Mr. Atheist - Date 3 of 4

January 21st, 2010

Let's just stop and fire the confetti canons, shall we?  This is seriously a big deal.  The first "Date #3" that came to fruition on this outrageous dating campaign I've launched.  I think I'm making progress...or learning to play the game better?  I like to think I'm just weeding through the, well, weeds.  My date with Mr. Piano only confirmed my enjoyment of Mr. Atheist's company (despite several hiccups) so we scheduled our next date:  Dinner at my apartment.

I'm super excited due to my penchant for entertaining in general.  I pull out my fancy wedding china (weird?) and set the table properly.  I'm talking separate water and wine glasses, linen napkins, the whole shebang.  I even take a little trip to the farmer's market for fresh flowers to fill little bud vases around the apartment (all of which, I'm sure, was lost on him).  I'm just finishing up the healthy enchiladas (I need to stop forcing my low fat cuisine on others) and salad when he rings the bell.  He's thoroughly impressed with my apartment, walks to my living room window and say, "You win."  I laugh nervously.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE winning, but think it's strange that we were in some sort of competition I wasn't aware of.

We sit down to eat and here begins the personality dissection that Mr. Atheist cannot help but pursue.  I decide to tell him I'm divorced, because the first date is really not the place for this information and I can't very well continue seeing someone without them knowing this.  I mean, what 26 year old girl has a full set of Kate Spade china, enough glassware to stock a Williams Sonoma and a marble rolling pin for no reason?  Suspicion always arises.  He begins asking question after question and finally concludes, "So, you like rules and table settings and "things that are appropriate" because you never had that growing up.  That's why you got married so young!  Your parents were childlike and you desperately seek order."  Greeeaaaatttt.  Me in a nutshell.  Thanks Mr. Atheist Turned Psychologist.  He then says, "Wait, wait, wait.  Is Babe in the Woods your REAL name?"  I tell him no, it's my married name.  This confuses him to no end.  

"Well, I kept my married name because I don't want to move backwards so to speak.  It's very confusing for my identity.  I would like to be married again one day and would, of course, change my name again to my new husband's name..." 

"Not with that name you're not.  No man is going to marry you while you're walking around with your ex-husbands name."

Um.  At this point I'm really frustrated because he KNOWS I'm old-fashioned and yet he continues to try to change my entire being.  Arrghhhhhhh!!!!!!  To this day I still think about that snarky little remark, "Not with that name you're not."  I don't understand people like this.  What is going on in your tortured little black soul that makes you want to attack another's lifestyle?  The worst part is that we make out afterwards.  A lot.  I have yet to learn the difference between being mean and being honest.  My frustration wasn't really apparent to me until about a month after this date.

Date #25:  Delayed reaction.  And I'm keeping my name as is.

Mr. Piano

January 20th, 2010

Okay, I'll admit that at times I can be more than slightly delusional when it comes to dating decisions.  This is one of those times.  In the midst of seeing Mr. Atheist (we had two dates under our belts with more on the horizon) I decided I should throw in a date with someone else for posterity's sake.  I mean, I was (for some unknown reason) really starting to like him.  

I was initially interested in him because he sort of looked like the main guy from Bring It On.  Also a little Mark Ruffalo mixed in there.  Then he told me he played piano and that was just the very end.  I couldn't stop imagining our first date in a smoky lounge, him playing Jerry Lee Lewis covers and me sitting on the piano, dripping in sequins.  Did I mention that I tend to be a bit delusional?  At least I'm aware.  So ignoring the small (and completely unwarranted) ounce of guilt I had for meeting someone other than Mr. Atheist, I set a date with Mr. Piano.

First Impression:  He's late.  I'm sitting in an Italian restaurant waiting.  He walks in wearing some sort of docker-like pants, glasses, and button-down shirt.  Gives off a nerd vibe.  He has a slight tooth gap, but it doesn't really bother me.  More of a Lauren Hutton gap.  Okay, now it bothers me.

I get up to greet him and he loves my dress.  Want to know a secret?  Same exact outfit I wore on my last date with Mr. Atheist.  What?  It ain't broke.  I would also like to add that meeting for dinner was NOT my idea.  I typically do not like to commit to an activity that can last more than an hour for the first meeting.  However, my neighborhood is on his route home and he decides it's more convenient to stop and get dinner and I should join him.

Four things kill this date:

1.  First, he's a loud-talker.  Who knows, maybe he made himself deaf by playing the piano too loudly?  Whatever the reason, he speaks at an extremely annoying/embarrassing decibel level which attracts looks from other diners.  This is never a good thing for me, the serial dater, especially in my neighborhood.

2.  One of us brings up family heritage.  Normally, this is a great way to pass time.  That is until you discover that your grandfathers fought each other in WWII.  Like, were literally in the same area, on opposite sides.  Hey, my grandpa didn't want to fight!  He was captured, went temporarily blind from malnutrition and he always said, "Mussolini that sonofabitch" with tears in his eyes.  So I tell Mr. Piano that, trying to smooth things over ("Hey, they were basically on the same side!), but he just interrupts me with a harsh, "It's fine, it's fine.  It was a long time ago."  He was obviously irritated.  Sheesh.

