the rite of spring

My favorite season is Autumn, particularly the month of October with its steady 50 degree weather. Winter is OK, but I despise the Summer. (I believe there is no need for me to be sweating, unless it is purposely so.) However, as much as I loathe being in a foul mood and facing the high electrical bills that come with running constant air-conditioning for 3 months plus, with the latter I know what I'm getting.

Spring, on the other hand, reminds me of dating and not in a a good way: its constant and unreliable changes in climate and temperature stand-ins for the indecisive nonsense I've dealt with in romantic situations for years and years. Man...

back in the saddle again

After a prolonged dry spell in that particular realm, I met someone on an online dating service, and exchanged a couple of emails. She then tells me about an upcoming, week-long trip out of town and that she might be MIA from e-mail during that time. Cool. So, we make plans to go out for a drink when she comes back. While she's away she emails and asks if I still want to go out when she comes back. I respond in the affirmative, giver her my phone number and ask her to call me.

"Hey, I don't mean to be rude, but I prefer not to give out my number, so is it alright if we make plans via email? I'm free after Saturday."

So, in a polite but firm manner I remind her that I didn’t ask for her number; I was simply giving her mine so that she could call me, since I like to break the ice over the phone before going out w/someone. Also, I'm thinking why the fuck does it matter that I have her number?! I mean, we're actually going to meet in person, after all...I don't hear from her for a few days and feeling like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon ("I'm too old for this shit") I consider it a done deal. Then...

Three days later I get an e-mail from her in which she omits any mention of the phone number discussion, apologizes for not writing back earlier and asks if I want to do something together the following evening. Since I'm a bit annoyed with the phone number thing I think, "I'm gonna name the place and if she has a problem with it I'll just bail." Surprisingly, she accepts and mentions she likes the bar in question.

The particular bar I chose was based on the fact that bartending on Sunday nights is a female friend who is quite fond of me—no drama: she's got a girlfriend—and will take care of me as far as the tab is concerned. And once she knows I'm on a date she'll make me look even better. Not that I think there will be a second date; I'm not feeling the first one and it hasn't even begun. But I figure I'll lay out the charm, regardless, and see what happens.

The Date:

It was nice. Quite a few laughs; no pregnant pauses. She was engaging and I was my usual charming self.

Some random thoughts:

- I had a feeling she would be one of those people that greets you with a handshake on a date…and she was. [shakes head]

- She wasn’t dressed for a date. I wasn’t expecting a red carpet-approved gown or anything like that. I myself didn’t wear a suit jacket or a tie—she doesn’t know me and isn’t aware I routinely dress that way, and might've thought I was trying too hard to impress her—I just wore my lucky garment: a psychedelic dark blue shirt with little flowers, which she complimented me on at the end of the date (see below). I thought she would’ve worn something that said “I’m making a bit of an effort here” not “I’m gonna get some groceries and, oh yeah, I gotta pass by the bar for a first date.”

- A slow Sunday at the bar? Sure. But not the day before a holiday: by a crazy coincidence about half a dozen women I know were there and they all made a point to come to our table and say hi. (Including one who was all flirty and complimentary with me, as usual.) “You’re very popular”, remarked my date. She didn’t seem at all bothered by it, thankfully.

- When she was leaving I told her I thought she was much prettier in person. (She actually is.) How did she respond? Blushing and smiling she said, “I don’t know how to take that.” (Huh?) So, I made a joke about how I could’ve said I was disappointed that she was not as attractive as the pictures she posted online, that she pulled a bait and switch, etc etc. (Which was a roundabout way of me saying how silly she was being about it.) She laughed, thanked me, and said something nice about my shirt. We talked about seeing each other again soon—when her jetlag is gone and she feels better—and hugged goodnight.

Bottom line: It felt like a first and last date. It was obvious we both had a nice time but I felt few sparks; her body language didn’t exactly say the opposite, either. I have a feeling in the next couple of days I’m getting an e-mail—not a phone call, heh heh—saying, “I had a nice time, but…” I'm cool either way.

