Monthly Archives: November 2014

Kiss and Tell

Red Zone

Ok the faint-hearted, squeamish, my son’s friends, and my nieces and nephews following this blog might want to skip this story. I don’t usually announce the story line… I prefer it to unfold, but if you don’t want to read an in-depth discussion of kissing, YES KISSING, not other dalliances, do not read any further.

Earlier the summer, gav309 sent the following message on OKCupid: “Hi, I loved your profile. You are funny and straightforward. I am in the military and just moved to Fort Eustis. I’d be interested in meeting if you don’t mind the distance. I could come to you; there isn’t much to do here in Fort Eustis.”

I read his name. I am getting wiser; after almost a year, I’ve learned. Luverboy4U, MeDanEatYouUp, PortlandGoodtime, FiftyShadesofUS, Ballbuster69, Tongue2Travl, and others have made me PAY ATTENTION (and yes, those are all real profile names… there are many worse; I couldn’t make this stuff up)!  His name, gav309, gave nothing away… or at least sent no red flags. I clicked on his name, listed above his message and next to his tiny, cropped photo to lead me to his full profile.

Once there, I checked his vitals: looks first. As I recently mentioned, I am not totally shallow, but looks are important to me. Check. Cute, dark haired, and tanned. NICE smile. 😀 Height: Check. At 6’3”, he was at the top of my comfort zone. Education: Check: Masters. Occupation: Army Officer. OK. With my initial screening done, I proceeded to read his profile. Why waste time if he didn’t fit my criteria, right? I liked what I read, so I returned to the messages and sent a reply. After several exchanges, I was intrigued. In fact, his humor enthralled me. I looked forward to reading his messages for the content as well as the dating potential.

I Googled him using the last name he provided to find his Facebook page, Linked-In profile, and official U.S. Army page. Based on the name, I predicted Italian descent. In the month that it took us to align our schedules, we exchanged multiple messages every day, and then about a week after his arrival, I met him at a Starbucks half way between he and I, but also near my sister’s. I arrived first, and sat at a stool in front of the window facing the parking lot sipping tea and playing Words With Friends. A Jeep pulled up; I always notice those because my son owns one. A tall, tanned, dark-haired man got out. Broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and long Levi-clad legs indicated a fit man. He walked in, immediately spotted me, and walked up to give me a chaste one-armed hug that didn’t feel intrusive for a first meeting.

His photo did not do him justice; this man was handsome. The first hints of grey were speckling his dark, closely-cropped hair. Fine lines could be seen across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes, but other than that, his face and body belied his 49 years. He was an animated talker, moving his hands to gesture and enhance his stories… and that’s another check. I like a man who can tell stories. He didn’t monopolize the conversation though. He paused between stories to collect some of mine. I didn’t share the dating stories…not immediately.  I usually prefer blue eyes, but his brown eyes ringed with dark, thick lashes were warm and friendly, drawing me. We were really hitting it off, but I had to go to my sister’s, and we agreed to meet again. He texted to arrange the next date before I even arrived there. He was interested too. Score!

Our first “real” date occurred the following weekend. We met at Manhattan’s, again about half way between the two of us. We sipped beer, listened to the band, and he even danced a song or two… the slow ones of course. I reminded myself that I can’t have everything, and not liking to dance could not be a criteria to immediately count him out. At the end of the evening, he walked me to my car and gave me his first…well… and second and third parsimonious kisses. Tight lips and little smooches were bestowed on me as he semi-crouched to hug his arms around me. Awkward! I was wearing heels to counteract the height difference, but clearly, they weren’t tall enough for his comfort zone.

Because we can all be nervous about first kisses, I didn’t immediately kick him off my dating list. Our next date was a few days later when he joined me to play trivia. He fit in well with my friends, and though we lost, we had a good time. My friends thought he was nice and let me know their opinions (they do that whether I want them to or not). Kiss test take two occurred as he walked me to my car. He just stopped mid-parking lot, turned to me and said, “You look so beautiful,” and he bent to kiss me. I’d worn my green 5” platform shoes, so I’d evened up the playing field a bit. Again, parsimonious, tight lipped kisses with the tip of his tongue just barely darting to my lips. Huh?

Ok… queasy part ahead.

