Tag Archives: online dating

Too good to be true…or simply a blessed gift of sorts?

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Sooooo after all my dating endeavors and life upheavals since the beginning of this little project, it all comes down to the tried and true.  I met a wonderful man with absolutely zero assistance of any  dating sites.

To be totally honest, I really couldn’t blame the dating sites themselves, as I didn’t devote much time or effort into that aspect.  On an effort scale of 1-10 (10 being a great deal of effort), I’d give myself a solid 4 and even that rating would need to fluctuate between a 0 and 4, with 4 being the most effort I put into it at all.

However, I have come to this conclusion (fair or otherwise) in regard to online dating sites: the majority of men I met fell into one of four categories.  1: desperately seeking casual or kinky sex.  2: desperately seeking period (needy clingers).  3:  Just plain odd, weird, or borderline scary. And 4: any combination of the previous three.

Perhaps if I’d put in more effort or taken the experience more seriously, I’d have had better results, but really the whole thing was more of a way to meet people and experience the concept of just randomly dating in itself (which I’ve not done much of in my life prior).

I’d definitely do it all over again, though.  I had so many laughs and learning experiences that it was well worth it – disappointments and all. Hmmmm…well, after reflecting on that for a moment here, I believe most of the truly fun  part of the whole experience was in blogging and discussing it with the terrific people I came to know via this blog; without being able to laugh and share with you all, I really think it would have been mostly just weird and disappointing.  It’s you people here who made it an absolute blast…and nothing that creates that much laughter and/or compassionate support through life’s knocks outside of dating, could ever be regretted!

And so I move on to the amazing guy I met…  After going months without even looking at or checking on my dating sites and not even thinking about dating, true to the timelessly tried and true old adage, when you stop looking, it finds you.  And R certainly found me!  At around noon on a random Saturday, horribly hung-over, wearing not a stitch of makeup and carelessly thrown on clothes to go to retrieve my debit card from the site of the criminal partying and reconnecting with some dear, dear friends the evening before, I order a bloody mary to assist with my recovery attempt.  I sat on the patio, sipping my drink with a friend and making casual conversation with a group of people doing the very same and reminiscing about the fun shenanigans the prior evening.

Not able to finish my healing concoction, I returned inside to tab out at last.  Being only noon-ish, there were only 3 people sitting inside the pub.  Two were old regulars and one was a very handsome face I’d not seen before, looking fresh and outdoorsy from an early walk on the beach just down the street and not at all like he was nursing a painful hang-over! I was feeling embarrassed for this handsome guy to hear me tabbing out from the evening before, so I made a casual joking remark to him about doing the “debit card walk of shame” since he was looking at me and was within ear shot of my conversation with the bartender.  Naturally having no thought whatsoever that in my haphazard appearance would he ever find me remotely attractive nor think much of me at all except maybe that I might in fact be a party girl/alcoholic type. Yet somehow my boldness (sheerly from my embarrassment) led to a little chat, which led to an exchange of numbers and then a date for later that night.

Guy was in town from Atlanta, GA visiting his family for the weekend and had gone earlier to enjoy the beach he missed so much, and deciding to stop by this little lakeside pub for a beer on his way home.  His gentle, yet masculine, voice and soft southern accent very distinctly reminded me of my dad who passed away suddenly in March.  This surprising element (being in Michigan) put me at total ease.  His handsome looks and southern gentleman charm of course added interest and intrigue to the whole exchange.

We went that evening on one of the best dates I’ve ever had in my entire life (no kidding!!).  We talked and laughed so much the time flew by.  It felt as though he was an old friend or boyfriend from years earlier and we had all these years to catch up on life’s happenings and only one evening in which to do so since he was returning to Atlanta the next afternoon.

When he finally dropped me off back at home, I had a long, detailed conversation about my night with my roommate.  We both decided he was definitely too good to be true and had to be either married or hiding some kind of criminal past.  Guys like this just don’t exist anymore!

In addition, with the extreme unlikelihood of our ever crossing paths and the so random and atypical circumstances of our chance meeting, there was this undeniably strong and uncanny feeling that somehow my dad had sent him to me.  This guy not only does the exact same type of work as my dad had done and got his training for said work in the military just as my dad had, but his every characteristic was precisely the type of man my dad always hoped I would meet, as well as encompassed the qualities of my dad which I respect and admire with all my heart (even the whole southern gentleman thing, which is my dad to a “T”).  To add to this coincidence, it turned out that his mother who had passed away a few years earlier, actually worked at my place of employment all her life, doing the exact same job as I!  It all seemed way too coincidental to really be random at all.

I was smitten (albeit nervous because of the whole too good to be true aspect) and fortunately enough, he was equally as smitten with me.

We’ve been doing the long distance thing which is not so easy.  However, he works for a major airline and flies free, so we have nearly every weekend together, so it could be far more difficult otherwise.  After a great deal of tragic family events, I’ve taken a temporary leave of absence from my job and come to stay with him in Atlanta to get away from all the stress and pain which lingers heavily in Michigan; to find healing and hopefully a sense of peace again in a place which feels safe and healthy.

Of course, we’re still getting to know each other more with every passing day and he’s certainly not perfect (thankfully, as I’m certainly not either…hahah), but he’s definitely handsome and kind; charming and manly; intelligent, interesting, funny, and has excellent standards, morals and ethics.

We are taking a cruise through the Virgin Islands at the end of this month.  I’m so excited!  Only time will tell what will happen next and meanwhile, I’m slowly but surely falling head over heels in love!

Beyond cookies, odd coincidence or Fleetwood Mac

Fleetwood Mac “Rhiannon”

Mr. P is now to be referred to as Mr. C.  for Cookies.  I don’t know for sure what it is that felt off, but something did.

It started shortly after our first meeting when we became FB friends.  A day or so later, I receive an early morning text saying, ” I was looking through your FB pictures and I see you know Mary.  Mary is my oldest and dearest friend!”  I was not excitedone bit to learn we shared this mutual friend and I’ll tell you why.

