Friday, June 30, 2006
Now, some of the more sane folks out there might have stopped meeting people off the internet after a bad experience with a crazy, self-righteous man that blamed me for getting pregnant. Well, let me tell you, internet dating is not for the weak!! You must persevere if you intend to conquer and with all that preamble, you would think that I have at least one date lined up for this weekend. But: You. Would. Be. Wrong.
No dates. I've been talking to a funny (liberal!), kind, Daddy of two kids, and I promised him that I wouldn't talk about him on my blaaawg. What? (Why did I agree to do that? I can't write another post about baby shit. I just can't. I'm drawing the line in the sand....er, on the keyboard). He is helping his ex move with the kids to a new house all weekend. Awww....I can let good guys off the hook for not immediately having time to rush out for dinner and movie. At least for a while.
I also have a potential date sometime in August when a deep sea diver, J., comes back from pillaging the Gulf of Mexico (again - I couldn't make this up if I tried).
I'll leave you all with one good story about a date recently though...
Blind Date # 6: Tea and Avoidance
I had been talking on the phone to B., a 28 year-old security guard for a large university in Houston. In his spare time, he is a volunteer fire fighter for a rural town northwest of Houston.
I love uniforms. I don't love wearing them, but I love other people in them. He had a job with two uniforms!! Unfortunately, he also has two EX-WIFES. One ex-wife, definitely understandable. Two ex-wives, well, now you are getting into the phase that makes people wonder if you snore obscenely loud or consistently bounce your electricity checks because you spent all the family's money on cheap vodka and Russian hookers. Well, maybe not American men, but you get the picture.
We met up for tea and I realized that his pictures are really, really a bad representation of what he actually looks like. He is 6'3 and close to 280-300lbs. We all know that I'm not the skinniest, most secure individual, but dammit - I pride myself on being well-groomed. If not well-groomed, than at least not...well....yucky.
In addition to his clothes needed to be washed and in desperate need of a hair cut, his bad eye freaked me out. OK. I admit it. I just said that a person's disability kind of freaked me out. I just kept trying to remember which eye he said he couldn't see out of and then realizing that I was staring at his eyes trying to see the difference between the two of them to figure it out. Then I caught myself staring and avoided his gaze (and really, he was definitely gaaaazing dreamily in my direction over a cuppa Earl Grey).
This is why you have to have a tough skin to date strangers. Women like me will say things like: "It's not that he can't see out of one eye. That's not why I don't want to date him. It's that I wouldn't want to be in the same room with him for an extended period of time. It's hard work avoiding someone that is staring at you while trying to move into his (non-existent) peripheral vision so he can't see you anymore. Geesh. Somebody throw me a bone, here. We're going to be friends. I'm not a bad person. I promise..."
Thursday, June 29, 2006
My anonymous commenter said:
"Not to inflame the comments here, but in terms of judging a group of men hanging out as a potentially great enough risk to force women to stay indoors, I agree with the email. I know there are lots of reasons that make it smart to err on the side of caution, but one must be careful that caution doesn't turn into unreasonable fear because, as yoda points out, that leads to some bad places ;) just food for thought - the rest of that email was out of line. "
Yes, Do's e-mail was out of line. Thank you for recognizing that. Here is my reply to your other point, which is something that I didn't touch on in yesterday's post. It's interesting to me that both Do. and some of the people that read his e-mail yesterday assumed that the group of men I was referring to had "just gotten home from work" or were " just hanging out relaxing". I happened to know that a number of men in and around my apartment complex are unemployed. I know this because my next door neighbor asked me to get him an application for where I work. This is the same man that came over to kill a half-dead, enormous cockroach from my kitchen floor because it was making me so squemish that I couldn't even go into same room with the bug. He is a great guy. He always asks about Zac and I truly believe that he would defend me or change my tire if I needed him to.
Why the hell, though, would I assume everyone in the world (or even north Houston) was like that? What confidence do I have in machismo to trust that a group of men, or even a solitary man, won't emotionally or physically harm me? I don't. It doesn't keep me indoors. It keeps me safe. Big difference.
This is the kicker, the part that some of the men reading this site clearly don't realize: fear is a subjective emotion, which means that there is no logic behind it. I become afraid when a man grabs his crotch and yells nasty shit to me on the street the same way that I become afraid when I walk down a dark street at night or pass a group of "harmless" men. There is no reason to it, other than I FEEL unsafe. On a daily basis I am physically intimidated and objectified by strangers for no other reason than my biological sex and stature.
