Greetings from Canada!; Viewer Mail Returns

Believe it or not, people have actually been reading this blog. Some have even gone a step further and written in. Thanks to everyone who has enjoyed a tale.

Now, on to the mailbag.

Our first missive comes all the way from Toronto, Canada. Fairley, yes that is his name, says
"Greetings from Canada! Where can I find women who will greet me naked when I walk in? Please use my name."
Well..Fairley..., I've only been to Canada once, and that was Montreal. However, I am sure that Toronto has street corners similar to many US cities, where you can find women who will do that and more for an agreed upon amount of currency. You also might want to consider using your middle name.

JC in Mississippi writes, "Keep them coming. I am really enjoying this."
You're welcome. I see I will have to continue subjecting myself to public ridicule in order to keep you smiling. I will, of course, remember this when I pick out your retirement home.

L from Winter Park writes, "My wife went to South Carolina, but she will still pull for "Climpson". Just for you."
Your wife would betray her school? For little old me? Is she nuts?

S from across the hall says, "You really need to quit fooling around and finish that project."
It's been on your desk a week. Moron.

H in Georgia volunteers this, "You sound like a really nice guy. I am planning to be in Orlando this Christmas, and I'd like to meet you."
Thanks H, I appreciate the thought, but, just going by the picture you included in your e-mail, I know a guy in Canada who would love to meet you.

S in Orlando sends this one, "Dude, you have the worst luck."
Wow, glad I'm not paying you for that brilliant observation.

K in Orlando tells us, "I remember that walk up the stairs. I thought you were going to pass out. I still thought it was just super cute the way you walked me all the way home."
Thanks K, my parents did raise me right, although they are looking at a cut rate retirement double-wide if they keep it up.

That's it for now, Keep those comments coming to liquidpanda@juno.com

Florida V: Dabo Giveth, Dabo Taketh Away, But He gives Back

Ahhh, Saturdays in the Fall are always the best days. These are the days I spend my time molding my chair to the shape of my backside. College football starts at noon, and the games continue until well after I feel the urge to stay awake.

Last year I was sort of kinda involved with Vicky, whom you might remember from our adventure at Universal. I said she hadn't ruined her chance, and she hadn't. We started spending more time together around the fourth of July, and things just evolved from there. It was pretty easy actually. The youngest child was spending the summer at her mother's place, and the oldest had finally moved out. We had plenty of time to get to know each other.

We spent a lot of time together, and before we knew it, it was football season. Most women are not interested in football, so I was pleasantly surprised when Vicky voiced her love of the college game. She likes to watch the games, but she loves her Clemson Tigers, or as she says, Climpson. My daughter was back home, but she liked to spend Saturdays at Universal with friends. Whenever she was gone, Vicky would head over to the house and we would spend the day watching games.

Since we were no longer together, I was surprised when Vicky called and asked if I was interested in hanging out and watching games this year. As it turned out, the child was going to be in drama practice every Saturday until October, and I would be at home alone. If you are wondering why that is important, I made a decision a long time ago to keep my social life and the kids separate. It's just the way I do it.

Anyway, I figured enough time had passed that we could just hang out as friends. The truth is, I really enjoy having Vicky over during football season. I don't have to get out of my chair for anything except the bathroom. If I start to get up, she will ask what I need, and then she's off to get it. A man could get used to that.

Week 3 rolled around, and Climpson was hosting Auburn. Of course, we had to watch that game. It was the first opportunity for her to see her team play. I should mention that we are both in a group on the ESPN Pick'em game. I has taken Auburn in the game, and she had her team.

As Climpson looked more and more like the winning team, she became more and more insufferable.

"You picked the wrong tigers. You should have taken Climpson." Since they won, she was in a great mood.

Every week since then, Climpson has been on TV. And every week, she demands the channel stay on the game. I don't mind, except when my school was on at the same time. She just had to live with channel flipping or go home.

Then came the Maryland game. The girl child had planned to spend the day at Disney with her friends. Vicky came over around 11:30, with lunch. A guy could get used to this. The day progressed as usual, until the Climpson game started. Maryland jumped out to an early lead, and my smiling, happy companion disappeared. In her place was a surly, snarky creature from under a bridge. I should point out that Climpson has traditionally blown wins in the past, but this year seemed to be different. I just kept waiting for the team to tank a game. It appeared this was the week, and Vicky was none too happy about it.

At one point in the third quarter, I decided I would get something to drink. As I started to get up, she turned her head to me like a snake turning on its prey.

"Where are you going?" It came across as a warning, not a question.

"Need some water. Want some?"

"No. Don't be long."

Have you ever heard of those situations where the room seems to drop a few degrees? This was one of them. My normally cheerful football buddy was decidedly not cheerful, nor was she much of a buddy. I really wanted to laugh. I really did. I thought better of it, but I could not suppress a smile as I walked to the kitchen.

As the game progressed, so did Vicky. From disbelief in the first quarter, she went to denial in the second. She then went to anger, and early in the third, she had moved to sadness, with a sprinkling of wetness in the eyes. Finally, Climpson scored, and then scored again. By the end of the third quarter, they were down by only 3 points. It was an incredible rebound. Throughout the fourth quarter, as Climpson went on to win by a few touchdowns, the troll retreated to the bridge, and the smiling, happy Vicky returned.

So, the moral of the story is; I need everybody to back Climpson this year. Otherwise, I will have to get my own sandwich, and nobody wants that.

(Yes Vicky, that was entirely tongue in cheek)

Florida IV: Age Is A State Of Mind, But It's Hard To Fool The Body

I have a friend who was hosting a show at a club in Universal. Every now and then, I go to hang out with people I know, and enjoy the spectacle of bad singers. I had gone to the club a few days before Christmas, 2010. My friend Katherine asked me if I had spoken to any cute females, and I confessed that I had.

