Canoe enthuisiast tells it like it is

I have a soft spot for superhonest OKC guys, even if what they say does not serve their own best interests in getting to know me better. Simply because it's entertaining.

Take, for instance, Big Bob. Back again today with a message, unprovoked by me, as blunt as ever. As if I hadn't heard him the first time.

BB: I have strong hands.

BB: I fight in cage.

And that, evidently, is that.

Then there's Canoe Enthuisast. He & I had one random date back in February that, as I said then, was one date only for a reason. It wasn't a bad time. I would say though, as a girl knows, that I knew as the date ended that enough differences existed that I didn't need to see him again. So I decided to move on.

Canoe pops up about once every 6 weeks to say hi. I have no interest in getting together with him again, but he was a pleasant sort and we didn't have a bad date, so I'm not against banter.

The latest was Sunday night. It had been several months since I'd heard from him. At 11:33 p.m. he fired over an instant message:

C: What's up.....right this second? :-)

At 11:38, then this:

C: Or this second?

I had already gone to bed by the time he wrote; it's just that OKC was slow in registering that I had logged off, and Canoe thought I was still online when I wasn't. The unread chat requests showed up in my inbox, which I took until the next day to get back to him on:

K: Well at 11:38 yesterday I had just gone offline and didn't get this message in real time. What was up with you?

After 3 more days of hiatus, he thusly replied:

C: Not sure now. At the time... i'm sure i was most likely a ball of hormones.

Which is exactly when most guys feel the urge to call upon ex-dates.

Yes. Well said.

Image regret

All my life, I've done most of my writing in a state more asleep than awake.

High school term papers. Columns from my first job as a weekly reporter. Essays in grad school. Client letters now. And this blog, more often than not.

Results are always mixed. I know can't speak objectively about its quality until I've had a nap. At the newspaper, this was dangerous. I would frequently stay up until 6 a.m. writing captions and headlines (all for under $20K a year!). It was only post-publication, when the paper was in the hands of 2,000 subscribers, that I noticed typos, mismashed sentences, general gobbeldygook that could never, ever be unprinted.

Blog sleepiness is less serious. Except when it leads me to portray myself as someone I don't want to portray myself as.

So under extreme fatigue last night, I composed my thoughts on all the "looking for sex" dudes who have recently bombarded me on OKC. This afternoon I revisited it. Cranky city. I should have just gone to bed instead.

For the record, I do not fancy myself a sex magnet. Really. (Or more importantly, a sex magnet who makes fun of men with pale, lumpy chests. My chest and stomach are pale and lumpy, for God's sake!) I am fully aware that very very soon, after the googlebot has visited, anyone who types "sex magnet" into an internet search window will eventually reach this site and read my cranky, sex magnet tales of pale, lumpy chest judgements.

I'd rather be known to the world as an empathetic long-legged runner with piano hands who can string sentences beautifully and ride a bike in heels and has a loving family and friends as well as someone of her own to love.

Sounds like it's time to work on this image thing.

A drag (and not the gay, fabulous kind)

My activity on OKC has been limited of late.

(Ditto on the blogging, I know. Sorry.)

It's a combination of a low energy level, of a lot else going on and a lot of places to be -- and -- of wanting to escape the "work" of dating.

There are times, indeed, when such work feels draggy. Stale. Like I think I've seen every possible pick-up line couched in every possible tone. When responding feels like a drag, too.

I think of a long ago e-mail exchange with C, one of my first OKC friends. He's a confessed "serial" dater -- in part because the transient nature of his job allows him to stay out late most nights and I think he's in the habit of looking for a stool partner more than life partner. (Or maybe he desires a combination of the two?) I'm trying to be the former, following our vibe ... although I struggle since I just can't stay up that late anymore. Since our in-person meeting 3 weeks ago, he's cajoled me via text and instant message several times a week -- sometimes at midnight, sometimes at 3, wanting to talk through a Last Call downtown.

(I've promise this week to submit .... maybe.)

(And I digress.)

