Tag Archives: Dating

Getting funky

Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother, sucker. Tear the roof off the sucker…

I’ve found my blog posts that mention Mexican hookers seem to have great stats. This story is not about Mexican hookers, but I promise that if you indulge me and read on that I will find a way to include Mexican hookers in this story somewhere, somehow. Seriously…

I haven’t written a lot lately. Maybe you’ve noticed. Maybe you haven’t. Either way, I haven’t written a lot lately. I just haven’t felt like it. For me that’s weird. Oh well.

I guess you could say I’ve been in a funk the past couple weeks. I like being funky, but I hate being in a funk. The words are different by only one letter, but elicit two totally different feelings in me. One feeling I love. The other? Not so much.

I guess you could say that my funk is mutli-faceted. There’s a reason for that. I don’t easily get in a funk. I’m generally a pretty happy person, so it takes a lot to get me off my game. I guess I’m just going through that “funk phase” right now. I’m sure that it’s just a phase. I hope it’s just a phase. Please be a phase!!!

Why I’m in a funk: Part one

My job sucks. I get up every morning and go to work with a positive outlook. I really do. Once I get there, however, my outlook becomes less and less sunny. Sometimes the sunny disposition goes away quickly, while other times it takes hours for the fun to go away. I try to make my job not suck, but it does. I work for a guy who changed my pay plan, but never really made it clear that he changed it. I happened to notice it one Thursday when I opened my check. Nice.

The owner and I were supposed to sit down and have a serious talk about things before Christmas. He kept pushing it off and pushing it off and the couple times we did sit down, all he did was recap the last time we sat down, then say, “I need to get going. Let’s finish this tomorrow.” But tomorrow becomes next week, which becomes next month. The bottom line? The full extent of our conversation has yet to happen.

The owner of my company is very old school in the way he does business. He brought me on because I know automotive Internet sales very well. I set up and ran a very successful Internet Sales department at the dealership I worked at in California. He acknowledges this fact to other people. When we have conversations they typically start like this, “I brought you in because you know what to do and you’re the guy who can get this going the right way. We’re way further ahead now that we were in October when you got here. So…here’s how we’re going to do this…” WTF, yo?

I need a better job for Drama Queen (D.Q.) and myself and I’m looking for one. My problem is two-fold. Part one is that there are not a ton of decent jobs available in the Buffalo area right now. The second part is that I’ve done the car thing so long, that it’s hard to get potential employers to see past that.

I’ve got management, sales, customer service and communication skills. Why is it so hard to get those skills across to employers? I sure as hell don’t know. I also hate having to work every Saturday. It sucks for Drama Queen to be alone on Saturdays and I wish I could find something where I could be around more.

I’ve found one potential job, although it will require weekends, which I’m not thrilled about. It will pay substantially more money, which I am thrilled about. I guess we’ll see what happens. If I do get it, I will have to be gone Mon.-Fri. for two weeks to do some training. That could pose a problem, as I have no clue what I would do with Drama Queen those two weeks. I’m not going to worry about that until I actually get the job offer, which is supposed to come next Friday. Please keep your fingers crossed.

My funk: Part two

O.C.B. (Drama Queen’s mom) dropped me a line a couple weeks ago. It’s been a year without any contact and to say that it surprised me would be an understatement. She asked about talking with Drama Queen and said that she has seen the blog and that she’s happy that I’m happy in my relationship with The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.). I believe O.C.B. when she says this but I’m a bit concerned about her tracking me down and she’s been pretty much MIA since right after we talked. I’m obviously concerned about D.Q. and how she will react. When I told her about her mom, she said, “I guess I could talk with her.” She didn’t seem too enthusiastic, but I think she kind of wants to.

My funk—The Final Piece:

Part three of my funk has to do with P.S.O. She’s had a lot going on in her life. I’m not going to go into any of it because frankly, it’s no one’s business but hers. I will say that she’s got a ton on her mind and she’s not feeling well. It’s not something as simple as a cold or the flu, but it’s not anything that seems like it will be serious.

Combine her stress with the not feeling well and she too has been in a bit of a funk lately. She needs some space right now to get to where she needs to be and where “we” need to be. I get that. I really do. I’ve been trying to give her the space she needs, but I guess it hasn’t been the easiest thing for me to do. Why?

I’m living in an area where I don’t know a lot of people. I knew two people when I moved here in September, but they were only acquaintances and they have their own lives already in full swing. I don’t do much with either of them and I really haven’t met many other people to socialize with. These two are now my friends, but not what I would call “good friends”.

I know the parents of one of D.Q.’s friends, but the dad is going to school full time and working, so between school, homework and work, they really don’t have much time to do anything. That pretty much leaves P.S.O.

As you may recall, I just mentioned that she has been going through things in her own life and needs a bit of space, which makes it kind of difficult for me to talk my stuff out with a local good friend/best friend type of person.

