The Dating Doughnut

After months of my self-imposed dating drought I broke down and accepted the offer of a lunch date with a guy from the coast of Maine a few weeks ago. Absurdly tall with good looks and blue eyes, he seems smart and has a good sense of humor. And tenacity.

My reluctance to re-enter dating made me react like a cat on the way to the vet. It doesn't know what's going to happen but it is unlikely to be pleasant. I cancelled our first lunch date because he didn't call the day before to confirm. The next one, I cut him back from lunch to a quick cup of coffee.

Now four dates later (yes, four, count them, four!) things are starting to roll. Like a top gaining speed, it's a little wobbly but I have reason to believe momentum will take over soon.

Over that first cup of coffee he explained his dating philosophy. "It's the dating doughnut," he said. Geographically speaking, don't date someone who lives in the same small town. That's the hole in the doughnut. "I understand COMPLETELY, " I comiserated. "And then there's a good 50 mile band, outward to 75 miles from your house. That's the doughnut." So I am on the outer ring of the doughnut from where he lives, but clearly in contention.

He has none of the deal breakers. He opens doors. Picks up the tab. Good job, financial security, all his teeth, full head of hair and seemingly a good attitude towards his ex. He seems genuinely nice and agreeable. Am I missing anything? Oh, he's a republican but I can't rule out 49% of the dating population, so we'll just have to agree to disagree on that one.

The dating doughnut - is he the hole or the dough? Only time will tell.

Yo, Douchebag!

This profile I found online was just too good not to share. Note the typos and abbreviated profanity. However he does share my distaste of including dog photos in profiles. He's got that going for him. And check out the photo. What is he doing with the sword?

"some advise for your profile most men dont like to read so keep your profile short and simple im not here to read a f-n book haha jk well maybe not [my sence of humor but its true]0.o' and please have a pic why tf would you be here with out a pic thats just creepy! I wont respond ,pls put a fn recent pic up and not one from 5 years ago or four pics and in each one you look differnt lol thats funny and even more funny is seeing pics of there pets lol Im not here to date your Dog haha im not hating I just think its funny 8)"

OK, and now I'm worried. Is some loser posting MY photo and MY profile, making his dirtbag friends laugh? Where's my sword?

Endless Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Thanks to the wonder that is the Internet, I recently reconnected with my high school band-mate and former love interest Steve. When I was 17, I thought he was the cat's meow.

Through Linkedin, I came across his profile.He still lives within 10 miles of his childhood home. I always knew he was out there, thanks to mutual friends, but after 25 years, I figured it was time to get back in touch.
The first time we spoke by phone we spent an hour talking. I promised the next time I was in Boston I would call. So that day came yesterday and we met up for drinks at a martini bar. "Martinis"? he mocked me, "who are you, Thurston Howell the Third?" "Don't worry, I'm sure they 'll have whatever swill you usually drink," I replied.

Let me cut to the chase and tell you he is married and this was not a date. He walked into the bar and recognized me immediately. "You haven't changed a bit," he said. He was still recognizable but I can't say he hadn't changed. He had gone gray. And at least partially bald. And either I got taller or he shrunk. Either that or I liked him so much I overlooked (ha!) the height difference.

He showed me a photo of his 15 year old son who looked remarkably like the photo you see above. That makes sense since Steve is about 18 in this shot.

We had a lot of fun as teenagers. But I blame him for about 50% of my neurosis with men. He was the classic "come here/go away" kind of guy. He slept with me and then never called me back. He broke my heart and didn't care. He took up with one of my girlfriends. He took me for granted and when I met my future husband I moved in with him almost immediately, although I really wished I could just get another chance with Steve.
So last night, after a few drinks, I took the opportunity to tell him something to that effect. But it was like scolding a cartoon character. He was barely real. I told him how much I had lusted after him back in high school and how disappointed I was that he never really reciprocated. "I didn't have anything for anyone at that stage of my life," he shared. "I'm sorry."

