Dating Jay: Part Two

After our lovey (note the sarcasm) first date which lasted from Sunday afternoon to Monday morning (see post Dating Jay: Part One), Jay and I spoke on Monday night. He elaborated on what a great time he had with me, and how he planned to come to my place on Tuesday night, "and the next night, and the night after that" because he liked me so much. Uh, no. I explained that I didn't have any free time that week and that I wouldn't be able to see him until the weekend. He wasn't pleased but I made a concession and offered to go to his place that weekend. For a girl who's flown to two foreign countries to spend time with long distance lovers, driving 60 miles to Jay's place would be a piece of cake. He liked the idea, especially because the weather forecast promised thunderstorms - or, as he called it, "baby making weather" - for the weekend. WTF? Date 2 is NOT A BABY MAKING DATE!!! Unless, of course, I was engaging my backup plan of whoring around and getting knocked up but that wasn't (and isn't) my modus operandi. Red Flag Alert! Red Flag Alert! How do I attract these weirdos?! I deflected his comment by laughing and saying that I needed to finish my dissertation before I make any babies. And given that he was shooting blanks anyway, I'm not sure why the idea of "baby making weather" bother me so much. Oh yeah, it was creepy! But my deflection appeased him, and then he quizzed me on just how long it would take me to finish my dissertation. I could feel him adding my anticipated time to completion of my Ph.D. to my age, and him thinking that at 43 or 44 I would still be fertile enough to have a baby. I changed the topic again and mentioned I was really tired. He asked why and I answered honestly: his snoring and having someone new in my bed. I laughed and said that when I visited him on the weekend I'd likely sleep on his sofa or in a separate room. Oooo. This started a lengthy debate.

He proceeded to chastise and lecture me because "the worst thing you could ever do is leave the bedroom, because my mom abandoned me when I was 10 and I have abandonment issues." Red Flag! Oh joy. As a military person, he "could sleep through anything" and I'd "better get use to his snoring" because I "would not be allowed to leave the bed." WTF? I was confused: I would have to suffer through his snoring (and change myself) because he had abandonment issues (and didn't want to change himself). I pointed out the unfairness of his argument, but he was too self-absorbed to see my point. Ref Flag! After 45 minutes of this bullshit, I felt beat down and was in tears. He reminded me of my first ex-husband who was very controlling and possessive. I finally ended the conversation; it was upsetting upsetting, and I didn't want to talk about it anymore. We said our good nights but he wanted me to check in with him the next night; like an idiot, I did. At least he apologized for being a jerk the night before. Then he wanted me to check in with him every night that week; he confessed he'd become insecure and jealous if he wasn't able to reach me or if I didn't check in. Rue the day I forgot my phone and he couldn't reach me. Again, it was like the beginning of my first marriage; the noose around my independence felt tight. Red Fag! All this, and after only one date. It was like we were together for years and I'd done a multitude of immoral and dishonest things for which I had to pay the consequences, yet I had done nothing. Jay also had a massage table at home and wanted me to give him massages. Apparently he wanted a nursemaid too. Fuck that. I didn't want to deal with this.

We were supposed to have our second date on Saturday night. On Saturday morning, I went to the Chocolate Festival at Bell Harbor and planned on heading to his place after that. But the thought of putting fuel in my car to make the journey didn't seem appealing, let alone driving to his place and spending time with him. Ewwww. I called my second ex-husband and my dad to vet my misgivings about the situation. Both of them encouraged me to run like hell away from this guy. At the time I was supposed to start my journey to his place, I called and canceled the date. I told him I didn't want to jump full fledged into a committed relationship; he was appalled that I wanted to see other people and was concerned that having his sperm on ice at UW Medical Center was the main factor in my decision to cancel our date. Yeah, frozen sperm was the deal breaker. Whatever dude. He didn't seem too surprised that I canceled our date; he likes to "lay things on thick" at the beginning. His form of "laying it on thick" translated into desperation and insecurity. And he wonders why he's still single. By now he may have dooped some poor, unsuspecting woman into being his frozen sperm baby-making machine, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be me. Yes, Jay was a real gem. If by "gem" I mean "polished turd."

Boys: The Early Days (Part One)

I was in the processing of writing Part Two of my dating experience with Jay when I started thinking about some of my earlier experiences with boys. I wish I could say "I cannot imagine a world without douche bag men," but I can't. I'm cursed with the ability to be loving, kind, forgiving, compassionate, and optimistic so I believe there's a non-douche bag man meant for me living somewhere in this world. Even so, some of my earlier experiences with boys should have clued me in that men can be jerks.

