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Friday, December 28, 2012

My Sacrifice to the Mayan Gods Saved Us All

As I feared, my date for the Mayan Apocalypse was fit for an epic disaster.
There are so many things left unsaid, unshared and unsuggested on prospective daters' online profiles, it's absolutely astounding.  Glancing at a profile, you might be led to think that someone is: intelligent, grounded, witty and interesting.  What you find, more often than not, is: foolish, flaky, banal and tasteless.  When I find someone whose personality is so polar opposite from mine, one whose head is floating so far in outer space that E.T. has a pre-paid calling card just to phone her, one who gives "eccentric" a whole new meaning, I want to scream and curse the gods for sending me yet another prospect to test my patience for human kind.  
Pre-planned and Pre-Agreed Upon Agenda For Apocalyptic Date:
1.  Meet at friendly neighborhood bar for a drink.
2.  Walk on foot, in the rain, to help date select a Christmas tree for her apartment.
3.  Transport Christmas tree on foot, in the rain (with the help of a Granny Cart), to said apartment.
4.  Assist in decorating Christmas tree.
I like adventure.  I like quirky.  And I'm usually down for anything out of the ordinary on a first date.  No, really, I'm quite serious.  I'm so bored with the usual wine bar meet-up or coffee date that I could just die from narcolepsy.  So, naturally, I agreed to the agenda, no matter how weird it seemed.
We met at the agreed upon neighborhood bar.  It was a rainy evening but since we're both smokers, we decided to brave the rain and sit on the outside patio where we could drink and smoke in relative peace.  First thing I notice?  Um, she's wearing a pink knitted bunny hat… with floppy ears… and whiskers.  Alrighty then.  Since it was raining and every seat was soaked, I opted to stand under my umbrella but it made for awkward conversation since I was towering over my date while she sat.  My date's solution was a kind offer to let me sit on her bunny hat. 
Me: "Thank you, that's very nice."
Her: "Wait!  Let me flip it over so you can sit on her face."
Me: "Um…?  Insert inappropriate joke here?"
Her: "Exactly."
(*Sigh* Oh boy.)
So we sat and talked small for about a half hour or so and then decided to set out on our journey to find her Christmas tree.  As we walked out of the bar, I asked her to lead the way.
Her: "I don't actually know where the Christmas tree lot is but I think it's somewhere this way."
Me: "You don't know where it is? "
Her: "Well, I think I saw it around 17th and Folsom and made a mental note to come back, but I was really drunk that night and now I can't remember where it was."
Me: "I see, so we're going to walk ten blocks in the rain and hope that there's a Christmas tree lot there?"
Her: "Exactly. Hahahahaha!"
Me: " Okaaaaaaay…"
As we walked the ten blocks towards the intersection of How-Did I Get Myself Into This? 17th and Could-You-Possibly-Be-More-Obnoxious? Folsom, she could hardly contain her excitement over the ornaments she had just purchased for her tree.  She was practically giddy.  So I asked her, "what do they look like?"
Her: "They're Budweiser cans!"
Me: "Oh.  That sounds… fun?"
Her: "I bought almost all of them.  The checker at the store asked me if there were any left for the other customers.  And I said, 'um, I think I left, like, three.'"
Me: "Oh.  Wow."
Her: "Those aren't the only ornaments I bought.  I also got donuts, coke cans, sushi and South Park characters."
Me: "Well that sounds… interesting.  And um, colorful."
And then we came upon the intersection of Total Weirdo 17th and How-Soon-Can-I-Go-Home? Folsom; guess what wasn't there?  Yep, you guessed it.  No tree lot.
Me: "I think I'll just Google Christmas tree lots on my phone."
Her: "No, wait, I know it's here somewhere."
Me: "You're probably right but I can pull it up on my phone and find out exactly where."
Her: "No, wait, maybe it's up this street."
(And they say that men are the ones who don't stop and ask for directions!)
Finally.  After walking eleventy thousand blocks in the rain, we found a tree lot.  And after spending about an hour walking around the lot mulling over all the trees, she picked one out.  The young guy working the lot came over and told us that they offered delivery too.  This was music to my ears, especially since my date casually forgot to bring her Granny Cart to transport the tree.  So I asked how much the delivery would cost.  $49.
Her: "No, that's too much."
Me: "I'll gladly pay the delivery charge so I don't have to carry this tree fifteen blocks to your house."
Her: "No, it's too expensive.  Besides, you look like you can handle it."
Me:  "Is that why you chose the tall girl for your date tonight?  Cheap labor?"
Her: "No!  Hahahaha!"
Christmas Tree Lot Guy: "Actually, we can't deliver it tonight.  We close in an hour.  How about tomorrow?"
Her: "No, that'll ruin our plans.  We can carry it."
Me: "No, we'll walk back to the bar and grab the Zipcar that I rented and strap that tree to the roof."
So we retrieved the car and picked up the tree.  When they charged her $95 for the tree, she handed them her credit card.  "Oh, sorry.  We're cash only."  (ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!)  After all that, there was no way I was turning back.  So I offered to pay in cash and she offered to pay me back (which she hasn't and I would rather kiss $95 goodbye than retrieve the loan and have to see her again).
We drove to her place with her proud new tree and walked it up the steep and narrow stairway up to her apartment.  At the top of the stairs, I notice an enormous skeleton head sitting in a window sill.  I don't mean an average sized skull.  I'm talking the skull of King Kong's much larger, much scarier older brother who used to bully poor King Kong and his pal Godzilla around.  No shit.  This thing was utterly unnerving.  And the hallway was painted in orange and green stripes like a circus tent.  And the kitchen had skeletons painted in stencil all over the walls!  This apartment would've sent Hunter S. Thompson into an irrevocable and unforgiving acid trip.
We dragged the tree into her apartment and I asked her where she wanted to put it.  To which she replied: her bedroom.  "Wait, you don’t want it out where your roommates can enjoy it too?"  (She has FIVE, by the way.  Yes.  FIVE roommates.)  Nope, she wants the tree in her tiny, disgustingly messy and horrifically decorated bedroom.  
In the corner of her bedroom where she wanted to place the tree is a coat/hat rack.  Adorning this rack is what I could only describe as a menagerie of other animal-themed knitted hats, much like the pink bunny whose face I had intimate relations with earlier in the evening.  There was a frog, a kitty, a monkey and countless others.  And when she grabbed a broom to sweep up the floor around the tree, I noticed the following items: dust bunnies the size of jack rabbits, a used plastic spork, a candy bar wrapper, a pencil and a layer of filth that looks like it's been collecting for the better part of a decade.  I couldn't help but shiver from a case of the heebie-jeebies.  
Me: "Uh gee, I have to get the Zipcar back by 11:00.  It's already 10:15 so I should be going soon."
Her: "No, wait.  You have to just see my ornaments!"
Me: "Uh… oh.  Ok."
They were exactly as she described.  And they were exactly as tacky and trashy as I had imagined.  I stayed for another ten minutes and helped hang about a half dozen of these tree blemishes.  The only ornament I liked was a replica of the Robert Indiana sculpture, "LOVE"… and I broke it.  Doesn't that just say it all, folks?  Leave it to little old me, poor love-cursed and heartbroken Miss-Adventures to break LOVE.  Oh the symbolism of it all stabbed my insides like the shards of that broken ornament.
So I gathered my keys, my cellphone and my jacket and thanked her for an "adventurous date".  I started to walk away and she threw her arms up towards my neck…  Oh, a hug, that's nice...  No, she's going in!  Mayday!  Mayday!  She's going in with tongue!  Goose!  Pull the escape hatch!  No shit.  Here I was thinking this date was a motherfucking train wreck and she's going in for an end of the evening kiss… with tongue! 
The next morning I woke up with the sore throat from hell.  And I've been sick with a cold ever since.  That'll teach me for letting a weird girl kiss me on the first (horrendous) date.  
{*Cough!*  *Cough!*}
I believe it was my unselfish sacrifice to the Mayan gods on that fateful evening that spared us all from total annihilation.  You're welcome. world.  No, no, please, this ticker tape parade is more than enough thanks.
{*Cough!*  *Cough!*}

