The "Magneto" Knight

If I told you things I did before, told you how I used to be,
Would you go along with someone like me,
If you knew my story word for word, had my history,
Would you go along with someone like me" -Young Folks
Peter Bjorn  and John

There is a reason why Morgan Spurlock never did a "30 Days of Dating" segment when he had his show. He's a smart man. . .

I can't recall at this time how this all started with this Knight; as in, who contacted who. I feel like he reached out to me, but I can recall liking his pictures and found his "About Me" interesting, so maybe I reached out to him. Sadly, my mind has turned into a mush of intros and get-to-know-you emails. If you can forgive me, please read on.

However I got to the point of reading this man's profile, I can remember the email I sent in response to reading it. 

In this particular profile this man had written quite a bit about himself, which is a rarity on this dating site. He was well traveled, well read, shared quite a bit about himself and seemed really open and honest about his life in general. What struck me as odd was at the end of this great "About Me" was this odd disclaimer.  

He had written this whole paragraph about how no matter how many times he wrote a personal email to someone on this site, he didn't get seem to get any response. He went on to share that he didn't know why people were on a dating site if they weren't going to respond to someone who was looking to date them. I believe that he even mentioned in his profile that he had written a paper for school about on-online dating. Tou che'. That was pretty interesting to me.

In my infinite wisdom, I took his open ended question as an opportunity to craft my response leading with why I wasn't interested in getting to know him.  

I wrote him back that he seemed like a well rounded guy, and that I was impressed with the time that he had taken to write such a thorough and thoughtful profile. I expressed that even though I found his profile pictures attractive and what he had to say as very intriuging and engaging, the fact that his profile said looking for "nothing serious" wasn't something I was interested in. I also offered up that this may also why some of the women that he has reached out to have not responded. I wished him well and told him that he looked great on paper, and would surely attract a person that he could be happy with. I closed the note by wishing him well, and then sent on the email. Feeling perhaps I did my good deed for the day, I took this as a sign to get a move on with my day and logged off of the dating site. 

I NEVER EXPECTED that he would email me back. 

At some point when I logged back on later that week I saw a familiar profile picture in my in box.  I tried to jog my memory as to why I was recognizing this profile. Hmmmm.  We all know how I suck with identifying people from earlier blog entries, so I clicked on the message. 

Still haven't lived this mistaken identity down. 

"Please Come Back" the opening line pleaded.  

"Interesting," I thought.

Here was the guy who I had written to earlier in the week telling him why I wasn't interested! What the . . . 

He expressed that he was grateful that I had said something about his "relationship status" on his profile. He apparently didn't realize that his profile still had "nothing serious" as his relationship want.  He mentioned that he had written the profile a while ago when he may have been in a different mindset, and then just never updated the profile to reflect his desire to get into a relationship with someone. He asked me if now, perhaps, I would be interested in getting to know him since we were, in fact, on the same page.  

I couldn't decide if this was a ploy to talk to me, or a legitimate oversight on his part. Either way, DID I want to talk to him??

Well, other than a few things that he mentioned in his profile that made me cock my eyebrow, (that you AND I will learn of later) he seemed great on paper.

Why the hell not. 

I sent him back that if his new status change was truly the case, I would entertain getting to know him. 

From this point forward we emailed on the site a few more times over the next few days. I was fascinated with his interests. He had lived all over, and we could talk about our respective travels to all the places we both had visited.  He and I talked about books we read, bad dates we had been on, and how we ended up on this site.  We took to asking each other a string of unique questions like, who we would want to fight (dead or alive), what your favorite season is, favorite food your Mom cooked growing up; wholesome sort of questions. I was impressed that there was a man that was willing to be my pen pal to get to know me without being creepy. Sad but true that this was unique.  

As time went on sometimes we would just send lists to each other.


I'm a decent cook
I love non-fiction books 
I'm afraid of skydiving

I don't drink coffee

(My example above is for visual reference, because this will be pertinent to the next piece of the communication I am going to share.)

During one of these strings of emails back and forth I had put together my list of cute tid-bits about me. I wasn't paying attention to the fact that I had edited one of the lines and not proof read the final caption. The small window to send emails on the site it had cut off the last line I had edited and moved up in the list, totally changing the appearance of the excerpt. What it was supposed to read:

. . .
Favorite color is blue
I'm a dog person
Almond Joys are my favorite candy bar
I don't do any home improvements well 

Turned into:


Favorite color is blue
I'm terrible at doing any of my own home improvements 
I'm a dog person
Almond Joys are my favorite candy bar     (This line representing the crease on the email box.)         
I don't do a

I don't see the last line. 

I'm proud of my cute little "Chris tid-bits" and I just hit send. 

I now notice that I have an IMMEDIATE response in my inbox. This one starts with: 

"WOAH. I didn't realize you would share that at this point in the conversation. OK then. Well here we go.  Really?  Not even on holidays or for special occasions?"

And then his email continued on to list some of the regular get-to-know you list items he would ordinarily send.

Yes at this point I was so horrified I turned into Tom Green. 

I nearly threw up on my shoes as I read what I had sent to him. What seemed like my sharing of sexual preferences, was just an epic editing blunder.  I was mortified. 

That was not how that was supposed to read. FML.

