Will he call???

I must have gotten brazen in my old age because I'm meeting people everywhere. Online sites, through friends, book stores, the park, the beach, bars, and as of yesterday, the supermarket.

There's an urban myth that you meet the best men in the produce section. Feign helplessness over choosing bananas or pretend not to know if a melon is ripe and poof, your dream dude will just show up! Right there amongst the fruits and vegetables. Just be careful, ladies. If a guy has a basket full of Hungry Man dinners in the frozen foods section, ask him out. He's in dire need of a home-cooked meal anyway. But if he's got a cart and a list, chances are his wife sent him out to to the food shopping while she takes the kids to soccer practice. He's off limits. Trust me.

Still, this was the most unconventional meeting to date. I was in my favorite organic grocery store, the cool kind with odd foods of every sort. It's where the staff wears Hawaiian print shirts and the entire place feels like a tropical island or a pirate ship. Who wouldn't want to shop there? I get up to the checkout counter where a pleasant older man is making polite conversation to the middle-aged lady ahead of me. He asks if she's making dinner tonight. She replies that she is doing the shopping, her husband is doing the cooking. He jokes that all the pretty girls are married. I chime in that not all of us are married, some of us know better!

We make small talk and he inquires what I do (while ringing up my Rice Pudding and free-range eggs). I tell him I'm a writer. He asks where my writing has been featured. I mention the blog, the radio show, and that a television producer is interested in making this project into a series when it's complete. Like a PG version of Sex & the City. He tells me his son is in television on a show I know you've all heard of. The kind where where he makes $100,000 a year (something I can only DREAM of.) I ask how old his son is. He replies 28. Me too!!! (Ok, I've been 29 for about a week, but it hasn't sunk in yet!!!) I ask if his son is single. He says yes. He asks where I live. I tell him the town and he says his family lives there too. This is too weird. Neither of us went to the public school in town, we attended separate private schools in the area. Turns out I was in theatre with his best friend circa 1998... the evidence is mounting. I must meet this mystery son of his.

So I do the only thing I can think of. With my brightest smile, I pull out a calling card and hand it to the man asking him to please have his son call me.

So who thinks he actually will???

Spidey Watch, Part 2

So I've heard from many of you that I was too harsh on Spidey Watch. That we had an otherwise pleasant date and the poor kid was nervous as hell from being in the mere presence of a worldly woman. That he most likely spent his entire week practicing what he'd say and when the time came, all those long rehearsed lines flew right out of his head, thus leading him to bring up Spidey Watch and the Darth Vader piggy bank.

In an effort to prove that I am not a cruel, heartless, black widow bitch, I decided you were right and gave him a chance at redemption. I think he felt like he'd just won a trip to DisneyLand, he was so excited when I called. I was equally excited when he suggested our second date take place 9 rows back from the first base line at the new Mets stadium. You want to take me to a major league baseball game I couldn't possibly afford on my own? Field level seating? Alright, I think I can survive this.

I'm a huge baseball fan. Grew up in a house surrounded by the sport. My dad, my brother, my grandfather, my uncles, my cousins... it's kind of a family obsession. On top of which 90% of us are born and bred Mets fans (sorry Mom.) It's not easy being a Met fan. "You gotta believe" for a reason. Yankees fans are a dime a dozen. Who doesn't like winning World Series and pennants year after year? It's easy loving a winning team. But holding out the hope that one day, it will be our turn. One day, we'll hit the big time. One day, we'll be victorious in pursuit of that coveted title. That's the spirit of the blue & orange.

This die-hard hopefulness is how I think of dating in the modern world. It's so simple to get discouraged when you see people coupling off left and right, hitting home runs when all you're looking for is a base hit. A little taste of their boastful glory. Yet here we are, single girls turning 29, 30, 35, 42...not knowing when it will be our turn to walk up the aisle. To be relationship champions.

But I digress.

This is my first second date since Train Guy / Phonophobic / Big Head (however you like to refer to the December dating scene.) Still, Spidey Watch does have some redeeming qualities, I remind myself and it won't be complete torture seeing him again. He's sweet, he's polite, (he thinks) he's funny, he's very generous and thoughtful. And while 4 hours seems like an excessive amount of time for a second date, if nothing else, we can talk sports the whole time and cheer for our favorite New York team. Hey, you wouldn't have turned down free field level seats either!!!

