A Life Of Its Own

Some of you may have wondered what happened to me. I'm still here... I just needed to take a break from the blog. It isn't that 'nothing' has been happening in my dating life. There is still plenty of drama on a weekly basis (and I promise that eventually I will catch you up).

My reasons for taking a break from my blog are two-fold. 1. On a professional level, I have been searching for a new job and it has consumed much of my spare time. 2. On a personal level, I felt like my blog had taken on a life of its own. I didn't want the blog (or my established rules for writing about my dates) to dictate my dating life.

I'm going to slowly ease back into this... wish me luck!

End of the week...

I know you're all wondering whether I dropped off the face of the earth... I have.

I have been extremely busy, but I haven't forgotten about my blog. I will have multiple posts for you all by the end of the weekend!

I promise!

Cougar Bait

I got a call last Thursday night from my old roommate Ewan.

“Jane, meet me at Axel’s Bonfire on Grand. I miss you babe… let’s hang out.”

I had worked all day at my full time job and just finished a shift at my part time job. I was worn out and still needed to pack for my road trip to Chicago. (I was leaving right after work the next day.) I wasn’t looking my best and didn’t feel like taking the time to fix myself up.

“Mmmmm, I don’t know, I look like poo.” I hemmed and hawed.

“Awe, come on babe, you always look great.”

I loved it when Ewan lied to me. (We lived together for seven months. He knew flattery would get him everywhere.)

“Well… okay, but you’re buying. I’ll see you in 20 minutes.”

When I arrived at Bonfire, I was delighted to discover that the entertainment for the evening was not the dueling pianos, but instead… it was Karaoke! (I love Karaoke!)

We sat at the bar next to two guys and a girl. (It ends up, that they too were all roommates in some form or fashion.) They shared their songbook with us and we struck up a conversation. (I love meeting strangers at bars.) Between Ewan and I and our new friends (Chris, Jeff and Jennie), we were pretty much the only people singing.

I started things off with my favorite Tracy Chapman song, “Give Me One Reason.” Then Ewan followed with a Dooby Brother’s song that I didn’t really know. I was involved in an intense conversation about politics with Jeff so I didn’t notice that Ewan hadn’t come back from singing his song. In fact, ten minutes had gone by before Ewan reappeared. He tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear.

“Hey Jane, check out the Cougars in the booth over there. They’re seducing me!” Ewan let out his funny little giggle.

I turned around and my eyes got big, “What are you talking about?”

“Those old hot ladies pulled me into their booth after I got off the stage. They told me that they thought I did a great job and wanted to buy me a drink.”

I looked over in the direction that he pointed, “Ewan, those aren’t Cougars… those girls are my age!”

“No no Janie.” He turned my barstool a few inches to the right. “It’s those ladies right there.”

A smile formed across my face. Yep, those were definitely Cougars. The makeup, the clothes, the breasts, the ultra blonde hair and the crow’s feet all fit the profile. They stealthily blended in with this twenty something crowd, but closer examination revealed them to be the oldest women in the bar. (Not a day under 45.)

These women were on the prowl and Ewan was their defenseless prey. Well, not completely defenseless. Ewan had read my post about Cougars a few weeks earlier and he was on to their game.

“Okay Jane, I’m heading back over to the Cougar den. Wish me luck.” Ewan straightened his sports jacket and turned the collar up on his Ralph Lauren dress shirt. He was prime Cougar bait and he loved it!

But, much to the Cougars' chagrin, Ewan didn’t stick around to be eaten alive. After another hour or so we headed across the street to Billy’s with our new friends (Jeff and Jennie). There were other adventures to be had.

Umbrellas And The Ladies Room

At least three times a week I pass by a rack of umbrellas for sale. At least once a week the thought crosses through my mind that ‘I need to buy an umbrella,’ just in case I ever get caught in the rain. But, I always shrug the idea off. I never get caught in the rain. (Knock on wood.)

Last night I drove around the one way streets of Uptown looking for Azia, a restaurant that I’ve never been to. I know Hennepin Avenue and the Lake Calhoun area fairly well, but Nicollet and Lyndale are not my fortes.

I was supposed to be meeting my friend Maximilian for drinks. (Mapquest had failed me again.)
It was drizzling outside. I barely needed my windshield wipers. When I arrived at the intersection where Azia is located, I let out a sigh of relief. (I wasn’t even that late!) The bar was right where Maximilian said it would be. And, how lucky can I get? There was a parking spot on the street only one block away!

Then the inevitable happened. There was a flash and with almost no delay... "BOOM!”

In one fantastic smack, the floodgates of heaven opened and the judgment of God poured down onto the streets of Uptown. (Okay, so it was just a really bad thunderstorm.) I could barely park my car. I couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front or behind me. Sheets of rain came down. (Has anyone ever seen a single sheet of rain?)

I sat in my car and thought about the rack filled with umbrellas. (This stinks!) I waited about five minutes for the rain to let up. It didn’t. So I resolved to make a dash for it. How bad could it be? (I was about to find out…)

For safe measure I rolled my jeans up like Capri pants. (It wouldn’t make a difference, the streets were ankle deep.) By the time I made it inside, my hair and face were dripping wet. My mascara was working its way down one of my cheeks. My jeans were sticking to my skin and my favorite pink leather foe-crocodile heels had water pooling in the toes.

It took some alcohol and a large bowl of wanton soup to warm me up. Max and I had a great time chatting. We discussed the elements of dating from my blog (see ‘Definition of Dating’ from last week) and we determined that our meeting did not meet the required elements of a date. Max psychoanalyzed the blog and my alter ego, ‘Jane.’ It’s extremely interesting to hear another person’s take on it!

I excused myself to use the ladies room and headed to the back of the restaurant. I walked through a doorway and the restaurant opened up into a large room in the back with additional seating, a lounge area and a bar. I wandered around for about thirty seconds looking for the bathroom. It was deserted besides a bartender, a man at the bar (talking to the bartender) and a man dressed in a dirty T-shirt walking in my direction and spilling the drink he held in his hand.

Me, being the friendly gal that I am, asked the man in the dirty T-shirt, “Excuse me, do you know where the ladies room is?”

His eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slightly slurred, (“mumble… mumble… mumble”) I’m wasn’t sure what he said, but then he nodded in the opposite direction. Then I think he said, “Over here…”

So, I followed him. He led me directly to an open area with sinks. It was one of those modern / trendy bathrooms where the men and women have separate facilities, but share the same washroom.

The washroom had better lighting than the bar area and I could now clearly see that this man was severely intoxicated. I asked him, “Which one is the ladies room?” (There were two doors but no signs… I hate that!)

Despite his condition, the drunk man walked to the door on the right and opened it for me. (How polite!) He pushed and held it open while I walked in. (At this point, he was standing in the bathroom with me. There weren’t any women inside thank goodness.) I turned and looked at him, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks so much for your help. I think I can take it from here.” He looked at me like he had no idea what I had just said. So I addressed him again, “Is it okay if I go to the bathroom by myself?”

He nodded yes, mumbled something else and walked all the way into women’s bathroom. I didn’t stick around to see which stall he went in to. I just walked out laughing.

I laughed all the way up to the bartender. “I’m sorry, the bathroom on the right is the ladies room right?”

The bartender turned around, “Yeah, the door to the right of the sinks.”

“Um yeah, there’s a drunk guy going to the bathroom in there.”

The bartender rolled his eyes. “I just kicked him out of here.”

He walked over to the facilities and popped his head in the door. “Are you almost finished? Did you know that you’re in the women’s bathroom?” (I don’t know why he asked, it was clear he didn’t have a clue.)

I stood there while the bartender tried unsuccessfully to coax him out. I was getting a little impatient, “Hey listen, I really have to pee. Can you please watch the door to the men’s room, I’m just going to use their bathroom.”

The bartender seemed a little freaked out that I suggested it. But another woman had arrived on the scene and I talked her into it. He didn’t have a say in the matter. She watched the door for me. (What a doll.)

After I had finished my business, I washed my hands and looked into the mirror. My hair was lumpy and damp and my runny mascara had given me raccoon eyes.

My thoughts went back to the rain and then to the umbrella rack… I really need to buy an umbrella!

An HBO Production

I’m moving on. I know ‘he’s just not that in to me.’ I’m ready and able to let it all go, and then right when I’m about to let the last pieces of whatever we had slip from my fingers… he calls.

Dutch was right (and I hate admitting that he’s right), if my life were an HBO production, I would be Carrie and ’40 Year Old’ would be Big. Why does he even bother calling? (An email would have been fine.) The conversation ended awkwardly and the knot returned to my stomach. The emotions (that I thought were gone) crept back from whatever cave they had been hibernating in. Life would be so much easier without emotions.

Too Nice

Dutch and I had breakfast the other morning. He accused me of being “too nice to men.”

“Jane, you need to stop striking up conversations with complete strangers. When we go out and you pay any attention to a man, he thinks you’re hitting on him. You’re giving him mixed signals and he thinks he has a chance. It’s a cruel trick… you need to stop.”

I was floored. “Dutch, that is ridiculous! Men do not think I’m flirting with them, just because I’m friendly and nice!”

He shook his head and finished sipping his coffee. “Yes they do.”

I thought about this for a minute while I drank my chocolate milk. There might be something to what he said. It could explain what happened to me at my part time job earlier this week…

It all started a few weeks ago, during the primary elections for mayor in St. Paul. I had rung up a transaction for a gentleman at the register. As he paid for his items, he vaguely mentioned that he was a vote counter for the City of St. Paul. That sounded interesting to me, and I asked him a little bit about his job and what the final results of the election were. He looked a little burned out, but perked up when I expressed interest in what he did. (I can always find something to talk about with a stranger.) We chatted for a few seconds. Then he kept standing in front of my register trying to remember the exact results, but… he couldn’t. (People were starting to line up behind him.) I needed to hurry him along.

“Thanks so much. Have a great evening, and don’t work too hard!”

He moved towards the door, “I’ll find out those results for you.”

I had moved on to the next customer, looked up, smiled and said, “Great!”

