Tag Archives: dating

Ladies Man in Training

I met my step-son Forrest when he was 10 years old, and even then he was already showing signs of being a bit girl-crazy. I joked with him about it, saying I was going to buy him a t-shirt that says “Forrest Loves the Ladies”.  Every day he would have a story about a pretty girl who talked to him or punched him (also known as flirting, especially during middle school years). A true ladies man was being born.

By the age of 15 he had his first girlfriend, and I will never forget how Kevin and I “fake chaperoned” his first date at the fair. We pretended to split up in order to meet again later, but we purposely kept a close watch on where they were. When they started holding hands, we were skulking nearby to witness it.

I wasn’t too crazy about that first girlfriend, for numerous reasons I would rather not discuss, but I will mention her rudeness over dinner. I suppose times have changed, but when I was a teenager we tried to impress our boyfriend’s parents, not stare at them with indifference when asked a harmless, small-talk question. She was aloof, gloomy and dismissive.

One thing that has not changed since I was a teenager is the ultimate insignificance of parental opinion. It was better if they liked your sweetie, but if they did not, you didn’t want to hear about it. I am therefore keenly aware that I have to hold my tongue about Forrest’s female friends. He reinforced that message by telling Kevin that I am the “last person he would want to hear spouting relationship advice.” I get that. So my blog is a good outlet for my opinions.

I know I can safely talk here about the young ladies in my step-son’s world because:

  1. I will change names to numbers to protect the innocent
  2. My step-son doesn’t read my blog. If I am honest, very few people do.

My favorite chickie was girlfriend #2, who made the common mistake of being too clingy and scaring Forrest away. He became so panicked by this serious relationship, he has since refused to let anyone claim they are a “girlfriend” at all. Thus my term chickie, which is about as casual as it gets. Chickie #2 was very pretty and presented herself well. In my opinion, her only deficiency was the excessive affection, which is more of a strategy error than a character flaw. Forrest fought horribly with her after the break-up, and neither of them demonstrated maturity for quite some time. Parental intervention forced both parties to act more civil toward one another, which was important because of an overlapping circle of friends.

I never had a chance to meet chickie #3, which was fine with me since she was 2 years younger than Forrest. I’m worried, though, about chickie #4, who has a distinctly different personality from the others. She is abrasive and arrogant, with not much more in the manners department than chickie #1. The worst part about #4 is how Forrest acts around her. She is a bit of an ass, and he acts like one when she is near. It it absolutely torture to watch.

We went out for sushi with them, and it was literally the longest 30 minutes of my life. It was only 30 minutes because I left before the check was even paid. The hateful things the two of them said about other teens, including chickie #2, made me go pale. I know I can’t tell him who he can date, but I certainly don’t have to be around her, and do not intend to- if I can avoid it. All I can do is pray daily that their relationship will be short-lived and that a clean, permanent fracture will end my torment.

When I returned home from that fateful dinner, I knew that the experience was a karmic payment for what my family endured during my 20 years of poor-decision making in relationships. I can recall some painfully awkward moments of guys who loathed spending time with my family, and acted like they were waiting for a root canal. Conversations were forced, dinners were curtailed abruptly.

When I returned from my sushi debacle, I wanted to call every member of my immediate family and apologize. Although I dated some true sweethearts, I know there was a solid decade of bringing home people who were less than charming. My family, true to form, were gracious and kept most of their opinions to themselves, which I appreciate tremendously in hindsight.

Knowing that my family survived my boy-craziness, I tell myself to be cool through my step-son’s girl-craziness. I must try to hold my opinions and let the kid create his own relationship path, which for now appears to be the ladies man path. I just hope he approaches it with grace and respect, and chooses chickies who know how to politely converse over sushi.

The Second Date, or “Jazz+Drinks=Tattoos”

Ok, loyal fans, here is the next installment in the Kev-Ang story. For those who read about the first date, you know that it was a frightening evening for both of us. ( https://angelamaskey.com/2011/12/29/teacher-becomes-the-student-the-first-date/ ) Our lunch the next day helped steer the wayward ship back on course to some extent, but I was still approaching this whole deal with caution.

I don’t count that Barberitos lunch as a date, because it was really just damage control. So what I consider to be the actual, official “second date”, is one I will call Jazz+drinks=tatoos. This is the night I realized there was some real potential for the two of us.

