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Man #42, The International Player and Minor Celebrity

Published May 3, 2013

My sons drove me to SeaTac Airport after K2′s game, helped me get my bag out of the car, gave me hugs, and left me at the curb for departures. It was a little after 8 p.m., so I checked in to my flight and proceeded through the maze of other travelers going through the scanners.

Once through, I still had an hour to kill before my flight took off, so I wandered around browsing shops I would never step foot in were in not for the fact that I was now a captive of the Port of Seattle and the Transportation Security Administration. I bought a copy of Bossypants, and finally decided that, since I hadn’t eaten before my son’s game, I should grab a bite before boarding my plane. I settled on fish and chips from Ivar’s, found a table, and sat down to eat and kill time on my phone. I checked in at SeaTac International Airport on my Facebook page, and within minutes I had a text message from Sam.

“Where are you going?”

“The Bahamas.”

“What?!”

“I have a date.”

“What? Who are you with? The Stalker?”

“You mean The Talker, as in all talk, no action? No, The International Player.”

“Who?”

“Man #42.”

“How long will you be gone? And when will you be back so we can interrogate you properly?”

“Three days. I’ll be back Monday night, late.”

“Ok. Have fun. Be safe, and you have to tell us all about it when you get home.”

“Ok. I will.”

And that was that. As I sat there eating my airport food and playing with my phone, I started thinking about how surreal this all seemed. Who would have ever thought that in following my therapist’s prescription I would end up going on a date with a stranger in The Bahamas? Blogging is a lonely business. Most of the time I don’t feel like anybody’s reading what I write, but I’ve been fielding more and more requests for guest posts and fighting off content thieves lately. At one point, Lauren had warned me, “I don’t think you realize this. To me, you’re just one of my friends, but to other people, you’re THE AUTHOR of My Dating Prescription!” One woman, newly introduced to me by a friend, during a conversation about dating, told me I HAD to read my blog. She did not know I was the author. ”That’s my blog,” I said, “I write that.”

“No way! My Dating Prescription?,” she asked, as she started pulling it up on her phone and reading it to me. “Are these your legs?”

“Yes, those are my legs.” Let’s just say; it’s pretty strange to have a stranger tell you that you HAVE to read your own writing and then proceed to read it to you.

Another friend, Paula, said women at her gym were talking about one of my posts in the locker room. When she mentioned that she knew me, they wanted to know all about me. Was I really as outspoken and sarcastic in real life as I am in my blog?

Pretty much.

Anyway, I was reflecting on these conversations and thinking about how I now found myself headed to The Bahamas to meet a total stranger. The International Player had simply contacted me through the email address I have on the blog. He could be an ax murderer for all I know. I had to keep my wits about me, but it was all part of a much bigger issue. I’m not prepared for celebrity. If Man #42 could contact me, then so could anyone else. Would that be ok? I don’t know. Did I have safety concerns? Absolutely. Men seem to either love or hate my blog, and the ones who hate it make up a very scary demographic. What should I do about my security as my blog becomes more popular? What if people start to recognize me? I’ve already had people come up to me out of nowhere and ask if I’m “the blogger.” It’s a very startling thing when it happens. I wondered if this is how Kurt Cobain felt when Nirvana blew up with the release of Nevermind.

But for the moment, I was alone and anonymous in the food court at SeaTac Airport. I decided that, regarding the perils of being a minor celebrity, I would respond by making sure I always wear makeup to the grocery store. No more sliding on my slippers and rolling down to the store for a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in a ponytail and my University of Washington sweatspants. Maybe college freshman can get away with that, but as a snarky critic of male daters in Seattle, I can’t.

And as far as my date in The Bahamas…I would go and have a good time. As nervous as I was, I didn’t think I was headed for anything I couldn’t handle.

Posted in The Men | 12 Comments

Doing What You Love

Published March 31, 2013

Since my date with Man #39, I’ve been feeling less enthusiastic about dating, especially online dating, so I’ve chilled out on seeking a date and tried to focus more on doing what I love. When it comes to finding love, those are the words of wisdom one most often hears. “Do what you love and you’ll meet someone with common interests.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

After I mentioned that I thought I needed a dating coach, one of my dating coach Twitter connections reinforced this point by again telling me to start doing what I love. So, that meant I had to think about it. What do I love to do? I don’t know. I guess…

I love to sing.

I love to play piano.

I love to write.

I love to cook.

I love to dance. (They don’t call me the Dancing Queen for nothin’.)

I love to get in my car and drive someplace scenic for no reason.

I love to curl up in an armchair on Sunday mornings with something to read and a strong cup of coffee.

I love walks with Thor.

