Crushes from High School Should Remain as Such!

Everyone had that one person growing up that they always remembered with regret.  "If only I.." Maybe this was an individual you fondly recall from childhood, or someone that you lost touch with after high school but recently discovered.  Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

I had the pleasure of discovering that the one person I reminisced over from my high school days had landed on their feet after divorce.  After high school, I realized that I was consumed with a slight gnawing every time I saw a photo or read an update about their life.  However, I chalked it up to one of my tiny inflammations called "REGRET" and let sleeping dogs lie.

One evening, while feeling particularly amorous, I messaged said REGRET and sent a quick hello.  Upon receiving a response, I quickly fell into the reconnection affection and learned about their newly discovered freedom.  Trying not to to appear too eager, I mentioned that if they ever made it back into town we could catch up.

One month later, I received the message I had longed for...  they would be visiting soon and would interested in catching up.  Playing it cool, I issued the standard "well let me know" response and hoped beyond hopes that this gift would materialize.  On time and on cue, I was contacted by the person when they came to town and plans were made to meet for dinner.  I just knew that my long lost Romeo was going to whisk in and save me from my mundane existence.

Here is where caution should enter into every tale of this type.  While absence makes the heart grow fonder, nonverbal contact can cause the brain to create a mountain out of a molehill.  We tend to remember the good and forget the bad, and quirks that are overlooked at a young age can grow to monstrous size as we mature into adulthood.  Be careful when attempting a reconnection from the past - one can be left worse for the wear upon discovery that the last holdout of hope can be life's biggest disappointment.

I tend to digress, so let me more forward into the date of my demise.  We met for dinner at a local restaurant that shall remain nameless.  When he exited his vehicle, my first thought was his photographs had been taken in one of those trick "objects may appear smaller/taller" mirrors.  My mind's eye had fondly recalled a strapping young man of six feet.  Reality smacked me in the face at a whopping 5'9".  I chose to ignore this fact and we entered into the restaurant.

Sitting down, height luckily stops playing a part in the attraction phase.  Shortly I begin to pick up on another nagging quirk that became a larger problem each moment that it went on.  His eyes were quick and darted around in the same fashion as someone who was either hyped up on diet pills or on drugs.  I tried not to look at him in the beginning, but the more his mannerisms and communication quickened, I realized I was sitting in front of the adult version of ADHD.  The demise of my attraction happened at a rapid pace, but in direct opposition to his.  I was beginning to have a huge problem on my hands.

I was able to invent an issue out of the clear blue that enabled me to exit the date early.  A friend had a major marital incident that needed my immediate attention, but with the promise that I would rejoin him at another establishment shortly.  Of course, I never showed, and told him that my night was cut short by text.  I have not messaged him, nor has he messaged me since.  Not a bad thing really.

Stay out of your past.  It is there for a reason!

It has been a while...

I have not posted on my dating site lately, which can only be contributed to the fact that life tends to get in the way.  With renewed vigor, I will once again spin my tails of woe and despair so that others may profit from my slow demise.

Facebook Fiascos

Have you caught on to the Facebook fever?  If not, you are in luck... there are about four of you left on Earth.  For the rest of us who do not mind having near strangers delve into our personal lives, we communicate via Facebook more than we do personal interaction.  Facebook is a whole phenomena that I will tackle later, but for now, it is the platform itself that launches many into the atmospheric realm of delusion.

I admit, it is great reconnecting with old friends and lovers that were once lost to us.  I will also admit, albeit with trepidation, that I have searched for every previous love interest that I pined for through the "Search for Friends" feature.  Am I embarrassed? No, but I do feel a little twinge of pathetic.  Many were easily found, and my hopes and dreams were confirmed that these individuals that did not end up being the loves of my life were doomed to a mundane and pitiful existence.  (Dreams really DO come true.)

Do you remember the one guy in high school that you secretly crushed over but never had the confidence to approach?  He (or she) might have smiled at you in the hallway... or given you the false hope that he wanted to secretly ravage your body behind the bleachers in the gym by simply asking if he could copy your trigonometry homework.  

"Yes, you can borrow my homework," you sighed.  But deep down you were screaming YES! I DO WANT TO BE YOUR NEXT CONQUEST!!!  Sadly, graduation came and past without that magical moment ever coming to fruition.