"Did you get any phone numbers?"

"No. It was just talk."

"You need to get their phone numbers."

"Don't I have to want to go out with them before I get the number?"

I find it difficult to get phone numbers for women I have no interest in dating. Who knew?

Christmas Day I had a few people over for a BBQ/gathering. My host buddy stopped by later that afternoon, because if I am cooking, he must come by. It's a compulsion. By early evening, everyone else was gone except for him and another friend G. They managed to talk me into going out to the club that night, even though I had a long drive to Tallahassee the next day.

Although it was a Saturday, it was Christmas night, and the place was dead. We ran into a couple of other people we knew, and we all gathered in the rear of the room near the main bar. At some point, I went upstairs to the bathroom, and I ran into, literally, a nice looking girl named...of course...Katerina. We had a short conversion as I helped her up from the floor. I apologized, and she apologized as well, since we met at the corner.

I went to the facilities and returned downstairs to the stools facing the stage. G was on the stage, singing something I did not recognize, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and faced Katerina.

"Since I ran into you, I thought the least I could do is buy you a drink."

"That's very kind of you, but I think that's my opening."

"Ahh, but I got to it first, so you're gonna need something else."

Let me describe Miss Kat. She had long, brown hair. Plus. She was dressed to go out, but not in the usual trashy manner you see at Citywalk. Plus. She was extremely intelligent, and the conversation was more than the run of the mill "nice weather we're having" variety. Plus. I'm not sure how it came up, but I mentioned that I didn't date girls from the clubs, because most of them are too young. I like to stay at least within 10 years of my age. She said it was no problem, because she was 34. Plus. Before she and her friends left the club, she gave me her number, and asked me to call her. There was not a single red flag. I was feeling pretty good about this one.

The next day, I had a running text chat going with Kat until we left for Tallahassee. I was on my way to meet the ex-wife for a child exchange, and I decided to give Katherine a call to let her in on the news.

"I spoke with a very nice female, and I got her number. In fact, we've had a conversation this morning."

"You have to ask her out." Good grief woman, one thing at a time.

"I was going to, but I wanted to wait a little."

"Why? You're on your own this week. It's the perfect time."

Well, I couldn't argue with that logic, so I called Kat Monday morning and asked her out. At some point, the conversation went something like this.

" I'm really excited. I've never been out with an older guy before."

"Really? How old are you?" I already knew the answer, because she volunteered it when we first started talking.

"Well, I wasn't entirely honest. I'm not 34. I'm sorry, but I thought you were really interesting, so I fudged it a little."

I could feel the alarm bell starting to wind up in my head, but I said nothing.

"I'm really 27."

Oh joy. She's only a few years older than my oldest child. Why do I get myself into these things? At this point, since I had already made the date, I had a decision to make. 1] I can cancel the date. I could just say I didn't want to go out her because she lied and was 17 year younger than I, and I'd be justified. However, that seemed like an ungentlemanly thing to do. And 2] Let it go. Go through with it. What's the worst that can happen?

I fired off a text to Katherine, because she's to blame for this mess. Not really, but I needed a villian. She brought back old memories when she responded, "It's just dinner." Thanks for that.

I decided I would just leave it and go through with the date.

Thursday rolled around and I went to Kat's place to pick her up. She lived on the third floor. She answered the door, and she was wearing a very nice, tasteful dress. I was pretty satisfied, because when she told me her actual age I was a little worried that she might break out something in the Slut Chic line you tend to see these days.

We went to a nice, understated restaurant that lends itself to conversation. The evening was quite enjoyable, even to the point that I forgot about the age difference. Naturally, that would not last.

We spent 2 hours in the restaurant, and we were still enjoying the evening, when she asked if I was interested in going to a club her friends enjoyed to hear a band. Now, I am always interested in hearing live bands, so I said sure. This is where the evening gets murky. We cruised downtown and through some side streets to a bar that I still can't find to this day. I remember passing the big mall and the Amway Center, but the rest is a blur. I was a Boy Scout. I can find my way back to places I visit in the dark. I'm not sure this place was even on the planet, judging by the look of the patrons.

Let me describe the scene. I am wearing a conservative type shirt, button down collar. Kat has the dress as I described, with nice, nondescript heels. The first girl I see has alternating green and pink stripes in her hair, very white makeup, black lipstick, and black, raccoon-like eye liner that might have been applied with a trowel. She was wearing red shorts that went exactly 3mm past her butt cheeks, red leather boots, and a black "tube top" looking thing, that showed off her lovely "Sophisticated" tattoo. on her stomach. Now, sophisticated is a word that is exactly the same as "mature", "gentleman", "lady", et al. If you have to tell people that you are, you most assuredly are not.

I will give her credit for having the smallest ear rings in the joint. Hers were only about 1" in diameter, and bright red.

Kat and I walked further into the cantina when the bartender yelled at us, "Hey no droids in here!" Not really, but it was that kind of place, and if we had brought droids, they would have fit right in. In an area just to the right of the stage, was an odd sight. There were several females dressed in clothes that one might wear in a normal social situation. That was when I met Kat's friends. I don't remember everyone's name, but they included Bailey, Madison, Parker, etc. That's right, I was in a CW teen drama. Too bad there wasn't a Muffy or Hildy in the bunch.

I sat at the table and talked with Taylor, who was the only guy there. I figured he might be the best friend, secretly in love with Bailey while helping her with her dating life, but hoping she would just see how good he is for her, and pining for the day when she would look at him as more than a friend. Plot for CW show complete. Nah, he was just gay.

The girls were busy dancing to the band, who, were actually not bad. They were a standard garage type band, complete with various tattoos, piercings, and an affinity for leather. They did manage a respectable rendition of some Foo Fighters' tunes, although I don't think any labels are going to be knocking on their collective door any time...ever.

