Miss you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This was the real subject line of my last email from Lonnie Ray. As my eyes scanned the row of extraneous punctuation, I was concerned. What? Only 50 exclamation points? Truly, he must not care for me any more. But as I counted them once again, I can see that all 70 were still in place. Phew!

I approach it like a game - by phone, by email, I try to get him to elicit another sentiment than "I miss you." I don't think that my daughter, as a needy toddler when I traveled on business, was as mournful at my absence as LR. In a 10 minute phone call yesterday, he EASILY uttered this phrase 10 times. I tried to find out more about his day - what he did, who he saw, how work was going, etc., but he is completely unable to redirect from this singular thought. This isn't conversation - it is a volley where he will state the phrase until I repeat it back half-heartedly.

I have been trying to keep LR at bay. I hate to cut him lose entirely. His statement of "I hate to drive" is raising its ugly head as the last two times we had plans he cancelled when he had to come here. On the other hand, if I'm in his neck of the woods, it's fine. This might make for an easy exit: "I sold my car! I"m sorry! I can't possible make it down to your place." (click).

But Thurs. I have business in Concord so we are getting together for dinner. He suggested an Italian restaurant I knew of. "Oh, that sounds great! I love Italian food. See you then." Somehow this straight forward statement confused him. "We don't have to go there. Whatever you want!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!." I believe he is thinking so hard about his next iteration of "I miss you" that he wasn't listening. After reinforcing that I liked his choice, he got it. I .... LIKE ... I-TAL-IAN ... FOOD .... OOOOOOOOOOOOO KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK???

Fortunately I have to return home after dinner, thus making for a short evening.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning that I am on vacation the last two weeks of April and am looking for something fun to do. "I can't take any time off from work but you can come down here. That's what you'll do." I politely declined and he repeated it as if he didn't hear me. So I got out my 2x4 and hit him with it - no, I am actually looking for something ... FUN ... TO DO - I DO NOT WANT TO SIT ALONE IN YOUR EMPTY APARTMENT ........ OOOOOOOOOOOOO KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK????

So yeah, this has got to end soon. I'm wearing the characters off my keyboard for "1/!"

Perfect 10

I recently joined a new online dating site that features a means by which other members can "rate" your photo. It breaks down the ratings by age group. The good news is, guys ages 32-41 dig me. Those under 32 not so much.

But who cares about them. So not to hold off any longer, here are my ratings as of today:

So it is good that guys in their late 30s dig me. More so than guys over 40. And who cares about the ones in their 20s - they practically need a babysitter.

And who are these women who are rating me? I thought I was spending too much time on these dating sites! They rate me more severely as men the same age. Bitches. They're just jealous.
In case you are wondering, here is the photo they are rating.

I looked at the "top 500." Most are blonds in halter tops, I could do that. And their average rating is about 8.34 so my rating in the mid 7s is pretty good.

Anyone who knows me know I am a stats Nazi. These are very small sample sizes. The confidence factor is pretty low.

So wish me luck. I may not be perfect, but I'm better than 73.4% of the rest of the people out there.

Friend without Benefits

Sorry I have not been blogging as frequently as I used to. I've been busy doing useful things like sobbing alone in the bathroom stall at work.

I unexpectedly broke down at an event this weekend. As I walked into the building I had a flash back to the previous year at the same function. I had spent the evening bewildered as PAL refused to sit with me, and left early without telling me (see earlier post on this topic from, yes, a year ago). I honestly had not thought about him or the event in months and have even had some mildly enjoyable social occasions with him recently. Moving on. Or so I thought.

Before he walked through the door, new girlfriend on arm, and marched over to introduce her to me. I smiled sweetly, said hello and asked her to repeat her name. Chit chat ensued, and as the drink in my hand emptied I decided to let loose.

I pulled him aside and whispered in his ear, "I'm going to be an asshole now." And proceeded to tell him how this event will always remind me of how badly he treated me days after we spent the night together for the first time. How much his rejection hurt me. Then I turned on my heel and walked away as he said "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Miserable fast forward to the next day when I once again had to deal with the sight of him at work. I avoided him until it was unavoidable. "I had that coming," he said. Then just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he added "I thought we were just friends with benefits! That's all! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

This second affront sunk in overnight. But suddenly it all makes sense. Talk about your misaligned expectations.

But it's too small a town to hold a grudge. Winter will end soon and with it will end running into him on a daily basis. But the bigger question is, how did this blow up the way it did.

I'm cool!

I've moved on!

But other than the notorious poison pen letter in the chicken soup, I never had an opportunity to tell him -- face to face -- how much he hurt me. Perhaps this vetting will allow me to finally close this chapter and move on. Or in the words of my bible, HJNTIY, "Friends don't make you cry into your pillow at night."

Good night PAL.

Build Your Own Dream Date

When I was a child, I had a picture book of animals. The pages were divided in 3 so each critters body was split between head, toros and feet.

Look! An elephant with the legs of a giraffe! A hippo's middle with a ostrich's head! A kitty with a dog's bottom! What fun it was to dream up my own special creatures.

Upon recent reflection, I realized I still need that book as a woman dating in her 40s. So many men ... so many good traits and so many flaws. If only I could build my own dream date!

After a recent call with girlfriend MM, complaining about the recent needy weirdness from Lonnie Ray, she suggested I put together the opposite of my list of deal breakers, namely, deal makers.

