Kissing a lot of toads...

It occurred to me a few weeks ago that I can go through an entire week and never talk to a man. Excluding my father and the one or two gay teachers that I interact with for 10 seconds when I pick up my clients out of the classroom, I have absolutely no contact with men. Every day I wake up to my son and my parents, go to work to women and children, pick up Jack from his all-female staffed daycare, and drive back home to my parents.

The weekends might offer an opportunity to interact with a male as I usually spend the weekends playing poker or other games with my friends, some of which are men. However, all of them are married. Or related to me. So..., yeah.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not necesarily complaining. I absolutly love the women that I work with. My office is filled with fantastic, brilliant, beautiful women who I feel completely honored and lucky to work with. And, surprisingly, I really like living with my mom and dad. Usually I like my son, and my friends are all incredibly loyal, loving people who are like extended family to me. I live a charmed life and I am damn grateful for it.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago when I found myself flirting with a lesbian coworker and wishing we could go make out in the file room that I realized that I am missing masculinity in my life. (Or, that I might be gay, which would be the other obvious conclusion.) This need to interact with male energy was potent, so I did what every girl who needs to get her flirt on would do: CRAIGSLIST.

So, I'll preface this "bad date story" with the statement that I have actually had some really good dates in the past few weeks. It's been great to get out there and remember what men look like and remember what it feels like to to be a girl around a guy. I've even been able to play kissy face with one or two of them. So when I found an ad with the title, "Margaritas at the beach," on the same night that I had a babysitter lined up, I responded with gusto!

His name was Mike. He, too, was feeling social this particular Monday evening and wanted someone to join him at the bar. We decided to meet near his house at the beach, which was within walking distance to the bar. I knew within seconds of meeting him that this was going to be a bad date.

I wish I could pinpoint what clued me into the fact that this guy was a wackadoodle, but I really can't. Maybe it was the statement, "Amazing things happen to me every day," followed by a story filled with syncronicity and coincidence about how he happened to win a local radio station's "Stupidest Tattoo Contest" received a free trip to Vegas where he ended up on stage with Pink, or his off-handed (or, I should say attempted off-handed) comments about his "career" as an actor, or the way every statement that came out of his mouth was an attempt to elicit a reaction from the listener. As in, "Yeah, my family couldn't believe who I was in a shoot with the other day..."

The man loved to talk. THe man loved the sound of his own voice. And he loved to share "his philosophy" on things (which, by the way, were so ridiculous. Like his "philosophy" on sex which I will spare you from). And what's worse is the way he would (very poorly) feign interest in what I had to say. It's as if he was allergic to eye contact and the social skill called reciprocity. It felt as though his idea of the purpose of my talking at all was to find something in what I was saying in which he could interject his opinions on.

Mike never once asked me a question about me. He did, however, at one point say, "Man, I've been talking a whole lot and haven't really heard a lot from you. What's your opinion of what I just said?" He went out of his way to tell me about how sensitive and sweet he is, and how he has a hard time finding women who can handle how much attention he gives them. He shared about his "problem" of being the one his friends come to for advice ("...you understand, being a therapist and all. God, we have so much in common!") and how it "annoys" him how they are constantly calling him and sending him emails asking for help.

Which brings me to the Blackberry. Oh God. How socially ignorant does one have to be to actually pick up one's mobile device EVERY TIME it goes off- even if the person you're on a date with is in the middle of a story (even if YOU'RE in the middle of a story)- and return the text, email, phone call? Internet, this man's phone was blowing up and it did not matter what the context of the moment was... he had that stylus out and his eyes glued to that 2" x 2" screen. And when he was done emailing or texting (or looking at porn or whatever the fuck he might have been doing), he would turn to me and ask, "So, what was I saying?"

To say this man was a narcissist in one of the hugest understatements I have ever made. He was the classic "one-upper." It didn't matter what I was doing, he had already done it or was doing it now or had invented it. I thought about saying, "Dude, I have the worst menstrual cramps right now," just to see how he would have responded. Probably with, "Yeah, my appendix is bursting as we speak."

One of the best (weirdest?) stories of the night was when he randomly interupted me to show me a picture on his (goddamn) Blackberry. He thrust it into my face and said, "Who does this guy look like?"

"Uh, the anglo depiction of Jesus," I answered.

"The story behind this picture is totally amazing. I spend the weekend with a friend of mine. You might know her. She's an actress? On (insert lame sitcom here)? No? Okay, anyway, I was spending the weekend with her a few weeks ago and we went out for drinks. She was talking to this guy (points to anglo Jesus guy) and asked me to take a picture of him because she was so astounded by how much he looks like Jesus Christ (!). While she was doing that, her boyfriend, Dan, called but she missed his call. He was out of town but was flying home that night. She tried to call him back but he was already on the plane. So, a few hours later I'm crashed out on her couch and she's in her bed and she wakes me up and she's crying. She says, 'Dan's dead.' I was like, 'No, he's not.' She was like, 'Yes, he is. I just got the phone call. He was killed in a plane crash.' You know that plane crash that killed Travis Barker? Yeah, well Dan was his body guard. Anyways, don't you think it's just totally amazing that she missed his last phone call to her because she was talking to a guy who looked just like Jesus Christ?"

No. No, I don't. I don't think that's amazing at all. In fact, I think it's just plain weird that you think ANYTHING of it at all. And furthermore, what is amazing is that I AM STILL ON THIS DATE.

