Out of the Mouths of Babes

My morning routine consists of waking up at 5:00, making my coffee and walking entirely too many dogs (3) on a mile and a half trek, praying we don’t run across an errant squirrel or rabbit.  (There’s not enough Cesar Milan in the world to keep my 3 dogs from taking me out for critter in our path.  Pack Leader, my ass.)  To reward myself for participating in such a Fear Factor-esque stunt each morning, I take refuge on my couch and enjoy the commercial-less shows I DVR’d the night before.  On my lineup this morning - The Voice. 

The show started off like any other; entirely too much build up for 2 minutes of singing - albeit very good singing – and because it’s the “Battle Rounds” each song completion resulted in one of the coaches selecting a winner from the competing duo.
 
So there I sat, in the dark, sipping my coffee and watching these amazingly talented people sing for their lives when all of a sudden, I’m bawling like a baby.  I don’t mean I got teary.  I mean doubled over, head in hands, mouth open, drool descending, audible gasps, ugly crying.  I even did the breath thing your 3 year old does when he’s worked himself into a tantrum frenzy.  You know, the one that when they attempt to speak it comes out like they’re being punched in the stomach with each syllable – why-y a-am I-I cry-y, i-ing (yes, I actually said these words aloud with only me in the room.)  What the hell, drama?  Even my dogs were profoundly confused. 

I mean, sure, I get teary when I witness an amazing voice or hear a song sung better than the original - especially when it comes out of an unsuspecting subject - but this was just a run-of-the-mill duo singing a song, doing what they were born to do.  And that’s when it hit me.  They were BORN to do this.  They have their childhood idols extolling their greatness on national TV, validating their very existence on this earth, confirming everything they had been working for and sacrificing for all their lives.  The coaches utter phrases such as, “You were born to do this,”  “You belong on my team,” and my very favorite line from the smokin’ hot Adam Levine, “You are very, very special.”  

Just once…  But I digress.

So why get all weepy about some strangers on TV receiving validation for something they were born to do?  Because they knew what they were born to do.  They knew what they wanted to be when they grew up.  They had it figured out and had people who saw the potential in them to grow them into accomplished "whatevers" – to help them achieve their dreams.

What was I born to do?  Who is extolling my greatness?  Who is validating me?

On some level I’ve always known that I didn’t have the drive to do any one thing.  And I think that’s because I realized I’m not particularly good at anything.  That’s a harsh reality and one I’ve never really taken the time to say out loud.  Karen, you are not exceptional - you have no discernible talent.  There, I said it, and it sucks.  I guess I will never know what it feels like to be the best at something or hear Adam Levine say to me, “You are very, very special.”

And that’s when my son came out from his bedroom with his bed-head hair, rubbed his sleepy eyes and, without even asking me why I was crying (or talking to myself), he slowly turned to the TV and said, “Oh, The Voice is on!  Mom, I wish you were famous.  That would be so cool.” 

What a little bastard.

Guilt...It's Not Just a River in Egypt...

Guilt.  I have a ton of it.  My therapist actually asked me once if I was Catholic, because I was so good at guilt.  Is guilt a Catholic trait?  I'm Presbyterian.  You know, more of a cafeteria type of religion where you sort of pick and choose your sins and beliefs.  But I don't think guilt was instilled in me at church.  

I tend to feel guilty over stupid things, like not getting enough vegetables on a trip to the grocery store, or walking during part of my "run", for not getting my Christmas cards out by the 1^st of December, or for telling someone who likes me that, I'm just not feelin' it.   

Okay, so that last one isn't so ridiculous.  I mean, no one likes to hear that their feelings aren't reciprocated.  And being the one delivering the crushing news?  Ugh!  I think I can feel guilty about that last one without feeling guilty for feeling guilty (therapy, anyone?)

So why is guilt such a driving force in some people's lives and not in others?  I envy those who walk around without the heavy burden of guilt.  They seem to live their lives and not care about what other people think.  I truly wish I could be more like that.  To the woman in the grocery last night who proudly loaded her Totino's Pizza Rolls, Hostess Ding Dongs, two bottles of wine and Tylenol PM (I am not kidding) onto the checkout counter, I say, "Carry on my guilt-free and, obviously self-medicating, crusader!"