It’s a pretty far out(as in crazy) story so I’ll try to cut it down to the most basic details in the interest of brevity.  I met Mary via another friend I was fairly close with; let’s call her Sybil.  Sybil and I were close friends/acquaintances for years.  Sybil was that crisis friend many of us know.  I’d go months and never hear from her and suddenly she’d pop up when her life was a mess…and her life was pretty much always a mess  or in between major “catastrophes”.  Always.  Sybil, however, took the “typical “crisis friend” to a whole new level all her own!

I may never understand why I was born with a savior complex: always feeling obligated to prove my loyalty, my love, my friendship, etc, etc.  I have learned the hard way though that this very trait seems to attract people like Sybil, people who border on the sociopathically self-centered side of character, pathological narcissists who merely collect people whom are naïve and/or stupid enough to fall for their chronic bullshit, repeated self-created dramas, and victim syndromes.

Sybil was one of my classic and most extreme cases of this.  She is, without a doubt, a pathological liar and a fairly high functioning drug addict.  Every one is merely a resource of some type to this woman. And she’s good!  She’s charming and cute, quite convincing, and very effective  at her game.  I also strongly suspect that she has Münchausen syndrome and/or  Munchausen by proxy syndrome, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%BCnchausen_syndrome ) as she or one of her three children is always at death’s door.  Although it’s hard for me to discern whether the symptoms she has of this rare disorder are actually from a mental illness itself or simply due to her extreme case of prescription drug addiction.  When you or one of your children is always suffering some extreme malady of sorts, typically you have access to painkillers either in your name or your children’s.  I’ve a sneaking hunch this aspect, as well as the attention received, is her biggest motivating force.

I fell for this game for years and often donated my own prescriptions to her various causes.  I’m not often willing or interested to take prescription strength pail relievers, so I’m an ideal “friend” for Sybil to have around at various dry spots in her addiction as well as a caring friend who goes above and beyond in most areas of friendship.

Toward the end of my 10 year friendship with Sybil, I met her friend Mary who had just returned from living in Alaska.  This was around the same time that Sybil had married a nurse she’d just met weeks earlier, allegedly this convenience marriage was only in order for Sybil to get health insurance (after all, she and her children are always seriously ill!).  A few months into this marriage, Sybil shows up at my house telling me how her husband was up on felony charges for prescription drug fraud.  Not only this, but he was cheating on her with his ex-wife!  And not only those two horrifying things, but she strongly suspected he was trying to kill her.  No, not figuratively, I mean literally, as in murder her!  There were stories of him hooking her up to IV’s in her sleep and preparing food for her that knocked her out for days while he sexually assaulted her.  Oh the stories got more horrifying and dangerous by the  day!

As crazy as this sounds in the telling and crazier yet that I’d fall for this, I did.  I invited Sybil and her three children to live with my family.  After all, this man was trying to kill her and he allegedly treated her children rather poorly as well.  And quite honestly, this wasn’t totally selfless, as I had recently been downsized by my non-profit employer and really needed a roommate anyway.  Sybil not only made very good money, but also collected a great deal of child support and would be a great person to split my household bills with.

Except, after paying for her move, buying her gas to get to work every day, supplying food for all four of them, as well as my own family and not receiving a penny of help for any of these expenses or others, Sybil still did not have any money.  Sadly(for Sybil), I could not afford to support us all for long on my meager unemployment  checks . In addition, after a few months of living together,  major cracks in her stories began to appear; to the extent that my daughters (who adored her and her children!) even began questioning Sybil’s stories and her character in general.  So when the “murderous” ex husband began coming around and after her 5 cats were destroying my beloved home, and I was totally running out of money for food and the mortgage, there was civil unrest in this household to say the least.  Shortly after I suggested she go back to her husband to work things out (they’d been “dating” since she moved in) , I discovered that Sybil had told him that I had charged her $3,000 per month plus expenses to live with me for two months!  In spite of the fact that I had asked her to contribute $500 a month and help with groceries…and never received a dime of that request.

Suffice to say, after the damage done to my home, the amount of money supporting her family cost me while she was banking mega bucks as I struggled to pay for our basic needs, and the damage done to the friendship by her chronic and hurtful lies to my children and me, this ordeal did not end well.  At all.  In addition, I came to the painful realization, that I had been duped on many levels for years by this woman!

Not a pretty story by which to know Mary, a mutual acquaintance of Mr. C’s, who I’ve not seen or spoken to since the crashing end to my friendship with Sybil.  I can only imagine the stories Mary’s been told by this sociopath!  I only know the horrifying stories I was told over the years of the various abuse Sybil always claimed she had suffered at any one of her friends’ or boyfriends’ hands through the years I’d known her.  Thus, I’m certain I’m now one of those sympathy “stories” for Sybil to tell future resources as well and I can’t imagine Mary has not heard this.

So, it was disheartening to say the least to find out my mutual friend with Mr. C was from this terrible ordeal.  And although it worried and bothered me, what do you say?  I mean really, what do you even begin to tell a relative stranger you’ve met about this kind of insane ordeal?

So of course, I didn’t tell him.  I said nothing except that Mary was a super great girl (and she is!).  I did notice Mr. C seemed far less interested in me after that little text.  He didn’t text as often as he had been previously and when he did, it wasn’t charming or funny, but more brief and to the point.  I tried to tell myself this was all in my head..that it was mere paranoia from that awful ordeal. Maybe Mary already knew what Sybil was really like and wouldn’t buy into any stories she’d heard anyway or maybe the few times she actually met me, she’d gotten a good enough sense of me as a person to at least have some doubts as to the veracity of any outlandish Sybil stories?  Or maybe even, Sybil had developed a conscience after she abused my friendship, my finances, and my home so much and she hadn’t told Mary any crazy lies about me trying to “kill her” or something so absurd like she tended to tell about the other people in her life? Haha… fat chance!

