November 16, 2018

It's Not You; It's Me

There are some conversations I'm just not looking forward to with a new date, and as I've wrestled with waffling between ambivalence, anticipation, and lowering expectations, it occurred to me that I have an itsy bitsy health issue that might pop up and prove awkward on a date.

You see, thanks to really robust genetics from the Princess Mom's side of the family, I have a dandy cases of acid reflux that has caused a little dealio called Schatzi Ring.  I know it sounds like a German coffee cake, but it's not nearly as pleasant.  This is my second round, and I know I need to go back and see my gastroenterologist, but... it's not a fun process to get it (temporarily) fixed.  And I certainly can't arrange to get it done between now and my date on Sunday.

Also called Steakhouse Syndrome, it just means that sometimes my esophagus decides that it's just not having whatever it is that I just ate... and it shuts the hell down.  Tight.  And then there's a moment of rebellion when the blob of whatever-the-hell-it-is-that-I-just-ate decides to line dance up and down my esophagus.  Sometimes, if the Gods are smiling on me, I can relax enough that the pesky bugger decides to open wide enough to let WTHIITIJA slide on down.  But most times... I turn into Mount Vesuvius just about to spew. 

I have no prior warnings that I should have just ordered soup or mashed potatoes and gravy.  Nope.  Schatzki is a fickle bitch with a vicious sense of humor.

So when to have the conversation?  Before or after I back away from the table and run/walk to the ladies room before Vesuvius blows?

And is there a polite way of saying, "Excuse me sir, but I have to puke... right now"?  (All helpful suggestions welcomed)

Mr. Nice Guy from my local is enough older than me that Sunday's dinner will be in the afternoon.  We're driving about 20 miles to what I'm guessing, based on his demographics and prior conversations, is a steakhouse.  With an early bird menu.  (The horror!)

With my luck, to add insult to injury, it will happen, and probably with this playing on the piped in Muzak:


My life in reality?


November 14, 2018

Blowing Off The Cobwebs

I'm blowing the cobwebs off this long-dead blog... and my almost 16-year old non-dating status.

Shocked?  You may be, but nobody is more than I am.

I have a long, long history of bad choices, broken relationships, ghosts of relationships past, and Calamity Jane-like misadventures in the wild and wacky world of dating (scroll down past my cutie boots grandson (but slowly; that was a lovely day)).  I have know my own dating style for a very long time.  And it didn't work.

After the Buckaroo Bonsai debacle (What?  You didn't click the links above?), I finally recognized that my partner-picker was broken.

So... I moved on.

Got a new place.

Loved my job and the people I worked with until I just loved the people and hated the job. 

Embraced old friends and made new friends.

Quit dying my hair so I could see what was under all that Miss Clairol.  Enjoyed the salt (mostly) and pepper.

Traveled with friends.

Went to blogmeets.

Found out my daughter, given up at birth, had left a letter for me in her adoption file.  Met my daughter for the first time.

Lost my mother.

Tried Match.com and Chemistry.com because the Princess Mom had urged me to at least try it, and I did because I felt guilty I had let her down.  Hated the responses I got, and ditched it.

 Became a Nana, twice over.

Retired.  Got comfortable in my own skin and single status.

Lost weight over time.

Dyed my hair crazy colors just because I could.

Have for years told everyone who asked that I was done actively pursuing a relationship, but might, just might consider one if I tripped over it.  Mostly I figured that it would never happen.

And then...

I almost tripped over one recently, when with less than 24 hours beforehand I snagged a ticket to the Cubs/Brewers game offered up by an actor friend.  I met him and two of his industry buddies at Wrigley Field.  And we sat, me, Kevin, Voice Actor, and Stage/Screen Actor.  Just before the 7th Inning Stretch, Kevin got up to use the gent's room.  Voice Actor scooted down and started chatting with me.  We talked a little about baseball, family, books.  He was kind of cute, but a clearly a bit younger than me.  Honestly, I thought he was just trying to be nice.  And then Kevin came back, and Voice Actor didn't relinquish Kevin's seat.  Hmmmm, thought I.  That's strange.  And then the Cubs got their behinds handed to them, and it was time to go.