He's been married for 18 years. He has a son and a wife and plays in a band on weekends. He's still very funny. And short. We talked for hours. It was like 1982 again. He was an intimate stranger. I don't know him yet I knoww the color of his mother's kitchen chairs from 25 years ago (bright yellow). I know his favorite song from high school and what kind of guitar amp he owned then. He remembers all my siblings' names and the dress I wore to graduation.

It was like "Endless Sunshine of a Spotless Mind." He told me stories I didn't really remember. "Remember the time I took you out for your birthday with your mother and father? I gave you flowers. We went out to Pier 4 in Boston. I bought you a lobster. You looked like Holly Hobby on blotter acid." I don't remember but he promises me he has photos and will send them to me. I think it's a planted memory. I have no recollection of his ever meeting my parents, let alone going out to dinner with us. I was never in a legitimate relationship with him. Sound familiar PAL?
He has sent me about 20 emails and text messages since I drove home after our dinner last night. How can he not be thinking what might have been. Via email, he asked if I remember a Grateful Dead concert we went to at the Hartford Civic Center circa 1984. "I remember, I said, " because we drove home after the show, about 3 hours, and stayed at your parents house. No one was home. You had me sleep in your little sister's room. I was crushed that you didn't want to sleep with me."

His memory is different. An older sibling was home. She interfered. She ruined our plans. It doesn't matter. The damage is done. The guy I had a crush on didn't want me. 25 years later, I'm still trying to figure out why.

Please Select Your Search Criteria

The sun is shining. Winter is over. Spring has sprung. And I've decided to emerge from my cave and poke my nose back out into the wonderful wibbly world of dating once again after a looong hiatus. I went back to my long abandoned online dating profiles.

I have decided to be MUCH more selective in who I will give my time to, even for a phone call let alone a first date. And since you can select who you want to contact you (or who you want to search out as well), I set some of that criteria higher as well. However, I'd like to propose that these sites add this search criteria because it would save us ladies a LOT of effort:

No photos of dogs -If your dog is the best thing about you, you are not my man.

No photos of guys on ATVs or Snowmobiles -It's just not going to work. I just saw one profile with two photos - one of his ATV and one of his dog. BZZZZZZZZZZT.

Family photos - I love kids and family but if you don't have a single good photo of yourself or if you are using your kids to gain sympathy, I'm not buying it.

IQ Range - why don't they offer this? It would save me so much time.

Country Music Fan - If they can't ask for IQ, this might do the trick.

Beard and Moustache - I swear, every guy my age looks the same.  Salt and pepper beard and moustache and balding head. Not truly a deal breaker but guys with just a mustache - yeah, that should be a screening device right there. Handlebar moustaches (yes, just saw one) - they should be shot and just taken right out of the gene pool.

Hot or Not - A "hot or not" filter should be applied as well to all photos.

Now for my profile. I updated it with all photos of me with my guitar. I should just make it clear what I do with my free time. I need to get more photos of me without my glasses as I have found this to be a recent advantage for me, looks-wise.

Rather than come up with my own text, I appropriated lyrics from Bonnie Raitt, because frankly, this says it all:

The men that I've been seeing, baby


Got their soul up on a shelf

you know they could never love me

When they can't even love themselves
But I need someone to love me

Someone to really understand

Who won't put himself above me

Who’ll just love me like a man

I never seen such losers darlin’

even though I try…

…to find a mind who can take me home

’stead of taking me for a ride

And I need someone to love me

I know you can

Believe me when I tell you

you can love me like a man
Oh they want me to rock them

like my back ain't got no bone

I want a man to rock me

like my… backbone was his own

baby, I know you can

Believe me when I tell you

You can love me like a man
I Come home sad and lonely

Feel like I wanna cry

I need someone to hold me

Not some fool to ask me why
And I need someone to love me

Darlin’ I know you can
Don't you put yourself above me

You just love me like a man
 
 
So wish me luck -this will be my third summer single. Every summer, I say THIS is the summer I won't be single. I imagine day trips to the beach. Nights around the swimming pool. Romantic evenings at waterfront restaurants.  But the way things are going, I'll take a clean-shaven man in a car wihtout a dog.

