The Sky God and a Straw Hut – Part 5

 

The Sky God made a return…oh yes, he did. That’s right. After writing one sentence to him to tell me about his thoughts (who could not resist this), he has continued to email me. Unfortunately since the most recent email is questionable to post given the subject in question has taken an even steeper dive off the deep end, all I can tell you is that apparently not only does The Sky God believe 9/11 was a hoax, that space ships exist, and that he can show me the pattern of the stars, but also that I am an African man sitting in a straw hut waiting to send him to a third party web site and take his credit card information. Yes, you read that right. I think there is only one place for people like him and it’s white and has padded walls, people. You get this after me asking you about your THOUGHTS in ONE SENTENCE and after YOU initiate contact with ME? And then even so, he believes we can still walk by the beach  hand in hand collecting sea shells if his conjecture is not accurate. Wowee…what a way to bring in the ladies…accuse them of crimes after they write one sentence to you asking your thoughts on subjects. Yeah, and that makes me so attracted to you past the 1,001 other issues you have and just dying to contact you now. Try contacting the site to report him, and I did. Can you imagine what he would accuse me of if I asked him his last name (as I often do to protect myself from the psychos out there)? Oh, I just don’t want to know.

Now, I have been asked before if my profile was real and it has always come down to the pictures but this was a new one to me until later tonight when I got this text from a new prospect.

“Hi…do u know who this is?”

No, jackass, do you think I have no one else I talk to, I’m thinking, but instead answer as politely as possible given my irritation.

“Do you always introduce yourself that way? I don’t play games.”

“I’m sorry…lol…I’m Doug from (xyz site) 🙂 I was not sure if u were a real person or not…did I catch at ok time?” he responded.

Now, I was not going to let him get away this easy so this was the only response:

“What?”

“Forgive my rude introduction…the last unsolicited # I received online from a beautiful woman turn out to be nigerian con artists. I am interested in getting to know u better if u feel the same…let me know if u wana talk on the phone or maybe grab coffee sometime…”

Say what??? Ok, people, it looks like there are some Nigerian con artists on the loose…and they are not just emailing people a la junk email but now invading dating web sites…all of them. Now, this is just sad and crazy. I emailed this dude my number because well this site takes 100 years for you to get through and my subscription is about to run out, or should I say prescription, because I’m about to need one with all this insanity.

Now, given I have been accused/suspected of this on two separate web sites without doing anything wrong, says 1) this is prevalent (dudes, that sucks for you and your penis) and 2) thanks for the compliment on my pictures (yes, I am real, and no, you can’t touch me…ooooh ooooh ooooh ooooh). Oh well, at least men don’t have to worry about potential serial killers, like my last date with the Selfish Voyeur. But now I am getting irritated because pardonez-moi but there appears to be much trashola online and I have been meeting hot boys out socially so at least I can see right away they are normal (enough). Maybe bars aren’t so bad. Yes, that’s right, people. More on that later. Can’t these sites monitor this garbage better so I don’t have to be suspected of this nonsense?  But seriously, I can’t take the insanity any more. What’s next?

Don’t worry; you’ll find out shortly. Pout pout!

Wake up-Call: You need not talk or do much to be accused of being a Nigerian con artist online so upload some fugly pictures or deal with the consequences of being a pretty biatch, people! It doesn’t always have advantages!

The Selfish Voyeur

 

I met Charles at a rowdy bar…his pick. I hit the bathroom first as I didn’t see my 6’5” date among the crowd. In the bathroom I got a text:

“Do you have a furry purse?” Charles wrote.

I thought that was weird…I never saw a 6’5” guy in the bar. When I proceeded to come out, there Charles was. I thought it rather strange but I ignored it. He proceeded to tell me that he had seen me walking outside up the street as I had described what I would be wearing and had driven by and yelled my name but I didn’t hear him. He had parked right up around the corner to the right, he said, when I inquired further. Hmmm…so somehow he had the time to park in between this in a busy beach town with no parking? Okay, this was officially lie #1 and 2 but I didn’t know it yet.

He offered me a Chardonnay which I accepted even though I preferred an appetizer which I had told him before. But when you’re packed in like sardines with people yelling all around you, all you can do is drink.

“It’s a zoo in here,” I commented.

But Charles wanted to stay. Was this cool? I don’t think so. But, I began to learn it would be all about what Charles wanted. You see, as I was standing there in 4 inch heels on a date, mind you, not clubbing, I wanted to sit down. As Charles patrolled the bar with his eyes it was clear we would not be sitting down for a long time, so I kindly asked some people at a four-top who appeared to be leaving if they could let us know when so we could sit there. And they did, and we did, until the hostess came by and claimed this table was reserved and we were booted. Charles was growing antsier about getting a place to sit at the bar as he had invited me to have dinner with him now. I mentioned asking the hostess for a table, but he said:

“I don’t want a table.”

And he said it about three times in a row. Wow, ok, let’s not upset Mr. 6’5”. So finally we got seats at the bar and at the time I didn’t notice it until later analysis, but apparently Charles wanted to watch the remainder of the basketball game. I didn’t notice at the time because Charles seemed to have all his focus on me…

Now being 6’5” Charles couldn’t have it all. No, not a the seat at the bar and elbow room. Come on, people. What did the dude want? To have his cake and to eat it too? So Charles was clearly irritated being squeezed into a tight spot and I always want my dates to feel comfortable (don’t I sound like a guy?). So I asked the girl to my right if she could move over a tad. And her PMSing bitchola personality took over:

“I’ve already moved over a lot. In fact, you keep hitting me with your elbow,” bitchola said, rolling her eyes.

