A Boy Named Sue and Other Updates...

I'm sure not one of my two faithful readers has been lying awake at night wondering where I've gone.  For the record, everything is good.  Quite good, in fact.  So good that I don't want to blog about any of it, because I'm superstitious that way.

But, I don't want either of you to suffer from withdrawal, so I'll update what little there is to update. 

First of all, remember psycho?  Way, way, way back in May?  No?  Gosh, I really thought everyone was taking notes.  Okay, here's the quick synopsis.  (And the not-so-quick synopsis.)

He asked me out for a walk on a Saturday afternoon.  I said "sure."  A few dozen emails later, he asked me out for Friday night instead.  When I said I was busy, he guilt tripped me into thinking waiting an extra 20 hours to meet was unreasonable.  It all went downhill from there and culminated in him calling me "crazy" and talking about urinating in my car.

So, out of absolutely nowhere, I get an email from Mr. Psycho this week.  As usual, it was witty, charming, and well thought out.

how are you?

Ahhh, yes.  Mr. Psycho thinks a three word "sentence" lacking in capitalization is going to be enough to lure me back into a conversation?  Mr. Psycho is clearly still...psycho.

Okay, but now, as promised, on to the Boy Named Sue.  The boy was not actually named Sue.  We don't use real names of guys we actually meet in this blog.  But, he was "gifted" with an otherwise feminine name.  Poor BNS.

BNS and I email chatted for a few weeks before we actually met.  We had a phone "date."  We hit it off well enough, but due to his busy schedule we didn't actually meet until nearly two weeks ago. 

I have this to say to BNS.  Ya snooze, ya lose.  In between scheduling a date with BNS and actually attending said date, I struck up a conversation with the current object of my affection.  We scheduled our first date very quickly and by the time I set out to meet up with BNS, we were already planning our second date.  So, I knew walking into the bar to meet BNS that he didn't have a chance.

That said, I also knew when I walked into the bar to meet BNS that I didn't have a chance in hell of recognizing him.  My only hope was that he would be late, and therefore tasked with the job of finding me.  Luckily, that's exactly what happened.

BNS is that he only had two photos posted on match.  The first was a fish photo.  You know the type...back to the sun, baseball cap on head, holding a prize catch.  They're all pretty much the same, so I didn't feel bad stealing a few from the web and making a montage.

No, none of these guys are the BNS. 

The subject in all these photos is the fish, not the guy.  So, if you're trying to let someone know what you look like (on a dating site, for example) it's not a really good choice.  If you're trying to hide your identity because you're in witness protection, it's totally the way to go.

BNS's second photo was an extreme close up.  Putting together a montage of this type of photo was a little more difficult.  I had to get creative.

None of these guys are the BNS either.  One of them isn't even real.

Incidentally, when I tried to find some "extreme close up" photos on google images, this is what I came up with.

Very funny, but it didn't make my point.  You can totally tell what Wayne and Garth look like.

So, it should come as a surprise to no one that when I finally met BNS, I spent the next ten minutes completely confused because he didn't look anything like I expected.  Maybe I'm dating myself here, but it's kinda like the first time I found out Casey Kasem looked like this:

No.  Casey Kasem is a little man in a funny sweater?  Say it isn't so!

I spent the next two hours having a polite, friendly conversation with the Boy Named Sue.  We laughed.  We had a good time.  We exchanged biographical but not personal information.  But, the entire time I was dreaming of Date #2 with the other guy.  BNS asked me out again, but I politely declined. 

And that's the story of the Boy Named Sue...how do you do?

How Jane Austen Ruined Me for Real Men

My evening gym experience is always so much better when something good is on TV.  Today,  I breezed my way through 3.5 miles on the treadmill while watching the last 40 minutes of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.  It was the Keira Knightly version, which according to the ever-useful imdb stars a dreamboat named Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy.

Whew!  The brooding eyes.  The open collar.  The mullet!

As I tried to ignore my tight right hamstring, I found myself thinking (and not for the first time) how finding love would be so much easier if I had never heard of Jane Austen.  It doesn't help that I started reading her novels as a ridiculously bookish 4th grader.  Before I even realized that boys didn't have cooties, I already had unrealistic expectations.

For me, the problem isn't that Austen's men are so charming, or so dashing, or so gorgeous.  (Though, I have developed quite a fascination with broody eyed men in frilly shirts.  I'm just saying!)

No, the problem is that Austen's men are so terribly flawed.  They're mean, judgmental, aloof, harsh, and rude.  And have I mentioned the brooding?  I'm really not a fan of actual brooding.

But, somehow, by the end, an Austen man always turns it around.  After wrongly convincing a friend to scorn your older sister, he saves your family from social ruin by forcing the man who ran away with your younger sister to marry her.

