I found out earlier this morning that the Superbowl is next weekend.
Silly me. Another week to root for the Saints.
WHO DAT??
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Meatloaf and Frozen Peas
Yep. Meatloaf and frozen peas.
That's Carl.
We met at a local coffee shop, a busy restaurant from the IHOP mold, full of noisy kids, noisy parents yelling at noisy kids to be quiet, an assortment of senior citizens and yups on their cell phones. Not a place I would have chosen. Starbucks may be cliche and all, but at least they have good coffee - and no screaming children.
I got there around 12:30 - I had no idea how long it was going to take me to drive from my house to the coffee shop; traffic in this town is an endless enigma. So I sat in my car and leafed through my Crate and Barrel catalogue (which is all I'll ever do, because everything in that damned catalogue is ridiculously overpriced!!) until it was time to go in.
I sat in the lobby with a family (and yes, they had screaming kids) and waited for about fifteen minutes. Finally, I see a guy walk up. He peered in the window but didn't react when he saw me. I chose to wear a shirt the same color as sweater I was wearing in my photograph, so it would have been pretty obvious that it was me. He didn't react; instead he wandered around the front of the place for a moment, and then he sat on a bench outside the restaurant.
I couldn't put him together with his picture; he did not look at all like the shots of him on Eharmony. Different angles, I guess.
So I wondered. Was it him? Why didn't he come in? Didn't he know that he was a few minutes late, and that I was probably sitting inside?
I sat there and dithered.
How embarrassing would it be if I went up to this total stranger and asked, "Are you Carl?" I was cringing - what if he wasn't Carl? So I sat there, and the guy showed no signs of coming in. So, I gathered up my dignity and went out and did just that: asked "Are you Carl?" Fortunately for me, he said yes. (Whew.) He said that he hadn't been able to see me through the window. (And yes, reader, I am currently shaking my head and rolling my eyes - just a little. Why not just come in and do a quick check of the lobby, right?)
Anyway, we got served our drinks - he's a Diet Pepsi guy, and since I can't stand that yucky stuff, I made a joke about being a Diet Coke die-hard - and did that mean we were doomed...? He laughed, and we had a chatty lunch. He told me about his job. I told him about my job. I mentioned that I had gotten laid off in 2009, and he mentioned that they were expanding his department.
You probably would have dozed off, reader. I almost did. The only thing that kept me awake was my chicken quesadilla and some really nice iced tea - it was brewed, not that instant crap. (I digress, don't I?)
I noticed that Carl had a cold; he was sniffing (which was kind of icky), but he was considerate enough to apologize. I did have an uncharitable thought or two that he should have been considerate enough to cancel until he was well.
We got through lunch and he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk around the lake. So I said ok, and we got in my car and drove about a mile or so to the park. There were lots of people there, and he kept waving me away from parking spaces, saying that he "always parked way in the back." So I kept driving, and passed several more parking spaces and he told me to keep going. When we finally got to the part of the park where he claimed there were always parking spaces - guess what? No parking spaces.
One thing I noticed was that he was a back-seat (front-seat) driver. What is it with guys that they have this firmly held belief that women cannot drive without direction...? Who made that stupid rule anyway?? So we drove on, with me gritting my teeth.
Then he wanted to show me the model airplane park. I said OK to that, but I really could give a crap about model airplanes. We drove a little further and pulled into another park; this time there was a parking space (complete with mud), so I pulled in. We sat at an empty picnic table and watched very large boys play with their very expensive toys for about an hour.
He kept patting me on the knee to emphasize his points, which I began to find mildly annoying, along with the icky sniffing (the nasty juicy kind). Finally, I said that I had to go, because I really do have something I have to do for tomorrow, and I need to get busy.
I don't really think we're going to hit it off, readers. He's nice, but he's kind of nebbishy and I think that I'd eventually find him to be very annoying. I'm going to toss him back and let him continue fishing (he's not only on Eharmony, he's on Match.com AND Chemistry.com...is that a red flag?).
Meatloaf and frozen peas. I think I'm going to hold out for a nice, juicy, rare steak.
Until next time, readers,
Love,
Maggie
That's Carl.
We met at a local coffee shop, a busy restaurant from the IHOP mold, full of noisy kids, noisy parents yelling at noisy kids to be quiet, an assortment of senior citizens and yups on their cell phones. Not a place I would have chosen. Starbucks may be cliche and all, but at least they have good coffee - and no screaming children.
I got there around 12:30 - I had no idea how long it was going to take me to drive from my house to the coffee shop; traffic in this town is an endless enigma. So I sat in my car and leafed through my Crate and Barrel catalogue (which is all I'll ever do, because everything in that damned catalogue is ridiculously overpriced!!) until it was time to go in.
I sat in the lobby with a family (and yes, they had screaming kids) and waited for about fifteen minutes. Finally, I see a guy walk up. He peered in the window but didn't react when he saw me. I chose to wear a shirt the same color as sweater I was wearing in my photograph, so it would have been pretty obvious that it was me. He didn't react; instead he wandered around the front of the place for a moment, and then he sat on a bench outside the restaurant.
I couldn't put him together with his picture; he did not look at all like the shots of him on Eharmony. Different angles, I guess.
So I wondered. Was it him? Why didn't he come in? Didn't he know that he was a few minutes late, and that I was probably sitting inside?
I sat there and dithered.
How embarrassing would it be if I went up to this total stranger and asked, "Are you Carl?" I was cringing - what if he wasn't Carl? So I sat there, and the guy showed no signs of coming in. So, I gathered up my dignity and went out and did just that: asked "Are you Carl?" Fortunately for me, he said yes. (Whew.) He said that he hadn't been able to see me through the window. (And yes, reader, I am currently shaking my head and rolling my eyes - just a little. Why not just come in and do a quick check of the lobby, right?)
