special project 7: rugged mountain man

This is going to be my last Special Project post. Not so sadly, I am out of material. I'm not going to make any more promises about whether there will be any more new material in the future. I have gone through my phone and deleted the numbers that I needed once or twice, but don't need any more. These people are now men that have crossed my path, end of story. No need to 'still be friends'.

He had me at the photo, as all the bearded ones do. Cute, dark eyes and a beanie. Long hair too, which would be interesting. I couldn't resist. I suggested we cut the email dance and just get right to the first date. I think I was tired of all my new e-pen pals. I have found that the more you write, the more your mind gets carried away with who you think this person is. Instead of getting to know them better, you have more material to exaggerate and load with meaning. It's very dangerous.

We met at a hipster bar because I wanted their happy hour burger. At this point, I had moved away from being submissive and doing whatever the man wanted to do. Instead if I wanted to meet somewhere, I would suggest it and see what they thought. Mostly, they were glad to have the hard work done for them, and I had more fun. The burger was delicious and the conversation was fun and natural. I felt disarmed. No need to impress. This man was so chilled out and accepting. A nice change from Rich Ryan. And I liked his hair, and the manly way that he smoothed it out after it got in his face. It worked.

On the way out in between making fun of his car and an awkward hug, we decided to go hiking the next Saturday, which you may remember. We had a great time, flirted a lot, shared an apple at lunch and talked about our families and friends. I looked forward to his call later that week. I invited him to a concert I was going to, featuring long-haired, beared Fleet Foxes. He said he would check his schedule and let me know... Is this sounding familiar yet? I waited and expected. I called. And he never called. I was sad for a day or so. Then I let it go and moved on. And moved on I have.

special project 6: rich ryan

You hear about people that move to Seattle for jobs at amazon, microsoft or biotech companies. People that have lots of money, buy expensive houses and keep doggie bakeries in business. Apparently, the city is full of them. But I had never met one. Not until I met Rich Ryan, that is. That's not his real name. I can't just tell you and then have you all googling microsoft executives after you read this.

There were a million artful photos on his profile. I think one of them showed a smile. The rest were of a serious man with boldly framed glasses and perfectly tailored pants sitting at the airport, in front of Asian temples and on top of misty mountains. I was intrigued. The profile was very intense and thoughtfully written. He obviously traveled a lot. And thinks. And was not dumb as a stump. We started writing.

One of the first things that came up: me being Christian. He asked me what I thought about a religion that claims a monopoly on truth and started eluding to the fact that I must be a Puritan in addition to being a Protestant. Somehow, I didn't feel attacked though, and responded with long, careful prose meant to prove that he had the wrong idea about me. Satisfied, he wrote, "I would like to know you. You are far too unique and far too interesting to otherwise not to."

We met and he couldn't believe what he was hearing. I was a Christian who was not a Republican. I drank beer, believed in meditation and didn't run out of the bar screaming when he admitted to having lived with a girlfriend in the past. We talked travel and work and the meaning of life. I enjoyed him. He paid for the meal when I went to the restroom and asked me if it would be okay we shared a taxi home, if he took care of the driver. And it was okay and I felt very fancy.

We went out again. I learned that he had a spiritual teacher, owned the business plan for a certain large part of a certain large software company and that the expensive restaurant we were at was his regular neigborhood haunt. He dropped a lot of names of politicians from the '70's that I had never heard of. He learned that I am exactly as I appear, have a lot of great friends, and that I feel fulfilled almost all the time.

After he consumed a bottle of expensive wine, and I consumed a glass, I started to feel a little underwhelmed by the way he stared at me and kept asking what I thought about the marital relationship between the two chefs. "It's like their love has expanded to encompass their love of cooking, and then further expanded to their owning a business together and...I just feel their love." I felt the grease of their $30, fried mackerel soaking into my new jacket, and that was about it. He kept saying, "I've just never met anyone like you, ever." I thought, sadly, that I had met a great many people that were a lot like him (only not as wealthy).

Rich Ryan was lonely. I don't know if it's that he worked too much or just pushed everyone away by hastily judging them, like he did to me because of the faith I claimed. I wondered if maybe he really didn't know anyone else like me. I think people who lack meaning in their lives are attracted to other people that don't lack it. He could see that I knew I was loved. He was insightful, I'll give him that.

