So I've sworn off dating for a while--too many mishaps and it's getting downright discouraging. I used to be sparkly and entertaining, now I'm getting bitter and that just doesn't make for a fun date--good blog post, maybe... But anyway--in an attempt to lift my spirits, my friends suggest an evening of listening to bad karaoke while sipping Polynesian drinks. Sounds good to me!
So we head out to our favorite local dive where the bartender know us and just asks if we're sharing a scorpion bowl again tonight--YES! It's a slow night at the watering hole and the DJ hasn't set up his fancy equipment and traveling disco ball yet, so we're just enjoying a genial evening of male bashing and rum drinks with umbrellas in them. There aren't a lot of people at the bar but I notice a couple of old men who are pouring over the karaoke book and bringing a lot of slips up to the DJ. There was something about them that made me uncomfortable, but I had a hate on for anything with a dick that night so I just passed it off as that.
The singing gets underway and it is especially bad tonight--but that's what we're there for! We're just strange that way. And as I'm wondering if I've had enough to drink to get up and contribute my own brand of vocal atrocities, one of the old men comes up to us to chat while the other is belting out his special rendition of "To All the Girls I've Loved Before"--I hadn't realized what a challenge singing could be if you were lacking a good portion of your upper teeth! But, fortunately for us, that didn't stop him--didn't even slow him down. Anyway, while he's waxing rhapsodic, his buddy comes over to us to tell us how we are the most beautiful women in the room. I point out that the compliment isn't going to get him anywhere because we happened to be the only women in the room. He laughs and asks us our names. And before my friends could respond I put out my hand for him to shake and introduce myself as L'Shonda. He shakes my hand and I introduce him to my friends, Rosita and Consuela. He tells us he'll be dedicating his next song to us and then gives my friend D (aka Consuela) an overly friendly little hug.
As he leaves our table, I'm immediately subjected to a few kicks under the table and angry voices asking me why I gave out phony names and spurred this geriatric weirdo on. For the fun of it, ladies! If we're just going to sit around and male bash, it's always easier when you have a target. Well, what started out as lighthearted fun on my part quickly turned to shock and dismay for all of us when Uncle Fester got up and treated us to a dirty dancing rock out of Shake Your Bon Bon. I gotta tell ya, there's just nothing like seeing a short, rotund gentleman in denim overalls rubbing himself with a microphone and gettin' jiggy wit it! He finishes, we clap and get back to our conversation and as he walks by he makes sure to give Consuela a nice little shoulder squeeze.
Now his buddy, Boxcar Willie is back up there and pumped for some country music lovin' and Fester is getting in on the fun, too. There are only two paths to the exit and they're dancing their way to us and blocking it in the process. "Now see what you've done!" Rosita says with a slap to my shoulder. They have us flanked and are closing in--we have to make a quick escape--fortunately for us we have youth (I know, I know, but I'm grading on a scale this time!) and speed (again--the scale) on our side. I slap down some cash, give a nod and wave to our bartender (who is way too amused with this entire situation) and we manage to escape with no uncomfortable, touchy-feely slidebys.
All I can say is I am so over the older man thing--I may not be ready for the cougar thing, but I can safely say that LG is definitely no country for old men!
Okay, in spite of previous unpleasant experiences, I'm still trying. I've amended my ad to say that my man should have all original parts--and no additional parts that he has to wheel along behind him. I've tightened up the weeding process and am determined not to be the sweet, carefree sap that I've been in the past. I dive boldly back into the morass of emails I've received hoping to find a gem. And I find a "cultured, worldly, mature man," who thinks I sound delightful and wants to take me to dinner. Okay, I'm not quite buying the hype as I'm slightly jaded at this point, but he used big words and spelled them correctly which gives him an edge over most of the other potentials so I decide to pick him.
We talk on the phone--he has an accent--I'm totally hooked. I'm just a sucker for a sexy accent! He works up in Boston, but wants to drive down to my neck of the woods for dinner. I suggest a place and he calls back to tell me he's made reservations! Okay, sexy accent, takes the initiative.....so how "mature" is he really? Late 50s he says. Hmmmm, I briefly reflect on my vow to dial back the older man thing then figure well, just this once....
I get to the restaurant and he's not there--but the waiter has been instructed to bring me a glass of wine while I wait. Nice touch. Then he walks in--okay, late 50s? This guy is easily in his late 60s--I date old men, I can tell these things. Oh well, another one. I slug back my wine and prepare to make this a very brief dinner. Then we start to talk--he's charming, cultured and worldly---as advertised. Okay, maybe I can over look the little lie about his age, but the vague resemblance to Wilfred Brimley is holding me back a bit.
