Dec. 11, 2003: Holiday lull?

Yeah! It's only 8:45am, and I just received an email from Joe. He captioned it "Hey! Hey!" (in response to my caption of "Hey!") and wrote:

"Barb,I had a good time as well. It was refreshing to meet someone like you. I'll give you a call and see if we can set something up for next week.
Joe"

Being me, I'm of course wondering what "someone like you" means, but I'm pushing my focus away from that term and over to "refreshing." At the same time, I can't let myself get carried away over "promises" about calling and setting something up for next week, lest the lessons from Barry go ignored. It'd be great to see him again, though—I felt a charge running through me after the other night, and it's been quite a while. Cautiously optimistic.

My week has been hectic, with visits to a friend in the hospital, a client lunch, and, oh yeah, work. I need to squeeze in some shopping, both figuratively (on the dating sites) and literally (Christmas is only two weeks away!). I can't imagine this is a fertile time for starting anything online, as everyone enters holiday crunch time. Who has time to meet strangers? Or let me change that—who desirable has time to meet strangers?

And yet, I have three emails waiting in MM. One came from Alabama, and the other from a woman in Phoenix. Turns out she's promoting another site, www.seaoflove.com. Please, Amy—I'm busy enough with MM, Match, Yahoo, and EH. Thanks for thinking of me, though.

Hah! I opened the Alabama email for the hell of it, and it's one of those Nigerian scams. Barrister Williams Okukedi seeks my assistance (and my bank account) to access $8 million in proceeds, which he will of course split evenly with me. Probably makes more sense to try this scam in these sites than just making random email assaults.

Dec. 10, 2003: Etiquette matters

OK, confession time—I just sent Mike an email. Not because I'm trying to force anything there; I just don't want to be rude, and it would be rude not to thank him after he picked up the check. My message was brief and didn't even refer to getting together again:

"Hi, Mike--Just wanted to drop a quick note and thank you for Saturday evening. I'm usually much more prompt about these things, but it's been a crazy week.

Hope you managed to have some fun in Green Bay!

Barb"

***

No response from Mike. No surprise.

I also should 'fess up to firing off an email to Tim last night, after I returned from my audition with Joe. I captioned it "Thanks" and wrote:

"Dinner last night was great. Oh, wait--you never called.

Just so you know, meeting someone online doesn't excuse you from common courtesy. If you change your mind about getting together with someone, you owe it to them to let them know, even if you lie about why. There's noexcuse for leaving someone hanging."

I felt good about sending it last night, with a few glasses of wine coursing through my veins, and I feel good about it today, with nothing but coffee, diet Coke, and water sloshing about in me.

Dec. 9, 2003: Sparks?

Joe called last night—a nice surprise. I was sitting on my couch, with my head draped back over a cushion, thinking about how my current prospects were dwindling. I was considering (and dreading) logging on my computer at 10pm to do a little shopping. The phone rang around 8:45pm, and Caller ID showed it was Joe. We chatted for 20 or 25 minutes, laughing a lot. Nothing too heavy, but fun and easy. I realized I was smiling throughout the conversation, and something made me think that he was doing the same on the other end of the line. I hoped he would suggest an audition; I wasn't going to go there myself. So I was gratified when he asked if I'd like to meet for a drink this week. We settled on tonight, at Charlie's (where else? I'm having such great luck there, after all). Busy day today, but I'm looking forward to it, if only to ask him what he means by "wild weekend."
***
Wow! I had a great audition with Joe, possibly the best I've ever had. What's sad is that past experiences warn me not to get the least bit excited—I've learned the hard way that people say all kinds of things they don't mean and that people can just disappear. Nonetheless, I'm going to let myself enjoy this, if only for the night.

We agreed to meet at 7pm, but I was a little late because I couldn't find my umbrella. He was standing at the bar, pint glass full in front of him. He wore thin-wale brown cords with a braided belt and a dark button-down shirt. I was running behind while getting ready, so I just grabbed jeans and a loose red sweater. I wasn't sure if he would sport a goatee or not because his profile has photos with and without—he did have the goatee, peppered with some strands lighter (OK—grayer) than his brown hair. His face had character, almost craggy, but not that extreme—more character than age. He has a great smile and we just talked and talked, with very few pauses. I really like his voice, which sounded familiar but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"I have to ask," I finally said. "You're voice sounds so familiar. Do you ever hear that?"

"Uh, yeah," he responded, looking sheepish. He hesitated and then said, "Is it Dennis Miller?"

And, yes, it was indeed Dennis Miller. But, as I told him, his voice has a happy flavor, as opposed to Miller's cynical edge. It fits his attitude, which seems positive for the most part, although, like me, he's not a big fan of winter. He also admitted to sometimes getting down around Christmas but said that living in the city apparently had cured that ailment over the past few years.

We talked about all kinds of things, including the standard background info. What was great, though, was we how exchanged that info. Instead of the standard Q&A, it came out by telling stories. He told me about burning down his family garage as a kid; I told him about my neighbor's mother catching us making smoking screens with matches and how I wrote my mother a letter of apology that closely echoed the Act of Contrition. I told him about unwittingly digging up a neighbor’s dead cat; he told me about digging up the ashes of the previous owner's wife in his yard. Like our phone calls, we laughed a lot. Unlike our phone calls, I found myself looking him in the eye quite a bit. He admitted to being non-political, although he was reading a Howard Dean flier when I arrived, but, hey—I can mold that. He talked about sending his 13-year-old to boarding school for high school—gotta like that.

We stayed at the bar until after 9pm, and, history be damned, I was feeling pretty confident. Maybe that was because he asked me about my weekend plans at one point. Our plans this weekend conflict, but when we were going our separate ways out on Clark Street, he said it was great to meet me and "Let's definitely get together again."

"Absolutely!" I responded.

"Not this weekend, I guess, but soon," he said. I couldn't agree more, Joe.

Then he went in for the handshake, I went in for the hug, and we ended up (at long last!), kissing. Nothing major, but I'll take what I can get. I hesitate to add this, but I practically skipped home. A fantastic mood blanketed me and still hasn't let go. Could that have been spark I felt? Would I even recognize it?

I did ask Joe about the whole "wild weekend" thing. He said he'd never actually had one, but he figured he should make himself appear open to anything in his profile. He also claimed to have thrown his profile up a couple years ago and never checked it again. Ri-i-ght.

Again, I'm probably making myself much too vulnerable here, but I do believe I'll hear from him. And he paid for our drinks, so I will definitely email a thank-you. We actually talked a bit about how rude people can be online, with dropped communications and outright lies. I said that I was raised with a real emphasis on common courtesy, and it always surprises me when others are so careless with their treatment of people. He agreed wholeheartedly, and it does seem that we were raised with similar values. He mentioned that, for example, he's always on time, that it's just considerate. Yes, it is, Joe! I couldn't agree more! So, anyway, I want to believe that he wouldn't mislead me.

I know it may be short-lived, but I'm going to bed tonight feeling good.

Dec. 8, 2003: Refresher course needed

It'd be so easy to email Mike today, with references to the Bears/Packers game and, of course, thanking him for the drinks on Saturday night, but I won't. If he's interested, he knows how to contact me. I think I'll take the same approach with Joe. I expressed my interest in meeting; he can follow up if he feels the same way.

Actually, though, last night I gave some thought to Joe's profile. He wrote that he's looking for anything from a good phone call to a wild weekend to a long-term relationship. While I'm ultimately seeking the LTR (am I really? and, if so, am I looking of my own volition?), a wild weekend sounds awfully good. I could use that, so I'm considering proposing it to him. If he contacts me, that is—I do want to wait and see if he reaches out. I feel like I need a refresher course in how to be physical with someone (I wonder if Discovery Center offers any courses on that), and this could do the trick.

I don't hesitate to be the aggressor with someone with whom I'm already in a relationship, but I'm downright wimpy about it with someone who's merely a date. I've demonstrated time and time again that I can read a guy's level of interest in me about as well I read Braille. How devastating would it be to misread a guy's interest, make a move, and be shot down? No thanks.
***
Tim never called about dinner tonight. I don't especially care—I'm ambivalent about meeting him and have been all along, and I'm happy to spend the night at home. The rudeness continues to amaze me, though. Do people think that meeting via the Internet means expectations of manners and decency are discarded? I suspect the lack of civility perpetuates itself, too—"it's been done to me, so I'll do it to others."

I do have three more emails from over the weekend. From Match, imafreespirit writes to point out that we have similar interests. And are both tall. He's 27, though, and lives in Charleston, Illinois, a berg I don't know. He also wants two kids.

Traveltoomuch (Curtis) wrote again in Yahoo. Not much to it—just some travel talk and mentioning that he's currently working too many hours to check the Web site often. Uh, why sign up then? Anyway, I replied with some travel talk of my own, then tried to steer the conversation into a more personal vein, asking where he had relocated from, why, and how he likes Chicago. I predict a dragged-out, superficial exchange and no eventual meeting.

I won't suggest meeting, though. I'm shying away from the early meetings for a while. If you haven't emailed a bit or spoken on the phone, it makes it too difficult to find good topics of conversation at an audition. The audition becomes an interview—where are you from, where did you go to school, how many siblings, etc. And that leads to boredom, which isn't likely to produce a strong desire to meet again, let alone that elusive spark. Better to get the background information out of the way before you even meet.

The other email in Yahoo came from owingsruleo. He's a 5'9" flight attendant, with what looks like a large dirt stain under his bottom lip. He asks what I'm looking for in a man, despite the fact I spell it out pretty explicitly in my profile. Not that it matters—I'm keeping a wide berth of metrosexuals for a while.

Two Yahoo Icebreakers. One is from a conservative 45-year-old suburbanite who doesn't drink and looks to be about two-thirds of my weight. The other guy is 5'9", 43, and wearing a wife-beater shirt in his photo (below his goatee). He lives with roommates and signs off his profile with "Chow!" Not a bad idea. Think I'll start dinner.