The two good friends I have back in California are great guys, but not the kind of people that are into a lot of “sharing”. The few times we’ve had deep conversations, booze has been involved and it’s been face to face.

Please don’t take any of this as bitching or complaining because it’s not. This is just a statement of fact and some cheap therapy for me. Getting this out on virtual paper helps me see things as they are and will hopefully help lift me out of my funk. Plus it has the possible added bonus of reminding P.S.O. that I really do get it and that I’m not just an insensitive douche bag. I may be a douche bag, but I’m not insensitive. I love her a lot and I’m sure that she still feels the same way.

As far as I can tell, the relationship with P.S.O. is good. We both still have “in a relationship” on our Facebook pages and we’ve recently made mention of things that we want to do together in the coming months. We’re going out tonight and I’m looking forward to that. We’ve only seen each other once in the last couple weeks and I know that I’m looking forward to a big hug and a couple nice kisses.

At the beginning I promised you Mexican hookers, so here goes. Once P.S.O. and I get out of our funks and back to us both being crazy happy in love, I would really like to take her to Mexico for a few days (with the money I make from a new job). She’s never been to the Pacific side and I’m thinking that a few days in Cabo would really do us some good.

If and when we do that I think that we should definitely hit a couple of the hooker bars and keep tabs on a ho or two so that we can come back with some fresh new stories of Mexican hookers for you, the loyal reader. I have no need for the services of a prostitute, but in the name of research and entertainment I will observe them from a barstool.

J.R.

P.S. What does my opening bit have to do with my funk? Absolutely nothing. The words are the opening lyrics from Give Up The Funk by George Clinton and give up the funk is exactly what I want to do right now!!!

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Breaking up: “How To” & “How Not To”

I was rocking the argyle and in the 1980’s that may have been enough to push me over the top.

The Actress was my first girlfriend and my first breakup.  And my second breakup.  And possibly my third breakup.  I don’t remember for sure if we broke up two times or three times.  I was kind of a douche bag back then and I’ve tried to push some of those douche-y memories aside.  What I do know is that I was stupid for ending the relationships with her.  I was young and stupid. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

I said that I was a douche bag back then, but the reality is that I can still be a douche bag now.  If you don’t believe me, when you’re done with this, go read I’ve Seen Better Days.  But back to my story about The Actress…

The details are fuzzy but I remember that she was very cool and she was totally into me.  I was into her, but not in the literal sense of the word.  We never had sex.  I’m just saying…

I’m not totally sure why she was into me, because I wasn’t overly smooth and I was a bit of a dork.  I did dress nice, so I had that going for me.  I was rocking the argyle and in the 1980’s that may have been enough to push me over the top.

I don’t remember why I broke up with her the first time.  I know that it wasn’t for someone else because between The Actress and the Actress again I didn’t date anyone.  Maybe it was a fear of getting close or maybe it was my lack of self-esteem.  Maybe I though that I wasn’t going to give her the chance to dump me.  All I know is that I was stupid for doing it and that I basically just disappeared with no explanation.  Then magically I reappeared a few months later and wanted to start dating again.

We dated again for a while and just like the shampoo bottle says, it was just lather, rinse, repeat.  The Actress is a smart chick, so I’m not sure that she would have stood for a third time after I broke it off the second time for no good reason.  All in all, it was young love at its finest.  And it its worst.

The Actress was my first breakup but she certainly wasn’t my last.  My latest (and hopefully the last breakup I ever have) was a woman I dated in Canada for about five months.  I haven’t written about her yet, but in the near future you will start hearing about Teacher.  Her breakup story is interesting to say the least.

Teacher teaches violin and runs a music school.  She also plays violin and viola professionally.  She is a very talented woman and I thought that we had a pretty good time together.  Obviously not.  After dating for five months I received an e-mail at 11 PM basically saying that she was no good at long term relationships and that we could go on and date for another year, but because she was no good at long term relationships that she would probably just end it anyway, so she was just going to end it now.  Good luck.  Have a good life.

I had just crawled into bed that fateful night when my iPhone buzzed with a new e-mail.  Suffice it to say that when I grabbed the phone and put on my glasses, that is NOT what I expected to see.  It all worked out for the best because I moved back to the United States and I ended up meeting and falling in love with The Phone Sex Operator.

In between The Actress and Teacher there were many breakups—some where I was the breaker-upper and others where I was the one getting the shaft.  One girl comes quickly to mind, but I don’t think you can really call it a “breakup” since we had only gone out twice.

The two dates we had were pretty good and we decided to go out on New Years Eve.  This was sometime in the late 1980’s—1988 or ’89 probably.  I had tickets to go see Barry Manilow at the Universal Amphitheater and I invited this girl to go.  (I’ll pause momentarily while you snicker at the fact that I had Barry Manilow tickets…)

So, I invited this chick to go see Barry Manilow and she accepted.  She was going to school at a small local college and she was living in the dorms.  We spoke on the phone December 30 and she was looking forward to going out the next night—or so she said.