Yeah, it was an insignificant moment in my life. But apparently, it meant a little more to him. Two weeks after the election, I was again working at my part time job when I turned around. I was standing face to face with the same gentleman. (It took me a few seconds to place him.)

“Hi Jane!” He looked down at my nametag. (I’m never sure if customers are looking at my nametag or my breasts. I always assume it’s the nametag, because I have a hard time believing my breasts draw much attention.) “I have those election results for you.”

What is this nut talking about? Oh my gosh! He actually came back to the store to tell me the election results he couldn’t remember two weeks ago!

He seemed so proud as he rambled off statistics of the votes counted. I already knew which candidates won… everyone knew. Why was he telling me this?

“Um, wow that’s great. Was there anything else here in the store that you needed help finding?” I tried so hard to muster up some enthusiasm or to sound genuinely interested in what he had to say, but I was really creeped out. (And, I think he sensed it.) This man had tracked me down two weeks later just to tell me something that meant nothing to me.

He shifted on his feet, “Oh yeah, well I was here at the store for something else. I just saw you and thought you’d like to know. So, yeah… have a good day.”

I tried to remove the freaked out and horrified expression from my face and be polite, but it was difficult. “Um, okay, well thanks.”

He quickly scurried off. The meeting had become uncomfortable for both of us. (Eeeek!)

As I sat in the café with Dutch, I realized that maybe he might be right. However, what am I supposed to do? Change my personality? I can’t help that I’m a perky person. I like talking with people. Why… I don’t know!

I pondered a little longer. It’s definitely my parents’ fault. (I blame them completely.) I inherited the ‘friendly/strike up a conversation with a stranger gene’ from my father and my mother drilled it into my conscious and subconscious that I needed to be kind to ‘boys’ when they make an effort to talk to you. I remember her lecture well:

“Janie, it takes a lot of courage for a young man to talk to a young lady, especially when they like you. You should be polite even if you aren’t interested. Girls can be very cruel when they dismiss a boy. Don’t be like that!”

So, I received one message from my mother and now a conflicting one from Dutch. This is so confusing! Arg! (Dutch also informed me that we had missed “National Talk Like A Pirate Day”. So we proceded to make up for it the rest of the morning…)

Definition of Dating

There has been some discussion (or debate) among my friends and readers as to whether I am actually dating again. I would like to set the record straight. I am still in my “time off” stage. I realize that Josh distracted me somewhat, but I was only phased for a moment and I did not by definition date him. Nor am I currently dating him. Some of you would argue otherwise, but I’m about to prove you wrong!

According to the 2005 Rules of Dating (Jane Dater Edition), Title 1.Rule 2. Subdivision (a). Definition of Dating. The term ‘Date (verb)’ is defined as: all of the elements included in Subdivision (b).

Subdivision (b). Elements.
i. One person invites a second person to an event or activity;
ii. The person who invited the second person to the event or activity, pays for any costs involved in participating in or attending those events and/or activities; and
iii. The person who invited the second person and the invitee partake in mutual and non-obligatory activities of affection, including, but not limited to kissing.

Based upon the above-mentioned definition, I did not ‘Date’ Josh. I only met one of the three necessary elements. I paid for myself (In fact, I insisted on paying for myself). I never kissed him (Marvan, I know you have a hard time believing that). Therefore, I did not date Josh.

Email Scandal

Two weeks had passed since Josh, Bob and I went to the movies. My schedule had been insanely busy and between my two jobs (and hanging out with other friends), I was spent.

Last week Tuesday was my first night off in nearly five days. I was in the middle of doing my laundry when Josh called. He didn’t call for any particular reason, just to talk… for two hours.

I stood in the Laundromat folding my clothes as our conversation became more and more flirtatious. By the time we hung up, there was no doubt that he was hitting on me. (Hmmm)

We had exchanged email addresses and the next morning I checked my account and found a blatantly flirtatious message waiting for me. (I am not disclosing the contents of the message at this time, because my mother reads this blog.) I sent a rather flirtatious email back to him and he replied with a scandalous message. Then, I pushed the envelope and sent a legitimately racy email to him. He never responded. (Oh my goodness, I went too far!)

I would find out later that night, when we went to ‘Sweeny’s’ for drinks, why he never responded. He picked me up and it felt awkward in his car. Once we sat down on the patio with a roaring fire in the background we began to open up.

I started, “So Josh, you never replied to my last email.” Every once in a while, I’m overcome with bluntness and just put it all out there.

He laughed and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that he blushed. He scratched his head, and looked down at his glass, “Well Jane, I didn’t dare answer it, because I knew it would take us down a road I can’t go down.”

I played dumb so that he’d come right out and say it, “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean… Uh, you know… because I have a girlfriend and all. We’ve been together for a year.” (Ouch!) There, it was out there. She wasn’t just ‘the girl he was dating’. She really was his girlfriend and has been for a while!

“You see Jane, things have been strained between us ever since I spent the week by the lake shore with her and her family. It’s just really hard being separated…” (Blah blah blah, my A.D.D. took over and I began to zone out.)

I spent the next 30 minutes listening to him go on about his problems with his girlfriend. Then I spent the next 45 minutes counseling him and helping him understand his girlfriend’s perspective and concerns with their long distance relationship. I reassured him that everything was going to be fine and that the only reason their relationship was strained was because they never saw each other. (Why do I have to be so nice?)

“Josh, it’s impossible for long distance relationships to succeed with one exception. If there is a set period of time that you are going to be separated and that set period of time is less than one year, then you can still make it. Otherwise, if the separation is indefinite or too long, then you might as well call it quits. So you see, since your separation is only six months, you and your girlfriend are going to be fine.” (I patted myself on the back.)

By the time we finished our pitcher of Summit Oktoberfest, he felt much better and I felt much worse (even though I did the right thing).

It was getting late and he had to get up early. So we went our separate ways.

I got home and there was a message on my voicemail from ‘Cali-goose’. He had left me an extended lecture about how I need to let this thing with Josh go. “Jane, don’t waste your time. You’re just going to get hurt.” He was right, but I didn’t call him back to tell him that.

I’m no angel. I’ve cheated on a boyfriend in the past, but it was an accident. I forgot I was dating him… twice, and made out with other boys. (It’s just that he was kind of forgettable.)

I’ve also kissed a boy or two that had a girlfriend. But, it all came back to bite me in the bum a few years ago when I was on the receiving end of the cheating. It didn’t feel good.

And so, Josh is off limits.

(On a side note, 40 Year Old sent me a bunch of emails today. Apparently he finally remembered that I existed. I’m embarrassed to say that I was glad to get them. I hate him.)

Background Noise

Josh called me three times in the next two weeks after our dinner/date. I didn’t return the first phone call. The second phone call I told him that I was busy (which I was… I was scheduled to work at my part time job). The third time, I agreed to go out with him and his roommate Bob (that was safe enough). We went to see “The Wedding Crashers”. It was a great flick.

However, my infatuation with Josh began to crack (just a little). As we sat in the movie, he kept leaning over and making comments.

“Jane, what song is that playing in the background? I really like it.”

I leaned over and whispered (the emphasis is on ‘whispered’), “It’s Coldplay.”

He leaned over and said (the emphasis is on ‘said’), “It’s Coldplay? Is it new or something, I’ve never heard it before?”

I leaned over closer and whispered even more softly, “It’s off their first album, Parachutes.”

He replied (in his normal talking voice), “Are you sure? I guess I didn’t listen much to their first album.”

He looked at me for a response. I needed to wrap this conversation up. “Josh, trust me. It’s off their Parachutes album. We can download it and listen to it after the movie.” He nodded. The discussion was over. (Phew!)

I was annoyed and amused at the same time. Not because he was talking during the movie (I do that all the time), but because it seemed that (despite all of his other charms) Josh was incapable of whispering. He has one of those deep resonating voices that carries above (or below) all other background noises.

After the movie, the three of us went to ‘The Groveland Tap’ and had Juicy Lucy’s. Josh and Bob have taken it upon themselves to eat at every restaurant in St. Paul that serves Juicy Lucy’s. I wanted to spend more time alone with Josh, but his roommate prevented that (which is probably a good thing).

We ended the evening early and the two residents went home. I grabbed my purse and hopped in my car. Bridget was in town for a job interview. I was on my way to hang out with her for a few hours.

I thought to myself on my way to Bridget’s hotel. “My god, Josh has a loud voice.”

10,000 Spoons Continued...

I left off with the voicemail from Josh, the resident. I returned his call and our conversation ended with plans to meet for dinner the next night.

Josh picked me up at my apartment and we drove to Punch Neapolitan Pizza, my favorite pizza place in St. Paul. He was thoroughly impressed with my choice of restaurants. It was the one of the most pleasant evenings out that I’ve had in months. The conversation was genuine and indepth. We shared a half carafe of wine on the minuscule deck and talked for hours. We talked about... well life. Towards the end of our conversation the subject came up that I had been avoiding… his girlfriend.

He brought her up in passing and referred to her as “the girl that I’m dating”. I didn’t mind when our conversation changed direction and the mention of her was quickly forgotten.

We split the bill (at my insistence) and we left the restaurant. I was feeling hospitable and had him drive around Highland and Merriam Park. I showed him the Frank Lloyd Wright house. I showed him Izzy’s Icecream and Legacy Chocolates (my favorite chocolate shop!). I felt at ease with him and I was sad when he dropped me off.

As I walked up my apartment stairs (alone); I decided to leave him alone. But, I couldn’t help but be excited about my fantastic evening out. I thought to myself, ‘He has a girlfriend… He’s only in town for a few months. Why in the world would I want to get involved with a man who’s leaving?’ I already tried that once and got burned (by 40 Year Old). I was a tortured woman!

I sat in my apartment and psychoanalyzed the situation. In particular, I psychoanalyzed myself. Maybe I only fall for men when I know that they are either physically or emotionally unavailable? (Hmmm, that sounds deep…) Maybe I like the challenge? (That’s actually true, I’m mannish that way.) Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment? Whatever the explanation, by the time I went to bed, I resolved that Josh is off limits.