I like kissing. A LOT, so these kisses weren’t going to cut it. It didn’t help that my ex kissed like that… until the end of our relationship (note I didn’t say the end of our marriage) when he told me he liked wet kisses (after 17 years of marriage and about 3 dating, he decided to share this information….yeah… I know. Looking back, I get it: he was cheating, or at least kissing someone  else)… and by wet, he meant slobbery, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand icky. So family members, you can see why I said not to read.

In contrast, MJ and Beautiful Man are two of the best kissers I’ve ever encountered. I’ll never forget MJ’s first kiss because he startled me by thrusting his long tongue seductively into my mouth. I expected a little tongue play, but WOW!!! the first time was quite a surprise. Even now, his kisses sometimes startle me. MJ’s kisses always start with a tilt of his head and a full on gaze into my eyes as he slowly moves toward my lips. Once he makes his initial move, he pulls back to explore my tongue and sometimes even my teeth. His kisses while wet, are not sloppy. Sloppy is gross. His facial hair also tantalizes the surrounding skin. When we first met, he tried to call me hon or baby. I called him on it. In situations involving the intimacy of excellent kissing, those are terms for people whose names we forget. I told him I didn’t want to kiss someone who couldn’t remember my name, so he still whispers it as we kiss (very trainable). His kissing starts gently, and becomes increasingly intense as he firmly holds my head in place, strokes my hair, and oh so slowly moves his mouth across my cheek and down my neck. “Ummmmmmmmm Yummy,” he proclaims as returns to meet my gaze with a gleam in his baby blues. Yep. Excellent kisses.

Beautiful Man has a presence that soothes me to the core, and I don’t call him Beautiful Man for nothing. Blue-eyed, tall, fit, and very comfortable in his skin, he’s a man’s man who can fix anything. His hands are large and gentle but scarred and callused from work and foolish youthful behavior. This man is FIIIIIIIIIINE. I cannot remember our first kiss, but it occurred before he grew a moustache. I was away at a conference when he grew it and sent me a photo. At first glance, I didn’t like it; however, I remember the first kiss with it. Whew! I liked the moustache so much I insisted he keep it. Beautiful Man’s kisses are less invasive than MJ’s, but far more erotic. They are also neither sloppy or parsimonious. Although, our kisses begin with light lip touching, and his facial hair awakening the many sensory receptors surrounding my mouth, they quickly change to him lightly drawing my lower lip into his mouth, where he teases his tongue back and forth over it. From there he moves his lower lip up and down mine causing that weak-kneed feeling I never believed in. Gentle probings with a flattened tongue follow. He doesn’t need to be overly aggressive; he’s a big man, so he’s quite gentle, using his hands to cup my face, stroke my hair, and then trace my lips, jawline, and eyebrows with his fingers. He stares into my eyes as he kisses me inviting me to see how much he cares. Again, excellent kisses.

So, while gav309 looked like he fit the bill, it just wasn’t going to work. His tight-lipped kisses might appeal to some but not to me. I guess I am proving myself to be even less shallow than I originally thought. Or maybe it was just the lack of facial hair as I seem to be a bit partial to that   😉   …although it’s not a deal breaker.

And I know some of you are wondering why the heck I don’t chose excellent kisser 1 or 2, and stop dating. First, it takes two people to make that kind of arrangement happen, and second, I have my reasons; suffice it to say that even excellent kisses and fabulous blue eyes cannot do all the heavy lifting relationships require. And besides, I think  I agree with the idea central to this article by Mark Manson.


Meet Up

Red Zone

On Saturday night, I wanted to see Wasted Presley at Starz Restaurant, which is really a bar close to my house, but in Virginia, all bars must be restaurants. I knew it was a dive bar. One of my neighbors plays in a band, and they play there from time to time, so I’d been in before with a group of neighbors. I’ve been a member of several Meet Ups, and so far, I hadn’t hit it off with any of the groups. In fact, I’d been pretty put off by them.

Let me digress a minute or two. I first joined a wine Meet UP and then a couple of others that sounded good. I am very extroverted, but even for me, meeting a group of strangers is intimidating. The first Meet Up I attended was a wine tasting at Total Wine. It was a complete fiasco. According to the staff person, the tasting was limited to those with “real” invitations, not the copy that I had printed from the Meet Up group. Apparently someone had received the invitation and had shared it without permission. The Total Wine staffer grilled me as to who had posted it. As this was my first Meet Up, I had no idea. I turned to leave, but was begrudgingly told to stay. I almost left, but figured I’d steeled myself join this group alone, so I wasn’t wasting my gas, time, and loin girding.