I meet him at the Home Run Apple in the plaza by the stadium. He turns up half an hour late and we miss part of the first inning, but it's ok. Dork that I am, I brought a book to read on the train, so no harm done. But standing in front of the iconic symbol, he springs on me that he's also invited a friend along tonight since he had some more spare tickets. Sure, no problem. I didn't think we were up to the meeting of the friends yet, but how bad can it be?

Bad. The friend is CUTE. Way cuter than Spidey Watch.

It gets worse when I somehow sit down between them for the whole game and can't seem to stop flirting in the wrong direction. Control yourself! Ugh, must go talk to someone who can smack some sense into me.

I excuse myself to get a hot pretzel and text my mother, ever the voice of reason.

Me: The friend is cuter.

Mom: Get his number AFTER the game.

Me: I didn't realize in the dark bar on date #1 that Spidey has gray hair!

Mom: At least he HAS hair.

Me: Our seats are on the first base line. They're kind of amazing.

Mom: Yes, but are they AWESOME???

Me: No, seriously, he's already said "awesome" 37 times and it's only the 4th inning. I might smack him soon.

Mom: You might wanna hold off if he has tickets behind home plate for next week!

Me: He can't stop talking about Japanese theatre and how George Lucas stole the idea for Star Wars from some epic film he saw at some artsy fartsy theatre.

Mom: What is it with you and Star Wars geeks???

The final score was Mets win 5-2. Awesome count = 85.

But the best part of the evening happened after the game was over and everyone had left the stadium. Standing there by that very same Home Run Apple was a man dressed head to toe as SpiderMan...playing the saxophone.

And yes, I made them take a picture together. I know you wouldn't believe me otherwise!!!

Living situation

Who doesn't adore a man with a guitar? You have to be halfway heartless not to fall for a musician, especially a cute one with long, floppy hair and sexy jeans up on stage... The very thought makes me melt. I've got a track record of falling for any guy who could sing me to sleep. So when his profile pictures are all him playing at different venues, I practically drool on the screen. And then the weirdest thing happens. He messages me first!!!

Now, depending how much you want to believe what people say when they're hiding behind the safety of their computers, you can take this with a grain (or a whole kilo) of salt. But he tells me it's his birthday and he just got home from a night out with the guys. We start chatting and chatting and chatting... it lasts 3 hours!!! We only live a few towns apart, we're both divorced, we're the same age, love the same music, quote the same movies, enjoy the same restaurants and have so much in common that I must meet this one. Must.

On his official birthday, we get together for a casual lunch and it's as though we're old friends. The talking carries on with no pauses, no dead spaces, we make each other laugh...everything is going so well. He jokes that it feels like we've been going out forever instead of just meeting online last night. Says he hasn't been this comfortable with a woman in a long time and if it wouldn't be awkward, he'd invite me back to his place tonight.

A) Yes, that would be awkward and

B) I wouldn't go

Then he apologizes that even if we were to date for a while, I couldn't come over because his wife is still living there. I mean, his ex-wife. I mean, his wife. Wait, what just happened here?

So yeah, they're not actually, technically, legally divorced yet. And I guess that you could say that they aren't really even separated because they're still living together. In the same house. In the same room. So I ask if she was there last night when we were chatting. He says "Yes, but don't worry, she was already asleep by then."

So what you're telling me is that you're still together???

"No, no, we both know it's ending. I mean, it's over. We're just kinda roommates at this point."

Alright, I get that. I'm divorced too. But when we decided to split, he moved out. Stayed with friends for a few weeks before finding his own place, then I packed up his shit and he was gone. GONE. Haven't seem him since. You're telling me that in the past several months that you've been "split," neither one of you considered moving out? "Nah, not really, got nowhere to go. We're both comfortable where we are. We both really like our house."

Please tell me that I did the right thing by walking out and telling him to lose my number...

Shoes

Women love shoes. Pocketbooks, purses, make-up, clothes...all good. But most women I know really, really love shoes. Except me.

See, I have very few shoes and they all fit into one of these categories: flip flops, boots, sneakers and dress up shoes. That's it. Maybe 1 or 2 of each kind and I'm good to go. If it wasn't for watching shows like Sex & the City or talking to my own girlfriends, I can guarantee you that I wouldn't have heard of a single shoe designer. In fact, I didn't even know you could be a shoe designer. I cannot tell the difference between Jimmy Choo and Manolo Blahnik and Christian Leboutin. Don't even ask me what styles are in this season. I cannot understand the fascination with "peep-toe" and haven't got a clue what a slingback is (some sort of drink???)