I am not sure how long we were in this upscale establishment, but it had to be at least an hour. In between dancing with her friends, Kat came to the table long enough to plop down on my lap, take a few swigs from her drink, and ask me if I was having a good time. The truth was, I was having a good time. She never asked me to dance, partly because this was an all girls dance, and partly because she knew all about the Kentucky incident. That had come up during dinner when we were discussing the whole age thing.

After a about an hour or so, Kat and her friends decided they wanted to go to another club. She asked if I would go, but it was really the same look I get from my daughter when she wants something, so I immediately felt like the old man. Still, it was only around 11, and I was enjoying the evening. Besides, Taylor and I were in the middle of discussing a playoff scenario for college football. So that was important.

Kat directed us to another joint that looked like a building that held any number of serial killers in the shadows. As we went inside, we got a bright purple stamp on our hand of a butterfly. That should have been a sign that this was going to be an unusual type of place. It was. This place had a DJ, waitresses, and a totally different feel. The music was still loud, the drinks watered down, and the clientele young.

Although we were in a different place, the action was the same. The girls danced, the guys talked, and Kat would come over frequently to plop and sip. Taylor did happen to tell me that Kat was quite fond of me, in his opinion. Apparently, she has, on occasion, introduced her dates to this particular group of friends. However, according to Taylor, she has never been so attentive with any of them. I did notice that she waved to me from the dance floor regularly.

The night went on in the same vein. We went to a third joint that I know is somewhere near the Mall of Millenia, but I couldn't tell you where. That probably has a lot to do with the fact that one of her friends rode with us to the last place, and Kat insisted on her sitting in the front seat. More than likely it was an excuse to sit in the middle seat that I normally use as an arm rest.

Anyway, there was more of the dancing, sitting, talking, dancing, sitting, talking. At some point, I realized that I was feeling a lot tired. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time...3 am. That was it. I was pretty worn down, and I had hit the wall. It was time to pull the plug. As it was, Kat was ready to go herself.

We said our goodbyes, and walked out to the truck. I opened the door and let her in, and she immediately slid over to the middle seat. She did not stop talking the entire drive back to her place. I pulled into the lot and stared up at the 3 flights of stairs to her door. Curse you parents and deep south upbringing for instilling the whole 'walk the girl to her door' mentality. I must tell you, that last round of stairs was not fun. It was 3:30 in the morning, and my whole body was in full blown rebellion.

She opened her door, and asked it I wanted to come in. I really wanted to go home, but I went in anyway. Shut up. When I sat on the couch, I knew it was a mistake. I didn't think I'd be able to get up again. My legs shut down. After a few minutes, I knew that if I didn't get up, I wasn't going anywhere for a while, so I forced myself up and out the door. I crawled into bed and went to sleep.

My body has its own alarm clock. The brain may think it runs the show, but the real power is in the bladder. Every day, when the bladder says it's time to get up, I get up. So, every day, no matter when I went to bed, I am up at 6am. The next morning was no different, and I paid the price that day. The only saving grace was the simple fact that I was off for the day. My day was spent in my chair, sleeping on regular intervals.

Katherine asked me if the age difference on the date was noticeable. At 3 in the morning, it sure was. I like Kat. She's smart and very nice, but the age difference is too much. However, what's the worst that can happen?

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

Maybe it's something in the water. I really can't be sure. It just appears that we have entire generations walking around with no clue how to spell or speak the English language. Texting has made it worse. I'm going to get pacific here, irregardless of you're believes, you're parents prolly knew better how to right than you do. I loose my mind when I see that your using the wrong word their. They're use of the words, its mind numming. Its worse when there trying to use there their. Awe, who cares? I'm going to take a knap.

Seriously, for the past 15 years I've been gathering phrases and mangled statements from friends and mostly bosses. Here, for your pleasure, is the first group.

This is from my former boss Manny, name changed. Nothing said here was done in jest. He was totally serious. Some of these words I had to phonetically spell, because there is nothing like them.

In all realisticity...
We can use the borcansilicate glass. It's borosilicate, and this is a common material in our industry
You know what really gets my dandruff up?
Contractors are the scorge of the industry.
I dint know the answer.
It would behoof us to do that.
We have some stuff coming up the pipe. up?
They just want their cake and ice cream too. He is good and mangling cliches
I heard a good antidote. anecdote
We have to shift through the data.
It's ananomically correct
Very far and few between
Think outside the dots
That's a feather under our cap
It's a mute point
I can't phantom the thought
It's all peaches and gravy Does not sound tasty
We're pretty good at joggling things around.
It was thrusted on us
That project is on a fast back to completion.
When the word is put to the bird, we're right.
9900 out of 1000 times
This is for that jamoca sp?
The rep had yolk on his face.
We need some order of semblence.
You need to purvey that. convey
Throw a wrench into the fire.
He pulled a fasty.
For all intensive purposes
Let the timber be your nut. It's a timmerman nut, and it's also common in the industry
Are you a PEMA lover? PETA
That restaurant does a landmine business.
We don't want to harbor good will.
A friend took me to his farm and showed me how they use a concubine to harvest corn.
I'm not ready to throw that monkey on the fire.
We will have limited cultibility.
We will not do business with a lever over our head.

After a lengthy explanation of how we were going to handle the new, high dollar products, he gave us this gem:
I just wanted to give you a flavor of where my personal head is.

Of course, he wasn't alone. I got some good stuff from other people at work.