After I got back in my car, I felt certain that in spite of the appealing idea of endless money, guaranteed travel and a lot of cute clothes in my future - that I didn't want to be wealthy. I had a vision of myself driving our kids to private school and guitar lessons in a Range Rover. I felt pressure to discover new cheeses to serve our friends for appetizers. I had to be stylish and innovative. I had to volunteer for the Democratic Party. The idea of having my favorite local restaurant cost more than sending a kid in Kenya to school for 4 months didn't sit well. Then add having to sit in that restaurant with men wearing turtleneck sweaters and ladies throwing their hydroderm treated necks back in false laughter...I didn't want that. Ryan said he wanted to see me again, still couldn't believe how much we had in common and how, surprisingly, I was just what he was looking for. I had to tell him that I was looking for a lot more.

special project 5: white lie guy

The statistics looked pretty good on this one, as they do with all of them. Everyone is employed, funny, enjoys camping or just staying in sometimes. No one drinks too much, smokes or weighs anything over 'about average'. This guy was 6' tall, didn't smoke, weighed about average and worked as an engineer. We met for a drink at a place in our neighborhood. We chatted and joked, but I cannot remember at all what we talked about. I think it was pleasant, but I do remember him often speaking a little bit like a sportscaster and actually singing to me a few times to get his point across. I didn't know what to make of that. He also kept pulling out his new iphone to show me websites or photographs that I wasn't interested in and didn't ask to see. When we actually stood next to each other at the end of the evening, I thought to myself, 'He's not a hair over 5'9" tall and I think that baggy button down he wears open over his t-shirt may be hiding something a little more than about average... Since he was one of the best options I had at the time, I decided to be open and go out again with him anyway.

The next time we went out, the only day I had available in the near future was going to another friend's backyard BBQ party. He came along with my roommates and I. They were annoyed right from the beginning when he started to critique the route that we were driving and offering suggestions of better streets to take from the backseat. For some reason, I had nothing to say, nothing to talk about. He apparently didn't have anything to say either, so we all sat listening to the radio. At least when we got to the party, he didn't sing to anyone.

After we dropped him off back home, the first thing Claire exclaimed was, "He is such a smoker! Did you smell him? Bad breath, yellow teeth and all that cologne!" I knew something had been wrong with the way he smelled, and it immediately all made sense. I looked back at his profile and saw that he listed himself as a non-smoker. Well, besides being a little weird, three strikes and he was out. If you can't be honest about who you are up front, then you are probably not ready to date me.

special project 4: cocky young guy

I received an email message from a guy whose profile I had never seen. He said I looked cute, interesting and fun, etc. He also asked if I thought that our age difference was a big deal. He is 23. I am 28.

I had just returned home from a painfully awkward date with another guy, a real no hitter. It is always a bit of a blow, each time you prepare for, plan, and begin a blindish date to then have it slump before you in a slow, 1.5-hour death. You have high hopes and then you have to put them away until you go through the song and dance with the next man and walk into another new restaurant for another shot.

I should have gone right to bed instead of checking my email, but of course I checked it, and there it was. Wait, was he implying that I was too old or that he was too young? If I am too old then why send me an email message in the first place? And 28 isn't old either, BTW. What kind of dude is this and who let him out of the dorms after curfew?

I sent him back a message that said,

"Well it really depends on whether you are an exceptional 23 year old or not. I would say if you think that a 5 year age difference is a problem, then it probably will be. I understand though. I didn't know my ass from my elbow until I was at least 25, so it's probably the same for you."

Harsh, I know. I had electronic courage and a bad attitude. He was a sitting duck. He replied the next day,

"Didn't know your ass from your elbow? I could tell the two apart when I was two maybe sooner then that.

No I asked the question because I don't want to waste your time. Not many people are going to be that strait with you. If you are all geared up and ready to get married then I am not the right person. When I find the right person I will be ready to get married, but I'm not rushing into anything.If you are young at heart and ready for some fun then it doesn't matter your age. If you are tired from work old in the mind then 5 years can be decades.

So I get the age difference doesn't matter to you as for the rest I don't have to list off my accomplishments because I've done more in 23 years then most accomplish in a life time. So the real question is can you tell the difference between the radius and the Ulna?"

