I can't see nothing. Gotta open my eye. Cut me, Mick.

I'm not a drinker...but if I was...

This is a post I had completely forgot I had written and just found in a random folder the other day. I had to call a friend to ask her if how I had written about it was how it happened in her memory. I hope the ridiculousness of my early dating makes you laugh, or at least have gratitude that your dating life isn't so bad after all.  

Soon after I was separated and continuing with my divorce and I stepped into the pool of internet dating, I started out on a Jewish dating site. I figured my cousin met her husband on J-Date, my neighbor told me her sister met her husband there, why not. Even though finding a husband was the last thing on my mind. I really have no idea if I'll ever get married again. Not because I'm against the idea. More of a lack of fish left in the sea. Who knows, maybe someday. I am new to the in's and out's of the rules and I've been talking to this guy online. We've talked on the phone and he seems pretty cool, why not just have him come over? I've since learned that you don't do that. You meet the guy pretty quickly to make sure they're not 75 when they say their 40 and you meet them in a public place so they don't club you over the head and stick you in their trunk. I know better now...kinda. I'll call the guy J. He is an airline mechanic, has a car, and, fuck, I dunno, has a pulse so that makes him viable.  I hadn't been on a date in forever.  I didn't know what the hell I was doing. J and I decide to meet in person. I invite him to come over. When I open the door, there he stood in all his  5'6"ish glory. He is wearing what was once a dark concert t-shirt with cut sleeves, jeans, and cowboy boots...with no socks...in July.  I know this because when I asked if he wanted to take off his shoes, he told me it wouldn't be a good idea since he wasn't wearing socks and his feet were sweating. Fantastic. He has two bags with him and in each bag, four ginormous bottles of the cheapest white Zinfandel you can buy. What freakin' party is this guy going to? I had already mentioned to him I am not a big drinker.  Anybody who knows anything about me knows I don't really drink. Just not my thing.  I'm whacked out enough without it.  Apparently this guy wants to put me in an AA meeting smoking cigarettes and drinking copious amounts of coffee. I invite J in and we sit down on my couch. This is going back a couple of years when I'd first moved into my apartment.  I pretty much walked away from my marriage with my shoes, my clothes, a lamp my mother gave me, and my favorite pot that I cook with. (reminds me of the movie, "The Jerk," where he leaves with a remote, a paddleball, a chair...etc) So when J asks me for a corkscrew and I don't even drink...I had nothing. 

"I'm so sorry. I don't have anything to open these ginormous, cheap bottles with."

"That's ok," he says while pulling out a pocket knife, snapping it open with one swift downward movement,  then cuts into the bottles.  That's right.  I said bottles. He opens two of the four and starts pouring the glasses like he's filling a Goddammed swimming pool. J hands me my glass and does the obligatory CHEERS. Ah, yes. It tastes like lighter fluid to me, but I appreciate the effort.  

We have small talk and I notice while he's talking to me, he keeps putting his hand over his mouth.  First, let me see if I can describe him to you.  He isn't your typical Jew.  I mean, yes, he's kinda short and stocky, but he had been in the military many years before so he was still wearing it high and tight. And not many Jewish (American) men go into the military or are mechanics. I don't say that to offend, they just don't.  Israeli men, on the other hand...they have a mandatory time in the army of three years. I am thinking of one Israeli in particular who was in the Mossad (Special Forces) and also played pro basketball. I should really blog about him.  He was (is) gorgeous and manly. Not like the Deer Hunter sitting on my couch in this story. 

Ok, where was I? Yes, so J puts his hand over his mouth when he's talking to me. Finally I ask him what gives? 

"I'm embarrassed to tell you." 

More embarrassed then not wearing socks with your boots on a hot, hot day?

J starts to tell me the story of a party he'd had at his house the night before. 

"Everybody was really fucked up and there was a girl there who, when she drinks, tries to fight everybody." 

Lovely. Please, tell me more.

He continues with the story, but every time he gets to a part in his riveting tale where something he's describing is physical, he stands up and goes over by the sliding glass doors. "...and so then I tell everybody they have to get out, right?..." he stands up and puts his hands up like he's waiting to catch a football. "...but this girl, she doesn't want to leave and my friend grabs her to carry her out.  Right before he gets her out of the door, she turns around and punches me right in the face.*POW* And that's how my tooth got chipped." He comes and sits back on the couch. 

Do people just not look at my face when they are talking. Because I can't imagine it looking anything short of horrified while he's talking.

"So basically you got your ass kicked by a girl last night?" I say half jokingly, half not.

