Monday, December 29, 2014

End of the Year, Dude and Dud Patrol

Puttchanesca.  Low carb because it was spiralized.  Just one of 2014's better meals.

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

Crackie's Back and other Oddities

Doooders, sent me a pic a while back of the old, abandoned Maid Rite from college daze, looking exactly the way it did 25 years ago.  Thanks, Doooders.

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

Meet Count Cractus Man

A delightful little biker bar in Eden Wyoming that Dooooders and I found a few years back.

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.
(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

Wildcat and Predictability

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.

Stay tuned.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Wildcat Dude and Upcoming Weekend

Me hamming it up on a defunct old phone from an abandoned mine here in the mountains, which for the life of me are called "the hills" around here by the locals, which is kind of hillbilly.  They're mountains, man.

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.

Stay tuned.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

New Dudes and Indifferent Guy

Me and Bennie enjoying the new hammock that Indifferent Guy and I picked out last Tuesday.  This picture of us lounging is on Saturday night after we split from him.  Which reminds me to update you on I.G.

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.

WHAT gives?

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.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Damn good pizza, new dudes and Indifferent Guy

Damned good pizza I made one night last week for JJ and Indifferent Guy.  I invited I. G. over for no hard feelings. You see I had to text him that we were just better off as friends.  He wasn't thrilled about it, but I just couldn't do the "Fade Away" (song Garfunkel and Oates do when women just make themselves disappear if they're not into a guy anymore).  We went shopping together the other day, and tomorrow we're going shopping for me to find a hammock for my side yard, so I consider this being friends.

One of my friends accused me of doing the Fade Away, but I wasn't a few weeks ago.  I was working up enough courage to tell him we would better off friends.  Then JJ thought I should just say, "We're better off as friends." And nothing more, and while that's a good line, what if the guy in question wants an explanation?  I knew he would so I simply said I was not "girlfriend material." 

Because what the hell are you really supposed to say?  I can't say, "Look, it's not you, it's me."  Because it really is him: his effeminate ways, and bad humor, and other things, but I'm not gonna pick.

The bottom line was this, the biggest lesson I learned.

Look, I know back 50+ years ago since the beginning of mankind, women have had to settle.  They've had to marry guys in the olden days where there was no chemistry.  100 years ago, that was common.  Your trade off for no chemistry or fugly was a good provider.

But how can you eventually sleep with someone you're not attracted to, especially since men don't lose their sex drives until late in life, which means having sex with someone you feel no chemistry towards, sleeping with them for years? 

How can you just settle for someone who's simply NICE?

Isn't there more to that?  And can you be just friends with a guy who likes you more than that?

More later.  And there's possibly more dudes on the horizon.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

The End of summer and the THE SHITTY HUMORIST

Riding along on Skyline Drive this summer, one of a few highlights to an otherwise sort of lame summer.  Rumor has it that this winter is going to be bad again.  This wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't also always long, unlike the typical Midwest shorter winters with a season called "spring" where I grew up (Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, etc.).  Mountain weather like John Denver said in, "Rocky Mountain High" can just melt your heart,  or it can really piss you off.

Speaking of pissing me off, other than having to go back to work at my old job, AND having a lame summer, is someone who's not funny but thinks he is.  It's even worse if the said person is NOT funny, thinks he is, and is trying to date you.  They say that women are strongly sexually attracted to a man with a great sense of humor. True that.

Likewise, the opposite is true, too, when a man or woman's humor SUCKS ASS. Trying to date?  I've got a little tip for you.  Humor is like being artistic.  It's a gift.  Like being able to sing really well, or write well, or being a chef.  Most people aren't that creative.  So if your humor sucks ass, try other things to impress your date.  Knowledge of history, being a good debater, talking about books, showing off your listening skills, or being handy.  These are other things you can do to woo your paramour.


In the hands of someone skilled, say like Bill Bryson, this can be a good thing.  Howling laughter, tears running down your cheeks when you're reading A Walk Through the Woods.  If you don't know Bryson, think George Carlin.  What could be better.  But in the hands of the UNFUNNY, this is dreadful.

Here's what the Shitty Humorist has been up to.

1. Changing the letters to a word that is slightly different and alarmingly unfunny while you're talking.  It usually takes several seconds or minutes to even see it was a joke.

A.  "There are a few good places to eat in Custer," I said as we were debating the merits of several restaurants in that town.
"Custard?" The Shitty Humorist asks then giggles.
"Yeah, CUSTER," I say, annoyed.  OK, that's not funny.  That's STUPID.

B. "I don't know why the tomatoes this year are so over-priced," I say as we walk through the farmers' market the other day.
"Tor-matoes?  You have to be careful around tor-matoes, they can blow over your house," he notes and giggles.  I stop and stare at him for a few seconds as I have NO IDEA what the fuck he's talking about then realize it's an alarming pun.  I shake my head and hope no one heard that.

C. "I've got to mow the yard tomorrow," I noted the other day.
"Whhhhhyyyyyy?" asks the Shitty Humorist in a very feminine 8 year-old way.
"Duh.  Because it's long,"" I say, catching on to this fucking game he thinks is funny.
"Whhhhhyyyyyyy?" he asks again.
"Because it's been raining and the lawn has been growing really fast!" I say and walk away.  Otherwise the "Whyyyyyyyys?" will keep going. How is this different than the "I know what you are but what am I?" game you'd play in junior high?

It's. NOT. FUCKING. FUNNY.  It's a turn off.  And it's even worse if the person is genuinely nice.

Stay tuned.

Camping with Effeminate Men, Manly Men and Gender Roles

"I'm here, Momblee, in case you accidentally drop some of that portebello burger," says Bennie as we're "yard camping" this summer since I cannot find anyone to backpack or camp with other than Indifferent Man.

Manliness.  What is it?  Why is it important to a tom-girl?

This is something I've been contemplating lately since it appears I've only been dating effeminate men lately.  So what is manliness?  I'm not sure, but I can tell you what it isn't.

Talking in a baby voice (saying "peas" instead of "please"), giving long plot synopses to Disney movies, not knowing how to chop wood or start a fire, biting one's nails, singing to Micheal Jackson/Micheal Bolton/Winger songs in a falsetto voice, and bustin' out some disco moves in the grocery store, for starters are NOT manly things.  They are libido-breakers. 

You can't even begin to know what effeminate is until you run into it face-to-face.  But some men are just that.  Sex and the City even did an episode about it with a friend of theirs who married someone whom everyone thought was a gay, only he wasn't gay.  He was just very, very effeminate.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I like a dude who's emotionally available.  I require it, actually.  But I also like a Lee Marvin kinda man who also holds doors open, pays for my tab, chops wood, works on his own Shovelhead.  Speaking of, I know someone like this, but he lives 200 miles away in N.D.

He's that old school kind of kinda guy that I can't seem to find.  "Old School" around the Black Hills translates to Nascar-watchin'-cammo-wearin' redneck around here.  And that ain't either cool or old school.

