Thursday, April 18, 2013

Six Pack to go

So recently I had been seeing someone for a period of time, who I may or may not write about in the future. I am still debating. But that dalliance is over.  I am out in the dating world again.  As you know it is a very scary place.  It is full of damaged goods, serial daters and those who profess one thing but mean another.  But how will I find the man I am searching for if I don't put myself out there?  I won't.  So I accepted a date and set out into the dating world once again.

I have to say I was hesitant to go on this particular date.  Very hesitant.  I suspected this man, whom we will call Mr. Abs, and I had very little in common.  But he was very cute, seemed incredibly interested and professed to wanting to find a real relationship.  But red flags were raised when we exchanged some text messages during which several times he asked if he could send me a photo of his abs.  I said no, but clearly my 'no' meant nothing as the picture made its way on to my phone.  And yes those abs were very impressive but do abs make the man?  I was going to find out.

Mr. Abs suggested we meet at a bar that I was none to comfortable going to, but when I suggested other venues he said it was impossible.  Why?  He was far too popular.  Women from all over know him and he didn't want us to end up on FaceBook.  I tried to explain that really no one knows me but my protests fell on deaf ears.  Red flags.   So I agreed to meet him at the bar of his choice.  Upon arrival I noticed that he is good looking.  I'll give him that.  But I was right, we probably did not have a whole lot in common.  It was hard to know though, based on the conversation which revolved mostly around him.

He spent the majority of the conversation telling me how rich his family was, what kind of car he used to drive and what he drives now.  I even learned that he has two very expensive watches that probably individually cost more than my car.  His life is all very expensive and all very impressive if  only I was years younger and much more shallow.  He insisted on trying to show me his abs in person.  Three times I had to refuse to see those abs, in the bar, in front of other people.  Look, I like nice abs as much as the next woman, but if that is all you are selling, I need to move on.  And the sad part is this.  This man, Mr. Abs, is actually a nice guy.  He can be very charming and funny.  But his insecurity is killing him. And this date.

Post our first date, I received several text messages in which he practically begged me to tell him how wonderful he is, how good looking he is and how much better he is than other men I have dated.  It truly made me sad.  It made me want to wrap my arms around him and say, 'You are fantastic.  Just stop trying to get me to say you are fantastic.'  So when our second date approached, I almost cancelled.  This man is too high maintenance.  How can I possibly continually stroke his ego.  It would be exhausting.

But I went on the second date.  And again, he was charming and funny.  But he spent a lot of time talking about the multitude of divorced women who have called him up out of the blue to ask him if the rumors are true that he is single.  He told me stories of having to turn women away.  Look Mr. Abs, I get it.  You are attractive and you have money and there are many, many women out there who are drawn to that.  But you don't need to sell yourself to me.  It feels cheap and sort of pathetic.  If you just took a deep breath, stopped believing that you are only as good as the cash you can wave around and really trusted that you are a decent human being, this might all go differently.

Mr. Abs knows when to turn on the charm.  He tells me he is looking for a friend and lover (cue music now).  He tells me he is done dating the younger women.  He tells me he doesn't want me to date anyone else.  But I can see through Mr. Abs.  He doesn't want or need any of those things.  He needs someone to adore him.  He needs someone to think he is the best.  He needs someone to worship him.  But for all the wrong reasons.  Sadly Mr. Abs is selling himself short.  And you know, if you have read my blog, that I rarely say kind words about the men who end up on here.  Poor Mr. Abs will never find happiness until he starts to believe that he is a good person and doesn't need to 'buy' women.

So Mr. Abs, who is in his early 40's, has moved on to a 26 year old.  But we all know how this will end.  And Mr. Abs will be out again, trying to show off his abs at bars.  I may not be there to catch the show.  I will surely be on another date because after all I am divorced and single.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The Show must go on


We have all seen the male peacock proudly display his feathers in order to lure the female peacock into his bachelor pad for a quick go around.  Is it much different with men?  Not really.  In their defense they can only work with what they have.  For some it is their brains, for others their wit and for a select few it is that they don't have much to work with, so they have to conjure up a magical act complete with illusion and slight of hand.  I went out on a date with one such man.  He presented himself in such a light that I was intrigued, beguiled and interested, at least momentarily.

