By the middle of 2005, I had determined beyond a shadow of a doubt that my sole purpose in life was to provide entertainment for my parents. I would go through an embarrassing date. They would laugh. It was a cycle that continues even to this day. Thank you internet blogs.
Anyway, the first part 2004 had been a series of useless blind dates. I don't know why I ever agreed to them. If I could justify it, I would say it was nothing more than a feeling of obligation to friends. I don't feel that way anymore, so don't get any ideas. After multiple mundane dates, none of which I ever initiated, I was pretty tired of the whole thing. Now, I tell you, I have been on dates that were nothing more than dinner, a movie, or even a ballgame. For the record, those women who wanted nothing more than to go a Reds game immediately became more interesting. There was nothing to the others to really talk about, because they were all rather pedestrian.
And then, Angie reared her head. You would think that with her track record, she would have quit while she was behind. Not Angie. Sporting the memory of an NFL cornerback who's just been burned for a long td pass, Angie charged into the arena, grabbed the bull by the horns, and [insert metaphor here]. Seriously, Dave and Angie had been privy to the dating expoits of yours truly for several years. Mostly, it was because we had dinner together often. Through every story, Angie never offered to set me up.
When July, 2005, rolled around, I had not been on a date in almost a year. I guess I had reached the magic number of months flying solo, and Angie decided I needed a night out with female companionship. Dave called me, and, I swear on all that is holy, his first words to me were, "I'm sorry." Anyway, after Angie grabbed the phone away from Dave, she told me that they were going out on Friday, and I was going with them. There was no asking. There was only telling. She then informed me that she had a friend who had met me at one of the Saturday races, and wanted to go out. I ran through the mental list of females that would have been at Dave's house, both of them. There aren't that many woman who are interested in racing little cars around a track.
"Your babysitter? Are you serious? What is she, 19?"
"She's 23, and she is a nice girl. A little wild, though."
" And I, at the ripe age of 39, strike you you as the proper date for this kid?"
"Stop. You don't look 39, and she thought you were funny. Don't worry about the age thing." Then, Angie dropped her go to argument. "Besides, it's just dinner, not a marriage proposal. You need to get out and have some fun." That statement was used against me just two weeks ago, by yet another friend for the exact same purpose.
"She's too young. I would feel creepy."
"If you don't say yes, Dave and I will drive to your house and pick you up. You're going."
Wait. Who's going to babysit for you if I'm with the babysitter?"
"I have another girl."
"Do I have to go out with her at some point in the future?"
"Ha. Ha. Not funny. She's 16"
"It's just dinner, not marriage."
"Keep it up, smartass. You're going, or else."
And that was that. No more discussion. She was serious. My hope was that I could play it off as not a date. Perhaps it would just be friends getting together for dinner. Yeah, I could do that.
Friday rolled around and I went to the club/restaurant/bar type place. It was in Covington, and it was really pretty cool. The building had several floors, and each floor was a different type of club. This was the only time I'd ever been, so if the details are fuzzy, forgive me. One floor had a country bar, One had a jazz club, one was a restaurant, and one was a dance club - my destination.
I stepped off the elevator, walked in, and soon discovered it was 80's night. Yay. An older crowd. The heavy set middle aged pedophile dating the babysitter would never stick out here.
I stood there surveying the crowd when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Dave. We shook hands, gave the guy hug, and I followed him to the table. Angie and , I am not kidding, I did not change the name, it was really CANDY, stood up when we got to the table. This was the point when I got to take stock of the situation. Dave and I were both wearing basic shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes for me, casual dress shoes for Dave. Angie and Candy were wearing little dresses that barely went high enough or low enough in all the important places. That was not to mention the high heels. Despite the fact I was there as the escort for the youngster (curious choice of words, I know. Since she looked like my escort, if you know what I mean.), I'm still a guy. My first thought was...DAMN!
We sat down, ordered some drinks, and began the ceremonial dance. There was the usual small talk. What do you do? Do you like it? How long have you known Dave and Angie? What do you want to be when you grow up? You know, the basics.
About 15 or 20 minutes into the conversation, Candy managed to reduce the rest of us to sputtering imbeciles when she blurted out this gem (parapahrasing not necessary, because this one is seared into my memory. SEARED) - "I like to be tied to the bed. Is that a problem for you?"
My eyes were about 3 times normal size for a few seconds. I mean, really, how does one respond? What is the proper segue from that? "Dave, let's dance." And with that, Angie ushered her husband to the floor so as not to deal with it. Coward.
So, how did I, master communicator, Mr Suave, handle a thorny question like that? "It's not really my thing, but I'm always willing to try something new." LIE, LIE, and then LIE some more. I did notice through this that Angie kept looking at me from the dance floor. She actually looked apologetic. Or it might have been gas.
