Saxa-phoney

Little white lies. What can you say about them? Sometimes a necessary evil, but for the most part I think people try to be honest and avoid lying when they can. But what about the people who don’t? What about the people who are big fat liars just to be big fat liars? What are they getting out of this? I guess if I had the answer to that question I would be a rich woman.

I met “Kendell” online of course. Which dating site I can’t remember, although at this point I suppose it doesn’t matter. He lived in Sanibel Island which is about a three and a half hour drive so as far as I was concerned it might as well have been a world away. I wasn’t about to make that trip so I didn’t even give him a second thought. But he was persistent and agreed to make the drive to meet me and he was a musician, which I thought was interesting, so once again my attitude was “what the hell”.

We met at a local pool hall for our first date. It was a little uncomfortable bending over a pool table in front of a guy I just met, but he didn’t seem to mind, and after a drink or two I was a little less self conscience and started to enjoy myself. He was starting to tell me more about himself when the DJ started to play a song that I was vaguely familiar with due to the strong saxophone rift. He then tells me that he was the musician who played on that record. Really? Interesting.

As we continued to talk he kept mentioning all the people in the music industry that he’s worked with. I told him that I would love to see some pictures. “No problem” he said. “I’ll bring them on our next date.” Nice. At least I knew I was getting a second date and hopefully he would be able to back up some of these claims of his because at this point I wasn’t buying it.

Next date rolls around and I ask about the pictures. “Oh, I’m not the kind of person who brags like that and I don’t really feel like I have to prove myself.” Uh huh. Sure, whatever buddy. At the end of the date however he asks me if I would like to see the DVD of his concert at The Villages (which for those of you who don’t know is a retirement community in Central Florida) and listen to his CD. He pulls out a portable DVD player that he plugs into the cigarette lighter of his car and I watch in fascination. Not because of his great performance or anything. In fact, you barely even see him on the stupid DVD. I watch in fascination because I’m supposed to believe that he doesn’t like to brag about the people he has played music with, but he carries his own CD in his car and a DVD of a really crappy concert that was barely youtube worthy? Something is not adding up.

We talk on the phone a few times after this and he tells me about how his sister is top level FBI or something like that, and his whole family has the highest level security clearance, and that one of his high school teachers was Tom Clancy (the author) and that his best friends dad ran the mob in New York and he had Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi on speed dial on his cell phone and….. blah, blah, blah. The bullshit just got thicker from there and I stopped listening.

Clearly the reason that he has to travel three hours for a date because everyone else inside that circle has heard his ridiculous tall tales. So I decide to call him out. I tell him that I googled Tom Clancy and that he was never a school teacher. And I googled his high ranking sis and her top level security was crap because I found her information all over the internet. This sent him through the roof! He told me that he was going to report me. To who? And for what? I just started laughing my ass off at him and couldn’t stop. And then I heard it. Click. He hung up on me. Guess he didn’t like the fact that I knew he was full of crap. Too bad for him.

To this day, I’m still waiting for the FBI to come throw me in the slammer for unlawful Googling of dumbasses. Maybe they’ll read this blog and then I’ll really be in trouble.

Jumping to Delusions

There are so many rules to dating now. Who pays the check? Do you offer to go Dutch? After what date is it OK to start sexting? How many times do you have to go out before you can invite someone home? You never know what is going to offend someone, or what might give them the wrong impression or if they might become a stalker.

That is where this story begins. The sad part is, it wasn’t even someone I was dating or interested in dating for that matter. I was living with my ex-fiancée, happy to be out of the dating scene and not having to deal with any wierdos. My ex had just started a new job and began telling me stories of this poor pathetic sap of a guy. He had no friends, no car and basically, no life. So my ex, being the big softy that he was decides to befriend the guy. Help him out. Picks him up for work, gives him an old TV we had in the garage & brings him to the house to hang out from time to time after their meetings. I was cordial but the guy gave me a bad vibe so I avoided him if I could. Eventually the friendship faded and “creepy guy” slithered back to where ever it was he came from.

