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.

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….

The Return of Gigi

This may prove to be an ill-advised post. But aren’t those the best kind?

Gigi has returned. If you’re recall she was the one that gave me the let’s just be friends speech — actually, it was a text, but no matter, you get the point. Some time after that we had a text blow out, based on the fact that she had promised to allow me to contact her if I felt comfortable doing so and then proceeded to contact me anyway. When I pressed her on her intentions she shut down and eventually ended the conversation which led to us basically ending any contact at all. I predicted that she might return. And I was right. She did.

She sent me an email, apologizing, which I did not see until after she texted me, which I did not immediately answer because I was attending a memorial for a friend who had lost her baby.

Gigi and I talked (texted actually) and what came out of it was that we are in fact dating again now, but not exclusively (I know — why?) We both have concerns, which we have not spoken about because we have not had a chance to talk on the phone or in person and these things are far too complicated to discuss via text, but I have been doing the single dad thing all weekend and week while the X is jet-setting around the country for her job apparently, or perhaps not. I’m not sure. Don’t care. (I know, I know. You’re going to say if I didn’t care why mention it? Because it is the truth. Go evaluate someone else’s emotional stability in regards to their ex and leave me alone….mmmmmkay).

Thing is, I’m not sure this is entirely a good thing. I dig Gigi. I do. But I can’t help worrying that I am acting as a placeholder. You know, until she finds someone she really wants. She has said that this is not the case. But honestly if it was would she say so? Also, I’ve found that some people (and by people I mean women because I don’t date dudes, but I’m sure they do it too) do this sort of thing without even realizing it, or at least admitting it to themselves. That way when they do dump you, after they’ve gotten enough use out of  you, they can say, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” It’s like those people who say offensive things and then follow it up with, “No offense.” Yeah, the thing is, there is offense, and you need to take responsibility for it. That is almost as annoying as “Just saying,” another way of saying something that stirs the pot without taking responsibility for the repercussions.

So where was I going with this…? Oh yeah, this kind of goes against my code of NOT blogging about relationships that have potential to go somewhere, but since this one seemed to already be on the trash heap I’m making an exception. Also, I can always delete delete delete if necessary. But somehow I don’t think that is going to be the case.

We’ll see…

Damn right we will.

That’s what I said.

I know.

Okay then.

Okay.

:-p

Same to you buddy. Same to you.

Emotional Vibrator

Emotional vibrator is a phrase I used in my last post in regards to Gigi, the most recent lady of the online night to take her leave of me. And really, who can blame her, right?

I thought it quite clever myself, although I’m not sure I coined the phrase. In any case, it seemed to me what Gigi wanted me to be for her, an emotional affirmation machine to help soothe her through her most recent break-up blah blah blah. But of course I was unwilling to do that because it seemed a one-sided and ultimately losing proposition for me. I don’t expect a sure thing – although I did like that 80s movie with John Cusack;

but let’s face it I dig any movie with John Cusack in it (and a chick like Nicollette Sheriedan), man I can’t wait to see the new movie with him about Edgar Allen Poe….wait, what was I talking about.

Oh yeah, vibrators, of the emotional variety.

Of course, this is not just a woman thing. Men do it too (though in a slightly different way I suppose), they seek out women to soothe them emotionally, and when they are done being soothed, they clean up, dispose of their emotional self-healing toy and move on.

I’ve been called out for doing something like this, being told – no, not just told but literally chastised: “I can’t fix you!” All for expressing the fact that I was feeling sad and missed my family. I didn’t expect this particular woman to fix me. In fact, the very notion was laughable; she was so fucked up herself.

That’s part of why my date the other night was so cool. I could actually talk about my ex – good and bad – and was not punished for it – some women will come right  out and tell you they are not interested in hearing about it, others will simply glaze over and check out, others will get an irritated look on their face, still others will pretend to listen and simply disappear later. But that was not the case. My date spoke of her ex, in both good and bad terms. And really that should be allowed, up to a point. And I think because I was allowed to express a few things it was easy to simply shut up about it…more or less.

But that is not where I was planning on going with this. No. My intention was to bring up the phrase Emotional Vibrator (you know, even though  I may not have coined it, I wonder if I could still copyright it? Is that possible?) because it gave me an idea for an App.

The App would of course be called: Emotional Vibrator. Or perhaps even better  Your Emotional Vibrator. And it would work like Siri on the iPhone 4. You could lament and complain and bitch and piss and moan and whine an gripe to it all you wanted and all it would ever do is offer you positive affirmation and support, agree with you, soothe you. And it would never get tired of your pathetic bullshit like everyone has.

There could even be a PlusVersion of it that has an actual vibrator attachment that you can…..

The revolving door of dating

Out with the old and in with the new as it were, eh.

In this case Gigi — remember her; she gave me the “let’s be friends” spiel — would be the old, and NOT TO BE NAMED EVEN WITH AN ALIAS  is the new.

I had a date with new girl yesterday evening, whom I met on OkCupid…..

Random ADHA aside: I noticed today that the color combo that OkCupid uses for it’s logo:

Is pretty much identical to the colors of the pink urinal cake and the blue rubber urinal mat  in the bathroom at the coney where my daughter and I had dinner tonight.

Anyhoo….I was saying…oh, yes.

I had a date yesterday after work, but earlier in the day who should text me? That’s right, Gigi. The woman who said she would respect my wish to not be confined to her Friend Zone and not contact me, allowing me to do that should I wish to.

She texted that she missed talking to me, for what that is worth. And, that she felt that she and I got each other. My only response to her was to say that I could not talk just then because I was busy at work. I was not ignoring her and would not leave her hanging. She accepted that, I guess. She got what she wanted — a response from me.

I was busy, but also I did not want to talk to her because I was too excited about my date with the new woman who shall not be named not even with an alias. I didn’t want that cool vibe tainted by Gigi’s bring down moods.

So I went on my date and it was pretty cool. That’s all I’ll say.

Later, at home, I texted Gigi, told  her I was sorry I could not chat earlier. She texted, “No worries.” But the thing was, I had worries. And I wanted some answers. So I decided to ask for them.

“So you want to talk about what you texted me earlier today or did you just want to tell me how you felt?”

She just thought I should know how she felt. But I wanted to know what she wanted, what she expected from me, from us. She said she could not answer that right now. I replied that I wasn’t buying that, that she must want something otherwise she would not have texted what she did. It felt manipulative to me, and I told her so. She did not like that. She accused me of bombarding her with questions, demanding answers. I said, you’re damn right I am demanding answers. She didn’t like that either.

I didn’t care if she didn’t like it. I’d grown tired of  her BS. Because it seemed to me that what she wanted was an emotional vibrator, some guy to be her supportive crutch to help her through whatever she was going through from her last failed relationship until she was ready to finally have a new one, which would no doubt be with some other guy, at which point I would be cast aside.

She tried to cop out with: It’s been a long, busy day, maybe we can talk about this tomorrow. I pushed back even more so, saying she was stalling.

Finally, she said she was ending the conversation. I said, fine. In fact, let’s do it one better and end everything, permanently.

She said, okay. She would delete my contact information.

I said, you might as well. I already deleted yours, which I did not only on my phone but from my gmail account. etc.

Even at the end she was saying, Goodbye and I wish you well. I was tempted to tell her to fuck off and even more vile things, but I didn’t. I just deleted it all.

I thought she might still try to contact me again today, but she didn’t. So we’re done, and I am fucking relieved.

NEXT!