First dates and possibly never wanting to date again

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Internet dating is not a new concept.  Since its inception, many singletons have flocked to cyberspace to meet people and make new connections with the ever lingering hope that they may encounter “the one”.

Living in a small town with limited ways to meet new people, a much younger version of myself decided to take the plunge and start seeking that ever elusive cyber match.  It is extremely overwhelming in the beginning.  Pictures of smiling, fit, tanned men apparently ready and willing to meet a potential partner leapt from my monitor. The array of photos of yachts in the Caribbean was astounding and they all seemed so perfect, on paper.

Although each site boasts different capabilities and features, the fundamentals are the same.  You can search for similar likes and dislikes, physical characteristics you find attractive, political positions you agree with, religious beliefs and personal aspirations that you share.  The underlying goal is that the potential cyber-mate entering that information from the other end of those intergalactic particles is telling the truth.  Once you have sorted through the innumerable prospects, eventually you are ready for that first encounter.  A smile is shared, witty repartee ensues and, as the relationship progresses, the true conversation begins.  And then you decide to meet in person.

Before I regale you with my story of face-to-face contact, I will say that I know several people who have met on the internet and have formed loving and lasting relationships.  We had a wedding at the lodge two weeks ago and the adorable couple met on eHarmony.  My story, however, does not involve that happy ending.

After a lengthy online courtship, our relationship evolved into conversation over the phone.  Eventually, we thought it was time to take the next step and we agreed I would drive to his home town to meet him.  I rented a hotel room so I would have a safe haven if it all went pear-shaped, which it most certainly did.

The initial meeting was unnerving.  I was sweating more on that early spring evening than I would have been if I had just run a 5K marathon in mid-July.  He seemed sweet and was excited to show me the town.  He tentatively reached for my hand as we walked.  The conversation seemed easy and we decided to grab a bite to eat.   Cocktails and appetizers eased us into easy communication but during the main course his behavior became quite odd.  There was a very noticeable down-shift into direct eye contact and his words became slow and sedate.  When I had reached the point that it had become uncomfortable, I finally asked what was going on.  His honest to God response was, “I’m trying to hypnotize you”.   Really??  I’m not sure if I was more shocked at the fact that he just admitted that or the fact that my sense of perception, when it came to him, was so far out in the ethers that it was irretrievable!!  Needless to say, dinner ended abruptly and I went back to the hotel and double-bolted my door.  I relived the entire relationship over a few glasses of wine, admitted great defeat and drove home very early the next morning.

The experience certainly left me with a feeling of immense distrust.  Perhaps that distrust was more in my judgement than it was of a relatively benign dating website.  But regardless of where that skepticism truly lies, I will certainly be far more cautious if I ever decide to once again dip my foot in that dating pool.

Did she really just do that?

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The table setting was pristine.  The crystal wine glasses were symmetrically lined along the top of the knives, the cutlery was exactly perpendicular to the edge of the table and the cloth napkins were starched to perfection.

winemaker dinner

 (image credit: anselmovineyards.com)

Slivers of the fading sunlight cascaded over the place settings and the room lay in wait for the dinner guests to arrive.  Candles were lit, classical music undulated through the air and the mood was perfect.

The first of the guests arrived and were anxious to be seated.  Pair by pair, the dinner guests filtered into the restaurant and found their place at the exquisitely set dining table.  The host for the evening smiled as everyone took their seats and, once the group had settled, he introduced himself and the winery he represented.  He explained how a Winemakers Dinner worked and that each course presented from the kitchen would be perfectly married with a wine that he had selected to enhance the flavor of the dish.  An excited buzz was heard going around the table.

The amuse-bouche was delivered and the evening began.  Course after course was delivered and, indeed, made better by the wine selection.  As I leaned in to clear the last course served I noticed a woman moving in a strange way across the table.  Her bizarre twitching had caught the attention of several of the dinner guests as well but had been dismissed by all but me.

I tried my best to distract myself with my job but I could not completely pull my gaze from her odd behavior.  Her husband had been sitting to her left and was deeply engaged in conversation with the person to his left so he missed the entire show.

I did my best to clear the remainder of the table and turned one more time to witness the end result of the bizarre dinner dance this woman had been performing in her seat.  In one final fluid motion, she reached up her left sleeve and pulled out her bra!

I’m not sure, to this day, if I had been more shocked by the fact that she had not left the 30-person dinner party to make herself more comfortable in a private setting, or by the fact that her husband only shrugged and smiled at the erratic direction of her moral compass.

I guess we all have to march to the beat of our own drummer!

 

 

 

 

Taking back my life

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Time

Time had marched on,

aimlessly walking over me,

crushing me with its weight,

burying me under its pressure.

My body was leaden,

 unable to stop the parade of seconds,

watching helplessly as they turned into hours,

and slipped relentlessly into days and weeks.

 But I have begun to fight back,

to battle the oppressive tyranny of lost moments.

Time no longer guards me,

holding me captive,

only able to be governed by its rules.

I now hold the reins and make time do my bidding.

