Time for another victim!

No, not literally time for another one. I'm still in a holding pattern there.

In fact, if my celibacy was a baby, right now it would be pulling up on furniture and starting to drink from a sippy cup. God help me.

Anyway. Let's go back to the times when I had actual interaction with the male gender. It was the Summer of 2007, I believe. Or 2008. I can't remember anymore, it all seems like a million years ago. Let's just say it was while Bush still ruled the world. No, wait. It was 2007 because I was still financially ok. I know this because this guy was another one who disliked picking up the checks. And it didn't bother me too much.

So, I was on the last few months of my eHarmony subscription. I was just about done with it, and good riddance. I hadn't been thrilled with the whole experience, although to be fair I have to say that it wasn't a total disaster. I did meet some decent guys, but suffice it to say I wasn't going to be in one of their commercials anytime soon. Unless they wanted to film me taking slow walks with my dog, and drinking wine while watching Sex and The City reruns.

I'd get the emails from eHarmony encouraging me to check out my matches! You never know! You paid $300.00 for this service so why let it go to waste! So every once in a while (read this as: every few weeks, when I'd get a nice surge of testosterone and the kids were with Big Daddy and I'd splurged on the pre-made Jose Cuervo margarita mix) I'd go there. And this particular time, one of the fellas who wanted to start communication with me was intriguing. For blog purposes I'll call this one Ben.

I checked out his stats. Ben was 6'2", which was an immediate "ding!". Ben had a job. Ding! Ben's job was, ironically enough, in the same city I live in. I was already thinking how convenient it would be for Ben to hop over to work after a night of magic at my house. Ding! Ben had three kids. I like when they have kids. It means that they aren't scared of them. Or at least they know how to deal with the fear. Ding! And looking at Ben's pictures, I noticed a slight resemblance to one of my odd-ball crushes, Brian Dennehy. Except a younger, brunette version. Ding!

Of course, since this was being seen through my cynical, sabotaging eyes, there were also a couple of red flags. One was the mention of several metal bands under his "likes". I'm a "variety is the spice of life" kind of gal, especially when it comes to music. I think life is best lived with a soundtrack, and you need many genres to fully encompass all the ups and downs and level times. Metal? I guess I could try to fit it in. I let that one go.

Although Ben worked in my fair city, he resided in one almost 45 minutes away. I don't like to drive long distances, especially not at 6:00 in the morning. This one worried me. But I weighed the fact that I lived where he worked, so the drives-of-shame would most likely be done by him (think I get ahead of things a little bit?) so I let it go.

Ben had hockey hair. AKA, a modified mullet. Again, I have an open mind. But this scared me. Minnesota readers, I should let you know that Ben was from Anoka, so the mullet was pretty standard, and thank God there wasn't a pic of him with the mullet, wearing a Polaris turtleneck. But still.....again, I let it go. Mama needed some lovin'.

And so we made contact. He answered my insipid questions, I answered his. He was witty, knew how to use capital letters and punctuation. He had a very laid-back attitude, which I found appealing. I pretend to have a laid-back attitude. A sort of "roll with it" stance. I guess I kind of do, but right behind that roll-with-it chick is a high strung, round eyed freak wringing her hands and worrying incessantly about everything. I have found it beneficial to be paired with laid back men. They soothe that weirdo with the sweaty upper lip. And laid-back Jenny likes it when we don't have to get dressed up.

Our first meeting was at the same restaurant where Curiously Cheap George and I had our infamous first dinner. That had been a winter date, though, this one was summer and we were seated out on the deck. Ben was cute in real life, tall like he had promised and the mullet wasn't too bad. We said our awkward HELLO's and did the requisite quick up and down scan of each other. Both of us were pleased, I could tell. This was when I was rocking the size 10's and 12's, I was on my way to Chunkyville but still had a waist. So I had worn a cute long skirt, a fitted white t-shirt and a pair of teal blue Keen Mary Janes. What's that? Bold move, pulling out the Keens on a first date? I know...I'm gutsy like that.

Ben complimented my shoes right away. See? Sometimes I do know what to do. Not often, but when I do, I'm the first one to point it out.

Anyhoo. I ordered a margarita, Ben had been there a few minutes earlier than I had and was already finishing up his first Long Island Ice Tea, so he ordered a second one. Ummm...ok, red flag. I know. But I ignored it. We ordered our dinners, and started the conversation.

And it went well. He made me laugh, I made him laugh. We got along, surprisingly really well. It was during this conversation, though, that I noticed Ben kept his phone on the table. And would stop, mid-conversation, when his phone started vibrating to announce an incoming text. And then he'd answer the text.

This was before I was phone-savvy. I was the last person in Minnesota to get a cell phone, and the only reason I had one was because Big Daddy bought it for me as my last Mother's Day gift that wasn't purchased at a gas station or from a clearance end-cap at Target. I still didn't know how to text at this point, and to see someone do it back then was kind of an oddity, like your mom trying to figure out exactly how you "open a window" on the computer. It was foreign to me, and I took it as bit of rudeness. But, I let it go. Ben was fun to talk to, what's a little texting?

The night progressed, I decided to break my "first date=one drink" rule and had a second margarita. Ben had downed four Long Islands by this time, and as our dinner plates were cleared I could tell that he was thinking about ordering a fifth. He declined, and got a Coke instead. Phew. Because four Long Island Iced Teas during a two-hour dinner date is normal, right? I'm not the brightest bulb on the tree, folks. I chalked it up to the fact that Ben was a big guy, big guys metabolize booze faster than other people. And maybe these Long Islands were weak. Whatever. Sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees. And sometimes we can't see the alcoholics for the mullets.

We ended the date with a hug, no kiss. Ben asked me if I would mind him calling me later, and I blushingly said, "I hope you do!". Nothing as enticing as a 41 year old woman with a tiny sheen of desperation on her forehead, right? Oh well. We got into our vehicles and headed home.

At the stoplight before the exit to my highway home, I heard some really loud music. Super loud, like teenage loud. And it was Van Halen. Sammy Hagar Van Halen. I looked over at the car next to me, the one responsible for this old-fart rock and roll, and who do you think it was?

Ben. Ben was waving frantically at me, and fist-pumping to Hagar/Van Halen at the same time.

I waved back.

To be continued......