Thursday, December 27, 2012

...But It All Makes For A Great Blog Post.

Hi, everyone! Nugget here, tiding you over until Miss-Adventures makes time in her busy schedule (truth alert: she's sick) to update everyone on how she single handedly saved the world from the Mayan Apocalypse by going on a date.
Last weekend, I was bored and lazing about in my pajamas when I had a craving for coffee. Mind you, I had plenty of coffee in the house AND my bestie had just come over to ask me if I wanted to go get coffee with him, but I had a better idea! I would ask a random internet stranger out for coffee. So, I let all of the local online dating site folks know that I was jonesing some caffeine something fierce, and curled back up with the cat. An hour later, I had a coffee date with a young gentleman.
Who his photos showed: A well-groomed, clean cut blonde boy of moderate height and moderate build who liked doing things outdoors and seemed generally wholesome.
Who showed up: A short dude with long, stringy, unwashed and unbrushed dark brown hair, an unkept beard, and an outfit that may have been stolen off of a homeless person.
Fighting to urge to flee, I ordered my coffee (he ordered his with booze. It was not yet noon) and we sat down. He then proceeded to tell me all about his last job, his last living situation, and his next trip. Sounds promising, right? Except that his last job was working on a pot farm in Mendocino County with a bunch of rednecks (his words) that liked to get drunk and shoot guns. After almost being witness to a homicide and having to fight to get paid, he decided it sounded like a good idea to go back next year. Obviously, he's good at making sound decisions. Did I mention that he got home from Mendocino County by hopping box cars illegally for three days? No, really, just like in the movies. He planned on taking the money he earned and using it to be an artist with no day job (even though he has yet to establish his art). His last living situation was squatting in a warehouse in the Midwest with no heat, where he would often wake up able to see his breath. He was currently couch surfing. His next trip was running home to the Midwest with no return ticket purchased...but he'd like to hang out again if/when he returns.
Sadly, I think I'm going to pass on that one.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

I do it all for you, People.

What better way to welcome the Mayan Apocalypse than with a first date?  On a day when dooms-dayers are predicting the end of the world, I plan to spend my evening in the company of a brand new victim (I mean) contestant  (I mean) date.  Odd choice for a first date?  Yep.  Was it my idea?  I wish I could say it was.  No, in fact, it was her idea.  And when I pointed out that fact, she laughed, said she already thought of that, and thought that it would be kind of an epic night to first meet someone new.  Hmm… this one's got a dark, twisted and odd sense of humor.  And I SO like that.
Should we all survive Y2K (I mean) The Reckoning (I mean) The Mayan Apocalypse, I'll let you all know how it went.  God speed, my little zombies.  

Friday, December 14, 2012

I seem to have gotten on the Crazytown Express bus.

Oh, goodness, you guys. I feel like I am a public service at this point. You see, I lived in Los Angeles for 20 years. Every time one of my friends in LA would meet a girl that they were interested in, they would immediately call me up and ask me if I'd ever gone on a date with her. They did not do this because they knew I was young and single and pretty and wildly popular, and of course they held our friendship completely sacred so they'd never do anything that could even potentially hurt my feelings like dating someone that I'd dated. OH NO. They did this because if I'd gone on a date with her, there was a 99% chance that she was absolutely insane, because nature has created me to be the official Barometer of Crazy. Seriously, if I said "Oh yeah! I've been on a date with that girl," there were absolutely no follow up questions. The friend would just hang up and immediately call the police department to get a restraining order against the poor, unsuspecting girl (fun fact: mentioning that I've gone on a date with someone is enough grounds to file a restraining order against that person in at least 10 counties). So really, my going on dates with crazy people? Sucks, but I'm doing it FOR YOU, people of the world! You're welcome.