I don’t remember what I was wearing that night, but I’m sure it was pretty stylish—after all we were going to see Barry and he was hot at the time.  Plus it was New years Eve and looking good is just how I like to roll.

I drove to her dorm to pick her up, went into the lobby and hit the intercom button for her room.  Her roommate answered the intercom and was quite surprised to hear me on the other end.  She was even more surprised to hear that I was there to pick up her roommate.

Why was she surprised?  Her roommate had moved home that morning.  Apparently she had known about it for quite a while.  She was transferring schools and when we were talking on the phone the night before, she was in the midst of packing her stuff in boxes and waiting for her dad to come get her.  What a bitch.  I even brought the chick flowers.  Did I mention that she was a bitch?

Mine aren’t the only decent breakup stories.  I hit up my fans and readers via Twitter and Facebook and a few of you were nice enough to send yours along.  Thanks to those who did.  Here are a couple of good ones that I received.  My friend The South African (who actually lives in South Africa) sent me this one:

I used to be a soldier for the previous government. In later years I met a girl and we started going out and at some stage I showed her some confidential military material, which, may I add, was not confidential anymore.

After a couple of months I had enough of this nympho.   I wanted a normal girlfriend but she wouldn’t let go, even though I said it is not going to work out.  Eventually I had to do something drastic in order to get rid of her.  When somebody accidentally broke my car window, I told her she must sit down and listen to what I had to say.   I told her the broken window was a warning sign.  I explained that I’ve done some ‘special work’ in the forces and there is a price on my head.

By that stage the new government was in full swing, which was perfect timing for me! I told her she might be in danger if she keeps hanging out with me and I needed to go away quickly and that she could have no contact with me!  After a lot of crying she finally let go.  Oh I felt like a dog!!

I must add that she eventually met Mr. Right, but she still tells me on Facebook that she loves me til this day. Maybe she was my Mrs. Right.   I will never know.   Young guys will be young guys.

So that’s how they roll in South Africa.  Blame the government and call yourself a secret military operative.  Nice work bro!  He’s not the only one with a good story.  My high school buddy, Sir Lancelot, threw me this gem:

A buddy and I used to practice what we called the “Witness Protection Program”, which was to just completely disappear. The girl(s) would eventually figure it out. Although it was tense, it had a 100% success rate.

One example: I called my buddy to go out drinking on a Saturday night – his answering machine came on, but it wasn’t his voice. It was the recording “I’m sorry, but the number you reached has been disconnected..” He put it on his answering machine as a “Witness Protection Program” dump. I saw through it, but the girl didn’t.

Other acceptable ways to use it: Unplug your answering machine and don’t answer the phone. (This was waaaaay before caller ID) It worked within a few days and you could go back to your old ways quickly.

Oddly enough, the only woman I got a story from was The Phone Sex Operator.  Hers was good.  So good in fact, that it deserves a blog post of its own.  I’m going to save that for another day.

If you have a good breakup story that you want to share, please feel free to do so.  One of these days I may just get a case of writers block and can use them!

J.R.

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The Actress

“We were like training wheels for each other…”

This story is old school.  Really old school.  From back when I was still in high school.  If Sex and the Single Dad were a movie series, this story would be the prequel.

It was the spring of 1984 and I was in the parking lot of my church, waiting with my friends for a bus to whisk us off on an adventure.  We were on our way to the Bahia Hotel in Mission Bay (San Diego) for the annual youth convention.  I was a senior at Valley Christian High School and I had been chosen as the President of my church youth group.  As we waited for the bus, the pastor pulled me aside and informed me that he thought some of the kids were going to bring alcohol and could I please go through their bags and check.

I told him that I was the right man for the job and I totally meant it.  Why was I the right man?  Probably because I was the one who had organized the party and I knew what everyone was supposed to bring.  Now was as good a time as any to see if we were well stocked for the trip.  I know that I had my bottle of Bacardi and I had a roll of quarters so I could get Coke out of the vending machine at the hotel.  I checked the bags and made sure that everyone had what they were supposed to have.  We loaded the bus and headed south.

My pastor was in charge of the conference that year and as the guy in command of his youth group, I was helping with the planning.  Keep that in mind as you continue to read…

Immediately upon arriving we went to our room and looked for a good place to keep the beer cold.  We thought about filling up the bathtub with ice, but decided that four high school guys in a room for three nights with no shower was not a good idea.  Someone came up with the brilliant idea of putting a six-pack in the tank of the toilet.  The rationale was that the tank is always cold, so why not.  We all agreed and figured that we would spend the night sitting in the room, drinking and having a good time.  At least that was the plan.

That afternoon the pastor came to our room to discuss what part we were playing in the evening’s festivities when he announced that he had to use the bathroom.  Immediately the four of us froze and as he closed the door, I think we all had the same thought—“run and hide!”  I remember the toilet flushing and hearing the distinct clink, clink, clink of glass bottles hitting each other as the water drained out of the tank.  A moment later this man of God came out of the bathroom with a handful of Heinekens and a look of disappointment on his face.

