Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Past was a Long Time Ago.

Date three from Match.com finds me meeting a man who did not post a picture but instead sent me a video of himself. Red Flag number one.  He claimed he did not have one single picture of himself without his daughter in it.  I am pretty sure you can crop those things but what the hell, I'll look at the video.  It is a video of this man we will call Dan, in a gym, holding a giant stick and lunging back and forth.  It is hilarious.  And made even more so by the fact that I have turned the volume down and added my own dialogue.  Things like 'I will woo you with may ability to take a broom handle and jab it back and forth over and over'.  I am intrigued.  Who is this man who can parry and lunge with the best of them?  But I am also scared.  The video is slightly blurry and the man is shot from a distance, presumably so the camera man would not be stabbed.  But if I squint my eyes, he looks fit, has thick dark hair and and seems ok.  My standards are not very high.

Dan and I email back and forth a few times.  He says he owns some fitness gyms.  I see free pilates classes in my future.  He says he gained a couple of pounds since his divorce but is actively working to get back to parrying and lunging shape.  Ok, a couple pounds is fine.  Free pilates classes.  He says he used to play Lacrosse in college.  I pretend to be impressed.  I really don't care about what you did in college.  Wasn't that a long time ago?  I used to play beer pong in college.  Do you think he would be impressed by that?  He says we should meet for coffee.  I agree.  Why wouldn't I agree.  After all he played lacrosse in college, owns gyms, packed on a few pounds and can wield a large stick with grace.

So what is your definition of a couple of pounds?  Mine is somewhere between 10-20.  Especially on a tall man.  Clearly I should have had him define 'a couple of pounds' before we met.   I think Dan's definition of a couple of pounds is somewhere between 100-150 pounds.  Dan is enormous.  His arms are bigger than my thighs.  And my thighs are 42 year old, popped out two kids, can't motivate to get on the elliptical machine in the family room thighs.  And his hair is thick but graying.  And he has not brought his large stick.  I am disappointed.  But I am also open minded.  And desperate.  So I stay.

Dan tells me he is a Libertarian.  I am not sure that this is first date talk.  In fact I am not sure what a Libertarian is.  Luckily for me, Dan proceeds to tell me and try to convince me that I too should be a libertarian.  I promise him I will look into it.  He then tells me what a great boss he is and how he listens to his employees but only if they make a valid argument.  But isn't he the boss so isn't he the one who judges the validity of the argument?  Yes, he says.  Then he starts talking about Lacrosse...

I was never a team sport girl.  I played tennis, and rode horses.  Solo sports all the time.  I didn't play soccer, field hockey or lacrosse.  I don't really care all that much about them.  And I really don't care if you played it 20 years ago in college.  But Dan cares.  He cares a lot.  He played, breathed and lived lacrosse.  He made it to the final four.  He mentions this numerous times.  I don't have the heart to tell him that I don't know what the final four is.  I assume it is important but my final four reference only goes as far as the tv show 'Survivor'.  Dan can't get past lacrosse.  My coffee is cold.

But then the nail is placed in the coffin.  Dan tells me about his fabulous attorney.  The one he used for his divorce.  I ask her name.  Yup - it is my ex husband's attorney.  And yes, Dan knows my ex-husband and yes Dan introduced my ex-husband to his attorney.  I think we are done here.  I head to the  bathroom, text a friend to call my cell asap.  Once returning to the table my cell rings and I must run.  I say good bye to Dan, being careful not to get squashed by his few extra pounds.  And I am off.  I am feeling awfully cynical at this point.  Is no one what they say they are?  Or am I just too damn picky?  I am not sure but maybe it is the caffeine talking but I will date again.  I will find someone who at the very least describes themselves accurately.  I will go out again because after all I am 42 and single.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

You can't buy love...or can you?

I knew I should not have gone out on this date.  My gut kept saying, 'Don't do this.  This is not going to be fun'.  His profile on Match.com stated that he was 5'5" and athletic and toned.  I know I have mentioned this before and it probably does not come as a shock, but people tend to lie on Match.com about their physical appearance.  So if you are saying you are 5'5", I am betting good money that you are not.  And this guys profile did not include a picture.  He said he was willing to send me one.  When I asked why he didn't post it, he said it was because of his job.  Ooooohhhh...is he a secret agent, a spy CIA intelligence?  Now, that could make up for the 5'5" lie.

