Once upon a time, in a magical land known as "The City Too Busy to Hate," I met a wonderful, funny, brilliant, sexy man who was equally as blown away by our great chemistry as I was and who then swept me off my feet so we could live happily ever after. Forever. The end.
I wish.
C'mon, give me a break. I'm a girl, and as such, I've been sold that tripe since I was in diapers. Some of it was bound to stick. Not much, but some, yes.
Anyway, this is not that story.
This is the yet another example of how good I've gotten at "Name That Goon" and this time I said "I can name that goon in 3 dates." I'm hoping that one of these entries, perhaps in the new year of 2005, I might be blogging about the wonders of happy, blissful discoveries while ensconced in the perfect romance. But for now, I just continue to share my dismal anecdotes in humorously cantankerous ways.
At this point, some of you are probably labeling me as "picky" and I'd say you are right, I am a bit picky. I'm picky about not wanting to date alcoholics in denial. I'm picky when it comes to not dating men who want to also date other women rather than let me meet their friends. And call me petty too, but I'm picky about not wanting to date felons who are registered sex offenders.
Yes, I'm picky all right.
I'm also picky about certain personality flaws and these are the ones that I usually eliminate early on in the "Name That Goon" game. The latest installment of this game came to a head very abruptly when the red flags were waiving so fast and high that I thought they might cause gale force winds from all their flapping.
It started innocently enough: a brief message to me on YES a very crappy dating site that rhymes with "snatch rot bomb" ... the message said "You're perfect." I beg to disagree. I'm far from that. And if someone labels me that upon reading the silly things that I say about myself without taking the time to do a lot more research into what makes me tick, then I should always be suspicious. This time, I wasn't.
The procedure was the usual email/phone/coffee progression of getting to know someone via this online daters market... a practice that I liken to sending in your hard saved allowance as a kid to get those super cool sea monkeys you saw in the back of the comic book, only to get them, pour them in water and watch the water turn cloudy, full of bits of floating crap. Yes, online dating is the sea monkeys of the social strata.
And this experience was par for the course.
He was a man 9 years my senior, which is fine... I'm open-minded about age within reasonable limits. He was 100 percent American, born and raised in the South, but had lived just under 2 decades in Germany. He had been back in the States for over 5 years, but you'd never have known it from his conversations. He was OBSESSED with Germany. Every single topic got steered to how much better life is over there. Again, I'm open-minded and I've never been there, so I listened avidly and asked many questions to show my interest. In the less than 2 weeks that I spent getting to know him, he was never at a loss for another German anecdote.
About one week into our dating process, Colonel Klink asked me to meet him for coffee.
I wish.
C'mon, give me a break. I'm a girl, and as such, I've been sold that tripe since I was in diapers. Some of it was bound to stick. Not much, but some, yes.
Anyway, this is not that story.
This is the yet another example of how good I've gotten at "Name That Goon" and this time I said "I can name that goon in 3 dates." I'm hoping that one of these entries, perhaps in the new year of 2005, I might be blogging about the wonders of happy, blissful discoveries while ensconced in the perfect romance. But for now, I just continue to share my dismal anecdotes in humorously cantankerous ways.
At this point, some of you are probably labeling me as "picky" and I'd say you are right, I am a bit picky. I'm picky about not wanting to date alcoholics in denial. I'm picky when it comes to not dating men who want to also date other women rather than let me meet their friends. And call me petty too, but I'm picky about not wanting to date felons who are registered sex offenders.
Yes, I'm picky all right.
I'm also picky about certain personality flaws and these are the ones that I usually eliminate early on in the "Name That Goon" game. The latest installment of this game came to a head very abruptly when the red flags were waiving so fast and high that I thought they might cause gale force winds from all their flapping.
It started innocently enough: a brief message to me on YES a very crappy dating site that rhymes with "snatch rot bomb" ... the message said "You're perfect." I beg to disagree. I'm far from that. And if someone labels me that upon reading the silly things that I say about myself without taking the time to do a lot more research into what makes me tick, then I should always be suspicious. This time, I wasn't.