Christmas with a Stranger

I'm sorry I've gone almost 2 mos. now without a post. I don't know if that means I'm a recovered dater or if I've just given up. Take your pick.

A few updates. For one, I have taken one of my favorite blog postings, the one about Machine Gun Man, and submitted it for a North Country version of the Vagina Monologues put on by the local theatre company. It's been accepted and will be performed Valentine Day's weekend. Of course. I was given the option of auditioning for the part as well, but I didn't want to hog all the talent in the Valley so I declined. Besides, Rita Marino deserves to keep sole rights to triple threat (dancing/singing/acting). Although anyone who has seen me dance knows this is not really an issue. I guess I'd substitute writing for dancing and kick Rita's ass.

I've spent much of the last two months trying to convince myself that I'm attracted to Mr. Clean. He has been trying **so** hard, as have I. I've gone on arduous hikes to impress him. He's hung out at countless Hoot Nights to show his interest. He even endured a snow boarding lesson which went not as well as hoped. He went in enthusiastic and came out humble. "I spent all day on my ass. I think I broke my hip," he whimpered as we drove back to civilization. All this, yet not a single zing of chemistry. He is not nearly quirky, damaged or creative enough to win my affection. He is off with his family for the holiday week. He doesn't know it yet, but he is toast.

I'm already on to my next victim. I sat next to the newscaster from the local radio station at a media event I organized last weekend. "Did you know the 7-11 is open on Christmas Day?," he asked. "What sort of putz has to work on Christmas?"

"I'm working Christmas Day," I shared, "So that would be me."

He recovered quickly and suggested we get together for dinner at the 7-11 when I get out of work. "You know that hot dog that spins around for 12 hours on the grill? We can split that," he suggested.

Since then he scouted every option for Christmas Day dinner and finally suggested a restaurant that, unbeknown to him, is my favorite in the region. He picks me up at 4pm tomorrow after work. "Maybe we can find a place for a sleigh ride after," he promised.

I barely know this guy, other than recognizing his voice as the one I hear on the radio every morning driving in to work. He doesn't like to hike and admittedly will not try skiing. He has to be at work at 4am so he does not go out at night. But so far, he gets an A+ for humor and persistence. He may not have a ripped physique, but he has impossibly made me look forward to Christmas tomorrow.

Dog Daze

I saw something amazing on an online dating site last night. I got a message that I had received a note from an interested prospect. So I logged in and found a nice note from someone who lives fairly locally. His profile picture was not bad. Then I dug into his photo gallery and found pictures of his dog.

But not just his dog - his dog with puppies!

Oh, cute little puppies! But wait, what IS that? What is THAT photo? Oh, it is the dog giving birth to puppies. IT IS THE DOG'S PLACENTA!

Yes, this man posted photos of his dog's afterbirth as part of his online dating profile.

It is always nice to understand a person's interests and activities. And photos are a good way as they say, they are worth a thousand words. But this? Are you serious? Is this an activity you want to partake of with your date? Do you have a dog fetish? Did you forget where you were uploading these photos?

So yeah - I deleted his note.

Meanwhile, things are chugging along nicely with Mr. Clean, as I now have named my new potential paramour. He doesn't have the earring but he is bald, wears tight tee shirts and has muscular arms. And he cleaned up after he made dinner for us last week.

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?

What's New Pussycat

Long time blog reader Michelle recently called and asked why no postings lately. I started by saying that there was nothing new and then went on to rattle off half a dozen amusing anecdotes. So I realized it was time to post once again. Unfortunately, my stories are much like summer re-runs on TV. If you feel you have heard these before, you are probably right.

Here are my lasting musings, in no particular order.

Return of Machine Gun Man - Since he was kind enough to lend me his resort condo recently, I arranged for him to get a deal on the same at my sister resort in Cal. where he currently resides. He said he had recently met the girl of his dreams and wanted to take her away for Labor Day.

