Originally posted 07/05/2005 7:33pm
I just saw a commercial for a movie about a woman in her 30s who meets men via an internet personal ad. I also saw in TV GUIDE a blurb about a reality show about women meeting men on line. Hmmm.... Maybe I'm NOT the only one who has stories to tell.
For a different twist, the following story involves no internet personal ad.
When I moved into my apartment a little over 7 years ago, I made friends with the property manager and told her that she had to make sure that any eligible cute men that moved in were to be brought to my attention immediately. She said that she got first dibs but that any that she didn't want were all mine. Hmmm... it sounded nice in theory.
A couple of months later, I was awakened by the sound of sirens. I looked out my bedroom window and standing on the sidewalk in front of the apartment directly across from me was a vision to behold. A tall, athletically-built man with dark hair, wide-shoulders, narrow hips and an attractive face stood there in nothing but a white towel! Good Morning! Standing beside him was the property manager. Standing beside her were two men in firemen uniforms. Parked off to the side was a fire truck.
I quickly got dressed and went downstairs. By the time I got there, hunky neighbor guy had gone back inside and the property manager was talking to the firemen who were loading up their gear. I waved at her from my front step. She waved back. As soon as the firemen were gone, she came over to my apartment. I said, "Hey, you have been holding out on me!" She laughed and informed me that my new neighbor had just moved in and promptly caught his stove on fire. "And he just happened to be walking around in a towel?" I joked. She laughed and said that she didn't know all of the details. She said that luckily there was no major damage except to the stove. I asked her if she knew anything else about the neighbor and she told me his first name and that he was in construction.
So, the obsession began. "B" (my neighbor) had a thing for keeping all of his blinds up and walking around his apartment wearing very little clothing. I would sit in my living room with the lights down and the blinds open "a little" so that I could enjoy the occasional show. I began to orchestrate meetings. I would try to leave at the same time as he or hope to be pulling in at the same time at night. He was an early riser. I am not a morning person. Yet, I would get up early and hope that I could pull off a "hey, welcome to the neighborhood" while we conveniently left for work at the same time. It never happened, tho. So, then I talked a couple of girlfriends into a nightly post-work walk around my apartment complex. I always wore a bright pink t-shirt so that I would stand out. We must have walked miles and miles around that place and not once did we ever encounter him. I knew he was in there. I'd see him come home. His blinds were up. The lights were on. "Notice me!" I wanted to shout.
Then, the borderline stalking started. I would get braver each day and walk closer to his apartment. I even considered having a friend send mail to me at his address so that he would have to bring me my mail. One night, my friend H was over and we were sitting on my front step talking and I voiced out loud that I wondered what the shadowy object in B's living room was. Since "B" hadn't come home yet and wasn't due for another 15 or 20 minutes, I got up and walked across the way to his apartment. Just as I was getting ready to look in it, H started yelling my name. I looked up and there was "B" driving down the driveway. Oh crap! So, I quickly darted to the side of the building and and then back to my side of the driveway. When I got back to H, I said, "Did you see a rabbit run by?" (It was the best lie I could come up with.) B got out of his truck and gave me a peculiar look and went inside his apartment.
After that, I quit being so obsessively "curious" because the close-call made me sick to my stomach. I did not want to get hauled off to jail for stalking. So, I did the next best thing-- I placed an "I SAW YOU" ad in a local newspaper.
What is that? you ask. Well, there are these ads in one of the free weekly entertainment newspapers where people put in "Hey, cute girl wearing a green sweater at Starbucks on Sunday. I was the guy who spilled creamer. Wanna get together?" type ads under the "I SAW YOU" column.
We were having an apartment-wide pool party in a few weeks so I put an ad that said "Hey neighbor with red truck. Girl in pink shirt thinks you're cute. Come to the pool party and let's talk." Yeah. Dumb. Bold. Crazy. But, I did it.
Then, regretted it. I even tried to take the ad out once I actually saw it in print. The personals manager said that it would run for 2 weeks and then she'd be able to remove it. I stopped my nightly walk. I stopped wearing the pink t-shirt. I even considered not going to the pool party. But, I talked a couple friends into going with me so I'd have "courage" to go.
"B" never showed and I was relieved. Disappointed, too, but mostly relieved. What do you say to someone after you do something like that? What if you do hook up and it's a disaster? Do you move? Do you pretend it didn't happen?
A few weeks later, anything that was left of my curiosity was squashed like a bug on a biker's helmet. "B" brought home a guest. A special guest. The blinds came down for the first time in months, but I knew what was going on. The property manager called me a few days later and confirmed my suspicions. She told me that B was moving out to share a place with his love-interest.
Turns out that no matter what color shirt I had worn or how many times I walked by B's apartment, he never would have noticed me. At least not in a romantic way.
I just wasn't his "type", if you know what I mean --- not that there's anything wrong with that.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Will You Marry Me?
Originally posted 06/22/2005 8:05pm
It's December 1995. I was cruising the net looking for a forum much like this one where I could hang out, shoot the breeze, flirt a little, have some fun, etc at the end of a busy day. I was living in a small college town and there really wasn't much to do there after hours. I found a forum for "general merriment" and posted a brief, witty "Hi there..." message in the "Welcome" section of the forum. I had mentioned in my blurb that I was a struggling romance writer, hoping to sound interesting and cerebral.
I received a warm welcome and quickly jumped into the forum with gusto. Posting like crazy--- like I do here-- about all kinds of things. This guy, "JK", kept responding to my posts and would slide in these little flirty comments from time to time. After a couple of weeks, he sent me a private post telling me how much he enjoyed my writing and asked me if I had anything that I'd written off-the-boards that he could read. (i.e my fledging romance novel.)
I know what you're thinking-- the romance novel was a ploy I had used before to meet men, but this time I was actually working on a story. So, I took "JK" up on his offer and emailed him a scenario I had been working on. He wrote me back and told me he loved the story and asked me if I was anything like the female character. I said yes-- that she was a lot like me and a lot like who I wanted to be someday. He asked for more. So, I gave him more. Within days, we were writing about our personal lives and sharing our hopes and dreams. He was very smooth. He always seemed to say the right thing and was very in tune with what women want from a man. I was wooed. He lived in San Diego and there was a three-hour time difference so I would stay up late to get his emails or wake up early to get them. Sometimes, I would run home at lunch to see if he had emailed me. We would send each other these Q&A type e-mails asking everything from "what's your favorite food?" to "if you could have dinner with one person dead or alive, who would it be?"
Then, one cold January day in 1996, he sent me an email stating that he loved me and that he wanted to marry me. I was giddy... and scared. I'd heard of on-line romances that turned into the real thing. One of my friends in the forum had met his fiance on line and another one of my friends was involved in her own on line romance at the same time and we would compare notes. Love at no sight? Is it possible? Do I dare hope that I had won a man over based on my brains and personality? Hoorah! Call the press!
So-- I wrote him back that I had feelings, too, but wasn't sure what they were. He said, "No rush. Let's give it 6 months. Then, if we're still together in 6 months, you'll come out here and visit for awhile and see how things go." He then started telling me about all of the places he wanted to take me and how wonderful things were going to be once I got out there. I said, "JK, don't you think it's time we exchange photos? Maybe even talk on the phone?" He said, "Sure. Send me your photo and I'll send you mine." So, I sent him an email with my photo attached. I waited eagerly for his "I'm so glad to finally see your face" or "It's nice to see what you look like." He loved me, right? Looks would be secondary to his love for me.
One day became two. Two became three. Finally, I sent him an email saying, "Hey, did you get my photo?" He wrote me back that yes, he had gotten my photo and said, "I thought you said you were like the woman in your story." I said that I was like the woman in my story. He said, "No. You described her as being petite, curvy, girl-next-door wholesome with a touch of sexiness in her eyes..." I said, "Well, those are her physical traits, yes, I'm a little like that but I had to change them a little for the purpose of the book." He wrote back, "You're not what I expected. You need to lose some weight. Before you come out here in June, you need to look like the girl in your story. You won't fit in with my friends looking like you do." Now, before you think I'm some hulking green ogre, that is NOT the case.... and 10 years ago, I was younger, thinner and "sassier" than I am now. I should have been outraged, right? Wrong. I panicked. I APOLOGIZED to him for not being what he wanted and PROMISED him that I would be slimmer and sexier by the time June rolled around.
Things started to go downhill after that. He was always criticizing me and making fat jokes in his emails. All of the charm was gone... and oh, his picture? He kept "forgetting" to send it. So, one day, I told him I really needed to establish a "real link" and asked for a photo, a phone number, something that proved that he was real. So, he emailed me an address, phone number and a photo. At first, I couldn't see the photo because he had sent it in a format my computer didn't recognize. So, I had to get a friend to open the file for me. I was surprised at what I saw. "JK" had described himself as average height, average weight, sandy colored hair, mid-30s, average looks. The man in the photo looked like David Crosby (from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young music fame.) He had to be in his late 40s. He had a beer belly and receding hairline. His hair was sandy colored and on the frizzy side. He had a mustache and pasty skin. Standing beside him were two boys in their mid-teens. I sent him an email asking who the people were in the photo. He wrote back that it was him and his two sons--- which he had never mentioned. Then, at a friend's encouragement, I called the phone #. I asked for "JK" and the boy who answered the phone said, "I'm JK." I said, "No... I'm looking for your father, then." The boy said, "My dad's name is "TS"." I said oh and hung up. I did a directory search for the "TS" name and sure enough, there he was-- with the same address and phone # that he had given me.
So, I sent him an email asking him who exactly he was and what was going on. He wrote me back that he was TS, a 45 yr old single father with two sons-- 15 and 16. He was not originally from the US and was hoping to become a permanent resident. The boys had been the result of a short relationship with a woman whom he didn't marry and who hadn't wanted the kids so they had been living with her family in San Diego. He wanted to move here to be with them but needed an American wife to stay in the country. He said he had used his son's name on-line so that no one could track him down. He said that he had wanted a beautiful young wife to help raise the boys and although I wasn't what he wanted "physically", he figured I would still marry him because my "chances of finding someone were probably slim."