Oh, I’m sorry, are you on the rag? I thought. Are you upset because you’re not a date since as you’ve got such a warm, dazzling personality? Meanwhile her friend to the right of her kept silent. Remember that friend as she comes back into play later.

“What a bitch,” I growled under my breath but within ear shot so that bitchola could hear as we stared each other down. Oh great, I was thinking, I’ve never had a fight with a girl or anyone for that matter anywhere and here this 6’5” dude is going to get me into trouble? Oh yes, because Charles was pursing his lips, clearly irritated that the girl to his left who was not sitting but standing and squeezing in was giving him no arm room. Ok, this is not a BMW and it does not come equipped with arm room. What did El Jerkoff expect? Yeah, by now I was getting somewhat irritated so I told him he should say something but he said no. Surprise, surprise. His way again.

“I’ll say something,” I said.

“No, don’t,” he said.

I tapped the girl’s shoulder and said in a friendly voice, “Excuse me, would you mind moving over a couple inches. He’s just big and so tossed for room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I will totally move away,” she politely said, unlike bitchola, and started to back away when I noticed the good looking guy she had been talking to. Now, remember him too, dear reader, as he comes back into play as well.

“No, no, stay there, just a little more room would help,” I said and she nudged her way back in politely thanking me. I’m thinking I don’t own the space so no need to thank me but what a sparse contrast with bitchola who clearly thought she owned her space or the entire bar for that matter.

Charles finally seemed to be able to breathe. He said he didn’t eat a lot…y’all kidding? ‘Cause you look home grown from those corn fields, Charlie! But I guess not, so we shared a big salad. Big spender. Yeah. After sharing a second Chardonnay which I had just started drinking:

Charles said , “Hurry, hurry and finish that wine.”

Now, this was curious, I was thinking I’m not a hooker and it’s 10:30pm on a Friday night so what would be the hurry? Well, Charles had mentioned during dinner heading to bars near his place several miles away then he just mentioned his place. I gave excuses galore and said I just preferred to stay here, but Charles as you already know wasn’t the listening type. In fact, I soon came up with a name for him, the Selfish Voyeur as he quickly turned creepy.

He paid and we left the bar and were walking up the hill to the first stop light. I thought: where is this guy taking me? Never a good thought unless you want to end up on the 5 o’clock news or on the Investigation Discovery channel. I would rather wrestle a crocodile than this guy, I was thinking. So I stopped at the light and said:

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to walk you to your car,” the Selfish Voyeur said.

“I can’t drive. I’ll get a DUI,” I said which was so true and what I warned him of before. He knew I was a lightweight.

“Ok, I’ll drive you to my house and we can have a drink on my balcony overlooking Malibu.”

“I don’t go to guy’s houses that I don’t know.”

“I’m not like that. I’m safe.”

Yeah right, I thought, as I remembered his strange irritation in the bar and looked at his 6’5” football frame.

“I’m not comfortable with that.”

“Well, what are you going to do then?”

“I’m going to go out to some bars here I guess; it’s only 10:30pm on a Friday night.”

“I’ve never had a date not want to spend more time with me.”

“Well, you’re welcome to hang out with me and go to another bar. I just can’t drive.”

“I told you I would drive you. I don’t want to go to another bar,” said the Selfish Voyeur. “Just so you know when a guy takes you out for drinks and dinner and then you say you’re going out afterward, he’ll never call you again, but you probably already know that.”

“So what are you saying? You’ll never call me again?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” the Selfish Voyeur said in a huff and quickly crossed the street straight ahead.

Now at the time I didn’t think about it but wasn’t his car to the right?  As I started to turn right and walk a few steps, I peered back and saw the Selfish Voyeur standing at the next crosslight now looking to cross to the left. I took out my phone and started calling my friend as I was officially stranded. Thanks, jackass date!

Then suddenly a text appeared.

“Who’s on the phone?” the Selfish Voyeur wrote.

Suddenly I felt like I was being watched with binoculars. I no longer saw him anywhere. With nothing else to do, I texted the Selfish Voyeur back, not that I had to explain myself yet somehow was trying to be nice.

“A gf to hang out with. Like I mentioned I would have hung out later but you didn’t want to go to another bar. I couldn’t drive and risk a DUI. Thank you for the yummy dinner and good conversation. Sorry if you took me staying out the wrong way but I don’t go home with guys I don’t know.”

What I really wanted to say was that it was a booty call, jerk. But the truth is that’s not my style and it wasn’t. But clearly that’s what he was thinking.

Meanwhile I walked a few more steps and crouched in between a store entry way, you know, like squatters do. Yeah, I was feeling homeless about this point and my excuse was my 4 inch heels were hurting me from standing all night. I even had guys walking by saying hi and looking down at me. Oh lordie. This is when my friend decided she could not go out and I was laughing and saying,

“You don’t want me to get abducted, do you?”

“I hardly think that will happen by the beach,” she said laughing, which was true in this upscale beach community.

So I wandered aimlessly back toward the bar where the incident with the Selfish Voyeur had gone down. As I was walking down the hill in my towering heels trying not to skid down, the alcohol blur suddenly had me freely speaking to people and remembering certain events. The good looking guy from the stool to our left was standing on the sidewalk.

“Hey, weren’t you sitting next to us at the bar?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Where’s your date?”

“Oh him. He left in a huff and was acting kind of creepy.”

As good looking guy consoled me, he offered me to join a private going away party at another restaurant bar in front of us and I gladly obliged. As I sat down in the booth with him and his many friends, suddenly I got another text.