Here is the other part, the reason that I choose not to run at night: If something were to happen to me, who would take care of Zac? If I were beaten and raped, how long do you think it would take me before I recovered enough to be the best mother I can be to my young son? Where would that leave Zac in the meantime? I can't put my safety in jeopardy for an ideal that 'it should be safe for a woman to do this'. I just can't.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Where was I? Oh, I was going to say that you all were very, very right about Do. We talked again on Monday and he showed himself to be a judgemental asshole. Everything I said he argued with, just to prove to himself how silly and stupid I must really be.
I told him that I was really stressed on Sunday, during the drive back from my parents' house. I STILL haven't heard anything from the organization that I've had two interviews with. I know that they have contacted BOTH of my references (Monday and Tuesday). I called and left a message AGAIN today. They told me that I would know by last Friday. I'm trying to be patient, I really am. I also just submitted all of the work that a second organization asked me to submit to be evaluated for a second interview. Who ever heard of an essay round in the interviewing stage? The work I did took me about eight hours and a lot of research to try and figure out what I should submit.
Anyways, I was stressed out about work and money on Sunday and decided that I wanted to go for a run. I used to run a lot (back in the pre-baby days when my ass didn't hurt to move quickly). In Mongolia, I ran every day to stay in shape and zone out for a while. It's a great stress-reliever (again, if your butt doesn't begin to ache from the skin jiggling on your large arse). I called my neighbor Danny and asked if he could watch Z. for thirty minutes. Danny is great with Zac and absolutely loves (well, loves might be a strong word) but always readily agrees to watch him.
As I was driving into my neighborhood, I realized that I must have temporarily lost my mind to think that I could go running at night in north Houston. I probably shouldn't even try that during the day. When I was on the phone to Do., I told him that story and he immediately started belittling me, saying that I was letting my fear run my life. He said that a group of men drinking beer, hanging out on a street corner at 9:30pm is no more of a threat to me than picking some flowers out of a wild meadow. I ended up getting off the phone with him, very angrily. He wrote me this e-mail in response:
"Don't take this the wrong way, but truthfully speaking, your whole psyche is illogical. Riiiiight, it makes a whole lot of sense to avoid large groups of men who are drinking and almost assuredly harmless, just relaxing after a long day of work and would change your tire for you at the drop of a hat or would beat someone up who was harassing you, or...you can hang out with one guy individually who seems harmless, yet does drugs, drinks, gets you pregnant, isn't there for you when you need him to be, isn't even around for the birth of the baby, and leaves you practically abandoned in a town you're unfamiliar with and in a financial situation that makes it hard for you to get by.
Yes, it's those big groups that'll always get you..."
What a sad state of affairs when both segments of the population he is describing: the large group and the individual, can and frequently do, harass, endanger, and emotionally and physically damage women.
No one has any right to throw my actions back in my face. No one.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
It just went downhill from there.
When I got into his 1999 Monte Carlo, I tried to keep an open mind, but it was difficult to do with all the sounds that the car was making: the cooling system barked every couple of minutes or so, almost like a smoker with emphysema early in the morning. Then his very prominent, really, freakish prominently, "Low Coolant Light" kept blinking. My car wouldn't even tell me if it was ready to blow up, let alone that I had low coolant. In between those two sounds was the frequent beeping and chirping of the police detector attached to his windshield. It kind of made me wonder if I shouldn't have volunteered to drive.
Again, though, I was trying to keep an open mind. So, I asked him what kind of music he liked, thinking that I could distract myself for a couple of minutes. He flipped over to CD that he had in his CD player and turned it up. After a few notes, he turned to me and asked, "Do you know who this is? This is my favorite band." I listened closely and tried - really tried - to figure out who it was. I'm not particularly good at musical trivia, though, especially when he told me that we were listening to his favorite band - Meatloaf. MEATLOAF? WTF. I thought only the main singer, Marvin Lee Aday, went by the name Meatloaf, so I asked him if there was a different band with the same name. He looked at me oddly and answered, "No." I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I said: "So, this is the same group that sings, "I Will Do Anything For Love, But I Won't Do That" He proceeded to tell me which album that song was on and what year it was released.
I'll file that information under, "Shit that I will never need to know again." To make matters worse, he actually tried to argue with me when I said that the only thing of Meatloaf's that I've ever enjoyed was his brief cameo in the "Rocky Horror Picture Show". He said he didn't think that Meatloaf was in that film....That last link is just thrown in to prove that while I may not know about 1970's classic rock, I definately know my queer, classic cult films, sucka.
