Dating Out of Your League

So I joined another website, one for which you actually have to pay. I won't give it back, but it rhymes with Schmeeefarmony. The commercials are sooo very annoying. All of those happy, perky, self-satisfied couples saying "look at us, aren't we just so perfect. La la la."

Hmmm - I think I maybe want to dial back the bitter dial just a smidge.

So, for the uninitiated, one is required to fill out a questionnaire about one's life. Then you are matched with people every day. One or the other person can initiate the contact after you have looked at their profile and their pictures.

If you initiate the contact, you send 5 pre-written questions to the person which have multiple choice answers. You pick these 5 questions out of a list of about 100. It should be noted that I invariably get pretty much the same ones from men every single time. It's usually "what do you like to do for fun" and "how passionate are you".

Then you send your five questions. Then each of you exchange a list of Must Haves and Can't Stands. And then each of you send 3 essay questions. At the end of this you can engage in open communication, having run the super duper Schmeeefarmony gauntlet. Presumably you should be able to weed out people looking at their answers. This is, of course, based on the premise that a person desperate enough to put their profile on Schmeeefarmony would be honest about, for instance, liking animals when you put in your profile that you have a big dog.

So, I have had some success in terms of some of the matches. But there is this guy in particular that has caught my eye. He is super hot, a VP of a mineral company, has traveled the world, owns a million dollar house in my old city.... We will call him Mr. Hunk.

I showed him to my wonderful, supportive mother, and she said "You might want to aim a little lower."

I talked to him for the first time yesterday on the phone, and he seemed pretty down to earth. We babbled back and forth to each other for a while. But ..... one of the things he said to me was that he really wanted a dog but was concerned about damage to his newly redone wood floors.

I looked at Destructo Dog, currently shedding out the equivalent of a Yorkshire Terrier on my couch, which has a Bob rip in it and thought....hmmm....fly in the ointment.

Online Adventures with the Opposite Sex

Well, I know it has been a while. I have been really busy at work with a couple of homicide files and a gang shooting. And my personal life has also been quite hectic, although under no circumstances would I characterize it as fruitful or satisfying. But hey, it's been busy.

Gentle readers, when last I blogged about my personal life, I told you that I was confused about the intentions of Mr. Cheesecake aka Liquid Chocolate Eyes. The mixed signals were driving me mad, especially since he was the first guy that I had actually dated in a while that I really, really liked.

I finally took the bull by the horns. I can't tell you what I did, but suffice it to say that through some skullduggery on my part, for which I will be forever ashamed, I learned that he was asking people out while he and I were "dating."

And I hit the roof. Things were said, and, in the end, I was prepared to close the book on Cheesecake.

But, through further skullduggery I learned that perhaps I was the author of my own misfortune in a small way, and that the entire thing was a giant misunderstanding.

The upshot is that Cheesecake doesn't read his emails.

I sent him an email at the beginning of May indicating that I was going to stop dating other people, and that I would like it if he did the same, although I knew I couldn't control what he did.

He apparently has 300 unread emails, and claims he did not receive this email. Based on the extrinsic facts gathered by myself, it appears that this claim is likely true.

So what he was left with was that I was on the online site at least 4 times per day (usually spying on him, because for some reason I have become "that" neurotic weird girl) and he assumed that I was on there doing what people on online dating services do, and proceeded to do the same.

Now I am upset that he would think I was "that" kind of girl. But it was a miscommunication of sorts, I suppose....

So, fast forward to today. We speak, either through emails, texts or on the phone at least several times a day (always at his initiative, not mine). However, we have not seen each other for a month. An aborted attempt took place this week, but I was in the middle of a trial and he worked this weekend. He goes to Europe in less than a month on one of those Contiki tour things (which I begrudgingly refer to in my mind as the "Slore Tour 2009"), and I have no doubt that he is going to meet people on said tour and spend all sorts of quality time with them. So, I guess I have to leave it up to the gods if this thing will work or not.

In the meantime, I decided to try to get on with things, and to try to stop obsessing over Cheesecake, who doesn't seem to be in a huge rush to ask me out. So I accepted a date with another guy about two weeks ago. I should premise this story by saying that I swear to goddess he seemed normal.