Anyhow, the rest of the evening wasn't quite so shock inducing, until Candy got me to the dance floor. My friends know I don't dance, but Candy was insistent. That girl was like a force of nature. There really was no saying no to her. She hopped up, grabbed my and hand and practically dragged me out there.
"I really don't dance."
"Don't worry. Just stand there, move a little, and I will make you look good."
The next 6 minutes were the longest of my life. There was a fast tune on, and I faked it as best I could. Apparently, Dave was trying hard not laugh, and Angie repeatedly hit him on the arm. Did I mention it was 80's night? The fast tune ended, and then, the most uncomfortable song in the history of the world began. Oh, it wasn't uncomfortable until that moment, and I can't really listen to it now without certain psychological and physical reactions. The doctors chalk it up to PTSD.
The culprit? Terence Trent D'Arby's "Sign Your Name". Look it up http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWJexBuAF60. Give it a listen. It has a sensual, snake-like quality. Candy began gyrating, and rubbing, and I was the pole. It took about 20 seconds for it to sink in. I looked at Angie and Dave. I probably looked like a man who just realized he was about to die. Angie's mouth was open. Her face was red. Dave started to laugh.
I wanted something, anything, to happen that would take the focus off this X-rated dance. Really. A fire. Explosion. Trained hippo. Anything. Candy was pressing against me in full view of everyone, and I do mean everyone in the room. I have never had that many women look at me so disapprovingly, while simultaneously have men raise their glasses, giving the "Way to go" nod.
At some point in the dance, Angie had moved beyond horror to something else. I hesitate to describe it, because we all know the look. She was biting the tip of her index finger. She was enjoying it. Scratch that. From what Dave told me the next day, I know she was revelling in it. Gee Dave, anytime my public humiliation leads to you having awesome white hot monkey sex with your wife, you're welcome.
I managed to work my way off the dance floor before the song was over, and before any unfortunate physical manifestations became evident. To this day, I have not stepped back on a dance floor. The atmosphere at the table had changed quite a bit after that. It was...charged, to say the least.
After dinner, we made our way to the cars. Candy did not expect me to go home with her, since I had made that clear with Angie before I ever said I'd go. It didn't stop her from trying. I just didn't think that was the way to go. She settled for a good night kiss, and I am pretty sure she was trying to lick my brain. She didn't do anything halfway. She also asked me to call her again.
After she drove off, I turned to Dave and Angie. Dave just stood there, not knowing what to say. Angie gave me a hug, and smiled a devilish grin. "I told you she was a little wild." The woman has an understated grasp of the word 'little'.
Angie never tried to set me up again. Mostly because I moved to Florida the next year. She keeps threatening to come down here and find a woman for me, but I know she means well. Meanwhile, somewhere in Eastabutchie, there is laughter. Loud. Boisterous. Laughter.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Round Five: Someone to look up to
Well, it was late 2003, and Angie had blown 3 shots at the perfect woman, so Hannah decided to throw her hat in the ring. Hannah was a friend from church who travelled to doctor's offices, and she knew a nice girl from Newport, KY that I might find interesting. Hannah introduced me, via e-mail, to Sandra. Sandra was a very nice woman who was 32 years old, divorced, with 1 child.
I went through the motions of talking, being polite, and waiting for the other shoe to drop right on my head. It never happened. I took it slower than before. I was more than a little apprehensive after all the things that happened. Sandra was also going slow. I figured she had been involved in some bad dates as well, but her reasons were completely different from mine, as I was to discover.
After two months of back and forth, we finally decided to go ahead and have dinner. We had exchanged pictures, and were ready to finally meet in person. She assured me there were no naked pictures of her on the internet, and she would be fully dressed when I arrived. She did concede that she was planning to wear her best underwear. Of course, she did it with a laugh, and I could appreciate the humor.
Friday came, and I drove down to northern Kentucky to pick up my date. It was January, 2004, and there was a lot of snow on the ground. When I got to Sandra's house, I walked to the door and rang the bell. She opened the door, and as I walked into her house, I felt like Alastair Sim walking up to the banquet table to see the Ghost of Christmas Present. I am 6'2", but I was still looking up at her. She was 6'6" tall. She could have mentioned that little tidbit. She said she liked tall guys. She should have said NBA guys.
Prior to selecting a vehicle, it's always nice to know whether your date can fit in your car. Seriously, we had to take her SUV because she was too tall for my car. At dinner, I grabbed a booster seat on the way to the table.
