I just got a wink from this guy. I swear to God.
He's my son's age. I should have sent a nice email explaining I wasn't interested, but then he should have had the good sense to not wink in the first place.
I like your lizards (bearded dragons?) but the next time I get attached to a man and his pets, I want legal papers granting joint custody after the inevitable breakup.
Maybe he's just looking for someone to play video games and smoke pot with ... like my last BF, Mr. Hyde.
This year's romantic journey is in it's last fiscal quarter. Like my bank account, my romantic bottom line is bleak but I have reached a point of happy acceptance. This is where I was emotionally when I met Mr. Hyde in February.
He was tall and handsome, smart and funny but I was completely ambivalent. He played cat and mouse for two months - calls/dates - no calls, no dates.
These old red flags from failed relationships have become today's instant dealbreakers. I fucking walk now; it doesn't take much.
I saved Hyde's last voicemail from March; it was him trying to be cute after a long silence, alerting me to a Monty Python marathon. As if it mattered. He was Monty Python, I was Jon Stewart. But I returned the call and the rest is history.
After two months of on/off we did two months of 24/7 and I was in heaven, TOTALLY in love. The happiest I've been in probably ten years. Then he flipped or snapped or realized I wasn't what he wanted. I still don't know. I don't think he knows. I suspect some combination of pot and prescription meds.
I do know in the past few weeks it no longer hurts to hear that voicemail; in fact, it makes me a little angry. This week I finally deleted it. That felt pretty good.
I still have his motorcycle glasses and a feather from his Cockatoo - who I miss desperately. I tamed the untamed, cuddled with the bird who wouldn't let anyone close. I still love the bird. His beautiful yellow feather is in my organizer and it tears me up every time I see it.
I need to let it go. I need to return the glasses, deposit them in his mailbox in the morning before he wakes up; like me, he stays up most of the night.
I have dated since. Men my age either bore me to death or they have accepted OLD without a fight. If my criteria included "must be able to do my 60-minute beachwalk with me" I would be screwed. OK, not screwed. Never screwed again so long as I live. Whatever. What would we do without porn.
We're not talking a stroll, we are talking walking a good pace without breaks. If I held to that criteria, I would ... well, I'd be considering the guy with the bearded dragons because 90% of guys my age can't cut it; and those who can are mostly egomaniacs who date arm candy.
Or they live like MORMON HUSBANDS with meek passive types waiting for their turn at bootie call. As Grandma would say - if she knew what a bootie call was - Pffft.
OK, one first date could have been something. It lasted six hours. In hindsight, it could have been a relationship but it definitely would have led to an annoying breakup.
He was tall and dark, smart and classy with an elegant accent. Not funny, but interesting. Ask him where he's from and he does that thing I hate ... he skirts it. "I'm from Chicago." Where before that? Well he explains, his mother was from Spain and his father was from France and he was born in Cuba.
I don't need your family tree, I just want to know where you got that accent. Isn't it just easier to say "I'm from Cuba?" I would be proud to be from a dramatic time and place.
When someone doesn't honor where they've come from, it's a red flag. Not a deal breaker, just a warning. A man who has issues with his nationality probably has lots of other issues.
I wasn't sure how I felt about him when we met at the coffee shop. There was some chemistry. He was pale with a receding hairline, good strong legs and a thick soft waist tastefully camoflaged by an expensive shirt.
He critiqued my physical attributes like he was choosing Sunday's roast off the cow graph meat chart at Kroger's.
Red flag - but I shrugged it off as Cuban.
He wanted to talk about sex. I was extremely uncomfortable, but he insisted, saying his last relationship ended because she really didn't really like sex. I'm thinking "maybe she didn't like sex with you." He said she just laid there - like call CSI, do the chalk outline and take photos.
OK. I talked about sex. That was me being open, not a green light for future phone sex. After we talked he said "don't you feel better that we have this out of the way? Now we know we are compatible. We do not have to wait two months to find out."
His lack of grammatical contractions was starting to bug me but the "two month" thing resonated.
He convinced me to go see his house so I would know more about him. He was a total gentleman. When we got back to the coffee shop he said he wanted to "do this." Try a relationship on for size. I was freaked, trying not to be freaked.
This was going too fast.
He called the next day - sounding uptight - and asked if I had been on match. ?? I said if I had, it was only to write a polite response to someone who had written.
What is this jealousy? A Cuban thing? Did not compute, I don't know guys like this. I don't know how to deal with jealous people.
He said he would call the next day to decide where we'd meet the day after that. He didn't.
Early onset alzheimers or disrespect? Both are red flags.
KABOOM - gone motherfucker. No pain, I felt empowered.
He called a few more times; I muttered fuck you under my breath and hit mute.
He dropped in at a public place he knew I'd be. I was polite, talked a bit. He looked good. One of my girlfriends was ready to put a move on him. Maybe I had been too hasty.
Then he said he'd been thinking about my sexual fantasies and he liked them. Moving too fast guy, inappropriate topic in an inappropriate location.
That was it. Go away, there are plenty of predatory women who will happily do anything to get their manicured claws on your home and income.
Yesterday - two weeks later - he called again. He left a message and sounded upset. Sad. He asked why I "disappeared". He asked that I call him back. He said "if you do not call I will know what that means."
I waited a few hours, then I sent him an email that I've been very busy. That was true. I also said "I've made a conscious decision; I have no desire to complicate my life with a relationship at this time."
I am the man.
I don't want to hurt people but I have these bright, shiny new boundaries and not many people earn the right to enter the front gate.
I have a date tonight. Well, not a date so much as a hangout with a sort of a friend - a guy I met on Facebook. Like me, he's from southeast Michigan and he worked most of his adult life in the auto industry. (Translation: plenty of stuff to talk about.)
Unlike me, he's allowing his joints to rust out from lack of use. He parks his electric car in handicapped. This isn't convenience, it's necessity.
He looks great but he hobbles. I have a date with a hobbler.
The doctor asked him about his activities and he responded "investing." I tried to picture the doctor's face.
The Hobbler suggested we meet at Casa Blanca.
There is no Casa Blanca Mexican restaurant in Fort Myers.
I corrected him ... "Cabasca's?"
"Yeah" he sez, "that's it. Let's meet at Casa Blanca at 6:30."
Red flag Bogart.
Early onset ...
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