I thought I would take a short break from the Ex’s to provide you with the latest dating disaster. This one didn’t even get out of the gate. It consisted of about three hours of chatting online. I thought he was interesting and worth meeting, which I told him. He never did ask me out or to meet. He tiptoed around, asking if I wanted to meet. In subsequent chat sessions, he said how much he would like to meet, but never suggested a time or day. What is it with some men?

For any men out there, you will never get what you want unless you ask. Suggestions and hints don’t work. It is not up to women to suddenly respond to such interest with providing details of their schedules so that you may pick what works for you. At some point, all the suggestions and admonishments of how beautiful someone is just gets annoying. It doesn’t matter if you’re good looking, intelligent or have the “complete package.”

I suppose this guy was just another of a long line of pussies who needs to grow a pair and ask for what they want. Don’t be the guy in the photo.

When did I become so cynical about love? That was the question I asked myself while listening to a song I loved from 1987. The song is “The Border” by Mr. Mister. Every time I hear this song, I think of a couple who has been through a few things in life and all there is to do is keep going. I see a couple very much in love holding hands as they face the next thing in life. I see a man who is there with his arms open wide waiting for the woman to embrace him.

The Border by Mr. Mister

I don’t have that in my life. I have never had that in my life. I cannot imagine meeting anyone with the courage and conviction I hear in the song. I don’t know anyone who would say “whatever happens, we can handle it together.” I don’t know if that says something about people today or if it is just the people I meet. I didn’t cry, but the thoughts the song brings up make me sad. It’s like I lost something along the way. I’m not even sure that I’m supposed to have it, but I feel the loss.

The next song that came up on my iPod was “End of the Innocence” by Don Henley from 1989. I smiled to myself as I listened to the words, which provide an explanation of the cynicism and loss.

End of the Innocence by Don Henley

I remember when… I also know about being poisoned by fairy tales. I am very familiar with the lawyers too. Now, if only I could release all of it, forget for awhile like he suggests in the song. While I might not trade experience for innocence, it might be nice to have moments when that experience is forgotten. I learned a term for this in literature classes, but I don’t remember it and cannot find it. I think I would like more than just fleeting moments. I can almost imagine the freedom that comes with meeting every person or experience without the past creeping in. Almost. I would like to have the experience of the thoughts of the past not appearing. Ah, to be fully present…in the present.

What I really love about both songs is the piano part. The piano notes are haunting behind both singers amazing vocals.

Even a site with members with higher than average salaries has its creeps. This is from a man who claims to be 43 and have a net worth of about $3 million.

You intrigue me - can we get to know each other? Going to cheetah to work with cheetah’s would be an adventure. There was a game preserve close to were I live that would bred these cheetah’s with bizzare coats. So what makes you purrr…lol?

Now, let’s rate:

decent start, but then the weirdness sets in

grammar +10 for near incoherence, where did he learn to write? maybe he speaks this way as well?

creep factor +8 for cheesy cat reference

total: +18

There’s nothing worse than having to read these things more than once just to figure out what the person really means. It might have been okay, if he didn’t add “what makes you purrr.” Note the 3 r’s. Obviously money doesn’t help you spell or remove creepiness.

Please…just shoot me. This one isn’t the worst of them. They are even weirder once I speak to them.

I promised more dating stories, so here’s the next. I him The Pussy because after 3 missed phone calls, he made up that I wasn’t interested even though we had emailed a few times and texted once. He had no spine. The one phone call where we did speak was rather short because he had something to do. I let him know he could call me later, which he never did. He wanted to call me back in 10 minutes after picking up some tickets and while driving. And there was that one text: “Hi” that I got instead of a phone call. This was apparently supposed to cause me to swoon and immediately text back. Needless to say, I didn’t.

He wasn’t the first spineless guy during my recent foray into dating. But he did make me wonder where all the real men are.

The worst part of this string of oddities is that it takes weeks to weed through dozens upon dozens of emails to find even one who is worth responding to. Then only a few of those make it to phone calls. None of the phone calls so far have gone any further.

I got it into my crazy head to attempt dating…again. I had been spending my time doing things I like to do rather than dating until a month or so ago. Since then I have “met” some interesting characters. I have yet to meet any in person for various reasons that you will learn as I describe them.

The latest I call The Interrogator. He seemed interesting enough to talk to on the phone. However, the phone call was a barrage of questions delivered like bullets from an automatic weapon. I think I got to ask two questions. I wasn’t opposed to meeting in person. I cannot tell that much by phone calls, and I was willing to make the effort. He asked about meeting, but my lukewarm response must have turned him off because I haven’t heard from him since. It has been 6 days. I wasn’t available this weekend, hence my reluctance. Although after thinking more about the call, I think the real reluctance comes from how the conversation went.

I have met some odd ones recently that has left me asking where the real men are.

Friday night was one of the rare occasions I decided to go out to bar with a friend. I rarely spend any time with her outside of the activities we have together. I rarely get a chance to talk with her even at parties that we are both invited to.

I’ve had lots to party invitations in the past month to the point where I really had to pick and choose.