"Heh heh, I guess so. Hey, drink up." He hands me my glass of gasoline.

He's already halfway through his bottle. I should've just given him one of those hats with the cup holders on each side and the straws that go to your mouth. Jesus. More small talk.  Blah blah blah him him him blah blah blah tattoos.

"How many tattoos you got?" He asks

"I think nine? What about you."  

Oh boy.  Big mistake for asking this seemingly harmless question. Oh my God, I hope I can describe this and give you the feelings that were rushing through my body. Here goes. He has a tattoo up on his left shoulder-chest area that he could've easily accessed through the neck of his faded black t-shirt. But instead, very slowly he stares intensely into my eyes, takes his right hand and skims over his head of no hair, while simultaneously leaning back on the couch, pulling up his shirt with his left hand exposing his hairy Teletubby belly and man-boobs, showing me some faded shape of an amoeba that is also ensconced in chest hair. I could swear I heard some electric guitar music and a drum machine in the background. All that was missing was a wind machine and a sax solo. Bless his heart, I don't even know how to fix this grammatically or  know if the punctuation is right.  (taking a moment) Please, don't get me wrong. I have no problems if a man has a little extra cushion on him. I'm fluffy, myself. But this was just fifty shades of fucked up. *sigh*  

After this display of sheer animal magnetism happened, I decided it was time to call it a night. I thanked J for coming over. He took one of the two unopened bottles of wine and announces, "I'll leave the other one for you." 

Oh, no, really, you are too kind. If I don't drink it, I can use it to remove the nail polish I spilled on the table. With that, J left, and I took a mental Silkwood shower to scrub that image off of my brain.

Months later I have my best friend, K, and a couple other friends to my apartment for one of our Wine and Cheese grown-up parties.  We would get together, have beautiful cheeses, meats, crackers, and drinks and just all hang out together. It was cheaper and safer. 

"I'll just have beer," Kir says. 

"Do you have any wine?" asks my friend, L.

"I have this one," I hold up a red, "and I have this bottle of Zin.  It's not the best, but I'll never drink it." I pull out the COSTCO sized bottle that was from my meeting with J. 

We are all sitting around the table in my kitchen. We laugh and tell stories. L, who is single like I am, starts to tell us about a new guy she's seeing.

"...and he's really nice...lives in (city)...he's an airline mechanic..." 

And as she is telling us about him, I am starting to sink into my chair.  Kir notices what my reaction is and looks at me like, "What the fuck is wrong with you? You look sick" L keeps talking about this new guy and how he seemed nice. Finally when I just can't deny what I'm hearing anymore, I lock eyes with Kir with a very serious look, I lean back in my chair, run my hand over my head and pull my shirt up...

                                                        *GASP*

"NO FUCKING WAY!" she yells clapping her hands together and starts laughing. I am mortified. She knows the entire story of the porno-shirt-lift move, the multiple bottles of bad wine, the cowboy boots, the knife...sweet Jesus, she knows everything. I looked at her again, motioning to the bottle of wine.  
"That's the same bottle??" she asks.
I nod my head yes. 

L and I went out with the same guy but had VERY different experiences with him. Oh, boy this is awkward. I tell L what happened when I met J. I am crying from laughing. I don't know whether to feel bad about it or not. L sends J a text saying that she's at my apartment drinking the shitty wine he brought.
 His text back...

"You guys wanna have a threesome?" 

 Yup. That kinda sums it up. I wrote the majority of this today in my Starbucks and regular I know sat with me for a while and another woman that he knew sat with us also. We talked about dating, how my screening process has changed, where to meet and where not to meet men. I love the man's perspective. I love men, truly, so don't get the wrong idea that I think they're all idiots. The men who are in my life at this moment are wonderful, loving men that give me what I need right now.

I wrote this in January and just kinda forgot about it. I'm reading the last paragraph and it still rings true. I do love to see the world through the, "Man's glasses," and I certainly don't think men are idiots. The men who are in my life now really are wonderful, giving, loving, and strong men who can handle me at my best and my worst...and the one's who can't usually fall by the wayside soon enough. Thank you for giving me the space to get this story out of my brain to make room for more ridiculousness. I really do enjoy the madness...and wow, if I could publish the madness that is happening now...I'm even blushing. So my dance-break songs for this post...
Stain by Mz Ann Thropik
Y I Do by Zebra Katz
Pussy Control by Prince
Eye Of The Tiger by Survivor

The idea is to put on one of these songs and to dance your hardest for 30-60 seconds to let out whatever is in your body.

I Am Grateful for:
Bad wine and good friends
Lovely Perfume
the strong men and women I love