Here's the kinda old school he is:
1. lots of stylin' black clothes and a deep low voice like Johnny Cash
2. cool tats, (not tats of howling wolves, eagles or the words "Harley Davidson")
3. races modifieds (race cars) semi-professionally.  I mean, how sexy is that?  (Picturing a pit crew with cool mechanic's shirts on that say his racing team on the back while he calmly gives out orders to his men while they hurry to get the car back on the track is a helluva lot sexier than some redneck belching and watching Nascar on the couch in his cammo, skid-marked underwear.)
4.  has a kick start old Shovelhead that of course, only HE works on (swoons in a Sons of Anarchy kind of way).  He kinda reminds me of Jax, only his head is shaved.
5. likes cool music (not Micheal Jackson and ABBA)
6. owns his own old house with hardwood floors
7. has grown daughters he is close to (emotionally available!)

But, alas, he works all the time (works in his family's metal shop, sexy=check!) and is totally passionate about his racing, so it takes up almost all of his free time, and again, lives at least two hours away.

Sigh.  More later on this one, I hope.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

How Manly Does a Man Have to be to Trip Your Trigger?

Me and my dog-son, Bennie, on our camp out a few weeks ago.
Ben, was pretty manly, more manly than Indifferent Man whom I was camping with.

I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I resent men who force me to be more manly then them.  If I have to take the mouse out of the mousetrap, chop the damned wood for the fire, or change the oil because he doesn't know how to, that's fine.  We're living in a post-modern world.  But if he wants any sexy time, forggetabboutit.  There's something about a dude making me be the real dude that is a super turn off.  Why bother?

Either that, or I'm becoming more of a post-menopausal-man than most men.  Or I'm just a bitch.

But I had to chop the wood, keep the fire going, cook the meal, and set up the rain shelter.  And that sucks.  I want to fall into the strong John Wayne arms of a dude who knows what he's doing.  Well, with Indifferent Man, he is just so feminine and sweet, that I don't mind he's not manly.  Until he wants to kiss me.  Then I want to barf and run for the hills.

As a feminist, this has left me in a quandary.  Why should I have these gender expectations?  Poor Indifferent Man.  PLUS, did I tell you that Mr. Big bounced back into my life for one night two weeks ago?  I started this blog years after AFTER Mr. Big.  Short story.  Mr. Big was manliness incarnate.  And the passion between us was at the Hollywood level.  More later.

But seeing Mr. Big, only reminded me of what I used to find as PASSION in men.  Mr. Big was a former Marine, 6'4", voice of Barry White, could build you a log cabin with only a pocket knife, throw you over his shoulder as if you were just a sack of flour, and give you the sass that only an educated man could do.

Tonight I had a date with more of a manlier man than Indifferent Man.  But he might be a cheapskate.  A cheapskate is not a manly man.  And that sort of made my libido take a nose dive.

If I have to cough up fifty percent of the bill, why not just go out with one one of my girlfriend bro's, like Dooders?

I'm trying to figure this all out for us.  More later.  More on Mr. Big, too.  Lookin' out for all of us, so Peace Out.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Rally, End of Summer Blues

The interior of Laura Ingalls Wilder's schoolhouse back in DeSmet, SD.  And the beginning of summer's road trip.

Now it's almost the end of the summer, and other than this roadtrip, I've not done much.

In fact, the Sturgis Rally is almost over, and I went through my entire phone 3 times trying to find someone to go to Rally with other than my ex.  It turns out, that I only went up there with my ex.  This of course was bittersweet, because no one whom I have dated since him, cares a fig about motorcycles, racing, etc.  Including his current squeeze--who insists on spending every day and night at rally with my ex.  My ex cannot go more than ten minutes without having a girlfriend.  The longest he's gone between girlfriends is ten minutes.  In fact, he wanted to know if I wanted to go up to rally with them Saturday.  The three of us.  And they would just drop me off at rally, while they would go off all lovey dovey, while I hang out by myself like an unpopular loner loser.  Sounds fun, right?  Fun like getting audited, or having a dentist hit a nerve ending is fun.

I was going to go up to Rally and meet a new guy I've been talking with this summer who IS very much into cycles and racing, but his mother suddenly died a few days ago.

What's up with this year and depressing things?  Fights with bosses, reduced pay, friends' parents dying, canceled trips, lack of money, fights with exes, just depressing things.

At least Indifferent Guy is still in the picture and being very sweet to me.  He also isn't into rally, or motorcycles.  Moreover, I am still indifferent, even though he's nice.  He's not into manly things, and so that makes him sort of indifferent to me.

It's weird, to be say, chopping wood or working on a car engine with a guy who does NOT know how to chop wood, or change his oil.

Or, maybe I'm just a sexist asshole?  More later.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Summer Rains, Cancelled Road Trips and Indifferent Guy

Here I am on July 5th, investigating claims that Seth Bullock's Hotel in Deadwood is screamingly haunted.  Thought for sure I'd come up with something in my photos, but I didn't--unless you want to count that strange thing in the mirror above my head.  Then again, my camera phone is LAME.  Need my idiot-techie roomie to upload my camera software to my Netbook.  I'd do it myself, but I have no idea what I'm doing.

So what else is new?  The BIG ANNUAL trip was called off.  Sadly, Dooders pops passed away unexpectedly, so before we even left town for the Pacific Northwest, she had to turn around and drive back to Minneapolis.  Sad, huh?  Sad for her family.  Sad for us, too.  We use that trip to re-invigorate ourselves before school starts again.  Oh, and JJ slipped and fell down and twisted her knee just like I did last month. 

So things are pretty blah right now, but I am dating Indifferent Man.  I call him that because I still feel indifferent about him.  As in, if he kisses me, so what.  And if he doesn't, fine, and in fact, I'm relieved.  There are not really any sparks.  But he's not so fugly that I need 6 beers to kiss him--so that's a step up from most.  Mom asked, "Have you had a little kissie or anything yet?"  My response was, "Yeah but it's not high on the priority list.  It's right up there with watching ice melt and paint dry." 

But, still . . . he's nice to me.  As in spoils me silly.  In fact, he's the one who took this picture and took me to Deadwood for the day, racing out in front of me to open doors, buys me dinners and wine and candy.  He even carries my backpack.  He's absolutely so nice to me.  BUT, and you always know there's always a big "but" involved.

1.  He sings all the time.

And not to cool songs but songs from Disney movies and musicals that I hate to CD's that he makes of his favorite songs.  Little despicable ditties like, "It's a Small World After All," or the theme song to "The Lion King."  The other day he played a "The Best of the 70's" CD that had "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" on it.

"Can you turn on the radio for a while?" I asked over his singing.  You know, I may be an asshole, but I don't enjoy listening to people sing along to a song.  Thankfully, he has a good singing voice.

"What's your favorite Disney movie?" he asked a while later.  He loves Disney movies, too.  I HATE Disney movies.  I mean, yeah, sure, they were OK--WHEN I WAS 9.

