I promised a (new) friend

I don’t write much these days, which is no revelation, but I promised a friend that I would start again, a little every day.

She’s actually a new friend. I met her online. That’s right on an online dating site and we are actually friends.

Question: Does this conflict with my rule that I do not write about any woman I have dated until I’m certain there is no longer a chance of any romantic involvement?

We are just friends after all. Yes, we did meet via an online dating site. And yes, we did go out a couple of times, but neither time was what one would classify as a date. When I suggested a real date is when she – we’ll call her Casey – told me that there was another guy that she’d met only just before meeting me and that while I was interesting and attractive to her and definitely someone she would consider dating she felt compelled to pursue this other relationship. But, she did enjoy meeting me and talking with me and hoped that we could possibly pursue a friendship.

Yeah, right. Sure. Whatever. That’s what I thought at the time. This sort of thing has happened before. It’s a standard brush off, because people don’t mean it when they say they want to try to be friends. That is what I have experienced, and as such I usually just move on. But that was not the case this time. It took some time to figure it out but Casey was/is genuine. And we are now friends. And I’m quite pleased with the friendship – it strikes me to have potential to be one of the more significant relationships in my life, at least for now but I sense there is a future there as well, whatever that might be.

But here is the rub —  no not that kind of rub; get your mind out of the freaking gutter – the guy she “brushed me off” for is now out of the picture, or so it would seem. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that he’s currently exiting the picture, but not quite gone. So what does this mean?

Question a la When Harry Met Sally: Can a man and woman really be friends?

I don’t know. I don’t know that anyone knows. I’m not even so sure that it really matters.

I find that I have adjusted my perspective when it comes to “meeting people” now. In this way; before I had expectations, too many – I’d find myself futurizing (is that even a word?) about a relationship before it even had a chance to really begin. And that was always bad. Or it turned out badly in any case. So now, I try – as much as is possible – to simply be open to experiencing a relationship with a new person, and simply letting it be whatever it is going to be – friendship, romantic, etc. At least this way you can be sure that whatever it turns into it is genuine, or as close to it as possible, rather than something that one or the other or both people orchestrated, which seems so… phony, and ultimately sad.

Anyhoo…I promised Casey I would write. And there, I did.

She came on like a dream…

…in this case all strawberries and cream. A leggy, 5’9″ strawberry blonde dame.

Quick side note/explanation: twice in two weeks I’ve been asked what’s up with my blog, so here I am tonight to see what I can do. Aren’t you just all a quiver with anticipation. I know, right. So without further delay…

She was gorgeous, as so many tall blondes are. But this one was particularly so. So much so that I was kind of surprised that she wanted to meet me at all. But she did. Although she was late for our first meet, by almost an hour. I was sure I was being stood up, but I was l ike, meh, I’ here, I’ll have a beer and some chicken wings and watch the Lions lose. Better than sitting at home. But in the end she did show. And what a show it was to..

Should I mention her that our first phone conversation was almost entirely about religion. She’s kinda sorta religious. But I’ll get to that. Or at least I intended to. Provided I don’t lose my way, a real possibility.

It was a good meet. Def chemistry. So we chatted, drank. Turned out she was late because a) she overslept her nap and b) her car died and needed a jump. She should have charged her battery (in her car that is) a bit more because I ended up having to drive her home. No sweat. I got two good night kisses and scored some major points, or so it seemed. It’s kind of coup to score a good night kiss on the first date anyway.

We kept chatting and talking and meeting, and good night kissing. Strawberry Blonde didn’t have a major problem with me living with my folks. She was up for making out in the car. Things seemed to be progressing nicely. She even invited me over to her place, something she said she never done since starting to date again after he divorce, a second for her.

Then came date 4 I guess, for which she had to wait for me to get off work. But whatever. And she offered to pay the bill that night. I did not argue. But what stands out was her seeming sudden decision to tell me about a DUI for which she had to got to court. She was quite worried about, as well as ashamed. She offered it up as my chance to run, but I didn’t see why I should. I told her the only difference between her and me was that she got caught. Most people I told agreed with me. What eventually became a problem was here lament over paying the court costs. Not then of course.