Dec. 7, 2003: Letting go

This morning, emails await me from Greg M. and James. I feel nauseated again, but it could be the after-effects of the Mexican food I inhaled at dinner with Libby yesterday. Greg merely thanked me, wished me luck, and asked me to keep him in mind. I think James' message will be harder to digest, telling me how agonizing he found the other night and that things won't work out—no shit—but I'm wary of how he'll do so. Well, let's just see what he has to say:

"Okay barb, I thought that was a lot of fun. See! You thought *you*would give too much information :-) Really, did enjoy it, oh so much more than the pizza night. Definitely a little chemistry happening on my part. On reflection, I'm thinking that the right way to get over the 'interview', is to make it a real interview. A lunch, coffee, or after-dinner thing. Something about dinner is oppressive. So I'm gone next weekend, then have my daughter for two weeks, but --if you can hold out that long -- I'd love to get together again next year. Let's talk then.
Best, James."

Gre-e-at. Doesn't that figure? I finally rope someone in, and it turns out to be someone who doesn't interest me. Much as I loved his intelligence, his height, and his looks, our values and, let's be honest, sexual backgrounds thoroughly clash. God—the idea of sleeping with him makes my skin crawl, evoking nothing sexier than concerns about disease, which sucks (forgive my choice of words). Of course, he did refer to repeated incidents of impotence, so maybe I’m not missing out on anything. And his interest probably stems only from seeing me as a challenge—can he corrupt me?

I owe him an honest response:

"Hey, James--Thanks for writing and for a fun evening. And it was fun, but, in the long run, I don't think things would work out for us. I really like your intelligence, your looks, and, frankly, your height, but I think our backgrounds and values are too different. I have to say, I guess I'm more nice and wholesome than I realized, and I don't foresee that changing.

Thanks for a good time, though, and best of luck in your future. Hope you have a great time with Amelia and a wonderful holiday season!

Barb"

So I now have turned away two guys in two days. Can I really afford to do that? From a strictly business perspective, these are probably unwise moves, but I'm not willing to compromise this much. Granted, a grating voice and a wild sexual past are widely divergent on the scale of unacceptability, but I guess I'm still holding out for a situation with less compromise.

James replied to my email shortly after I sent it:

"Okay, I can see that. (See! you are wholesome -- in addition to being beautiful and clever -- wholesomeness was never my long suit :-) I do hope to bump into somewhere later down the road of life. Best to you too, and happy holidays!

James."

I can't believe I'm shunning someone who thinks I'm beautiful and clever and actually wants to pursue things, without me having to ask. But I am.

I'm feeling kind of ambivalent about the online dating thing these days. Not rejected so much as hopeless, with maybe a smidgeon of defeated. I don't seem to hit it off with anyone. Maybe I just don't have what it takes. I've met six guys so far, and nothing mutual has developed. I guess six auditions aren't really that many, but I'd probably go on hiatus if not for the project. Last week, I had dinner with a single friend (who shall remain nameless) who raised a theory that struck a nerve with me. She told me how she'd never really had a lot of boyfriends, from grade school on to now, and that she'd recently begun to think that maybe she's meant to be alone. She prefaced this disclosure by saying, "You're going to laugh, but … " How could I laugh, though, when I've entertained the same thought so many times?

Plus, the longer it gets since I last dated Andy, the more difficult it is to imagine moving from the audition and initial dates phase to a relationship stage. I'm not sure I remember how. It reminds me of my friend Maggie's fear of flying. She lives in New Jersey now, and although she returns to Chicago fairly often, she and her husband usually drive here. He wanted to fly her home during the Cubs playoff hoopla, but she declined, in large part out of fear. I think that the longer she goes between flights, the worse that next flight, whenever it is, will be. Any gains she's made in the past as far as handling her anxieties ebb away as time goes by without another flight; I think the same can be said for my anxieties about entering relationships. The enormity of the anxieties begins to overshadow the payoffs that wait beyond them.

I enjoyed my last relationship, but enough time has passed that I'm back to my regular life, and I like it. I liked it before, and I like it now. So why even bother with dating? Do I continue to look for a match because I'm bowing, consciously or not, to societal pressures and expectations? Am I just a conformist at heart? Is it any easier to submit myself to the pain of searching for a match than to live with feeling harshly judged or at least out-of-the-ordinary? Especially when I compare my degree of happiness to that of the typical purveyor of the ostracism I occasionally encounter?

That's enough for now. I'm going for a run and then spending some well-deserved downtime on my couch, surrounded by the Sunday paper and watching the Bears game. It looks like a nice day for December, too, perfect for Christmas tree shopping.

Dec. 6, 2003: A study in contrasts

James and I are not a match. Last night wasn't a disaster or anything, but it established that we're not right for each other. It'd be like pairing Marie Osmond and Mick Jagger—they share some things in common, but their fundamental differences are too great. Actually, I think David Bowie may be more appropriate than Mick Jagger. And Marie Osmond is probably overstating my wholesomeness, but you get the idea.

Yes—I emerged from the evening feeling more wholesome and nice (as James had described me) than I'd ever imagined, but only in comparison to James, his ex-wife, and their many lovers (both before, during, and after their marriage)—married people, his or her students, and anyone else with whom sex would seem inappropriate. Don't get me wrong—my moral barometer isn't as strictly calibrated as might be expected after 19 years of Catholic schooling. But a distinct pattern of choosing inappropriate partners emerged from James' stories, a pattern that could be indicative of some degree of deviance—at least a greater degree than works for me. I worry about how his daughter will turn out—I'm thinking pregnant by 16.

I arrived at James' place a little before 7pm. I'd stopped at my local fruit market to pick up some ingredients for the mojitos; the mint plays an especially important role in the cocktails. Unfortunately, as someone who doesn't haunt the produce section very often, my ability to discern one leafy vegetable (or is it a fruit?) from another is about as developed as a gymnast's chest. We never did figure out what leafy substance I actually brought over, but suffice it to say mojitos were unceremoniously booted from the menu. Instead, James made himself a margarita (a rather time-consuming process when you're determined to squeeze your own lime juice), which he insisted I try. As always, the smell of tequila triggered that horrible, filling-up-from-below feeling in my throat, so James mixed up a concoction of rum, 7UP, and lime juice for me.

His apartment was much like James himself, simple and straightforward, nothing particularly telling at first glance. But a second, more sweeping look takes in the bare top of the wooden desk, with only a sleek black laptop, and skeletal wooden bookshelves, bulging with non-fiction and an entire shelf dedicated to artfully arranged bottles of imported liquor (sadly, that type of taste is wasted on me—Bacardi is more than swanky enough). A few pieces of native art mingled with his daughter's artwork, and copies of the The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books littered the tabletops. He flushed when I pointed out the issue of Consumer Reports slipping out from his pile of mail.

Once the cocktail-making production was completed, we moved to his dining area, and, although his brown leather couch beckoned from no more than 10 feet away, he sat us at his wooden table, on his wooden, cushion-less chairs. He turned on some music (nothing I'd ever heard of, of course), and I choked down my drink, diluting it with large gulps from my water glass, as we chatted away. I mentioned my mother's past bouts with manic depression, which led James to a story about his ex's boyfriend, who also suffered from the illness. It was a long story with many digressions, heavily peppered with references to affairs, lovers, and "fucking." And ending with suicide. Cheers!

The stories and snippets he told so off-handedly sounded to me like scenes from a sophisticated British sex farce, with relationships and dalliances so plentiful and criss-crossed as to be absurd and comical—surely no one actually lives like this. But apparently they do. For someone who writes in his profile that disconnected sex doesn't work for him, he seems to have had a lot of disconnected sex.

Eventually, after at least an hour and not a crumb of food to be seen, I mentioned that I hadn't eaten much during the day, so we returned to the kitchen. The whole dinner aspect of the evening was more unplanned than I expected, not that it mattered. We ended up making fish tostadas with black beans, cheese, and snap peas on homemade tortillas. The tortillas were my contribution—he had me working the, I guess, corn meal into a batter and pouring it onto a Teflon tostada press, while he occasionally lifted a glass of wine to my lips. "Did you know they sell pre-made tortillas?" I asked. "A dozen for about 60 cents?" Making the dinner was rather fun, though, and could even have carried a romantic quality (along the lines of the pottery scene in "Ghost," perhaps), but it really didn't, although we laughed quite a bit. And, of course, there's the fact that I don't like 1) fish, 2) black beans, or 3) snap peas. Didn't want to come off as picky, so I just ate it all in peace. I love Mexican food, but this wasn't Mexican food I'd ever order.

I got home at 11:45pm, realizing that James' sexuality scares me, frankly, in a number of ways. He's definitely more casual about sex than I, which isn't necessarily a huge deal but the "five years I was queer," as he described them—well, I just don't know if I could get past that. Or would want to. He talked about so many different partners that, even though I knew going in we wouldn't end up sleeping together last night, I was intimidated, if only because I couldn't quite push the idea of disease from my mind. And I don't think he'll be interested in me either. Although we connected more this second time together (if you define connecting as opening up on a lot of topics), I'm clearly way too conservative, guarded, and inhibited for him. I was very, very honest, and it'll probably have the effect of turning him off; he was very, very honest, and it turned me off.

The way he talked about sex, making liberal use of the word "fucking" as a noun or verb, sucked any sexiness out of it; it was like he was talking about flossing. He obviously intellectualizes sex, but, to me, doing so robs it of any romance. For all the talk of people he slept with and his fucking escapades, I never heard him mention love or having any emotional connection with anyone. Well, other than the boy he had an "intense love affair" with through junior high and high school, that is.

He's also not masculine enough for me. He described himself, accurately, as effeminate. He doesn't look or dress it—black jeans, dark green pullover sweater (with a hole, no less) over a plaid shirt, wireless glasses. It's a shame, really—he's very good-looking. It's the way he carries himself and speaks, I think, kind of theatrical. I do not want to be the more masculine partner in a relationship.