I don’t remember the whole sermon, but I recall it being a lengthy one and I remember him looking at me several times and uttering the phrase, “I expected more from you.”  Ouch, yo.  After that, parents were called and we were all banished to the hotel room for the remainder of the three-night stay.

My friends and I were on the balcony that night when we spotted three girls heading towards the playground.  One in particular was quite appealing to me—tall, with red hair and dressed nice.  She looked classy, but not in a snobby way.  I was far from smooth in those days. (P.S.O. may argue that I’m not smooth now.  She may be right.)  I made a comment to my friends about wanting to talk with the red head, but being too embarrassed.

One of my friends (who had absolutely no shame) yelled down and asked them to come over and talk to us.  They did and the next thing I knew, the four of us, who were supposed to be locked in our room, were climbing down a tree and hanging out with them.  The redhead was an actress—a pretty good one, I would later find out.

We sat and talked for a while and decided to try and get together the next morning.  Meals were the only time we were allowed out of the room and my “crew” and I hooked up with her “posse” for our morning nourishment.

At some point on the trip The Actress and I kissed for the first time.  I remember we were on the playground, but I don’t remember the circumstances behind us being there.

She and I lost touch for a number of years, then one night I checked Facebook and found a message from her.  We chatted and caught each other up on the last 20+ years.  I called her this evening and left a message for her to call me back as soon as she could.  I told her that it was fairly urgent and that it was “blog related”.  She’s a fan of the site, so I knew that she would get back with me promptly.

An hour later my cell phone rang and she was calling from the Catskills in New York where she is on location shooting a small movie.  I told her that I had a couple of questions about “the old days” and asked her not to think I was a douche because I didn’t remember all the details.  I asked her about our first kiss and she laughed and said that her memories of it were much like mine—kind of hazy, but that it was definitely on the playground.

The Actress and I dated on and off for a couple of years and she was my first serious girlfriend and I was her first boyfriend.  I attended her junior prom (once I got off restriction from the whole “drinking at the church convention thing”) and I also attended her senior prom.  I went and saw her plays in high school and at junior college and she attended a performance of South Pacific that I was in.

Tonight we reminisced about fun moments from our past—of group bonfires at Huntington Beach and walking down the sand holding hands.  I reminded her of a couple  “small gatherings” at her parents house (they were out of town) where she made a concoction that she liked to call Frozen F***ups.  Basically, you take limeade and instead of adding cans of water you add cans of vodka, then put it in the freezer for a while.  It sounds crazy now, but remember that we were all of 18 and 17 at the time, so what did we know?  Long story short, though we never did have sex and left each other still virgins, it was still first love for both of us.

The Actress is married to a doctor and acts professionally in New York City.  I’m very happy with how things are going with P.S.O. and tonight we bantered back and forth about our current relationships.  Just before hanging up I told her I had one last question.  “How would you describe our relationship?”  I asked.  “I don’t mean now.  I mean back then.”  She paused for a moment and said, very matter of factly, “We were like training wheels for each other.  We didn’t necessarily support each other, but we helped each other learn.”

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Christmas With P.S.O.

Sometimes I’m just a douche…


It’s now a couple weeks into dating the Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.) and things seem to be going well.  Her work schedule is busy at year-end and we were trying to get together on Wednesday for lunch in downtown Buffalo.  I sent her an e-mail in the morning telling her that I was hoping to see her and I got this reply:

What time would you like to make that a reality??

I’m free from 11:30am until 2:00pm – – – I have a 2:00pm call that I have to be here for ……..

xoxooxoxo

We decided to meet at 12 in the lobby of her office building.  I found a prime parking spot and made my way into the lobby a few minutes early and after a brief wait I looked up and saw my pretty blond strolling across the lobby wearing her trademark 3 inch heels and a huge smile (along with a nice sweater and a coat).  We hugged and had a nice hello kiss and decided on a place to eat less than a half block up the street.  She took my arm and we made our way over and into the restaurant.

During a previous conversation she had mentioned that she would really like me to make a CD for her of some of my favorite music so that she could get to know what I liked.  Well, I ended up making three CDs and I brought those to her.  I also had a card and a little gift for her.  I put everything into a Wal-Mart bag so that it would be easy to carry and as we made our way up the street she asked what was in the bag.  I told her that it was something for her and that if she could just hold out for a few minutes that I would give it to her when we got to our table.

The restaurant was mostly empty and we got a table that we would later find out was right in the middle of a really, really cold draft.  It was around 15 F outside and every time someone came in or out, we knew about it.  But that was OK because we were together.  We were talking.  We were laughing.  We were having a good time.

We looked over the menus, discussing what looked good, when she noticed the bag was from Wal-Mart.  She threw down some back-handed, sarcastic comment about how great it was that I cared so much about her that I chose to bring her things in a “freakin’ Wal-Mart bag.”  “Only the best for you, baby,” I replied with a wink and a smile.

