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I was a sultry cougar. Almost.

15 Aug

There’s so much hype about cougars and cubs these days that I’ve found myself wondering what would it be like to pull a Demi Moore and date someone 10+ years younger. Would it be invigorating? Adventurous? Or would I find myself telling my date to pull his pants up, get a haircut and don’t put your elbows on the table?

As fate would have it, I would never find the answers to my lingering questions thanks to the lovingly dispensed wisdom from my daughter, Ana. Yeah, right.

It’s a Saturday night and Ana is spending part of the weekend with me for some quality mother/daughter time. In reality, it’s more about I cook for her, she eats all my miniature candy bars, catches up on HD TV and steals my gossip magazines. Bonding as its finest.

So there we are – piled up on the sofa with Bud curled up between us. Ana is playing couch commando with the remote and I’m reading emails from prospective beaus. I am reading an email out loud to her when my IM box pops up with a message from Tyler.  I had initially ignored Tyler when he first contacted me two weeks earlier in spite of the fact he seemed really sweet and looked pretty damned good in his photos. Why would I ignore him, you ask?

He’s 26 years old.

Gawd. I am old enough to be his mother, for Christ’s sake. He persisted and I finally accepted his request to IM. We had chatted off and on, mostly about movies, favorite foods, football, the usual stuff. He asked me what I was doing and I responded with hanging out with my daughter, watching TV and relaxing.

We IM for several minutes when Ana asks, “Who are you talking to?”

I hesitated briefly and said, “Tyler.”

“Tyler who?”

“I don’t know his last name! I haven’t asked.”

“How old is he?”

Silence.

“Mom, how old is he?”

“26.”

“What??!! You’re not going out with him, are you?!”

“No!! I’m just chatting with him! He’s really nice and wants to friend me on Facebook.”

She makes a face and asks to see his photos. I turn the laptop towards her. She takes one look and shrieks, “Oh my God!” Bud shoots off the sofa like he had been fired from a gun and runs to the bedroom.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I know him! We went out for a while!”

It was my turn to shriek, “Oh my God!”

“Mom, you cannot talk to him anymore! Oh my God, this is so gross!” She’s stabbing at the keyboard trying to turn off IM before turning to me and saying, “By the way, he’s not 26. He’s 23!”

“Oh my God!” I shriek again.

I get up off the sofa and head towards the bathroom. Ana ask where I’m going and I respond, “I’m going to take a shower and wash the feel of pedophile off my skin.”

Her parting shot before I closed the door behind me… “I’m going to need so much therapy by the time you’re done.”

That makes two of us.

Til next time,

Lisa D 😀

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My Latest Neuroses: Text Message Anxiety

23 Jun

After much poking fun at and generally picking apart all of my bad dates; I decided to change direction and discuss a good date. Yes, I have had a few, it’s just much more fun to eviscerate the bad dates in print and put them on the internet for the world to read. I freely admit to getting a thrill when I hit the Upload button and knowing that people everywhere are laughing at the asshat I had to endure. Sometimes Karma needs a helping hand and I figure that’s where I come in.

That being said, while dating at my age is hugely different than dating in your teens/20s, I’ve discovered some things never change no matter how old you are. Dating in your formative years comes with acne, braces, awkwardness and the underlying fear of a) making a fool of yourself or b) appearing desperate. Dating at my age comes with laugh lines (okay, fine, Mom, wrinkles!), personal baggage, awkwardness and the underlying fear of a) making a fool of yourself or b) appearing desperate.

Back in the day before cell phones, texting, IMing, gchatting and emailing, we relied on Ma Bell for our communication needs. During the course of a traditional conversation, there wasn’t time to formulate your response or worry about the wording of a text message; you just put yourself out there and hoped you didn’t come across as a neo maxi zoom dweebie.

Nowadays I find myself texting more than talking which brings a whole new set of issues I hadn’t considered… The Laws of Texting better known as How Not To Appear Socially Inept.