In addition to her height, she had one of the most annoying laughs I've ever heard. The best way to describe the howling is to cross the wicked witch with a braying donkey, all at around 100 decibels. Every time she laughed, and she laughed at everything, the entire restaurant turned to watch the giant and her little friend.
After what could only have been 48 hours, dinner was over. I took her home and left without finding out if she was wearing her best underwear.
I went through the motions of talking, being polite, and waiting for the other shoe to drop right on my head. It never happened. I took it slower than before. I was more than a little apprehensive after all the things that happened. Sandra was also going slow. I figured she had been involved in some bad dates as well, but her reasons were completely different from mine, as I was to discover.
After two months of back and forth, we finally decided to go ahead and have dinner. We had exchanged pictures, and were ready to finally meet in person. She assured me there were no naked pictures of her on the internet, and she would be fully dressed when I arrived. She did concede that she was planning to wear her best underwear. Of course, she did it with a laugh, and I could appreciate the humor.
Friday came, and I drove down to northern Kentucky to pick up my date. It was January, 2004, and there was a lot of snow on the ground. When I got to Sandra's house, I walked to the door and rang the bell. She opened the door, and as I walked into her house, I felt like Alastair Sim walking up to the banquet table to see the Ghost of Christmas Present. I am 6'2", but I was still looking up at her. She was 6'6" tall. She could have mentioned that little tidbit. She said she liked tall guys. She should have said NBA guys.
Prior to selecting a vehicle, it's always nice to know whether your date can fit in your car. Seriously, we had to take her SUV because she was too tall for my car. At dinner, I grabbed a booster seat on the way to the table.
In addition to her height, she had one of the most annoying laughs I've ever heard. The best way to describe the howling is to cross the wicked witch with a braying donkey, all at around 100 decibels. Every time she laughed, and she laughed at everything, the entire restaurant turned to watch the giant and her little friend.
After what could only have been 48 hours, dinner was over. I took her home and left without finding out if she was wearing her best underwear.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Round Four: Don't Touch That, You Don't Know Where It's Been
We have reached the point in the post divorce stage where Angie has made two attempts at setting up our hero, with mixed results. Attempt number one was a partial success, only undone by a drunk dial and the embarrassment that followed. Attempt number two was a non starter, which was only confirmed by some untimely laughter at nudity. Guys, if your date walks out naked, don't laugh. Women don't like that.
The next "perfect" girl has no name, because I can't remember it. Actually, I couldn't forget her fast enough. She was an old college friend of Angie's, but they hadn't really kept up since those days. The reason I wanted to forget her quickly was because in her second e-mail, she sent me a link to her web page. She said I should feel free to check out her pictures, and see if I wanted to go forward. She gave me the password, and I clicked the link.
I'm sure you are familiar with dating sites like Match and eHarmony, but in 2003, there were fewer sites like those. Are you aware that there are sites very similar to dating sites, but are dedicated to strictly to getting people together for sex? I believe these days they are called hook-up sites. At least, that's what my close, personal aquaintance Bruce says. This was my introduction to the seedy underbelly of the naked internet.
This woman had sent me to her sex account. The first thing that popped up was a series a naked pictures of her. And it wasn't as if she was the kind of woman you wanted to see naked. I mean, she wasn't an unattractive woman, but come on. I'm not big on tattoos, and piercings really belong in the ears. I still see those thigh high black leather boots in my nightmares. There are things man was not meant to see. To add insult to injury, when I hit that little red X in the upper right corner of the computer screen, 2 or 3 new porn sites popped up. Even pressing X on those opened up more. Close one, two open. This is not the kind of thing you want flying around the computer when the customer service girl walks in your office. You just look guilty. I know of what I speak.
This was one of the times I actually told Angie why it didn't work out. She was shocked, and promised to stop. Hey, if that's all it would take, bring on the hideous naked women.
Laughter. Parents. Etc.
The next "perfect" girl has no name, because I can't remember it. Actually, I couldn't forget her fast enough. She was an old college friend of Angie's, but they hadn't really kept up since those days. The reason I wanted to forget her quickly was because in her second e-mail, she sent me a link to her web page. She said I should feel free to check out her pictures, and see if I wanted to go forward. She gave me the password, and I clicked the link.
I'm sure you are familiar with dating sites like Match and eHarmony, but in 2003, there were fewer sites like those. Are you aware that there are sites very similar to dating sites, but are dedicated to strictly to getting people together for sex? I believe these days they are called hook-up sites. At least, that's what my close, personal aquaintance Bruce says. This was my introduction to the seedy underbelly of the naked internet.