I wrote him back that he was wrong and told him some things that a lady probably wouldn't have said, fueled by the Alanis Morrissette CD JAGGED LITTLE PILL that I had just purchased. I wallowed in man-hating angst for awhile, developed a thicker skin and jumped back into the race.
Morale of this story: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
It's December 1995. I was cruising the net looking for a forum much like this one where I could hang out, shoot the breeze, flirt a little, have some fun, etc at the end of a busy day. I was living in a small college town and there really wasn't much to do there after hours. I found a forum for "general merriment" and posted a brief, witty "Hi there..." message in the "Welcome" section of the forum. I had mentioned in my blurb that I was a struggling romance writer, hoping to sound interesting and cerebral.
I received a warm welcome and quickly jumped into the forum with gusto. Posting like crazy--- like I do here-- about all kinds of things. This guy, "JK", kept responding to my posts and would slide in these little flirty comments from time to time. After a couple of weeks, he sent me a private post telling me how much he enjoyed my writing and asked me if I had anything that I'd written off-the-boards that he could read. (i.e my fledging romance novel.)
I know what you're thinking-- the romance novel was a ploy I had used before to meet men, but this time I was actually working on a story. So, I took "JK" up on his offer and emailed him a scenario I had been working on. He wrote me back and told me he loved the story and asked me if I was anything like the female character. I said yes-- that she was a lot like me and a lot like who I wanted to be someday. He asked for more. So, I gave him more. Within days, we were writing about our personal lives and sharing our hopes and dreams. He was very smooth. He always seemed to say the right thing and was very in tune with what women want from a man. I was wooed. He lived in San Diego and there was a three-hour time difference so I would stay up late to get his emails or wake up early to get them. Sometimes, I would run home at lunch to see if he had emailed me. We would send each other these Q&A type e-mails asking everything from "what's your favorite food?" to "if you could have dinner with one person dead or alive, who would it be?"
Then, one cold January day in 1996, he sent me an email stating that he loved me and that he wanted to marry me. I was giddy... and scared. I'd heard of on-line romances that turned into the real thing. One of my friends in the forum had met his fiance on line and another one of my friends was involved in her own on line romance at the same time and we would compare notes. Love at no sight? Is it possible? Do I dare hope that I had won a man over based on my brains and personality? Hoorah! Call the press!
So-- I wrote him back that I had feelings, too, but wasn't sure what they were. He said, "No rush. Let's give it 6 months. Then, if we're still together in 6 months, you'll come out here and visit for awhile and see how things go." He then started telling me about all of the places he wanted to take me and how wonderful things were going to be once I got out there. I said, "JK, don't you think it's time we exchange photos? Maybe even talk on the phone?" He said, "Sure. Send me your photo and I'll send you mine." So, I sent him an email with my photo attached. I waited eagerly for his "I'm so glad to finally see your face" or "It's nice to see what you look like." He loved me, right? Looks would be secondary to his love for me.
One day became two. Two became three. Finally, I sent him an email saying, "Hey, did you get my photo?" He wrote me back that yes, he had gotten my photo and said, "I thought you said you were like the woman in your story." I said that I was like the woman in my story. He said, "No. You described her as being petite, curvy, girl-next-door wholesome with a touch of sexiness in her eyes..." I said, "Well, those are her physical traits, yes, I'm a little like that but I had to change them a little for the purpose of the book." He wrote back, "You're not what I expected. You need to lose some weight. Before you come out here in June, you need to look like the girl in your story. You won't fit in with my friends looking like you do." Now, before you think I'm some hulking green ogre, that is NOT the case.... and 10 years ago, I was younger, thinner and "sassier" than I am now. I should have been outraged, right? Wrong. I panicked. I APOLOGIZED to him for not being what he wanted and PROMISED him that I would be slimmer and sexier by the time June rolled around.
Things started to go downhill after that. He was always criticizing me and making fat jokes in his emails. All of the charm was gone... and oh, his picture? He kept "forgetting" to send it. So, one day, I told him I really needed to establish a "real link" and asked for a photo, a phone number, something that proved that he was real. So, he emailed me an address, phone number and a photo. At first, I couldn't see the photo because he had sent it in a format my computer didn't recognize. So, I had to get a friend to open the file for me. I was surprised at what I saw. "JK" had described himself as average height, average weight, sandy colored hair, mid-30s, average looks. The man in the photo looked like David Crosby (from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young music fame.) He had to be in his late 40s. He had a beer belly and receding hairline. His hair was sandy colored and on the frizzy side. He had a mustache and pasty skin. Standing beside him were two boys in their mid-teens. I sent him an email asking who the people were in the photo. He wrote back that it was him and his two sons--- which he had never mentioned. Then, at a friend's encouragement, I called the phone #. I asked for "JK" and the boy who answered the phone said, "I'm JK." I said, "No... I'm looking for your father, then." The boy said, "My dad's name is "TS"." I said oh and hung up. I did a directory search for the "TS" name and sure enough, there he was-- with the same address and phone # that he had given me.
So, I sent him an email asking him who exactly he was and what was going on. He wrote me back that he was TS, a 45 yr old single father with two sons-- 15 and 16. He was not originally from the US and was hoping to become a permanent resident. The boys had been the result of a short relationship with a woman whom he didn't marry and who hadn't wanted the kids so they had been living with her family in San Diego. He wanted to move here to be with them but needed an American wife to stay in the country. He said he had used his son's name on-line so that no one could track him down. He said that he had wanted a beautiful young wife to help raise the boys and although I wasn't what he wanted "physically", he figured I would still marry him because my "chances of finding someone were probably slim."
I wrote him back that he was wrong and told him some things that a lady probably wouldn't have said, fueled by the Alanis Morrissette CD JAGGED LITTLE PILL that I had just purchased. I wallowed in man-hating angst for awhile, developed a thicker skin and jumped back into the race.
Morale of this story: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
You Wanna Meet Where?
Originally posted 06/24/2005 7:19pm
My sense of direction sucks. If I'm in a mall and go into a store, when I exit the store, I have to stand in the entry for a few moments to orient myself so that I can remember if I should go left or right. It's gotten to the point that when I DO go shopping at the mall, I will "always go right". Always. That way, I don't have to worry about where I came from and where I'm going.
If I'm traveling some place in my car, things like North, South, East and West mean nothing to me. I need directions like "make a left at the red house, go 4 miles, make a left onto Blahblah Street, go 5 houses, make a right at the orange house and ...." PLEASE don't tell me to go East on Front Street. Mapquest's driving directions function is great for people like me-- except I really need them to take it step further and put in landmarks like "the office you seek is across the street from the Bob Evans restaurant you see as soon as you get off the exit, dummy!"
BUT... once I drive some place, it's permanently stuck in my memory. I haven't lived with my parents since the summer of 1987 and I only go "home" to visit once a year, yet I can still drive all of the backroads, highways and streets like it was just yesterday that I was living there. If you were to take me back to the college town I lived in for almost 10 years, I bet I'd probably have no problem finding my way around there, too.
A couple of years ago, I placed an ad on a small private "members only" dating website. The ads were organized by area code in a "classifieds" ad format. There was no fancy search engine and the membership base was small. You had to be really looking for the site to find it. A couple of days after my ad was up and running, I got a response from "W." He was into the outdoors, ran his own computer consulting business, was in his early 30s like me, single, no kids, owned his own home, had a dog and liked to cook, travel and read. PERFECT for me. He was a really nice guy, too. Funny and sincere. We exchanged photos and he was even cute. "He must secretly be gay," said a co-worker who knew of my past habit of falling for "great guys" who ended up also liking "great guys."
Nope. He wasn't gay. I asked him. He thought it was funny that I'd ask such a thing. I was smitten. I showed his picture to a few of my co-workers. He was standing on a snowy bank, with a pretty lake behind him. Outdoorsy. He didn't mind that I wasn't and we shared an interest in the beach, water, etc. So-- inevitably, he wanted to meet. I wanted to meet. I asked him to suggest a meeting spot.
"Why don't we meet at the Dave and Buster's on Yaddayadda Street," he suggested in an email. "We can have a meal, play some games, grab a drink or two and just have some fun." Sounded good to me. I had lived in this city about 7 years at the time and hadn't heard of the street he had mentioned. So, I looked it up on the internet. There was no street by that name, but there was a Dave and Buster's. So, I wrote him back and asked, "Do you mean the D&B off of Blanketyblank Street?"
He said no. He insisted that there was a D&B "north of Boohoo Ave, just a little east of Woohoo Blvd." (Yes, all of these streets are made up because I can't remember the actual names of the streets.) I wrote him back, "Can you be more specific? Like name some landmarks?" He did. He listed stores and shopping centers and gas stations I had never heard of. I was getting very frustrated. I wrote him and said, "Look, I'll be the first to admit that I don't know everything about Columbus, and I definitely don't know where these places are... so either you're playing with me and don't want to meet or we're living in two different cities."
I was joking about the last part and praying that the first part wasn't true. He wrote back, "Did you say Columbus? Columbus, Ohio?" I wrote back, "Yes!" He wrote back, "Oh, I don't live in Columbus. I live in Minneapolis." I wrote back, "What's your area code? Mine is XXX." He wrote back, "XXY" I logged onto the website and looked at ads and sure enough, his area code was right before mine on the listing. He had looked at ads in the wrong area code.
So, I did what any woman who thought she had found a good match would. I wrote him back and asked, "So, are you moving or am I?" I never heard from him again. Guess he was too embarrassed by his mistake. Too bad. I have no problem with long-distance relationships and probably would have relocated if things had worked out.
My sense of direction sucks. If I'm in a mall and go into a store, when I exit the store, I have to stand in the entry for a few moments to orient myself so that I can remember if I should go left or right. It's gotten to the point that when I DO go shopping at the mall, I will "always go right". Always. That way, I don't have to worry about where I came from and where I'm going.
If I'm traveling some place in my car, things like North, South, East and West mean nothing to me. I need directions like "make a left at the red house, go 4 miles, make a left onto Blahblah Street, go 5 houses, make a right at the orange house and ...." PLEASE don't tell me to go East on Front Street. Mapquest's driving directions function is great for people like me-- except I really need them to take it step further and put in landmarks like "the office you seek is across the street from the Bob Evans restaurant you see as soon as you get off the exit, dummy!"