Amish Friendshit Bread

Well, ten days into the Amish friendship bread recipe and I have failed… yet again, at another attempt to bake. I forgot to split the recipe into four parts before adding all the rest of the ingredients. (Despite the fact that I had step by step instructions sitting in front of me.) I’m stuck with a huge bowl of brown batter. Since only the Amish know the secret to the starter mix, I’m shit out of luck. I can’t pass along the bread batter to any of my friends. I’m not even sure if the batter will rise. (Marvan, I know you aren’t surprised by any of this.) I just popped it into the oven… I guess I’ll know for sure in about one hour.

Update: The bread initially looked successful. However, after tasting a slice, I’m confident that it is a failure. The initial flavor wasn’t terrible, but the bread has a distinct and vaguely familiar aftertaste. It leaves the same acidic burning aftertaste as vomit. I may never bake again!

I Don't Bite

Last night I stood in my tiny galley kitchen in my quaint Saint Paul apartment mixing ingredients to a batch of Amish friendship bread that I received from… who else but a friend. I was chatting away on my cell phone and headset (as I normally do) with my friend Bridget. I was really distracted, but Bridget was extremely patient with the long pauses that kept creeping into our conversation. To be honest with you, I’m not very talented at talking and baking at the same time. Okay, correction… To be totally honest with you, I’m not very talented at baking PERIOD and it is utterly impossible for me to talk on the phone and do ANYTHING else at the same time. (The truth comes out!)

As Bridget and I attempted to converse while I spilled flour all over the counter, I heard a strange muted noise… (Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz) I thought to myself, is it the fan on the power source of my computer going out again? I walked over to the PC and put my ear up to it… nothing. But, now the buzzing was getting louder. Was it my ceiling fan? (I knew that it wasn’t bolted securely to the ceiling, because it had already shook the globe loose from the fixture two months ago.) I stood underneath the fan and listened… nothing. But, still the buzzing persisted.

Then the buzzing became intermittent and was loud enough that I could recognize the sound. Bzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzz! Someone was standing outside the front of my building, buzzing all of the apartments!

I was still on the phone, when I threw my shoes on… “Bridget, some idiot is buzzing all of the apartments. I’m going to go downstairs to see what the problem is.”

When I got to the front entrance of my brownstone building, there was a man standing outside the door, shaking it, and trying to get in. I stood about six feet inside of the door. Before I had a chance to say anything to the man, he yelled from the other side, “Let me in!”

He was a larger man in his fifties, with a tight white wife beater t-shirt accentuating his large pregnant beer belly and his well formed breasts. (His breasts were bigger than mine… which isn’t saying much… But he had to be expecting twins.) He was clean shaven with long white hair, but was completely bald on top. By my estimates he was a Grade A, First Class Weirdo. I looked at him and yelled back, “Stop buzzing the buzzers!”

He yelled back, “Let me in!” (Dealing with weirdos is one of the drawbacks to living on the bus line.)

I yelled louder, “You don’t live here! I’m not letting you in!” He looked at me (with a glazed over expression) and buzzed the buzzers some more.

By this time my neighbor Shayna opened her door and some dude I had never seen before emerged from the basement studio apartment (where it’s rumored they deal pot). I looked at both of them and said, “Do either of you know this guy?”

They looked at me like I was crazy… of course they didn’t.

He was still buzzing when I yelled, “What’s wrong with you? We’re not letting you in. Go away!”

Then things got weird. He put one hand on his hip and his spare palm on the glass door and (if I’m not mistaken, I thought I heard a southern drawl) he said, “I don’t bite.”

I looked at Shayna and she shot me a look back. We both understood, yeah, this guy is nuts. I looked back at him and he repeated, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” His hand was still on his hip and his palm still on the glass. (Weird!)

I yelled at him, “Get the hell out of here, we’re calling the police!” He just kept staring at us and repeated, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.”

It was at this point that I realized I was still on the phone with Bridget. “Oh my God! Bridget, are you hearing all this? This guy is crazy. I’ve got to let you go. I’m calling the police.” I didn’t give her time to answer… I hung up and tried dialing 911 (which is actually rather difficult on a cell phone.)

It didn’t matter. While I fumbled with my cell phone and the weirdo outside kept repeating, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” Shayna had successfully called 911 and asked them to send by a squad car. The dude in the basement studio (that I had never seen before), disappeared back into his smokey den. The man outside was still repeating, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” (He had probably said it 15 times, by the time I walked away.)

I finally turned around to go back upstairs to my apartment, but not before Shayna and I chatted for a few minutes in the hallway. I had never really talked to her before… just a wave here and there while coming in and out of the building. She’s a sign language interpreter. (How cool is that!)

It’s funny how all it takes is a weirdo saying, “I don’t bite. I don’t bite.” for neighbors to come together! Maybe I’ll pass along a batch of the Amish friendship bread to her. Yeah, that’s a nice thought!

Cougar Bar

I was recently informed by my new friend "Richie", of a phenomenon known as a ‘Cougar Bar’. Before Friday night, I had never heard of the term.

Richie, Amelia, Billy, Jessy and myself (Jane, if you hadn’t figured that out already) had been enjoying a late happy hour at Bellanotte in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. They have a great patio and it’s possibly one of the best places to 'people watch' in the Twin Cities. As we jabbered away and soaked in the fabulous later summer weather, Richie paused, looked around the expansive patio bar and got a funny grin on his face.

He leaned into our circle and said, "Have you guys ever heard of a Cougar Bar?"

Amelia and I shrugged our shoulders, and I said, "A what bar?"

He repeated, "A Cougar Bar!"

We shook our heads no, and Richie began to explain. "When I used to live on the West Coast there was a bar down the street from my house. It was a great place to hang out and have a beer until later at night. Then, it turned into... a Cougar Bar."

Amelia piped in, "So what’s a Cougar Bar?"

Richie said, "It’s a bar where single (typically) divorced women in their forties come to prowl for younger men."

We began to laugh, not because of his explanation of what a Cougar Bar was, but because we realized what Richie had already realized. We were sitting in a Cougar Bar.

Over the past few hours on Bellanote’s patio, the crowd of people had gradually changed. There were no longer groups of coworkers having a Friday afternoon happy hour nor were any couples scattered about having romantic dinners. The atmosphere and the crowd was notably different. We were in the midst of a Cougar crowd! These women were perched on their high stilettos peering out beneath their thick dark eye makeup, over the herds of people, waiting patiently to pounce.

Sure... there were plenty of creepy old men hitting on younger girls. But there was a definate remnant of Cougars on the loose in Bellanote... waiting for their prey. (Meow...)

Amelia wasn’t sure that they were all women. She was convinced that a few of them were actually men. I had to agree with her in a few instances.

The next day I attempted to do some further research of the phenomenon of "Cougar Bars" I found some other varied definitions of what a "Cougar" was. The following description I liked in particular:

"Cougars are single, slightly-older women, who go out, dressed like they’re in their early twenties and get really really drunk while trying to meet (i) Young men or (ii) Rich older men. Cougars who, unlike women in their early twenties that are not extremely aggressive in their courting practices; are predators, which is a learned behavior they acquire in order to get the attention of men, who traditionally prefer to date younger women."

Now that I know that there’s a name for this behavior, it makes me wonder… Am I on my way to becoming a "Cougar?" (Dun, dun dun... forboding music....) If so, the bars of First and Hennepin Avenues... Beware!

A Narrow Escape From Mr. Chuckles

What does one do, when they are no longer dating? Or rather, what does Jane do when she’s no longer dating? (Please don’t ask me why I’m writing in the third person.) Anyway, the answer is… I work. I work a lot!

I worked this evening at my part time retail job (my 2nd job). As much as it stinks having to put in 10-12 hour workdays, I really enjoy the people I work with and I don’t mind the work. There’s always something interesting going on. Today was no exception.

It was getting close to the end of my shift. It was 15 minutes before closing time, when I saw him. It was the same guy I had helped on two previous occasions over the past three weeks. He was back again. I would describe him as a nerdly fellow that took good care of himself. He wore pressed khakis and a blue dress shirt. It was tucked in and finished off with a belt. (It says something about a person, when they wear a belt. I’m not sure what… but it says something.)

I was busy straightening up my section of the store. I briskly walked by him and made a comment. “Are you back again? I’m not sure if there’s anything left in the store that you haven’t bought.” I had a teasing and sarcastic lilt in my voice.

He chuckled (I’m not kidding, he really did chuckle), “I just never realized how much stuff you guys have in your store. Every time I come here, I see more stuff that I need.”

We both chuckled… I was inadvertently mimicking his laugh. (A bad habit that I have to stop.) I think it’s a subconscious sales technique.

“Jane, that’s your name right?” As he looked down at my name tag. “You must work here a lot. All three times I’ve come into the store, you’ve been working. Is this your full time job?”

I chucked. (I really have to stop mimicking the customers’ laughs.) “No, no… I’ve just been working a lot lately.” (I didn’t tell him that it was a substitute for not dating.)

We bantered back and forth as I hurried him through picking out bathroom accessories. I found out that he worked in IT at Northwest Airlines. I told him what I did for a living and… he chuckled (again). We discussed the mechanic’s strike and his employer’s pending bankruptcy as I walked him to the front of the store to check out.

I knew what was coming as I scanned the items and started bagging his purchases.
“So Jane, are there any good coffee shops around here, open this time of night?” I could tell he was trying to be subtle, but I was two steps ahead of him and played dumb.

I didn’t want to be mean, but I just wasn’t interested. I’m seriously done with dating. “Well, there are some coffee shops, but not any good ones. You’ve always got Perkins to fall back on.” I chucked. (Crap, why can’t I stop mimicking… it’s really getting annoying.)

“Isn’t there a Starbucks down the street?” He was putting himself out there and I respect him for it, but I wasn’t budging on my position. I’m really seriously done dating.

“Yeah, there is, but it closed already. All the businesses near the mall shut down between 9:30 and 10:00 p.m. It’s already closed.”

“Oh, um, that’s too bad.” He said softly. He didn’t chuckle this time. I finished his transaction and told him to have a good night and that I’d probably see him around again.

