It has been an eventful couple of weeks, readers.
That dreaded "real life" thing has intruded - no, let's tell it like it is: real life just freakin' butted right in and made me miserable for the last couple of weeks. Drama at work, an unexpected layoff (not me, thank goodness!) and a boss who has developed a taste for cracking the whip have all added up to me having a lot of things on my mind that have nothing to do with my fishing expedition.
But let's see if we can catch up here, and we can start with Carl. I tossed him back. He just didn't awaken any kind of feeling in me at all, except for maybe a faint sense of boredom (sorry, Carl!). I sent him an email in which I told him that I just didn't think we had any potential and closed the match. I did feel kind of sorry for him, but I'm not going to go out with someone I don't particularly want to go out with just because I feel sorry for him. No more "Nice Girl Syndrome, " right?
Since then, the folks at Eharmony have been doing their level best to bury me in piles of eligible men. Seriously - they sent me at least ten emails every single day, "Meet your new match ______!" Where were all these men when I was out looking for them? (Heh. Sitting at home signing up for Eharmony, I guess.)
I can't seem to keep up. I logged in last night and waded through about 40 of them - yes, I am really behind on this! The far-away ones got closed, and now, I'm closing the ones with no photos. If they're too ...what? Ashamed? Picky? Afraid? to show their picture, I'm not interested.
I have sent a couple of what Eharmony calls "Icebreakers" to a few cute guys. Icebreakers are these cutesy canned one-line messages you can send to someone. It's not like sending the first questions, but it's a way to say hello. My favorite is "Your profile brought a smile to my face!" but so far, nobody has responded.
There are three gentlemen who have requested communication; two of them look like grandpas and the third looks like Michael on The Biggest Loser and spells like he's still in sixth grade. I closed that match; I feel a little guilty for being shallow, but this is my life, and I need to be engaged and thrilled by the person, and excited at the prospect of getting to know them. I don't want to be someone's mercy date.
So far, Eharmony seems to be kind of a dud, but I have 10 and 1/2 months to go on my membership.
As a very interesting aside, the conventional wisdom says that some of the best matches can be made by caring friends. As it happens, I was at the home of one of those caring friends, and I happened to be introduced to a very attractive fellow named Dan - who happens to be single. He's a talented guy, and funny and smart. My friend asked me if I'd be interested in Dan, and I said, "Are you kidding? He's totally cute!" My friend smiled and winked. I'll keep you posted.
It's Valentine's Day on Sunday, and once again, I have no one to share it with. Maybe I'll buy myself a bouquet of roses. And chocolates, too.
Love,
Maggie
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Oh, and p.s....
I found out earlier this morning that the Superbowl is next weekend.
Silly me. Another week to root for the Saints.
WHO DAT??
Silly me. Another week to root for the Saints.
WHO DAT??
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
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