Another One Bites The Dust

Those of you who get the daily “what the hell just happened???” updates could probably see this rant coming from a mile away. But it’s just an ordinary day in my life. Welcome. Please make sure your safety harness is securely attached and your arms remain inside the vehicle at all times.

I’m on an internet dating site. Yes, I am officially a registered loser in the dating world. It’s not that there’s anything (much) wrong with me, but the town I live in is known for selfishness and debauchery. Makes for a pretty contaminated dating pool. Add in the fact that I’m overly optimistic and a bit gullible, and you’d better add a helmet to that safety harness.

I met Preston online. Man, was he sexy. Not in the obvious kind of way, one of those guys that makes you lean in closer and closer the more he says. We dated for almost four months until he came to my apartment one night for a serious discussion. According to him, and he’s completely incapable of lying, I made him too happy. When he was with me, he felt too good about himself, so we couldn’t see each other anymore.

Even with ADHD, I can’t make this up.

I argued the point, but do I really want to convince this man that I can be conniving, hostile, and on constant estrogen overload? I need to cling tightly to that one very small shred of dignity I have left.

I did my best to move on. A friend at work heard the story of how I was selfishly making men too happy and suggested I go out with David, his childhood friend. We talked and settled on New Year’s Eve. Honestly, is anyone within 20 feet of a TV set capable of being happy alone that night? Hey, let’s watch all the lovers on Times Square kiss passionately at the stroke of midnight. Then again for the Central time zone. And an hour later for Mountain. By the time Pacific comes around, the Kleenex is gone and I’m too full of Kahlua to care.

We decided to meet up near my place. He was running late, but since he was making the drive, I figured I’d cut the guy some slack. Within 3 minutes of saying hello, he said he wanted to be upfront and let me know he would be losing his license soon due to a DUI conviction, but that he had learned his lesson and would be taking a cab home tonight. Um… okay. Sounds like he did some growing up lately. I explained my alcoholic ex-husband issues, and let him know that I needed a heads up early on if drinking was a big issue. He swore he rarely did. Then proceeded to get completely toasted, singing to me and performing dance moves that would make the Temptations envious. I gave him a ride home and wrote the guy off.

But people said to give him a break. He had to be nervous, and it was New Year’s Eve. Our second date was nice and fairly uneventful. Our third date… yeah. He felt the need to tell me the hilarious(?) story of his trip to a brothel a few months before, and how he didn’t bring enough money to get even a handshake. A couple of days later, he apologized for not calling, but he was completely wiped out from walking around at the porn convention all day.

See ya.

Fine, I’ll do the online dating thing again. I mean, it is how I met two seemingly great guys (hey, they were great up until the day they dumped my sorry ass), so maybe you really can find love online. But I’m not doing eHarmony again. There’s no way I’m shelling out fifty bucks every month for the privilege of meeting That Cat Guy. Or the professional gambler. Or the one who wrote he was most passionate about buffets. Or the one who wrote he liked “horseback riding, fishing and sex, not in that order.” Thanks for playing; enjoy your lovely parting gift.

Look! An online service for only twenty bucks! So what if it’s nationally known as a meat market. I know men really well, and I’ve been around the block a few times. Actually I’ve worn a groove hiking around that block over the years, so I should be fine. I post my profile and one respectable picture from my reunion back in June.

Okay, who was supposed to be watching the nursing home door? I’m suddenly surrounded by 60-somethings claiming to be 45! And they ALL like wine tasting (I’m allergic) and dancing (I’m a walking OSHA case) or a nice quiet evening listening to Kenny G. Really, did you actually read my profile? Where I mentioned I work a hazardous traditionally male job and like metal concerts? Did you miss the part about adoring my red snakeskin pumps? What about the part where I can’t keep my mouth shut, even when it’s probably good sense to do so?

