It’s interesting how a single picture can simultaneously excite and horrify. The image of Miguel’s naked torso had me reeling with excitement and nausea. I even debated canceling the date. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, no six pack here. Was I seriously out of my league from a physical perspective? Did I really want to date the kind of guy that would text a picture like that before we had even met? On the other hand, I had to be honest. The picture was serious eye candy. I had to meet him. Continue reading »
It had been almost a year but I can still remember the single tear that slid slowly down my cheek that night as I drove home from my disappointing date with Moped Ted. It wasn’t that the date was worthy of shedding any tears. After all, I had nothing invested in Ted other than a few silly emails and a little bit of hope. But it was a night like that, where expectations were so high and they crashed and burned so quickly that I started to doubt myself and my unexpected situation. I didn’t exactly plan on being a 30-something divorcee.
When my boyfriend proposed and slid the shiny diamond on my finger I certainly was not imagining how that ring would taunt me from my jewelry box long after I stopped wearing it every day. Nor was I thinking about which pictures I would put on my new online dating profile. Instead I breathed a sigh of relief and thought, ‘Finally!’ “I am secure. I’ll never be single again, never have to go to a party or wedding alone, again!” I felt like a legit adult with a man that loved me enough to make it legal and as an added bonus I now had an emergency contact that wasn’t blood related. I had arrived!
The reality of my unexpected single status smacked me in the face when only a few short years later I ended up on a date with a short and T-Shirt wearing, moped driving, coca cola drinking guy who stared at my boobs all night!! It was a little discouraging. Thankfully, my pity party lasted only a few moments. My iPod shuffled to Michael Buble’s “I just haven’t met you yet”, (my anthem since becoming single), and my hopeful outlook returned. By the time I was home I was laughing and texting my girlfriends about the ridiculous date.
The next day, I missed a call from Ted who was asking me out again. He wanted to take me to lunch. In a half an hour! Talk about short notice! Thankfully when I returned the call that evening I was able to leave the “thanks but I think we are better off as friends” message. Ted was history and it was time to do what I was getting really good at; dust myself off and move forward.
Later that evening, I received a POF email from Miguel. He was a 39 year old part time personal trainer and full time sales representative for a pharmaceutical company. He was 5’10” with a great body, (according to his photos), and a nice smile. Although our emails were polite, there definitely wasn’t the same easy banter I had experienced with Ted. If anything I was a little bored. However, seeing how Ted “gave great email” and was such a dud in person I thought maybe Miguel would be the opposite so I continued our “conversation” for a few weeks. I wasn’t ready to jump into another date just yet.
I typically avoid a pre date phone call it if at all possible. They can be awkward and nerve wracking. But Miguel had been pestering me for 3 weeks and I finally gave in and emailed him my number. Based on our boring emails, I had low expectations for the call. But I figured I’d let the first phone call be the determining factor of whether or not I wanted to meet him in person. I felt a twinge of nervousness when the phone rang, but I was pleasantly surprised by his deep voice. The happy surprises continued as he was actually funny and a bit silly. Before long we were both laughing and sharing bad dating stories. We spent 40 minutes on the phone that night and by the end of the conversation we had decided to meet in person. We set a date for the following week.
We continued to text each other throughout the week. It wasn’t constant but just enough contact every day that let me know at the very least we were both interested. I was beginning to get excited about meeting in person. As we got closer to the day of our meeting, he started to be overly flirty which I thought was strange considering we hadn’t met yet but I decided to let it slide. Then, something odd happened. The day before we were supposed to meet he sent me a picture via text, and my jaw hit the floor. It was a picture of what I had to imagine was him-It was only a picture of his torso. He had an incredibly toned, muscular body, but I had to wonder WTF he was thinking. We hadn’t even met yet. This was weird right? It got weirder when he requested that I send him a picture, of my “booty”. He wanted a picture of my ASS. Um, no. I did not send the picture! I only wish I had the same sense about not going on the date…
It’s a Friday night and I’m standing on a crooked side street somewhere in South Park with Bryan of De Palma Handsewn. Bryan is wrapping a thick belt around my waist and mumbling something about fit and contour. I can’t stop fidgeting. He smells faintly of chocolate and cigarettes – two items that normally inspire conflicting impulses. Luckily, tonight is all about leather. He tugs gently and loops the belt through the buckle, makes an adjustment so that the hardware is angled on my hips, and steps back. It’s a thick deep tobacco strip with brass fittings, made soft with beeswax and it’s just right. At his feet is a gatsbyesque leather duffle from which he pulls gorgeous pieces. First out is Floret, a supple hobo bag with a drawstring. Next, is Felicity, a sweetheart of a clutch with hand tooled scallop shells. He follows this with the LLUC, a canvas and leather weekend bag inspired by his stay in monastery nestled in the mountains of Mallorca. Oh, my. Then, unexpectedly, he pulls out the friendship bracelets. These are categorized as “Odds and Ends” on depalmahandsewn.com. But they are more than that. They are like fine little miniature double sided belts made to share: one for you and one for your best mate. Every item he shows is perfect.