Exiting Wrigley field is a process, and sometimes you just stand in your row and wait.  As I was faced out towards the exit aisle, I felt warm hands on my shoulders giving a gentle massage... and I leaned back into it for a moment.  Nice.  And then the aisle was clear, and it was time to go and enter the mob.  On the main level, I was enveloped by the swarm and was losing sight of the guys, when a Voice Actor reached behind to grab my hand and make sure that I stayed with our group.  Warm hand, I thought.  Nice guy, I thought.

And before we all went our separate ways, Voice Actor made sure to give me his card and tell me he'd like to hear from me.  And, clueless me, I thought he wanted to be friends.

So... the next day I dug out his card and sent him an email saying that I had really enjoyed meeting and talking with him.  A couple of hours later, he asked when we could talk on the phone, and included his phone number.  Completely bumfuzzled, I sent him back an email and included my phone number.

And he actually called.  Holy shit.  And he was interested.  In. Me.

But Mother Nature had interfered and dropped the miserable creeping crud that's going around on my head, my sinuses, my chest, and my body.  Dying sounded good at that moment.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT.

So, I truthfully (and in a gravelly voice two octaves lower than normal) told him that I was smack in the middle of the flu, and had an upcoming (and epic) blogmeet coming up, and that I would contact him when I got back to schedule a time to get together.  Rookie mistake.

A week later, finally, mostly, over the terrible bug, I spent twelve hours in either direction driving in my girlfriend's pick up truck to and from Tennessee for a blogmeet, embracing old friends and new.  When I got back, it took a week for my backside to go from numb to oh-my-gawd-I-think-I'm-dying, to back to normal, and for my sleep cycle to normalize.

In the meantime (yes, this is long, but what did you expect after so many years of not spinning a good yarn on a blog?), my good friend Cheryl from my cat show days who I hadn't seen for a long time, invite me into Chicago to spend a day exploring Eataly.  As I was on the train, I got a text from another dear friend, telling me that she, too, was in the city for a meeting, and when could we get together?  I arranged to meet Erin for dinner later in the day.

In between meeting Cheryl and catching up with Erin, I stopped by my old after work stomping grounds to have a glass of wine or two and relax.  My Kindle charge was low, and my phone charge was lower, so I dug out a charger and plugged in behind the bar.  I had a brief, but wonderful, conversation with one of the servers who I have known for yonks, and who shared the news that she and her lovely husband are expecting.  Hugs were exchanged.  Good wishes.  I also shared hugs with bartenders I haven't seen in a while.

And then I went face-deep into my latest book on Kindle... and paid no attention to what was going on around me.  Until there was a guy standing next to me saying, "My friend and I would like to buy you a drink.  Please come down and sit with us."

I probably didn't handle this as graciously as I could, but... 1) book; 2) he didn't introduce himself; 3) he didn't say why they were interested; 4) I was f*cking plugged in and reading; 5) if you are interested, YOU move to talk to me, don't expect me to move for you.  (Yes, I had a princess moment.)

So I looked up, smiled, and said, "Thank you, but no.  I'm really enjoying my book."  And then I face-planted back into my book.

But, oddly, this brought Voice Actor to mind.  How sweet he'd been.  Such a gentleman.

(Can't believe I'm telling this whole story, but bear with me.)

So, later that night, I related the previous two stories to Erin.  And she whapped me upside the head and asked me what I was waiting for.

The next day, I realized that I'd dicked around long enough with Voice Actor's interest and scrolled through Facebook's upcoming Events page and found a live music so at one of my locals that looked good.  So I sent Voice Actor an invitation and commented that fancy-schmancy beer and music looked like fun, did he want to join me?

Well, blow me down and call me Dorothy Gale, he said yes.  And it was supposed to happen tomorrow.