This woman had sent me to her sex account. The first thing that popped up was a series a naked pictures of her. And it wasn't as if she was the kind of woman you wanted to see naked. I mean, she wasn't an unattractive woman, but come on. I'm not big on tattoos, and piercings really belong in the ears. I still see those thigh high black leather boots in my nightmares. There are things man was not meant to see. To add insult to injury, when I hit that little red X in the upper right corner of the computer screen, 2 or 3 new porn sites popped up. Even pressing X on those opened up more. Close one, two open. This is not the kind of thing you want flying around the computer when the customer service girl walks in your office. You just look guilty. I know of what I speak.
This was one of the times I actually told Angie why it didn't work out. She was shocked, and promised to stop. Hey, if that's all it would take, bring on the hideous naked women.
Laughter. Parents. Etc.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Round Three: If at First You Don't Succeed, Find a Way to Fail More Spectacularly
Even with the demise of the Great Lana Experiment, Angie was undaunted. She dived right back in with another girl who was "just perfect". That perfect girl was Debbie. Angie was determined to have this work, so we stuck with the phone in the beginning. That's right, Angie was a regular dating service.
Debbie was nice, carried a decent conversion, and seemed to be as amused by Angie as I was. I wasn't feeling it though. I mean, I'm sure I might have been more interested, but the divorce had just gone through a few months earlier, and I really wasn't all that ecstatic about dating again. This was a fact that was completely lost on Angie.
Anyway, after a few weeks of the dance, Angie got tired of my glacier pace and took it upon herself to set up a dinner. Debbie call me laughing, and said that we'd better go to dinner, or Angie was going to be carted away to a rubber room.
By this point, I'm sure you are wondering why I put up with it. Well, she was really harmless, and she honestly thought she was helping. Besides, Dave was a good friend, and he knew how annoying his wife could be. I enjoyed the distraction.
Well, we set up a day for dinner. Debbie gave me directions to her house, and I pulled into the driveway at 6:55. I walked up to the door, ready to meet her in person for the first time. I had seen her picture. She was pretty, but not really my type. I was never big on blondes.
I reached her door, rang the bell, and waited. I should have noticed the darkness in the windows, but I really didn't think about it. She yelled out, "Come on in!"
I opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. The light was not on, but there were a couple of candles burning on the small table. I looked to my right and saw a faint light, so I walked in. Now, reading this at this point and time, it's pretty easy to figure out what was happening. HOWEVER, a newly single guy who had been out of the dating pool for 16 years was a tad slow on the draw.
I stepped into the living room, and into the center of a candle expo. I'm not sure if she was trying to set a romantic mood, or if she was preparing for a human sacrifice. Even with all the candles, I still didn't see her at first. Her couch was all the way at the end of the room, about 20' feet away. It was a big room, with lots of candles.
I saw some movement in the corner of my eye, and Debbie shifted on the couch. She was sitting in the candlelight, completely naked. Now, I know she was trying to be romantic (although going about it in a highly sluttified manner), but I did not take it that way. I could have said a lot of things in this situation. I could have been suave. I could have been cool. I could have. But I wasn't. I snorted. I actually snorted a laugh. She wanted to be sexy, and I thought it was comical.
Debbie was not amused. Needless to say, I didn't get to eat dinner. Called the parents. Laughter. You know the drill.
Debbie was nice, carried a decent conversion, and seemed to be as amused by Angie as I was. I wasn't feeling it though. I mean, I'm sure I might have been more interested, but the divorce had just gone through a few months earlier, and I really wasn't all that ecstatic about dating again. This was a fact that was completely lost on Angie.
Anyway, after a few weeks of the dance, Angie got tired of my glacier pace and took it upon herself to set up a dinner. Debbie call me laughing, and said that we'd better go to dinner, or Angie was going to be carted away to a rubber room.
By this point, I'm sure you are wondering why I put up with it. Well, she was really harmless, and she honestly thought she was helping. Besides, Dave was a good friend, and he knew how annoying his wife could be. I enjoyed the distraction.
Well, we set up a day for dinner. Debbie gave me directions to her house, and I pulled into the driveway at 6:55. I walked up to the door, ready to meet her in person for the first time. I had seen her picture. She was pretty, but not really my type. I was never big on blondes.
I reached her door, rang the bell, and waited. I should have noticed the darkness in the windows, but I really didn't think about it. She yelled out, "Come on in!"
I opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. The light was not on, but there were a couple of candles burning on the small table. I looked to my right and saw a faint light, so I walked in. Now, reading this at this point and time, it's pretty easy to figure out what was happening. HOWEVER, a newly single guy who had been out of the dating pool for 16 years was a tad slow on the draw.
I stepped into the living room, and into the center of a candle expo. I'm not sure if she was trying to set a romantic mood, or if she was preparing for a human sacrifice. Even with all the candles, I still didn't see her at first. Her couch was all the way at the end of the room, about 20' feet away. It was a big room, with lots of candles.