But a few dates later, when she invited me to come dog sit with her — it was the night before Thanksgiving, and I grabbed a bottle of wine. It was cool. Until she brought up the hearing again, which she would be understandable stressed about. But when she fretted about not being able to pay the court costs again and I empathized WITHOUT offering up cash to help, well, let’s just say it felt as if a door closed between us. Things felt weird, and I have not heard from her since.

But perhaps that had nothing to do with it. Pehaps she was waiting for me to contact her, which admittedly I never did. But she never contacted me either. Why not? I dunno. Probably never will. My instinct told me to just let this one go, despite how beautiful and interesting she was.

First woman I’ve met who seemed to top every story I could tell. Examples;

• Most interesting place she ever had sex: Pentagon
• Her father was in the Hell’s Angels and had probably killed people
• At age 13 she was abruptly sent to leave with her father, not by her mother but by a step-mother.

I was not scared of her issues/problems. We’ve all got those. But the inkling that she might want money from me after only half a dozen dates. It would change the whole dynamic of the relationship, effectively ending it as far as I could see. Some might say that is to harsh, too rash. Perhaps, but it was a risk I just wasn’t wiling to take. Maybe because I wasn’t really into this woman that much, maybe I just wanted to be, thought I should be.

Her court date was the 30th. I wonder how it went. Well, I hope. But I’m not going to try and find out.

Random thought that could get me kicked in the balls, should I be identified on the street.

Women (perhaps men do this too, I don’t know, since I’ve only dated women, you tell me) do NOT fall in love with men (or another woman). They fall in love with the desire of their own heart and then go about seeking out a man (or woman) to fulfill that desire. If (when) other that they select, and manage to ensnare, ceases to fulfill this desire or their desire changes then the woman moves on, seeking out a new vassal in which to satisfy their need(s).

Discuss.

The boomerang rang rang rang et al

I haven’t posted in awhile. Not for lack of subject matter, mind you. Just that when you work 12-15 hours a day  6 to 7 days a week it’s a tad difficult to muster the energy. I’m lucky if I can read two paragraphs of a book at night before crashing. Ugh.

But this evening I find myself with a bit of time and thought why not bestow upon my eagerly wanting public some of my beatific words of wisdom. Hey. It’s the least I can do.

But what to write? What to write?

I suppose I could write about The Boomerang. She’s the woman I met on eHarmony who, after adamantly insisting that we were not a good match kept getting back in touch with me. I believe I dubbed her Lydia. In any case, I’d thought she was gone for good. And then on day while slacking on the couch and randomly texting every poor schmuck who was naive enough to make me privy to their phone number, I get a text:

“Hi. How have you been?” It read.

“I’m fine,” I responded. “Who this?”

It was Lydia and apparently she’d had a dream about me so of course had to get in touch. At this point the wise thing to do would have been to simply tell her to buzz off, but as is probably apparently, I’m not always the wisest of men. Reference: my marriage to a narcissistic, self-serving sociopath — even great sex (which it so was not, I’ve since come to realize) is an excuse for a knucklehead move like that. But I digress or regress or something like that.

We began chatting again, for a time. But after making the mistake — YET AGAIN — of expressing what a pain in the ass my ex -wife can be, The Boomerang, pointed out to me that my ex-wife was kind of a difficult person. “You think?” I said. The problem, The Boomerang pointed out, was that my pain in the ass ex-wife would become, in part, her problem. And in the end, she just didn’t want that hassle. To which I replied, “Cool beans. Bye. And do not contact me again.”

“I will,” she texted. “You do the same.”

I refrained from sending the “Fuck off!” text, which I think I will always regret. But what are you gonna do, right? Live and learn.

And what precisely have I lived to learn? Well, that in some ways, having an ex-wife is worse than having a wife. Strangely enough, when I was married, I had had way more opportunities with other woman than I seem to be having now. Apparently, there is a breed of woman who are more than willing to have an affair with a married man (my ex-wife for example), but if you have an ex-wife it somehow changes things. You can’t talk too badly about the ex or that bothers them. In their mind, it means you’re not over them. And you can’t speak too warmly about your ex either, because again this means you’re not over her. And then there are the woman who just can’t seem to tolerate an ex-wife existence at all.

