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I had two dates this past week that I was looking forward to, both men traveling through Boston. The science geek from San Diego and the designer from Virginia. I will make part of the details brief, because one of them barely deserves the mention.

San Diego is the most contrary and obstinate of men. He walked in strong, being tall and handsome with okay style… really, all he needed to do was not say anything dumb. Alas, everything he said was dumb and, unlike most scientists who are fixated on fact, he liked to argue inarguable points, such as Barcelona being located in the North Eastern region of Spain. Apparently, his once being in a region to the North West of it suddenly relocated Barcelona to the South Eastern part of the country. I had to pull up a map on my iPhone to get him to stop arguing, and then, he responds, well, it is South East of where I was. That is like calling Westchester UPSTATE New York cause you live in Manhattan.

At 7:08 pm on Friday night, Virginia appeared at my door. I stepped out, we looked at each other and each of us knowingly smiled. A hug and kiss on the cheek began our 7 hour date. At no time was there awkward silence, uncomfortable conversation, frustration or misunderstandings. There was no needing to find a way to relate, we just did. He genuinely complimented me throughout the evening in a way that was gentlemanly but also cheeky and flirty. We drank, laughed, talked seriously about our exes, our lives, and life. After our great dinner, we went next door to a great bar and grabbed a back booth and continued. It felt like I have always known him and it was extremely comfortable. I kicked my heels off towards the end of the evening and put my feet beside him on the booth, to which he grabbed my feet and started massaging them. Really?! Thank you! At some point, after he had been running his hand along my feet and ankles for an hour, I needed him closer, so partly to have an excuse, and partly because it was so loud in there, I told him to sit next to me because I couldn’t hear him. A little while later, we were looking at a YouTube video on my phone and, when our heads were really close, I turned to him and said, “you can kiss me if you’d like.” Of course he would like. So, some smooches in the booth, then in the car as we waited for it to heat up, then outside my house as he was dropping me off. As I was getting out of the car, he called me back over to him and gave me one more smooch. Sigh. When I got out of that car and walked to my door, the night seemed a little less dark.

By the way, we have another date for Wednesday and YES, I am MAJORLY crushing on him.

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I ran into a friend today, one I had a brief crush on a couple of years back and whom I thank the universe for not ever allowing us to hook up because I would have KILLED him. He was headed out for his 4th date with this 30-year-old woman whom he said needed to spice it up a bit. She was too sane, too calm. He likes crazy 25 year olds because they are unpredictable, but he complains because they don’t want a relationship. Hmm. Ok, he complains he can’t find someone our age who is wacky and fun, that as women age we become lame. Umm, I am NOT lame, but this is NOT about me. So, he yammers on a bit and then says that he has 15 minutes to get to his date, on bike, and he is in Somerville, in Davis Square, needing to get down Mass Ave to Newbury Street in Back Bay, which is a good 15 or 20 BY CAR. Hmm. He plans to BIKE in 84 degree weather, across town, so quickly that he will be gross and sweaty, and meet this girl for a date in which he wants her to step it up?! Maybe if he wasn’t wearing a Toucan Sam shirt, covered in sweat on a DATE. If he can’t take her seriously enough to arrive at a date dressed nicely and showered, why should she step it up for him?

Seriously though, I looked around the bar I work at and tonight I noticed so many men wearing man-dles (man sandles, flip flops, etc), sneakers, white tube socks, free promotional schwag t-shirts, and being generally unkempt. These men took 5 minutes to get ready for their date, and that including getting their keys and grabbing the ever wishful condom. Meanwhile, their lady friends showered, shaved, touched up their nails, put on make up, primped the hair, brushed their teeth, and spritzed a little parfum on the way out the door.

MEN… here is a HINT. If you want a woman to fuck you, you have to give us reason to. Clean it up. If you can’t show a little style a few hours every week, for us, why should we wear non cotton underwear, invest in Brazilians, shave the legs, and put on sexy heels for you? If your date showed up in baggy jeans, with unshaven legs, a promo alcohol t-shirt, dirty sneakers, unbrushed hair, no make up, and smelling like she just biked 10 miles in 10 minutes, would you want to fuck her?

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This time of year leaves me restless. Feeling like I am in limbo. Neither warm enough to run around flaunting my cuteness or cold enough to sit in cozy bars and lament the winter. It is as if some great force above has the remote and hit pause. 