Anyway, we got served our drinks - he's a Diet Pepsi guy, and since I can't stand that yucky stuff, I made a joke about being a Diet Coke die-hard - and did that mean we were doomed...? He laughed, and we had a chatty lunch. He told me about his job. I told him about my job. I mentioned that I had gotten laid off in 2009, and he mentioned that they were expanding his department.
You probably would have dozed off, reader. I almost did. The only thing that kept me awake was my chicken quesadilla and some really nice iced tea - it was brewed, not that instant crap. (I digress, don't I?)
I noticed that Carl had a cold; he was sniffing (which was kind of icky), but he was considerate enough to apologize. I did have an uncharitable thought or two that he should have been considerate enough to cancel until he was well.
We got through lunch and he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk around the lake. So I said ok, and we got in my car and drove about a mile or so to the park. There were lots of people there, and he kept waving me away from parking spaces, saying that he "always parked way in the back." So I kept driving, and passed several more parking spaces and he told me to keep going. When we finally got to the part of the park where he claimed there were always parking spaces - guess what? No parking spaces.
One thing I noticed was that he was a back-seat (front-seat) driver. What is it with guys that they have this firmly held belief that women cannot drive without direction...? Who made that stupid rule anyway?? So we drove on, with me gritting my teeth.
Then he wanted to show me the model airplane park. I said OK to that, but I really could give a crap about model airplanes. We drove a little further and pulled into another park; this time there was a parking space (complete with mud), so I pulled in. We sat at an empty picnic table and watched very large boys play with their very expensive toys for about an hour.
He kept patting me on the knee to emphasize his points, which I began to find mildly annoying, along with the icky sniffing (the nasty juicy kind). Finally, I said that I had to go, because I really do have something I have to do for tomorrow, and I need to get busy.
I don't really think we're going to hit it off, readers. He's nice, but he's kind of nebbishy and I think that I'd eventually find him to be very annoying. I'm going to toss him back and let him continue fishing (he's not only on Eharmony, he's on Match.com AND Chemistry.com...is that a red flag?).
Meatloaf and frozen peas. I think I'm going to hold out for a nice, juicy, rare steak.
Until next time, readers,
Love,
Maggie
Saturday, January 30, 2010
My First Date!
Yes, sports fans - tomorrow, I'm meeting Carl for the first time.
But I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself - I completely skipped over the phone call, didn't I? I did, and I apologize. Here's how it went down.
I have about a 45 minute commute from work to home, so I thought that would be a good time to call Carl - I mean, I'm stuck in my car in traffic, so what else is there to do, right?
So...I dialed the number, and he answered the phone. Amazingly enough, I was able to say hello in a normal voice, and it got better from there. We had a nice chat, and as it happens, Carl and I both have a weakness for ice cream. I guess if we run out of things to talk about, we can always compare the relative merits of rocky road and butter pecan, eh?
As our conversation wound down a little, Carl asked me if I wanted to meet, and I said yes. So we set up a meeting for tomorrow at 1pm at a local coffee shop, and then, if things go well, we'll take a turn around the lake in a nearby park.
I'm getting a little nervous, and I must confess (I do a lot of confessing, don't I?) that I have had the urge to call him and cancel. It's my nerves, I guess. He's new, and I feel like I'll be on display like a prize heifer; but on the other hand, I'd be willing to bet that he feels the same way. I'll just keep reminding myself of that.
It's going to be a relatively short date - tomorrow is the Superbowl, after all, and I must be home to see my beloved Saints beat the pants off the Colts.
I promise I'll tell you all about my first date...but it will have to be after the game.
GEAUX SAINTS! Who dat??
Love,
Maggie
But I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself - I completely skipped over the phone call, didn't I? I did, and I apologize. Here's how it went down.
I have about a 45 minute commute from work to home, so I thought that would be a good time to call Carl - I mean, I'm stuck in my car in traffic, so what else is there to do, right?
So...I dialed the number, and he answered the phone. Amazingly enough, I was able to say hello in a normal voice, and it got better from there. We had a nice chat, and as it happens, Carl and I both have a weakness for ice cream. I guess if we run out of things to talk about, we can always compare the relative merits of rocky road and butter pecan, eh?
As our conversation wound down a little, Carl asked me if I wanted to meet, and I said yes. So we set up a meeting for tomorrow at 1pm at a local coffee shop, and then, if things go well, we'll take a turn around the lake in a nearby park.
I'm getting a little nervous, and I must confess (I do a lot of confessing, don't I?) that I have had the urge to call him and cancel. It's my nerves, I guess. He's new, and I feel like I'll be on display like a prize heifer; but on the other hand, I'd be willing to bet that he feels the same way. I'll just keep reminding myself of that.
It's going to be a relatively short date - tomorrow is the Superbowl, after all, and I must be home to see my beloved Saints beat the pants off the Colts.
I promise I'll tell you all about my first date...but it will have to be after the game.
GEAUX SAINTS! Who dat??
Love,
Maggie
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
May I Confess...?
I'm scared.
Yep. Petrified.
Carl sent me his phone number, and said that he's "waiting for my call."
That was ...when was it? Last Tuesday, I think. Poor Carl. I think of calling him and I just freak out.
Why? I mean, what's the worst that can happen? ("That he'll answer the phone!!" gibbers my terrified inner child.) One - or six - of those awkward moments when the Cone of Silence descends over the conversation; I can just hear myself saying, "Say, how 'bout them Saints?!" (How 'bout them Saints!! WHO DAT??? But I digress, don't I?)