BUT... once I drive some place, it's permanently stuck in my memory. I haven't lived with my parents since the summer of 1987 and I only go "home" to visit once a year, yet I can still drive all of the backroads, highways and streets like it was just yesterday that I was living there. If you were to take me back to the college town I lived in for almost 10 years, I bet I'd probably have no problem finding my way around there, too.
A couple of years ago, I placed an ad on a small private "members only" dating website. The ads were organized by area code in a "classifieds" ad format. There was no fancy search engine and the membership base was small. You had to be really looking for the site to find it. A couple of days after my ad was up and running, I got a response from "W." He was into the outdoors, ran his own computer consulting business, was in his early 30s like me, single, no kids, owned his own home, had a dog and liked to cook, travel and read. PERFECT for me. He was a really nice guy, too. Funny and sincere. We exchanged photos and he was even cute. "He must secretly be gay," said a co-worker who knew of my past habit of falling for "great guys" who ended up also liking "great guys."
Nope. He wasn't gay. I asked him. He thought it was funny that I'd ask such a thing. I was smitten. I showed his picture to a few of my co-workers. He was standing on a snowy bank, with a pretty lake behind him. Outdoorsy. He didn't mind that I wasn't and we shared an interest in the beach, water, etc. So-- inevitably, he wanted to meet. I wanted to meet. I asked him to suggest a meeting spot.
"Why don't we meet at the Dave and Buster's on Yaddayadda Street," he suggested in an email. "We can have a meal, play some games, grab a drink or two and just have some fun." Sounded good to me. I had lived in this city about 7 years at the time and hadn't heard of the street he had mentioned. So, I looked it up on the internet. There was no street by that name, but there was a Dave and Buster's. So, I wrote him back and asked, "Do you mean the D&B off of Blanketyblank Street?"
He said no. He insisted that there was a D&B "north of Boohoo Ave, just a little east of Woohoo Blvd." (Yes, all of these streets are made up because I can't remember the actual names of the streets.) I wrote him back, "Can you be more specific? Like name some landmarks?" He did. He listed stores and shopping centers and gas stations I had never heard of. I was getting very frustrated. I wrote him and said, "Look, I'll be the first to admit that I don't know everything about Columbus, and I definitely don't know where these places are... so either you're playing with me and don't want to meet or we're living in two different cities."
I was joking about the last part and praying that the first part wasn't true. He wrote back, "Did you say Columbus? Columbus, Ohio?" I wrote back, "Yes!" He wrote back, "Oh, I don't live in Columbus. I live in Minneapolis." I wrote back, "What's your area code? Mine is XXX." He wrote back, "XXY" I logged onto the website and looked at ads and sure enough, his area code was right before mine on the listing. He had looked at ads in the wrong area code.
So, I did what any woman who thought she had found a good match would. I wrote him back and asked, "So, are you moving or am I?" I never heard from him again. Guess he was too embarrassed by his mistake. Too bad. I have no problem with long-distance relationships and probably would have relocated if things had worked out.
Has Anyone Seen My Beer?
Originally posted 06/28/2005 7:37pm
It's 4 months util my birthday. Birthdays have always been a big deal for me. While I was growing up, it was the one day each year I could count on being the center of attention. I was born at 6:20 a.m. so my day would always start with my mom waking me up at the precise time I was born. She would wish me a happy birthday. Then, my mom would bring Dunkin Donut munchkins (those are puffy donut holes for those who don't know) to school to "surprise" me and I'd share them with my classmates. After school, there would be cake and gifts and dinner wherever I wanted. (In those days, it was Burger King.) It was a good day!
Every year, I try to do something special for my birthday. I've thrown parties and have had parties thrown for me. For a few years, a couple of friends who also had October birthdays and I would get together and go out to dinner some place nice to celebrate our mutual birthday month. Fun times.
In the fall of 1997, I was feeling that "ohmigod I'm almost 30 and I'm still single" panic and started posting personal ads all over the place. "D" responded to one of them. He was a red-haired computer geek who liked movies, pool, reading and beer. We emailed a few times and even exchanged photos. A couple of weeks before my birthday, I got brave and invited him to my place for dinner. I know, I know-- who invites total strangers they meet on the internet to their house for dinner? Me! It was the first and last time.
He said yes and I spent a good bit of time preparing a nice seafood fettucine, salad, and garlic bread. I even bought a cheesecake for dessert and had beer in the fridge. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach and all that. He had told me that he'd be over as soon as he got off work at 5.
So... 5 pm came and went. 6 pm came and went. 7pm... The pasta got cold and congealed. The garlic bread got cold and chewy. The salad wilted. The candles on the table were almost melted. By 8 pm, I had given up. I put away the food, changed into comfy "It's Friday night and I don't have anything better to do" clothing and curled up on the sofa with the remote control. A little after 9 pm, there was a knock on my door. I looked through the peephole and there stood "D".
I opened the door and he said hi. I said hi. He said, "I know I said I'd be here for dinner but a bunch of us went out for drinks and pool after work and I totally forgot that I told you I'd be here... and then when I remembered, I didn't have your phone number." He looked a little sheepish and his apology sounded sincere. He reeked of cigarette smoke and beer and seemed a little on the tipsy side. I said, "Why don't we try this again some other time?" He said sure. Then, we awkwardly stared at each other for a few minutes and then he left.
Now... most people would have just stopped there, right? Not me. See the "glutton for punishment" stamp on my forehead? I sent him an email and said, "Hey, I'm having a birthday party, wanna come?" He wrote back yes-- that he'd love to meet my friends. So, I gave him the specifics and told a few friends that "D", a guy I had met on the 'net, was coming to my birthday party.
I'm a big fan of party planning. I love to think up themes, decorations, menus, etc. I will spend months planning for a party so that everything is just right. Unfortunately, in 1997, this wasn't the case. My idea of planning for this party was to order pizza and buy some beer. I also had some snacks and non-alcoholic beverages and one co-worker brought a home-made chocolate cake to the party.... but I've gotten ahead of myself.
The night of the party arrived and so did all of my friends. There were games and food and laughter and fun. And gifts. Lots and lots of fun gifts. "D" didn't show up at the time on my invite. He showed up about 30 minutes into the party. He didn't say much to my friends. I gave him points just for showing up because I'd never go to someone's party where the only person I knew was the host(ess) and not all that well. He ate my pizza, drank my beer, and sort of brooded. My friends tried to involve him. He just didn't really want any of it. Every picture of him from my party shows him standing off to one side drinking beer. I tried to get him alone to have some conversation but it was mostly small talk about the party. If I'd ask him a question, he'd take a drink of beer. Finally, I gave up and rejoined my friends, figuring he'd get bored and leave.
At the end of the party, it was just down to me, him and my friend "J". He asked "J" if she had any mints or gum. She did. I got this "Uh oh, why does he want fresh breath?" moment of fear that he was going to try something. "J" hung out as long as she could but he wasn't leaving. So, she left us alone and he sort of stood there. I sort of stood there. Then, finally, he said, "Well, gotta go. Thanks for the beer." and left. After he left, I realized the mint was to disguise the beer on his breath in the event he got pulled over. Duh!
As I was cleaning up, I could account for all of the beer bottles except one. I was trying to keep glass separate from the rest of the trash and I looked everywhere for the bottle. He was the only person drinking the beer and he hadn't strayed too far away from the dining room where the pizza and beer was. I was going crazy trying to find that bottle. Did he take it with him? Why did he hide it? Where did he hide it? Finally, I gave up and went to bed, writing him and the beer off.
A few days later, I was dusting a bookcase in my living room and there, on the bottom shelf, in the back, behind my knicknacks, was the empty beer bottle. Whew! I was so glad to have THAT mystery solved! I heard from "D" a few times after the party but I just wasn't feeling much for him. He wasn't exactly the liveliest or most considerate person I had ever met.
The only thing we really had in common was my beer.
It's 4 months util my birthday. Birthdays have always been a big deal for me. While I was growing up, it was the one day each year I could count on being the center of attention. I was born at 6:20 a.m. so my day would always start with my mom waking me up at the precise time I was born. She would wish me a happy birthday. Then, my mom would bring Dunkin Donut munchkins (those are puffy donut holes for those who don't know) to school to "surprise" me and I'd share them with my classmates. After school, there would be cake and gifts and dinner wherever I wanted. (In those days, it was Burger King.) It was a good day!
Every year, I try to do something special for my birthday. I've thrown parties and have had parties thrown for me. For a few years, a couple of friends who also had October birthdays and I would get together and go out to dinner some place nice to celebrate our mutual birthday month. Fun times.
In the fall of 1997, I was feeling that "ohmigod I'm almost 30 and I'm still single" panic and started posting personal ads all over the place. "D" responded to one of them. He was a red-haired computer geek who liked movies, pool, reading and beer. We emailed a few times and even exchanged photos. A couple of weeks before my birthday, I got brave and invited him to my place for dinner. I know, I know-- who invites total strangers they meet on the internet to their house for dinner? Me! It was the first and last time.
He said yes and I spent a good bit of time preparing a nice seafood fettucine, salad, and garlic bread. I even bought a cheesecake for dessert and had beer in the fridge. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach and all that. He had told me that he'd be over as soon as he got off work at 5.
So... 5 pm came and went. 6 pm came and went. 7pm... The pasta got cold and congealed. The garlic bread got cold and chewy. The salad wilted. The candles on the table were almost melted. By 8 pm, I had given up. I put away the food, changed into comfy "It's Friday night and I don't have anything better to do" clothing and curled up on the sofa with the remote control. A little after 9 pm, there was a knock on my door. I looked through the peephole and there stood "D".
I opened the door and he said hi. I said hi. He said, "I know I said I'd be here for dinner but a bunch of us went out for drinks and pool after work and I totally forgot that I told you I'd be here... and then when I remembered, I didn't have your phone number." He looked a little sheepish and his apology sounded sincere. He reeked of cigarette smoke and beer and seemed a little on the tipsy side. I said, "Why don't we try this again some other time?" He said sure. Then, we awkwardly stared at each other for a few minutes and then he left.