3.  You would think mentioning that you live in Beverly Hills once would be enough.  Nope.  Not for Mr. Piano.  I'm pretty sure a good 20 minutes was dedicated to covering this topic.  Yeah, super impressed.  Especially when you say it SO LOUDLY.

4.  He takes my money.  At this point in my dating career I have not yet developed the nerve to sit still, hands folded in my lap when the bill arrives.  I politely pull out my wallet with absolutely no real intention of paying, but what does this jerk do?  Takes my money.  And dinner wasn't even my idea.  Yes, I take full responsibility for this.  Lesson learned.

Mr. Piano walks me home and I mention that I believe in the old days people would take a "constitutional" after dinner.  This is lost on him.  It then hits me that we don't have much in common and my fantasies of being a lounge singing couple are shattered.  We hug goodbye and there is no kiss to dodge.

Date #24:  Makes me like Mr. Atheist more.  Also, I miss grandpa.

Mr. Atheist - Date 2 of 4

January 18th, 2010

After a brief coffee encounter with Mr. Atheist, a second date was set.  And the way it was set warmed my old-fashioned heart.  Nothing too special, but he called me to tell me he looked up a few restaurants close to my place that seemed really nice and wanted to check with me on what time he should make a reservation.  Cuuuttee!  I love initiative and I love reservations even more.  A second date was scheduled for two nights after our first date.

I walk to the restaurant in a pair of gold 1940s wedges.  Never mind the rain, this is a fancy dinner date.  I arrive and he's still cute (sometimes two days can change that).  He compliments my dress and we look at the menu.  This is where another problem arises.  I eventually come to realize that I'm pretty sure he hates the essence of my being.  This starts to reveal itself in little ways.  Example:  The waiter asks what we would like to drink and (being that we're at an Italian restaurant) I look up at Mr. Atheist and say, "Prosecco seems appropriate, don't you think?"  He looks annoyed, but tries to cover it with a laugh and says, "Appropriate?  Who cares what's appropriate?  What do YOU want to drink?"  Alright, so I'm a little over-accommodating when I like someone.  I just think of it as hospitality, but Mr. Atheist thinks of it as a problem.  I tell him I want prosecco.  I'm pretty sure that the second date is really not the time to start pointing out what you think are someone else's flaws.  Just leave me be!

Despite this, we have a pretty good time.  He's a funny guy, edits some comedy show that I've never seen, but apparently my friends are huge fans of.  After he pays for dinner we get a drink at a Korean BBQ place.  He offers to walk me back to my front door in the drizzle and of course I agree, completely ignoring the slight tension at dinner, and really just hoping for a kiss.  I ask if he can give me a ride on his Vespa and he refuses because he only has one helmet.  Sure, rain + alcohol + 1 helmet doesn't = smart, but c'mon!  So boring.  

We stop in front of my walkway and hug goodbye.  He's chewing gum which I don't remember him offering to me.  He looks at me and says, "Can I kiss you?"  I just smile and nod my head yes.  Then, a strange thing happened.  He steps in closer, turns his head to the right and spits his gum out right in front of me before going in for the kiss.  I mean, right across my face. I thought I must be crazy because no one would ever do something like that.  Right?  This must be the prosecco causing hallucinations?!  I just go with the comfortable assumption that I imagined this and when he says, "Can I kiss you again?  Because I really want to," I let him.  

After the date, I'm in a bit of a haze.  I want to see him again.  I think.  But did he really just project some spitty thing out of his mouth?  Yes, he did.  And I let him kiss me twice. 

Date #23:  Perplexing.  Also, WHAT AM I DOING?

Mr. Atheist - Date 1 of 4

January 16th, 2010

Mr. Atheist approached me.  I was not even remotely interested in him via his profile, not to mention that we rated as a 37% match.  However, he was humorous in our communication and his persistence won me over.  Due to recent um, "poor decisions" which could mostly be linked back to alcohol consumption on my part, I decide that I should start meeting these men during the day.  This bright idea doesn't last long, but I enjoy it for a few reasons:  

1.  People always look different at night, some might say better.  Shouldn't we just get our ugly out of the way now?

2.  Alcohol.  While I enjoy day drinking (probably more than I should, but I enjoy anything unnecessary and decadent for that matter), it is much less acceptable to meet for a drink at 3 pm in the afternoon.  SOOO, we can skip the alcohol during a day meeting and go for coffee (or in my case, tea).  This allows me to think clearly.  Or as clear as my denial-brain allows me.

3.  Length.  Maybe I want to schedule a double-header.  Maybe I just want to take a really long post-date nap before dinner.  Either way, the midday date allows me more time because I can down an iced tea much faster than a Greyhound.  Actually, I can drink them at pretty much the same speed, but I'm trying to be a lady here.

4.  Kissing.  So much harder/weirder to go for that end of the date kiss after a 30 minute coffee interview.  Enough said.

We agree to meet for coffee down the street from my apartment.  As I'm walking toward the spot I see him drive up on his little Vespa.  

Side Note:  I hold a special place in my nostalgic heart for Vespas because the first guy I went "all the way home" with drove one and he took me around San Fran on it.  And that's the only memorable thing I can say about that.  Actually, that's an entry that I will save for later.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's cute.  He has sort of curly, wild hair, but not too long.  He's wearing a brown pullover sweater and has green eyes.