Fast forward to Monday, Labor Day, at what must have been dawn west coast time. A text message comes from him: "She's crazy! This whole weekend was a disaster!" Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Apparently she had a diva like rant on the ride up, and then proceeded to wear sweatpants to bed and rebuke his advances all weekend.

"She never even got to see the magic that happens when the sun sets," he texted. Yes, that is a real quote. I can say from experience that yes, she will never know what she missed. Remember, I even liked him for the first weekend we went away.

He promised to call me the next time he is back on the east coast. Why let all that talent go to waste.

Spaceman Take 2 - Drunken hook up at the Cave. Literally no way to even find the bed, let alone use it, so the kitchen had to do. Knocked the pots and pans off the counter. Managed to clear off enough crap off the worn leather couch (including the dog) to find a place to (not) sleep for the evening. Not a word since. When will I learn?

Coffee anyone? - This month's Oprah magazine has an article by a single divorced woman who is trying to date 100 guys in a year, meeting each of them for coffee only. This is brilliant. I realize that to properly manage my time with all these losers, I really need to lessen the time commitment. So I'm meeting a guy from Portland for coffee tomorrow. "Just tell me where and I'll point my GPS in your direction!" he gleefully suggested. He's a big skier and outdoorsman; all his pictures are him outside enjoying various activities. I'll give him 15 minutes and see what happens.

Kansas City, Kansas City Here I Come - "I know I'm far away, but before you say no, please, just read my profile. I own 5 guitars and have a studio, and have been a musician all my life and even though I live in Missouri, I think we can over come the distance thing if it's meant to be. I'm also a golf nut" This is one frontier I haven't crossed yet - long distance. I mean, really long distance. As in, further than Portland long distance. If he has lots of frequent flyer points, maybe this could work.

That and it would be really really easy to dump him after it doesn't work out after 3 dates.

The Biggest Loser

My life is like a reality TV Show. Except the losers I'm meeting aren't losing weight, they are the real kind.

 

Take Dave (please, take Dave). Called me last night from a TENT in the northern wilds of NH. "Oh, that's nice? Are you on vacation?" I asked innocently. "No, it's cheaper than a hotel. And since I lost my job, it's the best I can afford for the contract work I'm doing now when it requires travel."

 

He then went on to tell me what's wrong with women my age (!) and what they are looking for. He also shared that he hates anyone who doesn't share his love of moving frequently (ie he is borderline itinerent). In other words, anyone with a job and family. Click!

 

I ended the phone call swiftly - I have my own tent and camping alone would be preferable to the reality of this loser.

Unhappy Endings

Well, Ed the Engineer is no more. He cancelled over the weekend, presumably due to a death in the family. "I'm sorry! I need to go to a funeral and wake on Sunday!" his voice mail mesage to me. I thought it was odd that on a Saturday he would learn about a wake .. .and a funeral ... the next day, but I'm the trusting sort.

 

"That is the oldest line in the book. He has another date," gal pal Tammy warned me. I hate it when Tammy is right. Because this morning, I find an email explaning he has reconciled with his ex who is "ran into" this weekend. I could have fun with that euphemism but I'm in too grim a mood to do so.

 

On a related note, I had exchanged emails with a man for a year or two, as he moved out of town before we got to meet. He then sent a note last month asking if we could get together as he was coming back to the area. We made plans, set a date and then ... I never heard from him again.

 

Well, I didn't hear from HIM but I did hear from his estate. He went and died on me. Or at least that is what the woman who sent me an email from his account said. "He passed away recently. Those wishing to may mail a donation to xyz charity in his name."

 

I emailed back my condolences and asked ... what happened? "You can call his cell phone and I'll tell you," she replied.

 

I haven't called yet. I had a flash of insight. Maybe he wasn't really dead. Maybe he was married and now just WISHED he was dead as his wife contacts all his potential paramours.

