Friday, June 10, 2011

The Professor.

The Professor does not believe in monogamous relationships. The Professor likens sex to sports, and approaches it with the spirit of play. He's good with his hands, the Professor - must be all of the athletics he engages in. The Professor likes to send emails. The Professor also likes it when I greet him at the door wearing a dress, high heels and nothing else.

The Professor was in a particularly sporting mood this afternoon, and asked at 11:06 if I felt like a game or two. I said regretfully that I would, but that I had a lunch meeting at 12:00 p.m. No problem, said the Professor. He could be in and out (pun intended, I suppose) by then.

The Professor is always a man of his word. 25 minutes and several orgasms later, I had time to put my disheveled self back together for my meeting. As the Professor said when he kissed me goodbye, "It's a fine way to spend a Friday afternoon." And how.

To the Moon!

A few nights ago I was sitting drinking wine and having girly chat with my friend C. when I remarked, "Seriously, online dating is for suckers. Where are all the fun people?" C., who is a newlywed, immediately jumped up, grabbed her laptop, and signed me up for OKCupid, which I had never heard of, but is extremely fun - it matches you to people based to your answers to a number of personality test-type questions. It's free. And there are a lot of fun people on there. Yay! A new pool of fish! I immediately got to work identifying potential prey. Um, I mean dates.

One of my targets was a guy who had posted adorable pictures of him painting canvases in a park, with children. He's a painter and multimedia artist. Although OKCupid warned me that based on my personality type, I should stay away from artist-types, I can't say I've ever dated anyone who was not one, so I chose to ignore this advice and contacted him anyway. Within an hour he had contacted me, asked for my number, and called me. We had a nice but short chat, and he asked if I wanted to get together for coffee at some point. I said sure, and he came downtown to meet me last night.

First impressions? He was cute, in a teddy bear sort of way. On the phone he had talked very quickly, and - well, alot - but I chalked this up to nervousness as he didn't ramble as much when I met him in person, although he was still very talkative, but then, so am I. Kind hearted. Intelligent. Animal lover (important, what with Rain City Kitty and all). A good listener as well as a good, if intense, conversationalist. We talked about politics, religion, past relationships - typical first-coffee type questions, but on amphetamines. But then the conversation drifted to a topic that I must say, made me raise my eyebrows. You see, our friend - who I shall call Rocket Man - well - he wants to build a satellite. A satellite devoted to art. And send it off to other galaxies. Yes, an intergalactic art satellite, to share our culture with the universe. He's got a website, a business plan, and he's seeking investors.

It's crazy. It's kooky. And he is so serious about making it happen.

I don't know what to think. I kind of wanted to laugh hysterically - but also, isn't it kind of charming that he is able to dream so big? I mean, he knows it's crazy. He seems to have some self-awareness as to how ridiculous some of his projects sound, and he's OK with that.

Anyway, we ended the date by me playing Rocket Man some of my very rough musical demos. He was so complimentary, and excited by what he heard, which was delightful.

And then? He comes back an hour later to tell me he's pulled in a favour from a friend, and he's booked me to go into the studio next month to record a demo. That he's looking into a venue to shoot a video for my demo. That he really believes in my music, and that I can make a career happen.

What?

I have never had anyone react that way to my singing. I mean, people enjoy it, but to be that confident that it must be heard? Wow. I remarked to my friend, the Scribe, later, "He's either crazy, brilliant, or really wants to get in my pants." (Scribe helpfully noted that these three things are not necessarily mutually exclusive). But - Rocket Man didn't just talk in lovely platitudes - he made it happen. And expected nothing in return (well - so far he has expected nothing in return). I'm - amazed. He's still crazy and kooky, and reaching for possibly unattainable heights, but he just might be able to get us to the Moon...





Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Since When Do Boys Have All The Issues?

So this guy contacted me through Match. Very good looking, well groomed, a banker. He contacted me a couple of times, actually, he was persistent when I didn't immediately reply. Eventually I did reply, and he asked if he could take me to dinner. We chatted back and forth, he sent me his number, I texted him mine. He's away on business this week, and so I texted him on Sunday night to say I hoped his week went well. He replied, said thanks, hoped I would have a good week, too. That he would get in touch when he got back. Fine, casual. What you expect when you're talking to someone you haven't even met yet.

So, this morning at 8:30, I get a text:

I should be straight up with you. I'm not looking for a deep, meaningful relationship. Just fun. :) Sorry if I misled you.

I didn't know *what* to reply. Since when does having dinner together signify an interest in a deep, meaningful relationship? Finally, I said this:

I don't feel misled. But you did pursue ME.

Him:

Yes, I did.

Me:

So, yeah. I don't feel misled. I feel like you don't know what you want, or from who. That's all. If you got a better offer, that's fine.

Him:

A better offer? No, I want to have fun with you, period. I'm tired of dealing with dating...I want you.

Me:

Who said we're dating? No labels, period. If you want to have fun, let's have fun. But "not dating" does not mean you don't have to be a gentleman, or that you're allowed to treat me like crap.

Him:

Sounds like a plan. I will treat you wonderfully. I hope you will let me prove this to you.

The more I think about it, the more I don't know if I should even meet Butch Banker. Dude sounds like he has some issues - he did mention that he was seeing someone but that it ended recently. Maybe that's too close for comfort? It's one thing to be what one of my guy friends crudely called "DTF" - "down to fuck" - but as that same guy friend said, you reveal that you're only DTF, well, after you've "F'ed" - not before. And why do we have to put a label on what's going on before we've even MET?! It sounds like Butch has been doing some girly-type obsessing.

I asked the Cousin for her opinion. She said, "Methinks he doesn't know what the fuck he wants. He doesn't even know you. He wants the idea of you. But you need more."

True. But it might be fun (or at least blogworthy?!) to find out just how bad Butch's case of the crazies, is, non?