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.