and i'm the one who's single, vol. 2

Recently, I ran into an old colleague on the street. I asked how she was doing. Here is the conversation that ensued:

Colleague: Well, remember that guy I was dating? We're getting married next week!

Me: Wow, that's great. Congratulations.

Colleague: Yeah, it means we won't have to pretend anymore.

Me: What do you mean?

Colleague: Well, you know how Rob's a bigwig in the company we both work for. Well, he didn't think it was right for anyone in the company to know that we were living together, unmarried. So we've been doing pretty much everything separately. If we go to Wal-Mart, we walk in separately, do our shopping on our own, then meet up again at the car. If we're in the car together in town, I try to duck when we hit a stop sign or stop light, to make sure nobody from work sees us in the car together. But now that we're getting married, I don't think he'll want to do that stuff anymore.

Me [trying to act all casual when alarm bells are ringing in every last bit of my body]: Ummm... yeah, OK.

So let's just think about this for a second: that guy just got married. That guy. And I'm still single.

are all older men crazy, or is it just my father?

First, some background, so you understand who my father is:
Years ago, my parents went through a bit of a drinking phase. My sister calls this time period "the years of never-ending embarrassment" because my dad loved to order Sex on the beach (as in the drink). At any rate, they went to some all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean for a 7 day holiday, and on the 5th day, my father woke up blind. My mother (quite understandably) freaked out and wanted to take him to a doctor. He not only refused to go, but he also refused to go home early. He insisted on making the most of the rest of their holiday while blind.

Finally, my parents came home and my dad went to see a doctor, who told him that he was actually a diabetic and that he had gone into diabetic shock because of all the sugar he was drinking. But the diagnosis isn't the point of the story; my father was crazy enough to spend two days in a foreign country, blind as a bat, without getting help, of his own free will. Crazy person, no?

So here's the story of this week:
My parents have a cottage where they spend most of their summers now. Of course, this cottage is in the middle of nowhere and they refuse to get a landline, Internet access, or a cell phone. Since I hadn't seen them or spoken to them in a while, I decided to pack up my bruised tailbone and spend last weekend with them.

Saturday was a great day, but then Saturday night I was woken from sleep at around 2:30 am by a big thump. My father had gotten up, lost his balance, fallen over, and hit his head on the wall. Insisting he was OK, he went back to bed. Well, the next morning he was so not OK. He couldn't stand up on his own and refused to eat because of nausea. I know enough about medical stuff to understand that that could be just an inner ear infection, but a voice in my head kept saying that it also could be a stroke (especially because I'd just read this). I called around to a bunch of doctors in the vicinity but nobody was working on the Sunday of the long weekend, so I suggested that I take him to the hospital in the area, if only to get him a drip so he would feel better. He reacted violently to the suggestion, insisting that he was OK. This went on all day, and I don't think I slept for more than 20 minutes that night.

The next morning, when he was no better and asked me to walk him across the house, I lost my mind. I told him that the only place I was walking him to was my car so that I could take him to the hospital. He refused to go, so I packed my bags and left. Yes, I left my sick father in the middle of nowhere with no means of communication, and, since their plan was to stay until Wednesday, I spent the next two days waiting for my phone to ring, hoping that my dad wouldn't be in intensive care somewhere. No sleep was had.

At the end of the day, he apparently got better, but then, he didn't go to a doctor at all, so who knows?

Is this how men get when they get older? If I end up with someone who's seemingly normal now, is this inevitably what I'm going to have to deal with once he reaches retirement age? Or is my father just a crazy person?

why does it have to be creepy?

Last week, while waiting at the airport for a domestic flight, I pulled out my laptop. I was in my own little world, getting my butt kicked even further at scrabulous, trying unsuccessfully to move up a level on FreeRice, and answering a few emails from a very long time ago (I've been so remiss lately).

Somebody asked if the seat next to me was available and I nodded, not even looking up.

After a few minutes, the same person said, "Wow, you type so fast - do your fingers ever smoke?" I enjoy brief conversations with random strangers, probably because I find people fascinating. I was mildly amused by this comment, so looked up to have a brief conversation. Buddy was an older guy in a pilot's uniform. After a few pleasantries, I turned back to what I was doing.

