(Apparently) I Get Around

What the hell is going on here?!?  If I hadn't become accustomed to these ridiculous shenanigans, I would seriously wonder if I was on Candid Camera.

So, this afternoon  I got off work early.  Having not stared at a computer screen for the seven and a half hours a day it usually takes to recharge my internet battery, I sat down to an "X-Files" rerun and my laptop.  I'd gotten a Facebook friend request while I was at a work picnic earlier in the day and since I own a Blackberry and it's lame, I couldn't see the requester's picture.  Sometimes my overly socialized brain forgets names until I see the face and then my memory comes flying back to me.  Apparently, I'm a visual person.

I opened Facebook and didn't recognize the name or the picture.  He was local though, coincidentally close to Mr. Affair's hometown and the same location as Mr. Gunslinger.  Keep that in mind.  Naively figuring that I'd probably met him before and just didn't remember where (sometimes I meet people at work conferences who find me online later and quite frankly, I've completely forgotten how I know them), I accepted his friend request so that I could see his page.

His privacy settings were so high that I couldn't send him a message before I accepted his friend request or even afterwards.  I perused his photos and still nothing rang a bell.  He didn't look scary and was listed as being in a relationship, so I figured there was no harm in sending him a chat message since he was online.

Totally putting the blame on myself, I wrote to him politely asking if we knew each other, stating that I had a horrible memory and had received his friend request today.  He immediately started typing.  "Ya... we know each other" was his unhelpful response.  "Help me out," I replied, adding a smiley face to seem less confrontational.  You know, because emoticons fix everything.  I thought  maybe this was one of the gentlemen I met a few months ago who had approached my friends and me with Mr. Gunslinger.  His location was right, and he kind of resembled one of them. "We dated," he stated.  Uh... no we didn't and not Mr. Gunslinger's friend.  Being the perpetual wallflower that I've been through most of my adult (and hell, even teenage) life, I am well aware of every single one of the men (or boys) I've dated.  Doubting that?  Don't.  I can give you a complete list in chronological order, just ask.  First and last name.  Even where they live currently and who they're married to (because they're all married or have been married).  The list is that short, people.

Before I got a chance to reply, he added "a while ago."  Still no.  We did not date recently or a while ago.  Ever for that matter.  Initially I thought of telling him that he was not at all unattractive, so had we dated, I would have been happy to have acknowledged such an affair.  Again, I tried my best to keep it polite without overusing emoticons and replied with "Oh, I'm sorry.  I think you have me confused with someone else."  "No, I do not.  I added you through AIM."  First of all, who still uses AIM, really?  Second of all, it's been so long since I used that account that it's probably been hacked 100 times and quite honestly, I don't care. Again losing the battle to maintain a back-and-forth conversation, he dropped the bomb.  "We had sex," he sent.  HA!  We did not.  I was shocked.  My fingers couldn't land on the keys fast enough.  Looking back, I shouldn't have responded, but I felt the need to defend my honor.  I started typing, saying again, "No, you're mistaken.  I can verify that we did not have sex."  Typing at the speed of sound, he wrote back that yes, we did and that I had stayed the night at his house.  "I remember it," he said, totally creeping me out.  Apparently my profile picture is entirely too "captivating."  Blah.  "Wow," I finally got to write back, "that never happened.  Good luck to you!," and I was off!  Close chat screen, open profile, remove from friends, block.  Whew.

Really?  Really.  In less than two weeks, I've been propositioned for and accused of having sex with complete strangers.  It's just got to be uphill from here.

The Year of the Red Flag

I don't even know how to tell this story without laughing hysterically before I even get through the first paragraph.  You know, as we've taken this journey together through my own personal hell Singledom, I've oftentimes thought that there was nothing new out there to surprise me.  No man would be able to come up with any feat amazing enough to catch me off guard, or even odd enough to generate the slightest chuckle.  No matter how many times I think I have hit the tip top of shocking triumphs, I have been proven wrong many times over the course of the last year, one of which came last evening.

As I sat quietly reading in my room waiting for a friend to call for dinner plans, my phone rang.  In its usual place about six inches from my grasp, I glanced down at it to see an unknown Atlanta phone number.  Most people wouldn't find that out of place, but having a cell phone number with an area code from the city that I grew up in, it is rare that I get numbers from Atlanta that aren't specifically looking for me.  Being the call screener that I am, I sent it to voice mail.  Once the little chime rang, I checked it and wish that I had had a video camera on my face as I listened to the entire message.  I'm sure my facial expressions went from inquisitiveness, to confusion, to shock, to laughter, all in about thirty seconds.

