Judge Not, Lest Ye...

I had a total book/cover moment recently. Describing an upcoming first date, I said, "He's not bad-looking, but he's is obviously totally awkward. Look at his smile in that photo! It looks pained. He's gonna be a huge geek! I am not looking forward to this one."

Imagine my surprise when the moment arrived and J_____ was totally pleasant. He's developing drugs to fight multiple sclerosis (an issue dear to my heart), and he sails and golfs in his free time. He was definitely not suave, but he was smart and interesting and I thought we hit it off. Actually, I figured I had pretty well charmed him. At the end, he mentioned going salsa dancing, and I warmly agreed. I walked home thinking he was pretty lucky to have met a cute girl like me, who doesn't judge him for being a bit nerdy. Contrary to my expectations, I looked forward to hearing from him again.

And then...You guessed it! I didn't. Not a peep. Silencio. Pin drop. A great hush. No salsa dancing. No nothing.

http://diapersanddivinity.com/2011/07/06/humble-pie/









Make mine sugar-free, if you please.

Dating Dictionary

Taste-Text [teyst-text]- noun

image: bostonfieldfocus.com

1. using text messages to determine the suitability/character/appeal of a potential date.
2. non-verbal "conversation" in 160-character snippets, often employing now-standard abbreviations and several variations of smiley faces.
3. has generally replaced the phone call in pre-first-date or inter-date communications.

4. does no favors for gents who haven't mastered the art of the being witty, wise, and warm via a touchscreen keypad -- "Hey. What's Up?" won't get him far.

5. conversely: beware, ladies, the text king who can wrap you around his little finger with a flick of his "send" button. You never can tell what will happen when you try to move from the test kitchen to the dining room! (Yes, there's a story there...)

Mid-Term Progress Report

Time has been tight, but I am slowly chipping away at my Summer Dating Goals. Herewith, a brief update:

Summer Dating Intentions Progress To Date (6 weeks into the 16)
1. 8 different gents out of 20
2. 2 non-online dude out of the requisite 5
3. 1 stranger! out of 3

Clearly, I have some catching up to do! Subtracting some upcoming travel days, I am halfway through my dating semester. I am glad to report that I continue to fill the pipeline, and snagged a potential "stranger date" this afternoon while lolling at a nearby pond with a girlfriend. Stay tuned for details!

Meanwhile, I want to send a Blonde-Out to Yoel, for his inspiring work charting his own dating adventures. This level of specificity and good record-keeping is way beyond Blondie's sights, but I share a couple examples of his, just so you can see how a master does it. 

graph: http://yoyoel.com

graphs: http://yoyoel.com

Q: What Have We Learned About a Philosophiae Doctors??

I have already presented Exhibits A & B, validating my hands-off-the-prof policy. Need more proof? Read on...

He was the Hot Visiting Professor lecturing on anthropology/ethnomusicology. I was, in his e-words, "the really cute blonde chick" seated next to his co-presenter.


HVP (no.pun.intended.) was cute, smart, irreverent, and completing a yearlong residency in my neck of the woods. Nothing seemed more logical than electronically come-hithering him mere weeks before he returned the 900 miles from whence he had come. I jotted off a quick congrats on his presentation and, just like that, I met my match and quickly realize I needed to extinguish that spark before yours truly became the really cute, blonde, tinder.

He was WAY flirtatious, and quite aggressive in his academic mumbo-jumbo word play. Lots of "Who is the viewer? Is this an authentic performance? Yada, yada." The exchange lasted only a few days and culminated in this surprising-yet-unsurprising message from him:

shall we proceed to following Bakhtin's utopian advice and temporarily suspend social hierarchies and normative forms of etiquette and behavior in the near term future and ponder over the nature of the occasional beauty of grotesque bodies? it might be extremely gratifying, even if only temporarily so.

Translation, for those who don't speak Psuedo-Erudite Academician: "Let's get naked and *&%$!" Needless to say, Bakhtin went unheeded by Blondie this time.

ER Dr. PS:

How could I have forgotten to mention that the first thing that buttoned-up ER doc said when he came into my recovery tent was "I got your thank you note. Thank you for that."

!!!

He is SO serious, it's beyond-tempting to prod him further. Lucky for him I was still basically paralyzed from the neck down. (Get your mind out of the gutter! I just mean I was Lady Groggy-a and therefore incapable of launching my usual verbal wit parade.)

My follow-up appointment approaches, and the poor surgeon will no doubt get an earful on this subject. (Ha. Earful. Says moi, the Bride of FrankenGogh!)

Where Not to Meet a Man, v.Vacation

Or, rather:
"Where Not to Meet a Single, Straight, Child-free Man Over the Age of 18 Who Does Not Live With His Mother"

www.nanbacondesigns.com

...Browsing fabulous items like handmade wampum jewelry, "upcycled" sweaters, or handblown glassware at the Chilmark Flea Market. 

That said, browse away! Supporting local vendors and being well-accessorized are, perhaps, a couple of the luxuries of single ladies, before Costco becomes your one-stop-shop for diapers, dinner, and deceptively adorable discount duds.

Doctor Love

(What does it say that I have all kinds of real dates, but the moments that inspire blog posts are all the brushes-with-boys? For one, the full-on dates require more editing. For another...sigh...yes, the thrill is in the chase...)

Anyway...Ladies! I caught up with the ER doc again! Yes, it's true. I almost couldn't believe my good luck. And yet, cruel irony, our meeting found yours truly in full, queasy, post-surgical haze of only slightly-worn-off general anesthesia. I could barely lift my head or complete a sentence, and I might add that Blondie had not yet been handed her spectacles, so our meeting was definitely a foggy one in all senses of the word.

