At first glance, I thought the guy looked weird. We were matched via one of the match.com automatic match generation dealios. After a couple of email notes back and forth and a conversation on the phone, he asked me if I wanted to meet. His name was gadget65 and, although I wanted to say no, I said yes.
Why did I want to say no? Because he sounded lazy on the phone. And I'm sorry people, but the voice matters! Please understand that I'm not super spunky myself, but I can muster energy and/or interest when it matters. And don't you agree that dating is a time where energy and/or interest matters? Speak to impress! Stand up, look in the mirror, smile while you're talking! Have you never heard of that?
I pretended it was a good idea and we agreed to meet in the breezeway at Champp's in Woodbury at 5:00. Who do you think arrived five minutes early? Uh that would be me. When I got there I checked the bar area for someone who looked like a 'gadget65' (God help me). It IS possible for people who are INTERESTED to show up someplace early. Well, he wasn't early and had I been smart, I would have left then and there. Expedition over. But instead, I reminded myself that I was early, after all, and took a seat in the breezeway.
From the moment I sat down I gawked at every single person who came up to or through the door. And for nearly every single male I saw, I prayed to God (I think out loud a couple times even) that it wouldn't be Inspector Gadget. God I promise to go to church on Sunday if you let that NOT be him. In fact, I'll go on Saturday too.
One time an odd-looking character parked a small pick-up at the curb and came inside. He had thin, stringy, grayish-blond hair that fell between his shoulders and his ears. He had a scruffy beard and icky eyes that he looked at me with. I was sure this was Inspector Gadget. Even though the photos I'd seen looked nothing like this guy, I managed to convince myself that it was him.
He ogled around and then grabbed a free community paper and walked out. Thank you God, I will for SURE see you this Sunday.
By this time it was 5:10 or so. And as far as I was concerned, 10 minutes was plenty long enough to wait. So I left. If he was going to be late, he should have called -- my CELL phone. I'd given him the number for crying out loud. Are there any astute (and if I HAVE to say it, single) men out there? I'm beginning to wonder.
As it turns out, he'd left a message on my home v-mail that his son was sick so he wasn't able to make it. I mean, kids DO get sick and we can't HELP it when our kids get sick, right? So I gave him the benefit of the doubt and agreed to another meeting, but mostly because my friend urged me to (I'm beginning to wonder about the definition of friend too, btw). We agreed that he would call me on Sunday after he'd taken his son to a movie around 2:00 and then we'd meet around 3:00 or so. It sounded simple to me. Not too many instructions to follow all at once. Simple enough that even a man could do it.
Guess what? You're right, he didn't call. What a complete moron! Where do these people come from? Wherever it is, they need to go back.
I told this story to a Don Juan friend of mine and he said I should never give a guy a second chance.
Really?
I thought I was being kind, loving and understanding by giving the complete moron dufus the benefit of the doubt. And I'd want someone to do the same for me. (Did you hear that God? I live by the Golden Rule.) But this advice came pretty much straight from the horse's mouth. Men are a different species that do not deserve second chances.
Duly noted!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Happy Birthday
I can't believe you turn 21 today. Seems like only yesterday I was projectile vomiting all over the hospital bed just hours before you were born into this world.
I remember the day. June 7, 1992...
Although you were planned, you were also a bit of a surprise. It was a Sunday morning, two weeks before your due date, and my water broke unexpectedly while I was on the toilet. I went to Dad's side of the bed to wake him up. I simply said, "My water broke."
He was surprised as you can imagine, and he said to me, "Shu'dup."
But I didn’t shut up. This was the real deal. My water had broken two weeks early. So we called the doctor to see what we needed to do -- this was new to us. I ate something per the doctor’s instructions and laid back down on my side, but still didn't feel you moving. We worried a bit and called the doc again and then went to the hospital (frankly I don't remember which hospital, please forgive me.)
We were admitted to Whatever Hospital and I was dressed in a hospital gown and lying in bed. The nurse (or someone) handed me a pair of tiny mesh underwear. Dad held them up in the air and said (in prime Dad fashion), "Cut me some serious slack."
But I put them on. I guess mesh underwear must be easy to tear off in an emergency or something? No idea why they were mesh or why I was not allowed to simply wear NO undies. At that point, vanity wasn't really an issue. Wearing mesh undies and still not feeling you moving inside me, I was given some orange juice to stir things up in my belly. Someone also gave me some sort of shot (again the details escape me. I have no idea what kind of shot it was) and told us to go for a walk. Dad and I walked the hospital halls, as instructed.
Sure enough, after only a short walk, labor pains started. Suddenly I was uber tired and I just wanted to lie down. Truly I wished I could lie down and go to sleep and have someone wake me up when it was all over (kind of similar to how I felt last week when I was at the dentist). But that didn't happen. I was awake the whole damn time.