A wave of panic came over me.  I immediately sent back:

"OMG. I am horrified.  I totally didn't mean to send the last line looking like that. It was supposed to read, 'I don't do any home improvements well', but due to my poor editing you got that cheeky response.  Not my intention at all to have sent that last line. Dear God."

I then asked if we could move to regular email so that way I could spell check and actually see all of what I was writing and sending. He laughed it off, so I didn't really know if he was even serious or not in HIS response. I was too busy being mortified of my proofreading debacle.

The conversations on email went on for quite a while. Our schedules were a mess and it seemed like we might not ever get together. He had a bit of anxiety about us meeting and to say I wasn't gun shy of another date at this point would be a severe understatement.  

He and I had had some good conversations but there was a strange feeling I had that I just couldn't put my finger on. 

Part of me didn't want to drive nearly an hour away to God-knows-where where he lived to meet up with someone I barely knew.  He seemed genuine and from what I had gotten to know, I thought he was pretty cool, but I still wasn't sure I wanted to burn a night off. Keep in mind that most of the other dates to this point had left me yearning for those hours of my life back.  

After some back and forth about where to finally meet I had agreed to go to (now brace yourself) this classy place for a first date; the Dingo's Den.  Yes.  It sounds like it was.  I had Googled this place and it came up under Top North Jersey Dive Bars.  

Interesting. 

I was reticent in my true feelings about the place, which were, "Really. This is date one buddy?" and instead offered up what I thought might be a better location. 

He was not interested in another location. 

He had mentioned an anxiety about being in places that might get crowded.  I figured that the last thing I wanted to do was add stress to a first meeting so I acquiesced to his request. The positive spin was 'even if the date sucked I was trying out a new place?" Silver lining, right?

We scheduled for our date at the Dingo's Den and I think he teased me a few times about not showing up.  I told him that I never missed a chance to check out a good dive bar and fortunately he thought that assured I was coming. 

I arrived at our scheduled date and take a look at the building I was going to walk into. Yep, this place fits the bill. 

Keep in mind, after I shared where I was headed to with my friends, they had me promise that I would send licence plate numbers, his name and location I was at to make them feel better. 

Super sexy location for a first date.

I wandered into the dimly light room and looked to my left to see the long, nearly empty bar with two patrons at opposite ends. I imagined I had a 50/50 shot that one of these guys was my Knight. 

I noticed that the man sitting at the far end of the bar was talking to the barkeep. He looked pretty similar to the man in the pictures online so I made my way down the bar to meet this person. Sure enough this was my Knight. 

As he saw me approaching, he stood up and pulled out the chair next to him for me to sit. I thanked him and took my seat on the stool next to his. 

I noticed that he was sipping on a can of PBR. He asked if I wanted a drink and I agreed to a can of PBR as well. When in Rome, right?

As I sat there looking at him, he was just as he appeared in his pictures.  He had a thick, blond head of hair that was pushed behind his ears.  He had a scruffy beard and mustache and his eyes were a deep blue.  He had gauges in his ears, nearly a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms, and he appeared to be his purported height of 6' 4. He kind of looked like Thor. No joke. 

I can't say I was upset.  What can I say, I am a sucker for Norse men. 

And in my spare time I go on dates with superheros.

We got to talking about my drive there, our respective day's at work and just other small talk you have when you are meeting someone for the first time.  He looked super nervous.  He kept shaking his leg and tapping his fingers.  To get him to relax a bit, I asked him about how he knew this place and if this was where he brought all his first dates. 

He relaxed a bit and seemed most comfortable telling stories of his previous dates, that yes, he generally did bring here.  He told a story of a date he had had at this very place that went totally awry after the date got drunk, out of hand, and tried to ram her hands down his pants. I promised that I was going to be on my best behavior and he had no worry for me behaving like a lunatic. 

As we talked I noticed how passionate he was when he spoke. He was very animated and had some very strong opinions about things.  I found myself being uncharchteristically quiet.  He sort of ranted at points about his subject matter and would get very heated about certain topics.  There were a few instances of this behaviour,  but the one case in point I truly remember nearly put the kabash on the date.  At one point he shared that he was looking for a relationship with someone that was totally open and honest, with no secrets at all what-so-ever.  I retorted with how I felt that everyone had secrets from their partner and some were best to just keep. This sent him off. . .

He couldn't comprehend that when you were in love with someone and in a committed relationship as to why you would keep ANY secrets from them. He said people only kept secrets when they were ashamed or trying to hide somethign that was unflattering for them. I vehimently disagreed.  I expressed that there were experinces and stories that I enjoyed keeping to myself just because the experiences were mine that had nothing do with shame or an unflattering perception. This was like throwing lighter fluid on a fire.  He intensely debated that I must secretly be ashamed or embarassed of these stories. I shared that I did not. His voice elevated. My blood pressure escalated. This man was a great at arguing a point but all this disagreement was turning me off. 

I think that he got that I was not really wanting to argue about our perceptions about secrets so he dissmissed the conversation by calling me shady and to stop the back and forth I agreed that I guess I was shady. Whatever. 

