Hero Seeking Vigilante


This blog now serves as a historical log of my quest for love. A collection of stories and articles more than blog posts, I hope that it can continue to amuse and entertain beyond it's active lifespan.

An adventurous young computer nerd/ gaming geek travels into the world looking for love in all the wrong places. And posts the terrible terrible consequences right here.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Crepes and Carnage

"You realize she's just using you like a hot piece of ass," said Adam.
I find this statement asinsulting as I do plausible.
If it is true, then surely it is an exercise in Patience and Frustration for my dear Woman in Red, who has found me to be a little less than physically affectionate.

I had a date with the Woman in Red on Saturday. Our third date. Meeting her after work, we met at a Santa Monica creperie, where we ate delicious foods, and talked about friends and relatives.

On this particular date, like dates in the past, I springboarded off of my good friend Geoff. A man posessed of a fine sense of comedic timing and surplus wit, such that he is where the party is at. But he is also a man posessed of a gruesome loneliness, that when combined with my own, makes us weep together over the sorrow that is life.
Rather than share my own stories with her, I gave her his. I told her about his sister's Vegas trip, and her hijinks therein. And she laughed. I told her about how their Pomeranian, Jezebel, painfully injured the penis of the Shitzhu she was trying to sex up. And she made faces. We exchanged tales of coworkers and office drudgery. We were mutually receptive. As relatively unfamiliar conversation goes, it was pretty good.

I'd made a mention earlier, she is a little bit older than I. 29.2% older. Actually a significant fraction of life experience. But it doesn't seem to bother her, and it doesn't seem to bother me, so I suppose it's not an issue. What is an issue, is that there is distinctly something missing.

We are sitting in a small booth, of her choosing. Of the booths available, she chose the booth where we would sit next to each other in a tiny nook. "Since you two really like each other, this won't be a problem," said the waitress, failing to be cute. What this actually meant was that after two hours of conversation, my neck hurt.
I thought about holding her hand, or putting my arm over her shoulder... but I didn't want to misrepresent myself, and the attraction I didn't feel.
Likely intimidated by her calm demeanor, her naturally intense organizational skills, and her beauty, Spam is pretty calm around her. Subdued. He is not crazy or excited. Wary of broken hearts, he is not fluttery. He is just interested.

Maybe I am waiting for some sense of security, some evidence that I would be safe to give my heart away? Maybe she's waiting for the same thing? How do you get over that?

But more likely the chemistry just isn't there.

Scared of possibly hurting her feelings, and not ruling out the possibility of an emotional turn around, I am just going to play it as it comes. I'll continue to exchange the friendly emails, and I will go out again if she asks me.

But I'm thinking that this just isn't going to turn into something bigger.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Closed Contact: SBFSM

This past week I was contacted for the FIRST time by a woman on Plenty of Fish.

I hadn't really used plenty of fish for much, but my profile was bitter and short, so I kept it up. It's the sort of web community that is largely peopled with fake models looking to give fake blowjobs to men who *may* click on a banner ad, and give the site owner a penny.
With a readership "Larger than all other Dating Services Combined," the site seems to be a haven for sex mongers, teenage single mothers, and obscene obesity.

For example, one of the charming women looking for a long term relationship within my strict search parameters has this to say:
{
IM A RAIDERS FAN! F*** THE HATERS!! and a LA DODGERS FAN TOO> I LUV BOXING AND DANCING ALOT..
AS FAR AS MOVIES INTO GANGSTA MOVIES SCARFACE, GOODFELLAS,DONNIE BRASCO, AMERICAN ME ETC..I ALSO LIKE COMEDIES AND SCARY MOVIES.
*I DO HAVE A DAUGHTER ON THE WAY DUE NEXT MONTH, IM NOT WIT THE BABY DADDY, AND DONT PLAN TO BE, IM SINGLE .
}
I think this speaks for itself.

So this week I was contacted by an attractive Single Mother, looking for a nice guy. It is flattering that my bitter profile would still give her the impression that I am a nice guy, but The Zombie Question tells all.

In my dating adventures, I have stumbled upon THE QUESTION that can determine if a woman is worth dating. It tests her ability to respond to the unusual (something prominent in my life). It tests her creativity, her common sense, and her familiarity with the undead.

SBFSM has a long list of things in her profile that she will not tolerate. There is more text telling us that she won't do booty calls, or photo exchanges, or married men, than there is telling us what she is like. A woman with standards is always a plus.
But, as I said, it all comes down to the Zombie Question.

Overnight, the world has ended in a quiet apocalypse as an unknown disease turns friends and neighbors into shambling corpses, hungering for the flesh of the living. You are mysteriously unaffected. What would you do?

I would first have to say a little prayer and thank god that I am ok and another for my son who would be affected. Then I would try to stay low key and live my life the best I can.

While I appreciate a woman's willingness to tackle this question (as opposed to blocking me, which happens a lot), the fact of the matter is that you need to draw the line somewhere.

And trying to live the life you had before is on the wrong side of that line.

Though she does get a bonus point for casually accepting the death of her son. Though she doesn't specify if she would just shoot him in the head, or chain him up to the waterheater and feed him human brains for the forseeable future.

The magic is in the details, ladies.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Re: Surviving a Zombie Attack

Remembering that I had previously decided to use the telephone for communication, I telephoned the Woman in Red, and found her Surprisingly Receptive.
I failed at my negotiations for a sunday date to go ice skating, but never teh less, we were actively engaged in conversation for an hour and forty minutes. I can barely wrap my mind around that. That was ACTIVE communication. She held me away from my computer for 9% of the day.
Forty minutes in, I gave her the opportunity to back out from what must surely be an obligatory phone call. "It's getting late, I'm sure you have a lot to do."
"A lot I should do yes, but very little that I actually WILL do."
So we kept talking. I like listening to her, she likes telling stories.