 

And totally appropos of nothing, Lonnie tried to add me as a friend on Facebook. I declined but not before I looked up his profile and saw ... he is "in a relationship." Truly, everyone has found someone but me now. I hope she's not too smart. Well, if she's publically link to him, I guess that goes without saying.

 

Answers from the Past

When I was in high school, my dating successes were about as limited as I have found them as an adult. Then as now, I always had a lot of guy friends. Between my love of music and art, I hung out with an earthy crunchy crowd and we merrily tripped our way (literally) through the70s and 80s together before moving out of our South Shore resort town after high school.

 

I had a major crush on one of these male friends, a fellow art major, who, despite spending many hours together, never made the move. He did however pine over a mutual friend in our clique, Kara. "The girl with Hobby Holly eyes," he would moon about her. Too bad she had a problem with Qualuudes, alcohol and any other substance that could be abused. She also stole my other boyfriend Steve, easily and without any protest. With friends like this, etc., etc.

 

So it is with some surprise that I get to the true bottom of the story as I view his Facebook page today. He is in a relationship with ... a guy named Francis. Yup, he's gay. So truly, it never had anything to do with me. I'm sure his mooning over Kara was a cover up as to his real feelings, which undoubtedly were not something to make public in early 1980s Marsh-Vegas.

 

And in case you're wondering, I am not spending the weekend alone. I am cautiously optimistic about Ed the Engineer who I've gone out with twice now.  I don't have  nick name for him yet, but don't worry, I'm sure it's coming. 

 

If my life were a Steven King novel, he would play the part of the local middle aged sherrif, with his eye on the 40-something waitress at the diner who works in a seacoast Maine town. You know the type - looks like Ed Harris, a kind heart and a crooked smile. He's doomed, I'm sure, but as Hurricane Danny moves up the coast, it's any port in a storm.

I Heart New York

My vacation to New York State was more exciting than I would have dreamed possible. Sure, Acadia last summer introduced me to Kirk Lurvis, park ranger extraordinaire. But this year, I got more than an imaginary love interest one evening at sunset at Heart Lake.

My campsite was situated in the heart of the Adirondacks at the unlikely named Heart Lake, a small (yes) heart shaped body of water surrounded by trees and campsites.

I sat alone in a chair on a dock by the water. I read my book as the sun set.

"Excuse me, would you like to share this bottle of wine with me? I picked it up at a local vineyard today," a deep male voice intoned beside me. I turned my head to find the unlikely visage of a man who looked like a blond Charlie Sheen. 30-something buff hiker, sitting next to me with two wine glasses in his hand and a smirk on his face.

Of course I said yes. He was a college professor from an unnamed university in upstate NY. He had studied in Boston for one of his masters degrees (emphasis on "one of") and corrected me when I referred myself as a Bostonian. "If you grew up on the South Shore, you aren't from Boston." I stood corrected as the conversation went from favorite novels to guessing what creature each of us could make up out of the cloud formations above us. The wine buzz took over as the sun set and he gingerly hopped into the lake from the small dock, stripping off his shirt like an ersatz Matthew McConaughey.

"Come for a swim with me," he said as he gamely pulled my form towards his into the water. At first I protested. I was fully dressed! It was chilly! But alcohol makes one lose inhibitions so in I went into the shockingly cold water. He pulled me deeper into the water as the coldness instantly zapped my wine buzz. Suddenly the Harlequin romance in my head was replaced with a thought more sinister. "I am in the water in the dark with a stranger," my mind reasoned with my wild side. "He is pulling you deeper in the water. Get back to shore NOW."

I paddled back towards the dock and jumped back up into my chair. Fabio followed. "That was the most humiliating romantic moment I've ever been in," he complained. "That could've been so sexy. Haven't you ever hooked up with a guy before?" He put his tee shirt back on.

"I don't find hypothermia sexy, and my lips are turning purple," I stayed in my chair, not sure if I was sorrier for myself or for embarrassing the hunk who tried to pick me up.

We each went home to separate campsites, where my kid awaited me. Parenthood can be a bitch at times, but most likely this was a good thing. The next morning, I found his forlorn flip flop and an empty plastic wine glass by the dock. I took them back to him at his campsite. He sheepishly accepted the items saying he didn't remember where he had left them.