To try to smooth things over he suggested that we pick out some music from the juke box.  This was a good way to put some space between us and the insignificant odd argument that we were having so I agreed. We poked fun at each others picks and found that we actually did like A LOT of the same music.  Music. The great equilizer.  

Now that the conversation had cooled we resumed our seats at the bar.  He was definlity more quiet  now. I worried that he was traumitized that I actually bit back when arguing a point.  Feeling bad for being assertive I took this opprotunity to ask him some questions about some of the info on his profile.  

I had noticed on his profile that he mentioned having had a magnet installed in his hand.  I had read up on this magnet installation on line to see what is was all about, but I wanted to here his take as to why he had done this.  I asked why he had chosen to do this and what it did for him.  He explained that with the magnet in that he could feel energy fields and that it also made for great party tricks.  

He then proceeded to ask the bar tender for a bottle cap so I could see the magnet live in action.  Sure enough, the sucker stuck right to his finger. 'Well, if this works out,' I thought, 'this should be quite the hit at the Manzella family dinner table

I asked if this magnet installation took a long time to heal and if it hurt.  He mentioned that he had a very high threshold for pain and had requested that they NOT anestitize him.  I thought that was total crazy pants, but well, I get my legs waxed. I guess that could be construed as masochism?

I told him that I thought the magnet was pretty neat, even if it was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced.  I asked if he regretted doing it, and he said he was pretty happy with how it turned out. 

He then took this opportunity to segue to another what I would like to call an"out of left field" hobby of his.  He mentioned he could take a lot of pain and therefore he sometimes did suspensions. 

I asked if he ment brakes and suspensions, but I had a feeling that what he did didn't have anything to do with cars.  

He then affirmed that, yes, he did in fact not do brakes and suspensions, but rather enjoyed spending his time with hooks through the skin in his back hanging from the ceiling.  My skin ached just thinking about it.

You know the moment when you realize how different your lifestlye is from someone elses?  Yep. That was this very moment.  

I can see Russia from here!

Let me just take a minute to say that if you have a hobby you are proud of, enjoy it, and aren't hurting anyone but, er, yourself, I am all for you sucking the marrow out of life and enjoying your hobby.  HOWEVER. . . Did I see myself standing in an audience of on lookers telling the person next to me "yeah, that's my man hanging up there." Well. . .that's a no. 

I guess I couldn't really hide my shock because the next thing he told me was that one of his dates had literally gotten up and run out of the bar after he shared this with them.  He also looked hurt by this.  I didn't want to make the guy feel bad, and I think that is why I didn't just pull the plug on this date after this most recent share.

I wasn't sure where to go with this. For lack of material, I asked how exactly one suspends themself and how he got into it.  I think he mentioned that he and his ex were into it and that sugued to what would be the last conversation of the night.  I think I must of asked what happened that he and she didn't work out.  He had mentioned a few times through the conversation that evening that he was sexually adventerous and the sex was what had kept him in his last relationship for longer than he wanted to be in it. 

Seeing as sex seemed to be a recurring theme I stopped the convesation so we could address this point he had been so itchy to talk about.  I asked why he was so very concerned about  sex and felt the need to keep bringing up stories that seemed tied to his various partners and situations.  He expressed that he had had a lot of bad sex and that he was concerned for his future sexual endeavors.  I asked what he was into that made it so difficult for him to be satisfied with the partners he had in the past.  

Keep in mind at this point I was 98% sure that I wasn't going to go out with him ever again, and this was just R&D into the male mind. 

The case in point that he gave for why he and the ex were so hot for so long was that she was adventerous and he liked that.  I was curious what sort of adventures he was into.  I had to know what a guy who liked putting hooks into his back got off on sexually.  

I asked what it was specifically that he was into and then was sorry that I did.  To keep this G rated because my mother reads this, I will just say this. . . I am all about adventure with a bit of 50 Shades peppered in. I am all for trying new things.  He however, prefered things that I think I have only seen in SVU episodes and hardcore foreign porn. This propensity was the deal breaker. This was not gonna work.  

I expressed at this point that it was getting late.  I had about an hour drive home and I was hoping to get a good nights rest because I had a full day the following day.  I thanked him for his time and told him I enjoyed the talk. He was a gentelman and walked me out to make sure I got to my car OK.  

He wasn't a bad guy, I just didn't see us making it as a couple. . .for any number of reasons.  I thanked him, and as I drove away, all I could think was I'm going to be single forever.

The Knight of Convenience

I recently ran into a girl friend of mine from my youth while shopping at the local Trader Joe's. She and I knew each other from elementary school in West Orange where I grew up.  We had not seen each other in years, but she immediately recognized me, having been my friend on Facebook for some time now. It was delightful to see her.

We spoke of our families, our day off, my first dog, Shadow, who she remembered, and happened upon the topic of dating. She had been reading this very blog and being a single person out there in the fish bowl, shared a similar story of 'what you see is not necessarily what you get' with her dating experiences.  I remember saying to her that we had spent all this time on our educations, careers, traveling and enriching ourselves. For who? 

Was she single. Probably.

Neither of us had foreseen running into each other 25 years later, single, without children and with such low expectations for dating.  We looked great, but were exhausted from the "monotonous discomfort"- as my friend Steve so aptly put it.  We decided that we would meet for drinks to get together there after to catch up, and have a night out where you didn't feel like you were on an interview.  As I walked off I thought of one of the most recent dates I had been on. 