Anyway, back to Mr. C.  So, this seemed an unfavorable coincidence, but we still kept our cookie making date.  We made cookies and watched a movie.  Mr. C didn’t seem as chatty or fun as he had on our first date.  He got more talkative after my oldest and her friend came home while we were baking.  He seemed to enjoy talking to them far more than he did me.

Which brings me to another super odd coincidence:  On our first date, Mr. C had told me of a close female friend of his who was a single mom with four children.  Her (unforgettable) name was Rhiannon and they were the best of friends.  In fact, he often babysat for her children and had a close relationship with them.  Adorably endearing, right?  So, I didn’t forget this story he had shared.  Funny thing though, when my daughter came home around 9 PM with her schoolmate, Annie, Mr. C says to Annie, “you look so familiar, what’s your mom’s name?”   Annie answers, “Rhiannon” which was followed by an awkward silence.

Yeah.  Weird.  Still haven’t figured that one out.

I just wasn’t getting the sense that Mr. C was at all really into me, but I was still trying to keep it as fun as I could.  After the movie, the kids went to their room and he and I started a second movie.  I was surprised he wanted to stay for this, but okay, cool. Maybe I was reading him wrong…

We both fell asleep during the second movie.  We woke up thirsty around 3 AM.  I got us each some water and then he kissed me.  I was not expecting this after the “off” sense I was getting from him!  It was a nice kiss though…and we continued kissing for a while, progressing to more passionate kisses. This went on innocently enough til about 5 AM. I really kept expecting him to volunteer to leave…any minute….I mean this was fun, but gosh… two hours of making out at 3 AM is enough already.  I’m thinking to myself, this is just weird.  I really didn’t get the feeling all week or all night that he’s much into me, so what is this about?  And why doesn’t he leave??  I’m wondering this right around this time Mr. C goes for under the jeans, under the thong.  Hmmmm… was just NOT so sure how I was feeling about that.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not necessarily against sex on the second date or whenever really.  I’m more of a go with the moment if it feels right type of gal, whenever the moment feels right.  I see no need to put a specific time frame on when it’s right to do whatever.  It just is when it is…whenever that is.  Thus, as attracted as I felt to Mr. C and as much as I enjoyed making out with him.  All in all, after the past week of sudden quiet-ness and the odd disconnected sense throughout the evening, in all my confusion, I was sure of one thing, this time was not the right time to progress to anything under my jeans, much less under my thong!  Nope.  Not the right  moment. AT ALL!

And shortly after that maneuver, I told Mr. C it probably was time for him to leave.  There was a great deal of good-bye kissing too.  It was fun!  After he was gone, I just didn’t know what to think of everything.  Usually I get a clear sense of this kind of thing, but I really had no clue what the heck was going on, had gone on, or would go on from here.  One thing for certain though, his perfection in my mind was marred.  Not in a bad way really, just in that the odd sense I got from him really just created more questions than mystery and combined with his under the thong maneuver in the midst of it which really spoke volumes in my mind as to Mr C’s overall purpose.

I have not heard a word from Mr C since he left around 6 AM Sunday morning.  So, I’m guessing my initial sense of his “less than interested” stance must have been fairly accurate after all.

Ahhhhh…is everyone’s life so very strange?

Screaming uncle or simple abuse of the “said red”?

Uncle, I say! UNCLE!!

After meeting face to face, smile to smile, and eye to eye, I sadly have to write that Mr. Perfect did not at all maintain his title of Mr. Perfect.  Nope.

I arrived late.  Of course I did…we’ve been through that obnoxious quirk of mine already, remember?!  I received a text as I was parking, but was feeling guilty about my typical tardiness and chose to ignore the text.  This particular restaurant/bar/café has three separate entrances to each “section” of the establishment.

Here I was...

I entered the middle one, the Theater Bar, the quaint, narrow little section which boasts local artist’s work on the walls, a beautiful long wooden bar that nearly goes the actual length and almost width of this section, and charming light fixtures, all creating a casually eclectic, yet ,romantic cozy little area.

Other than the bartender, there are only four other people in the place – all males.  I coasted past them, glancing casually to see if any look like Mr. Perfect.  Nope.  None did.  And I’m thinking, What the hell?  Here I was worried about being late as usual and Mr. Perfect isn’t even here yet!  That, OR he he’s one of those guys sitting at the bar and not only looks nothing like his pictures, but brought three friends with him!

I sat down at a small table and ordered a red wine I’d never tried before.  While waiting those few moments for it to arrive, I decide to look at my text.  Oh lookie there!! …. a text from Mr. P himself.  It says, “ I’m on the aquarium side; it seemed quieter over here.”

Mr. P's "aquarium side"

Ohhhhhh……hmmm…ok…..  yeah… ok…. The aquarium side of this terrific place is the oh-so-lovely,  timelessly classy, exceedingly romantic, and  scrumptiously delicious restaurant area.  Okay, okay, okay….I get it.  You are on time,  in contrast to my lateness,  after all; you’re just over there..through that doorway only a few feet from where I was sitting.

So, now is when I walk over there then, right?  Yeahhhh…no.  I can’t.  I just can’t.  I’m nervous and I’m not walking over there with my glass of unknown red and risk demonstrating immediately upon his first vision of me being that nasty tumble/trip/clutzy maneuver which is going to dump said red all over me, the floor, or worst of all, HIM!  Nope…not gonna happen right at this moment. Can’t go.  Can’t do it.  We’ll just have to sit on either sides of the old brick wall from each other then, at least til I’ve finished my dangerously red glass of wine in its dangerously breakable glass.