I’ve had four dates with this really sweet, good-looking guy. (I know he’s reading this so I HAD to add the good-looking part). Kidding! Mike really is easy on the eyes because I’ve already established I’m shallow and don’t date guys who are challenged in the looks department. The best part, by far, is that he likes dogs. Go Team Bud! So we’ve spent time together and I’m pretty relaxed around him. Until we start texting and that, my friends, is where it all begins.

Women are notorious for not being able to take anything at face value. We pick apart conversations word by word, analyze the sentence structure and most importantly, the tone. We call our friends and have them analyze then we compare notes to see if we reached the same conclusion. A 20-minute chat with a guy can easily trigger a 2-hour sit down with your female friends. Admit it, ladies, I’m telling the truth here.

So Mike and I were texting yesterday as he’s on vacation and I’m stuck here in wet, drizzly Minneapolis. It went something like this (creative liberty = just a bit):

M: At the airport in the TSA line, going very slow.

L: Text me when you land so I know you arrived in one piece.

Did that sound just friendly enough or too friendly? Caring or clingy? Crap!

M: The eagle has landed.

L: Staying with friends or hotel?

Oh great, now that’s the way to scare him off, Lisa. Be intrusive and nosy. Crap!

M: Breckenridge and camping out.

L: Have fun and I hope I’m a good reason to come back to MN.

I sound like a Harlequin Romance novel. Barf. Why don’t cell phones come with a Take It Back button?

M: Of course

Huh. No period on the end of that text. What does it mean? Maybe he was in a hurry; maybe he doesn’t like punctuating his sentences. Maybe my text was too much, too soon. I need to call in reinforcements.

Enter stage left: Chief Critic/Daughter Ana

“Here’s the deal, Mom. When a guy texts you, never respond immediately. Yes, I know you think it’s rude, but you’re busy. You’re always busy and in high demand. Wait at least 20 minutes before responding. If he takes 25 minutes to text back, then you wait 35 minutes before sending another message. Think about what you’re going to say and how will it sound to him. Keep it brief and above all, don’t sound too interested. You can be interested, but not too much.”

Gack. Who knew texting could be so damned difficult? I didn’t know there were all of these nuances I had to memorize plus I’m gonna need a calculator to figure out how long before I can respond. Okay, I’m a smart woman. I can do this. It’s just texting, right? It’s not rocket science.

Brrrrrzzzz. Phone vibrates with a new message from Mike.

M: Busy?

What do I say?

Yes.

Okay, that’s good. It’s brief and to the point.

When can I send it? Let’s see, it’s 11:50 a.m. my time, but he’s in a different time zone. So if I respond in 25 minutes (where’s my fucking calculator??) that makes it 12:15 p.m. for me, but its 11:15 a.m. for him and wait, does that matter? Ana didn’t discuss time zones with me so maybe it’s not an issue. But what if it is?

Screw it. I take the bull by the horns, type in Yes then hit Send.

I got your female empowerment right here, baby.

Til next time,

Lisa D 😀

Editorial Note: This Mike is NOT the crazy-ass, ill-bred, rude sonofabitch Mike from Dante’s Level 3 post. Not sure why, but he never called me back. Go figure.

Dante’s Dating Inferno/Level 1: The Liar

5 Jun

First of all, I apologize for being remiss in updating my blog. The good news is that I’ve re-entered the world of internet dating after taking a six month break. Even better for me, I’ve had some great dates. Best for you, however; is that I’ve had some truly heinous dates of which I am about to share the top three.

My first tale highlights a guy I like to call “The Liar.” What does he lie about? Everything. When I re-created my profile, I decided to change it up a bit and be more descriptive about what I was looking for in a guy as apparently I wasn’t specific enough the first time. A couple of items I added are below:

Rule #1: Only tall guys need apply with a minimum height requirement of 6’0”. Yeah, I know, it sounds superficial and all that. Before you get all preachy on me, there’s a reason for this rule. I love, love my stiletto heels and they boost my height to 5’11”. No way in hell am I going out with a guy that ends up looking all Tom Cruise to my Katie Holmes nor will I give up my heels for flats. Bleh.