Hey, just because I admire her guilt-free attitude doesn't mean I'm not going to judge her...good grief, lady.  Show some self-control! (What?  Thou shalt not judge? Not on the menu today)

I'm sorry, what was I talking about?  Oh yes, guilt.  It's funny, when I find I'm feeling guilty about a recent interaction with another person, I typically discover that I was feeling guilty for something the other person didn't even think twice about.

You know I'm going to have an example, right?

Reintroducing Brad.  Remember Brad?  Brad was the strapping young buck who asked me to come back to his hotel room and when I wouldn't stay the night, never called me again...well, not for another 7 months, anyway.  If you need a refresher, read, "But Who's Keeping Score?"

Brad texted me again a few months ago (he clearly doesn't read my blog) and asked how I'd been.  We exchanged a few pleasantries and then he sent me a "would you consider giving me another chance?" text.  Now, the right thing to do would've been to be an adult and say, "No, I'm still not interested."  But I took the low road that day, my friends - I simply ignored the text.

I can't tell you how much guilt I felt for not responding.

Was he weeping quietly in his room over me?  Did he have to take a leave of absence from work to sift through his feelings and sense of loss?  Had he lost his will to live?  What if he takes his aggression out on his dog?

So I contacted him (via text, of course) just after Thanksgiving.  This was our conversation:

Karen -  Hey Brad!  I hope you had a nice Thanksgiving and got to be with your kids.  I'm sending you this random text because I wanted to apologize for not responding to your last text.  That was rude of me.  I guess not responding was easier than telling you I'm just not sure we're in the same place in life right now and I didn't want to waste either of our time.  I'm sorry.

I wasn't sure he would even respond, and it would've been fine had he not.  But he did...

Brad -  I sent you those texts only because of what happened.  Had things gone normal I would have acted normal.  I was so freaked out.  I wanted to be with you again just to show you it works normal.  It was like a Seinfeld episode.

I was sort of confused at this point because I wasn't sure what he meant by "what happened" and "works normal" but I assumed he was talking about a "normal" relationship and not calling after our last date.  So I continued.

Karen -  That makes sense.  My life is kind of like a sitcom...;)  For the record, why were you freaked out? 

Brad - You kinda remind me of Elaine :)  When I woke in the morning it hit me you went through all this effort to be with me, woke up at 5am to drive back and I wasn't even able to please you.  I freaked out.  Hence the texts.

Now I KNOW he's confusing me with someone else!  I truly considered responding with, "Come again?" but I thought that would just be salt in the wound at this point.

Karen -  Do you even know who this is?  Drove back from where?

Brad -  F*ck, who is this?  I got a new phone and lost my contacts.

Karen - Unbelievable

Brad - Is this Karen?

Karen - Yes

Brad - Holy Sh*t

Karen - You're an idiot

Brad - What text did you not respond to?  What are you talking about different places in life?  What place in life are you in?

Karen - I'm at the place in life where I'm not sleeping with people I'm not in relationships with.

Brad - Did we sleep together?

Karen - Just. Wow.

Ummm...I don't think anymore commentary is necessary.  You?

Don't think for one second that I didn't have tremendous guilt while writing the first part of this blog entry.  But as I was reading my texts to type our conversation, my guilt lifted at a rapid pace.

********************

 

Damn!

  

Okay, So You DON'T Wanna Date Me...?

Being a parent is the most important thing in my life.  If I exceed at nothing else, I know that I've excelled at being an exceptional mom.  So, naturally, it stands to reason that if I'm looking for someone to be my "someone", they should probably like kids. 

Dating...so many friggin’ rules, so much criteria, so much work...at some point, kids, you just have to let go, relax the standards and be open to the opportunities that present themselves.  Kind of like letting Dating Jesus take the wheel.  

You know, they say if you listen closely, the universe will speak to you...