Wow. He's already done more than most do in their entire lifetime? Hmmm. Sounds like an egotistical orthopedic surgeon in the making. I spared everyone the sarcasm and didn't write him back. Or maybe I didn't write him back since I was feeling tired from work and old in the mind? There's no way for an old lady like me to know. Can someone get my cane for me?

special project 3 : perfect dream guy

6'1". Architect. Tidy Beard. Openly warm eyes. Spiritual, but not religious. I didn't even need to meet him. I just needed to set the date and find somewhere that would suit a couple of designers for their reception. And call my friend Kristen to borrow her dress. Our emails had been funny, smart and flirty. We ironed out religion, politics and family ahead of time. It was in the bag. I could just FEEL how this one was different. How this one was going to be oh-so-right. I just had to hide this from him during our first date to remain composed, worthy of pursuing and not too eager.

I went early to our spontaneous meeting place - the Olympic Sculpture Park, under the Eagle sculpture, at the hour that happened to be sunset on a perfectly warm August evening. I pretended to study for my upcoming test, but mostly stared out at the sailboat race happening on Elliot Bay and just thought about how being single had been a lot of fun and wondered if I would miss it. I was running my fingers through the amazingly green and thick lawn when I looked up to see a gorgeous man coming towards me, smiling.

Camper shoes, perfectly cut, yet not expensive looking jeans, and a cool, short-sleeved, dark red shirt. He plopped down beside me on the grass and we talked about our jobs for a while. We shared the similar struggles, victories and challenges that come with working on public contracts. We were already laughing. We talked about family and life choices. Outdoor adventures and never wanting to live in the suburbs. Things progressed perfectly, as I had expected them to. The sunset began to get brighter and more colorful and ended up being the most beautiful urban sunset either of us had ever seen. It was a little awkward, to be honest. Seemed like we should have been snuggled up on a blanket whispering into each other's ears. I didn't have a blanket though.

He suggested that we go have a glass of wine at a little place in Belltown. We walked up and got a nice table. We shared some Tuscan wine and a plate of prosciutto and figs. We joked about our mutual favorite TV show Arrested Development and Eddie Murphy's Delirious. I was doubled over with laughter at times, holding my belly. There were moments of staring into each other's eyes in comfortable silence. After 4 hours together, he walked me to my bus stop. We stood close and waited almost a half hour before my bus came, passing the warm evening with more laughter and stories. He gave me a big, long hug. I told him I hoped to see him soon, and he said, 'Oh..we'll talk soon,' with a look of pure admiration in his eyes. The people on the bus stared at me as I leapt from seat to seat, swinging from the railings, singing about my future love a la West Side Story. Or at least that's how I felt.

Then I was out of town, and he was out of town. Then we were back, so I waited. And waited. Then I called. And I emailed. He said he had a bunch of bad family stuff was happening on his trip back to California, and he would call me the next week when things were less stressful for him. I waited more. And a little more. And I knew. I sent one last email, saying I wanted to confirm that he wasn't going to call like he said he would, just to make sure I wan't assuming anything. A few days later he wrote that I had been his best date in a long time. He said I was "kind, intelligent, and seem genuinely curious about the world and our place in it." He really had a great time. But that his instincts were telling him that it wasn't right for a reason he couldn't place. He said he was sure I would find what I was looking for. Which didn't make a terrible amount of sense to me since I was looking for someone just like him.

special project 2 : talk talk talk guy

I put on my watch before I went into the coffee shop. I don't normally wear watches. I only wear them when I know I will need or want to check on the time, discreetly. This was perhaps a bad omen. I was trying to be open though. This is my theme. Open. Give him the old college try.

Before he even sat down with his cappucino, he interrupted me. Our 45 minutes consisted of him talking and him interrupting me. He would finish a long story, then ask me something. I would begin the thought, and then he would finish it. And he wouldn't finish it right either. I think he had already decided before he came what kind of person I was, and our meeting just helped him to fill in the blanks. After a half hour of correcting, defending myself and listening to long stories, I just gave up. I let him fill me in however he wanted to. I think he left with the understanding that I hate my job, have no direction in life and feel discontent. None of those things are true, however.

Afterward, I was confused about how he turned things around so easily. I think maybe he would make a good politician. I could see him in our debate, taking my ideas and adding, subtracting or twisting them around to serve his own purpose. This is what people in the marketing profession do though. We grew up 3 miles apart. We should have come from the same direction, but ended up like two ships, passing in the coffee shop.

special project 1 : boring religious guy

The Galleria? Galleria? What is a galleria anyway and why does this guy want to meet there? The Galleria in Bellevue? Really?

