Saturday, January 17, 2015
This new year 2015 is taking no lip. In fact, I had to tell a would-be date I had planned on all week long to shove off.
He looked so GOOD on paper. Owned a successful HVAC business in California, still has a hobby ranch there. Came out here to retire, built a gorgeous 6 bedroom, 3 bath, recording studio, 2 fireplace, home up on the cliffs overlooking town out by Chapel Lake, financial security! A baby grand piano, a concert level pianist. We had lots in common, and couldn't wait to meet.
Until, a little voice in me decided to Google his name.
What shows up? The U.S. District Attourney's Office--District of South Dakota. Charges from two years ago, probation. Selling weed with a 357 Smith and Wesson with the serial number scratched off. To me anyway, there is a big difference between a hippie smoking the occasional joint, and someone running around Sons of Anarchy-style, toting around a big weapon with the numbers off, armed and SELLING weed. That's no Ben and Jerry's happy-laid-back-hippie who's only offense is eating all the Pringles in one sitting.
Then there's another charge, but for some reason I can't get the article, but it reads like this, "_________, Tina Marie harboring a fugitive . . . child pornography . . . pleaded innocent . . ."
WTF. And the MOST important article, and I can't get it to open!? Well, it does open, but it takes me to an exhaustive list of crimes committed in the state for the ENTIRE year. I DO feel like researching it, but will have to on someone else's faster computer.
So, I realize I MUST BOW out of this date. As in immediately. I know myself too well, that if he were charming and good looking enough in person, it'd be harder to follow my gut. Still, I could have asked for the story on the actual date, been all judicial and simply straight up asked him to explain himself, but how would that have gone?
"Wow, this pizza is really good!" he'd say.
"Yeah it is (awkward silence) so I got a neat idea for a game, let's Google our names and see what comes up. You first!"
So I texted him.
"Hi Troy. I'm gonna have to pass today. I put your name into Google, and it freaked me out with some charges against you in court (?). I'm a pretty law-abiding person. And I wish you all good luck. I don't want any trouble. Hope you understand."
I get this text:
"That's fine. I was in possession of a firearm with an altered serial number. I had inherited it from my father's estate. He aquired it from a loan he'd given to one of his mechanics. Bad luck. I've never been in trouble with the law before. Oh well. Can't say I appreciate being scrutinized that way anyways. You could have just asked. I would've told you anyways. So be it."
I texted: "I was only trying to send you a 'friend request' on Facebook. That's how all that showed up in Google. Have you ever Googled your name? It shows all government records. It shows what is out there about you."
And the great last text I got? His famous, noble last words?
Whatever? Can you believe it? How come no story about the selling weed with a gun? How come no story to explain the other horrific charge?
How about blaming it all on me? Let me guess this straight. Women are just supposed to willy-nilly just believe everything a stranger says without doing some leg work?
This is one great thing about the internet. Sigh.
What ironically led me to do this search on him was yet another internet guy I've met. This one CLAIMS to be a retired Canadian Mountie Special Forces retired agent. CLAIMS. Anyway, it was him who told me to be this cautious with this cat to begin with. So, for that, I'm grateful.
Stay tuned. There's more men lurking in the internet shadows.
The Detective Dater
Monday, December 29, 2014
Now, we're getting ready to roll in the new year. And roll out some old dudes.
No word from Crackie. Surprising. Not. Nebraska Guy who owns his own electrical business BUT took me out for a wonderful dinner earlier this month has gone AWOL, too. So typical. So boring. So flaky.
However two new dudes, rolled in via my internet site. One is one who asked me out about a year ago and lives surprise, surprise, in Wyoming.
Wyoming Theory goes as follows.
The good dudes who are from western South Dakota are all married or losers. The marrieds are snapped up immediately after college. The losers remain here. Western South Dakota has very few good paying jobs, so the single smart guys who are not losers, go and work either west, in oil fields of Wyoming or north in the energy business of North Dakota. There's a shit ton bunch of them.
