Date with Destiny: Day 2

Day 1 Recap:

There were many of a thing my friends that I wrote as I awaited the “Grand Entry” of our M.C, and I’d like to share that with you now:

Coming in,  like a mass of cattle dying for inspiration. 

Some, some may be here because it looks like something cool to do.
Some may be here because they are looking to save their marriage. 
Some may be here looking to save their lives.
Some may be here looking to create a change in their lives.
I am here because my life is not where it should be. Because I REFUSE to grow old and think to myself, “what if”. 
I am here because my life is too complicated to simply be simple.
I am here because I demand that I fulfill everything that this one life I have is realized. 
I am here because I need to try. I must try. 
In the hall, we waited not asking why they are here. 
In the hall, we waited knowing why.
We are all searching for purpose.
Or we have our purpose and we are trying to realize it.
To fulfill our destiny
I feel like I should do two snaps of my fingers like a poet in some goddamn cafe in San Francisco after reading that.
One thing I didn’t write, by my cynicism wouldn’t let go of was, is this only for those that have the means (financial) to create change in their lives?
I mean, I don’t see the Mexican on a work visa that spends half his day shoveling shit and the other half doing dishes here.  Granted, it may be because this douche closed El Mexicano down in Hudson Falls. (Still bitter)
trump
But I couldn’t concern myself with that, for you see, I’d been up since 4:30AM, got there at 9:30AM and didn’t leave until 1:30AM.
It was a day full of joy, laughter, tears, thought, anger, and pretty much every and any emotion a human goes through. Well except for those that spend the majority of their day searching for answers while never asking a goddamn question.
fat woman with tattoos
We all bore witness (you bet your ass I had to google if that was the correct tense) to a woman break out of her suicidal shell and dance like a stripper that didn’t care. And it was awesome.  A couple give a chance to having a child when it petrified the potential patriarch to death.  Lotta P’s popping there.
And lastly, witnessed secrets being shared anonymously that would frighten Stephen King.
Then, well, then, after 13 fucking hours in 50-degree temperatures (there was a guy in line that mentioned how he “heard” they keep the room at 10 degrees and I almost jumped down his throat for being such a fucking moron.  Then, well, he was from London, so, you know, I was the fucking American asshole that didn’t get he meant Celsius.)…After 13 hours of jumping on a strained iliopsoas, and after 13 hours of losing my voice to the point of sounding like Kathleen Turner.
Then, well, an old man puts his arm around me as I was getting into my group for the remainder of the week, and says:
“Keith..”
Little weird, but I was wearing a name tag, so…
“Do you know who Jeff Arch is?”
“Should I?” I said back with no display of charm or patience. I was cold, tired, and and older guy just wrapped his arm around me..,so…
“He wrote, “Sleepless In Seattle” after coming to Date with Destiny.  You’re in the right place.” Then she scruffed my hair like only an older man can…
Turns out he’s my group leader.
I don’t know if he’s going to read this, but, that was an awfully nice thing he did…
Day 2, here I go…on 4 hours of fucking sleep mind you!
-k
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Date With Destiny: Day One

The Morning Before:

So, ya, Tony Robbins last night wasn’t necessarily the first or twentieth subject of my dreams I was expecting. But there I was last night, tossing and turning in my Double Tree Hilton queen sized bed…

Authors note: They, Double Tree Hilton, are the ones that give you a cookie when you check-in.  Holy goddamn shit are they good!  She gave me two, because, well you know:

Spac Profile Pic

Anyway, ya, there I was, and there was this big toothed, big-headed “guru” punching me in the chin in an “atta boy” manner:

Tony-Robbins

Which I, in turn, quipped, within the dream:
“Your fist is the size of my face.”

Needless to say, my subconscious was preparing itself.  Needless to say, my conscience had not a godforsaken clue what the hell was going on except why the hell is the air conditioning ALWAYS on in a hotel?

I, of course, did what we all do when we wake, grab my phone…

I got up at my usual start time of about 4:30AM and had an unexpected couple of moments.  The first came from a previous employer during my, less than savory past.

He commented on my blog I posted last night about my state of mind going into today.

If you’re reading this, that was a hell of a thing you said, thank you.

Almost as unexpected as that was a text only a few minutes later from my “pretty much girlfriend.” I thought my early morning anxiety was rubbing off on her, hence the 4:35AM text.  Not so much.  She was going to the gym (love it!) because she had to get her car worked on and had to get her workout in. (Really love it!)

