OK, really the first one

If you read a previous post about the first one out of the gate, it’s not quite chronological.  The first one I met after my origination, when Ex decided she wanted to chase fairy tales or at least use that as justification, was the friend of a co-worker’s wife.  Actually the co-worker of a co-worker’s wife.  “She’s a little further through the woods on a divorce than you are, and at the very least it’s someone to talk to.”  Someone to talk to was all the pitch I needed after Ex left and I’d begun my sentence.  And if you’ve been divorced or not, we all deal with it differently.  Having someone to talk to helped me realize this sh/t is normal.

Five of us met at a bar for Jane’s birthday.  Jane’s gorgeous.  Jane’s stacked.  Jane is nice and friendly.  The girls exchanged girly presents and everyone held their own in conversation.  Then one by one the people with obligations (ie families) left and Jane and I stayed and talked.  In some ways I am typically male – I like a good looking woman.  But I’ve also developed a decent notion and when to play the right cards in these engagements and tonight was not the night.

Jane and I talked a lot.  Nice to have someone to listen to you, and someone to wonder if you had a good day, and vice versa.  I think we went out 1-2 more times face to face.  I remember showing up at a July 4th party, acting casual but really planting a seed for down the line with Jane.  And it all seemed to work.  My charm that had gone unappreciated and unwanted with Ex for the last few years was well recieved.  Nice…just like riding a bike.

And I am pretty sure Jane and I both knew we’d reached the sh/t or get off the pot stage.  You can only blatantly flirt for so long until something comes of it.  And we set up a dinner, near my house, that led to a kiss in the parking lot and a quick ride home and truth be told a pretty lackluster night together other than that it both of our post-marraige firsts.

At some point she told me she’s been asked out for that coming Saturday and I figure that’s the way adult single life goes.  “It’s ok,” I say to bless her emotions.  And then I fire off this shot on a total long shot wild whim, “I’ll just come over in the afternoon and bang the sh/t out of you before your date.”  Initially I didn’t think she took it well, and I thought I’d backfired (hey, but at least I tried).

But I am in.  And she’s hitting me with sexy texts all week long.  On Saturday I am trying to get as much house work done and get over to Janes.  We’re up against her clock to go out that night and she’s hitting me on the half hour.  “I still need to get sh/t done and I need to take a shower..I’m filthy” I tell her.  “Get over here” she replies, and I am telling you I’ve never driven this fast in KC in my life.  Never had this good a reason to.

She doesn’t meet me at the door as much as she pulls me in and pushes me down the stairs and … it…is…all…over.  Afternoon delight and an probably one of my all timers.  Whatever the opposite of lackluster – intert adjective here.

The great story continues.  I left at her wish while she was getting ready and she calls me.  Tears of regret.  Fragile psyche.  Probably a great idea in theory for her, not so much in reality.  I am good but I let the dust settle and call her during the week.  I owe her one, a nice date of lunch and the art musueum with no pretenses available.  Through this process of divorce, and therapy, and reading I know I have to rethink what dating and relationships with women mean.  Sure, some of it’s the same as being 25 and living in Scottsdale, but there’s enough difference that I have to pay attention to it.

And we park at the art musuem and we’re in conversation…and in the middle of a sentence she makes a right angle away from me and a beeline to the far end of the gift shop.  ‘What the hell?!?!’ I’m thinking.  Right in mid story.  And I let her stew for longer than chivalry would suggest.  She hasn’t moved.  Somewhere between 5-10 minutes I go up to her and ask what’s going on. 

There he is, on the other side of the gift shop.  Last week’s Mr. Saturday Night.  The one she went out with after our afternoon preparty.  Not just that, but she totally blew the guy off to spend the afternoon with me, and there he is, swallowing his pride on a cancelled afternoon with a great girl and he sees her, with me, Mr. Saturday afternoon. 

We had the cashier let us out the service entrace to the gift shop and Jane and I went off and had a fun time acting like giggling teenagers in a world class museum.

Epilogue:  Almost 3 years later Jane is happily married to Mr. Saturday night with a newborn baby boy.  And I am the guy blogging about his dating experiences as DWM.