The procedure was the usual email/phone/coffee progression of getting to know someone via this online daters market... a practice that I liken to sending in your hard saved allowance as a kid to get those super cool sea monkeys you saw in the back of the comic book, only to get them, pour them in water and watch the water turn cloudy, full of bits of floating crap. Yes, online dating is the sea monkeys of the social strata.
And this experience was par for the course.
He was a man 9 years my senior, which is fine... I'm open-minded about age within reasonable limits. He was 100 percent American, born and raised in the South, but had lived just under 2 decades in Germany. He had been back in the States for over 5 years, but you'd never have known it from his conversations. He was OBSESSED with Germany. Every single topic got steered to how much better life is over there. Again, I'm open-minded and I've never been there, so I listened avidly and asked many questions to show my interest. In the less than 2 weeks that I spent getting to know him, he was never at a loss for another German anecdote.
About one week into our dating process, Colonel Klink asked me to meet him for coffee.
The first thing that I noticed about him was that either he was nowhere near 5'11" as he'd claimed in his profile, or I had magically grown several inches during my sleep. Granted, I was wearing 2" heels, but I'm only 5'5" on a good day without them. So I must've added a couple of extra inches to my height when I walked through the door of the coffee house, because when he stood up, we were looking nearly eye-to-eye.
Experience has taught me that men who lie about their height, without thinking that anyone will notice the discrepancy, generally have built themselves up in their own minds in other ways too. There are a few red flags that I take note of when meeting people in this fashion, and they are: shorter than they say they are, older than they say they are, heavier than they say they are... though that last one has more room to slide, as some people may not have noticed that they gained 15-20 pounds since their last doctor's appointment. However, last I checked, height and birth date are pretty much a fixed thing. Why lie?
Anyway, this set the mood for me to "Crap, not another one of these," which I tried to cheerily brush off and I think I did a pretty good job. Hell, I gave him a second date... most men don't get that far at all.
On our second date, Erich Von Stroheim won me over by the end, though the beginning and middle were pretty rocky... he spent those hours talking MORE about Germany and about women he fell deeply in love with and about how he thinks it's okay for people to stray sexually when in a committed relationship.
Experience has taught me that men who lie about their height, without thinking that anyone will notice the discrepancy, generally have built themselves up in their own minds in other ways too. There are a few red flags that I take note of when meeting people in this fashion, and they are: shorter than they say they are, older than they say they are, heavier than they say they are... though that last one has more room to slide, as some people may not have noticed that they gained 15-20 pounds since their last doctor's appointment. However, last I checked, height and birth date are pretty much a fixed thing. Why lie?
Anyway, this set the mood for me to "Crap, not another one of these," which I tried to cheerily brush off and I think I did a pretty good job. Hell, I gave him a second date... most men don't get that far at all.
On our second date, Erich Von Stroheim won me over by the end, though the beginning and middle were pretty rocky... he spent those hours talking MORE about Germany and about women he fell deeply in love with and about how he thinks it's okay for people to stray sexually when in a committed relationship.
Why that wasn't a red flag to me right away, I don't know... but it sure did seem like he was laying some groundwork for a future confrontation where he could say, "Remember our dinner date when I TOLD YOU that I don't have a problem with these indiscretions? Why are you shocked that I've gone ahead and done it now?"
The part of the conversation that won me over was the amount of time that he spent in trying to get to the meaning of a dream that I'd had about him the night before. In this dream, I saw him holding a torch and looking out to the distance, just past me. I interpreted this literally as "Look: he's holding a torch for a past lover/relationship." He'd said some things in email form that suggested just that sort of thing and my bestest gal pal picked up on that bit right away when I ran it past her. So for the sake of conversation, I told him about this dream to see if he really did hold a torch, even though he swore that he didn't.
Otto Von Bismarck wanted not to believe that this image of him had anything to do with himself and how I saw him, but rather how I saw myself and asked me to put myself in his place and see what it is that he/I was looking at out in the distance.
The part of the conversation that won me over was the amount of time that he spent in trying to get to the meaning of a dream that I'd had about him the night before. In this dream, I saw him holding a torch and looking out to the distance, just past me. I interpreted this literally as "Look: he's holding a torch for a past lover/relationship." He'd said some things in email form that suggested just that sort of thing and my bestest gal pal picked up on that bit right away when I ran it past her. So for the sake of conversation, I told him about this dream to see if he really did hold a torch, even though he swore that he didn't.