It’s like a curse really. And I can’t help wondering if this is instinctually what keeps (some) men from wanting to get married in the first place. Because despite a wife being an ex-wife, she’s still a wife of some sort and that is like an dating albatross around a guy’s neck that can never be lifted.

Well…that was far more bellyaching that I’d planned on, but what the hey. It’s a blog, right. A place to let the proverbial shit fly. And I am a rhetorical monkey eager to fling his prose poo! Bazinga!

The woman in the discount section of the B&B

I had an interesting experience this weekend at the Barnes and Noble bookstore, and it wasn’t the date I had via eHarmony. That was a dud. The woman wasn’t. She was nice and smart and funny and accomplished but we didn’t click, not even a little. I hate when that happens but more often than not it does.

No. That was Saturday. I’m talking about today, Sunday, in a different Barnes and Noble bookstore (sigh — I miss Borders…anyhoo….), the one closer to my house. I went there because, while waiting for my date at the other B&, I started reading this book entitled Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline, which is very cool but that is not what this post is about. It is only the catalyst. Because I don’t  usually buy books anymore: I get them from the library, but I didn’t want to wait. That’s why I was at the bookstore today.

And while I was there I saw this woman and for some reason I was instantly intrigued by her, drawn to her. She had long, straight, blonde hair, but not like bimbo bleach blonde, like natural blonde, you know. And she was waring a flowery sundress, at least I think it was flowery. She wore sandals. And had glasses, that were very interesting, kind of retro 50s but still contemporary, you know. She had a tattoo on her right shoulder I’m pretty sure; it looked like something with wings. I didn’t want to stare too intently for fear that she would be creeped out by me. Also, she had this sort of old/vintage -looking white purse, like something my mom would have carried in the 70s. I dunno. It was cool. She was cool. And she had on this fragrance — it was intoxicating. Trust me, I know how cornball that sounds but it is true.

She stuck strictly to the discount books. I found myself watching her but at first didn’t think much of it. She was pretty, so I noticed her. I was there to get my book, which I did. I even scoped some other books. But I kept checking for her. She was still over there in the discount section so I returned. I purposely passed her again, and put myself in a position to walk by her, hoping to catch her attention, but she was so focused on perusing the books. Maybe the fact that she didn’t seem to notice me is what hooked me. I don’t know.

All I know is that I wanted very badly to talk to her. And I did, once. I said, “Excuse me” as I passed by her. She returned the comment. I looked for a sign that I could maybe talk to her but saw nothing. I did not want to creep her out. Or get maced or kicked in the balls or anything. I mean, honestly, do strangers just walk up to each other in public places anymore and introduce themselves? It does not seem possible.

Eventually, I got the feeling that she sensed I was watching her, even following her, and that was why she did not explore anymore of the store other than the discount section. She paid for her books and I walked over by the Nook display because I knew she’d have to pass me on her way out. I thought maybe….

But instead she asked for the restroom and went to the back of the store. So of course I took up a position where she would see me when she came out of the bathroom but not so close as to seem as if I was stalking her. I stood by the Lego’s of the the White House and Space Needle etc. She did not seem to notice me.

I watched her go. I though to follow her out, but couldn’t do it. Too late did I go to the window of the store to check the parking lot to see her drive off. And just like that she was gone. I thought, oh well, like anything was going to happen, right.

But here’s the thing. I can’t stop thinking about her. And I don’t know why. I can’t remember the last time something like that happened to me. Maybe it’s a sign of how desperate I’ve become. I don’t know. But I can’t help thinking, Could I find her? Would it be possible? Could I utilize facebook somehow, and perhaps other social media, to find her, to find someone I don’t know and have never met, someone I only know a few scant details about? Is it even worth. Is it advised? Would she think I’m crazy or even dangerous? Yikes!

What do you think? Please advise, opine, and debate. Thanks.