When I was in elementary school, my parents moved around a lot. Being the new kid in school almost every year, I didn't have many friends. No, I wasn't one of those kids who sat in the corner, sucked her thumb, and rocked back and forth to comfort herself - that was the girl in my seventh grade calligraphy class. But, in the fourth grade, I had a friend named Paris. Paris had brown hair and blue eyes; he was shorter than me. Funny name for a boy, but I thought it was cool. One day during recess, I was jumping rope with some girls. My tube-top dress (hey, it was the 1970's) worked its way down a bit. My breasts were exposed briefly before I pulled my dress back up. Yes, I had breasts in the fourth grade; they were huge by the time I hit fifth grade. Giggling, Paris confessed that he'd gotten a quick peak at my breasts. What was I supposed to do with this information? I laughed nervously and changed the subject. I'm sure shifty eyes on my behalf were also involved. Then, on the last day of school, the thing to do was spray people with shaving cream so he sprayed shaving cream all over my hair. Those fourth graders were hardcore, man. Unfortunately, that would be the last time I saw Paris; I went to a new school the following year. Too bad, because I would have liked to have reported to Paris that my hair was so soft from all that shaving cream. This was perhaps the best and most wholesome encounter I ever had with a boy, sans a few good dates or encounters here and there much later in life.

A few years later, I had a crush on the blonde haired, blue eyed, athletic A.S. whom I'd never met. Yet, I dared myself to knock on his front door, and then ran down the street screaming bloody murder when his younger brother answered it (see May 10th post), but that wasn't really a boy thing; that was a me thing.

When I was in ninth grade (still in junior high), I found out through the grapevine that I was voted the girl with the "second biggest breasts on campus." Erin won the votes for biggest breasts. I didn't even know boys noticed me, yet they were voting on the size of my breasts. Man was I clueless, or what? Humph.

In the tenth grade, the boys were even more fascinated with my breasts so I wore a white sweatshirt to keep them covered at all times, regardless of what I was wearing underneath. I'm still convinced that my mom took my beloved and protective white sweatshirt away from me and burned it, and she wouldn't buy me a new one so I think it was a ploy to get me more comfortable with my body. Anyway, my friend David and I had P.E. together, and we were getting ready to run laps. He stood in front of me, put his hand on the zipper pull of my white sweatshirt (I forgot my t-shirt, so I only had on my bra and the sweatshirt), then asked me "What would you do if I pulled this down?" I just laughed and swatted his hand away. A week later, I was on the swim team. There was no way I was running in front of boys, not with my boobs bouncing all over the place for their amusement. Plus, my breasts were quite large and it hurt to run. As it was, when I was playing baseball in ninth grade, my bra broke while I was running bases. My left boob nearly struck me in the eye. I didn't want a repeat of that in high school. I shared this story with my swim teammates and one of them dubbed me "B.E." for Black Eyes. For the most part, being on the swim team was great. Sometimes David would watch me swim, which didn't bother me. But when we practiced during lunch time, a regular P.E. class would come in just as we finished practice and the boys would steal my towel so I wasn't able to cover my breasts. Boys can be insensitive buffoons. 

I met David in junior high. David had long brown hair and brown eyes; he was a little taller than me and was half-Italian. He marched to the beat of his own drum - he was part goth, punk, and hippie. Even though I'm pretty sure he took part in voting on my breasts, we became friends in tenth grade. We walked home from school together, and occasionally took detours to get Chocodiles at the convenience store. We were 15. One day close to the end of the school year (May 15 to be exact - and I remember that because the next day was a very important day in my life, and it's an anniversary I still celebrate with my mom), we went to David's house after school. We watched VH-1, he showed me his pet rats, I met his dog, and we talked. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he put his hand on my chest and pushed back so that I laid down. While we were laying side by side on his bed, he ran his hands across my chest and then my breasts. I froze, like the quintessential deer in headlights. What the heck was going on? I thought "I guess this is the day I learn to kiss someone." He had a girlfriend before so I'm sure he was experienced. I, on the other hand, was not. We were fully clothed, but he maneuvered himself on top of me. I didn't object but I'm sure he could feel my heart pounding through my chest. He told me that he liked it that I was pretty and "not a ditz," like other pretty girls he knew. Thankfully, I didn't learn how to kiss that day. I wasn't ready for that stuff. At the end of the next school day, I was waiting outside the side entrance to our high school. David asked me who I was waiting for and I answered honestly "my mom." He nodded and smiled, and continued on his way. I felt like an asshole, but I had other things to deal with that afternoon and my mom was on her way. After that, we didn't walk home together and we didn't talk much. Maybe I wounded his precious ego by unintentionally dismissing him? Who knows? David, I suppose. But I still liked him enough that I wanted to lose my virginity to him. I didn't see him over the summer, and during the next school year a friend of mine took it upon herself to write David a letter telling him that I liked him. That didn't go over too well. I remember crying. David and I would look at each other - sometimes he would stare at me during class - but we didn't speak much again. It was too awkward.