2. And his sense of humor is right up there with Micheal Scott's from The Office.

"Yeah, everyone likes a hot dog from Wrigley Field now and then," I said biting into my jumbo hot dog while we were at the brewery Saturday.

"Wrigley?  You mean like Wrigley gum?" he notes and giggles at his "joke."  I just stared at him then realized he was making a bad pun.  "Am I not being very PUNNY?" he noted and giggled again.


I don't know.  Maybe I'm just a giant asshole.  Stay tuned. 

Friday, June 20, 2014

Cell Phone Holsters are a No GO

Ahhhh.  Summertime.

The time for new dates, campfires, books, outdoors.  Who isn't in heaven?

Speaking of new dates.  I met Green Eyes, and it was a bust.  Here's why.  With internet dating people fall into two categories: those who look better than their pictures and those who don't.

He was sadly one of those who don't.

In his PICTURES, he looked very manly, sensual, attractive.  In person, he was much smaller and shorter in stature than me.  I have a simple rule.  I don't date guys who weigh less than I bench press.  I'll bet this guy was 30 pounds lighter than I.  But it wasn't just that.

He.  Wore. A.  Cell-phone. Holster. 

Who the fuck wears a cell phone holster under the age of 80?  The kind that you have to take off your belt, attach holster to belt (aren't belts like 80's anyway?), put back on belt, tuck shirt in (tuck shirt in damn it?!).  I once saw a guy at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally wear a cell phone holster, leather-man tool holster, cigarette pack holster and wallet holster.  I think I even took pics and blogged about it.

PLUS, he wore stone-washed, knee length denim shorts.  Hello, Tiffany called, and she'll be singing her top 40 hits at the mall later today.

And white tennis shoes.  AND white socks pulled up to his shins.  Are you effin' kidding me?

AND, a polo shirt tucked in.

AND, in his PICTURES, he had very short hair which looked nice, since he has a receding hairline, but in PERSON, he had grown it out a couple inches so on top it stood straight up, but was the texture of a baby bunny.  It was all I could do to not stare at it the whole time and refrain from touching it.

Needless to say, it was a miss. 

Plus, he kept saying in a very exhilarating fashion, "Really?!!!!!" to half the things that I said that weren't that interesting to begin with.

"It sure has rained a lot lately," I said as we sat at Indy's having a beer.
"Really??!!" he exclaimed.  (Well, yeah, no shit.  How can you NOT see the weather?)  Plus, talking about the weather is generally the kiss of death on a first date.

Then later,

"I'm reading a good book about a white water rafter on the Colorado River," I began, then remembered he said he doesn't have much use for reading or books in general.

"Really??!!" he exclaimed for the four hundredth time that afternoon.

Sigh.  I'm watchin' out for us. 

More later as Indifferent Dude has suddenly become rather interesting.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Indifferent Dude, Bouncers and 1980 Moustaches

Well, the good thing about being laid off for the summer, is if you're clumsy like me and twist your knee, you have plenty of time to heal and reflect.

The Bouncer
Speaking of reflecting, I don't think many people do that anymore between relationships.  A "Bouncer" doesn't take time off from relationships.  A Bouncer is a person who skips from one failing relationship, immediately to a new relationship (with no single time in between), sometimes having two feet in two different relationships at the same time.  1. doing so is not fair to either relationship and 2. is unhealthy and allows no time for the Bouncer to learn or heal. 3. and is really narcissistic when you get right down to it because why they're doing it in the first place is secret fear (they're not aware of it) of being alone, despite all costs to others' involved.  My ex is a "Bouncer" and bounced right into another relationship with another Bouncer (she just recently got divorced from an abuser) just as he was closing the door on his last relationship, the embers not even cooled.  His ex is no better and also Bounced into a new relationship, and in fact, moved in with him, IMMEDIATELY after said break up.

How is this healthy or normal?

I have to admit, I've even been a Bouncer before, but not for a long, long time.  The past ten years has taught me that being one isn't cool.  In fact, I cringe at my past Bounces.

So what's going on as of last night?

Indifferent Dude is Growing Slightly Cuter
The meeting with Indifferent Dude last night was FUN.  Not only did he pick me up and help me into his vehicle with my crutch, he ran to open all doors for me and give me his arm.  Aahhhhhh.  How sweet.  And, get this, he picked up the tab without that awkward tab-grabbing ritual you sometimes have to go through!

We talked books, and I loaned him one.  Even though he wore his "work Dork clothes" Dockers (e'gads!) and a tucked in shirt, he looked sort of cute in a nerd-way, but not so nerdly that he was getting dressed up to go to a Star Trek convention or anything.  I'm up for getting to know Indifferent Guy!!!!

Then there's Magnum PI Mustache--
I'm not remotely interested in this one.  But he's a project I'm considering taking on, since he's begged me to help him.  I originally wrote him, not to be condescending, but because he had the worst profile I have ever seen, yet seems like a clueless, nice guy.

"I've had this stache since 1980 and my first Trans Am.  You think women like it?" he asked.

"Uh, no.  Women don't normally go for a thick lip-shrub full of food-crumbs which engulf their entire lip.  And 1980 called and Olivia Newton John wants her leg warmers back, so NO, it's not cool," I wrote.

"Really?  No gal would like that?"

"Uh, (not wanting to further hurt his feelings) maybe someone in a geriatrics' home."

Also envision a 1970's Marty Feldmen style hairdo with a horribly receding hairline.  Then this lip-bush-Magnum P.I. mustache business.  Imagine several pics of tucked in shirts, pants that come up to his moobs.  His gawd awful shirts have had to been from 1979.  He admitted that no one writes him back and asked me for my help.  It might be more than I can take on.  LOL.  OR it could be lots more fodder for this blog.

You decide. 

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Update from Crackie

Outside of Carthage, eastern South Dakota, where parts of Into the Wild were filmed.  Those of you who don't know what that film is, it's about Chris McCandless and his across the U.S. trek, his stop-over and good times in SD, then his sad demise in Alaska.

So Jen and I made this wilderness adventure last weekend, with my knee wrapped up in a pound of gauze, and went to where McCandless had good times.

It's the kind of "crazy drive several hundred miles across the state" thing that Crackie would do.

Speaking of him, he's back in town from California for the summer and fall, and he wrote me a long email this week.  Like always, my heart-strings get pulled.  When he's neutral or in his bi-polar upswing, he's more fun than bungee jumping.

He wants to come up and see me, his twice-a-year-thing.  Seeing me, means a very intense, three to four day and night date, where we do what some couples take months to do: we go thrifting, ghost town seeing, stay up late and talk, watch documentaries, have deep talks about life then not see each other for almost a year.  Inevitably, we accidentally brush into each other in my small hallway or our toes accidentally touch while we're on the couch, and the sparks fly.  Only, nothing ever happens.  He spends the night on my extra bed in the basement.  EVEN though it's clear we are crazy about each other, and have been since 2011.  Why does nothing happen?  This is partly because he has depression, but mostly because he's emotionally unavailable, meaning terrified to get hurt again.  Well, join the club, Crackie.