“You went to someone’s house? Told u I didn’t want to go to a bar also and you would have enjoyed appratife on my deck with Malibu view.”

Are you kidding me? The Selfish Voyeur was now freaking me out. This dude was so possessive, jealous, and delirious, he clearly was dangerous. I’m not property you own after a first date where we split a salad, jerk. These weren’t scallops, and even then, I cannot be bought!

Meanwhile, a girl sat down next to me in the booth and it was the quiet girl who had been sitting to the right of us at the bar.

“Wait, weren’t you sitting next to me and my date at xyz Bar?” I asked.

“Yeah. Oh I’m so sorry about my friend. She can be a real bitch. I don’t know why she gets like that. So what happened to your date?”

As her and I exchange pleasantries or should we call this horribltries about the Selfish Voyeur, we started comparing notes. In fact, Charles had been there before I had, she was sure of it, as he was talking to someone behind her within earshot distance about his divorce and plowing himself with liquor. Nice. Lie #3. So he really had been there before me. And why lie? Weird.

I texted him back.

“You were cheated on, right? So was I and it sucks, but you can’t make someone new pay for someone else’s crime.”

“Huh?” he wrote.

“I’ve never been cheated on nor on a date where someone isn’t excited about spending time with me. You have?”

Lie #4 which I did not remember until later but Charles had divulged to me in a previous conversation that he had gotten divorced because she had cheated on him. Surprise, surprise.

“You certainly act that way. You ask a lot of questions that come across as possessive and you seem to not listen to what others want. You didn’t want a table. You wanted me to go home with you. What about what makes me comfortable? Your ego is apparently hurt but I won’t apologize for not being a slut. I would have seen you again, but with all this drama after just one date, I’m not interested. I wish you the best. Take care.”

“U assume coming to any guy’s house is sex-related? Shows something about your lifestyle.  I’m not like that if it’s your deal. I’m a guy, we are paying and we are in control…Unless you like weak. I mean not interested either…Not even from the beginning. Model? Lol. Good luck.”

“Right, that’s why you wanted me to go home with you. A gentleman never asks a woman home if he has any etiquette. Your ego is obviously very bruised.  And you sling mud too talking about my looks and lifestyle? Wow. Thanks for showing me your ugly side early on and saving me wasted time. Do not ever contact me again.”

Wow, so now this guy found a new one, instead of my age it’s that I model. Yes, let’s make fun of something new as we grasp for straws. Funny, as he complimented me on my figure when I arrived and told me I looked much younger than my age then invited me to dinner, then to his house. Oh yes, pardonez-moi, it’s the rejection hatred coming out once again. And I had no idea going home with a guy on a Friday night meant playing dominos while you sipped that aperitif (learn how to spell, muscle head). Oh but next time, I’ll remember to bring my Monopoly board game and shove it up your ass! Ah, the feeling.

Wake up-Call: Any guy that watches your every move from afar and insists on having things his way and getting you to his place is dangerous. You could be steps away from being accosted. Stay away!

Let’s Hang Ten…with the Mafia

 

So I was excited about this one…very excited. He was not only so cute, but seemed really chill on the phone, and very cool and relaxed. I really liked this non-Alpha demeanor for a change even though I secretly love Alpha’s (I know, us women are confusing). But I digress, so this Italian ex pro-surfer, Keith, was very handsome and in shape but not exactly my height requirement but neither factors are what I noticed when we met in person.

 

I had been running late. A girl’s got makeup, hair, nails, and shaving our luscious gams (albeit other parts) and does a guy ever think about this? Apparently not. This is why I refuse to meet for coffee. For the time and effort it takes moi to get ready, a guy can throw back a few beers with his posse while watching the game and take a 5 minute shower meanwhile we women are toiling away (no matter how great we look without makeup) to look just perfect for those men…damn them! This is worth far more than a measly coffee which I can make at home and guess what, spend no money on gas for, people! This is LA and everything is a drive…

 

So getting back to the running late because I was going to look so stunning for you, you surfer dude. Ex Pro Surfer did not like this and suddenly wasn’t very flexible, as in could we please move this an hour back? I think a few hours notice on this wasn’t unreasonable but Ex Pro Surfer did. In fact, he refused to budge an inch when I told him I, in fact, needed to meet really at 8:30pm not 7pm. So finally he said he could do 7:30pm but that’s it. Why? I have no idea because you see, he had no plans afterward and only had to be up for an early surf lesson he was giving but usually went to bed at 11pm. Lordie, I knew this would be a problem because there was no way in hell I would make 7:30pm but somehow I agreed because he didn’t want to be flexible. I know, I was smoking crack, as usual. I just didn’t want to have an argument but I should have cancelled. Because dear reader, I have been 10 minutes late typically but never oh never so late in my life where it frankly, was embarrassing.  I had texted him multiple times letting him know I couldn’t be there at his requested time and was rushing. Oh don’t you love to rush for a date? NOT.

 

I knew Ex Pro Surfer would not be happy but I thought things wouldn’t be so bad when I walked in at 8:30pm when he had arrived at 7:30pm…I know, I know…it was so bad. And honestly if I were him I would have been more flexible to begin with or since he couldn’t be, then I would have texted saying I was leaving. But he waited it out to give me a tongue lashing.

 

As I walked up into an empty restaurant which he claimed had no reservations for 8:30pm (yeah right), I smiled and gave him a hug as he sat at a bar table and kissed his check as I whispered in his ear:

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

I sat down.