Up with People on her way to Toledo

Though  it’s been awhile since I last posted it’s not for lack of material. I’ve simply been too busy. With work. And a Memorial Day weekend vacation. And if you think being married and raising a kid takes up time try being divorced and doing it — seems to be even more time-consuming, not to mention stressful. Anyhoo…

The night before I headed down to West Virginia for Memorial Day weekend to visit relatives, I spoke with a woman that I met on eHarmony…or was it OkCupid. I can’t recall now. I do remember that she contacted me and things progressed rather quickly, communication-wise. Long story short — next thing I knew I was talking on the phone with this chick, Vivian we’ll call her (although why I’m bothering with an alias I have not a fucking clue; zero chance we’ll talk again much less anything developing, and I don’t know her last name, but still….), while she was packing up to head to Toledo for the weekend, a bit of coincidence since I was heading in that direction, though ultimately father south.

It wasn’t my idea. She texted me, saying something akin to “Wanna call and keep me company on my drive to Toledo?” How could I resist, right? Why I didn’t it still a mystery to me. I’d been working long days and had planned to wake up early for my 7-8 hour drive to Wild Wonderful West Virginia. But I did….

And almost immediately I knew it was a mistake. I knew this woman I and did not click, were not going to click, were simply not click-able. Why? Well, I’m sure the reasons are varied and complex, but to simplify things — she was just freakin’ annoying.

Now, don’t get wrong. I can appreciate someone with a positive attitude about life, especially in face of adversity. It’s impressive….to a point. And then it just becomes and obvious facade, an act, and you got to wonder who it’s for exactly. Them or the rest of the world. Who knows? Who cares?

But hey, people should be allowed to adopt whatever phony persona they like, right.

What was more annoying than that was the patronizing pity because. To wit: “I’m sorry you’re unhappy.”

To which I retorted: “I’m not unhappy.”

Confused silence. Followed by: “Um…okay…if you say so.”

“I did.”

“Did what?”

“Say so.”

More silence.Then Vivian transitioned into the positive lessons she’d learned from her failed marriage and ugly divorce. She didn’t say what she learned exactly. And being curious/skeptical by nature, I asked. “What did you learn?”

Her response was an awkward mash-up of cliches and platitudes and half-vague sentiments that amounted to little in my opinion. But who knows what passes for wisdom for some people. She then asked me what I’d learned.

After considering for a moment, I said, “Well, I learned that people are essentially selfish and self-serving. And they will do most anything to get what they want/need. Others be damned.”

Again I got the patronizing pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Well, because….that sucks.”

How astute, I thought, but did not say so.

From there she proved my assertion that people are selfish even after disagreeing with it by dominating the conversation, barely allowing me to get a word in edgewise. She yammered on about:

• The books she was going to write, entitled something like The Horror and the Humor, about her marriage and divorce and ex blah blah blah. I wanted to tell her that it sounded terrifyingly bad, but I was in a charitable mood, as much as I am capable of such a thing.
• How her step-sons loved her and loathed their mother. Apparently, they pleaded with her to move back to Michigan to be near them blah blah blah. I didn’t have the heart to refute this delusion, even if I had she wouldn’t shut up long enough to allow it. Despite what any step-kids says to their step-parent they will never stop pining for their shitty parents’ love and acceptance. Trust me. I’ve seen this twisted pathology play itself out first hand.
• Her job — I forget what she did.
• Her family — drawing a blank on the details here a well.

Truth is after awhile it just became noise, and I tuned it out. I was tired and just wanted to get to bed so I could get up and get in my car and drive to West Virginia in the morning.

Driving long distances is therapeutic. For me anyway.

Back by Request

A friend made a request of sorts, that I post again, because apparently my wrecked romantic life is so incredibly entertaining. Well, at least it is good for something. Nice to know, if nothing else, my love-lorn misadventures spark smiles and a bit of glee perhaps. Twisted, I know, but I can dig that. I like twisted. And let’s face it, I am a bit of whore for the attention. Speaking of which…. (does this even require a winking emoticon?)

First let me dispense with one woman who dispensed with me before anything really got started. We’ll call her — Lois. Yeah, I’m not particularly fond of that name either but for me it conjures up images of overly-tanned, chain-smoking retired snowbirds in Florida, which this woman is well on her way to being. I suppose that’s why I’m not very torn up over it not working out, or even getting started really. I don’t really want to date a smoker, and while I like the sun and the beach and a bit of color on my skin as well as a woman’s, I’m not all that interested in dating someone who bares a striking resemblance to an old baseball glove. Of course, that is an over exaggeration. She doesn’t look that bad…yet, or bad at all really. But it was clear that she thought I could use some color and preferred it, said she thought it “looked healthier.” Why do people think that? Seriously this looks healthy:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Anyhoo… this woman does not look like that….again I stress yet.