With the inception of Facebook, once again you could find and lavish attention upon those you thought had become a part of your past.  A simple "Add As Friend" request is all you need to rekindle the romance you were born to experience.  Facebook is like winning the lottery over and over again.  And here is where our woeful tale begins, like the first rat bite that fueled the Bubonic Plague in China in 1330.

I met him in college, at the type of party that I care not to mention but is familiar (at least in description) to anyone who has set foot on a college campus.  We would flirt, but nothing ever came our witty banter because we hailed from two different social groups.  (Flashes of The Outsiders may have crossed your mind, but it was nothing so dramatic.)  Time passed, and we both began our life journeys.

We ran into each other a couple of times five years after college.  Our life journey had taken us on different paths, mine being divorced with child and his being unhappily married with children and drowning his sorrows with beer.  Flirting commenced, but the ring on his finger posed as a road block for going down "that road."  He moved, and we lost touch once more.

By accident, a few years later, I received word that he ring was gone and he was a free man.  Free, in the marital sense.  Yet unbeknownst to me, the baggage he lugged around weighted his soul down and made him a miserable man.  Recognizing the tortured artist escaping to get out, and beguiled with his ability to participate in intelligent conversation, I was hooked.  My mind said steer clear, but my heart knew I could fix him.  Yes... I suffer from the "Need to Fix" syndrome that haunts my ability to love.

After many hours pondering the meaning of life by phone, we had a couple of rendevous in each of our respective towns.  However, I discovered that he cared more about alcohol and revenge upon his ex than he ever did about me.  (Which did not leave me worse for the wear, for I had also discovered that removing my rosy shades allowed me to see the truth.)


 

 

My FBI file is getting thicker...

I received a message on a dating site from a guy that lived in Greensboro.  I say lived, as in past tense, because he has disappeared from the face of the Earth.  He may still reside in Greensboro, but I am sure the terrorist cell I think he is working for has relocated him with a new identity.  Think I am making this up?  Read on...

He said his name was Mike, and he was H..O.. T.  He was only 32, but said he preferred woman that were in their 30's as opposed to their 20's because of their maturity level.  He had several photos, and once again I was suckered by a gorgeous smile.  I felt as if he was too good to be true, so I put him through a variety of tests that I use to ensure he was legit.  He passed with flying colors, which at the time tickled me pink.

We communicated for well over 6 months before we thougth we had the opportunity to meet.  We spoke on the phone often, and his French accent was flawless.  I even had people tell me things to say to him in French, and he would respond back in French as they would interpret.  He could have said, "I have chickens in the yard and I eat hay" but in French it sounded like the most romantic lines ever.  We exchanged photos (all clean) back and forth through text, and I knew he was a real person who looked the way that he had posted.

He told me he was half French and half South African, which did not bother me one bit.  How could I say I like my drinks mixed but my men not? I am not prejudiced against any ethnic group, and we communicated on many different levels. 

The week came before we were to meet, and I pulled away.  Hindsight is 20/20 and I did not realize he had also pulled away from meeting as well.  The weekend passed, and it was back on.  This went on for about 10 months, with only a few lapses in between.  I will discuss one such lapse in detail, because it was at that point I realized things were not as they seemed.

He disappeared for about a week.  No communication, no text, no calls, no emails.  Thinking he was having trouble with his phone (as in not paying the bill), I was not alarmed.  He reappeared a week later, and all was well.  Things began to heat up, with both of us wanting to meet.  He called me every night from work (he was a night chef for Embassay Suites) and I would text him when he would wake up every afternoon.   One night, my phone went straight to Voicemail. (One of the only times in my life I was happy for it to do so.)  As I listened to the voicemail, I could hear speaking in the background.  It was obvious that the woman I could hear KNEW she was being recorded, because the phone would make a sliding noise and her voice would get louder.  It was definitely a lovers spat, and I quickly realized the man who was unknowingly being recorded was Mike!  It was a five minute conversation, and I sat with horror as I tried desperately to make out the words he was saying.  However, the one word I made out clearly was the name she called him - "MOHAMMED."

