Monthly Archives: February 2014


Red Zone

Let me begin by saying I am a petite woman with a small frame. There’s no polite way of saying this, so … I also have big boobs. Real, REALLY BIG, boobs. Because I don’t appreciate the stares or comments, over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to wearing jackets and other items to hide my dimensions. But I’m over 40, so I’ve had them a while, and I forget about them. For the most part, my friends and family forget about them too. Now that I am dating again, especially dating people from two online dating sites, I am reminded of the boobs a bit more than I like.

First, there are the initial messages:

“Wow!  I like your photos, especially the one that shows off your curves.”  Delete.

“I like curvy athletic women. We should get together.” Delete.

“u r hot. I like the way the purple shirt looks on you.” Yeah…the purple cardigan apparently shows off my curves.  Delete.  I removed that photo too.

“Your body looks lovely. Are they real?” Delete.

“Nice boobs.” Delete.

There appears to be no real difference between the comments from those on Match or OkCupid, so the paid site doesn’t weed out the rude.

Most dates have not been boob-dazzled (the act of being so completely blinded by boobs that one cannot look away often enough for polite conversation or mind one’s manners and not make personal remarks about another person’s anatomy), but those who have, do so with gusto.

Dave 1 is an educated man; he holds an engineering management position at one of the local shipyards, so he knows how to “act.” During our meet and greet, he did a valiant effort to keep his eyes up as we chatted. My black jacket over a cardigan-style top probably helped too. As we chatted, his eyes bounced down, then rapidly back up to my face. I kept wondering which shirt I had worn, and how much cleavage was showing. I excused myself to the bathroom to find I had a v-neck shirt on. On most women, very bland… on me… not slut-wear, but definitely a distraction if one is boob-dazzled.  Delete Dave 1. 

Dave 2, another engineer, stared into my eyes during each of the questions he posed while we completed our Starbucks meet and greet. Yet, every time I took a sip of tea, looked out the window, or turned to see what the people around me were doing, I caught him starring slack jawed at my boobs. I excused myself early. Sigh… Delete Dave 2.

Justin stood to greet me when I walked into Starbucks. He looked like his photos: tall, brown hair, greying at the temples, brown eyes, and a tightly trimmed beard. His jacket was draped on the back of a chair, and his t-shirt showed that he worked out regularly as claimed. I could see the bottom of some sort of tattoo peaking from beneath the hem of his sleeve; his profile mentioned one medium-sized tattoo.  Now I knew where it was.

As he recognized me, I guess I also looked like my photos. He helped me out of my jacket while saying, “You are tiny.” I never know how to respond to that type of comment; I did my usual and said nothing. He already had a coffee, so I walked up to order. On my return to the table, he didn’t stare, but he looked, long and hard. It was so blatant that I almost laughed. He recovered to hold my chair and carry the conversation as I wondered how long I’d stay before bolting. As he chatted, and his eyes remained off the boobs, I learned about his job and children; he learned about mine. We both lift weights, so we chatted about workouts for a while. Both of us had been on the dating site for only a few weeks, so we traded some dating horror stories. When It was time to leave, I was glad that I had stayed; he seemed like a fun guy who liked a lot of the same activities as I. He walked me to my car, and asked if we could do a second date. I agreed.

Justin took me to dinner at Wicker’s Crab Pot. He wanted seafood, and the restaurant was my suggestion. We sat side-by-side to accommodate sharing a Steam Pot, and we chatted easily. I learned that he had been enlisted Navy, but had earned a degree to become a Naval Officer about 15 years before he retired. He learned about my career. After our meal, he again helped me with my coat and walked me out to my car. Once there, he leaned in for a kiss; tentative at first, he then applied more pressure and raised one hand to cup my neck… and the other cupped my right boob. Seriously??? In a parking lot? On a first date?!!!! As I moved his hand away, he said, “They’re real?!?!!” ……Sigh…. Delete Justin.

Brian also made it past the meet and greet. We met for dinner at Sakura. His blue eyes remained on mine throughout our conversation. I like sushi and shashimi; he likes sushi and shashimi. When the waitress offered a sea urchin special, he agreed to try it. I like people who are willing to try new things. Using chopsticks with reasonable skill, we both traded the  rolls, trying everything from our plates. Our conversation flowed smoothly from concerts we’d seen, to growing up in northern climates, to our jobs and children. It was obvious we were both having a good time. He brushed my attempts to pay aside with, “My mama raised me to be a gentleman who pays for a lady.” He walked me to my car, leaned in for a hug, and bussed my cheek. Nicely done, I thought… And then, as his blue eyes, which had been gazing into mine, dropped, “I just have to ask; are those real?” NO you didn’t HAVE to ask. I responsed, “Excuse me?!!” as I opened my car door and slipped inside. I’m glad he had only my Google number. Brian, whose mama raised him to be a gentleman while paying for ladies, clearly forgot a thing or two gentlemen do not do. Delete and block Brian.