Anywho, his helmet has sparkles on it and we make eye contact.  I should point out that I end up really liking this guy so I'm sort of upset even describing this.  Whatever.  We go into the coffee joint and he doesn't pay for my iced tea.  Since this is a new dating environment for me, I can't decide whether or not to be offended.  I mean, it was only $1.50.  Just pay for it.  We sit outside and it's that really pretty time of day when the sun decides it's going to set soon.  Everything looks golden.

We chat about work, our families, exes (not usually a good idea) and laugh a bunch.  I announce that I want a cookie and he buys it for me.  This makes me happy.  Maybe after talking a bit he decides that I'm worth buying a cookie for?  All I know is that his green eyes are pretty and very distracting so I blurt that out while he's telling me something.  Rude, I know.  But, wouldn't you want to hear a compliment even if it meant being interrupted?  I sure would.  

All is going well on this date except for one little thing.  He brings up religion.  I should inform you that the dating site where we met lists one's religious stance/beliefs on your profile so a person who pays attention knows where the other stands before meeting in the flesh.  He goes on to state with clear vehemence how he is Jewish by birth but an atheist by choice.  He then says, "Oh, I forgot I'm talking to a Catholic girl."  Yes.  What of it?  Obviously, he has some sort of problem with people who believe in a higher being because he wouldn't let it go (I on the other hand do not care what the other person believes and wouldn't push ideas on anyone).  He said, "I'm going to introduce you to ideas you've never thought of.  Like, what if God doesn't exist?"  I'm no dating expert, but I'm pretty sure this is something you don't say on the first date.  This should have been a red flag.

That issue aside, we decide we enjoy each other's company and want to meet again.  No kiss (yet), but a nice little hug goodbye.  I'm excited. 

Date #22:  Pretty.  Reminded me of The Doors' song "Summer's Almost Gone."

Mr. No Manners

January 14th, 2010

Let me just get this out there:  I don't know WHAT I was thinking with this one.  No, wait, I know.  I was trying to be diplomatic.  I thought I should give him a chance since he seemed nice and was interested.  Gosh, just listening to myself makes me sick.  Is that really all it takes?  Being nice and interested?  Bleh.  And I should point out that nine of his ten profile photos were semi-geeky with him in dockers and flip flops wearing a toothy smile.  Stuffed in the middle of those pictures was this gem.  See that?  Yes, nipple piercings.  I did try to ignore this picture as it frightened me so, but, alas, I could not escape it.

We scheduled our little date at a new spot for me (whew!) so the possibility of a run-in was low.  He calls me while I'm driving to let me know he has arrived and I confess that I'm running late.  He asks if he can get me a drink while he's waiting.  Of course he can!  Now, this is a good move.  Men should ALWAYS do this.  Made me like him before I exited the car.  We should have ended the date there.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's sitting out on the front patio of the bar in a nice black coat.  He's tall and okay looking.  Broad-shouldered and looks like the sort of guy that would wear cologne.  I'm not offended.  Yet.

We hug lightly and he presents me with my drink.  How sweet!  I should note that at this point in my dating life it's weird for there to be a lack of a hug while first meeting because I like to pretend that we already know each other.  We dig into conversation and, again, I'm not yet offended.  He talks about working with his father, how he's from New York originally, he frequents his parents' house, and his previous long-term relationship.  Something starts to bug me.  I can't quite figure out what it is yet.  Maybe it's his slightly longer than usual finger nails.  Or the fact that he mentions "partying" more than necessary.  I soon decide that this man is uncouth.  That is exactly the word that describes him best.  Well, guido might also apply.  I end up learning that his dad's toenails are so thick and gross that his mother uses plant clippers to cut them.  He then goes on to explain his frustrating search for love and how he wants his future wife to "party" with him until they "both collapse on the bed together."  Um.  Ew.  He just can't stop spewing this sort of information for the entirety of the date.

I start to think he may be high, I mean his eyes are bloodshot and he gives a look of stern concentration whenever I open my mouth to speak.  Now, I've gone on a date accidentally inebriated, but that was once and I like to think that I wouldn't have if I knew about the date in advance, which Mr. No Manners did.  It's weird because he's really trying and I don't have anything specifically against him, except for a lifestyle preference I guess.  I decide he reminds me too much of my father to warrant another date.  He's in the construction biz, likes to party, and has coarse habits.  No, no, no.  I can only imagine his habits are worse than he lets on if only for the very fact that he would let them be known at all on a first date.

He emails me asking for another date, but I refuse.  He sends a second email just double-checking to see if I had changed my mind.  Still can't forget the toenail story, so no.

Date #21: First (and hopefully last) "On a Date With My Father" date.

Mr. Can't Tell

January 12th, 2010

Let's get some perspective on what's happening, shall we?  If you haven't been keeping track, this is my sixth date in five days.  How do I even have time for my daily naps at this pace?  Luckily, January is my slow season (for work that is) and the completely cliche but true holiday depression that comes with being recently divorced adds some fire to my furnace.  Meaning of course, I am running myself ragged trying to fill The Void (you know what The Void is, right?), or at least make myself tired enough mentally to sleep at night.  I know, BORING.