Meanwhile, at another one of my local's, a nice guy(older, widowed) that I'd chatted with asked me if I'd like to go to dinner some time.  I took it as another it-won't-happen moment, and shared phone digits.  And then promptly forgot about it.

On Sunday, Voice Actor IM'd me that he had met another person, and that, to be fair, he needed to bow out of our date, because he needed to give his new relationship a fair shake before going out with anyone else.  Call me a hopeless romantic, but, disappointed as I was, I really did wish him well, offer up friendship, and let it go.

I figured that was the Universe's way of letting me know that singledom and dating are probably my best option.

And that is when the Universe stepped in and whacked me upside the head with it's left shoe.

Today, a Mr. Nice Guy from my local called.  I held up my phone in horror and just let it wring.

I let a couple of hours go by, and wrestled with the message the Universe is sending me.

Apparently, I may have a broken partner-picker, but the Universe has other ideas for me.

So I called him back, an we're going out for dinner on Sunday.

I'm dipping a toe back in the dating world.

(But I'm wearing a burkini, mask, goggles, and swim fins for a quick get-away.

March 20, 2012

Venus and Mars Get Schooled

PJ Media had two great posts about dating mistakes women make with men, and dating mistakes men make with women.

Favorite bits?

From John Hawkins:
"[I]f he flees the relationship like you just contracted Ebola after you sleep with him and that’s going to upset you, well then, you should probably wait a little longer to make sure he intends to hang around. It’s also worth keeping in mind that to you, going out with a man three times, sleeping with him, and never hearing from him again may be a disaster, but to him it’s probably going to be viewed as a win. Not saying anyone’s right or anyone’s wrong with that, just noting a big mentality difference."
From Belladonna Rogers (who is a whole hell of a lot wordier overall, but knocks it out of the park with this pithy one-liner):
"If you don’t want a full female-brained answer, try to formulate your questions so that the only possible answer is a 'yes' or a 'no.'"
Go read them both. It's worth the trip!

February 21, 2012

Whoa, Nelly!


This is the second time in a row my friend's pants have imploded within hours of arriving in Chicago for a visit.  I don't know if it's more of a sad statement on the quality of Levi's 550's or he's just really happy to see me...

February 20, 2012

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

I may not be athletic, but I am not a sissy when it comes to being open to something new.

I had lunch today with my one of favorite visiting tourists at Jimmy's Restaurant.

Then we had a date with Zombie Jimmy...


... at Illinois Gun Works.

A big ol' smoocheroo to my favorite Norwegian from the North Woods for gun safety orientation and range instruction.  I made him proud by: 1) not doing anything stupid; 2) striking exactly where I was aiming; and, 3) stopping ol' Zombie Jimmy dead in his tracks.  Weapon of choice?  9 mm Walther PPQ.

Now I need more practice, damn it.
_____

Cross-posted on the Omnibus.

February 17, 2012

Whoa, Nelly!

One of my friends accepted my invitation to Fab.com, and I got a little spending money from Fab as a result. I tripped across an offering from a trio of handmade sea salt caramels (original, dark chocolate and cabernet) from Sea + Cane Sweets and I couldn't resist -- especially since it cost me little more than the shipping to indulge.

Oh. Mah. Freakin'. Gawd.

Ooey, gooey, melt-in-your-mouth perfection, every dad-blamed one of them!

I like 'em all, but these Dark Chocolate beauties...



... really should be declared illegal because they're so addictive.

How good? So darned good that I looked up Sea + Cane Sweets on the intertubes, only to find out that they're right in my own back yard.

I'm of the belief that Valentine's Day is over-hyped and overrated. If you really want your sweetie to know you love him or her, do something special on any of the 364 other days of the year. And these sinful confections from Sea + Cane Sweets would be an awful special gift indeed.

(And if you want an invite to Fab, email me at omnibus - dot - driver - at - gmail - dot - com. They've got cool, very contemporary stuff, and they ship within a short amount of time, unlike some of the other online discount luxury goods sites.)
_____

Cross posted on the Omnibus.