For my 16th birthday, my friends and I went to Disneyland. I met Eddie. Eddie had brown hair and blue eyes, and was the same height as me. I don't remember where my friends were, but Eddie and I hung out and went on various rides. We stopped by a fence that separated us from a ride, and he romantically asked if he could kiss me. My first kiss! I cleverly said "I've never kissed a boy before. I haven't kissed a girl either." I guess even then I was open-minded. Eddie and I kissed - it was so slimy and weird. At the end of the day, we exchanged phone numbers. His family was from Florida, and they were in Southern California on holiday for two weeks. He called me the next night and asked if I could come to the beach with him, but my parents said no. Eddie and I never spoke again. Our relationship was doomed from the beginning, given our geographic barrier. Oh well.

My best friend (the same friend who wrote a letter to David - damn her) and I were 16 when she acquired a boyfriend named Bill. Bill was a few years older than us, and seemed nice enough but there was some buzz that he wasn't that great of a guy. One night he came over to my home, under the guise of wanting to speak with me about his relationship with my best friend. We chatted for a while, I showed him my architectural drafting designs (I wanted to be an architect), and then I called his girlfriend. While I was on the phone with her, he thought it was perfect time to whip out his penis. While I didn't approve, I couldn't help but look at it because I hadn't seen a penis before, other than the time I accidentally saw my dad's when he was standing naked under the door jam during an earthquake but that was different and I certainly didn't want to stare at my dad's thingy. Ewwww. The head of Bill's penis looked like a mushroom top, and the shaft had veins! What's a girl to do? I poked it and quickly petted it, but then asked him to put it away. He did. Aren't men great?

I met John in high school; he was a combo of goth and punk who wore eyeliner and nail polish. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and was the same height as me. He always wore Levi's with holes in the knees so I gave him the nickname of Mr. Holy Knees or MHK for short. We liked each other and always said hi when we saw each other, but I'm guessing the whole "not cool to be with a smart girl" thing got in the way. Or maybe it was more about dealing with the aftermath of his crystal meth overdose. Regardless, we dated for a week or two right after we graduated from high school. We hung out, listened to music, and went to different places like the movies or the county fair. One night, we got partially naked. He ate me out and then told me seductively that he couldn't "be the only one giving." John and I stood naked from the waist down, listened to The Cure, and embraced each other while kissing. But when his penis started rubbing on my clit, I completely froze. He was perceptive and noticed that I wasn't "ready." I guess as a 17 year old high school graduate, I should have been a lot farther along in the sexual education department, but I wasn't. I'd been felt up, kissed, and touched a penis, but that was it and I wasn't ready to become more knowledgeable yet. After that night, we stopped dating. Surprise, surprise. I guess boys want to spend time with girls who will fuck them, but we remained friends and I got him a job at the pizza place where I worked.

Then there was Dean. Dean was my dad's friend and was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes. I'd known Dean for at least 10 years, but when I was 17 (he was 27) there seemed to be some sexual tension between us. Sometimes he would stay with us for months at a time, and I always liked it when he was there because he was funny and liked weird music. He also taught me a lot - like how to parallel park a car. I still thank him when I have to pull my car into a tight spot. After an evening with John, I strolled in around 4am. Dean was in the living room watching television, so I perched myself on the sofa next to him. After asking me about my night with John, Dean smacked my pubic area and told me to be a good girl with my "pee-pee." I assumed he meant vagina. On another night, Dean gave me a seemingly innocent back rub while I was resting my back on his chins, but then he started caressing my chest, letting his hands go further down my blouse. I was confused. Why was he touching me in this way? I wasn't sure what to do, but then there was a creak on the hardwood floor, so he withdrew his hand. Phew. On another night we went jogging; he told me his favorite part of a woman's body was the spot between her vagina and anus. Then, as if I didn't know where that spot was on my own body, he reached between my legs from behind and pinched me there. Did I mention he had a girlfriend? Even at age 17, I was already attracting weirdness into my life.

Eric and I met at the pizza place where I worked. We liked each other and were boyfriend and girlfriend for a few of months. Eric was tall, had short blonde hair and blue eyes. We held hands and kissed, went to Knott's Scary Farm, went camping with my family, had dinners with his mom and step-dad, and even met his elusive dad for dinner - all was good. And he didn't pressure me for sex. He was still in high school and I had recently graduated, so he was a year younger than me. My first "younger man." Hee hee hee. John started dating an older woman so I teased him about it, and he teased me about dating a younger man. Anyway, I had long, naturally white blonde hair that Eric loved, but a couple months after I turned 18, I had it cut above my shoulders in a much more sophisticated style. I still remember Eric's expression when he saw my much shorter hair: like someone had just killed his puppy and made him eat it for dinner. He was so sad and disappointed. I didn't know he was thinking "Now I have to break-up with her; what's the best way to do this?" I didn't see him for a couple of days, but it was around Christmas time and we were both busy. I was working extra hours at a record store and he was still working at the pizza place, so I didn't think anything of it. Then, while I was away for Christmas, he put my Christmas gift through the mail slot of my front door. When I called to thank him for the gift (a beautiful, silver bracelet), he broke up with me. I wasn't particularly heart broken that our relationship ended, but I was dumbfounded that he broke up with me because I cut my hair. Over the years, my hair has gotten darker so even if I hadn't cut my hair way back then, and even if we stayed together for a several years, he probably would have dumped me when my hair got too dark for him. He later found a girl at his high school with long, blonde hair, and he dated her. I say again, aren't men great?