Finally, after trying to convince myself that I’m on vacation, which I technically am, I’m allowed to sleep in.

Not so much. I have this problem with sitting still.

When I finally arose, I made my way over to the desk where my computer sat, waiting.  It shared it’s resting place with my three varieties of powder (Green, white, and yellow.  Please refer to the previous post). Though I am neurotic from time to time with my cleanliness, I am also a complete goddamn mess.  That explains why my desk looked like it was ravaged by Hunter S. Thompson on an all-night supplement binge.  Swear to god, the combination of green, white and neon yellow creates this unique color of drug that only a hippie at an orgy would appreciate.  I have no clue what that means, but I will leave it there because, for some reason, I like it.

Nonetheless, I created more of a mess by getting myself prepped for my morning workout.

It’s 6am and I’m in the gym making a fool of myself trying to get acclimated to my new surroundings.   In walks a woman, she nods and goes to the treadmill.  In walks another woman, she nods and goes to the elliptical.  I too am on an elliptical, because my “iliopsoas” fucking sucks and I can’t run or do jackshit with my left leg other than a fucking elliptical!  Can you tell I’m bitter? Even more than usual?

We all shared something in common though, these wristbands for the event they put on us last night at registration.

Have you ever been to a fitness class, sporting event, or anything where before you do it, no one really talks to each other? Like you’re trying to get mentally, emotionally, and physically prepared for what is about to take place?  For some it’s meditating, for some, it’s getting muckled drunk, and for some, it’s listening to Phish wishing you brought some weed with you on your voyage.

Hippie Keith

But when it’s over, the team wins, the class is finished, or you’re done listening to the 45-minute version of a song; you all are best friends because you just shared a mutual experience.

This is the calm before the storm.  As tomorrow morning, things will be VERY different.  And it’s not just because we all are trying to work off those delicious fucking cookies that I swear were the ones that the Oracle gave to Neo in “The Matrix”.

It’s because we’re all about to share something so profound, that…well…

To be continued…

-k

A Year Later and A Night Before

About a day ago, I had a conversation with someone I refer to as my “pretty much girlfriend”.  Yes, for those that have read my nonsensical ramblings about my bi-polar dating life; I have a girlfriend.  And I will be quite disappointed if I ever date anyone ever again.  It’s not because I’m in love with her dog, Max.  Even though, as I referred to her yesterday as my Renee Zellweger and Max is my lispy, little, blond haired boy. Which of course would make me her Tom Cruise…  Instead of Scientology, I’m her short suitor that goes to Tony Robbins seminars, and we’ll get to that in a second.

Anyway, she mentioned how she wished that she would know what her workout was going to be before she went to the gym-She goes to a gym that has these crossfit-esque classes.  Well, this lead me to comment:

“Sometimes it’s better not knowing. Anxiety is created by the known, fright comes from the unknown”.
Okay, I didn’t put it just like that.  Truthfully,  I probably dropped about four f-bombs and tried to grab her like she was an intern on the Today Show.

But you get the point.

May I add, she is genuinely intrigued by what I have to say.  And for a guy that is more accustomed to people telling him to shut the fuck up as opposed to asking what he thinks…It’s not only welcomed, but genuinely appreciated.

Here comes my point:

Last year, I was giddy as a little school girl about flying cross country to see Tony Robbins for the first time in San Jose, CA. However,  a day earlier, this happened:

trump

Everywhere I went that day, the tension was palpable.  Granted, I was in cities like Albany, Chicago, and the aforementioned “Silicon Valley”.  If I had a layover, in lets say, Tuscaloosa, I would have sat next to this and she would have been fucking pumped about the next four years!

selfie-fail-white-trash-mom-1

Fast forward to today, and here I am, after getting thoroughly searched due to a bag of white protein powder (not heroin), a bag of green powder (not marijuana) and a bag of neon yellow powder (As if I were smuggling Predator blood onto the flight)

predator-extracting-bullet

Not to mention 6 packs of gum, 12 protein bars, and a variety of mixed nuts in six individual baggies.

For you see, I know what to expect when I go see this big toothed son of a bitch.

Tony-Robbins

And I’m scared shitless.

Why?

Is it because I’m worried about the aforementioned girl that I’ve been waiting to finally meet finding someone else? No.  I’m convinced this is…well, something, unlike anything.