I think we need to revise our method, though, because today's crazy that I'm bringing for you has NOT even gone on a date with me. Let me explain. The other day, I got a message on a dating website that seemed very heartfelt, sincere, and honest. I like that. It also contained a TON of compliments. I like that, too! I did not like that he insinuated my going out with him made me some kind of cougar when he was only 4 years younger than me, but I digress. Anyway, I responded in kind, and we exchanged phone numbers. He called me shortly after, and we discussed our days and talked about meeting up. He wanted to meet me that same night, which was a terrible idea because a) I had to get up at 5am the next morning, b) I had just made plans to go to dinner with my friend, and sushi is WAY more awesome than awkward conversation with a stranger (my buddy's pretty cool, too, I guess), and c) I would have to drive through this creepy tunnel that switches directions and I hate that tunnel so much that I never go visit my awesome friend Quin that lives on the other side of that tunnel. The ensuing conversation went a little something like this:

Him: I mean, I'll be over in your neighborhood tomorrow for work, but...
Me: Wait, hold up. You will? Perfect! Tomorrow would be perfect.
Him: But I'd like to see you tonight.
Me: 5am comes far too early for that.
Him: Okay. I can pick you up and we can go to my town!
Me: Wait. Why can't we just hang out around here since you'll already be here?
Him: I got my car stolen once. It was no where near your house, and it happened years ago, but I still don't want to park in your town.
Me: Okayyyyy. I guess I'll drive over to your town.
Him: Cool! I'll make a plan of attack for making my apartment look presentable.
Me: Uh. What? I'm not coming over. I have a rule that includes absolutely NOT going to someone's house on the first date.
Him: Well, I'm a psychologist, and my patients are servers and bartenders and baristas at literally every restaurant, bar, and coffee shop in my town, so you should just come over.
Me: No.
Him: I don't follow rules.
Me: Well, then I guess we shouldn't meet.
Him: Fine. This wouldn't have worked out anyway. Good riddance!

Two minutes later, he texts me.

Him: I want a fresh chance with you.
Me: I don't think that's a good idea.
Him: I'm giving you another chance.
Me: Another chance to have my boundaries disregarded by a complete stranger and then disrespected when I say that's not okay?
Him: I will play by the rules, I just got offended. I felt tracked into the "asshole" category. I'm a sensitive guy.

Obviously, I stopped responding to him because he wasn't listening. He stopped texting soon after. Oh, but the following day, I was checking in on the dating site he'd emailed me through, and he messaged me through their instant messenger function.

Him:  I really want another shot with you.You're the most beautiful/smartest girl I've met in a long time.
Me: Listen. I really don't think that's a wise idea. No, thank you.
Him: I know your approach was crude, but I'm willing to give you another chance. I'm your best option.
Me: No. No, you are not.
Him: You'll never meet anything but douchebags on here!

I stopped responding. Yesterday, he texted me a simple, "Hey, what's up!" as if nothing had happened. Radio silence today, which I hope continues, because obviously this guy needs some professional help. Oh, for the record? I looked up the mental health department of the medical center he said he was a psychologist for. Besides the fact that there's no possible way he could have met the education and internship requirements at his age, the center's website lists all doctors, social workers, therapists and interning docs in their employ. His name's not listed. I'm exceedingly grateful that he brought the crazy before I agreed to meet him for a beverage, because who knows what kind of crazy he would have brought in person!

Friday, December 7, 2012

Surviving Christmas: A Single Girl's Rant

Fuck you, Holiday Season.  Yep, I said it.  (Oh the horror!)  And because it felt so good to say it once, I'm gonna say it again.  Fuck you, Holiday Season.
Fuck your fucking holiday themed commercials, your glossy magazine adverts showing family members coming together over carols and eggnog and your goddamned fucking jewelry commercials.  Ohmygod.  The jewelry store commercials!  One would think everyone in the world is getting engaged over the holidays.
Ok, I'm bitter.  I'm usually bitter during the holiday season, but this year… I'm ready to take hostages.  The holiday season is considered the most romantic season of the year; it's filled with nostalgia, images of family togetherness, fireplaces adorned with hanging stockings, snuggles with your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/lover/life partner under a blanket in front of a fire.  And why wouldn't it be considered the most romantic season of the year?  Everywhere you look the entire town is decorated in flattering mood-lighting.  Rude.
So why am I bitter?  Because those romantic images serve as promises that are, year after year, unfulfilled.  Because, godddamn it, I already went to the jewelry store this year and bought a fucking engagement ring.  Because I was promised a romantic holiday season by my fiancĂ© who then stole my sweet, yet fragile heart and replaced it with the cold, black, dead one that currently pumps venom through my veins.  Because as New Year's Eve fast approaches, I find myself in a mad rush to find a date and to get a midnight kiss.  And because I know that as quickly as the holiday season has come, it will soon pass and I will find that this single girl's other dreaded holiday is banging down my door… Motherfucking Valentine's Day.
So how does an embittered single girl survive the holiday season?  I'm fucked if I know but here's what I plan to do/not do:
I will not find solace in alcohol, and I will not get inebriated at parties and make a total fool of myself.
I will not drink alone.
Much as I'd like to try, I will not completely ignore Christmas and New Year's.  
Even if it is my natural tendency to do so, I will not isolate myself.
Though I still miss and love my ex girlfriend (despite my best efforts to quash those feelings), I will carry through these holidays with my dignity in tact.  Read: I will not drunk text, drunk dial or send drunken emails to my ex girlfriend.
I will give in, acknowledge the holiday season for what it is, put my game face on, celebrate these wretched holidays with friends and family and suck it up, even if all I want to do is park my fat ass on the couch and cry to myself while snuggled up with my two furry monsters. 
And lastly, I won't give in to the thinking that being single during the holiday season is the end of the world.  Because, despite all of Kay's, Jared's and Zales' evil master plan to convince me otherwise, the holiday season is not about whether or not I have a girlfriend or fiancĂ©.  It's about acknowledging the blessings that I do have in my life, and not giving into the black hole that threatens to consume me every day because of what I've lost in the past year.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Future Crazy Cat Lady

