Bachelors #61, 62 and 63

So many men, so little time to blog about them!

Sometimes it seems there is such a dearth of men, the universe may never yield another date. Other times my dance card is so full I can barely squeeze in another. I am delighted to report that my cup is currently running over with men, and some of them would appear to possibly even be reasonable prospects. Go figure.

Unfortunately, however, sometimes there are things one just cannot share with the internet. No, silly, get your head out of the gutter. The issue at hand is Bachelor #61. He is the brother of my very lovely friend C. And so, by nature, he is not bloggable. Having said that, I think it is perfectly reasonable to share the story of the mind-bogglingly-awkward way in which we were introduced. (Thanks C.!)

Bachelor #61 has a sailboat. C set out to suggest that her brother invite us out for a boat ride. That was all well and good, and potentially ever-so-slightly less awkward than your run-of-the-mill blind date. But that was before C's sister AND HER MOTHER got invited as well. Yes folks, I went on a blind date WITH HIS ENTIRE FAMILY along for the ride. And of course, they all knew why I was there, crashing what had somehow morphed into a floating family dinner. All I can say is THANK GOD FOR WINE.

Amazingly enough, both Bachelor #61 and I survived the excursion and have agreed to go out again. I'm thinking maybe just the two of us this time.

And then there's Bachelor #62. Bachelor #62 is the latest offering from the Overpriced Dating Service. Now, if you'll recall, we are not too confident in the Overpriced Dating Service's abilities. And so this time I asked A LOT of questions. For example, I'm pretty sure I asked the question "IS HE ATTRACTIVE?" about 40 or 50 times. The first time, their answer was, "He has kind eyes." Are you convinced? Yeah, me neither. But after I asked the question another few dozen times, and insisted that they give me a better reason to think I might like him than the fact that he enjoys movies and wine tasting, as, by the way, does every single man they've recommended, they swore up and down that he is appealing in many ways, well suited to me, and yes, he's attractive. So I agreed to meet him.

They described Bachelor #62 as 5"10 with BROWN HAIR and blue eyes. Kind blue eyes, that is. Now, you'll recall I asked for confirmation about his looks REPEATEDLY. And so, you can imagine my surprise when a COMPLETELY BALD man sat down at my table. Now, in fairness, Bachelor #62 is actually a reasonable prospect. He's smart, interesting, charming, successful, active, and the kind of guy who doesn't play games and would certainly know how to treat a woman. And he's not actually UNattractive. Had I not been expecting a man with brown hair, I might not have been so immediately taken aback. Yet another ridiculous misrepresentation by the Overpriced Dating Service. Did they think I wouldn't notice? Still, while I'm not wildly attracted to bald men, in the end I had a nice time with him and in the interest of doing the smart thing -- you know, just for something new and different -- I'm going to go out with Bachelor #62 again.

And speaking of wildly attractive, then there's Bachelor #63. Bachelor #63 wrote to me online. We emailed a few times, and made plans to get together. When he cancelled our date at the last minute, I was a little annoyed and tempted to write him off. But his emails were funny, his stats were good (45, 5"11, fit, successful, divorced, successful, lives nearby) and oh by the way, he's HOT. And he even has hair. So when he texted again and asked to reschedule, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and ignore my instincts that were telling me this one has NO IDEA how to treat a woman.

We met for a late drink. He suggested a very upscale restaurant. Everyone there knew his name. We drank. We laughed. We talked. He showed off. There was flirting. It was fun. He is trouble. So naturally, I like him.

So there you have it. The plan at the moment -- astonishingly -- is to go out with all three of them again, as well as a few more on the agenda (though how I plan to fit all this into my schedule remains a bit of a mystery) and hope that, as is usually the case, the choice becomes easy. Of course, the most likely possibility seems to be that I will be distracted by the fun, sexy unreliable one and therefore lose interest in the nicer ones, only to find I've wasted even more of my relative and rapidly disappearing youth on yet another Mr. Wrong. But acknowledging that you have a problem is the first step towards recovery, right?

Here's hoping. But I make no promises.

Stay tuned.