It raises an eyelash
On top of the ball
electronical
configurated
There are two thoughts of school
It's dry to the bone
The steering wheel was not adhesed to the column
You shouldn't let your gas get to low because the crud floats to the bottom
He's a vivid beer drinker avid
I was tongue twisting
Get all my aces in a row
He was brown balled
The drivers were red-necking the accident
We were like oil and vinegar
The order fell through the loops
Out of the frying pan, and into the skillet
Just bite the dust and do it
I don't have any ideal
Full of salt and vinegar
Don't eat with your mouth full
He keeps coming back like a wooden nickel
It's boogered up 6 days to Sunday.
She's as cute as a whip
We don't want to be reliable for damage That is true
Rub it in your nose
It stinks like high heaven
I need a drink. I'm perched.
You have to let sleepy dogs lay down and go to sleep
Bull in a China bowl
That's what tipped the iceberg
Look at the rounth of it
We face liquid dated charges
It holds various and combined articulum
There's a lot of testerone in there.
Get some blinko galoba
Wet behind the gills
It was a shamesty of justice
Lay aside your indifferences
Brown glucose spider
It's all come untogether
I'm just a little pre-cautious
I'm going to catch the jet eye
He's bi-sectional bisexual

E-mails are always fun.

We need to aspertane the situation
You don't know me Jack from Adam
Inguage lunch sequence
Somethings fishy in fishtown
They suggest putting a reverence on the drawing

A Musical Interlude

Recently, I broke down and gave my son the link to this blog. He's about to start married life himself, so I figured he's old enough to know things.

Shortly after I was divorced, I made the decision to keep my dating life and my kids separate. Until he read it here, he had no idea. I always wondered if he ever had any idea that I was dating. He assured me he did not. It is true that your kids don't think of you in that way.

Shortly after moving to Orlando, all three of them decided that it was up to them to get me paired off with a female, and they began the conspiracy to pick their favorite. Naturally, they did not bother to ask me what I wanted, so that failed miserably. It was like having two little Angies living in my house. The notable exception was, and still is, the youngest.

Last year, Katherine called and asked me what I was doing for my birthday. I told her I had a fine evening of chair sitting and television watching planned to commemorate the event. That would not do, so she said she was taking me and the girl out to dinner. When I arrive home from the office, she was already there with the young girl child, age 14.

As we drove to dinner, my mom called to wish me a happy birthday, and warble the song intentionally off key so as to drive me nuts. It's a tradition. As I was speaking to her, I was half-listening to the conversation on the other side of the truck.

Apparently, the daughter made her feelings known to Katherine about the prospect of my providing her with a step-mother. "He can do whatever he wants after I go to college. I don't want any other women in the house until I only have to visit them."

As you would expect, this revelation took the focus off mom's call. As I listened to the back and forth between Katherine and my daughter, I began to understand. She wasn't interested in me getting back together with her mother. That was met with an emphatic "NO!" But, she completely interested in needling Katherine as much as possible.

There are points in your kid's lives when you start to figure out just from which parent they get their sense of humor. This was one of those times. She had mine, and she was busily abusing Katherine with it.

It was a good birthday.

Florida III: Just Because All the Kids are Doing It

I had met Vicky at my daughter's school. I was sitting in the bleachers in the gym, waiting for the Spring chorus concert to start. I had another hour to go since my daughter had to be at the school over an hour early. I didn't feel like driving home, so I sat and read a book. Vicky was a volunteer mother who worked in the office to fill her time. Her daughter is a couple of years younger than mine, so they didn't have any classes together.

Vicky saw me sitting in the gym, basically alone, and she walked up the aisle to say hello. "We don't get many fathers at these things." was her opening line. I said I knew, since I was usually the only one. The school system we are in is one of the better ones, but most of the fathers work jobs that require 80 hours a week, if they come home at all. I guess I stood out because I was at every one of the performances. We talked a short time, and she walked away when people started to file in.

Over the next summer, I had a lot of communication with the guidance counselor about my daughter's schedule. She was in her last year of middle school. I found out that I had been talking with Vicky most of the time. From that time on, I ran into Vicky at school functions quite frequently. She made several attempts to set up a date, but I wasn't going for it. I really wasn't interested at the time. I had too much going on to try and work a relationship in. Besides, she had a definite desperation vibe.

Finally, in March of 2010, I took the bait. My ex-wife was coming to town for a conference, and the kids were going to be occupied with her. Vicky called on Wednesday, and asked if I had plans to go to the free concert at Universal Studios that Saturday. Universal has a Mardi Gras celebration on Saturdays for a few months every year, with concerts after the park closes. I have a pass, so I go regularly. Without thinking, I told Vicky that the ex was in town, and I figured I would get out of the house and go.

That was when she pounced. "Well, I was going too. Why don't we go together?" At this point, I figured, "Why not? What's the worst that can happen?" Never ask that question. Ever.

So, I agreed, and then I figured I might as well go all out and asked if she wanted me to pick her up. She said she didn't want me to have to drive to her house, then drive back by my place on the way to the park. I guess she thought that since I finally agreed to a date, she didn't want to mess with it.

Saturday afternoon came around, and we agreed to meet at 6:00 in front of the movie theatre as you enter Citywalk. I am usually 5 minutes early when I go somewhere, and this was no exception. When I stepped off the peoplemover, I saw her standing near the rail. I have to say she looked very nice, but there was just something off about her. I couldn't tell what it was, but something did not look right.

We said hi and made some small talk before turning and walking toward the Studios. As I said, it was a Mardi Gras Saturday, and there are several extra green trash cans everywhere because more drinks are available. Got to keep those drunks from throwing garbage just anywhere. Well, we had walked about 20 feet when Vicky turned to me, put her hand to her mouth, said she was sorry, and sprinted to the nearest trash can. She grabbed the rim of the can, bent over, and began regurgitating (See Mom, I didn't say vomit). I had no idea that one person could "deposit" that much garbage without a few gallons of alcohol prior.

Now, here's the part of the story I have never shared. I cannot be around people who are engaging in this activity. I can't stand the smell, sight, or sound of it. It makes me want to join in. So, I did. Not much, mind you, but just enough. Two people puking in a garbage can at Universal Studios on a first date. It was a Hallmark moment. There should be a card.