We didn’t meet on a dating site. We connected via facebook. She was/is(?) an old childhood friend. Well, not even that. We sort of knew of each other in our youth, you know, but didn’t really know each other. It was one of those things — we friended each other because we knew each other’s names. Anyway, we went out for lunch when she was in town — she lives 2-hours a way, which presents a challenge but also perhaps an advantage in a way too, if you think about it — and texted and talked on the phone, and then I was supposed to visit her for the weekend, which she had originally suggested. Then the weekend came and she copped out. Good thing I made an effort to confirm otherwise I would might not have known it wasn’t going to happen. It was kind of annoying, but hey, what are you gonna do. She was apologetic and there was even the possibility of trying for another weekend, but it became clear that she was not interested and simply would not say so. Or perhaps she just wanted some attention, which is something I am finding a lot of women want, as much as they can get.

Which brings me to the mid- to late-twenty-something type who admits to seeking attention outside of her “relationship” and having Daddy issues and having a high sex-drive, so much so that she could never see herself being with only one man for the rest of her life, but yet her current man is so good to her and is willing to tolerate her that she could never leave him, but she just can’t help wanting more blah blah blah. I won’t even give her an alias, but I will give her a description. She is what Tyler Durden from Fight Club would call a “Predator posing as a house cat.”

But those were just two quick hits on the way to my most recent dalliance, this time with an exotic, international beauty with dark skin and a big dark eyes, and long lush black hair. And who had a knack for keeping me on the phone so long that my cell bill this month is going to kick my ass. I can forget about any road trip vacations for the near future dammit. I’ll call her Tia. Why not? It’s as good as any name. Meh

Here’s the difference this time. I copped out on her. It became clear that her,um, lack of relationship experience had her pining for some kind of mythical true love romance that couldn’t exist in the most syrupy of fairy tales. And her obsession with shopping and brand name labels was annoying as shit. She actually wanted to meet to go shopping. Ugh! Why don’t women get that men hate shopping. Stop making us go, dammit! Go. Buy your shit with your girlfriends and let us stay home and watch sports or whatever the fuck it is we do.

I attempted to let her down easy, saying I didn’t think we were compatible, to which she proceeded to lobby hard in favor that we were. I listened, doubtfully, counting the minutes that were costing me $0.49 per and finally, and stupidly agreed tocontinue, although in what form was unclear. What the point of all this was lost on me. Until the next day when she texted me that essentially she didn’t believe a romantic relationship was possible, which made it clear that her whole compaign the night before was so that she could then “reject” me. This was fine with me, since it was what I wanted anyway. So I proceeded to delete her contact info, including blocking her on facebook, which she did not like at all. She wanted to know why I would do that? To which I replied, Why not?

Now she continues to text me asking banal questions such as, How was your day? And, how was work? And, wasn’t the weather nice today? Until I wanted to fucking shoot myself! And when I am non-responsive she gets pouty, like a child.

Something I realized, though. And that is this: I may not really have an interest in a serious relationship right now. Before I was married I wasn’t really interested in one. That was a relationship born out of circumstances and manipulation. Maybe I’d be more comfortable just being on my own. Apparently more and more people are opting for this option. In fact, according to this new book entitled Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, by Eric Klineberg, the single person household is more prevalent in this country than the standard nuclear family.

It’s quite interesting. Check it out.

Called it — crazy is as crazy does!