Is it because I’m wondering what is happening at my job in the final month of my first year as a General Sales Manager of four radio stations? No. Because I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Not to mention my auto-reply on my email told everyone one I would be without cell or email. Simply put, fuck off. I’ll be back when I’m back.

Is it because last year I went through only 4 days of this “Emotional BootCamp” and this is going to be pretty much the same thing only turned up to “11”?

 

You bet your sweet ass it is!

Guys and gals, let me explain something, this isn’t easy!  This isn’t “lets go sing happy fucking songs, hug, and sing kumbaya!”

This is, I expect, no, I demand more from me.  This is the dream that wakes me, the dream that becomes a nightmare because it was never realized.  And no,  I don’t mean waking up to take a piss with a hard-on!

 

By the way, the above is the most realistic moment in movie history.

Essentially, I don’t know what I have, or why I have it, but I fly too close to the sun with my expectations sometimes.  And when I do, my mind races as if I’ll never taste the air at the apex of my mental summit.

So here I am and here I sit after making a mad dash from my “pretty much girlfriends” house at 4am so I could get home and workout while probably waking up my downstairs neighbor.
So here I am and here I sit after narrowly avoiding pissing myself while trying to find a parking spot that was reminiscent of Walmart on the 15th of the month.

charlie-sheen-winning

So here I am and here I sit after having my bags searched like I was smuggling narcotics and womens undergarments to Lithuania.

So here I am and here I sit waiting to find out how far I can go.

I am blessed beyond belief to have the means to do this.

I am blessed beyond belief to have the desire to do this.

I am blessed beyond belief to have the opportunity to do this.

I am blessed beyond belief to have the talent that I know needs to be harnessed by this.

However, those are my burdens.

I must do this because of said means.

I must do this because of said desire.

I must do this because of said opportunity.

I must do this because God has blessed me with these talents that must be harnessed.

So here I am and here I sit…waiting…

So here I am and here I sit…ready for whatever the next week has in store.

-k

 

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

 

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

I Saw a Motorcycle for Sale…

I saw a motorcycle for sale on my walk today.

The fog made it quite ominous while I walked. So much so, the fog was straight from a movie called, well…”The Fog”. It was the type of fog that the orange hue coming from a streetlight didn’t necessarily cut through the fog, as much as it just confirmed the fact as to how foggy it was.  As if there was a detective off somewhere wearing a trench-coat with a Winston hanging from the down pitched  corner of his mouth.  As he awaited to present his client, Annabelle 8×10 photos confirming her suspicions of her husbands infidelity.

I saw a motorcycle for sale on my walk today.

I don’t know what kind; A harley? It wasn’t a Harley, I don’t think it was a Harley.  Truthfully it could have been a Harley.  Maybe a Yamaha, or a Kawasaki.

Kawasaki sounds like a hybrid Japanese/Polish-American baseball player.

Catcher Paul Kawasaki, has power to all fields. Yet, the speed to get down the line and leg out and infield single with his slap like swing while he protects the plate on a two strike count.

It may have been a Kawasaki.  Or a Honda.  Definitely not a Suzuki.  That’s all the names of motorcycles I know.  It wasn’t the one with the sidecar I could fit into either.

I saw a motorcycle for sale on my walk today.

Why?  I imagine this was a man, probably a man, that wanted it more than he’s ever wanted anything.  You know that feeling?  I do. But I’m afflicted with some degree of OCD.  Not so bad that I have to tap my pencil 9 times, and spin my chair counter clockwise twice in my office before I start my work day.  Who has a pencil?

But my affliction causes great angst if I covet something and don’t have the means or even worse, I’m afraid it will go on sale right after I buy it.
I obsess, non-stop, google search after google search. Running into Target to look at it, mustering up the courage to ask the part-time kid named Chet if I can touch it.

He gives me an odd look after I word it that way.

But after all that, I buy it, just for me to feel empty inside after I finally have it.  Funny how the chase is always greater than the capture.  It also mean that we all need something to covet, to desire, to want, to need.

Or it may be because the thing just wasn’t nearly as nice as my imagination made it out to be.

I saw a motorcycle for sale on my walk today.

This man probably saved every cent he had, dying for the moment he could ride his “hog” cross-country with his friend visiting every bbq smokehouse on their way to the Pacific Coast. Unfortunately his nights of drunken sex would eventually impregnate the only girl that would sleep with him and now he’s a dad. The pause button was pressed on his cross country trek. He thought, maybe a year, two tops.  Little did he know it would be forever.