The Orgination

DWM is serving 5-to-life in the penitentiary of the state of Kansas.  No, not the Kansas State Penitentiary.  Just living in Kansas in a situation I never offered enough foresight to. I, DWM, am not from the state of Kansas.  When asked I will tell you that as I grew up, I had a northeasterners distaste for the midwest, and I really felt that the midwest began after Philadelphia.  If asked further I will you that I still prefer the northeast slant in me to whatever “hospitality” midwesterners offer. 

“I am not happy” she said, “and something something something about the stress of the marriage anymore.”  ’She’ is the mother of my daughter and my ex-wife.  She’s a great woman but my impression is that the cards are somewhat shuffled but not quite stacked.  And although we like each other we never felt the love that should have gotten us to this point.

I met Ex at the peak of my singledom in Scottsdale, when I felt like I had wrung just about all of the fun out of my 20′s and I was ready to write a new chapter.  I know now that there is much more to the equation than great girl + right time = good idea. I hadn’t quite wrung all of the fun out of my 20′s, a guys night out turned bachelor party spilled into leaving work the following Monday for Diamondbacks Opening Day – a decision that essentially got me fired 3 weeks before marrying a Kansas girl and here we are.  Four years later at the birth of DWM.

“I am not happy and something something something”.  In hindsight I should have been happy getting out of the marraige, but the marraige and our daughter was all I had.  Kansas is a good place, but it’s better if your from here and don’t compare it to [what I perceive as] better places.  And if you’re from here you have like-minded friends that … just make living here better.  And you can look it it a lot of different ways, but a failed marraige still carries failure.

I give her credit for recognizing the marriage shouldn’t have been worked on, but she loses credibility for her trips to Planet Ex, where accountability and mutual respect do not exist.  When I told her that if you took 100 marriages, 50 of them will end in divorce, 49 take a lot of work by both parties, and one is a God damn fairy tale, her reply was that that was what she wanted, a fairy tail.  I wished her luck and told her she has a better chance of someone giving her a free lexus for life.

I get that men are from Mars, women are from Venus.  But that’s not the last time a woman told me she wanted a fairy tale.  I get that women think emotionally, but seriously?  That’s what you wish for…a fairy tale?  And do you REALLY believe frogs turn into princes, pumpkins turn into carriages, fairy godmothers with magic wands exist, and riding into the sunset will mean happily ever after? 

Through the divorce someone told me “I’m sorry, that’s not fair.”  Who ever told you life was fair?  There’s a reason why some live in big houses, and some in small.  Some are CEO’s and some empty trash.  I could tell you there’s a reason why some are given life and some have it taken away but that’s a different conversation. 

April 2007 was the orgination of DWM and these are my stories.  My somewhat wisened and somewhat wiseass perspective on being a single man and loving dad in the midwest.

Big Chief Vodka Soda

There was a lot of appeal to the event at the art museum.  I am a fan of art, more modern than classic but I was bought up in a cultured household and enjoy my time looking at it for multiple reasons.  Mostly it’s not a computer screen or a high definition television.  And we have a world class art musem that lets you in for free.  So I can pony up $60 for a once a year fundraiser.

The problem is that I don’t want to go alone and my prospects – even to find a wingman – are slim.  I know how going alone will likely play out, but going alone beats staying home on a Saturday night for my psyche right now.  So my time is my own after 5 PM when I drop my daughter off.  It’s warm enough to go for a 3 mile run to begin the pregame ritual.  Then a base of pasta dinner.  I know I am cabbing it tonight and I am going to be about chest deep in alcohol at some point.

Continue the pregame ritual of beers, loud music (Social D) and college hoops with no sound on the TV.  Being a single man CAN be fun.  Beers and a shower, getting my GQ on.  Call a cab, beers and Social D while I wait.  The cab comes and we’re off.

Party Arty starts at 8, so 9 PM would be the perfect landing time.  Again, I am flying solo and that act has about a 2 hour window as a solo act before it expires.  Different story if I get en extension from a friend, female, or both.  Party Arty also supplies an open bar and experiences tells me it’s well drinks only.  A weapon of choice I think I can tolerate would be vodka sodas (influenced by my ex and by Tucker Max.  A tounge in cheek ‘thank you’ to both).