I saw some movement in the corner of my eye, and Debbie shifted on the couch. She was sitting in the candlelight, completely naked. Now, I know she was trying to be romantic (although going about it in a highly sluttified manner), but I did not take it that way. I could have said a lot of things in this situation. I could have been suave. I could have been cool. I could have. But I wasn't. I snorted. I actually snorted a laugh. She wanted to be sexy, and I thought it was comical.
Debbie was not amused. Needless to say, I didn't get to eat dinner. Called the parents. Laughter. You know the drill.
Round Two: Sex and the Casual Liberal
When you're a guy, and newly single, all your friends' wives, at least the ones that like you, seem to believe that God has placed them on this Earth at this moment in time to fix you up with the perfect woman. I used to hang with a group of guys in the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky area on a regular basis doing what guys do. Engage in a mutual hobby. These guys were into slot car racing. So, a couple of times a month, we would gather at the designated house for a Saturday of racing, or, more accurately, eating bbq, shooting the bull, and watching a game. This was where I met Angie, Dave's wife.
It was late 2002, and Angie found out I was getting divorced. I felt sorry for Dave, because he had to bear the brunt of her questions. "What type of girl does he like?" "Do you think he would be attracted to XXX?" At least, that's what I gathered from Dave when we talked. We seemed to be talking a bit more that November and December. He had invited me over for dinner a couple of times, where Angie Torquemada conducted her inquisition with brutal precision. I must have answered 100 questions before dinner, all with a polite smile pasted to my face. Finally, I had enough, and I told her I wasn't really ready to start the whole dating thing. It had only been a couple of months since we separated, and the divorce wasn't going to be final until February. She smiled and said ok. Note that she didn't say she would back off.
A few weeks later, it was the week between Christmas and New Year's, and I had taken the day off for a doctor's appointment. Dave called me the night before, and said he was going to be up my way if I wanted to have some lunch. I told him sure. We met at Friday's, or Applebee's, or one of those places. We had barely had a chance to look at the menu when I heard, "Well, fancy meeting you here." I looked up, and there was Angie and a friend. A female friend. A really attractive female friend. A really attractive single female friend. A really attractive single female friend who knew she was there to meet me.
I took one look at Dave, and he suddenly found the menu extremely interesting. He would not look at me, which is intergalactic guy code for "She made me do it dude. It was this, or sleep on the couch."
Well, still new to the friend's wife fix up scene, I smiled, and I was polite. Angie introduced me to Lana. As I said, Lana was a very attractive Auburn haired woman of 30, divorced, with one 5 year old boy. After 10 years of marriage, which started when she was 18, her husband decided he still liked 18 year olds, so he went out and found one. I can't fault her for picking the wrong guy. That happens too many times. If anything, the man was a total fool to leave this beautiful woman.
So, here I was, on a blind date (TRAP). It was the first of what would be many blind dates in the years to come. We started talking, and we didn't stop for 3 hours. I could see Angie in the corner of my eye, smiling the smug smile of success.
Lana and I talked about a wide range of subjects, and we agreed on most things, except one. She called herself a Casual Liberal. I asked her what a casual liberal was, and she replied simply that she didn't follow politics much, but her parents described themselves as strong liberals, and she figured she wasn't as committed as they were. I told her I was the opposite of her parents, and that I did follow politics very closely. She wasn't really concerned, and quite frankly, neither was I. We had just spent several hours in conversation that was both enjoyable and varied.
Over the next 2 weeks, we exchanged numerous e-mails and phone conversations. As my divorce was not yet final, I had a hang-up about dating. Call me old fashioned. We got along well, and we were enjoying the relationship immensely. Angie had even stopped using Dave as a go between. She would call me directly, give me the third degree, and pass on information about Lana. She was pleased with her work, and I have to say I was too.
As is the way of these things, it would not last. It was late Saturday night, 2 weeks into the relationship, and I got a call. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching tv, and my son woke me up to tell me there was a woman on the phone crying. I didn't know what to expect.
"Hello"
"Hey, it's me. What are you doing?" I recognized Lana's voice, but she was slurring badly.
"I fell asleep on the couch. Are you ok? You sound a little strange."
"I'm drunk. I just didn't want to face it today."
"Face what? What happened?"
"Today is my wedding anniversary. And I didn't think I could handle it, so I bought some Vodka."
At this point, I was a little concerned about where she was, and where her son was.
"Where are you, and where is Tom?"
"I'm at home. He's here asleep. I'm pathetic. I'm drinking alone." More crying.
"It's ok. It's just a hard day. Can I help you do anything?"