So, I tell him I need to go. He tries to convince me to come up to his place, that we "don't have to do anything at all although (eyes scanning my body) I am totally attracted to you." I decline, and he says, in his usual manner of pontification, "You know, I never meet women like you. Women who are intelligent and spiritual and attractive. I want a girl like you, a girl with some meat on her bones (!) and who wears converse and who isn't teh usual Hollywood bimbo. I mean, I get that we're not going to do anything tonight. I get that we're either going to be really good friends or we're going to end up fucking each other's brains out (!!). We're just so much alike, you and me. And I'm curious... what's your opinion of me?"

You'll understand when I tell you that I threw up a little in my mouth at this point.

I answered that, if he was asking if I wanted to see him again the answer was no, and given that we are no more than strangers my opinion of him doesn't matter. The entire way back to my car, he was begging me for my thoughts on him, explaining that "I really respect your opinion," and that he knows that I've been "psychoanalyzing him all night" but (dramatic pause) "...I've been psychoanalyzing you, too."

Brilliant. Just what I need: his analysis of me. I thanked him for the drinks, got in my car and sped away.

The next morning, I got a text in true Mike form:

"Thanx for last night, figured out what my problem was..."

along with two emails that said the same thing.

Blurg.

It could be worse. He could love Barney.

My life has been taken over by Thomas the Tank Engine. Jack has found the love of his life and it is a blue steam engine. Jack eats, breathes and sleeps Thomas the Tank Engine, and due to our close proximity, I now do, too. The first thing out of Jack's mouth every morning is "Choo-Choo, Mommy," and it is apparently now a requirement that I kiss Thomas, Percy and Stanley along with my son at bedtime. He has a meltdown every day when I drop him off at daycare not because I am leaving, but because he had to leave his choo-choos in the car.

So, today while suffering under almost intolerably boring and painfully nerdy videos of model trains (to which Jack was glued), I was relieved to find the following video as it was the only one that Jack and I both enjoyed.

Online Dating Photo.

A few days ago, my brother was showing me the features on his new iphone and it didn't take me long to a) decide I have to have one right now and b) develop a sharp stomach cramp from laughing hysterically. Anyone who owns a mac knows that they have this fantastic feature that lets you skew photos in the most marvelous way, resulting in hours and hours and hours of fun. I don't care how bad of a mood you're in; messing around with this feature on a mac will have you guffawing uncontrollably in moments.

It didn't take me long to go from "Ha, these are hilarious," to "Let's post one on Craigslist in the personal ads!" After perusing the personal ads in the Casual Encounters for a bit of inspiration (and to get some of the native lingo), Nate, Tam and I came up with this ad:

Sweet girl looking for NSA relationship - w4m

I am a sweet girl who craves tenderness and passion. I am longing for an night of romance, maybe starting with wine, moving to kissing, and where it goes from there is up to you and me. What I don't have in looks I make up for in flexibility. And I've got a killer rack.



Only serious replies, please.



Please send a photo and I'll send more.



Tam and I giggled nervously as I posted the ad. I was actually kind of scared at the responses I might get, thinking they would be horribly vicious and mean. Something like "You must be out of your fucking mind!" or "In your dreams, Fatty Mc Fatterson!" I thought that my ad would get removed, ignored, laughed at.... but what I didn't expect was this:

~hi I saw your post and would love to give you hours of fun tonight. I am a 31 y.o. construction worker with a nice 7" (bleep), a talented tounge and plenty of stamina. I would also love to see how flexible you are. If you are interested reply back and we can set something up.





~wanna have that drink of wine with me tonight?







~wow. i'd love to meet and see that killer rack.








im a motor boatin sob and i would love to motor boat you right now.should i host or you?let me know.here is a pic.





And one, sent without a photo, simply said, "wish i was younger... bummer." Along with about 35 others. Most of them I can't post because the photos are close up shots of their junk (which, on a side note, I find to be so simpleminded. It's like these guys think, "Hells yeah, she'll LOVE this. I'd love to see hers, she DEFINITELY wants to see mine." To which I say, "Um, no. No we don't."). 42 responses total, peeps. 42.

So this whole thing has got me all discombobulated. My brother is convinced that these guys aren't for real. My friend thinks that the guys who responded knew it was a joke. I think they're for real (Well, maybe not the motorboating S.O.B., but I really hope so). Clearly they read the email, clearly they saw the photo.... and they want to hook up, tonight. It sorta blows away everything I've ever been taught about men, sex and attraction. Which, granted, was a really lame education from the culture at large and my ex, who stopped having sex with me after I gained some weight and said my body was "deformed." So, I can accept that I may be... a little bit skewed.

Those of you who know me are aware that I am the very first person to advocate that we do not have to meet society's standards of beauty to attract a loving partner into one's life. I fully believe that, if the girl in that photo were real, she could and would absolutely be worthy and deserving of a wonderful lover and friend. I also believe that she would not be the kind of girl that a man would want to randomly hook up with. Develop a fantastic relationship with after one gets to know her and falls in love with her sparkling personality and charm? Yes. Send a photo of one's penis to and get naked with having never spoken to her before? No.

So, help me out people. I want to hear your explanations. One friend said they're all sex addicts. That makes sense to me. Another said they're all ax murderers. While somewhat believable, I think we'd be hearing about a lot more Craigslist murders on the news and Dateline would do a "To Catch a Casual Encounters Murderer." Tam thinks these guys have a fetish. For... big chins.

Typical.