So, I text back that I’m in the bar area and I’ve already ordered a drink.   A minute later, around the corner comes this guy… In hindsight, I have to guess my instant and unavoidable facial expression had to have been much like those online daters who go to meet someone in person and  they discover at first sight that the profile photo of their date was from at least  10 years and 30 pounds ago.  I mean, yeah, I knew instantly it was in fact Mr. P, which was clear.  However, with brutal honesty, Mr. P’s profile pics, as attractive as they were (and they certainly were quite appealing), had nothing on Mr. P himself! …and I mean nothing!

OMG…are you kiddin’ me??  BETTER looking in person? WTF?  Is this for real?!

Oh it was.  he was undoubtedly far more handsome in person.  Once I cleared the shock from my system at this incredulous surprise, words cannot convey how very fortunate I felt that I did let Mr. P come around the corner to me rather than Queen Clumsiness herself with her boisterously dangerous glass of said red in hand, sailing around the corner of this quaint little bar and into the elegant, romantic ambience of the attached restaurant…only to come face to face with an unexpected and nerve wracking surprise such as this.  It really could have been one horrific scene for the comical archives of online dating first- meets!

All of this is a bonus though, right?  A surprise of the pleasant variety without a doubt.  Much preferable to its counter-part of possibility at first-meets.  Yes, yes, yes…and so it was a bonus.  Except for adding to my nervous state of fear of his seeming perfection.  What the hell?  Good Lord in heaven, he was charmingly handsome, terrific physique, perfect height…..and those eyes!  Those eyes…those eyes…they…those eyes…yeah…they….his eyes…ummm…..yeahhhhh…so the eyes…they… ummm….are entitled to….I mean they require…ummmm…a….yeah…they require and demand…

A  paragraph all of their own!  Ahem….  How to describe these eyes?  Start with the basics, Kay.  Mr. P’s eyes were a rich green, bordering on hazel green-gold-brown, but with so much green opulence, you almost couldn’t call them hazel with a clear conscience.  And I’m fairly certain these were not colored contacts …the color was so rare and unique.  These eyes weren’t super small or buggy big, they weren’t too close together or spaced too far..they weren’t too high or too low on his face.  They were framed with lush, long, darkish-golden brown lashes.   But quite frankly, although yup,  I AM a sucker for green eyes anyway (guilty as charged) and no, NO photo could have ever accurately or adequately captured the stunning appearance of these eyes(well, mayyybeeee perhaps with some high tech photo-shopping), none of this was precisely WHY these eyes were so irresistibly captivating, warm, lovely, and compelling all on their own.  What was it?

I couldn’t stop looking into them until I solved this beautiful enigma.  I mean GOSH, I’ve a creative mind, rather deep comprehension of things real and spiritutal, as well as a fairly extensive vocabulary.  Surely I can look at these and pin-point what was doing that!?  C’MON!!?? What it was about them.  Hell, I’m looking RIGHT at ‘em for crying out loud!  What?  What IS it about them?  I HAD to put my finger on it damnit!  There they were – right there– looking intently at me, smiling at me, laughing with me…  For Pete’s sake!  What’s the matter with me?  Could not figure it.  Nope.  Also could not stop looking at them.  And couldn’t stop trying to figure it.

So, the date is beyond lovely.  It was a healthy balance of sharing, laughing, listening, and connecting.  Ahhh yes, just more perfection it’s to be then, huh Mr. P? You wanna play hardball, do ya?  Yea?  Huh?  Do ya? Well…Uncle, I say, Uncle already!!

This all was so perfect and so ideal in fact that after a while, even his “perfection” itself faded into the background and seemed normal….and with that subtle happening, my extreme nervousness faded back as well.  Okay, so I’m sure the second glass of said red helped that latter part some, but regardless…   It was easy and charming and comfortable and stimulating and intriguing and delightful and…… OMG!  Is this for real?

We talked of so much:  kids (he has a son), relationships, college, high school, dreams, goals, some life challenges, some happy and blessed life events.  It was just fun!

Around 10 PM (it was a Sunday night after all!), I had to go (let’s hear the collective, “awwwwwww…”).  I didn’t want to, but…..gotta do what ya gotta do…  I knew he had enjoyed himself.  I just couldn’t be certain if he’d enjoyed himself or felt attracted enough to want to see me again.  I sure hoped so, but what do ya do?

Well I’ll tell you exactly what my giggly, adoring, captivated inner adolescent wanted to do:  I wanted to  slip him a napkin note which asked, “You’re so cute! I like you. Do you like me?  Mark the box Yes or No”.

 

The scared woman in me wanted to smoothly thank him for a lovely time, give him a warm, genuine hug which lasted just a few moments too long: not long enough to be provocative or sexy, but not short enough to imply, “Thanks pal….was fun!”. You know, just a wee bit longer than necessary just to be briefly closer to him (yup, I confess, I was a bit googly) and subtly convey my interest, but not so long as to “put myself out there” like, HEY!?  GUESS WHAT?  YOU’RE HOT MR. PERFECT (please do note the absence of the quotations here) AND I WANT YOU!  The dreamer in me wanted to escape quickly in order to not face the possibility that he did NOT find me interesting or attractive enough to want to see again and leave the result of the evening entirely in question, in order to sustain the possibility as long as possible.

Here’s when he says with a big happy smile on his face (and I love this part!), “Yeah, I should go too.  Have we really been here four hours?  We have!  It doesn’t seem like it.  Time went by too fast! Not too bad for a first date I’d say!”  And guess what?  While I’m looking at him saying those words and allowing myself to slowly drink in the positive connotations of that little statement, I finally figure it out!!

His eyes….. yeah, back to that eye-thing… His eyes…  (Okay, this definitely requires a cheesy cliché disclaimer and I’m truly sorry, but GOSH, what am I to do?  I simply have to call it like it was or my blog is just a load of bullshit.)