Anyway, I just don't know what to say. And I hate making amusing and polite chit-chat with someone I don't know, especially over the phone. I sound like a dork. He said that he doesn't like to discuss politics, which is always a reliable fallback. Heck, if I had my choice, I'd much prefer to swap emails for a while, but Carl is a man of few - and misspelled - words.
I don't feel any attraction to Carl, really. Maybe I'm being too all-fired picky, but Carl seems about as exciting as a Swanson TV dinner. Straight from the freezer. Meatloaf. With peas.
Poor Carl. I don't know what to do with him. All week, I've been making excuse after excuse for not picking up the phone and calling him. It was raining really hard. I had three fillings and my mouth hurts. I was busy watching television. The Biggest Loser was on. Oops - gotta clean out the litter box and take out the trash! Can't call now!
Readers? What shall I do?
Here's my dilemma: I can't figure out whether I don't feel any attraction for Carl and that's why I don't want to call him, OR I don't want to make the call, so I'm telling myself that he's an icky little man and I don't like him.
See? The eternal dilemma of which came first, the chicken or the egg.
It has been so long since I've had a date that I can't tell if a guy will come along who will make me feel so tingly that I can't wait to talk to him on the phone or if it's specifically Carl who makes me want to chuck my phone off the balcony and flee. Or, worst of all, maybe there isn't a man out there who can make me feel all tingly - maybe my "tingle" is broken.
That would be awful, to have a broken tingle.
At this point, I don't really have any desire to go out with Carl, but I have this feeling like I have to give him a chance. Like it wouldn't be fair if I simply said, "Gee, Carl, you're probably a very nice man, but I'm not really interested." Give Carl a chance, my mind says, be a Nice Girl and give him a chance.
And then, I ask myself why.
Why do I have to give Carl - a man I'm really not interested in meeting - a chance? Don't I deserve to have a man who makes me feel all tingly, or am I so old and old-maidish that I must just take whoever comes along and give him a chance, just so I can get off the shelf...?
I think this is a case of what I call Nice Girl Syndrome, you know, that if you're a Nice Girl, you have to say yes to people and do things you don't want to do - or you won't be a Nice Girl. And that includes giving men like Carl a chance.
Boy, what a mess I am.
Anyway, reader, I haven't quite made up my mind about Carl - yet, but I think I'm leaning toward emailing him and asking him if he'd mind if we swapped emails for a little while, so I could get to know him a little better rather than jump in with the phone call. That would give me a chance to explore my feelings a little more and see if I can resolve my chicken/egg issue.
Feel free to jump in any time.
Love,
Maggie
Yep. Petrified.
Carl sent me his phone number, and said that he's "waiting for my call."
That was ...when was it? Last Tuesday, I think. Poor Carl. I think of calling him and I just freak out.
Why? I mean, what's the worst that can happen? ("That he'll answer the phone!!" gibbers my terrified inner child.) One - or six - of those awkward moments when the Cone of Silence descends over the conversation; I can just hear myself saying, "Say, how 'bout them Saints?!" (How 'bout them Saints!! WHO DAT??? But I digress, don't I?)
Anyway, I just don't know what to say. And I hate making amusing and polite chit-chat with someone I don't know, especially over the phone. I sound like a dork. He said that he doesn't like to discuss politics, which is always a reliable fallback. Heck, if I had my choice, I'd much prefer to swap emails for a while, but Carl is a man of few - and misspelled - words.
I don't feel any attraction to Carl, really. Maybe I'm being too all-fired picky, but Carl seems about as exciting as a Swanson TV dinner. Straight from the freezer. Meatloaf. With peas.
Poor Carl. I don't know what to do with him. All week, I've been making excuse after excuse for not picking up the phone and calling him. It was raining really hard. I had three fillings and my mouth hurts. I was busy watching television. The Biggest Loser was on. Oops - gotta clean out the litter box and take out the trash! Can't call now!
Readers? What shall I do?
Here's my dilemma: I can't figure out whether I don't feel any attraction for Carl and that's why I don't want to call him, OR I don't want to make the call, so I'm telling myself that he's an icky little man and I don't like him.
See? The eternal dilemma of which came first, the chicken or the egg.
It has been so long since I've had a date that I can't tell if a guy will come along who will make me feel so tingly that I can't wait to talk to him on the phone or if it's specifically Carl who makes me want to chuck my phone off the balcony and flee. Or, worst of all, maybe there isn't a man out there who can make me feel all tingly - maybe my "tingle" is broken.
That would be awful, to have a broken tingle.
At this point, I don't really have any desire to go out with Carl, but I have this feeling like I have to give him a chance. Like it wouldn't be fair if I simply said, "Gee, Carl, you're probably a very nice man, but I'm not really interested." Give Carl a chance, my mind says, be a Nice Girl and give him a chance.
And then, I ask myself why.
Why do I have to give Carl - a man I'm really not interested in meeting - a chance? Don't I deserve to have a man who makes me feel all tingly, or am I so old and old-maidish that I must just take whoever comes along and give him a chance, just so I can get off the shelf...?
I think this is a case of what I call Nice Girl Syndrome, you know, that if you're a Nice Girl, you have to say yes to people and do things you don't want to do - or you won't be a Nice Girl. And that includes giving men like Carl a chance.
Boy, what a mess I am.
Anyway, reader, I haven't quite made up my mind about Carl - yet, but I think I'm leaning toward emailing him and asking him if he'd mind if we swapped emails for a little while, so I could get to know him a little better rather than jump in with the phone call. That would give me a chance to explore my feelings a little more and see if I can resolve my chicken/egg issue.
Feel free to jump in any time.