I wish the story ended there, because for once it would just be a nice story. But of course it doesn't end there. The next thing I knew unknown older guy--who was flying my plane, of course--was asking if I wanted to fly to Europe with him the next day. Say what?

Don't men ever just want to have a pleasant conversation with someone? Does it always have to turn creepy? I just don't get it.

trying not be hurt

Please tell me if I'm being unreasonable.

Most of my close friends are men. Not sure why, but there you go. One of my good friends is the guy who relieves constipation with his heated seats (sadly, a major source of search traffic for this blog), for whom I once drove to a restaurant to pay for a dinner date (he left his wallet at home).

Well, that dinner date was the beginning of something big. Friend called me last week, all excited, to tell me that he had proposed and she had said yes. I tried to be happy, but it was hard because I hadn't yet met his fiancee.

That's right, one of my good friends got engaged and didn't bother to introduce me to his significant other (who lives in the same city I do, I might add), whom he decided to marry.

I got upset, maybe more than I should have. After all, when someone calls to tell you that he or she is engaged, I think you're supposed to be all happy, or at least pretend to be all happy, or at least that's what I imagine my mother would tell me to do. I said, "You got engaged and I haven't even met her? When am I going to meet her?"

(To be very honest, I said this a la whiny voice, but it could have been a lot worse, right?)

His response: "Oh yeah, we're going to have an engagement party sometime this summer, so you can meet her there."

Well, today I got an evite to his engagement party and I have one word: crappy. The party's at a bar and a billion people are invited. Generally, that means we'll get about 5 minutes of innocuous conversation, yelled at each other over some ridiculous music. And I got invited 2 weeks in advance, to a party on a summer weekend. I treasure my summer weekends and maximize them by doing all kinds of outdoorsy stuff, and I hate hate hate getting stuck in the city for a stupid party. So wow, I can't wait to "meet" her.

OK, so I know you're hearing only my side of the story, but this all sucks, doesn't it? And it makes sense for me to be hurt, right? I'm trying not to be too hurt, since every indication is that my friend will be one of those people who gets married and doesn't have friends anymore. I find those people disturbing.

where do i get that mask?

On Thursday after work, I had coffee with a new guy I barely know. The conversation was good. However, I suspect I will never hear from him again.

You see, I live near my city's Church of Scientology. I'm not big on Scientology. In fact, I'm not big on religion generally, but I'm really not big on Scientology. At any rate, the Scientologists here are very industrious in their recruitment, and they're always out on the street, handing out flyers and trying to get people to take their stress tests. (And now that we're on the topic, has anyone actually taken the stress test? I wonder if anyone ever gets told he or she isn't stressed.) Since I pass their office so frequently, the regular recruitment people all recognize me.

So on Friday, as new guy was walking me home from coffee, as we passed Scientology (open at all hours, I swear), one of the flyer guys gave me a big smile and a "hey, nice to see you. How are you doing?" Buddy's head swung around quickly and he said, "You know that guy?"

I tried to explain that I pass by their office a lot, just because I live there. The pace of our walk picked up considerably. The goodbye was cursory at best.

Damn those Scientologists for screwing up my love life. You know how those Anonymous people protest in their masks and tell stories about their family members being brainwashed and mistreated by L. Ron Hubbard's followers? Well, maybe I should get a mask and tell the sad story of how Scientologists ruined my date.

I'm not sure that's the real point of the Anonymous group, but they must welcome all new members, no?

things that have been said to me in an elevator, vol. 2

On Sunday I ran into my friend down the hall of just-borrow-my-Porsche fame. It's been a while, and I think he's been working on the lines. Here are my top 3 bits from this encounter. Keep in mind that this was all said (amongst other things) in an elevator over the space of about 20 floors. Also keep in mind that he is not someone anyone should take dating tips from, ever.

1.
Mr. Porsche: OK, so for a second I thought you were with that guy who got into the elevator with you.
Me: That guy?
Mr. P.: Yeah. But then I thought about it for a minute and realized that no guy who was with you with any brain in his head would ever actually leave his apartment.

2.
Mr. Porsche: Hey, I think you've got some new muscle.
Me: Thanks, but I actually lost more weight over the last couple of months. Boo.
Mr. P.: Well, if you'd just take all your clothes off, we could settle this once and for all.