Mr. Can't Tell is flattering in his IM convo and his suggestion of dressing up like characters from Mad Men and meeting for drinks is cute.  Of course, I would just dress like that anyway so I wasn't sure if I appreciated his reference to vintage attire as costume-like.  We had a brief texting chat and then scheduled a date for the next night.  No beating around the bush, that's for sure.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He pulled up in some sort of Explorer/van type of vehicle.  Waiting outside I approached him and noticed he was built rather nicely, pretty muscular but not too much so.  I couldn't tell if he was a ginger, but definitely had light colored hair.  He was not bad looking.

He apologizes profusely for not wearing his suit and tie (because I was dolled up).  I had no idea he was really considering the Mad Men thing, but pish poshed his apologies.  He bought my drink and continued to compliment my dress (which sort of annoyed me because it was clearly a 1950s style and he continued to refer to it as a 1960s dress, but we can't all be sartorially inclined).  We have a long, fun conversation about family and friends.  He emphasizes strongly how he is looking for someone who will "go on adventures with him."  This is scary because I am not the girl who is attracted to eager or serious insinuations right off the bat.  Shouldn't I be the crazy one picturing what our babies will look like while you're in the bathroom?  His clearly serious quest for love is the first off-putting item.  But I honestly can't tell if he's attractive behind all the talking.

Then I noticed that every few minutes he would start making exaggerated gestures and do something that would lean my "Will I Kiss Him" meter to the negative.  He's starting to come off as goofy.  Too goofy.  It is a shame because that meter was teetering on the positive side for the first 30 minutes.  He asks if I want to hang out again and I say yes, because I have not conditioned myself to be cruel face to face yet (should I ever?).  We hug and he makes no attempt to kiss.  In fact, he seems sort of scared of the possibility.  Good.  Makes it easier for the escape.

SIDE NOTE:  I understand that this is probably ludicrous on my part, I mean shouldn't I like his genuine approach, the fact that he has a job, a positive outlook on life, and isn't ugly?  No, for some reason I don't.  It's just not enough.  I want to go on a date and feel like I'm living in a Roy Orbison song, is that too much to ask?  All I know is I'm going to keep this nonsense up until I hear good old Roy coming out of the bushes on one of these dates.

Date #20:  Not Enough.

Mr. Careful

January 11th, 2010

I agreed to meet Mr. Careful despite the fact that all of his profile pictures included his dog.  I'm sorry animal-lovers, but seriously?  That dog can and would eat me.  Not to mention the shedding which is pretty much a lifestyle choice.

Since everyone is doing it, he suggests taking me to a whiskey bar.  Not quite learning my lesson from previous close calls (and feeling sort of lazy), I decide to let him pick me up.  Now, this is always a stressful moment.  Chances are, his car is going to suck.  And I say that only because he's on a free dating site, has good taste in music, and is a student of some sort.  That all points to not-so-great-car.  And I don't even really care, except for the fact that a guy's embarrassment over his own car (and the fact that I have no business driving the nice car that I do) really makes me uncomfortable.  I want the guy to be in control, at least give the impression that he can take care of me.  Sounds ridiculous, but I'm sure there is a scientific study somewhere backing up my ramblings.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He pulls up in some red 80s car that sucks.  Whatevs.  I knew it was coming.  He has longish early 90s sort of high school hair and I can tell he is pretty short even while he's sitting.  Not excited.

We head to the bar and I can't help but notice his overly careful driving style.  It's sort of annoying.  He sits completely upright with his head pinned to the headrest and barely turns his head.  He stops cold at EVERY yellow light and apologizes for it.

We arrive and the only drink that looks good is a $13 cocktail.  I feel bad ordering it, but he suggests it.  I decide not to reach for my wallet, because, darn it, he suggested the place and has already established the "datiness" of this by picking me up.  Follow through, holmes!  I realize that this date is going nowhere when I can't stop looking at the bartender who is extremely attractive.

We sit and chat over drinks and I learn that he's training to be a vet.  I don't really know how I feel about this.  Actually, I'm spending most of this time staring at him, trying to find him attractive.  I do this often on dates.  Should probably clue me in to the fact that I actually DON'T find the guy attractive in the first place.  But I like to give them the opportunity to change my mind.  Mr. Careful couldn't change it.

I listen to him talk about dogs and then tell him I'm getting tired.  As we leave, Ray Romano walks into the bar.  Not that cool, but definitely the most exciting part of the date.  As he approaches my place I get super chatty about the music he's playing and don't leave a moment of silence (which could be confused for the want of a kiss).  Of course, he was too busy pinning his head against the seat to bother with such a thing.  I hug him and shiver thinking about the dog hair I must have accumulated on my wool coat.

Date #19:  I literally don't care enough to think of an adjective.

Mr. Perfect Comes Back for More

January 8th, 2010

I had been holding my breath forever, well actually just about a week, waiting for Mr. Perfect to ask me out again.  Since I didn't hear a squeak from him (and I was still super annoyed that there was no kiss), I sent him a text asking when he would let me pay him back and buy him a drink.  I would NEVER offer to do this if he hadn't alluded to it on our first date.

I was absolutely tickled pink when he responded rather quickly and a date was set for a different neighborhood bar.  Of course, this one was within walking distance so I would arrive sans car and he would offer to drive me home again.