She looked at the CDs and was impressed.  She read off all the songs aloud and made brief commentary on each one.  I guess I did a good job with the music because out of the 56 songs on the three discs, there were only two songs that she really didn’t like.  We were on the same page musically and that was a good thing—especially if there are to be any road trips in our future.

We placed our order and she looked at me and asked what else was in the Wal-Mart bag.  I reached in and pulled out the card I had for her.  It was a nice romantic card and as she read it I could see her hazel eyes light up and the smile on her face grew bigger.  When she was done, she looked up from the card, thanked me and leaned over to give me a kiss.  After the kiss, she immediately turned her attention back to the bag, because it was obvious that there was something still inside.

Before we get to the last thing in the bag, let me just say that there are times that you want to give someone a gift, but you wonder if that gift is appropriate or if it’s the right thing to do.  I mean, when you first think about it, it seems great.  But as you mull it over, you have some doubt creep into your mind and you have to really decide if you should give it or if you should just hold off.

Let me give you a tip.  We can call this “J.R.’s Gift Giving Advice”.  Here it is in a nutshell:  If you ever want to give someone that you are dating or married to a gift, and at any point before said gift has been given you have ANY DOUBT in your mind that maybe you should not give that gift—don’t!  Just hold back.  Keep it private.  Never mention it to a soul—not even to your best friend!

I say this to you because it is fresh in my mind and because, frankly, sometimes I don’t listen to my own sensible advice.  Also, let me remind you of what I said at the beginning of this—sometimes I’m just a douche!

Things are going well with us right now and I thought that she might like a picture of us to put on her desk at work. There are no such pictures anywhere in existence (unless they reside on a security camera somewhere) so I, in all my infinite wisdom, thought that I would stick a picture of me in the frame for now and that down the road when there were pictures of us, she could replace it.

Of course I never thought to share that with her verbally.  Apparently I figured that it was either common knowledge that the picture was just a place holder, or I figured that we had such a connection that she could read my thoughts and just know what the photo of me was there for.  It didn’t really work out that way.

I handed her the 5X7 frame (Thank God it wasn’t an 8X10!) upside down and she made a comment about how nice it was and how maybe she would put the card I gave her in the frame or that she would put a picture of the two of us in the frame sometime.  I smiled back and waited for her to flip the thing over and look at the front.  I can say with 100% certainty that I will never ever forget what happened next…

This beautiful woman flipped the frame over, looked at the picture of me, paused a second, then looked up at me and said (with the perfect balance of sarcasm and love), “Seriously?  A picture of you?  What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”  We were now laughing our asses off and the three women at the next table glanced over to see what was going on.  I looked over at P.S.O. and simply asked, “What?’

Before I even gave her the gift, I knew in my heart and in my mind that I should just yank the damn photo out, but I didn’t.  We both laughed about it because we both knew what a stupid idea it was.  She did tell me that the frame was sweet and that she would just put the card in there for now and maybe replace it with a picture of us down the road.  I smiled and said that was fine.  I figured that after giving her the picture her wanting to still go out with me was a good thing.

It came time for dessert and we decided to get a sampler of all three of their sweets.  The plate came and P.S.O. dipped her spoon into the chocolate pot de creme and lovingly raised it towards my mouth.  I tasted the treat and I took a spoonful and moved it towards her mouth.  As I did so, she looked up from the table and said, “what the hell are you doing?”  I told her that I was giving her a bite.  She looked at me and said, “That’s gay.”  I asked her what she meant and she said that for me to reciprocate was gay.  I asked her if it would be gay if I did it first and she said no.  Going first was cool, but for me to follow up was pretty gay.

We got together for lunch on Christmas Eve to exchange our real gifts.  She gave me a bottle of Escada cologne and told me that it was kind of a selfish gift because she really liked it (wink wink).  I also got a Christmas ornament—a silver and crystal letter “J”—and she said that she hoped that she would get to see it for many years to come.  I also got a nice handcrafted box with pens on the top and a quote from Ernest Hemingway on the side,  “THE WRITER MUST WRITE WHAT HE HAS TO SAY, NOT SPEAK IT”.

The gifts blew me away.  She had no clue that Hemingway is one of my favorite authors and the fact that she gave me something that she hopes to see for years down the road is awesome.  I can’t wait for the first opportunity to go out with her and wear the Escada.  We’re going out New Years Eve and I can definitely wear it then.

As I drove back from the date I thought about the gifts that I gave her and about the gifts she gave me.  I came to a realization as I headed up the Skyway from Hamburg towards Williamsville:  Sometimes I’m just a douche, but I guess the rest of the time I must be a pretty decent dude.

J.R.

Related posts:

The Phone Sex Operator

New Years Eve Karaoke

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The Phone Sex Operator

“Making sex is like a Chinese dinner: It ain’t over ’til you both get your cookies.”