Vincent Van Gogh, "Selfportrait with fur hat, bandaged ear and tobacco pipe," 1889.

Remove the fur hat and tobacco pipe, add a hospital Johnny and retain the dazed expression. This is a decent interpretation of Blondie during her 2nd pass at El Doctore.

As far as I can recall, he commented on my low heart rate and asked if that was normal. [Answer: Come a little closer and let's see if we can't speed it up!] Then, he asked for a smile. [Nothing too romantic -- he was checking to make sure my facial nerves were intact. They were.]

Prior to the procedure, I had boldly admitted to my nurse and my surgeon that I thought he was dreamy. They seemed amused, and someone commented that he might be married. Boo.* Still, no one had mentioned that he would be stopping by. Maybe they sent him as a post-operative surprise? I won't look that blurry gift-horse in the mouth.

*I have scant few rules, but that, of course, is one of them. There are sooo many fish in the sea that there is no need to dip into other gal's nets. If this gets confirmed, he's off the list, plain and simple. Until then: fair game!

Romantic Espionage

They say our weaknesses can also be our strengths, but I never thought my eavesdropping could be a dating device!

Thisbe, John William Waterhouse, 1909

I admit, I am a repeat and stealth-free offender. I have been called out on numerous occasions, by friends as well as by victims who notice me practically taking notes during their juicy private-in-public conversations. Something about my slack jaw and craned neck gives me away, every time. It's embarrassing, of course, but I just can't help myself. People are so interesting!

At the local art museum, this shortfall became a man-catching asset. As I reached out to open the big, glass front doors, I heard a guy finishing up a cell phone conversation. Something about his voice caught my attention and I glanced back. He was a few steps behind us on the stairs, with dark hair, carrying a sporty yellow backpack.

Moments later, in the ticket line, we got to chatting and I blurted out, "So, you're meeting your parents here this afternoon?" Yes, folks, I blatantly admitted it. He was all, "How did you..?" and I was all, "You just said so a minute ago into your cell phone." Like, duh. He thought this was pretty funny. Indeed, when he texted later that week, he reminded me, "We met last Saturday after u 'overheard' my phone conversation a-HEM."

As I've said before, it's very helpful if a guy has something to tease you about. It's like a craggy indent on a rock climb -- it's a foothold as they hoist themselves upwards toward the peak.

His next question: "Are you also a Peeping Tom?"

[Answer: Negatory! I play espionage by ear, only. I don't peek.]

The Science (Library) Guy

The subtle pursuit of the science librarian continues. I generally don't like to be the hunter, but it is sometimes necessary set the stage. Our recent exchange was via email, since he wasn't in his office the last time I had cause to pop by.

On Tue, Jun 28, 2011 at 10:45 AM, Blondie wrote:

Do you work in the summertime? I am very much enjoying my M. Mouse pencil and have a reciprocal donation for your prize closet-or-more-accurately-prize-"drawer."

On Tuesday, June 28, 2011 at 1:15 PM, Science Guy wrote:

I'm on vacation (Yay!). I'll be back on the 11th. I look forward to the reciprocal donation, and I have an airplane shaped pencil for you.

Which begs the question... is he shopping for me in the airport gift store while en route to his vacation destination??

Ya Gotta Have a Goal

On June 5, with the encouragement of a pal, I established a few objectives. While I don't really think of dating as a numbers game, I thought it would be fun to set some targets. The only parameter I established was regarding the origin of the date -- i.e. how I came to meet the guy. I didn't make a rule about geography, profession, breeding, or anything else -- this is purely an experiment in quantity and access. Oh, and a date is defined as a pre-arranged appointment. The first meeting at someone's birthday party or in the grocery checkout line doesn't count.

No wisecracks about scoring, kids. This is a PG blog.
image: http://www.caughtoffside.com

Summer Dating Intentions
June 5-September 5, 2011 (a mere 13 weeks)
1. 20 dates with different gentlemen
2. Of those, 5 must be people I met NOT online
3. Of those, 3 must be "strangers," i.e. people I meet out and about, in public or at a party

Progress To Date (3 weeks into the 16)
1. 5 different gents (E, E, D, G, and J)
2. 1 non-online dude (J)
3. Zero strangers

That last category is tricky, but I am pleased to say that I have at least one solid lead (more on that soon). My progress may be hampered when I'm out for two weeks after a small surgery, but that will only increase my determination. Wish me luck!

Something Cheesey This Way Flirts

My last encounter with Monsieur Fromage was, by far, my favorite. Without too much convincing, I recruited a similarly flirtatious and shameless pal, E, to join me in the intrigue. The ruse: my picking up a present for my mother, whom I'd be visiting that weekend. He was happy to oblige.

image:http://itscheese.com

Highlights

At the mention that I happen to be teetotalling Blondie...
E: How will he take you out for a drink?
Blondie: I'm a cheap date!
M. Fromage: [head down, paying extremely close attention to the Manchego]



After I basically admitted to semi-stalking him, we establish that I'm a lot older than I look (and handful of years ahead of him -- see what I mean? This is becoming a theme)...
B to E: He went to [X College] -- just like my acupuncturist!
M. Fromage: Maybe I know him, what year did he graduate?
B: 19xx, just like me!
[cue astonished look]
MF: I'm doing the math in my head...

Later, the afore-mentioned acupuncturist (who galls me with his presumptions, which is why I consult him so often) asserted that I was subconsciously thwarting MF's potential advances by announcing these romance-deterrents. He might be right, I'm not sure.

Anyway, we left in high spirits, E later stating, "I think there is real potential here." Poor Mr. Cheese. He won't be free of me anytime soon.