Blood On The Tracks (and the kitchen table)

For a few weeks back in September, I dated a 25 year old named J. Our first three dates went surprisingly well, considering he wasn't big on the talking. Amazing how when a boy rides a motorcycle, a set of leather chaps and a dark, brooding nature can offset a variety of significant deficiencies. Like verbal communication skills, for example.

Anyway, there was our very first round of get-to-know-you beers that were so spontaneous and last minute I could barely believe I participated. That was followed a few days later by a really atrocious yet surprisingly fun attempt to salsa dance. My skills were the issue, not his. Our third date was attending his 21 year old cousin's Christian nuptials (read: no alcohol or dancing, though I'm fairly sure the absence of the latter was simply a result of both the wedding location and budget rather than a Footloose-esque mandate in homage to J.C.).

In between each date, J called or emailed. Pretty attentive for a youngster. Actually, had I not been so troubled by the fact that when I was a senior in high school, he was in 5th grade, his age really wasn't seeming to be much of an issue.

With three or four dates now under our belt, J called one night and asked if I wanted to "come up to the castle." Having never been asked that question before, there was clearly only one appropriate answer...and that would be (obviously) "hell, yes."

I'd seen it from the road. *Everyone* had seen it from the road. The place was legendary. J had actually pointed it out to me on the way back from his cousin's wedding the week before, remarking that he grew up with the son of the couple who built it and he still hangs out there often. It struck me as an interesting anecdote at the time, I probably asked a question or two in response, but never did I think I'd find myself with a castle invite squarely in hand, and in such short order, no less.

It was set high upon a hill (you know, as castles often are), and J advised that it would be a bit hard for me to find in the dark. Always the gentleman, he offered to drive his sister's car down the mile-long driveway and meet me at a pre-arranged spot.

I hopped into the car and J immediately warned me that once we got up there, I might see some "weird stuff" going on. A band was jamming, there would be a bunch of people drinking and perhaps even some drug use. Totally fine, I thought. Nothing I haven't seen before. What I was *not* prepared for, however, was the next sentence out of J's mouth.

"And...they were almost done when I came down to get you...but...you should be prepared...they've got a deer in the kitchen."

I'm sorry...but what the hell did you just say?

As we drove the long, winding, dark, and rather creepy road up to the castle, I got the chills more than once. My mom would so totally kick my ass if she knew what I was doing, where I was headed and with whom. I mean, really, J wasn't much more than a perfect stranger at this point. The three (or was it four?) preceeding dates, as lovely as they were, could have been part of his master plan to lure me to the castle, chain me to a gallows pole in the dungeon and enslave me for the next 20 years. Too late now, I thought to myself, this will either be a night I won't soon forget or it will end very, very badly.

The castle was not to be believed. It was like freaking medieval times up in there. I mean, it was a full-on castle, I exaggerate not. It had turrets with those little square cut-outs at the top and weird curved windows and shit. Winding staircases were punctuated by mounted heads of deer, bears and other large forest-dwelling mammals with small cranial lobes and bad timing. Books covered in dust lined every step. There were crazy rugs and animal pelts and unidentifiable furry things strewn everywhere. A gothic iron birdcage, suspended rather unhygenically over the living room, housed the largest parrot I'd ever seen. Cobwebs connected one freaky light fixture to the next while others descended from the frames of oil paintings that hung on every conceivable vertical surface. A bearded guy played sitar in front of an enormous stone fireplace...or was it a didgeridoo? And the joint smelled weird. Like a castle, I guess. Or deer.

I spent what felt like it must have been literally hours to take it all in. And then, as I stepped into in the kitchen, there it was.

Three dogs lay within feet of the dining table, paws bloodied, gnawing at the carcass. In fact, there was blood everywhere. On the carpet beneath the table, on dish rags, on knives, on the outside of the Ziploc bags into which an older couple were placing endless ruby red chunks of venison.

It was, in a word, surreal. It was also gross as hell.

J looked for my reaction and wisely offered me a glass of wine. Grasping my hand, he then led me up a series of staircases to the top of the main turret. The ease with which he navigated his way around this insane place, even knowing where the light switches were, gave me both pause and a great sense of relief. We're either going somewhere safe and quiet and free of bloodshed or he's taking me to the roof to kill me.

We made out for the next 45 minutes atop a turret accompanied by just the moonlight and the sound of cows in distance.

We made out a lot that night.