I had shut him down. I felt bad, but my adventuresome dating spirit has vanished. My interest in the activity… is simply gone. Not even the promise of good conversation with this nameless nerdly guy (that shall henceforth be referred to as ‘Mr. Chuckles’) could motivate me to accept his invitation of coffee. I felt like a bizzo for brushing him off, but I need some time off from the sport.

My despondency about being a bizzo to the ‘nameless nerdly guy’ a/k/a ‘Mr. Chuckles’ was short lived. As I walked out to my new long term German boyfriend ‘Arie the Audi’ (Yes, I named him.) I saw a praying mantis sitting on the roof of my car. It was the largest praying mantis I’ve ever seen. A couple of my co-workers and I played with it for about 10 minutes. We poked at it with sticks, blew on it and took its picture with my phone. Eventually, we pulled a branch down and let it crawl back into the tree it dropped from. That mantis must have been 6 inches from end to end! It made me chuckle.

Dating Boycott

I’ve decided to stop dating. It’s not so much a decision as I’m simply bored with it. I’ve lost interest. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Things were progressing with Keith and I’m still having a good time getting to know Josh (in a plutonic sense only), but I’m bored with dating. I’m tired of the time investment. I barely have enough time to hang out with my friends and when you throw a dating relationship into the mix… well, it completely consumes my schedule.

My boycott on dating started a few weeks ago, when I was planning my class reunion. I was consumed with preparations, calling people and making arrangements to get back to my hometown. I just didn’t have time for it. After I got back from the reunion, well I just didn’t feel like it. I started declining Keith’s T.V. dates (which really annoyed him) and every time Josh called me to hang out; I had something else going on.

Dating has lost its excitement… I need to find a new hobby.

Coincidence?

A week and a half after the birthday party on Lake Minnetonka, I got a phone message from Josh’s roommate, Bob. He invited me to a baseball game (with the whole group… that had met at Margo’s party). I declined, because I had to work at my second job. But, I told them to give me a call afterwards if they went out for drinks. They called me back and told me to meet them in downtown St. Paul at one of the many Irish Pubs near the Excel Energy Center. Our group included, Josh, Josh’s roommate Bob, another single doctor (Aaron), Abby, Abby’s friend and me.

I didn’t talk to Josh the entire evening. (He was seated at the other end of the table.) Instead, I chatted with his friend Aaron, who happened to be from my hometown! We even knew some of the same people. What a riot! A couple of times throughout the night I glanced over at Josh and a couple of times he glanced back (but never the eye lock that we had at the party). It was getting late and we were all ready to go. I mentioned I wouldn’t be around next week, because I was heading home for a vacation back home (in 'my home state').

Josh turned around, “Where are you going to be? I’m going to be in 'my home state' next week to."

I looked at Josh and said, “I’m going to be staying out by the lakeshore.”

Josh replied, “That’s funny, I’m going to be at the lakeshore for the first half of the week, but then I’m going to Ohio for the second part of the week.”

I starred at him, looked him directly in the eye, and said, “That’s really weird. I’m going to Akron, Ohio the second part of the week. Where are you going to be in Ohio?”

He stared back at me with a strange look, “I’m going to be in Akron, Ohio! Are you going to the golf tournament?”

I broke the stare, “No, I’m going there for a wedding, but that’s weird isn’t it? What a coincidence!” We both looked at each other again with a strange look. (Hmmm.)

I told him to give me a buzz when he was out at the lake if he wanted to hang out. He never called (I found out later that he didn't call, because he was at the lake with his girlfriend's family), and I never actually ended up going to the wedding in Ohio, but that’s another long story.

We both went on our respective vacations back home and never talked. What did I care anyway, he has a girlfriend! And, I'm done with dating... FOR REAL THIS TIME! I put the entire "bug in my eye boating incident" out of my mind. It was all a waste of my time.

The day after I got back from vacation I noticed a missed call and a new voicemail on my phone. It was from Josh. I listened intently:

"Hi, Jane... this is Josh. I was just wondering how your vacation was and when you get back in town. Give me a call when you get a chance."

I bet you're all wondering whether I called Josh (the big waste of my time) back. Of course! But, you have to wait until my next post to find out what happened. Stay tuned...

10,000 Spoons

“It's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. It's meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife."

A few weeks ago I went to a birthday party on Lake Minnetonka. It was a great bash… for my friend Margo. Margo’s husband is a doctor doing his residency. Most of his friends are other doctors doing their residencies. At this birthday bash, were all of Margo’s single girlfriends and all of her husband’s single guy friends. (I think they like to think of themselves as ‘informal matchmakers’.)

Everyone was having a great time. It was ANOTHER 90 degree day, but we had the lake to relieve us. We boated, mingled and grilled out. You couldn’t have asked for a better Saturday afternoon.

Throughout the party, everyone made the rounds introducing themselves. I was introduced to two doctors from 'my home state'. I immediately hit it off with one of them. His name is 'Josh'. 'Josh' and I proceeded to talk about where he was from and where I was from. We jabbered away and then we had one of those strange moments. Our eyes locked on each other and a staring contest ensued. It went on for what seemed like a minutes (but it was probably closer to 20 seconds) and then we both turned away as we were interrupted by other conversations. (A connection… hmmm…)

The thing about 'Josh' that stuck out most in my mind, when I met him, was his voice. It was a great voice, deep and clear… (this resident has resonance).

We didn’t get to talk for the rest of the afternoon. Other people were vying for our attention, but periodically we would glance at each other. I was definitely intrigued.

Towards the end of the night, we all went on a boat ride. I sat at the front of the boat and enjoyed the warm breeze in my face. The water was like glass. I scanned the horizon for Mars (it's supposed to be visible to the naked eye) and thought about how wonderful the day had been, when...

(zzzzzzz pudd), A large insect flew directly into my eyeball. "Aaaahhh!" I turned around to avoid more bugs hitting my face.

Margo's husband chuckled, "Bug in your eye Jane? I already swallowed two!"

By the time we got back to shore, my eye was red and irritated. I tried everything I could to clean it out. I looked a mess. Besides a red swollen eye, all my makeup had washed off, I was sunburned and my hair was in snarls from the wind whipping it around. (My eye must have looked bad, because everyone kept commenting on it.)

Josh spoke up. “Do you want me to take a look at your eye in the bathroom?”

I laughed, “You’re an orthopedist, what do you know about eyeballs!”

With his quick wit, he snapped back, “I’m good with eyes, I used to remove them from cadavers in medical school as a side job.”

That wasn’t the response I was expecting to hear, but I thought it was funny. "Well Josh, it sounds like you know what you’re doing. Have at it!”

We went into the bathroom, he inverted my eyelid and flushed the bug out. It was awkward, silly and kind of sweet as we stood in the bathroom together. He repeated the process a few times and eventually my eye cleared up. (It was a moment… a weird one, but definitely a moment.)

All the singles at the party left at the same time. As we walked out to our cars in the driveway, I suggested that we exchange numbers. Josh, Josh’s roommate (Bob), Abby (another single gal) and myself stood in the driveway in the pitch dark typing each other's digits into our phones. Our faces were lit up, reflecting the bluish glow from our cell phones. (It probably looked pretty spooky.)

The next day, I talked to Margo and told her that the four of us (all the singles) planned on hanging out again soon.

Margo asked, “So Jane, what do you think of the visiting residents?”

I joked with her, “Margo, they’re both so cute… I don’t know which one I like better.” (Actually… I knew exactly which one I liked better… Josh!)

Margo was riding in the car with her husband and she repeated what I said to him, then I heard him in the background say, “Tell Jane the choice isn’t that hard, only one of them is single… Josh has a girlfriend.”

My heart sank. (10,000 spoons... crap!)

The Awkward Moments That You Cherish

This week I took my new boyfriend home to meet my family. They all immediately fell in love with him. (Particularly my dad and my brothers… He’s a man’s man.) His German accent didn't seem to bother them. I know it's never bothered me. Anyway, my new boyfriend and I took my sister and my dad to get icecream at ‘The Cone Hut’.

I pulled into the parking lot and was trying to downshift instead of just braking. (I’ve only been driving a stick shift for two days. I’m still getting a feel for him… we still have our awkward moments.) Well, I stalled him out in front of four teenage boys. I restarted him and tried again, but I stalled again… and again. My dad and sister hopped out of my Audi and got in line for icecream, while I figured this out. Then I leaned out the window and laughed,

"Oops, I have it in third gear… no wonder I can’t get it to go!"

The boys on the bench outside ‘The Cone Hut’ all laughed mockingly at me. (Jerks!) But, I didn’t care. I have the bestest boyfriend a girl could ever ask for!

I slid him into first gear and parked him away from all the 'common' cars. My sister, my dad and I ate our icecream on the bench. It was a nice mild summer night back in my hometown. (What a great beginning to my vacation.)

By the time the sky started to get dark, I had completely forgotten about those obnoxious boys. The icecream tasted great and I never noticed when they got up to leave. Nor did I notice when they piled into their 2003 silver Grand Prix. I had completely forgotten, until…

They pulled along side our bench, stopped the car and the driver (the punk!) leaned out and said… "Oops, I guess I forgot it was in third gear!"

All the boys roared in laughter. (They thought they were so cool.) They peeled away and started to corner ‘The Cone Hut’ when the finger of fate dug around in his nostril, picked a huge booger and wiped it on those punks. (Oh sweet justice!)

At this juncture I would like to give my readers some background on the setting of my story. ‘The Cone Hut’ has a drive through lane around the back. To separate the drive through lane from the parking lot; there is a curb about 2 ½ feet wide. The curb extends around half of the building to guide traffic to the drive through window. Okay now back to the story…

The boys had no sooner peeled away when we heard a thud, we turned to see that their front driver’s side tire had driven up (just a little bit) onto the curb and then it fell back down onto the regular pavement. The boys thought they were in the clear, but didn’t realize that the angle at which they had driven up and down the curb, left the 2 ½ foot curb positioned between the front driver’s side tire and the rear driver’s side tire. They really thought they were good to go, so the punk that made the rude comment to me... well, he floored it!