I’ve lived in my house for 8 years and still know very few of my neighbors.  By very few, I mean one; my next door neighbor Philip.  I’m not sure why that is, but I like to attribute it to the decline of America’s sense of community in lieu of questioning my own anti-social behaviors.  Because, yeah, that's better.  At any rate, I had recently come to the conclusion that I was 18 cats and a shower cap away from being labeled a recluse, so I attempted to make myself more available to my neighbors.

To do this I began hanging out in the front yard more often, saying hello to those who walked by and I ran with my head up for a change.  One day as I was about to go for a run, my neighbor, Philip, was outside working on his lawn.  

Sidebar - Philip was the first (and only) neighbor I met when I moved into the house 8 years ago. He wasn't a neighbor I really knew a lot about, we just said hello when we'd see each other either going to or coming home from work. 

With my new neighborly attitude firmly in place, I decided to strike up a conversation by asking an embarrassingly obvious question.

Karen - "So, doing a little yard work, huh?" (man, I'm like catnip for men. I guess that would be man-nip...but that just suggests he's cold, so...)

Philip - "Yeah, I got a letter from the HOA asking me to replace my shrubs or face a fine.  I'd like to find the person who wrote the letter and have a little chat with him."

As I stood there talking to Philip, I found myself thinking, He's kinda cute.  He's slightly taller than I am, he's successful, he owns his own home and he's clearly attracted to me. (two words - Cat. Nip.)  Has my prince charming been living next door to me all this time and I didn't even realize it?  

Is that you, Universe?  It's me, Karen.  And I hear you loud and clear!

What’s that one saying?  *snap* *snap*...you know the one....  Oh yes, Don’t dip your pen in the company ink, Don’t fish off the company pier, Don’t sh*t where you eat, Don’t get your nookie where you get your cookies, Don't do your next door neighbor. (don't look at me that way, it's a saying...)  

You know, there's a reason there are a million (or 4) ways to warn against getting involved with those in close proximity; 'cuz it's stoo-pid.  Every fiber of my being was screaming, DON'T EVEN CONSIDER THIS!  I BEG OF YOU!!

But did I listen?  This is post #13 - I think you people know me well enough to know by now.  That's right, I took off on my run and fantasized about my new life with Philip.  How easy it would be to date my neighbor.  He has his space, I have mine, he's seen me go out for my paper in the morning, so there'll be no surprises there, he knows I have a son (again, no surprises), I know he cycles so we have the "fit" thing in common, he likes beer, I like beer, he grills out, I eat grilled food.  I could go on and on...  This was gonna be perfect! 

When I got back from my run, my husband-to-be was still outside working on his shrubs. 

Philip - "So, you dating anyone?"

(like shooting fish in a barrel)

Mrs. Philip -  "I'm not.  I was doing the online thing for a while and had so many catastrophic experiences I actually just started a blog about it."
 
Philip - "I'd like to write a blog, too!"

Of course you would, because when you like someone, you want to show you have similar interests.

Mrs. Philip - (feigning utter surprise) "Really? How interesting!  What would you write about?"

Ah, the timeless dance of a blossoming new love... 

Philip - "It would be about the fact that I don't have children and I don't want children,  so why the hell do I have to pay higher property taxes based on the school district I'm in?  And why do my taxes help schools if I don't have kids? And why do I have to drive 20 mph in a school zone? And why can't I talk on the phone or text in a school zone?  Why do you get a tax break just because you have a kid?"

*********************

I saw that going so differently in my head... 

Damn!

The Cheesy Perv

My therapist (yes, my therapist) once told me, “Karen, you won’t be a member of any club who would accept you as a member.”  (I swear that man was high during most of my sessions)  But I did eventually understand what he was saying.  He meant that I chase after those who don’t appear to want me, and the minute they express an interest, I’m wondering what is wrong with them for wanting to be with me. 

I know, I know - I exhaust myself.

In an effort to "fix" this, he suggested that the next time someone expressed an interest in me, I needed to “push on through” and see what happens.

Questionable advice from my possibly high therapist; I foresee no issues with this what-so-ever.