I saw a motorcycle for sale on my walk today.

Night after night, he comes home wondering if he should take it for a ride.  But the days of mindless labor while all he thinks about is how much he hates what is waiting for him when he gets home; those become exhausting.  That’s why he stops by the local Speedway and grabs a 12 pack of Keystone and a lottery ticket before he walks through his equally miserable wife.

She yells:
“Why don’t you sell that goddamn motorcycle?”

He barges out, going to the bar and stares at women he wishes he could have.  He wishes they had lost all taste in and inhibition in life just so they would give him  a chance to stick his filthy, uncircumcised, smelly penis in them.  Instead, he drinks, and drinks, until he drunkenly drives home and tries to get it up and have sex with his disinterested wife while dreaming of the girl in the white jeans playing pool at the bar he just left.

I saw a motorcycle for sale today…

Or, he may just buying a brand new fucking bike…

-k

Dating Diaries: Vol 3. “Are you crying?”

“Crying is alright in its way while it lasts.  But you’ll have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.”
-C.S. Lewis

As these magnificent, albeit, self-exposing tales of one man in Glens Falls, NY and his online dating experiences come to an end-Sorry the few of you that truly enjoy these, but this is only a “triology”-I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for taking the time and I not only mean that from the bottom, top, left, right, front and back of my heart; I hope you’ve enjoyed reading them.

With that, I’ve saved the best for last, so…

In the time between the unfortunate victim from Vol. 2 and this “glorious night”; I had a couple other encounters that deserve “Honorable Mentions”.

Such as:

The gorgeous hippie girl I scared away because it was way too early for me to start dating.  I was like Jo Jo the idiot circus boy with a pretty new pet…

The gorgeous mulatto teacher that I scared away because it was way too early for me to start dating. This sucked, because she pursued me!  Can you believe that?  And of course, I fucked it up.  Not as bad as Mikey in Swingers with the girls phone number, but definitely a contender for “What not to do with a prospect”.

This led to an epiphany, a moment of clarity, if you will. I needed two things:

  1.  A serious respite from online dating
  2. Guilt free, no strings attached sex.

What followed was a trip to the Nation’s Capital that was full of sightseeing, shopping and sensational, sinful, sex. Well, up to the point a bag of cashews from Whole Foods gave me paint peeling gas.  That goddamn, gorgeous Westin room became Auschwitz.

And no, you will never, ever, hear me say sightseeing, shopping, and sensational, sinful, sex.

Yes, I’m fully aware of the similarities.

Anywho, on the flight back, which consisted of prayers that my salmon couldn’t make their way to Capistrano (think about it) or herpes; I made a conscious decision that I got all this “needing affirmation” hogwash out of my system and it’s time to proceed with my life.

And you can be sure as shit that vanished the moment my plane hit the tarmac. Because you know, now I stank of sex,  so confidence was riding high. Surprised I didn’t develop carpel tunnel from swiping right…

What followed was:

The Christian that thought my Himalayan salt lamp was akin to witchcraft.  No shit. She was pretty hot though.

The rabid cat I got attacked by. And yes, I literally got attacked by a cat with rabies.  She was pretty hot though.

The feminist that would call to yell at me about Donald Trump and show up to every single date an hour late.  She was pretty hot though.

The hippie-ish chick that would come over to my place with her massive dog, despite my place not allowing pets, and then drink half a bottle of wine every night. She was pretty hot though.

Sprinkled amongst all of these were one-time encounters that were doomed from the start.  And of course,  the occasional make-out session.

And there was one…I liked her, a lot.  Beautiful, funny, quirky, strange, bright,  sanely crazy, hardworking; And of course she lived 3 and a half hours away.

No matter the variety of flavors I attracted, there was one common denominator:

Spac Profile Pic

I have to tell you cats and kittens, I had the pleasure of meeting some quite spectacular women that knew they were too good for me.  And I also went out with some that were train wrecks colliding with a school bus filled with Special Ed students.  Despite that pleasant image, I still had to see if they would be a “buyer” in the stock that was Keith T. Hannigan.

Is it the natural douchiness that is me? Probably.

Is it the natural salesman in me? Probably.

Is it my insecurity needing to be extinguished? Probably

Is it loneliness? Probably.