So I met him for coffee. He brought flowers, candy and a very cute English accent. So far, so good. After Cheesecake's seeming reluctance to see me again, it was refreshing to be courted. He was 7 years older, but seemed relatively cool, and at the end of the date, he asked for my phone number and email address, which I gave to him.

It was about 20 minutes after this meeting that I received the first email, testing the email address I gave him. I thought "how nice he is so eager". In the email, he waxed poetically about my virtues, both physical and mental. I thought "how nice to be appreciated."

The next day, I got the first email at 6 a.m.. When I saw it I thought "how...nice that he thought of me first thing in the morning....hmmmm" And then I opened it:

"[Killer] if I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever."

Clang, clang, clang went the alarm bells. This email was followed in fairly close succession by:

"The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite"

"[Killer] shall I compare thee to a summer's day..."

And so on. I at first tried to justify it by saying that he was older and he was English, and maybe he just thought that this was appropriate given those parameters. My friend Squirrel Dater yelled at me, saying "The English are just like us, only they have to go to the grocery store more often because their refrigerators are smaller. He is just weird."

Sadly she was right. He was weird. I was reluctant to admit it. But yeah, after an hour of civilized coffee, it was just too out there to be claiming these feelings. So, with the help of Jennifer and the women who work in the front office at work, we composed a farewell email to Mr. Clingy, advising him that we had met someone else and wishing him luck.

So, here I am - the guys that I don't want, want me. The guy in whom I am interested seems to be content to conduct some weird intellectually-based romance through various modes of communication that don't allow for me to get a little sumthin sumthin. All in all, June has been a most unsatisfactory month.

I want a do-over.

Stinky, Stinky, Stinky Bob

So, I got home from my three-day conference last night. On the way home, I thought I might have missed Bob the Dog. My neighbour, Gary, takes care of Bob (seen at the right) when I go away. Bob loves Gary's family (and not just because they feed him meat loaf), but also because they take him for walks, pet him, pay attention to him...

Bob is very narcisstic.

So I got home, and Gary came over sans Bob with a funny look on his face.

"We have a Dog Issue," he began hesistantly.

Given Bob's illustrious history with misadventure I was immediately envisioning an emergency trip to the vet. In the past, Bob had an allergic reaction to a Halls Lozenge and swelled up like a Sharpei, he was fed a whole basket of cherries by my friend's children and had some unfortunate gastrointestinal side effects, and he was once stung in the dog penis by a bee and had to be given a shot of Benadryl so that he could pee.

This is not an exhaustive list.

I asked Gary "What has he done now?"

"There was a skunk..." replied Gary. He actually looked like he was going to cry. "I tried to give him two baths with a hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish soap solution. He still stinks. And he kind of freaked out."

This is not surprising to me. Bob does not like to be handled or touched. Just ask the guy with the portable grooming business that I hired in Vancouver when Bob was a puppy. After Bob made his great escape, suds and all, the disgruntled groomer grimly informed me that my dog was feral.

I tried taking him to the vets to get groomed. There he could be sedated and float away on a cloud of whatever it is that they give dogs to get them stoned. The vet assistant smiled broadly when I said they may have some problems. "Don't worry about it," she said, "we have lots of experience with difficult dogs. You can pick him up at 5:00 p.m.."

My phone rang about an hour and a half later. I picked it up and it sounded like dog hell. There was a strange baying/barking/whining noise coming through the phone. I heard the voice of the vet assistant. She was yelling "Can you come get your dog? He HATES it here and he is giving us a headache."

So I sympathized with Gary. When he brought Bob over, I could smell the skunk wafting off of him in waves. Not good. I knew that Tomato juice masked the odour, and that it could be applied carefully to his face. So off I went to Walmart with Stinky in the back seat. ALL windows rolled down. In a stroke of ingenuity I bought not only a can of tomato juice, but a super soaker.

If I had to do this, I might as well a) practice my aim and b) have some fun.

