Blogger the girls are swooning for, Why?
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| Fri, 08-25-2006 - 2:10pm |
Apparently the girls are all swooning over a blogger from the west coast. Can anyone tell me why? Does anyone know anymore about this guy? I have some friends who are very interested in him.
His latest Blog:
"Hypocrisy Revealed"
Here we are in another day. For those of you used to the trifle romantic flaws of my world drawn out in front of you, fine, all of you, may be in for a bit of a surprise in reading this month's account of who I am. The wonderful man you have all hoped for, despised in fortunate jealously; yes I know you do, has been thrown for a bewildering loop as of late and here I am to share my trials, my flaws, my laughs, my failures and, as usual, my thoughts on dating, romance and the brilliant concept of love.
The best way to start is by confessing the honest truth, I am a hypocrite. I have spent a great deal of time and effort in bashing the world of online dating. I have written about the false truths, the false advertising, and even an instance of false teeth; a memory that still makes me throw up in my mouth a little. I have explained in great detail the unfortunate reality that online dating has a very small success rate. I have gone to great pains to express just how much I wish people would just say hello to that pretty girl or dashing guy with the great smile at the grocery store instead of searching the world wide web for a future mate. I have bashed the BBW and the equivalent in men who search in hopes of finding a super model that just cannot seem to meet the right guy. I have berated the young women searching for an older sugar daddy, the quirky white guys hoping to land their Asian desires, the gangsters hailing from a nicer neighborhood than yours truly and searching for some opposing sex, street credentialed thug that happens to have a good job and a car. Yes, I have been mean to them all with equal passion; not from disdain per say, but from a realistic persuasive hope.
Did I mention my hypocrisy? Yes, yes I did, but we'll get back to that. I would like to thank everyone for their fine letters. I would also like to thank the state of California for instating a test that ensures each high school graduate will have the ability to write a proper letter. The state board of education has ensured that every letter sent to me to let me know just how wrong I am is written in an accepted and understood form. For every other state, Arkansas, never mind; I love you guys.
Letters flowed from month to month detailing the unrivaled success of a new Internet love. We were perfect for each other. She loved my six toes with all seven of hers. He did not care about my baby daddy's ex who wanted to kill me; he just loved me for me. Each letter detailed exactly how incorrect I was. At first I blew it off as a few folks who may not have been too lucky in the jean pool but were lucky enough to find each other out there in cyberspace and, yes, they were perfect for each other. Ten letters, twenty, fifty, hundreds, piled up from day to day. I read them, not all of them of course, but I got the point. I got the point, but I was stubborn and far too narcissistic to pretend that such an idea would work for me.
We all know the ups and downs I have been through, and a small part of me felt a level of jealousy with each passing letter. At least some of the letters gave me comfort by simply being unreadable, thank you again Arkansas. If you are new to my column, you haven't missed much, but, to catch you up, just know I am the everyday man, except that I am honest. I am no playboy with the women. I am just a good, mistake making, kind of guy.
Back to the story, finally finished with letters a couple months after my last article about the inadequacies of electronic love, I have decided that each and every letter was an anomaly. They were all written by people unlike myself, by people afraid of personal contact, by those who shy from conversation, hide in the corner and are unwilling to show themselves for who they are. All the people I despise, not because they are unworthy people, but because they are afraid to show themselves to the world. They fear the chance, the opportunity, the step necessary to start the run. I surmised that the electronic personal ads were just a way for these people to half ass an attempt at standing up and saying hello. It was their way of asking a girl to dance while knowing that if she said no, then the rejection would only be seen by the stuffed animals that have made the trek from childhood and still lay comfortably on the bed.
The concept of me, while not being superior to such people, being different from all of the fortunate readers that had found a match in some form of electronic mail, personal ad, dating service, chat room, game, virtual world or just trying to get car insurance at a decent rate made a good argument to me that this concept was just not for me. I argued myself into agreeing with myself. I am a talented debater when agreeing with my own stubborn attitude is involved. I agreed with myself until I received a letter from another writer who resides in the in that big city near Boston, and, yes, his letter was beautifully written with educated English prose. After kissing my ass for a few minutes in the opening of the letter by saying how well respected my opinions on this and that were and how he loves to see the next "Day in the life of ....." article hit the press with tips for all of dating world. He even said he used one of my random thoughts as a guideline in his new book. I was a little embarrassed with my shy self, but I kept reading.
