What I've Learned.

My friend, Mark, asked me the other day if I just say yes to just anyone who asks me out or if I have a screening process. Of course I have a screening process, but when dating on the Internet, it is far from foolproof because you can only make decisions based on the information you are given by a stranger. Sometimes photos are outdated, and it's amazing how many people are missing teeth, and hello! hygiene is important in the dating world. Even horses have their teeth checked before a sale. (I know where your mind went because mine went there first, but I'm not looking for a man who is hung like a horse. Or one who says he is.)

I've learned that it's not always a good idea to even give out the phone number until after you've actually met. It's easy enough to communicate via messaging through whatever site you're on, and it saves on the annoying phone calls and texts should the guy turn out to be like my Fire Slave Dave or Paulution who sent long texts the next few days following that first and only date. Even if I think I might like them, I may wait to give them the number. That wasn't the case with the Aussie, though, because I was jonesing to hear his voice. All you can really do is play it by ear and then hope for the best. This may sound like a head game, but it goes both ways between the sexes. Make her wait for your number, too. I can't imagine what men are running into out there. I know someone who is trying to get a squatter out of his house after an Internet date and it's not looking too good for him right now. She threw him a sob story and he felt bad for her, let her stay the night and now she's been there for a few months and he can't get rid of her. Be cautious, as people are not what they seem.


Watch for warning signs, like the Manufacturing and Distribution guy who delivered pizza, he is still online, but now says he's a graphic artist with "some college". Last time I checked, it took a degree to work as a graphic artist, not just a few classes. Also, as cheesy as it sounds, check them out at the website adultfriendfinder.com. This is a site designed for finding a sex partner. You can create an anonymous profile, sans picture, and then check out the men in your area. You'll be shocked when you see so many of the same faces you see on the regular sites.


If I like the persons photo and it's NOT BEEFCAKE, I might send a simple email. One word. "Nice." Vain, muscle bound men take up too much space in the bathroom mirror, and I've even been carelessly moved/pushed out of the way so Kryptonite could see his massive arms. And, I know, I'm stereotyping, but they are usually out for sex and nothing else. Same thing goes for the women who are exposing their assets in their profile pictures. There's a better class of men who will hit on you when you look classy. I do love muscles, don't get me wrong. We all like a mate who is well put together, but I want to see how someone presents himself in the world, not in the bedroom. And the photos taken in the bathroom with your phone? Just don't. Please.

I'm not looking for Mr. Right, I'm looking for Mr. Right Now. My plan is not to find someone who is going to be a life-long companion, but rather someone I can count on tomorrow. Maybe an entire series of tomorrows, but I don't believe in soul mates. Kindred spirits? Yeah. That one I'll take.



MY DREAM MAN

*Smells nice, wears cologne

*Manscapes, nose hair is out of vogue. HYGEINE, boys!

*Doesn't have to be wildly handsome, but needs to take care of himself.

*Makes me laugh

*Can hold an intelligent conversation.

*Doesn't need to have money, but must have a job and be able to support himself.

*MUST have the balls to stand up to his mother and his ex-wife/ex-girlfriend and put them in place if they are out of line.

How I Know Mark

Maybe my dating difficulties go back even further than I thought. My teenage years were riddled with strangeness, too. Even the man I eventually married started out in an unusual way. I've met some fun and interesting people along the way, so I think I'll take a moment and go back in time.

The prom. He was senior class president and I was a lowly sophomore trying to fit in with his older friends. It rained that night and on the way home, he hit the median and blew out the tire. There we were in the pouring rain and wearing our finest garments yet to date and changing a tire. My father was a mechanic and had taught me to do so much in the way of taking care of cars and when the tire blew, this fellow couldn't figure out how to solve the problem. He looked ridiculous standing in the rain while a 98 pound teenage girl in high heels and a yellow dress assessed the situation.

Wasn't long after prom that I met Dan, the man I would marry. I was 16. We met on a blind date and I was the date of his best friend. The four of us, including my friend and his, spent many happy hours together as friends and companions. He and I always leading the pack as we were the outgoing ones of the foursome. Eventually, we all broke up. We became closer friends after that, but that was it. It wasn't until a few years later when we ran into each other that things took a romantic turn. Both people have to be in the same frame of mind. Timing is everything.

I was 19 by then, and for about a year, I had been having quite a nice time with an older man. Friends with benefits is what we were, and we were very friendly! We were both DJ's in our community and he also moonlighted at a 3.2 bar the area was famous for at the time. We had a nice arrangement for about a year before I disappeared without a trace. Dan came to the bar one night, and I never went back, and that was the last time Mark and I saw one another. I felt sorta bad about vanishing like that. 20 some odd years later I found him on classmates and dropped a line. We had a good laugh about it and now have a nice friendship.

Date Fourteen: By The Way, Melinda.....

How did our species actually continue to propagate with men like the ones I've met?  Toothless and tactless they approach women with ungainly swaggers and idiotic comments they think will make us want to hop right into bed with them. Baby, are those jugs real?  As if that is going to endear a woman to a man in record time.  I'm sure there's a woman out there who will unsnap her bra and offer them up for the testing, and it is she who has created the monsters I've met so far. If women turned and ran when approached with such idiocy perhaps the idiots would rethink their pick up lines.  Some lines just make me want to cry for the man's mother.  She would be so embarrassed if she knew just what her son was saying to the fairer sex.

He was a personal trainer from Australia.  The former DJ in me loves a nice voice and add that sexy accent and I was intrigued.  I broke the rules I established after Fire Slave Dave for this one and we spoke on the phone for a week or so before we actually met.  I liked him.  The first conversation lasted 4 hours.  Very unlike me to do that, but we hit it off and the conversation went along smoothly and naturally.  Time got away from us as we spoke.  He was fun to talk to and the accent, well, it was very sexy. 