His eyes danced.  Yes, that was it!  The light in his eyes or the restaurant lighting or the I don’t freaking know WHAT…but his. eyes.  danced. with. light. Or joy…or geesh, I just dunno……

They danced.  It was as if his eyes had their own inner strand of twinkle-lights parading off a body of soft green water!  Sparkling and dancing about… And I’m not kidding!  It hit me upside the head so hard when I finally realized this, that my don’t-you-dare- be-a-cheesy-idiot-girl filter wasn’t at prepared. Nope, it wasn’t at all prepared and I quite literally exclaimed (yes, exclaimed), “Oh my GOSH…your eyes DANCE!”    …felt stupid the minute it rushed outta my mouth.  But he was graceful and grinned and said, “Thank you”. Somehow making me not feel like it was nearly as ridiculously foolish as it sounds…and most likely was!   Yup, Cheesy Kay burst forth with the girlish exuberance of figuring out this 8th wonder of the world.

They danced…danced as if they had a little giggle/smile all of their own…danced like a teenage crush at their first prom…danced as if he adored me….danced as if his zest for life might become tangible and burst from the depths of his soul…danced as if he was a ravenous sexy beast waiting to deliciously and slowly devour me…all of the above…all at ONCE!  They just DANCED!!!!!!!!!!!

add eyelashes and imagine in motion!

Mr. P walked me to my car and I hurried in to it…purposely avoiding that good night kiss moment.

Why?  I’m not exactly sure. I did get that sense of his hesitating as in he was hoping for a kiss good night. And I really wanted to kiss him too.  But, I think mostly I just wanted to leave perfection at perfection and wait for what might (or might not) be to come…and not push my luck.

Driving home, I regretted my obviously hasty departure, realizing that if he has any intuitive sense, that my haste definitely sent the wrong message.  After all, this is my famous move when I want to AVOID the good night kiss  because I don’t want someone I’m not interested in to put me in a situation to reject him or falsely lead him on: so very much NOT the case here!!  So, I ran through my mind how to counter act my misleading behavior.

I texted him when I got home.  “I had a really great time tonight.  Thank you so much for dinner.  I really like you:)”

Yeah, I said it.  Outright and with zero subtlety.  And thus, I sat on pins and needles awaiting his response. Nervous, scared…feeling utterly ridiculous…waiting for about three minutes til I get a text from him which says, “I had such a great time with you.  I really like you too:)  Could we bake cookies together sometime?”

Can we bake cookies together sometime?  Can we bake cookies together sometime???  CAN WE BAKE COOKIES TOGETHER SOMETIME?????!!

Ummm, yeah, sooooo Mr. P is coming over this evening (tonight!) for our second date.  We are baking cookies!

Beautiful.

Challenging the very idea of perfection

Finally….an avenue from which to blog again! Yayyyy!  Sanity will hopefully be mine again soon:)

If I just skip through the past year of non-documented adventures (or mis-adventures) to present moment.  I’m proud to say, I’ve just recently started the online chronicles again – just a few  weeks ago actually.  Prior to then, I hadn’t even visited my dating sites and hadn’t bothered with reading any emails or browsing any guys professing interest in mine.

I’m only chatting with a few intriguing prospects at this time, but have had several offers to meet.  One, I did have lunch with just last Friday.  It was interesting…as these things often are.  I wasn’t wholly in to this “meeting”, but I thought, “Geesh…I gotta start back somewhere!”

He surprised me with his selection of the restaurant: definitely a guy who eats after my own eccentric flair for food.  It was a highly acclaimed local place called  Mia & Grace  …truly a lovely choice!!

He looked just like his photo, so I could pick him out of the lunch crowd immediately.  This is a bonus!  After some introductory conversation, he starts talking about the last woman he dated, that his divorce wasn’t final just yet, and how his soon-to-be-ex still felt it perfectly acceptable to enter his home any time she had the inclination, but that he knew it was really to snoop through his things.  Toward the end of the lunch, I realized the majority of the conversation had been about the ex.  Yeah, I already wasn’t so hip from the get-go about the not being divorced yet part, but this screamed of a guy who was clearly in no position to be trying to date – and certainly not so much, so hard.  I mean, of the 4 different men I had started communicating with, this guy had jumped to exchanging numbers and to meeting in person long before anyone else had even mentioned it yet!

Relax, pal.  What’s your rush?  Shouldn’t you finish your divorce first or at least be a little more emotionally divorced before such date haste?  I felt a little sorry for him though, instead of my usual sarcastic, cynical criticism.  I really wanted to grab his hand and say, “Heyyyy, you’re a handsome man.  You’ll most definitely meet someone.  Just go through the roller coaster divorce and let yourself heal for a bit before jumping the dating/relationship gun…. Ok?”  I didn’t say this though.  After all, who am I to judge his hasty desperation?  Either what it means or what it’s about?

Good luck, buddy!  Thanks for an amazing lunch!  Really wish you the best!!

All in all, not a really bad experience.  I just couldn’t help thinking though, was this really why I had a couldn’t-care-less feeling about the whole thing from the first conversation? OR, was it more because one of the four whom I’ve been talking/writing with just really stands out above the rest?  And that possibility really makes me ponder.  Before I’ve met any of these men, how can one just stand out so FAR above the rest in piquing my interest?  Sure, said profile page was just precisely after my own heart.  Said guy seems that extraordinary balance between manly sexiness, intellectual nerdiness , and artsy sensitivity…all wrapped up in a sexy dark haired, green-eyed, taller than me wordsmith with an amazing knowledge of grammar, spelling, physics and literature, not to mention the beautiful ability to make me laugh out loud from reading his emails!

Okay, okay…so he’s perfect on paper so far…. BUTTTTTT…WHY do I just feel a sense of near loyalty to one specific dating profile before I’ve even met him – or met any others I’m talking with?  Has the seeming charming perfection just swept me off my feet virtually already? How?  Why?  Isn’t this a major conflict and contradiction to online dating?  To the whole concept of “dating” in general?

Dating:  a method of physically spending time with as many promising prospects as possible in order to determine (over time) one candidate who actually fits with the other in the most categories:  in order to defy the odds of the schmucks running amok in the dating world, literally and virtually?