I texted him immediately and told him if he ever wanted to speak to me again, he had BETTER call me because I had just gotten a phone call from him.  Within 10 minutes, my phone rang.  He told me he had left his phone out because he was working and she had dialed me, and let the phone be on speaker.  YES, his name was Mohammed, but he changed it to Mike when he came to this country because people were prejudiced against Muslims.  The girl was someone who wanted to date him, but he didn't want to be with her... she had seen where he had called me on his way to work and then became irate.  Not wanting to be prejudiced myself, I told him it was okay since he had come clean.  He then sent me many photos of him in his homeland, and I could see that he was indeed Muslim.

We continued communicating, with promises to meet.  Then again he disappeared for three days.... during such time, there was an announcement of a terrorist plot in NYC that had been foiled.  As I sat glued to the TV screen, the sick horror that I may be talking to someone who had something to do with this incident took over my being.  It was then that I realized that many times, his absences concurred with terrorist national news.  When he finally messaged me back, he said he had trouble with his SIMS card.  We communicated a few times after that, and he then disappeared for good.  With my previous indirect run in with the FBI (in my own mind), I never tried to seek him out.

Why do I continue to do this to myself???

Wanted by the FBI

For some reason, I find myself attracted to men in the military.  I do not know if it is the uniform, the haircut, the build, or the fact that they can probably shoot an enemy at 60 paces in 0.2 seconds.  (Okay, that may not be true, but don't ruin my fantasy.)  When perusing dating sites, I am ALWAYS drawn in to read about anyone found in fatigues.  I just realized, however, that they may lead me straight to the arms of someone like the UniBomber.... so I will have to rethink the whole fatigues comment.

Anyway, I saw this profile of a man who fit the criteria to catch my attention.  He was in combat gear, carrying a huge gun, and black sunglasses.  He had other photos on his profile, so I was able to ascertain quickly it was him.  His prowlness did not carry through on each individual photo, but my attention was piqued.

I messaged him, and of course he messaged me back.  What ensued was a torrid messaging relationship which quickly jumped from the computer to the cell phone.  He was a Ranger, but he worked for a security firm in a local city.  He was split with his wife, but he could not divorce her because he had strong Catholic values.  I should have walked at that moment in time, because married men (no matter what their state) are off limits.

He claimed that he lived at the headquarters, because he was a 12 hour on and 12 hour on call employee.  His job was to protect witnesses that were awaiting trials in federal court.  For 12 hours at a time, I heard nothing from him while he was on duty.  Everything matched up, and I have to believe to this day he is what he says he is.

I met him, and he had definitely changed from his photos (to put it nicely.)  We had a great conversation, and he got a call that his son had broken his leg and was being taken to the emergency room by the school.  He asked me if I wanted to go with him, but I felt he needed to be with his son alone.  I left, and headed home.

Concerned, I texted him later on that afternoon to inquire as to how his son was doing.  I didn't hear anything, so the next morning I left him a text telling him I hope his son was okay and to text me and let me know how he was doing.  I knew he was at work, but I figured he would see the text and answer me when he got off work.

Monday morning rolls around, and I know he is definitely not on duty.  I messaged him, which was in the norm for communication.  I immediately get this message back asking if I had messaged him over the weekend.  Not thinking a thing about it, I told him yes... I was concerned for his son.  He told me he had a meeting in one hour and that it was bad.

Long story short, I had no idea that I was communicating with him on a GOVERNMENT phone... not a private cell.  I knew he had to turn in the cell when he would go on duty, because of the ability to use GPS to trace his whereabouts and potentially put a witness in harm's way.  However, I did not know that cell was given to ANOTHER OFFICER that was off duty, and that the cell was only supposed to be used for government use.  They also had the ability to pull his text and call records, and I knew what they would find would be bad.  (Not from my end, but from his...  he broke a couple of my rules but I let those few instances slide.)  I spent the next two weeks sick to my stomach, thinking that the FBI would now have a file on me with records containing conversations I had.  I am sure they had to check me out, because to them I might be a potential terrorist.

Needless to say, I took a month off of dating!

Just the Texts, Ma'am...

I saw the profile of a guy that I thought was decent, so I sent him a question as a message that I knew he would answer.  Of course he did, and we quickly discovered we had alot in common.  He spoke technology, which happens to be my language.

