Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (2 page)

I went to one of the site's "meet and greet" events hoping for better luck. At least here they can't lie about their appearances, the anonymity is gone, but the mob mentality ensues. I arrive at this antique refurbished beauty of a house, strange I don't recall ever seeing it before. It is a large light blue Victorian style house complete with a wraparound porch painted a shimmery purple. I walk up the purple steps and upon entering the premises, I feel as if I am transported into wonderland. The walls are bright blue and the shag carpet is green. What a wonderful bright place to hold a meet and greet. Five minutes into it and I have already met so many famous individuals. This is sarcasm people. I met a real UFO witness, he was even abducted! For scientific purposes he decided that it would be best if he collects his own urine. This one is a winner folks. The aluminum foil hat should have been my first clue, but... I then met Ronald McDonald complete with creepy smile, who tragically lost the ability to blink. He just stares at women, and men, while they talk to him.
An ex CIA agent, who was fired because he knew too much.
Too much about how to smuggle crack across the border according to the internet. What? I know things. I read the paper and what not. Anyway, I meet a man who is the president of Georgia-the state. Yep. Georgia-the state. For any of you who doesn't think that being the president of a single state is ludicrous, it is. We have a president of a country, there are no presidents of individual states in the U.S. of A. I learned I look like a Korean porn star, but apparently not the pretty one. Well that's a bummer, I thought I was the pretty one, the more you know. So many honest, wonderful, boyfriend material guys. But I didn't leave. That would be too easy. I signed up for this fifty dollar snooze fest and I want my cupcake. If you stay till the end you get a free cupcake. I love cupcakes and I will be talking more than one. This event cost as much as six pails of cat liter, I want my money's worth. After paying them the fifty bucks, I'm shown into a different room which in no way resembles the previous one. It's even worse! Even the guys look different. Most are older than I expected. A lot of them are drunk.
Some of them look familiar. Where have I seen them before? Hum...oh! I remember now! Their pictures are in the Post Office on the FBI most wanted list.
I think perhaps I have been tricked.

So we all sit down at these speed dating tables. It's not fancy, more like a cafeteria, long tables with individual chairs. They must have taken down several walls to create this space and stripped the walls of all color. The tables are covered in dated plastic tablecloths whose themes appear to be party balloons.
Clearly a clearance purchase from the Gossip superstore, in the clearance section.
I wipe my finger across the top of the tablecloth and to my surprise they weren't even wiped down. I now have a layer of sludge on my finger. I must remember to not rest my hands on the table. I quickly take a baby wipe from my purse and wipe down my section of the table. Yes, I carry around moist baby wipes; they actually come in very handy. This is a great example of their timely use
. The people running this
event do the typical girls on one side
and boys on the others.
But I do wonder how they tell... By this I mean that not only do the lady's look like gentlemen, but most of the boys look like grotesque female strippers. I look to my left then to my right. I officially have the least cat hair on me. That's not saying much. Side note: My chair is wobbly. I wish I brought something I could use to stick under one leg to balance the chair. Oh well...rocking is a good distraction if I get bored.

Once everyone is seated, a rather large man stands on a plastic flimsy chair and begins to address us. He talks about community and togetherness, practically ripping off my vows, but I let it go.
There's no way he could know, right?
As he talks I find I am transfixed on has chair. How can it hold a man his size? Will it break? Most importantly, do I want it to? His speech takes a daunting half an hour, and by this time some of the regulars are already chatting with people they must have seen at other events. Someone made a joke in the back and the roar of laughter is like a wave and sweeps over the entire room. I too find myself laughing along with my comrades, and I didn't even hear the joke. Laughter is infectious. After a good five minutes goes by, the laugher dies down and the announcer explains the rules. When we hear the bell the men will move one seat to their left and the women will welcome
them as they ENTER
our personal space. Am I the only one getting a weird sexual vibe from this phrase? What? Just me? Ok, now I'm the pervert with the dirty mind.