"You don't remember last night, do you?" I asked. "Sure I do," he lied. "I have to get back to my campsite and my kid. Have a great weekend," I said as I walked back, wondering what I missed out on. Near miss or good call? We'll never know.

Prettiest Girl at Hoot Night

I frequent a local tavern that hosts an open mic night every Tuesday. I am a regular. I walk in and the bartender pours me a Smithwicks without asking. The emcee gives me a subtle hand gesture acknowledging I have dibs in the order of performers. I tune up Martin and leave him by the stage and wait for my turn.

Unlike other aspects of my life, Hoot Night rarely disappoints me. It offers up a crazy quilt of musical talents. Last week, a pair of 12 year olds showed up and sang and played guitar with a stage presence I cannot compete with (and didn't - I left without playing. WC Fields would not appear in a film with dogs or kids and who am I to not follow his example). Ukuleles and mandolins are common place. And last night a bag pipe player enveloped the very small room with a few numbers backed by a rock band. You don't see that just anywhere.

I get up to do my usual shtick - a combination of Emmy Lou Harris and Bonnie Raitt. It's truly an open jam session. Suddenly behind me I hear the sweet sounds of a pedal steel guitar. Then the insistent pulse of a bass guitar. Followed by the not too subtle banging of an amateur drummer who joins in. Suddenly my usual solo gig is a full-on band and the crowd is cheering.

Not many women get up and play, and definitely not many women my age. Why is it that women give up their rock and roll dreams after kids, family and work take over? Clearly middle aged guys were out in force, at least at this little outpost. I've seen a few young women get up and play. And then that 12 year old. Then most of us take off for 10-20 years of child-bearing. Few if any come out the other side singing. I speak from experience. I'm only just starting to warm up myself.

So I sit down after my set. The row of guys at the bar give me a thumbs up and then turn back to the Sox game on the screen. It's the 11th inning and the Sox can't seem to pull ahead of the Tampa Bay Stingrays. A bag pipe wails in the background. It's Hoot Night and easily, I am the prettiest girl there. For now, this will have to be enough.

Scatter

When I was growing up, my father subscribed to the Time Life Book science series. My favorite book was on mathematics. It had large b&w photos and text next to it explaining various things like statistics and such.

 

There are two photos side by each in a spread. One shows a 1950s era family with 10 child, all boys; the other, all girls. What is the chance that the 11th child will be of a different gender? The answer? 50/50. Same as the first. That's statistics for you.

 

So it should be no surprise that my double header date two weeks ago resulted in zero, count them, zero forthcoming dates.  That's right - both preempted my ditching THEM by ditching me first.

 

Bachelor #1 wrote back, "I met someone Thurs. I'm going to give this a shot. Good luck!" As if meeting someone else had anything to do with his remaining mute from Sat. to his next victim on Thurs.

 

Bachelor #2 left a voice mail. "It was great meeting you! Maybe I'll see you on the ski slopes this winter!" This, in August.

 

So now things are back to square one, same as it ever was, with exactly the same potential outcome as that first post-divorce date coming up on four years ago.

 

"I wish I could find the off switch," I whined to my tarot reading friend tonight. "It's called menopause," she replied. "And in that respect, it is wonderful." I so am not ready to go into that good night.

 

I am working hard on distracting myself with other fun yet-non-libidinous activities, like golf. Talk about a game requiring patience. It makes the odds of dating look good.

Double Bagger

One bit of clarification I found on the "Ask a Guy" forum was the definition of the term "Double Bagger." Actually, I found 2 complementary definitions. It's either dating a woman so ugly you put two paper bags over her head - the second in case the first one breaks. The other: you put one bag over her head and the other over yours, in case hers breaks.

Now this story is apropos of nothing other than I pulled a double bagger of my own Saturday when I got invited out to lunch with someone after accepting the invite to see Queensryche that evening. In an effort to prove myself after last week's dating debacle, I went for it and did back-to-back dates in a single day - a first even for me.

