Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Zoot Suit and all

I went on another date. I just keep trying. Odds are if I go out on enough dates I will finally find a decent man, right? I sure hope so. I have noticed that my dates are actually becoming less and less exciting. Not the actual dates but the locations, plans and even my outfits. I am afraid apathy has taken over. I am hoping to snap out of it. And soon. It is sad when I would prefer to put on my Pajamas, curl up in bed and watch reruns. I am hoping for that spark, that excitement when I see my date. I am hoping that I won't be thinking of all the stuff I have to get at the grocery store while pretending to listen to my date speak. I am hoping I am not home before 8pm when the date starts at 6:30pm. But not this time.

I met this man on Match.com. Mid 40's, two kids, sales job and Jewish. Looks good. He is bald but I really have never had a problem with that. We speak via email a couple of times and then he suggests we meet. I like the initiative. We agree to go for coffee. At a bookstore. Not my first choice but a safe choice at that. As the evening approached, and the wind howled I became less and less enthusiastic. I left the house wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. I have sunk to a new low.

I got to the bookstore and there he was. Wearing a Zoot suit. Ok, it probably wasn't a Zoo suit but it sure looked like it. Tan with pinstripes and about 47 times too large for him, the suit was a distracting. I couldn't stop staring at the shoulder pads rising above his head as he spoke to me. When he got up to get a napkin I was amazed at how the crotch of his pants skimmed his knees. It was so overwhelming that for the first ten minutes I heard nothing he said.

But then I refocused. What was he saying? He hates television. Oh, nail one in the coffin. I love television and I am not embarrassed to say so. He does though, pitch me an idea for a television show that would follow a bunch of medical supply sales people. I know you are wondering how he came up with such an amazing idea. Hold your breath. He sells medical supplies. He then goes on to explain exactly what he does on a day to day basis. Let me tell you, while selling medical supplies may be an honorable profession, it is not an exciting one that needs 30 minutes to break it down. I am easily distracted by the rising shoulder pads and tune out.

But the whole date something is bothering me beyond the zoot suit. Something is not right. It is as if an alarm is going off inside of me. Wait. I know that sound. It is my gaydar. It has been activated. And the alarm is sounding. This guy is gay. This guy is homosexual. I can feel it. I can smell it. I know it. I am on a date with a gay man in a zoot suit.

After an hour and a half I am done. The coffee is cold. I want to go home. I thank him for meeting me. He tells me he really enjoyed speaking with me. Yeah, yeah. Just let me out of here. He insists on walking me to my car. I hop in before he can get close. I shake his hand. I drive off. Quickly.

Once I get home I quickly throw on my pajamas and get in bed. Cozy and happy. I could have happily stayed home although I know I have to get out and date. But honestly, dating gay men in zoot suits can drive one to stay at home. But I will not give up. I will keep forging forward because after all I am 42 and single.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Obsession is not just a sweet scent

I am obsessed. I am very aware of my obsession. I am also abundantly aware that the object of my obsession is not worth my time and effort. But somewhere inside me, I can't let go. I don't know if it is because this obsession started more than twenty years ago or if it because I have no one else in my life. But either way, I am fixated on one man. One man, who if I probably broke it down, does not really have any of the elements I am looking for. That doesn't seem to matter. What I have conceived in my head about who this man is, could not possibly be true. And logically I know that I should get over him, but I am like some sick drug addict who just goes back for more even though I know when I come down from the high I am going to be miserable.

So once again I reached out. I told this man I would be in his town over the weekend. He replied that I should let him know where I would be hanging out. The logical side of me knew that he was blowing me off when he didn't make definitive plans but the teenage girl side of me was thrilled that he would consider meeting me out. So night one, and I texted to let him know where I was. He debated. He hemmed. He hawed. I found some pride and told him to forget it, I was leaving. I was sad.

A couple nights passed. I thought about him. A lot. I really have a problem and probably need to see some one. Not a professional but another man. But since that is not happening, I will obsess some more.

Last night of the weekend and again I found myself going out with some friends and texting him and telling where we would be. He asked who was there. I responded. He said he was coming over. Butterflies. I had butterflies in my stomach. What the hell is wrong with me? He is not butterfly worthy. My good and kind friend made sure there was an empty seat right next to me. She did this even though I know she thinks I am completely mad for obsessing over this man. And then he was there. He said his hellos, looked directly at the seat next to me and moved on. Yes, he moved on. Away from me.

So for the next hour he spoke to everyone but me. He didn't even look at me. I felt like the Elephant Man. A hideous human being that people can't even glance at. I was pissed. I was disappointed. I was realistic. Where did I think this evening was really going to go? Was he going to profess his love for me? No of course not. But it would have been nice for him to ask me how I was doing.

And then the evening was over. We all made our way to the door. We said our goodbyes. He lingered. I lingered. I wondered if he was lingering on purpose or just felt some weird obligation to to hang back with me. We chatted very briefly. I hugged him goodbye. I resisted to urge to tell him I love him. I drove home.

Now any logical, smart, grounded person would look at this situation and say 'He clearly is not at all interested in you and you should just move on'. And I completely agree. But I am not at all sane. I am convinced that if the stars align just so, and if the wind blows softly and the crickets chirp beautifully and I provide him with an abundance of alcohol, he will be mine. But sadly I have neither the courage or the gumption to act on any of these thoughts. Something about this man makes me a weak, giggly teenage girl. It's stupid. He is not that special.

I should move. I should let him go. I should wise up. But I can't. Because after all I am 42 and single.