Now... most people would have just stopped there, right? Not me. See the "glutton for punishment" stamp on my forehead? I sent him an email and said, "Hey, I'm having a birthday party, wanna come?" He wrote back yes-- that he'd love to meet my friends. So, I gave him the specifics and told a few friends that "D", a guy I had met on the 'net, was coming to my birthday party.
I'm a big fan of party planning. I love to think up themes, decorations, menus, etc. I will spend months planning for a party so that everything is just right. Unfortunately, in 1997, this wasn't the case. My idea of planning for this party was to order pizza and buy some beer. I also had some snacks and non-alcoholic beverages and one co-worker brought a home-made chocolate cake to the party.... but I've gotten ahead of myself.
The night of the party arrived and so did all of my friends. There were games and food and laughter and fun. And gifts. Lots and lots of fun gifts. "D" didn't show up at the time on my invite. He showed up about 30 minutes into the party. He didn't say much to my friends. I gave him points just for showing up because I'd never go to someone's party where the only person I knew was the host(ess) and not all that well. He ate my pizza, drank my beer, and sort of brooded. My friends tried to involve him. He just didn't really want any of it. Every picture of him from my party shows him standing off to one side drinking beer. I tried to get him alone to have some conversation but it was mostly small talk about the party. If I'd ask him a question, he'd take a drink of beer. Finally, I gave up and rejoined my friends, figuring he'd get bored and leave.
At the end of the party, it was just down to me, him and my friend "J". He asked "J" if she had any mints or gum. She did. I got this "Uh oh, why does he want fresh breath?" moment of fear that he was going to try something. "J" hung out as long as she could but he wasn't leaving. So, she left us alone and he sort of stood there. I sort of stood there. Then, finally, he said, "Well, gotta go. Thanks for the beer." and left. After he left, I realized the mint was to disguise the beer on his breath in the event he got pulled over. Duh!
As I was cleaning up, I could account for all of the beer bottles except one. I was trying to keep glass separate from the rest of the trash and I looked everywhere for the bottle. He was the only person drinking the beer and he hadn't strayed too far away from the dining room where the pizza and beer was. I was going crazy trying to find that bottle. Did he take it with him? Why did he hide it? Where did he hide it? Finally, I gave up and went to bed, writing him and the beer off.
A few days later, I was dusting a bookcase in my living room and there, on the bottom shelf, in the back, behind my knicknacks, was the empty beer bottle. Whew! I was so glad to have THAT mystery solved! I heard from "D" a few times after the party but I just wasn't feeling much for him. He wasn't exactly the liveliest or most considerate person I had ever met.
The only thing we really had in common was my beer.
The Lighter Side of Dating
Originally posted 06/11/2005 10:51pm
I'm a serial dieter. Every day of my life since I graduated from college, I've been on one diet or another. I know all of the things you need to do to eat healthy. I know that I should choose a piece of fruit over a slice of cake. I know that water is better for me than soda pop. I know that a handful of chips is a portion, yet that doesn't stop me from wanting to eat the whole bag. The most recent diet I'm trying is the South Beach Diet. This is per my doctor's suggestion when I whined to him that I didn't know what else to do to shed some lbs. I've lost 8 lbs so far. I can be very successful with dieting if I get the right mind set. I lost 75 lbs on Weight Watchers a few years ago and kept it off for over a year. The thing is.. I suffer from compulsive fork-to-mouth disease. I like food. I like to cook. I like to sample my own cooking since I live at home and there's no one to cook for. So-- who wants to move in with me so that I don't feel compelled to eat the foods I cook?
In January 1998, I met "G" on Match.Com. He seemed like a fairly decent guy. (Don't all of my stories start out that way?) He was an accountant for some kind of factory in the southwest part of town. He liked reading, cooking, traveling, and working out. The thing that had most impressed me was that he touted in his bio that he had recently lost 50 lbs and was proud of his accomplishment. That made me think that maybe he wouldn't be too critical of someone trying to lose a few lbs herself. After a couple of weeks of writing, he asked me if I wanted to meet. We agreed to meet for lunch at a nearby steakhouse. I told him I'd be wearing red. He told me (jokingly, I thought) that he'd be the tall good looking guy wearing a leather jacket.
That morning, a snow storm had hit. The roads were icy and sidewalks were snow-covered. I didn't have a phone number to call and cancel so I decided to go to the restaurant anyhow and see if he showed. Right at our designated date-time, a tall, dark-haired guy who was somewhat attractive walked through the door. He looked at me and smiled one of those "fake" polite smiles and then gave me one of those fingertip handshakes-- you know the ones, kind of wimpy like the person doesn't really want to touch you but feels like they have to. The hostess led us to a table near a window. We made some small talk about the weather and then the waitress came to get our drink orders. "We'll both have ice water in the largest glass that you have, with lemon, no seeds in the lemon and only half filled with ice. Do not bring out any bread or butter," he told the waitress. I was stunned. I had seen men ordering for women on television and my friends often tease me that I possess "Sally" tendencies when I order (like "Sally" from "When Harry Met Sally", I like to have my foods a certain way) but this guy shocked me. After the waitress left, he looked at me and said, "Do you know how many calories are in one glass of regular soda? Do you know how many chemicals are in a glass of diet soda? And the bread-- killer! It's a waste of calories and it's better that we don't even have it on the table," he said. OK, I had told him in our emails that I was dieting but I would have liked the option to choose the right thing... or not. It was a date, for crying out loud, not a diet-consultation. Then, as I opened the menu, he put his hand on it and said, "We'll be ordering from the salad side of the menu." I tried not to look even more surprised. Take a girl to a steakhouse for lunch and tell her that she can have a salad.
Hmmm... OK. I looked at the salads trying to figure out which one sounded the best. Typically, I don't mind ordering salads, but I had decided before the date that since we were meeting at a steakhouse and I rarely eat red meat that it would be a treat to possibly have some steak... or even a burger. The waitress came back with our mega-sized ice water (emphasis on water) with seedless lemon. She said, "I suppose you don't want crackers either." He looked at her as if she had just said that she had peed in our water. She shrugged. Then, we ordered our salads. We both ended up ordering grilled chicken salads. I was surprised that he let me order my own. Although he did frown when I ordered ranch dressing. He asked for the low-cal French.
We started the small talk while we waited for our salads. Or... I guess I should say that HE started the small talk. He never really let me do any talking. He told me that he had gotten up at 6 am that morning and had gone to the gym and had spent two hours working out. He listed every machine, every rep, every set, every weight, and every minute of the workout for me. He explained the muscle groups he worked and even flexed a bicep for me. He told me that he then cleaned his house, cleaned out his truck, went to the grocery store and did a load of laundry before he met me. He then told me about his job and how long he had been at his job, what he did at his job, what everyone else did at his job, and what he hoped to accomplish at his job (ie become a supervisor within two years.) Then, our food came. Before I could take the first bite, he said, "Whoa! Don't eat the croutons. They are nuggets of death. Just as bad as the bread." He flicked each crouton off of his salad with his fork onto the table and then reached across and did the same to my salad. Then, he instructed me to remove half of the cheese, both yolks in both egg wedges and then told me to eat all of the "solid" veggies first (broccoli, radish, cauliflower, etc) before eating the lettuce because although it's a vegetable, the others had more vitamins and nutrients. I nodded and said thank you meekly and reached for my little cup of salad dressing. He shook his head and made one of those uh huh sounds. "You should dip your fork into your salad dressing and then your salad," he said and then demonstrated for me. At that point, I was waiting for him to put a bib on me and just feed me himself.
Now, I know he was being healthy, but it was a little extreme to me. As we ate, he told me all about his diet. Dr. Barry Sears and THE ZONE. He told me all about the principles of the diet, all of the things he's learned doing the diet, how long he had done the diet and how it changed his life. I was waiting for him to pull out a book and do the "Vanna White" hand gesture as if advertising the book. I just nodded and congratulated him. Then, he said, "Stick with me and we'll have you slimmed down in no time flat. We can even get you a membership at my gym and I can help you. I know how hard it is. I used to be you. Now look at me!" I just smiled politely and looked around for a reason to exit.
Then, just as I didn't think things could get any more bizarre, he announced to me, "You are date number 4." I looked at him quizzically and he said, "You are number 4 of 18." So, I asked what he meant and he explained to me that he had been in a long term relationship that went south once he started losing weight. So, once he lost all of the weight and got in shape, he noticed that women were paying more attention to him. He decided he wasn't going to rush into anything. He was going to date 18 different women of all ages, shapes, sizes, ethnicities before even thinking of settling down again. Now, keep in mind, I'm a romantic at heart so I said, "What if you meet someone you like before you get to woman #18?" He just shook his head, "Not going to happen. I am not going to allow myself to get serious about anyone until I've seen this thing through." I said, "But you can't put a number on love. What if your heart doesn't listen to your head and #8 is the one? She's everything you ever wanted and more." He said, "Then, she'll wait for me." I couldn't believe it. "Wait for you? You mean you'd keep on dating?" He just nodded. I asked him how he came up with the magical number 18 and he said that he just picked it with no real reason. It just sounded like a nice amount of people to meet before settling down.
At the end of the date, he politely informed me that I would not be hearing from him again. Ah, man, I had already imagined all of the picky eaters we were going to create together. Not.
I'm a serial dieter. Every day of my life since I graduated from college, I've been on one diet or another. I know all of the things you need to do to eat healthy. I know that I should choose a piece of fruit over a slice of cake. I know that water is better for me than soda pop. I know that a handful of chips is a portion, yet that doesn't stop me from wanting to eat the whole bag. The most recent diet I'm trying is the South Beach Diet. This is per my doctor's suggestion when I whined to him that I didn't know what else to do to shed some lbs. I've lost 8 lbs so far. I can be very successful with dieting if I get the right mind set. I lost 75 lbs on Weight Watchers a few years ago and kept it off for over a year. The thing is.. I suffer from compulsive fork-to-mouth disease. I like food. I like to cook. I like to sample my own cooking since I live at home and there's no one to cook for. So-- who wants to move in with me so that I don't feel compelled to eat the foods I cook?