This particular suitor had sent me a message introducing himself in the usual way on the dating site. He had just happened upon my page, thought we had some things in common and he lived locally. He was hoping I would want to catch a drink to see if there was chemistry. This was his intro. 

Here's my new view of online dating in 2014.  There is no flirting. There is no flattery and complimentary alluring innuendo. Modern dating has turned into: Email (maybe a few) of solicitation, obligatory getting-to-know-you texting and then the date. There are usually no phone calls.  There is no hope for dinner out, or flowers like you would see in the movies for a first date. It's not all Richard Gere in Pretty Woman as we children of the 90's were hoping for.  Well not entirely. . . 

If dating were sex, it would be more like sex with a hooker.  Wham, bam, thank you ma'am is the speed with with which you virtually 'meet' and then voi' la; you're on a date. Interest in another person online seems to expire more quickly than milk, so it's get out there or be left in the dust. Modern dating is a Chuck Norris, daisy-cutter style of dating.  

Now having learned to conform to this new Chuck Norris approach to cutting to the chase of whether or not you wanted to go on a date, I now feel I have a black belt in this art form.  

I check out his profile page on the dating site before I respond. He looks attractive in his picture but I have now begun to pay more attention to what these guys write.  Sometimes what they are 'saying' in their profile let's on more than just the words they type. This will make more sense in later posts.

He has a few selfies of himself from the neck up and clothed.  Thank God. He gets the gold star for the day. 

He has a few pictures of places and events. OK, that's pretty standard. 

Is is a good looking, dark haired man, with matching well manicured facial hair and what seems to be a good sense of style. 

He lives in the area, is employed, has a list of similar interests and has a simple yet attractive 'about me' section. He shares his interests, what others think of him and what he's looking for in a partner. He writes in full sentences and uses punctuation.

I look to his age cringing in awful anticipation of the worst.  Ah ha! My fears of  once again plunging into the kiddie pool have been laid to rest.  He's older than me! No wonder he writes with punctuation!

He's in.

I agree via email to meet for this get together and ask him where he would like to go. We agree we will go out in Morristown later on in the week, and he sends on his phone number so we can set up places and times. 

I feel like I have done this 100 times in the last nine months. I'm sort of thread bare from this endeavor but I remain positive and hopeful???

The day that we were scheduled to meet, I end up not feeling well and canceling. I ask if I can get a mulligan and he politely agrees.  Later on that week when I am feeling better, I text him to see if we can try to connect again. I mean, I have to meet this man; he still uses full words, not just text speak. 

We agree that we will meet the following evening at a bar in Parsippany that is conveniently located for both of us. 

The night of our date I put on my usual 'date outfit', that consists of jeans and a cotton tee shirt , with a long jacket like sweater over it. I arrive at the restaurant that we agreed on and the server ushers me to a table. I sit there and let my eyes wander while I am waiting.  I've sort of spaced out when I notice in my peripheral vision someone approaching. I focus my attention on this figure next to me. Here he is.

His pictures online were pretty true to form. Here he was; a good looking, tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man. 

He said "hello" and then immediately popped himself into the seat across from me. 

The waitress then immediately came by to get his drink order.  He said something to the extent of "I'll have my usual."

He placed his order, sort of winking at the waitress in a kind of 'I'm a VIP here' sort of way. I guess that's his swagger?

"So this is where all the PoF dates come?", I thought to myself and sort of smirked.

I ordered a glass of Sauvignon blanc, and settled in. "I think we have a fellow veteran dater here folks," I thought to myself.  Cool. Maybe there will be a little more ping-pong in the conversation than the last date.

He asked me if I had ever been to this bar before. I explained how I had seen it built, but had never been here. He then divulged that he lived about 500 yards away and had walked here. 

"Convenient,"I thought to myself. Was this another guy just looking to hook up? I was now a little apprehensive of the evening. I mean, any bar you can drag your date's body from. . . 

I noticed that there were a number of TVs that were probably great to watch games on.  I mentioned this and we began to talk about sports teams that we liked.  I liked none of his.  He liked none of mine. I think that he may have actually scoffed and laughed at me when I mentioned I was a Giants fan. I couldn't be offended by this. They did suck so far this year. 

I explained to him how this year I had become more interested in the game of football and learning stats and plays. He looked at me as if I had begun speaking in tongues.  Had he never heard of a woman who loved football?

To make sure he understood what I meant, since for some reason he didn't seem clear, I began to talk about the games that I had seen the previous Sunday. I recalled some of the plays and all of a sudden it became Sports Center mash up here on our date.  He began to challenge my re-telling of the games I had watched and felt some of my re-cap was wrong. He argued that the plays and people I thought were successful were not correct accounts of the performances and dismissed progress for any of the teams that I was in favor of as happenstance or luck. 

This was resulting in an awkward silence. 

He was now ordering his second beer.  He had relaxed back in his chair, with one arm slung over the back of the hi back chair. His body language either read, "well this is over" or "Yeah, that's the way it is." Either way, I was not feeling the vibe. 