The voice on the other end of the receiver immediately identified himself as Tony, the friend/neighbor of Mr. Gunslinger from the bar Saturday night.  Rushing through his message, he told me politely that he was sorry to bother me, but that Mr. Gunslinger had asked him to get in touch with me (if I cared, I would have noted the 72-hour gap here, but I don't, so...moving on...).  Apparently, or so Tony claimed, Mr. Gunslinger recently "left the country" and isn't able to get in touch with me himself.  "So, he said for you to email him," Tony told me, and then provided me with Mr. Gunslinger's email address.

Never in all my life have I ever gotten such a voicemail:  the Wing Man calling the target over three days after the meeting.  I was shocked.  I sat there cackling to myself at not only Mr. Gunslinger's feeble attempt to communicate with me without communicating with me, but also his obvious influence over this friend/neighbor to convince him to call someone on his behalf to establish a "romantic" connection.  Thirdly, I realized at that moment I had reached an all-time new low.  Although I am not interested in pursuing or being pursued by Mr. Gunslinger, I was impressed with my ability to move quickly to the point of phone number exchanging when presented with a real-world dating situation, unlike the recent monotonous drag of online and email communication.  But, I've honestly never heard of someone exchanging phone numbers simply to then communicate via email!  I quickly surmised that this process would indeed be taking a step backwards and, as I said, I would have been disappointed had I had the slightest glimmer of interest in Mr. Gunslinger.

As I shared this story with the friend I was meeting for dinner, I started making a list of all the red flags that occurred over the course of the actual evening with Mr. Gunslinger and the follow-up voicemail I received.  She told me that she thinks that I'm a bit blind to these things when I'm actually in the moment and need to get better at recognizing some of the (eh-hem) "tricks of the trade."

Red Flags During Evening with Mr. Gunslinger (and follow-up voicemail): 

1. He repeatedly shared his history as a member of law enforcement and reminded me several times that he was an Executive Bodyguard (or something along those lines).  Although this could have been true (I'm doubting his anecdote about escorting Keanu Reeves to a local Atlanta club, though.  I don't think Keanu frequents the ATL.), it immediately felt as though he was trying to establish a common sense of ease and allow us to let our guard down.  Plus, I can't imagine Executive Protection is especially lucrative unless you're in New York or Los Angeles.  Really wished I'd asked him why he wasn't a police officer anymore...  A girl can never be too cautious.
2. He told me several times that he had a truck in the parking lot, but was going to walk home so his friends/neighbors with him could drive it.  What?  This doesn't even make sense.  If you live in the same apartment complex and rode there together, why can't you all ride back together?  The screeching tires of "his" truck as his friend/neighbor sped away from the parking lot with him still standing there were probably an indicator that he was lying and in fact, does not have a vehicle.
3. His repeated use of the phrase "love of my life."  Oh, please.  We just met five minutes ago.  At least laugh about it or imply that you aren't a lunatic are kidding.
4. My body's physical reaction when he touched me.  Whenever his hand happened to graze my knee or be purposefully placed on my arm or elbow, my entire body would tense up.  I'm no good at covering up things like that and should listen more carefully to my own instincts.  And I'm pretty positive he noticed it too, but judging from how he read me throughout the course of the night, I'm sure he thought it was fate jolting me full of romantic currents.  Blah.
5. His eagerness and willingness to volunteer his friend to drive me home.  First, men, please don't do this.  Respectable women that you just met are not going to want you to make the offer because it immediately puts us in protection mode.  And we will not accept.  At least this respectable girl will not, no matter how gentlemanly you make it sound.  Second, because he said this before we got in the parking lot and did not offer to drive me home himself, this just proves Red Flag #2.
6. His recent "trip" abroad.  First of all, let's say you meet a wonderful girl/guy at a bar.  You're really interested.  You want his/her phone number.  Oh, yes! You get it!  OH, but wait!  You're leaving to go out of the country within the next two days.  Damn.  Oh, you can give him/her your email address right now!  Come on...you can't tell me that this guy who basically said he works when work is available and who told us every other tiny detail about his life forgot to tell us that he was leaving the country in the next two days?!