Hence, Dean (why not use real names?) is texting me. He's in the energy business. These energy guys are all hot, but they all seem flaky too. Just like Greg, his real name, (aka Wildcat) who's in the energy biz in North Dakota (see a few blogs back), who still occasionally texts me, constantly replying, "I need to make time to come down and meet you," but never does because he's always flying off to Montana on his off days to ride horses at some friend's ranch or flying instead to Georgia to spend time with his kids and grandkids (noble, but why kid yourself and chicks like me that you have time to date?). WTF.
So it's not boring. But nothing ever seems to come of it.
The other day I texted Energy Bill (aka, "Deadwood Dick"), "We have been texting for going on a year. This is RIDICULOUS. Let's meet or forget it." He texted back, "Yes, we will You're right." But then I haven't heard from him since.
See where this is going?
It gets OLD. More later.
Monday, December 22, 2014
This pic is also a good metaphor for my dating life right now.
I can't believe I didn't write at all last month. But, hey, I've got a second job these days, so I've been busy.
However, December is looking up. I had TWO dates, one with New Guy and the other with Crackie.
Yes, Crackie's back. Like always, full of drama. This time he blew into town with a blown-out ACL and wearing a leg brace, and a broken wrist and temporary cast. When he's manic, he's wildly entertaining and wildly clumsy too.
Besides flying to Hawaii for a few months last winter and hangin' with Woody Harelson, camping in Wisconsin and hanging out with the CEO's of Naturally Organic, spending rally with the Hell's Angels, it's just another day in the life for Crackie. Oh, and he bought a three bedroom house for only a grand, providing he moves it off the land onto his property out on the prairie. Who finds houses for under a grand? Leave it to him to find an original Salvador Dahli, first edition of Gone With the Wind, houses for under a grand, valuable motorcycles for next to nothing.
Never a dull moment. He brought me my Xmas present, gorgeous hand carved antique tribal book bookends from Hawaii. He wined and dined me, and like always, we held hands, kissed, but like always, it never went any further and he spent two nights on the twin bed in the basement.
Crackie. If only he didn't have bi-polar and depression. Because when he's on a high, he's a million laughs, as addictive as Anthony Bourdain, a three ring circus. Crackie even looks like a muscular version of Anthony Bourdain--sarcastic, intelligent, tall, dark, brooding and handsome.
At one point he said, "Dad and I were talking the other day. He said, 'Why don't you find a good hearted woman and just settle down here out along the prairies? Find a woman who'd like living out in the boonies.'" Then he looked at me, "Would you like that?"
"Hell, yeah," I said. I mean this is me, the original pioneer woman.
"You mean that? You'd like that kind of lifestyle?" he asked.
"Well, hell yeah. Are you effin kidding me?" Then I wondered what is he asking of me? Crackie, the guy who broke my heart in 2011 by just up and disappearing on me when he hit a low in his bi-polar. Could I really trust him?
I told JJ all this, and she said, "If you could be with the New Guy or Crackie, who would you choose? Who do you really want to be with if you could choose?" I saw where she was going with this.
New Guy is kind of boring. But he's stable. Owns his own electrical business. I don't know him very well, but it appears he's stable and mentally healthy. Crackie's track record isn't good. He's never been married. Engaged only once, but he broke it off. He's got bi-polar AND depression, high blood pressure, and semi-diabetic. But there's fire between us, intellectual chemistry and passion. We stay up all night discussing the universe, Northern Exposure, Alaska, EPA regulations, wildlife. We can talk hours about travel and philosophy and books.
But I'm not stupid. He's on disability. New Guys owns a business, represents stability. I'm not a romantic child-woman, stuck proverbial in her mental 20's. No, I'm a grown woman. It's complicated.
Sigh. More later.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Speaking of Wyoming, do I have a story for you.
So, I meet this guy online from Wyoming last weekend whom I will call Cractus Man. He's Cractus Man because he's one part Crackie (who wrote me two weeks ago, BTW) and gasp, one part Cactus Man. Horrendous, right?
I didn't know he was Count Cractus Man initially four days ago. Talk about a whirlwind romance that went south. Is THIS the whirlwind romance that Daniel and Joan saw in my future last summer?
Anyway, on paper, this guy looked GREAT! Good looking, educated, lives not far away, and get this A FUCKING PULITZER PRIZE WINNING journalist. Yes, for war-reporting. How often do you meet someone like that? He's all over Google, because, well, he's famous.