I met the Insitg8tor (that was his vanity license plate number) at a lake-side beach and boardwalk in central New Hampshire. He was well-put-together, chatty and not unpleasant company as we tooled around town in his BMW convertible on a rare sunny day this dreary summer. He works in the construction trade and offered to tour me around a part of the island I had never been - a circle of million dollar oceanfront homes he had worked on variously over the years. Because of this, he knew which ones were for sale and vacant. We pulled into the first driveway and looked out over the abandoned dock and lake-front. "Can we go sit on the dock?" I asked, and knowing the homes were unoccupied and for sale, the Instig8tor agreed. We sat in over sized Adirondack Chairs as the choppy waters lapped up over the teak decking at our feet.

The first house was so much fun I insisted on doing the same with 2 other houses, each time imagining having the money to buy a second home for $6.8 million. So we were the waterfront vacation-home crashers for the afternoon - sitting in the sun and stealing the views. We knew if anyone questioned us - with his BMW sitting in the drive way - we could convincingly say we saw the for sale sign and decided to take a look to see if we were interested in buying the place.

We had a lot of fun although I admit he did most of the talking. The Rules would approve - I let him go on - and tried to look fascinated with his stories. He was mildly amusing and I wouldn't turn him down if he calls again.

Then I scooted over to the ocean to meet up with bachelor #2 Mark, with Queensryche tickets in hand. We took in dinner and drinks at a rooftop deck as the sun set and meandered over to the site of the concert. After being ID'd and frisked (not kidding) we presented the tickets and were told they were for another night - that's right, we got the date wrong.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they react to a change in plans. I turned to Mark and said "Time to play Skee Ball!" which we did in the nearby arcade. He didn't talk about himself all evening and even asked a few questions about me. How refreshing!

And while he was a good looking man, I have to ask Tammy what edition of GQ she has been reading. He reminded me of a cross between Steve Martin and Phil Hartman. And he didn't have a provoking vanity license plate - so I think if I had to choose, I'm going with #2.

I got home around 1am and thought about my over-ambitious-as-usual plans of that day. Tammy called to ask how things went. "I wanted to introduce you to a nice guy because your nice guy meter seems to be broken," she chided me. She's right. Time to take the bag off my head and pay attention.

Rolling Stone, Gathering No Moss

Indignant Gal Pal Tammy does not want me to give up on men in light of the recent abuses at the hands of the latest loser and blog fodder. She is a hairdresser and has a long time client who is single. "He is GQ Handsome, Kathy. You have GOT to meet him."

 

She has in her possession a pair of Queensryche tickets for Hampton Beach Saturday night. So she called the man in question (his name is Mark - I'm sorry I don't have a clever nickname for him yet) and offered up both the tickets and me. "But I don't even like Queensryche," I whimpered. No matter. She handed off my number to Mark, who called me tonight and sealed the deal.

 

This is a blind date in the true sense. "Do you want to give him my picture?" I asked. "Nope," Tammy said. "You're better off going into this blind - he already agreed to meet you without a photo so why muck it up now?" (Trying to decide how to take this.)

 

So I'm now doing a crash course on Queensryche. They appear to be a parody of Spinal Tap but I realize Spinal Tap is a parody of Queensryche, just done before most of their players were born. Mark does not know who they are either. We will be a couple of middle aged people wandering into a heavy metal concert at Hampton Beach Casino. We agreed that if it gets too weird we'll just leave.

 

Speaking of weird, my last date at Hampton Beach was with Machine Gun Man. While for the blog's sake, I hope this date is more interesting, for my sake, I hope it has a happier ending.

 

 

Ask a Guy

After the latest dating debacle, I decided to go my merry way and return to the social scene here in the mecca of NoCo and go out to my favorite tavern last night to play a few tunes and down a few beers. So imagine my surprise when I spy Mr. I Find You Unattractive lurking in the corner of the bar like a daddy-long-legs in a screen porch.