He did send me a picture.  It was of him, seated with his arm around a woman.  Why would you send a picture of yourself with a woman?  He claimed the woman was of no consequence, but really, there are no other pictures available that don't include a woman?  In the photo he is about 400 yards away from the camera, so judging him is hard.  He is also seated so height judgment is not possible.  He has a full head of dark hair though.  Now, lest you think I am shallow and judging a man by his physical appearance keep in mind that I don't care if he is 5'5" and possibly not as athletic and toned as he claims.  I just care if he is lying about those facts.

After a couple of bizarre emails in which he suggested we meet in a remote, 'Non-gossipy' location, I agree to meet in a public restaurant.  Perhaps the restaurant will put his secret spy identity at risk, but I am not meeting him anywhere covert. We settle a breakfast spot and meet for brunch.  He claims 9:30am is too early for him because his work wipes him out but he will make an exception for me.  Spying must be a very demanding job.

We meet.

I am disappointed to say he was not wearing an earpiece or rocking a concealed weapon, unless you consider a beer belly, a weapon.  And he wasn't 5'5".  I was taller than him.  I am 5'3". Athletic and toned?  See the beer belly reference.  Brown hair?  Perhaps he ran out of Just for Men.  Don't these guys get it?  If you lie on your profile, eventually we will meet and I will discover the real you.  Was I upset that I was with a short, fat, gray haired man?  No.  I was upset I was with a short, fat, gray haired man who lied to me.  But perhaps being a spy would make up for it.  Perhaps he was required to lie on his Match.com profile so his cover wouldn't be blown.  He was acting suspicious.  His eyes darted around the room looking for potential danger.  He spoke so quickly I could barely hear what he was saying.  And he was sweaty.  Were we in danger?  Nope, turns out only I was.

The waitress sat us near the window.  But my spy date told her that would not work.  Too many people could shoot at him through the glass I suppose.  He tucked us in a corner away from,  as he said,  'spying eyes'.  I felt like James Bond.  And then he leaned forward and said 'I am a radiologist'.  A WHAT?  You are a doctor?  So why the hell are we being so covert.  I was no longer intrigued and was starting to feel sick.

Dr. Shifty Eyes spent the rest of the date leaning too far forward across my food and telling me how much money he had.  He talked about his broker and how much he had made in gold.  He talked about his best friend Bruce who made $500 million. He talked about how he bought his ex-girlfriend a Mercedes and a house and took her on $30,000 vacations.  He talked about how all his money and free time without kids has made it dangerous for him.  He can't control himself if I knew what he meant, wink, wink.  I knew what he meant.  I couldn't control the vomit that was coming up.  He talked about the tech at his office who really had the hots for him but went for Bruce because Bruce had just a little more money.  He talked about how people knew he had money and he didn't know how.  Then he told me about the date he had the night before.  Yes he had a date the night before and was telling me about it.  He told me how in the middle of the date the woman stood up, told him that it wasn't a match between then and walked out.  That woman is my idol.  How I wish I had the balls to do that now.

I stopped eating hoping the waitress would notice and bring the check.  She didn't.  He told me about how he has patented a lot of his medical inventions that will bring in a lot of money that he will slide over to his broker to make more money.    Then he told me that really money doesn't mean that much to him.  Please waitress, look at my pleading eyes and bring the check.  Mercifully she finally did.

We sidled out of the restaurant and he put his hand on my back.  I jump forward involuntarily from the revulsion.  I wish I could be one of those women who could get over a lack of personality, charm, humor, wit and kindness and just be with a man for money.  Cause if I could, I would have a new car, house and lifestyle by now.  But no matter how hard I tried, when I looked at Dr. Shifty Eyes, all I saw was him naked talking about money.  It was not a pretty picture.  So I shook his hand. Told him it was nice to meet him and jumped rapidly into my car.  I will not sell myself for a new set of wheels.  I want and deserve more than that.  After all, I am 42 and single.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Paging Dr.Text...Dr. Text

And we are back.  I did take a dating hiatus.  I felt like I needed to take a break from all the fun I was having and sober up.  So I cleaned house.  Defriended some 'friends' and canceled my subscription to Match.com.  I spent the summer months looking at the left hands of handsome men and wondering if they just weren't wearing their wedding rings or were really single.  Of course they didn't notice me as I wandered by in my dirty sweatpants, my hair up in a messy bun.   Perhaps I wasn't going about this right.  Perhaps I needed to start all over.  Yes, I will have a different attitude fueled my many margaritas in the summer sun.  I will find love or at least a good date. 