I'm telling you all of this because when a man with a shoe fetish falls for a girl, I'm the furthest thing away from the one he should choose. Yet that's what happened.

They should come with warning labels, these fetish-prone men. Like, right on the profile, it should say "26 y/o, single, caucasian, 5'7, loves feet & shoes." Put it right up front where we can see it clearly, like the calorie count at a fast food restaurant. This way, I know what I'm getting into from the start.

It started innocently enough. He texted me to ask what I was doing that day and I said "getting a pedicure." Bad idea. Unless you know for CERTAIN that you are not dating one of these men, do not, under any circumstances, mention feet. (Or anything else that could be perceived as freaky early on in a relationship.) He hoped I was having fun and why didn't I send a picture when my toes were all cute? Um, sure, ok, no problem. I did have sparkly flip flops on and looked particularly adorable, so why not, right?

And that's how Pandora's box got opened.

A few days later, I was going to a fancy luncheon and trying to get dressed. He texted me again to say "have fun at the party." I wrote back I'd have more fun if I could figure out which shoes would go with my dress. Honestly, I want to get married on the beach someday just to attend my own wedding barefoot! My happiness ratio is directly proportionate to how mandatory shoe-wearing is. But this brunch was a dress and heels occasion so he suggested I try on all my shoes, send him pictures and he'd help me decide which ones worked best. Fine, if someone else can make this decision for me, even better. I'm absolute crap at picking things out for myself. Which is why when this blog goes on tour eventually, I'm taking a stylist with me to pick out all my outfits. The best decision my parents ever made for me was to send me to a Catholic school complete with uniforms! The relief of never having to pick out my own outfit...sigh...I miss those days.

But I digress.

I try on a pair of black leather Mary Janes with a little silver buckle. A slip-on pair of black patent heels with a tiny bow in the front. A shiny red pair which kill my big toes. A soft suede pair of knee-high boots with tiny silver tassels hanging down. And finally, my sparkly sandals. I message him photos of each one and he can't get over how sexy they all are.

Sexy? Feet? Seriously?

I feel it necessary to tell you, dear reader, that I am not a normal girl shopper. I would rather buy books than shoes any day of the week. When I do have to shop for shoes, it's at Payless and I usually have a coupon. I have never spent more than $20 on any pair and can't begin to fathom how a person can justify blowing what I make in a week on any accessory that comes in contact with a Manhattan sidewalk. And I know that many of you are in fact, just that type of woman and I admire you for it. I wish I could bring myself to lust after these designer brands of footwear. It's just not in me. From the ripe old age of toddlerhood, my mother swore that if she ever felt the need to kill me, it would be in a shoe store. I seem to be missing the shoe gene.

So when this guy started sending messages of how beautiful / sexy / gorgeous my feet were in all those shoes, I realized he was more than I could handle. But for all you girls that want a man who'd love nothing more than to buy pretty things for your feet and give you foot massages, I'll send you his number! Just be sure you've had a pedicure recently...

Slow Talker

He might be the world's slowest talker. That's all I can think the whole time we're on the phone. I have a bright, bubbly, energetic personality and he's sooooo slow I literally want to start pulling my own hair out. The emails were fine. Not incredibly exciting, but fine. Yet this phone call feels like it's lasted an eternity and it's only been 20 minutes!!!!! I promised myself that I'd devote a half hour to our conversation, same as I would a regular date. But only 2/3 in and I want to scream and run away! He's ridiculously boring. No matter what I say, he barely responds. And when he does respond, it's off on some tangent that has nothing to do with my original statement. It got to the point (and please forgive me for this) that I put him on speaker and made my poor mother listen. About 30 seconds later, she was saying "hang up, end call, buh-bye." My mom has the patience of a saint and she wanted to shoot herself rather than listen to this moron start every single sentence with "Um," "I don't know," and "Crazy, right?"

Oh you're crazy alright.

I survived 29 minutes (my phone was counting) before telling him I had to go clean up the kitchen before bed. He asked if he could call me again tomorrow. I pretended I didn't hear it and said good night. The next day, I sent a simple email thanking him for being interested but I didn't feel we had chemistry over the phone and wishing him best of luck in the future.