I don't remember a ton about the day. I do remember, however, being naked in the shower, sitting on a plastic bench with warm, relaxing water pouring down over me. At first it was calming. But the second time the nurses instructed me to get in the shower to sooth my labor pains, it was very UN-calming. I must have gotten dressed at that point and was put back into bed because (here's the vomit part) I sat up in the hospital bed and projectile vomited. Dad freaked, and later he described it to me as a scene straight out of the Exorcist. He went out of the room telling anyone who would listen, "She's throwing up!"
A nurse came in pronto to change the sheets -- she wanted to change the sheets with me still in the bed, which I thought was weird. I was thinking to myself, I can stand up, for goodness sakes. So I got out of the bed and she expertly put on the new sheets. They insisted that my throwing up had nothing to do with the shot they had given me. Right. It's not like I was pregnant AND had the flu.
Before I knew it, there were all sorts of hospital-type folks in the room looking at my hoo haa. My doctor wasn't there and I sincerely apologize Sweetheart, but I have no idea the name of the doctor who delivered you. As far as I'm concerned, it was me! Everyone and everything in the room was a complete blur and I didn't care who was staring at my crotch at that point. I do, however, distinctly remember a nurse standing next to me with a clip board and two pens taped together, one red and one blue. I assumed she was color-coding her notes. Color coding is always a good idea. But I prefer to use highlighter markers instead of pens to color-code my work. I also prefer to change sheets WITHOUT people in the bed.
One thing I remember is that one of the screams that came out of my mouth was terribly guttural (probably sounded like something "straight out of the Exorcist" again), and Dad tried to calm me by saying. "It's OK. I know how you feel."
Bless his dumb little heart. I said, "NO YOU DON'T."
I'm pretty sure that Dad didn't say much after that. And then, get this, the doctor had the audacity to say, "Baby's head is crowning. Do you want to feel it?"
"Feel it?" I thought. Give me one good reason why a person would think I can't feel "Baby's head crowning." I calmly said to her, "I. CAN. FEEL. IT."
Before I knew it though, you were born. And someone handed you to me. I loved you immediately, despite the pain and despite the nurses thrusting on my stomach to get the placenta out and despite all the complete idiots that were in the room with us! You were an easy delivery (as far as I'm concerned ANY delivery is not easy when you're pushing seven pounds of human being out of your crotch). But I would do it all over again if I could have another you. I am very, very lucky and very, very blessed!
Happy Birthday! Lucas, you are the brightest bulb on my Christmas tree. Shine on!
I love you!
Love,
Mom
I remember the day. June 7, 1992...
Although you were planned, you were also a bit of a surprise. It was a Sunday morning, two weeks before your due date, and my water broke unexpectedly while I was on the toilet. I went to Dad's side of the bed to wake him up. I simply said, "My water broke."
He was surprised as you can imagine, and he said to me, "Shu'dup."
But I didn’t shut up. This was the real deal. My water had broken two weeks early. So we called the doctor to see what we needed to do -- this was new to us. I ate something per the doctor’s instructions and laid back down on my side, but still didn't feel you moving. We worried a bit and called the doc again and then went to the hospital (frankly I don't remember which hospital, please forgive me.)
We were admitted to Whatever Hospital and I was dressed in a hospital gown and lying in bed. The nurse (or someone) handed me a pair of tiny mesh underwear. Dad held them up in the air and said (in prime Dad fashion), "Cut me some serious slack."
But I put them on. I guess mesh underwear must be easy to tear off in an emergency or something? No idea why they were mesh or why I was not allowed to simply wear NO undies. At that point, vanity wasn't really an issue. Wearing mesh undies and still not feeling you moving inside me, I was given some orange juice to stir things up in my belly. Someone also gave me some sort of shot (again the details escape me. I have no idea what kind of shot it was) and told us to go for a walk. Dad and I walked the hospital halls, as instructed.
Sure enough, after only a short walk, labor pains started. Suddenly I was uber tired and I just wanted to lie down. Truly I wished I could lie down and go to sleep and have someone wake me up when it was all over (kind of similar to how I felt last week when I was at the dentist). But that didn't happen. I was awake the whole damn time.
I don't remember a ton about the day. I do remember, however, being naked in the shower, sitting on a plastic bench with warm, relaxing water pouring down over me. At first it was calming. But the second time the nurses instructed me to get in the shower to sooth my labor pains, it was very UN-calming. I must have gotten dressed at that point and was put back into bed because (here's the vomit part) I sat up in the hospital bed and projectile vomited. Dad freaked, and later he described it to me as a scene straight out of the Exorcist. He went out of the room telling anyone who would listen, "She's throwing up!"