My date lied.  This is not shocking in the least.  People lie, especially when it comes to physical appearance or age.  He told the truth about his age but the physical appearance, well that was another story.  Now for those of you who have been following along, my pet peeve has nothing to do with how you look but more how you pretended you looked prior to me meeting you.  When you say you have an athletic body and show up with a beer keg gut, either your definition of athletic and mine are very different, or you just plain lied to get me out on a date.  Either way I am horrified by your grasp of the English language or the fact that you thought I wouldn't notice.  This date was a large man to say the least.  A large man who saw himself very differently.

But I am already on the date and there is no turning back.  As soon as the date started I knew I was seeing a well rehearsed show.  I almost expected to be handed a program so I could follow along.  First stop.  A fancy Philadelphia hotel where my date happened to know everyone and they him.  Here I was supposed to notice how they fawned over him, and how friendly he was with those who work for him.  Take away:  this is a good guy who cares about the little people.  What I really saw:  A guy so insecure that he doesn't go anywhere people don't know him.

From there I was whisked to the fancy hotel bar where they pretty bartender immediately fixed my dates drink without asking what he wanted.  She batted her eyelashes at him just enough to try to make me realize that my date was a desired man.  He chit chatted with her about her recent trip thus solidifying his kindness to the working class.  But as he slurped down his drinks and gnawed at the olives I kept wondering how many girls before me had taken in this show.  Then when he suggested I try a mixed drink that he had heard was delicious I was tempted to ask him which date prior to me had declared it yummy?  I don't drink vodka, which I mentioned, but he told me I would barely taste it.  Again I repeated that I don't drink vodka.  He suggested gin in the drink.  Nope don't drink that either.  He sighed.  I was going to order off the program.  This might ruin the show.  I got a glass of wine.

Two drinks later it was intermission.  During intermission we headed to an apartment in said fancy hotel where my date said he lived.  We were required to make small talk with the doorman thus justifying my date's presence there.  It was a fancy apartment.  But when I asked about the seemingly feminine bedroom, I clearly had looked too far backstage.  My date conceded that perhaps this might not be his apartment.  Perhaps this apartment may belong to his mother.  And perhaps he may just be staying with her.  Hmmmm.  This show has some major story and character flaws.

After intermission it was time for the second act.  Luckily I consumed enough alcohol to make it through.  The second act was dinner.  I was taken to a restaurant where once again my date knew everyone.  At this point I suspect I was supposed to notice his overwhelming popularity but I was on my third drink and really hoping the show would come to close soon.  He ordered without asking me what I wanted, or more importantly what I didn't eat.  And out came some sort of veal dish.  Veal.  I don't eat veal.  Or lamb or lobster.  But clearly my part in the show had not been written in yet.  He tried to scoop some veal onto a fork and feed it to me.  I demurred.  I was ruining this act.  So he consumed the veal adding to his not so athletic figure.  After my fourth glass of wine we were off.  Whisking me home in his car he asked if he could take me out again.  Perhaps to a comedy club.  I told him I didn't love comedy clubs.  He frowned.  I was really, really ruining his show.  Comedy Clubs were the sequel.

The show came to close with me slurring goodnight and climbing out of his car.  My takeaways were supposed to be this:  This man is rich, people like him and he is in charge.  What I took away:  this man's mother may be rich, people who work for him are required to seem like they like him and he doesn't listen to his dates.  All in all I would call this show a success for both of us.  He got to rehearse once again and I got drunk.  His show can go on, but without me.  I will look elsewhere and continue to date because after all I am divorced and single.