Here’s the thing about Bryan. If you were to meet him, you would never know that he is the creator of what will surely become a heritage brand. There is nothing obviously fashionable about him; tonight he is dressed in a faded t-shirt, jeans and converse. He’s charming and inquisitive. A conversation with him can last for hours and at the end, you’ll find that he has extracted crucial bits about you and revealed almost nothing about himself. It can be a little disconcerting. But that doesn’t matter, really. All that really matters is that he was lucky enough to be gifted with a talent for crafting leather goods which resulted in the beautiful items showcased on depalmahandsewn.com. The entire line is small, but well defined. It sort of invokes a bohemian world traveler- one with a wonderful sense of style- and indeed many of the bags are named after places he traveled.
De Palma which was named for Bryan’s mother was born from an inspiration to impress a former girlfriend. It is, perhaps, because the line was inspired by and initially made for women that the pieces (even the bags) mold so well to the body. Bryan, who makes each piece by hand, works the leather so that it’s rich and malleable; the Felicity fits perfectly in the palm of my hand, the Infinity belt gracefully hugs and accentuates the curves. Bryan seems to have tapped into what his customer wants and it’s illustrated by the perfect size of his bags, or the simplicity of the pieces that populate his ‘odds and ends’. There’s no embellishment or fuss. Even the branding, stamped inside of each piece, is discreet.
When forced as he was tonight in Southpark to talk about his work, Bryan sounds casual, as if it’s all effortless. But as he talks about his process and the quality of each design, it becomes clear that for Bryan, God is in the details. De Palma is pure quality and style.
I’ve never been a quitter. A procrastinator certainly, but never a quitter. However, the on line dating game had me asking myself if I should hang up my heels and cuddle up next to Duke, my Pit Bull. It had only been a few months but I had been through three guys, some definite blows to my ego and I was no closer to a man in my life. So I made a bold decision. I would go on a hiatus from dating and focus on myself, my sanity and my health.
I began running on the weekends with a training team and on my own during the week. Slowly, but surely I built up my strength, endurance and self-esteem. I was focusing on myself for the first time in a long while. My muffin top started to dissipate and I was feeling good. I didn’t even log into the dating sites for several months.
Finally, after regaining some balance in my life I decided it was time to go fishing again. In my experience, just logging on and searching profiles for a while is a sure fire way to get some attention. I can only assume that men check to see who’s on line and put their energy there. Within a few minutes I was exchanging emails with Ted. The silly conversations were flowing effortlessly and I enjoyed his sense of humor and our back and forth exchange. We quickly learned we were born only 2 days apart, both had a Pit Bull and loved the water. Not a bad start. I definitely don’t have a “type” but I do prefer taller men. He was 6ft tall, a definite plus! I couldn’t tell from his foggy picture, (the only one on his profile), what he looked like beyond dark hair and a moderately attractive face, but the witty back and forth banter of our emails made me want to meet him regardless.
After about a week of “talking” via email, he asked me out. We decided to meet for happy hour on the coast. As is typical for a first date, my stomach was churning with a mixture of nerves and excitement the few hours before we were to meet. After frantically “wiping off the work day” in the office bathroom and changing into date appropriate attire; a scoop tank top, jeans, heels and a thin sweater, I raced through rush hour traffic to attempt an on time arrival. By 5:50, I was still sitting bumper to bumper on the freeway and it was obvious that I was not going to make it. I wanted to be considerate so I sent him a quick text letting him know I’d be a few minutes late.
