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.