We got back to the house, and to give Bob the benefit of the doubt, I tried the simple bathing method, no super soaker. That didn't work so well. Bob is very bendy for a 92-pound dog. He was able to evade me, despite being tied to the fence.

So, super soaker it was. Pump, pump, pump....success. Bob didn't know what hit him at first. And then he gave me the "you asshole" look. I untied him, because it was hardly sporting to keep him tied up while I soaked him, so around the garden we went.

It looked, with the tomato juice splashes everywhere, like a murder scene.

Bob was pissed off, I was laughing, the neighbours were probably watching....And then the gun jammed.

So, game over. I felt as though we had accomplished what we needed to. I rinsed him with a waterless shampoo and brushed him thoroughly.

We came back into the house. I put away my supplies, and .... I smelled skunk.

Much like the B.B.O. on the Seinfeld episode, Bob's skunk smell has clung to him and has now infiltrated my house and my vehicle.

I let him out later last night, and he raced out in hot pursuit of something. "Oh," I thought "A black cat that looks vaguely like a skunk. Perfect. My idiot dog has learned exactly nothing from this experience."

You see, Bob lives in the moment, and faced with the opportunity again to chase that black and white creature again with that fluffy tail, he would do it again in a doggie heartbeat. Never surrender. Never admit defeat.

Viva la Bob.

Hasta la Vista, Mr. Cheesecake

Well, gentle reader, I know for a fact that Mr. Cheesecake has attempted to make a date with another girl this weekend.

So, although this is somewhat redundant, I release him back into the world, and am resisting the urge to exact revenge, to write one of those angry emails, or to call him and have some sort of painful and tear-filled showdown.

Lesson learned - don't hand out the cookie before he has earned it. Ever. Doesn't matter how great the chemistry is, do NOT hand out your cookie.

Men suck.

What Am I to You?

Seriously, so sorry to be so neurotic, but this is driving me nuts. So, since we seem to dance around the subject, an open letter to Liquid Chocolate Eyes, since you seem to run away every time the discussion might turn to feelings.

Dear LCE,

I know that our first date was over a month ago. It was a pretty good one as dates go. You stuck around for 8 hours and didn't even try to make a move. I appreciated that. And you put up with my jealous dog pacing and whining and barking. That was definitely a plus. I thought "what a nice guy!"

Our second date was a couple of days later. You were just passing through. It was supposed to just be coffee. You ended up staying for 38 hours. I felt a bit trollopy (is that a word?), because my rule of thumb is 3 months before a sleepover. But it was so awesome and fun (and not just THAT, but the time spent out of bed) that I decided to forgive myself.

After the second date was when I tried to raise the issue of us continuing to be on the dating website that brought us together. I must admit, I royally effed up that conversation. It led you to say "I think you should do whatever you think is right." Which was not the answer I was looking for. But you have to understand, I have intimacy that is attained only at the 3 month mark on a second date, and I have no idea what the hell I am supposed to be doing.

So I saw you again. And again, it was no hit and run situation. You hung out for more than a day, and we had so much fun. Watching movies, driving in the country. I thought "ok, I should probably just relax and enjoy this and not analyze it."

Then, in an awkward moment, you and I were online on the dating website at the same time. In truth, I usually just go on there to see if you have been on there. There are very few people that are actually viable options. I am just being snoopy. You approached me on instant message, and it seemed as though you might be jealous. After conferring with Squirrel and Squirrel Dater, I decided to send you an email saying that I didn't want to date anyone else at this particular time, and that, while I couldn't control what you did, that I wasn't comfortable for long with us sleeping together while you pursued other women, if that was, in fact what you were doing.

Your response to this email? Well, you have not, to date, actually acknowledged receipt of same. Doesn't that kind of make you a dick? I think it does.

So I try to ignore the dickishness of this, because after a couple of days, you are back talking to me, although we don't see each other for a couple of weeks because of our schedules and the distance between us. The problem is that I need daily contact from the person with whom I am knocking boots, and I ain't getting it. And this is making me grumpy, although I try to play it cool with you. "Ain't no big thing, sugah."