He does that romantic things where he asks me what I'd like for dinner then orders for both of us and then some. Gets a nice bottle of wine and we hang back and talk. It was pleasant. Dinner was good. We order another bottle of wine. Then it gets weird. He decides he'd like to sit next to me instead of across from me--I'm not comfortable with this, but he insists, saying that the restaurant is crowded and his hearing isn't what it used to be (oh yes, the selling points are just racking up!.) Then he starts talking about his work as a cardiac care physician, making broad, elaborate points that include lots of hand gestures that have him brushing against me inappropriately. I politely push his hands away and point out that cheap feels aren't on the menu. He pretends to be apologetic then orders dessert while I scope out the emergency exits. Of course champagne should come with dessert!
At this point he's getting a tad overheated from all the alcohol and unbuttons his shirt at the neck just a bit, exposing brillo-like tufts of white hair (yep, now I have the creepy feeling that I'm dating Santa,) and.....what's that? All my past bad experiences have numbed me to diplomacy. I lean forward to get a better look and unbutton the next button on his shirt. He puffs up and smiles, thinking I'm going to get all lewd and rude with him right here on the dinner table. And then I see it. "What's that?" I ask. "Oh," he looks down, realizing I'm not admiring his scrubby thatch of white manliness but something else. "I had a quadruple by-pass last year and this is the scar." He even unbuttons his chest further to show the length and breadth of it, explaining in painful detail about his pace maker.
I grab my cell phone, open it, pretend to listen, say, "I'll be right there," then perform a graceful hurdle jump over him while explaining that I'm needed at home right away. "I didn't hear your phone ring," he begins to protest. "Maybe you should turn up the volume on that hearing aid then you won't have to sit in the laps of your dinner guests either." And I'm out the door in record time.
Okay, new addition to the personal ad: "should not be sporting any internal equipment that prevents you from being in the same room with me when I use the microwave."
It's official--I have become the Island of Misfit Boys.
Mon, Oct. 19th, 2009, 11:55 pm
Okay, so my first post Asshole-Boyfriend encounter wasn't what I expected at all, I decide it's time to get over it and place a personal ad so I can directly appeal to my target demographic and clearly state that he should have all original parts, and I don't date married men (not that it'll stop them responding, but at least I'm putting it out there!) So I craft an ad that is witty and intelligent with a clear description of myself and a little bit about what I'm looking for. It was a charming and delightful piece of prose and I felt sure it would bring Mr. Right Now to my door. Then I posted it, hung back and waited to see what emerged from the murky depths of the Internet.
I was pleasantly surprised to be IMed by a funny, intelligent man (yep, LG's International Naivety Tour continues.) So we chat a bit and work up to the exchanging phone numbers stage of things. I'm a tad nervous but the conversation was pleasant and left me wanting more, so now we graduate to the meet and greet stage and make a date to get together for drinks. As the strict etiquette of Internet dating states, you start with the email, swiftly move to the IM, progress to the phone, then work up your courage for the coffee or drinks stage; some get impulsively daring here and actually opt to meet for lunch, but that can horribly backfire because then you're trapped for at least an hour without reprieve. And no matter how good the email, IM or phone call is you're only able to weed out the grossly illiterate guys with horrible speech impediments. You still have no idea what his hygiene, social skills, or facial tics look like till you do the up close and personal.
So, the afternoon of the Meet and Greet approaches and I get a call from The Dude--he doesn't drive and could I pick him up for our date? Well, this is a major breach of protocol and warning lights were flashing all over the place on this one, but he seemed nice so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I arrive at his humble abode to pick him up and see him standing outside, looking all dashing in a t-shirt, sport coat and jeans. Then I see it--he's wheeling an oxygen tank behind him and has the little tubes in his nose. Holy shit! This is the kind of thing you at least MENTION before actually meeting someone! I'm contemplating peeling out and ending this disaster before it can go any further, but then I think that I shouldn't hold this affliction against him--we had nice conversations and he is attractive and intelligent, I should give it a go! Yep, it's official, I'm a complete idiot.