I arrived a little after six to find him waiting outside. He was VERY casually dressed in a white T-shirt, shorts and flip flops. It is San Diego, and it was a beautiful day, but I still was slightly disappointed by his lack of effort. He greeted me with a big smile and said “Wow! You look beautiful!” Ok. Maybe shorts aren’t that bad. He was cute and seemed friendly so I was still feeling hopeful.
We headed upstairs to the patio. When the waitress came by I quickly ordered the margarita on special. He ordered a coke. A little alarm in my head sounded. I blurted out, “Wow you make me feel like the alchie.” He looked me dead in the eye and very seriously replied “Well are you?”
Whoa. Where was the funny guy I’ve been emailing for a week?? And weren’t we at “Happy Hour?” AWKWARD!!
He then proceeded to tell me that he did drink, but not on the nights he drives his moped. The alarm sounded even louder now and I went from being excited to coaching myself to just get through the next hour or two. There was still time for things to get better.
Unfortunately, it only got worse.
He thanked me for sending a text to let him know I was running late, but explained that he’d prefer a phone call in the future as he did not have texting on his phone plan and it was $0.25 per text. Wow! I came close to tossing him a few dollars to cover the “damages” and decided I better stick to one drink. I might end up paying for that as well!
For the next 45 minutes he droned on and on about himself, never once pausing to ask about me. The amusing man from the emails was MIA and I was bored … sober. I struggled to remain conscious, feigning interest in his endless rambling. He slurped his coke down quickly- apparently riding a moped makes a man thirsty- and ordered a refill while I fidgeted with the straw in my nearly empty margarita glass trying to will it to magically refresh itself. Was this really the same guy I had been emailing all week?
Gradually I began to notice that his eyes were wandering. At first I thought I was being hyper-sensitive but then it became more and more obvious that he was staring at my chest. It started as glances every few seconds and then on the rare occasions when he actually asked me a question or allowed me to talk he blatantly stared directly into my cleavage. A small, VERY small part of me wondered if I should be flattered for the ability to so effectively distract a completely sober man, but mostly I was just repulsed and ready to leave!
Finally, he stopped talking long enough to slurp down his second coke and I saw my chance. I glanced at my phone, used the old “I have an early morning meeting” excuse and made my escape. Perhaps I had gotten back in the game too soon…
Before I make some suggestions to our readership, allow me to post a disclaimer.
I would never identify myself a chef per se.
To me, a chef is someone who can innovate, who can create unique flavor combinations that brighten each of the flavors individually and can reference a book whenever tempted to do so, but could easily continue turning out edible food without it. They have a natural gift that enables them to access all of their senses while they cook, and we’re the lucky bastards who by chance get to glimpse into their artistry for a brief, glorious moment as we gorge on the fruits of their labor.
I, on the other hand, am more like a cook.
I possess a few key qualities that make me highly qualified for this role:
- I can read.
- I can follow directions.
- I can use a knife without maiming myself (or at least, most of the time)
- I have food, a stovetop and an oven at my disposal.
Note that none of the above qualities require one iota of creativity. Aaaalll I need is a brain, two hands and an Epicurious web account.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t give it the old college try. Let’s be honest – I’ve added garlic to things that were better left bland. And there have been some attempts to ad hoc sauces that resulted in things…horrible, indescribable things…the stuff of snuff films [shiver]. But these completely FUBAR meals were punctuated with moments of brilliance, and you can bet your sweet ass that I cling to those creative successes like Charlie Sheen clings to the last threads of fame (you didn’t think that we were going to get thru without a Sheen bit did you? WINNING!).
So it is in our cooking as it is in life – trial and error often makes for the best outcomes. From my rare culinary epiphanies (and admittedly, the epiphanies of my favorite cookbook chefs), I’ve come to my own conclusions about what items every person should have in their pantry and/or fridge. I use all of these things weekly in one way or another and have learned to tame my impulse to add them in inconceivable amounts. Oh, and for those of you who are asking where things like olive oil, butter and bacon are on this list, those are beyond pantry staples – those are mainstays that belong on the “why eat it if it’s not an ingredient” list.