3.
Mr. Porsche: Wow, it sure is hot out, huh?
Me: Yeah. I love the heat.
Mr. P.: I just run the AC all the time on days like this. I can't stand to be outside.
Me: Too bad. You must hate summer.
Mr. P.: Ah, it doesn't matter. Nothing that I want to do to you involves being outside.

maybe janez drnovsek wasn't such a crackpot

OK, bad dating choices are us. Normally though, I'm not masochistic enough to confront those bad choices in the flesh once it's over. Something possessed me this evening to break that rule and spend time with an ex from ages ago.

Said ex asked how I was doing. I gave some fluffy answer about trips I've recently taken, volunteer work I've been doing, and a course I've been taking. And then I decided to be honest and ranted a bit about the torment I'm experiencing in the materialistic world that surrounds me. I figure any self-respecting human being would at least try to empathize.

Instead, buddy cut me off with, "Wow, you look really sad. Why don't you tell me a funny story? That'll cheer you up."

Oh yeah, that's a great idea. I should tell you a story that would amuse you in order to make myself happy. Not surprisingly, the night never recovered after that.

Why aren't people allowed to just be tormented once in a while? Do I need to become a Slovenian hermit to be honest about how messed up I think things are?

food violence

All right, I not-so-secretly love this story about the two roommates who went to blows because one ate the last English muffin. A shot glass and a vodka bottle were used, inflicting "head wounds." Their parents should be so proud.

Somehow I think this will never happen in my household. If anyone is ever angry that I ate the last of the fake chicken with 140g of fat and 6,680g of sodium, I promise I'll inflict my own head wounds.

the bible was their guide for this?

I do like me some heart-warming church stories. How 'bout this one, with the couple who decided to go at it at least once a day, because their church thought it would be good for their relationship? I'm not really sure why you become a celebrity when you decide to engage in conjugal relations with your spouse, but there it is. And buddy's profound judgement at the end? "I'm surprised it worked as good as it did."

Clearly the Bible mumbo jumbo and/or the constant exchange of bodily fluids have impeded his ability to speak English real good. I wonder if the church is keeping track of this less-than-desirable side effect.

Rainy

murphy's law of dating

I dated this guy for years in my 20s. He was smart and charismatic and everyone in my life loved him. As is usually the case, our relationship was six months of bliss, and then the crazies came out. This guy grew up in a family of millionaires and had no concept of the need for money. He ran his own "business," in quotation marks because it didn't actually have any customers. I put in many unpaid hours, trying to help get it off the ground. To get a break from all of this business he was doing, he would book us on "surprise vacations," again in quotation marks. When we got off the plane or train, he would never be able to either rent a car (because his driver's license had expired) or pay for a meal or a hotel (because his credit cards were all maxed out). Inevitably, the supposed surprise vacation would turn into an expensive vacation for me. And then we'd go home and I'd have to beg the utilities people not to disconnect the heat and hydro even though he hadn't paid the bill for months. I should mention that this was at a time in my life when I was a very junior political aide and I only ate because I was a reception whore, not because I had any money to actually buy myself food.

Eventually, despite the protestations of all of my family and friends (who didn't have to endure all of the crap), I got out.

And, since that day, apparently business has picked up considerably. In fact, buddy seems to be immensely successful now. He's won a bunch of awards, written a best-selling book and been interviewed on a million tv and radio shows. My parents and some of my friends always call when they see or hear of him and tell me how great he is. As you can probably guess, I love it when they do that.

So this evening he resurfaced again. I was driving home from work, drinking my kale-pineapple-banana-rice protein juice and listening to an audio book about open source software. Yes, we can stop there and acknowledge:
- that drink sounds grody (Sunny almost hurled when she saw me with my kale-raspberry-persimon-rice protein juice last week, but I'm a bit of a health nut and I swear you to that it's quite tasty)
- the fact that I'll listen to audio books is weird all in itself, but it's even weirder that I'll listen to an audio book about software.
But then, it's not like I'm going around speculating why I'm single.

At any rate, the book I was listening to cites the expert and collaborator otherwise known as MY EX. When I heard his name, I spit out my drink. Then I back-tracked a little to check if I was imagining it. No dice. Half an hour later, his name came up twice more.