I wonder what will happen this time?  If I were ballsy enough, I'd just post his picture, the last time we were together last February.  With a little taunting, I might just do that.

1.  I had a phone date with Green Eyes.  And get this, he's pretty nice, and while he doesn't have a masculine voice, he doesn't sound like Diana Ross; we're going to try and hang out this weekend.  Yes!  I hope he's not a midget.
2. Indifferent Dude has offered to pick me up tonight and take me to happy hour.  Let's see if he picks up the tab!  

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Guys Who Actually Want to Meet vs "The Idea of Meeting"

Bennie and me chillin', since I slipped and fell down last Sunday and sprained my knee.

I always got to give props to TT for her theory of "Guys who only like the IDEA of meeting but never want to actually meet," which is always spot on when internet dating.

Assistant Principal
I'm getting the idea that Assistant Principal doesn't really want to date, rather, just likes the idea.  He texts me every day, but it's always the same, "Happy Wednesday!"  And we have yet to talk on the phone.  Boring.  I gave him props for texting, "I'm kind of hiding behind technology.  I'm sort of shy."  OK, at last a man who's willing to admit this.  But are we ever going to meet?  He says he's protecting his children whom he has custody of during the school year (got it, doesn't want a parade of women into his life to confuse his kids).  Cool, a guy with integrity.  But they're back with his ex now.  So what gives?

Indifferent Dude                        
Then there's that dude I met last week.  Since he's so new, I've yet to nickname him.  He's not bad looking, and he's funny and talks a lot like Sagittarius men do, is educated, never been married--sounds good, right?  But I can't decide if I'm attracted to him or not (don't usually go for short blondes).  I like his personality so far though.  We talked about 4 hours downtown, listening to the band.  We laughed; he's easy-going.  At one point, we were talking about cooking, and he said he likes to cook and that couples these days need to share the "responsibilities and stuff."  What stuff?  Bills?  Is he a cheapskate, I wondered.  I dated one of those for ten years, ain't gonna do that one again.  Like all guys, he lied about his height. He's my height, not 5'10".  Since I'm indifferent about him, maybe I'll call him Indifferent?

Green Eyes
Green eyes is a guy with the kindest looking eyes I've seen thus far, electronically.  Green eyes hasn't been dating really at all since he's been divorced, so it seems from his website, "I've never done the online thing, so I thought I'd give it a try since I don't go out much."  Wow, really?  He's got a house on the nice side of town, works two jobs, one job just on Sundays, so he's not lazy.  But, he told me he doesn't read books and in fact, doesn't read much at all.  WTF.  BUT, he's nice.  His texts are literate, and he said he'd CALL me TONIGHT.  We'll see!

The Married
You know, I've been dating my whole life, and single and relationship-less for ten years now, so it was only a matter of time, before one of these would pop up (let alone the time a doctor here in town wanted to know if I'd swing with him and his wife, PIG).  This guy actually isn't a pig.  He's not looking to hook up. I didn't know he was married until we'd exchanged tons of emails and I found myself liking him, then he admitted he was married and of course, "miserably married."  Educated, former engineer, owns a campground, million things in common.  I told him that he was as unavailable to me as a 100 year old man, or a gay man now that I know he's married.  He was crushed and wanted to know if we could still be friends.  Why?  I told him NORMAL people get a divorce if they're that "miserably married," NOT trying to find a reason to get divorced--me.  Let alone, get divorced, wait a few years, then start dating again.  I mean, really?  Why would I want to get attached to him?  He writes me constantly, but I blow 99% of them off.  He wants to read this blog. Hilarious.

The Ex
My ex, from a long time ago, (like before this blog)  has been comparing me a lot lately to his new girl friend whom he hid from me for over a year now.  Apparently, she's perfect.  She uber-feminine, doesn't drink, cuss, fart, or read while taking a shit (who doesn't read while taking a dump?  I have a whole library in my bathroom.  The only thing that beats a bathroom library, would be if there was a bar in a bathroom).  I'm kind of dependent upon him right now because I hurt my knee.  So he and his new little wifey, are coming over tomorrow to pick up my old dryer since my guy friend Michael Jackson-voice and I can't lift it with my knee blown out.  The whole thing with my ex would be funny in a way if it were happening to someone else or if I didn't still care for him.  I said I'd never blog about him, but I'm pissed at him today, so, so be it.

Michael Jackson-voice
We hiked again last weekend, and I had a great time, and he gave me his old clothes dryer, though once he drug it down into my basement, then drug the old one out and deposited it on my lawn, then jogged back into my basement and turned the new dryer on, he found that it doesn't work.  He's pretty cute and very sweet.  But I've never heard a man with a voice this high.  It is definitely NOT attractive.  But he's so nice, toting two dryers around on his back, that I'm trying to get my head around his voice.  But how do you find chemistry with someone who sounds like Diana Ross?

Southern Gentleman 
Is still in the picture, good manners as always.  But I find myself not attracted to him since he's about 100 lbs. overweight.  People who say that looks don't matter are right.  When you're friends, they sure don't matter. But calculating how many beers you would need to drink (8?) to make out with him isn't a good sign.

Well, even though I went out of my way to invite him, he never showed to our game of Cards Against Humanity last Friday.  Then again, neither did anyone from our writers' group.  So who knows what's going on with him.  Since I'm injured, I won't see him at the gym this week, and that's good, because I'm sorta pissed and let him just wonder where I am.  I went OUT ON A LIMB and asked him to hang out.  The least he could have done was show up.  But maybe he's like all these internet guys.  Maybe he likes the idea of dating me, but doesn't want to.

Oh, and Crackie finally wrote me.  He said he "missed me," whatever that means.  Maybe I should blog about him next?  After all, I'm on the couch with a giant ice pack around my knee and nothing else to do.

Stay tuned.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Pitas, Parties and Tunes

Some killer Satay I made last summer.  It's reminding me to try out the new pita place downtown before I hang out downtown, check out a band that's half-way decent, and hopefully meet this new dude.

He's so new, he's nameless right now, but hang tight, kids, I'll come up with a nickname soon enough.  In fact, there's two new dudes on the horizon.

This one, Nameless, I'm going to look for at the concert downtown.

All I know about him is he's a Sagitarius yay!  And he's educated.  Yay!  And he knows a lot about beer.  Yay!  And he has hair.  Big yay!

Stay tuned.

Monday, June 2, 2014

Sex and the City vs Reality

Me and Bennie lookin' cool.  And just about ready to hit the gym and watch some Sex and the City, though I might have to start watching something else even though that show rocks.

The other day JJ noted,
"You're obsessing over men again.  What gives?"

And I have to admit, this pissed me off, what with all the self-help I've done over the past three years.  So I wondered why am I doing this.  The reason?  It's so simple you'll laugh.  It's because the Food Network keeps showing Ree's Drummond's stupid show The Pioneer Idiot, and that dumb show about restaurant owners putting up hidden cameras to bust their minimum wage employees for doing horrible things like texting or laughing on the job.  So, I flipped around and found a channel that runs marathons of Sex and the City.  While this does wonders for my figure, making me stay longer and doing more cardio I found out that watching this show is bad for my mental health.