What C told me was that in his history on OKC, he'll be active for awhile, chatting up women and introducing himself, then get bored and ignore it. Then after a fashion he remembers what was scintillating about it and returns, finding it fresh again. This might be a couple months or a couple days. But whenever he comes back he's ready to go. He's not annoyed by flirtation from inappropriate parties or profiles that all sound the same or women who don't want to talk about anything but sex ...

Wait, that's me.

Me, the sex magnet as of late, for all OKC men.

Nine out of 10 messages to my inbox in July and August have either overtly proposed sex or just said "hi" ... and when I click through to the latter's profile, it is often devoid of anything but a sentence noting that he's looking for someone to "have fun with." Sometimes these men are 22, or 19, or 53, or live in California or tell me how sexy I look, but mostly it is just "hi."

As in: "Hi. Go to my profile and you'll see that I'm looking for sex. I'm sure that alone will make you strip off your clothes and come running."

Attractive.

I was inspired to write this post, of all days, after being greeted this afternoon by this message: "If you're interested, I'd like to talk." His main profile photo was a man's pale, untoned, shaved chest from neck to hips. I dug down into his profile ... and his additional profile photo was a man's pale, untoned, shaved chest from a slightly wider angle.

Yawn.

However, I then read his profile. I admit this man gave new meaning to the word audacious. A sample:

"..... whether ppl want to admit it or not, a big part of life is the need and desire to physically be close/touching other ppl. For the slow ones out there, this translates into ppl need to f*** one another to feel a full sense of "goodness" of one's self. It's ok to want to hump everyday. To have those days where you walk around so horny you can't concentrate on anything. And for any of the so-called rightious ppl out there, save it losers! We're all supposed to be adults here, and we can make decisions without having others "morally" throwing up over us. If you don't like someone elses view of something, you don't have to like it, but don't disrespect someone just because they're not as uptight as you are. After all this is supposed to be America where ppl can express themselves freely."

He then went on to discuss his talents with tongue. How he likes to spend Friday night's recreating a "human tripod." How he wants to meet someone who also wants to satisfy the most selfish part of their personality, only.

Wow. Despite the pasty, lumpy chest I confess to wondering for 10 seconds what it would be like to start a conversation with him, how quickly it would lead to a proposition, and with exactly what kind of language.

Then I recalled .... I've seen a man on here like this before. I've seen 7, or 8, at least.

Purported sex god. Bombastic.

Stale. Stale. Stale.

Perhaps time to take C's advice and take a break.

Last found in the OKC inbox ....

.... at 9:04 this morning from the 54-year-old male from New Bedford MA with no photo and no profile info who doesn't know me from Eve ....

"I like your style, you got 'tude'."

Prescient on a day when, disembarking an MBTA train on route to the beach, I was called aside by the conductor (in italics because I still can't believe it) for not heeding his earlier request to take my feet off the seat, even though the only reason they were on the seat was to spare the elderly couple in the facing seat 45 minutes of knee hockey, and furthermore, I had promised that I'd move them if someone else needed the seat, and besides, I had my iPod headphones on and couldn't make out what all of what he was saying or I never would have messed with his distinct North Shore 'tude because I thought any logical customer service rep would see that I was being nice to my neighbors and since, have concluded that he picked me out of the 400 people on the 12:15 Rockport to lecture because it was a beautiful day and I was wearing headphones and a towel and he was working.

So yes. I'd call that 'tude.

Anniversary

My younger sister and her husband celebrate their

5th wedding anniversary today.

Missy & Chad - August 2004

Chad is a comfortable old soul.

He and Missy (a comfortable, high-powered, organized soul)
met on a blind date in 2002,

but it feels as if he has never not been a part of our family.

Likewise for Henry, even though he's only 11 months old.

It's as if the 1 were always 2 were always 3.

They make an excellent team.

Henry, Chad & Missy hiking in Butte, MT - July 2009

The traditional 5th Anniversary gift is wood.

This family of lovely souls live in metro Minneapolis-St. Paul and, naturally, this sister forgot to send them any sort of greetings for this milestone and certainly is not, today, Fed Exing to them shingles or figurines or, as this website recommends,
a Bonsai Tree.

So instead, I paste here some wisdom from the Indigo Girls.