No shit, y'all.  I used to joke about aspiring to be a crazy cat lady.  And as of this moment, I'm still the proud owner of the Crazy Cat Lady Starter Kit.  That is to say, I still only have my two.  But let me tell you something…  I may be well on my way to crazy cat lady status if I don't get out and meet some decent women really fucking soon. 
I spent Saturday afternoon in my therapist's office… feeling all the feels, crying and indulging in my own little "but I'm a lovable failure" pity party.  Which is not something I do often.  Crying that is.  Or self-indulgent pity parties.  Or, well, therapy either, but it's been a motherfucker of a year.  But I digress.  Then, I switched gears.  I put my big girl pants on, as well as my game face, and got ready for a date that wound up getting cancelled two hours before our scheduled meet-up.  And so I spent Saturday evening in my yoga pants and sweatshirt cuddled up with my little monsters.  And Sunday was no different... On the couch watching football and spooning the felines.   And, after a nice walk with Gay Husband on Monday night?  Right back to the sofa with the little devils.   And on Tuesday?  You get the picture right?
I am slowly becoming one of those women who have full on conversations with her cats.  I caught myself walking through the door after work last night and actually asking my Fatty, "How was your day, Bucket?  Was it good?"  (Of course, it doesn't help that he never fails to feline speak whenever I talk to him.  I blame his fat ass for encouraging me.  He's quite the chatty bastard.)  Now, it's not that I'm mute around my cats, it's just that when I do talk to them, the conversations are pretty limited to "Don't scratch the couch, asshole!", or "Are you hungry?", or "You pissed on the floor?  What is wrong with you?!", or "Good boy. I love you."  But really?  Asking my cat how his day went?  I think I'm one more bad date, cancelled date or cheating lover away from my next adoption.

Monday, December 3, 2012

Miss-Adventures: The Waste Land of Failed Dates

Chalk another lady up to "Blog Material".  Yep, you probably guessed it - "You Smell Delicious" is another one for the books.
This is the trouble with online dating: you really don't know a single fucking thing about the person you're interested in.  Are they serious about wanting to date?  Have they been traumatized by past lovers?  Are they chronically depressed and struggling through chemical dependency issues?  Does the idea of getting to know someone new freak them out?  Am I the woman they see themselves dating?  Are they seeing someone else already but uncommitted?  Are they secretly a bunny-boiler posing as a totally lovely, witty and normal woman?  I don't know!
It's easy, when meeting someone new, to project your ideas of who someone is onto them.  I try really hard to not do that and I've certainly gotten better about it since I began this journey a year and a half ago.  I have also learned to not get my hopes up about someone and to simply accept whatever it is that someone new brings to the table without prejudgment and expectation.  With every new date that I've been on, I've gotten more practice at learning to meet people where they are, as they are and who they are.  This time was no different.  So when my friends and family ask me about my most recent dates, I always say, "Well, we'll see…"
I had a really nice time with "You Smell Delicious" when we met for our first date.  She was pleasantly surprising.  As I had said before, I had sensed a disconnect and some resistance from her when attempting to get to know each other a bit through email before our date.  And, as I said before, when I sense disconnect, those dates rarely go well at all.  But our date was really lovely!  But then… more disconnect and resistance.  Hmm… (*scratches head contemplatively*)
I'm a benefit-of-the-doubt girl though (to a fucking fault, if I might add).  I always tend to believe the best in people.  So I told myself to play it cool, respect her space, don't come on too strong (even if I really did want that kiss!) and don't always assume that disconnect is always about me.  So I hung back, accepting that it's quite possible that "You Smell Delicious" prefers to get to know someone slowly, or communicating via text or email just isn't her thing.  And playing it cool paid off… for a minute.  She asked me out.  She suggested plans for our date.  She told me that ours was the best date that she had had in a really long time and she couldn't stop herself from smiling.  (Yay for me!  I'm awwwwwwesome!)  So we made a second date.  And we spent the next several days firming up the details of our date by text (where to meet, what time to meet, which restaurant we should have dinner at, etc.)  And then…
For three days.
Finally, the date of our date rolled around.  And I decided after three days of hearing goddamned crickets, I would confirm seven hours before our date.  And then…
For five hours.
At 5:00, I finally got a phone call. 
YSD: "I'm so sorry, I know I should have called you sooner and but I just couldn't get it together today.  I kept thinking that I would be able to rally and see you tonight but I just can't."
Miss-Adventures: "Okay…"
YSD: "I had a really great time with you last weekend and if anyone could motivate me to rally and get it together, it's you, but I think I just over-extended myself this week."
Miss-Adventures: "Mmhmm…"
YSD: "Look, I know how this must seem and I know that when someone cancels at the last minute, one might think that they'll never hear from that someone again or one might never want to hear from that someone again but I assure you that's not the case here."
Miss-Adventures: "Uh huh…"
YSD: "I'm really sorry.  I hope you can understand."
Miss-Adventures: "Mmhmm…"
YSD: "I hope you'll let me make it up to you one day because I do want to see you again."
Miss-Adventures: "Well, you have my number.  If you want to make that happen, you know how to get ahold of me."
YSD: "Yeah, I do."
Miss-Adventures: "Okay, well it sounds like you need some rest, so take care of yourself."
YSD: "You too."
Miss-Adventures: "Thank you."
YSD: "Bye."
I'm sorry but "benefit of the doubt" or not, that smelled of bullshit to me.  Either this lady's got emotional troubles that she's not willing to admit or she's just not that into me.  Regardless, it is absolutely inexcusable to cancel a date with two hours to go.  I don't know about the rest of you but even for a casual date, Miss-Adventures tries her best to pull it all together while appearing as if it were all easy and natural.  Let me assure you, none of this is natural, boys and girls!  I shaved my legs, had a mani-pedi, had my eyebrows freshly waxed, picked out my best second date outfit and even cleaned my house from top to bottom, on the off chance that I might invite her in for a drink at the end.  Two hours before my date, I was already dressed, lipstick and (delicious smelling) perfume on and ready for a night out!  In-Ex-Cusable!
So, I hung up the phone, changed out of my cute outfit, put on my super comfy, but much less sexy yoga pants and favorite sweatshirt, threw my perfectly coiffed hair into a ponytail and parked my ass on the sofa with my little feline monsters, who were all too happy to shower me with the attention that YSD could not muster up the energy to do.
So long, YSD.  You've been banished to the Waste Land of Failed Dates.  