My own body image got in the way for a few days and I canceled the first date.  He's a personal trainer for an Ultimate Fighter and countless other people who are on a mission to create the perfect body.  My idea of a perfect body is not the same as his, I was sure.  Chocolate chip cookies are a staple in my diet, as are tacos and chili relleno burritos from the local taco shop.  I'm by no means a fat girl, but I'm not bone skinny either.  I embrace my curves.  He had seen photos of me and was aware of my physical stature, but a part of me felt I wouldn't be the type of girl a personal trainer sees outside the gym.  The last thing I wanted was to become his latest "project" as he made me run alongside the car on the way to dinner in an effort to turn me into a size zero.   After a few conversations he made me feel more relaxed about his standards by saying skinny girls are high maintenance.  So we met.

We got into our cars, got on our cell phones and headed down the same street towards one another until we came to the first place we both recognised...TGIF's.  He reminded me of Clark Kent with sexy glasses.  I had seen photos of him and made that comparison and he thought it was pretty funny.  He said he had Superman underwear and he promised to wear them that night.  Yes, I know you must be wondering, he's younger by 6 years.  But please note, they are getting older!

We sit and chat for a bit, order dinner and he convinces me to peek under the table to see his Superman underwear.  I do and I laugh, loudly.  He seems a little nervous and that lightened the mood a bit.  He wasn't tasteless about it, as he just pulled the waistband out of his jeans and let me get a look at the bold red and blue colors indicative of the caped crusader.  Or is that Batman?  Anyway, I'm liking him.  He compliments me on my appearance and I feel much better about not being a size 5.  

I see him looking at my legs when I get up to go to the bathroom so I ask, "Are you a leg man?"

Remember, he has an Australian accent.....

"No, I'm into vagiiiiiinas." 

The word vagina is pretty coarse spoken by an American, but have an accent like his and the word didn't gracefully trip off his tongue.  It sounded almost foreign and I'm sad that I can't mimic it for you in person.  What happened to the nerves he had half an hour earlier? 

"Oh."  I guess I sort of set myself up for the next thing he says.

"And by the way, Melinda,  I've got a nine inch cock."  He says it with pride.  "It's long, but it's thin."

At this point I've almost finished dinner and have the fork and knife still in hand.  I slowly set them down on the plate that I then push away from me.  I fold my arms on the table and I lean forward.

"Thanks, but wouldn't you have rather I had found that out on my own?   Seen the joy on my face and the twinkle in my eye as I clapped my hands with glee when I unwrapped that little present? You've ruined the surprise and now that I know what I'm getting, I don't want it any more."

I reached for my purse as he sputtered across from me.  I pulled a $20 out and dropped it on the table.  He started to laugh nervously.  I was a whole lot of shocked that someone would announce something like that at meal time.  And the first meeting to boot.  It was inappropriate and arrogant and it felt like he was auditioning for the position of porn star. 

"Wow, just look at the time!  Guess I'll be moving on."  I gather up my dignity and scoot out of the booth.  He gets up.

"Let me walk you to your car." He says.

"Fine."  We walk out and I go to my car.  There's no stalling for a kiss or a hug goodbye.  He opens the door for me and I laugh at his gentlemanly gesture after such an off the wall remark about the size of his penis. 

"Thanks."  I get in.

"Call me."  He says.  

Sure, when pigs fly.

Kryptonite Immunity!

Whenever I felt lonely I found myself turning to Kryptonite for comfort.  Sure, it's purely physical, but I left feeling satiated and somewhat content.  It's days later that the emptiness filled my soul.  Two months has passed since our last meeting and feeling low, I call him.  His voice sounds excited to hear from me.  He's got a big smile on his face and I can nearly see it through the phone.  I'm heading to an art event, but we make plans to meet afterwards.  I call when I'm around the corner.

We play very well together.  We laugh and enjoy each other mentally and physically. Contented, we drift off to sleep.  His phone rings at 1 am.  He answers.  He gets out of bed.  He's gone for a while, in the living room, calling someone "Babe".  The conversation I picked up on was from a woman who went on a date, had just arrived back at home and was calling to give him an update. I'm not sure why I'm getting angrier by the minute, but I am.   It feels disrespectful to me. He doesn't hear me when I get out of his bed and I leave, slamming the door behind me.  I drive the 30 seconds it takes me to get home, pull into my driveway and my phone rings.  It's him.  

"Weren't you even going to say goodbye?"   I'm angry.  Mad, even.  Mostly at myself because I've left my best underwear at his house.

"I'm on my way back.  Meet me at the door with my underwear."  I hang up on him.  I drive back and he's not at the door with my knickers.  He's baiting me into going back into the house.

I enter his house and go to his bedroom to get my underwear and I find him propped up in bed, leaning against the headboard with the sheet over his naked hips.  Sexy pose, but suddenly, I'm immune. I took the moment to tell him exactly how I felt. How angry I was at being a secret and how shameful it makes me feel.  How rude it is to take a phone call when you have someone in your bed.  And I finished with how he's missing out because there's a side to me that he'll never know.  All the while I'm crawling around on the floor looking for my bra and panties that were thrown helter skelter a few hours ago.  

He apologized.   He actually apologized.  And it was too late.  Something in me had clicked.  I was done.  That apology meant nothing to me.  It rang hollow in my ears and heart.  He tried to get me to come back to bed, but I was done.  WE were done.  I've built up an immunity to his brand of kryptonite.   I went home and went through my closet searching for one of his shirts I had worn home one night.  I went to the kitchen and found the coffee mug I had left with one morning.  I put the reminders of him in a bag and put them in the trunk of my car along with a few other items that were destined for donation.  I didn't even flinch when I handed them over to the Salvation Army.  

Someone sent me a text with what looks like the x-ray of a man's head.  Inside the head is an animated penis flopping up and down and written below it is the caption:  Your MRI came back positive.  You're a dick head.  I sent it to him.  I haven't heard back.  I know I won't, but damn! I certainly feel better!  I've finally conquered kryptonite!  