I never even gave him a second thought once my ex and I parted ways……Until he showed up at my door one afternoon several years later. My very lovely, dumb, trusting daughter opened the door and let him know that I wasn’t home at the time but I would be home around 6. (Trust me; I wasn’t happy about that scenario). She lets me know what’s going on when I get home from work and I try to figure out what the hell this guy wants and how I’m going to get rid of him before he even shows up.

Six o’clock rolls around, nothing. Six-thirty, seven, seven-thirty, nothing. Awesome! I’m off the hook! I lecture my daughter about opening the door when I’m not home and slip into my jammies.

Ding-Dong. Damn.

I open the door. In my pajamas because I’m hoping this will give creepy guy the hint that I’m not up for entertaining. Apparently they don’t teach common sense at creepy school. I stand in the doorway and chat with him for a few minutes about what he’s been doing with himself since he crawled back out from under his rock and what happened between me and my ex. And then he asks to come in.

CRAP. I tell him that it’s late and that another time would be better. He tells me some sob story and of course I let him in. I’m such a sucker. I sit on the couch across from him and listen to the story and I guess he decides he’s comfortable and puts his hand on my thigh. Ewwww! I jump off the couch and tell him he needs to leave. He agrees to leave but asks if he can call me sometime. At this point I just want him gone so I give him my number and send him on his way. What’s the big deal? I can just ignore his calls and eventually he’ll get the hint. Right?

WRONG. He calls all hours of the day and night, incessantly, for weeks on end. I pick up the phone a few times and tell him I’m not really interested and ask him politely not to call. This doesn’t work. I tell him if he keeps calling I’m going to change my number. This doesn’t work. One of the times he called I happen to be at my best friend’s house. My phone rings and she sees me roll my eyes. I tell her “it’s him.” This brings sheer delight to her face. She picks up the phone and lets him have it. She essentially tells him that he is a low life pathetic loser and that we’re gathering all my phone records and that I’m turning them into the cops to bring him up on harassment charges. To which he tells her this would be impossible because we are actually in a sexual relationship.

WHAT? Roll the train back to crazy town sucka. There are one or two people that I have slept with that I would have LIKED to have forgotten about, but to forget about an entire relationship? Um, I don’t think so. At this point Wendy starts feeding me the details of our supposed illicit affair and I erupt in laughter as Wendy finishes humiliating him. Now I’m not usually the type to let someone else do my dirty work but when you’re having an entire relationship in the confines of someone else’s mind, I guess it helps to have someone else’s voice inside your head to put things into perspective. Thankfully, Wendy is a little more persuasive than I am and he starts to leave me alone. But every once in a blue moon, in the middle of the night, I’ll get a knock on my door and I know that the crazy train has left the station again and is trying to roll back into my hood. No thanks, this station is closed until further notice.

Security! Or is that Insecurity?

Imaginations. What a double edged sword. The imagination is a fabulous thing when you’re a kid making a mud pie, or when your five year old brings you a picture she just drew for you, or when you’re daydreaming about a smarmy guy on the latest episode of Lost. It can also be a horrible thing when you’re dating someone you have met online. The reason is because in your imagination the person you’re going to go out with can be everything you have ever dreamed of. Until you meet them.

I met “Jed” on that free dating website that seems to be so popular. He was nice. Too nice, but I thought maybe he was just trying to be courteous over the phone and plus he was from New Jersey so I figured he had to be good people. I set up a date for a party my friend was having. I don’t know why I continue to think that bringing someone I’ve never met around everyone I know is a good idea, but I keep doing it. You would understand if you knew my friends. They are a loveable but tough crowd. And honest, so maybe that’s why I do it.

The party went fine; my friends didn’t have anything overly negative to say about him even though he only worked part time (4 days per month) as an unarmed security guard, so I thought maybe this was going to work out. We started talking over Facebook, gave him my personal & work email addresses in addition to him having my phone number and hoped that we could get to know each other better.

He then sent friend requests to most of my friends on Facebook.

Ok, so maybe he’s just being friendly.

And then the phone calls started, and the emails, and talking to all my friends, especially my best friend on Facebook trying to find out all kinds of stuff about me. Like what I wanted, and what I liked and about past boyfriends, and why I wasn’t with them anymore.

Too much, too soon, too clingy.