Go forth and season with reckless abandon.
Garam Masala - spicy on land...and apparently while in flight.
1. Garam masala – I bought this spice mix as part of a base for a homemade curry recipe I’d found. Before that, I’d never sought it out, but after my boyfriend added it to tomato-based pizza sauce, I was convinced that it should be as fundamental as garlic and onions are to…well, everything. It doesn’t take more than a half teaspoon to bring out a richer, smokier flavor in sweeter sauces.
2. Canned Tomatoes – Speaking of sweeter sauces, why buy another jar of pasta sauce when it is brutally simple to make your own? As long as you keep peeled, diced tomatoes in your pantry, you can easily throw in a mix of spices that are to your liking, let the brew simmer and pour over your favorite pasta. I’ve been forever changed by trying this myself.
3. Star anise – Another lovely spice that is everything nice, preferably purchased whole. Throw one into your sauces to add a hint of licorice but don’t forget to remove it so that your dinner guests aren’t gnawing on the shell.
4. Fresh basil – A quintessential carbohydrate compliment, mix with tomatoes for bruschetta, sprinkle over ramen or Italian pastas, blend up fresh pesto and spread on crostini. Basically, it’s my bread enabler.
5. Lemongrass – Just the smell of lemongrass makes my knees buckle with joy. I love throwing an entire stalk into my chicken stock recipes – it’s my attempt to mimic tom yum soup.
6. Sesame oil – Add a drop or two to your pan for a nuttier flavor to sautéed meats. Keep in the fridge so it doesn’t spoil. Avoid the temptation to overuse – and know that you will be tempted.
7. Chile peppers – pick your pepper to match your spice preferences. I like things that result in sniffling and crying, so I opt for thai chiles, but if you aren’t a fan of raw, molten heat, then aim for a jalapeno or Serrano. A good addition for just about anything – cornbread, soups, stir frys, sauces, even some alcoholic beverages can be surprisingly enhanced with a balance of sweet and spicy (try fresh strawberry AND a bit of jalapeno in your next margarita).
8. Feta cheese – Feta is not just for your sad lunchtime salads anymore. I keep it in the fridge and use it instead of parmesan for fresh pesto sauces. It results in a creamier version with a sharper flavor.
**What are your recommendations? Post a response and Share in Sugarberry! ***
At my age most women already have children, or they’re trying to have them. I was 34, going through a divorce, childless (in the traditional sense), and all of my maternal energy was channeled into my beloved dog Duke. Mothers have a primal need to protect their young and I felt like an abysmal failure. First, I had married a man who merely tolerated dogs and easily left both of us. He didn’t even try to negotiate custody or sporadic visitation with Duke. Then, I had invited Hair Pants into my home and locked Duke up behind a gate on the very day my ex had left. He was confused and bewildered as he watched some strange man fumble around on top of his mommy. It’s as if I didn’t even consider him in my filtering process. This insanity had to stop.
I began narrowing my focus to men who were dog lovers. Luckily, I still had plenty of options. San Diego is an extremely dog friendly town filled with dog beaches, parks and even restaurants that allow you to dine with your pooch. Within days I found myself exchanging intriguing emails with DoggieLova4U and sharing intimate details about the loves of our lives: my Pit Bull mix Duke and his Black Lab Brinkley.
It seemed that we clicked on many levels, and I couldn’t wait to meet in person to see if the chemistry translated. He suggested that we have a foursome- a date with our two dogs. We planned to meet in Coronado and take the “kids” for a walk while we got to know each other. I had to laugh; Duke and I were basically going on a double date. It was perfect!
I wasn’t used to wearing flip flops on a first date, but you can’t exactly walk your dog in stilettos, so I had little choice. I put on my best casual/cute out fit, made sure Duke looked and smelled good and headed to our meeting spot. When we walked up I experienced the usual first date butterflies, only they were magnified because now in addition to being responsible for myself I had to make sure Duke made a great impression as well. The pressure was palpable.