Friday, June 23, 2006
The whole idea of being a Sexual Suspect is interesting to me. Who gets to decide when something is out of the framework of moral acceptability? Putting all legality aside (I'm assuming that all romantic/sexual acts encompassed in this post are legal in the 48 contiguous US states) when do people get to start using words like "sketchy", "skevvy", or "perverted" to describe another person?
I talked to a friend last night who said that she started internet dating in early 2000 - at a time when internet dating was considered more dangerous than fun. Now, it is almost as acceptable to say that you met your partner on-line as it is to say you met them at your synagogue or gym. When describing how you met your partner, the conversation might go something like this: "Well, I was checking out some new titles at Netflicks and I - just on a lark really - decided to check out *enter in any legitimate internet dating site here* and I saw Bob. We've been together ever since!"
The lack of premediation here is important: internet dating is really only truly acceptable if you didn't set out to do or don't devote a majority of your time to that pursuit. You have to have a "real life" outside of the box on the computer, or at least that's what people say. My real life isn't very interesting. Where does that leave me?
P.S. - No word from my second interview about a job offer. I called yesterday, but the Executive Director was out. I have the feeling that they offered the position to someone else. Trying to stay positive though.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
A significant portion of on-line dating is done on the telephone, which definately has positive and negative aspects to it. One of the positives is that you get to hear a person's voice, their demeanor, and their world views more quickly than you might while trying to navigate an appetizer and drinks. Of course, the negative aspects of telephone interviews for dates is exactly that: you are essentially interviewing someone to see if you want to hang out with them. That tends to be a little awkward on both sides of the receiver. There is also the problem that you can have great phone and e-mail conversations with someone and then almost literally watch as the chemistry fizzles upon first sight. When that happens to me, I always wish that I could get the time back that I invested in those hour long phone calls.
Last night, I spent the majority of the evening, once Zac had gone to bed after a very, very cranky Weight Watcher's meeting (he was cranky - not me, although I still can't break the 9 pound barrier. I credit Shiner Bock with being my downfall), talking to Do. Do. is 25, a defense lawyer for international clients (which he referred to initially as "practicing international law" until he realized that I'm more knowledgable than most about international law), 6'2, athletic, and very interested in dating a single Mom.
Reread that last part.
He is actively looking to date a single Mom.
I contacted him through Craigslist for the sheer novelty of it after seeing his posting. Looking for a hot, single Mom? Well, damn, I might qualify for that category after enough beers in a dark bar. So, we contacted each other and he sent me a picture. He was standing around a group of children holding shovels, wearing dirty, work clothes with a title saying, "Me at the Last Day at the Worksite." Now he has my attention. Provided that he wasn't required to do mandatory community service or part of a work-release program, I was interested. I'm a sucker for bleeding-heart liberal types.
Except that he's not a bleeding-heart liberal type. God help me, he's Ivy League educated (which doesn't necessary exclude him from the former category, but keep reading), pro-Life, hesitant to endorse gay marriage and knowledgeable of Proposition 2 here in Texas that legally defined marriage between a man and a woman, and questions gender and sexuality studies.
Yet....oh, help me, I liked talking to him. He was well-read and passionate about what he believes in. He strongly believes in a man's role and obligation in raising a child. He wants to work from home so he can be the primary care-giver for his children.
Proceeding with caution. At least I've finally met someone that has lived outside of Texas. That's a plus.
Blind Date #5: Dinner and a Movie on Saturday
Finally meeting up with K. on Saturday. He was one of my last yahoo personals during my free trial, which ended over a month ago. Details to come.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
I've learned more about myself in the past week than I have in the three months that I dated S. previous to my "on-line experimentation" (almost makes it sound illegal! I knew that E-Harmony was a gateway drug. It could only lead to faster, higher highs and crashing lows. That bastard, Dr Neil Warren!!)