At the end of the evening, J's sister offered me a ride back down to my car. Knowing that J's mode of transport to the castle was his motorcycle, I declined her offer and opted to hop on the back of his bike instead. Worried that I'd be cold in just a thin sweater, J slipped out of his leather jacket and wrapped it around me. Tightly clasping my arms about his waist, I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek firmly between his shoulder blades. Shielding myself from the biting wind, I'd never felt such a sense of exhilaration in my entire life. I was freezing and scared shitless and thankful that I was walking away from the evening with my life and my lips were raw from J's stubble yet I felt completely and totally safe.

We were both shivering by the time we reached my car. I shrugged off his jacket and as I returned it to his shoulders, he pulled me inside. For a few moments, we leaned against his bike, sharing one another's warmth. J sweetly kissed me good night. About 25 times.

J and I didn't last a whole lot longer. His non-talking eventually proved to be our demise. But for a few truly remarkable hours on an unseasonably chilly evening, in a castle upon a hill, I felt completely and utterly alive. (And let's face it, the whole 25 thing? Well...that was way hot.)

Time Out (Maybe)

I am on hiatus. Or at least I'm trying to be. My last real, pre-meditated date was seven days ago, with the aforementioned Email (who, incidentally, keeps calling). He was a benign diversion, if you will, but by going out on an actual date with him, he served as the terminating force for Hiatus Attempt #1, which I'd just announced to the world a few days earlier.

Hiatus, n. The physical state of me not dating anyone because there's no one in rotation (virtual or otherwise) who is smart and cute and well-written and articulate and tall and educated and non-retarded. Hiatus status is rendered invalid whenever I elect to go out on a date instead of sitting home on the couch with my dog, Fudgesicles that are too soft because my refrigerator is a piece of shit, and stack of magazines.

This was going to be My Time. I'd read, write, cook, get to bed earlier, drink less, exercise more, keep up with Quicken, focus more at work, walk the dog twice a day, make pudding...the list grew exponentially over the course of the five full days that I was actually *on* hiatus...the first time.

Its harder than one might think, this hiatus business. Not 48 hours after extracting myself from Email's overly-familiar hug at the end of our date -- as I teetered gleefully on the precipice of embarking yet again on a very long awaited, oft talked about and much overdue break from dating -- a boy who'd gone retarded on me a week and a half earlier came back onto the scene. Thus blowing my plans for Hiatus Attempt #2 to bits.

I'm trying. I really am.

K2 (not to be confused with K of "The Story of K" fame), is/was an oddly fascinating and extremely attractive college-educated, home-owning, very super hot, tattooed and pierced glass "artist." [Edit: Thank you to my pal, L, for reminding me that, in addition to the above, K2 also owned a full-sized trampoline.] He'd also dropped off the face of the earth after four pretty great dates for no apparent reason. While I was disappointed to see him bail because there was obvious chemistry, the boy never could get his proverbial groove on. Seems he'd been on a rather extended hiatus of his own, I'd found out on our first date, which I'd subsequently learn first-hand would render him entirely ineffective at closing the deal. Or even getting us to land anywhere in the remote vicinity of first base for more than two minutes at a time. Sad.

When K2 re-emerged last week, citing a DUI as the cause of his disappearance, I took pity on him and agreed to a date. I drove. We had cocoa. He talked incessantly about how The Incident is going to serve as the catalyst for major life changes. It was dull. And most certainly not worth me missing My Fair Brady.

Hiatus Attempt #3...on!!!

Like the two preceeding it, I enter Attempt #3 knowing that it will be time-limited...but this go 'round, I can predict with a great degree of accuracy precisely when it will expire. My third attempt at not-dating will come to either a tremendously joyous or overwhelmingly sorrowful conclusion this Saturday (at the soonest) or the following Wednesday (at the latest). Because on one of those two days, I will finally meet M, a boy who lives about 100 miles to the north.

Due to our geographic challenges, M and I have been emailing for about a week and a half now. Every day. Multiple times a day. M is smart and cute and well-written and articulate and tall and educated and non-retarded.

I think.

And he just might make this whole notion of hiatus a very moot point. Here's hoping.

Coming soon...

...to a mid-sized town near me. In from Vegas (where else?!?) for "business," he'll be local for ten days. Cast your votes now, dear readers. Should I or shouldn't I?

Bounty of Riches

From: Pluso
Date received: October 27
Subject: hello

hello
how are u ? hope u good .
You have Nice Pic... Can i have UR msn if U want To more Conect
Thanx


From: sman121
Date Received: October 26
Subject:

how are you today? i am tired and bored all tied up in one! i never herd back from you. blaine


From: bsh785
Date Received: October 24
Subject: Hi

I like your profile and photo can you tell me more about yourself my name is benjamin Great smile


From: mmjroe
Date Received: October 24
Subject: Hi there!