The car bottomed out as the rear driver’s side tire slammed into the curb. (The scraping noise must have been heard for blocks.) The back of the car was instantaneously launched two feet into the air (I’ve never seen anything like it.) My sister screamed in delight and shouted "Morons!" I couldn’t stop laughing and my dad’s mouth hung open. We kept waiting for the car to pull around the other side of ‘The Cone Hut’ so we could point and laugh at them, but they didn’t come around. Five minutes later, after the foolish boys had gotten out of their car to inspect the damage (behind the building and our of our sight line), they meekly pulled around the other side of the ‘The Cone Hut’ and exited out onto the street… Their windows were rolled up and they were facing forward.

My dad walked over to the curb to inspect. There was a 3-inch long groove carved ¾ of an inch deep into the curb where the car was launched. He shook his head and said, "That had to have done some major damage."

I turned to my sister and said, "I think I looked a whole lot cooler in my stalled out Audi A4 than they looked in their bottomed out Grand Prix."

She nodded in agreement as she finished up her ‘cherry slurpie vanilla icecream float’, "Oh yeah Janie, way cooler!"

A Date With An Audi

I had a date with an Audi A4 Friday night. (Schnickers introduced us.) I’ve decided I’m going to have a long-term relationship with this Audi. For some reason I’m not having any commitment issues with him. (He must be the one!) He and I are in it for the long haul. I’ve already asked him to move in with me. I had to pay him to stay, but he was worth every penny and then some. He’s the strong, fast, quiet type with 4 wheel drive, 2.8 Quattro, sport suspension, manual transmission, green exterior and charcoal/black interior. Last night when we were alone… I whispered to him that I love him. He didn’t say anything back, but he didn’t have to. I could tell by the way he handled on the road… that he loved me to!

Burning Down The House

So, I almost burnt my apartment down this weekend… almost!

First I would like to present you with my explanation for this almost-accident. There really is a good reason for it! (Really…)

My world is currently in a state of chaos. I’m up to my ears in chaos. Yes, (I’ll agree with many of you who know me) the majority of my chaos is self-inflicted.

I’m currently attempting to search for and purchase a new vehicle (the insurance company totaled mine after my car accident in June). I’m trying to plan a class reunion (It’s already been 10 years!) I’m working two jobs and running a ton of errands before I leave on vacation next week. (I can't wait to leave town.) Lastly, I’m functioning on very little sleep. As you can all see, my life is unmistakably chaotic.

Anyway, here’s what happened… I woke up Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m. I was determined to go to church, even though I had to work at 11 a.m. I could barely open my eyes. I had gotten eight hours of sleep the night before, but I just couldn’t kick it in to gear.

I stumbled into the bathroom (and did my business). Then I stumbled into the kitchen, plopped a couple of eggs into a small pot with water and turned on the stove. (Mmmm, boiled eggs sounded good that morning.)

I went back into my bedroom and lay down. I listened intently for the water to start to boil; it would just be a few minutes. (Yeah, just a few minutes…)

I woke up around 10 a.m. to a sound that I thought was my alarm. It wasn’t! My fire alarm was going off and then I remembered… “Oh crap! The eggs!”

I ran into the smoke filled kitchen to see the eggs popping at the bottom of a waterless burnt pot. The eggs had split open and the insides were black and orange. At first I thought the orange was the yoke… it wasn’t! Good god, the inside of the eggs were actually starting to ember and glow. I dumped the eggs into the sink and poured water on them. (Phew!)

I had to stand under my fire alarm for the next few minutes fanning the smoke away, so it would stop chirping. My apartment wreaked the rest of the day. But, at least I didn’t die.

I’d live to see another day... another day of chaos.

Asexual

I was recently accused of being ‘asexual’.

“Keith” is the one who said it. It was harsh!

Webster’s defines 'asexual' as being one of three things: “1. Having no evident sex or sex organs; sexless. (Dear god I hope that isn’t me…) 2. Relating to, produced by, or involving reproduction that occurs without the union of male and female gametes, as in binary fission or budding. (I’m not sure what that means.) 3. Lacking interest in or desire for sex. (I think this is what ‘Keith’ meant, when he called me asexual.)

The conversation started when 'Keith' and I were sitting on the couch, watching television and talking. We talked about last summer and the summer before that when we had gone out on a few dates here and there, but nothing ever happened between us.

I said to him, “I thought you were really cool and always wondered why you never pursued things with me.”

He hemmed and hawed and said something like, “Jane, I didn’t think you were attracted to me.”
I could tell he was holding something back. I pushed it a little more with him, “Well Keith, you always seemed to have a swarm of gorgeous women throwing themselves at you, whenever we went out in a group. I figured that if you were interested in me, you’d make the first move… and you never did.” (He did have a large number hot friends that were girls.)

He laughed a little bit, but it was a nervous laugh. He was definitely holding something back. “What is it? ‘Keith’, you can’t laugh like that and not tell me what you’re thinking!”

After a few more minutes of provocation, he finally admitted to me, “Well, Jane, I liked you and thought you were a ton of fun, but you just seemed well… kind of… kind of… asexual to me.”

It was dead silence between us for about 20 seconds. My eyes were huge and staring right at him. His eyes looked like they were waiting for a volcano to erupt. (Images of Marilyn Manson singing ‘The Dope Show' in his androgynous body suit ran through my head… Gross!) I didn’t know what to say. There was some more silence between us and then I said,

“Asexual?”

He still had a fearful look on his face, like he knew that he (totally) said the wrong thing. Some more time passed, then I said,

“And, that’s why you never made a move on me?” He nodded in response… and I mumbled under my breath, “absolutely ridiculous.”

Even more time passed… Thank goodness the T.V. was on, otherwise the silence would have been unbearable.

“Okay, now you’re telling me that for the past two years that we’ve known each other, you never made a move, because you thought I was asexual?” He nodded again.

I think I may have repeated it a few more times before I finally leaned in and started kissing him. (I’d show him.)

About twenty minutes later I gave him a breather.

He said he changed his mind.

A T.V. Date?

I was invited over for another "T.V. Date" with Keith tonight. I'm not sure what to call this. Is this a date or isn't it? I'll keep you posted...

Non-Dating Update

I have done something this past week and a half that is quite strange for me… I haven’t dated. Instead, I’ve spent my spare time hanging out with friends and in one case an ex-boyfriend that I’m now friends with. My ‘date nights’ have turned into ‘friend nights’ (or ‘drama-free nights’).

Last weekend, my friend Amelia and I spent an entire evening discussing the finer points of religion, the new Harry Potter book, and what it would be like to be armless. It was great fun and became even more fun after we finished off our first bottle of Chardonay. Our second bottle had us sitting on the floor trying to drink our glasses of wine with just our feet and toes. The experiment was a failure, but we laughed so hard it made us snort.

The next evening I met up with my friend Margo. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her, because she travels so much for her job. Margo is my ‘romantic British flick friend’. Last Christmas her mother-in-law gave her the A&E Romance Collection DVD set. (Her husband refuses to watch them with her.) Throughout the year we’ve worked our way through mini-series after mini-series. We finished up ‘Emma’, ‘Tom Jones’ and ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Our next conquest is ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’.

On occasion we try to mix things up. Once we interrupted our ‘romantic British movie’ night with the Sci-Fi Channels production of ‘The Legend of Earth Sea’ (Margo and I share the same terrible taste in television). Another time (when I was depressed about the ’40 Year Old’ situation) we watched ‘The Sweetest Thing’. (Did you really think I could go an entire blog entry without mentioning him?) Anyway, we love that movie and Margo always jokes that she’s Christina Applegate (sexy and savy attorney) and I’m Cameron Diaz (non-committal blonde)…. (Awe, sookie sookie!)

Last weekend was one of those occasions when we decided to divert from the norm. (Don’t worry Colin Firth, we won’t neglect you for long.) We decided to see ‘Fantastic Four’. The movie was so-so, but the fun part about hanging out with Margo is going to the super market before the movie, buying all of our candy and goodies cheap and then smuggling the items into the theater undetected in her Gucci purse. I love living on the edge!

As I mentioned earlier, I even hung out with an ex-boyfriend this past week. It’s a surreal experience to hang out with an ex. Especially when he reads your blog. It was really nice. We sat on my couch for four hours, watched PBS, ate Dairy Queen and discussed each other’s current dating situations. Some of his insights into my dating predicaments were quite refreshing.

Now, I’m sure some of you were wondering what ever happened on my date with Keith. Let me tell you… nothing. Keith has a demanding job. He didn’t have a lot of energy left on the evening we were supposed to go on our date.

Instead, we just met at his townhouse, sat around, watched Comedy Central and joked for a few hours. (It’s really hard to pull yourself away from the T.V. when Reno 911 is on.) He was really tired and to be honest, so was I. It was great to catch up with him and I had a good time, but it wasn’t much of a date. We’ve been emailing and calling each other a few times a week since then. But, we’re starting to run into the same problem that we had the last few times we tried dating… we can’t get our schedules to match. Hhmmm… maybe we are destined to always ‘just be friends’. (Bridget has actually been saying that for a while…)

The Conclusion To A Long Drawn Out Story...

"40 Year Old" was in town last weekend. I picked him up from the airport on Saturday and we had a fantastic evening out. The old feelings were still there along with that undeniable spark. It was one of the best dates I've ever had with him. (Yes, for all intents and purposes... it was a date.)

He was busy all day Sunday and Monday with meetings and wrapping up the final details with moving the rest of his belongings. Monday evening I called him. I was tired (and I admit, a bit cranky because of certain female factors).

He was exhausted and apparently not extremely tolerant. I told him I wanted to see him again before he left on Tuesday.

"Jane, that's impossible... it's just not going to work out with my schedule." He yawned into the phone.

I whined at him, "Yeah, yeah... it's always about you and your schedule."

"Jane, I told you on Saturday evening that I wasn't going to have anymore time to see you. Listen, I'll call you in a few weeks." His voice started to raise... just a little.

In my mind, I thought to myself, 'a few weeks, that's a load of *expletive*'. But instead I mumbled under my breath... "Whatever."