And then stuff gets weirder. To be continued...

To My Biggest Fan

It was so great to see you last night! I hope you had a wonderful birthday celebration; I'm glad I got to share part of it with you. You look amazing and vibrant, as always. To answer your parting question: I didn't have sex with him. I enjoyed talking with him, we closed out $9M, and then continued our conversation - just conversation - in my car since it was near freezing outside. Burrr. I was intrigued by him and his tattoo of a scorpion, especially given my recent experience with Jeff the Scorpion. When it was time to part, he shook my hand, said it was nice to talk with me, and that he'd friend me on FB. I like rollin' in at 3:30am once in a while. It seems the later I stay out, the younger I feel. :) I wish you a fabulous birthday weekend!!

Love, Me

Source: http://www.pinksith.com/2009/07/happy-birthday-pink-sith-blog-oh-yeah.html 

Jeff the Scorpion: Feelin' Sadie

Meet Jeff. 

This is Jeff - the black thing above the rock

Jeff is my nephew's pet.

Jeff is a scorpion.

Isn't he cute? Yeah...real cute.

My nephew's being deployed to Afghanistan in fall and will be gone for nine months. Who will be Jeff's caretaker? Moi. Why? Because, like an idiot, I offered. It seemed like Jeff would be an easy pet for whom to care: no walks, no poop clean-up, no stringent feeding or watering times, no barking. He lives in an aquarium and eats crickets sold at pet stores. Easy peasy, right? Uh, no. I also have to "play" with Jeff. Gulp. "Play" means "let him walk on my body." Ack.

After finding out about this scorpion play time, I reconsidered my offer. Let a scorpion play on my body? No fucking way. Scenes from Sealab 2021's All That Jazz episode flashed through my mind: Captain Murphy got stuck under a soda machine, then Ben (the scorpion) stung him repeatedly and laid eggs in his belly button, and then the rescue toaster collected Captain Murphy's teeth and made a tooth necklace. Well, I didn't have soda machine or a rescue toaster, so the odds were good I wouldn't meet the same fate as Captain Murphy. Even so, I was afraid to play with Jeff. Plain and simple. Sure, Nephew had been playing with Jeff for as long as he's had him and Nephew's still alive to tell about it, so it couldn't be that bad right? Yikes. My fear of Jeff compelled me to take on the challenge. I could overcome this fear.

Nephew is in California for a month for training, so I picked up Jeff, his habitat (an aquarium), and two live crickets on Thursday night to give this whole scorpion-pet-sitting-thing a trial run. Better one month than nine, right? If I couldn't handle one month then Nephew could make alternate arrangements for the nine months. Nephew put the aquarium in the back set of my car, we seat belted it in, and made sure the top cover was secure. Then Nephew gave me a quick once over of how to care for Jeff: keep him in the warmest room of the house, mist his habitat once or twice a day, feed him a cricket or two every few days (if the crickets are still alive after a couple days, "break their little legs"), and play with him every couple of days. To get him out of the aquarium: corner Jeff on the side of the aquarium with a flat rock that he could climb on. To get him back into the cage: let him climb off my body and onto his castle which I would then use to put him back into his aquarium. With this wealth of knowledge, I drove Jeff home.

I glanced in the back seat every so often to make sure the top was still on the aquarium. It was. Phew. After we got home, I set Jeff up in the living room. Then I attempted get him on the rock but I thought I was going to squish him. I kept trying and eventually Jeff climbed on the rock, but then he was sooooo close to my hand that I freaked out. I set the rock and him back down in the aquarium before he could scale my arm. I taped aquarium top more securely to the aquarium, so he or the crickets had no chance of getting out. I'd prefer not to be stung by a scorpion while I was sleeping. Lucky for me, I was still pet-sitting Milish and sleeping at her house on Thursday and Friday nights - a stay of execution of sorts.

On Friday night, my friend and I went to the day spa to relax. I was so relaxed that I fell asleep quickly and slept through for nearly 7 hours - a rare thing these days. Then I realized I had to go home and play with a scorpion. Gulp. Then I saw a text message from Nephew and we exchanged these text messages over a 3 hour period: 

Nephew: "How's Jeff treatin ya?"

Me: "He's good. Got him on the rock but not yet in my hand. Getting there. :)"

Nephew: "Ya he's been movin quicker lately. Just push him on your hand, he'll go on." 