After what I'm sure was a few hours, Vicky finished, and the vendor standing nearby gave us a free bottle of water (who says theme parks don't have a heart?) to wash out our mouths. Turns out Vicky had been sick all day, but she was determined to make the date. She made it, but not for long. I walked her back to her car, and she apologized every other sentence. I told her it was ok, but she was sure she had ruined her chances forever (She hadn't). She absolutely refused a ride home, insisting she drive herself. I gave her a hug (no way in hell I was kissing her at this point), and watched her drive off. I told her to let me know when she made it home.

I stood there wondering what to do next. After I called my friend and had a good laugh, I went to the concert.

Florida II: Hell Hath No Fury, She Hath No Sense

After the control date from Catherine, things went back to where they had been. I went to work out, and she would be there. Every. Day. I must admit I was enjoying the attention from a good looking girl, but I always wondered, why me?

After another 4 or 5 weeks of being workout buddies, I got a call from my friend Sam as I was on the way down to the little gym. I was running late that evening, and it had started to get dark, so the pool area was vacant. I walked around the pool as Sam and I spoke. The gym was around a small corner in the pool area, and I could see Catherine warming up. She waved as I walked past, and I pointed at the phone.

Sam had called to ask me about a few things, and the conversation invariably turned to my social life, as it had seemed to do a lot with him. I told him that I had met a woman named Kathy, in addition to Katherine, and Catherine. It appeared that I was destined to be around some variation of KCatherine/athy for a long time.

We laughed about the absurd circumstances I usually found myself in with women. As I passed the gym door, I could see Catherine still warming up. Really, it doesn't take that long, but she was stretching it out waiting for me. Further into the call, I stayed on the opposite side of the deck so I could have some semblence of privacy.I hung up, and walked over to the gym. Catherine was standing outside the door, next to the wall, and just out of sight of where I had been.

"We need to talk." Oh Crap. You are familiar with the three little words women want to hear? These are the four little words no human ever wants to hear. If you are in a relationship, it is a key indicator you might not be much longer. If you aren't in a relationship, 1] the woman wants to know why, or 2] the man is telling you why you won't be.

We walked into the gym and sat down. "I need to know more about this relationship." Relationship? What relationship? We work out. We went out one time. I've known you for over two months, and I barely know what you do for a living (turns out I was wrong about that). I've met your best friend because you brought her here. Oh, CRAP! Should have known why she did that. Stupid. What do I say to her?

"OK. What do you want to know?" Smooth move...Moron.

"Are you seeing other people?"

Good Lord woman, I'm not seeing you. How could I see other people? Think quick. "Well, we only went out the one time, and we never decided on anything formal here, so it's a possibility."

She seemed relieved. At least, her body languaged changed to appear more relaxed. "So, you haven't been out with anyone else?"

"Not for a while. I haven't really had the time."

"I'm glad. I just want you to know, I'm not going out with anyone else either. I want us to be exclusive, because I really want this to work."

There it was. She was throwing down the commitment gauntlet. This was news because, I didn't think of her that way. I wasn't interested in a romantic relationship. I wasn't even sure I could get excited about dating her. She wasn't all that interesting, other than being a beautiful girl. I thought of how I could say no to her, and not hurt her feelings.

"Cathy, I'm not really ready to take that step right now. It's not you (Lie). I'm not ready to to take it with anyone (Lie again)."

Oh great. The lower lip quiver. The tears will start soon. You are going to give in. It's a done deal once the waterworks kick in. Face it. You are doomed. Goodbye cruel world.

"I just wa...wan...wanted...a...a...a...chance for you to...to...to...see how good it could be." And there they are. In between sobs, she mumbled some other stuff, but I won't bore you with the details.

I had three options. 1] Let her cry. Stand my ground. Ride it out. 2] Let her cry. Walk away. (For the record, I really liked this one), and 3] Give it a try. What's the worst that can happen? Never ask this question. Ever.

After a few minutes of internal debate, I decided I would try to defuse the situation without committing to anything. I thought I had the answer. "Cathy, I'm not sure I really want to do this. Why don't we go to dinner again, and see what happens." My friends who are actual females all used the same word when I relayed this incident to them, so there's no need to call me a dumbass now. It would just be redundant at this point.

I should have just made a clean break, but I stupidly tried to ease my way out. Catherine's tears stopped, and she smiled. "When?" Her eagerness gave me a clue that I was just dropping further into the hole.

"How about next Tuesday?" I know it seemed like an odd day, but for some reason I can no longer remember, Tuesdays were good for me.

She quickly agreed, and I entered the Catherine Committment Zone. Let me explain. The CCZ is a magical place, where it's not necessary for you to even realize you are in it. 6am wake up calls are a given. There would be no useful information whatsoever transmitted during these wonderful interactions between us. Alexander Graham Bell would have punched me dead in the face for wasting his invention on something so stupid. The calls generally went like this;

"Hello."

"Good morning 'baby/sexy/honey/sweetie/cutie' (she liked to mix it up)"

"Good morning to you."

"I'm off to the shower. Talk to you later."

And that was it. The "relationship" was a deep, psychological connection.

She continued to show up at the gym every day, and call me every morning, noon, and night. If you added up all the phone calls for the 6 days leading up to our date, I would say that we got in at least 9 minutes of conversation. Deep, psychological connection.

Tuesday rolled around, and I showed up at her door, half expecting some new zaniness on her part. Perhaps she would be decked out for an evening of horseback riding. When she opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised. She was wearing a very nice blue dress. She was ready for an evening out. We went to a nice Italian joint, and she managed to handle a little more than small talk. All in all, it was a pleasant diversion from the date I had envisioned.

I still wasn't feeling anything long term with her, but that had everything to do with the unmatched interests. I really was a little unhappy about it, because she is a very attractive woman. However, that can't be all there is, so I knew it was never going to work.