Old Man Dunphy, Outside Providence

I once received a fortune cookie that read, “When you decide to stop searching, only then will you find what your heart desires.”  That sounded a little corny, yet there was a hint of truth to it.  On the back of the fortune cookie there were some randomly selected “winning” lottery numbers, but they have nothing to do with this story.

After my last relationship ended I went out on a couple of dates here and there, but I decided I was going to take a break.  I refused to settle and it just seemed like nothing was clicking with anyone I was meeting online, so I concluded that if, by the middle of December, there was no one I was interested in dating, that I would pull my profile down and figured that I would revisit the situation down the road…

It was a crisp autumn weekday morning.  I woke up as usual around 7 AM and as I recall, there was a powdery layer of snow on my car.  I went upstairs to wake up my daughter and somehow rustle her out of bed so that she could take Lucy (our dog) outside to do her morning business before getting ready for school.  I came back downstairs to make some coffee and as my liquid crack laced Tim Horton’s was brewing I checked my e-mail.

There in my inbox were two messages from the dating website notifying me that I had two new matches.  I’m not a shallow person by any means, but the reality is that with anyone you consider dating, there has to be at least some level of physical attraction.  I don’t make a decision based solely on the picture, but I would be lying if I said that the picture doesn’t factor somewhat into the decision making process.

One of the messages was from a woman that I had absolutely no physical attraction to, so I put her into the “Closed” category.  The other was from a very striking blond from pretty close to where I lived.  I was interested, so I read the profile:

The most important thing XXXXX is looking for in a partner is:

A true companion – someone who values our relationship as a friendship and COMMUNICATES the good, the bad and the ugliness of everything. My soul mate would love me for me, love my bad hair days & morning breath and most importantly – have a sense of humor and accept the challenges of life with a positive attitude.

I liked that, and the rest of profile was pretty interesting, so I decided to start the process with her.  She responded back and we went through the whole rigmarole and after a few days and several nice e-mails back and forth, I had her phone number along with an invitation to call it.

I took a deep breath, dialed the digits and after making small talk for a few minutes; I told her that I found her to be intriguing and very attractive.  I also told her that I would really like to take her out one night to get to know her better.  As we chatted, I could almost see her hazel eyes light up and through the phone I saw that mesmerizing smile grow even bigger.  By the time I got to the actual “asking out” part, I could hear the excitement in her voice.  She eagerly accepted and we decided to go out for the first time on Saturday night.

This woman is pretty and funny but there is something else about her that I really liked.  This may sound totally lame, but I loved listening to her voice.  There was just something about it that drove me wild.  After thinking about it, I decided hers was the kind of voice that guys (and some women too) would pay $4.99 a minute to listen to.  And thus, The Phone Sex Operator (or simply, P.S.O.) came into my life.

That first date was incredible.  Not once did we have one of those usual awkward moments of silence that can erase the chance of a second date.  In fact, it was as if she and I had known each other for years and years.  We were laughing, we were having a great time and it seemed that we had very similar tastes when it came to music, movies and TV.  The evening was filled with smiles, winks, eating off the other’s plate and occasionally our hands would touch and we would linger over the touches for a few moments.

We spent several hours together that first night and even made it back to my place for a bit (get your mind out of the gutter.  Nothing happened).  I was showing her the house and as we came back downstairs I waited til we neared the bottom and (apparently) gave her quite a shove. I’m not quite sure how that happened, considering I was in front of her. “He pushed me down the stairs” is the story that she’s sticking with, so I figured that as long as she’s not pressing charges, I would be OK with it.  We laughed about the incident and decided that if things worked out long-term we would at least have a good story to tell the grandkids about our first date.

Even with a sore elbow and a little bump on the back of her head, when it came time to say good night, there was no question about whether or not a kiss was in order.  I grabbed her, pulled her close and did my best to give her a kiss that she would not soon forget.  It must have worked, because 15 minutes later we were still standing there kissing.

We’ve had a few more dates since then and we regularly trade e-mails and have phone conversations throughout the day–I LOVE hearing her voice!  Things are looking promising and we went out to lunch again today.  There is a really good story to be told about this afternoon, but I think that I will wait and post it on Christmas Day.  Consider it a holiday treat from me to you.

J.R.

P.S.  I already received everything I could possibly want for Christmas (P.S.O.), but if anyone is even remotely interested in getting me something, I could use a copy of Outside Providence on DVD.  It’s out of production, so it’s kind of hard to come by…

Related posts:

Christmas with P.S.O.

New Years Eve Karaoke

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The Bookstore Chick

So my daughter picks up this woman for me at Barnes and Noble…

I think that its hilarious to listen to some single dads complain about their weekend with the kids.  They get all dramatic about this and that and how they were so exhausted and couldn’t wait to get the kids back to their mother.  It cracks me up.  It really does.