Love,
Maggie
Monday, January 18, 2010
Short People
I figured that since I've been neglecting my project for about a week, I ought to go over to Eharmony and check out my new matches.
They're all short. 5'6", 5'7", 5'8".
There's nothing wrong with short guys. But come on, I'm nearly 6 feet tall in my stockings, and a guy who's 5'6" is going to have his nose at about boob level. Nice for him, maybe, but for me? I dunno. I'd kind of like to have someone who can look deep into my eyes...without standing on a stepladder.
And yes, I know, dear reader, I'm being shallow. So I've come to a kind of a compromise here. If they're 5'6" or taller, I'll let them contact me. If they want to meet a woman who towers over them - they've got good self esteem, and I like that. So, short guys - step up to the plate.
Jeff and Willie have stalled out. I don't know what's going on with either of them, but the ball's in their respective courts. Perhaps it was something I said in my answers to their questions that has given them pause. Who knows?
In the meantime, there's Carl. He contacted me, and I've responded, even though I think he looks like a small-time thug who has escaped from the set of "The Sopranos." I don't think Carl and I are going to work out. I asked him my three wishes question, and his answer raised a flag. He first wished for Haiti to be "fixed" - and that's a good thing, but then he wished for "a good president." Uh-oh. Have we got an Obama-hater here? I hope not.
I'm going to find out though, because he asked me the same three wishes question. Here's what I said: I told him that I liked his wish for Haiti, and that I'd second it. Then I said that I was happy with our current president, so instead, I'd wish that Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld and Rice be tried for war crimes. (For my third wish, I went for the classic: world peace.)
If he's a Republican, that answer will ...smoke him out of his cave, won't it?
I wasn't too sure about Carl anyway - even before the "good president" wish; one of his MH's is he wants someone who is "very conventional sexually." Now that's just weird. What on earth does that mean? That he always gets to be on top? That the missionary position rules? No soapy sloppy sex in the shower? No naughty spanking? No romps with feathers and chocolate syrup? No cunni...well, um, yes, let's just leave it at that. Conventional man-on-top-woman-on-bottom-missionary-position sex is dreary and boring, isn't it?
I believe that if you only want to have "conventional sex" it means, simply, that you have no imagination or creativity or sense of fun. It means that you fall into a routine of every Tuesday is meatloaf and sex night. Ketchup on your meatloaf, two kisses, 16 thrusts and done.
No-freaking-thanks.
And yes, reader, I am extrapolating a whole lot from just that one thing. But hey, I was right about Tom, wasn't I?
Love,
Maggie
They're all short. 5'6", 5'7", 5'8".
There's nothing wrong with short guys. But come on, I'm nearly 6 feet tall in my stockings, and a guy who's 5'6" is going to have his nose at about boob level. Nice for him, maybe, but for me? I dunno. I'd kind of like to have someone who can look deep into my eyes...without standing on a stepladder.
And yes, I know, dear reader, I'm being shallow. So I've come to a kind of a compromise here. If they're 5'6" or taller, I'll let them contact me. If they want to meet a woman who towers over them - they've got good self esteem, and I like that. So, short guys - step up to the plate.
Jeff and Willie have stalled out. I don't know what's going on with either of them, but the ball's in their respective courts. Perhaps it was something I said in my answers to their questions that has given them pause. Who knows?
In the meantime, there's Carl. He contacted me, and I've responded, even though I think he looks like a small-time thug who has escaped from the set of "The Sopranos." I don't think Carl and I are going to work out. I asked him my three wishes question, and his answer raised a flag. He first wished for Haiti to be "fixed" - and that's a good thing, but then he wished for "a good president." Uh-oh. Have we got an Obama-hater here? I hope not.
I'm going to find out though, because he asked me the same three wishes question. Here's what I said: I told him that I liked his wish for Haiti, and that I'd second it. Then I said that I was happy with our current president, so instead, I'd wish that Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld and Rice be tried for war crimes. (For my third wish, I went for the classic: world peace.)
If he's a Republican, that answer will ...smoke him out of his cave, won't it?
I wasn't too sure about Carl anyway - even before the "good president" wish; one of his MH's is he wants someone who is "very conventional sexually." Now that's just weird. What on earth does that mean? That he always gets to be on top? That the missionary position rules? No soapy sloppy sex in the shower? No naughty spanking? No romps with feathers and chocolate syrup? No cunni...well, um, yes, let's just leave it at that. Conventional man-on-top-woman-on-bottom-missionary-position sex is dreary and boring, isn't it?
I believe that if you only want to have "conventional sex" it means, simply, that you have no imagination or creativity or sense of fun. It means that you fall into a routine of every Tuesday is meatloaf and sex night. Ketchup on your meatloaf, two kisses, 16 thrusts and done.
No-freaking-thanks.
And yes, reader, I am extrapolating a whole lot from just that one thing. But hey, I was right about Tom, wasn't I?
Love,
Maggie
Still Waiting ...Now What?
Well, here I am, with my line in the water, and the fish aren't biting.
I confess, I've also been truly distracted by the tragedy in Haiti. It seems wrong, somehow, to worry about getting a date when all that is going on, doesn't it?
I apologize for the gap in my posts here; I'll try to do better.
In the meantime, please go to the American Red Cross website or Doctors Without Borders - or to whatever your favorite charity is - and donate as much as you can.
If you pray, please do that too - after you donate some money.
Love,
Maggie
I confess, I've also been truly distracted by the tragedy in Haiti. It seems wrong, somehow, to worry about getting a date when all that is going on, doesn't it?
I apologize for the gap in my posts here; I'll try to do better.
In the meantime, please go to the American Red Cross website or Doctors Without Borders - or to whatever your favorite charity is - and donate as much as you can.
If you pray, please do that too - after you donate some money.
