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.

Friendship and Being Cranky

My Quiet, Groovy, Life.  Happy with my alone time, sitting at Indy's yesterday after three hours at the gym, and getting ready to go home, have some wine, listen to Prairie Home Companion, and bliss with my dog.

But I am different.  I view friendships differently because I am SINGLE and not ashamed.

If you're single and friends with single people, there's a sort of a Democracy going on.  It goes like this:

"Hey, man, you wanna hang out Saturday?"
"Sure what were you thinking of doing?"

And it sort of goes from there.  But I've noticed things different with my neighbor whom I'm friends with.

"Hello?"
"Hey, girl I've been thinking about you.  Let's hang out."
"Dude, I've not hung out with you in over a year, but OK.  What looks good to you?"
"Well, hubby will be out of town, so I was thinking . . ."

Did I mention that she ONLY wants to hang out, when her husband is out of town?  When he was stationed in Iraq, we hung out all the time, but the minute his ship landed, and he was back, GONE-O.

Whenever I get STUCK at the gym watching (the worst cooking show, ever), Ree Drummond's Life at the Ranch, or whatever the hell the backwards show is called, I'm reminded of my neighbor and other women like her who completely disappear into their man, and think doing so is super neat.  Ree thinks she's the head of the household, calls herself a "Writer" whatever!  Ree, your husband runs the show because basically, you DO NOT WORK, and he pays all the bills!  You are a glorified housekeeper, cook.

Likewise, my neighbor thinks it is sort of cute that she asks, like asks for permission from her asshat husband, to hang out with me, on the rare occasions that we do hang out, even though "hubby" (anyone who says that word around me will be shot) is out of town.  Patriarchy gone bad, let me tell you.  And every other gawd damned sentence is, "Well HUBBY thinks" this or that, as if he's gawd himself, and this is only because he is a man.

It's like some women glorify men, or maybe I just have a shitty attitude.  But I have NEVER disappeared into a man, nor would I respect or want a guy who's disappeared into me.  You have to have your OWN life. 

Speaking of men, what's going on here?  Not much.  (Crickets chirping) Cowboy-artist is still texting me.  I'm wondering if we are ever going to meet or if it's that fantasy thing that so many guys do where they just text (you never wind up meeting them), shrug.  No news from Deadwood Dick, but I am getting an occasional text from the cute car salesman in town, but it seems the timing is off.  Hipster has disappeared from the radar.  BUT, I spent about 45 min. talking to Shawn-the-cute-guy-from-the-gym at Paddy's.

He's cute.  I'm friends with his best friend's niece.  He's educated.  But I'm approaching it as a friends-only thing, because I can't figure out if he has a girlfriend or not.  So best not get hopes up.

So pretty quiet around here, UNLESS Cowboy-Artist comes into town this weekend, so stay tuned.

Post Valentine's Blues: Or What a Great Time With Crackie

Y'all, ain't that cute?  Bennie begging for something from his treat bowl.   Nothing's cuter than that, other than a 2 day long date with Crackie.  Sigh.

We had a blast since he rolled into town.  Gabbing, hiking, dining out, cooking in, long intellectual discussions until two in the morning, guffawing and beer sipping, sarcasm and watching tons of Northern Exposure followed by deep, meaningful talks, interesting discussions about our travels over 2013.  Then there was copious hand holding, one deep-kiss, and lots of snuggling and footsies.

But like always, he's blown back outta town.  He did say a few alarming things: like, how he just ought to settle down with me, fall in love, be with me for the rest of his life. 

 What was that, you gasp?

"You haven't told him you've been dating other people?" Dooders asked. 

Well, no.

"What about his committment-phobia?" JJ asked.  Good point, I thought.  Maybe, he's now seen what he's been missing?

Talk is cheap.  It ain't over til it's over.  Until a guy puts a ring on my finger, IF I allow it, it's not over until I say so.

There's still Shawn, my old student's uncle's friend from the gym, who's cute as hell and as nice as can be, and there's still my little Wyoming artist/singer prince.

Stay tuned, kiddies.

Cute Wyoming Artist Cowboy Singer

Nothing says cute like this little singin' cowboy I met at rally last year.

Unless it's this  CUTE Wyoming, has-a-good-job-artist-musician that I've met.