Meanwhile…. I continue to recieve messages on OkCupid such as this:

Hi

// Mar 28, 2011 – 1:19pm

I don’t want to date you. I just wanted to say hi. I like your glasses. I’m not nearly as inept as my message to you might imply. I sometimes am a very good communicator. I like your glasses a lot. I have a feeling you’re pretty nice to know. I might like to know you. I have a feeling you wouldn’t like to know me since I don’t have a profile filled out. I could give you reasons as to why that’s the case. I keep starting each sentence with “I”. I hope that doesn’t pause to consider me an egomaniac. I just like the letter “I”. It’s short and to the point. I have a feeling you might think I’m peculiar and odd, yet wonderfully cute and silly. I don’t know.

Hi.

26% Enemy 79% Friend 65% Match Message from …. (perhaps I should respect his privacy)

Does this approach usually work for him?

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I met Daddy WireFramer on OK Cupid and was impressed with his foodie tendencies and that he had a mid-century chair…and old school punk history. Surely he could be the next coming of Type Geek, but less emotionally stunted, right? WRONG. Sigh.

We met at the bar of a local restaurant in my new neighborhood, the music was an odd mix of 90’s dance hits and the bartender wore rubber bands in his goatee. The crowd, even more peculiar as I looked around and saw older couples gazing at each other like teenagers and realized that they were reminiscing about their first date… to this song, when it was NEW. Oy.

Now, I figured Daddy WireFramer (he has a 7-year-old daughter with his ex-wife) was just nervous, or tired, as we met up at 11 and he had been hanging out with his daughter and her friends all day. It became clear over the hour and a half, that nervous was partially the case, but not fully. We each had one drink, he asked if I wanted another, I left that decision to him. He grabbed the check and when I offered to pay for my drink, he accepted my cash and tip. Which, as you know, to me, immediately sets a more friendly, less datey, mind-set for me.

We walked around for about twenty minutes and about 10 minutes in he stated… drumroll please:

…you are definitely out of my league.

NEXT.

Jesus, really?! Did you just say that on a date? Then follow it with, ” you have so much going for you and you are absolutely gorgeous and I’d be honored if you would be my friend, but I know I’m not what you…” I stopped him there. I was in love with a short grey chested bald man. Are you serious? Needless to say, it is not my job to stroke his ego or try to convince him that he is good enough for me. Sigh.

Why can’t I find Type Geek’s emotionally available doppelgänger?

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Remember how I have said that women ARE bat shit crazy? Even when they appear not to be, they will eventually come out of the cave and show their true sucubus teeth?! Ok, example here… a few nights ago, in the restaurant I work, a bachelorette party sat. As I was refilling their water I was able to overhear many enlightening things. Such as:

“I put $450 worth of takeout on his credit card”, from a friend of the bride to be.

The bride, not wanting to be out done, proclaimed,” well, I heard that he was going away with his new girlfriend , so I reported all of his cards stolen the night he left for his vacation, and I then had the hotel put a $1,000 bottle of wine on his room bill and asked that it be decanted and ready to drink for his arrival. That way, he couldn’t return it, since it was already opened.”

Really? Is that behavior necessary? As it turns out, as she spoke more, I caught that they had been broken up 3 months. Boy, was she bitter. 90 days, MOVE ON!

However, after getting hit on, in the most ridiculous way, by a man doing a bad DeNiro impersonation, who had a girlfriend sitting at his table in the other dining room, I can understand being a little pissed off if someone I was involved with was such a jack ass.

He walks over to me after I show him the way to the restrooms and holds out his hand asking my name. I tell it. He then says, in front of his compadre with the khaki pleat front pants and untucked, but starched, oversized dress shirt and despicable Jersey Shore accent, “Doll, let me tell you a story”

My eyebrow raises at use of the word…Doll. Really?!

He continues, “I am going to give you my number, and you are gonna call me. I am going to spoil you rotten for two weeks and then you are going to get a better offer and dump me. What do you say?”

“While tempting,” I reply,” I am not sure how the gentleman I am seeing would like that story.”

“I’m not asking him, I am asking you,” he says in an even sleezier tone.

“I’m seeing someone whom I happen to very much enjoy,I can’t. Sorry. ” I say, hoping that it is enough.

“What if I do my DeNiro impersonation for you?”, he whines.

