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Dating, Anniversaries & the Commercial Nightmares since Valentine’s


Entry 02/24/2012 11:08:00 AM – Mentat 631

Last week I was supposed to be writing this entry, but instead I found myself going off on a tear because some halfwit suggested how I could better my site by adding a little bit more flash and a lot less word. At the moment, I find myself moderately amused (in the impatient sort of way) that I’m still fueled by my consternation of another hypocrite giving me advice. But then again, it might also because I sitting here decaffeinated while waiting for my laundry to get through the wash cycle… Heh, at least the only folk in the place are the owner of the laundromat, and the woman that typically works the odd days here. The few other people that have laundry going have wandered in and wandered out. Surprising how quiet it is here for a Friday; it makes me wonder whether the weekends here are the same (they weren’t when I used to hit the place back in November), but I don’t want to test this theory again given the years I’ve done laundry at laundromats and just how mobbed the places can be on weekends…

I was supposed to also do the laundry yesterday, but honestly the weather was just too pretty to want to stick around a warm laundromat, while the temperatures were near 60 F (15.5 C) and mostly sunny (the clouds were around, some of them extremely dark and ominous). Never did rain, but I was prepped for it while I was wandering about the neighborhood. Today while it’s a good day to stay in and do the basic chores (rainy with some patches of snow and gray everywhere). I felt the want to lounge more around the house instead of trudging up the hill. It’s lazy, but it’s the luxuriant sort of lazy I like to do when it’s modestly chilly out and the only light is somewhere between dark and gray. Not this time though… *sighs* oh well.

Mark has been absent from the house these last almost two weeks. Not sure whether I had mentioned it (I do know I was supposed to mention other things last entry), was that he headed down to the Deep South (Louisiana) to help his now ex-girlfriend move back to her family’s area of the world. Seems that her uncle died sometime at the end of January and instead of heading down for the wake and funeral, she decided she’s had her fill of the insanity of the Tundras of New England and decided it was time to move home. So in a mad storm and whirlwind, she got her two aunts to come north with a moving truck, packed it all up and headed south. At least before the trip Mark had the decency to get his debts paid up in almost full (while he was away the utilities came in and he owes for them). If he had failed that I would’ve talked with the landlord and moved out to one of the freed up apartments (like the one across from the hall, which seems to have a better layout for the bathroom and clearly more space for the likes of me).

Not sure what he’s going to be like when he comes back, and frankly I can’t be assed. I like the peace, tranquility and harmony that I have in the house when he’s either unconscious or out for extended periods of time. The place doesn’t stink of cigarettes or whatever it was he’s decided to cook (his cooking is much to be desired), and it seems that the place is pretty clean in spite of the fact that the cats still love dusting up the dust bunnies from obscure parts of the house. Even the Mad Cat Committee seems more at ease (with the exclusion of Saucy who’s still in perpetual heat every time the temperatures go above 50 F (10 C)). But at least I learned the secret of how to quiet her for a couple of house (besides throwing Nerf Balls at her): All I have to do is keep her company for about 20 minutes and she’s good to go. Wilma on the other hand is beginning to work my nerves in a new way. Seems that she wants into my room (to sleep in the cat bed underneath my own) around 4 – 5:30 in the morning and when she can’t get into the room (I shut the door because I don’t need to be dealing with Whiskey and Saucy’s nocturnal copulations), Wilma begins to claw at the door and mew rather loudly. She shuts up when I yell a bit at her, and seems to calm down enough to sleep on the space heater (when it’s off) near to the door until I open it when I wake up.

Beside that, they’ve stopped running when I stomp about the house in a rush around the house for whatever reason I have going. They still get wide-eyed about it, but they don’t bolt to some hidey or cubby hole when it seems I’m heading in their direction. They even seem more congenial about my picking them up, though Wilma still has her issues for being held for longer than a minute. Then again, she’s the most feral of them, so that’s a given.

Hard to imagine that almost two weeks ago is the 8th Anniversary of my liberation (read: Break-Up) from Rick. It’s mind-bogglingly difficult to imagine that I’ve been (mostly) single and celibate just over 9 years now. I did the usual for Valentine’s Day and laid low not doing all that much intermingling with other humans that day. There was some chats with close friends, but for the most part it was me, the Mad Cat Committee and the various worker noises around the apartment house (as they were cleaning up and cleaning out the 4 apartments that had been cleared out at the beginning of the month.

I went on a date earlier this week (feels like it was last week given my perception of time’s becoming warped again from lack of sleep and odder sleeping patterns) and have come to two conclusions. The first is that men my age are seriously fucked up. We’re not talking the dysfunctional that comes from family, life and hurt. I’m talking the kind of damage that can leave one near completely unable to relate to another human being. On the whole the date was surreal.. While it seemed to have started on a less than good note (it started at a pub), it rapidly devolved into the sort of thing that left me wondering what the hell did I get myself into.