Annoying. It's not like I'm still in love with him. In fact, I fully expect that life would have gone in a bad way if I'd stayed with him. Still, Murphy's Law is never fun, is it?

RainyBow

my poor mother

My mom and dad just got back from a trip down south. As always, I bought my dad a few good books for the trip. He has this pesky habit of reading huge parts of the book he finds interesting out loud, to anyone who will listen. When they're in town, he can usually find some other unsuspecting person to read to. I for one have learned too much about several of his books because I've called and interrupted him in mid-read. On vacation, it's all about my mom.

Judging by her tone of voice on the phone just now, I don't think she appreciated my choice of books this time. Maybe next time I should give him some girly choices and see how that goes.

RainyBow

when does it stop being fun and start being cougar?

I meet guys at the gym all the time. This evening a hottie I've seen before talked me up. After a few minutes of conversation, I decided he wasn't just hot but also rather smart. All was going well until he dropped a piece of information indicating that he was at least 14 years my junior. Then he asked for my phone number.

I've dated younger guys before, but I've always been careful to stay within the generation gap (10 years). What should I have done here?

To any of you tempted to respond that age doesn't matter, it doesn't matter for older guys, but don't forget that double-standards abound in my world. When does one officially become a cougar?

RainyBow

__________________________

SunnyShine note: NIKE

it's hard to understand me because...

I told this story twice today, so why not a third time?

On a hiking trip to the Adirondacks a year and a half ago, I met a hottie from Manhattan. I have a weakness for athletes, and he was a surfer. He was also a pilot, and because he could fly in and out all the time, we ended up dating for a while. He'd fly in for a night, we'd go out and have a good time, then he'd fly out again.

(Btw, that's my idea of a fantastic relationship, but let's not get into psychoanalyzing that one today, OK?)

Because pilot boy and I always went out for an evening only, and because there was inevitably drinking involved, I don't think I ever really got to know him. He was fun. He was also pretty young. Looking back, I now think I may have overlooked a few of his not-so-bright sounding comments here and there, chalking them up to his tender age.

One night we were out and he asked me what I studied in school. I told him that coming out of high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do other than that I wanted to learn to speak French fluently (go figure). So I did my post-secondary work in French at a school with a bunch of French people. (BTW, my French was pretty darn rudimentary at the time so I look back and think wow, I had balls. But I failed my first two papers, then I got smart and found myself a French boyfriend. And eventually I learned because I had to.)

But back to my night with pilot boy. The conversation went in many other directions and we were talking about someone else, when he stopped me and asked that I repeat something (can't remember what, as it wasn't memorable). As I was about to repeat it, he said, "You know, I find it hard to understand you sometimes because..."

... and in my head, I jumped to the natural ending to this sentence, which is "... you talk so quickly." I talk very quickly. I get told that a lot. But instead, that night, I got...

"... you have that French accent and all."

French accent?! Good lord. My family isn't exactly white bread, and my first language isn't English, but it sure ain't French. And I just told this guy that I went away to learn French and that it was pretty darn hard, making it clear to any other living being with a brain who may have overheard me that I didn't already speak it.

There was no avoiding the fact now: pilot boy may have been hot and fun, but he just wasn't smart.

After the French accent incident, I couldn't see him without snickering. Yes, I'm a snob; I lost any respect I may have had for him because of one thing he said. I told him I couldn't see him anymore and gave him the run-around when he wanted to know why, because I just didn't want to tell him he was dumb.

I think the frightening lesson from all of this though was that this guy flies planes.

two things i learned on new year's eve

1. when you buy wine because it's from a region of the world that made you think, "wow, I didn't know they made wine, this should be funny," you should expect to feel like Santa's elves are tearing apart all of last year's unwanted Christmas gifts in your head the next morning. Let's hope the elves are not as industrious as all the kids' tales claim.

2. when the guy who has told you for the last eight years that he just wants to be your friend drunk dials you for five years straight at 12:03am on New Year's Eve, he won't be erasing your number before 12:03am this year. Call display is your friend. Stop answering the phone.

Happy New Year!

RainyBow update: Omg, the elves were busy buggers yesterday. Ouch.

want an icy stare?

