TWO Nebraska dudes=duds

The time/date stamp on here isn't working.  This post old news from February.  Sorry.  Nothing new here.

________________________________________________________________________

What?  A date with a normal guy who's cute?

Say it's not so.

Or say that's me talking into an old, defunct, 1940's bakealight phone set outside an abandoned mine.  Yup, that's about right.

So I finally heard back from the Nebraska Dude who took me out the first weekend after Thanksgiving; he was the dude who brought me flowers, took me to a very high end restaurant, held my hand, was a total gentleman and told me he really liked me, then proceeded to completely disappear until after New Year's, then make plans to take me out, then disappeared again.

Only to find that when I texted him a week ago, that he'd found a girlfriend after all.

Easy come.  Easy go.  At least he had the class to wish me luck and call me "a real sweetheart."  3-stars.

Last Friday, I was supposed to go out with another nerd from Nebraska, but after talking to me only 30 min. on the phone, texted me early Friday morning, that he didn't think we had anything in common, (aka, doesn't want to spend the money on dinner.)  I mean, really?  That equates a cheapskate, so I'm glad he bailed early enough for me to make other happy hour arrangements.

Now, there's another ner, I mean, potential local guy who's texting me.  He also has his masters like me, is creative, but oddly has "smokes occasionally" box checked on his website.  What do I know?  Here, in this forever-stuck-in-1985 city, nothing passe shocks me.  I suspect this one has some Tom Foolery, so I'll keep you posted.

Passion, Another Bold Move on My Part

Now let me tell you about Big D, for Donny Story.

At my other job at the gym, I've been crushing on this biker boy who's so scalding hot, that I can't think straight when he comes in to work out.  He looks like Chad Kroger from Nickleback.

So anyways, I'm too tongue-tied around him to get many conversations going.  But I see him looking at me, and he told me he liked my hair a couple weeks ago so there might be some interest down the line.

So the other day I saw a poster advertising a motorcycle show downtown and suddenly it came to me.  He possibly might be there.  Manifest.  Make it happen.  Believe.  DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The day came, and I hopped on my bicycle and headed down the bike path towards the Civic Center where it was being held.  Lo and behold I run right into D on the bike path, apparently to let his dogs out of his jeep for a walk.  And was I smooth or what.

Me: Heeey, just the man I wanted to see. (slowing my bicycle to stop and as smooth as The Fonz)
D: Oh yeah?  (looking pleased and totally surprised)
Me: I figured you'd be at the bike show.
D: How'd you know I have a bike?
Me: (smiles)
D: I actually have a bike entered!  It's right when you walk in.  I got a big display.
Me: See you there (and I take off on my bicycle without giving him  a second to think)

When I get there, I roam around looking at motorcycles.  I see him outta the corner of my eye looking around for me.  I take my sweet time going over there.  When I get there, he's got a school teacher lady-friend (he's a 4th grade teacher/biker) there who must have told him she'd come to visit him at the bike show.

He talks about his ride, then asks me and this other chick if we want to cruise around and look at the other bikes.  We do, but at one point his friend is talking to him about something, but the whole time Donny is looking at me like he's not even listening.  You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.  She splits.  And then I hang out another hour with Donny, then I take a bold move.

Right before I tell him that I'm going to leave, I say, "I'd love for you to take me riding.  Let me give you my number."  He says "Sure!"

Then, later on that night he texts me: "Hey, Natalie, this is Donny.  Just sayin hi."  I truly felt I'd died and gone to heaven.

We texted a little back and forth, and I said I would stop by the bike show the next day when they gave out the awards.

The next day, his bike took best of show!  I felt like his old lady, and that was pretty hot.  Then he says, "Stick around and help me tear down my display and I'll give ya a ride."  Did he have to ask twice?  Hell no.  We went for a ride and the whole time, I rested my rack against his back, heh, heh.  Then once the ride was over and I was home, I sent him a flirty text, and he flirted right back.

Now it's been two weeks, and it's nothing but crickets.  He texted me twice but only about the gym hours=lame.

Either he's busy or playing hard-to-get or isn't interested any more.  Haven't seen him at the gym since March 7th.  WTF?

Meh.  It doesn't even matter.  I'm so proud of how cool and smoothster I was.

Plus, there's a new cute dude on the horizon who's the best kisser on the planet.  Two dates in.  Dead Serious.  Let the good times roll and the games begin.  All I'm gonna hint at is never-say-never, folks.  Never say never.

UPDATE: It never went anywhere, but it was sure fun.

The clouds parted then God showed the world the universe.

Yup.   Kiddies, I've had some good dates lately.  Stop and sit down.  TT know that there is hope.

This one dude asked me out via online and he's a retired colonel.  Yup, since I've had a brush with felons these days, I researched him.  Everything was legit.  He wasn't hot, but he was cute and nice.