It'll be interesting to see what transpires because he did say a couple of times that he thinks you owe someone you've met face-to-face some communication afterwards. He walked me a couple blocks over from his place to grab a cab after I said I should go, clutching my arm under his. He turned me toward him by my shoulders before placing me in the cab, and I thought he'd go in for a kiss, but I just got the gay, double-cheek thing again. He had, at one point, asked, "So what do you think? Aren't we connecting more this time?," but he also referred to his daughter's impending visit and his busy December. I think I'll probably hear from him but only to let me know he doesn't think we should pursue this any farther. He'll be right. But I'm glad we met up again so quickly; I don't regret it at all. I first contacted him last Saturday, we've met up twice, and now I know he's not of interest.

James did tell me several times that I'm beautiful and stunning, etc., etc., etc. According to him, I could walk into any bar and "get laid." Needless to say, I don't believe that, and, even if it was true, I've unfortunately never been able to be so random about sex. I wish I could. Damn these morals. Oh, well—James' no-holds-barred sex life definitely is not for me. I'll stick with my nice white-bread family and friends, happily inhaling their bakery-fresh wholesomeness (or at least their appearances of wholesomeness—who knows what goes on behind closed doors?).

So, back to the trenches. I saw an EH communication this morning. I assumed it was from Roger, taking his own sweet time with the process. I don't know whether he's disinterested or not, but it could be that he travels a lot for work—he asked in one of his questions how often I need to see someone I'm dating, plus he mentioned having accrued a lot of flight and hotel miles. Anyway, the communication wasn't from him. It was from a guy, John of Orland Park, who I haven't heard from since we exchanged must-haves and can't-stands in mid-October. Almost two months later he responds, with answers of no more than four words (he takes the term "short-answer" seriously), and he thinks I'll be receptive? Uh, no—I don't think so. EH also sent a new match, but he'd closed me out by the time I went to the site.

I finally settled on how to handle the Greg M. coffee situation. I can't go through with it, but of course I wasn't so brutally honest with him. Instead, I wrote:

"Hi, Greg--Thanks for the nice compliments. It was good to talk to you, too.Unfortunately, I'm having some luck on other dating fronts right now, so Ithink I'm going pass on the coffee (although I appreciate yourwillingness to come to my neighborhood).

Best of luck in your search!Barb"

So that's wrapped up, hopefully with a minimum of pain for him.

And Mike from Match called this morning. I was in the middle of working out, as well as already on my other phone with Libby. I called him back, and we didn't speak for too long, but long enough that it was a welcome contrast to last night. Just from our short conversation, I could tell Mike is much more masculine than James. I broke all rules and made no efforts to hide my sports knowledge, speaking openly of my hatred for the Minnesota Vikings and my Cubs tickets. We made plans to meet at Bar Louie near Wrigley Field at 7pm. Should be quite different from my Friday night.
***
What a contrast indeed! I don't think Mike and James could be much more different. Mike is all man. Perhaps a little too much hair product going on, but from his carelessly rolled-up shirtsleeves to his fingernail bruised while playing hockey, you'd be hard pressed to find a trace of the effeminate. And he didn't talk about subjects that would be uncomfortable to discuss with someone you barely know. We talked a lot about sports—I shamelessly cast aside my "limit the sports talk" self-admonition, even engaging in a comparison of sports-related injuries (sexy and feminine, ay?). In fact, you could say I came out with a full-court press, from the sports I participate in and watch, to my fantasy teams, to the different team hats I own. But Mike said talking about sports with a woman was great, so no harm, no foul.

We also discussed what distinguishes a fruit from a vegetable (he brought this up, but it allowed me to tell an edited version of my new mint anecdote) and tort reform (his father is a journalist who lobbies for tort reform), but our conversation was mainly about sports. In contrast (or reaction?) to my outings with James, I'd say this was the most I've talked about sports on an audition. Mike is a Bears season ticketholder and was leaving early Sunday morning to head up to Green Bay for the game. He's also a White Sox fan, but that can be worked around. He seemed like a nice guy and was good-looking, tall.

We share the Catholic school background—he's Irish Catholic, went to school and grew up in Arlington Heights. He's not intellectual, but he has a cool job he really likes with the local film industry. He's normal, not twisted or dark (not ostensibly, anyway). Together, we looked like a normal couple—both in jeans, me in standard date outfit of the yellow ribbed shirt, and he in a moss button-up shirt over a white t-shirt (my audition wardrobe has had quite the workout this week—I've gone through the yellow and black knit tops, plus the hot pink blouse). He might have been bored, though, and didn't know quite what to make of me. Most guys don't want to have to figure women out, I think.

I'd rather not speculate anymore about whether a guy was interested (I'm also at a point where my thoughts tend more toward, "Ugh. Whatever."). We shared a cab after we left the bar around 8:45pm, but he didn't say anything when he climbed out about meeting again or talking soon. I think I'd like to see him, but the ball is in his court, to carry through the sports metaphors. I don't want to email him, but he did pay the bill and I truly believe it's rude in that case not to send a thank-you (I don't wield that rule just as an excuse to initiate contact, even though it often works out that way). Maybe in a day or two. I need to realize that even though I might think that rude, others probably think nothing of it. I should take advantage of that, and now is as good a time as any.

I don't have much in the works now. I'm supposed to have dinner with Tim on Monday night, but I haven't heard from him. I shot down Greg M. Joe might call again, but who knows.

Dec. 5, 2003: Contradictions

Greg II emailed last night about meeting for coffee. I was hoping he wouldn't follow through on that threat. And he was very flattering ("Considering you look naturally beautiful in your pictures, in addition to being tall, highly educated and successful, I would like very much to meet for coffee after work.") and offered to come to my neighborhood. But our phone call did absolutely nothing for me. I don't know what to do.

I received an email from a new guy on Match. He wrote:

"So it's early Thursday evening, what better to do than try to meet a complete stranger over the internet? I liked your profile, and if you ask me, I'd tell you that I have the sense of humor and approach to life you may be looking for, among other qualities."

I realized I've reached the point that I have low expectations for Match, so I was pleasantly surprised to see this guy, Mike, posted cute photos. He's 37, lives in the city, and his profile reads well, too. Ah—he wants kids "someday." So I guess I'll send the always-lyrical "I don't … who knows what might have been?"

Over in Yahoo, eight Icebreakers await me (several are lodged in the winks section on Match, too, but for some reason, I've stopped checking those). I'm going to scan these, just to move through them. Good Lord, one guy posted a shirtless photo of himself holding a camera, presumably taking the very photo I had the good fortune to see. He's not exactly buff—why go shirtless? Another photo shows him and a woman—well, a silhouette of a woman. She's been blocked out. Nice.

Another guy, passionatecoach, writes that "Personal growth/spirituality is a big focus in my life, and I've integrated that into my career where I empower people to make their dreams a reality." Well, for God's sake, why would you just send an Icebreaker, rather than write an actual email, if you're so empowered? "I love to connect with people," he writes. And yet …

In MM, I've received one email, from NEVERTELL447. He's 46-50, lives in Naperville, and posts no photo. I won't even bother detailing his poor spelling. Oh, and he's married. And quite conservative—how conservative can you be if you're married and still trolling online? He's not a pig, though—he's "seeking an occasional lover/casual relationship." Where do I sign? That sounds great.

Hmmm. Mike from Match replied:

"I'm not dead set on having kids, I've made it this far in my life without them, so... I'm just not opposed to having them. I guess I just wanted to say to you something to the effect of - if you are interested I would hate for the whole being a mother thing to be a deal breaker, I'm more of the thought that I need to be happy in a relationship that I think is going somewhere before the thought of children even enters the equation... make sense? Hopefully...

Having said that, if you're interested, I would still like to meet you, and if not, well I wish you the best."

Besides the fact that it's always a positive when someone with a good profile wants to meet, I'm awfully intrigued by his admission that he's not dead set on having kids, just not opposed. Classic marketing ploy—his profile plays to his audience ("women all want kids, right?"). I suspect a lot of guys feel this way. Or, at least, I want to believe that. Anyway, I'll reply. After all, who can pass up someone who describes himself as "sometimes sarcastic, often funny, never boring"? Especially when he's 6'3"? Of course, after getting James' post-audition critique, now I'm paranoid about coming off as guarded and stiff. Geez—that's so like me. Why can't I seize on the stuff about being smart and attractive? Whatever.

Speaking of James, tonight is our oddly-arranged date. I'm a little sluggish today, though, after the wine tasting last night, so a nap might be in order. I generally don't allow naps during the day—I do work, dammit!—but I can make an exception when so much is on the line. I'm kidding about that (really!), but the whole thing with James is truly bizarre. I can't imagine how things will go tonight. Frankly, if it goes at all well, it seems perfectly natural that we'd end up sleeping together, but for the fact that I've got my period. Anyway, I just don't know what to think going in—will this be tense ("make or break!") or relaxed ("it's so funny that we had that email exchange yesterday")?
***
Mike from Match replied, and now we're making plans to meet. Boy, am I over my original "preferred protocol." Talk about throwing all caution to the wind (I should point out that I always provide my friend Roberta with contact information on these guys before I go out with them; still, going to James' place so soon is a little over the top).

I'm torn, though, on what to do about Greg. He proposed coffee Wednesday or Thursday afternoon. Thursday is definitely out because I have a conflict, but I could do Wednesday. Should I bother? I feel badly that he "very much" wants to meet me. Was he on the same phone call? On the other hand, I think maybe I shouldn't be so cavalier—that I can't really afford to toss aside someone who's interested. What to do, what to do.
***
I'm just about ready to head over to James' for dinner. I have no idea what to expect—what will we do after dinner? Will there be all sorts of candor and heartfelt honesty? Will there be kissing? Strangely, I'm not particularly nervous. I figure I'll know in a matter of hours whether to be excited or whether to move on and not look back. Our email exchange was certainly unusual, especially as we barely know each other, but the lack of game playing is refreshing.

