The Green-Eyed Monster

Most monsters have at least one redeeming quality. King Kong had a weakness for dames. Vampires are hipster fashionistas. Even those funster Zombies forever enjoy cinematic popularity despite their BO. But the Green-Eyed Monster is unmitigated awful.

The fact that Hollywood and Burbank haven't found a way to popularize the Jealousy Beast tells us how bad it is. Every story arc needs a slice of hope; but this....this thing has none.

Aside:

I hadn't heard jealousy referred to as "the green-eyed monster" until I dated one. I was chatting to a female colleague/friend at a party when this ex dragged me away and demanded an explanation. After she cooled it, that's the terminology she used to self-describe. This episode struck me as completely weird, and was a crystal-clear harbinger which I ignored. To my cost.

End Aside. 

Jealousy - at least the romantic kind - is tied up with self-esteem, trust, security, honesty, sexuality and faithfulness in one giant ganglia of hot blood and mean tricks. The dictionary keyword here is 'resentment', a telling description if ever.


We like to think we can intellectualize any human behaviour...at least I do. But jealousy is one of the few emotions for which there is no logical back-door. It's visceral, animal, and therefore almost uncontrollable. And it speaks entirely to the emoter, not the emoter's target.



Bottoms Up, Reactors.

Regrets, Imagination and Missed Connections

They first caught my eye years ago in The Stranger, Seattle's free leftie weekly, but I note that Craigslist has them too. "They" are the wee Missed Connections classifieds, posted by those poor souls who think they've spied someone special in public but botched the opportunity to introduce themselves.

This is representative:

You are a petite blonde hair, blue eyed woman with an amazing athletic build. Wow, you are so fit and attractive, I just can't take my eyes off of you.

Honestly, you're the highlight of my workout and the conclusion of my day. 
 
Note the slightly stalkerish POV and continued unwillingness to engage IRL.

This is more calculating:

You were at the Costco at _________ on Friday around 4:00PM . You had blue jeans tucked in your tall boots and you were with a bald older man. We exchanged multiple looks and smiles....me dark hair, light eyes, goatee, tall, handsome. I was smitten with you like no woman I have seen in years. Would love to show you the nicest of discreet times. No strings, no drama just fun excitement and passion. 

And this guy almost got it right:

We were chatting at Gin Mill, and I got your number but then i did not save it. You were a math teacher.

A tone of wistfulness inhabits these pieces. The unspoken question is "...what if..." which is clearly a product of imagination. The answer will remain in there too, unless these people DO SOMETHING about it, which is why I think this is so awesome. * snaps gum *

Check this out: MeSayingHi. SFW. The concept is simple. You store your online profile with the MeSayingHi folks. You buy introductory cards that allow access to that profile. When you have one of those potential missed opportunities, whip out the card, hand it to the person with as big smile as you can muster, and go about your day. (Then hope like hell they get back to you.)

I'm in favour of anything that eases the first awkward stranger-to-stranger encounter. Nothing will replace the actual act of walking up to someone, looking them in the eye and introducing yourself. But. Not everyone has that confidence. For those who do not, this will help.

Bravo Andrew at MeSayingHi, I'm a convert. *






Bottoms Up, Brave Knights and Knightettes.

*[BTW, in case you think I'm being paid for this: nope. I just think it's an excellent idea.]

Law and Order

"In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories."

In the first-time dating arena, the participants are apt to forget two critical yet often overlooked flaws: that we mask the truth about ourselves, and turn a blind eye to the incompatibilities of others. These will emerge later.




Bottoms Up, Optimists.

Central Casting

"Central Casting" is the metaphoric place writers go when they can't find (or are too lazy to work-up) the words to describe a person. Or a dog. It's a kind of shorthand that says "picture perfect just like Hollywood makes."

I'm reading a book in which the over-educated author wrote that (and I paraphrase because if I have to find and read that paragraph again I'll resort to opening the emergency vodka) a Scottish Terrier in the doorway of a Scottish house looked like he was "...from central casting".

Somehow it escaped her that all Scottie dogs look alike and therefore one doesn't need Central Casting: Canine Division. And finding one around a house in Scotland is even less Hollywood - it's a slice of the real world.

Anyway, I'm clearly over-thinking this.

But consider what a store called "Central Casting" would look like. It would be an online fantasy showcase of people and the qualities we think would fulfill all our desires in another person. (Sorry, it sounds kinda creepy, but it's all in the imagination.)

Dreaming about what you'd do with the winnings of a big lottery draw is a close analogy. At Central Casting, you would find the picture perfect partner. Add the best of all the real-life stuff from normal living, plus the magic of Hollywood.

It would be like a Whole Foods for singles - only not full of rich greenies wearing condescension-brand sandals. People like us would wander the aisles; discerning, wise people, observing the kind of quality goods Central Casting stocks.




Bottoms Up, Shoppers!

Friday Fluffer - Is She Filthy?

Sitting in a car at a crosswalk with a buddy, a hottie sashayed in front of us. We followed her progress across the road in unison, drinking in every curve.

I innocently wondered out loud whether she performed a particularly sordid sexual act.

"My friend," my friend replied in measured voice, "they all get their freak on. The only question is whether it's with you."



View all Friday Fluffers here [link]




Bottoms Up, Dirty Girls!




Filthy bitch from here [link]

Another Notch on my Bedpost.

Another weekend passed without scoring, another play period without a notch carved on my bedpost. At the moment I'm suffering from sweeheart deficiency disorder, for which I shall soon be obtaining treatment. It's gotta a be a syndrome of some sort; a chronic problem like this must be treatable with a really expensive drug.

