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.

Ok guys… I need some help decoding guy-speak. I’m quoting here from someone I know. I would like to hear what you think he means–in detail. I have my own ideas, but I feel like I have wandered into a foreign country without knowing the language.

She’s smart. Wicked smart. And sometimes just wicked. We have knock-down, drag-out battles of wits and bravado. We are consistently turned on in each other’s presence. She walks with the grace of a dancer, and dances with the grace of … well let’s just say that it would make a weaker man nervous.

Her sultry sass is a match for my mischievous mayhem.

At a high class dinner party, she’ll play the coy little girl, Miss Prim and Proper; all the while planning the precise moment to use a single word that would make a sailor blush; then she’ll continue the conversation so smoothly that everyone’s wondering if they misheard her. Simply put, she fills an evening gown with the attitude of Tank Girl.

Well???

It was another late night going into a few more late nights at least until Monday. I think, anyway. Another date. It was probably the craziest fun I have had in a long time. He really likes video games, so I told him I would kick his butt boxing on the Wii. I did. And also in tennis and bowling. He then kicked mine in DOA2. Humiliating loss. He’s more fun than anyone should have. He likes my cats, and they like him–even the ones who hide whenever someone else is in the house.  My mind keeps reminding me of the night before…hmm.

I’m a bit sleepy today after a lack of sleep last night. No, nothing exciting to report there. Just couldn’t sleep. I did have another date last night though. I have been feeling some slight trepidation. Ok, not so slight. It’s a bit disconcerting to be really open about who I am and who I have been since I wonder why anyone would want to be around all of it. There’s a feeling of running away and running toward. I’ll have to let you know which direction wins. Right now, toward is winning.

I know I like to be in control or at least feel like I have some control over a situation. I realized last night while talking about swing dancing that I have no problem giving up that control on the dance floor. Now why I can’t elsewhere, I have no idea.

I like my men on the naughty side. I already suspected my date was a bit naughty. What I really wanted to know is if he is deliciously naughty. I certainly got my answer.

It wasn’t just one, but there is one I want to talk about. I don’t know what he was thinking at the time, but that last kiss wasn’t only felt on the lips. How does that happen? Is there a direct line from lips to…? (You’ll have to fill in the blank here. This is a PG-13 blog.) Must be for me with this guy. I can’t remember a single, short kiss ever having that effect.