Friday, November 30, 2012

The New Normal

Something clicked.  Resignation?  Realization?  Rationalization?  I don't know, but something clicked… it's the "New Normal."  Living alone doesn't feel so fucking awful anymore.  It no longer pains me to sleep in the absolute center of my king-sized bed.  I no longer wake up at the same time in the middle of the night flooded with thoughts and obsessions of 'where it all went wrong' anymore.
In fact, after one too many hopeless nights spent obsessing about "us", I finally decided to just delete her number from my phone (I have a terrible memory for phone numbers, so this was quite a profound moment for me).  And why not?  Neither of us has any use for the other any longer.  I don't need her in my life and she's made it pretty clear that she doesn't want me in hers.  Why it took me so long to realize that fact, I just don't know.  I suppose fueled with the fear of losing her, forgetting her or no longer loving her, I was holding on to the memories of what we had.  I kept thinking that those sublime memories would bring us back together one day.  I actually thought that if I turned my back on our memories the way that she has, then there would be nothing left between us anymore.  WTF kind of insane logic is that
Recently, I was having a conversation with someone who went through a similar betrayal (her girlfriend betrayed her for someone less worthy too), I actually found myself reassuring her that her ex was too screwed up for her, and not the other way around.  And I know that that's true because for the last three months, I kept asking myself why my ex would betray and leave me for a bridge-dwelling troll?  (Oh yeah, I said it!)  Ohhh, right… it's because she's too screwed up for me, not the other way around.
To anyone who's been through the emotional turmoil of a cheating lover, please realize one thing: it's not you; it's them.  No one deserves that kind of betrayal and it's significantly revealing of one's character when they can "love" you and lie to you all at the same time.  And if your cheating lover chose a bridge-dwelling troll, I'd say it's even more revealing of their character.  You deserve better.  (And damnit, I deserve better.)
So here we are: the New Normal.  The new routine of my days.  The new rhythm of my life.  Change has always been hard for me.  Unbelievably hard.  Stability is life blood to someone like me; I don't function without it.  Learning to accept a one hundred-eighty degree change in my life?  It's next to impossible, especially when that change stems from such great loss.  But as time goes by, that change has become more normal, to the point of not really remembering how wonderful it felt to be in love with Glamazon anymore.  The heart (thankgod) forgets.  My heart forgets to the point that, while an empty home is lonely, I don't dread going home anymore.  I'm seeing the ghosts of her presence less and less with each passing day.  And, while I still feel the dull ache of her betrayal, my heart doesn't burn for her any longer.  The new normal isn't "sublime" but it's mine, it's simple and completely lacking in trolls.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Google IS Your Friend.

You guys! I had the craziest thing happen to me a few weeks ago. I'm sorry I've been holding out on you, but I'm here now, and you'll forgive me, right? Anyway, I'm terrible at holding on to secrets, so here it is. I...had a good date!
I know, I know, it sounds impossible, but here it goes. I show up at the coffee shop a few minutes early (as always), and purchase my warm beverage. As I head back out to sit in the parklet outside and wait for my date, I nearly bump in to this dreamy dude on his way in. He smiles and says my name. Wait, what? This must be a mistake! Oh no, it was my date, looking 100 times better than his pictures. He was exceedingly polite, hilarious, and attentive. We sat and talked for a good hour and a half, before he suggested we go for a walk around the lake near my house. We strolled through the gardens near the middle of the lake, sat on a bench amidst a grove of trees and chatted for another hour. Before I knew it, he had to leave for work, and he was walking me back to my car, nervously asking if he could see me again. Of course, I said yes.
BUT. It couldn't end there, otherwise I wouldn't be writing, right? The next day, as I began that familiar game of waiting for a follow up text/call/smoke signal, I decided I would Google him. I had limited information on him, so I figured I wouldn't get any hits, but it was a proper way to procrastinate on actual work duties. So, I Googled. His name was fairly common, so I was ready for some weeding through of imposters. The first article I came upon certainly was one of those imposters. "Student with firearm arrested for making terrorist threats." How odd, though, this person had the same name, and went to the same university at the same time! What a coincidence. Oh, and he had the same major. And grew up in the same town. And had the same hobbies. And was the same age. Wow, these two certainly had a lot in common. Perhaps they were friends? Oh, but wait! After more Googling, I found a photo. Same dreamy dude that strolled into the coffee shop the day before, except dressed in a jumpsuit. I did some more research, panicked a little, got some of his side of the story (from the articles, not the source directly), and realized that while he was just a lost soul, I needed to get out of this date. Thankfully, I did so without much effort on my part, and I never let on that I knew why his last year of college was so "crazy" that he had to drop his double major. This, my friends, is why you need to Google your dates!