Otto Von Bismarck wanted not to believe that this image of him had anything to do with himself and how I saw him, but rather how I saw myself and asked me to put myself in his place and see what it is that he/I was looking at out in the distance.
He had a Master's degree in psychobabble, so I bet he just loves pulling this shit on everyone he dates. I refused to do such a thing, because consciously stepping into another character's shoes and looking at something that your subconscious isn't showing you doesn't make it the real explanation... it's forced and feels as silly as role playing games do. He persisted tenaciously, so off the top of my head I listed "ocean, house, dog, football game, car" and of course he stopped me with "Why did you say 'ocean' first in that list?"
Eventually Siggy Freud deduced that I was seeing him as looking at a sea of online dating potentials with a single torch lighting the way and that was because he still had an ad up and so did I.
Eventually Siggy Freud deduced that I was seeing him as looking at a sea of online dating potentials with a single torch lighting the way and that was because he still had an ad up and so did I.
I told him that I would buy that just to get him to drop it. It was rational enough that I didn't feel he was stretching with the interpretation and I let it lie, feeling tired after an hour and a half of this silly banter. He still swore up and down that he wasn't holding any torch in reality.
Did I sleep with him? Okay, some of my guy friends are going to hate me for this (especially those that I didn't admit this to already), but yes, I did. Why? Maybe he wore me down with that psychoanalytical crap, I don't know. Or maybe I just wanted him to stop talking about Germany for a change. Even though I sort of broke what I promised in my other last dating diatribe, this was technically our second date, so I wasn't doing the "fuck on the first date" thing, not that I'm trying to justify it. I guess I was having a hard time trying to tell if there really was any chemistry and I reverted to my old habit of diving in head first without looking to find out.
I don't normally kiss-and-blog beyond the fact that there was sex and that's that... but can I say this: the man WOULD NOT SHUT UP during sex. I'm serious. He talked the whole damn time like we were role playing, he wanted to pretend we were teenagers who were still virgins and he didn't break character for a moment. This made me laugh on several occasions, especially since I thought he might laugh along with me, but he was totally serious the whole damn time. Afterward, I was quite concerned that this was his "thing" and wondered if I really wanted to look forward to fucking a wannabe dramaturge every freakin' time.
Luckily, that never came to pass.
He took me out for brunch 2 days later and again talked all about Germany for 2 hours. At some point I finally asked him if he loved it so much, why did he leave there 5 years ago. He shot me this really quick look that said "Oh, there it is...THAT question again," and proceeded to tell me what sounded like a pat answer that he'd been restating for years about Germany's age discrimination in the work force and that he left when he was approaching the upper end of their new hire age bracket. I nodded in understanding and shortly after that part of the talk, we both fell silent. While sitting there for what seemed like 20 minutes with no words, I realized that I had been the only person to keep our conversations afloat all this time by asking questions, and realizing that he was not coming up with any questions of interest towards me at that time, I took the initiative yet again.
"So you seem to know exactly what you want and don't want in your life, what are you looking for out of a relationship?" I thought it was a good question, especially for two people trying to get to know each other through dating... seemed topical. Apparently, he didn't think so. He rolled his eyes and threw back his head in this over-dramatic (almost queer) gesture and said, "Do we HAVE to talk about this now?"
"Um, well, not if you don't want to. I just thought I'd ask because we're trying to get to know one another and..." I said; as he interrupted with, "I mean, I was TRYING to enjoy the beautiful day, the nice atmosphere here, you, the quiet between us, then you go and ask me this. Forcing me to talk about that now is like forcing a relationship to happen through words rather than actions."
"I see," I replied. However, when I say the words "I see" rather than "I understand" when I'm getting to know a potential boyfriend, it doesn't mean that I understand. What those words mean is that I've just put a mental marker down in the conversation to come back to re-evaluate it later in private. It's my built in "red flag checker."
I apologized (why, I don't know) and said he didn't have to answer. But then he proceeded to talk for about 5 minutes anyway about his lack of career direction at the moment and wrapped up that topic with about 5 words about what he wants out of a relationship. I no longer remember what that was, because I was glazed over by all the job talk.
