Swing Shift GinJaElla's blog: "RAM1"

I log in, and this little window pops up. It has a heart on it, stating with what seems like forced optimism "You have a new message in your Personals Inbox!". Following the link leads to ruminating upon my guidelines. Yeah, just nobody was paying any attention to them! Seven new messages might result in one of interest (on a very good day..) as most of these men did not seem to grasp the concept of age, preferences as to children, the basics of english composition or (the most baffling) they did not post a photo. Spectacular managed to fulfil all of my general wishes. Bonus, he was cute. Very. Beaming blue eyes and a devilish grin. Correspondance ensued, my machinery of doubt began to kick in. I knew the man was intelligent, his very education and career path made that obvious. Something about our conversations seemed to fall a bit flat, but is it fair to condemn someone that isn't necessarily comfortable making idle banter via modem? Handsome, good job, loves dogs, right age, never married, no kids. Disregarding my ongoing fascination with Froot Loops, I agreed to a meeting. He chose a little bar, once described to me as the cruising point for the middle aged lonely of the beach... Ouch. I agreed. Come on, I have no idea what it takes to "date", and I have no thrilling suggestions for where to take a man on the first one. Anyhow, I would *have* to appear pleasing in a sea of xanaxed cougars, right???? Standing on the curb, cell phone to ear, I listened to his rambling progress to the bar. A silver sports car rumbled it's glistening way into the lot, and I knew that my game was on. (He seemed to think me utterly clever that I immediately called the car as his... Trust me. It didn't take much to put it together!) He emerged as fresh as lovely as his photos. Never before or since have I met a man with such vibrant and expressive eyes, which turned out to be quite an irony. In the bar we found that we had an easy familiarity with one another, and a fondness for the same cocktail. After a couple of drinks, the old liquid courage working its way into me, I admitted to him that a friend of mine from the Crime Scene was texting me, seeking some companionship. Yes, I am the kind of knucklehead that admits to a first date that a male friend is bothering me for entertainment. (*Ahem. Can you BELIEVE nobody has snapped me up yet??) Shockingly, Spectacular was game. We tabbed out and headed on. At the Crime Scene, everything continued to go smoothly. He was pretty, charming, showing me with not-too-forward physical interaction that I had caught his fancy. My exuberant gathering of mostly male pals seemed nothing important to him, he smiled and talked with them, his eyes upon me most all of the time. Some part of me began the mental back patting, this wasn't so hard! Even the quizzical looks from the usual suspects lingering in the dimmed corners did not phase me. By golly, I had somehow seemed to have gotten it RIGHT! My friends, everything about this initial meeting just went so smoothly. For the first time in awhile I managed to not ponder Froot Loops, or any of the other impossibilities that had plagued my heart and mind through the previous months. I stepped carefully onto my pink cloud of pleased, and allowed it to glide me to the end of the evening. Now, I can't tell you how the goodnight kiss came about. That point is usually a point of fret for me, most always when I would like one. Avoiding one is easy. Participating in one means so much gauging of what the other (relatively unknown) party is thinking and feeling, taking cues and avoiding the inevitable impatience and take charge attitude that will cause me to pounce. I don't recollect going through that mental hell that night. Some part of me knew that I would be seeing this man again, that I didn't have to try or worry overly much with him. No part of me found him perfect, I was standing safely outside the gates of smitten. There was just this calming certainty. Justified when he easily leaned in and caught my lips with his. He smelled good, he absolutely looked good, his confidence pulled my kiss in like magical magenetism. His lips were soft, warm and wet against mine. Too soft. Too wet. I realized I had the screaming urge to push him away, fast. I am good at diplomacy, he never guessed. My escape was made and I lay down that night, considering what to do now. Everything about this man was perfect, except, the shuddering fear that he would eventually want to kiss again. That thought carried me to sleep. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

For those out of the loop, know this... I don't date. My old boss deemed me a "serial monogamist", I stayed diligently coupled from 16-31. A series of three lovely men whose company and friendship I enjoy to this day. I am now working on almost 4 years of being single, various entanglements not being considered as relationships. Quite some time ago, a very good friend suggested that I utilize the internet to schedule dates, and tell her the stories for entertainment value. I began a half hearted attempt to do so, joining Yahoo personals and accepting the occasional invitation when it seemed prudent. I have blogged secretively about these dalliances, gaining much admonishment from those not on my preferred list for having so many blocked entries. Lately, my own coyness has served to annoy me and I am weary of the constant encouragement to "write". I toyed with the idea of sharing my experiences with everyone, I am now about to do so. For the friends that I am about to lose, I am regretful.... Ha. Ages ago, I had a personals account. I signed up to allow conversation with someone whose profile I found exceptionally amusing. What can I say, put a camel in your default picture and I will try to make friendly with you. At that time, I was still with SB (struggling, but still with him.) My headline was "Bitter with baggage" and somehow this entertaining man felt capable of interacting with someone that dubbed herself so accurately. My introduction to online personals gained me a dear friend, and I will always see the good in such advertisement for that very reason. The T Guy is a quality man. My second foray was much more direct. I posted a reasonably attractive photo, and a very direct paragraph stating what I was seeking. As I considered this all to be a social experiment, I was very honest. Do not be too young, too old, have children or ex wives lurking about the perimeters of your life. Amazing how many men either don't or cannot read these minor requirements. Eventually, a likely enough fella happened along. I invited him to meet me at the crime scene. He was instantly deemed a "pretty boy" by my friends. Pretty boy was mildly interested in me. I was on edge, not used to the dynamics of dating. I practically ignored him as I flitted from friend to friend, drinking beer and neglecting the niceities of being on a date. Pretty Boy took it all in stride, even the fact that he was not invited home with me. A week later, I invited him over for dinner. An atypical dinner in my kitchen, pasta tossed with olive oil, black olive, sun dried tomatos, artichoke hearts... I realized the poor guy was puzzled. Eh, uh... The ex always knew better than to expect meat in his meals. I made the explanations, and we ate. Then popped in a movie, and Pretty Boy seemed to have more hands than an indian goddess. I was uneasy, trying to determine how to calm this boy down, whilst not making a scene. Like manna from heaven, my phone began to chirp in the other room. Froot Loops, all up on my phone. I had a very special place in my heart for Froot Loops, and I sequestered myself in my bedroom for more than an hour, smiling at the sound of his voice. Pretty Boy popped his head in to say goodnight, and that's the last I have seen of him. He occasionally arises on the messenger, suggests getting together (he now lives in Richmond) and recently asked what may have happened if he had not left that night. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was on the phone for hours, and his being here would not have changed that. dating, fail. Double fail, as I could not tell you the last time I spoke with Froot Loops. My first foray, and I was still alone and baffled by the entire ritual. Oh well. The seal had been broken, and there were plenty of messages in my inbox. It was simply time to choose another likely soul for my ongoing experiment.