Talk about exciting. And he's a novelist. He has 3 books on Amazon for sale.
Marriage made in heaven, right? He's funny, self-deprecating and hunky. Two writers! Two peas in a pod.
Firstly, is it not brilliant that some guys have public FB pages? The sexy race car driver, Wildcat, and this guy? It's brilliant because you can stalk their FB and go back a year or so and find out if they're brave or stupid enough to post stuff about their personal life. Then you can decide if you want their drama or not.
So, I find out that Cractus Man has had apparently a lot of drama. A LOT.
According to his FB page, his "love of my life" threw him out in July back in Florida then he threw a suitcase of clothes and his computers in his "Jag" and proceeded to drive cross country to visit some weirdo friend in California who called the cops on him. Cractus then gave the cops a hard time, so he wound up in jail. Then he drove out to Laramie Wyoming, for who knows what reason, where his car broke down, and he's living in it near the river while doing a guest panel discussion for the journalism department of Wyoming. The ONLY thing he admitted to me was the last sentence about doing a panel discussion for them. Everything else he neglected to mention to me, thanks FB.
So we're emailing back and forth, and I'm not letting on that I've stalked his FB, and he's dying to meet me, saying he's smitten with me, going to buy a motorcycle and come over here and sweep me off my feet, and begging me to call him.
I'm thinking, moving a little fast, buddy, why? Why not find out more about him, first?
So I came right out and asked him, via email, what's going on in his life, that I've read his FB and that seems he has a little drama in his life right now.
Then, no replies. Just crickets. Finally, the only reply to my questions was . . . "Ah, just pull the trigger and call right now. No time for overthinking.,"
Huh? Why a gun metaphor? Then, "Say, where'd you go? Love is so fleeting." WTF.
I wrote him back that I'd like some answers before we proceed further, like what's going on in your personal life? Like, are you homeless? How come you didn't send me any new news articles that you've written? (I mean, wtf. Is he unemployed now and living in his car?) And if so, why? He's famous.
I get this reply:
"I sent you some faves, Nat. Love was a word synomous (sic ) with smitten.
Read______ (his novel, which I'm tactfully removing the title) Or don't. Make it complicated if that's
what suits you. I like it simple and pure and wear my heart on my
sleeve. So, good luck with whatever perceived assumptions keep you
locked up. I gave it a shot, because I'm romantic that way. Cheers,
I guess wanting to know if he's homeless and unemployed is keeping myself "locked up."
Un-fucking-believable. Never a dull moment, kiddies. Doooders said, "Man, Dude, be grateful you dodged a bullet here." Yeah, no kidding.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Bennie last year about this time. The weather is so gorgeous right now. I can't believe it's October. And it's almost the weekend, a three day long HOLIDAY weekend for me.
Sooooooooooooooooo, did I go out with the Wildcat last weekend? Nope. He said it had rained all week, therefore he was behind on construction so he had to work overtime.
Might I add, that I was right? Hence this quote from last week's blog:
"PLUS, he's got plenty of time to get cold feet and bail on me with some excuse. So why make big plans?"
Bingo. I hung out with a friend instead.
I'm sooooooooooooooooooooo tired of people letting me down. Men in particular. But the good thing is that at least men are predictable.
Wildcat is using his next vacation (he gets one every month for about 10 days) starting Friday, to fly home (Georgia) to see his mother who's in a rest home and his grandchildren.
Sooooo, it's not like I can fault him for that as that's something a "Good Guy" would do, visit family.
Maybe I'll finally meet him in November? But that's Thanksgiving. December? Sigh.
Oh, and Deadwood Dick is still writing me. He, too, makes his money off of North Dakota's energy boom, but he lives just up the road in Deadwood. Nevertheless, boy do we clash or what. I'll fill you in next time. And I have an update on Crackie, too. More to come.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Speaking of "hills" and "hollers" and such, that reminds me that I have a potential date this Saturday with a North Dakota handsome developer who grew up in Kentucky, hence "hollers" and "hills." The so called "date" is not with ONE man but three.
