Originally posted 10/03/2005 8:26pm
Thinking about my brother playing barbies with me made me reflect on many happier times and how much I miss playing with my Barbie dolls.
I was not into baby dolls. Every birthday or Christmas, I'd inevitably receive some sort of doll that I was supposed to carry around, pretend to feed, pretend to diaper, dress, undress, and bathe. I had no real desire to do any of that. I'd humor whomever gave me the gift and would carry the doll around for a few days, love it and play "mommy" to it, but once the novelty wore off, the doll would end up in some toy chest forgotten until someone said, "Hey, Bevy, where's ?" and I'd have to go get the doll and feign joy at having to tote it around. (I guess that was my first sign I'd never have any real strong urge to procreate.)
My Barbie Dolls, however, were a different story. With Barbie, I was only limited by my imagination... and, trust me, I was pretty imaginative as a child. Barbie was fearless, independent, capable of doing anything, and totally fashionable no matter what she was doing. My Barbie was not content to just sit around and be Ken's trophy wife. My Barbie was a world-adventurer, a life-saver, a mother, a teacher, a doctor, a horseback rider, a racecar driver, a deep sea diver, a hiker, a camper, a chef, a model, a spy, a police officer.... Every day, she would wake up and be whatever I wanted her to be.
I had every Barbie you can think of. If a new Barbie came out, I had to have her. I even had the "rip off" versions that were sold in the discount stores and dollar stores and were made of hollow plastic and whose hair fell out the minute it got wet. I had a GI Joe. I had Little Skipper. I had this doll called Darci, who was a model. I had a Cher doll. I had the Hart family of dolls, which were granola-eating, sandal wearing, jeep driving dolls. I had Hispanic Barbie. I had African-American Barbie. I had the Barbie that blew kisses. I had the Ken who grew a beard. I had the Bionic Woman doll with faux skin you could roll up to see the "bionics" in her arm.
Barbie had an incredible social life and large extended family. Someone was always stopping by and asking her to do something. She was always on the go-- with or without Ken. Barbie waited for no one.
Once, GI JOE kidnapped Ken and took him to the mountains (the top bunk... shhh, don't tell my brother) and Barbie scaled the mountains and saved Ken. Once, Skipper fell into the pool (aka the bathtub) and Barbie jumped in fully clothed and saved her. Then, there was the time, a wild horse (a plastic pony) dragged Ken across the yard. Barbie wrapped him in bandages and saved his life. Barbie went hiking in the back yard. She went for rides in the basket of my bike. She dug holes in the back yard looking for hidden treasure. She went swimming in the ocean (the kitchen sink) and battled Jaws (a rubber shark.) She helped "Gary" (my brother's doll) build an addition on to his house. She WAS every woman.
When I grew up, I wanted to be Barbie. I didn't want to tote around a baby doll and take care of it. I wanted to be fearless, independent, able to do anything, and not answer to anyone but me.
I'd like to think that in some ways, Barbie was my role model and I don't think I'd disappoint her if we were to hang out. True, she'd probably fall over because her spine couldn't support her boobs, but that aside, Barbie was the epitome of the perfect woman to me.
When I was 12, my parents decided I was too old to be playing with dolls and put them away. I felt a little lost without my dolls. I lived vicariously through my dolls. I was able to plan for the future through my dolls. Whenever I had a dream or fear, I could work it out through my dolls. I'd think, "What would Barbie do?"
Later, I got a job teaching preschool and had some say in what kind of toys we could have in the classroom, but I had a very limited budget. After surveying the classroom, I went to the local dollar store and bought some "fashion dolls". This was right after the decline of 90210 and the dollar store had Brandon, Dylan, Kelly and Donna on sale very cheap. I bought one of each, along with some snazzy clothing. I took them into the classroom and encouraged the kids to have fun. My boss was impressed by how "hands on" I was with the kids.
I couldn't bring myself to tell her that the dolls were probably more for my benefit than theirs.
When I left the job, I left the dolls behind in hopes that some other little boy or girl will explore his/her creativity, imagination and independence through those dolls.