Me: "Ack. Ok. I can do it!!"

Nephew: "U just say ack?! I believe in u. LOL."

Me: "Ack!! :) I believe in me too. I can do it. I will do it."

I had taken care of Milish and delayed going home as long as possible, but I had to bake cupcakes for my friend's birthday festivities, so I had to go home sometime. Just in case something went horribly wrong with my upcoming encounter with Jeff, I wanted to bake the cupcakes first. What if he stung me and I was in too much pain to take the cupcakes out of the oven? No. Cupcakes first. Then Jeff.

Nephew: "Stfu with the ack haha. LOL. It's a scorpion who's name is Jeff. You'll be fine. LOL."

Me: "Yes, he's deceptively innocent. Until he jumps on my face and stings me in the eye. :) I will overcome my fear after I take a shower."

Nephew: "Haha u got it."

Ahh, my encounter with Jeff delayed again. What if he stung me and I had an allergic reaction and needed to call an emergency rescue team? Better to be clean and good smelling. Plus, what if Jeff didn't like the way I smelled? Can scorpions smell? Yes, showering first seemed best. I cherished my shower, just in case it was my last. Then I delayed a bit more by doing some internet research on how to handle scorpions and how to treat a scorpion sting or pinch. Not surprisingly, nearly every website said not to handle the scorpion unless it was an absolute necessity, like cleaning its cage. Great. Thanks Nephew. But another website had information on less harmful scorpions and how they could relatively safely walk on people's bodies. There were many photos with scorpions perched on shoulders or arms. Yes, Jeff must be one of those less harmful scorpions. Based on the sting/pinch treatment information, I had antiseptic cleanser, ointment, and ice packs at the ready (and they will remain at the ready while Jeff is in my custody).

I turned on music, then was concerned that Jeff may not like the music I was playing so I kept the sound low. Can scorpions hear? Seems I need to do more internet research. Then I remembered that Nephew left a pair of his shorts at my place, so I put them on for good luck.

Me: "You left a pair of shorts here so I just put them on in hopes Jeff thinks I'm u :|"

Nephew: "Wtf. He's not some dangerous ass creature hahaha. You're wimpin out haha"

Yeah, maybe not to Nephew but Jeff was a "dangerous ass creature" to me! And I was totally wimping out and Nephew called me on it. I read that a soup ladle was a good instrument to remove a scorpion from its habitat, so I tried that instead of the rock. I liked the ladle better because it had a long handle to separate us.

Jeff in my ladle

 Me: "My heart is pounding. Ack."

My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it would come out of my chest. I was as excited as I was afraid. There's a fine line between fear and excitement. Even so, I couldn't bring myself to let Jeff on my hand so I made a towel barrier. I had another dish towel and a spatula next to me, just in case Jeff tried to escape and I needed to wrangle him.

Jeff of my lap with a kitchen towel separating us

I let Jeff run around on the kitchen towel, and he kept walking to the edges so I had to turn the towel around and around so he'd have a place to walk. Letting them drop from a height could injure or kill a scorpion, so I didn't want Jeff to fall. I put the towel on my hand and he sat there and then continued moving about. Then I put my hand close to him, but still couldn't bring myself to let him come on board my body and I pulled my hand away.

I sent the above pictures to Nephew. His response?

Nephew: "Pussy"

I thought I was making great progress: zero to scorpion on towel on my lap in less than 2 minutes (let's just forget about all the time I spent delaying even getting to this point...). That was pretty damn good in my book. I put Jeff back in his aquarium.

Me: "Baby steps. I had him on a towel in my hand."

Me: "Next time I will let him run on my hand."

Then I thought about it. Pussy? Was he challenging me? He was certainly calling me out. Maybe I was being a pussy, and I'm no pussy. Fuck. Today would be the day I let Jeff walk on my body. Shit. Maybe I am a pussy? Nope. I'm not a pussy. Damn it, Nephew. What the fuck? Okay. I could do this. Ack! I used the ladle and a spoon to get Jeff out of his aquarium again - two utensils work better then one because you can nudge him with one and he can run into the other one. Then I maneuvered him on the towel, which was on my hand. Then I let him rip. Ahhhhhhhhh!

Jeff getting ready to walk on my hand
See how his tail and stinger are curved up?

Plop...he's on my hand! My heart was pounding and my arm and hand were shaking.

Jeff navigating my hand
His tail and stinger are still up

He's on the move...
See how his tail and stinger have relaxed?