I took her home, and rather than spoil the evening, I decided to wait a day or two, because I wanted to think it through and be sure. I got up to leave, and Catherine walked over to me to give me a hug. I really didn't want her to take more out of the situation than I was willing to give. I had basically decided that this wasn't going to work, so why push it?

It appeared that she had also made a few decisions of her own regarding this relationship. Before I could really react, she planted a kiss on me. It wasn't an aggressive kiss, but it was a longer-than-a-peck-lip-on-lip type kiss. She followed that up with rather inappropriate hand motions. Our friend A in Dayton will not like it, but I was prepared to end this thing with her, so I did not appreciate the grabbing of junior and the twins.

I pushed her back, and let it be known that it had a been a nice evening, but that was all. With that, I turned and left without a word. By the time I got home, she had already called to apologize. Twice. With text messages. I told her we were not at that point, and we weren't going to get there, and she couldn't force it.

I had already had my fill of those women in Ohio. Catherine had actually done me a huge favor, because she just made it crystal clear that this was never going anywhere, and I needed to end it.

The next day at the gym, she was apologetic, although the 6am and noon calls were just as short as usual. We sat down, and I told her it was finished. She called again that night, and again at 6am the next morning. That calls were longer, because she wanted me to reconsider.

For the next several days, she asked for an explanation. The following Tuesday, we sat down and I went over it very carefully. She seemed to finally get it.

The next day, Wednesday, I got home from work at the usual time, changed, and headed out the back to the gym. I ran right into Catherine. She was in the common yard walking the dog. Here's the problem. She has her own yard several hundred yards away near her place. Plus, she didn't own a dog. It was her neighbor's dog. That sound you hear is the key turning the ignition to start up the crazy.

The next day, Thursday, I walked out into the yard a little slow. There was no sign of Catherine. I walked to the gym, walked in the door, and ran into the most disconcerting sight I've ever known. Catherine was in the gym, and she had 4 of her friends with her. They were on the treadmill, elliptical, and stationary bikes. And they all had their eyes on me. In no way could I have considered it to be a good thing, because it was a scowl-fest.

I tried to work out, but I cold feel all those eyes on me, staring. When I met any of their stares, they would roll their eyes, and look away, huffing in contempt. I could only imagine what Catherine had told them. The only one who held my glance was Renee, Catherine's best friend. She seemed to have less venom.

I stayed in the gym all of 15 minutes, and went home. I fired off a text to Katherine detailing the whole dog and attempts to kill me with their vision thing. She had been in on the details from the beginning. She texted or called, I don't remember, and asked a lot of questions. She also asked if I wanted to go to Universal that Saturday and blow off some steam.

I met Katherine at Universal Studios around noon. We went in, saw a movie, and went into one of the theme parks. During the day, my phone rang, but I sometimes don't hear it in the park. Catherine called a couple of times, but she never left a message. Katherine instructed me that I should not call her back unless she left a message asking me to do so. Yes ma'am. "If you had listened in the first place." Yes mother.

Later in the day, my son joined us after he got off work. We stopped at Wendy's on the way home, and while we were eating, Catherine sent a text. I have to paraphrase, but it said something along the lines of "baby, I'm so sorry, can't we start again?"

It was well after 11pm, so I decided I would call her the next day after church. I shut my phone down during church, and when I turned it on after the service, I had 13 calls from Catherine. All of them were made in the 90 minutes I had turned the phone off. I showed it to my friend Sharon, who knew what was going on. She said, "Oh, stalker bad." Really, you think?

When I showed the phone to Katherine, her response was a little more animated. "SHUT UP! You better stop this now." Again, thanks Captain Obvious.

I finally called Catherine later that evening. I met her down at the pier in the back of the condo complex. I figured if I couldn't get through to her, I could always dump the body in the lake. It took a while, but she did manage to get a handle on the whole "It's not me, it's really all you" thing. She was apologetic, and she cried a little, but I did not let it bother me. The multiple calls mixed in with her pack of crazed hyenas were the last straw.

She still had a little trouble with the wake up call. That went on for a few more days, until she actually figured out I was serious about not calling. It's hard to let those long established traditions go.

So, here I was, left with another round of complete absurdity. At least I can laugh about it now.

Florida I: A Mind is a Terrible Thing

In the summer of 2006, I relocated to Orlando. One of the happy consequences of the move was no more fix-ups. No one other than the sister-in-law, that is.

Anyway, I had moved across country from Cincinnati to Orlando, and irony of ironies, my first date was with a woman who was from Cincinnati. That is not a tale for these pages, since it was not a bad time. It didn't take long, however, to determine that we were never going to be more than good friends. That much was obvious when the final phase of the evening was devoted to repairing a childrens table for the church toddler class, and neither one of us thought twice about it. I'll lay odds you've never knelt on the floor with a staple gun in hand doing arts and crafts on your dates.

I included Katherine here because 1] she's a good sport, and 2] she is the perfect seque. Cincinnati to Orlando, Girl from Cincinnati, Girl named Katherine, ---- In late March, 2008, I decided it was time to get my butt in the gym. The condos where I lived had  a small gym, so I spent an hour every evening working out in the gym. One Saturday, I went in early, and that's when I met Catherine. TAH DAH!

Catherine was walking on the treadmill while I was doing the circuit on the weight machines. We said hi, and made some small talk. The workout always went a little faster when I could talk to someone. I was usually the only person in the room. She didn't seem to be that interested in talking much. She told me later that she thought I was hitting on her. I was just passing time.

The next week, I went in on Sunday afternoon. I was all alone when Catherine walked in. We said hi, and started to talk a little more. By the third weekend, she actually smiled when she saw me.

When I walked into the gym at my usual time that Monday, Catherine was already there. It was not a day when she normally worked out, but I didn't think much about it. For the next two weeks, she showed up in the gym every day at 5:30, when I would normally work out. Yes, she was going on purpose. Yes, I realized it, although not for a few weeks (I can be a little slow when it comes to these things). And yes, she was interested.