"Well, there is one thing I need."
"What's that? Maybe I can help."
"I'm not sure how to ask."
I didn't say anything to her. It was a little hard to understand her through the slurring and tears, but I probably would have done anything I could at that moment. She just sounded so lost. I didn't expect her answer though.
"Well...I'm not sure...aw hell...I'm horny, can you come over?"
I may have paraphrased the whole conversation, but THAT I remember word for word. I was a tad unsure how to proceed here. I wanted to go, I really did. But, my mind raced with all the possibilities.
1] She's a total babe. Go for it.
2] She's drunk, crying, and a mess. She will hate you tomorrow for taking advantage of her.
3] She's a total babe. Go for it.
4] If you help her through this, you will be in a better position with her later.
5] She's a total babe. Go for it.
6] You know better. It's not what you do. Besides, drunk girls just lie there.
So, needless to say, I did not race over to her house, although I wanted to.
"Listen Lana, That's not a good idea. You need to get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
"I want to get laid and feel better now."
"I understand, but I think you really should go to bed."
"What the %$@# do you think I'm trying to do? I'm ready. You're a guy I like. Get over here and give me some."
The next 15 minutes went on in the same vein. I got to hear some choice words and positions that made me question my decision not to go. Enough that I should have had my head examined.
I finally got her calmed down, and she hung up and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, did not sleep that night. I lay awake chanting, "stupid...stupid...stupid...stupid."
The next afternoon I got a call from Lana. She had finally risen from her stupor, and tried to play it off that she didn't remember much, but I could tell she remembered most of it. She was embarrassed, and the calls and e-mails tapered off to nothing. I never told Angie what happened. If Lana did, I don't know. She just chalked it up to one of those things and went back to work finding another "perfect" girl. She found 3 in all. Well, 4 if you count the one I decided to never meet under any circumstances that did not entail an environmental suit, but that is tale for another time.
I did tell my parents about the whole episode. My step-father said he was proud that I kept my self-control. He figured all she would have heard was the phone swinging on the cord and the front door bell had it been him. Of course, that was after all the laughter from the 2 of them. Loud. Boisterous. Laughter.
It was late 2002, and Angie found out I was getting divorced. I felt sorry for Dave, because he had to bear the brunt of her questions. "What type of girl does he like?" "Do you think he would be attracted to XXX?" At least, that's what I gathered from Dave when we talked. We seemed to be talking a bit more that November and December. He had invited me over for dinner a couple of times, where Angie Torquemada conducted her inquisition with brutal precision. I must have answered 100 questions before dinner, all with a polite smile pasted to my face. Finally, I had enough, and I told her I wasn't really ready to start the whole dating thing. It had only been a couple of months since we separated, and the divorce wasn't going to be final until February. She smiled and said ok. Note that she didn't say she would back off.
A few weeks later, it was the week between Christmas and New Year's, and I had taken the day off for a doctor's appointment. Dave called me the night before, and said he was going to be up my way if I wanted to have some lunch. I told him sure. We met at Friday's, or Applebee's, or one of those places. We had barely had a chance to look at the menu when I heard, "Well, fancy meeting you here." I looked up, and there was Angie and a friend. A female friend. A really attractive female friend. A really attractive single female friend. A really attractive single female friend who knew she was there to meet me.
I took one look at Dave, and he suddenly found the menu extremely interesting. He would not look at me, which is intergalactic guy code for "She made me do it dude. It was this, or sleep on the couch."
Well, still new to the friend's wife fix up scene, I smiled, and I was polite. Angie introduced me to Lana. As I said, Lana was a very attractive Auburn haired woman of 30, divorced, with one 5 year old boy. After 10 years of marriage, which started when she was 18, her husband decided he still liked 18 year olds, so he went out and found one. I can't fault her for picking the wrong guy. That happens too many times. If anything, the man was a total fool to leave this beautiful woman.
So, here I was, on a blind date (TRAP). It was the first of what would be many blind dates in the years to come. We started talking, and we didn't stop for 3 hours. I could see Angie in the corner of my eye, smiling the smug smile of success.
Lana and I talked about a wide range of subjects, and we agreed on most things, except one. She called herself a Casual Liberal. I asked her what a casual liberal was, and she replied simply that she didn't follow politics much, but her parents described themselves as strong liberals, and she figured she wasn't as committed as they were. I told her I was the opposite of her parents, and that I did follow politics very closely. She wasn't really concerned, and quite frankly, neither was I. We had just spent several hours in conversation that was both enjoyable and varied.