I analyzed the situation and figured that my previous date outfit was maybe a tad too "little girl."  A tennis skirt was part of the ensemble.  I tend to do that.  This time I was not taking any chances so I wore a very grown up/cleavage showing dress.  I feel this is appropriate for a second date, definitely not a first one.  Showing cleavage on a first date is pretty much just saying you're a whore.

We meet and he's wearing a baby blue shirt which makes his eyes sparkle.  Ugh, just kiss me already!  I (grudgingly) buy our first round and he picks up the tab thereafter.  We're bonding (at least in my warped mind) and laughing a lot (I was anyway).  Feels so good to be on a date with someone I'm actually attracted to!  And who doesn't have a disproportionate body!  However, the body language was worse than it was last time with literally no room for improvement (we were sitting at the bar this time).  I touched his very muscular arm a few times when laughing (what a slut) aaaaaannnndddd...nothing.  We called it a night rather early and he offered to drive me home again.  Hey, things are looking up!  I touch up my hair and make my face available to him should he wish to plant one on me.  Nope.  Just a hug goodbye.  Why don't you just bow and not touch me at all?  Humiliating.

I was really bothered by this (as you can imagine) and sent him an email a few weeks later.  For closure.  Or to twist the knife counterclockwise myself.  Either way.

"Hey! I just wanted to drop you a line and let you know that I think you are the most handsome man ever and really a rare and wonderful combination of masculinity, artistic sensibility, and adorableness. I sense that I am simply not your type, but if you ever change your mind on that, I would love to see you again :)

Take care,

Babe in the Woods"

Um, wouldn't you be excited if someone sent you that message??  I don't think he was.  I was glad that he responded.  Not so happy at what he wrote.

"Hey,
Thanks so much for the compliments. You're really sweet, cute and full of energy and style. You also may be the only girl I've ever met in LA that takes pride in what I consider to be true femininity. Unfortunately, I think your sense is more correct than not. I would say "let's be friends" but I guess people aren't on this site looking for friends and I wouldn't want to offend you. So . . .

All my best,
Mr. Perfect"

Ouch.  At this point I realize that my impatience and sincerity of emotion is getting me nowhere.

Date #18:  Rude. 

Mr. So Gross

January 7th, 2010

Whew!  Good thing I explained myself a bit in the previous entry or this would REALLY make me look insane.  Or is it too late for that?  No matter.  I'm sure your creepy date fantasies will be met after living vicariously through this "date," if it can be called that.

I thought Mr. So Gross would be super cute based on his very vague photo on the dating site (it was NOT the photo to the left which I found later).  I initiated the convo via email and this nerd kept dodging the inevitable in-person meet.  It was okay because I was busying myself with my most recent Doubleheader and the less than stellar Mr. Bad Attitude.  We began texting each other (mostly out of boredom on my part) over the course of a few weeks.   

One particularly lonely night (I was ridden with much Ex-guilt), we started up a text chat around 1:30 am.  He was trying to convince me to come to Venice for a walk on the beach.  No, Stupid, I'm not driving out there.  Especially not after several lectures from friends over recent bad decisions.  SO, the only logical thing to do is have him come to MY apartment.  After agreeing that the spontaneity of our meeting made it okay, Homeboy takes a $60 cab ride over to my house arriving at approximately 2:45 am.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  Uh oh.  Dude is soooooo weird looking!   His body is the most disproportionate one I've ever seen.  His arms are comically small for his body, he's short, and he has a surprise gut.  AND now he knows where I live.

As I let him in the front door I'm overcome with terror.  What the heck am I doing?  It's 3:00 am and I'm letting a stranger into my apartment.  Yep, sounds about right.  I go into panic mode and scan my brain for activities to bide a reasonable amount of time before feigning sleepiness and kicking him out.  I pour us both a glass of wine (I probably shouldn't keep alcohol in my house) and put on one of my favorite DVDs - a copy of a show I had been on.  No shame.  

DVD is over and just as I start yawning he kisses me.  Let me just say that it's extremely hard for me to even describe this kiss because it was the most DISGUSTING ONE that I can recall.  It's slimy.  There's some sort of film that is coating the inside of his mouth.  And his tongue!  His tongue is pointy and I wouldn't be surprised if it is split like a lizard's.  I decide to be polite and let him kiss me for a minute.  Then I tell him I'm tired.  He doesn't listen and starts making out with my neck.  I say that I think it's time for him to leave.  He says, "I took a cab, it was really expensive.  Can't I just crash on your couch?  I can call a friend for a ride in the morning."  NO!  I try to play it cool since I wouldn't want to aggravate the stranger that could kill me in my apartment and kindly point out the bus stop directly in front of my building.  More back and forth before I finally decide to look up cab companies online while he makes out with my neck.