He has this beautiful, boyish side to him, who keeps charming me.  When he sings to one of his guitar songs and dedicates it to me, he reminds me of a young Elvis without all the drama.  So dag-gummed nice--OMG, I just said that?  I keep wondering, when's the other shoe gonna drop?  When am I gonna find out he has a major mental illness, or an addiction, is a midget, missing teeth, right wing nut job?

But church, morals, his family mean something to him.  This would normally remind me of self-righteousness, people who deem, aesthetics, art, philosophy, hipness, counter-culture, to be sinful.  But he just strikes me as, well, genuine, and kind, and I don't run into that much anymore.

The plot thickens.  And I'm intrigued.  Stay tuned.

Don't worry.  Things won't get boring, and Deadwood Dick is still texting me entertainingly stupid texts, so there's enough braying donkeys, myopic sots, and other Tom Fooleries in my life to keep everything comical. I've got your backs, kiddies.

More Douchebaggery and Falsfiying On My End

View of one of my all time favorite places, Mt. Humongous (or was it Mt. Massive?) a top Leadville, Colorado, right as Doooders and I drove off from the liquor store forgetting our 6-pack on the curb.  We didn't even remember about the 6-pack until we'd finished the other 6-pack a few hours later back at the campsite.  Yeah, that was stupid.

But not as stupid as the texts-war I had with the Deadwood dude the other night; I'll start calling him "Deadwood Dick."  OK, so he asks for my number off the dating site over a week ago, almost two weeks ago, after not really emailing much before-hand.  So I don't hear from him and write him off.  The Artist from Wyoming has been wooing me anyway (more on that sweetie later).

Then out of no where Wednesday night he texts me that he's in town running errands.  He says he's just going to stay the night here (why?, weird), rather than drive back up to Deadwood.  He asks me what I'm doing.  I say I'm working late and have a lot of work to do.  I tell him that he should enjoy our downtown night life and go out to eat at the new Indian place. 

Then it goes like this:

Deadwood Dick: why don't you meet me right now downtown for dinner?

Me: (getting annoyed because I already said I had to stay late, and, WTF, we didn't make plans) No, I can't.  I have a ton of work to do.

Deadwood Dick:  . . . . Your lame. ;-)  (yes, he spelled it that way)

Me: (getting even more annoyed) If you would have given me say a heads up.  Try planning ahead sometime, and maybe I will.

Deadwood Dick: Try living life, be spontaneous!

At this point, I ignore him because I'm getting fed up.  I stay late another hour then I go home and put on my P.J's because it's late.  About that time I get another text from him.

Deadwood Dick: I'm still here if you want to meet up with me.

At this point, I'm furious.  I SAID I had to work late.  I SAID if we'd made plans then that was different.  UNLIKE, the Artist-guy (more on him later), this guy hasn't had any conversations about himself with me, no emails, no phone calls.  I basically do not know him at all, and I'm supposed to drop what I'm doing and meet him?  I'm even more suspicious about him staying in town in a motel when he only lives in Deadwood.  Is he looking to "hook up."

Oh, I was spontaneous all right, because I texted him this:

Me: No.  I have patients to take care of. I am a doctor in E.R.,  and I have mountains of paperwork in my office.  That's why I said to plan ahead might be nice.  I have lives to save.

Yes, I actually said that (new readers, I'm an English teacher NOT a M.D.).  Then he said:

Deadwood Dick: I'm sorry.  Oh, I really look like an ass.  I'm so sorry.  I'm going home now."

WTF?  So once he saw that I was someone important, he backed off.  Soooo, did he just think I was some white trash cashier with a second grade education at Wal-Mart or something, looking to get lucky?  And what was up with suddenly driving home now.  I thought he was spending the night in town.  (was he hoping for a hook up?)

Then, he sends me this weird picture of his head laying on a pillow with his eyes closed.  It was so flipping weird.

I knew it was too good to be true to have THREE cool guys writing/wanting to date me now.

Stay tuned.

Douche-a-rooni--How's that for a Word?

Ohhh, last summer when I decided everyone could piss off and I would have Sons of Anarchy, Katie Segal hair, or at least my rendition of it.  I don't like to copy people's style, so I made up my own.