Well, not really, but kinda.
The Wildcat told me that his buddy went to Deadwood a few weeks ago and had a great time, and that the Black Hills were beautiful. So he has decided to come here with his developer-buddies in tow (these people in the energy/development biz have crazy hours and apparently travel a great deal). He told me that his buddies are fun, and I will be entertained by them.
At first he wanted me to meet them in Deadwood. Uh, no. For several reasons. If the guy wants to meet me, not only must he be the one to drive to meet me, but he had better pick up the tab, too. Plus, I hardly know this dude, so I ain't leaving my comfort zone of downtown with my own wheels, albeit bicycle wheels.
PLUS, he's got plenty of time to get cold feet and bail on me with some excuse. So why make big plans?
For that's what 99% of internet men do anyway, disappear, unless they're trolls and fuglies. And this dude is NO fuglie. He's the first cute internet dude I've encountered since Crackie, and that was 2011.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
I'm not sure we can still be "friends." He invited me to go up in the canyon this weekend to view the fall colors. I said sure, and asked that JJ could come along, too, since "the more the merrier with FRIENDS." He said OK.
But then he later texted me this:
"We could leave first thing in the morning, after I come over and stay overnight after my game."
ME: "Why would you come over and stay the night? We're just friends, and you live ten minutes away, not six hours away."
I.G.: "What if it snows?"
ME: "It's supposed to be eighty degrees, my silly FRIEND."
So I figured he was OK with being "just friends," but later on it seemed to me he was NOT OK. Firstly, on our trip into the canyon, he kept grabbing my knee and giving it a loving squeeze, which was embarrassing. Each time, I'd flinch and jerk it away. Do you allow your friends to grab your knees? Your Grandpappie? No. Ick.
Then he started up with the bad jokes and passive aggressive humor. It went like this.
"JJ, Nat said you wanted to go to Jack and Jills's in Sturgis to get some supplies."
"Huh?" asked JJ dumbfounded. "What?"
(Jack and Jill's is a sex shop. Secondly, it is only there during the Sturgis Rally, one week out of the year. And thirdly, I most certainly did NOT tell Indifferent Guy that JJ said this. This is his UNFUNNY way of flirting with me and getting everyone to be mindful of sex and horribly uncomfortable with his "jokes").
"I most certainly did NOT say any such thing," I retorted.
"Ick. Gross. Jack and Jills?," said JJ from the back seat.
"Are you sure? We can stop there. Maybe Nat wants to pick something up for herself, har, har har," he chortled to himself thinking his lascivious, inappropriate and seventh grade humor quite funny.
"Screw sex," JJ suddenly says impassioned. "It's over-rated."
"Yeah, screw sex. Thank god for menapause because that's the last damned thing I have on my mind these days. I'd take a bowl of good potato chips any day than sex." To illustrate this, I shake a bag of kettle chips JJ and I were sharing then pass them back to her.
"SEX, that's the last thing on my mind these days," JJ pipes up from the back, gleefully accepting the bag, and then JJ and I cackle like hens for a good ten seconds.
Dead silence from Indifferent Guy. We pretty much turned him into a Eunuch. And, for once, no sniggling, giggling, self righteous prooling or chortling. In fact, he pretty much ignored us the rest of the day.
I get it that I went too far. I didn't have to emasculate him, but he pushed me past my point. And my sex drive isn't that dead--it's just that I am NOT INTO HIM SEXUALLY WHATSOEVER EVEN IF THERE WAS A NUCLEAR FALLOUT AND HE WAS THE LAST MAN ON THE PLANET. It's just that enough is enough. Do I have to get a blow horn and scream out, LOOK. WE ARE JUST FRIENDS. I LOOK AT YOU LIKE I LOOK AT MY BROTHER.
OK, Universe, I have learned my lesson. Chemistry does matter. I feel badly for him, and I had originally tried to be nice, but now I'm going to have to ignore him because he was obviously NOT listening when I said we could be just friends.
Now, with the new dude whom I'll call Wildcat from North Dakota, that sex drive is oddly re-awoken. He's going to come down here next weekend with some buddies and party with me. Yup, you heard that right. More later.