Bachelor #56

When last we heard from The Overpriced Dating Service, they were dangling yet another wonderful-sounding but in all likelihood fictional character in front of me, in order to stop my incessant (though justified) whining about the last pitiful $114 specimen. Sadly, this fictional character was heading off on a fictional vacation, so my date with Mr. Wonderful-If-only-He-Were-Real would have to wait.

And wait I did. Then, at long last, the day of the big (but probably fictional) date arrived. As I often do on date days, I awoke thinking, "To shave my legs, or not to shave my legs?" On the one hand, if I consult my calendar, it would appear (at least to the uninitiated) that I do indeed have a date scheduled for this very evening, which would dictate leg shaving (though only to the knee, lest we not encourage any inappropriate behavior in the unlikely events that, first, my date should in fact turn out to be non-fictional, and second, that I should actually find him somewhat appealing. ) But on the other hand, given the history, I will probably be spending the evening eating popcorn for dinner in my yoga pants, in which case, shaving my legs would be an enormous waste of water. I have to think about the environment here, OK?

But of course, ever the optimist (read: FOOL) I shaved. Of course. But only to the knee. Then, at 10:30, the most amazing thing happened. The Overpriced Dating Service called to confirm my date. I thought, "But how is that possible, since we all know he's fictional?" But apparently all my skepticism was unfounded. I had been too quick to judge. The Overpriced Dating Service may be overpriced, but to suggest that they conjure up fictional men in order to shut up their whiny female clients is just too harsh. This is a legitimate business, providing a legitimate, albeit overpriced, service. I would be thanking them tomorrow and eating my words.

And then at 1:15, my phone rang again. Imagine my surprise when the coordinator informed me that one of my fictional date's fictional family members had been in some kind of fictional accident, and so he had to cancel. Now, ordinarily I am a kind, sympathetic human being, capable of all kinds of sympathetic thoughts when someone is struck by tragedy. However, when that someone is fictional and screwing with my social life, sympathy might be a little hard to summon up. But I think I pulled it off, and we rescheduled our fictional date for the following Monday.

So this morning I woke up and again wrestled with the leg-shaving decision, but decided to settle it based on wardrobe selection, and shaved for the dress, not the soon-to-be-cancelled date.

Once again, 10:00 rolled around and I got the confirmation phone call. She had spoken to him and all was a go. The restaurant where we had originally planned to meet was closed tonight, but we had moved to another and everything was under control. I had to wonder. Could I have misjudged the poor misunderstood overpriced dating service once again? Was Bachelor #56 real after all?

But then at 11:00, my phone rang once again. Yes, my fictional date HAD confirmed but a short hour ago, but now would like to know if I can reschedule for Wednesday. The new venue just isn't convenient.

Well, I was very sorry to hear that my fictional date found the venue inconvenient to his fictional life, but this was getting out of control. I am not available on Wednesday. And even if I were, I have been put off by this fictional asshat one time too many. I told the coordinator in no uncertain terms that after making me wait 3 weeks while he was on vacation and then another week due to some fictional fictional accident (OK, maybe I left out my fiction theory on the phone call, but you know they're going to hear about it one of these days...) it was his turn for a little non-fictional inconvenience. It was tonight or never.

Can you guess how this turns out?

Not so fast. She called back a few minutes later to say that his issue was that his fictional car was in the fictional shop, so the new restaurant choice posed a bit of a challenge, but he's agreed to take the subway. The date was on. Gee, how chivalrous. How self-sacrificing. Maybe I should bring him a medal.

And then, of course, at 3:45, you will be shocked to learn that I got the call to say he just couldn't make it. It was just too gosh darned inconvenient. Now, my first instinct (after the one about the bridge) is to assume that I've been right all along. There never was a Bachelor #56. The vacation, the accident and the car in the shop were all elements of a carefully crafted work of fiction designed to make me believe they're doing everything in their power to find me a match. And prepare me for the next consolation date with a short, boring, middle-aged troll. But on the other hand, the coordinator sounded almost as annoyed as I was, and she told me she had quite the conversation with him about committing to the process, learning how to treat a woman (a clue: NOT LIKE THIS) etc.