He then proceeds to do an impression of DeNiro which looks as if someone shone light in DeNiro’s eyes while he was on the toilet constipated. Does that impression even work? Does he think it is charming, sexy, endearing? He looks like a constipated blind douche bag with poor choice is fashion, friends and pick up lines.

Type Geek comes home tonight. Thrilled.

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” Yeah, I’ve done freakier shit than you.”

“I’m really experienced.”

“You’d be surprised at what I could teach you.”

Umm, ok. Really. You think so?!

A young boy at work tried to walk the “check out my huge cock” game this afternoon. He tried to impress me and a male colleague with his exploits. I just kept chuckling as he continued with his glowing self review of his talents and varied experiences. Finally he stopped and questioned why I was laughing at him, using the statements above as his main persuasive arguments. I wasn’t sure of his age prior to this conversation, so I asked. When he told me that he is 19, just turned, I nearly spit out my drink and looked straight at him and replied, dead pan,” I have been having sex LONGER than you have been alive.”

Apparently number of years means nothing, as he equates partners with experience, rather than overall acts. So, he is a little boy slut who is overly confident of his abilities and his skill set. When he told me that he has done freakier shit than me, I also laughed. He assumes, as many do, that because I am cute and femme and blonde… that I am little miss vanilla. Dear, oh dear. I looked him straight in the eye and my retort,” Darlin’, I was part of the goth/ fetish scene in the early 90’s”, was met with a simple, yet solid , ” Yup, you win.”

Of course I win. Don’t judge my box by its cover darlin’. I may look sweet now, but you don’t know about my exhibitionist, role-playing, out-door loving, gender bending, fetish and bondage playing self. You don’t even know that I slept with more women than you have or that I started sleeping with said women when you were in 2nd grade. You have an awful lot of catching up to do my friend.

An hour later, he walks up to me and with his hand on my shoulder, states, in all seriousness,” If you ever want to teach someone some things, hit me up.” 

I am too old to TEACH anyone anything. I want someone who KNOWS how to rock my world, not someone who needs a tutorial, a gps, a compass and a map.

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“Then indecision brings its own delays,
And days are lost lamenting o’er lost days.
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute;
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it;
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

-Goethe.

Is it indecision that I am feeling lately? A little insecurity, that I do recognize. It isn’t that I am questioning whether I am attractive or if the boys like me. I know I am and that they do, yet I have days like every other woman (or man for that matter) and occasionally I just need a little something more.

I need to NOT know about the woman from work that Cooper Fiennes is exchanging flirtation with. I have no rational rights to claiming him as my own. I don’t own him, but I desire him and his company much more than I ever thought I would, so it makes sharing him difficult at best. Certain days, I need him to myself. This woman gets him for weekend trips, nights out dancing, things I want to do with him. How do I ask this? May I?

I need to feel that my time is considered valuable and that I am desired. When Type Geek rain-checks and cancels and reschedule(s) enough times in a month to make my calendar look like an abstract, post modernist art piece, you know it is out of hand.When I get dropped off at home after a day of day tripping around beach towns, rather that brought back for sex… even if it was morning sex, then I feel a little less than desired. I’m not asking for a marathon here. 20 minutes? Maybe? I know I am attractive, but having someone desire you feels great. It is great. Having someone cancel dinner plans twice, because they are hanging out with their platonic colleague who they may or may not desire, mmmm, well, makes you feel less than desireable at times.

I am so easy-going and allowable. I try to allow each of them their rights to be present as is truthful for them. However, perhaps I am being too casual. Perhaps I do need to act more like a woman who is interested in a hot Spaniard. I’m not a push over, but is my zen attitude places nails on my coffin?

So, why can’t I just make some sort of move here? What delicate balance am I worried about disturbing? This current scenario is only partially working for me currently. So, what is my answer. If only Goethe was better with having a strong definitive.  Perhaps I cannot expect that because, afterall Germany did come in 3rd in the World Cup. Even Paul the Octopus chose a more passionate country to root for.

Maybe that is the dilemma. Passion. It has been so many years since I truly felt passion that I am unable to control the passion I do have now.

I need a writer/philosopher with some better guidance. Perhaps Dali, the painter had it right. Maybe all of this stuff makes us feel like melting clocks on a harsh landscape.  All I really want is to be naked in bed with Cooper Fiennes at this exact moment. That, for today, is all I want.

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