After the brunch, we went for a walk in the crisp air where he proceeded to talk yet some more about Germany, about the bane of modern digital cameras (something about making everyone think they're an artist just because they can take a couple hundred pictures of garbage without thinking twice), and about Porches being his favorite car that he would buy if he were to become rich. (BTW, he drives a Volkswagen Jetta, of course.)
I made a slight funny observation while we walked about the fact that he was wearing black jeans, black leather shoes, a black leather jacket, black wrap-around sun glasses, and a black knit cap, which made him look "very German" because of it. He snapped back at me with, "That's a stereotype that simply isn't true and hasn't been since the 80s. Most Germans today don't wear black at all."
"I see," I said for maybe the forth time that day, as well as making a mental note to myself: don't follow that up with monkeys or dancing or Sprockets.
Adolf and I parted ways that day and things seemed okay, but I was feeling a bit bruised from being beaten over the head with red flags. I kind of liked him because he was fairly attractive, but why did he have to be such a tool? I found out why the next day...
Did I sleep with him? Okay, some of my guy friends are going to hate me for this (especially those that I didn't admit this to already), but yes, I did. Why? Maybe he wore me down with that psychoanalytical crap, I don't know. Or maybe I just wanted him to stop talking about Germany for a change. Even though I sort of broke what I promised in my other last dating diatribe, this was technically our second date, so I wasn't doing the "fuck on the first date" thing, not that I'm trying to justify it. I guess I was having a hard time trying to tell if there really was any chemistry and I reverted to my old habit of diving in head first without looking to find out.
I don't normally kiss-and-blog beyond the fact that there was sex and that's that... but can I say this: the man WOULD NOT SHUT UP during sex. I'm serious. He talked the whole damn time like we were role playing, he wanted to pretend we were teenagers who were still virgins and he didn't break character for a moment. This made me laugh on several occasions, especially since I thought he might laugh along with me, but he was totally serious the whole damn time. Afterward, I was quite concerned that this was his "thing" and wondered if I really wanted to look forward to fucking a wannabe dramaturge every freakin' time.
Luckily, that never came to pass.
He took me out for brunch 2 days later and again talked all about Germany for 2 hours. At some point I finally asked him if he loved it so much, why did he leave there 5 years ago. He shot me this really quick look that said "Oh, there it is...THAT question again," and proceeded to tell me what sounded like a pat answer that he'd been restating for years about Germany's age discrimination in the work force and that he left when he was approaching the upper end of their new hire age bracket. I nodded in understanding and shortly after that part of the talk, we both fell silent. While sitting there for what seemed like 20 minutes with no words, I realized that I had been the only person to keep our conversations afloat all this time by asking questions, and realizing that he was not coming up with any questions of interest towards me at that time, I took the initiative yet again.
"So you seem to know exactly what you want and don't want in your life, what are you looking for out of a relationship?" I thought it was a good question, especially for two people trying to get to know each other through dating... seemed topical. Apparently, he didn't think so. He rolled his eyes and threw back his head in this over-dramatic (almost queer) gesture and said, "Do we HAVE to talk about this now?"
"Um, well, not if you don't want to. I just thought I'd ask because we're trying to get to know one another and..." I said; as he interrupted with, "I mean, I was TRYING to enjoy the beautiful day, the nice atmosphere here, you, the quiet between us, then you go and ask me this. Forcing me to talk about that now is like forcing a relationship to happen through words rather than actions."
"I see," I replied. However, when I say the words "I see" rather than "I understand" when I'm getting to know a potential boyfriend, it doesn't mean that I understand. What those words mean is that I've just put a mental marker down in the conversation to come back to re-evaluate it later in private. It's my built in "red flag checker."
I apologized (why, I don't know) and said he didn't have to answer. But then he proceeded to talk for about 5 minutes anyway about his lack of career direction at the moment and wrapped up that topic with about 5 words about what he wants out of a relationship. I no longer remember what that was, because I was glazed over by all the job talk.
After the brunch, we went for a walk in the crisp air where he proceeded to talk yet some more about Germany, about the bane of modern digital cameras (something about making everyone think they're an artist just because they can take a couple hundred pictures of garbage without thinking twice), and about Porches being his favorite car that he would buy if he were to become rich. (BTW, he drives a Volkswagen Jetta, of course.)