Big sigh of relief.

And, I forgot to tell you about Big Al who is the liquor store guy I've been flirting with for months and has nothing at all to do with online dating.  He kinda reminds me of John Goodman when he played "Dan" on "Rosanne," in a good way, a good old boy who knows how to dress and wear his hair yet still be down to earth.  A biker but with a brain and a heart of gold

See, it works sometimes!  Al even accepted my Facebook request tonight.

Things CAN WORK dating-wise, when you are older or if you are young and online dating, my kiddies, but you must be PATIENT and willing to wait YEARS.  That's the shitty part that no one want to hear.  That you might wait years and years, but it DOES happen.

There's so much more I'd like to share, but I'm not jinxing it. 

P.O.F.? Plenty of Felons

I used to think Alaska was the last great frontier for finding dudes.  Until I found a blog about dating in Alaska.  The blogger said, "There's plenty of pickin's, but the pickin's are odd."

BUT the pickin's in South Dakota aren't just odd. 

Dooders said this about Plenty of Fish, "Dude, it's Plenty of Felons."  No doubt. 



More later.

Phone Psycho Guy

Well, it certainly has NOT been a ghost town this year regarding my dating life.

Anything but.

Let me tell you about Phone Psycho Guy.

Firstly, I should have learned my lesson last summer from Indifferent Guy, in that, if I'm not attracted to a guy, then I should NOT let him pursue me.

But I'm sometimes slow to learn.  And I have this stupid theory that an average-looking guy is going to be nicer than a cute guy.  Not true.

Anyway, I let this average-guy, Monty, start texting me, with the stupidly hopeful notion, that he might somehow over time, get cuter and fun.

Didn't happen.

In fact, he texted me too much, to the point where I started blowing him off.

Until, I got this snarky text, "What are you doing this weekend?  I suppose you're busy."

Which I was.  And I didn't like that tone, so I replied something to the effect that I was indeed "busy."

He in turn said that I must be a "homo-guy"or a ""sick chick with issues"" because I always take too long to text him back, and probably didn't even want to meet him.

Uh, yeah, duh.  And are you effing kidding me--you're calling me a dude?  I texted him that I wished people wouldn't hide behind electronics.which led to him calling me on my cell.

And proceeding to YELL at me.  Why?  He was yelling/demanding why am I even on a dating-website if I never want to meet anyone or be bothered to text back promptly.  Hey, great way to impress!

Hello?  Yelling at me.  I let him yell about 10 seconds more while I sat there in shock.  Then I promptly said, "Monty, I'm afraid you're too combative for my taste--take care (which always means fuck you)," then I hung up on him.

Amazing.  I wonder if him and Felon Guy are roommates?  LOL.  Stay tuned.

Bullshitter and Valentine's

Banana bread that I made yesterday and was going to give to my possible new, potential and lovely boyfriend.

Because I was THAT sure we were an item.

Let me explain.  Our first date was right out of a romance novel.  He was tall, cute, well-mannered and charming.  Smart, he invented one of the first radial "airplane" motorcycles.  Popular.  All over Google.  In fact, if you're nosy, you can easily find him on Google.

Anyway, our first date lasted 8 hours, and it was wonderful.  He asked permission to hold my hand.  Texted each other all week long.  He called our first date "amazing," and asked me out last Saturday.

We went on a romantic walk around a lake, two vineyards and dinner.  It was one of the best dates of my life, and he thought the same.

Then, as we were preparing for Valentine's, I get this text:

"Natalie, I got to be honest.  I heard from an old girl friend that I haven't seen in 5 years.  And it's messing with my head today."  I replied that I would bow out if he wanted to see her, and I got this response:

"Don't want to date her but maybe think I shouldn't date at all for a bit if that makes sense?"

I sadly replied that I understood.

Then late last night I get this confusing text obviously meant for someone else:

"I do :)"

I texted him this morning, that his text was obviously meant for someone else.  And I've heard nothing in response.  NOTHING.   Crickets.

Nice.  Why.  Do.  I. Try.  This guy seemed really nice, honest, into me, and genuine.  I wish I could turn this post into something humorous, but I just can't right now.

I haven't even told you about the Phone Psycho Guy or the dude I'm meeting tomorrow for happy hour.  That should at least be funny.

Staying positive.  I simply must, and thank you, Universe, for spinning this sad one right out of my life before I got hurt.

Stay tuned.

Almost Date--with a Felon!

Cheers!

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."

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.
Faithfully,
The Detective Dater

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.

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.

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.

Wrong.

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,
sweetheart."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

EXAMPLES OF SHITTY HUMOR:
 

PUNS--
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.

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.

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.

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.

Sigh.

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

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.