Are You Going to Scarby Doo Diddily Zip Bottom Doo Dah Faire?

Last night, I went on a double date to the Italian restaurant, Massimiliano's on the downtown plaza. My date was the same girl from a previous entry. We were accompanied by Jerry and Tabitha Scanlan.

The Scanlans arrived at my house first, then we convoyed over to Anonymous' house. Jerry jumped out of his car, as soon as we got there, and was the first person to the door. I think he forgot it was my date we were there to meet. The marrieds claimed the porch while I stood down on the grass. They greeted Anonymous, when she answered the door, and I hovered in the background.

The restaurant was a bit cold on the inside. Everybody was shivering. The wait staff did their best, but you could tell this was a new establishment. The people there are just now earning their sea legs. For one thing, they kept trying to refill Jerry's glass of Sprite with water. One time they succeeded. It might have been confusing, though, because Jerry drinks his Sprite strawless and Tabitha drinks her water through a straw.

My friend, Misti, who works there, was kind enough to give us coupons for two free meals (out of four). Paying less is always good. I smiled big at Misti!

My date was so quiet and introverted that, when she went away to the restroom, I told Tabitha, "There isn't much chemistry between Anonymous and me."

Tabitha replied, "There isn't much chemistry between Anonymous and anybody. What you're seeing tonight is how she is all the time."

When Anonymous returned from the restroom, I wondered if she would bring her personality back with her. But she didn't.

Oh well.

But today ...

Anonymous and I went to Scarborough Faire, and we had a pretty goshdarn good time. On the way there, she asked me if I minded if she put in a CD of soft folk music which (based on the new Colin Hay CD I had in the player from the night before) was something she thought I might like. No sooner did she insert the disc, though, than Joe Walsh's loud & noisy "Funk #49" came blasting out of the speakers! Apparently, she had mismatched the covers and the discs. That was fine with me. Mr. Walsh's best-of made a fun soundtrack for our journey to Waxahachie, especially "Life's Been Good" (which I hadn't heard in a thousand years). I was a little worried when Anonymous started to describe the song as having "a good attitude about life". Actually, it is both a celebration and a lampoon of the wild lifestyles of rock stars circa 1970-1980. Oh well, not everybody can be a critic. Besides, art is subjective ... and that's a proven fact!

There were still lulls in the conversation where a more talkative individual might have taken over a bit, but it was fun to get to be the visible, outgoing one in the equation.

One of my favorite things about Scarborough Faire is the way it smells! The food courts and all those candle and incense shoppes whip up a heavenly aroma that permeates the entire countryside. There are animal smells and people smells, smokey smells and fruity smells. Heck, I even like the shitty odors wafting out from the privvies! (I mean the way they blend with everything else to create a mishmash of nasal stimulation.)

I always love the anonymity of a festival. Especially when you can move through the crowd, watching and being watched. It's very fun when you feel confident and attractive. But it's hell when you don't. Luckily, today I did.

Anonymous and I had fun. She was more talkative in this active atmosphere. I bought a new walking staff, a commemorative mug (I collect these), a magic wand, and a couple of nifty prints to put in my study. She ate a turkey leg, drank mead, bought various candles & accessories, and got some prints of her own. I nibbled her leg (her turkey leg, that is) and had some water. We had humorous encounters with the performers and Faire employees. One of the lads handed her a whip and told her to go to work on me (which she did, in a very light way). I half-heartedly said, "I'm such a naughty boy". The Scarbie told us he had owned that whip for years and it had seen a lot of action.

Basically, it was a good time.

We returned to Dallas and had dinner at Steak and Ale. Things got quiet again. I took her home. It was alright. At least I am out there dating again. It certainly felt good to go somewhere with a woman who actually seems to like me.

Afterwards, I came home and worked out. It felt good. More endorphins.

Then it was time to start blogging...