Love,
Maggie
Saturday, January 9, 2010
While We're Waiting...
...how about some trivia?
Yep. Now I'm waiting. My communication with Jeff and Alex and Willie (oh my!) has seemingly stalled. My inbox is still full of my new matches, but when I checked last night, there was really nobody who struck my fancy.
Of course, my inbox has had another influx of eligible men, and I need to log in to Eharmony to check them all out.
In the meantime, did you know that on today's date, January 9, 1810, President James Madison asked Congress to ratify a treaty with the Kickapoo Indians...?
No?
Well, now you do.
Love,
Maggie
Yep. Now I'm waiting. My communication with Jeff and Alex and Willie (oh my!) has seemingly stalled. My inbox is still full of my new matches, but when I checked last night, there was really nobody who struck my fancy.
Of course, my inbox has had another influx of eligible men, and I need to log in to Eharmony to check them all out.
In the meantime, did you know that on today's date, January 9, 1810, President James Madison asked Congress to ratify a treaty with the Kickapoo Indians...?
No?
Well, now you do.
Love,
Maggie
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Update
Well, my fishing expedition has had a very busy first week.
I read in a book somewhere that when the British ruled India, young ladies of good family would embark on the long perilous journey from Old Blighty across land and sea to exotic, faraway India to catch a husband. Many, many of England's best and brightest young men served in the British army and were employed by the British East India Company, and were posted to exotic locations all over the Raj, from Kashmir to Bombay to Delhi to Cawnpore.
These brave soldiers probably ended up feeling somewhat harried when the ships sailed into the Indian harbors and all the eager young memsahibs disembarked with their governesses and nannies -. and their formidable Victorian mamas - in tow. In fact, this book said that the men referred to the flocks of disembarked eligible unmarried young - and not-so-young - mems fresh from Home as the "fishing fleet."
There. That was a complete non sequitur and my first bit of trivia. I must confess, I do love trivia, and I have a brain full of it; be warned, I may trot out random bits of it here and there as the thought processes connect the dots in my brain.
Anyway, it has been an eventful week. Let's see...I've been dumped once already.
My email inbox is full to bursting with new prospects every night. I'm trying to keep up, but man, this is beginning to feel like a full-time job! Go in, give 'em a quick once-over, check height (anyone under 5'8" is an instant candidate for closure; remember, I'm close to 6 feet tall!), check spelling (anyone who can't tell the difference between "your" and "you're" is another instant candidate for closure), pause momentarily on their location, because a match from a red, red state might not be such a good idea - considering that I'm about as liberal as you can get.
And I do one final check for their religion (I chose "neither spiritual nor religious" as my selection, since I'm an out-of-the-closet atheist); if it says "Christian" I go straight to their "What I Can't Live Without" lines - and if it says anything about Jesus, their wonderful savior or their church, they go straight to the Close Match dustbin. I've got no patience for that!
I'm communicating with three delightful gentlemen, Jeff, Alex and now Willie. Alex and Willie and I are still doing the Guided Communication dance, with its attendant back-and-forthing.
Jeff and I, on the other hand, are about to embark upon the sea of "Open Communication," where we can share our thoughts unfettered by Eharmony's rigid structure. And I must confess, dear reader, that that makes me nervous. This is where I lose my confidence in my ability to charm; what do I do? Send my phone number? My email address? Set up a meet-and-greet over coffee at Starbuck's (now, isn't that a cliche??)?
If you have any advice for me, believe me, it's most welcome! What on earth do you say to someone you've never met, when you're worried that he might think you're too fat? You can post a comment at the end of this (and every other) blog entry, and I promise I'll read them. Oh - and thanks in advance!
Love,
Maggie
I read in a book somewhere that when the British ruled India, young ladies of good family would embark on the long perilous journey from Old Blighty across land and sea to exotic, faraway India to catch a husband. Many, many of England's best and brightest young men served in the British army and were employed by the British East India Company, and were posted to exotic locations all over the Raj, from Kashmir to Bombay to Delhi to Cawnpore.
These brave soldiers probably ended up feeling somewhat harried when the ships sailed into the Indian harbors and all the eager young memsahibs disembarked with their governesses and nannies -. and their formidable Victorian mamas - in tow. In fact, this book said that the men referred to the flocks of disembarked eligible unmarried young - and not-so-young - mems fresh from Home as the "fishing fleet."
There. That was a complete non sequitur and my first bit of trivia. I must confess, I do love trivia, and I have a brain full of it; be warned, I may trot out random bits of it here and there as the thought processes connect the dots in my brain.
Anyway, it has been an eventful week. Let's see...I've been dumped once already.
My email inbox is full to bursting with new prospects every night. I'm trying to keep up, but man, this is beginning to feel like a full-time job! Go in, give 'em a quick once-over, check height (anyone under 5'8" is an instant candidate for closure; remember, I'm close to 6 feet tall!), check spelling (anyone who can't tell the difference between "your" and "you're" is another instant candidate for closure), pause momentarily on their location, because a match from a red, red state might not be such a good idea - considering that I'm about as liberal as you can get.
And I do one final check for their religion (I chose "neither spiritual nor religious" as my selection, since I'm an out-of-the-closet atheist); if it says "Christian" I go straight to their "What I Can't Live Without" lines - and if it says anything about Jesus, their wonderful savior or their church, they go straight to the Close Match dustbin. I've got no patience for that!
I'm communicating with three delightful gentlemen, Jeff, Alex and now Willie. Alex and Willie and I are still doing the Guided Communication dance, with its attendant back-and-forthing.