He didn't like that. He got mad. "Why are you being so passive aggressive with me?"

I don't like being called passive aggressive, but it's funny because he's about the 3rd person in the past six months to have called me that. (Interesting... I'll explore that thought in another blog post.) Anyway, the tone of my voice became defensive and I went back at him, "Simply because I'm disappointed that we aren't able to meet up before you leave doesn't make me passive aggressive! Do you expect me to be happy when you tell me you'll call me IN A FEW WEEKS!"

He yelled, "I'm never going to call or talk to you again if this is how you're going to act!"

I let loose, "That is the most manipulative and mean thing anyone has ever said to me, why are you so hostile?"

He yelled back, "I'm lying in bed. I'm exhausted. I just want to go to sleep. I shouldn't have even picked up the phone, but it was you so I made an (expletive) exception!" (For the record, I didn't know he was almost asleep when I called. Also, there were alot more expletives mixed into this conversation.)

I tried to gain my composure and lowered my voice. "Listen, it's obvious that we're both tired and we're going to say something we'll regret. Let's talk about this later, okay?"

"Okay." Then the phone clicked on his end.

I was really upset.

The next morning I woke up and knew exactly what I needed to do. I sent him an email apologizing and telling him that what he said hurt me. He emailed back shortly thereafter and apologized saying that he would call me when he got off the plane so we could talk.

When he called later, we 'calmly' discussed 'us'. I told him that I couldn't see him anymore. That at most, we could be friends but preferably, friends that rarely (if ever) see each other. He said that he was disappointed with my decision, but understood.

THE END.

To Blog Or Not To Blog (straight from the horse's mouth)

Dutch and I walked into the pub near my apartment (I can’t tell you how great it is to live 2 blocks from one of the best Irish pubs in the Twin Cities).

We sat down opposite each other with our backs to the wall and our feet hanging over the front edge into the aisle. (This was our regular people watching pose.) I looked back and forth at the variety of butts sitting on the stools in front of us at the bar.

“Hey Dutch, I think I can see that chick’s butt crack.”

He leaned over and looked, “Yeah, just a little bit… cool.”

Our discussion this night varied in many respects, but it primarily focused on whether or not I should post my next blog about “40 Year Old”. I ended things with him earlier this week. (Permanently in my mind.) I said goodbye and good luck. It’s a drama filled blog about our final encounter.

I had already talked to "Bridget" about it. She thinks I need to post it and bring some closure the matter. She thinks I’ve been protecting “40 Year Old” to some extent… that I haven’t showed my friends, family and fellow bloggers what a jerk he is. But, "Bridget" has never met him. Her opinion is based solely on what I’ve vented to her about. In fact, I’ve never introduced him to any of my friends.

"Austin HP", agrees and thinks it will help me move on and forget him. But, he said he would understand if the subject matter was too personal to share with everyone. (Hhhmmm, but there’s something to be said about the power of confession.)

Tonight, I’m talking to “Dutch” about it. These were his thoughts:

“Don’t post it! You’re going to see him again, because you always do. By posting a final conclusion to the “40 Year Old” saga, you are setting yourself up for major criticism from everyone. Because, you and I both know that the next time he’s in town you will go out with him. Don’t do it!”

“I think I’m going to do it!" ("Dutch" rolled his eyes) "But, don’t worry Dutch… I’m going to wait a few days until my hormones calm down and then I’ll be able to think and write more clearly.”

“Dutch” shrugged off my decision, “Honestly Jane, I don’t care… I don’t read your blog anyway. Why should I when I can hear it directly from the horse’s mouth? I only read it when you tell me that you mentioned me in it.”

(Neigh…Neigh... Clippidy Clop) “Dutch” is still bitter about how I described him in the blog entry “Off the Hook”. This was his comment:

“Jane, I wasn’t even sitting on a stool, you made me sound like a complete idiot by making me fall off of it when you said, “Off the Hook”… you aren’t that funny… you’re entertaining… but you aren’t that funny!"

"Dutch" and I sat at the bar until 1:00 a.m. (on a school night no less) I was perfectly content to keep sitting there, but Dutch made me leave when Oasis’ Wonderwall started playing on the overhead.

“Today is gonna be the day, when I’m… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…” I couldn’t remember the words exactly. But, I sang them anyway.

“Jane, get up, we’re leaving now!”

“Dutch, I want to finish singing the song. They haven’t gotten to the chorus yet. I love this song.” (I was singing it just loud enough for the people around us to enjoy it.)

“Jane, I’ll leave you here and you’ll have to walk home if you don’t leave with me now.” (the two blocks to home weren’t scaring me… his threats were idle.) “Listen, It’s not that you don’t have a nice voice. I just don’t want to listen to it.”

I looked at him and said, “Okay.” (He had a valid point.) I let him drive me home and I went to bed.

The Trouble With Audis (Part II)

I have been receiving an overwhelming amount of feedback from my friends about the psychology of cars and in particular "Audis".

This is what "Bridget" had to say:

"There are a few blogs that say: Real men drive Audis. Which is of course to say, men who feel inadequate drive the bigger names, Mercedes, BMW, Lexus. Men who drive Audis could have two reasons for choosing them. One, they appreciate the German engineering and luxury of the Audi but don't feel the need to acquire the big name. Conversely, by not acquiring the big name, they do not acquire the big payment. 'Austin HP' who drives the country cousin is a smart man. He bought the German engineering and comfort without the big price tag. You see, even though Audi salesmen deny that VW and Audi are the same company or the same manufacturer, VW salesmen claim that the Passat is the exact same thing, made on the same platform with the same engine, as the A4. Both can't be true, but they look an awful lot alike.
So, real men drive Audis. Or so they tell themselves. -Bridget"

"Bridget" also recommended this website, and I have to say... it has a pretty interesting take on the subject... http://www.bankrate.com/brm/news/auto/20021204a.asp

The Trouble With Audis (Part I)

I noticed a trend with many of the men I’ve dated recently. None of them have any particular qualities or looks in common, except one thing. They drive Audis!

I’ve never completely understood the psychology of cars and men. (Or as Tom Cruise calls it, the pseudo science of cars and men.) Supposedly, the type of car that a man drives can give you insight into his personality. Hopefully, one of my readers can explain this to me.

“40 Year Old” drove a white Audi A4. It was a nice car, but nothing extravagant. He even let me drive it on occasion. (The fool!)

“Creepy John” drove a black Audi A6. (FYI, “Creepy John” has been renamed by many of my friends and readers as “Boob Grabber”.) Anyway, his was a beautiful car. The wheels were… well, they were just…lovely. (You all thought I was going to say “off the hook” didn’t you!)

“Mr. Personality” drove a white Audi A6. This car was even prettier than “Boob Grabber’s” A6. When I rode in it. It felt like I was on a yacht. There was wood paneling everywhere. But, he lied about everything… so who’s to say that it was even his car?

I have a date tomorrow with “Keith”. I’ve been on dates with “Keith” before, a few times two years ago and again one year ago. I enjoy going out with him and he enjoys going out with me, but we have never (and I mean never) been able to get our schedules to work out. (Everything from vacations, funerals and final exams have interfered with our plans.) He travels a lot for his job and I have two jobs. We started emailing each other lately. He is notorious for not stepping up and making the first move (because typically with him, the girls make the first move). To expedite matters, I sent him the following email:

“Dear Keith, I’m sending you this emailing to subtly suggest that you ask me out for drinks or dinner or both. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to ask you myself. –Jane”

He emailed right back, “Dear Jane, I have a great idea! How about we meet for drinks or dinner or both? When are you available? – Keith”

We’re going out tomorrow (unless the gods intervene and cause some unforeseen event to prevent us from going out…. honestly it wouldn’t surprise me).

Okay, now that you have the background on “Keith”… here’s the snafu. “Keith” drives a black Audi A4!

What does this mean? (Beats me…) I feel like I’ve come full circle with Audis (and perhaps men).

I talked to “Austin HP” about this trend. He flipped out, “Jane, oh my god… does this mean I have to sell my blue Passat? (He loves his Passat.) The Passat is the country cousin to the Audi A6. I don’t want my car to be distantly related to ‘Boob Grabber's’ or ‘Mr. Personality's’ cars!”

I told him he was fine, because his Passat was blue and I’ve never met a blue car I didn’t like.

Maybe my friend “Schnickers” will have some insight into this subject. He drove an Audi A4 for years, but it was a burnt orange or metallic sunset color. I’ll have to ask him.

Peep Show

The heat wave here in the Twin Cities has been relentless. The enthusiasm that we Minnesotans normally exert with the onset of warmer weather has waned. We are being forced back inside.

Yesterday we experienced a brief hiatus from the oppressive temperatures… a slight breeze began to blow. It was heavenly and the patios in downtown Minneapolis once again began to fill up and smiles returned the faces of its fine citizens.

Downtown was where I was heading... to meet a friend for drinks after work.

I was driving along I-94 when a big blue van started pacing along side my car. I didn’t notice it at first, but eventually I looked over at the driver and passenger. They were middle-aged men who were both looking down into my car… at me. I looked ahead and thought to myself, “why are they staring at me?”

It was extremely uncomfortable and I could see out of the corner of my eye that they were still staring down at me. This went on for over a minute (which is an eternity when you’re driving). I was starting to get mad, when I inadvertently glanced down at the front of my shirt.

(Oops!) Because of the way I had sat down in my car, my loose fitting sleeveless V-neck silk shirt gaped wide open. The two gentlemen in the van next to me had a clear and unobstructed view of the front of my bra and boobies.

I started steering my car with my knees and adjusted my blouse. The men knew they were caught and promptly sped away. The peep show was over! Although I can’t imagine that the size of my assets provided much entertainment. (I know I’d be disappointed.)

However, as they sped away, I noticed a logo on the side of their van. It said, “First Baptist Church”.

Classic!

Dry Spell

Of late, my dating life has slowed down dramatically. The saying holds true, ‘when it rains… it pours’. This spring I was bombarded with dates. I think the warming weather triggers a reaction in men. I call it ‘The Twitterpated Factor’. (See the movie ‘Bambi’ for a more in depth discussion on Twitterpation.)