I Don't Want to Be Mean

Yesterday at work, some of the guys were talking about women. I was complaining that I just seem to be too nice of a guy and that I seem to turn every woman I am interested in into to just another friend. And whenever I try for anything more, it turns into a disaster. It's as if I don't have the right to want anything more from women than friendship. It's as if other men have more rights than I do. It's like there's this private party where the guys and gals get together, and whenever I try to join in, the bouncers throw me out. I don't understand it. I am not a bad looking guy. I've got a great physique (most of the time) and boyish good looks. I am funny and smart and I treat women with respect (except for a few lapses into adolescent behavior). I've got a house, a car, a job. I don't write bad checks or spend any time in jail. I've got lots of interests and plenty of friends (many of whom are women).

So what's the deal? Why can't I ever get it together with the girls I like. Why do I always have to settle for someone who I am not particularly interested in? Why do I end up being totally isolated from the women who mean the most to me? Even shunned and despised!

The guys at work were saying that, in order to win women over, you have to be a jerk. You have to be aloof. You have to be indifferent and act like you don't care if the live or die, smile or cry, come, stay, lay, or pray. They said you can start being nice to them once you're married, but until then ... be an asshole. They told me that, secretly, women love it when you treat them like crap. "It works," they said. "I know it sounds crazy, but it works."

I felt like I was back in high school.

The fact is, I just want to be me. I don't want to play games. I don't want to have to act like an ass to get someone to like me. That doesn't seem very healthy to me. I want to like someone for who she is, I want her to like me for who I am, and I don't think I would respect a woman who likes to be treated badly. We're all human and imperfect, as it is, so why should we compound the problem and confound the relationship by purposely acting like an ass? Every relationship is, inevitably, headed for trouble anyway, so why add fuel to the fire with games and deception?

I told the guys as much and they said, "Enjoy your celibacy."

What is wrong with women? How can anyone be so stupid as to be attracted to indifference and abuse? Isn't it smarter to like someone who is pleased to know you and enjoys your company? Is there some secret agenda I don't know about? Are so-called nice guys really monsters in disguise? Are the alleged bad-boys really hiding a sensitive side that every woman wants to cultivate? And why is it that the only women who go for me are the ones I am not particularly excited about?

Maybe that's how a lot of women feel, too. They don't want to just settle for some guy just because he likes her. They like the challenge of winning over someone who is harder to get. In which case, the smart thing to do (for anybody) is to play it cool with the ones that catch your eye.

So maybe I should take my co-workers' advice and start treating the women I like the way I treat the ones I don't like. With indifference. Maybe it really is all just an act. A game. And I can't just be myself. I have to play-act and toy with people like a bastard tease. Maybe it's true that men and women can never really have a genuine connection, because everything that goes on between us is just games and bullshit.

I hate games and bullshit.

So, if that's how it is ... I QUIT!

If that's how it is, then to hell with love and romance and sex and relationships. If that's how it is, then I have to say: I not only hate games and bullshit ... I hate women, too.

End of story.

Familiar Stranger

Tonight I ran on the Chisolm Trail for the first time in over a month. I was rusty and didn't go more than a few miles. Still, it felt so good to be out there doing it again. There were fireflies galore and masses of noisy frogs and insects down by the water. I also worked out (yesterday and today); very light to get started again. By the time HP7 rolls around, I should be back in good form.

My date this weekend was very nice. We went to Jorg's cafe in downtown Plano. It's an Austrian-style tavern with lots of weiners, sauer kraut, and beer. The place had strange looking coasters. They bore an extra hole in the middle of smaller circle which grew out of the main body of the coaster. We conjectured forever about what the purpose of the extra hole might be. Finally we asked our waiter, who didn't know either, and had to ask the owner; Jorg, himself. According to Jorg, Austrians like to have a shot of Schnapps with their beverage, ergo the extra hole in which to place the shot glass.

Afterwards, we walked around the square for a while (amidst brick roads and quaint store fronts). One of them was a dark, tinted door concealing some sort of dank looking video game arcade. It was very out of place; kind of eerie, actually. I peered in, out of curiousity, and thought I saw ... well ... an old acquaintace. Not important. We hurried away. I didn't mention it to my date.