Next.

dude acts like a lady

Recent conversation with a female friend, who asks...

"When did become women?"

"You mean, metrosexuals and the like?"

"No, I mean, because my recent romantic experiences have been all about dudes being ambivalent, ambiguous, and sending mixed messages. And I'm not used to that. It's always been crystal clear when you guys are into it. What is this shit?"

"Oh, easy: plenty of dudes have decided to give women a taste of your own medicine. We've had a lifetime of dealing with supposed confusion and flakiness and now there are guys enjoying purposely turning the tables on women. A 'see if you like it' approach, as it were."

"Damn, that sucks! I mean, the best thing about dating you guys was knowing for sure if you were interested or not."

And so it goes...

the way it is

I consider myself a gentleman, but if you are flaunting your cleavage I have earned the right to stare. Just sayin'...

god bless the child

I used to think the highest form of flattery was for a woman to want to have your child. I mean, with the physical aspect of what it does to a woman’s body and, obviously, the significance of creating a life with someone, I believed that to be some transcendent shit.

And then I remember all the women I’ve seen who’ve borne children for all sorts of clowns and my idealized concept is swiftly brought back to earth.

the swing

This probably drives women crazy: despite we men supposedly being visual creatures--it's how we mainly fall for the opposite sex*--not one of the women that Tiger Woods allegedly strayed from his marriage and consorted with is hotter than the Mrs.

Now, ain't that a bitch?

* (Actually, all men are visual: unattractive gay dudes have less of of a chance of getting laid than their hetero female equivalent.)

ice cube

I'm having a smoke outside one of my neighborhood watering holes when I find myself joining a conversation already in progress between two lovely 20-something girls complaining about bad dates and ill-mannered suitors. I share some of my experience in these matters which clearly impresses them both. (When you've been doing it as long as I have, you gotta have something to show for it, right?) After we're done smoking and commiserating they introduce themselves--one of whom, it turns out, I had previously met but I couldn't place her--and we go back inside to our respective drinks.

I return to the corner of the bar where I've been sitting, next to some friends who'd just shown up, but decide after a bit to go join Donna and Melanie, the two girls from outside. They are most receptive and shortly after my arrival Donna is flirting heavily with me.
So much so that I have to slightly avoid her and engage Melanie in conversation, so she doesn't feel left out. Things are going swimmingly, the girls are finishing their drinks and getting ready to order another round, when my friend Malcolm--who'd been chased away from the group he was hanging with by their sudden decision to loudly break into Star Wars' "March of the Evil Empire"--comes over and asks to join us. Donna immediately whispers something to Melanie, and just like that--poof!--the good vibe is killed instantaneously; the girls decide to leave and barely say good night. And then it hits me: "Now I remember how I know Donna."

What happened?

Well, you see, about 2 years prior I had met Donna at the same bar one Sunday night. I chatted her up and we seemingly hit it off.
But at one point in the evening I introduce her to Malcolm, who was sitting a few bar stools away, and she gradually loses interest in me and focuses on Malcolm. I recognize the shift and when she gets up to use the bathroom I let Malcolm know he can pursue her if he wants; I'm a lame duck at that point. He's a bit hesitant to take that step, since I had already put in the work, but I assure him it's OK and give him my blessing.

Donna went home with Malcolm and, from his own account, it didn't end well. He wanted more than she was willing to offer and eventually blew her off, never calling her or anything of the sort. Clearly, judging by this latest encounter, Donna was still hurt.

And so, in a flash of an instant, the possibility of my hooking up with either Donna or Melanie vanished without a trace, thanks to Malcolm's appearance going down like a bucket of ice water over Donna's head. Great. At least I'd already gotten laid that night.

But that's literally another story.

birthday

A couple of years ago I had a steady DJ gig in a couple of neighborhood bars on the weekends. One gig was Saturdays--and occasionally Fridays--at a now defunct lounge called Edessa; Sundays my bartender friend Ron and I did 'Delicious Sundays' at Bar 4.