I guess in the end I'll never know. But in the end I didn't have popcorn for dinner either. My lovely friend C picked me up in her convertible and treated me to a delightful dinner. With LOTS of wine. And as far as I could tell, no fiction.

Next.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Let's start with the good, shall we?

Guess what? The Overpriced Dating Service has, at long last, emerged once again from the depths of uselessness to present their next $114 specimen. So here’s what makes me bonkers about the Overpriced Dating Service’s M-O. They set me up with some boring, pre-maturely middle-aged dweeb. I complain. A lot. They call with the next prospect, who sounds positively too good to be true. Handsome, successful, fit, charismatic. You know the drill. So I wait for them to call me back with a confirmed date. And I wait. And I wait. And then, every time, it turns out he IS too good to be true. In fact, I’m fairly certain they make these guys up for just this purpose. So it turns out, every time, that even though he’s DYING to meet me, he’s just too gosh darned busy right now and decided to put his membership – for which he paid gobs of money for the express purpose of meeting women -- on hold. Indefinitely. So… I am impatient. I call. A lot. So, in a desperate attempt to shut me the hell up, they send me out on another date. With a boring, pre-maturely middle-aged dweeb. And then the cycle continues…

But amazingly, this time when they called to tell me about the next Mr. Too Good To Be True, they were actually able to schedule a date. Naturally he’s away for a couple of weeks so the date is 2 ½ weeks out, but it is an actual confirmed date, which leads me to believe he may be an actual real person. Of course, the jury will remain out until I meet him, but at least there is reason to believe he is neither a consolation-prize nor a fictional character. Which is a vast improvement for the Overpriced Dating Service. So keep your fingers crossed on that one.

And now for the bad. Remember Bachelor #49? Well, it has now been a week since he managed to pull himself away from his busy schedule long enough to send me an email, and not a word. I have officially given up AGAIN. Only I mean it this time. Really. I’m quite certain he’s disappeared for good, and even if he hasn’t, why would I want to waste my time with someone who’s too busy to shower me with the constant attention I so richly deserve, or at least that I so desperately want and truthfully can’t function without? Obviously, he is not the guy for me.

Which brings us to .... Now, I don’t want to be mean, but sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade. I’ve been doing the hideous online dating thing AGAIN, thank you Bachelor #49 for THAT. A guy wrote to me and had one very hot picture posted. His profile was very well written and very romantic. He was 52 -- a little older than I’d like, but if he looked as good as he did in that picture, I could get used to 52. So I wrote back. Only, I didn’t realize until AFTER I’d written back that he actually had 3 other pictures posted … all of which looked NOTHING like the hot one. In fact, he looked more like 62 than 52. And not a good 62 at all. I think it’s safe to say that first picture was taken decades ago. Of someone else. I don’t think so, grandpa.

Next.

Bachelor #45

Remember the Overpriced Dating Service called to tell me about the pilot, and I got all caught up in the fantasy of dating a pilot, only the pilot, well, took off, and so I never got to meet him? So then they found me a very, very attractive lawyer, only the lawyer was too busy with some big important trial, so I didn't get to meet him either?

Well, they knew I was getting a little frustrated, what with all the fantastic men they WEREN'T setting me up with and all. I can be so difficult that way, hoping to actually MEET men. So they called to reassure me that, not to worry, they've found yet another candidate for me, and they've already checked and this one is available right away.

Bachelor #45 was 44, 6"2, two kids, owns a successful consulting company, active, cultured, good looking. Sounds great, right? Only I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that this was a consolation date. They knew I was getting impatient and so they'd better send me out on a date -- any date -- to shut me up. Obviously, my good friends at the Overpriced Dating Service have failed to notice that sending me on just any date is likely to have precisely the opposite effect.

Bachelor #45 arrived at the restaurant before me. As soon as I saw him, I knew my suspicions were right. I was on a consolation date. It wasn't that he was atrocious. He was just so far removed from the type of man I'm attracted to it was almost comical to think I'd paid $114 for "skilled matchmakers" to set me up with him.