However, as we journeyed further on, window shopping, we came to a newly opened Italian restaurant with a fancy Italian name: Massimiliano's. (Personally, I think they should give it a catchier moniker, but what do I know?) Looking in, I saw (definitely saw) an old friend of mine named Misty. It's a small world. I went in, her jaw dropped, we ran to each other, and we hugged. She showed us all around the place, the grand tour. It was very nice. Two stories. Outdoor seating on a balcony. Rooms for private parties. A bar (with it's liquor license pending). I'm thinking this place will be swinging by midsummer. I intend to return. Maybe with the same company as before.

My date is a very nice girl. She trains dogs, and can make them do all kinds of tricks. They jump through hoops, weave through obstacle courses, run races, and play on see-saws. Pretty amazing, really. Maybe she could train Rerun to do tricks. She also runs a music studio where she teaches guitar lessons. Sometimes she plays in local shows (down in the pit), and even played guitar for a production of The Who's Tommy. She has played for Rocky Horror, Grease, and various other musicals.

After we left Massimiliano's we heard a very loud (and likely drunk) band performing at Kelly's (the bar across the street). Their guitarist was playing a lot of sour notes and really destroying Eric Clapton's normally lyrical "Beautiful Tonight". We both winced. It was awful!

I am debating when I should call her back. There's no hurry, but I don't want to wait too long. Maybe I can set up a date at Massimiliano's. And we both look forward to Pirate's Day at Scarborough Faire ... with the Scanlans and the Raineys.

I am also debating whether I should sow my wild oats, or stick to one girl.
Hmmm. Lots to consider. Maybe I think too much.

P.S. Tomorrow I will deposit a big fat settlement cheque in my bank account!

Lean and Hungry

Well ... one thing is for sure: my appetite has returned with a vengeance. It had gone away for a while, presumably to avoid the misery it would have had to share with poor, poor pitiful me. But now the long trail of conquered and devoured fish platters, burgers, fries, burritos, bagels, and various forms of chocolate are testament to a most reassuring development to this weird, nearly uncontrollable force to which I am harnessed for the rest of my life; a dark and fearsome power known as El Benchenzo. The sane, rational guy who is writing this blog entry is sometimes merely an equestrian daredevil of sorts, riding the emotional equvialent of a bucking bronco.

In other words, it's good to be eating like a horse again.

Tonight, at Aunt Sally's, I made like Jaws at a beach resort, gobbling down a massive helping of fries and two cheeseburgers. These weren't your average burgers, either. They were loaded down with all manner of hobbity goodness; like onions and mushrooms and pickles and lettuce and tomatoes and swiss cheese. I was too full, afterwards, for apple pie, but I brought some home for later.

I have recently learned that the best way to get an insurance company to pay attention is to use words like "lawyer" and "bad faith" in the same sentence. I got a sizeable settlement from the bloodsuckers. I deserve it.

Here's an interesting factoid: what was my first thought as the Le Saber was broadsided? I had been about to say something which I (at least) thought was really funny to Susanna (my passenger), and I was very pleased, because this was going to make her laugh. Then, of course, BOOM - out of nowhere! - and the first thought that crossed my mind, as the cars were spinning and smashing together again, was : "Fucker ruined my joke!" Now I can't, for the life of me, remember what I was going to say.

Dani (the trannie) called me tonight. She, quite randomly, wanted to know if I thought quadruple amputees could still do it doggie style. I mentioned something about miniature dachsens, and how one might draw a comparison. Dani assures me that she isn't planning to have any of her limbs removed. I am relieved. She lives in Denton, with her girlfriend, right next to the Old Opera House bookstore. This means whenever I go up to visit, we can walk over there (half-a-minute away on foot) and escape into the many corridors and antechambers full of old books. Yippeee!!!

I'll finish my Flying Pig review, soon.