He seemed set in his ways, which I thought was a good counter to my "fly by the seat of my pants" daily schedule.  He was older, but had photos of his passion for mountain biking everywhere I looked.  He couldn't be too bad if he could still manage to traverse the trails on a bike.  He doesn't drink, and he rarely cursed.  I hid the fact that cursing is my vice, and I can string together a line of obscenities that would turn your hair white.  He is very intelligent, which is something I am instinctively attracted to in a monumental way.  Could it be Darwin's theory at the root?  Maybe.

We decided to meet at a restaurant that was halfway between our two homes.  I had a 35 minute drive, which of course I spent fretting about the fact that I was going on a date.  For me, dating is like getting a tooth pulled.  You are forced to sit and make idle conversation with someone you may or may not find attractive, while everyone in the restaurant stares at you accusingly.  At least, that is how it feels to me.

I had gotten to the exit for the restaurant, and I began to panic.  I decided to text my best friend Carla, with whom I can share all things and be as vile as I need to be.  Texting as fast as I could, I sent at least 10 texts with messages such as "what the h*ll was I thinking??"  "I hate to date... HATE IT!!!"  "I would rather have my toenails pulled off with clippers than to be going to this date."  "If I EVER say I am going on a date again, remind me of this moment so that I can kick my own a$$."  Needless to say, my rendition of these texts are a cleaner version than the reality of what I sent.

Suddenly, I got a response text that dinged my phone.  As I looked down at the red light, I saw that it was from my date.  He stated, and I quote, "Geez, you haven't even met me yet and you are already cussing."  Suddenly, the air left my lungs and I turned what I could only assume as a ghostly shade of white at the realization that I had accidently texted him... not my friend Carla.  The light turned green and I was less than a half mile away from the restaurant, and I could barely make my foot touch the acceleration pedal at the thought of the impending doom I was about to face.  Not only had I lied about my vernacular, I had basically informed my soon to be date that I would rather be anywhere than on my way to see him.

I pulled in the parking lot and dialed my friend in a panic.  Screaming and laughing in her ear, I know she thought I was insane.  I received a second text from said date, stating "it is ok... you can come in.. don't be embarrassed."  As I tried to exit my vehicle, and pull myself together, I knew that this was the type of punishment I deserved for being such an idiot.

How to go Weeding

When swimming in the dating pool online, I have discovered a way of fishing out the true intentions of many of the men I have webmet.

A man who posts photos of his home, his animals, his acquisitions, etc. is a long term bachelor.  Getting this type of man into any committed relationship will take skill, because he is comfortable with his domain.  He is also letting those of you with allergies know that if it came between you and the dog... you lose.

A man who posts photos of himself in a reclined position, or missing any article of clothing that he would make sure to have on if he went to church, is one that is advertising that he is in it for a hook-up.  Yes, his profile may read that he is interested in finding a relationship, but a photo is worth a thousand words... and his word is sex.

If you come across a profile where someone asks if you want to come play with them and their pet - RUN.  Speaking from personal experience, the use of a dog in a profile is not only a way to lure women in with "awww your dog is so cute."  You have heard that taking a dog to a dogpark or pushing a baby stroller is a great way for men to pick up women, as many of us will stop and remark how sweet the puppy/baby looks.  However, in the world of... AHEM... BEASTILITY, it is common knowledge that the invitation to come and play with a person and their pet insinuates just that...  I fell victim to this practice just this past week, and I begrudgingly admit I did not read the entire profile after looking at the photos of this HOT man.  I inspected each of his photos with a magnifying glass, making sure it was actually him that looked like a male model.  It was him all right, but little did I know him included an IT.  I will never look at a profile the same way again.

If you receive a message from a suitor that seems attractive, and the profile says all of the right words, then ask to see a second photo.  Anytime someone only posts one photo of themself, you better follow up with the request of additional photos.  This request is made not only to verify that he didn't just catch ONE good angle and the rest is hideous, but also to determine that he is who he says he is.

Many dating sites have been hacked my scam artists.  I had one that was very good.  In fact, he was so good that it took me two or three emails before I caught on that it was someone posing as another person.  If you get a message from a man and the grammatical skills of the email are poor, but upon viewing his profile he seems literate in English, then this profile has been hacked.  Watch out.

Keep tuned in to hear more about the adventures of online dating.

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