I walked to the back where a group of men and women floated around between the hor d’oeuvres and wine table and sat at long thin tables covered in white butcher-block paper. I joined the line for hor d’oeuvres and then wine. I am chatty, so I spoke to the person in front and behind me in each line… three women and a man (that’s a pretty good ratio for every MeetUp outing I’ve attended by the way; for most, the male to female ratio is lower, so if anyone is looking to date using MeetUP, the pickings for straight females are slim). Each replied, but quickly turned back to their own conversations.

One tall black lady seemed to know a lot of people, and she walked around telling them where to sit and asked where others were. I couldn’t tell if she was a Meet Up person or not, but she was pretty dictatorial in insisting on seating arrangements. I joined a table of people, not even bothering with the one seat space rule as the room was packed. Once again, I started a conversation with the people around me, and yes, I avoided making my comments with food either mid-flight to their mouths or while they were chewing. Again, I received little response. I stayed and wandered through the line again with similar results. I left feeling not like the last kid selected to play ball, but the one who wasn’t selected. As a klutz, who has never been able to track a ball until it bonks me in the head, I reallllly remember those days.

I attempted a few other MeetUps where the women pretty much shunned me while a few of the men.. the shorter, older, chubbier of the group always hit on me. The other men ignored me. I felt like a reject, so I stopped attending them. Recently, as I come near the end of this year of weekly (well more than weekly) dating, in which I found not one soul with whom I’d like to pursue a relationship… well except for EDT471… and we all know how that ended… I digress in my digression… Anyway RECENTLY, in a renewed effort to expand my social circle away from the women- centric Irish dance and knitting groups and the couple-centric camogie, and the twenty-something-centric dance scene, I’d renewed my efforts to find and join a convivial Meet Up group.

Anddddddddddd now back to my original post:  I like Wasted Presley, and I think others would too, so I posted their show as a MeetUp for Saturday night. Three women RSVPed, and I was made the event organizer by one of the group organizers. This means I received emails saying who was coming, and I would be the contact person at the “restaurant.” I was notified that one more woman would be attending and then a day or two later that two people had rescinded their RSVPs. Saturday night arrived and Steel Blue and two other friends and I headed to Starz. It is a smoking restaurant. The non-smoking area is a small glassed in room complete with table chairs and left over office furniture. It is a tight fit. The table and chairs take up most of the space in the room. Clearly non-smokers are not really welcome there. I hadn’t known or at least remembered the smoking despite my earlier visits. I probably had stopped in and left quickly, showing my face as a sign of neighborly solidarity. I wouldn’t have gone had I known about the smoking.

On Saturday night, I wore outrageously blue flowered jeans and a cobalt blue sweater; I’d shared my number on the MeetUp group, so people could find me. In that outfit, I wasn’t hard to miss. The first person to contact me did so via text. A mid-thirty-year-old black guy game up and shook our hands. He seemed perfectly nice. Then a tall thin dude from Elizabeth City joined us. Neither had RSVP’d by the way. A woman wandered over, “Red Zone?” When I answered yes, she told me the band sounded great, but she was leaving. Yeah… I wanted to as well, but there was one other MeetUp person who had RSVPed. I gave it until 10, with tall and thin borderline hitting on each of us.

Then my friends and I headed out. In the parking lot, a woman called, “Red Zone.”

“Yes.” It was the final RSVP. I told her we were leaving and where we were headed. She had no more desire to go inside than we had to return, but she opted to go to Hot Tuna with friends instead of with us.

We hit Jager’s where my introverted friend and driver lasted a solid hour before she set up her escape. She handed me off to Steel Blue for the drive home. While at Jager’s, MJ had been texting to let me know the opera was over and he wanted to catch up with us. Steel Blue and I headed to South Beach where she handed me over to him. She too had had enough for one night. MJ and I stayed and danced a bit, he in his tuxedo uniform finery, I in my brightly loud pants. I bet we looked like an odd mix.

What did I learn? While I haven’t totally given up on Meet Up yet, much like the online dating, I’m doubtful of their efficacy for me.