Thank you, Barbie, for helping make me who I am today.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Please Stop Shouting At Me
Originally posted 08/03/2005 7:47pm
I met "A" around the time WEBTV was invented. Aaaah, webtv. Perfect for people who lived in the middle of nowhere, had no local internet dial up access number and who had very little use for the computer except for trolling personal ads looking for a little action. Don't get me wrong-- webtv was also a great thing for people who lived in the middle of nowhere, had no local access number, had little computer smarts and just wanted to send photos of their grandkids to other people with photos of their grandkids, too. My dad even had webtv for a short period of time before he got local access and re-created himself as "Steve", a young buff postal worker looking for love.... but that's another story itself.
"A" lived in the middle of nowhere. He lived in the basement of his parents' house in the middle of nowhere. He got webtv because it was just like using a remote control and typewriter at the same time. Smart guy, that "A". He responded to a personal ad I had on YAHOO. The first e-mail I got from him was in ALL CAPS. Anyone who knows anything about e-mail etiquette knows that you don't write in ALL CAPS unless you are SHOUTING at the person you are writing. Not only did he write in ALL CAPS, he did not use any punctuation. It was like reading a TELEGRAM of some sort. I kept waiting to find the word "STOP" at the end of every line. I wrote him back and politely explained the "NO CAPS" rule to him. He wrote me back and thanked me... IN ALL CAPS. He then repeated everything he had written me in the previous e-mail--- in ALL CAPS and without any punctuation. My head hurt just trying to read his e-mail. I wrote him back and explained the NO CAPS rule again verbatim. He wrote me back and thanked me for my advice... yes, you guessed it, IN ALL CAPS, without punctuation. Then, he repeated everything from his previous emails in that same e-mail. I guess he didn't know how to delete out the stuff that wasn't necessary so we had this long line of something that looked like this:
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
-------------------------
This went on a few times and finally, I just told him that until he stopped sending me the same email over and over in ALL CAPS and without punctuation, I wasn't going to write him anymore. He wrote me back a different e-mail... IN ALL CAPS... telling me how much he really liked me and wanted to go out. Now, keep in mind, the only "communication" we had was him annoying me and me correcting him. I didn't answer any of his questions and he didn't share anything with me that wasn't already in his profile. I told him that we didn't even know each other. He wrote back (IN ALL CAPS) that he didn't have a problem with my "size." He wrote: MY LAST GIRLFRIEND WAS PRETTY BIG WE USED TO GO DANCING SHE DIDN'T LIKE THAT I LIVED WITH MY PARENTS SHE BROKE UP WITH ME
I just knew that it wasn't meant to be so I told him I had found someone else and wished him luck. He kept writing, though, bless his heart. After a couple of months of HEY HOW ARE THINGS WITH THAT GUY ARE YOU STILL SEEING HIM DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT WE CAN JUST BE FRIENDS I'M THINKING OF MOVING OUT OF MY PARENTS HOUSE type e-mails, he finally stopped writing.
I'm sure he was probably a really nice guy. I just was afraid that we'd meet and he'd YELL the whole date and I'd end up killing him.
I met "A" around the time WEBTV was invented. Aaaah, webtv. Perfect for people who lived in the middle of nowhere, had no local internet dial up access number and who had very little use for the computer except for trolling personal ads looking for a little action. Don't get me wrong-- webtv was also a great thing for people who lived in the middle of nowhere, had no local access number, had little computer smarts and just wanted to send photos of their grandkids to other people with photos of their grandkids, too. My dad even had webtv for a short period of time before he got local access and re-created himself as "Steve", a young buff postal worker looking for love.... but that's another story itself.