So back to Friday night at the bar…

Clara recommended that we go to a gay bar, so we wouldn’t have to deal with being hit on all night long. This bar is considered a “dive,” but it wouldn’t even come close to that in my definition. The people in California have no idea what a real dive bar is like. This bar was small, but there was enough room for tables and couches, a pool table and dance floor.

I was surprised by her bar choice, but then I thought “why not?” We would be able to talk and dance. Gay bars had to have good music, right?

I was right about the good music. Loved the music. The people were great. They initially looked at us a little funny.

Just as I was getting comfortable, and Clara and I were talking, he walked up. A scrawy, scruffy, drunk Russian. He told us he was Russian. Not only that he said he was married and not gay. I heard most of his life story. Apparently he was avoiding his wife’s complaints about how he fucked her. Clara and I danced, and so did this guy. The bartenders eyed him apprehensively. So much for not being bothered. Leave it to Clara to draw the only “straight” guy to us in a gay bar.

When we sat down again, he was back…sitting to my right. His invasiveness into my personal space was infuriating. Then I could tell how much he had been drinking and that he was stinky. So now this stinky, scruffy, scrawy Russian sat within inches of me on a bar stook. Then he had the gall to comment on my posture. I had taken to crossing my arms over the bar. So what? Apparently that meant something to him–mostly that there was something wrong with me. I did make it clear I wasn’t going to talk to him. He interrupted my conversation with Clara two times. Then I was mad. The stupid drunk had no clue. The creep also touched my hair–picked up a piece of my hair and fondled it. I have no idea what else he might have done before I saw him since he was behind my back.

He was very touchy. I was polite, but glared at him. Again, he wondered–aloud–what was wrong with me. Me telling him that I wanted to have a conversation with my friend made no difference.

Clara actually told him to go away…and not nicely. Something she said she never does. It’s more like something I would do. The bartenders got involved. Scruffy Russian then went to the corner and pouted.

He returned about thirty minutes later. I left earlier than Clara who waited for her husband to pick her up.

It was the first time I asked someone in a bar to escort me to my car. We had met a nice guy there who also tried to scare away the persistently drunk Russian. Even in straight bars–the typical pickup scene–I have never had so much trouble or continually been accosted by some stranger who refused to get that his presence was unwanted.

So recently I activated my Yahoo Personals account–don’t get too excited–it’s no longer active. I had gotten a weekly matches email as usual. Usually there is no one interesting, but this time there was, so I activated the account. This guy seemed normal and incredibly good looking. I didn’t plan on being on the site for long, so I gave him one of my email addresses–the one that doesn’t completely identify who I am. We did have a little trouble getting emails through. I probably should have left it alone, but I suspected that somehow the email had been missed by me. Probably not. Could have just as easily been a typo on his part.

So finally we actually communicate, and he suggests dinner. I thought, “Wow! This guy is actually interested rather than prolonging emails back and forth.”  At the time, I thought this was good. A few more emails pass between us over an hour, and he complains about the women on Yahoo being too conservative. Of course, I ask what he means. That’s when I finally find out what he’s really up to. Now, his profile says “soulmates apply.” Since he’s on Yahoo and included that in his profile, I think he’s looking for a relationship. Then comes the surprise–or not, since I meet these types all the time–he’s only interested in having sex. Well, dinner first–at his place, and then sex. That’s not exactly what I had in mind. I’m also not expecting that from his profile. Then I understand why he complains about the women on Yahoo.

Silly man. You don’t go into a Mexican restaurant expecting to eat Italian food. You don’t create a post like that on Yahoo and expect sex. He’s on the wrong website. There are “dating” websites that cater to exactly what he wants. While I’m not prude, I’m no longer interested in hopping into bed immediately with someone. I’m not looking for sex. I prefer great sex. Great sex requires stimulating the brain. It’s more than good food and hot bodies.

Well this just confirms what you will find below if you scroll down to see my animated iTunes list.

What Your Taste in Music Says About You

Your musical tastes are intense and rebellious. You are intelligent… but in a very unconventional way.You are curious about the world. You love doing something new. In fact, you enjoy taking risks and doing things most people would shy away from. You are very physical. It’s likely that you’re athletic, but not into team sports. You have the soul of an artist. Beauty and harmony are important to you.

What Does Your Taste in Music Say About You?

Since there is a movie coming out soon, maybe not.

You Are Most Like Samantha!

For you, dating is the ultimate sport You’re into guys with power, looks, or a lot of money. You rather have a great two weeks than a great forever. But even you fall victim to love from time to time. Romantic prediction: You’ll find love in the next few months… But you’ll be the last one to realize it.

Anyone want to date Samantha?

You Don’t Need a Man … or Want One!

Generally, you’re very happy being a single woman. And anyone who has a problem with that… well, that’s there problem. Not that you wouldn’t share your life with the almost perfect guy. You simply won’t settle though. Your life is too good to share with some substandard man!

Do You Need a Man?

Yet, I have one. I think I should take off the “want one” since I already have one.