At the time one of my New Year's resolutions was to shake things up a bit, so I started with that annual debauchery fest known as my birthday celebration. That year I had not one but two in one weekend. After all, it was going to be a working birthday. On Saturday I had the party at Edessa and on Sunday--my actual b-day--the festivities were a bit more low key and took place at my regular 'Delicious Sundays' night at Bar 4. Here's how it went down:

My old friend and former co-worker Mike and his girlfriend were the first of my people to arrive at Edessa. I was talking to them at the edge of the bar when I happened to look straight ahead to the front door. Just outside I saw that rare and unmistakable coat. Immediately I knew it was her.

"Here comes trouble", I said to Mike.
"What kind of trouble?"
"The female kind."

She made her way through the bar and to the back where the DJ station was located. Let me tell you, her big smile was no match for the dimly lit bar.

"Happy Birthday. I miss you."

And with that, Tina made her appearance at my birthday party.

She was a 33 year-old grad student who'd taken me on a ride on crazy, dating rollercoaster for a bit. Two weeks after our last encounter at Bar 4--when we decided not to see each other anymore due to Tina being an emotional mess--she showed up early for the festivities and ended up being one of the last to leave.

A short time after she showed up we made plans to go out for a smoke. I was slightly delayed so she went ahead and offered to chain smoke so that she could be with me when I finally made it out there. While having that initial smoke together she asked if I was surprised.

"About what?"
"Don't be coy", she said.
"Well if you're referring to you being here, I'm pleasantly surprised."

That's what she wanted to hear, of course. But it was true.

Anyway, as it turned out, it was a slow night for Edessa so my 25-plus guests made up about 75% of the crowd. Raquel, the bartender, made it a point to tell the owner that I saved her ass and consequently the bar as well. Not to mention the fact that she was a huge fan of my DJ prowess. They were loving me that night, let me tell you.

Since I was obviously working I couldn't dedicate enough time as I'd wanted to my guests. For Tina that meant dividing her time between myself and the friends of mine with whom she hit it off, particularly Mr. S. He was a big hit with her. And the feeling, I later found out, was mutual.

I had a great time. I also had quite a few, if you know what I mean. Which is why Tina and I ended up slow dancing and kissing at the end of the night. Yes, I know. More drama. I don't remember exactly how it went down but after telling me how touched she was that I introduced her to my friends and how cool they were, she mentioned again how much she'd missed me, etc.

"I don't want to talk about this right now, because it's not the time or place, and I've obviously had a few. But you and I could be very happy together."

There I go again.

She agreed that we should talk about it some other time. And yes, I must be a masochist. Sure, I'd stayed away from her. No calls, no e-mails. (I did send her an Evite for the birthday bashes, however.) And it was all good. But she shows up at my birthday party and the first thing out of her mouth is 'I miss you.' I don't fall for crap all that easily but Tina knew how to get to me. Grrr.

I wanted her to miss me. Well, it looked like she had. Ultimately, Tina and I had the big conversation a couple of days later when we were both sober, and I went in for the kill. I should've kept my distance.

A few months after that she booty called me at 2 AM on a weeknight--I had to be at my new job in the morning--and, already disillusioned with her flaky nonsense, I turned her down. It was for the best, and aside from the fact I was getting laid pretty frequently at the time, I do regret not taking her up on the booty that night, though.

+ + + + +

Sunday at Bar 4 was mellow. I got there at 11:15 PM instead of my usual 10 PM. It was a grueling day: I got to bed at 4 AM woke up at two hours later to be in DC for a funeral. Mrs. J, wife of a dear friend, had passed away from cancer the week prior.

My buddy Fernando was slightly buzzed when I got to the bar. Sans boyfriend, Lilian--who once confessed her lust for me, late into at a party at my place just months prior, by stating 'If I don't leave now, I'm going to stay'--showed up carrying a Greek dessert with a candle. Literally, very sweet.