Wasted Presley

Texan Red Head

Red Zone

On the dating websites, I do not usually initiate first contact, but when I saw the redhead in front of the Coliseum, I sent a quick message: “One of my favorite memories is walking around the corner of Roman street one rainy day and seeing the Coliseum, in all it’s splendor, rising in the middle of traffic.” That message started a string of messages with a smart aleck Texan stationed here with the US Navy. After more than a month, he asked if perhaps we should meet. I agreed. From our conversations, I could tell he’d been burned a time or two on these meet and greets, yet he insisted on meeting for a meal vs. my usual Starbucks. He wasn’t very forward, but he could insist when he wanted to.

I agreed to meet him for Mexican food, and he made me choose the restaurant. El Taco Loco makes good fish tacos, and it isn’t far from home, so I opted for there. I arrived first and was seated at a booth with my back to the door. I don’t know why, it just happened that way. As a result, I didn’t see Redhead until his voice cued me that he was there.

“Red Zone?” in a Texas twang.

I looked up, and saw a face that could have been one of my relatives, a teenage one. OK maybe I exaggerate a little, but this guy looked young. Buff too, I quickly noticed. I realized immediately that I’d responded to his Coliseum photo, and I hadn’t reviewed his profile much to refresh my memory. I really couldn’t remember his age. Knowing my lack of interest in the very young, surely I wouldn’t have contacted someone too much younger than 40, would I?

“Yes. How old are you?” Yep. I blurted it.

We have a family laugh about one of my nieces. When she was young, we repeatedly had to remind her that every idea that popped into her head did NOT need to come out of her mouth. Wonder where she got that?

He laughed as he sat across from me in the booth. “39.”

The blurter in me followed up with, “No way.”

Now I’ve run into men who lie about their ages, but most shave years off. I wondered why this guy had added 10 years or so to his.

“Do you want to see my id?”

Instead of backing off as he expected, I extended my hand, palm up. “Yes.”

He pulled out both his military ID and driver’s license. Yup. 39. Ooops.

“Well that’s the first time I was carded to go on a date. Should I leave now?” he asked sliding to the edge of the booth.

“No. No. You look quite young, that’s all.”

Stay, he did, and then we went to BJs to do my grocery shopping which was on my list of things to do that day, and after dropping those off, we went to a movie. After the movie, he asked what I had planned for the rest of the evening. I was picking up EA for open mike night at Tapped. I texted to see if she minded Tex joining us. She didn’t. I drove to pick her up, and he moved quickly to the back seat insisting that EA take the front. After Tapped, I dropped him at his car, we hugged goodbye, exchanged additional contact information, and went our separate ways.

Since that afternoon, we have become good buddies. I invite him to family events where he fits right in. He’s frequently the second person to text me each day, and we try to catch up in person every few weeks. He talks me through the dating scene, and I do the same for him. I may not have found the love of my life via online dating, but I’ve surely found a friend.


Red Zone

“I met him at the candy store; he turned around and smiled at me. You get the picture?”

Ok… that’s not quite accurate, but the ZIIINNGGG of “turned around and smiled at me” is. I didn’t meet my latest repeat dater in an online dating site; although, I met him online. He’s one of my former students. Before you get your panties in a bunch, I met him not at my full-time job, but as an online student in an education class I teach for an online university. Worse, right?

He’s not a 20-something, though. I think I’ve made it clear how I feel about the youngsters… pretty to look at, but I am NOT interested in them. He’ll never need another class with me, as he’s mid-career Navy, seeking a second Master’s degree. He needed my course and one other to allow him to apply for programs.

He took my class sometime in the early spring. Shortly after finishing, he had training here, and before he arrived, he sent me an email using the college email system. He remembered that I lived in the area and was interested in knowing the best places to run and eat seafood. I gave him a list. He thanked me, and the emails continued while he prepared for the visit, or TDY as he called it, and after he arrived. He loved the run at First Landing Park, and asked if I had every run there. Nope…  I have only walked there.

His next request was to join him in a run on the Boardwalk as he was the only person from his training group sticking around for the following weekend. I demurred on the run, but said I’d do a fast walk with him.  He agreed, and then I dug up his class and reviewed his work: An A student. Whew!  I am not a fan of dummies. And sadly, several of the online students fail their courses… not because they can’t do, but because they don’t do their work.