Jeff and I, on the other hand, are about to embark upon the sea of "Open Communication," where we can share our thoughts unfettered by Eharmony's rigid structure. And I must confess, dear reader, that that makes me nervous. This is where I lose my confidence in my ability to charm; what do I do? Send my phone number? My email address? Set up a meet-and-greet over coffee at Starbuck's (now, isn't that a cliche??)?
If you have any advice for me, believe me, it's most welcome! What on earth do you say to someone you've never met, when you're worried that he might think you're too fat? You can post a comment at the end of this (and every other) blog entry, and I promise I'll read them. Oh - and thanks in advance!
Love,
Maggie
Sunday, January 3, 2010
I'm Communicating!
OK, I am officially "communicating" with two of my matches, Jeff and Alex. I contacted Jeff first, and Alex contacted me first.
I had to request Alex's picture, which was kind of a drag. But I understand the point - he wants me to be interested in his good qualities, rather than his looks. I get that, and according to his initial information, he has some good qualities. He passed my spelling test, anyway. So, I answered his questions - again with my do-it-yourself typed-in answers. I hate those canned choices!
I have to admit, though, that the lack of picture is kind of a turn-off; I mean, what is he hiding? Does he weigh 500 pounds or have big warts? And would I be shallow if I closed the match if he turns out to be unattractive?
I'm going to have to think about this one. It's only the 3rd of January, and I have 362 more days to do this, so I can take my sweet time about it.
I knew when I signed up for Eharmony that this 'fishing expedition' was going to force me to think about a lot of things I'd rather ignore, and push me out of my comfort zone...and so it has.
Jeff, the guy I contacted, intrigued me. His profile was witty and smart - and correctly spelled. I liked his pictures - a series of three terrific black and white shots (I love b&w photography!). He reminds me of George Carlin - which isn't such a bad thing; George Carlin (may he rest in peace) was an awesome dude with a killer sense of humor, after all. I sent him a request for communication - complete with my pictures - and today, he responded. This one could be interesting!
Could a first date be next...?
Love,
Maggie
I had to request Alex's picture, which was kind of a drag. But I understand the point - he wants me to be interested in his good qualities, rather than his looks. I get that, and according to his initial information, he has some good qualities. He passed my spelling test, anyway. So, I answered his questions - again with my do-it-yourself typed-in answers. I hate those canned choices!
I have to admit, though, that the lack of picture is kind of a turn-off; I mean, what is he hiding? Does he weigh 500 pounds or have big warts? And would I be shallow if I closed the match if he turns out to be unattractive?
I'm going to have to think about this one. It's only the 3rd of January, and I have 362 more days to do this, so I can take my sweet time about it.
I knew when I signed up for Eharmony that this 'fishing expedition' was going to force me to think about a lot of things I'd rather ignore, and push me out of my comfort zone...and so it has.
Jeff, the guy I contacted, intrigued me. His profile was witty and smart - and correctly spelled. I liked his pictures - a series of three terrific black and white shots (I love b&w photography!). He reminds me of George Carlin - which isn't such a bad thing; George Carlin (may he rest in peace) was an awesome dude with a killer sense of humor, after all. I sent him a request for communication - complete with my pictures - and today, he responded. This one could be interesting!
Could a first date be next...?
Love,
Maggie
Saturday, January 2, 2010
I've Been Dumped - Already!!
Well, damn.
It had to happen, didn't it? Being dumped.
Tom - he of the gray hair and slight paunch and possible messy divorce - decided that I'm too fat for him. Evidently, he thinks that he's going to find himself a hot babe. Well, good luck with that, Tom. He sent me an email telling me that I have a "pleasant face" but he's all into fitness and his sex drive is tied up with weight, etc. etc. (Heh - that's simply a variation of the old "But you have such a pretty face..." canard.)
My answer? (Besides a resounding "BULLSHIT!!"...?)
Let he who is without a single extra pound cast the first stone.
Yeah, snarky, I know, but shit - he ain't no Harrison Ford. He's more like George Wendt (the guy from "Cheers").
This is the part about dating that always pisses me off. Middle-aged guys with gray hair and potbellies telling me that I'm too fat.
Well, hell, he's probably losing his hair as well. Snarkity-snark-snark.
I'm trying to be fair here. And I do understand that a whole lot of men think with their ...um, well, you know, right? And that tossing myself into the dating pool, I'm bound to run into the delusional George Wendt types who believe they rate a date with Angelina Jolie. Oh, man.
This is the sucky part of dating.
It sure didn't take long for the sucky part to happen to me, did it? This was why I had cold feet about this whole project - I knew damn good and well that it was going to push every button I have. Every weak spot, every vulnerability, every insecurity, every fear. I knew that going in.
I was going to cut Tom loose anyway. Remember that little question I asked him about his 3 wishes? One of his answers was to be finished with his divorce - and that should have been it right there, only I missed it. (Note to self: read answers more carefully.) I do not want to get involved with someone who's even remotely still married! Period. End of story. Someone in the midst of a divorce, no matter how cordial, is absolutely NOT ready for a new relationship, and I am not going to be somebody's rebound.
You know what I think? I think that Tom is judging me based on all his icky baggage, and I do not need that aggravation. Looking back, his Must Haves/Can't Stands are a lot clearer now; they felt kind of judgmental and even slightly hostile to me. All that business about my being industrious and clean! And who the hell doesn't like pets??
OK, I'm cooling off now. I was smokin' for a minute there, wasn't I?
Now that I'm a bit calmer, and I can think about this with a cooler and more analytical head, this match didn't feel right from the beginning. Several of his comments were worrisome to me, tiny little red flags, if you will - which proves that I have reasonably good instincts and that I should learn to trust them. Maybe I'm not as bad at this as I thought.