In January 1998, I met "G" on Match.Com. He seemed like a fairly decent guy. (Don't all of my stories start out that way?) He was an accountant for some kind of factory in the southwest part of town. He liked reading, cooking, traveling, and working out. The thing that had most impressed me was that he touted in his bio that he had recently lost 50 lbs and was proud of his accomplishment. That made me think that maybe he wouldn't be too critical of someone trying to lose a few lbs herself. After a couple of weeks of writing, he asked me if I wanted to meet. We agreed to meet for lunch at a nearby steakhouse. I told him I'd be wearing red. He told me (jokingly, I thought) that he'd be the tall good looking guy wearing a leather jacket.
That morning, a snow storm had hit. The roads were icy and sidewalks were snow-covered. I didn't have a phone number to call and cancel so I decided to go to the restaurant anyhow and see if he showed. Right at our designated date-time, a tall, dark-haired guy who was somewhat attractive walked through the door. He looked at me and smiled one of those "fake" polite smiles and then gave me one of those fingertip handshakes-- you know the ones, kind of wimpy like the person doesn't really want to touch you but feels like they have to. The hostess led us to a table near a window. We made some small talk about the weather and then the waitress came to get our drink orders. "We'll both have ice water in the largest glass that you have, with lemon, no seeds in the lemon and only half filled with ice. Do not bring out any bread or butter," he told the waitress. I was stunned. I had seen men ordering for women on television and my friends often tease me that I possess "Sally" tendencies when I order (like "Sally" from "When Harry Met Sally", I like to have my foods a certain way) but this guy shocked me. After the waitress left, he looked at me and said, "Do you know how many calories are in one glass of regular soda? Do you know how many chemicals are in a glass of diet soda? And the bread-- killer! It's a waste of calories and it's better that we don't even have it on the table," he said. OK, I had told him in our emails that I was dieting but I would have liked the option to choose the right thing... or not. It was a date, for crying out loud, not a diet-consultation. Then, as I opened the menu, he put his hand on it and said, "We'll be ordering from the salad side of the menu." I tried not to look even more surprised. Take a girl to a steakhouse for lunch and tell her that she can have a salad.
Hmmm... OK. I looked at the salads trying to figure out which one sounded the best. Typically, I don't mind ordering salads, but I had decided before the date that since we were meeting at a steakhouse and I rarely eat red meat that it would be a treat to possibly have some steak... or even a burger. The waitress came back with our mega-sized ice water (emphasis on water) with seedless lemon. She said, "I suppose you don't want crackers either." He looked at her as if she had just said that she had peed in our water. She shrugged. Then, we ordered our salads. We both ended up ordering grilled chicken salads. I was surprised that he let me order my own. Although he did frown when I ordered ranch dressing. He asked for the low-cal French.
We started the small talk while we waited for our salads. Or... I guess I should say that HE started the small talk. He never really let me do any talking. He told me that he had gotten up at 6 am that morning and had gone to the gym and had spent two hours working out. He listed every machine, every rep, every set, every weight, and every minute of the workout for me. He explained the muscle groups he worked and even flexed a bicep for me. He told me that he then cleaned his house, cleaned out his truck, went to the grocery store and did a load of laundry before he met me. He then told me about his job and how long he had been at his job, what he did at his job, what everyone else did at his job, and what he hoped to accomplish at his job (ie become a supervisor within two years.) Then, our food came. Before I could take the first bite, he said, "Whoa! Don't eat the croutons. They are nuggets of death. Just as bad as the bread." He flicked each crouton off of his salad with his fork onto the table and then reached across and did the same to my salad. Then, he instructed me to remove half of the cheese, both yolks in both egg wedges and then told me to eat all of the "solid" veggies first (broccoli, radish, cauliflower, etc) before eating the lettuce because although it's a vegetable, the others had more vitamins and nutrients. I nodded and said thank you meekly and reached for my little cup of salad dressing. He shook his head and made one of those uh huh sounds. "You should dip your fork into your salad dressing and then your salad," he said and then demonstrated for me. At that point, I was waiting for him to put a bib on me and just feed me himself.
Now, I know he was being healthy, but it was a little extreme to me. As we ate, he told me all about his diet. Dr. Barry Sears and THE ZONE. He told me all about the principles of the diet, all of the things he's learned doing the diet, how long he had done the diet and how it changed his life. I was waiting for him to pull out a book and do the "Vanna White" hand gesture as if advertising the book. I just nodded and congratulated him. Then, he said, "Stick with me and we'll have you slimmed down in no time flat. We can even get you a membership at my gym and I can help you. I know how hard it is. I used to be you. Now look at me!" I just smiled politely and looked around for a reason to exit.
Then, just as I didn't think things could get any more bizarre, he announced to me, "You are date number 4." I looked at him quizzically and he said, "You are number 4 of 18." So, I asked what he meant and he explained to me that he had been in a long term relationship that went south once he started losing weight. So, once he lost all of the weight and got in shape, he noticed that women were paying more attention to him. He decided he wasn't going to rush into anything. He was going to date 18 different women of all ages, shapes, sizes, ethnicities before even thinking of settling down again. Now, keep in mind, I'm a romantic at heart so I said, "What if you meet someone you like before you get to woman #18?" He just shook his head, "Not going to happen. I am not going to allow myself to get serious about anyone until I've seen this thing through." I said, "But you can't put a number on love. What if your heart doesn't listen to your head and #8 is the one? She's everything you ever wanted and more." He said, "Then, she'll wait for me." I couldn't believe it. "Wait for you? You mean you'd keep on dating?" He just nodded. I asked him how he came up with the magical number 18 and he said that he just picked it with no real reason. It just sounded like a nice amount of people to meet before settling down.
At the end of the date, he politely informed me that I would not be hearing from him again. Ah, man, I had already imagined all of the picky eaters we were going to create together. Not.
You Can Run But You Can't Hide
Originally posted 06/15/2005 8:31pm
I'm listening to the new Backstreet Boys CD. Yes, I like boy bands. I may be 30something but I happen to appreciate a cute, younger man. If he can sing, it's a bonus. Unfortunately, I've now reached the age where the "cute" boys bagging my groceries are almost old enough to be a son. Hmmm... oh well, I still have the Backstreet Boys.
In 1994, I hadn't discovered the beauty of the younger man. As I explained before, when I first got my computer, I was an on-line virgin. On-line dating was relatively new to the world and it was intriguing to me. I was really into pen pals when I was in school-- had them from all over the world. I also found something romantic about falling in love with someone based on mere words on a piece of paper. After the "V" in Vermont episode (scroll back a few blogs if you don't remember), you would have thought I would have been wiser about my on line exploration. I wasn't.
I met "E" in a similar fashion as "V". "E", from Kansas, responded to the same posting wherein I looked for "help" with researching a romance novel. "E" was also a few years older than me. "E" was very eager to help. Almost too eager. I've always considered myself an open book. WYSIWYG. (What you see is what you get.) Ask me a question, I'll give you an answer. "Too much information" has never really been a problem for me. (Unless, of course, it involves someone describing bodily functions then I'm outty.) Anyhow-- "E" was just as prone to diarrhea of the mouth (er, fingers) as I. He was willing to answer any questions I had... and I had many. I didn't exactly "click" with him romantically because he seemed a little on the needy side and I just don't do needy very well. I thought we were developing a genuine friendship, though, and I was thankful for the "male insight" he provided. It was a little intense at times, but we all have our hot buttons. He expressed an interest in dating me, but I never led him down that path. I maintained my "this is just for research" stance. Yes, I had placed the post looking for romance, too, but it wasn't happening with him, so I decided to actually do some research.
At some point in our friendship, things started to get weird. He became more and more strident with his attempts to woo me. I had told him on more than one occasion that I wanted to be his friend and nothing more and kept pointing out to him that I was just doing research. He kept insisting that he WAS the one for me. Nevermind that I never once really told him that I was actively looking for anyone. At one point, I threatened to cease all contact with him if he didn't stop pressuring me. He said to me in an e-mail, "No matter where you go, I'll find you. We are meant to be together." (insert creepy music here)
At that moment, I immediately regretted that I had been so forthcoming with my personal information as we were building a friendship. True-- I knew just about as much information about him as he knew about me, but I never intended to use it for ill purpose. I stopped writing "E" as soon as I got that e-mail. It was just too horror-film for me. The word "stalker" wasn't even in my vocabulary in 1994.
My disappearance from "E"'s inbox did not stop his attempts. I admit that I stupidly opened his emails, curious to see what he had to say. Mostly they were pleas for me to keep writing and promises that he'd stop being so persistent. I didn't respond to them. Then... the snail mail began. When he couldn't rouse me with e-mail, he sent me letters. The letters contained the same message for awhile-- "Please write me. I miss you. You are the best thing that has happened to me." I ignored them.
Then, one day, I came home to this thick envelope from him. I opened it and it was 6 pages, front and back, of the most graphic stuff I had ever read. It takes a lot to shock me and I have a rather large collection of erotica. This man went on for pages about all of the things he wanted to do with me, to me, near me, on top of me, inside of me, etc etc etc. Major ick factor.
I sent an email to the system administrator of the on-line service about his harassment and forwarded them copies of all of the emails he had sent me and told them that he had even taken it to real mail. The system administrator took my complaint seriously and blocked/closed his account, set me up with a new account and gave me instructions on how to block my private information in case he went looking for me again. I cancelled the service altogether and even got a post office box for my personal mail. It didn't even occur to me to turn his letters over to the police. I got one more after the "long creepy one" which I did not open. I wrote "return to sender" on the envelope and sent it back. I never heard from him again, but every now and then, I'd look over my shoulder a few times when I was out alone "just in case" he came looking for me.
As I told a friend about the encounter later, she said to me, "Isn't there a major prison in Kansas?"
That didn't make me feel any better.
I'm still pretty open (as you can tell) but I do have some trust issues and it takes me awhile before I just give out information like addresses, phone numbers, etc. I know that it's hard to hide everything in this technologically savvy world and I don't want to walk around fearful that everyone I meet will become a stalker, but I am a little wiser now.