However, who the fuck am I to dare try and manipulate the emotions of another human being, all the while seizing the opportunity of feeding the beast that is my ego?

Well, I believe there is a God, and I believe she placed the next subject of this here blog in front of me to teach me the most invaluable of lessons:

To grow the fuck up!

The Stupid Genius

I don’t know this as fact, but I’m pretty sure even Einstein smacked himself in the head every once in a while and exclaimed:

“I’m such a fucking idiot!”

Whether this is the first post of mine you’ve read, or for some god-awful, masochistic  reason, you’ve made the commitment to read them all; you would gather that I’ve acquired some form of expertise on the subject of online dating over the years…

Well, I made good and goddamn sure to throw it right out the fucking window.

I first met her, the aforementioned female suitor and subject of this blog, on Plenty of Fish. Allow me (you don’t have to, but you’re here, so you know) to paint the portrait for you that is, as we refer to it as,  POF.

Back in the day, my friends and I used to joke about how attractive a woman was by saying the name of the establishment where our spirits were consumed and then giving a time.

For example:

“She was 8pm at Sabby’s hot.”

Translation: a fine looking lady that if you brought home to mom and dad, even mom would give you a fist bump.

Needless to say, I didn’t have many, meaning any of those.

OR

“She was 2am at Jilly’s hot.”

Translation: When tomorrow morning comes, I more than likely am going to try to sneak out, Mission Impossible meets Naked Gun style, without waking her while trying not to step in her cats litter box.  Which for some, who the fuck knows, reason is next to her bed.

Needless to say, I was much more successful with those specimens just looking for love in all the short places.

fat woman with tattoos

AUTHORS NOTE: If the dream is realized and my tantalizing tales make their way to the masses; the above is going to find me, and smother me with her gargantuan, hairy, tattooed tits.

And then there was Flubb’s.

Flubb’s was a bar that was right across the border of Vermont in New York State that was open until 4am on a Saturday.  Simply put, when you’re losing friends drunk, yet wide awake at 1am in Rutland, VT and they just called last call…well…Lets just say I was quite familiar with this establishment.

 

Yet here I am, 15 years later, and still making the same goddamn mistakes. Because the point of all this; Plenty of Fish, while providing the occasional 8pm lady at Sabby’s, the mass majority is somewhere between 2am at Jilly’s and 4am at Flubbs.

Why is it like this?

Because it’s free.

Why do I use it?

Because it’s free.

And this is where I met the “love interest” to this far from romantic evening, a woman we will only refer to as:

“The Cryer.”

“I’ve been crying all day”

When the divorce was on the one yard line to being euthanized,  I remember saying, like it was my personal mantra, “You can’t see red flags while wearing rose-colored lenses.”

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I said it so often, it was as if  I was Confucius with this amazingly clever, yet accurate fortune cookie of wisdom.

Clearly, I was on the one yard line to completely losing my shit.

So, when an attractive woman that just so happens to be around the block from your place of employment hits you up on “PoF”; you instantly reply.

For you see, the ones I kept falling for kept living too far away.

And when said woman describes, in detail, how her job causes her to cry from the moment she first punches in to lunch, all throughout lunch, and then from the end of lunch to the moment she punches out, well…One, more than likely, would be inclined to run…

Especially when this happens within the first, I don’t know, two, maybe it was the third email.  However, I was somewhat culpable, I did ask the intrusive question of:

“What do you do for a living?”

Full transparency, I did break off communication for a bit, I’m not completely an idiot, but then came the pre-stranger email.

If you’re not familiar with “The Stranger”, allow me to explain.

Other than being a fantastic Billy Joel song; it’s when you sit on your hand until it goes numb so when you rub one out, masturbate, it feels as if it’s someone else.

You’re welcome.

Well, I will take this one step further.  Have you ever been so horny that you start to “reminisce” about an ex? Just to hit them up only to remember why they were your ex?

Well, in the case of online dating,  you find yourself fantasizing about the lady you knew good and goddamn well you shouldn’t talk to.

Well, before you know it you throw out a little text:

“Hey, what u doin?”

They respond. with a:

“Hey!”

Oh how telling yet frightening an exclamation point can be.

Your response is the oh so leading:

“Just thinking about you.”

I don’t know how fluid the definition of imbecile is, but at this moment, it’s this.