And yet, I confess, I just didn’t care about this date.  Sure, he was attractive and held a great deal of the qualities I would like to find in a romantic partner.  And I’ve not even MET  this other  “Mr. Perfect” yet.  Hell, “Mr. Perfect” might be nothing like his profile and worse yet, there could just be no chemical attraction!  Why would I almost literally shut myself off to even a slight possibility with another decent candidate who has already asked me on a real-live date?

Well, Mr. Talks About His Ex Incessantly sure made this an easy cross off my list experience, practically within the first ten minutes. But I really wasn’t open to giving him a chance anyway, long before he made it so easy not to give him a chance.  And that truly perplexes me.

Regardless, easy it was! So,  I realize over and over, that I really just suck at the very concept of “dating”.  It almost goes against my grain and nature.  If I like someone (obviously even just in virtuality), then I just like him.  At that point, I have to force myself to even communicate with anyone else and a physical date is an almost painful push into the let’s be logical here arena.

I mean, GOSH, there’s even another very handsome local guy who keeps writing and texting and asking me to meet.     In fact, this other guy might be technically more traditionally handsome even than my current Mr. Perfect prospect.  Yet, I keep blowing off his invites with some pretty pathetic excuses and half the time I don’t even respond for several days to his communication initiates.  Just can’t muster up an interest or see any purpose when held up in the light against Mr. Perfect’s ideal qualities and bonus points.

What IS that?  Shouldn’t I be excited to meet as many qualifying candidates as possible in this sport of dating?  Shouldn’t I at least attend the previews of a few interesting movies before deciding one I haven’t seen is my absolute favorite?

I don’t know.  This whole “Mr. Perfect” guy…ummm…GEESH OH PETE….  I keep waiting for him to say something, ANY thing that doesn’t just delight or intrigue me beyond sensibility.  No, really, every time I open a new email or read a text from him, I think…..Okay, here it comes.  It has to.  Because he can’t possibly be actually perfect.  Not a possibility. I’m not perfect…no one else can be either!  So with each and every communique at this point, I know he has to demonstrate something less than my ideal. He must!   Even if it’s not a deal breaker per se, but SOMETHING.  I almost WANT him to do this – mar the image of perfection he presents so far – for several reasons.  One, I’m nervous as hell for a guy this “perfect” to meet me and be total witness to my inevitable and perhaps  overwhelming imperfections and  I’d have some ammunition going in if he’s already short at least a quality or aspect or two.  Secondly, everytime he fails to show me an imperfection of some kind, I am forced to face my literal terror of actually meeting a great-for-me guy.  What would I do?  There is then such a blatant possibility of my following my traditional time-proven M.O. of  sabotaging these things.  And I’m slapped in the face with how deep my issues and fears really go.  Something, I really prefer to (deceitfully?) convince myself I’ve worked out and conquered. And I can live in that pink bubble as long as there’s something wrong with THEM.   This guy terrifies me…and we’v e not even met!  Yeah, terrified is an accurate description.  He makes me feel giggly and excited, intellectually challenged, admiring and self-confident,  hopeful and enthusiastic…and utterly TERRIFIED.

Although, he did FINALLY tell me one less than perfect (for me, at least) quality just yesterday:  He’s NOT a huge football fan like I.  Wait….WHAT?!!  What the hell is going on here?!  How can that be, Mr. “Perfect”?  And as an avid college football enthusiast, just how far can I go with THAT little tidbit of imperfection.  I can see the desperate measures already:  No, Mr. Perfect, I cannot go to the museum with you Saturday!  Are you kiddin’ me?  OMG….there’s a game on!!!  Don’t be ridiculous.  I’ll be watching the game like every other self-respecting human being in America, watching it with fellow football LOVERS….uhh…GEESH!!!  And surely this massive imperfection might lead to other, oh-so-practical and legit excuses for other possible “issues” this little conflict will inevitably create.  Right?  Of course!  After all, I love football; I know how to take that ball and run with it!  Psh!

That said, I’m delighted to say that I’m meeting “Mr. Perfect” today!!!  Yup,  fully armed with my you-can’t-possibly-be-my-idea-of-absolute-perfection ammunition.  Phew…just in time!  And the question becomes, upon meeting him in person, will Mr. Perfect give me more ammunition with which to battle  or will he charmingly stomp all over the meek supply I’ve managed to dig up?

Never mind that his random suggestion of meeting spots just happened to be my FAVORITE place in a 100 mile radius of my town.  And no, I hadn’t told him how much I loved that place or ANY place!!  GOSH, this guy’s tough to smother in my issues so far OR clobber with my baggage….yet.

I’m sooooo excited…and so very nervous!

EUREKA?!

Haven’t been on any dates lately, so I’ve not much on that to update….  Have had several lovely offers, but just not feeling it really…

However, I made an interesting discovery today which is both perplexing and somewhat comical to me…we all know how strange my sense of humor is though…hehe 🙂

ahhh geesh...did my kids throw their garbage on the ground?

Cleaning outside around our pool area this morning, I came across this tiny little shiny gold thing…really shiny…like..well, like sparkly gold!  No one has been out there hanging out in weeks so I’m curious of course.  I pick it up…..  Couldn’t really figure out what it was at first….I’m thinking, a candy wrapper from the kids or something…?

No.  that’s not it.  It has a tiny section of writing on it…but I can only make out one full letter…umm….it’s an“M” in black….umm…????  WHAT???  I’m pretty sure it’s…it’s…noooooooo…it’s not possible….ummm…it’s…nooooooo…

WTF??