I'm listening to the new Backstreet Boys CD. Yes, I like boy bands. I may be 30something but I happen to appreciate a cute, younger man. If he can sing, it's a bonus. Unfortunately, I've now reached the age where the "cute" boys bagging my groceries are almost old enough to be a son. Hmmm... oh well, I still have the Backstreet Boys.
In 1994, I hadn't discovered the beauty of the younger man. As I explained before, when I first got my computer, I was an on-line virgin. On-line dating was relatively new to the world and it was intriguing to me. I was really into pen pals when I was in school-- had them from all over the world. I also found something romantic about falling in love with someone based on mere words on a piece of paper. After the "V" in Vermont episode (scroll back a few blogs if you don't remember), you would have thought I would have been wiser about my on line exploration. I wasn't.
I met "E" in a similar fashion as "V". "E", from Kansas, responded to the same posting wherein I looked for "help" with researching a romance novel. "E" was also a few years older than me. "E" was very eager to help. Almost too eager. I've always considered myself an open book. WYSIWYG. (What you see is what you get.) Ask me a question, I'll give you an answer. "Too much information" has never really been a problem for me. (Unless, of course, it involves someone describing bodily functions then I'm outty.) Anyhow-- "E" was just as prone to diarrhea of the mouth (er, fingers) as I. He was willing to answer any questions I had... and I had many. I didn't exactly "click" with him romantically because he seemed a little on the needy side and I just don't do needy very well. I thought we were developing a genuine friendship, though, and I was thankful for the "male insight" he provided. It was a little intense at times, but we all have our hot buttons. He expressed an interest in dating me, but I never led him down that path. I maintained my "this is just for research" stance. Yes, I had placed the post looking for romance, too, but it wasn't happening with him, so I decided to actually do some research.
At some point in our friendship, things started to get weird. He became more and more strident with his attempts to woo me. I had told him on more than one occasion that I wanted to be his friend and nothing more and kept pointing out to him that I was just doing research. He kept insisting that he WAS the one for me. Nevermind that I never once really told him that I was actively looking for anyone. At one point, I threatened to cease all contact with him if he didn't stop pressuring me. He said to me in an e-mail, "No matter where you go, I'll find you. We are meant to be together." (insert creepy music here)
At that moment, I immediately regretted that I had been so forthcoming with my personal information as we were building a friendship. True-- I knew just about as much information about him as he knew about me, but I never intended to use it for ill purpose. I stopped writing "E" as soon as I got that e-mail. It was just too horror-film for me. The word "stalker" wasn't even in my vocabulary in 1994.
My disappearance from "E"'s inbox did not stop his attempts. I admit that I stupidly opened his emails, curious to see what he had to say. Mostly they were pleas for me to keep writing and promises that he'd stop being so persistent. I didn't respond to them. Then... the snail mail began. When he couldn't rouse me with e-mail, he sent me letters. The letters contained the same message for awhile-- "Please write me. I miss you. You are the best thing that has happened to me." I ignored them.
Then, one day, I came home to this thick envelope from him. I opened it and it was 6 pages, front and back, of the most graphic stuff I had ever read. It takes a lot to shock me and I have a rather large collection of erotica. This man went on for pages about all of the things he wanted to do with me, to me, near me, on top of me, inside of me, etc etc etc. Major ick factor.
I sent an email to the system administrator of the on-line service about his harassment and forwarded them copies of all of the emails he had sent me and told them that he had even taken it to real mail. The system administrator took my complaint seriously and blocked/closed his account, set me up with a new account and gave me instructions on how to block my private information in case he went looking for me again. I cancelled the service altogether and even got a post office box for my personal mail. It didn't even occur to me to turn his letters over to the police. I got one more after the "long creepy one" which I did not open. I wrote "return to sender" on the envelope and sent it back. I never heard from him again, but every now and then, I'd look over my shoulder a few times when I was out alone "just in case" he came looking for me.
As I told a friend about the encounter later, she said to me, "Isn't there a major prison in Kansas?"
That didn't make me feel any better.
I'm still pretty open (as you can tell) but I do have some trust issues and it takes me awhile before I just give out information like addresses, phone numbers, etc. I know that it's hard to hide everything in this technologically savvy world and I don't want to walk around fearful that everyone I meet will become a stalker, but I am a little wiser now.
Hidden Treasure
Posted on 06/07/2005 7:59pm
I was going to watch PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN last night but as I was about to put the DVD into the player, I noticed that the movie is about 2 1/2 hours long. It was already 9 pm and if I don't get to bed before 11 pm, I'm a real grouch in the morning when the alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. for work. So, I watched UNTOLD STORIES OF THE ER instead and went to bed. I really want to see the movie, though, because I've always had fantasies about sailing the high seas and looking for buried treasure.
Whenever I think of "treasure", I think of "L". I met "L" the summer of 1997. He was a friend of a friend who had seen my photo and wanted to meet me. The friend told me and since I respected her, I told her that it was ok to let him know I'd entertain any conversation he wanted to initiate.
"L" and I would meet in a chat room in the on-line forum I belonged to and we'd flirt a little, joke a little, etc. He seemed nice enough and we quickly established a rapport. We even had this "private joke" about how our friend expected us to meet, fall madly in love and get married. Cute stuff. The hopeful romantic in me found those things endearing. We quickly moved from chat room to telephone and he seemed like a decent guy. Then, our mutual friend announced that "L" was coming for a three-day weekend visit and suggested (HIGHLY suggested) that it was time that we met. She was so sure that things were gonna be perfect, wonderful, straight out of a Disney cartoon with flowers sighing, birds singing and rainbows appearing. It was very stressful because I'm kind of shy when I first meet someone and it takes me some time to warm up. The thought of meeting someone under the watchful eyes of a friend who was so insistent that things were going to be wonderful was even more stressful.
Our friend and I agreed that a little informal meeting at my place followed by a trek to a nearby park for hiking, a picnic, etc would be fairly fun and a great way to get to know each other. Early on a Saturday, "L" showed up with our mutual friend, her husband, and her two rather rambunctious children. "L" wasn't what I expected. I had never seen his photo and had relied on my friend that he was a "good catch." I'm not exactly shallow but like everyone I do have certain things that I'm attracted to and certain things I'm not. I wasn't attracted to "L". There was just something about him that gave me weird vibes. I tried to not let it show. I was friendly and polite and hoped that as I got to know him better, we'd click more. I'm about the benefit of the doubt. There have been guys I've met who didn't do anything for me until I had a chance to get to know them better, pick their brains, see if they can make me laugh. I hoped, for our friend's sake that we'd click a little. We didn't.
Under the watchful gaze of our friend, I pretended to be having a wonderful time. I didn't want to hurt her feelings or "L"'s. I just figured I'd soldier through the weekend and politely say things didn't work out. "L" and I made small talk, took a hike in the woods, took some pictures, even tried holding hands while we explored some caves, but nothing. No spark. I'd try to get some space, but our friend kept pushing us to be together. I kept hoping for a moment alone with her so I could tell her that we weren't clicking. On the way back to my apartment, our friend asked "L" what "our" plans were for the evening. I was exhausted and grimy from the woods adventure. I just wanted to go home and go to bed. "L said that he had something "special" planned. So, we agreed that he'd return in a few hours to pick me up. "Dress nice," he said. In front of our friend, he was witty and charming, but then when we were alone, he was creepy, broody and not very charming.
When he showed up three hours later, he was still wearing the same dirty jeans and t-shirt he had worn on the hike. When I opened the door, he said, "I have a surprise for you!" and yanked off his shirt. Written on his chest were the words "TREASURE TRAIL" with an arrow pointing downward. I must have looked puzzled because he said, "Follow the trail, find your treasure." Then, he waggled his eyebrows. I just stared at him, then laughed nervously. Hello. Didn't we just spend a miserable afternoon together? What part of the awkwardness, the non-clicking, the inability to make conversation, the tense moments alone did he miss? When he realized I wasn't finding his "treasure trail" amusing, he put on his shirt and said, "Let's go to dinner." Being a trooper, I went. Then, after dinner, he said, "I used to live here. Do you mind if we drive around a little?" I said I didn't mind. I was a much more timid person back then. So, we drove past the apartment he used to share with some guys in the scary part of town, then we drove past the gas station where he used to get gas when he lived in the scary part of town, then we ended up in this residential area near the scary part of town and as we approached a house, he slowed down and turned off his headlights. We creeped by the house and I asked what was up and he said, "My ex-wife lives there." EX-WIFE??? THAT little bit had never come up before. We circled the house three times and each time, he would make some nasty comment about her. I finally asked "L" to take me home. I'd had enough. When we got back to my apartment, he walked me to my door and at the door, he said, "Can I come in for awhile? We don't have to do anything you don't want to." I just looked at him and said, "I have to work in the morning. I'm really tired." He said ok and left. My friend was rather disappointed (major understatement) that there were no wedding bells in our future, but after awhile, she stopped talking about it and I stopped having nightmares about creepy men offering me a one-way trip down the treasure trail. I don't even want to think about what kind of hidden treasure he had down there.
Moral of this story: DO NOT let anyone ever fix you up with someone unless you get a full background check, three references from previous relationships and a signed affidavit that nothing creepy will happen on the date.
I was going to watch PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN last night but as I was about to put the DVD into the player, I noticed that the movie is about 2 1/2 hours long. It was already 9 pm and if I don't get to bed before 11 pm, I'm a real grouch in the morning when the alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. for work. So, I watched UNTOLD STORIES OF THE ER instead and went to bed. I really want to see the movie, though, because I've always had fantasies about sailing the high seas and looking for buried treasure.
Whenever I think of "treasure", I think of "L". I met "L" the summer of 1997. He was a friend of a friend who had seen my photo and wanted to meet me. The friend told me and since I respected her, I told her that it was ok to let him know I'd entertain any conversation he wanted to initiate.