Rule #2: Must be fit, active and in shape. Again, don’t get all torn up over this one and starting thinking a mud puddle in a parking lot has more depth than I do. I am fairly active and work out 4-5 times per week. I have been working on my snowboarding skills and have learned to ice skate as well. On top of that, Ana and I went white water rafting last summer and will definitely be going again. All this being said, whoever I date has to be active and able to keep up with me. If not, find someone else whose idea of a fun weekend is being a couch potato.

Rule #3: Be Honest! I was burned last time after a few of my dates showed up looking way different than their photos and the ever popular guy who says he wants a relationship, but in reality wants a quick lay. I asked that anyone who contacted me be up front about their appearance and their expectations.

After congratulating myself on being proactive, I began communicating with this one guy named Greg. He seemed really nice (and NORMAL) on the phone, plus he fit the requirements. He looked pretty decent in his photos even though none were full body shots, just upper body shots. I didn’t read too much into that and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He told me he was 6’2” and his activities included weight lifting, in-line skating, running and skiing. We had several conversations and decided to meet for dinner. It all sounded good in the ‘hood, but I couldn’t seem to shake this niggling doubt in the back of my mind. I called him and suggested we meet for an appetizer at Granite City the night before our big date.

I arrived early and was sitting at a table when he texted saying he had just parked and would be inside momentarily. So imagine me sitting there, watching the door and anticipating seeing a 6’2” good-looking, active, in-shape guy walk in and make his way to my table.

That is so not what walked in. What came through the door was a short, dumpy, completely out-of-shape guy whose thighs were so big they were rubbing together. I could hear the chh chh chh sound of corduroy in my head. It gets worse. There was no way in hell this guy was 6’2”. He was 5’9” at best and that’s me being generous. Once my eyes moved up past his spare tire (Michelin judging by the size), I could see the beginning of man boobs underneath his pink button down shirt.

I could feel my stomach fall straight to the floor and I was torn between crying, running away or hitting him with my purse for being such a liar. I mean, really, come on. Everybody fudges a bit on their profile; that’s a given. But to lie about everything?! Did he think I wouldn’t notice he was five inches shorter than what he told me? That I wouldn’t notice his girth straining his shirt to the breaking point? That no matter how bad you want Wi activities to count as exercise, they don’t!!

I was seriously pissed.

He sat down, we made small talk and after less than 15 minutes I told him I needed to leave. He was surprised (really?) and said, “You can at least have an appetizer.” I responded that I had to get home and grab a work out before calling it a night (darkly thinking to myself, take a hint, Bub and do the same). I was out of there so fast it’s a wonder I didn’t leave vapor trail in my wake.

He texted me on my way home and asked if this meant we would not be going out. Duh. I texted back and said no, I didn’t feel any connection. He proceeded to send me a three-page text rant about how I didn’t get to know who he was on the inside. Whatever, girlfriend.

Now before you send me blistering messages about how shallow and superficial I am, let me give you this example. There’s a guy on the site who is really hot and he’s very specific about what he wants. He’s white and wants his Full-Figured Ebony Queen (exact wording in his title). That’s totally fine – people like what they like. Wouldn’t it be pretty crappy of me to pretend to be something other than a skinny white woman and show up assuming he would overlook the fact that I completely misrepresented myself?

Exactly my point.

Needless to say, I learned a valuable lesson from this not-quite-a-date: ask for full body shots (RECENT!).

Moving onto Level 2 of Dante’s Dating Inferno…

LisaD 😀

Dante’s Dating Inferno/Level 2: The Creeper

5 Jun

After my disastrous experience with Greg aka The Liar, I decided to be more stringent in filtering through emails, messages and profiles before committing to another date thereby avoiding a repeat performance.

Right.

Allow me to introduce you to “The Creeper.”

I received a message from Dan and after checking his profile, we began emailing before moving up to talking on the phone. It didn’t take long before we decided to meet for lunch at Boston’s on a Saturday afternoon. The plan was to meet at noon, have lunch and get to know each other with no pressure. At least that was the plan on my side of the fence.

I texted Dan while getting ready and said I needed be on my way home by 2:30 as I had some things to do later that day. It was completely true; I did have errands to finish up and wanted to be home at decent hour. He responded back with this message – “Oh, you mean I only get to have you for a couple of hours?”