I figured to change from this heated subject to a more mellow topic, why not ask about his job. I segued to inquiring how he liked his work in the hopes of this getting us back to homeostasis. He began that it was a job, but he had been there for ages and well,  "it is what it is."

He seemed to have this over arching blasé attitude about everything from that point forward.  Now I was beginning to check out. I don't want to date someone who is unattached and blasé about his existence.  Nope.  This wasn't gonna cut it I was thinking as he then remarked. . .

"Do you work out at all?"

"Ouch," I responded. Jokingly.

"Well I couldn't tell," he responded.

Jeez.  I guess my season of pumpkin beer was doing more damage than I  thought.  I now felt like Kobe beef dangling across the table from him. 

He then ordered a third beer.  We had only been here for about an hour. I was now uncomfortable: Not at the drinking,  just talking to him.  I felt like he thought I was such an awful date that he was going to drink me away. He was looking around, for what, I had no idea. I had finished my glass of wine and thought it was my chance to make a dash for it. I would wait till he was done with THIS beer and then mention that I still had some work to do and had to get home. 

I wasn't going to waste any more of what could be a good night of conditioning my hair or re-arranging  my underwear drawer at home. 

We both suffered through the conversation during his third beer. If there was a camera there, you could have seen us both uncomfortably shifting in our seats.  I hadn't ordered another glass of wine so I could hopefully 'empty-drink pressure' my date into finishing his. We muddled through more mundane conversation about the traffic in the area and commutes to work.

I work from home during the day.This should give you an idea of how well the conversation was going.

I think that watching mold grow at this point would be more entertaining.  As soon as he finished his beer I noticed that he was going to hail the waitress over for another beer.

Hells to the NO. I am outta here.

I told him that I was really appreciative of his getting together for this mulligan date but since it was a school night, I best be getting a move on home.  He seemed more upset at the lack of opportunity for another beer than missing out on more time with me.  In fact, while I was standing up to leave, I think he was hailing the waitress for another drink.

It was A OK. There was zero chemistry and he was more in love with the curves of the beer glass than he would ever be with me.

The Farmer Knight

Leave it to me to find one of the only farmers left in the Garden State.

Sadly, this was not his profile picture.

In my quest for my Mr. Right and weekly log in to my online profile, I had received an email from a man telling me he liked my profile, thought I was down-to-earth, and might have a number of things in common with him, if I didn't mind the fact that he was a bit younger.

I was somewhere near the 25 or 26 date mark and figured as always, what the hell, I'll check out his profile. How many bad dates could I go on from this site. I had surely ticked through a first date with what I had hoped, at least for humanity's sake, was 97% of all of the most eccentric characters on this site. The law of averages was that I had to have a good date soon, right? Surely I wouldn't get through all 30 dates?

I arrived at his page and was immediately drawn to his pictures. A number of the six featured photos were of him on a farm.  I assumed he was a farmer, and I thought to myself, "well here's a person with a profession that I think is commendable."

I think that in order to be a farmer you have to respect the land, have to be good with your hands, care for living things and you get to commune with nature.  I think, theoretically, all of the life experiences working on a farm make for a person with qualities that I admire: hard working, understanding, respectful and probably pretty darn chill.

He looked really happy to be working on his farm in his pictures and that was refreshing. I think it's also amazing when you love your job. I feel it's an important key to a happy life, and it's fantastic when people have the good fortune of doing what they love.

Quoted earlier this week as saying she thought her career would be fun and it was.
Yes. This is who you think this is.

I checked out the other pictures of him at a party and what appeared to be a concert.  He looked like he had friends that enjoyed his musical pursuits, and no one was sacrificing animals on stage in any of the pictures. All good things. 

I checked out his "About Me" part of his profile. He talked about being a farmer, loving his work, enjoying music and concerts and finished with sharing he had a vast knowledge of wine. Super cool.

I checked out where he lived and it wasn't hundreds of miles away. Cool. He owned a car, didn't have a cat (I'm allergic and not going to come between anyone and their pet), was seeking a relationship, drank socially and didn't have any kids. All of these things were a OK with me. 

"Might as well," I thought to myself. At worst this was another crumby date, at best, it could be a tale of two people meeting and having a wonderful dating existence. 

My mind flashed 20 years into the future. I was retired and living on a farm, sitting on a wrap around porch in front of a large farmhouse, feeling the sun warm my skin while I sat sipping a glass of my family's vineyard's wine. In my vision I looked left at my winery, and right to rolling green hills of my family's farm and thought to myself "who knew meeting someone on this crazy site would have landed me here."

Dream big? Right? 

I drifted back to reality with a certain sense of peace. 

"Let's hope this works,"I thought to myself.

I sent a message telling him how interesting I thought it was to have his job, and how cool it was that he seemed so happy doing it. I also took the opportunity to ask him what show he had gone to that was pictured in the image he had posted. Maybe this was a lame start, but, I don't have a ton in common with farmers. I have killed nearly every house plant I have owned and my garden this year; let's just say that those poor little seedlings didn't stand a chance.  

I logged off the dating site, went about my evening and fell asleep that night dreaming of lunches on a wooden table in vast vineyard field. Maybe I was reenacting the scene from Under the Tuscan Sun. Whatever. You get the picture.

The following day I checked to see if the farmer had checked back. He had!