The show is well written.  The acting is great.  And so much of what they say about dating and men is spot on.

So why is it bad for us?

JJ is right.  It makes women obsess and feel like losers if they're not in a relationship.  And considering over 60% of American women are single, this isn't a good message.

I don't need to be feeling desperate again.  As if being single for TEN YEARS with only a handful of dates isn't enough pressure.

So what's going on in my big, fat, dating world?

The Pentecostal
The Pentecostal I went out with last week was just so-so.  Of course, he didn't have a beer with me when we met--only a root beer.  I tried my best to not let loose any F-bombs or bring up such begging questions as "So do you guys do that speaking in tongues crap?  How do you keep from laughing?"  We shared a pizza, and he went out and bought a new tent due to my pressuring him about how cool camping is.  But he was also giving me that icky "face-rape" look you get from guys.  So that lost points.  We'll see how that pans out.

Micheal Jackson
Memorial Day, I went hiking with a different dude, a nice enough guy who's also sort of a religious type.  We'll call him Micheal Jackson.  It was fun.  He's sort of cute, too.  And he wants to give me an extra clothes dryer that he no longer needs, so that's a real bonus.  But when he talks, he sounds exactly like Micheal Jackson, soooooo. . .  I had gas really bad when we were hiking so I had to do many "Cammo Coughs" to cover up some butt-trumpeting.  Hopefully, he never heard any of them.

High School Principal
Then there's the "Assistant Principal" guy.  He's cute, and he's only less than one hour away, but his texts to me are so sparse of words, that I wonder if he has some texting plan where they charge him per word or something.  And we have yet to have a phone conversation.  "If you want to go hiking, I'm booked up until mid July," he texted me.  OK.  He's got school for another two weeks and custody of his kids until then.  I get it, so why you even trying to date then?

Southern Gentleman
And don't forget, the Southern Gentleman is still texting me.  He had back surgery last week, but is recovering well.  If he could only lose about 75 pounds, he'd be dreamy.  But after his last frightening "selfie" last month I grew scared.  For starters, it was shirtless in a hot tub.  Four double chins, a tiny, tiny tuft of hair on top his head reminding me of a bean sprout and a gold chain.  But he's nice, soooooooo.  How far "nice" gets a gal, I'm not sure.

The BEST of them All, Shawn-from-the-gym
And finally there's Shawn-at-the-gym guy, the one I really want to date.  We talked last Friday at the gym for about an hour before we both went our separate ways.  As usual, the conversation was stellar, and we both did a lot of laughing.

"Sooooooo, I guess I'll hit Paddy's for a beer," I said hopefully throwing out some bait.
"I'll probably go home and help my dad mow," Shawn said.

OK, at least he didn't say, "I have to go home and organize my sock drawer."  Still, bummer.   I just can't seem to get outta the batter's box with this guy.

And I haven't even brought up Deadwood Dick.  He's still wanting to take me out, maybe next week, but I haven't told him I'm not an E.R. doctor yet.  (see "Deadwood Dick" many posts back this winter)

Stay tuned, and happy summer!

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Update on Shawn-from-the-Gym and Pentecostals

Nothing beats camp pizza, especially not THIS one after the "hike from hell" in Utah.  Speaking of pizza, I'm in dire need for one at Indy Ale.

I was WISHING this might be sometime soon with "Shawn from the Gym" but maybe not anytime soon.

Last night, I went to Paddy's after the gym.  Lo and behold was R, one of Shawn's best friends.  So I joined R and his buddy, but Shawn wasn't there.  Apparently, he goes out with his dad every Wednesday night to the American Legion for their buffet dinner.  How sweet, right?  Sigh.

So R. and I were talking when I thought I'd double check once more to see if Shawn was single since my favorite bartender reported that, yes, he was.  Doesn't hurt to double check, right?

"Sooooooo, is Shawn seeing anyone?" I asked at just the right time since R. and I were discussing dating in general.

"Yeah, he is but he's really guarded about the whole thing."
"Huh?  Why's that?" I asked, my heart sinking.  R went on to explain that Shawn had been married for 7 years to the love of his life whom he worshipped, but a few years ago, she dumped him for another man, and it broke his heart.

OK, but wait.  Nikki told me that he was SINGLE and NOT seeing anyone.

AND, my friend from the gym is Shawn's best friend's uncle's sister, if you follow all that, and she said that his best friend said, "Shawn is OPEN to seeing people."  This straight from his bestie.  He didn't say, "Shawn isn't seeing anyone," but rather " . . . Open to seeing people," wtf.  At the time, earlier this past winter, the arrangement of words struck me as odd.

Sooooooooooo, what gives?

Is he just seeing someone to NOT be alone like my ex is doing?  The old "______ is better than being all alone," song and dance?  Is he just "seeing someone" but not steady?

What does all this mean?

The plot thickens.  In the meantime, I have a Pentecostal interested in me, me a beer-swilling party animal.

This  is gonna get interesting.  Stay tuned.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Shawn-from-the-gym Part II

Ahhhh, me last summer, traveling with the Dooooders, doing what we do best.  Today the sun came out, thank god.

But let me tell you about yesterday! 

There I was at the gym, spacing out, watching Chopped on Food Network and pretty much done working out, just walking on the treadmill and not wanting to go home when . . .

"Hi, Natalie!"  I look over and it's Shawn, looking, as always, about as cute as a button.

"Hey, Shawn," I said.  This day, might I add, I had also elected to NOT shower, and my hair was going on day four and smelling not unlike a barnyard animal, but at least the zit was gone.  I'll happily add that I'd brushed my teeth and had deodorant on.  "You're here late," I noted as it was 5:30 p.m., and he'd mentioned the other day that his new job gets him out by 3:00.  He was all smiles, again, as if I were his best friend on the planet.  Before I knew it, 30 min. had passed by, with him happily chatting away.  I wondered, was I keeping him from working out?  Not really.  He was the one doing most of the talking.

His friend, Russ, came around the corner.

"Hey, did you finish your cardio?" Russ asked.  Shawn told him he had, but really, it appeared that he had just spent that time conversing with me instead.  "Well, you gonna hit the shower soon?" he asked.  Shawn joked that he was, but that there was no hurry.  Russ said something I couldn't make out because I was trying not to stare at Shawn's pretty eyes and failing.  I figured they were going to go play basketball or something, so I asked him what they were doing.

"We're going to Wobbly Bobby's for a beer.  Wanna go?"  I almost flew off my treadmill.  He. Was. Asking. Me. To. Go.  Seriously?  Hell yeah!

