Deal Breakers

I just went through the horror and discomfort that is breaking it off with someone who is ga-ga over you and who you have no interest in seeing again.

Say good bye to janitor-boy. I called him tonight (after seeing his incoming calls to my home, office and cell phone numbers) and told him I needed to take a break from dating for a while. The truth, but definitely needed to take a break from HIM. This after he came to visit me at WORK one day last week. He was put in his place when the office receptionist asked him, "do you have an appointment with Mrs. Bennett?"

I am getting wise in my old age. Rather than wade neck deep into the muddy waters I cut him lose after two eventful but doomed dates. I give him credit for keeping it dignified. Ditto for myself.

However I kept some details from you, my loyal blog fans. I didn't reveal that he was a chain smoker and that for our first date we took my car because he spilled a beer in his on his way home from work and it reeked of alcohol. Or that he owned a pawn shop. Before he went bankrupt.

I ended this swiftly thanks to the support of my shrink (who surely must be living in Grand Cayman by now on the riches of trying to cure this head case) and to my best gal pal Michelle who coached me to break it off with him vs. invite him home this evening (fine line).

After sniffing through a session this weekend with my shrink on the recent abuses by PAL, I mentioned Janitor-boy. She just about snorted coffee out her nose as I told her about the beer-ride. "I just have bad taste in men, don't I?" She didn't disagree.

Another new friend suggested I make a list of "deal breakers" to help me screen out likely paramours, since I seem to have no issue with quantity, merely quality, of suitors. So here they are, in no particular order, for how I need to determine if a likely mate should be pursued or not:

-Non-smoker
- Not shorter than me
- Not a sociopath (good bye, Machine Gun Man)
- Not neglectful (good bye Spaceman)
- Not emotionally abusive (good bye PAL)
- Not an alcoholic (good bye every guy in my blog)

So with this list I look forward to a very merry, very all-alone holiday season. I look forward to a long holiday weekend in Vermont with my vegetarian/lesbian best friend. Maybe joining a socialist cult in Vermont is just what I need to steer clear of the usual suspects this holiday. Now that's something to be thankful for.

Desperate Measures

I have to admit a guilty pleasure - when I get the chance and am home on a Sunday night, I tune into Desperate Housewives. There is a new storyline where the Susan character (played by Teri Hatcher, a 40-something siren) hooks up with the guy she hires to paint her house. She struggles to legitimize their relationship because she is hesitant to tell her friends, the infamous ladies of Wisteria Lane, about her decidedly working-class beau.

While she hasn't figured it out yet, I am sure a hundred TV script writers are furiously working on a solution. I hope they broadcast the results soon.

You see, I met someone interesting this week - a moderately talented singer guitarist who asked me out after meeting him at a local guitar jam session. Only problem is that his real job is a "maintenance engineer" at a large historic hotel in town.

Now, those of you who have been to my house understand why someone in this line of work might be appealing to me on a number of levels.

I live in the World's Largest House. I am single, never home, and own a house the size of the Denver Airport, with an in-ground swimming pool and an acre of lawn to mow. I have been trying to sell it for 6 mos. to no avail. And in the meantime, I am struggling to keep up with it given my complete ineptitude with anything that exists in 3 dimensions (ie the real world).

My older sister has resorted to dating tradesmen over the years, depending on what repairs she needed around the house. Leaky toilet? Hello, Mr. Plumber! She ultimately married an electrician. Smart lady.

Last winter, I paid an HVAC specialist $120 to change the AIR FILTER on my furnace. I tried to replace it myself and managed to remove the furnace cover in such a way that I was unable to replace it, and the damn thing would not run without it.

And don't even talk to me about my lawn tractor. I repeatedly ran into and over things with it and then asked unwary male co-workers to come over and help me fix it each time. Now they see me coming and run.

Or maybe I should consider dating a car mechanic. My Subaru has a look that says "don't fuck with me ... I have driven into other cars and I won't hesitate to run you over next."

So back to the gentleman in question. I think what sealed the deal for me when he said he is state certified in pool maintenance. Sign me up!

But it does bring to mind certain conventions on status and stations in life. This new guy (I have to come up with a nickname for him, don't I?) is like driving a Honda Element - not overly attractive but pretty darn practical and gets you where you need to go.

Meanwhile, Francois (remember him?) cancelled with me this weekend because he was afraid to drive in the rain. Give me a workman in Carhartts over a wuss like that any day.

At the very least, I am grateful to add another character to my blog fodder. And if some things get fixed around the house in the meantime, what's desperate about that?

Brass in Pocket

"I'm so heartbroken. I want to write a song about it but I don't know a word that rhymes with AAAAARRRRRGGGGH."
Phoebe on "Friends"

Today marked the end of an era. I sold the Fender Telecaster guitar I purchased in high school. Fenders were made by Leo Fender, so I nicknamed this blond-beauty "Leo."