While I was primping for tonight, I also was mulling the Greg-coffee situation. I was 95 percent of the way to agreeing to meet—how horrible can coffee be? But then I remembered his voice. I just can't imagine listening to that on a regular basis. I'll wait until tomorrow morning to respond, but I've totally flipped and now am leaning heavily toward politely declining. I would never not reply, though.

Mike from Match asked if I wanted to get together for a drink tomorrow night! Saturday night! It's then or next Thursday. My schedule is becoming rather hectic—going out tomorrow would make five consecutive nights. My newspapers are piling up, not to mention my magazines. But I do like to get on with things. He's already left his office but sent me his cell number. I'll wait until tomorrow and see how I feel. My friend Libby and I are taking in a matinee at the Steppenwolf tomorrow, so I'll already be out and about. We'll see.

Dec. 4, 2003: A decided lack of click

I almost told James last night about my self-admonition not to talk with food in my mouth, after he asked me a question while my mouth was otherwise engaged, gnawing away on four different cheeses, sauce, and crust. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

For the first time in quite a while, I arrived at the audition location first, but I didn't need to wait long. I was seated at the bar and paying for my drink when I saw James walk past the door and the icy picture window of Huettenbar. "Looks good," I thought, as I watched him turn around and head back to the door. He reminded me of someone, someone cute (I've since realized it's Craig Kilborne). He came in and moved directly to the bar, several stools down from me, coming over after I waved at him. A tall drink of water indeed—until he sat down, I could almost imagine that he was breathing cleaner air, with his head stretching above the clouds of unfiltered cigarette smoke. "Hi. I'm James." I laughed and said, "Barb."

I definitely liked the looks of him. He's a bit thin, young-looking, with brownish blond hair (and I'm not generally a fan of blondes), smallish glasses (he rested those in front of him most of the time, but I liked them on, too), hazel eyes. Plaid shirt, dark pants, high tops. Leather jacket, possibly on the faggy side. In fact, I saw a jacket at Walgreen's today that reminded me of James'. I could see why he described himself in his profile as sometimes flamboyant, although I think effeminate might be more accurate, sitting with his legs crossed most of the time and gesticulating quite a bit. But, overall, I was very happy with his looks and thought he was better looking than in any of his photos.

We went through the typical job history, background-type stuff. Again, I think I was nervous, kind of jabbering initially. Maybe it's because these auditions can be so like a job interview at first. He claims to be new to Match, having heard about it from his ex-wife, among others. They've been separated for three years, and it sounded like she cheated on him while they were married, so he doesn't seem like he still has issues there. I wasn't his first Match meet-and-greet, thank God.

When we were preparing to leave the bar and go grab dinner, he told me my photos don't do me justice. Being me, I couldn't just say "Thank you" or "That's so nice of you to say," like a normal person. Instead, I told him that I'd been thinking the same thing about him. And then went off on some tangent about the guy who wrote that he loved my "read" dress, and how you're not supposed to consider spelling but it's hard not to, etc., etc. But could I just leave it at that? Nooooo. On the walk to the restaurant, I felt compelled to say, "So, you don't like my photos, huh?"

As far as dinner, James first suggested a German place across the street. I nixed that, as German food turns my stomach, but I suppose I should have just gone with it. We settled on an Italian/pizza place I've actually wanted to visit since I saw it reviewed on the local PBS affiliate. And you know I dropped that reference in there—"Hey, look at me! I watch PBS!"—even though I rarely watch that channel.

We were seated quickly, and he suggested we order some wine and took charge as far as selecting a bottle, which I like. He looked at me very intently throughout the whole evening, especially at the restaurant, to the point that I worried about glanced away too often. He doesn't like football, apparently connecting it to being picked on in his youth, spent primarily in Houston, with a one- or two-year respite in Connecticut. He said he preferred baseball, but that doesn't necessarily translate to liking baseball.

In all, we only spent about two hours together, but it seemed longer, in a good way. He spoke about his ex-wife and daughter a fair amount, but not too much and it always made sense in the context of the conversation. I asked about the daughter, Amelia, who lives with her mom in Chapel Hill. He sees her twice a month, once down there and once in Chicago.

He walked me to my car after dinner, and I offered him a ride, even though it was only a block or two. I got the impression he'd like to stay out for a while, but I couldn't drink anymore and had an interview this morning. Also, I do want to keep these auditions shorter rather than longer. I dropped him off at a corner, and he gave me a double-cheek "kiss." "Ooh, how European," I said, like an ass. Yeah, proud of that one. He did say "It was great" and the old "We'll talk."

I hope we do. He's clearly very intelligent, and he carried himself that way. I felt like I wasn't coming off as too intelligent myself, but that's okay—it's good for me to feel that way. He's up for tenure next fall, so he should be around for a while (pull back, pull way back!). The conversation stumbled a little at times, to be expected, but, boy, did things get rolling when it moved to politics and the Bush administration. I know I can't rule out guys just because they're conservative, so I tell myself debate and discussion can be fun, but let's be real—it's much more fun getting righteously indignant with someone who shares your passion and your views. We also talked about the Catholic Church; I think we're both more about living morally than by doctrine. And, of course, we're both tall. He commented on how above-average height is the one "freakish deformity" that people believe they can comment on without fear of recrimination. "No one goes up to the fat person and asks how much they weigh," he noted.

So, of course, I'm dying to hear from him today, preferably proposing something for this weekend. Luckily, I had to go downtown this morning, which prevented me from emailing him first thing. To be honest, I fought the urge last night. I mean, I'd like to think I would never resort to that, but I must admit to feeling a desire, so to speak, to reach out almost immediately, which is new. As it is, I'm embarrassed to disclose that I emailed him a few minutes ago. I can't help myself—I just want to know ASAP if there's any point of holding out hope or whether to hang it up and move on. I told him about the Kilborne resemblance, said it was great to meet him and talk trash about the Bush administration, and sent a Reuters article about some of the revelations coming out of Neil Bush's divorce. Why, oh why, can't I play it cool? Maybe it came off as playing it cool when I drew things to a close relatively early last night? A girl can dream. So now I sit and wait. However, I do hereby solemnly swear that I will not email my next audition victim for at least two days.
***
Now that I've mulled over my emailing/predatory habits while eating lunch, I'm kicking myself for emailing James. And every other audition, for that matter. And for the other thing I did last night (stay tuned!). It's common knowledge that men like to be the pursuers, right? I must, must, must let them be. I'm serious this time, too. Serious reform is necessary, if only to regain some smidgen of dignity.

Getting back to last night, Joe called while I was out. His voice made a good first impression—warm and friendly—but maybe I'm overly sensitive to that after talking to Greg II. I debated whether to return the call because I felt slightly buzzed, but I figured I'd drunk just enough make me a more sparkling conversationalist but without slurring. Besides, I'm hitting another wine tasting tonight, so we might not have had the opportunity to talk for a while otherwise.

The conversation was nice and easy, with a lot of laughing. (Ironically, James and I had talked about how neither of us enjoys the phone-call component of the whole matching process, how excruciating it can be. And yet, I proceeded to go home and give Joe a call.) We talked for about 30-35 minutes. He lives nearby but with his 13-year-old daughter. He's one of 10 children, and his sister lives across the street from him (built-in babysitter?). He loves to cycle, and he paints, holding a Fine Arts degree that otherwise gets no use. He's had at least one relationship with someone he met online, and doesn't have many friends in the city because he moved here from Michigan City, Indiana. I somehow got myself into another religion discussion and had to laugh when he said, "You know, I get into church, and all I can think about is sex." Curious.

Anyway, and this is what I’m kicking myself for today, I drew the conversation to a close, claiming I needed to prep for my interview. He was saying we should talk again, etc., and I burst out with "Would you like to meet for a drink sometime?" He didn't seem put off, and actually said he liked having plans made before hanging up. He said he'll call me at the beginning of next week. Maybe, maybe not.

EH sent me another match—Michael, 35, Chicago—but he'd already shot me down by the time I got around to checking him out. His reason? He "would rather not say." Uh, okay. Also in EH, Roger has left me hanging. Is he just really slow with all of this (which isn't a good sign for how serious he is about it) or has he lost interest? C'mon, Rog—either respond or shut us down.
***
Well, James replied, and I must say, I feel rather nauseated right now. A long response, but a painful one:

"Hey Barb.The story is hilarious. I wonder where neal will be governor?And how was the interview? Did they bite? Are going to be touringboutiques in winetka for the next few months?

I've seen Craig Kilborne, and thought he did look like me, but no oneelse has ever pointed this out. I got over the cousin thing very fast since you're much more beautiful.

I'm an analytical kind of boy and I've been mulling over last night. I also see no reason to pussy-foot around. I hope you don't mind, but let me say there was a decided lack of 'click'. I've been trying to figure it out. I never relaxed. Did you? Don't know what that's about -- maybe just lack of sleep and foul mood on my part. Maybe non-smoking anxiety -- I'm trying, not very successfully, to quit -- I think at this point I'm going to quit trying to quit until christmasstime, when my daughter is with me for two weeks -- she helps smooth over the rough edges. Maybe it was too 'date'-like. Never could stand dating, all the way back to junior high. Whatever it was, it was a bit stiff. Don't you think? I'm curious to know if you felt the same, or if this is just an inherent part of the 'getting to know you' process. Anyway, I found it a bit frustrating. Like a fish, I need to get below the surface quickly.

You're smart as a tack and you look absolutely fantastic, I just feelI don't know you a lot better than I did before. Who is Barb ****? What does she want in life? etc, etc. We clearly have some common interests, and some 'un'common ones... You're more developed than me athletically, clearly, but I do love to hike and the outdoors and all that; I just don't do football. I'm maybe a bit more neurotic than you, less nice, less wholesome, more pottymouthed. And you're clearly a bit more guarded than I am. That's all very surface. Not clear that there is a way to get around it, but perhaps we should try again, if you're willing to give it a go. Maybe we could meet up in the new year, after I'm through the smoking bullshit and the holiday craziness has past. I'd like to meet 'bad Barb'.