To bad we don't match acording to your response back to me. But I understand But I still thing you are a very pretty lady! Mark Good luck and thanks for being honest!


From: kanatomical
Date Received: October 23
Subject: Hi there

I'm writing you for a friend of mine that is interested in you...here is his profile user name (ageless71) he is 28 years old. He is not a member any longer but notice your profile and would like to get to know you.

His name is Justin. Thanks Ken

A Boy Named "Email"...The Day After

Not unlike the date, this post will be rather uninspired. The movie plan ended up instead being coffee and tiramisu and featured me having to work just too a little too hard to keep the conversation afloat. (By the by, if someone's lived in the US for ten years, can "language barrier" still be cited as justification for someone's marginal social skills?)

At the conclusion of our outing, he kissed me on the cheek and then pulled me into something strongly resembling a "isn't this a bit much for a first date?" hug. Told me to call him that evening. (Didn't.)

He's rather attractive. And quite tall. And 27.

I'll probably see him again.

A Boy Named "Email"

Okay, technically his name is Emil, not Email, but in my impaired state last night, I coulda sworn I had just met a guy whose name was synonymous with what I believe to be the greatest invention of the 20th century. That and Melon Kamikazes. Anyway, last night marked a moment in time that I believe needs to be celebrated here on my wee little blog. I'm self-endorsing this deviation from my usual "retrospective" storytelling approach in lieu of sharing some real time action.

I went out last night with a friend, M. I'd had great intentions to utilize his sharp wit and fearless nature in the role of Wingman but pickins were slim out there, as tends to often be the case in my mid-sized town. By midnight, with three venues already under our belt and nary a cute boy to speak of, it was time to give up the ghost, as it were, and just drink. I approached the bar, barely noticing the rather hunky, blonde fella sitting to my right. I haven't much of an idea what exactly he said to start the conversation...I have hazy, vodka-soaked memories of some comment about how I resemble someone on the Sopranos...but boy, he sure was cute.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, nodding his head in M's direction.

"Nope," I replied. (Is this guy trying to pick me up, I wonder? Its all so foreign...the face-to-face human interaction, the live verbal communication, the absence of a high-speed internet connection...)

"I'm Email." (Do I detect an accent?)
"I'm sorry...can you spell that?"
"E-M-I-L."
"Ohhhhhh, Emil...nice to meet you."
"So, can I call you sometime?" (Man, this guy gets right down to business.)

"Of course," I slurred back. And within mere moments, I'd somehow managed to hammer my name and phone number into his phone. He then proceeded to immediately call me, presumably so his number would now be stored in my phone. Guess that's how the kids do things these days. (Shit, how young is this guy anyway?)

"Maybe we can go for a hike?" (What is it about me in this particular moment...dressed in overpriced jeans, a tiny white tank, a black, curve-hugging cashmere cardigan, sparkly shoes and even sparklier lipgloss...that would suggest I'd enjoy going for a hike...like, ever?)

"That'd be great!" (#*$&)

My large beverage arrived so I bid farewell to Email and returned to M, who I'd thoughtlessly left to fend for himself for the past ten to fifteen minutes while I flirted shamelessly. Email departed the bar with his friends a few minutes later, walking behind our table on his way out. He didn't acknowledge me. He probably isn't going to call, I say to M, who concurred with my assessment.

30 minutes later, M and I are back at my place when the phone rings. Its Email. I don't answer. In his voice mail, he very slowly and rather accent-y informs me that apparently he wants to dance with me and can I call him back. Oh, and his friend Alberto is there, too. I snap my phone closed to charge for the night.

Earlier this afternoon, Email calls again, this time to coordinate the details pertaining to our aforementioned and now rather imminent hike. I offer a few compelling reasons why I can't engage in said activity and propose coffee (or just about anything else) instead. So, tonight I'm going to the movies with a boy who picked me up in a bar instead of on the Internet. And I'm damn excited about it.

Life in a Mid-Sized Town v.3.0 (aka Creepy email from some guy I've never met)

From: edjking
Date received: October 23
Subject:

Did I see you at the bar at [name removed] restaurant tonight? How are you doing? Is [name of online dating site] working for you?

The Story of K, Part III

My first two dates with K were ones for the proverbial record book. Not necessarily in terms of duration or because they were terribly creative but because they involved little more than talk (with sporadic barfing) yet that just didn't seem to matter. They were, no question, the best first-two-dates I'd ever been on.