On the other hand, I wasn't as interested. Catherine was a brunette (plus), employed (plus), 29 (BIG minus). At the age of 42, I was not interested in girls that young. I try to keep within at least 10 years. Anyway, it wasn't a big deal, because I had no intentions toward her other than friendship.

Sometime in May, we had met at the gym to work out one Saturday morning. After we were finished, she asked me if I wanted to go get some lunch. I said sure. After all, we had just finished sweating in the gym, who could possibly think that was a date? Oh, you poor naive boy.

We were sitting in Quizno's eating sandwiches, and making small talk. I was uncomfortable in my sweaty clothes, and I made a comment about it. "That's ok. We can get dressed up for dinner next week." I would guess that my face betrayed my confusion about her remark, because she asked if I would like to go to dinner on Tuesday.

Now, I know a lot of people who are simultaneously female and friends, and most of them will tell you that girls like to be asked. So, where are they? I haven't run across that many. I moved back to the south, and here's a girl that is younger than I am asking me to dinner. What do I do? "Sure, that sounds good." I am still a guy. Mistake number one.

I made reservations at a restaurant where I had been wanting to eat, and I told Catherine where we were going when she asked. That would prove to be mistake number two.

Tuesday rolled around, and drove to the back of the condo complex to pick her up. When I knocked on the door, she answered almost immediately. I was wearing casual dress, but she was wearing shorts, tennis shoes, and little dog's shirt.

"Am I early?" Knowing full well I wasn't.

"No. come on let's go."

"We have reservations at Timpano, you know."

"No we don't. I called and cancelled. We're going to do something else."

What?"

"Get in the car and I'll tell you." We walked down the stairs, and she led me to her car. She drove around to my apartment, and told me to go in a and change. I got out of the car wondering what was going on. This was something entirely new. I halfway thought that since she asked me out, she wanted to plan the evening. I wasn't opposed to it. I just wasn't ready for it. I changed into shorts and tennis shoes.

I got back into her car, and off we went. Now, I enjoyed a round of miniature golf as much as the next person, but I was not expecting to be playing the game that night. Not only did Catherine hijack the evening, but she insisted on paying for everything. When it came time to pay, her credit card magically appeared in her hand. I never saw her reach for it. Wolverine has claws. Catherine has a credit card that shoots from her palm. I have never seen a swipe go that quickly.

Recently, a friend called me a Renaissance man. Apparently, since I open doors for women, and walk them to their cars, I qualify as an old school guy. I have to give that one to the parents. So, when this girl insisted on driving and paying it didn't really sit well with me, but I guess I have to try something new every now and then.

After 36 holes, two rounds of golf, we climbed back into the car. She drove at a casual pace, and we continued to make small talk. That was part of the problem. She only knew how to make small talk. Generally, I would like my dates to have more depth than, "OH! I love this song!" It's also helpful when discussing the geographical locations of states that they don't refer to it as "history".

I began to really take stock of this girl. There was very little below the surface, although the surface was fairly spectacular. I have been around too long for that to be the deciding factor. It's not that I am not interested in a beautiful woman, I just want one that can point out the US on a globe. She needs to know what a globe is, of course.

We cruised up International Drive, and Catherine let me know her second passion in life, the Dairy Queen chili dog. Here I am, out with a cute brunette girl who likes mini golf, chili dogs, and wearing Malibu Barbie's clothes. What could possibly be wrong with this picture? Other than the fact that I was not 16, I couldn't think of a thing.

When we finally got back to her place, we had been out four hours, talked non-stop, and I still knew very little about her. I was very careful to avoid a good night kiss, opting for a friend hug. I did not want her to get any ideas.

It was far too late for that. It was just the beginning of the rabbit hole.

Ohio: That's a Wrap People: Viewer Mail

So, I left Cincinnati with memories of both fun and weird times.

I have fielded a few questions from people about the blog, so it's time for viewer mail.

A in Dayton tells us, "You are crazy. If I had been in your position, I'd have been a total horn dog."
If you enjoy cheap and questionable, have at it my friend.

This one's from Sheri in Kentucky.
"Why did you change my name? You can use it."
Well Sheri, some people might think you're the villian of these tales, and I didn't want anyone to know you were actually Angie. So, if you don't mind, let's just keep that information to ourselves.

S in Florida writes, "Why don't you start selecting the women instead of letting other people do it for you?"
It's simple really. I was a single father with three, count em three, kids at home. I was simply very busy. My friends meant well, and I mostly did it to have something to do. I also had the misfortune of not meeting a woman I would have considered dating. I have, however, met a couple in the past few years. Some of them will make the pages here.

JC in Mississippi had this comment, " Still wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes. You really paint a picture."
Thanks JC. I'm am certainly glad that my humiliation has brought you such joy.

V from Orlando writes, "I am so scared that our first date is going to make these pages."
No need to be scared V. It will absolutely make these pages.

D texts me from Kissimmee, "Hahahhahaha....Oh BTW...I have a single friend. Have you ever considered being a writer?"
It's gratifying to find that your laughter completely wipes your memories of what you just read. Did we not learn anything?
And yes, I considered being a writer once I started to WRITE down the tales in my blog.

T sends mail all the way from California. "You are a trip. Makes me wanna give you a cyber hug while laughing in your ear...and finding you a blind date or two. I think it's midget time ;)
How have you survived all these 8 years or so? Any longish relationships taken your fancy?"
Thanks for the hug. As for the midget, leave the comedy to the professionals.
I have managed to survive all these years by eating and sleeping. I have also had a couple of relationships that went a few months, including a woman who dated me while I had no idea that's what we were doing.

T from New Orleans lets me in on this secret about Round One, "I cannot believe she said that. She had nerve."
"Thanks for the insight."