7. His Wing-Man approach.  I get the need and benefit of a wing-person, believe me.  Remember, I had the fullest intentions of using both of my non-Singleton friends as Wing Women throughout the course of the same evening.  But, wing-status stops when you leave the bar/restaurant/person-meeting-establishment.  Am I supposed to be impressed that he's so interested in me that he had his friend call me?  How did he get in touch with the friend to tell him to call me if his phone is off the market when he's gone international?  Can he not cough up the $.85 for an international text message? How long is he going to be gone that he thinks he can't just wait to call me himself?  All this does is establish to me that he's yet another man who can't take the initiative to call me; I would have to be the one to do the initial communicating.  You know, if I cared.

So, there we have it.  Seven major red flags that I didn't see until I took a closer look and realized that I am sort of setting myself up for disaster.  I need to be more aware of the possibility of attacks from outside of the Realm of Normalcy (where red flags are strictly forbidden and if caught with one in your possession, you could face punishment up to death).  You'd think that after all this time and exposure to abnormal with online men, I would be more apt to recognize it when it sat down at the table with me.  I'm thinking that, for Christmas, I'd like someone to get me a little red flag on a stick.  I can carry it with  me, say in my purse, and have it at the ready.  When things are laid out that the flag obviously would apply to, I can shoot it straight into the air and allow the person talking to me the opportunity to explain away the necessity of the red flag alert.  Hmm... I bet I could market that...

In the Line of Fire

So, over the course of the last few weeks, a few friends and I had been planning a wonderful birthday extravaganza to include dinner and drinks out in various drinking establishments throughout greater Atlanta.  Atlanta really has a lot to offer three chickadees looking to get into some PG-13 rated fun.  Being the only true Singleton of the group, I immediately recognized the Wing Woman potential in the gathering; considering neither of my friends would be looking for love, they could provide me with the extra sets of eyes, extra discerning abilities, barriers against unwanted attacks approaches, and a clearer interpretation of attraction if, in fact, I were to become inflicted with beer goggles.  With the plan being to enjoy dinner at a local restaurant followed by an evening of shenanigans at a local bar that I used to frequent in my college days, the odds were in my favor.

Because my brain is quite possibly the strangest thing I've ever come in contact with, I tend to absorb things that I'm contemplating or planning into my subconscious and then dream about them randomly.  A few days before this birthday gathering, I had a wonderful dream that I was engaged in quite an inappropriate scenario with a gentleman at this local watering hole.  Because I used to keep it in business every Friday night for about two years, I remember it vividly and could almost walk you directly to the spot at which this lovely encounter took place...in my head.  I remember being quite impressed with my Singleton Skills because I didn't even know his name but had somehow, unbeknownst to me, managed to convince him that locking lips in the burgundy-carpeted hallway was a great idea all without even exchanging introductions.  Although the dream was short, I had slight hope that it might be prophetic.  Needless to say, I was optimistic about Saturday evening.  Until...well...I'll keep going.

Once the night arrived, our well-laid plans, like they always seem to do, got thwarted.  When we arrived at the bar that I just knew held the guy who wanted to make out with me in the hallway buy me a drink, my dream was literally dashed as we discovered that we'd arrived on a night where apparently "the greatest country band on the scene right now" (direct quote from the older guy in line behind us) was playing and charging an astronomical cover charge.  Although none of us are math geniuses, we figured out almost down to the penny how many beers said cover charge could purchase us elsewhere, and I said goodbye to my Dream Man.  Man of my dream.  Man who was in my dream...who very well may not have existed.  Whatever.  We left.

Now, when I get together with friends of the female persuasion, we tend to talk.  A lot.  Which usually leads to driving direction mishaps.  Somehow, after about thirty minutes of trying to decide which bar at which to hang our hats, we ended up halfway across town and stopped at the first bar we came across.  An up-and-coming sports bar chain in Atlanta that features scantily clad women, it seemed an odd choice at first, but eventually we settled into our draft beers in front of four televisions all featuring different collegiate football games.  Target rich environment.  We were surrounded by men, most of which were ring-less, almost all of which were drinking.  Occasionally, a guy at the table behind us would loudly pipe up with some piece of pop culture reference or question that he would find highly amusing and was obviously intended to garner him some attention.  Since we were the only ladies in the room, it became immediately clear that these outbursts were being directed at us.  As Mr. Gunslinger (explanation to come) approached our table and pulled up a chair uninvited, it became even more clear that the tables had now turned.  Previously, I had been the Singleton on the hunt, with control in her corner and two friends to help guide the process who could not interfere or relish any attention for themselves because of their Coupledom statuses.  Now, I was the Lone Ranger...the only girl at the table who was on the market.  I was doomed.