I also knew that I'd never dated anyone quite like K before. After our first date, the boy wrote me a poem, for god's sake. (Title: Cheesy Poem.) He then later admitted to me that, at his weekly karaoke emcee gig on the night after our second date, his eyes were fixed on the back of the bar the entire evening, half-expecting and fully-wanting me to walk through the door. Between how I was feeling and the messages K was sending, this was seriously feeling like a burgeoning real deal.

I'd made it safely home from our spur of the moment weeknight sushi date (otherwise known as Date #2). In the days that followed, heavy emailing ensued, but nary a mention of date #3. So, after growing rather frustrated by K's failure to inquire about when we'd be getting together again, I finally broached the subject. Granted, I did so in what I believed/hoped was a witty, coy and elusive fashion because that, after all, seemed to be our joint modus operandi when it came to email. Electronic communiques were a tool to be used for flirtation, baiting and subtle manipulation. And in rare cases, (bad) poem writing. Face-to-face dates were to be used for actually getting to know one another. I could deal with K's playerish tendencies in email as long as I had frequent enough occasions to experience The Real K in real life. And so, with that goal in mind, I went angling for date #3.

K informed me that he would soon be headed out of town for a conference. It would span five days...but, strangely, he said he wouldn't be available for about two weeks. He told me the date when his schedule would finally re-open and offered it for the taking. I took. He'd be coming down to my place. We'd make dinner.

The next two weeks were marked by alternating periods of excruciating and almost debilitating impatience and waves of overwhelming joy. A day or two of no contact from K was balanced by semi-unexpected and glee-inducing calls made to me while he was in between conference sessions. Boys don't call girls when they're out of town unless they really like them, I told myself.

On the eve of Date #3, K emailed and accepted my previously-extended offer to make dessert. He then declared that everything else on the menu was his, suggested I opt for a particular tone of wardrobe choice because we could possibly eventually end up having a cocktail somewhere or even find ourselves sitting under a tree, and then flirtatiously noted that he wasn't telling me the rest.

En route to my house, K called from the car and said he'd be about 15 minutes late. No more than 30 seconds later, his 6-foot-5-ness was in my doorway, oddly, with no groceries in hand. He'd never been to my house so I took him to the backyard to show him the hammock that another boy had graciously strung for me between two limbs of my magnificent willow tree. As K and I stood inches from one another on the deck admiring both the apparatus and the foliage, the chemistry palpable, he gently pulled me towards him.

"Oh look...a stair," he sarcastically observed, reminding us both of the kisses we shared after sushi, perched on the steps outside of his apartment. He then took my hand, declared it was time to go, and led me to the car.

Having not a clue when or how dinner was happening (and after that kiss, frankly, caring not on either account), I decided it was best to dispense with the notion of asking questions. The man seemed to know exactly what he was doing. And few things, in my mind anyway, are hotter than a man with a plan.

We watched evening turn into night laying on a blanket beneath a giant oak tree in a park about four minutes from my house. Out of the plastic bags stashed behind his driver's seat, K had pulled sushi he'd picked up on the way to my house, a bottle of red wine and two little plastic cups. It was sweet and charming and romantic, well-planned and flawlessly executed. For this Type A gal, it doesn't get much better.

Though we never did get that damn candle to light.

Our conversation covered so much ground, its nearly impossible to remember just what we discussed. The setting sun served as our only reminder that, after hours of talking about prior relationships, our families, and K's son, we'd lost complete track of time. It was all so candid, so honest....and so not indicative of what my future with K held in store.

After engaging in what can only be described as some highly inappropriate park behavior, I announced that I needed to take him to a well-lit and populated public place. We also agreed that a cocktail (or three) was in order. As we exited his car and walked the half-block to the restaurant, K looked down at me, smiled, and took my hand.

The next morning, K had a date with his son to watch cartoons and I had a presentation on campus. There would be no lingering over coffee, no gazing adoringly at one another across the breakfast table. Instead, he stood in the doorway as I brushed my teeth and I watched, bemusedly...not to mention rather in awe of just how god damn attractive he was...as he tried in vain to fix his hair. We parted after a long, sweet kiss.

For at least another few minutes, K was still in my living room. But, somehow, I missed him already.

Hot in Phoenix (edit: and apparently elsewhere)

From: YouShouldTry
Date: Oct 18
Subject: (no subject)

Oh I am sorry I also think you are SUPER SEXY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I forgot to mention that.