I realized he was just buttering me up to take his disagreement lightly. He went on to tell me a little story about how he met his wife. He is a well respected writer, a good looking, clean shaved, works out at the gym and showers daily kind of guy. He has always been a good conversation; maybe not the center of attention at the party, but a guy willing to join the topic and add his two or three cents to it. He has never been a debonair aristocrat that will sweep a girl into his bed by smiling at her, but he is a nice guy. It always seemed like he had a sweet, good looking girl attached to his arm, but, thinking back, it was a different girl every time. He explained that he had been working on an assignment to write about what to and what not to write in an online personal ad, using my article as a guide and adding to it of course, and he came across a beautifully written ad by some Jane Doe in lower Manhattan.
The wonderful anonymous woman never once gave any real information about herself, no looks, no measurements, no job specifications. She did not reveal an once of the information you would get in small talk at the crappy dive bar you always go to, but she spent the entire ad talking about what a perfect date was to her. I will not attempt to follow the details of her ad, but a point was made very clear. She was not the average girl and he was attracted to her for the thousand words she typed from her laptop in some tiny cafe near central park. He dropped her a line, she replied in tune, back to him, back to her, table tennis ensues and they meet. She is beautiful, but he already knew she was. He had never seen her, never felt her, never took a breath of air in her presence, but he knew in all honesty that she was beautiful. They took it slowly and dated for almost a year before he proposed to her in a small corner of that tiny cafe he would forever be grateful existed.
The epiphany hit me like Buster Douglas did when I lost of fortune on the Tyson fight. My stomach sank as it did when that lazy, farm league brother of a good ball player failed to slide when it counted the most for the team. Get your calenders out and mark the day; seriously, get your calender out. I do not do this often enough to pass up on the opportunity. Draw a little hand and make sure you leave the middle finger pointed towards the sky. Today, .... was wrong.
That moment I realized I was wrong. I am glad I did. I am no different from those out there searching for that girl, from those girls hoping to find the last guy on earth who is honest, hardworking and decent. I am no different from the people that shy from the real world. I am no different from six toes Larry, no different from anyone out there with the hopes, forever optimistic, of finding that one person, or four if you hail from Utah, much love, that just flat out gets you. To find the one you have been looking for, and honestly, the one you may never find. I realized that I needed to accept that the world is changing and I need to change with it. Maybe trying to talk to a girl when she is four shots deep in a bottle of Patron is not the best way to search for the girl you want at your side when the whistle blows at your little sister's first soccer game. Maybe it is not the best way to find that guy that will be there with you when you are promoted to the job of your dreams and need somebody who understands just what an accomplishment you have earned. Ridiculous concept, but appreciated.
I got that letter and decided I had nothing to lose; for the first time, I looked through the ads online. Craig, your list is genius. I spent a couple hours reading short and long ads while watching Batman Begins for the thirty-second time on HBO. They really should rotate those movies more often. I could not help, but laugh as I perused some of the ads that were just too far out there for me to even consider. I was half way through a bottle of good Cabernet when I came upon an ad for a girl made me smile, but not out of laughter. She was brave in that she put a picture up, but just chicken enough to put a large white blob over her face. Her words were optimistic, charismatic, sweet with a touch of sarcastic humor that I devoured with a growing smile.
Several moments later I was writing her an email; I was responding to an online ad, but it didn't seem like I was taking some sort of plunge of a proverbial dating dock. I was just writing a letter to a girl that seemed like a sweetheart. I spent twenty minutes, maybe more, glazed by wine, creating a paragraph or two about who I am. I did graduate high school here in California, which leads to brilliant letter writing capabilities, but it never felt the way I thought it would. Actually took more guts to write a letter to this girl than it ever did to walk up to the drunk chick at the bar. Every word was me; hard to be considered a guy that is hiding when such is the case. I did, however, have enough of myself hanging around to give her a hard time about the Casper-like white blob of a face. I hoped she would know I was kidding. I added a picture of myself; yes, she got one even though none of you ever will, sinister laugh ensues. I read it over once more to correct any mistakes and sent it to her.