A nurse came in pronto to change the sheets -- she wanted to change the sheets with me still in the bed, which I thought was weird. I was thinking to myself, I can stand up, for goodness sakes. So I got out of the bed and she expertly put on the new sheets. They insisted that my throwing up had nothing to do with the shot they had given me. Right. It's not like I was pregnant AND had the flu.
Before I knew it, there were all sorts of hospital-type folks in the room looking at my hoo haa. My doctor wasn't there and I sincerely apologize Sweetheart, but I have no idea the name of the doctor who delivered you. As far as I'm concerned, it was me! Everyone and everything in the room was a complete blur and I didn't care who was staring at my crotch at that point. I do, however, distinctly remember a nurse standing next to me with a clip board and two pens taped together, one red and one blue. I assumed she was color-coding her notes. Color coding is always a good idea. But I prefer to use highlighter markers instead of pens to color-code my work. I also prefer to change sheets WITHOUT people in the bed.
One thing I remember is that one of the screams that came out of my mouth was terribly guttural (probably sounded like something "straight out of the Exorcist" again), and Dad tried to calm me by saying. "It's OK. I know how you feel."
Bless his dumb little heart. I said, "NO YOU DON'T."
I'm pretty sure that Dad didn't say much after that. And then, get this, the doctor had the audacity to say, "Baby's head is crowning. Do you want to feel it?"
"Feel it?" I thought. Give me one good reason why a person would think I can't feel "Baby's head crowning." I calmly said to her, "I. CAN. FEEL. IT."
Before I knew it though, you were born. And someone handed you to me. I loved you immediately, despite the pain and despite the nurses thrusting on my stomach to get the placenta out and despite all the complete idiots that were in the room with us! You were an easy delivery (as far as I'm concerned ANY delivery is not easy when you're pushing seven pounds of human being out of your crotch). But I would do it all over again if I could have another you. I am very, very lucky and very, very blessed!
Happy Birthday! Lucas, you are the brightest bulb on my Christmas tree. Shine on!
I love you!
Love,
Mom
The Dating Game
Contrary to popular belief, being single (read: divorced) at 44 isn't so bad. I love having my own time and doing my own thing. I wake up and go to bed whenever I want. I hardly spend any time at the grocery store because I can find a satisfying dinner when my refrigerator is practically empty. Cheese and crackers with a glass of wine makes a great dinner. Oh who am I kidding? Cheese and crackers with a bottle of wine makes a great dinner.
An unmade bed is acceptable and dusting the living room with a Kleenex is all right. No one complains about anything I do. But when you need someone to fix the broken microwave, hang a closet door, sweep the garage or take out the trash...or you know, to kill spiders and boxelder bugs, it would be nice to have a guy around to do it. And fine, I admit it sure would be nice to look at the evening sky with someone special or share wine together, or hold hands and feel tingly.
So, sap that I am, I joined match.com. For the first couple of weeks, I checked the pictures and profiles all the time, and I sent a few email notes to guys I thought might be nice to meet. But there never seemed to be a connection. One guy said he found it "sexy" when a woman makes the first move (which I had done). He thought I was appealing and attractive but he wasn't interested in me. Well, smoke another one, buddy. Who do you think YOU are? Prince Charming? I'm sexy, appealing and attractive but you're not interested? OK, I wish you luck in your search (that's the stock language on match.com).
Match.com offers automatically generated "top matches," "daily 5" and you can "wink" at other members to express your interest (instead of writing an email, but I prefer a man that can construct a complete sentence). After several winks from guys that were clearly not matches (I mean did they even read my profile at all?! I said I eat SALAD, not three cheeseburgers and a super size fry!), I'd had enough. It kills me when a match comes automatically with the automatically generated match information, "Like you, he's not a smoker," or "Both of you enjoy baseball."
It should say, "Like you and 40 million other people..."
Come ON! That's not a match. So I've given up. Now I use my match.com membership to make fun of people. Bad? I don't think so. Can you really blame me? (Correct answer: no.) I mean, when a guy picks a name like CecilDragon, SheGuns or ThisDogStillHunts for his username, what do you expect? He's asking for it. And you can count on me to dish it out. I'm not gonna sit home on a Friday night and pity myself for not having someone to hold hands with. I'll make fun of his ass all night.
SheGuns? What does that even mean? I was very clear in my profile that I'm interested in MEN, not burly women who look like Chyna! And for goodness sake, ThisDogStillHunts. Really? Not in these woods, buddy. Then you've got LeftWingLoon, LoudPipes, BigDaddySugar and MadeInJapan. I mean that is just too much information.
...and then there's Tedlicious...
I am SO done.
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