And I’m aghast!  Truly, ummm….this isn’t possible.  There’s no way….I must be mistaken, after all it has been awhile…

It’s a small corner section of a condom wrapper!!  WTF??!  That can’t be!  No one’s been out there “getting busy” since I moved here three months ago.  And I mean no one!  In addition, it can’t have been out there for very long (before we moved in?) either because I’m out there by myself at least once a day for a few moments and I’m certain I’d have noticed something so shiny and bright that it looked like jewelry if it had been there for any length of time…

Could it have blown from a neighbors’ garbage out on the street…over and above the cement walls dividing our back yards….  Ummm….that seems highly unlikely, bordering on impossible.  So…what in the hell is this…?

You have GOT to be kiddin me...

Umm….seriously, WTF?  So of course I ponder further…. Hmmmmm…. Other than swimming with the Lingerer (months ago), no man has even been out there at all….and NO man since I moved here has been out there in a situation to need a condom!

Wait…

Mr. Nurse was out there checking on how to get my hot tub going since I haven’t used it yet…umm…..  But…I wasn’t even out there with him.  We weren’t making-out out there at all…Ummm……….

OMGOMGOMG!!!! Is it possible that Nurse-man was so certain he was going to get “lucky” that he put on a condom in advance?????

That’s a disturbing thought…truly…extremely disturbing!  However, it does explain my weird “feelings” when Nurse-guy was here….OMG!!!

Ughhh…you have got to be kidding me!!!  And don’t you even think that the irony of the “M” is at all lost on me…hahahahahah…life really does have quite the sense of humor, doesn’t it?

Pregnant pause vs. the awkward silence

..sometimes a good idea...

I’m learning how to be comfortable with silence in conversation.  Traditionally, this goes against my natural chatty instincts, so it’s a work in progress for sure!

I began this lesson with my ex husband years ago.  My daughters and I actually often fondly refer to him as The Pauser.  He is the King of Pauses.  He knows how to utilize the effect a moment of silence can bring to many situations, as an employer, a father, a husband/bf, etc, etc…  He is so effective at this, that he doesn’t ever need to actually say words to make a person doubt themselves or start to worry and get paranoid…  even if the paranoia is about the phone signal (Umm…hello??? Are you still there?) or gets as awkward and disconcerting as frantic paranoia about the underlying thoughts in the conversation (OMG… ummm…WHAT???!  Did I just make an ass out of myself?  Did I just say the most ridiculous thing ever?  Is my foot in my mouth?  Umm….Why isn’t this man saying anything at ALL?).

Over years of dealing with the ex husband and his excessive pausing-business, I’ve realized how truly priceless it is in many situations and I almost envy his confidence and genius to both utilize this simple technique to his advantage and to just pull it off in general.  I mean, he is gooooooood at this!  In difficult or serious conversations, it’s unnerving to say the least.  In everyday casual conversations it’s frustrating and annoying.  But either way, I have to give him fat kudos for being a literal genius at this conversational method of staying one-up (or two or three “up”?) on his conversation partner of any given situation or moment. 

As a result, the man rarely needs to apologize or bother to explain his words (ever!), because he simply chooses them so carefully, it’s almost painful at times to be on the other end of these conversations and his “pauses”.  For the person who has just said something of utter importance (to them), the pauses feel like horrific awkward silences…that dreaded empty space you suddenly feel frantic to fill in to further explain, throw in comedic effect, plead for a response…whatever…anything will do; while to him, this is merely a very effective pregnant pause.  So you can gather how successful mastering this technique can be:  while he’s slowly and silently contemplating his every carefully chosen word, you tend to start babbling ridiculously, filling the space with chatter that offers even more information before he has yet responded at all! It is truly a brilliant conversational tactic in all situations and relationships for him.

I am not this person by nature though.  At all.  I’m a very open and expressive type, much to my frequent dismay in situations when I’ve said too much or said something easily misunderstood (yet again) or any of the bazillion faux pas that can arise from being extraordinarily open, chatty, and honest.  I’m training myself (via so much regular conversation with “the master”) though, to sit quietly through the pregnant pauses, see them for what they are, and not start nervously rambling.

However, I deal with this conversational silence master-mind on such a frequent (and frustrating) basis, that I no longer can adequately decipher the difference between a pregnant  pause and an out-n-out awkward silence.  I can appreciate the value of a moment of silence in a conversation and leave it at that.  I’m a ponder-er type, so pausing to reflect on either what has been said or what you’re about to say is, in theory, always a good idea. Awkward silences on the other hand are still dreadfully uncomfortable for me and I feel a responsibility to fill that space asap either to put the other person at ease (my strong southern breeding) or perhaps merely to put myself at ease…  Either…or…both…and…all of the above!  Thankfully, I’ve not had many cases in my entire life of “awkward silence”.    I’ve a number of natural tools in my conversation toolbox to either avoid this altogether or, at the least, work my way through it quickly and painlessly.  It’s just not something I’ve had to deal with much….for whatever reason…

Umm....soooooo..is it hot enough for ya?

Talking last night for the first time with Gabe, I discovered this phenomenon:  Lots of awkward silences!  How truly odd to experience this with a person whom I can write to with such total ease, at such length, and about so many different things!

Was this a “normal” first-time conversation thing?  Or was this a strange and difficult to decipher possible conversational “issue”?  When you add my chronic dealings with the master mind of intentional pregnant pauses to the mix of experiences with first conversations and dates and meeting new people in general, it’s truly hard for me to tell exactly what’s going on….  I certainly want to honor the prgnant pause types, but still don’t care much for the awkward silences…  Hmm..how to differentiate in these situations?

It was a delightful conversation with gabe for the most part and yet, I kept wondering if maybe I was ridiculous both for what I was saying and/or maybe  how I was saying it.  Yeah, I babble.  I do.  When getting to first know someone, I just don’t hold anything back really.  Well, I try to be in good taste and only discuss appropriate topics of course…  but I don’t carefully ponder my words;  I just talk… about Vegas weather, Vegas energy vibes, my love of peace frog stores, my fascination with the human psyche and the development of the conscience…and I ask questions..where did you grow up, what’s your family like, what are your thoughts and opinions on *this* or on *that* or whatever…and I always try to listen as much as I talk too.