Still, I tried not to focus on the fact that I didn't find him remotely attractive. Fortunately, that was easy, because I soon found something else to focus on: counting the seconds of awkward silence. And there were many, many silences. In fairness, a lot of it could have been my fault, because after the first embarrassingly unfunny joke he told and then the 5-minute monologue about his work history, I stopped trying and started plotting my escape. I'm sure he's a very nice man, and if I was looking for an awkward, geeky, prematurely middle-aged man with limited conversation skills, I probably would have really liked him.

Still, to my great astonishment, after what to me was an excruciating hour of sporadic and dull small talk punctuated by textbook awkward silences, he actually asked if I'd like to do this again sometime. Now let me see ... would I like to spend another evening I'll never get back on an alarmingly bad date, counting the minutes until it's polite to leave?

While I was pondering that difficult decision, the waitress brought us SEPARATE BILLS. Now, I've been on more than my share of dates, and I have NEVER been handed separate bills. I can only surmise that Bachelor #45, who told me enough about himself for me to know he's not exactly hurting for money, arrived first and instructed the waitress to bring two bills. Without even meeting me first. What if we had hit it off? What if he hadn't bored me into a near-catatonic haze, rendering me unable to summon any of my usual charm and keep the conversation lively? What if we did agree to go out again? Would he still have been too cheap to buy me a $9 glass of Shiraz?

Once again, a stellar matchmaking job by the Overpriced Dating Service and an outstanding use of $114.

Next.

Bachelors #38 and 39

Have you been wondering what ever happened to that Overpriced Dating Service? You know, the one Visa and I were kind enough to hand over $1600 I don't have to in the hopes of meeting someone, anyone that I don't hate?

Yeah, me too.

So I called, just to check in, say "hey", see what's happening in the land of taking large quantities of people's borrowed money, making them wait months at a time, and then setting them up with people they wouldn't ordinarily look twice at if their lives depended on it.

Turns out, the crack matchmaking team has been hard at work, matching away. Here's what I love about the Overpriced Dating Service: No matter how impossibly heinous their previous specimins have turned out to be, in spite of their VERY flattering descriptions, they can always manage to make the next one sound good. Maybe even great.

So... my next match, Bachelor #38, is 44, no kids but fine with dating someone who has kids, 6 feet tall, dark hair, nice looking, fit, blah blah blah, and here's the best part: he's a pilot. Well if you think I haven't spent every waking moment since that phone call fantasizing about Me, Dating A Pilot, you have a thing or two to learn about the inner workings of the mind of a neurotic single forty-year-old woman.

However... by now, in my head, The Pilot and I have circled the globe 3 or 4 times, because I've had a week and a half to explore the fantasy of Me, Dating A Pilot while The Pilot is too busy -- I don't know -- FLYING or something -- to call The Service and book a damn date with me. Which is REALLY frustrating because I can't tell you how much I love the idea of bumping into my ex-boyfriends and saying, I'd love to have coffee and catch up, but my boyfriend The Pilot is flitting me off to Paris for the weekend so I must rush off and pack.

So anyway, amazingly, my good friend at the Overpriced Dating Service is every bit as frustrated at The Pilot's extended absence as I am, and so has moved on to matching me again. I was a little disappointed at first, what with how heavily invested my fantasy life has already become in The Pilot, but all that was ancient history when she told me about Bachelor #39. This one is a lawyer, a gym junkie, has one daughter almost the same age as mine, is smart, funny, outgoing, and this time she actually described him as VERY good looking, in a dark, Mediterranean kind of way. Pilot? What pilot?

But of course, that was 3 days ago and as of today, I don't have a date with a pilot OR a lawyer. I just don't get it. But fortunately I have a very active fantasy life to keep me busy.

Stay tuned...

Bachelor #29

I don't think I'm very popular with the staff at the Overpriced Dating Service. In the interest of helping them do their jobs -- and lord knows they do need help -- I try to make my feedback as specific as possible. So I call. A lot. And still, they continue to fix me up with dull, unattractive, prematurely middle aged, murse-carrying, hunting-and-fishing-loving, embarassing-to-be-seen-in-public-with trolls. Finally they admitted that the woman who first interviewed me left the company pretty much the next day. So they've been fixing me up based on a 1-page form and a polaroid picture. Well that seems reasonable, and worth $114 per date, wouldn't you say? So I made an appointment to meet my new director.