Monday, November 26, 2012

Smelling Delicious, Gobsmacked and the Affect That Tall Women Have on Me

"You smell delicious."
And that, my friends, is the quickest way to make my head swoon.  Who knew?  Certainly not me.  Ok, ok, I'm an absolute sucker for flattery; I can, at least, admit that.  And I do pride myself on smelling good, even if most people never get close enough to notice (the trick to smelling good is subtlety, after all).  But really, a simple phrase like that and my head gets all floaty. 
I will say, though, that I am in love with my perfume.  Ladies, if you like a soft vanilla scent with just a hint of plum top notes, do yourself a favor and check out Boyfriend perfume.  I'm not kidding - it does smell delicious.  Anyway, I digress… back to the topic at hand.

I recently went on a date with a woman who turned out to be the loveliest, most pleasant surprise.  (Thank you, Santa, for answering my last letter requesting a few new faces.)  Leading up to our first date, I was skeptical.  I mean, I liked this one's online profile - she seemed to exude grace and confidence, and she's direct yet almost poetic in her delivery.  But as I tried to get to know her through emailing, I was sensing some resistance, and that is never a good sign in my book.  If I sense a disconnect at all leading up to a date, it almost never goes well.  But I decided to take a chance anyway - if she turned out to be a total weirdo, I'd at least have something amusing to write about.  I do it all for you, people!  I hope you fucking love me.  (*wink*)  As it turns out, she wasn't a weirdo at all… at least not that I can tell… yet.
When we met, we greeted each other with a hello, a smile and a friendly hug, upon which she said, "Mmm, you smell delicious."  And let me just get this out of the way for all you skeptics: she didn't say it in a pervy, creepy uncle, 'would you like some candy, little girl?' way either.  She was genuine with just a hint of flirt and a whole lot of confidence.  She almost took my breath away right in that moment.  But, as I am skeptical, and reserved, and very cautious about getting my hopes up these days, I made some stupid joke about not purposely trying to make myself edible, but thankyouverymuch for the compliment.  Score One for the perfume and Penalty One for the horrible wit.  (*bangs head against keyboard*)  I really am a hopeless dater.
The plan for our date was a scenic motorcycle ride, followed by a drink at a divey bar.  Here's what I love about motorcycle dates (besides the obvious extra "cool points" I get for riding one): Necessary Physical Contact.  Physical contact tells you everything you need to know about just how well your date is going.  And you don't always get physical contact (or that kind of information) when simply having a meal together or meeting up for drinks.  Let me elaborate:
Every stranger is a bit tentative about how and where to hold on to their driver when riding on the back of a bike.  Naturally, your passenger does not want to fully wrap their arms around you if you've only just met and they generally try to not squeeze you too tightly with their legs.  I get it.  It's awkward being *this close* to someone you've only just met.  (Passengers, take note though: your driver does, in fact, notice your body language even if our backs are to you.)  However, as your passenger begins to get to know, trust or become attracted to their driver, their grip on you changes entirely.
That is how our date began.  'Pleased to meet you, you smell delicious, now which route should we take to our destination?'  And just like that, she climbed onto the back of my bike, gently placed her hands on my waist, ever-so careful not to squeeze this stranger too tightly, lest she give her driver the wrong impression, and we took off on our scenic drive.  We parked the bike at the top of a hill, which overlooked the bay, found a log to sit upon and began to just sit, and talk, and laugh and drink Irish Mochas (which she prepared and surprised me with for our sunset date - yep, she got points for that one!).  And I began to think to myself, while trying desperately to focus on what she was saying, 'she's a lot prettier in person', 'she has nice lips', 'she's really tall and she's wearing high-heeled boots', 'ooh, I like the top she's wearing', 'this date isn't going as badly as I thought it would'.
We sat on that log for probably 2 hours or so, just talking, laughing and getting to know each other.  It was really nice.  But since we both had plans with our respective friends after our date, we couldn't sit perched on that log forever.  We had to eventually make our way back down the hill and go our separate ways.  So we headed back to my bike, climbed on and started to drive.  This time, however, her hands were not so tentatively placed upon my waist.  She wrapped her arms around me entirely and hugged me close to her with both arms and legs.  (So fucking heavenly.)  So I casually slipped my left hand off the handlebars and placed it on hers to let her know that she was welcome to hold me as tightly as she'd like.  Intimacy and trust firmly established in that single moment.  Now, how often can you get that kind of information from a first date so casually and innocently?  Score One for the motorcycle.
As we drove down the hill and back towards civilization, I realized that I didn't really want to end the night so abruptly.  I was enjoying myself and I got the distinct impression that she was too.  So I suggested that we have just one drink before I dropped her off at home.  And so we did.  We sat, we talked, we laughed, we sipped our cocktails ever-so slowly and every time she leaned in towards me to say something or to listen to whatever god-awful story I was recounting, I couldn't help but think, 'should I kiss her now?'  But I didn't.  (Damnit!  *bangs head against keyboard*)
After our hour-long drink (I told you we sipped slowly), I walked her back to her door.  I wanted to stretch out our date as much as I could.  I was really enjoying my time with her and when she invited me to walk her home, I was happy to do it.  As we said our goodbyes, I was insanely aware that this pretty, interesting, funny, intelligent woman was towering over me in her high-heeled boots… As if I wasn't already feeling mildly attracted to her over the last 3 hours together, this just did me in.  Tall?  Towering over me?  And in heels?  Um, yes please, more please.  Miss-Adventures is putty in your hand.  She leaned in, gave me a very nice lingering hug and the sweetest kiss on the cheek.  She looked at me for only the briefest second, said to me, "You really do smell so good", and then turned and walked towards her house.  I wanted to stop her.  I wanted to grab her, pull her in and give her a real kiss goodbye.  But I just stood there, utterly gobsmacked that I had just had this visceral reaction to someone that I never saw coming and I never expected.  As she walked her way towards her front door, I started to walk away myself.  Hesitantly but willfully, I walked away.  And after about 15 steps, I wanted to beat my head against the pavement.  'Why didn't you just kiss her, you idiot?'
And now I find myself trying to play it cool.  I texted her after our date to let her know that I really had a good time and that I'd like to see her again.  She texted back and said that she did and does too.  The part of me that really wants that kiss is screaming at me, 'Call her you idiot! Get the next date on the books, for fuck's sake!'  But I can be a little intense.  Knowing this about myself, I'm trying really hard to hang back, play it cool and play it casual.  I think I'll call her up in the next day or two and get that date on the books.  I'm just praying that 'playing it cool' doesn't cost me in the end.  I really want that fucking kiss!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Familiar Faces, Giving Thanks and My Letter to Santa