And then I saw them. An older, slightly pudgy, covered in sand, but otherwise adorable black lab ambled toward us toting a pale, blonde, profusely sweating, man behind him. Duke looked at me quizzically and let out a frustrated sigh. We gazed at each other with mutual disappointment before turning our attention back to our “dates”.
My mind flicked back to the profile, recalling the pictures of the handsome, youngish blonde and his glossy coated black lab who I thought I was meeting. This man in front of me was much more weathered and so was his dog. It was obvious he had posted pictures that were not recent. My guess was at least five years old! Suddenly my less than sexy flip flops were no longer a concern. I tried to stay positive and keep things in perspective. Looks aren’t everything. Based on our email correspondence he had a great personality.
And then he began to talk. I said a silent prayer of thanks to the dating gods that we hadn’t made dinner plans and this was going to have to be one of those short and sweet kind of nights. I tried to keep things light by complimenting Brinkley and DoggieLova4U launched into a 5 minute soliloquy on the importance of bloodlines, papers and Brinkley’s official pure bread status. Great, a dog snob! Apparently the two of them had a close bond and often traveled back to his hometown in upstate Washington to go duck hunting. I feigned interest and asked if he enjoyed eating duck. “Nah” he replied, “I just like to shoot em” Wow! I’m not a PETA member or anything but hunting as sport is definitely not a turn on.
Thankfully, we were close to a bar and DoggieLova4U suggested we continue the conversation over a drink. At this point I could have done without the conversation but the drink was a necessity. We secured the dogs and we were able to find a seat inside with a clear view of the dogs . Poor Duke cried as I walked away and I couldn’t help but wonder how even in the presence of another dog lover I felt like I was neglecting my boy.
As the conversation went on, DoggieLova4U became a little more charming, even sharing a funny story or two. Perhaps it was the third beer talking but I was ALMOST having a good time. Sadly, I had zero physical attraction to him so I decided to call it a night. After the obligatory “thank you I had a great time, we should do it again” hugs, Duke and I got into the car, looked at each other and sighed. DoggieLova4U maybe “4″ someone but he was not “4″ us! He sent me a few emails after the date, but I was able to drop the hint that I hadn’t felt a connection and our story ended, or so I thought…
Several months later I noticed a new message in my POF account from DoggieLova4U. That’s odd I thought, what could he have to say after all of this time?
When I opened the email and began reading my jaw dropped. While I have an extremely accurate memory, often remembering insignificant details for years, I doubted even someone with below average memory could forget an entire evening or person. Unless of course, early Alzheimer’s had set in. Yet here I was reading an email from a man with whom I had spent several hours and he was introducing himself to me as if we’d never met! He even wrote about my “cute dog” inquiring if it was a boy or a girl. Clearly I had left a lasting impression!
Dumbfounded, my bruised ego and I could not help but to respond with a snippy email reminding him that he needed no introduction as we had already been on an actual date! His response was ridiculous. He didn’t apologize. He simply said “I thought that dog looked like Duke, how have you been?”. Thank god for the “Delete all Correspondence” check box….NEXT!!
Dec 052010
I don't know this lady, but I definitely recognize that feeling.
Ah, the holidays. They present a multitude of opportunities for self loathing.
Gorging on generously buttered delights without regard for January’s reckoning.
Sharing in the shame of choices made under the influence of an open bar (preferably with an awkward set of spectators that will remind you of your antics later – like coworkers ).
Graphic candy binges in response to the tension that comes along with balancing your checkbook or the reality show style anxiety of spending more than a few hours with relatives
All of which builds up to the climax, a final orgasm of wrapping paper, mimosas and guilt. Which implies that a deep sleep follows.
I don’t want to talk about any of these moments.
Instead, I’d like to focus on the delightful moments in between. As I’ve come to grips with being a bit of a granny, the thing that I appreciate more and more is the time I preserve just for me – the odd Sunday, a few weeknights. These simple hours are what allow for enjoyment when the crowd moves in and capitalizes on your personal space.
But no one said you couldn’t have a few self indulgent traditions set aside for the cozy nights in or the introverted excursions out of the town. Here’s a few of mine to try out, preferably with such mindless favorites as sleep, TV or social networking.