So, since you don't seem to be in a big rush to see me again, I finally suggest that you take me to a movie. Since the movie theatre sucks in my town, that means we have to go to the one in your town. The whole way to your house I am rehearsing my speech about how I just can't do this anymore. I won't chase you. I hate that you feel the need to chase other women. This is it. No more.

And yes, I know that I may have, over lunch one day, told you that I broke up with my last boyfriend because he was too clingy (I was in the middle of a home invasion trial and wasn't thinking very clearly), but that does not excuse you actually ignoring texts and instant messages from me when I can clearly see you have time to go on the dating website.

When I get to your house (nice house, by the way), I walk in and you smile sheepishly. "I was trying to make you dinner and cheesecake, and it isn't working", you say helplessly. We manage to salvage the cheesecake and we eat that and drink wine for supper. We go to a movie. You stroke my leg in the movie, hold my hand. My resolutions go out the window, and the bargaining begins again. "Do players go to the trouble of making you supper and cheesecake from scratch? Maybe he is just a social retard, Killer...."

We go back to your place, and things are so easy between the two of us. At midnight, we pile into your truck and giggling the whole way, hit a donut drivethru. We drive around your city, talking about everything, go back to your place, fall asleep in each other's arms. I leave for work the next day, and you look disappointed when I kiss you goodbye. You text me later saying that you had a wonderful time, and that you hope we see each other soon.

In the next week and a half, you put no effort into seeing me. I know you are working, but we only live an hour from each other. But more importantly, once again you are putting little effort into talking to me, you are still active on that fricking website asking women out, and you are NOT asking me out again. I feel like I have to chase you down to talk to you at all.

So last night we text back and forth. I ask you whether you know whether any new movies are coming out this weekend, and you text back "I have no idea!". So this morning I texted you "well I was trying to hint that you should take me to one, but since you are choosing not to take the hint, I'll go with plan b - other plans :) "

Your failure to observe minimum standards is driving me nuts. And just when I think "Eff this, I am moving on", you pull one out of the fire, Mr. Cheesecake. But Mr. Cheesecake, relaxing my standards is simply driving me crazy. When we are together, I feel certain that this means something to you too. When we are apart, and it seems that I cross your mind rarely, I think that you are just playing me, and I mean very little. It's crazy making, and I keep thinking I better walk away before I get hurt.

Who are you Mr. Cheesecake, Mr. LCE??? Why can't we just talk about this? Why are boys so stupid? Gack.

Yours truly,

Killer

P.S. I miss you.

P.P.S. I think I might be messing this up by being neurotic.

Sleep Deprivation and LCE Deprivation Make Me Grumpy

When I purchased this house last year, I was struck by the serene feeling it evoked in me. Hundreds of birds were quietly chirping, the road noise was minimal, and the house felt to me as though nothing bad had ever happened to it.

So I bought it. I was on the run from the Tricky Man and needed a haven.

And the house has never disappointed me. The neighbours, on the other hand, never fail to disappoint.

I live on a corner. On the other corner are three houses in a row. Filled with people who love to PARTAY and have no issues with listening to ACDC's "TNT" 5 times in a five hour period at full volume.

I am not feeling well, but it isn't anything that penicillan won't cure (heh heh), but was looking forward to a peaceful night's sleep on a Sunday night. At 1:30 a.m. I was jolted awake by:

"RONALD YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE I FUCKING HATE YOU RONALD PUT OUT THE FIRE RONALD BRING ME A FUCKING BEER RONALD."

Both Bob the Dog and I sat bolt upright. I thought "oh goddess, Ronald just bring her that beer so I can get back to sleep." And then there were silence. Prayers answered.

Five minutes later "AND I'M T-N-T...DYNAMITE...T-N-T, I'M OUTTA SIGHT...." so loud that my walls were literally vibrating.

"Ugh" I thought, and reached for the phone. I called the non-emergency number and said "Hi, it's [Killer] again. Yeah. They're at it again. Yep, only played it once so far, but it IS Sunday night. Yep. That would be great. Thanks. Yes, they ARE assholes. Thanks. Bye."

It must have been a busy night for my police friends. It took them an hour to come. In the meantime, I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard "pop pop pop pop" followed by a scream.

