Open to opportunities in lieu of plans with a man

Jacob is my karaoke buddy. He’s younger than me in age, profession and spirit. Jacob can belt out Audioslave or Queen like nobody’s business.

Getting weary of the online dating scene, I narrowed my focus to my immediate surroundings. I called Jacob and discussed our innocent flirting as we pondered if it could become more. He was sweet and gracious as we left the conversation as something for us both to think about.

Three weeks later Jacob posted a karaoke opportunity on my Facebook. Neither a place nor a night we have rendezvoused before. I was game.

Leaving the office I headed to Plano for two evening work events. As I readied to get back to Dallas, Jacob had text that he fell ill and could not make it. Finding my way back to 75 South, I called my girlfriend Veronica who lives in Plano. She was just finishing her early evening plans. My karaoke plans came back to life as she and I met at the End Zone Sports Bar & Grill.

The night included work and guy talk, a ‘Faithfully’ duet and conversations with Jim the middle-aged Zumba enthusiast, Carlos the Venezuelan gymnast and Angel, who had the voice of one.

Akin to a good date, Veronica text the next morning saying what a great time she had.

Over my Saturday morning coffee I reflected how Veronica stepped in as my Friday night karaoke date, and my tentative date plans for that afternoon …

Earlier in the week, I had conceded to James’ Match.com messages to talk on the phone. We are both from small East Texas communities, but it seemed, from there, our life paths diverged. Toward the end of a pleasant conversation, James asked for an early evening date on Saturday. I suggested that we take a couple cruiser bicycles around Dallas. We were to get back in touch to discuss logistics.

By Saturday afternoon my friend Miranda called to take me up on my suggestion that we ride soon, which was a reply to her Facebook post that she bought a cruiser. We met at my condo, rode to Stella McCartney’s new store in Highland Park Village and enjoyed a sandwich and conversation on Cedar Springs.

As dusk arrived, James’ call hadn’t.  Again I marveled how I had plans with a man, but a girlfriend stepped in as my date. Laughs, topics and pearls of wisdom were never in short supply with Veronica or Miranda, and they shared my love of karaoke and bicycling. This weekend was a good reminder that plans may change but when open to opportunities, great times can still be had.

A kiss is just a kiss

I hadn’t done karaoke in almost two weeks, so I headed to one of my regular places on Lower Greenville Thursday night. I arrived in a cute summer dress with shimmery ballet flats and a cell phone with low battery. Though I planned to stay to myself catching up on Words with Friends between songs, I decided to turn the phone off to conserve for my ride home and enjoy the view. Lots of familiar but unacquainted faces led to many bouts of small talk. Except for David.

David kept close, smiled big and engaged me in conversation as often as he could. The big dimples, nice smile and bright eyes made it easy to pick up conversation with this young man. Even when it was my turn at karaoke, I could see him watching intently. After two songs and a cocktail, I found myself consumed in conversation teetering on debate with Young David. At one point when he excused himself to go to the bathroom, I realized that his friendly demeanor and genuine interest in my opinions incited my strong, almost bullying viewpoints.

Upon his return I apologized for being so strong with my dissenting opinions on politics and suburban living. I explained that he was so easy to talk with that I overindulged in debate tactics. He responded that it was fine. He liked it. At that moment, it dawned on me that Young David thought anything I did that night was fine as I saw smitten kitten in his eyes.

I stepped back and took it all in: the tête-à-tête, the dimples and the hopeful eyes. He was oh-so young, but I was becoming smitten, too. The strong emotions that stirred in me during conversation evolved into attraction. I smiled and responded to his attention with a light touch of his arm, then his knee. Next thing I knew we were kissing. And kissing. Pull back for breath. Oh yeah, then kissing again.

As we made eye contact, Young David noticed I was blushing. “Why?” he asked.

“Maybe because I had no idea that I’d be kissing someone tonight. And REALLY enjoying it.”

I then noticed beneath his darker skin tone, he was blushing, too. Little red apples resting above his big dimples. He wouldn’t concede that he was blushing. He just redirected discussion to my rosiness. I offered my number. He proclaimed he wanted to take me to dinner. I felt it fair to share exactly how old I was because even at his top guess, I was still in a higher age bracket. He tried his darnedest to look OK with our 14-year difference. I offered that it was OK if we didn't go out. The kisses were nice. That was enough. He was insistent that we were to dine together in the near future.

Even when I got home my face continued to feel warm and my heart raced. I marveled how quickly the night turned into one of the best kissing experiences I’d ever had. Perplexed. I could not see this going anywhere but something akin to shampoo instructions: kiss, rinse, repeat.

Over the next 24 hours Young David texted, and I replied. I normally do not like texting as a way to get to know someone, but our date would be Saturday night, and I was curious what Young David does with his days.

By Saturday evening, Young David called regretfully that his nephew had an accident, and he would not be able to see me that night. I was silent and saddened. I pined to exercise shampoo-instruction-similar activity. But, my mind raced to our conversations: He was deciding whether to finish the last few credits to earn his degree. I was contemplating whether to diversify my retirement portfolio into some safer investments as I was nearing the mid-point in my career.

