Dating Diaries: Epilogue

Authors Note: After writing my initial thoughts on Online Dating, followed by three epic tales of dating disasters;  I felt it was necessary to conclude by telling you where I’m currently at.  Also, the views expressed in this blog  may not represent my current state of mind.  They are just thoughts for the sake of your entertainment.  With that…

Decisions

A lifetime ago, when I was a chubby, chainsmoking car salesman; I learned this whole little spiel about Benjamin Franklin:

Me: You know Ben Franklin right?

Authors Note: Now here comes an inappropriate yet oh so appropriate aside; there used to be this store in Fair Haven, VT named Ben Franklin.  So, when selling cars in Vermont, which is something I forgot to mention, sorry.  One could see how someone, if asked if they “know Ben Franklin?”, there is a chance they may be thinking of a department store)

Them: Of course

Me: Good. Before he made a decision…

Authors Note: Me again, God, I suck at story telling!  Why the fuck am I talking about Ben Franklin (man not store) while trying to sell a car? Let me catch you up to speed:   At this point, the person won’t commit to buying the car.  They’ve taken a test drive, toured the dealership, been offered a cup of something hot or cold to drink a solid 9 times, and sat there while you go back to see your manager to “see what you can do” about the monthly payment for the third time claiming this is the best we can do each of those times.  And now, they are about to cause the biggest fear in auto salespersons miserable life; the prospect/customer is about to walk without buying. Why does this cause so many salespeople to drink? To smoke? To contemplate blowing up the whole fucking dealership on a daily basis? Because when you leave, you go from being an 80/20 to a 20/80. The left number representing your chances of buying vs. the right side indicating you taking my number and shopping it for ten dollars less a month.  And while you’re walking out the door,  I have to now face my sales manager, general manager, and sometimes owner, to explain  why the one fucking customer to come in today didn’t buy.  But before that happens, I throw a “Hail Mary” and I ask if you know of Ben Franklin (man not store)? Oh and I now have a pen and paper.

Me: …well, before Ben Franklin ever made a decision…

This would really fuck with them if they were thinking store not man.

Me: …he would grab a piece of paper and pen

I am literally showing them me holding a piece of a paper and a pen. This is all before I try to convince them to sign away 5 years of their life to pay from something that miraculously isn’t worth shit the moment they sign for it. But here look, I have paper, and here look, I have pen!

Me: And he would draw a line down the middle.

Authors Note: Ya, me again.  I really allow you, the reader, to get into a flow now don’t I? Anywho, one thing I love to write, and when I say love, I mean despise more than the inevitable colonoscopy.  One thing I love to write are screenplays.  So, this is really bothering me that I am writing physical actions without describing them.

For example, “I’m about to cry” and my dates eyes spring leaks out of her face as if she was a nuclear submarine in the Abyss of the Atlantic.” 

However, it also causes me to reflect on how idiotic and condescending I used to talk to people.  And we wonder why buying a car drives us nuts! 

 

So I would then draw a line down the middle

Me: On one side Franklin (man not store) would write yes, and one side, he would write no.

What would follow is me going through everything the person liked about the vehicle:

Me: You love the color, the interior, the safety features, the make, the model, how it drove, you liked the fact I pointed out to you that if you look on your gas gauge and you see an arrow next to the gas tank indicator, you now know what side your tank is on.

No shit, people loved that! And if you didn’t know that until now, you’re welcome.

Me: And on the no side is price.

Price, you know, the thing that determines whether or not you have money to eat, buy clothing, heat your home which is pretty important in Vermont, send your kids to school with said food and clothing, pay all your utilities, etc.  Essentially, the only thing on the no side is whether or not you can afford it…But did I mention you loved the color?

Now, here is the thing and the purpose of this entire blog: I do the same exact goddamn thing with every girl I date or have the prospect of dating. And I truly think they do the same to me. Which they should, because I am a ninja at sucking at relationships.  And why?

Well…

Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: So do you know Ben Franklin (man not store)?

Single, content with being alone me: Yes

Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: What do you like about relationships?

Single, content with being alone me: Sex and occasional company

Chubby, chain smoking Car Salesman me: And why not?

Single, content with being alone me: Well, my parents were divorced which means my perspective of love is as fucked as Pollack painting.  Dating at this age in life means that every time I meet someone, I have to defend my life up until this exact moment. And after that, after you’ve looked over my past;  I’m more than likely going to apologize for here moving forward. Oh, and being in a relationship means I have to pay for EVERYTHING!  Dinner, coffee, parks, movies, ice skating, tubing, Coach purses, flowers, and don’t even get me fucking going on the jewelry you never wear!