*******************

Shortly thereafter I received a phone call from one of my best friends, Erica, who hates that I am single:

Erica -  “What are you doing this weekend?”

Karen - “Cleaning my house.”

I wasn’t making excuses.  I really was cleaning my house; a chore I’ve come to realize has taken the place of human touch or intimacy for me.  (my house is really, really clean)

Erica  – “Well, get your stuff done before 6 because we’re going on a double date!”  His name is Steven and he's really cute!  We'll meet at the restaurant at 7.”

I was actually pretty excited about this setup since my dating activity had hit a major drought.  Plus, this friend is smokin’ hot and pretty people hang out with other pretty people, right? 

When I arrived at the restaurant, everyone else was already there as I was running a little late.  I peered around the corner at the table and tried to get a good look at cute Steven before I walked up.  To my delight, he was, as Erica promised, really cute!

After dinner, we went to a nearby club for some live music and dancing.  Our conversation was  eclectic in nature, touching on subjects such as our kids (he had two daughters),"Big 80's Hair", 80's sitcoms and sports.  Most disturbing to me was that Steven wasn't a football fan and had never seen a Superbowl.  (cringe)

The following morning I logged onto my computer and discovered an email from Steven.  When I opened it up, I found a gorgeous picture of a red rose sprinkled in dew drops and a lovely message attached: 

A wonderful night with a beautiful woman.

You're smart, sexy and confident - and you "got" my 80's sitcom references.  

I look forward to seeing you again very soon.

With love,

Steven

Let me tell you what happens to me when a guy does something like this for me - I close up shop and you're forever classified in my irreversible (and un-dateable) "cheesy" category.   I know it's a nice gesture and there's nothing inherently wrong with it, but a picture of a rose with dew drops?  Dude, come on!

Just then, Erica called to see what I thought about Steven:

Erica - "Hey, did you like him?  He really liked you!"

Karen - "I did like him.  Is it weird that I'm so bothered by the fact that he's never seen a Superbowl?  And he just sent me a cheesy email."

Erica - "So, you don't want to see him again?"  Because we're going out to the lake today and he asked if you could come along?"

Karen - "I can't, I have my son today - you know I don't let guys I date meet my son."

Erica - "So what?  We're taking the girls - just let Steven know this won't be treated as a date since your son will be there."  

Suddenly, an apparition appeared above me.  It was my therapist's head in an celestial haze (bong smoke, I assume), saying:  "He likes you, Karen.  Stop finding all the reasons why it won't work.  Push on through...see what happens."

Karen – “You know what?  I’d love to!”

When my son, Ryan, and I got to the lake, Erica's family and Steven were loading up the coolers, towels and bags.  I did my best to pretend Steven didn't have two really big strikes against him. (push on through)  I even found the strength to thank him for the "thoughtful" email. (albeit through gritted teeth)  I also reiterated to Steven that we were just hanging out as friends that day since my son was there and he told me he absolutely understood. 

So you can imagine my surprise when, as I was helping Ryan with his life jacket, I felt a cup full of ice being poured down my bathing suit bottoms.  I'm sorry - what the hell just happened here?  First of all, I hardly know you.  Second, you pulled my bathing suit bottoms out and exposed my nether region to not only you, but to everyone on the boat behind me.  Lastly, I'm 100% certain giving me vaginal frostbite is never the answer.

push on through

I looked at Erica and she was mildly mortified.  She came over and offered the suggestion that perhaps he was trying too hard to be fun for Ryan.  Okay, okay...I guess that's possible.  And I continued to push on through.
 
After removing the ice from my various crevices, it was time for lunch.  I fixed my son a sandwich and some Cheetos.  As is customary when you're under 10 and eating Cheetos, your fingers become an orange, sticky, cheesy mess!  As I looked around for a paper towel or something equally suitable to clean my son's fingers, Steven chimed in:

Steven - "Hey Ryan, why don't you take your cheesy fingers and write your name on your mom's sexy stomach."

ew...Ew.....EW!!!  inappropriate, Inappropriate, IN - A - PPRO - PRI - ATE!!! 