However, now my dating life has come to a halt (not a screeching halt, but a definite halt). The springtime dating frenzy is over and the summer lull has set in.

I realize that I’m supposed to be on a dating sabbatical and I am enjoying my down time (really I am... I know Cali-Goose has a hard time believing that one), but right now I don’t even have the option of dating, even if I wanted to.

It’s been a while since I’ve talked to “40 Year Old”. Yeah, I get an email here and there (once… maybe twice a week), but it’s just short chitchat between us. I mean, what else can it be? He lives half way across the country.

My prediction is that my dating life will remain sluggish if not dead in the water until the fall. The fall weather has an effect similar to the spring’s ‘Twitterpated Factor’. I call it “The Snuggle Factor” (for lack of a better catch phrase). I theorize that the chill in the air and the shorter nights entice people to seek out other people for the purpose of cuddling.

Hopefully, “The Snuggle Factor” and me kicking my social life up a notch or two (after my sabbatical is over) will do the trick and produce more dates (hopefully). Otherwise, I may have to change my name from Jane Dater to Jane Dateless.

Off the Hook!

I was informed this weekend that I am the only person who still uses the phrase “off the hook”.

I was at Gabe’s with a group of friends that included “Bridget” (who was visiting from out of town) and “Dutch”. The topic of our discussion… Where was the best place to have breakfast in the Twin Cities? “Dutch” relentlessly defended ‘Keys Café’, (but only the White Bear Lake location). “Bridget” insisted upon the Grandview Grill. My restaurant of choice, “Rudolph’s”!

The Coors Light had gone down easily that night and I was determined to get my point across. To emphasize my belief that Rudolph’s had the best breakfast around, I got everyone’s attention at the bar and said in my most confident voice, ”Rudolph’s has the best Sunday brunch. It’s off the hook!”

I was confused for a good 30 seconds, because everyone at the bar (about 10 people) started laughing… at me. “Dutch” fell off his stool. Another friend, “Sandra” had to put her head down on the bar, because she was laughing so hard. Even the bartender had to put his shaker down. I didn’t get it until “Bridget” piped in, “Jane, I think you’re the only person left in the free world… or at least since 1990, that still uses the phrase, ‘Off the hook’.”

My face turned red (as usual... I hate having the complexion of Larry Bird). I shouted across the bar, “Bridget, I know for a fact that people were still saying ‘off the hook’ well into 1994!”

That probably wasn’t the best thing for me to say, because it just made everyone laugh even harder. “Bridget” gained her composure and looked at me sympathetically. “You’re right honey. I take it back. I think you’re the only person to use that phrase since the last decade.”

I appreciated that “Bridget” qualified her statement.

A FOLLOW UP NOTE:
“Dutch” and I went to the fireworks in downtown St. Paul yesterday evening. As we were walking to the patch of grass by the Science Museum with the best view, he started laughing to himself.

“What’s so funny Dutch?”

He shook his head, but had a huge smile on his face. “Jane, you know how I went to the Boys to Men concert at the Taste of Minnesota?”

I looked at him and said, “Yeah.”

“Well, you aren’t the only person that still says ‘off the hook’. One of the guys from ‘Boys to Men’ referred to something as ‘off the hook’ while he was on stage. It made me laugh out loud. I got a few strange looks from the people around me. No one could figure out what was so funny.”

I was vindicated! I WASN'T the only person left in the world that still says ‘off the hook’. Boys to Men still said it! Actually, I think “Junior” still says it to.

Anyway... to my friends, family and fellow bloggers: I hope your 4th of July weekend was ‘off the hook!’

It's okay to "Just Say No"

You're all going to be so proud of me. I turned down a date. I was asked out by a Hennepin County Deputy Sheriff. He was really nice and had been extremely helpful, but I could see his angle. (Unfortunately, I had set myself up for it.)

After he finished helping me, I told him that I owed him big time. (I thought it was just an expression... but) He said, "You can always make it up to me by buying me a drink!"

We both laughed... it was witty of him (kind of), but I just wasn't feeling him.

I joked back, "Maybe I'll have to do that, but I don't venture out of Ramsey and Anoka counties too often..." (I needed to get out of there fast! I could see where this was leading...)

"Well, you could also make it up to me by letting 'me' buy 'you' a drink right now." (He was good! I have to admit... much more forthright than most Minnesota men.)

"It's a tempting offer, but I have to get back to my office. Maybe some other time..."

I didn't give him time to respond, because I was halfway down the hallway. I had escaped! I was home free! Phew! I did it! I just said 'no' (...kind of).

Pork Chops and Cosmopolitans

I had the strangest experience the other weekend at my part time retail job. I was helping an older gentleman and his significantly younger wife (he looked about seventy and she looked about mid-forties). At least I think it was his wife… it could have been his daughter.

Maybe I need to restart the story. I was doing a terrible job helping an older gentleman and his significantly younger wife. I couldn’t seem to help them with anything. I kept joking and the old man seemed to appreciate it. He finally asked me, "It’s obvious that you don’t work here full time." (My lack of knowledge regarding the particular products probably clued him off.) "What do you do full time?"

I laughed, but was reluctant to say. "Um, I don't think you want to know."

Within two guesses, he had figured it out. I was in shock! Then he asked, "Did you graduate from (Undisclosed) University?"

My eyes got big and I stood there surprised and a little freaked out. I said, "Do I know you? How did you guess my occupation and my college?"

He grinned and said, "Jane, you’re an easy read. You’re probably wondering how I know your name… don’t worry… it’s because you’re wearing a name tag!" He was enjoying this.

I shot him a skeptical look. "Seriously, do I know you? What do you do for a living… run a psychic phone network?" He laughed and again said… "Jane, you’re an easy read!" (I’m still not sure what that means.)

We chatted a bit longer. It ended up that he was a restauranteur. He owns three popular places in downtown Minneapolis. I told him I’d always wanted to try one of his restaurants. He asked for my address and I gave it to him.

To my delight (four days later), I received $60 in gift certificates to all three of his restaurants. (I guess it’s true, I do have a way with older men!)

Dutch and I went to the Monte Carlo last Saturday. We had a riot! I drank cosmopolitans and ate pork chops and Dutch drank gin & tonic and ate shrimp. (I would have asked Junior, but he still hasn’t apologized for blaspheming the Pistons.)

After the Monte Carlo we headed over to the Newsroom and grabbed a table on their patio. We drank and drank and watched people walk by on Nicollet Avenue. (Well… I drank and drank. Apparently Dutch only had a Summit.) But anyway, it was a beautiful night. There was a warm breeze blowing through the city and the drinks were cold. Dutch ended up driving me home. The cosmopolitans hit me harder than expected. (Oops!)

I know I said I was going to avoid Minneapolis for a while, (at least until I got my mind off 40 Year Old) but free food will entice me anywhere… heck… it could even entice me back to Las Vegas. (But, that’s another story!)

On a side note: I made sure to send a 'thank you' note addressed to both the older gentleman and his significantly younger wife/daughter.

Game 6 and Benedict "Junior"

I couldn't watch the game. I sat there listening to the commentators, but didn't dare turn around. I was convinced that I'd jinx my boys… my “Bad Boys.”

I walked over to my couch, “Junior” was relaxing, sipping on some ice water and watching the game. He was rooting for the Spurs. (I hate him!)

I’d bitten off most of my finger nails and I just decided to walk away.

“Jane, come sit down on the couch and watch the game with me.” Junior didn’t even turn his head from the TV to tell me this.

“Junior, I can’t! Every time I walk over and check the score the Spurs pull ahead. I can’t do that to Detroit.” I’m not a superstitious person, but for some reason I'm convinced that I'm a bad luck charm. By me watching the game, it will effect whether Chauncy’s three point shot will go in or not. I’m a cursed fan. Every time I watch my team play, they lose!

I don’t think “Junior” minded me leaving the room and typing away on my computer. He was getting annoyed with my high pitched squeals every time Detroit missed a shot.

I yelled into the living room, “Junior, what’s the score?”

“91 to 86, it’s a time out.” He yelled back.

I waited a few seconds, then asked… “Who’s ahead?”

When he shouted back, “Detroit”. I knew my superstitions were not unfounded. I was helping my team by not watching them. I was making a difference… a real difference!

Junior yelled at me again, “Jane, it’s the final minute… you can watch now.” (Secretly I think he wanted me to watch, so that San Antonio would win… he was trying to sabotage the Pistons! He’s a traitor… Junior was born in Detroit!) I couldn't stand it anymore… I had to watch.

The Pistons won that night, but I watched all of game 7 and as a result they lost the series. I'm still not ready to talk about it. I don't know if I ever will be. I haven't talked to Junior since game 6 either.

Junior is my back up boyfriend (of sorts). Whenever either of us don't have a date (or have broken up with a significant other), but feel like going on a date... we give each other a buzz. I can always count on him to come out and listen to live music at a swanky lounge or club. But... my "Bad Boys" come first this time. I will not be speaking to Junior until he apologizes for his act of (Spur) treason.

Leave of Absence

I am taking a short-term leave of absence from blogging due to the NBA Finals. Updates on my dating adventures will resume after the Pistons defeat the Spurs in game seven. Thank you for your patience and continued support.

Wedding Invite

A few months ago I was invited to the wedding of an “Old Friend” of mine (who I happened to have a little bit of a history with). The history is sordid and too long to get into, but he called me to ask if I would come. I told him that I would think about it… and I have. I’ve gone back and forth for months as to whether I should make the trek across the country to see my “Old Friend / pseudo-ex-something” get married.

I haven’t seen him for 5 years (partly because of our sordid history). I would love to see him again, but I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t know how I’ll react seeing someone that I cared so much for get married to someone else.

I also can’t help but think about his fiancé. If I were in her shoes, would I want my future husband’s “pseudo-ex-something” coming to my wedding? (Probably not!) I talked to my “Old Friend” and told him what I was feeling. He told me I was being ridiculous and that he would be hurt if I didn’t come.