Either some wierd theater, or a bracing walk in the woods, I think. Maybe eating in, instead of out. Something more relaxed. Something to get other neurons firing.

Hope this isn't too much crap to send in an email, but as I said before, what's the point of not getting to the point?

Let me know if you think the same.

Best, James."

I didn't even read the whole thing at first, just skimmed it. Liked the part about me being beautiful and not pussy-footing around—naively thinking he couldn't resist an overwhelming urge to ask me out again—until I glanced at "the decided lack of click." I now know what it feels like to be a tackling dummy. Did I need another confirmation that guys are lying when they say they don't need to feel a click on the first date? And what about the fact that he doesn't think he got to know me at all? So much for holding something back and creating an air of mystery. Still, though, does he really expect to come away from a "first date" knowing what I want out of life? I can at least see the humor in the fact that he thinks he's "a bit more neurotic … , less nice, less wholesome, more pottymouthed" than I. Don't bet on it, James. Once again, my instincts prove to be about as well honed as a tub of butter. But can I just say that I barely talked about "athletics" at all? Really, I mentioned having gone to the Bears game, and, when pressed, said yes, I do like football, but I prefer baseball. That was about it. Didn't even talk about the Cubs. Of all the auditions since I started, this one had the least sports talk.

I guess I should be heartened that he wrote back at all, and proposed giving it another chance (how big of him). But I don't see waiting until 2004. I probably should have taken more time before sending my reply, but, as he said, why pussyfoot around? I wrote:

"God, dating sucks. Relationships--good; dating--not so much.

I must say, your response surprised me. But I couldn't agree more--what's the point of pussyfooting around? That's why I chucked 'the rules' and went ahead and emailed you today. I just like to have at least some indication whether a guy is interested, particularly when I am. And I am.

I don't know, though--your message makes my head spin, for several reasons (of course, finding someone who can do that can be a great thing ...). First off, I think you seem great, a reel catch (pun intended). As for last night, I don't know if I ever really relaxed, but I guess I just expect first 'dates' to be like that, especially when there's minimal advance emailing, so you don't know much about each other. It can take on a job-interview quality, you know? Make or break. And I was nervous, I must admit. Also, I guess I don't get discouraged if I don't feel an immediate click--I think it can develop over time, and probably with a better long-term chance of survival, if not felt on first sight. But I find your comments on clicking really interesting because I have this theory that guys are more black-and-white, more snap-decision about these things than women. If they don't feel itimmediately, forget it.

You've also got me slapping my forehead when you say you don't know me any better. A corollary (oooh, math talk!) to my 'less is more' theory for profiles is that I talk too much on these first dates, leave no stone unturned about myself, and that I need to create more of an air of mystery, leave 'em wanting more, yadda, yadda, yadda. I clearly succeeded if you think you're more neurotic, less nice, less wholesome, and more potty-mouthed than me. Boy, did I steer you wrong! Nice and wholesome--can't say I've heard that before! You're probably right about me being more guarded, though, but once you open the spigots... As to the athletics, and smoking, I couldn't care less about that.

Anyhoo, I wrote you in the first place because I was interested in getting together again, maybe even as soon as this weekend. I was pleased to see a response, but, whoa, didn't expect quite so much heartfelt, honest feedback. I do very much appreciate getting to the point, but, honestly, now I don't know what to do. I kind of feel like if we don't feel enough sense of urgency to get together before 2004, what's the point? On the other hand, now it seems like it'd be really hard to relax the next time we get together, like there would be so much pressure, regardless of timing. Or maybe our forthrightness will have the effect of knocking down some walls and it'd be easier to talk and unwind [certainly with a little booze, anyway]. Especially since I now know you like to get below the surface quickly--I don't think that's true of a lot of guys.

A bracing walk in the woods, though, ain't gonna work--I tend to come off as frigid when I'm outside in the winter ... because I literally am frigid when outside!! Seriously, though, I'm not the best with body language and signal-sending as it is, and I'm picturing myself hunched over (posture be damned), hands buried in pockets, and it's not a very alluring image. Eating in--much more promising.

Your thoughts?"

This reminds me of the emailing Andy and I slogged through after our Valentine's Day lunch, when I was safely back in DC. As I told him at the time, it doesn't seem like it should be this much work so early on. And this is much earlier on than it was with Andy—we'd at least dated for a couple months. To my surprise, though, I did think that those long-distance, and long-winded, email exchanges with Andy really helped us when I returned to Chicago. We were much farther along than we were when we broke up the first time. But, again, James and I just met, for God's sake.

Geez, I have work to do, and now I'm completely distracted. What a pain. I already wish I hadn't responded at all. I won't be surprised if James doesn't write again. And I don't care too much—what have I invested, after all? Yet, there's a lingering feeling of, well, sadness. I wish I could just take comfort in being smart as a tack and looking absolutely fantastic, but I can't. Intelligence and looks can't keep a gal warm at night.

But, hold on—James replied. And now I'm going over to his place for dinner tomorrow night!

"Ok, I was a little nervous about sending that letter, but glad I did.

I wasn't sure if I'd get 'fuck you', silence, or something good. Got something good. I say we try the 'maybe our forthrightness will have the effect of knocking down some walls and it'd be easier to talk and unwind [certainly with a little booze, anyway]' theory. Christmas is bad, but I'm free tomorrow, if you are. I can make you dinner and give you mojitos and we can go for the more relaxed thing. Free food. Free booze. No worries. Can't be tooo bad.

Waddya think? J.

PS. Sorry for the head spinning. Stop that or you'll get dizzy."

Crazy insane, I know. But, as I say whenever I do something for which there isn't much good reason or justification, what the hell? By Saturday, or perhaps sooner, I'll know whether there's a chance or not. Get it out of the way, I say.

Dec. 3, 2003: Nails on a chalkboard

Greg called last night, around 8:30pm. The word that comes to mind to describe the conversation, which lasted about 35 lo-o-ong minutes, is excruciating. He showed some sense of humor in his profile and emails, but on the phone—total dud. We spoke a little about how he'd like to try kayaking, and a lot about his latest hobby—geocaching. He goes out on weekends—just him and his handheld GPS device—and combs forest preserves and wetlands to find 35mm film canisters or similar objects of no value secreted by other "geocachers." Yep, that's what he does for fun. When he's not at the library. He mentioned the library in his profile, and his email, but I assumed he dropped by, checked out books, and left. Now I'm under the impression that he hangs out there for hours at a time. He seems—how can I put this diplomatically?—really boring.

But that wasn't the worst of it. What made the conversation truly agonizing was his painful speaking voice. I spent most of the conversation not so much listening to the boring information coming out of his mouth, as trying to put my finger on what it was that his voice resembled. At first, I thought he might be speaking in some weird dialect—he's from Alabama, so maybe they've engaged in some cross-breeding with Cajuns who wandered over from Louisiana. Then I decided his voice sounded like an automated voice, based on the voice of someone who speaks English as a second language, being downloaded from the Internet over a dial-up connection. In other words, lots of stopping and starting. And a strong emphasis on the "-ing" syllable in words like kayaking. Or boring. My speech patterns tend toward the lazy side at times as it is; talking to Greg, I could hear my voice countering his over-enunciation with my own use of "–in'" (as in, "when you use your GPS on the golf course, do the other players think you're cheatin'?").
Finally, I thought he might sound like someone with a hearing impairment, which made me feel horrible for being so nasty in formulating the other theories.

I'll never know. I drew the conversation to a close a little past 9:00pm, saying I had laundry to do (which I did, not that I planned on doing it last night). I hoped to get off the phone and leave it at that, but he jumped in and asked if I'd like to meet for coffee some time. The boring, nails-on-chalkboard conversation failed to evoke any desire in me to meet him, plus he lives a good distance away. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to come right out and say no. I ended up saying this week was bad and suggesting he email me Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. And then I'll devise an excuse to weasel out of it. I will answer him, though, and I'll be gentle, which is more than I can say about some of the guys I've encountered.

In my Yahoo mailbox, I received a response for traveltoomuch, or Curtis. He didn't give me much to work with:

"Hey Barb, Thanks for the note..

I did enjoy your profile..

Almost Everyone tell me I am too picky.. I disagree. I can't really say what I am looking for exactly, but it should be somebody that I think about when they are not around.. Somebody that I look forward to making happy... I guess that is the best way to describe it...

Enough of that....

It is always fun to meet new people..

That is great that you travel so much. Unfortunately, most of mine is with work... I love vacations, but hate to plan them..

Well, I will keep this short... Talk to you later.. Curtis"

"Talk to you later"? What kind of sign-off is that? Well, anyway, I responded by saying it wasn't picky to want to be with someone you look forward to seeing and to doing things for, blah, blah, blah. Injected a little travel talk, too. No biggie.

Jflusman wrote again today. He acknowledged he's tried once before "but would really like to chat more." More? We haven't chatted at all, nor shall we—he's married.

Nothing from Greg I. He must have been offended by my question about whether he's gone on any dates or remains wary. Just as well. I shouldn't have started up with him again, anyway. Easy for me to say when I've got an audition in half an hour.

So, yeah, I'm meeting James in a little while. Unlike the audition with Matt, which was probably the most similar as far as how limited our communication has been to this point, I don't feel ambivalent—I'm really hoping this goes well. In both directions, that is. On paper, he sounds great, even though there are a couple things that I wouldn't call ideal—his affinity for discos and self-description as "very chatty, sometimes flamboyant,” for example. Nobody's perfect, though. I could really use a good audition. Just once, I'd like to find myself instantly attracted to one of these guys or, if not instantly, by the time I'm in my car and headed home.

Notes to self, pre-audition: touch his arm a couple times; don't talk too much; don't focus on sports; show you're intelligent, fun, and funny; don't be quiet but do create some air of mystery. And don't talk with food in your mouth.

Dec. 2, 2003: A lot of balls in the air (so to speak)

Where to start? Quite the onslaught of action this morning, with emails from Joe, Greg II, and James, and a new match and some renewed communication in EH. And I talked to Tim last night. It's like Christmas in, well, December.