"L" and I would meet in a chat room in the on-line forum I belonged to and we'd flirt a little, joke a little, etc. He seemed nice enough and we quickly established a rapport. We even had this "private joke" about how our friend expected us to meet, fall madly in love and get married. Cute stuff. The hopeful romantic in me found those things endearing. We quickly moved from chat room to telephone and he seemed like a decent guy. Then, our mutual friend announced that "L" was coming for a three-day weekend visit and suggested (HIGHLY suggested) that it was time that we met. She was so sure that things were gonna be perfect, wonderful, straight out of a Disney cartoon with flowers sighing, birds singing and rainbows appearing. It was very stressful because I'm kind of shy when I first meet someone and it takes me some time to warm up. The thought of meeting someone under the watchful eyes of a friend who was so insistent that things were going to be wonderful was even more stressful.
Our friend and I agreed that a little informal meeting at my place followed by a trek to a nearby park for hiking, a picnic, etc would be fairly fun and a great way to get to know each other. Early on a Saturday, "L" showed up with our mutual friend, her husband, and her two rather rambunctious children. "L" wasn't what I expected. I had never seen his photo and had relied on my friend that he was a "good catch." I'm not exactly shallow but like everyone I do have certain things that I'm attracted to and certain things I'm not. I wasn't attracted to "L". There was just something about him that gave me weird vibes. I tried to not let it show. I was friendly and polite and hoped that as I got to know him better, we'd click more. I'm about the benefit of the doubt. There have been guys I've met who didn't do anything for me until I had a chance to get to know them better, pick their brains, see if they can make me laugh. I hoped, for our friend's sake that we'd click a little. We didn't.
Under the watchful gaze of our friend, I pretended to be having a wonderful time. I didn't want to hurt her feelings or "L"'s. I just figured I'd soldier through the weekend and politely say things didn't work out. "L" and I made small talk, took a hike in the woods, took some pictures, even tried holding hands while we explored some caves, but nothing. No spark. I'd try to get some space, but our friend kept pushing us to be together. I kept hoping for a moment alone with her so I could tell her that we weren't clicking. On the way back to my apartment, our friend asked "L" what "our" plans were for the evening. I was exhausted and grimy from the woods adventure. I just wanted to go home and go to bed. "L said that he had something "special" planned. So, we agreed that he'd return in a few hours to pick me up. "Dress nice," he said. In front of our friend, he was witty and charming, but then when we were alone, he was creepy, broody and not very charming.
When he showed up three hours later, he was still wearing the same dirty jeans and t-shirt he had worn on the hike. When I opened the door, he said, "I have a surprise for you!" and yanked off his shirt. Written on his chest were the words "TREASURE TRAIL" with an arrow pointing downward. I must have looked puzzled because he said, "Follow the trail, find your treasure." Then, he waggled his eyebrows. I just stared at him, then laughed nervously. Hello. Didn't we just spend a miserable afternoon together? What part of the awkwardness, the non-clicking, the inability to make conversation, the tense moments alone did he miss? When he realized I wasn't finding his "treasure trail" amusing, he put on his shirt and said, "Let's go to dinner." Being a trooper, I went. Then, after dinner, he said, "I used to live here. Do you mind if we drive around a little?" I said I didn't mind. I was a much more timid person back then. So, we drove past the apartment he used to share with some guys in the scary part of town, then we drove past the gas station where he used to get gas when he lived in the scary part of town, then we ended up in this residential area near the scary part of town and as we approached a house, he slowed down and turned off his headlights. We creeped by the house and I asked what was up and he said, "My ex-wife lives there." EX-WIFE??? THAT little bit had never come up before. We circled the house three times and each time, he would make some nasty comment about her. I finally asked "L" to take me home. I'd had enough. When we got back to my apartment, he walked me to my door and at the door, he said, "Can I come in for awhile? We don't have to do anything you don't want to." I just looked at him and said, "I have to work in the morning. I'm really tired." He said ok and left. My friend was rather disappointed (major understatement) that there were no wedding bells in our future, but after awhile, she stopped talking about it and I stopped having nightmares about creepy men offering me a one-way trip down the treasure trail. I don't even want to think about what kind of hidden treasure he had down there.
Moral of this story: DO NOT let anyone ever fix you up with someone unless you get a full background check, three references from previous relationships and a signed affidavit that nothing creepy will happen on the date.
I'm Not An Addict
Originally posted on 06/03/2005 8:55pm
It's Friday night and I am ready for bed. Last night, the two girls who live next door to me decided to throw a party. Everytime someone would knock on their door, a rousing chorus of drunken yells would rise up to my bedroom window. It reminded me of CHEERS whenever Norm would visit. The thump-thump-thump of music lasted until 4:45 a.m. I think I got maybe 3 hours total of sleep last night. Needless to say, I'm kinda sleepy now.
Let's start my internet dating stories with the letter "A". I met "A" about 5 years ago. I had placed an ad on one of those more-popular dating websites. We wrote back and forth for a couple of weeks. He seemed nice enough. Then, we exchanged photos. I sent a nice little photo of me laughing with some friends. He sent me back what could be called "Male Boudoir Photography." He was lying on a bed, on his side, with a sheet pooled around his waist. The sheet was some kind of shiny material. Probably not real silk or satin, but one of the Wal-mart variations. Sateen or something. He had a knee bent and an assortment of unused condoms spread on the bed beside him. His reddish-blonde hair was mussed as if he had just gotten good use of those sateen sheets and condoms. The picture made me giggle.... and in a twisted way, kinda turned me on. I printed it and showed it to my co-workers the very next day. They immediately decided that I had to meet this guy so that I could see if he was the real deal. I emailed "A" that I wanted to meet and we agreed on a restaurant near my job. Well, the guy who showed up was NOT the guy in the photo. The guy who showed up looked like Barney Rubble. No joke. I checked the parking lot for a stone-age vehicle he had driven to the diner with his feet. As we were eating, he said to me, "I have a confession to make. I'm an off and on recovering coke addict. I just thought you should know." I didn't know what to say. I nodded politely and asked how things were going with that and instead of answering me, he asked me what kind of car I drove, where I worked, how much I made, if my car was paid for and if I rented/owned my own home. I didn't know if he was a date or a telemarketer. I had the feeling he was trying to see if I could help finance his little habit. I dodged the questions with half-truths and funny stories and then when we left the restaurant, he said, "You sure are pretty. Can I have a hug good bye?" I said, "Ya know, it's about 90 degrees out and I don't really feel like hugging. No offense." He nodded and sort of schlumped away. He sent me a couple of e-mails after our date, but I just couldn't bring myself to encourage the relationship. I don't know what bothered me more-- than he was an "off and on recovering coke addict" or that he wasn't the "come see me sometime" guy in the sateen sheet.
It's Friday night and I am ready for bed. Last night, the two girls who live next door to me decided to throw a party. Everytime someone would knock on their door, a rousing chorus of drunken yells would rise up to my bedroom window. It reminded me of CHEERS whenever Norm would visit. The thump-thump-thump of music lasted until 4:45 a.m. I think I got maybe 3 hours total of sleep last night. Needless to say, I'm kinda sleepy now.
Let's start my internet dating stories with the letter "A". I met "A" about 5 years ago. I had placed an ad on one of those more-popular dating websites. We wrote back and forth for a couple of weeks. He seemed nice enough. Then, we exchanged photos. I sent a nice little photo of me laughing with some friends. He sent me back what could be called "Male Boudoir Photography." He was lying on a bed, on his side, with a sheet pooled around his waist. The sheet was some kind of shiny material. Probably not real silk or satin, but one of the Wal-mart variations. Sateen or something. He had a knee bent and an assortment of unused condoms spread on the bed beside him. His reddish-blonde hair was mussed as if he had just gotten good use of those sateen sheets and condoms. The picture made me giggle.... and in a twisted way, kinda turned me on. I printed it and showed it to my co-workers the very next day. They immediately decided that I had to meet this guy so that I could see if he was the real deal. I emailed "A" that I wanted to meet and we agreed on a restaurant near my job. Well, the guy who showed up was NOT the guy in the photo. The guy who showed up looked like Barney Rubble. No joke. I checked the parking lot for a stone-age vehicle he had driven to the diner with his feet. As we were eating, he said to me, "I have a confession to make. I'm an off and on recovering coke addict. I just thought you should know." I didn't know what to say. I nodded politely and asked how things were going with that and instead of answering me, he asked me what kind of car I drove, where I worked, how much I made, if my car was paid for and if I rented/owned my own home. I didn't know if he was a date or a telemarketer. I had the feeling he was trying to see if I could help finance his little habit. I dodged the questions with half-truths and funny stories and then when we left the restaurant, he said, "You sure are pretty. Can I have a hug good bye?" I said, "Ya know, it's about 90 degrees out and I don't really feel like hugging. No offense." He nodded and sort of schlumped away. He sent me a couple of e-mails after our date, but I just couldn't bring myself to encourage the relationship. I don't know what bothered me more-- than he was an "off and on recovering coke addict" or that he wasn't the "come see me sometime" guy in the sateen sheet.
The Lure of the Romance Novel
Originally posted 06/04/2005 9:14pm
When I was in my early teens, I was really into reading teen romance novels and in love with Rick Springfield. Those were my two obsessions. It didn't matter that the girls and boys in the books were nothing like me and my friends. I still loved reading those books. The sweet innocence of first love. The happy ever after which usually meant that someone got to go to prom. Then, when I was 13, my best friend Karen snuck me one of her mother's romance novels. It was a Harlequin Romance called JOURNEY TO QUIET WATERS. (Yeah, I still remember the name and even recently bought a used copy on the 'net to add to my collection for sentimental purposes.) I remember feeling oh-so-naughty when I read about his hands grasping at her heaving bosom and how his manhood jutted proudly. WOW! Heaving bosom. Jutting manhood. Where do I sign up? Talk about a nice introduction into adulthood. I was hooked. The "innocent" part of me kept right on reading about shy girls who loved the handsome jock and wanted to go to prom. The "naughty" side of me waited for my regular dose of Karen's Mom's books.
