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I talked to him a couple times on line. Thought he seemed endearing, sorta like a puppy crossed with Anthony Edwards from the early ER era. So, I agreed to a last minute date with the Financier. Little did I know…

Well, let us see, he walks in wearing one of those “duster” over coats with the flaps, black, over a dress shirt and jeans with brown shoes and … a little black bowler hat that has a satin flower on it (should I tell him it’s a womans hat?). Then, he tells me that his ex girlfriend was ridiculous because she did homeopathy on her dog (!! yes, I ran a holistically minded sustainable pet business asshole). Then he says how dare poor people have access to subsidized housing because if HE can’t afford to live in a place that good, neither should they.

Then … oh, lets see, I think I stopped him from his constant talk of self long enough to say, so, are you fiscally conservative… and he said, of course… as if it is normal and EVERYONE is, to which I said, ” yeah, so I’m a socialist.”

THEN he says that he can tell on the profiles on line that women into sports are uneducated because they just “did some college and not advanced degrees” and that “women who haven’t done advanced degrees are more likely to be about plastic cups of beer and blue collar life than….”

Meanwhile my inner dialogue:

and oh yeah, BTW … I did not go to college asshole. So, I’m a socialist, former business owner, high class, design snob, well dressed and cared for homeopathic follower who waxes her pussy and you will NEVER get to see it because you are a short sighted judgemental fuck.

Bam, date over.

Ahem, so there is that.

I haven’t posted this yet, even though it’s days old news, partly cause I feel like an asshole. And, rightfully so. 

Prior to realizing that Jack/Cusack dj friend had the hots for me, I made dinner plans with him for Saturday Night. I wasn’t considering it a date. I wasn’t making a date night with him, except apparently I was, which was fully realized after he began to kiss on me the other night. So, I feigned illness. To be fair, I did have one hell of a headache earlier in the day and it did linger through the evening. He was dissapointed and felt stood up but told me to feel better. 

With no plans for the evening now, I considered my options. Walking by the theatre, the movie choices were less than thrilling. Buy a book and read at Starbucks for hours? I was not only bored, but I was also feeling the need for some companionship. I was kinda lonely. I texted this gentleman, a divorced art major turned tech geek, whom I had hung out with a couple times prior. I can’t figure him out. Is he interested? Is he not? Is he attractive? Is he not? Is he interesting and funny … Or ? 

He was setting up his new xBox when I messaged him. Looking for a better Saturday night, he agreed to meet me in an hour for coffee. So, we met up and decided that 6 was too late for coffee and cocktails sounded far better. Three cocktails later and some dinner sounded even better. Our conversation flows smoothly enough but it always strikes as far more friendly than anything else. He doesn’t touch me and I don’t ever feel like he’s flirting. He likes hanging out enough to invite me to another lounge for 1 more drink and then , when leaving, I state that i’m going to walk to the taxi stand at Harvard, rather than Central, he asks if he can walk back with me, even though it’s the opposite direction. At the taxi stand he goes in for a real smooch, not a cheek. So, if you want to kiss me, don’t wait til the end and just do it already. 

A friend of mine in so-cal says ” he just wanted sex that night” and ” he’s just not that into me” as explanations for the behavior. Ok, so he’s a dick and I’m undesireable? That’s what he has for advice. That’s for shite. Newly divorced men are confused, insecure and out of practice. I should really stop asking my single male friends advice on men, because these friends are most probably single cause they are retarded.

Last night a friend of mine, a DJ, asked me over to have a drink. I guess I was naive. I wasn’t completely sure that he was interested in me in anything other than as a cool chick, however, let’s be real… Men don’t make friends with girls because they think that they are cool. Men make friends with women they find attractive and hope to have a chance at dating or fucking.
He’s a sweet guy but a guy I’d be friends with, not wrap myself around. He reminds me of the men I’ve known through the years. The boys I hung out with in high school. Music nerds, you know, the Jon Cusack character in High Fidelity… but in Jack Black’s body.
So, in my exhausted cluelessness, he started to kiss me. A couple minutes in, not feeling anything, I said that I needed to go. I felt badly and I didn’t want to continue on in a manner that was leading towards someplace I knew wasn’t what I wanted and wasn’t genuine.
Would I have felt differently if he were Jack Black in John Cusack’s body? Maybe. I don’t know for sure. I do know that what I was sure of … was that my staying would have been unfairly leading him on … and that wasn’t something I wanted to do.

Jan 1.

I woke today with the giggles of two young girls crawling into my bed. 3 and 7, my “nieces” are the most incredible children I have known. It was 70 degrees at 9 am when they slowly opened the door and ran under the covers. My best friends were asleep and it was sweet perfection for the half hour  that the girls and I laid in bed chatting. While my friends snuck in an extra couple of hours of sleep, taking advantage of my presence keeping the kids at a slightly quieter tone than normal, I made a traditional Southern New Year’s Day brunch complete with braised ham hocks, Hoppin’ John, collards, pan roasted potatoes, and poached eggs. Once they awoke, we sat together outside, the sun on our faces, and ate too much and laughed just enough. I miss them terribly and wish my reality was a bit closer to theirs, rather than on the other coast. Perhaps that is a change I need to consider.