I guess I'll start with my conversation with Tim. I waited until about 9pm to see if he'd call, but alas, he did not. He sounded happy to hear from me (although he kept yawning, which was rather disconcerting—not particularly polite), and we chatted about half an hour or so, primarily about our respective vacations. I was a bit surprised at how freely he spoke of getting "loaded" on his flights (he sat in first class—it'd be rude to turn down the free booze, after all). Maybe he assumed I'd do the same, being a Marquette grad and all. While I did succumb as far as calling him back, I managed to hold out on proposing dinner. I decided to leave that to him, and he came through. We're tentatively scheduled to have dinner in my neighborhood Monday night; he said he'd drive in from work. "Pencil me in," he said toward the end of the conversation. "Oops," I replied. "I'm actually holding a pen, but I'll grab a pencil." "No, you can go ahead and use a pen," he said, laughing. So Monday it is.

My Hawaii-induced insomnia had me up again at 2am last night. I was working on my computer when a new match came in from EH. I thought I'd just leave it until the light of day but decided to sneak a peek before I shut down. Then I realized it wasn't a match but a new communication. I don't know why, but I found myself thinking, "Could it be Roger? Nahhh." Lo and behold, it was Roger. I wrote him off a while ago, and this time I wasn't jumping the gun—more than three weeks have passed since our whirlwind Saturday morning exchange that had me so excited.

He certainly put some thought into the short answers he supplied, but did it really take three weeks to craft them? I mean, he does have an MBA from Northwestern, so I wouldn't think it'd be that arduous of a task for him. Or was it my lists of must-haves and can't-stands that caused him so much consternation? Was he mulling over whether he could satisfy and/or live with those? I suppose I should sit on the questions he sent me for a while, so it doesn't seem like I've been biding my time, waiting for him, but I'm so bad at playing it cool, especially when he doesn't want kids and EH swears on its good name that we're compatible. And what's the point? If he's turned off by a quick response and drops communication, no big deal—I'd already written him off.

Looking back at his profile, he does sound awfully good (but possibly arrogant), especially since I've recently decided what I'm really looking for is a Renaissance man. When asked about how he spends his leisure time, he writes:

"I am somewhat of a Renaissance Man. I enjoy working out, playing sports (volleyball, golf, tennis, basketball, football, biking, hiking, skiing, camping - you name it), going to the theatre, the beach, the woods, discussing the news of the day from NPR to Letterman, or just enjoying a quiet evening at home with a classic movie."

From his short answers, he appears to recognize the importance of balance in life—rather than being most proud of academic or professional accomplishments, he says he's proud that he's been able to reap his accomplishments without sacrificing personal relationships. Good, good. In response to the question about an interest of his he'd hope his partner would share, he writes about travel, both vacations and getaway weekends. He adds: "I have been blessed with enough airline miles and hotel points seemingly to last a lifetime. Care to find out just how long we could go?" Why, yes, Roger—I would.

Finally, his idea for a romantic evening with someone he's dated for more than a year definitely works for me:

"I would tailor the evening to the interests of my date. As a frequent traveller, that could mean an impromptu getaway to London, Paris, or Rome. Or, it could simply mean coming home to a prepared picnic dinner spread out on the living room floor. It might also mean a scavenger hunt around the city ending up in a luxury suite at the Drake. Anything that would allow us to be together and enjoy our relationship."

So I went ahead and answered Roger's short-answer questions of me. From the list of questions EH supplies, he asked what I'm most proud of in my life and the three best traits I have to offer a partner. He also wrote his own question: "Sometimes these questions can seem a little too imposing, so let's start with something light and easy. How was your day? Did anything interesting happen that you would like to share with me?" Maybe it'll sound passive-aggressively catty, but I replied: "Well, I'd have to say the most interesting thing to happen so far today was hearing from you. A very pleasant surprise!" It'll be interesting to see what, if anything, develops.
***
Joe wrote back, saying that he also wanted to see a play I'm planning on checking out this coming weekend ("Nickeled and Dimed," based on the book by Barbara Ehrenreich). He also said he'd just finished reading the Sedaris book "Naked." He's a freelance graphic designer and illustrator, so he's on his computer all day at work; consequently, he says he's not good about checking his email at home, so he asked if I'd like to talk sometime: "It is so much easier to getto know someone that way." He included his phone number, but you know how I feel about that—I sent him mine and told him to call when he can.

Greg II also would like to chat or maybe meet for coffee after work. He wrote a nice long email. He visited my business Web site and asked some questions about that and my career path. Also wrote about a trip out West, his cat, Palatine (who knew its library was ranked 3rd best in the country last year?), and golf. He mentioned that he does volunteer work, too—very nice. I'll write back and toss my number out to him, as well. The lunch buffet is now open!

James thinks I "sound too cool" (see what I mean about online communication creating unrealistic expectations?). We have a little inside joke (to the extent people who've never met or spoken can have inside jokes) about Karl Jung, based on his user name of talljungguy. Anyway, I mentioned in my email to him yesterday that I'd heard an NPR interview of a woman who wrote a recently published biography of Jung. Turns out James heard the same interview—gotta like that. He wants to meet and suggested a drink tomorrow night, somewhere near the L because he doesn't own a car. I wrote back and offered to meet him in his neighborhood. So, as of now, I'm waiting for phone calls from Joe and Greg M. and details on a place and time with James tomorrow night, and am scheduled for dinner with Tim on Monday.

I've also received email from a couple of Emode jokesters. Smiley_dave wrote me once before, and I believe I've already critiqued his profile. The other guy, who sends his full name and phone number, is 49, smokes, lives in Deerfield, and is wearing a necklace in his photo. I'm not big on jewelry on men.

And EH found me another match. Mike is 36, 5'11", and lives in Libertyville. Hmmm. He said he typically spends his leisure time watching TV, and for the last book he read and enjoyed, he answered "none." Mind you, not just "has not responded yet"; he actually entered "none" as his answer. Not exactly an intellectual, this Mike. And one of the things he can't live without is "sexual relationship." I think I'll pass on ole Mikey for now.
***
James just wrote, and Greg II followed right on his heels. I'd written James to let him know I had to schedule a job interview for Thursday morning, so it won't be a late, crazy night for me. I also sent an excerpt I saw online about a holiday beer available at a bar in his neighborhood. He replied that we can meet there, at Huettenbar, have a drink and then grab dinner somewhere nearby. Cool.

Greg elaborated on some of his volunteer work (Palatine Jaycees—yikes; then again, my brother is a Rotarian, although I like to keep that under wraps). He said he'll call this evening after 7pm. I'm meeting some friends for dinner at 7pm, but I shouldn't be out late, so no reason to write him about it. I'll just call back if I miss him.

Wow. I just googled James, and it returned a lot of academic papers. He's actually an assistant professor at DePaul and very widely published on computer and math related topics. He looks to have a Ph.D. I'm pretty impressed. Definitely got me a smart one here.

Doh! I don't know what came over me, but I just sent James a message in response to his last email, which set a time and place:

"Cool.

P.S. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I Googled you, and you seem to be one smart cookie. I find that very sexy. But who wouldn't find aspect-oriented programs sexy?"

Who am I? Fortunately, he responded positively:

"That's great! I should get you to come tell my students this! And I'm so glad the pedophilia conviction is finally coming after my professional page on google."

Must resist temptation to reply with some joke about pedophilia and wanting kids. Must … Be … Strong!

Dec. 1, 2003: Letting me down gently (or not)

Things look better today. In Yahoo, I've received responses from gm_us2003 (or Greg, who's 34, 6'3", and lives in Palatine) and bullsfan1967. Greg vacations regularly in Florida, reads two or three books a week, and listens to news radio while commuting (close enough to NPR for me). And he lives adjacent to a golf course. So far, so good.

Oops, spoke too soon. The Bulls fan responded but only to shoot me down:

"Hi, Thank you for your email, but I read your profile and don't feel we match up together. Good luck in your search.- Tim"

I'm not sure how I feel about that. I guess it's better than the "our values don't match" option in EH, and most people (including myself) wouldn't have bothered replying at all if they felt this way. So I guess he was being considerate, but it still feels insulting, somehow. Not sure why.

Yahoo held a couple Icebreakers, too, but neither of them moved me to break my rule on guys who can't even write their own introductory message. It didn't help that one of them used the word "conversate" in his profile. And nothing from Greg I or JoePro.

I've seen my first Match action in a while, with three emails waiting for me, including one from a guy I wrote this weekend, talljungguy. His real name is James (it has always bothered me when guys use their full names, rather than the shortened version—strikes me as pretentious—but, hey, I'm all about being more open-minded this round, so …). He teaches at De Paul, lives in Lincoln Square, and said I've been on his "Favorites" list in Match for some time. Apparently, I closely resemble one of his cousins. He has a daughter who lives in another state, as do his parents—very good. He's also a reader and very liberal, so I can overlook the fondness for yoga. Anyway, he already suggested meeting. I wrote back, talking about how much I love his neighborhood and explaining my Midwestern roots, but I didn't mention getting together. I'm not averse to the idea, but let him propose it again so I don't seem quite so easy.

One of the other Match emails came from a 21-year-old, built750. According to his profile, he lives in Chicago but goes to school out East, so he's available there, too (flexibility is so important). I'm not quite at the Mrs. Robinson stage yet, but I suppose I should be flattered. And he did write a good email:

"Hey-I saw your profile and you seem to be a really funloving, confidant woman. Intelligence and sense of humor are key, so I was glad to see that you're big on those, too. I'm sure you kno how annoying it is to be with people who don't 'get it.'

I don't have to go onto looks, because you're obviously beautiful, so we can leave that one as it is :-) Overall, I was very impressed and would love to get to know you better.