***************************

Push on through...I wanted to push him right off that effin' boat! (maybe that's what my therapist meant)

Damn!

Once a Sucker...

Some might say I’m a huge sucker.  I prefer to say that I have a huge heart.  The difference?  Perspective.  Well, that, and the fact that having a huge heart makes me a good person, while saying I’m a sucker, makes me a……sucker. 

For instance – I once had a friend who was up all night doing Wild Turkey shots and called me at 4 am because she was out of cigarettes.  Now, I’m not a smoker.  So, at 4 am on a work day, I got up, got dressed, drove to the store, purchased a pack of cigarettes and delivered them to her at her house.  See? Big heart. 

Another glowing example –  In college I had a strong-willed boyfriend who wouldn’t let me break up with him. (yes, just like the Seinfeld episode where George’s girlfriend didn’t accept his breakup)  So instead of making waves and upsetting my bi-polar friend, I stayed with him for four more glorious, strong-willed months.  I say again – BIG HEART!

But I'm here to tell you, people can change.  Although my past might suggest that I was a bit of a doormat, a yes-man, a chump, a schmo....today I’m a much different person! (unless you don’t want me to be)

As had become customary for me, I woke up and checked my phone for the f(ing)Nonharmonious email that would say, "The one you've been looking for could be right inside this email."  How exciting!  After grabbing my coffee, I headed back to my office and anxiously logged into my account to see who the online dating gods (read random computer picks) had decided I could potentially begin my new life with.  Would it be Mike, Bryce, Alan, Aiden? 

As I read their various profiles, one in particular really resonated with me.  Typically, desperation doesn’t make my “Top 10 Traits I Look for in a Guy.”  But for whatever reason, (sucker) when I read Alan’s profile, I didn’t see it as desperation - but rather a self-deprecating, honest approach as to where he was in life and what he missed about being in a relationship.  (let me show you how beautiful it can be again)   

Where is that therapist’s phone number?

Alan was recently divorced with two children; a 1 year old and a 4 year old.  His profile was painfully honest.  He was previously in a career that kept him from home and family too often, but recently switched vocations to allow him more time with his boys.  The part that really struck me read:

"I'm skeptical of the online dating thing, but with my career and my current situation in life, I don't get out to meet people.  "I guess what it boils down to, is that I'm lonely."

Where, oh where is that therapist's number?

Alan actually sent me the first communication - a stock ice-breaker that said, "Love your smile!"  I never know how to respond to these, because you have to respond with another ice-breaker.  My choices were, "Your profile brought a smile to my face," "Wink," (uh, no) "Just wanted to say hi!" or "I'd love to chat."

I ended up going with "Your profile brought a smile to my face," but then we were just sort of stuck in mutual gratification land.    I love your smile.  Well I love your profile, which brought that smile that you love to my face.  Well that's good because I love your smile...see what I mean?  There was no logical starting point to our next round of communication.  Thank goodness he took the initiative and sent me an email which simply said, "What's your phone number so I can text you?"  Huh.  That was rather anticlimactic, but I responded with my number, anyway.  I didn't hear from him for 6 days.

OUR TEXT DISCUSSION

Alan (text) - Hey, Karen.  When do I get to meet you in person?

Karen (text)  - Well, I don't really know anything about you since we skipped all the steps.  Would you like to talk and see if we're even compatible first?

Alan (text)  -  I won't know until I meet you in person whether there's chemistry or not.  No sense in wasting any time, you free tomorrow night?

Great, another serial texter.  But I could respect the chemistry part as you never know until you actually spend time with someone if there's chemistry or not, so I agreed to meet him the next night.

Alan was much stockier in person than he was in his pictures, but I'm not so shallow that I was willing to end a date over 25 extra lbs.  Additionally, he was the kind of guy I pictured pointing the "finger/thumb gun" my way whilst doing the "chk-chk" sound.  Cheesy? Yes.  Date ender?  No.