We agreed to meet in 30 min.  At first, I almost ran out of there wearing my gym top, which was salt-stained down the back and smelled like ass.  Then I realized  if they were going to shower, the least I could do was make a half-hearted attempt to look like a girl, so I flew home, put on a pretty top, a spray of perfume and instead of wearing my practical "Dyke Shoes," (a sturdy pair of MEN'S Merrils that JJ hates), I put on some cute gender-friendly shoes.  30 min. later I'm walking into Wobbly's, and there's Shawn, looking as cute as cute can be.

AND, not wearing a baseball cap, I might add, so I can see that, ta-da, he actually has hair!  I wanted to hug him for asking me along.

At first, it was just us (I don't even remember what we talked about I was on cloud nine), so we chatted until Russ came.  Since it was a booth, I was confused.  Should I sit across from Shawn?  Should Russ sit with me?  I invited him to sit with me, so I could still be across from Shawn, but Russ said to go ahead and sit with Shawn.  They're huge booths, so it wasn't like our legs were touching, but still, it was electrifying.  I wondered how we looked sitting together, imagining us as an old couple holding hands at Perkins after church, and at times in our conversation, I felt like I'd floated out of my body to a cloud, maybe up in heaven per say?

That is, until his friend went in to a 30 min. plot synopsis of a new movie.  Don't you hate that?  If they spill out every spoiler, what's the point of them saying every ten seconds, "Oh!  You've GOT to see this movie!"  If this were one of MY friends, I'd have listened politely for about 1 minute, then told him to shut up.  But Shawn must be VERY patient for I felt I had to listen like he was, nodding my head, saying, "Hmmmm.  Rilly?  Then what?" every few seconds.  30 minutes later (or was it an hour?), I was ready to jump off a bridge.  His friend started replaying dialogue from the whole movie, including facial expressions and mimicking bad accents.  Then I reminded myself.  I. AM. SITTING. NEXT. TO. SHAWN.  Who cares?!!!!!

Until Shawn made up a little game, "What's your favorite top 5 movies of all time?"  Russ went first.  We all laughed, teased each other, bantered.  Much of their favorite movies were my favorite movies, too.  Until I dropped a little turd in the punch bowl.

"The last movie I went to was pretty dumb, so I shouldn't say what it was," I stupidly ventured.
"What was it?" Shawn asked so sweetly that before I knew it, the turd flew outta my mouth.
"Jackass III." 

Deadpan faces.  Uh-oh.  Suddenly the bar was too quiet.  A fly landed on our table.

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.  "Nooooo, w-a-i-t," I stammered.  "My bad. It was The King's Speech," I added, hoping that they didn't think I was the intellectual equivalent of an amoeba.

"Now, that was a good one," Shawn noted.  I sighed with relief.  I'm an idiot but a quick thinker.

There was LOTS of laughter.  The time flew.  Shawn and his buddy are quick-witted and intelligent.  VERY quick-witted and intelligent.  So much so that 1-2 times, I laughed heartily, slapping my thighs, at some quips they made where I had NO IDEA what they were talking about.

Before I knew it, it was 9:00 p.m., and we were paying our tabs to go home.  I wondered, will Shawn chit chat with me, alone, or will they both walk together to their respective cars (after all, I'm the new guy, the 3rd wheel)?  It was like a drum-roll in my gut.

After noting my bike, the two of them said goodbye and walked back together to their respective cars, sigh.  Alas, no alone time with my sweet "friend."   And I know that the best relationships are those that start off as friends, so I gotta be patient.  I've learned a lot these past ten years of hermitry.  BUT . . . .  I know that I adore him and find him irresistibly cute.  But when he looks at me, what does he see?  A schoolmarm, an old chick, a dork, a dude-chick, someone with bad breath and greasy hair?  I figured out his age within 1-2 years, and he's about 5-6 years younger than me, which is always how I like 'em.

Which begs the question, what are we?  Are we just bros?  What is going on in his head?  Does he look at me and is reminded of his mother's sister, his prude-ish 8th grade English teacher, his Sunday school teacher who always smelled like moldy cheese?  Does he think I'm a "Dude-chick"? 

Stay tuned.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Shawn-Guy from the Gym

Spring is here.  Let's party.

OK, I gotta fess up.  What's up with Shawn from the Gym constantly popping up in my life if I'm never to date him?

He's tall; he's cute; we have a million things in common (motorcycles,masters' degrees, bikes, food, beer, craft-beer, punk rock, sarcasm, humor, an intense love of the gym, pubs, the list goes on).  But we can't seem to connect.

"I'll find out if he's with anyone," said my favorite bartender.  A few weeks later, "No, he's not with anyone."  Then a few weeks later, "I told him he should ask you out.  You two have tons in common, and you're a great lady," she added.

So I saw him out one night at our favorite pub.  I sent him over a beer.  He sent me over a beer, then we both laughed and chatted for about an hour before I went on my way.  The next day I looked for him at the gym, but no dice. 

Then I saw him the other day.  I was taken by surprise because I never see him during the week at the gym, only the weekend.

"Natalie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he shouts as if I were his long, last best friend left on the planet.  "How are you?" he asks walking over to the treadmill where I'm running.

 I'm horrified because:
1. I'm not wearing any deodorant
2. My hair is filthy greasy and pulled into a ponytail on top my head in sort of an 1982 Valley Girl hairdo
3. I have a huge ZIT on the side of my nose, making me look like a witch stirring her cauldron.
4. I hadn't brushed my teeth.
5. My gym suit is two weeks old and covered with sweat-stains.

"Uh, fine," I say and avoid eye-contact lest he see the golf-ball sized zit.  "You're not normally here at this time," I note, talking out of the side of my mouth so he can't smell my bad breath.

He then happily launches into a story about his new hours and job, which I only stare straight ahead while I'm running lest he see the bowling ball sized zit or smell my armpits.  He finishes his speech and I try to smile sideways at him while he happily walks off.

Then later, I noticed him, as I was leaving the gym, looking at me and starting to walk my way when I fled the gym as fast as possible.  I mean, crimeny, I looked bad.

But what's the dealio?  He is always excited to see me.  He pauses as if wanting to ask me something, yet he never asks for my phone number.


"Just Friends"

Randomly, because I'm an idiot and don't have any of my pictures labeled, I just hit a random picture from my "vacation pics" jumpdrive and post whatever picture comes up.

In this case, a safe.  Perfect.  The connection?

I'm only "safe dating" these days.  As in, not dating at all, just trying to make male friends.  You can set your site to "friends only," and that's how I've had one of my sites set for 2 years.  As a result, most men don't write you.  But never say never, because I've met TWO dudes recently who seem fairly nice lately, and one of them even lives in town.  One is even slightly attractive!

Oh, and there's the wealthy southern gentleman still writing me from Casper, WY.  Did I tell ya about him?
I had to kick the Wyoming-Artist to the curb before even meeting him, more later.

Let's discuss the guy from Casper.  Firstly, he says he's "20-30 lbs. oveweight" but then in his pictures he sends me, it looks more like 75lbs-100lbs. overweight.  Uhmm.  Does he think I might not notice?  Isn't that a bit like if I were only 4'2" tall e-mailing some guy that I'm a "little on the short side"?