Sweet and not so Sweet Unexpected Valentines

Red Zone

Last week, I was surprised by two dates, one on Friday, and the second on Saturday. The surprises weren’t the dates themselves, but the unexpected Valentine’s themes. Who knew people started celebrating a week out? Not I, that is for certain.

On Friday night, Bradley was taking me to a dinner dance. I like dinner; I like dancing. What could go wrong?

“Wrong” started early the week preceding the date. Innumerable texts asked:

What are you doing?

I see you are online, want to chat?

Do you like college football? Would you like to go to a game? As even I knew football season was long past, he was planning for the following season!

Would you be more likely to enjoy a Broadway play when one comes to town? Have you seen The Lion King?

I get it; I really did. He was interested, and he seemed sincere, so I tried to be patient, but eventually, I resorted to yes or no responses, or I totally ignored replying.

The constant barrage of texts and messages had moved him from Bradley to Boring Bradley. After the fifteenth text in one morning, I finally told him to stop texting so I could get some work done. By the time I sent that text, I was already peeved, so I tried to cancel the date. Boring Bradley had already purchased the tickets and couldn’t find a substitute in less than a week. I felt obligated, so I agreed to go. At that point, I had met Boring Bradley twice, yet he offered to pick me up…a 30+ minute drive to my house, and a 30+ minute drive back. I nixed that. Boring Bradley then sent his address, and offered a glass or two of wine … pre gaming, so to speak. Let me repeat, I had met this guy twice! I declined. I agreed to meet Bradley at the venue and he provided an address. He didn’t let me in on the fact that the site was a church. Once my GPS guided me to a Catholic church one city away, I dilly-dallied about going in. Once again, guilt overruled my instincts, and I walked into the Catholic church. I texted Boring Bradley, “I’m here.”

At the check-in, I was offered a red or white carnation. I still didn’t put the flowers and Valentine’s Day together, but once I passed the check-in area and walked into a church hall festooned in red and white flowers, table cloths, and steamers, it clicked. A quick glance around the room showed a jumble of red-clad people standing and sitting around the room. I wore black. Perhaps I was wearing the right color for a surprise Valentine’s date.

On Saturday, I met a very nice man at a local seafood restaurant for a second date. After the Valentine’s Dinner Dance, I was more prepared when he met me in the bar with a rose. Instead of saying, no thank you, I thanked him and awkwardly juggled the cellophane wrapped pink rose, my winter jacket gloves, hat, and scarf as I wondered what to do with the damn flower as we waited for our table. I’ll give it to jlb216, he immediately gathered my coat and accessories and held them graciously; that didn’t relieve the social awkwardness of standing in a crowded waiting area filled with families holding a pink rose. Dinner was lovely; it always is at Lynnhaven Fish House. The conversation led us to the reason for his ability to escape marriage. His response deserves a story of its own on another day.

And then there’s the guy who, on a Starbucks meet and greet  brought me this because he “thought of me while visiting his brother!”  Oh dear heavens.

heart and hands


Even though online dating is all the rage, literally, right now, Steel Blue still believes the best way to meet new people is through friends. You already know you have a common interest or three if you share a friend. Plus, you know your prospective date has at least one friend, but that’s a blog for another day. After a particularly good run to benefit the Mariner’s Museum, I dropped my lifelong friend off at her house. Her boyfriend was changing a flat tire in the driveway. Now that’s a good man. His friend’s van was blocking the driveway because he had all the tools for the job. Another good man. We share a beer and go on about our day. See, that’s one of the coolest things about running charity races; it is legal to drink at 10 am. The friend with the van full of tools is interested in Steel Blue. Who knew I could be sexy in running clothes? I guess it was the pirate shirt.  He calls later in the week (friend note: she asked before she gave him my number) and drawls about how he really needs a teacher to help with some classes he’s taking to get ahead in his work. He specializes in concrete but really does everything, and he stresses the everything. Well nothing excites me like a challenge, so I figure I can take this. It takes us three weeks to arrange a date that works for both of us, and the phone conversations are interesting. He is quite the storyteller! He jetsets up and down the east coast in his self-proclaimed “rat van” doing work from Chicago to Florida.  The most interesting one is about a job in the Keys redoing outdoor plumbing on a house near the beach, duh it’s in the keys, and swarming with mosquitos. Not an outhouse West Virginians, but the piping all runs outside the house. See near the coast, we cannot have basements or crawl spaces under our homes. So some rocket scientist in Florida ran the plumbing outside of the house instead of in the concrete foundation. Things that make you go hmmmmm.  The other enticement is he loves sushi, and Steel Blue thinks sushi is the bomb of the food pyramid. One should eat it everyday as it includes all of the food groups, and raw food still has all of its nutrition. Finally, a Thursday night works out, and we get to meet face to face. He’s a confirmed surfer, slouching in his seat, but he cleans up well in a new dress shirt and well-worn jeans. Pay attention to the shoes ladies. Tennis shoes are for runners, not for dates. His docksiders are new and definitely fit the Florida Keys stories. The sushi is fabulous, and his stories are entertaining which warrants a second date.