1. Top Ramen – by far, Ramen is the most underrated food of all time and it’s not just for struggling college students anymore. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend integrating it into your daily food regimen since the salt content is high enough to induce instantaneous hypertension, but when the inevitable holiday party hangover strikes and stopping for Pho is just an impediment to lying in the bottom of your shower in the fetal position, then I’m guessing health isn’t at the top of your checklist anyway. I like that it’s a malleable ready-to-eat food – mince garlic, ginger, lemongrass and a Serrano pepper. Add to the boiling water along with the seasoning packet and the noodles. Top with minced basil, mint, a bit of Sriracha and a lime. Revel in the magical healing properties of processed food.
2. Hot Cider with Brandy – When the weather turns, alcohol’s warming capabilities are only truly effective with an incremental quantity increase. I’d rather drink hot cider with brandy. I recommend getting apple cider. Apple juice doesn’t do it and there are actually fresh pressed versions that are the best choice. Get a mug, microwave the cider for about 2 ½ minutes, then add a shot or two of brandy. Cozy up with a good book and a fireplace. Make sure that if you have a second, your cell phone is out of reach to avoid regrettable texting. Just speaking from experience.
3. Starbucks Peppermint Lattes Mochas and Cranberry Bliss Bars – There are upsides and downsides to Starbucks at this time of year. Upsides: little slices of gingerbread covered in cream cheese frosting and topped with cranberries washed down with minty nonfat lattes. Downsides: the long line you have to stand in to get it and the likelihood that you’re behind several people who are ordering elaborate drinks for five different people. Suck it up, it’s worth the wait.
Cheers, Berryfolk.
Jessica L. Anderson
Meeting someone online is a bit like being a regular in a bar without the hangover or huge bar tab. There are nights you meet someone fun and laugh your ass off and then there are nights when all you seem to attract are a bunch of weirdos and you have to tell some creep to back off!
Just like in a real bar, when you are online someone has to make the first move. Unlike the bar, the dating site gives you a lot of options: send an email, start an IM conversation, “Wink” which is like flirting, add he or she to your “favorites” hoping they will take the hint and contact you, or check their profile a few times while they are on line – sort of like making eye contact in the real world. The options are endless.
If you decide to make the first move with an email it’s hard to come up with something interesting to say. I find emails that reference the verbiage in my profile rather than my pictures are more appealing. If it’s funny the guy scores even more points. Unfortunately many of the emails that I receive are sort of generic and boring: “You have beautiful eyes” or “I love your smile” or “your dog is cute”. I’m not knocking anyone who sends an email like that- we all have to start somewhere and making the first move can be intimidating. But if you’re opening line is that generic, I’m not going to respond unless your profile is interesting or you’re really cute.
That may make me sound a little like a hardened and slightly jaded veteran of on line dating and I guess at this point I am. In my early days on line I did feel obligated to respond to everyone that took the time to email me. Even if I had zero interest I thought it was polite say “thanks but no thanks.” Rejection is just as uncomfortable online as it offline. It can become very awkward and I started to wonder if I was really doing more harm than good. I asked one of my guy friends, who was also doing the on line thang. His response was so simple, though slightly disturbing as it made me a little cynical and I wondered if any emails I received were actually sincere; “Guys play a numbers game. They reach out to any girl that they are slightly interested in and see what comes back. Chances are they probably don’t even remember emailing you so don’t remind them with rejection!”From then on I have been unapologetically ignoring emails from any man that I am not interested in. It’s quite liberating and simplifies the whole process – I highly recommend it.
I also recommend keeping your first contact email short and sweet. I know, I know, this coming from a woman of often way too many words (ask Rosie who painstakingly edits and cuts hundreds of words from my blogs each week). But seriously, don’t waste your time writing a novel to someone who may not even finish reading it after looking at your profile. Reach out, say something, see if he or she is interested and save the poetic justice for the third or fourth email once you’ve already hooked your fish!
In my time on line I have received several lengthy, first contact emails. There was one in particular from the same guy with a slightly different version only a few months apart. I have to wonder how many times he copied and pasted the email to different women (there’s that cynicism), and if he was ever successful in soliciting a response, (other than back off creep!) let alone a date.