Secondly, what's with guys who try to get romantic with you when they've not even met you yet?

"Hey, whazz up?" I texted the Southern Gentleman from Casper, WY last month.
"Not much," he texted back.
"Great weather hopefully coming up," I texted back.
"Yes, and I can't wait to meet you soon."  So far so good, right?
"Me, too."
"Don't take this wrong, but I can't wait to hold you, to kiss you, and smell the back of your neck which will smell like rain," he texted back.


We've only had a few phone dates and texts.  Yet, I keep encountering this, and so will you, (my single friends) UNTIL you set your site to "friends only."

Now, setting your site to "friends only" has many drawbacks:
1. Lots of morbidly-obese guys write you.
2. Lots of super lonely guys who live in their grandmothers' basements write you.
3. Needy guys with ZERO friends write you.
4. Ex-cons write you.

However, there are a few upsides:
1. No stupid romantic flirting when they don't know you.
2. No stupid shirt-less pictures.

and the biggie . . . .
3. They actually want to get to KNOW you, the real you, the "without-make-up" you.

The one guy, whom we'll call Asst. Principal is really nice and slightly cute.  He's an asst. principal at a high school about an hour from here and fairly fit looking and would like to hike with me next month.  Very nice.  No pictures of his willy or jackassery shirtless pic, no douchey-romantic talk either.  The other guy I'll call Computer Guy, has several degrees in computer science.  Hell, if anything, he can give my Netbook an upgrade.

Remember, "just friends" wink.  More later.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Momma Told Me There'd Be Days Like This

My ghost town of a life these days.

Yeah, I've had a few pretty hard weeks.  Bad words with a douchey business associate where I just had to stand there and take a beating.  Found out something really SHITTY about my ex that he's hid from me for a year, oh, and my uncle suddenly died.

I wish there was something outrageously funny I could make fun of.

My dating life?  Crickets.  Shawn at the gym is a nice guy and pretty funny, but I think that's never going to go anywhere.  I saw him out last Friday night, and we bought each other a few brews, then he said twice he'd see me at the gym the next day, and I was at the gym the next day for 3 hours, and he never showed up.  There's a Louisiana energy guy in Wyoming, but he's almost three hours away.  Then there's Douchey Wyoming Artist, but he's nothing more than an occasional text.

In fact, that's all there ever is from the online world of dating--texting and disappearing.

Oh, and it's snowing today.  Yay, winter has been here from Oct. 4--almost May. 

Sigh.  Maybe I can be funny next week.  :(

Sunday, April 6, 2014

The Revolving Door of Douchebags

Perfect metaphor for my dating life, a ghost town and a shitter all wrapped up in one.

 One new guy steps into the revolving door, just as I give yet another douchebag the boot.

Well, the Cute Wyoming Artist guy finally blew it.  1. he had 4 days off from work, Thursday-Sunday and completely disappeared on me.  2. He's been promising me we were going to meet.  YET after THREE months of texting-phone calls, just poof.  He's gone (TT, yes, I know you're right.  Her long standing rule is only a week's worth of texts/emails then you MUST meet or dump them).  I sent him a snarky text.  Nothing.  Called.  Crickets.  Finally, I sent him a text worried that maybe he was hurt/injured and just wanting to know if he was OK (his real job is dangerous), but nothing.   DONE.  I took him out of my cell.

Now, another guy is writing me.  This one works out at Ellsworth.  Seems nice.  We'll see.  There's plenty of time for him to bust out some terrific douchebag moves.

Then there's there the gym-guy, Shawn.  Now, he's the one I really like.  And he's so NICE and has nice friends, too.  And he's  REAL person (no flaky internet dating guys).  There's been some progress.

According to a keen bartender at Paddy's, he's single and not seeing anyone.

AND, get this, yesterday, he hollered my name across the gym and waved.  So I walked over and we made idle chit-chat for about 10 minutes.

Sooooooooo . . . the plot thickens.  Stay tuned.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Too Much Snow and the Food Network's Worst Show Ever

Besides shirking and emailing when it's snowy, Ben thinks you should also nap and read.

I missed the gym Monday, but I put in an episode of Northern Exposure and rode my training bike.  I had to do this again Tuesday, for it was yet again, snowing and too slick out. 

Sigh.  But maybe that's a good thing, having to stay in and watch Northern Exposure and ride rather than go to my gym.  This is because whether I go to my work gym, or my gym downtown, Ree Drummond is ALWAYS on Food Network.  And this show, The Pioneer Woman, is driving me fucking crazy.

Well, what's her show all about and what is annoying about it, you might ask.

Where do I begin?  Firstly, WHY is it ALWAYS ON?  If I work out at 9, it's on.  If I workout at 2, it's on.  If I work out at midnight, you guessed it, it's on.  WTF.

This would be OK, if this show taught interesting things like fusion cooking, or basic French cooking like Ina's show, or Simply Ming (yes, I know, I watch too many cooking shows when I start referring to chefs by their first names only as if we're bros).  But it's idiotic cooking.

Like, putting a scrambled egg in a tortilla.  Wow, I never thought of doing that.  Move over Julia Childs.


1.  she's got this squeaky baby-voice sounding like a seven year-old that makes my blood pressure go up.

2. she calls her "ranch" a ranch, as if everyone's stupid and doesn't know what goes on in a ranch/farm.  In reality it's a Trophy Home, and she's a Trophy Wife.  She never works, never: bails hay, scoops shit, pulls calves, slaughters animals, drives a tractor, throws bales, etc.

3. she refers to her husband as "hubby" OK, that's begging for an ass-kicking.

4. or she refers to her husband as "The Marlboro Man."  More ass-kicking.

5.  the whole show has this creepy 1950's Ward and June Cleaver/Stepford Wives vibe to it.

6.  the lingering question is what the hell is "Pioneer" about her show?  She lives in probably a $500,000 house with every amenity known.  "Pioneer" is PBS's reality show, "Frontier House" where 3 families had to go backwards in time, off-the-grid, and live exactly as pioneers did a century ago.  NOT THIS:

"Today, hee-hee, at the ranch we're going to discuss window cleaning techniques, make Bloody Mary's and my specialty peanut butter cupcakies and sit on my seven-hundred-foot deck and have a play-date (anyone who says "playdate" is itching for an ass-whipping), with my friends Marrissa and Jessica and their babies.  Hee hee."  What about that doesn't make you want to punch her in the face?

7. her recipes are lame.  Example: take tortilla out of bag, put cheese on it and canned sauce, put in microwave.  Culinary genius.  Seriously, who gave this person a cooking show?  I see in my most recent edition of Food Network Magazine, that they've asked many chefs what their favorite average ingredient from a grocery store was.  Ree was included.  Guess what her answer was?

Hellman's Mayonnaise.

Well, make room for Ms. Genius.  Who needs Lydia Bastianich?  What's Ree's second favorite gourmet selection, Heinz ketchup?