Steel Blue is always searching for the best fish taco. So much of my traveling would be tax-deductible if I was a restaurant critic. When Concrete guy suggests Taco Loco, my curiosity is piqued. There’s one place I have not sampled the fish tacos. Now that I am more comfortable with him, I offer to let him pick me up at my house. Not so my friend. His only vehicle is the “rat van”, and I am not permitted to ride in it. I’ve always wondered why that question is on the online profile, do you have a vehicle? Of course, concrete would answer yes. But is that really true? In the spirit of the question, I think it’s asking if you have a vehicle for dating. Aren’t all the questions asking about dating and relationships? I mean my longest relationship with a man was 30 years. When my gynecologist retired, I was heart-broken. But I don’t put on my profile that my longest relationship was 30+ years. In the spirit of the question, that may be construed as a lie as a 30+ year relationship with one’s ob-gyn is probably not what the question is asking. Red flag #1: he cannot pick me up in his vehicle. He can’t even borrow one for the evening to give me a good first impression. Either he does not care about the impression this makes for a man or he doesn’t think I warrant the extra effort. I’ve heard hours of stories of his capers from Ohio to Georgia, so I figure tonight he will ask some questions about me; afterall, I have a vehicle for dating. Not so my friend. Fish tacos are sensuously tasteful, but he regales me for two more hours with his stories. Red flag #2: he should want to know something about me besides how I walk in these shoes. 

Snow Delay

Red Zone

Living in Virginia Beach means that we have snow days even when snow is imminent, not actually falling. I remember more than one snow day in which we had NO SNOW at all.

This winter is different. Since Christmas, we have had snow twice–real white stuff on the ground, we can make tiny snowmen with this SNOW.

Snow Country Guy and I had been chatting for about two weeks. He had suggested dinner, not my favorite activity for meeting guys from online dating sites, but we agreed on a restaurant: Todd Jurich’s Bistro in Norfolk. I love the food at Todd Jurich’s, so that would not be an issue, and at about 10 minutes from my home, the only inconvenience would be my change from gym rat to date attire.

We exchanged daily texts. I learned he was retired Navy and was now working as a construction supervisor on a big building project in Portsmouth. He traveled to supervise two other sites, and he could build or fix anything. A running joke among my friends is that in our twenties we should have found a man who could build cabinets instead of the hot guy who could play a guitar or the buff guy who loved to tan. Snow Country Guy’s profile photo showed a dark haired bearded man with a big grin. I had listed being fit as not an option in my profile requirements. His first email asked whether I meant working out or working fit.  I wouldn’t discriminate between the two. Either was fine. He owned at least one suit; one photo showed him looking very debonair  in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and blue tie. Snow Country Guy wasn’t adverse to dressing up. He was looking and sounding good.

The weekend came and with it predictions of snow for the upcoming week. As a recent transplant to the area, Snow Country Guy scoffed at the potential snow. Monday arrived with temperatures in the mid-60s. Although the forecasters called for 6” to 14” of fluffy white stuff, Snow Country Guy and I both predicted little snow. He couldn’t believe the temperature would change so quickly or that blue skies would turn to clouds. I know how unpredictable the weather can be in Tidewater, but even I didn’t expect a quick change. Besides, forecasters seem to be in the business of sensationalizing the weather instead of preparing the audience. I had been fooled far too often with hopes of a snow day. A four o’clock grocery visit changed my mind. I walked into the grocery store, shopped for a half hour, and walked outside to temperatures 20 degrees colder and a strong wind. A complete dark grey blanket of clouds covered what had been for the most part blue skies on my arrival at the store.

Tuesday, I worked but everything was set to close at two. Snow was imminent. The snow didn’t start until late afternoon, but it kept coming down all evening and most of the night. I awoke on Wednesday to about a one foot covering! Surprise! I knew the roads would not be clear for days as the daytime highs hovered near 20 degrees.

About noon, Snow Country Guy called to chat about the snow, and how poorly the local drivers moved through it. His truck easily passed people. I reminded him that most area residents have no snow tires, and our snow removal system was not really a system… it’s more a patchwork with support drawn from other areas for really bad storms such as this. Southern cities aren’t equipped for snowstorms. Interstates and main thoroughfares receive attention, but all side and back roads remain covered in snow…which later changes to ice as vehicles packed the snow into sheets.

I told Snow Country Guy we needed to reschedule. He pooh-poohed the idea. I insisted. My road was a sheet of ice, and the temperatures were going to drop to single-digits that evening. There was no need for me to risk that for a dinner we could share the following week. He offered to pick me up. I declined.  I also commented that many area restaurants were closed. I declined. He told me what a nice guy he was. Welllll duh. What else would he say? I still declined his offer. I asked what advice he’d give his daughter or sister. He told me I’d laugh about this once I got to know him and realized he was not a scary man. I agreed.

snow day

He hasn’t texted or called since.