Over the next 2 weeks, we exchanged numerous e-mails and phone conversations. As my divorce was not yet final, I had a hang-up about dating. Call me old fashioned. We got along well, and we were enjoying the relationship immensely. Angie had even stopped using Dave as a go between. She would call me directly, give me the third degree, and pass on information about Lana. She was pleased with her work, and I have to say I was too.
As is the way of these things, it would not last. It was late Saturday night, 2 weeks into the relationship, and I got a call. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching tv, and my son woke me up to tell me there was a woman on the phone crying. I didn't know what to expect.
"Hello"
"Hey, it's me. What are you doing?" I recognized Lana's voice, but she was slurring badly.
"I fell asleep on the couch. Are you ok? You sound a little strange."
"I'm drunk. I just didn't want to face it today."
"Face what? What happened?"
"Today is my wedding anniversary. And I didn't think I could handle it, so I bought some Vodka."
At this point, I was a little concerned about where she was, and where her son was.
"Where are you, and where is Tom?"
"I'm at home. He's here asleep. I'm pathetic. I'm drinking alone." More crying.
"It's ok. It's just a hard day. Can I help you do anything?"
"Well, there is one thing I need."
"What's that? Maybe I can help."
"I'm not sure how to ask."
I didn't say anything to her. It was a little hard to understand her through the slurring and tears, but I probably would have done anything I could at that moment. She just sounded so lost. I didn't expect her answer though.
"Well...I'm not sure...aw hell...I'm horny, can you come over?"
I may have paraphrased the whole conversation, but THAT I remember word for word. I was a tad unsure how to proceed here. I wanted to go, I really did. But, my mind raced with all the possibilities.
1] She's a total babe. Go for it.
2] She's drunk, crying, and a mess. She will hate you tomorrow for taking advantage of her.
3] She's a total babe. Go for it.
4] If you help her through this, you will be in a better position with her later.
5] She's a total babe. Go for it.
6] You know better. It's not what you do. Besides, drunk girls just lie there.
So, needless to say, I did not race over to her house, although I wanted to.
"Listen Lana, That's not a good idea. You need to get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
"I want to get laid and feel better now."
"I understand, but I think you really should go to bed."
"What the %$@# do you think I'm trying to do? I'm ready. You're a guy I like. Get over here and give me some."
The next 15 minutes went on in the same vein. I got to hear some choice words and positions that made me question my decision not to go. Enough that I should have had my head examined.
I finally got her calmed down, and she hung up and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, did not sleep that night. I lay awake chanting, "stupid...stupid...stupid...stupid."
The next afternoon I got a call from Lana. She had finally risen from her stupor, and tried to play it off that she didn't remember much, but I could tell she remembered most of it. She was embarrassed, and the calls and e-mails tapered off to nothing. I never told Angie what happened. If Lana did, I don't know. She just chalked it up to one of those things and went back to work finding another "perfect" girl. She found 3 in all. Well, 4 if you count the one I decided to never meet under any circumstances that did not entail an environmental suit, but that is tale for another time.
I did tell my parents about the whole episode. My step-father said he was proud that I kept my self-control. He figured all she would have heard was the phone swinging on the cord and the front door bell had it been him. Of course, that was after all the laughter from the 2 of them. Loud. Boisterous. Laughter.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Round One: And So, It Begins
When your friends first find out that you and your spouse are separating, there are 4 basic reactions.
1] Feigned surprise - "Oh No! What happened?"
2] Indignant side taking - "You're better off without her/him."
3] Obnoxious know it all - "It's about time."
4] My personal favorite, the modern apathetic - "So?"
There is one other reaction, but that one comes from those individuals who set their sights on the newly relationship unencumbered. My first run in with one of these predators happened exactly 1 week after my wife and I separated. It was September 2002. The ex had moved out Labor Day weekend. The following Friday, I arrived home at my usual time, and I was in the process of preparing a healthy, nutritional meal, before walking across the street to the high school football game. We lived in Ohio at the time, in a suburb of Cincinnati. Being from the deep south, I took football seriously. Folks in Ohio like to think they take football seriously, but they really just play at it. My son was a freshman on the team, so I went to every game. Truth is, we went to every game from the time we moved to town, even when we didn't have a son to cheer on.
As I said, I was in the middle of nuking a hot dog when the knock came at the door. When I opened the door, I didn't know who to expect. Since we lived across the street from the school, we had a lot of cars parked in the street every home game. Every now and then friends would knock on the door to see if I had left for the game.
I opened the door to find Karen (name not changed because it might have Kara, Cora, or Kiera. It's been over 8 years at this point. Who really cares anymore?) Anyway, Karen was one of the people in the small community where I lived. I had seen her many times at school functions, and I knew her son was a senior.
"I just heard. I can't believe it. How are you?" (Paraphrased because it's been 8 years for crying out loud)
"I'm fine, thank you. Everything ok with you."