Out of morbid curiosity, I read some of their profiles. Lots of them “definitely want kids.” Why, so you can pay child support out of your social security? You’re in your fifties, and that’s if I believe the ridiculous age you stated in your profile. Get a grip!

“I want a woman who is accomplished in her career”, followed closely in the next paragraph by “I want someone who can take off on wild adventures at a moment’s notice.” Flag on the play! You can only pick one. Either she’s a necessary part of her work or she’s not. It’s just like how I can’t have you care about upkeep on your body but let my little belly pudge slide.

Even worse were the guys from out of state. Sure you're a doctor. And you want to meet up for drinks some time when you're in town on business? Oh, so you've never heard the term "booty call"? Somehow I doubt it. Delete.

My favorite was “Casanova”. Definitely in his 60s but claiming to be 46. He likes to salsa and cha-cha, and loves to make love. Really? I never would have guessed that one. And the best part, as a tribute to the ineffectiveness of Spell Check, is where he states “I just love to put on my French colon.” Do you? Isn’t that painful? And just what makes your colon French?

I met Joe, who was very intrigued by my obnoxious “lay it all on the line” profile. So we met up and things were going great. We had been going out for a week or so, but he seemed to be really into the relationship, before I thought it even was one. He couldn’t get enough of talking/texting/seeing me. According to him, I was beautiful, funny, smart, and had an impressive grasp of mechanical stuff. Oh, and a great kisser, but that goes without saying.

We went out for a quick bite Thursday night and had a great time as usual, talking and kissing. His friend was coming in for the weekend and the three of us would go out Saturday after I finished up work. He would call or send me a text to say when he would pick me up.

I got home Saturday, checked my emails (priorities, you know) and jumped into the shower. As I’m drying off, my phone chimes in with a new text from Joe. “Hi, have to cancel. My old girlfriend and I want to work things out. Good luck with your search.”

Huh?

I want so badly to be above the fray. But it ain’t easy. It took every bit of will I have to send the very respectable reply “Wow, that came out of left field. Good luck to you, too… I guess.”

I just don’t understand what is wrong with these men? How can I go from amazing to disposable in a day or two? And no, it’s not that. Mind out of the gutter, please. I’m not doing any of the obvious “stupid girl” things – falling into bed quickly, saying the L word (the hetero one…), talking about marriage (do I even want to?), telling horrible ex stories… nothing! They’re perfectly thrilled with me up until the day they move on or I kick them to the curb for drugs or worse.

So now I’m back to where I started, only a tiny bit worse for wear. I guess I’ll just keep on with the whole eternal optimist bit. Just do me this one favor. Please don’t tell me I’ll find him when I stop looking. Been there, done that, got the loser exes.

Driving Blonde

This may not seem like much to some, but it has been bothering me for months now.

They gave me a truck at work. It's not like I get to keep it or anything. I can't put killer rims on it or a Fear This decal on the back window. No "Horn Broke, Watch For Finger" bumper sticker. But I get to drive it, well, on days they don't let anyone else drive it. It's a tiny little truck, and it stalls if you turn right too fast. Or stop too fast. Or... honestly, it just stalls a lot.

But that's not the problem. The problem is that I also have a car I drive to and from work. I spend almost an hour in it each way. Feels like I live in that car when I'm not working. But still not the problem.

The problem is that these vehicles are set up without regard to the fact that I may be driving more than one on any given day and I am blonde. So when I release the parking brake on my car I am actually popping the hood. And vice versa. When I turn on the windshield wipers, I am actually flashing my headlights at the car in front of me ("Thank you very much, sir, I truly didn't realize how frustrating it can be to attempt a lane change while I'm blinding you"). Shifting gears really does turn on the misters and wipers (did I mention it's a convertible?), but that's a ghost of the car even before this one.

Do you see where my trouble is? I spend most of my day flashing people (mind out of the gutter, please) and popping my hood on the freeway, while being flipped off through a rain soaked windshield with my parking brake on.

Can we please standardize these things? I'm waiting...