I rejoined Match.com.


But wait.  I am going about it with a new and improved attitude.  I will take off my snotty hat and put on my accepting hat.  I will consider men who may not be the most attractive.  I will consider men who live in towns I don't love.  I will consider men who describe themselves as athletic and toned but have profile picture revealing their beer belly.  I will think outside the box and I will find a decent man.  I will put myself out there, taking all the rejection I can stomach in order to succeed.

But I don't have to wait long.  A man has emailed me.  Not physically my type but the new me says' look past that'.  He is a doctor, he lives nearby, he has kids and he likes the outdoors.  Ok, so if you know me you know my version of the outdoors is sitting on my butt on a beach chair, but hell, for love I will climb a rock or two. 

We email and exchange phone numbers.  I tell him I cannot speak until two days later as I want to present my best self and interrupting a phone conversation to yell at my kids to 'shut the hell up' does not put me in the best light.  He tells me that is fine.  But then he starts texting me.  A lot.  Texts that read 'Just running some errands and then heading home.'  I am perplexed.   Did we go out already?  Are we a couple?  And it isn't just one text, it is a lot of texts.  And then he starts calling.  I don't answer because my kids are roaming nearby.  The messages are 'Just driving and thought I would call.'  Hold on.  This is a little intimate for never having met.  But this is the new dating me and I will go out with him.

We finally speak on the phone.  Hmmmmm.  It was fine.  Not great but fine.  He doesn't like the beach.  I love the beach.  He likes to hike and bike.  I like to ride in a car.  He is 6'2".  I am 5'3".  But opposites attract right?  We make a plan to meet but sadly the only time I can meet him is post a Selena Gomez concert with my daughter.  That puts us getting together at 11pm.  But what the hell.  It is the new me. 

The night of the concert arrives.  But wait let me go back a week.  Dr. Text has texted me about 400 times since our call.  I am a little freaked out.  I mean I am all for texting but usually with someone I know.  But I am still planning on seeing him.  Concert night comes.  Outdoor concert.  In the pouring rain.  Selena sings her little heart out.  Dr. Text texts me about 27 times during the concert.  I finally text back saying I will let him know when I am leaving.  I bolt out of the concert, go home, dry myself off and rush off to meet Dr. Text.  As I am driving to the date, he texts me to tell me where he is sitting.  Then he texts me to ask me what I want to drink.  Dude!  Enough.

We meet.  He is really tall.  He is really thin.  My ass is twice the size of his.  Three of his legs equal one of my thighs.  I am not happy.  But I am open minded.  We start to talk.  I start to drink.  I am soooooo tired.  He does not eat red meat.  I am slightly horrified.  He doesn't like pets.   Ugh.  I order another beer.  I begin to wonder what it would be like to kiss a man so tall.  How would I do it?  Stepladder?  And if I wrapped my arms around him could I touch my shoulders.  Is he really that thin?  And what is that shirt he wearing?  Stop it.  This is the new me.  I will give him a chance.  Finally 2am comes and I am delirious with sleep and beer.  I need to go home.  He leans across the table and says 'I would really like to see you again'.  Ok.  I will do this.  We hug goodbye.

And that is all.  Suddenly no more texts.  I worry that he has fallen off his bike and has been run over.  How will I know when he is running errands?  I realize I have become accustomed to his texts.  But I need to let go.  I think he may have lied to me when he said he wanted to see me again.  Maybe in my sleepy haze I mis-heard him.  Maybe he said 'I would really not like to see you again'.  Hey Dr. Text...text this!   I don't need your daily updates.  I don't need to know you are headed to your parents for dinner.  I don't need to know you are picking up your dry cleaning.  You are on your own Dr. Text.  I can live without you Dr. Text because after all, I am 42 and single.