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 Sometimes photos are outdated, and it's amazing how many people are missing teeth, and hello!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.