Kevin and I agreed to meet for drinks at Patridge Inn so that we could talk and listen to live jazz music. I got there first and waited hopefully. As soon as I saw him, I felt a ping in my heart. He was dressed in a tie and sport-coat, looking visibly uncomfortable, like a cat forced to wear a costume because  the crazy pet owner thinks it’s cute.

I cannot recall my drink of choice that night, as we had not been yet converted to the world of wine and margaritas. I know that his was Tom Collins. We enjoyed great conversation, for which the beverages only get partial credit. Kevin is just an easy person to talk to. He told me the story about how he found a sales clerk at Dillard’s to help him buy the outfit he was wearing, telling her that it was his first date in a long time, and he needed serious guidance to get the look coordinated just right. As if this story were not endearing enough, I was drawn in even more when at some point in the evening, he mentioned he had been thinking of getting a tattoo.

I was immediately intrigued and pleasantly surprised. I held out my watch to him and declared that now was the time to get his tattoo, right in this moment, with me. He didn’t even flinch. “Ok”, he said, “but I need to stop by my house first.” As it turned out, he wanted his first tattoo to be his son’s name, in his handwriting, and he had already gotten the 10-year old to write it out for him. So he needed to get that piece of paper. Kevin also wanted to get out of the coat and tie. It was time for the cat to shed the costume.

I loved that Kevin was willing to be so spontaneous. I was a new chickie in his life and he was letting me go with him to get his first tattoo. We went to the furnished house he rented after the divorce, a simple ranch set-up near the Augusta National. There he changed into more comfortable clothes and found the paper where his son Forrest had neatly written out his full name.

I  don’t recall how we selected the tattoo parlor on Wrightsboro Road, but I’m sure that Kenny as our artist was random chance. We would go back to see Kenny especially for Kev’s second tattoo, but that’s a story for another blog. Suffice it to say that we liked Kenny, finding him quite personable and obviously skilled enough for the simple tracing this first tattoo required.

Kevin wanted the tattoo on his chest, so Kenny had him take off his shirt and lay down on a chair which appeared frighteningly similar to the ones used in dentists offices. I snagged a stray stool off to the side and casually inched it closer to Kevin. He took the hint and rested his hand on my leg. I put my hand on his in a gesture of moral support, although there wasn’t too much pain, thanks to the aforementioned Tom Collins’.

In no time, Kev was permanently marked with the signature of a 10-year old. We both expressed satisfaction at Kenny’s work and Kevin put his shirt on over the now-bandaged area. The official second date was winding down, so we drove back to the Partridge Inn so that I could get my car and we could say good night.

Back at the upper level parking deck, there was a little awkwardness around the fact that he was determined to go for the kiss and I was determined to play it coy. He won, but would later express chagrin that he had to work so hard for it. He was right, of course. It should have been a natural end to the evening. After all, I had seen him shirtless in a dentists chair.

Driving home, I re-lived the evening in my mind, pleased with how it turned out. I had been on many dates in my life, but never one as unique as this. It appealed to my sense of adventure, as well as to my traditional side. Maybe one day in the far future Forrest will have a 10-year old of his own, and Kevin can add that child’s name to the other side. When he does, I will be right there, offering my moral support. I just hope Kevin takes the hint again and rests his hand on my leg.

Teacher becomes the Student: the first date

From the moment I heard about Kevin’s divorce, my interest was piqued. I had known him for about 10 years, and although our interaction had been limited (we used to work at the Saturn dealership together), I had always been impressed with his humor and values. So I called him to extend my condolences about the news. It sounded like a harmless gesture of support, but my intentions were not honorable. Then I dropped a seemingly innocent sales pitch to lure him to the dark side: “You are new to the single world, and I have always been single, so who better than me to show you the ropes? I know the cool things to do, and can be a good friend.” Despite the logical approach and caring facade, it was pretty obvious that I wanted more than friendship. He wisely rejected my offer to mentor him on how to have fun, wondering to himself why a co-worker from his past would be so bold.

Over the next few months, I continued my attempts to woo Kevin, with no success. He has so much integrity that he wanted to wait until the entire legal process was complete before starting anything with anyone. While this was very admirable of him, it was very inconvenient for me. We now call these months “the time when Kevin was blowing me off.” Finally he acquiesced, and we arranged to go together to check out the First Friday festivities downtown.