This year begins a lot differently than last. Last year I was in love with a complicated man, still technically owned my home, still technically owned a small business, although both were in the end process of being given back and dismantled, respectively. I had the very best dog, who was also one of my most dearest friends. Just when I thought my own personal identity couldn’t be anymore shook up, it was. Tested is barely scratching the surface with regards to how I felt many times over. Tortured is definitely how I felt most often.

I don’t believe in Resolutions. I don’t think I did anything necessarily wrong or bad to encourage the harsh events that had unfolded around me in 2011. Will I love less? No. Will I love differently? Quite probably. Each time we love someone, a new person or a past person, the love is a little bit different. It’s nearly impossible to ever love quite the same as you have previously. So, what will the year bring. I have hopes for it. I have wishes and dreams and preferences, but none of these things I can predict as the truth. I have come to learn, through my many painful experiences, that I have far less control over the outcome of things that I once believed.

 

The last year has seen a lot of loss. Finalizing the closure of the business. Foreclosing on the condo. Ending the “relationship” with Type Geek. Transition to bad flat mate scenario, bad job scenario and ugh, bad dates. Through it all, I always had a goofy faced dog to keep me from throwing myself in front of the proverbial bus. On Sunday, at midnight, my darling dog passed away. She was young, too young. The cancer was a fucking unkind aggressive cunt and took my little girl before she was ready. I wish I could say it was peaceful. It wasn’t. She was confused, she was sad, and mostly she was terrified. When she finally realized she was about to die she began to wail. She didn’t want to go. 5.5 years… the day before she’s doing flips and playing and chasing squirrels. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just go home and do that tomorrow. Why she woke up feeling awful and why that awful kept getting worse until she couldn’t move and couldn’t breathe and couldn’t live.  We tried to stop the bleeding, so she could have a few more days, say goodbye, see her friends one last time. That didn’t happen. At midnight I had to put her down and it was the worst experience of my life. My last dog went in peace. She was ready. She understood. The cancer gave us time. This time, it kicked us in the heart and ripped us apart in 12 hours. I miss her. I wasn’t ready yet either.

Here is a photo of us snuggling over the summer. We had quite the active day prior and we were in full on lazy nap and cuddles mode.

Apparently my first photo, the one on Match, looks like a serial killer he says. Because I look too serious, because I’m looking right at the camera, because I look like I’m looking through the viewer. This unnerves him. The other photos he loves, that one, he does not.

We met for drinks Saturday late afternoon and talked about everything from sustainability and healthful foods, to tennis and exes. He started talking about his ex by saying, “I know there’s a rule against this on a first date, but…” and so I told him a bit about Type Geek. His ex is a model who likes being taken care of financially and can’t emotionally connect, mine is a man who knows how to spend money and likes the idea of a woman, but can’t emotionally connect. Perhaps we should introduce the two.

One drink turned to two, to 4, to dinner and too much conversation with these two fellows who sat beside us, a cuban born  troublemaker and his midwestern colleague.  Apparently they think I look like some sports newscaster, while I’ve always been told Billie Piper and Jeri Ryan. At least they are all beautiful women, I will give them that.

Conversation was easy, flirting was moderate, and as we parted, he pulled me close for a hug and a kiss on the cheek and told me what a great time he had. He then proceeded to text me a bit that night as he met up with some mates and had another drink or two, which ended with him a bit drunk. This morning, pre run, he texted me that he was feeling rough, but wanted to reiterate that he had a great time last night. Well, that’s a  good sign, right?

I’m talking to a few men, most are semi tech-head geeky and this one was more athletic smarty geeky..and hot, but a total apple fan boy, with an accent, and good style. Would it be improper for me to say that I really need to get laid soon? I need it to be good sex too. Sigh. Santa?!!!

Talked to 3 guys on Match today, received a text from a friend with 3 men she wanted to set me up with, and found an old business associate on Match whom I had, what I now realize to be, a subtle crush on, back when we did business together and I still assumed I was gay. Yet, it’s 8:10 pm and I’m doing laundry, writing a “white paper” on social media practices, tweeting and dealing with a gassy dog who insists on sitting 2 feet from me. I’d rather have my legs wrapped around someone, truth be told. It’s been awhile. I think it’s time I wrote a letter to Santa. Anyone want to help? Anyone have connections? Shit, anyone know any hot geeky men with great musical tastes, who aren’t shorter than me when I wear heels, or really into sports? Preferably foodies. Preferably manscaping foodies. Is this too much to ask? Does this exist in a sane version? I’m taking applications now for an outside spoon.

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