From: 1happydog4u
Date: Oct 19
Subject: you

wow you sound great and look fantastic plz contact me :)


From: sman121
Date: Oct 20
Subject:

well i was just checking out who was out there and i seen your profile, you are a very goodlooking girl and i like what you have to say in your profile! blaine

Dating to Type

A leading online dating site has put forth the following innocuous yet nonetheless troubling (in its repeated mentions of how its presumably a good thing if these guys "rub off" on us and/or serve as a catalyst for us to look "deep inside" ourselves) article vis a vis the five types of men/boys who every woman apparently needs to endeavor to date at one point or another in her life. Hooray for me, I'm five-for-five...and as this blog already attests, with so very much to show for my efforts. How do you fare?

(To reiterate, save the paragraph above, none of this post is original content. It has been stolen from elsewhere.)

Type #1: The Older Man
There comes a point in every guy’s life when he’s no longer interested in keg parties, Sony PlayStations, and phrases like “getting laid.” In short, a man becomes a man, and that’s exactly why you should see what an older guy is all about. No, it’s not because he could be a sugardaddy who’ll shower you with fancy meals and great gifts (although that could be nice). The real perk of dating an older guy is his worldliness and wisdom, which is bound to rub off on you, says Steve Nakamoto, author of Men Are Like Fish: What Every Woman Needs to Know About Catching a Man. “Because he’s had more life experience and has been through more than younger guys, he can play something of a teacher role,” he explains, adding that he once dated a woman 14 years younger than him. “She still calls me today to thank me for the things I taught her,” he says. “She’s always been very appreciative of advice I gave her, even little things like buying a CD, after I explained that I meant certificate of deposit, and not a music album!”

Type #2: The Starving Artist
Okay, sure: These dudes are not going to take you to fancy restaurants or even pay for your half of the dinner bill. Money, nice meals, and material goods don’t mean squat to this guy—and that’s exactly why you’ll have an incredible time once he opens your eyes to life’s simpler pleasures. Erika Meitner of Charlottesville, VA, now sees the world differently after a summer spent with a struggling musician, Jesse. “We went on the best dates, because they all involved great conversation and the most unexpected adventures,” she says. “He knew all the best cheap beer bars, where the jukeboxes rocked, and colorful people always wanted to tell Jesse their stories.” Not only will the world seem infinitely fascinating, but you may feel more fascinating, too, as you become inspired by his creativity and perhaps play the role of his muse.

Type #3: The Metrosexual
OK, so he may be better dressed and more recently manicured than you. Get over it—because not only will you reap the obvious benefits of dating a guy like this (by being able to borrow his expensive shampoos), you’ll get a chance to live a happenin’ life! These guys will take you to all the hottest clubs and coolest clothing stores, and let’s not forget just how fabulous you’ll feel. Hang with him for a while, and you'll learn how to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. Walking hand-in-hand with a man who looks like he just stepped out of an issue of GQ. The benefits don’t end there: His style may well rub off on you. “That’s significant,” says Nakamoto, “because it makes her feel better about herself, as well as making her a stronger player on the social and professional fields.”

Type #4: The Bad Boy
This rebel might have a motorcycle or not, but one thing’s for sure: He lives on his own terms and is not about to apologize for them. Hang with him for a while, and you’ll learn why being bad can feel so good—and how to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. Talk about liberating! “In general, women tend to be pleasers, much more so than men,” Nakamoto says. “A bad boy can show them what it’s like to quit trying to make everyone else happy, and just do what you want.” New Yorker Diana Petroff has first-hand experience of these bad-boy benefits, having once dated one of these rebels. “He knew there was more to the world,” Petroff explains. “And from being with him, I learned to look deep inside myself for what's truly important—rather than just accepting what my parents or friends thought was the proper path for me.”

Type #5: The Nice Guy
He never makes you feel insecure or uncertain, never plays hard to get, never makes you doubt how he feels about you. It’s a shame that we need to explain this one, and yet we know how hard it can be to date a true sweetheart, at least at first. “A woman won’t be used to the frequency and consistency of affection nice guys give, since most other guys who are playing the dating game don’t do that,” Nakamoto explains. Even so, he advises that women get used to the nice guys, and quick. Why? Because once you’ve had the good stuff (a guy who calls when he says he will; a guy who wants to see you more often as he gets to know you), you won’t stand for anything less. At the same time, that doesn’t necessarily mean you should start sending out the wedding invites after a few months. “Just because he’s nice doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the right guy,” Nakamoto warns. “He might rate low in terms of romantic chemistry, because he lacks the edge that creates the kind of surprise, passion, and excitement that all people want in their lives.”