The other Mr. Darcy.  Who could resist Colin Firth after this one?

Or, he's been criticizing your every move because he's loved you for your entire life and never even knew it.

Don't worry.  The distressed look on Gwyneth's face isn't caused by the beautiful man standing behind her!

And, when you finally realize that you love him too, there's nothing left to do but to profess your eternal devotion while standing in a field of flowers, or in front of a beautiful sunset, or while getting drenched in a torrential rainstorm.

Oh, Mr. Knightly.  You're such a scamp.

In Austen's world, a rough, dark, moody, harsh military man can turn into a sweetheart who's just worried about the fate of a young woman he promised to look after.

I have never before, and will never again, think that Alan Rickman is sexy.  But, Austen-ized, he's a dreamboat.

And another rough, dark, moody, harsh military man is just trying to hide his unwavering love for you, even though you scorned him years ago and sent him off to face certain death while seeking his fortune in the military.

I recommend the 2007 version of Persuasion.  Rupert Penry-Jones as Captain Wentworth smolders like no other!

And that guy who broke your heart?  He was just being honorable.  He ripped out your soul so that he wouldn't break a promise to another woman.  An annoying, shrill, high maintenance, gold-digger of a woman.  But, still, his promise to her is oh-so-much more important than your puny little heart.

Even Hugh Grant looks good...not at all like the kind of guy who'd get caught with a transvestite prostitute.

As you probably have noticed by now, when it comes to Jane Austen's men, I've read them all, watched them all, and even dreamed of them all.  Sadly, when I find a man who's rude, brooding, harsh, moody, or even overly critical, I don't run.  Instead, like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel, I wait for him to turn it all around.

Sometimes I wait a very long time.  12 years is my current record.  And, you know what?  They never do turn it around.  Rude, brooding, harsh, moody and overly critical men are exactly what they appear to be...even if they agree to wear a frilly shirt for Halloween.

(True story.  I got my ex-husband to wear one once.  It didn't change who he was inside.)

But, you know what?  Relying on Jane Austen to teach you about love is like allowing a kid who's played that "Operation" board game to actually operate on you.  Jane Austen died alone.  By most accounts, she never found love.  Sure, if you watched that "Becoming Jane" movie, you might think Austen was a pretty, Anne Hathaway type who had a passionate love affair with James McAvoy.  But, that's a movie, people.  There might be bits of it that are true, but it's no less than 90% Hollywood.

If you're gonna have just one passionate love affair before dying alone, James McAvoy is a mighty fine choice!

So, tonight, I pledge to dream about sheep.  Or rainbows.  Or aliens coming down to take over the earth.  Really, anything but an Austen man.  Because, well, I deserve so much better than Austen has to offer.

Karma Coming My Way...

I know this is going to be hard to believe, given all the nasty things I write on this blog, but I generally consider myself to be a pretty nice person.  I try to be considerate.  I try not to hurt anyone's feelings.  And, although I have a tendency to vent my frustrations loudly and (hopefully) with great humor, I really don't hold ill will toward anyone.  (With the possible exception of Mr. Crazy Pants, because he deserves it.  I promise.)

So, why do I say such nasty things on this blog?  I mean, sure, I'm theoretically hidden behind anonymity, but most of you know exactly who I am.  

The answer came to me the other day.  I was actually trying to explain away the mind-boggling and (I believe) unintentionally hurtful remarks one friend had made to another. 

I told my friend that the other girl hadn't meant the things she said.  I told her that people sometimes say awful things to try to hide the fact that they are lonely.  I said that it can be easier to make fun of the guys who are available than it is to come to grips with the fear of being old and alone.

Wow.  I was speaking of someone else, but doesn't much of that apply to me?  I don't really consider myself lonely, but I'd be lying if I said I was never afraid.  I'm afraid of choosing another soul-suckingly bad relationship.  I'm afraid not having any kids or grandkids to visit me in the old folks home.  And, yes, some days I'm afraid of becoming known as "that girl" who keeps getting caught making out with random guys on Moody Street.  (I'm so glad my mom doesn't know about this blog!)

So, to all the online daters I've poked fun at, I'm sorry.  I wish you well.  You might not be "the guy" for me, but there is someone out there for you.  She's probably someone who doesn't care about whether you ignore the helpful red lines of spell check, but still...she's out there!

Does this mean I'm going to stop documenting my dating adventures?  No way!  But, I'll try to make a better effort to point at least half the jokes at myself.  And I'll try to remember that every time I make a snap judgment about some guy's online dating profile, there's probably someone else on the other end of a computer screen saying, "She's too old."  "She's too fat."  "She's too ____."