First bell. The first man who sits down in front of me is blonde, dressed from head to toe in a superman costume. His name tag reads 'I'm Superman'. Unfortunately after the men take position the announcer goes to the control box and dims the lights. The "romantic" lighting is dim, so dim that it's hard to see even just across the table. I wonder if the lights are dimmed so we cannot see the looser who sits down across from us. Well, let's get this party started, so we begin to talk. He informs me his kryptonite is me buying his dinner. I see. Yah, no.

The next couple of men go by with one or another annoyance, nothing major. Then I come across this man, or should I say he comes across me, since I'm stationary as the men are the ones
moving. His name is Ronald
Helnswelm. Divorced and at the ripe age of 52. He informs me that he is looking for love, now that's right up my alley. I give him my sexy smiley. It's like my regular smile only I lower my head to make my chin look more pronounced and also make my eyes look bigger since I'm looking up at him. No, it's creepy. Ok, I might be a little creepy, but it's all I have.

"So Ron tell me about some of your goals or aspirations in life." I ask politely reaching my hand up to mess with my bangs.

"I'm not in charge of that." Ron says
scratching the inside of his hairy belly button with one hand.

"You're not in charge of your own goals in life?" I inquire.

"That was my ex's job, and since she left me it's now my mom's" Ron says matter-of-factly. The finger from his other hand now enters his belly button.

"That's awful" I say, trying not to be distracted. What does he expect to find in his belly button that he keeps digging at it?

"It could be yours though. If you play your cards right." Ron takes his left index finger out of his belly button, sniffs it then proceeds to put his finger in his mouth.

"What do you mean?" I ask disgusted
by his actions. I can't help but stare as he start
s intently picking at a mole on his shoulder
. Good thing he wore a cut in
half wife beater or else he might not have been able to fish out items from his belly button to eat and pick at his mole.

"If I decide you are worthy, " Ron says blowing his nose into his hand."Then you can be in charge of my goals." Ron makes air quotes when he says the word "goals", then goes back
to messing with his mole. He ends up pulling off his mole and eating
it. I must not have been a mole then, a scab, a piece of food or melted chocolate perhaps. Whatever! It's still gross.

"Is there a reason you can't be in charge of your own goals?" I'm not paying attention to the conversation at this point because he has already moved on to picking at a cluster of zits on the corner of his mouth.

"I don't like to put excessive pressure on myself" He scoffs. Then goes back to where he started at the beginning of the conversation, picking at his belly button. I find for me when I first meet someone I gloss over them, such as Ron. I glossed him over then once he went to work doing what Ron can do best I saw his flaws. The only thing Ron could do best was picking at his body.

Next! Oh Greg, this sounds promising. He looks 45 yet he claims to be 18, hey maybe he just aged fast. He could have a legitimate medical condition. I'm just trying to not see him as a liar right off the bat, ok? Greg asks me if I like snakes. "Yes I do like snakes." I respond. He then proceeds to stand up and unzip his pants. Yep. That's his penis; he is showing me his penis. I walked into that one. But isn't there some sort of monitor around here. I mean really. Side note: if you enjoy showing off your genitals in public, please make sure they are at least somewhat average in size. I'm just saying if you have a small cucumber don't go around showing people. You don't see women with small tater tots flashing people. Luckily the bell rings again. Marvin, dressed nice, clean shaven, sits down. We start chatting and he informs me he collects his own urine and get this, it's considered among his close friends to be an aphrodisiac. I can only assume this means his friends drink his urine. I just don't understand how this would come up in a conversation. What does his friends want to get busy and the guy can't get it up; so he makes a mad dash to Greg's house and asks to drink his urine. I mean, it might help so why not? Anyways, Marvin pulls out his jar and proceeds to pour me a cup because I look like a urine drinker or something. What? I get that he is sharing, but isn't there a line in the sand somewhere? "I must politely decline." I stammer. "I do not want to drink your urine. But thanks for the offer." He doesn't seem taken back by my reaction. He just proceeds to drink his own urine in front of me. I smells like cat piss. The people around us give me bad looks and the woman besides me makes a mad dash for the bathroom holding her mouth. The smell is overwhelming, but being an avid cat owner I have gotten used to the potent smell. So I'm stuck there watching him drink cup after cup of urine, no he has not broken eye contact. We may or may not be in a staring contest. Finally the bell rings.