And IF you offer to pay, for lets say dinner: Taking money out of your aforementioned Coach purse that I paid for, takes forever.  Like it’s the slowest goddamn thing on Earth. It’s like watching grass grow if grass were an 90 year old Italian woman driving in Boca Raton. And it’s even better with an audience. Audiences like Flo, the lovely waitress standing  there, judging, watching, judging.  All the while holding :the check” that was placed in front of me only moments ago with the assumption that I was paying.  Finally, after I’ve already grown back the “five o’clock shadow” that I disposed of only two hours ago:  I give up and say, “no, I got it”, and your jewelry free hands pull away from your $300 purse as if it was as hot as the goddamn sun!

“”Oh you sure?” She softly asks while acquiescing.

Ya, I’m sure. I’m sure for the rest of my life I’m going to be broke! And what do I want in return?

Sex. That’s it.

Essentially, being in a relationship is the most accepted form of prostitution. IF, she doesn’t have a “headache” or doesn’t “feel like it”.

That’s why! That’s why dating at this age is as fun as…nothing. There is nothing as fun as this.

Yet, this is where you, Mr. or Mrs. married couple with two gorgeous kids and a day full of frustration and smiles, this is where you say:

Love.

You know, love? Love that makes your heart race when you think of her.  Makes you smile no matter how many emails your CEO throws your way because your company is 1% down from the previous quarter.  Love, the thing that provides you confidence to take on the entire world day after day because you have her.  That no matter what you’re facing, you’re going to be okay, because she loves you.  Love, the thing that makes every moment your not with her feel like Christmas Eve and the moments you are with her are like the greatest Christmas Day ever!

Love…

If I wasn’t so squeemish, I’d put a youtube clip of someone vomitting.

But, I guess love is like price. All the other shit is just window dressing.  If you can get over the price, you can enjoy all the things you do love about the car.

And I guess if you can get over all the other shit… love, the feeling we all covet in everything we do, love is your gift.

And I conclude with this…

I may have met her…

I think I met her…

Ya…I met her…

And all I can think of is…her…and…

What the fuck am I going to write about now?

-k

 

Advertisements

Lana, the Horny Librarian on Tinder

First:

 

Okay, so it took place between 4am and 5am, but that was the closest one I could find, so deal.  Oh and:

 

With that, lets begin.

Funny how our days can and will start the same way, but are never the same.  For me, I wake, check my emails and then check to see who has, and more often than not, who has not contacted me on match.com.  This is of course followed by me having to see who swiped right. (We will dive deeper into this in a bit, but first)

TINDER TALES: The story of Lana the Naughty Librarian. 

She looked innocent enough, real, (we’ll dive deeper into this in a bit), and had me laughing with excitement due to her creativity when I read her profile, which read as follows:

Director

University of ACME, SUNY.

19 Miles Away

“Tind her?!? I barely know her…

Swipe right immediately if you often find yourself missing 3D Doritos

Dog lover/owner

Crazy to hot ration= within a desirable range.

Terrified of a Trump Presidency

Newly out of a torrid affair

MA in English, MS in Information studies. Typos make me swipe left.

I’m on here for the sport of it. I don’t really believe I’ll find my soul mate on Tinder…That’s what a paid Match.com account is for. :-p If there’s a dead fish or gun in your photos…no go. “

And she goes to Planet Fitness, which confirms she’s real. Because nobody “goes to Planet Fitness”. Why? Name another gym that has buckets of tootsie rolls at the counter as you walk-in and out? Exactly!

Anyway, she’s cute. Not gorgeous, not all dolled up to make herself feel a little better about her existence by taking god knows how many selfies in her car…

 

 

But she had pics with her dog, pics of a South Park “lookalike” of her, and one of her hiking.  This was some pretty legit shit.  So, of course I swiped right.

She had me at 3D Doritos.

Then, shockingly enough, we matched.

Authors notes here: For those that have no clue how Tinder works, first, we landed on the moon!  Second, for me, a girls picture will appear.  99.9% of the time it’s a pic of some model, from some country, that looks like a Kardashian or Beyonce.  No shit. If you swipe right to one of them, and we all have so go fist yourself with your pretentiousness. You more than likely will match.  From there, now you communicate.  Because on their phone is you, and if they swipe right, they like you, swipe left, no. No one knows.  You don’t know who swiped right (I guess you can now if you pay) but you don’t know who swiped left.  But you get a pretty good idea of when you see someone you know and they don’t live more than 10 miles away, and she doesn’t match with you after you just swiped right…  Yes, I’m talking to you, and YOU know who YOU are… All of you.  Anyway, the moment you both swipe right to each other, the communication lines are open.  And remember the Guatemalan Kim Kardashian I mentioned earlier? Well, she will instantly engage you with this dialogue that is programmed.  Very generic questions which will cause an automatic human response.  What do I mean?  “Hey, there, what’s your favorite tv show?” You answer The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and then what do you do? You ask them theirs.  So, boom, now she has an answer already pre-loaded and every fucking putz living in their mom’s attic is giving himself “The Stranger” to the prospect of meeting Asian Mariah Carey.