Nephew says he likes body heat 

Just cruisin' along

And now he's on my thigh

I was so excited by the turn of events that I sent Nephew the following messages:
Me: "I love him!!! His little legs feel so light and soft of my skin."
Me: "All it took was you calling me a pussy...LOL."
Me: "And I didn't shit in your shorts. We're all happy now."
Nephew: "Hahahahahaha. There ya go. If he moves too high just put your hand in front of him. He'll back it up. Haha."
Me: "His pincers and stinger seemed relaxed when he was on me. They seemed more at the ready when I was scooping him up."
Nephew: "Hahaha ya he gets pissed when he has to leave LOL. They like the warmth from your skin."
Me: "I even called my dad to tell him I survived. LOL. He's concerned because he thinks I'm gonna get a tattoo of a scorpion. Dork."
Me: "I'm gonna get Jeff a mister today. I'm excited about playing with him tomorrow. :)"
Nephew: "Oh u don't have to do that Aunty. Haha I already am. Haha"
Me: "Who knows. I'm crazy enuf. LOL."
Nephew: "Haha right LOL. Before I leave I'm debating what I'm gonna get done first on my tats. If I have enough I'll do my side and back yeaugh"
Me: "Let's go to my place in Everett and get tatted together!"

Then we discussed tattoo stuff a bit more. The funny thing is, I hadn't considered getting a tattoo of a scorpion until my dad expressed his concern over it. I have five tattoos already; they represent inner growth from two significant transitions and I've just passed through another one that started about 2 years ago. For the past few weeks, I've been entertaining the idea of getting another tattoo to mark this transition. I rather like the idea of a scorpion tattoo. I imagine him perched on my right shoulder, above my angel cherries tattoo. Maybe his pincer could hold the cherries' stems? That I imagine him perched on the angel cherries side is significant. My right shoulder has angel cherries and my right forearm has a regular cupcake. My left shoulder has devil cherries and my right forearm has a skull cupcake. Right side = good. Left side = bad.

I view my experience with Jeff as overcoming a fear; as something good. I was afraid of Jeff, so I offered to take care of him and play with him so I could confront my fear (and take care of Nephew's pet, of course). I usually do well at confronting my fears (especially when someone calls me a pussy) and I tend to carry on in the face of fear. Like scorpions, sometimes life pinches or stings but I will not let my fear of getting hurt stop me from living. Read: ain't no asshole gonna keep me down. Perhaps Jeff will pinch me or sting me in the coming month or in the fall when I begin caring for him for nine months. He's a scorpion - that's what scorpions sometimes do. If I get stung, I'll pick him up again the next day because that's what I do. At the moment, I cannot think of a better symbol for life, transition and confronting fears than a scorpion. Yes, I'm feelin' sadie (see post What's In a  Name?).

Video of Jeff

Dating Jay: Part One

Last year, in the wake of the Egyptian's departure, I joined Match.com to expand my mate-finding options. According to advertisements, 1 in 5 relationships begin via dating websites. (Note to self: 80% of relationships start offline.) As in meeting people in general, I heard that I'd have to mine various bits of coal in order to find my diamond. In the time I used Match.com to meet potential mates, I mined a lot of coal but didn't find my diamond. Not even a diamond in the rough. Perhaps I should have tried longer? I'll share some stories and you tell me. Here's one:

Jay was a real gem. I received the following email within a few hours of joining Match: "My name is [Jay] and I would love to know yours. Your profile is absolutely outstanding. You seem very much like the kind of fun lady I am looking for. Where in the southern CA did you come from? I was born in [redacted] but went to high school in [redacted]. If you asked me, and I realize that you didn't LOL, our profiles seem to resonate well with each other. I am curious to see if we would get along as well as I suspect. Naturally this is where you post your vote since it takes two to tango. : ) Not that I have ever tangoed before, but I would love to learn with a willing partner. So....would the lady care to dance? Cheers," [Jay].

Hummmm. Yes, my profile was absolutely outstanding. I couldn't agree more. Yes, I'm a fun lady. He's very perceptive. Or I was able to portray my funness (is that a word?) in my profile. Intrigued, I read his profile. He was right again: it was like we could have written each other's profiles. Why I decided to post my profile the day before I left for my 10-day trip to Oahu is still a mystery to me (oh yeah, I figured it would take a while before men saw and responded to my profile, newbie that I was) but Jay and I exchanged a couple of emails in the 18 hours before my flight. He wasted no time asking for my phone number. Was the man stalking the new postings? Apparently so. In the essence of saving more time, I gave it to him. He called and wanted to meet me that day because the wanted to "get [me] while [I was] still fresh" (code for new Match.com meat). Red flag? How long had this guy been on Match.com? Geeze. Mae was picking me up in a few hours to take me to the airport so I didn't have time to meet. Instead, Jay and I talked for nearly 3 hours while I picked up a package from UPS, and then prepared and packed for my trip. I enjoyed our conversation, but had a inkling that he was a bit too intense and serious. Not that "intense" and "serious" are bad things, but sometimes I feel drained after being around people who are both intense and serious. But, because I tend to look for the good in everyone, I disregarded my "too intense and too serious" judgement. Turns out he lived on Oahu for a few years so he gave me a list of places he thought I might like to visit. That was cool. On the way to the airport, I told Mae all what I knew about Jay, sans the too intense and too serious stuff since I disregarded it. Jay sounded potentially promising.