Next! This goes on for another two hours, more of the same. I had high hopes that this would be better, but I guess I was wrong. Like always. To makes matters worse, the cupcakes were on a first come first serve basis, which translated to about ten guys shoving in front of me and taking all the cupcakes.

"Excuse me people. But come on. All of the cupcakes! Really?" I shout standing on my table.

"It's first come first serve. And since you snoozed you lose" Snarled someone who closely resembled a snake.

"Did you not see the take one signs, buddy" I accuse. Gesturing outrageously to the table.

"Oh no someone not following the rules. I get it, you like anal!" Gesturing rudely with his fingers. He then tosses back a chuckle.

"I am going to hurt you now." I say as I jump off the table and he screams, drops the cupcakes and runs into the darkness. I walk over the cupcakes. I am above eating off the ground. Just because I say it doesn't make it true. I look around. But with all these witnesses I will have to pass up on floor cupcakes. I sigh then proceed to walk out the magnificence oak double doors. As they begin to shut behind me, I can't help but think that that house held my greatest hopes of meeting a guy, and when they finally close with a bang I think about calling it quits. Theses outstanding members of society represent the bystander effect. For those of you who don't know the bystander effect is when people just stand around and watch something that clearly is wrong, yet does nothing. This is different than the mob mentality. See the mob mentality is when people as a group cause the action, as the bystander effect they just observe the action with
no perceived responsibility.
Personally I think the bystander effect is worst, but Frankenstein might disagree.

I went home that night feeling awful. While staring into the mirror I got to thinking. I'm like an onion, once you start opening me up you can't help but cry. Lucky for you, you get to walk away. Make your meal, add your spice, and then walk away. But as the onion, I have to stay. Everyone has a tragic back story, and I do believe I have already told mine. I successfully painted myself as a man hater. Husband cheated, hate. Guys piss me off, hate. But what you may or may not know is I don't hate men. No, I love them. That's the problem. I love everyone, and I can't help but see the good in them. That's why I get hurt. That's why I shut myself off. I fall in love with any guy; I have these complex fantasies about them. Hell we're married in my mind after a week of talking. Then the next week we are saying good bye. For them it's easy, girl is annoying, doesn't put out or just no longer likes my face. But for me, it's heart breaking. I think I really am insane. I live a lifetime in my mind, that's crazy right? Some people read books to escape reality, but for me, I don't think I've ever lived there long enough to know if I wanted to escape. I think of my marriage and can't help but wonder if the signs were there.
Maybe I was too busy creating an idealized image of my husband in my mind... and trying to believe it.
I live a thousand lifetimes in conversations. In my head I've done so many things, but look at my life. I am alone with my cats, one of whom I swears pees on my bed just to upset me. Well...he is a male.

Guess what?! Someone likes my duck
face; it reminds them of a duck. That's what they said. "Hay girl I like your duck face, it reminds me of a duck." Just like that. That's all they wrote. I was under the impression that people liked duck faces. My roommate seems obsessed with them. It makes lips look bigger, why would that be a bad thing? I guess only attractive girls can successfully pull off a sexy duck face. For the rest of us when we make an attempt to be sexy we just look like a duck. Is it weird that I wonder if he thought I looked a pretty duck vs. an ugly duck? Because there is a difference. I do not think if he thought I was a pretty duck it would be a bad thing. I have guys ask me if I was blonde in my past life because I posted such a dumb photo.
Other guys have asked me if I was blonde in a past life (or if I currently dye it, because if so I should stop and would look much better as a blonde) because I posed such a bad photo.
Really? So, because you dislike my photo you think I was blonde in my former life. Really?