It was long overdue - I rarely played it and it had appreciated in value. I had a good offer on the table so I sold it to a fresh-faced high-school senior who counted out 10 $100 bills and sent me on my way.


I hesitated only for a minute. I had recently bought a much better instrument for my purposes (see earlier Martin posting). But I took a moment to ruminate on the days of my youth when that guitar was the Martin of its day and I was so excited to get my hands on it.

I was in a rock-n-roll garage band in high school. I was the token girl in an all-guy assortment of b-rated musicians who favored the works of Aerosmith and the Doors. When I joined the band, we widened our repertoire to include Fleetwood Mac and the Pretenders.

As much as I loved playing guitar and singing in that band, what I really loved was the lead guitarist, Steve. He was the first of many unworthy men who would lead me on and dump me repeatedly. It was nice to start out the pattern at a young age, so as to ensure I could make the same mistake over and over and over for the rest of my life.

He was a better guitarist than I was and played a Fender Stratocaster. I went out and spent what was at the time a sick amount of money to buy my Tele. If I couldn't win his love or out play him, I could out-spend him.

Steve was a winner, all right. He had a gaggle of girls around him most times, me included, and dated each of us at his convenience. Shortly after the first time we slept together, he offered to fix me up with his friend so that we could (get this) go out on a double date. And to think I carried a torch for this guy for YEARS. Amazing what I'm willing to do for a cute, funny, guitar-playing loser sack of shit.

Speaking of which, PAL is getting over a life-threatening illness and is just home from the hospital. During the course of events, it came to my attention that he has a new girlfriend, a nurse, who was by his side at the hospital. As recently as the day before he was hospitalized, he was doing his usual act: leading me on, asking when we could get together and trying to cop a feel (this at a FUNERAL - I am not kidding).

Guess a nurse was more valuable in a life-threatening emergency than a skilled marketer.

So I dropped off a big container of home-made chicken soup to help him recuperate. I included a handwritten note inside the bag, tucked it in and taped it shut before I lost my nerve:

"They say there is nothing like chicken soup when you're not feeling well, so I hope you enjoy this home-made batch I cooked up last night. Glad to hear you are home and recuperating. I heard that your new girlfriend is a nurse and is taking good care of you. How fortunate for you. Maybe now we can put the ambiguity behind us and be friends. It's overdue. Take care and be well."

(And don't choke on the chicken bones in the soup.)

So farewell, Leo. Martin has taken your place. And Steve and PAL, if only replacing you both were as easy as handing over my credit card.

That's What Friends are For

I am so fortunate to have so many girlfriends and loyal blog readers. You have all sent me funny and heartfelt advice about my current situation. So I have to share some of the more interesting comments publicly, mostly about new developments with Beldar, I mean, Francois:

From blog follower K: Ok, so SOMETIMES "self-employed" is not code for "unemployed". And "French" is not code for "Conehead". But I am reserving potentially effusive enthusiasm until you can confirm that "no sex as of second date" is not code for "very gay". Let's put it all on Beldar and let it ride.

From friend Ruby the Tarot Card Reader: She did a reading for me last week. The reading revealed: A brash man stands in the way of my happiness (hello, PAL). I have been victorious in battle and am ready to receive the wealth and riches I am due. Then the "Strength" card came up. "You need to watch your sharp tongue with this new guy." Keywords associated with this character: Self control, slowness, softness. Yeah RIGHT.

Gal Pal Michelle is supportive as always. I told her about this tarot card reading, and the one noted in a previous blog posting. "Don't bite off the head of the man in the white robe," she warned me. She added: "You are amazing. Any guy that doesn't realize that and step up to the plate is only good for buying you drinks and carrying your guitar. You are a funny, beautiful, interesting, gifted woman that no one has truly appreciated just yet. I guess you'll just have to wait for spring."

How can you go wrong with friends like this?

Crazy Like a Fox

I have a confession to make. Whenever I get home from work early enough, I watch Dr. Phil.

The other day he was featuring a woman whose online dating efforts make mine look pathetic. She has dated literally hundreds of men and does not hesitate to jump on a plane to meet up with someone. She accepted a wedding proposal from one gent and even went so far as to buy a wedding gown and email him the photos.

While clearly I do not fall into her category, I was able to pick up two pieces of good advice from the show:

1. Crazy Attracts Crazy

and

2. If what you are doing isn't working, try something else.

I am keeping both in mind as I ruminate on date #2 with Francois. We had a lot of fun. He is just SO not PAL/Machine Gun Man/Spaceman.

But this is a good thing.

He did not grab my ass in public. He did not sleep with me on the first (or second) date. He is not a freakazoid. He did not hurt my feelings, or in any way act inappropriate. In short, I don't know what to do with him.

He emailed me this morning and asked to see me again so ... things are going well.

I'm just going to try to not act crazy so as to attract someone sane this time out. And to point #2, this is clearly different than what I've tried before, so on both counts I am following Dr. Phil's good advice.