Well, that's all for now. Keep those letters coming  - liquidpanda@juno.com

Round Seven: How to Boil a Frog

Note: I only include this event because it was one of the last in a long line strange incidents north of the Mason-Dixon line.

I was told not too long ago that men who cook were sexy. I never really thought about it before, but it reminded me of an incident that occurred in mid 2005. I was teaching cooking classes at my church. I had a good mix of ladies from the church taking the classes. One day at work, I happened to mention to Dana that I had to pick up some ingredients for class that night.

Dana was fascinated that I could cook, much less teach classes. I showed her some of my recipes, and she took one she liked to try out. About three weeks later, Dana walked in my office early Monday morning. "That was the best meat loaf I've ever made. The family loved it." I thanked her, and she went back to her office.

A few weeks later, Dana approached me about teaching a class to several of her friends. I would go to her house, and use her kitchen. I thought it might be a start to a little side business. It seemed to be a tailor made situation.

Dana and I worked out a basic menu, based on what her friends were interested in learning. I thought we'd need  around 3 hours to prepare, cook, and eat the dishes. Also, I considered the goof off time and added it in.

The night of the scheduled class arrived, and I stopped at the store to get all the supplies. I pulled in at Dana's house, expecting to be there before her friends, so I could set up and prepare. Naturally, because the story involves me, that would not be the case.

Dana answered the door, and it was fairly obvious that she had been drinking. When I stepped into the living room, there were five other women sitting around a coffee table that had five or six empty wine bottles on it. They had all gotten to Dana's shortly after 5:00, and they had plenty of time to get hammered before I arrived at 6:30.

Thinking it didn't matter if they were drunk since I was doing the cooking, I decided to press on with the class. I would just have to keep the sharp objects away from the happy students. Dana's kitchen had a large island in the center, and about 4 feet of floor on three sides. It was a tight fit for seven people, but it would work.

It took around 20 minutes to get everything in order. It should have taken 10, but the ladies had walked into the kitchen see everything, and they were mostly in the way. Similar to 4 year olds, they had to pick everything up, because naturally none of them had ever seen food before. I won't go through the exercise of giving the names of these women because I don't remember them all. I do recall that all but two were married, and the single girls were the most well behaved.

The evening started off weird, and this group of inebriated females managed to make it even stranger. Try to imagine you are in a room with six women, who are in close proximity, and filled with liquid courage. Please don't delude yourself into thinking they put away their glasses, or that I was there because they were really interested in learning about cooking. I soon came to understand this was a drinking party, with a little cooking thrown in.

If you've ever heard the story of boiling a frog in a pot, then you know that in this scenario, I was the frog, and the kitchen was the pot. And the first sign I realized it, was when I was preparing the chicken with a seasoning rub. "I like the way you handle your meat." I don't know who said it, because I didn't look up. That was a mistake. I made a sarcastic comment along the lines of, "Gee, never heard that one before." The comments got less creative, and and before I put anything on the stove, one of the women produced a box of the finest Pinot Noir $6 can buy.

As the wine flowed, the kitchen magically got smaller. I mean, "ladies", I'm sure your bra works just fine without the added support of my back and/or arm. I'm sure they are lovely, just don't rub them on me. I haven't kept up with all my vaccinations over the years. Also, I can cook just fine with my shirt on, thank you. Why they'd want me to take off my shirt is a mystery. Sure, I was a 39 year old who faithfully went to the gym twice a year, but that still didn't make it prime viewing material.

Anyway, after I finally said enough was enough, they suddenly got apologetic. "We'll behave." Dana assured me. Uh Huh. As I said, the two single girls were the most well behaved, and they seemed to be interested in the actual preparation and cooking. One of the girls was named Cindy, and I noticed that she continued to nurse the same glass of wine the entire evening. She took a position beside me, and created a buffer zone to keep out the crazies.

Things went better after my personal bodyguard was on the job. She subtly slipped herself in front of the charging wildlife and actually slapped a few hands.  The other single girl stood on the opposite side, but she wasn't shielding anything. She was as drunk as the others, but more civil.

I managed to get everything done, and when the women sat down to eat, I cleaned up my utensils and pots instead of eating with them. Cindy came back in to help me, and I was grateful to finish faster.

She carried a box to my car, and she asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner. I asked how old she was, and immediately explained why I had asked the forbidden question. She laughed, and said it was no big deal. She said she was 36. OK. that's better. At least she was in the right age range. I only had a concern with her questionable taste in friends.

Cindy turned out to be the last date I had in Ohio. We went to dinner, saw a movie, and it was really a little plain. I was relieved. We really had little in common, because when you talk to a drunk woman who is in the company of drunker women, she might appear to be a great alternative, but sober is going to roll around at some point. The lack of anything during our date worthy of mention made it a memorable time.

The next time I saw Dana was at work. I didn't want to see her, because , well, do I really have to explain it? She waltzed into my office like nothing happened and began to talk about what a great time they had, how much they enjoyed the food, and that they wanted to do it again. She wanted to scheduled another "class" in a couple of weeks.

I sat back in my chair, and I calmly said no. "Well, why not. We had the best time."

"Good for you that you had a good time. I'm not doing it again."

"The girls all liked you, even if you were a little bit of a stick in the mud."

A stick in the mud? Really? A stick in the mud? I wanted to be polite, and at least pretend that I was not unhappy with her. I had to work with this woman. In the end, I suppressed my my natural desire to leap over the desk and smash this woman into the floor. I looked at Dana, and in a very calm, very controlled voice, I simply said,

"If you and your G$% D$%# drunken harpy coven want a ladies' night, and I stretch the term beyond meaning, order a f%&^#$& pizza."

For some reason, Dana wasn't that unhappy when I left the next year. Can't imagine why.

Round Six: Criminals Always Return to the Scene

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.