In a way, I wish that I had their reality.  I absolutely love my daughter and would not give up my full custody for anything, but truth be told, it would be nice to have the occasional weekend free from parental duties.  I also love how these same dads try and push all the “parenting stuff” off on mom, while they do their best to be the fun parent.  Deal with reality, losers.  You knocked her up, so you can do some of the heavy lifting yourself.  Life isn’t all about Chuck E. Cheese and ski trips!

So there I was, at home one night, a full-time single dad fixing dinner after returning home from my 9.5 hour workday when my darling 12-year-old announces that she needs to get a book at the bookstore for this project that she has due.  “OK,” I tell her.  “When is it due?”  “Tomorrow,” she replies very matter of factly.  As I start to lecture her about responsibility and all that stuff, she looks at me, rolls her eyes and says, “what’s your problem?”

What’s my problem?  Right now I have a 4’11” redheaded problem!  I quickly finish dinner and we gobble it down and jump in the car to head to our local Barnes and Noble.  Having just moved to Buffalo, I knew that we were almost halfway between two stores and I had been to one, but I really hadn’t ventured much into the neighborhood of the other one, so I figured that we would have an adventure and hit the one on “The Boulevard” (Niagara Falls Boulevard, for the record).

We arrived at the bookstore and I found myself perusing the wares on a table when this blond woman across the table from me makes a comment about how much some book costs.  I look up and said something back (I have no idea what I said.  It was that memorable) and we chatted for all of 10 seconds before she walked away with her daughter.  I went and found my bundle of sunshine and we were in another aisle about 5 minutes later when she pointed out, “that lady you were talking to at the table just walked past us.”  I looked up and said, “OK.”  To which she replied that I should go over and talk to her.  I glanced over at the lady and decided that she was kind of cute, but I figured that the odds of me picking up a woman at a bookstore at 7:45 PM on a Tuesday night were about as good as the chance my daughter was gonna get an “A” on this project.  So, I simply said, “Whatever.”

The next thing I know my little matchmaker was out of the aisle and slowly working her way over to where the blond was and as soon as the woman picked up a copy of a Rachel Ray kids cookbook, my daughter says, (in a loud voice) “I have that same cookbook.  Daddy, what recipe did we make from that cookbook?”

Oh no she didn’t!  The fruit of my loins just picked up a woman for me at Barnes and Noble!  I felt kind of pimped out.  What I should have done was said, “I don’t know what recipe.  We have to go do your project.”  But I felt kind of obligated to talk with this woman for a few minutes.

As I chatted with The Bookstore Chick, her daughter and mine started striking up their own friendship.  After a couple of moments, the Chick asked if I wanted to move over to the café and have some coffee.  I said sure, and just like that, I was on a date with a blond at the bookstore.

We talked about this and that for the next half hour or so and I looked at my watch and announced that we simply had to get home so that we could get this project done, but would she like to go out over the weekend?  She agreed and we traded numbers and e-mail addresses and went our separate ways.  She sent me a text that night saying that she was looking forward to Saturday night and that she would talk with me tomorrow.

As we sipped our coffee that first night, she mentioned that she was a little sore because she just had a biopsy done on one of her breasts and she had the staples in for a couple more days.  I politely inquired as to whether or not she had good news and she said the tumor was benign.  Why do I tell you this now?  Well, it probably has something to do with a text I received the next morning.

After a good morning text from her, I received another one.  This one had a photo attached.  “Hmmm,” I thought.  “I wonder what this is?”  I opened it up and to say I was shocked would be a huge understatement.  There, staring me in the face (pun fully intended) was her left breast, most of which was covered in a bandage!

Now I like a good boob as much as the next guy, but this was a bit weird.  It wasn’t huge by any means, but it wasn’t small.  The gauze bandage covered up most of it, but there was still enough hanging out to make it worth the view.  It wasn’t firm and full, but neither was it hanging down to her knee.  I scratched my head and wondered why she had sent it to me, and after a while I kind of panicked and wondered if I was expected to reciprocate.  I’m not sure that I was comfortable sending a stranger pictures of my junk.  For the record, I’m not sure how I feel about sending anyone pictures of the Southern Hemisphere.  Unless it’s my butt.  I do have a nice ass.  It’s all those years of playing ice hockey in California.

Long story short, we still went out on Saturday night, but it was probably my shortest date ever.  We met at a local pizza and wing joint, ordered a couple beers, some pizza and a few wings and started talking again.  I began to ask her about her job and about her family and she simply flipped out.  She got all flustered and gathered up her purse and her coat and said that this was all going too fast and that she couldn’t handle it.  The next thing I knew, she was out the door and going to her car.

I sat there for a moment, kind of confused, but then I leaned back in the booth, took a sip of my beer, munched on some pizza and killed a few wings before I too headed home.  As I drove back down The Boulevard I thought to myself how odd this all was.  I mean, I got a boob picture the day after I met her, so I figured that I would at least get a kiss on the first date.  Maybe even some tongue.  I wondered what to do with the rest of my evening and I thought about reading.  “There’s a Barnes and Noble just up the street,” I thought to myself.  “Maybe I’ll go look for a book…”

J.R.