"A" lived in the middle of nowhere. He lived in the basement of his parents' house in the middle of nowhere. He got webtv because it was just like using a remote control and typewriter at the same time. Smart guy, that "A". He responded to a personal ad I had on YAHOO. The first e-mail I got from him was in ALL CAPS. Anyone who knows anything about e-mail etiquette knows that you don't write in ALL CAPS unless you are SHOUTING at the person you are writing. Not only did he write in ALL CAPS, he did not use any punctuation. It was like reading a TELEGRAM of some sort. I kept waiting to find the word "STOP" at the end of every line. I wrote him back and politely explained the "NO CAPS" rule to him. He wrote me back and thanked me... IN ALL CAPS. He then repeated everything he had written me in the previous e-mail--- in ALL CAPS and without any punctuation. My head hurt just trying to read his e-mail. I wrote him back and explained the NO CAPS rule again verbatim. He wrote me back and thanked me for my advice... yes, you guessed it, IN ALL CAPS, without punctuation. Then, he repeated everything from his previous emails in that same e-mail. I guess he didn't know how to delete out the stuff that wasn't necessary so we had this long line of something that looked like this:
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
>>> B THANKS FOR WRITING ME BACK DID YOU GET TO READ MY OTHER EMAIL
>>>A,
I have to tell you that your email was pretty hard to read. Just a little FYI-- it's not polite to write everything in capital letters. Some people think that is like shouting and pretty offensive. Also, you might want to separate your sentences with periods and question marks. It's very hard to read your e-mail.
B.
>>HEY I REALLY LIKED YOUR AD I LIVE 30 MILES FROM YOU AND I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU I WORK AS A TRUCK DRIVER I COME TO YOUR TOWN ONCE A WEEK WE COULD GET TOGETHER FOR A MOVIE DO YOU LIKE BOWLING DO YOU LIKE TO GO OUT DO YOU GO TO BARS WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE DO YOU LIVE ALONE HEY WRITE ME BACK
-------------------------
This went on a few times and finally, I just told him that until he stopped sending me the same email over and over in ALL CAPS and without punctuation, I wasn't going to write him anymore. He wrote me back a different e-mail... IN ALL CAPS... telling me how much he really liked me and wanted to go out. Now, keep in mind, the only "communication" we had was him annoying me and me correcting him. I didn't answer any of his questions and he didn't share anything with me that wasn't already in his profile. I told him that we didn't even know each other. He wrote back (IN ALL CAPS) that he didn't have a problem with my "size." He wrote: MY LAST GIRLFRIEND WAS PRETTY BIG WE USED TO GO DANCING SHE DIDN'T LIKE THAT I LIVED WITH MY PARENTS SHE BROKE UP WITH ME
I just knew that it wasn't meant to be so I told him I had found someone else and wished him luck. He kept writing, though, bless his heart. After a couple of months of HEY HOW ARE THINGS WITH THAT GUY ARE YOU STILL SEEING HIM DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT WE CAN JUST BE FRIENDS I'M THINKING OF MOVING OUT OF MY PARENTS HOUSE type e-mails, he finally stopped writing.
I'm sure he was probably a really nice guy. I just was afraid that we'd meet and he'd YELL the whole date and I'd end up killing him.
You're Missing What?
Originally posted 07/13/2005 8:54pm
In May 1995, a really nice young man, "R", answered a personal ad I had on Prodigy. He had just turned 30 and HIS biological clock was ticking. He was a genuinely nice guy. Kinda on the geeky side, but sweet. He worked in the technology/computer department of a large hospital. We killed some major hours writing e-mails to one another. The great thing was that he liked me just as much as I liked him and he would do these "endearing" things like email me jokes and riddles, send me packages of "cubicle art" he had collected (you know the things-- those little cartoons and pictures that people hang up that say things like "stress is the overwhelming desire to smack the sh*t out of someone" etc etc etc), send me t-shirts he'd get for eating a lot of ice cream, scan photos to disk that I sent him, etc. "I LIKE YOU" types of stuff. We wrote for months.... MONTHS... without losing interest in one another. We lived about 2 1/2 hours apart, though, so eventhough we'd write about meeting, it would never really work out. He sent me a "coupon" good for one free dinner if I should ever find myself in his town.
In early October 1995, I was in his town for a a three-day conference. I debated with myself over whether or not I should tell him and finally collect on the coupon. At the last minute, I sent him an email telling him where I'd be staying and how long I'd be in town. On the second night of the conference, we had a "mixer" in the hotel. The drinks were free and there was great dance music. I met up with some colleagues and had a few drinks and did some dancing. When I got back to my hotel room around midnight, there was a note on my nightstand from the woman I was rooming with saying that "R" had called. I freaked out. I guess I hadn't really thought he'd look me up. I was a little high on life so I went to the pay phone in the lobby (I didn't want to call from the room and wake up my roomie) and called him. I hadn't even looked at the clock. I woke him up. I was so giddy and goofy. It was the first time we had ever talked on the phone. He sounded really nice and he didn't even get mad that I woke him up. He said, "So, are you ready to collect on that free dinner?" I said yes and told him I was only going to be in town one more day, though, and wasn't going to be staying over because I had to work the day after that. He asked what time the conference ended and I said 5 but I could probably cut out early. We agreed to meet the next day at a local mall for dinner.