Now, his gum chewing?  That was another story.  And this was no normal gum-chewing session. (not that even normal gum-chewing would have been acceptable on a first date)

This particular brand of chewing I can only describe as athletic in nature.  Imagine, if you will, an episode of gum-chewing where the object is to touch your tongue to your earlobe with each mandibular movement.  I mean, the unnatural facial activity this guy had going on would have been impressive had we only been in some sort of unnatural facial activity competition. 

After an hour and a half of conversation, and fighting through the exhausting gum-chewing marathon, our date was coming to a close.  Although I didn't feel any chemistry yet, he ended up being a nice enough guy and I felt that he had a good heart.  So I decided I would give him another shot if he asked me out again. (sucker) 

Karen - "I had a good time tonight."  Thank you."

Alan - "I had a good time, too."  Maybe we could do this again sometime?"

Karen - "I'd like that - you have my number."

And we gave each other a hug goodbye.

I got in the car and made my way home, excited that I had met a sweet guy who I didn't want to immediately kick to the curb.

<text chime>

Awwww - a text from Alan:

Alan (text) - Is it wrong that I want to go to the nearest hotel and get naked with you?

********************

I swear I looked at that text for 5 solid minutes trying to find the "sweet" in it....

Damn!

Better Learn to Play

How many times have you heard this:

“I hate ‘The Game’ - It’s so stupid.  “Why can’t I just tell him exactly how I feel about him?”

Because, princess, he will Run.  For.  The.  Hills.  And before you get all, "Preach on, sister!" ladies, we’re no better!  Well, I’m not, anyway.  You tell me you like me before I’m ready to hear it and I will shut it down!  History has proven there is nothing I like more than a man who wants nothing to do with me.

As much as we all claim to hate “The Game,” I've found it is a necessary evil for three reasons:

1)  The mind-game aspect.  Have you ever wondered why all-you-can-eat buffets are so successful?  Because once we know we have a never-ending supply of something, we suddenly "get our fill" much faster.  I need me an a' la carte kind of guy, who’s open a limited number of days each week and has a little bit of price integrity.  I know it sounds trite, but we really do want what we can’t have.

2)  It increases your strike allotment to three.  I don’t know about you, but I have waved the white flag simply because I caught a glimpse of excessive earwax in an over-anxious suitor’s ear.  On the other hand, play a little hard-to-get and I’m much less apt to pull the plug when you give me an unsolicited “Love Is…” clipping, mistakenly believing every girl thinks those frightening Cupie dolls are endearing. (heads up, not all of us do…)  We need the chase as it forgives some of the unfavorable moves (or earwax) that might otherwise be deal breakers. 

3) It can jump-start the honeymoon phase.  When someone isn’t readily available or blowing up my phone with a play-by-play of his day, it causes me to wonder what is going on in his fabulous life.  I imagine he's not contacting me because he's busy hunting lions in Africa or skiing the Swiss Alps.  So, by the time I find out he was actually unable to call due to super gluing his butt cheeks to a chair on a dare,  I'm already hooked.

I mean, let’s face it, we’re all great in the beginning:

• “Dating” Life Portrayal- I couldn’t be in a better place in life.  I finally know what I want, I spend quality time with my son; kids need that.  I enjoy piddling around the kitchen – some might call me a gourmet cook.  Oh, my waistline?  Well, thank you, but I’m naturally this thin.  Plus, I always find time to fit in a 3 mile run.  Another beer?  No thank you, one is my limit.  What a coincidence, my credit score is 800, too.

• “Real” Life Portrayal – Sob uncontrollably as you realize you're jealous as hell of your dating alter ego.  Tell Timmy, “the usual” in the Taco Bell drive thru, speed home to free yourself from your full-body Spanx and exhale for the first time in 4 hours.  Kick your 8 year old son off the couch because you're gonna watch "Dog the Bounty Hunter," and if he doesn't like it, he can go play Grand Theft Auto in the back room.  Finish the night off by pouring a vodka-scotch and using your “Notice of Foreclosure” letter as a beverage coaster.