There Are No Words

From: stephenlamb1
Date received: October 15
Subject: hi again

OK, maybe you will look my way more intently now? lol I am a writer/composer so I thought this might work to attract you. :)

Stephen

I keep winking,
and you're thinking,
why is he so persistent.
Your smile is delightful,
being single is frightful,
That's why I'm rather insistent. :)

Although you're in [name of town removed],
That doesn't have to mean,
Love can't find a home.
You have a heart that's true,
A beauty that is you,
Depicted in this poem.

We've similar traits,
Want enjoyable dates,
and seek an honest person.
So before you say no,
Give this nice gent a go,
Before these prospects worsen :)

I moved your cheese,
just under your knees,
to ask you for a favor.
Look past my smile,
or dessing style,
for something else you'll savor.

We both detest smoking,
Love laughing and joking,
And usually on the move.
Like riding a bike,
Take a jog, walk or hike,
We like to get in that groove.

We wear a loving free spirit,
Stand close and you'll hear it,
Passion's in all we are doing.
An adventurous soul,
We take the bold role,
You are the one I am wooing. :)

We both love our pets,
Romantic sunsets,
Being spontaneous and free.
We're blessed with quick wit,
and how our lives sit,
You now, just need to know me :)

I know what you're after,
You really like laughter,
Then I am the man for sure.
Energetic and fun,
You've just found the one,
This man has a heart that's pure.

Ignore that I'm older,
Just be a bit bolder,
Take a chance with someone new.
We both have nice legs,
so put away any negs.,
I want to get to know you. :)

You do seem very nice and outgoing and I would love the chance to get to know you better. If nothing else, you smiled :)

Stephen

Yeah, totally.

From: babyjack1
Date received: October 12, 2005
Subject:

WINK! I have a place in [name of town removed] and will be there on the 30th would you be interested in meeting half way for a coffee?

The Story of K, Part II

Last week, it was his voice mails that needed to be disposed of. Today, the candle had to go. The crappy little white six-for-a-dollar cheap-ass drugstore candle. The candle that, until this afternoon, spent the past seven weeks perched on the corner of my kitchen counter, seemingly waiting for K to pull his head out of his ass so it could finally realize its potential. The candle that, on a warm summer evening back in August, represented just why I thought K and I might be in it for the long haul.

But I'm jumping ahead.

Date #1 ended on a rather promising note. K's nausea had passed so he walked me to my car, gave me a hug, mentioned something about cooking me dinner, and said he'd call.

And he did. The very next night. Emailed me, too.

We spent the next few days wrapped-up in what, even in my now fairly cynical and ever-the-wiser state, I have to admit was some damn fine flirtatious e-banter. When it came to keeping me engaged via the written word, K had the goods. But wasn't it odd after such a great first date plus a next-day-phone-call and now all of this email, that there still hadn't been any mention of when we'd get together again? New to all of this dating ridiculousness, it struck me as somewhat strange but, really, who was I to question protocol?

And then, roughly 72 hours after the conclusion of Date #1, I got the invitation I'd been waiting for:

"Come to [name of K's own mid-sized town] tonight for sushi."

I hemmed and hawed for about 3.7 seconds before responding. I advised him that while pretty much every dating rule book would strongly discourage me from accepting his 11th hour invitation (because, after all, it would make me appear too eager, too interested), if he'd tell me where I'm going and what time to be there, I'd be there.

And so I went.

Dinner was perfect. I was nervous. He was charming and ordered for us and commented on how my face changed when I talked about my mother and the sexual tension was undeniable and we sat really super close and I had no appetite whatsoever and he held the door open when we left. Then over post-dinner beers at one of his favorite places where he drinks for free because everyone knows him, he told me a story that was so personal, his "nervous eye twitch" sprung into action.

I'd see that twitch again. And again. And again. And each and every time, I'd fall deeper.

After beers, we walked back to his SUV, he opened the door, and I climbed in. The door still ajar, K leaned into me. Our first kiss was perfect. So were our 2nd through 817th.

Standing on the steps outside of his apartment beneath the blinding glare of two floodlights, "Come inside," he said. (My god he's a good kisser.)

I answered him with silence. (Holy crap, he keeps his eyes open, like, all the time.)

"Tell me no," he whispered. (And seriously, what is happening here with the body? This can not be for real.)

"No," I dutifully responded, knowing that in this single declaration, I was quite possibly going on record with the most insincere instance of "no meaning no" ever uttered in the history of boy-on-girl action.

"You know, I was hoping it would be even just half this good," he admitted.