 

Emmanuel: The Penis Stroker

I hate dating online, but I like it too.  My work schedule doesn't allow me the day light hours necessary to go out with friends and meet men in the normal way. I get off work, go home and unwind, just like everyone else.  Except I work swing.  When I get off work, the world is asleep and I'm wide awake.  When I finally go to bed, dawn is just breaking. I hate it.  Love the job, hate the hours.  

I come home from work and settle in with the computer to check email and my facebook. I'm so addicted to that site.  Then I spend some time looking at men at Plentyoffish.com .  I have to say, that out of all the sites I've been on, this one is the best. Mainly because it's free and it has a chat program built into it.  I can be looking at profiles and get a chat request.  I wait patiently for the screen to load, waiting to see who's on the other end.  A web cam can be viewed from the chat screen, too. Sometimes when I get a chat window come up, there's someone on their web cam looking back at me.  Keep in mind, they can't see me. 

I'm already chatting with a friend I've made from the site and a new screen loads.  I'm shocked at what I see.  A man...duh.....stroking his penis on his web cam.  I see the name...Emmanuel.  I'm so caught off guard that I click the screen off and send him back where he came from.  I'm certain he won't send another chat screen because he'll figure I wasn't interested.

I'm wondering  if I see some one's penis, does that mean I have to count them as a date?  Because if I do, that's really going to push up my numbers.  I have had men send their penis via text message and over web cam before.  I have a collection.  So far, 6 on my phone and 2 via web cam.

So Emmanuel is proud of his manhood.  He strokes it and somehow thinks this is going to impress me.  When I think about reversing the situation and it having been a woman stroking herself and a man watching, the man would be doing all he could to get a clearer picture.  A woman on the other hand, sees a stranger taking care of things like that and we instantly think, "Ewwwwwww!".

The Emmanuel story continues.....

A few weeks later, I'm chatting online with the same friend I was chatting with when Emmanuel made his appearance.  A new chat screen pops up and when it loads I see myself looking at the profile picture of a nice looking man.  I click on the photo and it takes me to his actual profile where I can decide whether or not I want to chat or not.  I notice the name.  Emmanuel.  OMG!  It's the penis stroker!  

"I recognize your name."  I type.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Didn't your mother tell you that you'd go blind doing that?"

Silence from him for a few seconds and I wait it out.

"What are you talking about?"  he writes.

"I'm talking about a few weeks ago when you showed me your dick." 

Silence for a full minute before he responded.

"You think that was me?"

"YES!" I write.  "You had your hand on your dick and you were going to town...fess up.  it was you, wasn't it?"

*crickets*     and then he writes,

"I'd rather it have been YOUR hand on my cock."

My jaw hit my chest....My fingers are flying across the keyboard.  "IT WAS YOU!  YOU ARE SO NASTY!"

and that was when he hung up on me.

Date Thirteen: The Dog Whisperer

This is a testament to not judge a book by it's cover. This cover was really nice. No nicks, tears, or stains. In really good shape for being 44. He has a great job, and we have history. We dated in high school. In fact, he was the older brother I was trying to make jealous by going steady with his younger brother.

We never did seem to find ourselves on the same page when we were younger, but a comfortable friendship was there. Always some cute thing distracting one of us away from the other, so we never did actually date on a serious level, but once we graduated things might have gone a different route had he not decided to marry. Before he proposed he came to me and asked if I would be his "last sexual adventure" before his marriage.

Let's see...

Flattered?

Offended?

Flattered?

Offended?

OFFENDED! If he wanted an adventure he needed a whore, even a stranger, but not someone he referred to as his best friend. I was pretty shocked by this. We were friends, after all, and friends don't do the deed. OK, so he was 20 at the time of this indecent proposal, so I'll cut him some slack.

I have married just a few weeks after they did and they came to my wedding. However, his new wife can't stand the fact that we are friends and puts her foot down regarding our friendship. Time slips by and we keep in touch annually via holiday card. Somehow, after a few years, we managed to keep in touch for a while without any problems from either spouse.

Years pass and we lose touch again. We both find ourselves the product of divorce. He finds me through Classmates.com and we begin our new beginning. A romantic one. Kyrptonite is out of the picture momentarily, again, and I'm having a low moment. I'm tired of the freaks I've met and dated and I just want a normal one to spend some time with. Is this too much to ask? He tells me how he wanted to stand up during my wedding when the minister says 'speak now or forever hold your piece....er.....peace' and that his wife grabbed his hand and kept him in his seat. He even had tears in his voice as he told me this over the phone. He said I was the one who got away. The only woman he had ever truly loved or would ever love again. blah blah blah Is it starting to smell in here? The story was nice, but hard to believe. He said he sent 50-60 letters and I never answered them and it hurt him desperately. Letters I never received. Mind you, I'm basing my judgment of him on the friendship we had 20 some years prior and he was credible at the point in time, so I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He lives far away and we start slow, and it takes us a few months before I decide to agree to his coming out for a visit. And of course, Kryptonite is on my shit list again so I give the go ahead. He flies out for 6 fun filled days in Fabulous Las Vegas! He looks amazing. Less hair, but the body and the style are so there. There's chemistry. There's that word again. We have a wonderful time together. He cooks for me. We play house. He proposes. I turn him down, but we decide to relocate to see if we have what it takes to go the distance. And then ... it happened.

One night when I got home from work, I found he had been drinking. A lot. An entire liter of the captain's finest rum. I did my nightly routine, bath, jammies and came into the living room and curled up next to him. I wasn't aware of how much he had drank at this stage. My Chihuahua jumped on his lap, stood on his chest and went nose to nose with him. This is her usual stance when she wants out.

"What, Gracie?" He grabs her face in his hands and she jerks away.

"You need to tell Mommy about the red rock." Gracie bails off of him and runs to the back door, asking to go out.