We get to the charming little bar not far from his place and on the way there he explains his iron clad companion--he has this lung affliction and has been on disability for over a year now (again, good stuff to know BEFORE going out.) Thankfully he is able to leave the tank in the car and we go in for drinks. We sit and chat for a while and I'm warming up to him and enjoying his company--until he needs to step outside to take a cigarette break. What the fuck?! You're on an oxygen tank with a mysterious lung condition but you still smoke?! He comes back in, orders us another round and we pick up where we left off--then he gets a little too friendly, stroking my legs, checking out my necklace (yes, guys, we all know that this is just a lame way you figured out to get as close to touching our breasts as possible without getting punched in the jaw.) I delicately push him away, but he persists. Then he suggests going back to my place--we can't go to his place because he has a roommate and she lives with her kids part-time (oooh, this package is just getting more and more tempting!) I point out that tonight isn't a good night, my kids are home. He says I should send my kids to their dad's house so we can get busy.... What?! I'm going to kick my kids out of the house so you can get laid?! Dude, this is way out of line. He brushes me off by saying I'm getting too sensitive about things and should really lighten up.
At this point I'm pretty much over the whole etiquette thing. I tell him I'm done here and he needs to find himself a ride home. Then I go to my car, leave his tank in the parking lot and head home. He still calls, emails and IMs--until I blocked him. Guess he keeps trying with me because everyone else had the sense to peel out when they had the chance.
And so now that Asshole-Boyfriend (yes, after startling, relationship ending experiences he has been demoted yet again from just Ex-Boyfriend to Asshole Boyfriend) has been kicked to the curb and I've gotten past the "all men completely suck and I'm never dating again" stage, I decided it was time to give the boys another chance. My friends and I hang out at a local Chinese karaoke bar--I know, majorly lame, but everyone has their guilty pleasures so just shut up about mine! Anyway, there was a guy who also frequented the place and would sit with us and flirt with me when we were there. He was cute, it was fun and passed the time. Then one evening, I had a few drinks and decided I needed something a little more than casual flirting (mistake #1: making impetuous decisions while drunk). So we went back to my place and started to have a pleasant time together (mistake #2: thinking that you can actually pick up a decent guy at a karaoke bar!)
I'll break here just to ask you to consider the following question: When is the absolute worst possible time to find out your sexual partner has a colostomy bag? Yep, I kid you not--I can't make stuff like that up! So I feel this plastic thing scrape against my thigh and sweetly inquire, "what the hell is that?," thinking he may be inviting some bizarre sex toy into the evening's festivities without consulting me first. And he explains about his intestinal problems and hoped that I would understand and that it didn't matter to me. So what did I do? I lied. Fortunately it was dark enough that I didn't have to see what he had going on down there and things ended blessedly quickly! *shudder*
The next day he comes by the library to take me out to lunch. I'm trying to tell myself he's a nice guy and just has this problem and I shouldn't hold it against him--but deep down I certainly didn't want him holding it against me ever again! So while we're eating lunch and I'm trying to figure out a way to let him down easy, he tells me about his wife--yep, WIFE! And how she just doesn't understand him. Well, sweetie, that makes two of us. I let him pay for lunch, acting all huffy about being deceived but am secretly breathing a sigh of relief that I was able to skate out of this one pretty easily. And so, in the train wreck that is my love life, C-bag is just another car to crash and burn on the pile up.
This one came in on IM about an hour before closing. Names have been changed to protect the hopelessly ignorant.
[21:14] Student1: hey, im writing a paper about the books no telephone to heaven and housekeeping..and i have to discuss "In the novels Housekeeping and No Telephone to Heaven, several female characters resist the social categories (such as race, class and gender), values (such as domesticity) and stereotypes imposed upon them by their surrounding cultures. Using a few closely analysed passages, show how these strategies of resistance reveal the cultural, rather than natural origins of their struggles". I dont know where to start...i read the book but i dont understand the prompt really
[21:17] Library Goddess: you really need to clarify that with your professor.
[21:18] Student 1: shes not responding to my emails
[21:18] Library Goddess: is there someone else in your class you can contact?
[21:18] Student1: im trying but still theyre unresponsive too
[21:18] Student1: have you read the books?
[21:18] Library Goddess: no, I haven't
[21:19] Student1: well, do you think you could take a look at them and give me your opinion on where I should start?
[21:19] Library Goddess: We close in an hour--I wouldn't really have the chance to read them for you. Have you contacted the Writing Center on campus?