Basically, I've learned that the beauty of "dating", in the most classic sense, is that people aren't all up in your shit. I was bathing Zac last night on the second floor of my apartment and I yelled down to P. to see if he could find me any bath toys in the living room. He couldn't and he came upstairs to tell me that. He stood at the door and watched me bathe Zac. It was a loving, "Family Ties" type of moment, which he promptly ruined by asking me if I could bathe him next. I looked at him, and meaningfully (at least in my own mind) poured water over Zac's head and said, "No way in hell. Big boys bathe themselves". Then wrapped Z. up in his hooded towel and trundled him off to lasso him into a diaper and pajamas (he hates to get dressed and a greased pig would probably envy his mobility)
Then it struck me: I wasn't annoyed by the lame sexual inneundo or even the thought of bathing a partner, it was that I already have so much to do on a daily basis that the thought of adding in another responsibility (even temporarily...even voluntarily) was enough to turn my stomach. When P. is at my place, I have to run around and make dinner, clean up afterwards, take out the garbage (which I've asked him to do a couple of times. I don't want to turn this into a bash P. post), bathe Zac, dress him, give him a bottle, clean up the living room, and then possibly sit down to watch the last twenty minutes of CSI. The whole time, he's just sitting there, probably feeling as uncomfortable as I do. He doesn't know what to do and I don't know what I can ask him to do. Instead of a date being fun and relaxing, it is double the amount of work for me.
I realized, in striking clarity last night, that I want to D-A-T-E. I want to go out. Go for a walk in the park. Go to a movie. I don't want someone to move in and then sit on the couch. I could fly the FOB down here if I wanted that. I also don't want to date exclusively for the purpose of finding a Daddy for Zac. That seems strange and utterly foreign to me. P. volunteered to babysit for me tonight, instead of me paying my next door neighbor and I realized how differently we were viewing dating. I had to say no. There is no way that I would let a man who I've known for less than two weeks watch my son, no matter how much of a Daddy he wanted to be.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
"I'm still not clear what it is you want. Do you wish for us to continue dating and see where it leads, or to just allow it to drift away? As to what I want....
I do want all those things you mentioned in your e-mail. I'm being open and honest about that part. Time will tell, on that - isn't that what dating is all about? I vastly enjoy our time together - what little we have to share during the week. I have been looking forward to the weekend and finding activities we both enjoy. I'm always open to trying new things!
As to feeling like "the worst woman in the world" - I can only say 'follow your heart'. I hold no grudges, and am not angry. I understand that you're confused and cautious, which is why I had no problem in going home. YOU should always feel comfortable in your own home, and should always feel comfortable in asking someone to go home. I will always support that.
I see potential here. Sure, there are differences. There always are. It's just a simple matter of 'are they THAT big and/or important' ? The question I was leading up to last night, when you got frustrated and irritated was: With the music in the car: we sometimes focus on one type, but shouldn't we be able to find music we BOTH enjoy? I'm almost POSITIVE that in the wide ranges of music we both enjoy, that they cross over in certain areas, and we could find a great deal of music we both love, and can 'crank it up' while in the car (long roadtrips? Sounds fun!)
So far, I see only a lovely and wonderful woman that I enjoy talking to and spending time with. I do have certain connections to you already on several levels.
I like you, and I'd like to give this a chance and see where it goes.
The only question is: Do you?
Let me know? - P"
He's right. That is what dating is all about. We hung out last night and shared a bad movie over chips and salsa. Things seemed easier between us, especially after I told him that we needed to slow down and not commit our lives to each other within the first week.
We'll see. I'm with MNS: the Enya thing still freaks me out.
Friday, June 16, 2006
I'll let you decide for yourself. Here is what I wrote (with some editting for privacy) P. this morning, after he left my house last night. As you are reading this, consider whether or not this is a little ridiculous after three dates:
I'm in an awkward place right now. I want to write to you and tell you how I'm feeling about last night. I also want to crawl into a hole and not get out again. A. said it so well recently when she was commenting about internet dating. Her theory is that since you have no social network in common with people that you meet on the internet, it is easi(er) to "disappear off the face of the planet" because you know that you won't have any casual meetings with that person again at church, Wal-Mart, or your best friend's, friend's wedding. It's an interesting theory, one that I'm mulling over today.
When you left, I felt like one of the worst women - ever. You are a great man and I am unbelievably intellectually attracted to you. You are very handsome and a man that I would proudly introduce to my parents. You like Zac and actively want to be a Dad. Really, I shouldn't want for anything else. If we could form a relationship from e-mail, IM, phone conversations, and evenings snuggling on the couch - I would. Last night, I harbored the fear that you were secretly feeling the same way that I was: your mind wanted to be in a relationship with me, just as your arms wanted someone to hold, but your heart didn't.
So, that's where it comes down to. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I don't regret it, though. I wouldn't trade meeting you, if given the chance.
What are your thoughts?
P.S. - I would understand if you didn't want to respond to this e-mail and instead you decided to "disappear". I hope that is not what you decide. If it is, though, know that I wish you the best and know that a woman would be stupid - really incredibly stupid, for not seeing what an amazing person you are. "
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Second interview was just with the President of the Board. I think it went well and I should hear next week one way or the other.