I looked at him and a single tear slid down his cheek.

"What's wrong?" I ask. Something ain't quite right here.

"She doesn't want me to tell you about the red rock. She's mad at me, and that's why she ran to the door."

"No," I say as calmly as I can. "She does that when she needs to shit..." I got off the sofa and let her out and she promptly went to her favorite spot and left me a nice toostie roll.

"See?"

He's not convinced. He proceeds to tell me that Gracie, the chihuahua, was left by a red rock when she was just a puppy and she was very scared by the incident. And somehow she has deemed him worthy enough to tell her ordeal to, but me, the pack leader, doesn't need to know. Huh? And things were going so well right up until that point.

He started rattling off dates. 1827. 1830. 1822.

"Are you writing these down?" He seems so intense and lost in space..er...a trance.

"Should I be?" I'm not so sure I want to be in the same room.

"YES!" He practically yelled it at me.

After about 20 minutes of this, he collapses on the sofa and whispers, "I'm done." He had no idea just how done he was. He tells me he is like Dr. Doolittle and can communicate with animals and Gracie is actually the reincarnated spirit of my Aunt Catherine.

It was an uncomfortable night for me. I knew it was over. All the wonderful, romantic feelings were killed by 20 minutes of irregularity. He goes to sleep and next to him I kept thinking about what makes someone drink like that. No one can drink that much without practice and I know I have to cut my loses and move on...quickly.

I have never driven to the air port faster than I did the next day when I took him back to the place where he would leave to return to his own planet.

Oh, and just so you know? I don't HAVE an Aunt Catherine...

Kryptonite and the Snow Storm

NEVER snows in Las Vegas to the point where life comes to a screeching halt, but it did! Eight fabulous inches fell on our fine city, shutting things down and closing schools and businesses.  It happened on my day off.  A day Kryptonite was coming over to spend the night.  I spoke to him when it started falling and the plan was still on, but as the day went on and the snow continued to fall, he sounded more ify about keeping our 'date'.  

I'm getting more and more aggravated with him.  It's always something.  A haircut that takes longer than he planned, his boys needing a ride somewhere.  I'm all about his boys, don't get me wrong.  Kids come first, but don't use them as an excuse.  Call it what it is.  If you're tired, say, "I'm tired."  Don't say, "My boys...." whatever, whatever, because that's just going to piss me off.  

School lets out early.  I know this is going to throw a wrench in our plans, but that's ok. He's a dad first.  He calls.  I accept the news graciously.  Disappointed, but gracious nonetheless.  He tells me to go for a walk out in the snow, to enjoy it.  I respond that walking alone in a snow storm isn't quite what I had in mind, but he tells me to do it anyway.  Whatever.

An hour passes.  The snow is beautiful and it's been years since I've walked in the white stuff.  I dressed accordingly and put a coat on the dog and out we went.  I walked down my street and as I approached his, I began to hear laughter.  Not just laughter, but squealing and giggling.  Kids having the time of their lives.  I can't see them yet, but the sound of their joy makes me smile from ear to ear.  I round the corner and I see him in a bobcat scraping snow from the street and piling it in his front yard.  Every kid in the neighborhood is there, sliding down this 8 foot pile of snow in the desert.  He sees me and the dog and he drives over, laughing.  

All the anger I had in me is gone.  The disappointment is gone.  The resentment is gone.  He's made a lasting memory for his children this day.  He's the only adult on the street playing with the kids and I'm loving him for it.   Yep.  Loving him.  And I froze.  Not because I was cold, but because I knew it.  It hit me that I had fallen in love with him.  One of his sons called out to him and he turned that direction, I took the moment to leave.  To continue my walk and to let him go back where he belonged.  I'm thankful for the snowflakes that hid the tear that slid down my cheek.  It's time for me to say goodbye and I know it.

Date Twelve: The Stalker

This one scared me to death.  I changed so much about how I live after I met this one.  On my refrigerater is his business card with a note that reads, "If something should happen to me, start here. " 

Retired Air Force, divorced after 22 years, just like me.  I thought he sounded so normal!  He was a little pushy/persausive...same thing sometimes.  I'm an artist and I had a painting showing in the Liberace Museum.  I'd been going to events such as this alone for years and decided to take a date.  I invited him knowing I would be safe at an event with so many people around.

It went well and we decided to go to dinner at an Italian place in the Fashion Show Mall.  Great food.  Very nice.  Problem was his arms are around me and I can't use my silverware to eat.  He is snuggled into me in a way that borders inappropriate.  I can hardly move.  I tell him to back off, and he does.  Said he didn't realize how pushy he was being.  Other than that, I liked him a lot.

We went out 2 more times and things were quite nice.  The fourth date was dinner at my place.  I made it clear he was not staying the night and we were NOT playing house.  I was making a meal, we would eat and then go to a movie.  While I was washing dishes, he hid a toiletries bag in with my towels and I was completely unaware.  In the bag was cologne, shaving cream, razors, toothbrush and toothpaste.  I didn't find it right away, but when I did, you can count on me being pissed.  How presumptuious is that?

It was a few days later when I was putting clean towels away that I saw it. I knew right away when he had put it there.  He had taken my chihuahua, Gracie, out to pee and and brought this shit into my house thinking he was going to be spending the night.  I guess he was pretty surprised when he didn't even get a goodnight kiss.  

I didn't mention to him that I had found the bag.  I wanted him to mention it first.  I wrote an email and told him things were moving too fast for me and that I was not interested in taking the relationship any further.  He sent a text saying he had left things and he wanted them back.  I refused to met him or to allow him to come to my home to pick them up.  I demanded an address so I could mail the offensive bag to him. Days went by and he sent text after text.  He insulted me, swore at me and made me feel stupid for allowing him into my home so quickly.  My friends thought I was crazy for inviting him over for dinner after only the third date.  