In his email he thanked me for responding. He talked about his job, his pride in his work, and long days and nights that had led to him online dating. He asked me a few questions about my day, my job, and what sort of music I liked, and inquired if I would be willing to meet for a glass of wine at a local restaurant the following evening. He included a phone number and told me if I text him, we could get to know each other before we met.

Yes sir. This sounded like a plan. 

At this point I went back to his profile and looked at his pictures. He looked really young but, well, since when is looking young a crime? Had I looked at his age? Nope. Better not. Let's just live in the moment and not go into the date with judgements or expectations. If he knew about wine I am sure he didn't start drinking it last week, and if he was suggesting this specific place, he struck me as more mature than 21.  

I jotted down his number on a sheet of paper,  shut the computer and thought, "hey, this might go well. Stay positive." 

That part of me, that usually is the voice of reason, deep inside me cringed a bit at my brain's positive, dogmatic mantra. 

A short while later he text me asking what time the following evening would work. We agreed to meet around 9pm since I didn't want to schedule too early with my work, and he couldn't schedule too late because, well, I guess he got up when the rooster crowed?

We text back and forth and discovered that we shared a love of DJ music. I had spent the greater part of my early twenties bouncing from night club to night club listening to all the hottest DJs of the late 90's early 2000's. My friends and I were regulars at the China Club, the Limelight, Twilo, Vinyl and Sound Factory. 

I was doing this long before Miley Cirus was even alive. 

I can recall making a trip to the Ministry of Sound in London specifically to see what sort of DJs the British were getting down to. I listened to DJs like John Digweed, Sasha, Junior Vasquez,  and Paul Oakenfold who forged paths for today's dance music and awesome beats. We chatted about music for a while via text, text about our love of wine and our respective trips to the Napa Valley. It was getting late and he was needing to retire and I didn't want to soak up all the potential conversation for the following day. 

The next day went by fairly quickly and next thing I knew, it was about an hour till I was due to meet my Knight at David Todd's City Tavern. Despite the fact that they had been open for some time, I had still not gotten myself to this fine establishment. I thought I knew of a few of my fellow colleagues from years past in the service industry now working there, but still, my travels had not taken me there. I threw on a pair of jeans, a comfortable fitted cotton shirt and a pair of open toe sandals. 

If my date was lying about his height of 6'3, at least I wouldn't tower over him. 

I arrived at the restaurant to find that it was nearly empty. As I looked down the bar, there was one, lone, dark-haired man leaning over a phone, with a glass of beer in front of him. This has got to be my Knight.

As I walked over, he turned around to greet me. In his pictures he was clean cut and neatly groomed. Today, he looked like he could be one of the brothers from Duck Dynasty. His beard was large and in charge. It was also getting a bit ZZ Top'esque. He also had a big bushy head of hair and large framed glasses. For a second I actually thought he might be wearing a disguise. I was nearly waiting for him to pick up the glasses and have the beard and mustache attached become un affixed from his face in a "gotcha" sort of way.  I was trying not to look surprised. 

Now let me say I have no problem with facial hair. I know a LOT of women out there who feel very strongly about their man not looking like a lumber jack for any number of reasons. I however, think men should be hairy and continually find it strange when they wax, shave and manicure their chests and well, other bits. I am all for manscaping, but leave SOME of what Nature gave you. 

Ok some, being the operative word.

He shook my hand "hello" and I sat down next to him. All I could think to say was, "I dig the glasses."

He looked like he was blushing at my comment, and now emitted this odd hi pitch, fake sounding giggle that didn't seem like it should come out of a man this size.  He was definitely 6 foot plus, and seemed to have a slight build for a farmer. All of this was congruent with his photos, but the hair and the laugh, I felt like he was in character or something. Or maybe this was who he was.  . .Guess I was going to find out. 

Trying to make everything more comfortable for everyone, I pointed at the glass of beer and said, "I guess you didn't care for the wine list?" I smiled big and tried to show him I was poking fun and not being critical. 

"Oh yeah, " he said. "I'm kind of a snob I guess."

"Well that's OK. I'm a bit of a foodie and wine person myself. We like what we like, huh?" I smiled. 

Again, he emitted that odd nervous laugh.  

He stared at the glass. He then stared at me. Then the glass again. 

I was going to have to carry the conversation. OK here we go. . . 

"So this is a cool place," I remarked looking around.

"Yeah," he said. "I've been here a couple of times."

"This is my first time here. It's pretty nice. Have you had the food?" I inquired.

"Nope," he commented.

"Was it a long drive for you here?" I was digging for small talk so he would be less nervous looking and in turn it would make me less uncomfortable.  

"Nope.  It's not far. My friends and I come out this way when the growing season is done and I can have a bit of a break."

He divulged that he worked pretty much 5am till 8pm every day except for one weekend day that kind of rotated.  On top of that, he never got to really go anywhere because there were only just a few brief weeks a year that he wasn't committed to the work on the farm.

I wasn't sure how this was going to work. How was anyone supposed to date this guy? He was only available from 8pm (maybe), till 10pm (because he had to be up early for the farm), 6 days a week with only really 2-3 weeks of quality time to himself a year? Maybe being a farmer wasn't so cool after all.