 

“You are an hour and a half late. Do you know how disrespectful that is? I have been waiting for you and our date was originally at 7pm. I’m really disappointed in you…” Ex Pro Surfer said angrily, and continued down this path for about 3 minutes straight non-stop rather than saying something and then continuing with the date.

 

“I understand  why you’re so upset and I really apologize. I really didn’t want to be late, and I’m never more than 10 minutes late. I really needed more time as I mentioned earlier but you didn’t want to move the date and this is the fastest I could get here,” I said but that didn’t stop him.

 

“I have been sitting here alone and I feel like a fool…” he kept ranting and raving.

 

I realized he was never going to get over the fact that I had been so late and was surprised he didn’t take it more in stride given that he had chosen to stay.

 

“Would you like me to leave?” I said.

 

There was no response. I got up off my stool.

 

“I think it would be better if I left because I don’t think this is a good way to start off a date.” I turned around and walked out of the place.

 

I said goodbye realizing there was a deep anger that seethed within this guy and it probably went deeper than just me, but yet I felt to guilty. I got into my car and texted him.

 

“I’m really sorry. I feel really bad and didn’t mean to make you feel disrespected. I was really looking forward to meeting you. If you would give this another chance, I would be open to meeting again and this time I would be 5 minutes early! If not, I totally understand.”

 

Granted, this is not normal behavior for me when someone has yelled at me, but I did feel I caused the issue albeit his reaction being too dramatic. This confirmed, however, that he was truly an Italian (and I love them, don’t get me wrong!). So, I, unwittingly, had opened myself up to this again because he was the first date I had been attracted to in a while, physically, that is.

 

Surprisingly, Ex Pro Surfer wrote back and decided he wanted to make another date. He did seem pretty stunned when I walked out but I realized he was never going to get over me being late on the first date. So we made another date, and I was actually 5 minutes early probably for the fear of wrath in his eyes. We met at another restaurant bar and had drinks and appetizers. And I quickly unlocked the key of where this anger came from…he hated his father, he told me. Now, this is never good news, dear reader. He told me his father was “a terrible person” and that he was, gulp,  in the Mafia. Yes, you got that right, the Mafia. So I was thinking, hmmmm…Ex Pro Surfer dude who still surfs every day and is not mellow from that and he has Mafia genes running in his blood with his hated father? No wonder he had a mini violent episode at me being late. All I was thinking is I couldn’t marry into a family where I might get whacked and have to look over my shoulder on a daily basis. Yes, this was not my future husband, people. And there was the sex overdrive of this horny Italian that just didn’t bode well on a first, or technically second, date.

 

Despite me texting afterwards that I thought we should be just friends when he texted me, Ex Pro Surfer did not take the hint. He texted me on his trip twice from Costa Rica, he texted me the minute he returned. He texted me like a guy who liked a girl would. Oh lordie. And with snake in his pants comments and the like, I told him I thought were disgusting. Post me turning down multiple invitations to hang out with him including on his birthday, he vanished. I actually got so worried about him, I texted saying so and asked if he had been whacked. Yeah, I used those words, people. He comes from the Mafia after all! Then he responded he had been back to Costa Rica then was going to Hawaii.  Ok, I knew he did surf camps in Costa Rica but this Hawaii thing sounded more like a boyfriend-girlfriend trip which was okay by me but not the fact he let me text him several times thinking he was dead. He seemed to be okay with being friends but clearly wasn’t. This just wasn’t cool to not respond so I told him I was going to delete his number if I didn’t hear back from him, and I didn’t. So he and his number got whacked!

 

Wake-up Call: Any sign of anger on a first date is a no-no, regardless of what has happened. That is a warning sign of things to come, my dear friend. Escape!  Escape!

 

Take My Breath Away

From the moment I first saw Cruz’s picture, I thought he was so hot and so cool. You know that kind of edgy vibe that says I am better than you, hipper than you, and I know it but don’t hate me because I’m so damn handsome? Yeah, that was him. James Dean reinvented. Hot, sexy bad boy. I liked his playful flirtiness on the phone. He was so yummy, the way he teased me, kind of one upped me, but in a sexy way. I know, I know…it’s kind of sick how some women get off on this. Don’t get me wrong. I’m usually not into the jerkoff introduction, but somehow there was something about this guy that would let me let him get away with it! Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaatttt???!!! Strange because normally I would tell him to shove that 2 x 4 up his arse…hehehe.

Ok, so after some time passing…extended phone calls with extended absences, we finally connected. But we had a little issue. Mr. hot Cruz wasn’t getting any more hot points because he seemed to use words like “bitch” pretty easily. Ummm…that didn’t fly with me. He teased me for being a little “bitch” and laughed about it. But somehow I wasn’t laughing. He apologized and said he didn’t mean to offend me then proceeded to make a date with me. I felt such a draw to him that I agreed…against my better judgment. He did live considerably far from me…not a habit I make, only an exception for someone I really connect with. So I told him he’d have to drive to see me…I’m bad…no half way meeting. He didn’t seem too happy and made plans only to then cancel when he wanted to secure one night I had already committed to something else. Yes, it was something but he thought it was someone. I tend to get these guys that think I’m a player. Alright, I am writing a whole blog out here so apparently I’ve had an experience or two, but people, work with me here, ok? I mean a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And apparently desperate times call for desperate measures but I digress…

While this may sound insanely off, I decided to still meet him later after our ridiculous fight that ensued from the first cancellation. In fact, yes you can kick me now…I was the one who insisted there was something special between us and we just had to meet and I would even drive up closer to him! Embarrassing now that I think of it, but I wanted to show that I was making an effort since he seemed to act as if he felt used. So he decided to meet me even closer to my home…very nice. He was meeting me “halfway” both literally and figuratively.