My current job evaluation went fine. They rank us on a scale of 1-4, and then tell us that we can never get a 4 overall. Pretty funny if you think about it. Why even have a scale at all if you can never reach the highest point? I got a 3 on most things and a couple of 4s. The only areas I got 2s in were "interpersonal relationships". Basically, I need to play nicer with others and not instill in them enough rage to cuss me out in front of other coworkers and get fired. Oh, I also need to stop "stealing" unmarked chicken from the refrigerator and causing my cubicle mate to stop speaking to me for three days. My boss suggested that I attend a couple seminars next year to learn how to "interact with coworkers more productively." Check.
Still trying to figure out why corn doesn't digest in a person's stomach. Why does it come out whole on the other end and why do I continue to eat it (especially with macaroni and cheese), if I always have this reaction to it?
P. is coming over for dinner tonight. He offered to buy groceries this time, but still left me with the decision on what to make. I'm pretty sure he might end up eating stale Cheerios with milk and Splenda. That's what you get for making me cook after a long day, especially when you can't come over until 7:30pm.
Z. is doing well. He *FINALLY* has one tooth that has broken the gumline on the bottom. It looks like he is working on a couple more, if his exploration of his mouth with his entire hand and thumb is any indication.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Here is the first: I have a second interview tomorrow for another job. Very excited about the possibility of working in downtown Houston. Same actual job, different job title, more pay, more flexibility. Cross your fingers, eyes, and toes.
Second: I've been thinking a lot about a moment in the hospital, right after Zac's birth. I was holding breast pump bottles after attempting to pump for 10 minutes. My parents had gone home to sleep the night before and it was early, July 9th. After a couple of minutes, all I had produced was 1-2 ounces of breast milk, which is a very, very small amount. I was trying to maneuver myself, my two IVs, and my IV pole over the sink by pushing the pole with my feet and shuffling along afterwards. I needed to wash out the breast pump parts and put lids on my milk bottles. The back of my hospital gown was wide open and I was wearing stretchy, hospital underwear that feel a lot like fishnet stockings, only shaped into grotesque panties.
When I stood up, I was clutching the bottles with my liquid gold and a rush of blood and tissue ran out of my vagina, onto the floor. The puddle of blood at my feet kept getting wider and wider until it almost covered my slippers. I didn't know what to do. I felt paralyzed. I couldn't put down the bottles, couldn't call for the nurse, and couldn't move without ripping my IV out. It was then that I heard the baby in the next room, the room with the Mom and Dad, balloons, flowers, and well-wishers. I have never felt more alone in my entire life. I stood there and cried until a nurse found me. It took two orderlies twenty minutes to clean up all the blood. I laid down in my bed and cried some more, trying frantically to call my parents, so angry that I was in a hospital, alone, even without my baby that was taken from me.
That is the memory that comes closer and closer to the surface as I get closer to Zac's birthday and he gets closer to turning one year-old.
P. came over last night for dinner and movie. I got home at 6pm and managed to make dinner, straighten up the living room from the aftermath of Zac's new favorite game: reaching in and retrieving all of the VHS tapes from the television cabinet, dumping them onto the floor, ripping open each box, closing each box, opening each box in a mind-numbing series of repetition, then throwing the VHS tape the other side of the room and scooting across the floor to retrieve it, bathe Zac, get dinner from the oven, and look presentable (read: I still had a bra on. Jeez, it's a second date, not a honeymoon. What kind of floozy do you think I am?) by 7:30pm.
The low-fat chicken parmesan left something to be desired, but P. was kind enough to tell me that it was delicious. Besides his penchant for white lies, I found out some other interesting information about him:
1) His ears are softer than DJ's (I checked)
2) He almost exclusively listens to Enya or alternative/techno music.
3) He's a good kisser
4) He doesn't think that Jennifer Aniston is too skinny. (Hello! Has anyone else seen, "Rumor Has It?" She looks like an underfed beanpole next to Kevin Costner, who is getting up there in years and weight).
5) Zac likes him - at least until he saw me again.
6) He doesn't drink alcohol, go to bars, or smoke - anything, ever. All three are non-negotiable.
7) His actual first name is Edric ben Patrick. I know this because I asked him if he ever went by "Pat" and he looked at me like I had just bad-mouthed Enya in front of his Mom. He said: "No. I hate the name Pat. My middle name is B.P." To which I replied, quizzically: "Your name is P. b. P.? What kind of crappy name is that?" If he had been less of a gentleman, he might have sighed at this point and told me that his name means Son of Patricia, in Gaelic (I think), which is his Mom's name.