My vision of my large farmhouse, backyard winery and lush green backdrop for my life were crumbling. 

I didn't want to date someone on that tight a schedule. I felt like the relationship would have more of a booty call feel than a real dating feel. Dang. 

When the conversation slowed, I brought up the music that we had been discussing the evening before. He then dropped the "how old are you anyway" question.

I replied as I had so many times before my date turned into a pumpkin with the magical words "I'm 35."

He then replied to me, "Woah.  You were around for the Golden Age of raves and clubbing." 

I now felt ancient. 

Yeah. She was single at my age too. It's cool.

It was bad enough the music I listened to in my early 20s now comes on the Old Skool album compilations. Or even that, years ago, I scoffed at my parents for listening to 106.7 because of their "lame old music" and now, I found myself tuning in to this very channel to hear "I Wanna Know What Love Is" and "She Bop". Oh, how the tides have changed. 

Turns out my farmer, when he did have more than three hours to himself, was raving and raging till dawn at underground clubs, warehouses and anywhere a DJ could set up a sound system.  Raving was his passion. 

So was mine. Fifteen years ago.

I didn't see how this was going to work. 

He now regarded me as a relic of a time period he revered. I felt like a museum piece that was being marveled at.  The fact that this now mundane conversation about whatever had now turned into his excited questions about my clubbing past made me feel like there was now a gaping chasm between our ages. 

Trying to decipher how old he was without coming out and asking, I asked how old his siblings were, and how many years between them and him. 

I'm no mathematician but the number I kept landing on was 24. 

Nope this wasn't going to work. I had vowed to get out of the kiddie pool and here I was, yet again, wading ankle deep. 


The natural course of the conversation was winding down and I felt that this was a good time to make an escape. 

I mentioned that I knew he had to be up early, and I was just beat from the day.  Being old and all. 

He paid for the wine and told me he was interested in hearing more from me about the music from "the old days".  

I thanked him for the wine, bid him goodnight, smiled and asked him to text when he was home safe. 

I received a text from him when he was home and then the following day the text messages continued. 

I finally leveled with him and expressed that I wasn't sure how I thought this was going to work with his limited time, and our few common interests.  He said he was OK with this because he didn't feel an attraction to me on a pheromonal level. 

Huh?

What did that mean? 

Everyone was polite in their departure texts but I was bewildered.

Maybe he was looking for a human stimulant that could be his daily Molly? Who knew. To this day, I wonder what happened that I didn't make the cut as the traveling human rave. 

Ha! As if!






  

The Fastest Knight Ever

I would like to start this by stating that I blame this Knight on my sitting around watching Celebrity Rehab.  

One night when I had very little to do, (this never happens) so I decided I would sack out and watch some crap TV.  As I sailed through the channels, I came to Bravo, which I feel always has some offering of interesting lifestyle stories. (That was the most politically correct way I could phrase that.) 

As I began to investigate the show I realized I recognized one of the women on the program. I couldn't quite place her face, but I recalled her as one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen when I was younger.  I was now hooked.  I wanted to find out what show this was and why she was on it.  

As I listened intently, I gathered that she was 1. On Celebrity Rehab, 2. had some sort of addiction and 3. it had something to do with her crumby choices in men that she was so horribly amiss. 

As I watched her story unfold she told a sorrowful tale of having it all; beauty, brains and fame, but never enjoying it all because of her addictions and her challenges with men.  

"Jesus Christ," I thought! This woman had it all. She supposed to be the champion of single girls everywhere.  Amber Smith, as she came to be,  had been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, named one of the top 50 sexiest women in the world by Maxim Magazine, and made her mark on the world of film and TV with her fame before she was 25. Here she was broken and desperate to be someone else on a TV show for those who were so troubled with life.  How could this have happened? 

She told tales of terrible relationships that were doomed from the start, men who mistreated her and her ever depleting self esteem from all these experiences.  All of this accounted for the fact that now that she was 36 was still desperate for love and trying to pull her life together.  

All I could think to myself was "MY GOD. She's a beautiful woman, clearly bright, articulate,  with the world at her feet, and she can't find a fulfilling relationship? WTF?" 

The hope I had for my dating adventures was waning by the second.  If this chick can't find love, well, there's no hope for me. I'm a mere mortal. 

A wave of despair shot like lightening through my body as I laid there on there on the couch.   It was like that moment when you realize that some day, you are going to die. I was nearly paralyzed with fear. This was not how I had intended to experience my Sunday night off.

Right around this moment my phone went off with a text message.  I eyeballed the phone to see who was reaching out to me at this moment of despair.  Had one of my amazing girlfriends felt a pang of heartache across the miles? Did they know that this was my moment of need and comforting? Nope.   No such luck. As I looked at the phone I realized that it wasn't one of them.  The name on the phone rang up "Terribly Tony."

Tony was a guy that had emailed me multiple times on the dating site.  He had decent pictures, what seemed to be a stable 9 - 5 job in sales and an average description on his "About" section.  I don't know what it was that caused me to stop texting back to Tony at some point. I think I just really wasn't feeling this dude.  In addition there had been a number of other Knights around this time that were monopolizing my nights out.  For whatever reason, after our few text messages and emails back and forth, I kind of dropped off the face of the Earth to this guy. And I was OK with this.