When he offered to call me the next day to plan a date for the next weekend, I softly begged, “No. Thursday was great. Please don’t.”

“OK” he responded with what I believed to be disappointment and relief all in one. I would not take away my Young David kissing experience, but it was a moment not to be repeated.

All the Young Dudes, Carry the News: I am not a Coug!

Cougar: An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man.
Urban Dictionary definition

The night before my birthday I met friends out for karaoke at Double Wide. I was equipped with a cute dress, high heels and bravado in anticipation of becoming a year older at midnight. Quickly, I spotted a man with big brown eyes and an even bigger brown beard. He saw the interest in my eyes and smiled. A few times through the night he’d pass by to say, “You look nice,” or “I really like your dress.”

As the night grew long, I lounged on one of the pleather sofas scattered outside. Bearded brown eyes walked by. I motioned for him to come over.

As he sat down, I said, “In three minutes it is my birthday. I would like a birthday kiss.”

He obliged. A few times. It was nice.

When we pulled away, he said, “Happy birthday. How old are you?”

“39. How old are you?”

“21.”

I burst into laughter as I thought he was very witty. No. He wasn’t witty. He was 21. He showed me his portrait-format driver’s license (vs. landscape) to prove. I gulped and remarked, “I could be your mother.”

“I know!” Ken reflected, “Isn’t it kinky?”

“Yes,” and as the shock wore off, we had one last kiss.

Ken asked for my phone number. Emphatically, I let him know that I was not sharing. When I recounted the story to a friend, she laughed. She pointed out that, in order, I was against giving someone my number who 1. Lives in Fort Worth, then 2. Is 18 years younger than me. Yes, being geographically undesirable is a big deterrent. I had yet to wrap my mind around dating someone much younger.

And then another young dude interlude …

One late night I stopped by Lakewood Landing to meet up with some friends. While waiting at the bar for my water, I noticed, though the kitchen was closed, corndogs were available. As I waited for my order, a younger man down the bar from me asked his two friends between us to see if I was married. His friends relayed the question like kids passing notes in a line of school desks.

I smiled and said ‘no’ as I showed my hands to prove no ring on the wedding finger.

Then the inquisitor walked toward me, introduced himself as Prescott and asked again.

“No, are you?” I replied.

Prescott took off his Buddy Holly glasses to give me a better look at his face, and replied, “How old do I look?”

This puzzled me, “What does your age have to do with if you are married?”

Prescott scoffed, “Why do you think that I’d want to be married at my age?”

“Same here, Prescott. Why would I want to be married at my age?”

Corndog arrived, and I bid adieu with this advice, “Prescott, I’m going outside to eat my corndog, and you are going to work on your pick-up lines.”

And the third time is a charm …

Another night of karaoke with friends, I wore the same dress, heels and bravado as the night at the Double Wide. A few men of various ages approached me throughout the night and made small talk. I was polite but clear that I had no interest in anything but conversation with my friends and performing some humble renditions of some great tunes.

As I was nearing departure, Brian, a tall young man, approached me. I had small talk with him earlier. This was different. He made it very clear, “I want to take you out on a date.”

I looked up from my phone and into his eyes. Quick on my barstool, I inquired, “Are you single?”

Affirmative.

“How old are you?”

“24.”

Déjà vu from my birthday kisser, I spontaneously and uncomfortably laughed, “Brian, we don’t have anything in common.”

“How do you know?”

“You are 24! I am 39 …”

“I could have lied.”

Piercing glance caused him to backpedal, “I really liked your karaoke performance.”

Another glance, caused him to reply, “I am not saying that if you had a concert that I would buy a ticket.”

I was amused. We briefly discussed the public display of self-indulgence that karaoke is.

My mind raced through past experiences and exactly what Brian was doing. I asked, “What would we do on this date?”

“I would take you to dinner then for a couple glasses of wine. We would talk, and if we have stuff in common, we’ll go on a second date. If not, no harm.”

Everything in me thought that this is a guy showing confidence (not arrogance) and sincere interest.

I gave him my number.

I have no expectations for Ken, Prescott or Brian but for them to continue their interest in women of their age, but these encounters left me with lots of thoughts: I was flattered. I wondered if these attempts were conquests. I pondered what they expected. Then I realized those are all the same thoughts I would have of men my age.

Martin the angry Martian

Martin is from Garland. He had written several insightful, thoughtful emails to me through Match.com over a few weeks. These messages coupled with photos of a lean, bald, active man piqued my interest.

Though I am a geographical snob, he passed the test by having purposeful reasons why he lived in the suburbs: home equity and proximity to a lake for his boat.

I was eagerly looking forward to our date as he suggested Top Golf. I had never experienced Top Golf, but friends gave it rave reviews. I did tell Martin that I took a few golf classes in college and at one time, owned clubs.

Between work hours and twilight, Martin called to say that he was running late and asked if we could push our time back by 30 minutes. Worked for me. Considerate.