First stop, neighborhood bar.  I need to calibrate my body to well drink goodness, and I need some “bully” in me as we called it in college (liquid courage to some? fuel? preparty?).  “Vodka soda…well is fine,” I order.  And another, and another.  Remember, I am cabbing it tonight and I am solo.  I learned on this one that drinks should NOT be a substitute for conversation.  And I learned that I should probably halve my pregame  ritual and save it for the actual playing field.  Duly noted, once I sobered up.

One of the things I like about this neighborhood bar is the cab stand up front.  “Art Museum please”.  Aren’t I cool.  Very nice event, showcasing the new modern wing of the museum.  Like I said, I am a fan, I could go once a week.  The beautiful people, the beautiful people are there.  I get a drink and make a round.  I get a drink and make a round.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  And I realize I am becoming myself at 20.  We’ll talk about college DWM later.

I saw friends but they looked previously engaged in their group, or friends that lacked the appeal of conversation for Big Chief Vodka Soda.  I get a drink and make around.  I try to engage in some clever banter, but I REALLY should have had a wingman.  FINALLY, a group of girls that like what I [may] have to offer.  I remember holding my own in conversation, but that’s all I remember.

Three girls leave, one stays.  I am TRYING to focus on the conversation, and make it engaging for her.  A small victory would be her number.  A bigger victory would be a date.  For DWM, closing a deal tonight would be huge.  Trying to focus turns to struggling to focus.  But being the good guy that I am, I just tell her “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotten too drunk to have a good conversation.”  Yeah, you have was her reply, and probably an “I’ve got to get out of here” from me.  And a cab ride home.

Big Chief Vodka Soda.  A- for effort.  D- for excecution.

First one out of the gate.

Stephanie was a set up date.  Apparently we’re both vendors of the same client.  Not only that but both the same kind of vendor.  Nice.  My guess is we’ll be talking about work.  I knew that shen she set it up for 3 in the afternoon – on a Tuesday – I wasn’t ranking as a priority.  But as I tell family and friends, it’s batting practice right now.

I want to make sure I can carry a conversation, especially one that avoids talking too much about exes or slips into distaste for the midwest.  They really don’t like their baby called ugly.  Out of shape and uninteresting, maybe.  But don’t call their baby ugly.

Although I shot her an email on my way out the door to let her know I was on my way, she was there when I got there and reminded me that I was late.  Possibly an attempt at charm, more likely a power play.  We move to the bar, I let her order first and  – wait for it…

3, 2, 1 “You really don’t want to date me,” she says.  Honestly.  Right after the vodka redbull she orders is put on the bar and wholly unprompted by me.  Wow.  What am I doing here.  Oh yeah, batting practice.  She continues, “Yeah, I am 34 years old and never been married.  My life is a mess.  I am a serial dater, dating a few different guys right now but all I really want to do is settle down.  You should walk, no run away.  Seriously.”

I am only on my second sip of vodka soda at this point and wondering how to play it.  A couple of thoughts.  1). I am sticking it out.  She got me out of the office and I still have an entire vodka soda to go.  2).  Challenge.  Not the ‘slay the dragon’ challenge – well there is that.  Can I keep the conversation engaging and see where it goes.  3). Stephanie really needs to work on her self marketing. 4).  I know what I want and I know what I deserve.  This is not it.  (We’ll get to what I might need later).

“Slow down a minute” is my call to her.  And I explain that we’re not dating here, we’re meeting at the suggestion of our friend.  Let’s enjoy the drinks and the afternoon.  “And one thing at a time”…funny, that’s how I deal with my 4 year old daughter too.  We talk about the unmarried at 34 thing, that’s her being hard on herself, holding herself to unrealistic expectations and ‘societies’ ideals.  And I didn’t share this but anyone that’s dependent on a marraige to set their life right…I feel bad for the marraige.  The serial dating…we’re all single adults here.  Enough said. 

My takeaway about knowing what I want and  what I deserve…meant more to me than what I left at the bar 45 minutes and another vodka soda later.