Cab is called!  He still resists and then, the horror!  He thinks he can go down there...you know.  Um, excuse me?  Are you trying to avoid paying for a cab by doing this?!  Not gonna happen!  And he is just so gross, like I would even want that!!!  I push him away and say, "No, it's really time to leave.  I'm so tired.  We'll hang out another time.  I'll come to Venice."  All lies.  His response is, "It's all about you right now."  My skin is literally jumping off of my body from disgust.  No, no, no!  Luckily, the cab calls and is out front.  He has to go to the bathroom before he leaves and I run to open the front door (to expedite the process).  I start yelling at him, "They're going to leave!  You need to hurry up!"  He comes out of the bathroom and literally runs to my bedroom and throws himself on my bed, laughing.  I run after him and grab hold of his left foot and start pulling him off of my bed with all of my might.  I miraculously push him out of the front door and right towards the bus stop (the cab left).  I close my door on him right as he's saying, "But I don't even know where I am."  Sorry pal!  I hate you!  I proceed to deadbolt the door and consume copious amounts of mouth wash.

Date #17:  Vomit.  Also, temporary retardation on my part.

Mr. Asshole Follows Up AGAIN

January 5th, 2010

"Hey,

I've returned from Iowa's horrible cold frozen tundra, so if you'd still want to get together sometime this or next weekend let me know. Could probably do that whole movie, dinner drinks thing, and I could actually pay this time to make up for my lame inability to even pay for myself last year. And cool with thinks being platonic if you'd rather...but thankfully, hair is growing and should be to normal hair height within a few weeks.

Regardless, hope you have a great X-Mas and New Year, and I really did have fun before I left and wanted to thank you again for taking me out.

-Mr. Asshole"

Mr. Bad Attitude

January 4th, 2010

In order for this "date" to make any sense to an outsider, a little background is in order as to what was happening in my life during the weeks leading up to it.  Looking back (it was actually only a few months ago), I think I have a pretty good handle on why I was doing what I was doing, but you know that hindsight is blah blah.

If you've read any of my previous entries, you probably get the feeling that I have some masochistic tendencies and denial is no stranger to me (to say the least).  So, while I'm going on all of these dates, doubleheaders here, makeout sessions there, my divorce is sucking the life out of me more than Murky Dismal ever did (yeah, that guy) and I was trying harder than anything to distract myself from it.  My estranged ex, battling his own demons, was trying to win me back with every tactic he could muster: manipulation, guilt, memories, the slow death he was creating for himself, this, that, the other thing.  It became such a stress on me (Am I a bad person because I won't take him back?  Am I selfish for trying to protect my well-being?  I mean, I loved the guy) that I decided to find some trouble to get into.  Naturally, this would give me a good excuse to shift all of my worries to myself instead of him.  Yeah, it's stupid, but that's what I did.

Are you ready for this?  It's really, really idiotic.

With this mindset I was absolutely ready for Mr. Bad Attitude to chat me up.  During our online conversations (so gay) he referred to me as "Jerk" and "Fag" which reminded me of my ex.  Hahahahaha, it's so sad that this is true!  I wanted the negativity so badly because it made me feel like someone else was in control and I could just calm down.  What?  I don't know.  He was smart, but very cynical and self-loathing.  Sounds like a great date!

On my quest for what I can only imagine was a physical injury or some sort of trauma, I agree to meet Mr. Bad Attitude at HIS HOUSE which is 45 minutes away from me.  The plan is to watch movies in his room (very 9th grade).  Um, was I trying to get attacked?  Yes, yes I was.  I am somewhat conscious of this fact and gave two friends the address of the house where I would be and told them to call the cops if they didn't hear from me by midnight.  Off I went.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  His apartment has all of the lights off (creepy) so I can't really see him when I enter.  I notice how short he is as I follow him to his room and once in the light see he is bespectacled with facial scruff.  Not fat, but built sort of like he sits still all day with a semi-hog nose that I actually really like.

Things are immediately weird.  Duh.  He has Barbarella playing with the sound off and brings out Cherry Garcia for us to eat.  Apparently, I eat like a child and got ice cream all over the spoon handle so he didn't want any.  I ask him, "So, what do you do all day?" and he responds, "You're lookin' at it."  Mind you, he was slouched on his bed with his remote control in his hand. 

We watch Roller Boogie with Carrie Fisher and then he proceeds to tickle me.  A lot.  I assume this is his sort of entry into kissing, but it was really confusing because it lasted too long.  Eventually, I just pretend to laugh and then finally stop altogether because I was pretty annoyed.  We end up making out (we are in his room) and he (surprise, surprise) tries to have sex with me.  I say no and then he starts acting bratty.  I feel bad and actually sort of scared that he'll force it anyway.  I mean, he probably could have.  SO GLAD he became bratty and upset.  I decide I need to leave and look at my cell phone.  I have 24 missed calls and 10 voice messages.  Oops.  I failed to call my friends (and also but my phone on vibrate).  Needless to say the cops were two seconds from knowing my whereabouts and one of my closest friends was one second from stabbing me herself.

The close call that was my evening with Mr. Bad Attitude set in on my drive home and I avoid talking to him at all costs.

Date #16:  Chilling, but not chilling enough to stop the bad behavior.  Plenty more to come!  Sheesh.

Doubleheader Part 2: Mr. Westside

January 3rd, 2010

As you might have guessed, I opted for another Doubleheader, or two dates in one night.  Mr. Westside had a cool, east coast situation going on and while his puffy jacketed-photos were not necessarily a turn-on, I liked his serious face and taste in music.  Plus, his being a recent transplant piqued my interest at the prospect of playing tour-guide to his naive little soul.  Delusional, aisle 1.    Drinks were set for my side of town, because, let's face it, poor thing was clueless (he lived in Hollywood for crying out loud).