Now, it's possible that he is different from the FOB in every, conceivable way (although I never checked the FOB's ears. Note to self - ask him about his ears). It's almost like he is too clean-cut, too good of person for me to fall head over heels for. I mean, can you imagine what lengths I would go to to get out of a car that played exclusively Enya during a road trip? Or better yet, what kind of violence I might be capable of after eight hours of overlapping, syncopated beats that speed up and slow down at random?
I was driving to work today, jamming to, "I Ain't Sayin' She's a Gold Digga'" and realized that I might not be able to do that again with him in the car. That's a serious issue for me to overcome. I'm going to proceed slowly, with caution.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Wow, I've actually managed to go on three blind dates in two weeks. That may not sound like an impressive feat for anyone else, but you have to remember that I was single and celibate for fourteen months, two weeks, five days, and sixteen hours....but whose counting? Nothing but more of me, myself, and I during that time.
Now, I've got people e-mailing me and inviting me to do things like forgo the leftover rice and beans from this weekend and meet for....more rice and beans. I met P. at a Tex-Mex restaurant close to work where, even though he invited me, we split the bill. Wouldn't have been an issue if I wasn't counting down the hours until I get paid and praying that my car payment doesn't post on my checking account before Thursday (*shaking my fist* damn you WaMu. DAMN YOU!). Fortunately, Tex-Mex is the cheapest thing to eat in this city and I was entertained by the flamboyantly gay Mexican waiter and his boyfriend, Hernadez, the busboy (whether they were actually dating or not, I can't really know, but it certainly looked like Felipe had gotten laid more frequently than I have).
P. is older - 35 - and fairly well-educated, having recently finished his college degree. I have no problem dating older folks, as the FOB is 9 years biologically older than me while his actual age hovers around 15 or so. Older people tend to get this kind of self-righteousness about them, especially when they talk about all of the "immature, silly games people play." I wonder if that rules out Scrabble or Twister....hmm...I may have to rethink this idea.
It's not that I want to go sliding down a Slip 'N Slide with a $5 hooker, covered in jello shots and twirling an endangered species above my head while singing, "Shake your Laffy Taffy. Your Laffy Taffy - girl!" but I want to have fun. I'm a young Mom - not dead.
I'm supposed to call P. this evening after work and I will, because I can't stand it when people say that they will call me and then never do. Find a more interesting way to disrespect me if you are going to do that. So, we'll have to see where this goes. Until then...I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Maybe it's just me.
Maybe I just don't think about ears very much.
Zac has very soft, flexible ears. I've gotten used to him pulling the tops of his ear lobes down around his chin, grinning all the while. He can contort his ears into shapes I've never seen before and never want to see again. His ears are apparently made out of one part skin, two parts Silly Putty.
Well, on Saturday, I went out with DJ and we ended up watching television on my couch after dinner and drinks. I was running my fingers through his hair when I hit his ear. I say hit because my hand practically stopped. His ears were hard as rocks. I tried to discretely feel my own ears to see if he was a freak or if I was for not knowing that adult ears feel like that. My internal censor had apparently taken the night off after the fourth beer so I blurted out, "You have really hard ears." He gave me a quizzical expression and put both of his hand up to his ears to feel. He looked at me and said, "No one has ever told me that I have hard ears before." He might have seen me blush if there had been more lights on.
Then I realized, it's not that his ears are harder than normal, it's that the only contact with ears I've had in the past year is with my son's, whose ears are as flexible as every other part his body.
And, you know what? I like Zac's ears better. Adult ears feel weird. I like that when I go to kiss Zac's cheek that I can rub up against his ear and not get bruised. I like that when I kiss him on the cheek he smiles like he's just won the lottery.
So that is how my date went. I learned about ears.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Last night I read him excerpts from my favorite book: "Queer Astrology for Women" by Jill Dearman. How many people could really appreciate the phrase, "A Sagittarius dyke is the closest think we have in the lesbian zodiac to a straight man. I don't care how much lipstick she is wearing!"? I mean, come on, that's pretty funny. It's even funnier when talking to a straight man that also finds that funny.
It is also no coincidence that I just introduced DJ to this site. Everyone say hello and watch me go down into a ball of flames for thinking that anyone who could possibly see me naked one day would want to read any of this.