It went well. When she looked through my file she was stunned at some of the people they fixed me up with. Hullo! Has anyone been listening to me? But finally, it seemed, someone was. She swore she got it.

And, in fairness, Bachelor #29 was BY FAR the best of the overpriced bunch so far. He wasn't gorgeous but he was reasonably attractive. He was tall, fit, and well dressed. He was successful and kind and complimentary and easy to talk to.

Can you sense a "but" coming? Yeah, me too.

I wanted to like him. I swear, I tried. I even went out on a second date.

Here are the issues:

1. He told me how much money he makes. OK, maybe this isn't such a big deal, but I haven't told my best friend how much money I make. I'm thrilled for him that he does well for himself, really I am, but this is information I just don't need on our second date. I don't need to know about your embarrassing medical conditions, your bathroom habits, your shoe size, your dependence on Rogaine, or, thank you very much, how much money you make. Thanks but no thanks.

2. This is the biggie. I swear I'm not making this up: He says "All's." As in, "All's I know is..." And if that wasn't bad enough, he also says "eh." As in, "There was a lot of snow, eh?" I know this might seem minor to some people. After all, this is Canada, eh? But to me, it's like nails on a chalkboard.

I tried, really I did. But all's I know is he's just not for me.

Next, eh?

Bachelor #27

I just remembered! I forgot one of the stellar specimins offered up by the Overpriced Dating Service. We're a little out of sequence here but bear with me.

Now I've never worked for a dating service, so I can't profess to know the ins and outs, but by all accounts they're supposed to be matchmaking. Call me crazy, but in my humble opinion, I think they're supposed to use some criteria beyond male with pulse plus female with pulse = match.

So the big question in blind dating is, all too often, is it rude to meet your date, shake hands, and then say, "Sorry to waste your time coming out here but clearly someone was smoking crack if they actually thought I would go out with you." I mean, why waste an hour making small talk when you know in the first second that you never, ever want to see this person again?

Unfortunately even I don't have that kind of nerve. So I sat down with the large, geeky, hideously unattractive man and attempted to find things in common. He likes astronomy. Let me check ... nope, no telescope in my backyard. His son goes to a school where they wear kilts everyday, and likes it. Let me check ... would my son be caught dead in a kilt? Not bloody likely. Wait, he says he likes to read! I like to read! Oh, but no ... he likes to read about history and of course, astronomy. So close, but so far. He lives in the country, I live in the city. He likes to look like a giant geek, I don't.

Then we got to the topic of work. Amazingly, though not in a good way, we actually found something in common. In fact, we had both worked for the same company and knew a few of the same people. Oh goody. I can't wait for the emails I'm going to get about this.

And sure enough, this is what I got:
"Seriously? You went out with HIM?"
"What were you thinking?"
"You've got to be kidding? Why on earth would anyone fix you up with HIM?"

Which brings us back to the Overpriced Dating Service. The real question is, what were THEY thinking? Another outstanding use of $114.

Next.

Bachelor #22

At long last, the Overpriced Dating Service returned from the depths of uselessness with Bachelor #22. Here are the good things about Bachelor #22:

- He is smart
- He is successful
- He is divorced and all settled in and sorted out
- He doesn't live in the suburbs
- He isn't horrible looking
- He is tall
- He is well-manored and polite

Here is the bad thing about Bachelor #22:

- He is the blandest man on earth. Is a personality really too much to ask for?

Next.

Bachelor #19

I should have known I was experiencing Bad Date Karma when the waitress spilled a large full glass of diet coke all over me. But the real clue came when he walked in carrying a murse.

Now I understand WHY a man would feel the need to carry a murse. Where else do they put their keys, wallet, cell phone, gum and other unmentionables? But I also understand that pants with elasticized waistbands are more comfortable than pants without, but I don't wear them on dates, now do I? Carry your murse when you're at the mall with your kids if you must, though I assure you people will mock you as you walk by, and maybe once a woman is crazy in love with you she might be forgiving enough to let it go, but when we go on dates, we are supposed to put a little effort in and try to look our best. No man looks his best carrying a purse. Use your pockets like everyone else. We will excuse the bulk.