Sometimes a change up is necessary.  Especially if you've just spotted a Douche-a-rooni last week  in the coffee house whom you met on a disaster-date many years back, even more so, if you played a trick on him about a year ago.

Well, I met Douchebag #342 about eight years ago at the coffee house.  The minute he walked in the door, I knew he wasn't my type.  Redheads are hit-or-miss.  Sometimes they can be handsome like Bobby Flay, or they can be the Howdie Doodie sort, and that was this guy.

Anyway, we shook hands and made small tallk, and I started thinking of excuses to get out of there as fast as possible when he made an announcement.  Why don't we become "f*&k buddies," he asks.  No strings attached.  Hey, that sounds like fun, the way getting pulled over for going 20 over the speed limit is fun, or getting mugged on vacation, or a trip to the emergency room.

"Are you kidding me?  Are you seriously effin' kidding me?" I stammered. 
"Well, it'd be your loss if you didn't," he had the balls to say.
"You're an idiot," I said as I got up to leave.

Fast forward a few years.  In my "Black Period," I created a fake site on Plenty of Losers, just to experiment and see how men would respond to it, using some generic model's picture.

Well, this JOKER wrote my fake character, pleading for her number.  What did my fake character do?  Fake character told him that she had a NICE friend (me) who met him for coffee years back, but that he acted like a pig and solicited her for sex.  And she didn't want anything to do with pigs like him.

JOKER immediately apologized and admitted  he was a douchebag back then, but has grown up and isn't one anymore.  Fake Character shrugged him off.

Then JOKER wrote my real site and apologized for being a douchebag years ago, but that he desperately wanted to date my Fake Character (Just ruined it, pal.  You weren't sorry at all).  Then he wrote back to my Fake Character and said that I was weird, that he had apologized, but that I hadn't accepted his apology.  Fake Character simply told him, "Sorry, I don't associate with Douchebags.  Take care."

So imagine how amused I was to see JOKER-Douche-arooni, years later last week, at the same coffee house, looking, I might add, rather worse for wear, a tire around his middle, more hair gone, turning into "Balding-Fat-Howdy Doodie."

He looked at me curiously.  I could tell he was thinking "She looks familiar.  How do I know her?" but I left before he could remember.

The Universe and I had a good laugh together last week.  Oh, the ironies, oh the ironies!  Stay tuned folks.

Who You Are and Whom You Once Were

I read an interesting essay yesterday that discussed how we're supposed to think a certain way once we are "adults," and that who we once were as children sort of dies or disappears.  It's like society pushes you to hurry up and "grow up."  This is true.  And it's certainly BS.

The essay argued we can reverse this cultural stigma, and we CAN be our inner children if only we reach out to ourselves and TRUST, in that we trust ourselves, and that we have trust in the Universe.

Hence, that's me in the picture, and that's sort of me now, always riding my bike.  But do I have that childlike wonder, that trust or faith like a child does?

After a long parade of fools these past ten years, (men sending me pictures of themselves shirtless, sending me pictures of their pee-pees, asking me to run off to some time-share when they don't know me, married men looking for three-somes, "supposablies and I-don't-got-no's," Cactus Man, and other offensives to humanity), I sort of lost touch with my inner child and turned more into a warrior in combat, guns locked and loaded.

Imagine my surprise, my utter shock when this new guy, the Artist, sent me something that just touched my inner-child.  He sent me a recording of him singing a song and playing the guitar.  I'm not sure if he wrote it or not, but it was about a guy saying he's lucky to have met this girl, even if she doesn't want to be his friend, even if they part their own ways, he's just lucky he got to know her at all.  It was so sweet and kind of sad in a way, because his voice is lovely, and the melody gentle, country-like and innocent as a child.

Call 9-1-1!  He broke through Fort Knox! 

And a big, ol' tear rolled down my cheek. 

I immediately thanked him for being so sweet and recording that for me, for trusting me not to laugh at his gentle song, realizing I would have never, EVER sent anyone something like that, for fear of ridicule, looking stupid, being too vulnerable, you name it.  But he just sent it out to the universe, trusting I would allow it, and I did.

Miracles.  I am definitely looking forward to knowing this gentle creature, this obviously very talented gentleman, this seemingly old-fashioned cowboy.  Could he be one of those "cute but good guys"?

Either way, I'm getting to know this inner child that I lost for a while.  Stay tuned!