Is it too much to ask to not have to see the same tragic faces on the online dating scene that I saw a year ago?  I mean, what is wrong with these people that they're still single over a year later?  Oh wait... Shit.  That makes me a tragic face too.
In the last several weeks I've seen "Sensitive Mess", "World's Worst Date", "The Relationship Guru", and countless other familiar faces on the dating website.  And this is not counting the faces that I actually know in real life: social circle friends, real life friends and friends that I've made because I went on dates with them a year ago.  *Sigh*  The dating pool is entirely too small.
I find myself wanting to justify my return to the online dating scene.  Like, I want to post on my profile, "Yeah, I'm still here but it's not because I'm so screwed up that I've taken up permanent residence in online dating!"  But really, who's to say that these people haven't been through the same mess that I have?  Or that they weren't smart enough to avoid the train wreck that I experienced.  Or that they aren't perfectly happy with their lives just as they are and don't actually mind being single.  Or that they're not just more discriminating in their relationship choices.  I can be such a dick - when did I become so judgey?
Me?  I don't particularly enjoy being single.  After spending seven years with my ex wife and then falling head-over-heels for (and subsequently U-Hauling with) Glamazon, I know this about myself: I am a relationship person.  I get a deep sense of peace and calm when I'm in love.  I am a stronger person in love and am capable of facing any challenge that life brings.  I like being part of a family and I like coming home to the same person every night.  I am deeply satisfied (and perhaps even find validation) in love.
I kind of wish I could be one of those people who enjoys being single.  I wish I could be the type of person who enjoys meeting new people all the time or playing the field.  Don't get me wrong, I've had fun dating and I've enjoyed meeting some of the people that I've met, but I feel the whole online dating scene is a lot like constantly interviewing for a new job.  I don't want to interview forever.  I want to land a glorious job, settle in, make myself a legend and happily retire there.
As the holidays approach, I need to remind myself to be grateful for what I have rather than focus on what I do not.  I have excellent friends.  I have a family who love me.  I have a beautiful apartment with two monstrous felines who bring me joy, unconditional love and endless amusement.  I have a job that gets the bills paid and affords me just enough extra cash to shower my loved ones with gifts during the holiday season.  And I have had great love in my life.  And I need to remind myself that I will have great love again.  But really, is it too much to ask…
Dear Santa:
Please bring someone extraordinary into my life.  Please bring me a mature, intelligent, faithful, strong, sexy, "short skirt, long jacket", "femme on the outside, dyke on the inside", woman.  But above all else, please, please bring me some new faces to look at on that goddamned dating website!
Many thanks in advance,
Miss-Adventures, a Hopeless Dater

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Give Me Your Forever

What is romance?  What is romantic?  And what differentiates real romance from flowery gestures?  
Don't misunderstand me here.  I'm a great big ol' softy for flowery gestures.  I fucking love 'em.  I melt for flowers, love notes, the random "I love you" text message and an evening spent in each other's arms.  It's absolutely intoxicating.  But intoxicating is exactly the right word here.  It can lead to punch drunkenness.  It can cause temporary and selective deafness, dumbness and blindness.  It can lead you towards a life of compromised reality.  That shit is like crack to a romantic like me.  And now I find myself in Romance Rehab, trying desperately to separate the diamonds from the cubic zirconia.  "Hi, I'm Miss-Adventures and I'm a romantic."
I love sweet little things like handwritten cards, candle light, unplanned sex in inappropriate places, sunsets, quiet dinners for two, hearts, love songs, chocolates, wine and silly pet names.  By god, for six full months it was my goddamned religion.  The entire apartment that Glamazon and I shared was once an altar to love.  You couldn't swing a cat by the tail without knocking over some romantic relic.  (And thankfully no one ever tried because I'd have to kill your animal-abusing ass for swinging my cat by the tail!)  Fresh flowers were a regular fixture (once a week, to be exact), the sweetest handmade and handwritten cards adorned the fireplace mantle, photographs of a happy couple cluttered every shelf, and a collection of loving messages written every single day of our relationship on tiny Post-it Notes were framed and hung above our bed. 
I'm not kidding about the Post-It Notes.  My ex had this adorable habit of writing me the cutest little messages on a Post-It Note every single day, without fail.  I would find them everywhere.  I found them on my coffee cup in the morning and my cup of tea at night, I found them stuck to mirrors, I found them stuck to the refrigerator and I found them packed inside my lunches.  I fucking loved them.  I was convinced that they were proof that romance lived here.  So I framed them because I couldn't possibly bring myself to throw away any gesture of love.
But when the rug got pulled out from under me, my altar was destroyed and my cathedral of love burned to the ground, it really got me thinking about what real romance is.  I'm not going to say that Post-It Notes of sweet messages aren't really romantic or that I will turn my nose up at a bouquet of flowers because my embittered self no longer believes that these gestures are evidence of love; my version of romantic-PTSD hasn't killed all the romance in me.  But it certainly got me to thinking about the difference between acts of romance and real romance.
So, while flowers, notes, stuffed animals, super hot and sexy moments, sunsets, cuddles, wine, jewelry and candlelight are all still welcome and encouraged, here's what I'm really looking for, here's what I think REAL ROMANCE is:
Sharing your time.  Exhibiting integrity in everything you do.  Paying attention.  Sticking around when things suck.  Sharing your truth.  Sharing my truth.  Refusing to leave even when you're scared.  Kindly telling me when I have fucked up.  Maintaining your focus.  Having the audacity to endure even in doubt.  Keeping faith.  Facing down our ugliness because you know that beauty still exists under this layer of filth.  Exercising your strength.  Admiring and encouraging my strength.  Being there when I really need you and sometimes don't have the courage to ask.  Allowing me to be there when you really need me.  Fighting for us even when it seems hopeless because we both know it isn't.  Believing that we are a team of two and that we work better together.  Embracing my family, both genetic and extended, because they are an integral extension of who I am.  Remembering the important things, the little details and the fact that we just ran out of coffee and I'm too busy to pick some up, so can you do it?
I'm not looking for a girl who's watched Sex & The City so many times that she regurgitates lines and passes them off as her own romantic inspiration.  I'm not interested in a girl who can speak a great flowery talk but can't stick around when I'm feeling scared, lonely or hurting.  I'm not interested in a girl who casually throws around the word "Forever" but doesn't actually understand that "Forever" means all of it: the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the sexy, the very, very unsexy, the fear, the pain, the laughter, the tears, the inside jokes, the outward truth, the wars within the home and the battles fought together from inside the foxhole.  I'm not looking for a girl who believes in and chases fairytales.  I'm looking for a woman who doesn't understand the meaning of "giving up".  I'm looking for a woman who doesn't look, walk or run away from love, whether it seems too hard or feels too good to be true.  I'm looking for a woman who's not afraid to be a warrior for love.  That's what I find romantic.  And I guess that's what makes me a romantic… But would it be too much to ask for flowers too?