I've talked on the phone to a couple of other cl men and had some unbelievably bad phone conversations lately. The kind that make me wish my house phone line had caller id so I wouldn't have to answer....again. This one guy, C, keeps calling me, even though he has nothing to say. I'm going to have to bust out the ole', "Dude. You're really freakin' me out. Stop calling me," line pretty soon. Whew. Good thing he doesn't know about this blog. I could post his myspace webpage, but that would be just mean. I think I got my dating meanness out of my system with my rebuttal of D a couple of days ago. If anyone wants to know where you can see Beavis and Butthead head banging to a Van Halen song, I can totally hook you up....
As Joy Unexpected said in a recent post, this is one of those, "Because I like to think you care" posts. I got a hair cut last weekend and even though I told the woman I was actually happy with my length (see the post a couple of days ago. That was the length of my hair previously), she definately did some major cutting. I like it, though. I had my hair even shorter than this in college and it's been working out really well with the massive heat wave that's hit Houston. I also, at least like to, think that the weight loss is showing in my face. I still have arms the size of tree trunks (which is why I'm hiding them behind me), but that is mostly genetic.
"Hey ladies! I've got a hot vest and some cute thighs. Why don't you swing on over to my crib sometime and I'll see if I can entertain you Central Asian style? Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about!"
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
"i had a good time with you out on saturday night, i want to apologize about the eye contact thing and the shirt thing (the two things that he was criticizing me for during our "date"), i really meant nothing by it, i am a very observant guy by nature, so i pick up on little things (aka: microscopic things that make me laugh at you in public and generally make women want to throw beer in my direction) maybe more then someone else would.
i have also had a good time talking on the phone and emailing each other for the last week, i have gotten to know you and really like the conversations that we had. However, during the date it wasnt that i wasnt having a good time, or that you werent making eye contact or the shirt thing (again! Lay off the fact that I don't make a lot of eye contact with strangers a**hole! OH - I was trying to show a little floppy, Mom boob to be sexy, but I felt self-conscious about it, so I kept pulling my top closed, rather than let my chest hair hang out like you did), i just didnt feel any sparks when wewere together (Ummm...by lack of sparks, did you mean that you concerned when I wanted to no longer be in the same county as you?). we seem to be able to talk to each other very easily and i enjoyed your company very much. i guess i dont really know how to explain it but there was just something missing romantically to me (because I have no capacity for normal human emotions outside of judgement and spitefulness - oh, wait, I guess I'm being spiteful....shit, scratch that).
i would still like to keep in contact via email and a phone call once in a while (because I feel really guilty about making you angry), but i think we are better off (keeping 500 yards between us at all times) just friends rather then pursue this into more. i am sorry if this upsets you (no, it gives me good material for the blog you made fun of) but i want to be honest with you and not lead you on and be a jerk (Too late! You already were a jerk, but I do appreciate the honesty) i hope i showed on the date that i am not that kind of guy (why is he so worried about what I think? Jeez, an insecure jerk is even worse than a confident one. If you are going to be an a**hole, have some balls about it) hope all is well and that you will still email me to chat (or post my entire e-mail on an anonymous blog for many other friends and single Moms to guffaw at). take care (I will. You too. OH, it might help if you learn to capitalize. I have plenty of friends that would be happy to edit your e-mails for you before you send them. Have your people call my people).
Monday, June 05, 2006
or at this:
I couldn't fiancially do both. The self-portrait was taken while Aunt Jen was visiting and for those of you that have seen the pictures of me pregnant in Hawaii, you might recognize that bathing suit. Yep. That is my maternity bathing suit. It still fits. I see no point in getting a new suit while the old one works just as well and highlights my gigantic, floppy Mom boobs. I also like that the skirt is long enough that it covers most of my baby-induced stretch marks on my hips and thighs.
Charlie, the dog, is currently at the Houston SPCA. Sorry, guy.
So, Weight Watchers it is. I'm thiiiisssss close to losing 10 pounds in 8 weeks. Even my binging over Memorial Day weekend hasn't completely stopped the weight loss. People are beginning to notice, as well, which scares the crap out of me. You see, if no one notices that I've lost weight, no one will notice when I (inevitably? Jeez, I have a bad attitude about this) gain it back. It has taken so much work to lose even the amount that I have that I can't imagine continuing to care this much about my weight and my body.