I also checked his introduction. He mentioned children, three of them, but he didn’t mention a wife or significant other. In this specific class, most people do. I had the impression he was asking me “out,” but I wasn’t sure. I figured I could play it by ear. I like people, so I knew meeting a new one would be fun.

Anyway… while I was pleased on rereading his posts to see a clever mind and wit emerge, I was unsure of his looks. The tiny photo that he posted showed a light-haired man in uniform. There were no other references to help me gauge height, but the uniform didn’t appear to strain across a potbelly, so I was guessing fit. If he was asking me out vs. asking me to hang out, I had two of my requirements met: brains and humor. He also looked fit, so perhaps three. If he wasn’t asking me out, I had the pleasure of meeting a brainy humorist.

I met him at King Neptune on a bright sunny Saturday afternoon. After all the online dating I’ve done, it was odd walking up to him with only the tiny bit of information I’d gleaned from his posts and miniscule photo. Scanning the crowd in front of Neptune on that sunny day, I realized I didn’t know how tall he was, his exact age (I was making an educated guess at mid to late 40s based on where he was in his career), or his marital status. Then I reminded myself to calm down. This wasn’t a real date; I was meeting a former student and walking on a beautiful day.

A tall man with a military haircut and bearing turned from taking a photo of King Neptune. He smiled and walked over to me extending his hand. Silver haired and blue eyed. Have I mentioned my thing for Paul Newman looks?  “Oh my God, please don’t let him be married,” I prayed.

“Red Zone? “he queried. “E H?” Yep… and with a casual lean toward me, the handshake changed to a quick hug, and “Bazinga!” as Sheldon would say. The last time I felt that zzzzzzap of instant attraction was when I had met MJ, who I also spent some time corresponding with before meeting. EH also looked pleasantly surprised. “Wow! It’s great to meet you. You look like your picture.” I too have a tiny photo posted in the online class. It is supposed to make us more “real” to the students, but some still miss that and treat me like I am some computer–generated response system  instead of a person who reads their posts, papers, and emails.

We started by warming up a little, and then we headed toward the south end of the beach. A mild breeze was at our backs. As we walked, I chatted… as I am wont to do when I’m nervous, and this guy sent little shivers of nervousness down my spine, and right back up. I learned he was not married. Yay! Because all that attraction was for nothing if he were married.

On the return trip to the north end, we discussed the upgrades to the beach since the last time he had been stationed in the area, about 15 years before. When we arrived back where we started at King Neptune, I wasn’t one bit ready to walk away.

Reading my mind, he asked, “What’s up that way?” We continued to the north end, so we did the full 6 miles. Then we were back at King Neptune again.

After a few minutes of hemming and hawing, we decided to go to Catch 31 for oysters and beer. I had left my purse in the car, and I didn’t even think about it until I’d inhaled a half dozen oysters. Embarrassed, I immediately said I’d run get my purse. He insisted on paying with his TDY allowance.  Ok… for those of you who know me, guess what else was in the car? My phone. Yep. I’d gone just over 3 hours without my phone… no fidgeting, no hyperventilation, nada.  A good sign, right?

And then I learned where Mr. Wonderful is living. Guesses anyone? Wait for it:

Egypt…. No, not BF Egypt. Really; the man is currently stationed in Egypt. No demons visible, but there’s something more than a tad inconvenient about that commute. I can certainly pick them. I wonder if my spidey senses are permanently set to unobtainable.

On the remote chance he would get stationed here in a few years, I continued to get to know him, and as I did I realized two things:  1) I like brains A LOT, and the email correspondence for a month or two before meeting allowed me to become intrigued by his mind.  2) I am not as shallow as I thought. Let’s face it, looks are important, but the brain stimulation made me receptive to EH and earlier to MJ.  Go me!… I am not totally shallow. And… on that note, I am going to have to write up my much earlier, and pre-online dating first meeting with MJ.


Red Zone

Out of sequence story, but it will be a quick one. 😉

I went to see Ray LaMontagne this past Wednesday. Susie had acquired fantastic seats in the 5th row right behind the orchestra pit. I’ve liked his music for ages but hadn’t seen him. For the evening, I was the designated drinker… and I did…two before the show!  Whhhooo hoooo!

After one of the most acoustically perfect performances I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy, we stopped at Twist for a look see after the show.

