three months with anyone. "I've never made it past 90 days either!" he shared.

 

"Maybe we'll be like a double negative," I added. 

 

As I was getting into my car last night, he asked what we were going to do the next night. Four in a row? I initially said yes but later begged off due to work commitments. 

 

Only 87 days to go!

 

 

 

The Interview

I went on a lunch date with a nice but uninspired gentleman yesterday. This is part of my strategy of investing as little time as possible in each loser, I mean, prospect.

It's not that he wasn't OK looking (how's that for damning with faint praise). But he showed up wearing a gray sweatshirt. And when I casually asked what he did for work, he launched into a work history dialogue that literally took up the entire hour time slot of our lunch.

Now if he were an astronaut or surgeon, this might have been interesting. But 20 years of beverage distribution ... not so much.

In his defense, he was VERY nervous. I think talking about the familiar was his coping mechanism. But I found myself leaning forward and going "uh-huh, oh, really?" as I have done through many job interviews in my day. Let's just say he's not going to get the job.

But at least he was better than the other prospect who I was to meet for a drink last weekend. Until his pregnant angry wife emailed me and warned me off (he represented himself as divorced). Who then subsequently asked if I would give her a statement for her lawyer. I begged off saying I hadn't even met him, only talked once and really REALLY did not want to get involved. Note to self - don't switch over to "real" email address until much further down the pike. I googled my name (which is eponymous with my "real" email address) and the screen lit up like a Christmas tree. It would be so easy for her lawyer to find me. I just hope she respects my request for privacy as quickly as I respected her request to cancel. I guess we'll see what happens.

Meanwhile in the offing is a dinner date with someone who just moved to town. He doesn't know anyone yet. He telecommutes from a high paying job in the city and loves living in the mountain. I have been warned by friends to not tell anyone about him - especially other women - as this fresh meat will likely be snapped up quickly.

"Most of the responses I got to my ad were from robots and women from overseas looking for VISAs," he told me. "You were the only real person to respond. At least the only one not 20 years older than me." So I've got that going for me. I just hope he's a meal to remember.

Class of '83

I went through an interesting exercise this evening. I scrolled through the Marshfield High School Class of 1983 on Facebook.

 

I would like to say, on behalf of every ugly duckling and late bloomer, that time makes for the best revenge. Every popular kids is now looking 10 years older and 50 lbs. heavier than our age.

 

Interesting side note - the few of us who dabble in the performing arts are by far the best looking. Not that this is saying much, relatively speaking. But in high school were were in the back row of drama club, trading tips of Rubiks cubes and Culture Club casette tapes.

 

 

Love Stinks

I know I have been letting my loyal blog readers down by my infrequent posts but let me give you some funny updates. I wish I could tell you that I have been too busy having an intense secret love affair, so involved and discrete that there has been no time to turn on the computer let alone update you, but that would be a lie.

 

A lie, as in what most of the losers I run into tell me constantly. Like the movie Momento, let me work from the present day backwards to get you up to speed.

 

A nice note from a man in upstate NY recently arrived, responding to my online dating ad. He liked that I'm a musician. He liked my glasses. He would be in the Valley this weekend on a trip with his kids and would I meet up with him for coffee? We were to meet today but then I got a surprise email this morning. From his pregnant wife. Yes, she apparently hacked into his email account and sent me this chilling message:

 

"do not meet this man he is not what he says.  he is nothing but lies,  stay away from him he is the worst sort of person there is"

 

OK! Coffee date cancelled. Even if she is the crazy liar, this does not sound like anything I want to inject myself into. NEXT!

 

Then rewind back one night. I enjoyed a concert last night at a local venue, where I was also about two weeks ago for another show. At that time I sat next to a guy who was also by himself. We hit it off and he walked me to my car after the show only to wave a cheery goodbye and leave without asking for my number. So it was nice to run into him again last night. When he did the same thing. He did ask when I'm singing again at a local pub - and promised to stop by to see me there. Not holding my breath.

 

Then back 2 more days to Hoot Night. It was like the Homecoming of the Damned. There was Vinny the Firefighter (from last spring)  whose tiny close-set eyes lit up when he saw me at the bar. "Baby! Where have you been?" he exclaimed as he literally hung off my arm. "You gotta give me another chance, baby, you broke my heart!"

 

His crooning was interrupted by the presence of Mr. I Don't Find You Attractive from last summer (see previous post) who walked up to me, apparently forgetting his previous conversation with me, "Hi Beautiful!"

 

My eyes scanned the room desperately looking for some friends at a table, somewhere to escape. But there were none. What's that song? Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right.

 

So I played my set and sat down, approached by another man fan, who proceeded to critique my music and tell me what I can do to improve it. I scurried out the door at my earliest convenience.

 

Then last weekend, the return of Ed the Engineer. You know, the one who had a "funeral" where he got back together with his Ex.  Against all common sense, I agreed to go out with him again after things did not work out with the ex. A wonderful night out with wine and music followed by no phone calls all week and a lame email saying he's been busy. What the fuck? Why bother?

 

A call from a friend yesterday with whom I hadn't spoken for months. Asked me how the love life was going. "Not much going" I replied. Then I went into the litany of everything that is great about my wonderful life - health, financial security, good friends, good job, lovely place to live. Why can't that be enough?