But what he didn’t understand was that when you ask my best friend questions, you’re going to get answers. And it may not necessarily be the answers you WANT to hear but the answers that you NEED to hear. She explained to him that I am a single parent and that I really needed someone who could take care of me. Not necessarily all monetarily, I do have my own job, but I certainly wasn’t going to support him.

Well she was right, again. Damn.

He turned into a giant freakin insecure baby. Calling, emailing, texting, whining about how she wasn’t giving him a fair chance and what did I think about it and what could he do to show me that he could be what I needed and how he was going to get his armed security license… wah wah wah. Who’s the woman here? Really? Grow some damn balls! I’m done.

So I break it off. It doesn’t go well. He calls & emails incessantly. For weeks. I finally have to cuss him out and tell him he’s a giant fucking asshole and I NEVER want to see him or hear from him again for him to finally stop contacting me.

Oh well. Guess I’ll just go back to my imagination. It’s nice in there.

The Truth Will Make You Flee

How much baggage is too much baggage? Where does one draw the line? Finding a happy medium? Well this is the problem in dating.

I get that we’re coming out of a recession and that 12% of the country is unemployed right now. But do they ALL have to be on dating websites trying to get ME to go out with them? I decide for some reason to go back to my Craig’s List reserves and try ONE more time.

“Mark” is attractive, pretty funny, a good conversationalist and thinks that I’m hot so I decide that we should meet. Our first date is a walk in the park. Literally. The weather was nice and we got to know each other a little better so I guess it could have been worse. He calls me for a second date and explains to me that he’s recently lost his job so do I mind just watching a movie. At my house. Jeez. Thankfully it’s a weekend the kids won’t be around so I agree. The time for the date approaches and he calls me and asks if I can pick him up. His car has been repo’d. Double Jeez. So I ask for his home address so I can get directions. He tells me he’s going to be out “doing some stuff” and that I can come grab him at a grocery store near his house. Whatever.

The date goes fine. Lots of talking, some movie watching and maybe a little kissing on the couch. We decide to end the date and I have to drive him home. We start talking during the drive and I’m trying to pin down where he lives, because you know, I’m supposed to be driving him there. He tells me that I can just drop him back at the store. Ummmm, why? He goes into some speech how his “roommate” is a really private person and he has to respect that. Bull crap. I’m driving, I control this damn car and if he wants to get where he’s gotta go, he’s gonna answer some questions. So I push. He finally fesses up that yes he does have a roommate but his ex-wife and kids live there too. Gotcha. Me: “ And do you and your ex still sleep together?” Him: “Oh no, I sleep on the floor.” The pile is gettin higher. So I drop him off at the store and gladly leave.

He calls the next day to apologize and to see if we can go “out” again. I (laughing to myself and maybe a little at myself too) decide to see really how bad this is. So I tell him that if he wants to go out again that I need to know about everything. Lay all his cards out on the table. Turns out the ex isn’t even an ex. They’re “separated”. (Don’t ask me how you can possibly tell me that you’re separated from your wife when you still live together) He tells me that the marriage started to go downhill after they decided to become swingers. And oh yeah, when he was younger, there were a couple of jail stints after he got out of the Navy. Not for anything violent though, mostly for stealing stuff. Yeah, cuz that makes it better. And that, was the nail in the coffin. I tell him that I’m not really interested in seeing him again and he gets PISSED. He tells me he can’t believe that I won’t see him again after he was completely honest with me. I try to explain to him that the wife, not the honesty is the problem and as a general rule I try not to date married men but if his situation changes to give me a call. BAD IDEA.

About a year later, out of the blue, I hear from him again. Says he’s no longer with the wife, he has a job, the car is back and he’s going to be in town a few weekends from now and would I consider letting him take me out. After I confirm we would actually be going OUT and that I WASN’T going to be paying for the date I agree. Tells me to add him on facebook where we can talk. Ah, modern love. What did we ever do before facebook?
So I can’t help but notice there’s a chick on his page that posts like every day. Mostly about how much she loves him and how great they are together. Not really what I want to see about someone I’m supposed to be going out on a date with. So again, I push. And again, I get a cock and bull story. I kindly remind him how that didn’t work the first time and it’s not working this time either. He admits that he’s living with this chick but that he’s leaving her and moving back to the area. (By the way, the chick had no idea he was leaving, and the moving back to the area was back in with the roommate and the ex wife.) No thanks. Sorry you are NOT a winner. Please do not try to play again. This officially ends my hate/hate relationship with Craig’s List.