While I was on Oahu, Jay and I talked numerous times, and sometimes for several hours. He instructed me several times to be a "good girl." Uh, red flag? I hadn't even met this guy and he was already trying to regulate my behavior. I'll do what I damn well please until I'm a committed relationship with someone, thank you very much fossilized carbon man. He also suggested I stay away from the "bad" part of town; locals and tourists were afraid of the northwest part of the island due to some violent events that happened in the 1970s and 1980s. Me, afraid? Nope. I was intrigued. My travel book said the area was safe despite the bad press, so I went to that part of the island and had a marvelous time lounging on the uninhabited beaches. So what if I looked over my shoulder every now and again to make sure I was safe?

One night while I was driving from the North Shore back to Honolulu (I went to the North Shore a lot), he sounded very down so I inquired about it. Out came the "I get depressed because I'm not married and I don't have kids" spiel. That's a lot to lay on someone before you met them. Red flag? I appreciated his honesty. As a woman who's aging herself out of her childbearing years, I understood about his desire to have children but at least he had the ability to father children at virtually any age. His eggs weren't dying as we spoke, now were they? But did I say that? Hell no. I was new to dating, but didn't feel the need to drag down the conversation with my "dying eggs" and my "potential to birth only mutant children."

Although we did have some serious conversations, I tried to keep things on the light side by answering his previous-relationships questions honestly but very briefly. Divorced twice: abusive marriage followed by sexless marriage. Most recent lover will marry his cousin. Ex-boyfriend set fire to my car, etc. I shared these blips while laughing about my crazy luck with men. Then I lightened things up more by giving him my newly developed pre-dating quiz: 1) Do you have a problem with alcohol or drugs? No, but he took a lot of prescription pain meds for his back. A couple of his discs were crushed during his stint in the military. 2) Do you like Rush (the music group)? (The correct answer is "no"). Actually, he liked Rush but assured me that he wouldn't make me see them. Phew. I could not and would not withstand another assault by Geddy Lee on my vision and ears. 3) Do you belong to a culture or family that requires you to have an arranged marriage to your cousin (now expanded to non-relatives)? No. Excellent. We could continue talking.

Even though I tried to keep things light, he talked a lot about his childhood and how his mom "abandoned" him. Uh, another red flag? In his mom's defense, it seemed that she had a problem with drugs and, when he was 10 or 11, she left for three days to sort out her shit. 35+ years later, Jay was still discussing "abandonment issues" in therapy. That he was in therapy (three times a week) sort of frightened me, yet I felt like a hypocrite because I see my therapist once or twice a month, depending on what I'm working on at the time. Dude's got some issues if he's in therapy three times a week. Holy shit. But far be it for me to pass judgment. At least he was getting help, but I didn't think I wanted to get involved with someone who had so many issues. At some point, Jay told me that he'd been on Match.com since 2004 - seven years! Either there was something wrong with the women he'd been meeting, or there was something wrong with him. Red flag? Why didn't I run for the hills? Despite some of my misgivings, I had a date with him anyway. Always looking for the good. Sigh. I returned from Oahu on a Wednesday and we had our first date on Sunday.

He lived about 60 miles from Seattle, and, quite frankly, I didn't want to drive anywhere to meet anyone so he came to Seattle to meet me. Because we had talked so much, I felt somewhat comfortable with him picking me up at my place. (In the future, I didn't do this. Always meet first dates somewhere else.) At the last minute, Jay asked if he could bring his dog on our date. I thought "Whatever, dude, but I'm not having a threesome with you and your dog and your dog cannot come inside my place" but instead I said that I liked dogs, so it was okay with me. He had a black lab. I like black labs, or any colored labs for that matter.

Since we planned to go for a walk, I wore jeans, and blue blouse, and sneakers. When he approached my door, he was obviously pleased with my appearance by the smile that spread from ear to ear. Apparently a lot of women lie about their looks, post old photos, etc., but he said I looked better than my photos. He also looked like he was ready to take me right then and there. He greeted me with a warm hello hug, and a kiss on the cheek but he was ready for more. I tempered his advances by saying "It looks like you're ready to throw me on the bed and have your way with me, so we'd better go." I put on my jacket and we left. Date rape averted.

Jay was hungry so we stopped at a fish and chips place on the marina. I wasn't hungry so I watched him eat but stole a chip or two, and fed some to the birds. Then we walked along the beach at Discovery Park. Due to the injuries to his back, he had a handicapped placard so we scored beach-front parking. We walked along the beach and chatted, with his dog in toe. Dogs weren't allowed on the beach, but he didn't care and took him on the beach anyway. A rule breaker...promising? At one point, I stood on a log and looked at the Sound, then he hugged me and said "it feels like there's some finality in this." Some finality? Huh? "What do you mean?" I inquired. "Either this is it or you're the last person I'm ever going to care about." I smiled, hopped off the log, and thought "What the fuck? Either I'm really quite amazing and wonderful and he wants me badly, or this dude is really desperate." Despite my ego, perhaps the scales were tipped well towards his level of desperation. Another red flag? Was I blind? Apparently so.