Within minutes of entering, a dance friend of mine came in, saw us at the bar, and walked over. He and his fellow Navy buddy were three sheets to the wind, to use a nautical term. I am not pointing fingers here. I had a decent buzz; I am just explaining. The bartender, who has known me since he was 10, concocted a mystery drink for me with ingredients such as gin and Cava. I am a light weight, but I don’t think he remembered that.

Susie had to leave, but I was interested in the dancing promised at Keegan’s. Navy Dude is a good blues and swing dancer, so his buddy, he , and I headed down the block. There was indeed live music: three people crammed on the tiny corner stage with a VERY big, acoustically imperfect sound.  Why do live musicians always feel they have to PLAY THEIR MUSIC REALLY LOUDLY?

Anyway, Navy Dude and I danced about a half hour before he started leaning more heavily into me at the bar. I had switched to water by this point, but I was not sober. He and his buddy continued drinking beer. When he leaned in to talk to me, I blamed it on poor acoustics and alcohol consumption. We danced some more. During one dance, his hands slid down my back and settled on my ass. I froze, removed his hands and backed up. “No.” I said firmly. He took it well, and we continued to dance a couple of more songs… and then the slow slither occurred again.


“No!” I removed his hands. “How old are you?”

“24, he answered.”

“THAT is the SAME age as my son!” I told him.

“But I’m not your son, so it’s OK.”

Um no. That’s not how this works.

“Age is just a number,” he tried again.

“Yes. It is, and here’s a number for you: you are about half my age.”

That stopped the dancing, sadly. We ordered a Lyft , dropping me off first.  He already knows where I live, and despite his drunken attempts to grope my ass, he’s always been a perfect gentleman in the past. His buddy rode up front with the driver, and Navy Dude crawled in the car beside me.

“Come to my place and cuddle. It will be fun.”


“Let me come to your place and cuddle. I am reealllly good at cuddling,” this was said while he made puppy-dog eyes at me.


“Pleeeeeease,” he whined, dropped his head in my lap, and looked up at me while literally sticking out his lower lip.

He was not helping his case in any way.

“No, and goodnight.” The car had arrived, and I was out the door in a flash.

“Come on. You’re not too old. You’re hot. Pleeeeeeeease.”

Sigh, I hoped my neighbors were asleep.

The texts started:

Hi Red Zone. It’s Navy Dancer Dude. (Duh! We’ve been friends for 3 years. I knew who the text was from.)

“I do not approve.”

“You should come over.”

“I’m sad. You’re so hot.”

“I still think you should come cuddle.”

My response: “Oh honey. Go to sleep,” and I turned my phone off.

In the morning, I had the following text: “OK meanie.”

Later that morning, he sent an apology… followed by:  “Next time, you can be the drunk one and hit on me.”  Does that count as a partial apology?

I’ll give him points for persistence and grammar despite his drunkenness.  I am serious, his drunken texts made more sense and used grammar better than at least half I receive from OkCupid and Match.  And no… that still doesn’t mean I’ll cuddle with him.

Match Mixer

Red Zone

This story has been a while coming. I haven’t had time to write it, not because of dating but because of work.

I’d seen the Match Mixers advertised before, but they always fell at a time I was busy. About two months or so ago on a Thursday, the planets and my schedule aligned. I asked Susie  to join me.

She texted back: “Won’t it be creepy?”

My response: “Well yeah!  That’s why I want you to go too.”

She was game.  It is easy to see why she’s my friend.

The evening arrived, and we texted “what to wear” options back and forth. We decided on shorts, cute shirts, and heels. Mine were the 5 ¼“orange wedges mentioned in a previous post. The shorts were bright with awning style orange and white stripes. My top was a white wrap blouse that as my mother used to admonish “showed every shape and form of my body.”


Susie wore a blue, silky shirt, white shorts, and flats. We arrived at Catch 31 and before going upstairs to the Skybar, we had a beer. A group of guys sat at the table behind us. Several of them were cute, but most wore wedding rings. Susie and I agree married is not our type, and a group of married guys usually means ALL of them are married, rings or no rings.

We wandered upstairs. The plump and perfectly made up young woman signing us in asked us to write the answer to 3 questions on a name tag as an ice breaker. We were to tell two truths and one lie in response to: 1. A guilty pleasure 2. Hobby 3. Career. She also let us know drinks were discounted. Good thing.