Mr. Gunslinger was clever, I will give him that.  His opening line challenged us to help him solve a bet between him and his other two (much more attractive, although still borderline unattractive) friends.  They'd supposedly tried to guess what pets we all had at home.  My equally clever friends and I then turned this tidbit into an assessment of how they view us from a distance and the conversation commenced.  It was quickly established that I was the only Singleton and immediately was in Mr. Gunslinger's cross-hairs.  He told me how they'd been to a shooting range eight hours before and had spent the rest of the day in the bar watching football.  Stupidly I made conversation and said that I had always been fascinated by the concept of a shooting range and thought it would be an amazing stress relief.  Within seconds, he asked me if he could take me to one.  Reeling this back into the normal zone, I said something along the lines of being nervous about guns (not true) to steer the conversation away from date-like topics.  He promised me (about ten times) that "when we went," safety would be first.  I was tempted to remind him that he didn't know me, and I could easily have an "accident," but I suppressed the instinct.  Very courteous and friendly, but ridiculously over the top in his story-telling and character-building references, Mr. Gunslinger successfully blocked either of his friends from almost any type of communication with us and hijacked almost every second of the conversation. 

Nothing too bad, right?  I know that's what you're thinking.  I was thinking that too until we reached the Creeper Factor.  Suddenly I noticed a repeated arm/knee touching during conversation.  We ladies are pretty good at reading our own instincts here, and I knew right away that this touching was unwanted.  Then he asked me outright if I was conservative (why?).  I shared my political affiliation (dumb) and told him, after some prodding on his part, that I was a fan of Fox News (don't judge me...this is not a political forum and is an essential part of this story!).  After a brief line of questioning probably to establish exactly how far to the right I fell on the linear political spectrum, he told me that he couldn't wait to wake up in the morning and watch Fox & Friends (Fox News' morning show) with me.  And he was serious.  He commenced to also tell my friend that he was sure that our mishap that resulted in our arrival at this particular bar was an intervention of fate, when in fact it was more to do with an out-of-date GPS and a lot of chit-chat.  He offered to buy us all "celebratory" shots (not quite sure what we were celebrating...fate, maybe?) and when I politely refused because I had to drive over an hour to get home (safety first), he offered that his friend, who hadn't really been allowed to be a part of our gathering, would be happy to drive me halfway across the state.  The friend resisted and Mr. Gunslinger announced at full volume "You wouldn't drive the love of my life home?!"  The love of his life.  He was not kidding, Singletons.  Not for one second.  Ask my friends.  He was so serious.

Somehow we managed to escape the restaurant quickly and made a bee-line for the car.  But, Mr. Gunslinger was quick on the draw and ran up to the car, calling out to me to wait.  Being the cautious Singleton that I have learned to be, I left the car door open as my friends waited inside.  He insisted that I shut it and began to tell me how much he'd like to take me out, to see me again, to hang out, to watch Fox News and every other possible means of "together" he could think of.  Uncomfortable enough already, he then announced that he was going to give me his phone number.  I thought 'oh, yes, an out.  I get his number and go about my merry way.'  Wrong.  I told you he was clever.  He insisted that I get my phone, program his number in it and then call him immediately so that he would have my number right then.  No tricking this guy, someone who has obviously received his fair share of fake phone numbers. Once my poor, innocent phone number was a part of his address book, he asked me if I texted.  Dear sweet Lord.  I do text.  That message has obviously spread around Singledom like wildfire. Strangely enough, as this interlude was taking place, his "friends" got in a truck he claimed was his and sped off, leaving him in the parking lot.  Once I got in the car, unscathed but announcing how much I hated my life at that moment, he knocked on the driver's window and pretended he was pulling my friend over.  She was in the parking space.  In park.

Luckily, Mr. Gunslinger has not graced my phone with any text messages, voicemails or references to early morning television.  Haven't we talked about this before, that I need to be more specific in my dreams or requests for male attention?  Do I need to make a list?!?  Because I surely got the attention that I was asking for, just from the last person within a 100 mile radius from whom I would have wanted it. Obviously I need to set some parameters so that when said dreams come to reality, I'm a bit less turned off.  Mr. Gunslinger was, in my opinion, the living, real world version of the online daters who want to get married after the first meeting.  I can't win.  I just want a normal guy.  Where are all the normal guys?!

My life has turned into various and oddly placed episodes of blog material.