“Jane, you’re one of my oldest friends. I want you at my wedding. Everything will be fine, just come.” Then he said: “Would you even bother coming to my funeral?”

I told him, “Yes”.

Then he said, “Well, that is messed up. I would rather have you at my wedding than at my funeral.” (Hmmmm, he had a point.)

I don’t know what to do. I know that whatever we had is long done. We both moved on years ago, but I just don’t know…

I tried to convince “Cali-Goose” to be my date (he’s the best man), but “Cali-G” turned me down… something about how he’s bringing his girlfriend (Grrrr). I asked “Cali-G’s” little brother “Adonis”, but he can’t go, because his modeling career is taking off and he doesn’t have time. “Dutch” can’t come because he’s going to be in Montana. I guess I’ll be going by myself (if I go at all), which is fine… I’ve gotten really good at going stag to weddings (I haven’t had dates for the last 3 weddings I went to).

Puppet Tricks Did The Trick

I was still moping around because "40 Year Old" had left so unceremoniously. I was going through the motions at work. I needed to get my mind off of things.

A suggestion by Sue my coworker did the trick. We hopped in her car after work and headed to downtown Minneapolis and the Theater District. We parked the car in the ramp, and hustled over to the box office (still in our skirts and heels). We didn’t have tickets and all the shows were either sold out or selling out quickly.

As we crossed Hennepin and started towards the entrance, we passed a man standing outside the restaurant next to the theatre. He was cute with shoulder length brown curly hair. Hmmmm… I thought, (as we eyed each other) that’s strange how he’s just hanging out on the street watching people walk by… like he has no place to go anytime soon.

Sue and I pranced into the box office and nabbed 2 of the last will call tickets for… (giggles, snickers and blushing) the world-renowned performance of… (more giggles, snickers and blushing) "Puppetry of the Penis…the art of genital origami".

Sue and I pranced back across the street to Zeno’s and ordered ourselves Mango Martini’s (Mmmmm…). We sat at the window bar and watched people walk by. (I love people watching.) Then we switched our attention to the cute guy across the street, still standing next to the restaurant, still looking like he had no place to go, still watching people walk by. (Hmmmm…)

It was time for the show to start and we headed back to the theater. The curly-haired cutie had disappeared. (But would reappear shortly… well not too short!) The crowd was lively to say the least. There were approximately 10 men in the crowd compared to 100-120 women. (I wondered, ‘why so few men?")

I really didn’t know what to expect. (The title should have clued me off, but the obvious always has to hit me in the head.) I was naïve enough to think the show would be a little more ‘artful’ than it actually was, but nevertheless… I was fully full frontally entertained! My cheeks and jaw hurt by the end of the show, because I couldn’t stop laughing and because my jaw couldn't stop dropping.

Oh yeah, and the man on the street… well he just happened to be one of the stars of the show! (Mmmmm Hmmmm...)

That theater experience really did do the trick! (Good god!) I didn’t think about "40 Year Old" being gone the entire performance. All I could think about was… how (in the heck) did those two guys twist their junk into a hamburger patty and buns?

But, my bliss was short-lived. As we left the theater, I started thinking to myself. (When was the last time I was here?) Then I remembered… This was the theatre that I came to with "40 Year Old" on our second date. We had gone there for a comedy show last winter. That was the night of our first kiss. (Yes Marvan, I did wait until the second date to kiss him.)

Sue and I stepped to the curb and I looked up and down Hennepin Avenue. (Crap!) Then I thought about Nicollet Avenue. (Crap! Crap!) Then I thought about Uptown. (Crap! Crap! Crap!) I’ve been to nearly half the restaurants, pubs and cocktail bars in the downtown with "40 Year Old". Not to mention every place and any place fun near Calhoun Square. I was reminded of him everywhere in Minneapolis. (Crap!)

I had to shake this. I had to stop being so emotional. (Stop it Jane!) I couldn’t avoid these places, just because I had so many recent memories at them with him. (Suck it up Jane! Quit being a sentimental whiner!)

Then I remembered the nice part about living in the Twin Cities. When Minneapolis isn’t working for you (or you just need to get away from it for a while). You simply cross the Mississippi and hang out in St. Paul (just until the memories aren’t so fresh). Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. (I need to get that old fart off my mind.) That's what I'm going to do... I'm staying in St. Paul!

On a side note: I’m not sure if I would recommend the show. "Marvan", I know you wanted to know how it was. (Ha ha… you’re a Curious George!) Well, to be honest, I’m still a little traumatized by those ‘tastefully artful’ peckers twisting, spinning and flying around the stage (shaped like different critters). I’ll let you know if it was worth it… in a few days… when the shock wears off.

Half Broken Heart

I think I may be suffering from a half broken heart. I didn’t break the entire thing (I wouldn’t let that happen… that’s too messy and obnoxious), but I definitely broke at least a small piece of it… and maybe up to half. Enough to make it hurt and enough to make it hard to breathe for a few hours.

“40 Year Old” moved away.

I had sent an email to “40 Year Old” earlier in the morning. It was his first day on the new job. It was a quick note wishing him luck and asking him when his last official day in Minnesota was. I was burning CDs at Dutch’s apartment in the evening, when "40 Year Old" emailed me back.

“Hey Sweetheart, Thanks for the note. I absolutely love the new job. Everyone has been awesome. I can see myself at this place for a long time. (His enthusiasm was apparent.) My plans have changed a bit. I guess I’ve already had my last official day in Minnesota. (Did he say already?) I arranged for the moving company to pack and move all my things today. I rented my place out to my old coworker and he moved in this afternoon. I’ll be back this some weekend later this month, but I’m not sure when. I still have a few things to wrap up with my house. Take care and I’ll talk to you later. – 40 Year Old”

I choked when I read this. I wasn’t ready to hear that. (I held back any tears… I didn’t want Dutch to see, but I think he knew something was wrong.)

Had I known that when I dropped “40 Year Old” off at the airport last week, that it would be the last time I saw him… I would have held on a little tighter and longer when we hugged… I would have kissed him a little softer and longer… I would have… I don’t know… I just wish I had known.

It hadn’t set in until that moment that he was really leaving. He’s already gone. Yes, he said he was stopping back in the next few weeks, but I don’t think I want to see him. I’m not going to call. I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it already does. I don’t want him to see that this hurts me. (This is ridiculous! I've only known this man 4 1/2 months! I hate feeling this way!)

Dutch walked back in the room. (He knew something was wrong, but didn’t ask… he didn’t have to.) He walked up behind me. (I quickly closed my email and pretended to be busy picking out more songs to burn.)

“Here Janie, listen to some Beyonce… it’ll make you feel better.” (He put the headset over my ears and turned up the volume.)

I looked at him and shook my head, “You’re a weirdo Dutch… Thanks.” We both started laughing. I finished burning my songs and we went out for dinner.

Recycling Freud

I'm starting to think that some people are made of recyclable material. These people keep recycling themselves through my life. I try and get rid of them (in an environmentally conscious manner), but they keep coming back. First it was "Creepy John". Now it is "Eugenio". I just received an email from him. (The email he promised me two weeks ago during our volatile conversation over instant messenger.) I hope you all enjoy it:

"Hey Jane, What's up, yo? Just wanted to send you the email that I promised. Sorry if I annoyed you the last time we spoke. That wasn't my intent. This email may annoy you too, but I don't care. Take it for what it's worth.

I should have played it cool with you, but you're so anti-mind games. I figured it was kosher for me to be honest with you. I normally get bored with girls and lose interest in them quickly. It was nice to actually have a crush on someone for once. I got ahead of myself. I am a romantic type of guy and I don't like to suppress feelings when it comes to girls. That being said, I don't really think anyone would categorize me as being an emotional or high-maintenance person. Maybe I over analyze or over think things, but then again you claim to do the same. So I thought maybe you would understand.

Anyway, I sure have learned my lesson in regards to dealing with intimacy or commitment phobes! For the record, I don't think you are a rude b*tch. When I said that I read between the lines, I meant that if you really were a mean person; I would have noticed it much earlier. I figure your reaction was just your defense mechanism for dealing with emotion. You try to drive people away and youre pretty effective at it. Even though I don't buy your fake animosity towards me, I still don't want to deal with it.

It's all cool though, I'm not mad or upset with you. I certainly don't harbor any hard feelings. It was fun while it lasted and reminded me that there are definitely girls out here who can still pique my interest. I still think you'e pretty rad and even though I'm not interested in dating, if you ever want to hang out, you know how to reach me.

We do have a good time when we're face-to-face, after all. The ball is in your court.

-Eugenio"

Wow Sigmund, you've really got me figured out (sarcastic tone). After those 4 dates and 2 kisses my defense mechanisms kicked in. I sensed that Eugenio was getting too close emotionally. He was starting to tap into the deep recesses of my soul and know the "real Jane". So naturally, my subconscious reacted and made me behave in a way that pushed him away. (He really hit the nail on the head!)

When I received the email, I quickly scanned through it (chuckled) and didn't pay much attention to it. I forwarded it to "Bridget" and "Austin HP" to let them have a crack at decoding the purpose of this correspondence. Their responses were almost identical. They both thought it was contrived, like he was censoring himself (which he should have done that last time we talked). They thought he was trying to push my bottons by calling me a committment phobic (although it's already a consensus among my friends that I am) in an attempt to get me to respond to him.

Austin HP was concerned (as he usually is) and emailed me, "Jane, this guy is warped. He honestly thinks that if he can just get you to spend a little more time with him, that he can win you over. Don't respond to this!" Bridget concurred and said, "I think he's playing hard to get. He thinks that you're the type of girl that likes a challenge and by telling you that he isn't interested. He's hoping reverse psychology will do it's magic and make you want him as much as he wants you." (Ick! Yes, I like a challenge just as much as the next gal, but the challenge with this situation, is how to get him to forget me.)

Well, I've spent enough time thinking, writing and talking about this already. "Dutch" is waiting for me to finish typing so we can walk to DQ. (MMmmmm... nothing get's my mind off of things better than ice cream. Dairy Queen here I come!)