I’ll probably think of more things I love later, but that’s a pretty good list for now. When a list gets too broad it starts to look like one of those online dating profiles where the person is trying to be anything and everything to everybody. I’m not anything and everything, and I don’t want just anybody. There are a few select things I love to do. In fact, just writing the top two items on this list made me want to stop what I’m doing and start doing them. (Except that I’m currently doing the third one so that held me back.)

So, with this whole idea of doing what I love in mind, I recently signed up for a few Meetups. I can already tell that I will need to remove my name from some of the groups I joined and refine my selection of activities. Some of them sounded better than they really are. Some of them have tons of members, so it feels intimidating to go if you don’t know anyone. However, I went out to the Azteca in Lynnwood on Friday night for a karaoke Meetup.

When I initially got to the bar, I didn’t see my group. My go-to move in these situations is to take a seat at the bar and wait to scope things out and figure out my next move. I took a seat and ordered a margarita. There were a couple of men sitting near me at the bar, and pretty soon one of the men leaned over and asked me if I was there for karaoke.

“I am,” I said, “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“What’s your go-to artist,” I asked.

“Jason Mraz.”

“Nice.”

“You?”

“It depends on what they have. I’ve never done karaoke here before.”

“Oh, they have everything. The guy just pulls things from YouTube.”

“Perfect. Well, then probably Carrie Underwood or Lady Gaga,” I said.

“Cool,” he said, “Are you pretty good?”

“Well, now that’s a loaded question. I don’t know. I do ok,” I said, “I’m supposed to meet a group here, but I don’t know where they are.”

“Oh, there’s a big group of people in the back,” he said, “did you look back there?”

“No.” During the course of our conversation, the bartender had placed my margarita in front of me. Instead of getting up with my drink and wandering around the bar looking for the group, I decided to check in on the Meetup website, and send the Meetup organizer a message asking where the group was meeting. Within a few minutes a short, energetic woman appeared and introduced herself as the organizer of the Meetup. She told me they were, in fact, the group in the back of the restaurant. I said goodbye to the man at the bar, grabbed my margarita, and followed her to the back of the restaurant.

When I got there, there were twenty women and no men. That’s right, no men. Figures. Where are the men? Probably at home watching TV. So much for meeting members of the opposite sex. (Sigh) Oh well, you snooze you lose dudes!

I got there right as the karaoke DJ started, so I put my song in. The next thing I know he goes and calls me first, so there I am, alone, with a group of total strangers and I have to put myself out there first. This goes against every introverted fiber of my being. I got up and started singing. I was shaking at first, but I soon got over my nerves. Now, I’m no Adele, but this is the first song I sang.

Let’s just say it got things started right. There were some really great singers in the group, and it was a lot of fun getting to know all of the women. The Meetup organizer was a lot of fun. She was afraid to sing a song by herself, so a bunch of us eventually got her up on stage to sing “It’s Raining Men” and “Push It.” I eventually got called up to do a second song, and this time I sang “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood.

If I’m hoping to meet men by doing the things I love I might want to pick less dysfunctional Country songs…but anyway.

After I sat back down, one of the women in the group came over and asked for my business card. She said she had a friend in a band and they needed a vocalist. I gave her a card, but I don’t really expect to hear from them. Things like that never happen to me. I wish they did, but they don’t.

The man I had met at the bar got on stage and did his Jason Mraz songs, and he was pretty good. I later asked him if he knew any Lady Antebellum songs in the hopes that we could do a duet. (And no, I did not get his number. He was a cute, little man, but WAY to short to ride the ride.) Unfortunately, he didn’t know any of the duets I know, so we didn’t make music together.

When, I finally got in my car to go home, closing time, I was so energized. I wanted to keep on singing. It’s amazing what singing does to my mood, how it just makes my whole body feel happy.

I thought my singing was finished for the weekend, but then, yesterday, Lauren asked if I wanted to go see Michael Nesmith at The Neptune. She had an extra ticket. Now, I don’t know about you, but there’s nothing like a Michael Nesmith song to make me want to sing. As the concert drew to a close, I leaned over and asked Lauren if she would be interested in going to sing karaoke afterwards.

“Hell yeah,” she said enthusiastically.

After the concert, we made a quick stop at Dick’s drive-in and then headed up to Kona Kitchen in Maple Leaf. I had been there once before for a friend’s birthday party a few weeks earlier, and that was when I discovered they have karaoke on Saturday nights. When we walked in, there were very few people there and nobody was singing.

“Oh, this looks intimidating,” I said. It’s funny how I would rather sing in a crowded bar than in one where there are six people staring at me, but it’s true. After a couple of bourbon sodas, I got up and did the same two songs from the night before, and because it wasn’t crowded I got to do several more. Including this on by P!nk. How awesome is she?