I didn’t hold back: I bought a new outfit and set out to look hot. I had high hopes for this date. I was still stinging from the burn of my past relationship (a word I’m using loosely here) and was anxious to start hanging out with someone new. I’ll go ahead and admit I even shaved my legs for the occasion.

Kevin brought flowers, which was incredibly sweet. I have received alot of flowers in my time, mostly for my birthday and Valentine’s Day. But when I try to picture someone bringing me flowers for a date, my mind draws a blank. It seems like an old-fashioned but incredibly romantic gesture, one that has fallen out of fashion. I was touched.

Unfortunately, the evening took a nosedive from there. You can imagine how much Kevin’s head was spinning; he was in courtship mode for the first time in over 20 years. His heart was still hurting from the failed marriage, and he was having a hard time thinking of me in a romantic way. Ever since he had known me, I had been in the category guys normally reserve for females who are relatives, or best friend’s spouses. To steal a phrase from the second Clerks movie: I was “persona non-nookie”. This combination spelled disaster, but I didn’t know it yet. At this point I was just putting the flowers in a vase and hoping for the best.

We went downtown, walked around and tried to get caught up on each other’s lives since I had left Saturn to work at Lexus. We ran into a few people who seemed confused to see us together, including a former Saturn co-worker who was unaware of Kevin’s divorce. Mostly we just walked and talked, until we finally landed at the Pizza Joint, where we talked some more.

Perhaps I should say Kevin talked. He went into great detail about Forrest and Melissa and the marraige and the break-up. He told me how she had asked him to move out of their house on Valentine’s Day, and other heart-wrenching details that are too personal to share here. Sitting across from him in the Pizza Joint booth, I saw an amazing man with a broken spirit and confused heart. I realized that my intentions for this evening were totally different than his intentions, and I felt superficial and guilty. I had not considered the possibility that he would need me to be the friend I had promised to be in my sales pitch. I hadn’t considered it because I was in my selfish, single-person’s bubble, just looking for the next fun thing. But this was real to him, and it was a big deal. Kevin wasn’t ready for dating yet, and he certainly didn’t need to date a 41-year-old with a track record of causing nice guys like him to turn into emotional puddles of mush. I didn’t know how to fix people’s damage; I only knew how to cause it. He was scaring the shit out of me.

He knew it, too. At some point, I think I completely stopped talking and just let him ramble. In addition to feeling afraid, I also felt sad. Sad for him going through this pain, sad for me having caused it in others, sad for both of us to be on a date during such different times in our lives. I felt horrible that he needed to talk, and realized that he had probably not had an opportunity to open up about his heartaches for many years. I kicked myself for not being more sensitive when I was hounding him for a date for the past 4 months. Of course he didn’t want go out with me sooner! He was still in love with his ex-wife and harboring hope for a reconciliation. All he needed from me was an ear and some friendship, and I was ashamed at myself for chasing after more.

In the end, I spent four hours listening to his sadness, and it was clear to me that our first date was going to be our last. There was no way I could have romantic interest in someone that fragile. We hugged at my apartment door, and I watched through my second-story apartment window as he walked back to his car. What a shame, I thought. There is so much I could have taught him about relationships. Little did I know, that in a very short time, Kevin would teach me about relationships. Instead of me teaching him how to be single, I would be his student, learning how to open up to someone in a real, honest way.

The first lesson he had to teach me was about communication-not being afraid to say the tough things. The day following our tragic first date, he called to invite me to lunch. Over Barbaritos burritos, he asked if our date had scared me, and I admitted that it had. So we talked about my fears, and his fears. In that one conversation, he showed me more raw honesty than I had ever seen before. He said he was not looking for the next Mrs. Maskey. He just wanted to take it slow and see where this would lead us. He thought we should give it a try. I was impressed by his courage and his forthright approach.  Kevin was not fragile, after all. Kevin was smart, and honest, and strong.

As a result of this conversation, I decided to at least open myself to the possibility of some kind of relationship with Kevin. He made me realize that I had jumped to conclusions too quickly.  I was blown away by his ability to initiate a healthy conversation, something very few people-myself included-can do with ease. In the course of one shared lunch, he showed me the potential for the Kev-Ang story, and opened the doors I had shut so firmly at the end of our date.

So when he asked me out again, I agreed, and the lessons continued from there. The education of Angela would turn out to be an amazingly fun adventure. Stay tuned!