I give him credit for periodically text messaging me, and sticking with trying to see me, but truthfully, there must have been some reason why I wasn't responding to his messages.  Just couldn't put my finger on it. . .

So here he was, texting me at my moment of weakness.  I had saved him as "Terrible Tony" so I would alert myself to the fact that, hanging out with him, could, in fact, prove to be terrible.

"Hey, what are you up to?" Terrible Tony flashed on my text message.

I sat there for a minute.  I couldn't tell him that I was sitting here on my uncomfortable couch, contemplating my single hood with a sense of horror and despair. That after watching a thirty minute reality TV show about my "Miss. I Wish I Was Her" had now plunged me head long into an emotional quandary of epic proportions. 

"Nothing," was all I could muster.  Lest I spare him from the truth.  

"I was in the Morristown area and thought maybe you might want to meet up for a drink," he inquired.  

My mind raced. Maybe this was just the distraction that I needed to get myself out of my own head and away from this God damned TV show. 

"Sure," I responded, but not really sure why. 

"Oh great," he replied, "Where would you like to grab a drink?"

"How about the Blackthorn?" 

He said that he could be there in 20 minutes. I told him I would be there in 30. 

As soon as everything was set and in place, I wondered why I had even agreed to this.  I quickly dashed over to my computer to log onto the dating site to take a quick refresher course on this guy. I eyeballed the pictures and the profile.  There was something just off about this dude I couldn't put my finger on.  I just really wasn't into him: at all. Now what.  

I thought about not going. My distraction now turned into this crumby sense of "let's get this over with." Crap. This was gonna be over before it even began. At least it was another date towards the 30 for the blog? 

Great. Now my writing is determining who I go on dates with. Awesome. 

I arrived at the Blackthorn at my estimated time. The bar was a total oasis. There were probably three people sitting there so I immediately recognized my Knight.  He too immediately recognized me and stood up.  

Now I was really sorry that I had agreed to this. I was stuck having to go through with this. Dang.

As he came over to introduce himself, I shook his hand.  He and I then sat down at the bar where he was already drinking a Bud.  The bartender came by to ask if I wanted a drink so  I told him that I would take a glass of water. 

The Knight looked like his pictures; blond haired with intense blue eyes. I thought perhaps it was just an intense blue in color, but now that I was up close and personal with this guy, they seemed to me more crazy than beautiful.  

He was shorter than his stated height, but then again, that seems to be everyone on that stupid site. He was in a red plaid shirt, jeans and running sneakers.  

"What the hell was it with the dudes on this site and red plaid shirts?" I thought to myself.

My Knight and I sat down and immediately it started.  The Spanish Inquisition had now kicked off.  Over the next five minutes this man asked me about twenty questions in rapid succession.  I couldn't tell if he was nervous, or had a job as an interrogator he just couldn't check at the end of the day.  

By question five I found myself lying because I really didn't want this guy knowing ANYTHING about me.  In order to break the barrage of questions I figured I would ask him about his job. He then went into a whole diatribe about his work in sales for something like Amway, and began to inquire about my knowledge of  vitamin supplements. 

Huh? Was this a date or a sales pitch? 

As he went on and on about he importance of supplements and how it had been life changing for him, I was now having a dialogue inside my head.  

"Why am I sitting here, " I thought to myself.  "The little voice inside you said that this guy wasn't someone worth meeting, and there you go, ignoring it YET AGAIN. Serves you right."

I was now pissed at myself.  I had let my own fears of loneliness, worry and an apolacyptic, loveless existence get the best of me. Why? Because I had watched some stupid TV show.  

I snapped back to reality to find my Knight still droning on about his workouts, supplement regime and who knows what else. 

I think that he turned to ask me a question. Another question. . .

As if I had become possessed by someone with sense, words fell out of my mouth without really much thought. 

"Hey, I'm exhausted from a long day and I thought that perhaps this was a good idea, but I don't really think that this is going to work." I began to stand up and get my handbag and coat together. 

This was totally unlike me.  I didn't provide any explanation.  I didn't feel bad.  I wasn't going to subject myself to another prolonged crumby date just because I felt it was the polite thing to do.  Perhaps my supermodel idol had stuck with dates like this and that is exactly what had plummeted her into the place she was now. 

I wasn't going to let that be me.  I was going to put the kabash on this right out the gate. Part of me actually liked the way this felt and I loved how easily the words rolled off my tongue. 

He looked a bit dazed and confused by the immediacy of my statement. I think that he was expecting me to answer another of his umpteenth questions.  He definitely wasn't expecting this.  He was sort of slack jawed sitting there starring at me.  

"Um, Ok," he stammered.

"I'm going to be going now. Thanks for coming out.  Good luck with everything."

I stood up and walked out the front door half wondering if I should be running to my car for fear of him chasing me down in angst and aggravation.  Nope.  No sign of him anywhere.

I then scoffed at myself and laughed for the egocentricity that it took to even think that. 

There was a certain sense of peace and calm I felt I had ascertained walking out of that date.  I had begun to have a sense of self, a sense of, "this isn't what I wanted, so why compromise."  It was like in that very moment I had rediscovered me and everything was going to be OK.