I could not keep my mind on the conference. I had already told most of my colleagues about my "internet boyfriend" and they were teasing me, encouraging me, offering up suggestions and advice. Finally, around 4, I couldn't take it any longer and left the conference. I wanted to get to the mall before him so that I could be watching for him. I wanted to see if I could pick him out of a crowd. We had agreed to meet on the second floor by the escalators.
When the meeting time came and went, I started to get nervous. Did I pick the right place? Was I on the wrong floor? Had he shown up, seen me and left? Then, while I was panicking internally, I looked up and saw this tall, cute, dark-haired guy walking towards me with a smile on his face. I did one of those things where you look over your shoulder to make sure there isn't someone standing behind you waiting for that person. Nope. No one there. He came right to me and said my name. Then, we hugged and he said, "How does Max and Erma's sound?" I said that it sounded fine and we walked to the restaurant.
We got settled in the restaurant and made nervous small talk. I was looking at the menu trying to figure out what to have. I had never been there before. I was looking over the pasta dishes, salad dishes, etc I finally decided on a salad because it had the less potential to end up on the front of my dress. He chose spaghetti and meatballs. While we were waiting on our food, he said to me, "There's something I've been wanting to tell you." I looked at him waiting for the "I'm gay." or "I'm married." or "I'm changing my name and moving to Timbuktu." Something, anything that would promptly end all hopes of a happily ever after. "You know how I told you in my e-mails that I was sick for awhile and had to have some surgery?" he asked, with this serious look on his face. I nodded, fearful of what he was about to tell me. "Well, the truth is, I had cancer. I'm fine now. The prognosis is good. But, they had to remove one of my testicles and my chances of having kids get lower every day," he said. I just looked at him. What do you say to that? I was shocked. Scared a little, too, because I hadn't really known anyone who had battled cancer and I surely had no clue as to why he had to have a testicle removed. I nodded and made some empathetic comment. I can't even remember what I said, to be honest. I was curious about why he brought it up then... and why face to face? Did he want to see my reaction? Was he going to tell me he wanted me to have his kids? Was he that serious about me that he felt that he needed to tell me? Did he think he was going to get lucky after dinner and thought he should tell me so that I didn't get suspicious when I couldn't find "it" later?
We ate our meals, made small talk, then he walked me to the entrance to the parking garage. I tried not to look "down there" to see if I could notice anything. I tried not to see if he walked differently. We hugged, he kissed my cheek and he said he'd be in touch. I got into my car and drove home in a bit of a fog.
We got together one more time after that "date" and I even took a friend along to get her opinion of him. He wasn't the same guy that time, though. He wasn't as personable and seemed kind of blah. His emails got fewer and fewer and eventually, by December that year, he had stopped writing altogether. I don't really know what went "wrong." Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.
When I moved to "his" town the following year, I sent him an email to let him know I was here in case he ever just wanted a friend or whatever, but I never heard back from him.
Not to make light of the whole thing (because it is a serious thing and I'm glad he was a survivor), I have to admit it was hard to watch him eat spaghetti and meatballs after he shared his news. Every time he bit into the meatball, I flinched a little and wondered if there was some symbolism there that I was missing.
In May 1995, a really nice young man, "R", answered a personal ad I had on Prodigy. He had just turned 30 and HIS biological clock was ticking. He was a genuinely nice guy. Kinda on the geeky side, but sweet. He worked in the technology/computer department of a large hospital. We killed some major hours writing e-mails to one another. The great thing was that he liked me just as much as I liked him and he would do these "endearing" things like email me jokes and riddles, send me packages of "cubicle art" he had collected (you know the things-- those little cartoons and pictures that people hang up that say things like "stress is the overwhelming desire to smack the sh*t out of someone" etc etc etc), send me t-shirts he'd get for eating a lot of ice cream, scan photos to disk that I sent him, etc. "I LIKE YOU" types of stuff. We wrote for months.... MONTHS... without losing interest in one another. We lived about 2 1/2 hours apart, though, so eventhough we'd write about meeting, it would never really work out. He sent me a "coupon" good for one free dinner if I should ever find myself in his town.
