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.

Why?

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!

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.

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.

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.

Sigh.

"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.

WTF.

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.

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.  :(

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.