(from 1994's Swamp Ophelia,
from "the wood song" by Emily Saliers)

.... now I see we're in the boat in two by twos

only the heart that we have for a tool we could use

and the very close quarters are hard to get used to

love weighs the hull down with its weight

but the wood is tired and the wood is old

and we'll make it fine if the weather holds

but if the weather holds then we'll have missed the point

that's were i need to go

no way construction of this tricky plan

was built by other than a greater hand

with a love that passes all our understanding

watching closely over the journey

yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide

seems more than all the courage i can muster up inside

but we get to have some answers when we reach the other side

the prize is always worth the rocky ride

sometimes i ask to sneak a closer look

skip to the final chapter of the book

and maybe steer us clear from some of the pain that it took

to get us where we are this far

but the question drowns in its futility

and even i have got to laugh at me

cause no one gets to miss the storm of what will be

just holding on for the ride

the wood is tired the wood is old

and we'll make it fine if the weather holds

but if the weather holds then we'll have missed the point

that's where i need to go

Deep Thought: Keep Buying the Coffee

On Monday I had one of those moments.

You know, the moment where you're writing your rent check and debiting your American Express bill and your other credit card payment from checking and moving over cash from savings because you're recalling that your IRA deposit and gym membership both automatically withdraw before the next paycheck, just then realizing you still haven't bought your bridesmaid sandals for that wedding on August 29 and that you should replenish the cat litter, stat, and while going to get the litter notice that those squeaks emanating from the car brakes-when-stepped-on are probably not the best and, besides, that baby hasn't had an oil change since April, and how you still want to be able to visit the Copley Farmers Market on Fridays and maybe, just maybe, go up to Singing Beach on Saturday, but there is only so much money in savings and there are still 10 more days to paycheck, and then, just then, the landlord writes you quite seriously about the broken washing machine in your basement that for many reasons he wants you to help pay to replace, and you think, I know I am spending way too much at Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts to get my espresso-iced-coffee every morning and from now on, until the end of time, I am going to brew my own iced coffee and keep it in a pitcher in my fridge and add my own half-and-half and put it in a mug and bring it from home and and save that 20 bucks a week.

When you come upon these moments and then you actually try to make your own iced coffee and then you drink it and you want to spit it back in the sink, I implore you.

Keep buying the coffee.

Feelings ... nothing more than feelings ...

Wow. It seems not possible to blog about one's dating travails when a man can terrorize and kill middle-aged women taking a Latin impact dance class in Pittsburgh on a random Tuesday night, angry over never having found someone to love.

As Yahoo! News reports, excerpting the shooter's online diary:

He complained of not having a girlfriend since 1984, not having a date since May 2008 and not having sex for 19 years.

"Women just don't like me. There are 30 million desirable women in the US (my estimate) and I cannot find one," he wrote. The page ended with the words "Death Lives!"

There's no place for wry commentary in this situation. When you're someone who frequents online dating sites and have either not responded to or turned down a substantial number of unsuitable men, I shudder to think that someone I've rejected could be a man like this.

His purported reputation as an “anti-social” (from the same article) reminded me of an op-ed in Monday’s Boston Globe about “male relational dread.” The author, a (male) doctor, tried to explain, in so many words, why certain men can’t verbally express their craving for emotional connection. How, despite wanting that closeness, they push away partners asking them to talk about it. One eerie line in light of last night’s shooting:

“But scratch our surface and you find that we men desire connection every bit as much as women, and get sick and even do sick things - think of all the destruction wrought by male “loners’’ - if we don’t experience it.”

It is at this point that I feel the need to do 2 things:

1) Link you to the Morris Albert classic, “Feelings” – heartbreak in a song … an example of how to react to loneliness rather than random violence.

2) Add levity into this non-levitous (for so many reasons) day with, after interminable hiatus, some Jermaine and Bret … in this instance doing the "Angry Dance” – yet another appropriate way to deal with inappropriate emotions.

Enthusiasm (sigh)

I went out last Friday with a man I met on OKC.

He's a post-doc engineer at MIT who enjoyed that, in my profile, I included a picture from Obama's inauguration. Like others, he included his "cure for cynicism" since it is something I ask for in my profile (along with strong hands, yes). His opening line:

"I saw your profile and liked it, so I just wanted to write to say hello."