OK, I'll stop.  But if you don't believe me, go on Food Network and watch.  . . . Told ya so.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

The Electronic Age, More Snow . . . Oh, and Dating

Ben likes to lay on top the couch and watch old re-runs of Northern Exposure, especially any scene with Alaskan Huskies or Morty the Moose in it.

What else you going to do on a SNOWY, GRAY APRIL DAY besides screw around on email, certainly not work (I'm so burned out).  Speaking of emails, I was writing this new dude who sort of reminds me of John Goodman, when in one fat-fingered click, the whole page went blank, yup, an hour's worth of typing.  This is one thing, of about a thousand things, I hate about computers and the people who design them.  Who sat around an engineering desk, and thought, "I know.  Let's put something in the computer where if they accidentally hit these totally random two keys at the same time, they'll lose everything that they typed up.  Doesn't that sound cool?"  Who is the offical Asshat who came up with the idea?   AND, who are the Asshat designers who keep this feature in place?

What if your car worked like computers do?  What if it lacked all reliability like the internet/computers do?

You'd open the door, get inside and sit down, turn the key and nothing.  The car just didn't FEEL like starting.  Or, say you're tooling down the interstate when suddenly the car just slows down to a stop.  You're left with nothing to do but shut the car off, along the side of the road, and turn it back on every 15 min. til it feels like it's ready to start again.

My computer's router will do that, just 'cause it feels like it.  And I get to merrily waltz over to my main computer on the other side of the house, where the router is hooked up on the floor, sit down on the floor, lay down on my back to get to it, turn the whole thing upside down and around and unplug it, wait for 15 min. then plug it in again.  Sometimes 4-5 times.  

The other day (and my computer does this at least twice a week), the cursor just sort of disappears acting all lazy and fat, as if it were a sleeping cat refusing to budge.  I couldn't see what I typed for several seconds.  After cussing at it, getting up and getting coffee ten times, it still was doing it.


Who's this new dude?  An engineer/architect from California who works in ND and comes down here frequently on business.  He's quite cerebral.  And as usual, I'm wondering if like Wyoming Cute Artist/Musician, if I'll ever meet him, or if he's one of hundreds that I have NOT met, who just like the IDEA of meeting, and would rather instead, text/write emails forever.  I'll think up a nickname for these kinds of men, in another post.

In the meantime, the sun had better get to shining and stop SNOWING, already.  We are SO DONE with the snow!

Stay tuned.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Dreaming of Alaska

Just finished this book about Heimo Korth subsistence living in the Brooks Range of Alaska with his wife.

Sigh.  My dreams of the last final frontier, the place of legends, Alaska.

I'm now reading 4,000 Miles by Boot, Raft, and Ski--A Long Trek Home by Erin Mckittrick.  She and her husband backpacked from Seattle to the tip of the Brooks Range of Alaska, all on foot and canoe.

I'm wondering how my Alaskan friend is doing.  

Haven't talked to him since the big blow out when he got funky-drunky and brayed at Hipster then stumbled home while his angry girlfriend picked up his phone and sent me a text blaming everything on me.  Nevertheless, I miss him.  I have no one to talk about my Alaskan-obsession with other than him.  He's got that same fever about Alaska in his veins like I do.

Too bad he's got too many issues going on in his life.  Oh, well. 

What else is going on?  

Finally, I figured out what Shawn from the gym's last name is!  So I found him on Facebook, but he's never on Facebook and has all his security settings turned on, so I can't find out much more about him without just just brazenly asking him!

So, I'll have to pull up my big girl panties and do just that.  I did make small talk with one of his nice friends from the gym.

I'm a firm believer that if a person's got cool, grounded friends, then that means that the person is probably cool and grounded.  Then there's the Wyoming-sweet-little-artist guy.  I say "little" because Sipsey and I think he's probably only 5'8", and that could be why he's hemming around with meeting.  Short guys are touchy about their shortness like chubby women are with their weight.  I don't think a guy has to tower over me just to make me happy.  LOL.

Soooooooooo, we'll see.  In the meantime, I'll just enjoy the ride!

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Cold Feet or Just Stupid?

Look, I'm a dork cross-country skiing.  Pretty cool, eh?

Speaking of dorks, Country-Wyoming-Artist kind of blew it last weekend.

We were supposed to go out on Saturday, and he was SUPPOSED to drive over to meet me, but he wasn't being very certain in our plan making--tiny red flag.  Nevertheless, I was looking forward to it all week.  Then, at the last minute he says he must drive 150 miles in the other direction to Sheridan on Saturday to get his taxes done by his family's accountant, so we can't meet after all (after THREE months of texting, I might add).

Cold feet or just plain stupid?

And there I stood looking at the cute outfit I'd put together readying to go out, phone in hand.  He texted me, "I'm sorry I ruined our weekend."

Well, what does one say to that?  One says, are you just looking for a Fantasy Girlfriend?  Many men on the internet want just that.  They really do not want to date anyone, but they're lonely, so they text up and down a woman, but they never want to actually meet.  They like the NOTION of a possible girlfriend, but nothing more.

So today, I laid down the law and texted him that very information, asking him if that's all he wanted and being very direct.  I haven't heard back yet, so he must be back at work doing his three-day, 14 hour shifts, hence won't hear back until tomorrow.  Look, I don't want to waste my time.  If Wyoming-Artist just wants a fantasy-girlfriend to text when he's lonely, I'm out.  Especially when there are other dorks who want to take me out. 

Other dorks like Deadwood Dick, who is still unbelievably texting me.  I think he's too pushy for my type.  He's not sweet and gentle like my Wyoming-Artist.  He's brash, outspoken, like Fleishman from Northern Exposure.  Opinionated.  Smug.  Deadwood Dick, is well, a dick.  But he cracks me up in a combative type of way.  He's so NOT my type.  He's very Nordic looking as in he could play a Viking, which I find weirdly attractive.  And he's got a cabin off-the-grid which is quite appealing.  He's educated, an engineer (why do I attract engineers?), but like Cowboy-Artist he works for the energy biz now, so on a weird unpredictable work schedule.  He's well-off, been around the world, a widow who lost his family to 9-11, but I don't know the details.  Intriguing. Definitely NOT boring.

But he pissed me off last month, remember?  He still thinks I'm a surgeon, so I don't know how that's gonna play out.  LOL.  Then there's Dean-o, the hunky oil patch worker who blows into town when he's got his 4 days off.  He wants me to spend the whole weekend with him this weekend.  Uhm.  Really?  I hardly know you, joker.

Then there's the car salesman who's super cute, and of course the engineer from my gym.  He's the pick of the pack, the very best fit for me--we both have masters degrees, in his 40's, has hair, loves to work out like I do, has a Harley and loves to ride, super CUTE and very nice and polite.  I am really crushing on him, and he likes me too, but we're at a stalemate, and I'm not sure if he's dating anyone.  And I'm too chickenshit to just plain out ask if he has a girlfriend.  Sigh.

Stay tuned.