And now, for a listing of what good parts I would take from each of my last several year's worth of dates:

Lonnie's taste in music. Spaceman's smart-allecky sense of humor. Jesus' intellect. PAL's humanity. Erik's love of family. Wild Thing's bank account. And how can I leave out - Machine Gun Man's, um, singular physical attribute. Oh, to combine them all into one wonderful person!

But I know it is unrealistic to think I could get all of the above in one single person. I would be happy to settle for one with even just two or three. Or at least a personality transplant for Machine Gun Man. Now that would be an animal worth creating.

February Doldrums

Just a quick update. My Valentine's Day was sweet, considering I worked a 12 hour shift, came home and fell asleep in about 15 minutes. Lonnie sweetly presented me with an expensive bottle of champagne, chocolates and strawberries in front of a roaring fire as I got home from work at 9pm at night.

I gratefully accepted the bottle of bubbly as he popped in the romantic comedy movie he had rented for the evening. I made it past the opening credits before I fell asleep. A head cold on top of a sick work schedule knocked me down.

I don't know - maybe blog reader MM is right - there will be tears on a vintage guitar soon and they won't be mine. He is so sweet and so totally, completely out of his league that he doesn't even know it. He isn't stupid; I've gone at lengths to say it. But he ain't smart. Did I put smart on my list of deal breakers? I think I need to revisit that list.

Meanwhile WT visited me last week for coffee and fessed up what I already knew - that he was married and had lied to me about his status. Cold comfort but closure nonetheless. I made him pay for my latte.

Chicken Salad and Tea

George Costanza:

Yeah. No, no, no, wait a minute. I always have tuna on toast. Nothing's ever worked out for me with tuna on toast. I want the complete opposite of tuna on toast. Chicken salad on rye, untoasted, with a side of potato salad and a cup of tea.

Elaine Benes:

Well, there's no telling what can happen from this.

Jerry Seinfeld:

You know, chicken salad's not the opposite of tuna. Salmon's the opposite of tuna, because salmon swim again the current and the tuna swim with it.

George Costanza:

Good for the tuna.


My strategy of doing everything the opposite of what I usually do is working out swimmingly.

I continue to ignore Lonnie's bad writing skills, a trait which formerly would've sent me scurrying. Who gives a shit how many exclamation points follow his missive stating how much he can't wait to see me again.

And for what it's worth, I want you to know that he actually reads books. He had a biography of Benjamin Franklin he is reading on his coffee table - and no, it wasn't the Scholastic edition. He's been telling me about his work at the state house to pass education reform and a new teacher's union contract. For the teacher's sake, I just hope he didn't WRITE the contract.

And now Valentine's Day looms large this weekend. It's been a looooong time since I've been anyone's Valentine. My ex and I used special occasions like Valentine's Day, our wedding anniversary and birthdays to torture each other and use extortion tactics to hurt each other. I recall our last February 14th together, when I ripped up the card I had bought him and threw it at him. Good times!

But in talking with Lonnie (oops - almost typed Loonie just then) this week, he is asking what types of flowers I like for when he comes up this weekend. And this is making me antsy.

I'm thinking I have to get something for him too. Which card to get would be a loaded question. Nothing with "love" in it. Way too soon for that. Are there Valentine's that say "I think you're hot but want to leave it at that." So I'll be stopping by Hallmark today to find a card to express my ambivilence in an upbeat yet non-commital way.

"I've told my mother about you," he added after the flower question. "She'd like to meet you."

Holy cripes! What the hell is this? It's been three years of prolific yet casual dating and now ... (ominous music) I'd like you to meet my mother.

I think it is telling that Valentine's Day is preceeded by Friday the 13th this week.

Fools in Love

So I'd like to take a moment to thank all my blog readers for their reaction to the horrifying syntax of my latest love interest, Lonnie Ray. I too am horrified at his writing skills but I have to tell you, in person, there is no relation between his verbal skills and his writing abilities. It's like he's hired a fourth grader to send his emails to me.

He has been a charming, affectionate and overwhelmingly NORMAL person, other than his apparent love of exclamation points in emails.

In reviewing my previous post on deal breakers, writing skills did not even break the top 5. So why are you all up in arms about this guy?

"What do you mean you're going on a second date? Are you joking?" scolded gal pal Michelle. "This has disaster written all over it."

"Lace up your running shoes and run... run fast!" added blog reader KM after reading the last posting.

KJ on the other hand has taken up writing her own emails in his style:

"I wish you luck bekause if I want to be happy with handsome man oneday I help you very special happy karma!"

Since I actually like this guy I'm thinking of sending him my own email with a list of rules to try to remedy the situation:

1. No inappropriate use of exclamation point. For instance, "Look out for that Mac Truck!" - that is appropriate. "I really enjoyed meeting you!!!!!!!!" - not appropriate.

2. No making up words. Enjoyful is not a word even though it sounds like it should be. It's not.

3. Your = possessive (your boyfriend is a loser); You're = a contraction for "you are" (You're dating a loser). Get it straight or get lost.

4. Do not use email like instant messaging or a text message. Don't send emails that say "are you there?" I'm not. If you don't get a response to your first email, don't send 3 more asking if I got the last 2 or if I'm mad at you.

Just so you don't think he's a complete loser (I don't think he is), I'm posting his photo. Isn't he kinda cute?

I know what you thinking but I can tell you in person he does NOT look anything like Jeff Foxworthy. I am ambivalent about the moustache but it works for him. Plus I hear they are making a comeback. Hey, if it's good enough for Nick Cage, it's good enough for me and Lonnie Ray. Here is a whole gallery of movie stars and their 'staches. I'm feeling better now.