Fireworks? Gun fire? Bob wasn't taking any chances, and crawled on top of me, shaking and looking for protection. Thanks, 92-pound guard dog.

Within 10 minutes 5 police vehicles descended on the neighbourhood. There were spotlights and red and blue lights everywhere. If it hadn't been a school night I would have sat on my deck and watched the show.

I couldn't tell if any arrests were made, but about an hour later, after all this activity, I heard the following exchange:

Cop: "SO YOU ARE GOING TO SHUT DOWN THE LOUD PARTY NOW, RIGHT?"

Mouth-breathing Troglodyte: "FUCK YOU. I KNOW MY RIGHTS. AND I GOTTA FIGHT FOR MY RIGHT TO PARTY." Yes friends, he DID quote the Beastie Boys.

Cop: "NO SERIOUSLY. YOU GOTTA SHUT IT DOWN, OR I'LL HAVE TO TAKE YOU GUYS TO JAIL." No really, I thought, take them. I don't mind.

Mouth-breathing Trogoldyte: "YEAH FUCK, WHATEVER."

Cop: "WELL, OK THEN." What, what, what??? That didn't sound very sincere to me. Come on!! You aren't going to believe him and leave the neighbourhood to his tender mercies, are you?

So the police left. And I guess, gentle reader, it wouldn't surprise you that they didn't shut it down. And they did play TNT a few more times. Because that is how they roll. So my mission: get them the hell out of my neighbourhood. Mark my words, I WILL ensure that they leave. My sick days were not intended to catch up on sleep lost because of inconsiderate ass clowns.

In other news, Liquid Chocolate Eyes is once again pulling a disappearing act. So I am about ready to pull the plug and put my line back in the water. How is it that one week a guy can be making you cheesecake and giving you a back rub, and the next week he barely talks to you? Weird. And you know, that is probably making me more grumpy than the assclowns across the street. Boys suck.

I find pictures of SS's girlfriend and why my friends are the best friends in the world.....

So last night my friend Tequila and I got together for a catch up dinner. We have been friends for 16 years, since pretty much the very first day of law school. Through the 16 years both of us have been to hell in back, had some amazingly wonderful things happen, and in the end we came out in very different places. Tequila has a husband, 2 kids and 2 step kids. I have...a brown hound. But no matter what the differences in our lifestyles, when we finally have a chance to catch up, it is like the time just falls away, and we are back to being relatively innocent and wild 20 somethings.

Tequila is possibly more disappointed that the love of my life and I didn't end up together than I am. For 16 years she has had the proverbial candle in the window for Sex on a Stick and I. Sadly, I think I can safely say that that ship has sailed. He took up with a girl 14 years his junior and has been living quite comfortably with her for the last 5 years.

But Tequila never fails to ask, when she and I get together, whether I have heard from him, seen him, etc.. The answers to these questions are generally "no", although I do hear from him once in a blue moon. And we did get together twice about a year and a half ago when him and his Zygote Girlfriend were having problems.

So Tequila and I looked for SS on my blackberry facebook last night. And we actually found him!! So this morning I took a better look on my home computer, and I found the Zygote girlfriend's last name. And of course I googled her and came up with her hi5 page, complete with pictures.

I immediately emailed the link to Squirrel Dater for analysis. Our opinion: we dub her Squishy Face. Childish? Completely. Mean? Absolutely. But Squirrel Dater, being a loyal friend, agreed that, while she had a nice body (who doesn't at 30??), her face was weird. Like she could compete with Sarah Jessica Parker and Kirsten Dunst in a "Nice-Body-Weird-Face" competition.

Squirrel Dater, like Tequila, is a loyal friend, a friend who I know will be in my corner, come what may. In my life, over the course of the last 25 years I have accumulated a handful of friends like these. Boys have come and gone. Jobs have started and stopped. I have moved half a country away. But I have been blessed with friends who have been a lifeline and a salvation for me. So SS may have taken up with Squishy Face, but at least I now have assurances that I am prettier and that he is likely never going to be over me. Because that is what friends do for friends - they agree that the old boyfriend's new girlfriend is a complete dog. Thank you friends.