Eventually, that real-life is going to expose itself.  You might want to play the game in an effort to “hook” them before they find out you’re really….well, you.

"Game Playa’" Paul was delivered to me one morning and I liked what I saw.  He was cute, but different than my typical type.  His profile, however, was amazing!  He was humorous, well-written, and intelligent.  We spoke and emailed around our busy schedules, and he seemed to be a bit of a braggart, but I just figured he was puffing himself up due to insecurity. (kind of sweet, actually)  He was a father of two and very active in their lives, he was a runner like me and lived in a great area – he seemed really “together.”  After several email exchanges and phone conversations, we decided to meet for a happy hour.  And, yes my loyal readers, the happy hour was at BJ's.

When I walked in and spotted him, he was dressed nicely in jeans and a blazer. (hot!)  He was drinking some sort of dark ale, which made me cringe as I feared my Michelob Ultra would give me one strike right off the bat.  My fear was realized when he said, "You're ordering a Michelob Ultra?  "Why not just order water and be done with it?"  I laughed this off, as I've become quite accustomed to the beer jab. (strike 1)

We went through the all too familiar "get to know you" routine.  Like most, I get nervous when I'm on a first date and tend to fire off a barrage of questions to ward off any awkward silence.  As a result, Paul had ample time to talk about himself.  I learned that he was a highly decorated Naval Aviator, a black belt in some martial arts discipline, a full-time father of two kids around my son's age, he volunteered at a center for traumatized children, was an exceptional athlete, in the process of getting his masters degree and I believe he was being considered for a Knighthood.  (I may have made the last one up, but seriously?)

Then it was my turn.

Now friends, I believe I held court for an impressive 22 minutes with my nonsensical ramblings.  All I could think while I was talking was that he had an exceptional vocabulary and was quite eloquent in his delivery.  So after 21 and a half minutes of uncomfortably tucking my hair behind my ears and trying to (unsuccessfully) read his nonverbal cues that he was following my verbal diarrhea, I blurted out, "...and I can recite the quadratic formula and tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue." 

<crickets>   

Did you also want to point out that you were the Chinese jump rope champ in 1978?

(strike 2)

Not surprisingly, he had no reaction to this - not even a courtesy laugh.  At this point I'm so defeated and embarrassed I was scanning my memory for ANYTHING I've done in my life that would be remotely interesting to him. (I liken it to being the chicken-hawk to his Foghorn Leghorn)  And just as I was about to admit defeat, I found it!  My Mud Run!  

For those of you who don't know what a Mud Run is, it's a 6 mile course with 32 military obstacles along the way and it's all done in the mud.  Picturing me muddy, sweaty and fit would be just the ticket to get me back in this pissing match of sorts.

Karen - "I ran in a Mud Run last November and am doing another this April." "It's a 6 mile -"

Paul - (interrupting me and sounding less than impressed) "Yeah, I'm familiar with the Mud Run - I've run it 17 times."  "In fact, I've done over 324 endurance races."

(strike 3)

I bet he had earwax buildup, anyway...

********************

Damn!

Can I Get Luke's Number?

I'm beginning to think that my “man” wish list is either in the need of a major revision, or incineration.  I mean, the idea of the list is to keep the things I want in a man top-of-mind – like "good man” marketing.

Originally I created the list when my best friend and I were sitting around my kitchen table crying into our beers over our failed relationships.  One of us read in a book…or a horoscope…or heard of a friend of a Kardashian who made a list and she's now engaged to the guy who matched her list - at any rate, we made the lists because someone or something told us it was a good idea.

Finalizing my list wasn’t as easy as one would think.  I thought I knew exactly what I wanted in a guy; a grown up.  But when I found someone who possessed the traits I listed, my eyes would glaze over as they would inevitably highbrow me to death discussing their Growth Stock Mutual Funds or how they heard the most fascinating anecdote on NPR. (I mean, financial security and staying abreast of important worldly matters?  And he calls himself a man...)  Okay, I get it...but it bores me! 

