Archive for the ‘Dating’ category

We’re Gonna Need a Plunger in Here…

February 13th, 2009

So I’m sitting on the toilet tonight, minding my business, when my relatively new girlfriend yells out my name to see where I am.  Welcome to one of my pet peeves, new girlfriend.  It drives me crazy when people talk to me when I’m in the bathroom.

The bathroom is the only place I get to be alone in my house.  It’s my kingdom, my sanctuary, my sacred place where I can be alone with my thoughts or no thoughts at all.  I am King there…and the toiletries all serve me.  Toothbrush, clean my teeth.  Comb, brush my hair.  Razor, shave my face.  Loofa (yes, real men use loofas), wash me clean.

Here alone can I contemplate how to solve world hunger, think about that psycho at the bus stop who is constantly dancing like he’s tripped out on acid (he could be on an IPOD commerical), or figure out what I ate last night based on the smell drifting towards me from below.  The bathroom also serves as my audition room (shower) for American Idol, where I belt out my best songs, from Green Day to Boyz II Men to Whitney Houston…yeah, I said it…can’t no one sing “I Will Always Love You” like this guy. 

And let’s be honest, who doesn’t flex in front of the mirror…trying to show off your stuff.  So what that I’ve got arms that are anorexic and moobs that brings all the boys to the yard.  Here I am king, here I am champion, here I am MAN…hear me roar.  Ok, maybe not roar, because the walls aren’t that thick and I’m sure my neighbors might be disturbed by my roaring…perhaps a few man grunts…Tim the Tool Man Taylor style.

Cavemen had cafe drawings…I have mirror fog drawings.  Cavemen pulled bugs from their hair…I pull greys from my head (yes, I know, I’m getting old…28 and already getting greys)…and pluck nose hairs.  Cavemen danced around fires…I dance around.  Caveman cooked and ate food…I…well, I don’t…because food in the bathroom is just plain wrong.

The bathroom…my sanctuary, my man cave, my kingdom.  The one place I can pretend to be more than I am.  The one place where I’m not judged.  The one place where this crazy world makes sense, and I can see not only a piece but the whole cake the way the baker meant for it to be seen. 

- Just Call Me Lungs

“All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much.” – George Harrison

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Posted in Dating, Life

Someone that works concessions at a baseball field closed me on eharmony…

February 12th, 2009

So, someone who works concessions at a baseball field closed me on eharmony. This made me wonder about the type of person that’s right for me…or…the type of person I am right for.   If not a person who works concessions, then who could that be?

My photos posted show me having fun in NYC and active cycling/running. Maybe my profile isn’t flashy enough; I am not one to put my entire life’s resume on the web for strangers to see.  So, I provide the basics.  I have a job. I perform charitable work.  I am educated.  I have all my teeth.  This should put me in the 75 percentile of eligible men in the area, right?   I don’t feel you really get to know anyone through the online dating community’s cookie cutter questions, but I guess my profile could use some updating.

Just an observation, but every profile has “travel” as an interest or life passion. Who doesn’t like to travel?  I’d like to meet that person who says “I hate traveling and seeing awesome things.”  I might marry this person.  Next, is it really your “favorite” place in the world if you only spent one week there?  For me, it would take a few trips or an extended stay for a destination to qualify as my favorite place.   If you are only there one week, how do you know what the winters will be like.  Maybe the summers are really hot and humid and there are black flies everywhere.  Maybe during the fall the colors don’t change and everything stays green.  And forget about the spring, its monsoon season.  I guess my point is your favorite place should be where you live…otherwise…you should move.

I am not a picky person.  But, there were a few matches that I closed once reading.  One looked like my sister and even more creepy HAD THE SAME NAME as my sister.  So much for that match.  I thought I set a height tolerance too.  I am not a spinner…so…the 5′10″ + matches are pushed on the back burner.  I am comfortable with my height to a certain point but if you can dunk on me without drawing a charging foul, then I may give it a second thought.

Eharmony touts its “28 dimensions” of compatibility.  I am not that complex.  Eat, sleep, work, run, have fun, rinse and repeat.  That’s five dimensions.  Where do the other 23 come from?  That’s not a rhetorical question.  I am grateful that ehamony weeds through the other 23 dimensions to ensure compatibility before sending a match.  I don’t think I have the time for that kind of scrutiny.

So…here I am.  Single. 29 and about to have one of the best years of my life.  That’s not a bad thing and I am happy that I do not need to remind myself of that.  Oh, the concession stand worker did give a legitimate excuse for closing the match.  “Physical distance was too great.”  She is more polite than 90% of the people I’ve encountered on eharmony for being honest.

- Rice Cakes

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Posted in Dating, Life, Living in NJ