The texting continued, he slept in front of my house, came by my job.  The messages were non-threatening, but disconcerting.  The timing of them bothered me as I knew he had to be at his job at 7 am, but he would text me when he knew I would be leaving work. He was getting up in the middle of the night to write.  Those texts made me think he might be waiting for me either at home or at my car.  Then, when I wouldn't respond to the texts he sent, he sent pictures of his unimpressive penis.  I find this really funny because if a woman gets annoyed with a man for not paying attention to her, the LAST thing she's going to do is take a picture of her privates and send it to him.  Take that, you bad man! Yeah, right.  Ain't gonna happen.  

400 texts in 2 weeks.  This was before I had unlimited text messaging.  $350 was the total for the phone bill.  The messages continued for months and months.  My fear level was at red alert and I became extremely cautious.  Fearful.  Nervous. My plan was to not respond to anything he did.  He finally sent the address and I mailed his stuff to him.  I had the address for the police should I need to give it to them.  I spoke to a cop friend who said to save every message should I need to file a restraining order.  Thankfully, I didn't have to do that.

By now it's December 26.  Barely.  Just a little after 1 am and he sends another message.  It had been a month since I had heard from him and I had really thought he was through.  I was relaxing in the tub when the phone alerted me to the message.  I started to cry as soon as I saw it was him.  Frustrated.  Angry.  So many emotions.  I sent a message.  "You have to stop."  That's all I said.  He wrote back imediately. " K."  A few minutes later he writes again.  "I was just trying to be friendly."  and to that I write, "don't be friendly, be invisible."

I haven't heard from him since, but I still jump at every sound.  Months of being on guard will do that to you. 

Date Eleven: Lord Farquar

What a liar.  Remember Lord Farquar from Shrek?  He bragged about his money and suffered from Napolean Syndrome.  This one was just like that.  One his profile he said he was 5'7".  Not a tall man, but compared to my 5'3" and a half, that's perfectly fine.  We spoke on the phone a couple of times, but after Fire Slave Dave I decided there would be no more bonding done via phone or email.  I want to meet and move on.  It's awkward to have a nice friendship on the phone and then have them be weird in person.  I want to see them and then get the hell out if they aren't what they claim to be.  At least this one had all his teeth.

We decide to meet at a local bar.  Figuring him to be taller than me, I wore shoes with a bit of a heel.  I walked into the bar.  When he spotted me, he hopped off the bar stool and hit me just about under my chin.  

"So..."  I say, "You're a liar."  

"No!  Why would you say that?"  He stammers.

"If I can bust you on such an obvious lie as your height, what else would you lie about that I might not be able to bust you on so easily?"

His jaw moves, but no sound comes out.  I throw my hands up in disgust and leave yet another bad date.  The bartender is laughing hysterically and I hear her cackling as I make my exit.

Kryptonite...again.

And between the weirdos, Mr Mount Everest/Kryptonite moves in and out of my world.  We have wonderful weeks and then we don't speak for months.  I can see and feel him getting close to me and then he gets scared and pulls away, skittish as a colt. We are both well known in our community and I am hesitant when it comes to being seen with him because of his womanizing reputation.  It's messed up and I'm confused and unsure about how to handle things.  So, I figure I should just enjoy what we have and leave it at that.  

It's hurtful, though.  And shameful.  While grocery shopping with a friend, we ran into him at the store.  After all the time we'd been seeing each other, he barely glanced my way.  Stopped long enough for me to make the introduction and then he dashed out without a hug or peck on the cheek. Didn't even toss, an "I'll call ya." over his shoulder as he scurried from sight.  

And yet he's Kryptonite.  WTF?  It's got to be the challenge.  The thrill of the chase and how he gives me just the right amount of encouragement to keep me on the hook.  Whatever it is, if this were happening to a friend I'd be advising her to run. Supporting her decision no matter what, but hoping she'd get the flock outta Dodge.  

We continue to carry on.  I call him, he calls me.  We hook up.  We go our separate ways.  I call him.  He calls me...and so on.  

Date Ten: The Smoker

Funny how the anonymity of a profile can make one feel confident enough to lie about themselves without even considering the fact that the lie is obvious enough for even an idiot to catch. Seems to defeat the entire purpose of having a profile if it's full of lies and half truths. When looking at someone's profile, I look for deal breakers. Smoking is a deal breaker for me. The smell, the taste, and the way it makes my lungs tighten up, is not something I enjoy. No matter how charming he may be, if he smokes, I'm not interested because I find it a serious turn off. Really funny, since I was, many years ago, a smoker.
Come to think of it, Kryptonite smoked, but he took measures to not taste like an ashtray and I really didn't notice. Guess that would be the moral of this story.

I met Smoking Man on Yahoo!. Most sites have a place where you can claim your shame either confirming or denying the fact you smoke. He had said he wasn't a smoker. I walked into the appointed meeting ground, which was a really nice place called The District at Green Valley Ranch. He met me with a hug. And I smelled it. It was overwhelming. He was completely saturated in the aroma. It came out of his pores. I can only imagine what his house must smell like. I know I blanched at the smell because he asked if everything was OK.

"Smoker, eh?" I asked.
"Yeah, all my adult life. Is that bad?" Then he added defensively, "So, I'm a nice guy with a vice. That's such a small part of me."

But it is a big deal to a non-smoker. He was defensive about it. Sometimes, it's best just to get on with the date and get through it. I lost track of how many cigarettes he smoked that night, but it had to have been a pack, at least. I knew it was the first and last time I would see him and I felt bad with the generous way he kept ordering drinks, etc. He refused to let me help with the tab.