I’m currently of the opinion that it’s often humor which stands smack-dab in the middle to differentiate between preganant pauses and awkward silences.

Ahhhh humor…..  Humor is often so difficult to convey or translate via the written word, yet rarely so difficult in verbal conversation with the added benefits of tone and inflection.  However, I arrive at three possibilities here regarding my conversation with Gabe: 1.  He just doesn’t share my (admittedly odd) sense of humor,  2.  He doesn’t “get” my humor, or 3.  He just doesn’t think anything I’ve said was funny, while I think it’s hysterical.  Or perhaps any combination of the three…?

It is the very definition of awkward when you tell a funny story and a person you don’t know that well anyway just sorta sits there in silence..  Ummm…again, we can blame cell phones for this: Hello?  Are you there?  And when we’ve determined that the signal is fine, then the silence from before and after this determination becomes excruciatingly awkward…  Ohhh…okay, so you heard me but I guess that just wasn’t funny to you…? Ummm… Okay…well…ummm…

But dammit, I'M laughing...or trying to...or was gong to....umm...guess not:-/

Then suddenly it’s no longer nearly as funny to me either….  Hmm……  oooohhhhh-kayyyy then…

This was definitely awkward and happened a few times. Seems that while emailing was a simple thing for Gabe and I, actual conversation was considerably more difficult… Ughh…   

Add to this,  that I shared a personal “experience” with Gabe that perhaps is not a gem of a situation from my distant past, but was merely in theory and therefore not actually any kind of issue past or present.  Not to mention, in my humble opinion it wasn’t some kind of dreaded confession of horror either… nothing all that horrifying overall and merely a conceptual thought at that.  Ohhh gosh, never mind..why am I being so mysterious about this?  It’s really not a big deal!  Here it is:

Once during my senior year in college, while newly married and struggling to catch up on my husband’s (now ex) difficult credit card bills, I contemplated

Yeah, yeah..I thought about it ....once!!

stripping (yeah, as in removing my clothes while dancing and accepting money for said effort) for a few months just to get the money to help pay off those bills which he was behind on when we married.  Yeah, I did

 I actually thought about it enough that I discussed this possibility with my husband.  Of course that idea was tossed out almost before I got the whole thing out of my mouth in a conversation with the husband, but I confess, I did truly and sincerely ponder doing this once.  I was pretty much laughing at this little confessional story…or starting to….  When I get the….DA-DA-DUMMMMMM…

Big fat silence.

Hmm…..ohhhhhhhkayyyyy…

Awwwwkwarrrrddd.

Confessions from my sleazy side

On this crazy, wild Vegas/Online dating journey of experience, I’ve hit a few little uncomfortable WTF-was-that-bumps, but I’ve not yet been rendered wordless.  Ughh! 

Writing for me is akin to breathing.  It allows me to process and understand my thoughts better.  Typically, if I go more than a few days without writing, I just can’t explain how very muddled and confused my overactive brain becomes!  Sometimes if I don’t write, I even start stuttering in my actual speech because my brain can’t decide on which word to use. 

the words just won't flow

  
Oh my…why,  that’s just gr, lov…de….won….umm….that’s nice!  

The ex (as in “THE” ex previously referred to here in my blog) used to laugh whenever I’d start to stutter in casual conversation, hand me a pen or steer me to the computer, and say, Kayyyyyy, you haven’t been writing, have you? …you need to go write!   Umm yeah, it’s pretty bad… 

So, when various circumstances all multiply together and overwhelm my ability to organize my thoughts enough to even write…OMG… Suffice to say, I’m as off-balance as a cat with no tail or whiskers and as confused as a nun in a sex toy shop! 

...just put a pen in her hand!

Thus, I feel the need to give props to Gabriel.  Gabe and I have been emailing on the Cupid since I signed up there.  He is amazing! He shares a love of literature and writing with me that has penetrated all the way through my temporary confusion.  Amidst writing far too lengthy emails to him about serial killers, life in Vegas, literature, movies, relationships, car accidents, and a passionately promiscuous love of writing(okay… alright….so my total sleazy side rears its ugly head at last!), I’ve been able to sort through my own overwhelmed state of mind and write again! (insert deep, meaningful sigh of relief right *here*…siiiiiiggggghhhhhhh….) Hooorayyy Gabe!! 

Gabe is now my muse of a heroic variety!  I so look forward to his emails for two reasons 1. He is exceptionally intelligent, interesting, AND oh-so-attractive (YAY!) and 2. Because this connection to him seems to have cleared my pathways and I started writing…Okay yeah, usually ad nauseum to him…poor guy!!  

A copy of my emails to Gabe

 But I mean really, I am compelled…. I go on …and on…and on….and on….I just suddenly have so much to say!   … Not that anyone reading this would ever know of my capacity to do that, but I sure can babble-the-mean-email, umm…practically as a virtual blog entry itself…  No, really.  I can…  It borders on the line of obnoxious! 

I’m not a religious person per se, but allow me to explain(I have no idea exactly where I found the following excerpt; I only know I’ve had it saved on my computer for a long time and I forgot to document exactly where I found it): 

Gabriel: the archangel of literature and writing

“The archangel Gabriel is the angel of creative writing.  With our permission, archangels give each individual what would best resonate and serve the individual.  Gabriel helps you to pick up the pen and start writing and helps to keep thoughts orderly while writing. He is the one, present, helping you to keep your ambition, and fueling the drive. He is the archangel of literature, past, present, and future.” 

Gabe is a precious gem with multiple fascinating layers!

So Gabe is not only a gem in and of himself, but he is also my archangel of all things writing (i.e. breathing, thought collecting, Rubik’s cube deciphering, etc, etc) and I’m beyond excited to meet him!!   Dare I say, Gabe is the muse of my sleaze…?!