A word to the wise fellas (and ladies too no doubt): at the first whiff of crazy run! Run fast, run hard, and run long. And don’t — I repeat do NOT look back, lest you be sucked back in by the crazy tractor beam. This is my problem, what I do too often. I  look back and think, maybe…. DON’T DO THAT! [swat with a rolled newspaper on the nose]

This of course raises the question, what does crazy smell like anyway?There in lies the rub — crazy comes in a plethora of fragrances. It can have a simple, basic smell, like ivory soap and water. Or it can be more pungent, like Virginia Slims and sour lemon candy. Perhaps even flowery. Or like pot and sandalwood. A musty garage. You just never know. That’s what makes it so tough to identify sometimes. But trust me you’ll know it when you really get a good snoot full, and at that point it may be difficult as hell to pull the eject button. But you gottta. You just gotta.

So what’s all this blathering about anyway? Glad you asked, young squire.

As I blogged previously, Gigi had returned. I anticipated that my post about might possibly prove ill-advised, as it could back fire on me, bite me on the ass, squirt in my eye —  ouch, it burns! But that was in fact NOT the case. What was the case was that it was prophetic. Okay, perhaps that is a bit much. In any case, it is not going  be an issue. For Gigi is gone. For good this time.

Or is she? Only the shadow of my willingness to tolerate crazy knows…….

As was the case in the past, she was set off by something I said/- we were chatting online — and did her eStompoff, saying, well, I can see that this is going to be a point of contention between us. I can’t do this. Have a good day and a good weekend. And then logged off.

Now, did you notice that her response seemed to suggest that after the weekend there may be a chance that she’d be back? Well, that is how I read it, and I just decided, Nawp, not going to happen. Not this time.

So I texted her. And without spreading out the gory details I essentially said we were done. I no longer wished to continue doing whatever it was that we were doing. She of course did not cotton to that. She stomped her little feet and told me NOT to talk to her like a child. To which I replied, I would be glad to if she would stop acting like a child. There was more back and forth. And then she called me to whine that she was at work and for me to stop. I admittedly childishly said, why don’t you stop responding? But clearly she was a last-word girl. Before she could, I said, Never contact me again and disconnected. Ha! Take that missy. Clearly you have no idea who you are dealing with. I can out-immature the best of them. So nanny nanny boo boo!

My point is: the bitch be tripping. And I ain’t having it.

Actually my real point is that this behavior was not new, and was in fact predictable. Why I stuck around to suffer it is, while not beyond me, clearly not a wise choice. Ah, sweet hindsight. 

And this is where the beauty of internet dating comes in. Within an hour I was already chatting with another woman, who contacted me via OkCupid. How long do you suppose before I’m blogging about this one?

So begins the countdown, to see if Gigi actually tries to contact me again with “I’m sorry how we left things….” blah blah blah.

Day 1

Should I be annoyed….

…by this response on eHarmony from a woman I contacted?

Hi Chris, wanted to send you a note as I find your profile very humorous and appealing. But I am pursuing a relationship and have shut down matches.
If my situation changes I will seek you out. Chances are you will be snapped up.
Best of luck to you,

I mean, yeah, sure, it’s complimentary, but really why respond at all? That’s what most people do. That’s what I do.

Would you rather get no response or response such as this?

Perhaps I’ve become too sensitive, or even grown paranoid? I don’t know. All I know is that this irked me. Makes me wonder why she felt the need to respond as such. I guess it felt a bit patronizing, as if I needed her assurances or something. As if….pffft.

Anyhoo….

Summer of the Zombie Novel

My daughter has been working on a zombie novel. She is very excited about it. It’s a about a kid named TJ and begins with him day-dreaming in school about this girl, Debbie, that he kind of likes. After that the structure gets a bit fuzzy, but still it sounds cool.

Anyway, it got me to thinking that maybe it is time I started work on my own zombie novel. I’ve been kicking one around in my head for awhile now.

Here is the opening:

For the past thirty-seven hours I have been trapped in my ex-wife’s attic. And I can still  hear them down there. By them I don’t mean my ex-wife, Carolyn, or her new husband, Roger, or my daughter, Melanie.

No. I mean the zombies. That’s right — zombies, undead, walkers,  biters, ghouls, legends of the undead. Whatever the fuck you want to call them. They are down there.

It happened. The dead came back to life. I don’t how it happened or why. I just know that it did. And I don’t know where my daughter is. I need to find her and make sure that she’s safe.

What do you think? Does it grab you?

I thought this could be a project for the summer, for my daughter and I — we could work on our stories together.