Next.

Bachelor #16

Oh goody. Time for my next $114 date. Always a treat. I've been trying to give them clear direction. I am an attractive, fit, intelligent, professional urban woman. No more hosers, no more trolls, no more short, boring prematurely middle aged men from the suburbs who think of exercise as something they used to do.

I meet Bachelor #16 for a drink. He has little man hands. He lives in the 'burbs. He has the personality of a beige carpet: drab and made for walking all over. Best of all, I disagreed with every single comment he made.

Good job, Overpriced Dating Service!

Next.

Bachelor #12

I may be dateless, but lucky for me, I have the crack matchmaking team at a high-end executive dating service working feverishly to find me Just the Right Man.

I met Bachelor #12 for lunch. Conversation turned, as it often does, to hobbies and interests.

My hobbies/interests:
Fitness, entertaining, reading fiction, volleyball, shopping, red wine (isn't it great that you can call "red wine" a hobby?)

His hobbies/interests, and you decide if we're a match:
Hunting, ice fishing, snowmobiling.

If I wanted to date Bob or Doug MacKenzie I'd wear a toque and hang out at the beer store.

Next.

Bachelors #10 and 11

More good news! When I called the service to tell them just precisely how thrilled I was with their last specimin, they promptly called me back with news of my next date. He was VERY ATTRACTIVE, they PROMISED. Tall, divorced, successful. You know the deal.

So I spent the next 2 weeks alternating between sitting by the phone waiting for them to call with a confirmed date, and calling them asking why on earth I don't have a confirmed date yet.

Then they finally told me that, although he REALLY wanted to me meet me, he couldn't find a time to meet and decided to put his membership on hold. Which rings very true, because many fictional characters have insanely busy schedules. But not to worry! They found me another one!

I don't actually remember how they described him, but I know it was a big fat lie because they didn't use the word TROLL.

Next.

Bachelor #9

Back to serious man-finding business. Good news! The service called with my next date! Bachelor #9 is 45, 5"10 with brown hair and blue eyes, very successful, divorced with children, well-dressed and well-built. I'm in!

When I got into the parking garage elevator, a bland, balding, paunchy, middle-aged man got in with me. I thought to myself, "Gee, am I ever glad THAT'S not my date."

Do I even need to tell the rest of this story?

I'll give them one thing: he was successful. I know because he spent the next hour telling me all about how much money he has.

That seems like perfectly good use of $114.29 plus parking.

Next.

Bachelor #6

So things are starting to get desperate. Online dating seems to work for everyone but me, and relying on my friends to fix me up has been, well, inconceivably disappointing. But I keep hearing about this executive dating service people have been trying. Basically you pay them $1600 and they guarantee you 14 dates that meet your basic criteria. $114 is a lot for a date, but 14 attractive, smart, fit, witty, successful, 40-something divorced dads with kids? Sign me up.

They tell me my date is a 44-year-old widower with brown hair. I walk into the restaurant and see a well-dressed bald man alone at a table. Obviously not my date. No wait, he is my date. OK, I suppose it's possible he shaved his head since they met him. I'm not a huge fan of the bald man, unlike my friend D, but we're trying to be open-minded here.

So I order a glass of wine and we start talking. Bald Man is not quite attractive, but surprisingly charming, intelligent and interesting. Then he asks how long I've been divorced. I tell him I just celebrated my 10-year anniversary. He tells me he thinks he'll start celebrating his anniversary too.

Now I've never dated a widower before, and I was on my very best hyper sensitive behavior, but what on earth was he planning to celebrate? The day the bitch finally croaked? Let's all propose a toast! I was a practically speehless. So I had to ask... "but you're not divorced??" And of course, he was. Bald and divorced, not brown haired and widowed. While there was nothing glaringly wrong with him, other than teeth that would suggest he grew up in England, I couldn't help thinking this didn't bode well for my new friends at The Expensive Dating Service.

Meanwhile, Bachelor #6 claimed to find me completely charming. He asked for my email address, sent me a message later that evening to tell me what a delightful time he'd had, I responded, and then I never heard from him again. Aren't men swell?

Next.