I told him that I work and live in Seattle. I said I don't really get over to Bellevue - and that it's no accident. I prefer this side of the lake. But he insisted. The Galleria. Or he offered the idea of the Red Hook Brewery, another 10 miles farther away. So I went and had to park in a garage and try not to get lost on my way to Level 1, where the tap-brew-pub-house whatever it was called was. I received a text that he was sitting just to the right of the bar. I walked to the bar and looked to the right to see about 35 tables, many of which had men sitting alone at them. Sadly, I didn't have time to brush up on this guy, since I had to jump in my car to get there on time. I try to read their profiles beofre I go so that I can ask intelligent questions, and remember what they look like. I couldn't really remember his face, especially since his photos were all from far away. I just stood there, looking dumb, scanning the room. Luckily, he got up and waved me over past the garrish orange lights that were blinding me.

We greeted and I sat down, while a waitress wearing suspenders came over to take our order. Somehow I concentrated on her beer list, which was about 50 beers long, without being distracted by her phi gamma delta tri starry eyes. Luke and I began to chat after she left us. Oh, you work at Boeing taking the orders from the customers to the engineers. Mmm, you like to ski and wakeboard. For adventure you like to take weekend road trips... okey dokey. What else can I ask? Oh, you like to go to Husky Games with your friends, that's unusual. Let's see...maybe I could ask about his apartment in Kirkland again. Or maybe which Christian rock band he likes best. Or how he's getting into golf.

And so it went. He asked me a couple questions, at least. I think I was telling him a story from a trip and said, "..then I came around the corner again and was like, oh hell, here we go again..." When I said the word hell, he winced a little and averted his eyes from mine. Oops. I think I overwhelmed him with my thoughts and questions. He didn't like that I liked my neighborhood because it was a little sketchy, yet always interesting. When he started telling me about his mom's garden and how he was sure I would love the statue collection she had, since I was into gardens, I knew there was no hope. I looked at the 3/4 left in my second beer and loathed ordering it. You can't really finish up a beer quickly and leave, on account of the liver, so I knew I was stuck for at least 45 more minutes. I hoped that perhaps we could come across a topic that we both found interesting and that didn't sound like it came from a jar of Christian Fraternity. Nothing coming.

We parted in the elevator going back down to levels B2 and B3. Luke told me it was nice to meet me, although his eyes read more like, "You're a loose cannon. I'm a little afraid of you." I said nice to meet him too, and that I'd see him around. The ol' see you around. At least it was mutual this time. I breathed a familiar sigh of relief breaking out of the tunnel from Mercer Island and heading down the bridge slope to familiar territory.

special project

You may be wondering why I don't write as often as I used to. Looking back to 2005, I used to write every other day. I wrote about dumb stuff, but I wrote. In 2006 I traveled. I wrote 5 or 7 times a month, but about very interesting things. In 2007, I wrote once a week because my life was/is boring in comparison. Except the part where I smashed my face which took up the better part of half the year. Now, I still write once a week, if you are lucky. Why? Am I traveling? No. Have I joined new clubs or activities? Not too many. I've been dating. A lot. At least once a week.

I've been online dating. There, I said it. It's out. This isn't the first time either. I've tried different sites, at different times. Whenever I feel restless and become painfully aware of the "Seattle Freeze". I sign up, bear up and power through. Dating is not fun. The act of being on dates can be fun. But there is nothing worse in my life than the waiting and the wondering. I never write about this, because there is too much in this world about relationships. It's all on TV, in music, books and on everybody's lips. No one wants to hear about it anymore. The roller coaster is a difficult subject matter to portray intelligently. Sometimes these experiences are too good to not share though. These guys are crazy. Some are great, but don't love me. Some are awful and I don't love them. And most are somewhere in the middle, leaving me uninspired.

Finding Mr. right may take forever. I'm holding out for someone really good for me. In the meantime though, I have online dating. Something to crowd my time and add significant amounts of drama and stress to my otherwise steady and pleasant life. And it provides me with good stories, some of which I intend to share with you all. So far, I have been out with 15 men through the internet. At least that's how many I can remember. And then there are a few more in the hopper. In the coming days, I will share the stories of some of them, strictly for your entertainment.