Date Nine: Paulution

Paul.  We talked for a few weeks before we finally met.  This was another Internet guy.  Funny.  Made me laugh, which is very important. We met for dinner at a great Mexican place in Henderson. He was late.  That alone is the kiss of death in my book. The humor I had experienced via the phone and the web was completely gone. Oddly, though, he didn't crack a smile. ANOTHER one missing teeth!   Yikes.  He didn't think I noticed.  And as we ate--I figured i'd just get through it---he stuck his hand up my pant leg.  I had my left ankle on my right knee...and when I asked him what he was doing, he said, "Checking to see if I have plans for later."  "What? If I've shaved my legs you think you're gonna get laid?"  "Yep."  The only thing he got was the check.  Paulution was his screen name.  I think Paul in ate her would have been funnier.

Date Eight: Fire Slave Dave

I see paramedics every day at work. I can say that the ones I know are actually pretty normal, so when I get a message on Yahoo! from a fire chief out of Las Vegas, I'm feeling pretty happy about it.  He's bound to be normal!  I can't have many more dates like the one's I've been having!  How much longer can this weirdness continue? 

Conversations went well when we chatted on the phone and via text/email. There was CHEMISTRY!  Meow!  We played off one another very well and the laughter was great.  Sometimes the humor was inappropriate, but I generally ignore those comments without even acknowledging them.  I don't want to encourage a sexual conversation with a stranger.  I'm afraid of what they might expect from me when we are alone. Photos of him looked nice.  LoL!  I can't believe how nervous I was!  I dressed and then went to work to show the girls what I was wearing to get their approval!  I was so afraid I wasn't going to "be good enough" for him.  I had such high expectations!  

But when we met, things were not as they seemed.  We sat in a large, half circle booth in a coffee shop.  Immediately he scooted over into my personal space, layed his head in my lap and put his feet up on the seat.  The waiter came over and said, "What can I get you, sir?"  He said...."A pillow and a blanket."  The waiter looked puzzled and he asked me, "Ma'am?"  I said, "Security to walk me to my car."  Waiter asked if I was serious and I said yep and they came and walked me out to the car.  Strange fellow, that.  Missing teeth, too.  ick.  

He texted me as I drove off into the night.  Neon lights flashing down in the car as I scurried out of the parking lot and onto the freeway.  "Guess the wedding's off?"   I mashed a little harder on the gas pedal.

Date Seven: The KKK

This guy was gorgeous.  6' 4", 54, but barely looked 40.  Handsome!  We went to dinner and had a nice time.  I went to his place afterwards.  HUGE house.  He was a complete package,  We talked, he was respectful and didn't try anything untoward and I was really impressed. Right up until the point where I got home and was basking in the glory of finally meeting a good one.  He called.  Drunk. Crying.  Said his mother was murdered by the KKK for having an affair with a white man, his father. The drinking was a bit much....add the KKK and we have emotional issues I wasn't equipped to deal with.  Told him I was getting back with the ex after he started make cryptic phone calls sying things like,"I know what you did."  Scary.  This one made me rethink Internet dating for a while.  

My work schedule has me trapped and meeting people on the Internet is about the only way I'm going to meet someone without going to bars alone in the wee small hours of the morning.  It's had it's scary moments.  This was one of them. Someone said to me that crazy people are all I'm going to find on the Internet. Hmmm....does that mean I'm crazy?  I don't feel crazy.  I feel annoyed that someone would think the only place I could pick up a freak would be the Internet.  People have been stalked for centuries--long before the Internet came along.  This man was a minor stalker....I've had worse.

Date Six: Cazz and the Flip Flops.

Cazz.  Strange name...strange man.  Yahoo! again.  Decided to meet at the hospital and go for a drink after I got off work at 1 am.  He arrived in sweat pants and flip flops.  Messy hair, didn't shave. My replacement was late.  Over an hour because she over slept.  He waitied until I finally told him to go on without me.  He was annoyed and I never heard from him again.  Good thing because he didn't even try ot make a good first impression.  Flip flops!  ick.  

Date Five: The Gambler

Lots of interesting people move to Vegas thinking they are going to make millions gambling.  Sadly, it doesn't work that way and such is the case with date number five.  

The gambler was a retired police officer from New York City.  We had good chemistry via the web and chatting.  He was my age, for a change, but he liked older women and I wasn't old enough for him. We met online New Year's Eve.  Both of us were alone for the big night and surfing the Internet. We met for lunch a few days later.  We got along really well and made plans for a second date.

It became our routine to chat every morning when I got into work at my shop.  One morning, a few days before our next date, he wasn't there as was the norm.  He wasn't there the next day either.  Or the next.  No email, phone call ...nothing.  My spider senses tell me he's met someone and hasn't got the courage to tell me. 

I send an email..."hey..it's fine if you've met someone.  have a nice life." He answers back.  Sure enough.  He met an older woman the day after our first date and they had wild sex in a cabana at the Red Rock Casino swimming pool on their first date!  And after a few days, he was already moving in with her.

Talk about a gambler....

Date Four: The Harley Man

For a time, I had an art supply store and as I prepared to close, I also worked at the hospital.  I was working 2 full time jobs at this point... Guys parked their Harleys in front of my shop and I couldn't get stuff unloaded from my car.  Pissed me off, so I waited for them to leave the restaurant across the street and when they got to their bikes I was going to let them have it.  So...I wait outside with my parrot on my finger.  Baby went to work at the shop every day and it was part of our routine to step outside  a few times every day. I see the bikers walk across the street and moving toward their rides and I head over to them and trip over a concrete tire stop thing you find in parking lots and land on my head. One comes over, helps me up, I dash off looking for Baby, the parrot, who is peeking out from behind the spokes of the harley's front wheel....not the best way to meet someone, but it worked.  We went out once.  Not a love match.  

Date Three: Kryptonite or Mount Everest?

Kryptonite has the capability to bring down Superman, and when I describe a man as Kryptonite it means that he has the capability to bring me to my knees and break my heart.  The term is not my own, however.  I owe it to my friend, Debbie. I liked it so much I stole it. Sorry. I  look at this one as my personal Mount Everest.  A challenge. Someone I can't conquer and it takes me about a year to get it through my head that I'm only a plaything in his eyes.