I’ll never forget the moment I saw him. It was sexy. I drove up to meet him at a designated location. He was parked, and I drove my BMW right straight up to his Porsche 911…headlight to headlight and laughed in that sexy, cocky way that says “oh yeah?” We stared into each other’s eyes. I got out of my car, and we just looked at each other. My heart was racing. There was something very dynamic between us…a strong current of energy. It was undeniable. He opened his car door (which I never do…I know stupid to be alone in his car as he was a stranger), and I sat down. He got in the car, and I was much quieter than normal. He noticed this and said something. I was so so nervous!

Well, hot white boy was also highly intelligent (you know, my main qualifying ingredient for men!). He had lived in Korea for 5 years…and he spoke Korean. So we drove around for a while searching for a Korean restaurant. In the car just moments after we met, we held hands…in fact he shifted gears while holding my hand and at lights rested his hand on my leg. It was absolutely adorable.

He had my heart right there. We finally found a Korean restaurant and went inside. With shy smiles and glances, the tiny Korean woman looked up at this 6’2” white Adonis who was muttering Korean phrases to her that meant nothing to me but made me feel really, really proud. I was on the arm of this incredibly affectionate, intelligent, and attractive man who stared at me adoringly across the table, held my hand constantly, fed me every bite off my plate, poured me my drink. He was amazing. We gazed into each other’s eyes where you feel like you can see the other’s soul, where there are no boundaries, where it’s limitless, where time and no one else exists.

We left the restaurant and went for a Boba drink nearby. In the car Chris Brown’s “Forever” song played. I felt like I was in a dream.

We kissed passionately upon leaving and drove off next to each other. I stopped for gas and somehow got on the freeway going the wrong way. Girls, my friends who know me can’t believe this because I have the most unbelievable sense of direction. My head was in a cloud. I couldn’t see straight and I surely was falling for him.

It was “kismic” he said. That came right out of his mouth. That’s why the way this ends is probably one of the most tragic of any dating experience I have ever had…well, not exactly but it ranks up there for one time dates! While it was short lived, it felt so profound. But Mr. “you’re a bitch” went right back into that mode after our amazing date to my astonishment…even after talking about me being the “one.” Now, I didn’t find this kismic utterance odd or strange because that has been my experience with all of my boyfriends except for one (jackass)…more on that later. So while you may think “red flag” I didn’t know any differently and thought it was normally for a guy who became my boyfriend to mention marriage quite quickly.

Cruz then really turned creepy. When I backed off totally after these “bitch” utterances, he then went one step further and called me a “cunt.” I kid you not. No man has ever. Sheer terror invaded every little part of my body. I had been in this man’s car! He could have abducted me, done strange things to me, raped me. Who knows? I realized this guy had a major anger problem geared mostly at his family and so I didn’t want to be the victim of name calling headed to domestic abuse. So I disappeared. He then repeatedly texted me nasty sayings one after another, and I actually had to tell him he was a great guy but we just weren’t going to work out. It made me sick to say “great guy” but dear reader this is a serious note to you…for all the fun in dating, never ever take a chance when your gut tells you otherwise. I am thankful he finally went away because I had moments of feeling paranoid and looking all around me. It gave me the creeps thinking this guy was out there.

Wake-up Call: Don’t date a guy who acts like his breath is forcibly taken away the minute he sees you, like he can’t live without you, like he is mesmerized by you. If he starts to get the least bit possessive, pushy, or aggressive in any way (especially using derogatory language and name calling) and makes you uncomfortable, run for the hills, girlfriend. Run noooow before you’re his next victim!

 

 

Peeping Tom

I exchanged a couple of very brief emails with Tom, or shall we call him, Peeping Tom. You see Peeping Tom had gotten quite busy between our brief emails digging up everything he could on me apparently. Oh day, he finally texted me:

“Your name gives away so much info on you 🙂 I’ll come in with an open mind if we ever meet though. – Tom”

“Like what? Pray, do tell…”

“That u design, that u have/had a chandelier over your master bathroom tub, that I lived in your neighborhood at the same time u bought your home…damn google!”

“Wow scary. Lose my number”

“u tease about ur businesses and guys trying to guess on ur profile, but when someone finds out, u freak out? Interesting. And if u don’t want people to know what ur house looks like, don’t do a big story about it with ur name in a HUGE newspaper that will be online forever? I’m not interested in u. u are the one who approached me. have a nice life.”

“Do not contact me again”

Lordie, lordie. So now I am devoid of PR and trying to keep things unknown from randoms online. Suddenly, I’m guilty as charged. I didn’t know it was a crime to retain some anonymity with strangers on the Internet and have to change my business plans. But thanks for letting me know, jerkoff. Actually I’m suggesting therapy for you if you ever read this!

Wake-up Call: Don’t entertain stalkers. Anyone who knows what your bathroom looks like but has never been invited inside and has no reason to know, tell them to hit the road, Jack, I mean, Tom!

Monsieur Alter Ego

 

Another fab guy wrote to me and the email was kind of cute…

Him:

hi?
hola?
bonjour?
buongiorno?
gutten tag?
shalom?
privet?
hej?
allo?
aloha?
oi!
…yeah, that’s about all I got.

But then I read the dreaded profile…

His Profile:

“Who am I? Shall I tell you the sordidness of my existence like “David Copperfield”? “To begin my life at the beginning of my life, I record that I was born…” I say let’s move beyond this some 30 odd years and tell you, “Le Vie Vrai du David” or what I affectionately refer to as, ” Yes, it’s big. Yes, it’s powerful and No, you can’t touch it.”