I actually spaced this Doubleheader out more than the last one so I had some downtime between dates.  I decided that this is not the way to go.  The lull between dates just made me sleepy (there was not enough time for a nap, but plenty of time to sit in my car and ponder my life, not smart before a blind date).  Introspective and somewhat fussy, I emerged from my car to greet Mr. Westside outside of the bar.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He has a swagger (always a plus), but is wearing an extremely over-sized white dress shirt which quickly cancels out any initial points for swagger.  He has chubby little cheeks and buzzed hair.  Overall, not unattractive.  Personality will weigh in a lot here.

He buys my drink and we sit at a booth near the door (important for a later reason).  Pleasant chit chat ensues and I like listening to his Boston accent (accents to girls represent experience, travel, mystery even if the man possesses none of those actual qualities).  He is attending some music institute and blah, blah, blah I don't really remember because he wasn't selling me on his interesting life.  His youth is apparent (26ish) which only adds to my waning interest since his personality is lackluster and I'm not particularly attracted to him.  I feel sort of sorry for him and try to keep the conversation going until at least my drink is done.  I force myself to ask questions about his plans, his music career, and we spend a good amount of time talking about our Italian grandparents.

I'm over it and start looking for an out.  Just as luck would have it, Mr. Got No Game enters the bar with his bandmates.  I had been avoiding his texts and emails so this wasn't really a a good thing.  I become noticeably uncomfortable and Mr. Westside asks what's wrong.  I spill the beans and we quickly make a getaway.  Mr Got No Game TOTALLY sees me and I again feel bad.  I use this as an excuse to dodge a goodnight kiss and promise that we'll hang out again (a lie).  At this point I realize that dating is taxing and I need a massage.  Not from Mr. Westside.

Date #15:  Eye-Opener.  If I keep this up, I may need to move soon.

Doubleheader Part 1: Mr. Anti

January 3rd, 2010

Mr. Anti was a toss up for me.  I wasn't really into his looks via internet pictures, but he did have a mischievous smirk that caught my eye.  Sort of like a Leprechaun.  Don't look at me, I have no explanation for that attraction.  After chatting a bit, I was hesitant to meet with him because he said he didn't have a car and only rode his bike everywhere.  SO, if we were going to meet it had to be within his biking parameters.  This realllllllly cramps my style.  And I will not apologize for judging a potential date on his mode of transportation.  No, you don't have to have a fancy, schmancy car, but can it at least have a motor?  I agreed to meet him only because he was persistent.  Well, also because the place he suggested is a regular haunt of one of the guys I used to date, Mr. Stupid Short Guy and I liked the idea of his friends seeing me on a date.

We set the date for early evening and as I pulled up to the spot I realized how awkward it would be to meet him in MY fancy, schmancy car (it's for work!), so I park a little ways down the street.  As I put on a coat of lip gloss, listening to some forgotten soul song, I see him arrive on his bicycle.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He is extremely pale, wearing a wife beater and dirty shorts, backpack and cap.  I'm very disturbed by the amount of leg he is showing.  Also, he's a ginger, my first.  He's sweating profusely.

I duck down in my car and debate whether or not to ditch.  I finally decide that it's not nice to be ditched and force myself into the establishment.  Apparently, he went to the bathroom to change his clothes.  Now I feel bad because he's clearly trying.  My feelings of sympathy go out the door as soon as we sit down and he orders his beer on a SEPARATE TAB.  We all know how this makes me feel.

THEN!  A friend of Mr. Stupid Short Guy was working at the bar that night and came up to us.  He didn't realize I was on a date.  Probably because we were playing Scrabble.  Yeah, Scrabble.  Side note:  I get really competitive and scary with board games or competitions of any sort.  I was stressed out because Scrabble isn't really my bag (I do, however, excel in Clue).  So Bartender Friend starts chewing the fat with me.  Mr. Anti is obviously confused and irritated.  Hah.  Then Bartender Friend asks me if I have a cigarette, which I don't because I don't smoke, and then I look at Mr. Anti who has a startled look on his face (my profile claims I'm "non-smoker" material).  Great, this is heading downhill fast.

Bartender Friend finally flees the scene and we get back to chatting (which is really distracting me from the game, mind you).  Here are the things he talks about (he did most ALL of the talking):

• His famous cousin who played some superhero in a recent blockbuster movie and how he worked as his cousin's personal assistant (totally name dropped, gross)
• How he is anti-car and Big Oil, but then it turns out he really just can't afford it at the moment.  Hmm...
• Dieting.  What I should and shouldn't eat if I am trying to lose weight and how he is a major stickler when training someone (SCARY)
• Being some sort of martial arts expert (I learned a lot about this but I am falling asleep thinking about it)
• His therapist and how she thinks he needs to "get laid" more (Seriously?  You really should wait until the 3rd or 4th date to bring your therapist into the conversation)

Overall, he was very angry and "anti" everything.  It completely went against his Leprechaun looks which promised good times and colorful cereals.  I dodged a kiss and sped away in my Big Oil car.