He wrote back "Thank you for not leading me on. I dont really understand how women work or how you can decide on chemistry with a quick phone call. We live too far away anyways, your doing me a favor in the end."

I'm doing myself the favor. Trust me.

Air of Mystery

He's a pilot. Small, acrobatic planes. Stunts in the air. Very dangerous. We all love men with a daredevil side, right? Until we want to marry them, of course. Then it's time to settle down and stop doing stupid things like flying upside down. But while dating? Perfectly acceptable.

Besides, every girl I know loves a man in uniform. Pilots...have absurdly hot uniforms!

After chatting for what feels like months online, we finally get the chance to meet up and talk in person. Figuring small talk is a good way to start out, I ask how his weekend was. "Good, I got to spend time with my little girl."

And by little girl, do you mean a very small dog???

"No, that'd be weird! Who calls their dog a little girl?!?!"

Um, I don't know. Who waits several months to mention he's got a kid?

"My daughter. She's 18 months old. We spent Saturday together. Saw Elmo Live. I thought it was torture but she loved it. We got her all dressed up like Abbey Cadabby with the pigtails and magic wand and everything. Here, I have her picture."

So that's what we did for the next half an hour. Looked at pictures of his daughter. Her at the show. Her in the shopping cart at the grocery store. Her trying on big girl shoes. Her sleeping. Her with books. Her watching cartoons. His entire phone memory was full of pictures of his daughter. And why shouldn't it be? Proud father, I get that.

As for the situation is with her mother? Married for a year, her family didn't like him, she has custody but he's got every weekend with the kid, hence having to meet me on a weekday. Hmmm, this is sounding all too familiar.

See, I just broke up with someone who had a beautiful little girl. She & I got very close over the years I was dating her daddy. So perhaps I'm a bit wary of phrases like "her mother and I are still very close," "we're in the process of getting a divorce," and "she'll always be a part of my life." Let's face it, we all have ex'es in our past. I, myself, am a divorced woman. But I no longer see or speak to my former husband. He's an ancient part of my existence. When you're divorced with a kid, you HAVE to see / speak to that person every day or at least every week. I will never be #1 in his life. There's just no room.

On top of which, "in the process of getting divorced" is not the same as actually BEING divorced. There's an ongoing mud fight there through which innocent bystanders need not be dragged.

And might I point out that he failed to mention said child for quite some time leading up to our encounter? Which leads me to think: if he's hiding this, than what other secrets are there? What mysteries still have yet to unfold? In the interest of full disclosure, perhaps certain facts such as "I'm missing a gall bladder" can wait. But "I spawned a real, live person who resides with me 48 hours out of each week?!?!" That really oughtta be up there on Top 10 Things You Don't Forget to Mention Before a First Date.

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Star Wars

We have already discovered men with SpiderMan watches, Darth Vader piggy banks, secret Trekkie handshakes, penchants for comic book conventions, and SuperMan underoos. But this one takes the cake.

Let me start off by saying that I have never seen original Star Wars. I wanted to watch them in order, so I've seen 1, 2, and 3 but I kinda stopped there. So to me, Anakin is just some cute little blonde boy who misses his mommy. Poor kid was mangled in a tragic fire and I really hope he comes out ok. I don't have a clue who Luke and Leia are other than there was a brother / sister lovey dovey thing happening there, but that's pretty much the plot line of most families in Alabama, so I don't see what all the fuss is about. They could have easily called it "Rednecks in Space" and it woulda made sense.

But I digress.

I once had a Trekkie tell me he wasn't so hard core that he ordered lunch in Klingon. But these Star Wars geeks make Trek fans look like candidates for "Most Popular" kid in school. If you ever come across a die hard Star Wars fan, you'll know because they have a different lingo than the rest of us. For example, I made the mistake of referring to his room full of action figures as "toys." Apparently, they are not "toys," they are "collectibles." (Anyone else having 40-Year-Old-Virgin flashbacks??? I am.)

So he's got every original Star Wars "collectible" from the 70's in its original packaging and hanging on the walls in his room. He always asked for 2 of each, one to play with and one to save for the future. The guy pretty much never had to invest in the stock market because should he need liquid assets, he could simply sell off all of his "action figures" and buy a house, or at least a car.