And with that, as I felt my will and fortitude withering with every kiss, every look, every proclamation, I pulled away from him, smiled coyly and said "See you 'round," praying that my flip tone would betray just how fast my heart was racing, just how much I didn't want to leave, and just how much I thought I could really, really like him.

"If I'm lucky," he replied, displaying a rare flash of modesty...contradicted in that same moment by a very knowing smile.

Later, his text message read: "Let me know that you got home okay. Don't tell me no on this one." It arrived 25 minutes into my 60 minute journey home. And not until that moment, startled back into consciousness by the chirping of my phone, did I realize I'd been driving, dazed, with a shit-eating grin on my face the entire time.

This was gonna be good. I could tell.

Life In a Mid-Sized Town v.2.0

From: NotRaymond
Date received: October 9
Subject: Just curious were...

....you dining at [name of restaurant removed] this last Friday night.....If so I was there and I recognized you....I was on a [name of online dating site removed] date.....Were you too?

Stranger Than Fiction

From: comNgetme
Date Received: October 7
Subject: (none)

Hi there, how are ya? I was just wondering if you would be interested in talking and getting to know each other better? You have a very beautiful smile

Hope to hear from you soon

Do you have yahoo IM or MSN messenger?

Have a great evening
Dave

I do have other (better) pictures available if your interested


From: DigitalWater
Date Received: October 5
Subject: U Have My Attention

I'd like to see what we could create...please, let me know if you are interested!


From: funboatguy
Date Received: October 1
Subject: (none

hi very nice profile wow i like it alot and i would love to talk with you


From: Flight0070
Date Received: September 23
Subject: Hey there

Your new photo looks great, I know you and I havent talked but I have seen you on here and I really like the new photo, just thought I would tell you that.

Dano


From: Traveler86
Date Received: September 19
Subject: (none)

That has to be the cutest profile i've seen.


From: cgeck7
Date Received: September 15
Subject: Hello

I would like to know on how you felt about your Paris trip and what you liked the best about it. -Cory


From: Steelheader99
Date Received: September 13
Subject: Very Interesting...

I'd love to figure out the mystery behind those beautiful dark brown eyes. Lemme know what you're thinkin'.

Vince


From: HockeyManSJ
Date Received: September 12
Subject: Hi

So how did you enjoy your summer? Have you gone anywhere or done anything fun? I will be moving to [name of town removed] in like a month. You seem like a very nice girl, and I'd like to get to know you better. Let me know what you think.

Take care,
Mark


From: NateBend
Date Received: September 12
Subject: youre smile

A woman with a smile as beautiful as yours should laugh, so I will give it my best. I am a 25 year old male from Bend. My name is Nate and I am only attracted to older women. I perfer women a little more mature and over their party stage. When I am away from my job as a CIA agent, I enjoy skydiving naked, wrestling with Grizzly bears, and baking pastries. Ok so I am kidding about the pastries part....lol. If nothing else, you should know that you have a gorgeous smile and that I would love to talk to you some more, so send me a message sometime.

Nate

The Story of K, Part I

I finally deleted all of his voice mails off of my phone tonight. Each and every one of them. The very first prank message which actually wasn't that funny in retrospect, the handful where he tried to sound casual and cool but I knew he was just calling say to say "hi" and feared doing so might tip his hand, and even the one he left during a work trip to St. Louis where he said he'd "love to hear" from me.

That was all before the retardation set in.

It all started innocently enough. Just under three months ago, K spotted me on an online dating site to remain nameless. He sent a concise and somewhat witty message in which he noted how the brevity of my profile intrigued him. And he wanted to learn more. With two months in the online dating scene under my proverbial belt, I'd grown accustomed to men who were either far too illiterate or just lacked the general wherewithall to send me a legitimate email, opting instead for the innocuous and rather lame "wink" option. K's message was an aberration. No typos. No apparent confusion when it came to the appropriate use of "your" vs. "you're." A sufficient infusion of wit. No references to any of my physical attributes, no offers to meet for coffee in 15 minutes if I was free, no use of the letter "U" in lieu of spelling out the full, three-letter word...

In other words, I was smitten.

Plus, he was fucking hot.

And thus began the game. The game that (in hindsight, of course) was sooooooo totally transparent, entirely predictable and painfully by-the-book...as Games Played By Boys Who Think They're Men are concerned.

Problem was, I hadn't read the book.