His email started out by saying “I would really love to know so much about you because out of all of the ladies on this site, I have to admit that you are the most attractive lady of all!!” (I’m so sure I’m the only lady that received that line from him). He went on to say that he had never messaged anyone for sex and he didn’t smoke. Always good to know. He wanted to take me to a sushi place and if we “click at dinner” he wanted me to go over to his house and watch a movie from his extensive Blockbuster collection because “we could relax and rest on the sofa and talk as much as we want not worrying about other people telling us to be quiet while they are watching the same movie.” Oddly he seemed to anticipate that he might creep me out…“when I make you feel uncomfortable, you might as well just leave and go back home.” He ended the novel of an email by telling me if I insist that we go to the theatre for a movie there was one conveniently located near his condo. I never did respond to the first or second version of the same enticing offer, but like many things about on line dating, or my life in general, it was and is still good for a laugh!
On that note I leave you with one of the more amusing emails I have received recently. I couldn’t make this stuff up, so trust me it is a real. And if you are wondering, English is not his first language. After laughing my way through this email I checked his profile, he’s a mere 7000 miles away, in Turkey!
Hi sorry for disturbing but I just was passing on your profile and I saw your photos, you know, I couldn’t go without a message. I wanted to say hello to you
you have got so different style. I think this charm from in a fairy tale. Or you must be from family of kings. Like a princess. In my opinion, every man must call you as my lady. did you see your hair, or skin, or have you ever looked at your nose and eyes? they certainly aren’t from here. no no, it can’t be from this earth. maybe they are from angel’s things…wow wow wow… I hope I didn’t disturb you but I’d wish really able to meet you
Naturally I’ve promised to look him up should I ever find myself vacationing in Turkey…
Shit! I screamed every obscenity I could think of and jumped around on one foot clutching my toe in pain. I had just returned from a grueling trip back east for my fathers funeral only to find my living room had been ransacked by my husband who was officially moving out the next day. Sure, I had told him he could have all of the furniture but he had taken it to the extreme; leaving me a futon and a large wooden ottoman that I had just dropped on my big toe! It was all too much. I sat down, put my head in my hands and had a good old fashioned cry.
A few minutes later as I struggled to gain my composure, I found a text from the Armenian confirming tomorrow’s date. He wanted to take me out to dinner and get my mind off the past week. He insisted on picking me up. I had managed to avoid the whole “my husband still lives with me” conversation for the previous five dates always meeting him out but what could I say now? I decided to suck it up, come clean and explain the situation not forgetting to mention that it would likely look like I had been robbed by the time he arrived. He assured me that when a guy really likes a girl something as trivial as furniture doesn’t matter so I reluctantly agreed.
Less than 24 hours later the doorbell rang, I looked around at the dump that was now my home. All of the furniture was gone save the crappy futon that used to live in the spare room now acting as a couch/bed in the living room. My ex even took all of the pictures, though he left the nails in the wall so I had a constant reminder of all I had recently lost. I shook my head in shame, this was my new life and all I could do was move forward. I opened the door and I was greeted by a much more attractive, casually attired Armenian and he was holding the most beautiful bouquet of flowers. I relaxed a bit and smiled, everything was going to be ok.
He was horrified by the state of my home. He mentioned over and over his shock that a “man” would leave a woman this way. At this point I was numb to it all and just ready to get out of the house. Thankfully, he mentioned we were running late for dinner reservations, he had upped the ante taking me to an upscale restaurant in La Jolla. Looking back, I’m sure it was a combination of factors that led to us tearing at each other’s clothes later that evening. It could have been my grief, the large amount of wine, the trauma of my pending divorce or all of the above, but somehow the Armenian was starting to look really good as the date went on.
By the time we arrived back at my place I was beyond buzzed. We stayed in the living room, the only location that had any furniture, and began a long and passionate make-out session. Before long my dog was forcing his way into the action. I’m very close to my dog, some may say too close, but that was pushing it! I took him into the kitchen, closed the baby gate and got back to the Armenian. We’d both had a lot of wine and as we tumbled onto my futon I felt like a college kid minus the bong and wasted friends.