Before she has a chance to respond, you quickly go for what you’re really looking for:

“Send me a pic…please”

The please is crucial.  Sometimes you throw in a wink, or a wink with the tongue hanging out. You hear nothing for a few minutes.  Deep down, you know it’s because she has taken 37 selfies trying to capture  the right one, just for you.  Then what do you receive?

A picture that she already has on her profile. But at this point, who fucking cares? The blood flow is coming  back in my hand, so it’s go time!

You’re inspired, so you send back.

“You’re so exquisitely breathtaking”

I’m such a fucking asshole…

One minute and seven seconds later… Mission accomplished…But then…

Ding…ding…ding…ding…ding….ding…ding…ding…ding…

My phone has just decided to become the goddamn ice cream man! Instead, it’s a flurry of messages, or in the case of “The Cryer”, one really long message that is so long in length, it needs 7 messages to send.

Oh sweet Jesus what have I done?

And as if that wasn’t a big enough of a pain in my ass, which I deserved, I have this horrible conscience. Piss off, I do! The guilt is as if I just had a one night stand and I now have to feed her.  You realize that? Either we precede or  reward sex with food. Simply,  I either have to feed you to get it, or feed you for giving it.

Nonetheless, here I am, cloaked in guilt.  All because I couldn’t watch lesbian porn on my laptop.

“What are you doing Friday?” I reluctantly ask.

And we now have a new contender for the definition of imbecile.

The Date

My profession provides me many perks.  One being that I don’t have to always pay for dinner on some of my “dates”.  Long story, but lets just say if I want the occasional free dinner, I have that option available to me.

And you can bet your sweet ass I wasn’t paying a fucking dime for this night.

Now, here is the deal, ladies, you’re notoriously late for everything.  You know it, I know it, and Father Time knows it. Hence why it’s called Father time and not Mother time.

Yet, this lady was not only early, she was early enough to buy herself an adult beverage:

“I’m so sorry for being late. To be fair, I’m actually on time, but you’re early, which scores some serious Super Mario Gold Coins with me.” I said this with not only charm, but my ohh so arrestingly handsome smile.

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“Well, I ordered an IPA and they only had blah, blah, blah IPA, so I’m stuck with this.  I don’t even like this. I hate it. It’s awful.  I don’t even know why I’m drinking it.”

Mother of God…

“Well, why don’t you tell them? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to provide you another drink. And who knows, maybe they will thank you for your insight.”

I’m a glass half full type of guy. Thanks Tony Robbins!

“Oh not even worth it, they’ll probably spit in it.”

And we’re off.

Now, I’ve been to this establishment numerous times.  When food is free, you traditionally find yourself suggesting it quite often.  So, to hand me a menu is a moot point.  Sometimes, you try to be impressive with your knowledge of this type of cuisine:

“You know the sashimi here is out of this world. The way they prepare the eel is unlike any other place between here and the Capital Region. And I highly suggest the Spicy Tuna Lettuce wraps as it’s the perfect amount of spice with the fresh crunch of the lettuce to cleanse the pallet.”

And other times you just want to get the goddamn food ordered.

Guess which time this was. And of course the waitress was no where to be found…

Now, I remember the first time I heard the word loquacious.  My ears perked up.  I don’t recall if it was because the word used the letter q or if it was a word that best described me:

Loquacious: talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling; garrulous:

“So, what do you do for fun?”

Silence kills me.

“I couldn’t tell you the last time I did something fun.”

Silence no longer kills me.

“Okay, well do you like to go hiking or anything like that?”

“Oh, yeah, the last time I went hiking (sips her beer), the last time, I was passed by this old lady who had to be 80…”

Stick with me here.  One day, years ago, I was asked by a former professor to speak to his class about being in radio.  During this class, while I’m in the middle of a sentence describing the nuances of radio advertising, this…kid…in the front row stared me dead in the eye and let out the longest, strangest sounding fart ever…

 

On this night, after describing this “horrific and traumatizing” hiking experience, she looked me dead in the eye and started to dab them with a napkin.

“Are you crying?” I questioned, with my oh so amazing poker face…

poker face

She sniffled while maintaining full eye contact. Which I still find to be so goddamn creepy.

“Over hiking?”

She sniffled again and the tears started to FLOW.  Meanwhile, I’m still waiting for my water with lemon!