Sunny can give you the goods on this one - I ignore other drivers on the road. Before you freak out and call the DMV, hoping to get my license revoked, that doesn't mean I don't pay attention to other cars, it just means that I don't look at who's in them. After years of lewd gestures from truck drivers and teenagers, I started to drive in my own world. Because of this, friends and relatives commonly drive beside me for miles and I have no clue.

This morning, crawling in my car to work (people keep telling me that I commute against traffic, but I have yet to see that), I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. Thinking someone needed to change lanes, I looked over, ready to wave him or her in. Mistake. Some guy had his Treo out and his window lowered, and was gesturing to me to lower mine too.

What, did you want to beam me your business card? See if I can fix the problem you've been experiencing with wireless email? Show me the latest photos of your child? Or maybe you just wanted to show off your latest high score on snood?

I'm the first one to admit that commuting is boring, but I wish people would find ways to amuse themselves that don't involve me.

RainyBow

i finally know how to relieve constipation

Went out with friend-of-the-34-hour-date fame. He's still dating the girl, and I think I heard something about it getting serious. I have to admit that I'm not quite sure as I blanked out several times during our conversation. I wasn't hammered or even remotely inebriated. As has been the pattern over years of friendship, tonight he was the girl, talking endlessly about his relationship, his feelings, his hopes and dreams and his biggest fears. I, on the other hand, was the guy, grunting, cutting in and out to my fantasies of the hot new guy at the gym (far too young but with a delightful devil-may-care look), and picking a little fight here and there to show I was still listening.

Now and then, I'm reassured that my buddy's still a guy when he gets on the topic of his beloved car. He'll insist on driving me to a pizza joint in a whole other city just to show off how his car handles varying driving conditions ("Look at how she takes this turn on the side road. See how this is different from the city streets we were on earlier?"). Then, the pizza will be a bit raunchy and "to make up for it," he'll insist on driving me to a completely different city for a drink. He cannot be convinced to park the car and walk somewhere for pizza and a drink in the downtown core of the city in which we live.

These days, my buddy's biggest obsession with his car is with the heated seats. As he will tell absolutely anybody, he's convinced that they rid him of constipation. That's right, in his mind, heat on one's backside is a catalyst for bowel movements. Tonight was nasty and rainy here, and when I went to turn on the heat for my seat, he cautioned, "Wait, do you really want to do that? You know what'll happen."

I told him I would chance it.

I've asked many times what scientific basis he might have for said theory, and he says it's trial and error. Huh?

RainyBow

__________________________

SunnyShine note: This is complete crap. (hee) I love me a heated seat and I keep mine on all the time. I love them so much, if the heat thing ever broke and could not be repaired, I would have to go out and buy a new vehicle immediately. I'm not kidding. Never once have I had this heated-seat-related-bowel-issue. I think men are just sensitive to heat on their posteriors. My main 'mo has an issue with them as well; his old car had some kind of issue with the heated seats and he burned his backside. I still laugh every time I think of it. Whenever I drive his car, I turn the seats up to max and purposely leave it on for him. Good times.
__________________________

RainyBow note: Burned his backside? Lmao. 34-hour-date boy must never hear of this.

__________________________

SunnyShine note: Funniest-thing-ever. When you meet him, I'll get him to tell you.

so how do men ever get things done?

As I mentioned earlier, one of my car headlights burned out this week. Trying to get the stupid bulb replaced was a comedy of errors and I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that I finally got fed up late this week and took my car into the dealership.

I called ahead to ask if I could bring it in after 3pm. The woman on the phone said to bring it by any time in the afternoon before 4pm. However, when I arrived at 3:03pm, the place was a madhouse and the woman behind the counter said they just couldn't help me.

As I was about to leave, the man beside her took over. "Is it just one of your headlights?" he asked. "Yes," I said and gave him a helpless look, batting my eyelashes. "I've tried to get it fixed so many times and I just need my headlight to work. Is there any way you can help me?"

He offered to install it himself, so that I would only have to pay for the bulb. He then walked me out to my car and chatted me up while installing it. I smiled, thanked him and drove away.

I'm shameless. Over the years I've managed to get all kinds of stuff done by flipping my hair and batting my eyelashes, from getting oversized luggage on a flight at no charge to doubling the amount of butter on my movie popcorn (which, btw, didn't go so well because I put the bag on my lap and it drained out onto my jean skirt, leaving a nasty stain). But all of this leads me to wonder: how do men ever get things done?