[21:19] Student1: touche
[21:19] Student1: ok, thank you anyways
Too bad he didn't have to read "Their Eyes Were Watching God" I wrote an A paper on that a few years ago that I'd be willing to sell ;)
An email from a potential:
him: I loved your ad--would you consider dating a younger man?
me: how much younger?
me: Dude--do you really need to ask?! Back to the sand box with you now and grab a cookie on your way. Good boy!
I've done the Lolita thing--I'm really not interested in the Mrs. Robinson thing.
So the cops come in and we deal with our little whoring at the library situation quietly and very little mental distress to the staff--which is good because they can be very fragile and keeping their stress levels low is a priority.
Next day I take a little stroll to the corner store and notice a nice Subaru Forester in the parking lot (not that I can afford to replace my battered old bookmobile of a car, but I like to look.) Some dude is sitting in the driver's seat--"must be waiting for someone to get out of one of our classes," I naively think to myself. On my way back from the store I'm startled to see a head pop up from the passenger seat! It's one of the little hoochie mommas we'd just booted from the back stacks! This shocked even my incredibly jaded self--it was broad daylight! I must admit that while a nooner at noon does seem appropriate, don't do it in the library parking lot, fer fucks sake! She and I locked eyes and she quickly exited the vehicle and ran off up the street--the guy in the car took off too, and I was too startled by the whole thing to have gotten the plate number.
I've decided that the best way to market this is to get the hookers roller skates to make the service even faster and instead of A & W, we'll call it the B & J. My state grant will seem like a drop in the bucket compared to what I'll be raking in at 50% of the take--and I'll even throw in the skates for free.
What the hell has happened to internet dating in the eight years I've been absent from it? Jeez, how old am I that I'm reminiscing about the good old days of online dating?! Maybe that's the problem--I'm way too old for this shit.
So I go on this one date--excellent guy, my physical ideal. He unfolds all 6'5" of himself out of his cool foreign car and my first thought was, "I so want to climb that!" We wine, we dine, we go back to his place for more wine in private--I mount an expedition, plant my flag and we both agree it was a wonderful evening. Two days later I get a call--he really wants to see me again but has some questions. Okay, shoot. Then he proceeds to ask me what his full name is, where he grew up, where he went to college.....
I immediately break out into a cold sweat--flash backs to all those anxiety dreams of showing up for the final when you accidentally forgot to go to class all semester long. Then reality kicks in, "You're testing me?! Dude, what the fuck?" And he tells me that I'm not interested in him (well, not any more, I'm not!) I'm just interested in the situation--whatever that means. He claims he knows everything about me and I know nothing about him. "So you know everything about me?" Yes, he assures me, "Well, did you know this?" and I hung up on the asshole.
I've been witness to a strange new trend in libraries--well, my library at any rate. It all started when this chick started coming in--young, pretty, sits and reads the paper till we've figured she's found what she wants and now flies under the reference librarian radar. Then, a little while later a guy will come in to use the computer--they'll make eye contact and within fifteen minutes they're in the back stacks, tits out and both trouser diving. At first we figured it was young-still-living-with-the-parents-and-can't-afford-a-room lovin', but now I've found that it's much more!
There are three different girls and an overwhelming number of different guys. Needless to say, I've seen more naked tits lately than any straight girl has a right to. So I called the cops to tell them that the library was becoming freesamples.com for hoochie mamas looking to sell a "date". Can you believe the cops were actually shocked that this was happening at the library?! I just gave them a jaded chuckle and told them about the guy I had to explain bathroom etiquette to after he peed with the door open in full view of a mom and her three year old in the Children's Room. They came right over to deal with it. My only request was to keep it quiet--I don't want the first article about me in Library Journal to be my stint as the Library Madame.
That's right, newbie librarian didn't even make it to the New Year, just like Paranoid Tech.Services Librarian said--and since she'd picked the closest date to that in the pool, I had to fork over my $20 to her. I seriously thought he'd make it to February, at least! But he left us before Christmas for greener pastures at Library Z--and let me tell you, the going away party we had in his absence was great fun for everyone!
I hear he hit the ground running at Library Z! He's so busy chairing committees--he expressed his frustration at having so many people clamoring for his time, "everyone thinks he's a rising young superstar." Poor sweetie! It must be so hard to be the Paul McCartney of the library world! *sigh* Now I get to post the position and hire another newbie, hot-young-superstar, to replace the last one. Oh joy. I'll keep you updated on the fun resumes I'll be "keeping on file!" ;)