The first thing was that I was running late as I had overslept in my nap, and I had to stop at an out of the way ATM for a $20 to spend at the pub. Even with this I was able to show up within the time period I had promised to show up during. When I got there, it seemed that my date was being hit on hardcore by someone that was already 3 sheets to the wind and trying to demonstrate just how psychic he was be reading my date’s hat. Instead of ignoring the drunk completely, my date tended to give him more attention than he should have — even after the drunk told him he was “hot” and propositioned my date to come home with him. My date had continually told the man to leave him alone, leave his hat alone, and “no” enough that should have sunk in. Unfortunately he kept tabs on him and watched him when the drunk walked off, which was just fueling the drunk’s delusion that my date was playing hard to get.

During this dramatic menagerie between my date and this drunk, I had offered to my date to move seats, have him move seats, offer to go someplace else less surreal, and even suggested I take the man outside for a word and a chill wind to sober the drunk up. Each offer was refused politely. Eventually the drunk had friends to keep him occupied and out of our hair and that’s when the real dysfunction began.

As my family used to tell me, there are three things that one should never talk about during a first date: Religion, Politics and Family. The reason why is because they are bound to cause quite a heated stir if the perspectives or opinions are diametrically opposed (like Catholic vs. Atheist, and Republican vs. Democrat). I want to add a fourth to that: work.

Now, talking about work can sometimes be all right if done sparingly and particularly if one is curious about the line of work someone does. Dating a Nuclear Physicist one would naturally be inclined to curiosity what that would entail. Or a Liquid Fuel Propulsion Expert. Or even an Entomologist. But when someone’s job is rather white-collar (like mine or my date’s who was more a Public Relations Manager), then the conversation shouldn’t be dominated by talking about it. And by dominated, I mean it was the only thing that was really talked about. No matter how many times I tried to turn the conversation to something else, it invariably ended up about his “asshole boss” that he would no longer be working for by the end of the week.

He also seemed to be trying too hard to deny his nerdish roots. During the drunken menagerie, he made a quote from Dune that only a person that has read the books would have known (let alone used correctly in the situation) and yet seemed fixated on the fact that he was a Red Sox fan and didn’t like the fact that I owned a Yankee’s cap. This is in spite of the fact that I told him that 1. I only date jocks, I don’t watch them play their games, and 2. I only have it because the Atlanta Braves’ cap isn’t available in the north. But that didn’t stop him from trying to make a couple of attempts at bringing up various statistics about players that I knew nothing about (nor really cared to know). Fortunately that didn’t last long, and back to talking about work we went.

Part of me thinks (now that I’m writing about it), is it boggled the mind that I could take more than a year off (to travel, to lounge about, etc) and still be well off enough to be there for the date. Part of me also thinks that New Englanders being what they are he was thinking unemployed == deadbeat. I tried explaining that being on 3rd shift does wonders for the bank account because there’s only a handful of things one can do between the hours of 9 PM – 7 AM and most of them involve staying home. But I don’t think that exactly sunk in. Then again that’s not surprising given how much he was determined to talk about his work and wonder what I did with mine.

The date ended after the first beer and him giving me some sort of excuse that he has work to wrap up before he changes jobs the next week. Completely hokey I knew given that my instincts for being lied to kicked in at all the right times, though it wasn’t something I was too disappointed about. After all, the date went poorly and the conversation worse; it just meant that I could pick something up on the way home to eat. Which brings me to the second point…

And that point is I give up trying to meet people (and dating) here in Rhode Island and the vicinity of the Tundras of New England. Seriously, since I’ve come back — with the exclusion of family — people here are just plain screwed up, messed up, incredibly dysfunctional and damaged in ways that leave me wondering “what the hell has happened here since I moved away to Atlanta back in 1993?” Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to work all this out in my head and frankly I’m at a loss for even a viable solution that doesn’t come off as sounding extreme. I’ve been celibate now almost 8 years and while I’m tired of the loneliness (which has become more acute since Cricket’s passing back in November), the prospect of looking forward to a date are no longer tantalizing at all. It’s not for the lack of my heart going pitter-pat… It’s the mind-boggling lack of common sense, manners, sociability, jovial disposition I’ve encountered since coming home to the Tundras of New England. Sure there are exceptions to this, I can think of at least one date that went better, but the dozen since? *shakes head no* Mind-boggling.

Sure, I admit that I might have become rather inflexible in my perspective — but at least you can dress me up and present me to public without it turning into a public spectacle. Or a debacle of a time. I don’t eat with my hands or lick the plate at the restaurant when I’m finished either (heh, don’t even rest my elbows on the table either, but that’s thanks to going to a finishing school. Though I digress). The point is, I know how to behave. Why don’t others my age?

In either case I’ll be thinking about it for a bit.. Might get my head wrapped around it… might not and simply move on.

That’s about it for the time being. Until the next time.

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