In early October 1995, I was in his town for a a three-day conference. I debated with myself over whether or not I should tell him and finally collect on the coupon. At the last minute, I sent him an email telling him where I'd be staying and how long I'd be in town. On the second night of the conference, we had a "mixer" in the hotel. The drinks were free and there was great dance music. I met up with some colleagues and had a few drinks and did some dancing. When I got back to my hotel room around midnight, there was a note on my nightstand from the woman I was rooming with saying that "R" had called. I freaked out. I guess I hadn't really thought he'd look me up. I was a little high on life so I went to the pay phone in the lobby (I didn't want to call from the room and wake up my roomie) and called him. I hadn't even looked at the clock. I woke him up. I was so giddy and goofy. It was the first time we had ever talked on the phone. He sounded really nice and he didn't even get mad that I woke him up. He said, "So, are you ready to collect on that free dinner?" I said yes and told him I was only going to be in town one more day, though, and wasn't going to be staying over because I had to work the day after that. He asked what time the conference ended and I said 5 but I could probably cut out early. We agreed to meet the next day at a local mall for dinner.
I could not keep my mind on the conference. I had already told most of my colleagues about my "internet boyfriend" and they were teasing me, encouraging me, offering up suggestions and advice. Finally, around 4, I couldn't take it any longer and left the conference. I wanted to get to the mall before him so that I could be watching for him. I wanted to see if I could pick him out of a crowd. We had agreed to meet on the second floor by the escalators.
When the meeting time came and went, I started to get nervous. Did I pick the right place? Was I on the wrong floor? Had he shown up, seen me and left? Then, while I was panicking internally, I looked up and saw this tall, cute, dark-haired guy walking towards me with a smile on his face. I did one of those things where you look over your shoulder to make sure there isn't someone standing behind you waiting for that person. Nope. No one there. He came right to me and said my name. Then, we hugged and he said, "How does Max and Erma's sound?" I said that it sounded fine and we walked to the restaurant.
We got settled in the restaurant and made nervous small talk. I was looking at the menu trying to figure out what to have. I had never been there before. I was looking over the pasta dishes, salad dishes, etc I finally decided on a salad because it had the less potential to end up on the front of my dress. He chose spaghetti and meatballs. While we were waiting on our food, he said to me, "There's something I've been wanting to tell you." I looked at him waiting for the "I'm gay." or "I'm married." or "I'm changing my name and moving to Timbuktu." Something, anything that would promptly end all hopes of a happily ever after. "You know how I told you in my e-mails that I was sick for awhile and had to have some surgery?" he asked, with this serious look on his face. I nodded, fearful of what he was about to tell me. "Well, the truth is, I had cancer. I'm fine now. The prognosis is good. But, they had to remove one of my testicles and my chances of having kids get lower every day," he said. I just looked at him. What do you say to that? I was shocked. Scared a little, too, because I hadn't really known anyone who had battled cancer and I surely had no clue as to why he had to have a testicle removed. I nodded and made some empathetic comment. I can't even remember what I said, to be honest. I was curious about why he brought it up then... and why face to face? Did he want to see my reaction? Was he going to tell me he wanted me to have his kids? Was he that serious about me that he felt that he needed to tell me? Did he think he was going to get lucky after dinner and thought he should tell me so that I didn't get suspicious when I couldn't find "it" later?
We ate our meals, made small talk, then he walked me to the entrance to the parking garage. I tried not to look "down there" to see if I could notice anything. I tried not to see if he walked differently. We hugged, he kissed my cheek and he said he'd be in touch. I got into my car and drove home in a bit of a fog.
We got together one more time after that "date" and I even took a friend along to get her opinion of him. He wasn't the same guy that time, though. He wasn't as personable and seemed kind of blah. His emails got fewer and fewer and eventually, by December that year, he had stopped writing altogether. I don't really know what went "wrong." Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.
When I moved to "his" town the following year, I sent him an email to let him know I was here in case he ever just wanted a friend or whatever, but I never heard back from him.