"Make a wish", she said.

We all know what it was, right?

An old music biz acquaintance, followed by a few other friends also joined in. We had a nice time, but everybody left early so I wrapped it up at 2 AM. Fernando had been at another bar in the 'hood earlier in the evening and mentioned that Alan, their Sunday night bartender had asked us to come over if we got done early at Bar 4. We had, so we did.

When we got there Fernando and I each ordered a drink and discussed leaving right after. Yeah, right. I departed at 5 AM leaving Fernando behind. And he had to be at work at 9 AM. Of course there was a girl involved.

Shortly after we arrived, Helen showed up. She was a tall, brainy, sexy chick I'd met at the same bar over a year and a half ago prior. We exchanged e-mails but nothing more. Some time after that I bumped into her again and she ended up going home with Ron that night. Business as usual. After that I asked her out--she and Ron only had a one night stand--but no dice. When she walked in that Sunday night I hadn't seen her since the previous summer. In any event, I sat with Helen and we caught up. Later Fernando joined us and they sort of hit it off. She's hard to read sometimes.

Fernando asked for my permission to pursue her and I acceded. After all, I didn't perceive any difference in her attitude towards me and at that point I was too tired, anyway. Helen did buy me a couple of drinks and offered me her cigarettes on account of my birthday. And when she asked if I'd gotten a birthday cake and I replied not really, she took a Cheeto from a bag she'd been eating, put a match in it and lit it as a candle for me to blow out. Who new she had a soft spot?

All in all, it was a good 39th birthday. Yes, indeed. I was hoping to find the time to sleep. And dream.

the crying game

About a little over a month ago, I met and became friendly with Reese, a cute chick who wears the non-straight uniform—i.e., looks like a lesbian—and asked Mark, at whose bar this chick and I met, what her story was. Just in case the boyish haircut was just that. I took his “I’ve seen her leave here with dudes” response to mean she was straight or bi, so the next time we bumped into each other at the bar
I wasted no time in candidly inviting her to come home with me.

It turns out my Mark’s gaydar was off.

Reese accepted but made it clear she was gay and graciously gave me an out by letting me know she would not be offended if I chose to rescinded my invite. Luckily for me, I didn’t have to make that decision given that we hung out a bit too late at the bar that night.
And at that point all parties felt like sleep in one's own bed was the lone, logical choice, anyway. (I have since found out she used to date men, but I get the feeling one big heartbreak she told me about may have made her re-think her sexual orientation. Whatever…)

Unfortunately, Reese has now become an unwanted bar buddy, due to the fact that after a few drinks she gets a bit antagonistic with me or anyone else I might be hanging with. Not to mention how she brings up EVERY SINGLE TIME how her parents neglected her as a child. It’s not like we’re old friends for her to make me and/or my friends into her personal analysts. Ugh.

Now, I have to shake off a chick who's not going to have sex with me; who I shouldn't have been chatting up in the first place.

Damn, it sucks to be me sometimes.

love and marriage

My dear friend Mr. S once told me people don’t necessarily get married when they find the right person, but instead,
once they’ve decided to get married, they generally get hitched to the next person they have a serious relationship with.

Guilty, as charged.

You see, I did exactly as Mr. S postulates and married the wrong woman. I don’t say that out of spite, but from the knowledge
that I adopted the ‘marry-the-one-who-annoys-you-the-least’ approach. Why? Because I didn’t think “the one” existed.
I believed that finding the ideal person was akin to winning the lottery. And so, I settled and ultimately paid for making such a
callous decision with a selfish, vengeful mate.

I’ve since had the pleasure of meeting and involving myself with a few incredible women that have disproved my original theory regarding matrimony. For various reasons that could not be helped these relationships did not progress in the way that
myself or these wonderful women would’ve hoped. But it changed my previous outlook on love and relationships. It also gave me hope.

Of course, I haven’t met anyone of that caliber in years, so…