On the other hand, give me a guy with an electronic ankle bracelet, extensive knowledge of Ren and Stimpy, and an expired bus pass and before you know it, I'm extolling the greatness of his Granny's "Weenie and Cheez Whiz Casserole" at his family's Thanksgivin' dinner.

Lesson - just because a guy is a perfect match with my list, doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be attracted to him.  That chemistry is a slippery sucker, isn’t it?  And as we’re about to learn, virtual chemistry is vastly different than actual chemistry. 

Enter Brent.  

Brent’s profile was interesting, humorous and well-written.  And, he was almost a perfect match with my list! He seemed to be the perfect blend of grown-up with the right amount of fun mixed in.  His pictures showed him playing soccer and flag football. (one displayed a cute mole on his right cheek that I found absolutely irresistible)  He was a corporate attorney and a divorced father of 3.

Given the new dating process when you're post divorce with kids in tow, we resorted to phone chats, texting and emailing.  As we spoke on the phone I remember thinking his voice didn't seem to match his pictures.  He was more soft-spoken than I anticipated, but that didn't matter.  He was a great distraction from my previous Suaves and my mind was doing a bang-up job of rounding out this virtual love affair I had going.

We finally found a Sunday when both of us were free, so we decided on a date at the Arboretum followed by lunch.  Since he lived closer to the Arboretum than I, I met him at his house.  When I arrived, my heartbeat was audible, my palms were sweaty and I felt nauseas. 

<knock, knock, knock>

It seemed an eternity before Brent opened the door.  I couldn’t wait to meet the cute flag football playing dad!  As the door opened, my face went from a cheek-cramping smile to what I would guess was a look of what the - (I know…way to rock the first impression)  Standing before me was a guy who sort of looked like Brent.  I mean, it was him...just different.  Realizing I was standing and staring like an idiot, I reached out to give him a hug and expressed my delight in finally meeting him face-to-face.

Throughout our time at the Arboretum and lunch I'm sure he thought I was mildly certifiable, because I kept staring at him in an attempt to find the "virtual Brent" I so looked forward to meeting.  Unfortunately, I didn't feel the spark with real life Brent. 

How can I explain it...he was almost...preacher-like.  By that, I mean his mannerisms were slow and deliberative.  And he kept smiling at me with a goofy grin, cocking his head to one side and giving a slow, knowing nod.  I kept waiting for him to reach down slowly and place his hands on mine, look deep into my eyes and say, "Bless you my child."  

After 2 full hours of staring at Brent, (and not in a good way) something dawned on me; where was that cute mole on his cheek?  You know, the one from the picture that I loved so much? 

Karen – “Hey, you have a mole on your cheek in your flag football picture.  Did you have it removed?  I kinda liked it.”

Brent – “Oh, yeah.  Well, the thing is, I have a twin brother, Luke.  I couldn’t find any good pictures of myself, so I just used some of his - he's the one with the mole.”

Sidebar – Uh, you're no Luke, pal!  You may resemble him, but you aren't him.  People sometimes tell me I look like Jennifer Aniston, but I don’t go posting her pictures on my profile or listing “Friends” on my resume. 

At this point, the date couldn't end soon enough.  I felt like I'd been cheated and I was borderline pissed off.

Once we got back to his house, I knew the drill.  I did everything I could to avoid close proximity or any movement that might suggest I was interested enough for a goodbye kiss. (or even hug at this point)  But, alas, my attempts were ineffective. (damn my hotness!)  When I turned from unlocking my car door, he was standing so close I could see his nostril hairs fluttering with each exhale.   

And then he asked the question I would have gladly traded 4 years of my life not to hear...

Brent - (smiling at me like a creepy creeperson) "May I kiss you?"

Karen – (heaven forbid I just say no) "Sure."

Oh dear... make it stop, make it stop, make it stop...he moved in too fast, clearly had some sort of overactive salivary gland condition and he grossly misjudged my attempts to break free from his grasp as some sort of defective return of passion. 

Brent - “That was nice.” “I really felt something.”

blech....who says that?

********************
 
I'm pretty sure what he felt was my gag reflex.

Damn!