Not to make light of the whole thing (because it is a serious thing and I'm glad he was a survivor), I have to admit it was hard to watch him eat spaghetti and meatballs after he shared his news. Every time he bit into the meatball, I flinched a little and wondered if there was some symbolism there that I was missing.
You Ought To Be In Pictures
Originally posted 06/30/2005 6:51pm
I have Monday off from work and decided to take tomorrow, too, to extend the weekend just a little longer. I plan on spending some quality time trying to darken my pale pasty skin. I plan on going to the gym for some much needed pool time. I also plan on cleaning my carpets and doing a lot of nothing. I also want to get some photos developed that have been in my camera since last summer's trip to the beach. I finally finished off the roll a couple weeks ago. Yeah-- I'm one of those people who still uses old-fashioned 35mm cameras. A fancy schmancy digital camera is on my "wish list"... after a new mattress set, a set of tires for my car, and "tune up" for my car.
About three years ago, I had a personal ad on a web-site for "big girls and the men who love them." Little did I know at the time of my ad placement that the website was very very adult-oriented and that 99% of the people trolling the site were looking for a little something-something. Now, I'm pretty open-minded. I'm also pretty dirty-minded. I snicker if someone says the word "hard" in a sentence. I go to adult toy parties and make sure I kept money in my checking account to buy some souvenirs. But-- when it comes to dating and romance, I'm not as bold as I talk. I want the whole getting to know you crap-- complete with romance, wooing, etc. Chemistry and sexual attraction is wonderful, too. I just don't go looking on the internet for a quick, no-names-please "discreet" encounter.
That said, I naively placed an ad on this site and used words like "cuddle" and "quiet times together" and "watching movies" and "having fun with my friends" and "easy-going." All very innocent and factual phrases for describing my life when taken in context. To the men who read my ad, cuddle meant sex. Quiet times together meant sex. Watching movies meant watching porn. Having fun with friends meant I was willing to have multiple partners at once. Easy going meant that I wouldn't expect anything afterwards-- except maybe a cigarette and a slap on the rump.
So, this guy sent me a response. "So-- how big are you?" he wrote. No small talk. No names. No introductions. He cut right to the chase. I asked why it mattered. He said, "Come on, you can tell me. How much do you weigh? What do you look like? What size do you wear?" I wrote that I didn't feel comfortable giving out those kinds of answers to someone I hardly knew. He wrote back and asked if I ever did any modeling or movies. I said no. He asked if I would be interested in doing any modeling or movies. I asked him what kind of movies. I wasn't seriously interested but I was curious.
So, he wrote back that he liked to have really large women with rolls and rolls of fat to let him... do things ... between those rolls of fat while he filmed it and/or had friends take photos of it. Then, he asked if it was something I was qualified to do and wanted to do. He said, "We can even give you a fake name and blur your face if you want. I just ask that you give me permission to post the photos on my website."
I quickly deleted the email before it had a chance to contaminate my hard drive. I also quickly logged onto to the website to check out other ads and see if maybe I had wandered into the wrong place. I had... and quickly deleted my ad as well.
Just think--- if I had qualified, my 15 minutes of fame could have been as some blurry-faced mpg file that people all over the internet download every day.
Eat your heart out Paris Hilton.
I have Monday off from work and decided to take tomorrow, too, to extend the weekend just a little longer. I plan on spending some quality time trying to darken my pale pasty skin. I plan on going to the gym for some much needed pool time. I also plan on cleaning my carpets and doing a lot of nothing. I also want to get some photos developed that have been in my camera since last summer's trip to the beach. I finally finished off the roll a couple weeks ago. Yeah-- I'm one of those people who still uses old-fashioned 35mm cameras. A fancy schmancy digital camera is on my "wish list"... after a new mattress set, a set of tires for my car, and "tune up" for my car.
About three years ago, I had a personal ad on a web-site for "big girls and the men who love them." Little did I know at the time of my ad placement that the website was very very adult-oriented and that 99% of the people trolling the site were looking for a little something-something. Now, I'm pretty open-minded. I'm also pretty dirty-minded. I snicker if someone says the word "hard" in a sentence. I go to adult toy parties and make sure I kept money in my checking account to buy some souvenirs. But-- when it comes to dating and romance, I'm not as bold as I talk. I want the whole getting to know you crap-- complete with romance, wooing, etc. Chemistry and sexual attraction is wonderful, too. I just don't go looking on the internet for a quick, no-names-please "discreet" encounter.