RainyBow

____________________

SunnyShine note: Men throw money at the problem. 'Will $100 take care of it?'

"reckless abandon" and "blind date" do not go together like peanut butter and chocolate

A friend of mine sent me the beta of a frightening new dating service. If you live in Austin, Boston, NYC or San Francisco and you tell them what part of the city you'll be in and when, crazy blind date will set you up with a complete stranger for a drink or coffee.

Apparently all you get is a location and your date's name and short description. No real deets, no photos. The website bills this as dating "with reckless abandon."

What kills me is that my friend doesn't just think this is "really cool," but actually thinks that we should do a crazy blind date double-date. Has this friend never met me?

I've been on two blind dates in my life, both because I just couldn't find a way to decline. One of the dates was passable; the second was one of the worst nights I've ever spent with another human being. My date, who I had been told was "the sweetest guy ever," actually spent a good chunk of dinner recounting the details of his daily exercise routine. When he got to Tuesday and how many sit-ups he did before the push-ups and why that was different from the number and order on Monday, I abandoned all pretense of civility. I figured that smoking while eating would a huge turn-off to a work-out junkie, so I purchased cigarettes. Unfortunately, he thought this was rebelliously attractive. Then my date actually finished his story and decided to ask me about my life. This scintillating new line of conversation began with: "So, do you like to have fun?"

I found out later that he was actually my boss (who I despised) at the time's regular booty call. Icky.

RainyBow

don't all guys owe me for this?

I looked at last month's cell phone bill this week and discovered that I sent and received 436 text messages in the month of October. So I either text people in my sleep or I am secretly 16. Either way I think it's safe to say I have an addiction.

A couple of weeks ago I was spending a very enjoyable Friday night chez moi. It had been a long week and I had just settled in with take-out Pad Thai, a bottle of red wine, a few blankies and a quality movie on DVD. And my cell phone, of course.

I got a 911 text from a good friend of mine. When I answered, he told me that he was out on a first date which was actually going quite well, when he remembered that he was at a restaurant but his wallet was still on his dresser at home. Nice going, huh? "Kwik," he texted, "can u bring me $150?"

LOL.

Now I have to admit I'm a bit of a sucker for people who find themselves in sudden and urgent need of cash. When one of my friends was backpacking through Europe and some guy chloroformed him and stole absolutely everything he owned, I wired him cash to eat and get a new passport and clothes. I have a bunch of those kind of stories.

I really didn't mind driving up to the restaurant, getting the waiter to call over my buddy and slipping him the cash. In fact, it was all pretty amusing. The only crappy thing was that my friend apparently doesn't take his dates out to places that are actually in the city. Perhaps I missed the memo that the suburbs are the new hot place for a first date. I had to drive out to some restaurant that was so far out of the city it could very well have been the place where Jesus lost his sandals.

At any rate, I just discovered today that said date (which I think I can safely say I rescued from certain disaster) turned into not just a good first date, but a 34-hour first date. Yes, 34 hours. Although my friend is being somewhat discreet (at least with me, maybe because I'm not a boy), I think we can safely assume that he got lucky in some way, shape or form.

So how do guys express their gratitude when one aids and abets the other in the quest to score? I'm not up on the etiquette here, but I feel I should be thanked, no?

RainyBow

one helluva night

This is a great little piece from Florida....

Two months ago a 24-year old went to a strip club. He says he told the club’s employees that he could only spend $600. Because that’s what I normally do when I go to a bar: I tell the employees what my spending limit is. Genius.

Well, the Amex account he shares with his dad was charged not $600 for that night, but $53,000. That’s right, $53,000.

Amex says the receipts are legit. Dad says 24 of the 30 receipts were printed after 4am, and he’s incensed, because he says that at that point “the club should have been asking patrons to leave.” His kid didn’t just stay past 4am, he stayed until 8am. Hey, it takes more than a couple of hours to spend $53,000. I think.

But here’s the best part: dad says his kid came home with bruises on his neck. “He believes they came from club employees yanking [his son] awake throughout the expensive morning.”

Newsflash for dad: maybe this was a ripoff scam or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, your kid’s a dumbass.

RainyBow

___________________________

SunnyShine note: This is a tax on the stupid.