Martin called as he was on his way. I told him to take his time as I might be 15 minutes late – at most. His voice sounded strained with annoyance. I emphasized that 15 minutes was tops. He replied that he’d turn around and go back home as he just left the house.

Red lights and slow drivers were out that night, and I barely made Top Golf at time promised. Once inside, I sighed relief as I did not see Martin and assured myself I arrived first.

After a few moments, I called. He answered his phone, “Where are you?”

“Oh, inside. Are you here?”

Martin’s voice grew tense, “I’m in my truck.”

“Well, come on in!” I replied with cheerful enthusiasm.

“Did you bring your clubs?”

My mind began racing to remember if he told me that I needed clubs, or did I give the impression that I still owned that historical set? “No. Did I need clubs?”

“You didn’t bring clubs!?!”

Remembering him being an inch taller than me from his Match.com profile, I was quick to say, “No, sorry. Can I use yours as we are similar height?”

A rambling of thoughts began spewing from his mouth that did not seem to make sense, “I don’t want to lug my clubs all over the place all night. You said you had clubs.” Etc.

Trying to make sense of it all, “Martin, how does me not bringing clubs make for you to have to carry your clubs all night?”

“We don’t know how long we’ll have to wait to play!”

This was a simple remedy as I was in front of registration. An hour and a half wait. Effort to calm down the situation, “Martin, leave your clubs. Come on in and have a drink.”

Top Golf might as well have been any bar in Dallas as we never hit a ball. However, after Martin’s welcoming tyrant, I was not eager to be near him with a club in his hand. I had a flashback of my 7-year-old brother at a miniature course knocking me down with one quick swing to my legs with a putter.

By the time we were sitting at the bar relaxing with a cocktail in hand, I decided this situation was akin to a flight. The plane will go down, either smoothly or in flames. I was determined to bring it in for a gentle touchdown.

Martin’s first attempt at non-golf conversation was to inquire if he looked like his photos. “Kind of.” Honesty left my lips before survival instinct kicked in. To me, he looked like an angry, intense, divorced man who had pre-determined dating was a kick in the ass.  At this point I would agree.

Conversation stayed light: nutrition, exercise, childhood memories.

Still afraid that I had been lingering near a swarm of sleeping bees, I thanked Martin for the drinks and said that I was going to meet friends for karaoke. I told him he was welcome if he wanted.

I admit that I was terrified that if I made clear that the date was over at Top Golf, he’d go look for his clubs.

Karaoke, friends and another cocktail were the proper landing gear. I shook his hand and said goodbye to Martin the angry Martian.

Do the dating hokey pokey: Put your fake foot in, take your shattered foot out

Here goes my first blog entry ... I will do my best to be kind. Please, share your thoughts in return. Don't know how often or long I will post, but I am hoping to stir discussion and reflection on today's dating world.

After a couple Match.com messages, Larry wasted no time. He wanted to talk on the phone or meet for a drink. No time like the present, so we agreed to meet at a Knox-Henderson bar the next day. I took the lead and suggested the bar. <NOTE: On first dates, I like to go to places that I’ve never been before as 1. Not as likely to run into friends, and 2. I like trying new places – a bonus even if there’s no connection.>

Prior to meeting Larry, I had an evening work function. I showed his profile to a trusted friend. She commented on his statement: “I don’t like to talk about my accomplishments.”  She said, “I bet he does.”

I got to the bar moments before Larry. He was gracious but slightly older than his photos.  Conversation was easy as we both like bicycling. However, Larry is an accomplished professional racer. Larry has lived and travelled around the world with competitive cycling. Others flock to ride with Larry. How do I know all this? Larry told me.

While not sharing his accomplishments, Larry told me how he recently shattered his foot. No, not a bicycle injury but an accident when he was playing with his dog while wearing Crocs. When he decided that he couldn’t verbally do the reconstructive surgery justice, he offered to show me a picture on his phone. “No thanks,” I politely replied. “No, it’s OK,” was his rebuttal as he put the phone in my face. <RED FLAG: someone who doesn’t honor your request> Luckily, it wasn’t swollen toes and bruising but an x-ray that included a dozen screws in multiple angles throughout the silhouette of his foot.

“Well, I better go before the Mavs win, so I don’t have to fight the traffic on my bicycle.” My cruiser was locked next to the valet stand out front.

We shook hands and wished each other well.

Rode to meet some friends for karaoke at an Uptown bar. Moments after I arrived, a blond, very tall, large fellow with big dimples and a nice smile appeared. He was talking to my friend, so I was introduced to Dan. Dan was a friendly, giant teddy bear.

After a little small talk, Dan asked what I did for a living. He was also insistent on knowing my last name. The more persistent Dan was in knowing my résumé versus me, the less attractive he became. He proudly let me know that he sold feet. Prosthetic feet.

Karaoke was calling. I made my escape.

Not until the morning did I realize the oddity of the foot connection. If Larry’s surgery doesn’t hold up, Dan’s his man.