So there I was minding my own business, playing a losing game of solitaire, when she walked in. Her stoic face said ‘No.” Her lascivious legs said “Yes.” Her five inch stilettos coupled with a mangled, blood stained katana said, “Maybe?” Immediately overwhelmed with a one-two combo punch of sexual awakening and verbal diarrhea, I blurted out, “Hi! Can I help you breasts?” Of course, in my mind, I said, “Bonjour ma petit chou. You need my help. N’est pas?”

In a thick Russian accent, she informed me that I was being hunted. Upon recovering from the fetal position, wiping the crocodile tears from my cheeks, and the screams for my mommy, I decided she must be pulling my leg. She told me that I was in danger. Thirty minutes and an underwear change later, I told her, “Danger is my middle name.” I also told her it was my first and last. She said an evil consortium of assassin circus clowns must eliminate a dangerous threat; specifically a Danger D. Danger threat.

I told her this can’t be. “Look you smoking hot, sexy, enigmatic lady with amazing legs and a terrifying accent to boot, this cannot be! Danger D. Danger is my nom de plume.” She said that they are, in fact, hunting some idiot who calls himself that said name. I was screwed, to say the least; especially since I’m coulrophobic.

Suddenly, the lights in the building went out. The backup generators went on. She grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me in close. She started to feel my body up and down. I said, “Slow down, my little KGB love bird, let’s not use up your Danger D Danger love slave card right away.” She reached her hand into my pocket and pulled out a Starbucks gift card. She threw it to the side and informed me that it was, in fact, a homing beacon for the assassin circus clowns and that I was followed here.

After the second change of my shorts, I said, “Let’s kill ’em all!” or “I want my mommy!” It was one of those two… The next thing I know gas bombs were dropped in through the vents which started smoking up the joint. That’s when it began; my greatest fear realized (a fear with a probability of .0000001% chance of happening). The clowns and their painted smiles and red squeaky noses came flying in, ninja-style, through the windows and ventilation shafts. Amazingly, a few were dwarf clown assassins, which is how they fit through the vents.

Anyway, my Slavic vixen pulled out her katana and screamed like a banshee straight out of hell. She sliced and slashed her way through numerous clowns. Their pure evil mixed with the horrific make-up and water squirting flowers became too much for her to handle alone. I didn’t know what to do. She screamed, “What are you doing?!” I said, “I don’t know!” They charged at me. I grabbed my only available weapon. My laptop. SPLAT! One down. KRACK! Another clown bites the dust. HONK! One more, right in the schnozzle! There were too many and my laptop couldn’t take it. I kept swinging but the blood mixing with the painted grins was more than I could stomach and they kept coming at me like a hive after a nosey bear. Everything went black — Actually everything went rose, then yellow, then cyan, then orange and then black.

I woke up, in a hospital, three days later covered in clown make-up and nursing a stellar migraine. My Moscow Maiden was nowhere to be seen. One rumor is she saved my life. Actually, that’s the only rumor. Whatever the truth is, however, I think she saved us all. We all owe her a debt of gratitude. So, what is the moral of this story, you ask? Always trust a Russian femme fatale with a blood drenched sword and never ever fight an army of ninja-like clowns with a laptop. It does diddly-squat to the clowns and just ruins your computer, making it impossible to fill out this ridiculous-ass “About me” essay.”

Me: no response.

Is it just me or does this feel like a cartoon or action adventure movie?

Wake-up Call: Never try to date a guy who lives in another reality…he probably cannot deal with his insignificant self!

The $200 Date – Mr. Not So Classy

So I started chatting online with Doug. Apparently I had had a date with him to go out 8 months or so before and had flaked on the date (as in cancelled it, not not showing up). Now, I didn’t even recall this, but he did and with laser precision. Apparently, he’s more of a woman than I remembering all these details! Hahaha… Anyway, I dismissed it as one comment that let me know that ok, he remembered me and had liked me enough to remember said events. No biggie. So big spender Doug (and I really mean, big spender) decided to take me out to dinner. I met him at a very nice restaurant on the water and while he was dressed quite stylishly with scarf wrapped around his neck (that European, oh so cool artiste look a la Rachel Zoe that I actually love no matter how effeminate you want to call it), I just was not attracted to his slightly balding head which his pictures inaccurately did not display. But he made a good impression when he told me he was several minutes (and I mean minutes, people, nothing big) because he had pulled over on the side of the road to help someone in distress. Aawww…what a nice guy…maybe I could learn to like him, I thought.

So we sat down and the $50 bottle of wine, 2 appetizers, 2 entrees, and dessert…peaches…but I was not shakin’ mine, people. Because as lovely as the meal was (even without scallops), Mr. Not So Classy reverted back to his ol’ self and let neither he nor I enjoy the delectable meal. Instead, he kept talking (and, I mean, incessantly) about how I flaked on him before the date the year before when I was getting back with my ex and how I dated so many guys…Yes, he was right on that one but I have no idea where he came up with it. Maybe his interpretation of dating around was “so many guys.” Nonetheless, as I indulged in my last bite of dessert, I was anxious to leave the table and Mr. Not So Classy’s presence as I felt cornered like an animal in a cage. Over and over, I flaked on him. Over and over, I dated so many men. I was thinking, why doesn’t he just make a tape and push play over and over?