I left my contact info above because I wasn't sure if you're a member or not, but either way, you can catch me there (JSlick750@aol.com). All the details are in my profile, and any other questions are more than welcome. Thanks for reading, I hope to hear from you soon,Jason"

Oh, geez—the other Match email is from a guy who lives in Anchorage. Yep—Alaska. He said he couldn't resist writing me because he grew up in Illinois. Sorry, sir, but that's not enough for me, especially since you're 5'5". Does he really think a woman half a foot taller than him would want to take up correspondence with him in Alaska, via a dating site?
***
I figured out what bothered me about the Bulls fan's response. When I tried online dating the first time, I felt obligated to respond to anyone who wrote me, even if I wasn't interested, which may be his approach as well. But I always let the guys down gently (in my mind, anyway). I never said I wasn't attracted to their photos or that they were too short or old or that their profiles were repellant. Basically, I lied—I'd say I was taking a break or had started seeing someone. The way bullsfan put it—that he didn't think we matched up—carries conceivably insulting implications (e.g., "you're not good enough for me").

Whatever. Getting back to real life, I emailed Tim yesterday, apologizing for missing his call, hoping he had a good trip, telling him about the Bears game. He hasn't written back, but maybe I'll call him tonight. I'm more inclined just to see what he does, though, so I might not call. Oh what games I play.

Nov. 30, 2003: Is it okay to be single?

Darn it! I just came home from a rare Bears' victory. Joel and I used some expensive club level tickets I purchased on eBay and were lucky enough to sit in the sun for the whole game. Had a great time—Joel was able to buy Heinekens from a vendor in the stands, and he also found a stand where he surprised me with an appletini—not your typical stadium drink.

Anyway, I thought I'd jump online and check out all my new emails from potential suitors, but no one has replied. I did receive a Match email from post_impression, a 45-year-old with a shaved head and two kids who live with him. In his primary photo, he's wearing sunglasses inside, at night. So cool. And he doesn't own a TV. You know how I feel about those freaks. I will give him credit for writing a good, if cut-and-pasted, email:

"Hi. I realize that internet dating often ends up being a waste of time, with all those toads, warthogs and whatevers floating around. I can't guarantee that we'd be compatible, but I do promise to be unpretentious, an active listener, and a really fun date. But all that remains to be seen, and the best way to decide is to see for yourself. If you find enough compelling details in my profile to consider meeting for coffee or a drink I invite you to write back. If not, forza! and don't settle for second-best."

It's especially impressive in contrast to the lone email awaiting me in Yahoo: "Hey, I'm a new junkie too. I like your profile, John." A rookie junkie, ay? I'm only interested in veterans. Besides, he's wearing a backpack hooked over both arms in his photo—can you say loser? I'm just kidding. Kind of. Especially since he's wearing a hooded jacket in his other photo. Anyway, I think I might consider post_impression, but shaved heads make me cringe.

In MM, MRGREG491 captioned his email "Let me teach more about jazz"—I say in my profile that I wish I knew more about jazz (or anything really—strangely, I didn't retain much from my History of Jazz course in college). He's 41-45, "quite conservative," and doesn't post a photo, but he describes his looks as very good. He wrote:

"Your ads is like a breath of fresh air on a summer night. Hi my name is Greg. I'M 6'1 tall,200lbs with no fat.I'M romantic,handsome,humorous,intelligent,financially secure professional,mature,caring and a sweet traditional gentlemen with numerous activities. I'M also mentally,emotionally and physically fit,outspoken,open-minded and a good listener. I enjoy the performing art,jazz,movie and a wide range of outdoor activities. I'M definitely interested in speaking with you and learning more about you than what was in your advertisement. So what about we keep in touch so we can get to know each other better."

What about we don't, Mr. Greg?

All in all, a fairly disappointing harvest, considering I've written to 12 guys or so in the last couple of days. Joe from Yahoo, the single parent who doesn't get out much, hasn't written again, nor has Greg. On the other hand, Tim called yesterday afternoon, although I missed his call. Maybe we'll make dinner plans soon.

I read an interesting article in the New York Times today about people rebelling against the "compulsory dating encouraged by the barrage of books, Web sites and matchmaking services." "'There's a fetishization of coupling,' said Bella DePaulo, a visiting professor of psychology at the University of California at Santa Barbara, who studies perceptions of singles. 'It's made the pressure that's always been there more intense.'"

The article mentioned a Web site called www.itsokaytobesingle.com. I clicked over to the site, which urged me to join the "Single Liberation Movement" and buy the book "It's Okay to be Single." I left the site quickly.

The article also quoted a single woman who said, "This Internet stuff makes it seem like there's no excuse for not having someone." I'm not sure I agree with her. Or, at least, I don't blame the Internet; society made it seem like there's no excuse for singlehood long before online dating charged into the scene. Another woman said she thinks the era of the pitied single is on its way out. I don't know about that (if that were so, would I be bothering with this pursuit? I wonder), but she certainly described it well:

" … the onslaught of subtle and not-so-subtle messages that there's something wrong with you if you're not dating, that you must have some sort of fear-of-commitment pathology, or you're overly picky or you've become so accustomed to being by yourself that you'll never be able to accommodate another person."

I definitely people think something is wrong with me because I've had so little dating success, and I'm sure anyone who reads this thinks I'm overly picky (and maybe I am—but should I settle? Why is settling better than being single?). And I certainly worry that, after living by myself for more than 10 years, I couldn't accommodate someone else. I mean, one of the major draws of traveling alone for me is the total freedom from the need to accommodate others. Is it at all realistic to think I'd be able to accommodate someone on a day-in and day-out basis? Probably as realistic as it is to think I could surf.

Anyway, the article reassures me that I haven't imagined this oppressive pro-coupling regime. I'm not the only one who feels ostracized by society for being single and pressured to reform. Not surprisingly, though, the president of Match said, "I don't think their chances are as good if they don't take a proactive approach and try to blend the natural fates that exist out there with a proactivity," See, now, I feel like I agree with him, too, as well as the expert who said:

"It's like trying out a new diet. You hear about a new system or a new approach or a new site, and it seems to offer a lot of what you're after. You go through a period of being very high in the initial experience, then it doesn't quite pan out, there's a low, it leads to discouragement, you think, `Why am I doing this, I can be happy without it.'"

That's for damn sure. It's like she read my mind. Or this journal. But, again, it's nice to know that I'm not the only one who rotates through such cycles, although it might be worrisome that she didn't say anything about going back again and again, taking yet another bite at the apple, despite the fact that it hasn't grown any less sour and unappetizing.Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn't have gone online today. I was much happier when my day was all about the Bears’ victory and the good time at Soldier Field. That should really be enough for me. Who needs dating?

Nov. 29, 2003: Back in the saddle

My revised Match profile is ready to go. I've had some second thoughts, though, because while quickly browsing there yesterday, I found some guys I want to write, and some of them wrote fairly comprehensive profiles. What if my plans backfire, and, in a cruel twist of fate, they're turned off by my sparse profile? I am very hesitant, but I'm going to show some resolve for once and forge ahead with my original plan.

One of the Yahoo guys, joepro, replied. His real name is Joe, too, which is good since I captioned my email to him with "Hey, Joe—What do you know?" Clever, I know. He's 36, 6'1", divorced with kids at home part-time. In fact, his text says "I'm a single parent so I don't get out much." He's goateed and doesn't mention sports as an interest; he does mention religion/spirituality. Hmm …why did I write him again? Oh, yeah, it was because:

"Otherwise, I am a blast to hang out with. I enjoy just about anything cultural or just sitting around drinking and talking with friends. I enjoy intelligent conversation and acting like a goof. I am looking for just about anything, a good phone conversation, a nice dinner, a wild weekend, a long-term relationship. I love to meet new people. I love finding new places to eat, going to the theatre, museums, bike riding or hiking. I am honest ,respectful and very funny."

In his email, he, like so many, seized on my job history—he said quitting a job sounds like something he would do, and, coincidentally, he's a freelancer, too. So I guess I could consider this networking then. He included his real email address—"let's try to get to know each other." I'll write later this afternoon.

No other responses in Yahoo, including from Greg. Again, though, he is visiting family over a holiday weekend. You can't blame a guy for not getting online. Plus, after our last charade, I'm not expecting much on this go-round.

EH found another match—Nestor, 37, from Chicago—and he has already requested communication. Nestor is 5'11", Latino/Hispanic, and works in the construction/electrician category. Being the judgmental snob I am, I immediately wonder about his intelligence level. I disgust myself sometimes. He's made his photos visible at this early stage, which I prefer—shows some confidence. One of the photos was taken on a cruise, but he's too far from the camera to get a good look. Another appears to be from a wedding, and he looks cute. Geez—in reading his profile, under the most important thing he's looking for in a woman, he includes "wants children." And one of his best life-skills is "raising and/or caring for children." He goes on to mention two additional times that he wants children. He also doesn't drink and sprinkles quite a few misspellings throughout his answers, so just as well, but his request for communication almost angers me. I can only assume that he didn't bother reading my profile, and it's not like it takes very long. I mean, if he wants children so desperately, why would he request communication when I'm upfront about my position on motherhood? Argh.

On a better note, another reply came in from one of the Yahoo guys—trezheureux, or Stuart. Unfortunately, he says he's heading out of town for work for three weeks or so and fears he will have limited computer access during that time. He hopes that "we might have the occasion to speak again soon." Not that we've actually spoken, but okay. Maybe I'll drop him a line saying he can send me an email when he returns. Maybe I won't. He's the tea-loving, aikido enthusiast.