Oh, well. This one was getting tossed back anyway. I just didn't get to do it first. And...truth to tell, he won't be the last, either.
Buh-bye, Tom! Cross Frog #1 off the list.
Buckle up, kiddies - it's going to be a bumpy ride!!
It had to happen, didn't it? Being dumped.
Tom - he of the gray hair and slight paunch and possible messy divorce - decided that I'm too fat for him. Evidently, he thinks that he's going to find himself a hot babe. Well, good luck with that, Tom. He sent me an email telling me that I have a "pleasant face" but he's all into fitness and his sex drive is tied up with weight, etc. etc. (Heh - that's simply a variation of the old "But you have such a pretty face..." canard.)
My answer? (Besides a resounding "BULLSHIT!!"...?)
Let he who is without a single extra pound cast the first stone.
Yeah, snarky, I know, but shit - he ain't no Harrison Ford. He's more like George Wendt (the guy from "Cheers").
This is the part about dating that always pisses me off. Middle-aged guys with gray hair and potbellies telling me that I'm too fat.
Well, hell, he's probably losing his hair as well. Snarkity-snark-snark.
I'm trying to be fair here. And I do understand that a whole lot of men think with their ...um, well, you know, right? And that tossing myself into the dating pool, I'm bound to run into the delusional George Wendt types who believe they rate a date with Angelina Jolie. Oh, man.
This is the sucky part of dating.
It sure didn't take long for the sucky part to happen to me, did it? This was why I had cold feet about this whole project - I knew damn good and well that it was going to push every button I have. Every weak spot, every vulnerability, every insecurity, every fear. I knew that going in.
I was going to cut Tom loose anyway. Remember that little question I asked him about his 3 wishes? One of his answers was to be finished with his divorce - and that should have been it right there, only I missed it. (Note to self: read answers more carefully.) I do not want to get involved with someone who's even remotely still married! Period. End of story. Someone in the midst of a divorce, no matter how cordial, is absolutely NOT ready for a new relationship, and I am not going to be somebody's rebound.
You know what I think? I think that Tom is judging me based on all his icky baggage, and I do not need that aggravation. Looking back, his Must Haves/Can't Stands are a lot clearer now; they felt kind of judgmental and even slightly hostile to me. All that business about my being industrious and clean! And who the hell doesn't like pets??
OK, I'm cooling off now. I was smokin' for a minute there, wasn't I?
Now that I'm a bit calmer, and I can think about this with a cooler and more analytical head, this match didn't feel right from the beginning. Several of his comments were worrisome to me, tiny little red flags, if you will - which proves that I have reasonably good instincts and that I should learn to trust them. Maybe I'm not as bad at this as I thought.
Oh, well. This one was getting tossed back anyway. I just didn't get to do it first. And...truth to tell, he won't be the last, either.
Buh-bye, Tom! Cross Frog #1 off the list.
Buckle up, kiddies - it's going to be a bumpy ride!!
Friday, January 1, 2010
This one's FAST!
Tom has already answered my questions and sent me his.
His last question was "Describe your ideal man." This is what I wrote:
Someone who cares about me - warts, character flaws, extra pounds and all. Someone who thinks I'm beautiful - even in the morning when my hair is sticking up funny and I'm all mussy and rumpled. Someone I can talk to endlessly and never get bored. Someone who doesn't judge me and find me wanting. My ideal man is a combination of Keith Olbermann and Michael Moore. Someone smart who gets my geeky sense of humor and bad puns. Someone with a tolerant nature - I don't like authoritarians or anyone who feels he has to push me around or tell me what to do or how to wear my hair. I like who I am and I'd like my man to do the same. I don't want to be stifled or smothered and jealousy is a real turn-off for me.
Wow. I'm a girl who knows what she wants!
Open communication is next.
Love,
Maggie
His last question was "Describe your ideal man." This is what I wrote:
Someone who cares about me - warts, character flaws, extra pounds and all. Someone who thinks I'm beautiful - even in the morning when my hair is sticking up funny and I'm all mussy and rumpled. Someone I can talk to endlessly and never get bored. Someone who doesn't judge me and find me wanting. My ideal man is a combination of Keith Olbermann and Michael Moore. Someone smart who gets my geeky sense of humor and bad puns. Someone with a tolerant nature - I don't like authoritarians or anyone who feels he has to push me around or tell me what to do or how to wear my hair. I like who I am and I'd like my man to do the same. I don't want to be stifled or smothered and jealousy is a real turn-off for me.
Wow. I'm a girl who knows what she wants!
Open communication is next.
Love,
Maggie
Happy New Year!
And so it begins. The Big Manhunt. The Eharmony Safari.
I'm communicating with one of my matches, Tom. This is what they call "guided communication." You have these eight stages, a back-and-forth dance that you have to go through before you can reach the nirvana of "Open Communication" and tell each other your phone number or last name and set up that initial meeting or phone call. At each stage, either one of us can close the match if we read something along the way that convinces us that it's not going to work out.
He contacted me first, by sending me his first five questions - you pick them off a long list. There are some serious ones and some more light-hearted questions. You can answer them by picking one of the choices provided, or you can write in your own answer. I prefer - mostly - to write in my own answers, because those silly canned answers just don't tell the whole story. Here are a few of the questions I answered:
How important is chemistry to you?
My answer was one of the canned ones: I think chemistry can be generated over the long term with someone I really like.
That answer, canned or not, works for me. Next question:
Your idea of adventure is:
My answer was freeform: Anything I've never done before - anything can be an adventure!
He wanted to know about my fashion preferences (stylish, but quirky) and my pets (he now knows about my four cats).