Well, Mr. Not So Classy walked me to my car and then told him to text him when I got home. I didn’t as I really didn’t want to re-engage in hearing about my bad behavior, according to him. Yet, a text from him came. And polite as I am I tried to be nice and let him down easy but he turned it around on me…no matter how nice you make rejection, you will still be persecuted!

“Did you make it?”

“Yes just walked in the door. Thank you again for good company and a yummy dinner.”

“Ditto. Glad you are safe. Hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope you had a nice Easter bbq. On getting together again, I’ve been thinking about sat. nite b/c I just couldn’t place it at the time something was off. You are a real gentleman, generous, stylish, and upper crust. You are a catch and have many of the qualities I’m looking for. There just didn’t seem to be a connection and I sensed you were upset about last time we were supposed to meet as well as other guys I’ve dated. I know you said you were teasing but there seemed to be something else behind it which bothered me. I wouldn’t be offended if you felt a connection missing too. I really do wish you the best.”

“Thanks for the honesty and forthrightness. I wish you well in your ongoing search and will say a prayer for your mother’s health.”

Then another text…..

“Honestly, you were too tired to have formed any connection. You barely made it through dinner. No idea how it would have been if not for that. Oh well. We will never know. Good luck.”

“Doug, I appreciate the prayer for my mom and that’s very kind of you. You may not be aware but it’s comments like blaming me for not meeting last time and now blaming me for being tired that are they I feel a connection lacking. I want support—not blame. Frankly, I have a lot going on now with my mom’s illness and so yes I am exhausted from taking care of her and trying to manage work as well. I don’t see how I’d make it out to you so soon after meeting you based on the aforementioned and that seemed to be a prerequisite for a second date according to you which is understandable but not doable. It’s for these reasons that I came to the conclusion I did.”

“That is fine…” Doug texted.

An ex once told me the word “fine” means things are not fine and is the definition of latent anger. I concur so….

Doug continued, “You got me thinking and I realized it will never work (purely on numbers not because of you). You are a good person. But, I want a family and envision being together for a year, engaged for a year, then married for a year before kids.”

Now, since Doug wanted to make it sound like I was practically 40 here, I had to respond to this below the belt tactic…once you are out of your twenties and in your thirties, ding dongs like Doug seem to figure out that the only lasso they have is to downgrade you with the age thing. A dagger in any woman’s heart.

So I had to say something as Mr. Not So Classy was clearly just that…not the refined lad I thought. His latent anger was burning up even more feverishly than before.

“I don’t really know why you feel it’s necessary to throw low blows now based on my age but I don’t believe you are in your early thirties anyway. You look 40. I would prefer you stop contacting me as it seems impossible for you to be nice.”

And bye bye went Doug…

Yes, I am blunt, dear readers, but only when pushed to the edge. Can you imagine sending a nice text thanking him and even saying he was a catch but maybe he felt a missed connection too and then getting blasted after that? Sorry, BB doesn’t take that bull and neither should you!

Wake-up Call: Don’t deal with men who need to pick on your age to make themselves feel better about being rejected or for any reason. They are the passive aggressive type which is not good for relationships of any kind!

 

Nude Model AKA Porno Dude

 Now, I don’t know about you but a nude model is not of interest to me. Hey ma, look, I brought home a guy that displays his cock-a-doodle-do everywhere! Yeah for me! NOT! Sorry, Ron Jeremy’s cousin. Me no likey you now!

His profile:

Hi Ladies! I’m a 35 year old male model and live in the Los Angeles area. I’m a non smoker, non drug user and non drinker seeking the same. Please be fit, sexy, and healthy and lets get to know each other

Talk soon!

I am Strong, Educated, and Attractive

What I’m doing with my life

Working and staying fit.

I’m really good at

Making people smile and making them feel comfortable

The first things people usually notice about me

I’m a nude model for Playgirl and woman’s magazines. I’m well endowed over 12 inches. However during the day I’m a divorce attorney.

My favorite books, movies, music and food

Mostly non fiction and news stuff

The six things I could never do without

Kissing,cuddling,hand holding,comedy,sex and books

I spend a lot of time thinking about

Enjoying my day and getting things done.

On a typical Friday night I am

Out with friends or modeling or at the gym.

The most private thing I’m willing to admit

That Ive also starred in my own solo video!

I’m looking for

• Girls who like guys
• Ages 18-56
• Near me
• Who are single
• For new friends

You should message me if

If you want a good time with a great guy!

Or you should message him if you want to contract a disease…ok, ok, everyone, I know the porn industry is big on testing, albeit occasional HIV issues. So maybe I am safer dating a Porno Dude than a regular hot dude who probably engages in the same behavior (secretly, of course) and is never tested! Now, really, this guy is a divorce attorney…you have to wonder why…not really. With guys like him, no wonder women get fed up! Oh, and sorry but double digits on your digit is just WAY too much and not as appealing as you think unless you want a woman to stuff a cucumber up your arse and let you see how it feels!

Wake-up Call: Nude model, solo video, divorce attorney, 12 inches and a 35 yo wanting to date from age 18 to 56 just all together equals creepy and definitely no, no, no, NO!

The Rambling Poet

 To be or not to be…this is NEVER the question when a lunatic is writing to you. Just head for the door!