I am in control,

no longer bullied by its endless cycle,

released from its shackles.

A small speck on my window was a huge eye-opener

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Yesterday I had a bug on the outside of my driver’s side window.  I know that sounds like a strange statement but that bug, after 5 kilometers of stubbornly hanging on for the ride, began to represent something much more than a bug on my window.

I had all but written him off during the first kilometer but I became more amused as one km stretched into two, then three, and his sheer determination would not allow him to let go.  His tenacity began to rekindle my creativity.   His utter disregard for common sense made my brain kick into writer’s mode and that bug made me realize how important it is to hold on to the things you truly want.

bug on a window

Although I had a few giggles thinking of how that little insect reminded me of Kevin Kline hanging on to the plane at the end of A Fish Called Wanda, I was reminded of an important life lesson by a 6 legged black and red bug with a stinger and an attitude.  If it’s worth hanging on to, do everything in your power to make sure you don’t let it go.

I have since grasped my writing a little bit tighter.  I am fervently holding onto the window that is my blog and doing everything in my power to not let this journey slip away.

Just get in the car and drive….

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Today is my first day of two days off in a row!  Sadly, I think the last time this phenomenon occurred was during the Christmas holidays when I had a horrible case of Pneumonia and couldn’t get off the couch.  Not even the sun shining through my bedroom window this morning could pull me from under the cover of my duvet.  I did rise at 7:30 to tend to my four-legged roommate but, after returning to bed, the clock read 10:39 a.m. when I finally emerged from my cocoon.

It’s amazing how quickly you can lose your grip on reality.  Work happens day in and day out and, if you let it, work can consume your life.  I awoke this morning almost struggling to come up with something fun to do since my day off usually consists of laundry, house cleaning and other mundane tasks.

I did mow the lawn and weed around my mom’s tree to feel some sense of accomplishment today but the day rapidly evolved into a day of carefree abandon which I have not been able to enjoy in a while.  My travelling companion and I hopped in the car and headed out onto the open road.  The sun was shining, the sky was a remarkable shade of blue and the roads were all but abandoned.

country road

I finally felt a true escape today that I have not felt in a while.  I didn’t think of what would happen at work tomorrow because my tomorrow work-day was extended for another 24 hour period.  I didn’t care that I hadn’t vacuumed my house because I still have tomorrow to vacuum.  It was a memorable day of reckless abandon and not having to share the open road because all the tourists are happily ensconced in their city homes.  It was just me, my dog and an endless stretch of sun-streaked pavement.

It’s amazing what you take for granted.  Those seemingly meaningless pleasures suddenly become treasured moments when you realize that you are unable to enjoy them as often as you would like.  Driving along winding country roads with not another car to be seen was my perfect moment today.  It gave me time to breathe.  It gave me time to reflect.  And it gave me time to just be myself.

When was the last time you had a perfect moment?

 

 

 

It’s about writing (comma) period (end sentence period)

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In what could have been described as a clandestine meeting, a good friend stopped by tonight to merely exchange a handful of cash for two spots in my football pool.  We hadn’t seen each other in a while and we fell easily into a comfortable conversation about our writing.  He is currently writing a novel as well and we both have been challenged with individual hurdles and brick walls in the process.

During our conversation he reminded me of a very basic rule that I had long forgotten.  Writing is not about grammar.  It is not about punctuation, capitalization or italics.  Writing is very simply about storytelling.

Deep down, we both know that being able to creatively express our ideas is the basis for the passion we both have for writing.  Being able to use words to introduce characters, describe beautiful imagery or construct interesting dialogue deserves more of our focus than moving commas, changing adjectives or repositioning quotation marks.

RED PEN

There are companies specifically formed to pick out those common mistakes that writers make in the moments they become truly lost in the story.  That is their gift, their job.  A writer needs to remember that his or her gift, his or her job, is creativity – the gift of being able to weave a tale like no other because that story comes from a magical well to which nobody else has access.

The writing is about those ideas that swirl around in our heads at 4:00 am and relentlessly linger until we write them down or record them on the closest available device.  The writing is about those characters gnawing at our consciousness until we give them a voice, until we tell their story.

We both need to realize that our gift is that story deep within us.  And the sooner we stop spending time worrying about how to properly punctuate a sentence we wrote six months ago, the sooner we can free our brains to let that story loose and see where the journey will take us.

(image credit)

 

 

Maybe next time

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There is something hiding behind his eyes,

a mystery,

waiting to be revealed.

Maybe next time.

His gaze meets mine,

but his real truth hides under those spheres of blue.

Those eyes suspend me in an alternate reality,

never able to see the truth,

or never wanting to.

 No promise is ever made,

but the promise of what could have been is uttered.

An opportunity presented too late.

A ship had set sail and lost its way in the sea of realism.

 Two souls meant to meet,

were two decades too delayed.

 Maybe next time,

a new life, a new circumstance.

Maybe next time

he’ll find me first.

maybe_next_time____by_bohomaz13-d3990q5

(image credit)