Have me? Not sure why that didn’t sit well with me other than it just sounded weird and oddly possessive. Oh well, I let it go thinking I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

We arrive at the same time and Dan seems really nice. Very friendly and he looks like his photos (that’s a good thing). We eat and the conversation is flowing well enough that I’m thinking I would probably go out with him again. We part ways, I head home and life is good.

Until the text messages began.

“Do you like me?”

“What did you think of me?”

“Are you going out with me again?”

I’m already feeling suffocated, but knowing how I am I call my daughter to get her read on the situation. I read the messages to Ana and in her own loving, caring way she says, “What is it with you? Why do you always get the Stage 5 Clingers? God, mom! You need to lose this guy.”

Is it me? Am I a nut magnet? Nah. She’s overreacting. I texted Dan back briefly to say again that I had a good time with him and would talk to him soon. A rather generic response, but it seemed appropriate to me.

Next morning which happened to be Memorial Day, I log onto my account and check messages. Within moments a message pops up from Dan.

“Why is it that when you log on you NEVER SAY HI TO ME?! I thought you LIKED ME! I’m sure you’re checking emails, but the LEAST you could do is SAY HI!”

WTF? This guy is all-capping me which means he’s yelling at me less than 48 hours after meeting me! Wow. Worse than that, he’s obviously been creeping around on the site waiting to message me the minute I logged on. What better way to completely creep me out. I’m sorry, Dan, but you’ve left me no choice.

BLOCK USER

Next step, edit profile to read: “If you have creeper or stalker-like traits, DO NOT MESSAGE ME!”

I love ALL CAPS.

Up next… Dante’s Dating Inferno Level 3

LisaD 😀

Dante’s Dating Inferno/Level 3: The Liberal

5 Jun

Of course, you know I saved the best for last. And by best, I mean the absolutely worst date I’ve ever had in my entire life. I’m so not exaggerating, but would love to read your comments about Level 3 aka “The Liberal.”

Mike and I had been emailing quite a bit before he asked me to dinner. I liked his profile as it seemed pretty straightforward and I couldn’t detect any creeper characteristics. He’s a white-collar professional and lives on the lakes in what sounded to be a beautiful home. Ah, it’s all good. Normal, normal, normal. Exactly what I am looking for.

Wrong.

He selected a casual restaurant where we could eat outdoors and look out over the Mississippi river. Nice. I was feeling pretty and confident upon arriving at the restaurant. Mike was already there and had added our name to the list of outdoor tables. We waited for a bit, chatted, people-watched and everything seemed to be going great. Our number is called, we’re seated at this beautiful table and I’m enjoying the view when he says….

“You know, it seems to me that even though unemployment is on the rise, those people should appreciate what President Obama has done for them. They just don’t realize his achievements.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Where did that come from? And why would anyone with half a brain bring up politics on a first date? I’m sure you can guess how quickly the evening degenerated after that lamebrain comment.

I responded, “Well, I would imagine it’s a little difficult to be grateful when you have no job, you’re losing your home and your family is going hungry.”

I assumed he would take a step back and leave this poisonous topic alone. He didn’t. I’ll give you the high points of my evening with The Liberal.

M: I’m a liberal intellectual. I went to the University of Wisconsin and my dad is a scientist with a Ph.D. I deal in facts and I know what I’m talking about. These people who don’t believe in Obama are uneducated and racist.

L: Really? That’s what you think? If someone opposes Obama, it has to be because they’re racist and not because they might actually oppose his policies.

M: No, you don’t understand. These birthers (spit this word out with enormous contempt) are ALL racist. Who do they think they are questioning where he was born? They wouldn’t have these issues if he was white! And we ALL know the Republic party only cares about rich people! They don’t care about poor people! (Note: this stupid ass is a rich, white, Democrat. Can you say irony?)

L: For the record, Mike, I am a Republican. I am sitting across this table from you as a representative of what most Republicans are like. We’re hardworking people who believe that the government shouldn’t turn our nation into a nanny state and believe it or not, most of us are pretty damned decent people. Have you ever been outside of Minnesota and met people in other states? Have you tried to get to know them as individuals and not as group of people you’ve lumped together and labeled?