Fast forward several years. It's 1994. I just bought my first home computer which came with a free 30-day trial to the on line service Prodigy. I don't even know if it still exists. These were the days before advanced things like these forums. We had "bulletin boards." So, I found a "bulletin board" for fledging romance writers and avid romance readers. I met the author Cathie Linz on that bulletin board. (This might mean something to anyone who has ever read a Harlequin romance.) Anyhoo-- I posted a note that I was writing a romance novel and was looking for "young men" to provide insight, advice and real-life stories of their own romance practices. OK, now those of you who just snickered and thought, "Gee, that sounds like a pick up line", you'd be right. I wasn't *really* writing a book at that time but I was looking for some inspiration. My muse. Heaving bosom and jutting manhood, too. (MY heaving bosom, of course.) This guy "V" responded immediately. We began a nice little pen-pal relationship. He told me he was a newspaper man from Vermont in his early 40s. (I was a child care worker in my early 20s.) It all seemed very Richard-Gere-Pretty-Woman to me. Older man. Experienced man. Plus, he was in the newspaper biz. Hello! Possibly career path! "V" started almost immediately with his flirting and double entendres. I'd throw out these hypothetical situations for the purpose of "my romance novel" (wink, wink) and he'd come back with "this is what I would do" type stuff. We started to get pretty involved nevermind he was married and had kids my age. (Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell ya that, huh?) "V" was becoming way more than lil ole Bevy could handle so I created an alter-ego named Ursula. (I was watching MAD ABOUT YOU at the time.) I introduced Ursula to "V" as my older, more experienced sister who was fresh from a bad marriage and looking for some no-strings lovin'. It was quite strange being two people at the same time. Innocent, sweet Beverly pretending not to understand the come-ons of "V" and brash, bold Ursula who had "V" wrapped around her siren-red perfectly manicured finger. Alas, as most stories go, things didn't last very long. "V"'s wife found out about his little on-line habit and he sent me/us a good-bye e-mail... and his address in case I/we were ever in Vermont and wanted a good time.
When I was in my early teens, I was really into reading teen romance novels and in love with Rick Springfield. Those were my two obsessions. It didn't matter that the girls and boys in the books were nothing like me and my friends. I still loved reading those books. The sweet innocence of first love. The happy ever after which usually meant that someone got to go to prom. Then, when I was 13, my best friend Karen snuck me one of her mother's romance novels. It was a Harlequin Romance called JOURNEY TO QUIET WATERS. (Yeah, I still remember the name and even recently bought a used copy on the 'net to add to my collection for sentimental purposes.) I remember feeling oh-so-naughty when I read about his hands grasping at her heaving bosom and how his manhood jutted proudly. WOW! Heaving bosom. Jutting manhood. Where do I sign up? Talk about a nice introduction into adulthood. I was hooked. The "innocent" part of me kept right on reading about shy girls who loved the handsome jock and wanted to go to prom. The "naughty" side of me waited for my regular dose of Karen's Mom's books.
Fast forward several years. It's 1994. I just bought my first home computer which came with a free 30-day trial to the on line service Prodigy. I don't even know if it still exists. These were the days before advanced things like these forums. We had "bulletin boards." So, I found a "bulletin board" for fledging romance writers and avid romance readers. I met the author Cathie Linz on that bulletin board. (This might mean something to anyone who has ever read a Harlequin romance.) Anyhoo-- I posted a note that I was writing a romance novel and was looking for "young men" to provide insight, advice and real-life stories of their own romance practices. OK, now those of you who just snickered and thought, "Gee, that sounds like a pick up line", you'd be right. I wasn't *really* writing a book at that time but I was looking for some inspiration. My muse. Heaving bosom and jutting manhood, too. (MY heaving bosom, of course.) This guy "V" responded immediately. We began a nice little pen-pal relationship. He told me he was a newspaper man from Vermont in his early 40s. (I was a child care worker in my early 20s.) It all seemed very Richard-Gere-Pretty-Woman to me. Older man. Experienced man. Plus, he was in the newspaper biz. Hello! Possibly career path! "V" started almost immediately with his flirting and double entendres. I'd throw out these hypothetical situations for the purpose of "my romance novel" (wink, wink) and he'd come back with "this is what I would do" type stuff. We started to get pretty involved nevermind he was married and had kids my age. (Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell ya that, huh?) "V" was becoming way more than lil ole Bevy could handle so I created an alter-ego named Ursula. (I was watching MAD ABOUT YOU at the time.) I introduced Ursula to "V" as my older, more experienced sister who was fresh from a bad marriage and looking for some no-strings lovin'. It was quite strange being two people at the same time. Innocent, sweet Beverly pretending not to understand the come-ons of "V" and brash, bold Ursula who had "V" wrapped around her siren-red perfectly manicured finger. Alas, as most stories go, things didn't last very long. "V"'s wife found out about his little on-line habit and he sent me/us a good-bye e-mail... and his address in case I/we were ever in Vermont and wanted a good time.
Massage Anyone?
Originally posted on 06/05/2005 12:12pm
It's Sunday morning and I have a stiff neck. By the time you read this, it will no longer be Sunday morning, but I bet I'll still have a stiff neck. I don't know how these things happen. I go to bed sleeping in one position and wake up in pretty close to the same position. Yet, for reasons unknown to me, muscle groups gang up while I sleep and decide to go on strike. So, today, I move through the world looking to the left. Looking to the right is just too painful. "What's that smell?" you ask. Aaah, that would be extra-strength Ben Gay. Lovely. I'd really like to have a neck rub or massage.
When I think of massages, I think of another one of my internet dating disasters. This time, it's 1998. I met "R" on a "friendship only" message board on AOL. He had just moved to the city from a nearby county and had just started a "really good job" in the computer field. I was just looking for someone to write to... and "if it develops into more, then so be it." That's what I told "R." The one thing I remember most about "R" was that he was really really into massages. Giving masages. No matter what I'd tell him about my day, he'd find a way to offer me a massage. "I had to work over today," I'd write. "Hey, did I tell you that I give a mean massage?" he'd write back. "I broke a nail today," I'd write. "Hey, you sound like you need a massage, " he'd offer. It became almost a joke to me because no matter how bizarre of a day I'd tell him I had, he'd offer up that massage. The longer we wrote, the more involved the massage offer would be. At first, it was just an "innocent" neck rub. Then, a back rub. Then, lunch and a back rub. Then, a swim in his pool, lunch and a back rub. Then, it would be dinner, a movie and... yes, a back rub. "You can even keep your underwear on, " he offered up once. OK, I know, where's the "disaster"? Well, after 4 months of writing him, I only knew that he was into computers, fresh out of the Army, liked to sing and wanted to give me a back rub. Oh, I also knew his home town and his full name. That was it. We hadn't connected on any level that made me want to go over to his place and yank off my top for a back rub. Then, one day, I was at my part time job telling a co-worker about "R" and she asked me what his last name was. I told her. She said, "You're not going to believe this, but I went to high school with him!" I asked her if he was so ... persistent.. in high school and she said, "Call his bluff! I know this guy. He's afraid of his own shadow. If you were to say yes to him, he'd probably pee his pants." So, that night, when I got home and sent "R" an email about how long my day had been, I added, "A back rub would really be nice. Maybe we really should meet." I didn't hear back from him for days. Then, he sent me the e-mail that most nice guys use when they want to end things but don't want to just come out and say it. "I'm going to busy for awhile..." he said and then a few months later, he sent me another e-mail that he was moving to Florida. I never heard from him again. The thing is... the more my co-worker told me about him, the more wonderful he sounded to me. (shrug) Guess he didn't want to go through life as "the nice guy". Guess he wanted to be known as "the back rub guy."
It's Sunday morning and I have a stiff neck. By the time you read this, it will no longer be Sunday morning, but I bet I'll still have a stiff neck. I don't know how these things happen. I go to bed sleeping in one position and wake up in pretty close to the same position. Yet, for reasons unknown to me, muscle groups gang up while I sleep and decide to go on strike. So, today, I move through the world looking to the left. Looking to the right is just too painful. "What's that smell?" you ask. Aaah, that would be extra-strength Ben Gay. Lovely. I'd really like to have a neck rub or massage.
When I think of massages, I think of another one of my internet dating disasters. This time, it's 1998. I met "R" on a "friendship only" message board on AOL. He had just moved to the city from a nearby county and had just started a "really good job" in the computer field. I was just looking for someone to write to... and "if it develops into more, then so be it." That's what I told "R." The one thing I remember most about "R" was that he was really really into massages. Giving masages. No matter what I'd tell him about my day, he'd find a way to offer me a massage. "I had to work over today," I'd write. "Hey, did I tell you that I give a mean massage?" he'd write back. "I broke a nail today," I'd write. "Hey, you sound like you need a massage, " he'd offer. It became almost a joke to me because no matter how bizarre of a day I'd tell him I had, he'd offer up that massage. The longer we wrote, the more involved the massage offer would be. At first, it was just an "innocent" neck rub. Then, a back rub. Then, lunch and a back rub. Then, a swim in his pool, lunch and a back rub. Then, it would be dinner, a movie and... yes, a back rub. "You can even keep your underwear on, " he offered up once. OK, I know, where's the "disaster"? Well, after 4 months of writing him, I only knew that he was into computers, fresh out of the Army, liked to sing and wanted to give me a back rub. Oh, I also knew his home town and his full name. That was it. We hadn't connected on any level that made me want to go over to his place and yank off my top for a back rub. Then, one day, I was at my part time job telling a co-worker about "R" and she asked me what his last name was. I told her. She said, "You're not going to believe this, but I went to high school with him!" I asked her if he was so ... persistent.. in high school and she said, "Call his bluff! I know this guy. He's afraid of his own shadow. If you were to say yes to him, he'd probably pee his pants." So, that night, when I got home and sent "R" an email about how long my day had been, I added, "A back rub would really be nice. Maybe we really should meet." I didn't hear back from him for days. Then, he sent me the e-mail that most nice guys use when they want to end things but don't want to just come out and say it. "I'm going to busy for awhile..." he said and then a few months later, he sent me another e-mail that he was moving to Florida. I never heard from him again. The thing is... the more my co-worker told me about him, the more wonderful he sounded to me. (shrug) Guess he didn't want to go through life as "the nice guy". Guess he wanted to be known as "the back rub guy."
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