My clothes are also getting bigger. Right now I'm wearing a pair of light beige trousers that are rolled at the waist so they will stay up. All of my clothes are this big and while, to most people, that would mean, "Shopping spree!!! Go and celebrate by buying yourself a new outfit!" (as the Weight Watcher's leader always tells the group) for me it means, "Be creative with what you can do with belts and safety pins." Sometimes I wonder if I should hold off on the whole trying-to-lose weight thing until I can afford buying new clothes. Fortunately, most of my wardrobe contained clothes that I hoped one day I would fit into again. For now, I can deal with rolled waistbands and button-down shirts that don't gape open in the front.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Friday, June 02, 2006
"Hello. What are you seeking? I am just an average Joe. I am not a young kid. I am older than you. I am not married. I do not have a good car. I have no money. I do have a college degree at or above your education level. I have dark hair and there is baldness too.If you want to meet a nice giuy, then meet mew for a movie."
"Hi, how are you?
Who is this guy who is writing you may ask? My name is XXX , I'm 23, andI live on the northeast side. I should inform you before we go any further that I'm blind. I'm not asking for pity or anything like that, in fact I despise pity, I just thought you should know before talking to me that is if you decide to talk to me lol. To answer the next question I know your asking I have software called a screen reader which makes the computer talk to me. I have the keyboard memorized. I like to fish, do pretty much anything else outdoors, read,write music, play guitar, do things people tell me can't be done for example I'm the only blind bull rider that I know of, I like intelligent conversations, and I'm very spontaneous. I'm going to attach a picture but if you want more pictures go XXXXXXX the view more pics link.
Please write back and tell me more about you? Please also describe yourself since i can't see pictures? Also feel free to ask anything you would like to know. I look forward to hearing from you"
"I think I may be the one...do you like red wine or white?" -M
"Hi your ad is the most geniune I have seen on Craigs List. I am a professional man working two jobs. I am seeking someone like yourself to display mutal affection. I am interested in only being with one woman in a relationship. I am 6'2"..light brown hair..blue eyes..muscular..210lbs..43/divorced. I hope to hear from you soon. You sound just so wonderful. :) "
It's nice to be wonderful. Even if it is only to a stranger. I've e-mailed back two of these people, but I'm not telling which ones.
1) Get inspired after a new friend you met for coffee tells you that she met her partner through craigslist.
2) Remember that the last time you looked at craigslist, all you saw were naked pictures of 18 year-old virgins, some ads to "WORK FR*M H@ME!%*!" and a set of IKEA bedroom furniture for sale.
3) Decide to experiment and post a brief personal about myself, stating that, contrary to other posters in the personals section, I'm not looking for a sex friend, a threesome, or an alternative relationship with any form of flora or fauna. I did not post a picture and stated that I would not supply a picture of myself no matter how much begging was involved or disclosure of personal contact information on their end.
4) Receive over 50 replies in under an hour.
5) Laugh so much that I can't go to sleep when it hits the magic hour of 10pm. Continue laughing until 11:30pm or so when I pass out from a weird sinus, throat thing that makes me sound like I've swallowed a barritone opera singer.
6) Wake up the next morning and check my e-mail. Find even more responses, including a brilliant one that simply says: "Have you found anyone, yet? I'm free"
7) Have so many responses that craigslist removes my post because it was flagged as Spam due to the amount of hits it was getting (I couldn't make this up if I tried).
8) Decide to only e-mail back a small number of the incredibly sweet responses, like the one that says, "I wish you well on your journey, even if I won't be the one to accompany you." See - I told you that I couldn't make it up if I tried.
9) Post about my experience on my blog and encourage all of my single friends to try it out, just once, to see what happens.
10) Laugh some more and go out to dinner with your parents, who are, after all, much safer, at least in theory.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
In the "for-profit" world, if you have a valuable employee, you might do things like, give them bonuses, raises, or "attaboy/girl" awards (which is the worst possible name for an award - ever). If you gave them more responsibility, you would compensate them accordingly. In the non-profit world, if you have a valuable employee, you might do things like force them to work 55-60 hours per week, give them a $7 gift certificate for a turkey at Thanksgiving, make them feel bad for asking for more compensation, or continue to heap more and more responsibility on them while continually reinforcing their position in a "supportive capacity".
I've committed my life to working in non-profits, but it is harder than ever right now to try and raise a young child on the lowest possible salary. I want to get a MA or a MBA and I would like my employer to pay for it (or at least support it). I don't know what to do. Do I wait until I have enough experience in the field to try and get a higher paying position, or do I get out now, and try and find a job at Barnes and Noble and forget about reaching any imagined potential?
Sometimes the Barnes and Noble road is only slightly more attrative than being a barrista at Starbucks. Only a little, though.