How we met is pretty funny.

I work in an emergency room as an admitting rep.  I'm the first person you see.  I get to see the blood, guts and vomit before the doctor and nurse.  Love my job.  I get your information and get you in the back to see the doctor.  Everest brought his grandfather in.  He arrived with his grandmother and aunt.  I got the grandfather registered using information Everest gave me.  I felt him looking at me while I worked and it made me smile.  It's been a few months since Youngun and I'm feeling more in control.  He's younger, too.  Meow.  Only eight years, instead of the ten with Youngun.  When he asks for my number I tell him I'm older than I look. Just to let him know.  In hindsight, I'd never say that now because if he's attracted enough to ask for the number, he's not too concerned about my age.  He says he prefers older women as they know what they want.  This seems to be a common thread that is going to reappear over and over again.  I give him the number and feel an evil grin spread across my face. 

Hmmm.  There seems to be a pattern developing here.  Younger men, older women. And it wasn't something I was expecting.  I've met three men and two are younger by quite a bit.  It's definitely unexpected. I figured when I started dating again it would be men who were my age or older.  I'm a little surprised that the younger ones are so interested.  I'm holding up well enough, but after the divorce, my self esteem took a major hit.  I'm always flattered when a younger man flirts with me.  

Everest leaves and Grandmother and Aunt are still inthe ER with Grandfather.  When it comes time for Gramps to leave, Auntie says she overheard Everest ask me for my number.  She hands me a business card with the name of a sex party business.  She's an independent contracter for a company who deals with sex toys.  She then hands me a small sample container with something labeled "Nipple Cream".  It was orange flavored.  She tells me it's his favorite.  Yikes.  Not sure I want to know how she knows that. 

He calls the next day.  He stops by my shop the day after that.  I'm exhausted from working my store during the day and the ER at night.  I don't have much free time and those minutes I do have are spent sleeping.  He pushes me to find time for him and I resist due to time constraints.  After a few weeks, I finaly get the shop closed for good and find myself with time for him.   He lives a couple streets away from where I do, making walking to my house very convienient.  He choses to do this rather than drive over.  That should have been a warning sign.  The part that I find troubling is that he's not married, but he feels he needs to hide me from view.  I'm now a secret.  

For months, this doesn't bother me.  We're both known in our community and he has a reputation of being 'a tool', as someone said to me the other day.  Just a sex toy, basically. I don't want to be linked up with him until I'm sure I've got a reliable place in his life.  A few friends know about us, and one in particular gives me hell about the relationship, rightly so, but he is like crack and I can't seem to stay away.  The chemistry is such I've never known before and I find myself spinning out of control and willing to accept being a dirty little secret in order to still have him in my life.  Why do women do this?  I know in my heart I deserve better than this , but the way I feel when we're together makes it seem worthwhile.  He looks at me with hungry eyes and makes me feel sensual and sexy.  I haven't felt that way in years and it feeds my ego in a way I can't explain.   I know he's bad for me, so I stay online looking for someone who is a better emotional fit.  Someone who will like me when I'm dressed just as much as they like me nekked.   My plan is to stick with Everest until either he straightens out, or I find someone nice, whichever comes first.

 

Date Two: The Youngun

In the 9th grade, I went steady with a 7th grader to make his older brother jealous. It worked on the older brother, but I lost interest and instead, developed a major crush on the younger boy/child.  I have thought about younger men ever since. It's funny to me that when I was in my teens, I preferred older men because of the way my friends thought I was so cool having an older man attracted to me.  And now that I'm older, I get a rush when I think about a younger man finding me pleasing to look at and delightful to hold.  

The Youngun was 10 years younger.  He found me on Yahoo! Personals.  It started simply enough with a few emails here and there, followed by phone calls. Then the big day came when he surprised me at work.  I recognized him immediately.  He had sexy bedroom eyes.  The kind with long lashes, and the way he worked them was sinful.  We went to lunch and had easy conversation that flowed well.  There was a nice connection between us that I was intrigued by.  I guess the word is CHEMISTRY. Oh, yeah!  Sparks fly and I think the tips of my ears are going to burst into flame when he gives me that first goodbye kiss.  

The same day we had lunch, but hours later around dinner time, he calls and asks if I'd like to get a bite to eat.  Twice in one day.  This one is really interested! Well, how nice is that because I feel that way too! We decide to meet at my art supply store/gallery and walk across the street to the same sidewalk cafe that the pizza delivery guy and I met at. Only this guy pulls up in something better than a green hornet.  Way better.  It's a convertible Mitsubishi Spider....black.  The bad guys always wear black and ride black horses.  These are the men women love to hate.  The bad boy. And this one is bad.  I can tell by the way he looks at me.  I start to drool when he steps out of the car and the breeze throws his scent my direction.  We have already exchanged one nice, rather quick kiss when he left at lunch time, but the one he greeted me with...it  blew me away.  

I'm in trouble and I know it.  Although my marriage ended amicably, there hadn't been any sexual contact for a long time and before that, only seasonally. 

 

"Look, honey!"  One of us would say,  "It's the first day of Spring.  Guess we should have sex."  

The same thing happened Fall, Winter and Summer. This went on for years before we finally stopped looking at the calendar, and then eventually, stopped having sex entirely.  It had been close to 2 years since someone had stirred my blood and I was buzzing with electricity.  The man could stand close to me and the hairs on my arm came to attention, reaching out in his direction.  Aching for attention.  Thing was, I didn't realize just how close I was to snapping.

We ate cheese and fruit at the sidewalk cafe and drank a wonderful wine that had my head spinning in no time.  We talked and I kept thinking about how young he was and I admit, it was bothering me a little.  I couldn't quite wrap my head around the whole 'Cougar' concept.  I didn't feel any older than him, and the chemistry was crackling like a Franklin stove.  We closed the place down around 11pm  and then walked back to my store.