That said, I naively placed an ad on this site and used words like "cuddle" and "quiet times together" and "watching movies" and "having fun with my friends" and "easy-going." All very innocent and factual phrases for describing my life when taken in context. To the men who read my ad, cuddle meant sex. Quiet times together meant sex. Watching movies meant watching porn. Having fun with friends meant I was willing to have multiple partners at once. Easy going meant that I wouldn't expect anything afterwards-- except maybe a cigarette and a slap on the rump.
So, this guy sent me a response. "So-- how big are you?" he wrote. No small talk. No names. No introductions. He cut right to the chase. I asked why it mattered. He said, "Come on, you can tell me. How much do you weigh? What do you look like? What size do you wear?" I wrote that I didn't feel comfortable giving out those kinds of answers to someone I hardly knew. He wrote back and asked if I ever did any modeling or movies. I said no. He asked if I would be interested in doing any modeling or movies. I asked him what kind of movies. I wasn't seriously interested but I was curious.
So, he wrote back that he liked to have really large women with rolls and rolls of fat to let him... do things ... between those rolls of fat while he filmed it and/or had friends take photos of it. Then, he asked if it was something I was qualified to do and wanted to do. He said, "We can even give you a fake name and blur your face if you want. I just ask that you give me permission to post the photos on my website."
I quickly deleted the email before it had a chance to contaminate my hard drive. I also quickly logged onto to the website to check out other ads and see if maybe I had wandered into the wrong place. I had... and quickly deleted my ad as well.
Just think--- if I had qualified, my 15 minutes of fame could have been as some blurry-faced mpg file that people all over the internet download every day.
Eat your heart out Paris Hilton.
Under My Bed
Originally posted 07/02/2005 7:49pm
What a productive day I've had! I woke up early, ate breakfast, got dressed, went to the gym and did pool exercises for about 40 minutes, sat in the steam room for about 10 minutes, showered off the chlorine (at the gym), got re-dressed and then came home. I had this sudden boost of energy so I vacuumed and steam-cleaned the carpets downstairs. Then, I vacuumed the carpets upstairs. I even moved my bed and vacuumed up all of the kitty-created fur-balls and dust balls that hid under there. There's nothing quite as satisfying as giving your house a thorough cleaning.
When I was a little kid, I was afraid of what hid under my bed. Most kids are afraid of the closet. Not me. I was convinced that some monster lived under my bed and if I let my feet dangle for more than a few seconds when I was getting in or out of bed, the monster would grab my feet and pull me under. The only thing that scared me more when I was a little kid were people. I was a very shy kid. I was one of those annoying kids who hid behind my mom whenever people would talk to me. On all of my report cards, teachers would write that I needed to learn to overcome my shyness. Boys were particularly frightening to me, eventhough I had a brother.
In second grade, there was a boy who "liked" me. "R" would come up to me at school and try to talk to me. He would do all of those things that icky boys do to let girls know that they like them. He would tease me. He would tell me jokes. He would offer to let me play kickball (eventhough I lacked coordination and sucked) on his team at recess. He lived pretty close to me so sometimes, I'd even see him walk by my home on his way to/from the bus stop.
The summer before third grade, "R" got bold in his pursuit. One day, I was in my bedroom playing with my barbie dolls. My bedroom window was open and I could hear my mom outside talking to someone. I looked out the window and there stood "R". I freaked out. My mom started yelling for me. "R" had come to visit. To play. I panicked. I couldn't go outside because the only exit would take me right to where my mom and "R" stood. We lived in a small place and there weren't a lot of hiding options. I considered under the kitchen table but sometimes, spiders were seen there and I didn't want to hide with spiders. I thought about the bathroom, but my mom had figured out a way to unlock the bathroom door so that was a bad choice. I thought about the closet but it was jammed full of the toys I was supposed to put away every day and just threw on the closet floor. That left.... UNDER THE BED.