After our walk, we ate Thai food at one on my favorite places. The man was a wuss on the spice factor. Couldn't even handle a 2. Pussy. Yeah, I judge sometimes. Jay was discharged from the military several years earlier due to his medical issues (crushed discs and all), apparently before he served any time in Thailand and acquired a taste for spicy food. Not only was he a spice wuss, he asked for more details about my first marriage [the abusive one, see The (First) Night I Almost Died]. I shared a couple of mild examples, then he stated it was my fault that my first husband was abusive towards me and that I must have done things to bring out my first husband's abusive behavior. What, we were in the stone ages? Or back in the days when a husband could not "rape" his wife merely because of their marital contract? Knowing the full history of my first marriage, I can say with a clear conscious that I did nothing to instigate his abusive behavior. He was insecure, jealous, controlling and had a problem with alcohol. I unintentionally condoned his abusive behavior by tolerating it for so long, but I did not instigate it other than occasionally trying to defend myself. I was mortified that Jay suggested the abuse I suffered by my first marriage was my fault. What a douche. Why was I still sitting at the dinner table with him? Oh yeah, that whole "looking for the good in everyone" thing. Man, that comes back to bite me in the ass a lot. I told Jay that I would not accept responsibility for my first ex-husband's bad behavior and changed the topic. If I'd been more with it, I could have asked him what he did that led his mother to abandon him, but that would have been mean.

After dinner, Jay took me home and I (stupidly) invited him up. His dog stayed in his truck. Poor doggy, but dogs are not allowed in my building. We chatted for a little bit more, then he kissed me. I had to admit that he was a good kisser. He took off his shirt (nice chest and arms, by the way) and asked me to rub his back. What, am I your nurse? To my own disgust, I rubbed his back for a while. As if I was obligated since he drove over an hour to meet me and paid for my dinner. Then he tried to disrobe me and shoved his face between my legs. What the fuck? Things went fast when you started dating in your 40s. Even so, I didn't appreciate his advances so I deflected the situation by saying I was tired and needed to go to bed because I had to get up early for work (which was true). Then he asked if he could stay the night, because it was late, he had a long drive ahead of him, and didn't want to fall asleep on the road. First date sleep overs? Ugh. I totally caved and said he could stay the night. Yep, I'm too damn nice. My first husband used to tell me all the time that I was "too damn nice" and damn it he was right! I suggested to Jay that he sleep on the sofa. He suggested he sleep in the bed. Sure, fine, but with clothes on. I could feel him stomping all over the doormat that I was already becoming during this first date.

If allowing myself to be a doormat wasn't enough, the fucking dude snored like a jackhammer and severely disrupted my sleep. I may have slept a total of 5 minutes the entire night. I wasn't comfortable with him sleeping there. I wasn't fearful, I just didn't want him there and I was mad at myself for letting him sleep in my bed even though we had our clothes on. And sleeping with my clothes on was uncomfortable too. When he'd wake up, he'd start touching me and I'd feign like I was asleep. At one point, I was so frustrated by his advances and my apparent inability to ask him to leave that I cried. Middle Eastern man had only been gone a few weeks and I was still sad about his departure, but knew I needed to start dating. Even so, I was conflicted and missed Middle Eastern man and Jay wasn't helping by being creepy.

The morning couldn't come soon enough. After I prepared myself, Jay offered to drop me off at work. Whatever. Fine. I worked at the UW Medical Center, so it wasn't like he would know exactly where I worked. And it beat taking the bus, right? And I learned more valuable information. As we approached the medical center, Jay informed me that his sperm was on ice there. A blank look came across my face. I blinked slowly. My breathing slowed. Then it hit me: what a connection! I worked in the medical center and he had frozen sperm there! We were like peas in a pod! Soul mates! We should have sent out the wedding invitations right then and there! He was receiving $80 a month in disability because of some military-related injury to his testicles that necessitated putting his sperm on ice because he was unable to shoot out live sperm. We'd be rich in our old age with this extra $80 a month. We'd save money on birth control until I entered menopause. And even better was that he really could father children at any age, even after he was dead! Um, note the sarcasm. It's unfortunate that his manhood was challenged because he couldn't shoot live ammo, but this was a lot of information to share on a first date. With this new information, I was exhausted. I wished him a good day, patted his dog on his head, stepped out of the truck, thanked him for the evening and for taking me to work, and walked to my office. Jay said he'd call me in the evening. Gee, I couldn't wait.

To be continued...