Then for some reason I can’t explain, it felt wrong. I was lying on my back with my head to the side listening to my dog crying and clawing at the kitchen gate. Meanwhile I wasn’t even paying attention to the Armenian or anything he was “doing”. I felt like a woman trapped in a bad marriage, bored by sex with her husband thinking of the groceries she needed to buy rather than someone having sex with a new guy for the first time! My only contribution to the event was consciousness and even that was waning. And then a truly disturbing thought entered my mind; could my recently deceased father see me right now? Please God, let the answer be no!
Thankfully it didn’t last very long. He asked me if I was ok – finally noticing I had “checked out”. “I’m fine” I insisted, “just really tired.” I had no emotion other than the powerful craving to sleep by myself and I just wanted him to leave. Is this what it feels like to be a guy? He got the hint and when he stood up to dress I held in an audible gasp, but my mind was screaming uggghhhh! He literally looked to be wearing a pair of pants made entirely of his own dark, curly hair! Not only was it thick- completely covering his legs- but it abruptly ended at the ankle, like pants or more specifically leggings! WTF!!! I was irrevocably damaged and utterly turned off. I walked him to the door, pecked him good night and released my dog from his kitchen prison. Hairpants was finally gone I only wish he could be as easily forgotten!
Nov 072010
Albert Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. After the Euro Guy debacle I was questioning my own sanity and figured it was time to try a new approach. Perhaps, if I let the men come to me and remained a little distant I wouldn’t get too excited or eager. I’d have less chance of acting crazy and ruining something before it had a chance to start!
I was still new to online dating pool, so I was still getting plenty of hits on my profile. My new tactic of letting the men come to me would be easy. Most of them were duds, but one guy in particular caught my eye I was drawn to his dark hair and dark eyes. His profile said he was Armenian, non-religious, a college graduate with a nice income. Only one downside: at the time I was rapidly approaching my 34th birthday and he was only 28. Had I already arrived in Cougar Town? Still scarred from my instant and disastrous connection with Euro Guy, I decided he was safe. After all, a 28 year old certainly couldn’t break my heart, so I pressed on. Several emails and a forced phone call later, I accepted his offer for dinner.
As I walked up to the restaurant where he was waiting outside, I had mixed feelings. He was good looking, but he was a little shorter than the guys I’m usually attracted to and his pants were a little too snug. But nobody’s perfect. During dinner I learned he was the only son of two doctors. Hmmm isn’t that what the European had told me? I began to wonder if this was a line all men used. He went on to tell me that he was the youngest “Executive” at the Investment Firm where he worked. He was clearly very impressed with himself – he dropped his title at least four times during dinner. Thank God for the good bottle of wine.
After the first date he continued to pursue me. It wasn’t a BAD time so though lukewarm, I continued dating him. Each date was pleasant, but there was no real spark. On the fifth date he finally went in for a kiss. It was surprisingly good and I started to warm up. What did I have to lose from going with the flow?
We planned to go out again two nights later and I went home to bed feeling hopeful and optimistic. Dating was starting to become fun.
Then life threw me one of those punches to the gut, devastating curve balls that knock you off of your feet. My phone rang at 2:30am and for a while, I lay frozen in bed, suspended between my dream life and reality. The ringing continued and I suddenly snapped out of it. I knew something terrible had happened. I answered the phone and my heart broke as I heard my sister gasping. “Dad died.”
I was numb, stunned. During the next twelve hours I moved as in a trance as I prepared to catch the first flight home. Death is horrible, sad and devastating, but what I remember most about that time is how much love and support I received from all directions. It was overwhelming and I knew that I would never have to worry about being alone. I am forever grateful to all those that were there for me and my family.
But alas, this is a story about dating, not death, so let’s get back to that…I had texted the Armenian before boarding the plane as I would obviously be breaking our date. I wasn’t sure of protocol; we weren’t close, but it seemed appropriate to tell him what had happened. He responded with a sincere and heartfelt apology and offered to help me in any way he could.
Throughout my week on the East Coast he perfectly maneuvered the fine line of offering support without being smothering or annoying. I appreciated it immensely and my affection for him began to grow. He offered to take me out when I got back into town. I figured I would need a good distraction so I accepted the invitation. I was actually looking forward to seeing him. Maybe I was blind with grief or shock because I never imagined the horror to come…