I replied precisely because ... well, why not? I felt volatilely emotional most of last week and he projected well-adjusted calm. And straightforwardness. And a great smile. And then, responding again, he answered my questions on why he was an atheist and if it was really possible that he did like Sanjaya on "American Idol" before asking me out to dinner.

So at his suggestion, I met him for Thai food over by the Prudential Center. As we were sitting, perusing menus, he pointed out the plethora of pad thai options. A moment later he pointed out the riesling options on the wine list, commenting that "he knew I liked those things."

Just then my OKC profile flashed before my eyes.

On a typical Friday night I am

Running, I hope. Or doing yoga to unwind from the running. Or waiting for the 9 bus after running and yoga and, while getting antsy, instead going across Boylston to the Thai cafe for an emergency pad thai and riesling.

And here I was on a Friday night. On Boylston Street. Eating pad thai and drinking riesling after yoga class. With a nice man with whom, I discovered shortly thereafter and believe he would agree, I had no chemistry.

Sigh. Enthusiasm.

Now in the other corner, I've got a man a decade older than me who has been courting with IM enthusiasm from the North Shore since June 23. He has requested chats 14 times; if he's online when I log-on, he says hi!. He is a musician and theater buff and is excited I am too, asking how my musical is going. He is liberal with the use of happy emoticons. He asked me for a drink after the first exchange .... a drink that hasn't happened yet due to my travel, then his travel, then me being hungover a couple Fridays ago when we were supposed to go out.

I was not surprised then, this morning, knowing he was due back from vacation, to find this e-mail from before the sun came up:

"I think I'm free thursday for a drink around 9ish. What does your world look like then? What about that rain check? Is it still redeemable?"

(So I just went on to capture that quote from the OKC website for this entry, and he hit me up for a chat, which included:

North Shore: hi there!

Karin: Hi -- at work. How goes?

NS: it goes well, thanks

NS: sent you a note

NS: Thursday?)

I am game to go out with him, at least initially, because he is nice to me. He is positive. He sings and plays piano and music-directs in his spare time. He sails boats on the ocean.

He is enthusiastic (sigh).

I will work to match him (sigh).

Dateline: Back Bay of Boston 8/2/09

7:28 p.m.

John Hancock Tower

corner of Clarendon & Stuart

Sky metal gray,

air humid enough to produce forearm moisture,

walking by a reflective high rise,

texting,

missing enough correct buttons to instead produce

a something alive with a surreality and texture

that looks more like

a failed shot of the Charles during

Pops goes the 4th or,

at the very least,

a fistful of sparklers

in the rain.

Unexpected

I was kicking around the topic of how on Friday night at the gym, when the 6 p.m. yoga teacher didn't show up so the manager came down and offered all the students refunds, I asked if I could stay in the studio and stretch and the manager said sure, so then I stayed for 75 more minutes with the rain coming down outside and ran through a power routine as if I were still in the class, keeping the ujjayi breathing, including the extended triangle and all the warriors and finishing with spinal twists and a shoulder stand and even attempting savasana and feeling relief that I occasionally can still figure out how to deal with a situation about which, in the past, I might have instead bitched and decided my evening was ruined, and don't really thank the yoga itself but instead realize how much I appreciate the unexpected.

Also unexpected:

It's early on a Sunday morning and I'm on my patio with feet up and a glass of Riesling, to come down after cleaning my apartment for the last 5 hours, and 2 patios over some girls and their boyfriends are partying and it is not your normal Southie party, but instead one where they've blasted several repeats of "Landslide," my favorite Stevie Nicks song and almost-favorite karaoke song, and then produced a mandolin and harmonica and jammed for awhile with something that sounded like skill, and now they are playing Balderdash and saying "shoot!" instead of "f#$%!" when they can't think of answers and screaming in laughter as if to rouse the seagulls, and again, I could have been, and have been many times before, that woman who rolled her eyes at others' Saturday nights that are more social than hers but, unexpectedly, instead I find myself glad to live 2 patios down from people enjoying an August evening in a fashion I can appreciate.