This doesn't worry me nearly as much as what he confesses next. Please don't ask how the topic came up because I've been playing the conversation over and over in my head and I cannot figure it out. Yet somehow we got to talking about Star Wars fantasies and I was prepared for him to tell me about Princess Leia in the gold bikini. I saw that episode of "FRIENDS" so I was ready for that one. Oh no. This is sooooo much worse.

He tells me that his biggest dream (I'll say that again, his BIGGEST dream) is to find a girl who'll let him climax to the theme song from Star Wars.

Now, I don't know how familiar you are with the Imperial March. But it is not the sexiest song I've ever heard. Usher? Sure. John Mayer? No problem. But you want to have sex while thinking about wookies and pretending to be a Jedi?

Sorry, dude. I'm out.

Marcy, Marcy, Marcy

I don't mention names on this blog. You can check back through the past months and see for yourself that I haven't written a single name. But this one, I have to put in here. Because he said it 11 times. In one hour.

In one hour, we'd walked from Penn Station towards downtown and the water. He brought me to a riverside park where we watched the boats go up and down. Saw the sunset over the bridge. Talked about politics, the economy, intelligent people, modern technology. Sat on a bench with ice cream cones, people watching and making up stories about their lives (one of my favorite games). Yet somewhere intermingled with all that stimulating conversation he managed to drop his ex's name 11 times.

I now know everything there is to know about Marcy. Marcy worked on an early Obama campaign before he was even a well-known candidate for presidency. Marcy likes Barenaked Ladies and introduced him to their music. Marcy is 5'1-5'2 and wears a size 7 shoe. Marcy likes chocolate ice cream, but only soft serve. Marcy loves going to Great Adventure but hates going on the rides. And Marcy is now dating someone whom she recently brought to a party and introduced to all their friends.

Just when I couldn't take anymore, Marcy called.

I walked away while he was still on the phone. I'm not going to spend another hour playing second fiddle to Marcy or anyone else.

Kosher

How big a role does religion play in the dating game? Are there rules anymore about Catholics being allowed to date Protestants? Jews marrying Christians? Orthodox dating the Reformed? I don't think so. My feeling is that as long as we can all respect each other's faith and somehow interweave our beliefs into one cohesive future, anything goes. So I, the Evangelical Lutheran girl, joined a Jewish dating website at the urging of my aunt. She claims that Jewish men make the best husbands and what girl wouldn't want that? A better husband...sign me up!

Now I have to tell you that I put right on my profile that I was not raised in the Jewish faith. It's out there, not even hidden in the fine print, easily accessible to anyone who views me on the site. And should they contact me, I make sure to say I was raised a Christian but have always been interested in and had the utmost respect for Judaism. I was "broadening my horizons" if you will, by expanding the age range, height range, and while I was at it, why not the religious perspectives? I understand that there are those who seek to share their faith with a partner and these men would clearly not be my target audience. Still, I'm trying to be more open minded and intentionally curious in my dating life. I'm looking for someone who feels the same.

Not having a clue what to expect, I'm pleasantly surprised by the first few emails I get from what look like promising leads. One man sticks out, a math teacher who lives in my area. Tall, decent looking, red hair, bright blue eyes. We chat a couple of times before agreeing to meet up at the bookstore cafe which is always non-threatening. Built in conversation pieces around every turn. You can discover each other's tastes for books, movies, and music all through natural, organic conversation inspired by the environment. Great!

As most of you know by now through reading these posts, I'm big into food. I love cooking, baking, eating at new restaurants, watching food tv shows ... you name it, it fascinates me. Obviously, this had come up between us. Still, it wasn't until we got to the cooking section of the book store and I noticed that he was looking at the Kosher cooking section and the alarm bells started ringing in my head.

"Do you keep kosher?" I asked him, out of one part curiosity, one part concern. "Yes," he said, a bit hesitantly. He launched into a full blown admission of his Jewish mother, her guilt on him for dating outside of his "chosen race," and how he keeps a kosher kitchen just to make her happy and appear to be the good son she wants him to be. "What that means is that you wouldn't be allowed to cook at my house. Or make anything at your house and bring it over. I'd have to do all the cooking. Trouble is, I'm not a very good cook. I mostly just heat up my mother's leftovers."

This is troubling on many levels. First of all, your main source of food is mommy's leftovers...and you're 34 years old. Secondly, I can't make you delicious fudge brownies? Or amazing Italian cookies? Or hot soup from scratch on a cool night? Well, there goes 80% of my seduction routine! If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, he just took away my map.