Date #14: Success!  I won Scrabble.  Pretty sad that's my definition of a successful date?  Probably.

Mr. Perfect

January 2nd, 2010

My irrational excitement over Mr. Perfect found validation when he called me two days after Christmas.  Typically, I prefer to avoid phone calls prior to the first date since there is really nothing much to talk about and if you get all of the standard conversation topics out of the way early, there are no safety nets when you meet.  And I sort of need safety nets.  However, I made an exception for Mr. Perfect since he asked, well told me, to give him my number (I sort of love being told what to do).  I should also point out that I am pretty certain the "pre-date phone call" is de rigueur for guys over 32.  While 20 somethings are completely comfortable setting up a date via text or email, the 30+ man likes to lay the groundwork with a call.  Mama taught them manners.   

I almost pass out from excitement after talking to him on the phone.  So funny and cute.  And a date is set!  He's back in town for New Year's (of course I'm not going to try to hone in on that, would be so NOT dating professional) and we decide to meet on the 2nd at a completely new nearby bar (not NEW, just new to me).  Do I live in Bar Central USA?  Yes.  I wait for him outside because, by this point, I've learned that going inside obligates you to purchasing your own drink and that is certainly not something I want to do.  If I go in and order water while I wait, then it's obvious that I'm waiting for him to buy me a drink.  So I wait outside so it's more of a courtesy, like waiting for the other party's food to arrive before diving in.  I'm turning into quite the tricky little female.

FIRST IMPRESSION: He's tall and perfectly proportioned - like a man.  Wearing glasses and dressed in an argyle sweater and slacks (sounds like a science teacher, but looks way better).  He's losing his hair I'm pretty sure, so he shaves his head.  Not usually attracted to this, but his eyes are gorgeous and he has a very handsome face so it's not an issue at all.  He's really, really cute.

We awkwardly hug and head inside.  He buys my drink and I do the customary "grab-for-my-purse" move.  He says he's got it, but adds, "You can get it next time."  Hmm.  I have mixed emotions about this.  I like that he's thinking there will already be a next time, BUT I do not like this whole "me getting it" nonsense.  I thought he was old-fashioned.  Shrug it off.

We make ourselves comfortable on a bench sitting side by side.  We have a lovely conversation during which he does not stray from his forward facing position while I have turned my body so much towards him that I'm pretty sure the only one who can't tell I'm attracted to him is the bum asking for change outside, across the street.  Yeahhhhh, I wear my heart on my sleeve, what can I say?  I'm thrilled to hear about his life story (which was somewhat tragic) and his previous relationships.  I point out that I particularly like how he wrote in his profile, "You should contact me if you won't get upset when I kiss your neck or grab your ass in public at random during our life together."  He gets excited about this (apparently, other girls have been offended by the statement) and explains that what he really wants is a relationship where you are so into the person you can't keep your hands off of each other.  Exactly!  I get it.  Why doesn't he get that I get it?

Two drinks and it's over.  I walked to the bar on purpose so he would offer to drive me home (another tricky girl maneuver) which he did.  He pulls up to my apartment building and puts the car in park to walk me to my door.  Um, SWOONING.  And...........no kiss.  A hug.  A stupid hug.

Date #13: Disheartening.

Mr. Perfect - The Set Up

December 30th, 2009

I think the best way to explain my instant crush on Mr. Perfect is to show you the email I sent him (the first communication between the two of us). Oh, and I am aware of how this would scare most people away, but throwing it all out there has sort of been my "thing." I AM rethinking my strategy.

"Hello!

I have to say that it was a pleasure reading through your profile (although I'm sure you hear that often, and if you don't, you should).

Things I really like about you (from what I read):

-You like karaoke (have you ever been to Sardo's in Burbank? Or Max's downtown? I sing a mean Otis Redding cover)

-You're a photographer! (while I am certainly nowhere near being a pro, I love taking photos :)

-You like quirky and cuddly girls! (I'm pretty sure I'm both of those)

-You enjoy Old Hollywood movies/actors (you don't know how much I enjoyed seeing that you like movies where smoking/drinking/slapping were socially acceptable...ah, the good ol' days)

Well, there were many other points you made which caught my eye, but I won't bore you with those now. Just thought I would say "hi."

Hope to talk to you soon,

Babe in the Woods"

His response should have clued me in to his lack of imagination/interest, but I like to ignore warning signs:

"Hi,

Thanks for the kudos. I like you're old school style and the fact that you don't list your phone as one of the things you couldn't live without. You seem like a girl with good manners too. I didn't think those existed anymore. I guess that's why you say you think you were born in the wrong decade.

So, I'm back in Indiana for the holidays and just home from seeing Up In The Air. It was really good. George Clooney actually conveyed some real emotion as opposed to just trying to be Cary Grant.

Where are you spending your holidays?

Cheers,

Mr. Perfect"

Can I just stop and say that when a girl sends you an email on a dating site, it means that she wants you to ask her out. Plain and simple. Just do it! It may be the fact that I've been on so many dates and am just impatient by nature, but I really don't have time for this 10 email correspondence before meeting in the flesh. I mean, I probably do have time, but I would rather spend it taking a nap or eating pancakes.

I wait for Mr. Perfect to return from his holiday trip and re-read his profile like a psycho. Hmm.