I responded to K with a customary witty retort. And with that simple, initial exchange, the two of us embarked upon a series of at least 25 back-and-forths in less than a week, each more interesting, informative and amusing than the last. By the time he finally got around to asking me out for an official date, I was a goner. I'd been waiting for days. So what if he generalized about the "only two types of women that exist in this world"? He was smart, funny, quick with a comeback, well-written, tall, educated, gainfully employed, and from what I could tell from the completely-gratuitous-now-but-seemed-awesome-at-the-time 10+ photos posted his profile, terribly good-looking. What more could a girl ask for?

On our first date, K came to me. He lived an hour north but didn't hesitate to make the trip down for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. I was already comfortably seated at Starbucks pretending to read the paper when I caught a glimpse of all 6'5" him getting out of his car and heading toward the door. I stood up as he approached. We hugged. As we pulled apart, his hand lingered on my waist for what felt like a lifetime. Later, in one of our more legendary email exchanges, we'd acknowledge that it might have been a mere moment, but it felt like forever.

Not soon after we sat down with our beverages did K make his first of many trips to the men's room. He was gone for a long time. Then he came back. And then left again. The next time he returned, he admitted that he was pretty sure he'd picked up food poisoning at a festival the night before. We debated what to do next given his deteriorating state. Should he even attempt to make the hour drive home? There's a 7-11 across the street...we could get Pepto? Would it be totally inappropriate to offer my couch or bed so he could sleep it off? He didn't seem to like any of the options presented. So instead, he fed the meter.

And we ended up laying beside one another in a secluded part of campus, beneath the shade of a giant oak tree, talking for hours. About everything. Staring into each other's eyes. Throwing blades of grass into one another's hair. Pretending now and again to be sorta semi-sleeping but really using the closed-eye maneuver to steal glimpses when we thought the other wasn't looking. Admitting to having a son (him) and to still being married (me). And all the while, K taking occasional breaks to slip behind the oldest building on campus. To barf.

You know, standard first date material.

Smitten indeed.

Life In a Mid-Sized Town

It was the day -- no, rather, the moment -- when I realized that all aspects of my public existance had effectively changed. Actually, scratch that. It was the moment when I realized that I actually *had* a public existance...

I was walking on campus with a colleague, he ran into friends, we stopped, they chatted. Polite introductions were made, small talk ensued. I was mid-sentence when, from a block away, I hear a male voice yelling my name.

Now, sure, I've been back on campus for a few months at this point and have started to build a tidy little network of coworker-people-I'm-sorta-friendly-with-but-probably-wouldn't-be-if-we-didn't-work-together, but its still fairly unusual for me to run into folks when I'm out and about. Even here, in the Mid-Sized Town (hencewith to be referenced as MST) that I now call home. After all, its been more years than I'd like to count since I graduated and moved away, so college friends are long gone and, thus, social run-ins are a fairly infrequent occurance in my day-to-day life.

He yells my name again. This time with a degree of certainty and confidence one would expect only from a friend or close acquaintance (long-lost or otherwise).

I turn around. My group of new friends stands silent, waiting for some sign that I've been able to identify The Mystery Voice. Glancing down the block, I see just two mail carriers standing aside their mail delivery vehicle. Both are looking my way but its summer term...there's hardly anyone on the street...who yelled my name, I wonder? Coulda sworn it came from that direction...

I turn back to my new acquaintances.

"I was your mail carrier at 1223 Ferry Street back in 1996!"

Holy.

Freaking.

Crap.

Now, I know its actually not necessary to point this out, but its 2005 right now. That's a nine year spread. Almost a full decade during which this mail carrier has conceivably delivered millions of letters (billions maybe) to thousands of other young women. Does he have a photographic memory? How in the world did he recognize me from so far away? And from behind no less? Better question: should I run?

And then it occurs to me. Sure, there's a marginal possibility he's been carrying a torch for me over the past nine years or he might be a pervert or perhaps just maybe I used to wait around for the mail to come every single day and then bound out of my apartment into the waiting arms of said mail carrier to take possession of the long-awaited latest issue of Mademoiselle and a rent check from my dad.

But I don't think that's it.

Its the Mid-Sized Town phenomenon. MST residents are universally nice, to be trusted, genuine, sincere. And everyone knows everyone. Even in a town where 10% of the entire population is comprised of students...14,000 kids who arrive each fall and disappear each spring... when you live here, you remember names...faces...and apparently even addresses. Even after nine years.

So, even though to most city-dwellers (read: normal people), the mail carrier incident seems kinda super freaky and really semi-frightening and you'd think I should totally get like the license plate off of his little letter delivery buggy or something...when you live in a MST, there's a reality that one must come to accept.

No one is anonymous.

Now *that's* some scary shit.