But, here was the thing, if you were to load me up with Sodium Pentothal,  I’m looking at her thinking, ” You know, she’s not THAT bad looking, not bad looking at all.”

And she wasn’t, she actually was quite pretty.  My instinct, you guessed it, lets see how quick I can close this…

And as soon as I had that thought…

“Is the air conditioning on in here? Seriously, there has to be a vent above me with the air conditioning on!”

Not only was it February in upstate New York, there was no goddamn vent!

At this point, I’m about to put an Amber alert out for my waitress.  But I see her, she sees me, I make eye contact and give off the whole, “We’re ready to order so get your ass over here” look.

And how did ordering go?

“I don’t know, what do you have?

The menu is the size of a coffee table…with two sides…and pictures…

“Is it the chicken spicy?”

It’s not only noted on the menu with a goddamn picture of a  jalapeno pepper, but with the word “Spicy” next to it just in case you were confused as to what the significance of the aforementioned pepper was.

“Well, I want something that tastes like garlic chicken.”

“Well, we have garlic chicken.”

Oh God bless the patient heart of our waitress that night.

“But does it come in a sauce, I don’t like sauce…and why is your air conditioning on?”

“Umm, it does come in a sauce, a garlic sauce, and our air conditioning isn’t on.”

“Well, then I don’t want it and yes it is…”

By the way, all of this, no shit, really happened.

“Well, would you like to move to the tatami seating area?”

I don’t know if I yelled yes, or simply said it, but understand this; if you’ve never sat in a tatami seating area, it’s the drop down seating area that is tucked away from everybody!

So we packed up and moved, hoping the change of scenery may “lighten the mood”.

It didn’t.

The remainder of the night included:

More alcohol, which led to more tears, which led to her becoming quite pale, which led to  very little eating, which led to her becoming even more pale, which led to more crying, which led to her telling me that she was about to be fired from her job because she was currently serving probation for…you guessed it, CRYING ALL THE FUCKING TIME!

The final straw for me was the moment the waitress came back to see if we wanted dessert. And you guessed it, my lovely date was balling her eyes out like I either told her that I was cheating on her, about to beat her, or both.

Why was it the final straw? Because they had S’mores flavored Molten Lava Cake and I couldn’t have it because my date was acting like Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias having a diabetic fucking fit!

When we finally left, the snow that was coming from the sky were flakes the size of frogs.  As if God was raining upon me a sign, a sign that this shit needs to stop.

For you see, years, months, weeks, and even days earlier, despite all of what this night entailed; I would have kissed her. And I know she would have been receptive to it.

Instead, I kissed her on the cheek and simply said:

“Good luck.”

And I meant it.  Because, even though I’ve been making light out of this entire night, this girl doesn’t have issues, she has a lifetime subscription.  And despite the fact that I feel I can fix anybody (Thanks again Tony Robbins), I know I can’t.  Did I spend time trying to be a glimmer of hope in the endless cave that is her existence?  Yes.  But what this girl needs is something I cannot give her, serious psychological attention.

And I truly hope she finds whatever it is she needs, because, and this is the truth, I felt as if I let her down.

EPILOGUE

As I was about to post Volume 2, I stumbled across the Mark Twain quote:

“A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn no other way”

As if this was a fortune cookie provided to me by God.

Why?

Is it because I was attacked by a rabid cat? Maybe

Is it because in spite of having a failed marriage with a woman I met through online dating, I continue to go back for more? Maybe.

Is it because no matter how much a lady and I are or are not a match, I continually try to see if I can persuade them emotionally to take a chance on me just for it to inevitably? Maybe.

Or is it because, throughout all of this, I’ve learned a lesson that one must learn if they are to ever find what they are looking for:

You must first find it within yourself before you can demand it from others.

What is it?  No, it’s not the skill of sitting on your hand, which many of you are going to, or at least should try once you’re done reading this. And yes, every time I hear “The Stranger” on the radio, I smile…

It’s love. (Vomit)

So will I continue to subject myself, and in many cases, subject those that show a sign of interest in me to nights such as this?

Yes.

Why?

Because deep down, I’m still hopeful that I will meet the lady that makes me smile while I think about how much I miss her.  Because deep down I’m still hopeful I will meet the lady that whether it’s the first, third, or fiftieth time I see her, she makes my heart race and my palms sweat.

Will it happen?

Fuck me if I know.

The only thing I do know is:

To be continued…And thanks for playing…

-k

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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