We perused the Skybar with its beautiful views of Virginia Beach’s sandy beaches, and the oh so blue ocean beyond which that steamy August evening was dotted with ships small and large. As we did our initial 360, we also noticed FAR more women than men at the event. Most of the women were cute to very attractive (I’m leaving Susie and I out of that assessment; I’m not vain…well not that vain… I do want to look good, and I like clothes, but neither of us were vamped up as much as most of the 29 other ladies in attendance).

And then there were the guys… all 8 of them initially:

  1. The Asian Dude complete with a mini goatee (almost fu Manchu style) who circled different groups of women, assiduously avoiding Susie and I, before laying uninvited on a chaise beside one group.

match 3 uninvited

  1. The youngish, but greatly overweight guy wearing a white baseball cap, cargo shorts, white socks, and tennis shoes … to a dating mixer!… blathered loudly about his dancing skills. He, and number 3 below, quickly joined the two twenty-something blondes wearing lbds who had ridden the elevator up with us.
  2. Guy 3 sported jeans, a blue, plaid, short-sleeved button up shirt, and a military haircut…by the style, I guessed Marine. He was short and slightly built, and couldn’t seem to get a conversation started with the twenty-somethings.

  3. Guy 4 was definitely not military; his hair was too long. He wore a similar outfit to guy #3, but instead of jeans, he wore black pants. Instead of short sleeves, his shirt had long sleeves rolled to just below the elbow. He had a huge overbite. He too seemed to be having difficulty starting the conversational ball with any of the women at the bar.

  4. Another blue plaid (not all the same, but there was a mini-theme going on) covered the paunchy guy in yet another pair of cargo shorts. He too wore a baseball cap and Addidas. I do not understand! This was a dating meet up. EVERY woman wore date-worthy attire.

match 2

  1. Number 6 arrived straight from work. He even wore his Verizon name tag. Did I mention it was summer? He wore typical office attire: yet another blue shirt; this one wasn’t plaid though. He should have thought ahead. The summer swelter quickly caused a huge sweat stain across his entire back. As the evening progressed, sweat also was visible above his paunch. (A second mini theme).
  • A slender 6’ guy wearing a black tee shirt and pants also wore tennis shoes; his at least were not white. He had one of those weird skinny beards tracing his narrow jawline. He chatted up a lady who may have come from work. The print summer dress fit her perfectly and looked great on her, but her shoes were straight up work: plain frump pumps.

  • match 1

    1. I asked number 8, to the right in the photo above, to get me a drink as I thought he was a waiter with his white button down shirt topping black pants and shoes. He slouched by the wall next to the bar. Ooops… my bad.

    With one exception, the women attending were a fairy normal lot.  People circulated and chatted, sometimes using the ice-breaker as a jump off point. Susie and I scoped the area and I surreptitiously took photos. Aren’t you glad?  While chatting with others, one vivacious and curvy woman wearing a lot of makeup wandered by. We scanned her responses to the two truths and one lie: 1. Porn 2. Sew 3. Stripper. Susie and I were pretty sure there was no sewing machine at her house.

    One lady, clearly in her early 40s, wore brown pants, a plain beige short sleeved top, and carried a large Mom or work purse. She had guys chatting her up almost as much as the 20-something blondes. Susie and I did not.  I cannot imagine why!  😀

    Susie and I were bored, so we headed back downstairs with the hopes that our return later would have a few more people to dissect.

    We snagged a drink and sat at one of the firepits. Within minutes, Susie pointed and asked, “Isn’t that your MJ?”

    “He’s not mine,” was my reply, but yes… there was MJ, sipping red wine and heading our way.

    We made room for him. He was meeting a Meet Up group, and oh joy, he too was heading to the Skybar.  He wandered between his Meet Up group and us for a while. He “REALLLLLLY” liked my outfit.  Doh! However, he reeeeally thought he should stay with his pre-arranged meetup. Good! I had story collecting plans for the evening.  I hugged him goodbye as Susie and I headed for the best restroom in Virginia Beach… (I’ve never understood why. It is too dark!) As we were leaving, we saw two of the women from the Match Mixer. They too looked ready to leave. As they had driven all the way in from Suffolk, we suggested they stick around for Thursday Ladies’ night and hang out with us. Later we added them as Facebook friends.  Susie is certain we are the only people who picked up women and exchanged numbers that night.  😉