Unless of course I’m in some sudden need of pictures of penises and then I know right where to go. Until then, I’m staying away.

Dirty Deeds for Clean Sheets

I would like to consider myself an optimist. Some people (who will remain nameless) consider me a moron. Just because I had one bad experience with Craig's List doesn't mean if I try it again that it would be bad too. Right???????

So I decide to place another ad to see what is out there. Not just for a specific event this time, but for a serious relationship. (I know now, it's Craig's List, there's no such thing) After weeding through the second round of penis pictures I actually have a few fairly decent hits. So I set up a date with one of the good ones and, OF COURSE, he stands me up. Now, I'm pissed. So I go to the next ad and basically tell this guy that I'm available, NOW. He humors me and we meet up for a movie. A real girlie movie, so I take this as a cue that he's into me. WRONG. He calls me the next day and tells me he's not looking for a serious relationship. Blah, blah, blah. Then why the hell did you answer the ad you douche? He then says that maybe, we can just be friends with benefits. UGH!!!!

My wheels turn over the next day or so and I decide that I'm not seeing anyone, so what the hell? I take him up on his offer. We meet at his place. He invites me in and there are sheets everywhere. Like in the package. Boxfuls of them. Apparantly, he's unemployed, but he sells sheets on E-bay. Grrreeeaaatttt. Thankfully though, he's pretty damn good at what he does and I'm able to forget about this for awhile. He even managed to teach this old dog some new tricks and well, at least the bed always had clean sheets. Which is pretty damn hard to find in a bachelor pad.

The problem is that my idea of FRIENDS with benefits is different than his idea of friends with BENEFITS. There is no "friends" in this deal. It's not like I want to move in or meet his parents or anything but how about a freakin movie and a microwave bag of popcon from time to time? It can even be an HBO special! I'm a low maintenance gal. Something, besides porn.

So I never called "sheety guy". I just let him call me when the mood strikes him and for some reason this brings me some degree of satisfaction. Makes me feel like I have a "one up" on the deal, even though I still cringe everytime the asshole calls me. And call me he does. For the better part of two years. I allow this to continue because I actually wind up having a decent time when I go over there and oh, there are the free sets of sheets that come my way from every once in a while.

So what does that say about me? Well some people (who are still remaining nameless) would say that this makes me a pathetic loser. I say that it means that I have a healthy sex drive that would dry up waiting for Mr. Right to wander his way into my life.

So the next time he calls, yes I will cringe because I know I'll eventually be headed over to his personal version of Linens & Things for a roll in the 800 thread count "hay" but I will be happy knowing that at the end of the night I will go home, with a smile on my face and get into my own bed, and hope that the next time that he calls that Mr. Right will have shown up and I can finally tell him once and for all that he can just go fuck himself this time.

Lunches with Liars

I really hate doing things alone. This is my downfall and a running theme in many of my stories. It also causes me to do things that you probably wouldn't even THINK of doing. Yes, it’s a scary world out there but sometimes, being alone is too.

I decide that I am bringing a date to the annual 4th of July block party. Now, I just have to find one. So I decide that I’m going to find one where you can find ANYTHING. Craig’s List. OMG, I can hear you groaning already. I didn’t have any experience with Craig’s List and I had been hearing people talk about it everywhere, so..... what the hell.

I place an ad stating that I’m looking for a date for the party. I specified no one under 25, no one over 55, no women, no married men and please no Craig’s List serial killers. I was amazed at the responses! Of course 30 of them just had to be random pictures of penises and what I was supposed to do with those I wasn’t quite sure, but I did actually get a few decent responses. None of which panned out so I still wound up going alone. Oh well, I had fun anyway.