An Emode Icebreaker came in last night. Redcskins lives in Richton Park (never heard of it) and wants kids. He writes in his profile that he's a very emotional person and "can have very high highs and low lows." I believe that's called manic depression. No thank you.
***
I wrote to talljungguy (he's 6'7"!) in Match. He obviously spent some time on his profile, particularly his "About Me":

"OUTSIDE: Lucky for me, I inherited some of my parent's charm. Very chatty, sometimes flamboyant. I like to talk seriously and to talk trash at the same time. My friend's parents love me, as do their chidren. At work, I teach graduate students and write research papers, love both. My wise and beautiful nine-year-old daughter lives out of state, so I see her less than I would like. Extrovert, but need plenty of down time. MIND: Lately I've been reading about evolutionary biology and 'men's issues'. There are lots of excellent books on the first subject, and lots of lousy ones on the second. I enjoy the New York Review of Books and the New Yorker, although I end up throwing half of them out -- too much to read! Hate Ashcroft; love the theater. BODY: I love cooking and the comforts of the home -- enjoy experimenting with food. Have discovered, to my chagrin, that disconnected sex does not work for me. Cycle a lot, but don't work out as much as I should -- reasonably fit, but no muscle man me. The pictures posted are not great, but you get the idea. Extremely tall and seeking someone that does not need a ladder to look me in the eyes. SOUL: I've worked through the midlife issues and am comfortable with myself. Deeply moral, in the general sense of the word; definitely immoral in the narrower sense. Intuitive. Happy and well-adjusted, but with plenty of darkness and edge. Need both yin for my yang and yang for my yin."

Nervous about what he might think of my scanty revised profile, I rambled a bit in my email:

"For now, I shall call you Karl (as in Jung). I really like your profile--I appreciate it when a guy puts some thought into the 'About Me.' And I know what you mean about the New Yorker--I just got back from Hawaii and was chagrined to find two copies waiting for me--how to keep up? I do love magazines, though, and find it difficult to watch TV without a mag or newspaper, although the New Yorker requires a little too much focus for TV watching.

But I digress ... Anyhoo, I get the sense from your profile that we've got a quite a bit in common. I think I'm kind of a renaissance woman, and you sound like a renaissance man. I've got plenty of friends for sports (including three friends with whom I've got Cubs partial-season tickets), but would love to find someone to indulge my interests in theater, cooking, and, dare I say, connected sex.

Take a look at my profile and see what you think (and do note my height). Unfortunately, I just finished paring it down--I had a more comprehensive version up, but thought I'd see if a more bare-bones approach would work better (my marketing background rears its ugly head). Please feel free to ask me to fill in any missing info--that can be part of the fun.

Take care,
Barb"

Ugh. Reading it over, I don't really like my message. It sounds incoherent and pretentious at the same time. Well, can't do anything about it now.

I also wrote to a tax lawyer/triathlete in Match:

"Hi there--Just came across your profile and thought I'd touch base.

It seems like we've got some things in common and might hit it off. I'm fairly driven, so much so that I quit my job three years ago because I was miserable and thought I should take action; I've never regretted it. I enjoy both sports and arts, and try to avoid religious and right wing zealots. Oh--and I know more about tax law than I ever expected to because I write client newsletters for CPAs, among other things (I'm actually an attorney, too, but I've never practiced).

Check out my profile and see what you think.
Take care,
Barb"

My caption was "Tax law? We'll be able to talk for hours." Maybe I shouldn't be doing this when I'm so tired.

Random search notes: One guy in Yahoo has no less than four shirtless photos posted, along with one in a tux. The shirtless photos are clearly posed. I've seen this guy's profile repeatedly (in Match, too, I think), so I know two of the shirtless photos are new, and one fully-clothed photo has been deleted. What does this say about Tmisk?

Nov. 28, 2003: The biggest shopping day of the year

OK, then—time to make a fresh start. I'm goin' a-huntin'. Today I'll check out MM and maybe Yahoo if I have time. I'll make the rounds on Match soon, too, but first I'm going to revise my profile. I've decided to alter one of my profiles to make it much less wordy and revealing and see what happens. So little has been happening for me on Match, and my profile there has staled because I've been a member for so long, so it makes the most sense to play around with variables on that site. I haven't even been looking at my winks on Match, so I should re-engage with the site that started it all for me.

My new headline in Match reads "Looking for a hiking partner and more …" I pared down my interests, deleting references to running, golf, and tennis, instead summing those up with "outdoor activities." That's in addition to "reading, dining out, movies, plays, travel, professional sports, etc." I left the sections about what I last read and my political leanings blank.

My "About Me" now says only:

"I just returned from the beautiful Hawaiian island of Kauai, where the hiking was incredible but maybe not that safe for a solo traveler. I really could have used a hiking partner (not to mention golf, tennis, and, um, ‘other’ activities). Any takers? P.S. My photos show me during and after one of the Kauai hikes."

Kind of racy for me, ay? With that subtle (subtle as a high-powered colonic) reference to, well, sex. As for the photos, I might as well get some more use out of the dress photos I took for Greg's benefit. I probably should not use the photo of me mid-hike (in hat, t-shirt, and shorts), but I'll leave it up for now.

In "About My Match," I deleted references to taking initiative in both his life and our relationship, mutual physical attraction, and news junkies. It now reads:

"I'm looking for someone with a well-worn sense of humor, including an appreciation for sarcasm; non-pretentious intelligence; and honesty. Basically, I’d like to meet someone with a 'business casual' attitude—relaxed, comfortable, and easy-going, but serious and dependable when it matters."

Over on Yahoo, my search criteria produced 231 profiles. My mantra as I review them: Must be more open-minded, must be more open-minded.
***
Well, I browsed through 90 Yahoo profiles and sent emails to about 10 guys. I tried hard to be less picky and think I succeeded. I wrote to guys with kids and goatees, a guy who mentioned green tea and aikido, and a couple suburbanites. It's now getting dangerously close to officially being Friday night, though, and it won't do to be caught searching on a Friday night (even if I don't have any plans).

I wrote to one guy who I'd passed over previously because one of his photos is a black-and-white glamour shot of him posing shirtless and sculpted, with his thumb coyly pulling out the waist of his jeans. His headline says "Very athletic man looking for match!" I assumed he was using "athletic" as code for "buff," but in his profile he writes only that "I think I am somewhat attractive." And his primary photo shows him cuddling a beagle like baby. He also said that he's not in a hurry to jump into a relationship because he just ended a 16-year marriage. On the other hand, he says he's relatively new to the dating scene because he married right out of college. Hmmm … maybe that could work to my advantage. So, anyway, I overcame my initial resistance and wrote him.

I always assume that guys who are such hard bodies are looking for the same, but perhaps I should give them more credit. I mentioned in my email that I'm in the process of getting back in shape after the rib fracture, but I hope I didn't imply a normal level of fitness that I don't actually sustain. Whoa—getting ahead of myself.

I came across several profiles that showed some questionable judgment on the part of the guy. For example, one guy's username is neverhavefun. Doesn't he know girls just wanna have fun? Or does he think he'll generate some sympathy? Then there's the guy who's practically sneering at the camera, giving the hang-ten hand gesture. And the guy who posts several shirtless photos with his belly protruding over his waistband. One guy boasts about being himself, and yet he posts a photo of George Clooney. Finally, another guy's primary photo shows him at a cemetery. If you bother opening his profile, you'll see that he's at his dad's gravesite in Arlington Cemetery, but first impressions count and his is macabre, if not ghoulish.

Over in MM, I found emails from two mustachioed fellas. THEHAWK wrote that he wanted to extend wishes for a very safe and enjoyable Thanksgiving. Um, okay, thanks. He's 41-45, doesn't drink, does smoke, and lives in the south suburbs. SABATAKI264 wrote that these things are hard to start, so he'll just start by asking what I like to read. But he's got multiple tattoos and wants kids. He's also either a firefighter or a cop. While I find that sexy, I've never wanted to pursue anything with someone in such dangerous occupations.

Emode continues to send me emails. The latest shows four guys, including the red-headed Native American. I just can't shake him. One of the guys looks like a Village People intern, with a black leather hat pulled down over a baby face and a bare, hairy chest. Or maybe not—his turnoffs include people in uniform. And manners—how attractive in a man. Turnons? Those include baby talk.

Nov. 27, 2003: Thanksgiving

Not much going on, predictably. No response from Greg to yesterday's message, and I wouldn't expect one on Thanksgiving. I'm glad he has better things to do (what does it say about me that I checked? Well, I was online anyway, so there). However, in MM, THEHAWK209 apparently doesn't—his message came in this afternoon. I'll check it tomorrow. It's just too sad to work on online dating on a holiday, even if the late news is running a story tonight about how much more acceptable online dating is these days. So glad to have their seal of approval.

I'll probably start my next round of shopping on Saturday. In the meantime, Tim and I made tentative dinner plans for this weekend, but tentative is the word. He was scheduled to return from Las Vegas today, so we'll see when and if he calls.

Nov. 26, 2003: Rambling and rejects

Back from Kauai. Despite the intermittent rain, the island's beauty was literally breathtaking, to the point of presenting a traffic hazard. I spent a lot of time slaloming along a two-lane highway that hugs the shoreline, and the climbing waves, sparkling beaches, and lush emerald and dusty red cliffs never ceased to grab my attention, startling me even after days of passing along the same routes. The effect is almost hypnotizing, lulling my focus away from the road; fortunately, stray chickens wander all over the island, squawking away and breaking you out of dangerous reveries.

But I'm glad to be home. My first night in Kauai made me long for the crowded streets of Oahu, where I visited two years ago. Plump, middle-aged women wielded colorful umbrellas over their heads, leading hordes of Japanese tourists all over the island, and making it obvious who the outsiders were. In Kauai, with its undeniably romantic atmosphere ostensibly created with couples in mind, I was the obvious, almost unwelcome, outsider. I often felt like a moist, feverish flu patient hovering over newborns in the maternity ward.

I had read in Fodor's that Kauai's hospitality industry ranks among the best, but that must not apply to single visitors. From the minute I checked into the hotel ("You’re alone? You couldn’t find someone from Chicago to come with you?" asked the desk clerk) to breakfast on the last day (where I sat for 10 minutes without a waitress coming anywhere near my table-for-one, finally leaving and resorting to a grocery store doughnut as my final meal in Kauai), I got the impression most of the Kauai hospitality industry thought I should be quarantined.

Between vexing run-ins with disinterested to downright surly wait staff, I enjoyed some tremendous hiking along the