M: I went to school in Wisconsin and have lived in Minnesota my whole life. But I KNOW how the right wing is and what they think! They’re a bunch of religious, gun nuts who don’t tolerate other people’s point of view.

I am livid by now and it’s taking everything in me to keep from calling him the foulest names I can think of and trust me, they would be bad. I can feel White Trash Gal straining to break through and call this asshole out for what he is. I resist because I really don’t want to go there. Yet.

L: You know what, Mike, it seems to me if you’re going to label entire segments of society with a misinformed opinion it would be best if you included other groups, as well. How about you label all black people as lazy, live off the government, never going to amount to anything kind of people? How about you say all homosexuals are pedophiles? How about you call all Jewish people money grubbers? I’m sure if I dig deep enough I can come up with other crazy ass ideas you probably have about Asians, Mexicans and American Indians!

M: That’s not what I mean, it’s just that you Republicans think you have all the answers!

L: Moving forward in this conversation, or better yet, this argument, you will remove the words Republican, right wing, religious and birther from your vocabulary when you’re speaking to me. Every time you say one of those words you make a face like you just stepped in a steaming pile of dog shit. I find your tone and your use of those words personally and morally offensive.

I am almost snarling at this point and frankly, my dears, I do not give a damn.

M: Well, whatever. I just know how those people really are with their guns, Bibles and military mindset.

Oh, you stupid fuck.

L: The military is not a conversation I will have with you. Ever. My son is a Marine and he is willing to put his life on the line defending people like you who hate him for what he is. Don’t say another g-damned word about the military. I mean it.

Dumb ass actually had enough sense to shut his pie hole after that as I am sure I looked like a crazed woman by this point. Apparently he had decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated by his intellect or by his wild gestures, finger pointing and shaking his head at me.

M: Well, you and I have different ideas on whose best to run this country. Of course, it won’t matter who the Republicans put on the ticket because all the women in the South will vote for him.

L: And exactly, what do you mean by that?

M: You know, those women support their husbands or men and do what they say.

Fuck that. I opened my mouth and yep, you guessed it… White Trash Gal put in her first (and best) appearance.

L: First of all, I have sat here tonight and endured this argument with you. You have insulted my political beliefs, my intelligence, my friends and family, my heritage and everything I believe in. You have ridiculed me and accused me of not having facts to back up my opinions. And now you say that Southern women are so spineless that we do what our “men” tell us to do! I’m here to tell you that you couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t know a single woman, friend or family, that lives her life that way. We’re strong, opinionated and we can take care of ourselves. Furthermore, I can take care of you too! If you don’t believe me, how about I whip your ass in the parking lot here and now to prove my point?

I was shaking with rage and it appeared dickhead finally realized he had crossed several lines that night. He quickly paid for dinner, I grabbed my purse and walked out ahead of him. When he caught up with me, he asked where I parked. I told him the valet was bringing my car around and he simply said his was across the street and he left. What a jackass. For all the intellect he claims to have, manners are not something he possesses. A decent guy would have, at minimum, waited ‘til my car was brought around. Or maybe he wanted to get out of the parking lot before I changed my mind and whipped his ass for the fun of it.

So, here’s my message to you Mike: I hope you remember that I have this blog and you read it because you demanded facts. I got your facts, Jack.

Fact: You’re an asshole as well as a pretentious, judgmental, overbearing, self-inflated, arrogant hypocrite.

Fact: Your pants look stupid. Real men do not wear blinged out pants with fancy pockets.

Fact: You have a flat ass. I suggest lunges. Lots and lots of lunges.

Fact: Your biceps are not muscular, they’re scrawny.

Fact: You call yourself a real man; trust me, you’re not. A two-year old boy has bigger balls than you have, you pacifist, non-violent waste of human skin.

And lastly, lose my number. If a meal with you was the only thing standing between me and starvation, I would Go. Hungry.

And now you know… the rest of the story.

Glad I could bring you this moment of insanity.

LisaD 😀