The next day I get a very nice email from someone. He was sorry he missed the event but was still interested. I open the picture. He’s amazing. Exactly my type. We converse back and forth via email for a few days. He’s funny, smart, charming, and so easy to talk to. I can’t believe my luck. Eventually we decide to meet at a local bar. We sit and talk for hours, he walks me to my car at the end of the evening and gives me an amazing kiss. I thought my knees were gonna buckle. We continue to email back and forth, go to lunch from time to time and then…. POOF!
Gone. No explanation, no rhyme or reason. Just gone. Damn it all ta hell.

I would call him but then I realize I don’t actually have his number. I know where he works but I’m not going to sit outside his office like a crazy person so I let it go, but I never do get him out of my mind. Then a few months later ….. POOF! He’s back. Emailing me like crazy again with some lame excuses about being busy with work. WTH? But I buy it, so I go out for a few more lunches, plan a nice evening out, he stands me up and just like that ….. POOF! Gone again. Fuck. This is crazy! This goes on for the better part of a year. During one lunch he makes a remark about how you can find someone’s whole life on Facebook and jokes about how he’s sure someone is just Twittering away about their lunch right now.

Now, trust me, I’ve Googled this guy. I’ve looked. I’m not some crazy obsessive stalker type, but when you’re a single parent you have to at least try to dig up some dirt on the people you’re dating for safety’s sake. I’ve never been able to find a single shred of information about this guy.

After one of our last lunches I have to go to a meeting at work. Well I guess he thought his email wasn’t working right so he emails me from a different email address. But this email address shows a different last name than he’s told me before and BAM! I’ve got him, and he’s right you can find someone’s whole life on Facebook and I find his. And his wife’s. And his kids. Damn.

The internet is a very powerful tool. If you’ve got Google, Facebook, someone’s real name and just a few brain cells, you can find just about anything on anybody.

MEN! You should remember this. Especially when you are trying to cheat on your wife.

When Pigs Fly

We all have our pet peeves. My list includes most children, stupid people and of course dating. One of my best friend Wendy’s pet peeves is when we go out to a bar, she leaves the table to use the restroom and when she comes back I have some stranger sitting at the table.

I’m a friendly gal. I like makin small talk and I’ve always got my eye out for a nice lookin man who might need to take a load off his feet. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after “Philippe” but that would not be the case.

Most men were just waiting for their buddy and/or their date to arrive and were happy to have the chair for the moment but were quick to move on, afraid that the fat girl might hit on them. But a few men stick out. There was angry bald Irish guy. He was OK but I never did figure out what he was so pissed about. There was also the guy that tried to stick me with his check. That was a fun one to explain to the waitress.

One night while Wendy was in the restroom I saw a lady standing around, clearly waiting for a table. I told her that my friend and I would be leaving shortly and to feel free to have a seat. She was thankful and sat down. Then her friend showed up, and then another friend, and another. It was an interesting crew and getting larger by the minute. Wendy and I decided to not rush off. After awhile a few good looking guys show up and join the table and I decide to feel them out.

Well there’s one in every crowd. He thought he was clever and I’m guessing him and his buddies had done this before because they went right along with him. Me, always one to start a conversation asked him what he did for a living. He told me he was a manatee hunter. What? What the hell is that? I mean I’ve heard of manatees living in Florida but there’s no need to hunt them, they are an endangered species, and not to mention; It’s illegal! Then he tells me he used to be a seal clubber but this job had better benefits. Gotcha, I see where your headed with this. You’re full of shit! He then asks me what I do for a living. I tell him I’m a bikini model. Take that douche bag. He laughs, tells me him and his buddies are actually garbage men from NYC. OK. Not as interesting but at least they have jobs.

The conversations go back and forth between everyone when one of the ladies that I invited to the table mentions how much they all enjoy working for the airline and how much fun the traveling is. Airline? “Oh yes, we all work for Jet Blue.” Since when is it cooler to be a garbage man than it is to work for a major airline? I guess when you don’t want a fat chick squeezed into a seat next to you on a flying tin can. I could see that if I stuck around all the bullshit was just going to continue so I decided it was time for Wendy and I to bail.

After all, why would I continue to sit around and listen to them when I just know there will be another willing victim that will need a chair next weekend.