Yup. I faced my fear head on and shimmied under my bed. I lie on my stomach and scooted as close to the wall as I could get. (My bed was up against the wall, obviously.) My mom entered the house calling for me. She announced that little "R" was outside and wanted to know if I wanted to go bike-riding. She checked my room, but didn't check under my bed. I held my breath waiting to be discovered. I was safe! I heard her go back outside and say something to "R". Her voice was muffled but she stopped calling for me. I crawled out from under the bed and peeked outside. He was gone and Mom had gone back to watering her flowers. WHEW!
I got over my fear of what hid under my bed that summer. It took longer to get over my shyness and my fear of boys. (Although, do we ever really get over our fear of boys?)
"R" moved away that summer and I was glad I didn't have to face him in the fall. He moved back our senior year and I'd like to say that our eyes met and he remembered me from second grade and we fell in love and went to prom, but, alas, "R" came back cute and a cheerleader snatched him up before I could even try to recall the old days with him.
I have him to thank for discovering that there are no monsters hiding under my bed.
What a productive day I've had! I woke up early, ate breakfast, got dressed, went to the gym and did pool exercises for about 40 minutes, sat in the steam room for about 10 minutes, showered off the chlorine (at the gym), got re-dressed and then came home. I had this sudden boost of energy so I vacuumed and steam-cleaned the carpets downstairs. Then, I vacuumed the carpets upstairs. I even moved my bed and vacuumed up all of the kitty-created fur-balls and dust balls that hid under there. There's nothing quite as satisfying as giving your house a thorough cleaning.
When I was a little kid, I was afraid of what hid under my bed. Most kids are afraid of the closet. Not me. I was convinced that some monster lived under my bed and if I let my feet dangle for more than a few seconds when I was getting in or out of bed, the monster would grab my feet and pull me under. The only thing that scared me more when I was a little kid were people. I was a very shy kid. I was one of those annoying kids who hid behind my mom whenever people would talk to me. On all of my report cards, teachers would write that I needed to learn to overcome my shyness. Boys were particularly frightening to me, eventhough I had a brother.
In second grade, there was a boy who "liked" me. "R" would come up to me at school and try to talk to me. He would do all of those things that icky boys do to let girls know that they like them. He would tease me. He would tell me jokes. He would offer to let me play kickball (eventhough I lacked coordination and sucked) on his team at recess. He lived pretty close to me so sometimes, I'd even see him walk by my home on his way to/from the bus stop.
The summer before third grade, "R" got bold in his pursuit. One day, I was in my bedroom playing with my barbie dolls. My bedroom window was open and I could hear my mom outside talking to someone. I looked out the window and there stood "R". I freaked out. My mom started yelling for me. "R" had come to visit. To play. I panicked. I couldn't go outside because the only exit would take me right to where my mom and "R" stood. We lived in a small place and there weren't a lot of hiding options. I considered under the kitchen table but sometimes, spiders were seen there and I didn't want to hide with spiders. I thought about the bathroom, but my mom had figured out a way to unlock the bathroom door so that was a bad choice. I thought about the closet but it was jammed full of the toys I was supposed to put away every day and just threw on the closet floor. That left.... UNDER THE BED.
Yup. I faced my fear head on and shimmied under my bed. I lie on my stomach and scooted as close to the wall as I could get. (My bed was up against the wall, obviously.) My mom entered the house calling for me. She announced that little "R" was outside and wanted to know if I wanted to go bike-riding. She checked my room, but didn't check under my bed. I held my breath waiting to be discovered. I was safe! I heard her go back outside and say something to "R". Her voice was muffled but she stopped calling for me. I crawled out from under the bed and peeked outside. He was gone and Mom had gone back to watering her flowers. WHEW!
I got over my fear of what hid under my bed that summer. It took longer to get over my shyness and my fear of boys. (Although, do we ever really get over our fear of boys?)
"R" moved away that summer and I was glad I didn't have to face him in the fall. He moved back our senior year and I'd like to say that our eyes met and he remembered me from second grade and we fell in love and went to prom, but, alas, "R" came back cute and a cheerleader snatched him up before I could even try to recall the old days with him.
I have him to thank for discovering that there are no monsters hiding under my bed.
Girl In Pink Shirt Seeks...
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.
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.
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.
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