And by the way, why do we surreptitiously keep score? What difference does the total number of people with whom we have conducted coitus make? If my instinct is correct there's a curve out there that looks something like the trajectory of a low-orbit rocket launch - after a certain number of partners, it's all just floating about in space.

I would like to create a large-scale experiment. Men on the hunt for pussy would split into two groups. The first group would, during the chat-up phase, say they'd had sex with only two women ever in their lives. The other half would explicitly make mention that they'd had sex with twenty women. What's your bet as to the outcome?

And what's with all that notches on bedposts carpentry b.s. anyway? It's SO two centuries ago. Surely there's an iPhone app for that now. Sheesh. I wish these metaphors would automatically update.




Bottoms Up.


Stud from here [link]

Edited for split infinitives.

Set-Up Date

It's not even spring here in the northern hemisphere and the sweet smell of reproduction's in the air. Okay, not reproduction but certainly introduction.

Hello Wombat!
Anthea & Tony, here.
We met you a few times at {restaurant} and {tiki bar}. As a matter of fact the last time we saw you, we had lost a bet and owed you a drink! During that encounter, we thought you might want to meet a girl friend of our's who was moving to the area.
After months of searching for a home and garnering employment, she's ready to make new friends.Would you be interested in meeting for lunch at {restaurant} as we'd like to introduce you to her.
A & T*

Right, we have here the classic set-up. Andrea and Tony are a lively couple who spent time with me on four or so occasions. I like them. They know me about as well as they can. So what kind of woman is their friend? What do they think their friend will see in me? And what do they think I will see in their friend? All unanswerable questions, resolved only by meeting.

If I follow my own advice on this, I should:

a) have no expectation,

b) be myself, which is to say, absolutely refrain from trying to impress, and

c) remember to look in the mirror.**






*Although the timing looks suspicious given yesterday's post, I assure you this email arrived last night. It's for real.

**Note. One or more of these might be contradictory and/or impossible.

Pic from here [link]

Blog Crush

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Crush

A Crush is a mysterious animal, a combination of anticipation, fear, uncertainty, nervousness and being drunk.

The alcohol link works like this: For me, the peak alcohol buzz is at 1.2 martinis. That's the drinking waypoint which gives me feeling akin to having a Crush, or being in Crush, as it might be. That feeling is kind of shivery inside, a cool happiness full of wanting what might be.

Maybe that's why we drink, because that emotion emulates the Crush, at least for some of us.

Trying to dissect a Crush is difficult because they are such slippery creatures. One day you have no Crush, the next you have a terribly yawning desire for the Crushee. Crushes follow us through life, like those parasitic fish who follow sharks around the ocean. Oh. Maybe that's not the best analogy.

What I mean about Crushes is that they're entirely illogical and utterly unpredictable. My past Crushes have been on girls I have known for a while, not women new to me. For some reason the reservoir of emotion overflows the dam holding it in, and BOOM - I'm Crushed. Hopeless. Helpless. Unable to put her out of my mind.








Photo from this great site. [link]

Will I be single forever?

Imagination is the single person's closest friend. I don't know about you, but wandering through my brain's fantasy hallways keeps me occupied through traffic jams, business meetings, bathroom cleaning, beach walks and appalling lines at the post office.

I don't picture doing any of those specific activities with anyone else, thrilling as I'm sure the right lady would find the daily cat box emptying. It's more the contemplation of whether that woman in the 'Ethnic Foods' aisle at the supermarket would make any difference to my life. Or how come the teller chick at the bank (who looks to be approx. 19) already has a family and an address that's not a Postal Mart box? And am I a different species of male simply unable to communicate with the sex with the interesting body parts?

Imagining is fun - the Powerball this week is $153 million - but acts in the same way as the proverbial grain of sand in the oyster. No, not the one that you bite down on and break your crown - the one than gains layer after layer of something or other, and forms a pearl. Hour after hour of imagining creates a hard shell insulating me from the real world. I'm sure that's the answer. I'm living in a la-la land in my mind, neglecting to ask that woman in the ethnic aisle whether she knows where the hot sambals live.

That's the answer. Spit out the oyster's pearl of imagination and slurp down the salty meat. That's real life. I think.

Being Single Part 1, Being Single Part 2, Being Single Part 4.

Romancing

This romance thing is a remarkably slippery beastie. There are dictionary definitions and internet-style descriptions, but none really captures the essence of what might turn out to be a rather abstract abstract concept.

Food metaphors are always good when contemplating matters of the heart don't you think? Food is physical and mental, and heavenly and hellish, just like love. So the immediate connection I made was that romance is like truffles. Truffles are rare, rich, expensive, laboursome and worth every cent. They're stinky (yet delicious) addictive (yet satisfying in small amounts) and exotic (although nonchalantly humble.)

The verb romance can be described thusly:

...to court or woo romantically; treat with ardor or chivalrousness...

which sounds awfully Wuthering Heights to me. And throughout the descriptions, there runs this thread:

...a baseless, made-up story, usually full of exaggeration or fanciful invention...

which reminds me of women living in an imagined mental wonderland of hunky suitors and forever love.

Frankly, I like romance = truffles. One can reminisce about meals one has had, and dream about meals to come with truffles. One can have truffles rarely and be satisfied. And if truffles come into your life, they go with everything except dessert.

Romance Part 1, Romance Part 3, Romance Part 4.