It was a crisp night and I had been introduced to my new favorite cocktail.  A Washington Red Apple--shot.  Wow.  Tastes like a bite of a fresh apple.  The wine, the apple, the scent of his cologne, the bedroom eyes, his hands in my hair and I find myself pressed against the wall holding on for dear life.  OMG.  It's been YEARS since I'd been kissed with such passion.  I pulled at his shirt and tossed it into the air.  I practically did  a back flip as I threw him to the floor and had my way with him.

Afterwards, I was so embarrassed.  I stood up, ran my hands through my hair, straightened my clothing and prepared to leave the scene of the crime.  He stayed on the floor.  Right where I left him. He had rolled to his side, head braced on his hand and looking up at me with those bedroom/any-place-there's-a-flat-surface-and-we-can-get-traction  eyes.  I feel my face go blood red.  He looks like a Cheshire cat, and I wish the floor would swallow me up.  He laughs an evil laugh.  I nervously grab his shirt from the picture frame it had come to rest on, and throw it at him telling him I have to get home to let the dog out.  I hurried him out the door.  

I can't believe what has just happened. Where did Melinda go?!  The sane, rational woman I had been for two decades had disappeared for a moment in time.  I had completely lost control.  Evil smile.  And it wasn't so bad.  I even LIKED it.  But that didn't stop the guilt from setting in.  What must he be thinking of me?  Years of conditioning leave me feeling trampy and cheap that I had let things get out of hand like that.  My phone rings.  It's him, and I can't bring myself to answer it.  

I'll never know what he wanted to say that night.  I was so embarrassed and new to this whole dating thing that I didn't know how to handle the situation.  I didn't answer the next time he called either.  Or the text asking me to lunch the following day.  By then, I had convinced myself he was purely after sex.  After all, that's what I made him think.  At least I thought that's what he thought.  He's the one I'd like to have a Mulligan on. A do-over, because it might have been something more than something physical, but my fear and insecurities got the better of me.  I still see his profile online and I cringe a little when I see those sexy eyes.  I cringe from shame and from wondering if I let something special slip through my fingers.

 

Date One: Manufacturing And Distribution

I've found him.  He's on Yahoo! Personals.  My first date in 23 years.  He's tall at 6'2", dark with big brown eyes. Nice body, if his photos are up to date and he states in his profile, that he grew up with sisters and therefore knows how important it is to put the seat down. I like that.  I pay my hard earned money to enable the communications to begin.  I send the first message.  One word is all I write.  "Nice."   And I wait.  By the end of the day, I hear back from him.  He hasn't paid to communicate, so he changes his profile to include little snipets from MY profile in an effort to let me know he knows I'm interested,  and he suggests meeting at a place I mention on my profile.  It's Christmas and I watch, "You've Got Mail" over and over.  It becomes my favorite movie. 

We are to meet at the appointed spot.  A great sidewalk cafe.  I'm expecting him to arrive at any minute.  Is my lipstick right?  Hair in place?  It's sort of chilly.  Cars are zipping by and I'm looking at the driver hoping to spot him before he spots me. I'm laughing to myself when I see an ugly green Honda Civic of antique proportions go by. That's probably him. I shake my head.  Nah....

There  he is!  He's got a great walk and looks very nice. Friendly. Handsome. The cafe is closed for a Christmas party, so we need to drive somewhere else for dinner.  The conversation is easy.  Right up until I realize he is walking me toward the ugly green Honda!  Yep.  It WAS him.  He refers to the car as the Green Hornet and insists we take it rather than my convertible.  I scan the area for people I may know....shallow, I know.  And then it hits me...Manufacturing and Distribution?  Just what sort of job does he have? It wasn't a complete lie.  Turns out he delivers pizza!  A man of 45 should not be delivering pizza unless he owns the restaurant.  

The Beginning

Divorced after 22 years of marriage. Didn't see that coming. It was a marriage that was mostly good, but also one that led me down the path of least resistance.  It dawned on me one morning.  I could live another 40 years. Crap. And what's worse, so could he!  Immaculate house, dinner at 6, but not a lot of adreneline going through me. Unless I did something, the lifeless, boring road I was on was going to continue for the remainder of my life. And his. Unless, of course, I killed him first.  Since that wasn't an option....we decided to divorce.  

We do divorce very well.  And actually, we like each other again. We've come through it as friends and we occasionally go to dinner and a movie when our dating pools are a little shallow.  He's in love with a married woman, and I only like bad boys who break my heart.  So, we are a safe, neutral territory, but without the sex.  We love each other, but in such a different way than when we first met. He's still my family.  We just aren't a good married couple.  So many people have drama-conflama when they divorce.  I'm a lucky girl. 

So, along the road to recovery, I have started to date again. I waited six months before I started.  Sort of a cleansing period.  Like sorbet between courses.  It's been about 18 months of singledom and I've meet some interesting people.  Some in the real world and others via those popular dating sites scattered around the Internet. Men are not shy.  I've been asked questions I never thought I'd be asked by a stranger. From sexual positions I like, to my breast size. And all before the appetizer. Sometimes even before we make it to the actual date!  Maybe next time, I need to ask about penis size before I agree to go out with them....turn about is fair play.  Sort of a disclaimer. Like the ones at the entrance to the roller coaster...You must be this tall....er....long... to ride this ride.

These events, commonly refered to as dating, are pretty funny, and friends and co-workers have been after me to write them down.  Sort of a testament to my fortitude, I suppose.  And to the fact that people will say and do anything they think might get them one step closer to nekkedness.  Let me differentiate.  

Naked = without clothing.  

Nekked = without clothes and planning to have sexual relations.

So, this blog, is dedicated to those who find my efforts at finding a companion, suitable or otherwise, entertaining and laughable.  I personally have found it to be somewhat humiliating and downright scary at times, complete with a stalker.  This is my story.  My dating adventures...