I attempted to ignore him and sat down with friends. No such luck - he is so socially inept that he comes over, thrust his hand between me and my friend and says "hi!" as he shook my hand. I said "hi" and then turned my back to him and continued my conversation. I left the bar shortly thereafter - I couldn't stand the sight of him.

When I got home I found an "Ask a Guy" forum on a dating site I frequent. I read some other posts and they were amusing so I posted my latest story and got these replies, most of whom back my friends' assertions that he is a whack job:

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He sounds like an idiot and perhaps unstable. I would let your friends know about this guy. That way if he shows up at more of your hangouts they can tactfully get you away from him or not so tactfully make it clear to him that's he's not wanted.
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You were always borderline to him. He decided to do a few dates, but after further reflection, he decided that he was not really into you. I do have to agree ... I probably would have called to break it off, but he chose to do it in person and at work; that is a little odd.
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He sounds like he's socially retarded and that was his way of telling you he lost interest. Just...avoid him.
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Possibly he is a couple croutons shy of a salad and you are better off w/o him. There are many blind leads in dating.
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Creepy, crazy, stalker! get your restraining order ready.
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I deal with retarded men daily. that is a specialty of mine. get your restraining order ready save yourself the drama. DO not take him lightly.
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guy goes to her work just to tell her he thinks she is unattractive? that's not normal behavior. that is someone who is unstable. period, he went out of his way to insult her. its not like they were sitting on the couch at home.
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I am wondering why he bothered to rush over to your work to tell you he isn't interested. It sounds like he's so afraid you'll reject him that he wants to save face by delivering the shot first.
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He probably likes you but fears he's put himself out there too far without receiving some affection in kind. Making an ass out of yourself in front of your friends requires taking potentially self-deprecating risks, and he probably thinks he's communicated his interest in you.
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this guy sounds like a socially inept fool. Erase all contact with him, and if he seems to "pop up" in some more familiar places, call the cops or something.
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The next time (if there is a next time) he approaches you with whole handshake B/S or a similar routine, you remind him that he doesn't find you attractive, and tell him that you don't find people attractive that don't find you attractive, and that come to your work to tell you that. Tell him that if he has trouble remembering that you have no desire to talk to his crazy azz again, you will be happy to help him with a kick in the nads. Well, maybe not the nads kick part, but the rest would do nicely.

Crazy....crazy I tell you.

Oh yes, and you are definitely attractive. I don't know what his problem is. If you ever find your way to Portland Oregon, look me up
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And this one from what must have been a psychologist:

What most likely happened is that he is dissatisfied with some aspect of your budding relationship, lord knows what, and is trying to break it off. This is hard to do, at least for him, and the tension and conflict (he is both drawn to and repelled from you) is crazy making (he is likely feeling clinical anxiety, as in an anxiety attack and can't think straight in those conditions). If he stays away from you and you stay away from him, he should go on with life and, then just a memory. There are all sorts of possibilities, but somehow what was happening resulted in a lot of anxiety and he's trying to defend against it, and of course, making a fool of himself. The thing about irrational behavior like that is that it is his problem; if he starts to make it yours through some delusion, then be careful. All you did was to be friendly and open.
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First of all, why did he give you his number? A real man doesn't do that. A real man asks the woman for her number. So he instantly seems like an idiot from the start.

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This is beyond egregious-bad manners, even beyond television. It doesn't sound safe, either. I hope you're able to stay out of his way.

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Then there were those that blamed me for letting him know where I work - although those that know me know that my position is rather public and not a well kept secret. I was introduced by a mutual friend who shared my job right off the bat because it is just ... so ... damn... cool. That and the radio ad I am currently broadcasting that you'd have to be brain dead to NOT recognize as my voice. I might as well have had my employer's name tattooed on my forehead.

But that being said, I should take some of the blame for inviting this guy into my work and home too quickly. "You are just too nice to everyone," one friend shared last night. To think that this is a fault in this day and age is disheartening, but I guess it is.