"I'm ok, but I just couldn't believe you two are splitting up." By this point, she has entered my living room. "I just want to let you know that I know what you're going through. My husband left 4 years ago, and I didn't know how I would get through it."
"Really, it's ok. I'm fine, but I appreciate the thought." Try to imagine this conversation with Karen/Kara having a pained look on her face, and a goofy "aw shucks" look on mine.
"I understand, but you have my number. I know what's it's like not to have anyone to talk to. Anytime you need to talk, feel free to give me a call."
"Well thank you, that's very kind."
"Or we could just have sex if you want to."
.
.
Yeah, all motion stopped. The dance of courtesy ended right there. I turned my head, and then I looked at her, and the very first thought that popped in my head was "you were waaaaaayyyy too comfortable when you said that. You've done this before." It was at that point that my mind began to race very quickly. "I hope nobody saw you come in here. The busybodies would have a field day with this."
I had to get her out of my house. "Well, that's a tempting offer, but it's too soon to think about that stuff. Thanks anyway. See you at the game. Get out."
Really, I wasn't that nice, but this is a PG rated story. It actually went more like:
"What the %$@#!?! I can't believe you! Get the %$@# out of my house, you %$#@ whore!"
So there I was, filled with righteous indignation. What do I do? I called my parents while the episode was fresh in my mind. I carefully told the edited story of what happened. Does my mom share my disbelief? Does my step-father congratulate me on my self-control? Nope. Nah-ah. All I hear on the other end of the line is laughter. Loud, boisterous, laughter. Parents are no help sometimes.
1] Feigned surprise - "Oh No! What happened?"
2] Indignant side taking - "You're better off without her/him."
3] Obnoxious know it all - "It's about time."
4] My personal favorite, the modern apathetic - "So?"
There is one other reaction, but that one comes from those individuals who set their sights on the newly relationship unencumbered. My first run in with one of these predators happened exactly 1 week after my wife and I separated. It was September 2002. The ex had moved out Labor Day weekend. The following Friday, I arrived home at my usual time, and I was in the process of preparing a healthy, nutritional meal, before walking across the street to the high school football game. We lived in Ohio at the time, in a suburb of Cincinnati. Being from the deep south, I took football seriously. Folks in Ohio like to think they take football seriously, but they really just play at it. My son was a freshman on the team, so I went to every game. Truth is, we went to every game from the time we moved to town, even when we didn't have a son to cheer on.
As I said, I was in the middle of nuking a hot dog when the knock came at the door. When I opened the door, I didn't know who to expect. Since we lived across the street from the school, we had a lot of cars parked in the street every home game. Every now and then friends would knock on the door to see if I had left for the game.
I opened the door to find Karen (name not changed because it might have Kara, Cora, or Kiera. It's been over 8 years at this point. Who really cares anymore?) Anyway, Karen was one of the people in the small community where I lived. I had seen her many times at school functions, and I knew her son was a senior.
"I just heard. I can't believe it. How are you?" (Paraphrased because it's been 8 years for crying out loud)
"I'm fine, thank you. Everything ok with you."
"I'm ok, but I just couldn't believe you two are splitting up." By this point, she has entered my living room. "I just want to let you know that I know what you're going through. My husband left 4 years ago, and I didn't know how I would get through it."
"Really, it's ok. I'm fine, but I appreciate the thought." Try to imagine this conversation with Karen/Kara having a pained look on her face, and a goofy "aw shucks" look on mine.
"I understand, but you have my number. I know what's it's like not to have anyone to talk to. Anytime you need to talk, feel free to give me a call."
"Well thank you, that's very kind."
"Or we could just have sex if you want to."
.
.
Yeah, all motion stopped. The dance of courtesy ended right there. I turned my head, and then I looked at her, and the very first thought that popped in my head was "you were waaaaaayyyy too comfortable when you said that. You've done this before." It was at that point that my mind began to race very quickly. "I hope nobody saw you come in here. The busybodies would have a field day with this."
I had to get her out of my house. "Well, that's a tempting offer, but it's too soon to think about that stuff. Thanks anyway. See you at the game. Get out."
Really, I wasn't that nice, but this is a PG rated story. It actually went more like:
"What the %$@#!?! I can't believe you! Get the %$@# out of my house, you %$#@ whore!"
So there I was, filled with righteous indignation. What do I do? I called my parents while the episode was fresh in my mind. I carefully told the edited story of what happened. Does my mom share my disbelief? Does my step-father congratulate me on my self-control? Nope. Nah-ah. All I hear on the other end of the line is laughter. Loud, boisterous, laughter. Parents are no help sometimes.
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