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The Period One

Yeah.  It’s exactly what you’re thinking…

She will always be my first.  I don’t remember her name.  Patty seems to come to mind for some reason, but maybe it’s because she was Irish with red hair.  Her name is completely unimportant to this story, because for the last 6 years all anyone has ever called her is “The Period One”.

Let me clarify the phrase, “She will always be my first.”  She wasn’t my “first” as in the first person I slept with; she was my first date after O.C.B. (Original Crazy B****, AKA my ex).  Thanks for letting me clear that up.

We met online and as I dialed her number for the first time I was crazy nervous.  My hands were shaking a bit and my voice probably was too.  I can’t remember whether or not I had a couple of drinks to steady myself, but if I didn’t, I probably should have.  Part of me was hoping to get her voice mail so that I could leave a message and let her get back to me on her own time.  I didn’t want her to be in the middle of something and have her be annoyed that I was interrupting.  On a scale of 1-10 I think my self-esteem was hovering somewhere between two and three.

She did answer the phone and somehow I was able to hold it together and I found a way to string along a fairly intelligent conversation.  It must have been intelligent, because before I hung up the phone I had a date.  Not only did I have a date, but I had a date with a pretty girl.  A pretty, thin, redheaded, seemingly normal girl.  I was excited.

There are some details that I don’t remember at all and others that I remember vividly.  Some I remember too vividly.  I remember that she said she had recently moved from Philly and that she was a huge Eagles fan.  I also remember that she lived in Hollywood.  At the time I lived in Long Beach, CA and we were (depending on traffic) anywhere between 30 and 90 minutes apart.  I also remember that the date was on a Monday night.

As we chatted on the phone she mentioned that she really missed watching the Eagles and that when she was in Philly she loved going to a sports bar to watch the games.  As luck would have it the Eagles were playing on Monday Night Football just a few days later, so we decided to meet at a sports bar near Hollywood so that we could watch the game and talk.

My stomach was in knots as I got ready for that first date.  I don’t recall throwing up or anything, but I remember sweating and being scared.  Really scared.  Why was I scared?  I had no game and even less self-esteem.  Not the best combo.

I made my way from freeway to freeway and found a parking spot close to the sports bar and, after parking my car, I got out, wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and made my way inside.  I arrived first and I grabbed a table where both of us could get a good view of the game, just in case the date headed south.

She arrived a few minutes later and she looked just like her pictures.  I wasn’t surprised at this fact, but you have to remember that she was the first person that I had met online and I wasn’t yet hip to the reality that a lot of people don’t look like the pics they post.  Anyway…

She arrived and looked just like her pictures.  I remember she was wearing a tight black shirt—kind of low cut, but not too low.  She was also wearing a plaid schoolgirl-type skirt and black tights.  She looked good.  Really good.

We started chatting, grabbed a couple of drinks and perused the menu a bit.  We ordered a couple of appetizers and some sandwiches and started talking some more.  The nachos arrived and we began eating.  What happened next will forever remain burned in my mind and I can picture the whole event as if it was 15 minutes ago.

I had just put a bite into my mouth when she looked up at me and announced, “I really like sex, but I can’t tonight because I’m on my period.  I hope that’s OK with you.”  Seriously. This chick announced to me just 15 minutes into our first meeting, that she couldn’t have sex because she was menstruating.  Wow!

I tried not to choke on the chip in my mouth and I somehow found the ability to say, “Sure.  No problem.”  I quickly replayed the moment over in my head to make sure that I heard her correctly.  “She didn’t really just say that,” I reasoned.  Then I tried to come up with another phrase that sounded like “I really like sex, but I can’t tonight because I’m on my period.  I hope that’s OK with you.”   But I couldn’t.

To say I was a bit freaked out would be a huge understatement.  I had just come out of a 13-year relationship and I had full custody of my 5-year-old.  I was naive and figured that I would meet someone, fall in love and live happily ever after.  Now here I was sitting across the table from a chick that wanted to nail me on the first date, but couldn’t because she had Aunt Flo in town.

Should I be upset that here I was putting out good money for dinner and drinks and she wasn’t putting out at all or should I be creeped out that this woman I hardly knew thought that I should know right up front about her monthly cycle?

The reality is that someone like her was likely to have some sort of a Super STD—one that could penetrate even the strongest of condoms.  This one was a flat-out slut.  Take that to be a good thing or a bad thing.  Your call.

The bottom line is that I somehow finished dinner and we went our separate ways at halftime.  I never did call her back for a second date, but I’m sure that if I would have, I could have had some much needed sex.  When I got home I called a couple of friends to tell them the story and one was nearly as freaked as I was.  The other one?  He was pissed, not freaked.  To this day I still remember his reaction, “Did you ask her if her mouth worked?”

Welcome back to the dating world…

J.R.

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