His profile:

Hello, I have decided to give this a go…

I’m ready for the real thing as I’m sure you are as well. (: I am a very passionate and creative human being. I’d love to share all that I am, with that one anomalous beautiful soul… the one I can spoil within every wave of love that I can muster up from my soul and being, indefinitely and infinitely. Here’s an out-pour of words that describe some of the things I love, am interested in and long for…

It’s all about…

family, friends, music, art, photography (catching) fun, imagination, increasing alpha waves, compassion, soul, thunderstorms, satisfying an insatiable appetite for truth and knowledge, catharsis, creating an abundance of life and fixing flaws along the way, optimal health, anomalous luster, intense passion, healing touch*, discovering the depths of love, creating music, wanderlust, heart, warmth, faith, devotion, film making, stratus and cumulus clouds, long road trips, flight, culture, illusion, focus, dreams, sensitivity, sincerity, comfortable silence, beauty, sensuality, worshiping her body, unconditional love, comedy, human behavior, truth, desire, sunsets, chasing an insatiable love, intimate settings, deep breaths, somber moods, introspective gouging, sensational surroundings, an introvert’s perspective, an extrovert’s release, healing laughter, laughing til’ I can’t breathe, surreal joy, innocence, sapient understandings, the laughing in sync with another person kind of closeness, magic hour skin tones, hugs, microphones, candles, nag-champa, dimensions, devotion, transcending the basis of our own understanding through spiritual will, pure creation, meditation, synchronicity, a despotic force that translates human nature’s miscarried emulations, redwood trees, chills, telepathy, the universe, pure peace, discovering how to reach our ultimate light, telekinesis, cinema, psychic archeology, song writing, Joey Santiago’s guitar playing (genius), contradictions, humor, sarcasm, dichotomies, synergies, poetic rhythmic infusion, California nights and days, organic stimulus, the paranormal, fresh air, planets, rebuking falsely taught American consciousness, dope beats, attempting to save Earth the best way we can, or at least believing that we can somehow decipher, circumvent and reverse the Earth’s perpetual code for her evolutionary rejuvenation, (gasp) forming formations not formed by you but us, toes in the sand, debunking documentaries, indie flicks, draw and paint, paint and draw, squeezing loved ones, gravity, rocking the ‘fugg’ out, remote viewing, thunderstorms, Earth color tones, physics, string theory, quantum physics, astronomy, ancient architecture, riding low, low riding, simplicities like people in roller skates, rub downs, real Hip Hop, choppers without reality shows, inspiration, human idiosyncrasies, nebulae, not being here, being here, being there, well being, being well, well well well, classic cars, genuine people, pyramids, skateboarding, spontaneous extractions from stagnant life, conspiracy theories, delving, snowboarding, guitars, fishing, the sound of wind, rhythm, the sound of brush breaking under my feet, dopamine, obsession for ultimate creation, ghost hunting, serotonin, spontaneity, orbs, being out in the middle of nowhere in the dark, going down to the well, prayer, stargazing, echoes, the ocean, fresh sushi, salty beach kisses, lemons and limes, UFOlogy, songwriting without blind ignorance, chocolate, classic Jeeps, making music again, target practice and pure, pure LOVE

His email to me:

“I think you’re a true God’s art.. I’m intrigued… drop me a line if you so desire. 🙂

Scott

Magnetic Resonance Imagery Of Movement

I saw her haste for love misplace the graceful fluidity of her movement, paralyzing and muting her rapture.

The distortion of her perpetual light contorts her skin to visually solidify my broken heart stature.

Our motion is a beat rising in rhythmic fluctuations, my love remains growing for her as I down-shift my thoughts to balance and fulfill her truth actualization.

My focus is an ex-rayed disarray insight, reflecting the contrast of her flesh complexion, congruent along the faithless darkness of another man’s deception.

I wisely realize that my wording is concise to an enterprise of a developing infection, causing fever for the acceptance of whole delusional villages to spawn a human being doomed for rejection.

I am born to meet sanctity in the midst of apathy and blind demise, I shake hands with her demons as I taste the salt of her skin on my lips after holding her close to my cries…

She disguises her laughter under a face that displaces her soul’s last dieing sighs; I’m only a student teaching a pupil that focusing on degenerating dives are peripherally visualized as a low over the widest skies, high and bad for the soul.

I will raise along side my eyelids toward the stars, lifting in light grenades to propel the space from the bottom, topping off her half empty class jar. I raise my soul above it all for survival in a priceless passing of her scars…seeing into the bottom of the glass that awaits my descent. I look down into her emptiness and see myself sitting on the top shelf as her caliginous refreshment…

I never mind at all…

She’s the same for me, she’s conducive to defining my affluence of clarity…

I discover her coinciding my soul, our translucence synchronized is a rarity…

I now see through her, she reflects me… the mirror shows that the broken may now move on in a state of glued similarity bending gracefully to give my soul, I’ve fluidized our dexterity… to move on forever.”

WTF? All I can say is I’m a professional writer and I have no idea what he’s saying.

Wake-up Call: Never believe someone who communicates in incomplete sentences or poems when they don’t know you. Scary!

Safety Cop

 

The irony of this one…so this guy likes my profile but apparently fears my adventurist side and sounds totally boring but then throws in he’s a cop…so I am going to get HIM killed? Buddy, I think your job already has that going for you.

Him:

“Christ, you’re gonna get me KILLED with all that extreme stuff you like to do! Hey, you forgot alligator-wrestling…My idea of living on the edge is getting a grande instead of a tall at Starbucks. But in spite of your love of death-defying activities, which, may lead to a shorter life-expectancy, which would be terrible for your potential mate, to be widowed at such a young age…Your sensitive and helpful nature is very alluring.

As for ME, I do come from a good family, I had a VERY happy childhood, and am still VERY close to my sister and my parents. I’m a cop and an Eagle Scout…”

Me: no response

Wake-up Call: Never date someone whose adventurous side is ordering a grande instead of a tall at Starbucks. Really?