The next day I get home from a long day of meetings that I am sure no one thinks I ever have to attend and I open my inbox, she replied. This letter was even better than the ad. I must have caught her eye amongst the many responses that she was certain to incur, but a sarcastic whit prevailed. Reading each word I could feel her smile, no, just mine. She was incredibly sweet and I enjoyed reading her letter a couple of times. She sent a picture without the blob covering her face and, although I half expected the sister of an acne infested sumo wrestler to jump out on the screen based on the reciprocal value of her brilliant personality, she was beautiful. Honestly, was not completely sure that it was her. She looked like an Anne Hathaway, but with better eyes and a more relaxed appeal; just gorgeous. I found myself opening up her email, just to reread it and look at her again. Not stalker like, but in disbelief.
A few more emails and we were chatting online. I am no professional chatter, but I know my way around that sort of stuff and I found talking to her easy and enjoyable. I am a little shy, but she was great. She could lighten things up and made me laugh. I wanted to ask her out right then, but she could still be some sort of crazed forty year old guy from Montana just getting his kicks. She spent a weekend away on a bit of a shortened vacation, all while thumbing texts back and forth on the cells. I am so trendy, I know. When Sunday came around I had to see this girl, but I am pretty sure she beat me to the punch. She said we should get some ice cream, I said tonight, she said why not.
I had a fundraiser to attend that night but the dinner would be over by eight. At nine I met her in a public place, just more comfortable for both people I think. She called to say she was there and I walked across the street to meet her. I was right though, she didn't look like the pictures, maybe a little, but they did not do her justice in any form. She was gorgeous. Her hair was short, dark and shaped perfectly for her face. Her eyes shown through the glimmer of the surrounding lights to be the object of my focus. They just sparkled. I never got the opportunity to feel relieved though. I went from disbelief to lacking confidence around her in about three seconds. I managed to utter a few words along the lines of nice to meet you. When all I was think was I am sweating like crazy, probably turning Irish red and wow, you are stunning.
An array of retail shops were lit for the evening, even as they had closed hours earlier. Bright colors that guide your eyes toward an advertisement claiming that every item of clothing you have should be replaced; might be true in my case. The sun had fallen from the sky hours earlier, but its effects were still surviving the evening. It would be easy to blame my sweating brow on the temperature, but I think that was only part of the problem. She was gorgeous and each time she smiled, I found myself unwillingly, automatically, enchantingly reciprocating. She was magnetic. Glances were not enough, I could not help, but stare.
Not sure where to start with any real form of conversation, I punched the little button near the bottom of the street post and waited for the flashing walker to pop up on the opposite corner. We walked around the small downtown shopping district of my hometown making small talk. Each sentence easier then the last. Words spewing off my tongue just as easy as I pile prose in front of you. She was beautiful and easy to talk to? I wasn't sure that they made that model anymore.
We made it to a small, but packed ice cream shop a few blocks away and found ourselves a table near the front. A high school aged server dropped off a couple glasses of water and explained that the waits may be a bit longer than usual; poor staffing or something. I barely realized he was there, but I did drink the water. I cooled down and finally stopped sweating. We kept talking about nothing, but it meant everything. She was not some social misfit or deformed outsider that rarely passes on a night of reruns and views light as a reason to skip leaving the house. She could talk, she could smile, she could charm, and she was with me.
We met relatively late for a "first meeting", but I just couldn't let her go after ice cream. Of course I had two scoops; something fruity and something chocolaty. Mixing the two basic components of the ice cream universe is essential to fully appreciate mouth coating phlegm building wonders of the frozen treat. She chose one scoop; rookie mistake, but one many women make.
The ice cream was finished, but there was so much more to be said. Maybe nothing important to say, but parting at this point would have been premature, or just stupid. I wanted more of her; more of her eyes, more of her smile, more of her voice. I invited her to one of my favorite places across town; just to go for a walk. I explained how to get to my house and asked her to meet me there and we could walk from there. Yes, I told a complete stranger where I lived and, more so, that I wanted her to be there. I needed to change in order to feel comfortable on the walk, though, I just felt comfortable with her. I suppose comfort is a trade mark of other serial killers too, but I could take her, I think.