Regarding Zombies. The Woman in Red doesn't actually like Horror movies. Apparently they scare her. She was familar with the basics of the living dead, but was vague on the finer points of her preparedness and response plan. What follows is an overview of her response plan, inundated with unwelcome personal commentary.

With less than half a tank of Gas available at any time, her first goal is to save her loved ones. A sentimental move that will most likely get her killed, but understandable when the alternative is loneliness.
I don't actually handle loneliness very well, and I imagine if the certainty of a lifetime alone were left for me to face, I would seriously consider dropping myself 40 feet out of a tree, and onto a spear. But that's just me.
I Imagine that she could save two friends. No more. The rest of her loved ones have long since turned, and have only phantom memories of the love and humanity they once posessed. Imagine the Woman in Red, splattered of blood across her face (sexy!), needing to drive over the spine of her College Study buddy Samantha, as she pulls her broken body across the street. Samantha's legs had been crushed forty minutes prior, when she was tried to pull a truck driver from the cab of his rig, and eat him.
Her next stop would be a drive through the county library for an informative book on Sailing. Suprise suprise, there is no one at the library. I guess all the peopel who want to know things have the INTERNET. Tension would rise between The Woman in Red and her friends when their escape options are discussed. "We are going to sail away. In a boat. No, I don't have a boat. No, I don't know how to sail. But we'll deal with that when we come to it." Perhaps a bitter dispute will ensue, and just as her friends are about to mutiny against her rule, the zombies show up, and remind us all what it really is to love.
The trio will run back into the car, and in their panic, no better ideas will arise. They will drive straight on to the Harbor of Marina Del Rey.
Therein, she and her friends would beat a hasty flight. Out of the car, and into the harbor. Across the dock, and into a sail boat. One of them would die horribly, I'm sure. I won't tell you how, but there will be a lot of screams, and maybe squirting blood. It won't be pretty.
Maybe one of her friends survived. Maybe they are injured, and given enough time, may even turn. They sit in the corner, saying "Leave me on the dock. Please, leave me here." But she, (splattered with blood), will hoist the sail, (splattered with blood), and escape out to sea. Her friend will die before they reach the island, but won't turn. They will just sit in the corner of the boat, rockign with the waves, serving as a constant reminder that there is a lifetime of relationships that all ended overnight.
Her goal is one of California's Channel Islands, 70 miles due west. Largely unpopulated, and home to about a hundred square miles of natural growth, where she may be able to survive on her own for some time.
But probably not.

But as I was saying, 9% of my day on the phone with her. It may seem obvious, but I'm just going to say it because it's amazing to me. She had to Want to talk to me to do something like that.

It's pathetic that I spend so much time with my computer, but if you saw her... all her bright monitors. Her enormous speakers and her tiny fragile shell. She works so hard, she gets so hot. I take good care of her because she takes care of me. And all my precious, precious digital media.

But I digress.
I asked the woman in red if she'd seen my blog post. The one I put on my space. It was Ice Cream Has No Bones. I'd pasted it over there so she could read it. I thought it was funny. I thought it was worth sharing.
Apparently she, just like every other woman, is uncomfortable with the idea of people reading about her. Even if she isn't identified by name or picture, or description.

In difficult times, a man has to make difficult choices. He will write when he can, without too much concern for the subject of his attention. But when he knows a little more about a situation or a person, he has a choice.

I'm going to try to write less about the Woman in Red. She would want it that way.

She would want me to not have written anything about her to begin with, but it's a little late for that.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Controlled illcommunication

I suppose it bothers me, this convention of communication abortion.

The idea that the woman doesn't need to go out of her way, respectfully or otherwise, to tell you what the fuck is going on. If a woman doesn't want to date you any more, she just stops talking to you. This works if you don't have any social intersect, or care what she thinks. But if you like her, or if you know the same people, or if you dance at the same places, then it really just doesn't.

The communication abortion method is simple, and non-confrontational (read as: cowardly, disrespectful), and it gives plenty of time for both parties come to their own conclusions (which may, or may not be the same). When I next run into the Woman in Red, what will we do?
I guess I will do what I always do. I will ask her to dance.

It will have to be a slow song, because I have developed a very smooth gait for the slow waltzes. I will lead her in circles across the floor, and heads will turn. She is, after all, The Woman in Red. During the dance, I will make polite eye contact, and she will look at me through her dark brown curls. She will look at me as though she is having a good time, as if she is wondering what it might be like to be kissed. But only because that is her job. The song will end, and I will thank her for the dance, and she will be beautiful. Then I will disappear into the crowd, and leave her be.

Or, before another six days pass, she may respond to my email. My last attempt at communication was four days ago. Until I hear from her, I am just sitting on a wire, wondering if it's already over. Every time I sit down, I look for the answer. I check my email, and I hope that at the top of my screen will be a bolded title:
"Re: So You survived a Zombie Attack... "

It occurs to me, that I have no idea what normal people do on dates, or why they go out. I understand that at the conclusion, the boy is supposed to try to kiss the girl, and she will commonly go along with it, then worry (silently) about leading him on (because she doesn't really like him anyway).

I don't feel right, I don't feel clean initiating physical affection if there is no established emotional bond. What this convention does, is it makes it very difficult for me to build an emotional bond. It makes it Dangerous to build an emotional bond. So I can't. Every night I check my email, and wonder "Has she already started ignoring me?" But I can not know. When will I? There is no fine line, no moment where it's clear that she is ignoring me, rather than busy. But I'm afraid I've already given up on her. I'm tired. All of this worrying and waiting is taking it's toll me.

I don't know who I'm looking for, but when we find each other, I won't need to wait four days to find what she would do if Zombies Ate Her Neighbors.