 

Asian Mariah Carey

This wasn’t one of those.

Instead, I commented how hysterical her profile was and asked what she directed? She revealed that she was a librarian in town for a conference in Toga. She was staying at this crappy motel, and lived a couple hours downstate.  However, she did indicate she lived here for about a year and a half.  I have no clue why she mentioned it, but she did.  While I wondered why she said that with thoughts that she would relocate here if she met the right guy? On Tinder? Well, those daydreams didn’t last long because her mercurial nature presented itself in a, well, excited manner:

“Whatcha doin here!”

Of course, I had to make some idiotic, douchebag, clever “move”:

“What am I doing here? Is that on a deep, existential level or Tinder?” Wink smiley face, hi, I’m a desperate asshole.

The things we do when we think we’re so goddamn suave.

However, her response is when things, as they say in the movie biz, “took a turn”.  I don’t know if they say that in the movie business.

“Do you want to come and playfully make me cum?”

Now, I’m not going to lie, yes…Yes I did.  And if you saw her, you would too. Nonetheless, it’s 4:30 in the AM.  Oh by the way, I did ask her earlier if she too was a victim of daylight savings? I’m such a fucking asshole.

My retort? I let out one of those comic book villain laughs of “HA!”

Then she told me she had toys and wanted me…Anyway, yeah, we had some bi-polar back and forth for a bit. The “Pit of Despair” is my soul.   She told me she was drinking, bored, lonely, and horny.  Your mind flutters and flaps like a flag atop Yankee Stadium in September. It races from one sexual daydream to the reality that this is fucking crazy.  And honestly, it’s mental fun.  Why? Because, and I hope this was the case, her mind was having fun too.  Almost therapeutically being someone else.  A character in a late night in Cinemax movie.  Where this mysterious stranger that drives a 50’s muscle car and has a three day old beard, comes to the hotel room of the runaway bride looking to explore her deepest, forbidden sexual desires… As long as I bring polyurethane condoms and not latex because she is apparently allergic.

Authors note: Imagine finding out you’re allergic to latex from wearing a condom, or being the recipient of said condom?  I’d rather have my eyes taped wide open and forced to watch every episode of “The View”. That is NOT MISOGYNISTIC. It’s called having good taste.

Remember how I mentioned the mercurial nature of this “young lady”? Well, she would be engaging, on a human level.  Which was the funny part. For example, her auto-correct was fucking with her, so she had a very “Keith Hannigan” like meltdown about it.

“Inelegant

*idiotic

*intellect

Goddamn it I’m trying to write intelligent!”

Yeah, you could see how I was drawn to her.  Until, well, then:

“I have to warn you I have bruises.  My Semi-boyfriend for the last three years kicked the hell our ( not a typo, just keeping it real) of me last week. In places people wouldn’t see.  run”

The lower case “run” creeped me the fuck out!  In that whole little “revelation”, it was “run” which set me off.

Before I could “run”, or address said “run”,

“Now, come play with me now”

Authors note: Yes, this was in response to my question of “When do you want to do this?”…By all means, judge.

As interesting and exciting as this was first thing in the morning, it wasn’t my “first rodeo” with this type of dialogue. For you see, I’ve been the recipient of  someone making an outlandish statement, such as this, on my overly eager Tinder screen.  One time a girl told me she had HIV. True story. And no, I did NOT entertain her by saying, “That’s cool, if it’s not full blown AIDS, we can work around that.”

Nonetheless, this morning, my patience was dissipating, and I needed to eat breakfast before I went for my run. So, I cut to the chase.

I asked her if she was having fun? Which was followed by me telling her to Twitter her Yahoo using one of her toys while watching some late night HBO.

Her response was obvious, as it was about how I was making a mistake and how attentive her oral would be.

But what followed next, well, she wrote:

“This is my life”

That is the moment I realized I needed to sit down and start writing about this.

What we must wonder, in a case such as this, who exactly is the person on the other end of that phone?

It can be anyone from a guy in Zimbabwe trying to relieve me of my burdening bank account.

It can a couple of teenage guys that have done more blow than their parents can afford on a Wednesday night. Possibly trying to fuck with a girl they both what to have sex with but lack the intellect or maturity to attract her.  So, instead, they will make her life an eternal hell.

Or, and this what I think it is, the sad loneliness that many of us feel yet have no idea of how to escape. Instead, we choose to become something that is fictitious.  Someone or thing that you only read about or see in a movie.  A person trying to entertain themselves because life just doesn’t fill that empty hole.

I genuinely don’t know. All I do know is, I’m going to find out.  Because you can be sure as shit I followed up with:

“Don’t go, I want you to tell me what you mean, this is my life”?

-k