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Tops, Bottoms and Lesbian Sheep

DISCLAIMER/FULL WARNING:  Mom, please divert your eyes from this blog entry.  It is not suitable for parental viewing.  And if you decide to continue to read on, please know that the entry below is purely conjecture and speculation and not actually based on my own real-life personal experiences.  I am still as pure as the driven snow.  But really, you should just walk away from your computer now.  No, seriously.  Back. Away. From. The. Blog!
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Ok, now that that's out of the way, let me get started.  As a same-sex dater, navigating a relationship with someone new can be a tricky dance.  Who's the driver in this relationship?  Who's the driver in the bedroom?  Trying to address this delicately, I'll narrow some personality types down to basics.  Essentially, you have your Femmes, Butches, Tomboys, Tops, Bottoms, Switchy Tops and Power Bottoms (and the varying degrees of everything in between).  And then there are what I like to call "Lesbian Sheep" (more on them later).  At some point in my dating career, I have encountered every single one of these types of women (and no, I'm not going to name names!). 
Those that identify as true Tops or true Bottoms are an anomaly to me and I've always taken those labels as some sort of challenge.  And I'm proud to say that I have always won that challenge, which I suppose is to say that perhaps I've never actually met a true Top or true Bottom.  Hmmm...  Fucking posers.  (kidding.)  Those that identify as Switchy Tops and Power Bottoms are exactly as the name implies: neither are entirely selfless or selfish in the act itself. 
And then there's my personal favorite: the Lesbian Sheep.  'What the fuck is a Lesbian Sheep?!', you ask?  It's a term based on the homosexual studies of sheep.  Researchers observed several homosexual rams existing in nature but there were no ewes to be found engaging in homosexual acts.  However, after further study, it was concluded that lesbian ewes are hobbled by the fact that the way that a ewe solicits sex is by standing still.  Thus, the term "Lesbian Sheep".  These are women who are incapable of coupling up, since they become motionless when they're interested in another.
I've met a lot of Lesbian Sheep.  It's surprisingly common in the girl-on-girl dating scene and, at times (certainly when I was a young baby dyke), I too have been guilty of playing Sheep.  I mean, as a girl, it's always more desirable to have someone else make the first move.  But as I've gotten older, I've learned that if the attraction is there, we can't both play Sheep.  Someone's gotta make a move; otherwise, we're going to be stuck standing in this fucking pasture staring at each other meekly.
Here's my personal theory: Lesbian Sheep are lambs in public and rams in private.  That is to say, they all want you to make the first date and be the first to go in for a kiss, but once that kiss is made: all bets are off, they take control and love you into submission.  Which is, as far as I'm concerned, seriously fucking hot.
Not long ago I was asked what my "type" is.  Most people answer this question with the diplomatic reply of: "I don't really have a type."  This is bullshit.  I know it's bullshit, you know it's bullshit, and yet, everyone seems to deliver the same bullshit answer to that question.  Not me!  I will gladly answer that question honestly: "femme on the outside, dyke on the inside".  I'm not necessarily more attracted to blondes versus brunettes or blue eyes versus green eyes, but I am very, very partial to a girl who can rock a pencil skirt with a pair of heels and can fix my faucet.  I'm reduced to jelly.  Do you have long hair, wear lacy underthings and play team sports on the weekends?  I'm yours.  A girl who's sweet & sexy on the outside and filthy construction worker on the inside?  I'm liable to propose.  So what am I looking for?  I'm looking for a Lamb-to-Ram, baby!  I'm a sucker for them. 
So what's the problem, MissAdventures?  Why do you have such a hard time dating? 
The problem here is… women are so fucking complicated.  There are too many varying degrees of Femme, Butch, Tomboy, Top, Bottom, Switchy and Sheep.  The problem is finding just the right combination to drop me to my knees.  I've found two of them in my entire life (coincidentally, I dated them back to back) and they rocked my fucking world.  But I guess my "tomboy on the outside, total fucking girl on the inside" just didn't rock theirs.