I made a slight funny observation while we walked about the fact that he was wearing black jeans, black leather shoes, a black leather jacket, black wrap-around sun glasses, and a black knit cap, which made him look "very German" because of it. He snapped back at me with, "That's a stereotype that simply isn't true and hasn't been since the 80s. Most Germans today don't wear black at all."
"I see," I said for maybe the forth time that day, as well as making a mental note to myself: don't follow that up with monkeys or dancing or Sprockets.
Adolf and I parted ways that day and things seemed okay, but I was feeling a bit bruised from being beaten over the head with red flags. I kind of liked him because he was fairly attractive, but why did he have to be such a tool? I found out why the next day...
While talking to him on the phone the next day, he went on and on about how he'd just applied for a job with Green Peace in Hamburg, even though he was looking to buy a house here in Atlanta and had never yet mentioned going back to Germany for good. He then talked on and on about Germany again, and then somehow started talking about things that bother him. That's when he brought up my relationship question. He said that he thought we'd gotten that out of the way in our profiles and first couple of emails and wouldn't have to talk about it anymore, freeing us up to get to know each other in some other way. You know, rather than talking. He thought we could communicate on some other level.
I said, "But you and I only just started to get to know each other 2 weeks ago. How do you find out what's in a person's head without talking? If you have ideas about that, share them with me and I'll gladly go along! I'm flexible, really." He insisted there are other ways of falling in love. I asked him if I was supposed to read his mind and just know these ways. Then he began to recall the moment in his life when he fell the most deeply in love with a woman.
"We were sitting in a cafe, each of us with our individual newspapers open, silently reading and not saying a word, just enjoying each other's company... that's when I knew I was in love."
And there it was. The torch in my dream.
Not only that, but WHAT THE FUCK??? No talking? I said to him, "I see." Followed by, "Whenever I spot couples sitting at tables together reading and not making any attempt at communicating with one another, I think to myself, 'Damn, how much do those two hate each other that they can't even look at each other and talk any more?'" He said, "Maybe they've found another way of communicating." I said, "What? Telepathy? Sonar? What?"
But what I really wanted to say was, "Oh yeah? Well see if you can guess what I'm saying to you right now." I held my tongue instead.
I talked to him just one more time after that. The very next night he called and again started talking about his job hunt in German want ads. After about 20 minutes or so of silently listening with just an occasional "Uh huh" or "I see," I finally said, "Oh, look at the time. I've got to get to work. Good luck with the search. Night." Click.
I named that goon in 3 dates, which reminds me of a joke someone told me recently:
"Knock! Knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Control freak...NOW YOU SAY 'CONTROL FREAK WHO?'"
I said, "But you and I only just started to get to know each other 2 weeks ago. How do you find out what's in a person's head without talking? If you have ideas about that, share them with me and I'll gladly go along! I'm flexible, really." He insisted there are other ways of falling in love. I asked him if I was supposed to read his mind and just know these ways. Then he began to recall the moment in his life when he fell the most deeply in love with a woman.
"We were sitting in a cafe, each of us with our individual newspapers open, silently reading and not saying a word, just enjoying each other's company... that's when I knew I was in love."
And there it was. The torch in my dream.
Not only that, but WHAT THE FUCK??? No talking? I said to him, "I see." Followed by, "Whenever I spot couples sitting at tables together reading and not making any attempt at communicating with one another, I think to myself, 'Damn, how much do those two hate each other that they can't even look at each other and talk any more?'" He said, "Maybe they've found another way of communicating." I said, "What? Telepathy? Sonar? What?"
But what I really wanted to say was, "Oh yeah? Well see if you can guess what I'm saying to you right now." I held my tongue instead.
I talked to him just one more time after that. The very next night he called and again started talking about his job hunt in German want ads. After about 20 minutes or so of silently listening with just an occasional "Uh huh" or "I see," I finally said, "Oh, look at the time. I've got to get to work. Good luck with the search. Night." Click.
I named that goon in 3 dates, which reminds me of a joke someone told me recently:
"Knock! Knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Control freak...NOW YOU SAY 'CONTROL FREAK WHO?'"
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