Then it was my turn to send him my five silly questions. I asked him how he felt about traditional gender roles (no male chauvinists, please!), how often he laughs (gotta have a sense of humor!) and whether he likes discussing current events and "the issues of the day." I also sent him the pet question; I guess I'm trying to ferret out whether or not he faints at the sight of a fresh hairball.
His answers? Well, he gets a B-. He wants me in the kitchen, and he gets to do the manly man stuff. The big worry is that he says he's "not a pet person."
That could be a problem. "Not a pet person" can be secret code for compulsive neat freak - which will NOT work with me. I'm an indifferent housekeeper with a fairly high tolerance for clutter and four cats, which means cat hair, cat litter and the occasional cat accident, which generally involves some rather nasty looking liquid with chunks in it.
Well, no judgments like that yet.
Anyway, next are the "Must Haves/Can't Stands" - a list of ten things each that you must have and can't stand in a partner. You get to pick from a laundry list of virtues and sins. My must haves generally revolve around character; I want someone smart, affectionate and honest, with a generous nature, a good sense of humor and a willingness to resolve conflicts. My can't stands are also strongly character-correlated: I do not want someone who lies, who uses drugs, who is a hypocrite or religious freak, a racist or a bigot.
So, I duly send along my Must Haves and Can't Stands.
He sends me his Must Haves/Can't Stands. Hmmmm. His Must Haves/Can't Stands read like a list of what he wants in an employee: financially responsible, industrious, loyal, responsible; I cannot be lazy, and I must be clean and sexy.
Do I sound like I'm trying to talk myself out of meeting with this guy? Those MH/CS of his are a little concerning to me. But, I soldier on - let's be fair here, right?
So - on to the next step, sending the 2nd set of three questions. This time, you can make up your own. So I decide to address that cleanliness thing. I ask, "You said you can't stand someone who "isn't clean." Could you please define that?" and I went on to add a bit of explanation, "I just want to know that you won't lose your temper over a couple of dirty dishes in the sink."
I chose one more serious question, "What are you looking for in a relationship partner" and one silly question, "If you had 3 wishes, what would they be?" (I like the imagination aspect of that kind of question.)
Now, I'm waiting for his answers. Or he may decide that I'm a crazy cat hoarder and he wants nothing more to do with me and close the match. Or I may decide he's an authoritarian neat freak who hates cuddly little animals and close the match.
We'll see, won't we?
Love,
Maggie
I'm communicating with one of my matches, Tom. This is what they call "guided communication." You have these eight stages, a back-and-forth dance that you have to go through before you can reach the nirvana of "Open Communication" and tell each other your phone number or last name and set up that initial meeting or phone call. At each stage, either one of us can close the match if we read something along the way that convinces us that it's not going to work out.
He contacted me first, by sending me his first five questions - you pick them off a long list. There are some serious ones and some more light-hearted questions. You can answer them by picking one of the choices provided, or you can write in your own answer. I prefer - mostly - to write in my own answers, because those silly canned answers just don't tell the whole story. Here are a few of the questions I answered:
How important is chemistry to you?
My answer was one of the canned ones: I think chemistry can be generated over the long term with someone I really like.
That answer, canned or not, works for me. Next question:
Your idea of adventure is:
My answer was freeform: Anything I've never done before - anything can be an adventure!
He wanted to know about my fashion preferences (stylish, but quirky) and my pets (he now knows about my four cats).
Then it was my turn to send him my five silly questions. I asked him how he felt about traditional gender roles (no male chauvinists, please!), how often he laughs (gotta have a sense of humor!) and whether he likes discussing current events and "the issues of the day." I also sent him the pet question; I guess I'm trying to ferret out whether or not he faints at the sight of a fresh hairball.
His answers? Well, he gets a B-. He wants me in the kitchen, and he gets to do the manly man stuff. The big worry is that he says he's "not a pet person."
That could be a problem. "Not a pet person" can be secret code for compulsive neat freak - which will NOT work with me. I'm an indifferent housekeeper with a fairly high tolerance for clutter and four cats, which means cat hair, cat litter and the occasional cat accident, which generally involves some rather nasty looking liquid with chunks in it.
Well, no judgments like that yet.
Anyway, next are the "Must Haves/Can't Stands" - a list of ten things each that you must have and can't stand in a partner. You get to pick from a laundry list of virtues and sins. My must haves generally revolve around character; I want someone smart, affectionate and honest, with a generous nature, a good sense of humor and a willingness to resolve conflicts. My can't stands are also strongly character-correlated: I do not want someone who lies, who uses drugs, who is a hypocrite or religious freak, a racist or a bigot.
So, I duly send along my Must Haves and Can't Stands.
He sends me his Must Haves/Can't Stands. Hmmmm. His Must Haves/Can't Stands read like a list of what he wants in an employee: financially responsible, industrious, loyal, responsible; I cannot be lazy, and I must be clean and sexy.
Do I sound like I'm trying to talk myself out of meeting with this guy? Those MH/CS of his are a little concerning to me. But, I soldier on - let's be fair here, right?
So - on to the next step, sending the 2nd set of three questions. This time, you can make up your own. So I decide to address that cleanliness thing. I ask, "You said you can't stand someone who "isn't clean." Could you please define that?" and I went on to add a bit of explanation, "I just want to know that you won't lose your temper over a couple of dirty dishes in the sink."
I chose one more serious question, "What are you looking for in a relationship partner" and one silly question, "If you had 3 wishes, what would they be?" (I like the imagination aspect of that kind of question.)
Now, I'm waiting for his answers. Or he may decide that I'm a crazy cat hoarder and he wants nothing more to do with me and close the match. Or I may decide he's an authoritarian neat freak who hates cuddly little animals and close the match.
We'll see, won't we?
Love,
Maggie
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