We get back to my place and walk in the front door. I live in a condo reminiscent of a frat house for the poor kids, but a little cleaner. She didn't care, just came in and dropped her purse by her feet as I went in the back to my room to change into some shorts. It was still awful outside, but being out of the slacks and dress shirt was great. An airy shirt and a pair of shorts, add some sandals and I was ready to get out into the night air with a girl that has shocked a small sense of hope into a bitter young man.
Bounding out the door with my arm loosely around her waist, unsure if its position was desired or not, we started a walk towards a local park. Each step was embraced with a laugh, a fact, a eye rolling, compliment laden, thought provoked dialogue. The night sparkled as we walked along a path through the park. Tress blocked light and a stream provided a natural sound in the midst of the city. The sounds of traffic ceased and the crickets sang in harmonious ballads. In this situation it seemed less romantic, but more as an unintended scene of a horror movie in which the date turns predictably wrong. She trusted me. She never pulled away, joked with sarcastic remarks about why she should not be there with me, but she just got closer, laughing and smiling.
A fountain was lit from beneath so that the water flying through the air in the middle of a pond glowed in the night air. The rose gardens lacked their scent and were crippled by the wave of heat that had passed over them throughout the week, but still gave the ambiance I had hoped for. Geese made whatever the noise is that geese make and hissed as we made our way around them towards the children's playground. I've never really liked geese much. They are nice from far away, but are annoying birds as you make your way through them. Taking careful steps to avoid their many piles, each with growing irritation. Can't exactly kick them, but you all know you want to.
The geese were barely noticed. A brief thought of throwing a rock at one came to mind, but I barely noticed them. She was on my mind, full attention, just her. We spent some time swinging on a play set like we were back in the fourth grade and loving it. In more ways than one I suppose, we were carefree at the moment, going on about nothing, finding comfort and enjoyment in each other and the simplicity of who and where we are. Brief moments we touched and each sent a shiver up my body, one I hadn't felt in years.
The minutes turned short and an hour or two had passed. It was late into the night and the air had only cooled slightly as we made or way back towards my home. We passed back through the way we came. Out of the paths and onto the sidewalk two streets from my home, we walked, side by side, my arm holding her close. The street were light with a yellowed ray of light beaming from the posts every so often. Stars penetrated the ominous depths of a black sky. Her eyes shown through the night and sparkled as the grasped a ricocheted glow. Trees from neighboring yards hung branches over our heads, leaves creating chandeliers above.
Even the beauty of the night was no match for her, a focused reigned in and devoted to a girl I had only met hours before. I pulled her close, eyes matching in gaze, a second passed, faces inching closer, beautiful smile, beautiful lips, closer, desired, hoped, wanting; we kiss. Lips connecting with electric pulse; a perfect mix of soft and relentless passion.
What exactly was going on in my head? Well, to start, I had met this girl online from a personal ad. She looked stunning in her picture. She was classically beautiful in person. She was charismatic and fun to talk to. She trusted me and enjoyed my company. She was wonderful. At that moment though, at that single moment, all I thought was; wow, she could kiss. I simply could not stop kissing her.
I had to, eventually, but we have gone out several times since then and, my readers, we haven't stopped kissing yet. Feel free to bash me with all of the "I told you so" letters that I am certain will be headed my way. Just remember that I have prefaced this to you stating that yes, I am a hypocrite. I make no expectations for marriage, no plans for a white picket fence are on order yet, that would just be silly, but what I can tell you is that if it takes going online and searching through the millions of people looking for love to find a girl like this, I am all for it. Sign me up, I have been reformed. I am a believer and, at the moment, I am off the market.
Years have been spent looking for the perfect woman. Studies have been done, surveys completed, interviews repeated; all in an effort to figure out what the perfect woman would be, but, more so, if she exists. I ask two friends what the perfect woman would be and I will get two completely separate answers on what this magical woman looks like, but I will get very similar responses as to what her personality is like. She loves to laugh; I laugh with her. I can talk to her; she understands. She is fun, sweet, smart, witty, a little sarcastic. She has charm, finesse, an underlying brilliance. Contemporary mannered with contemporary passion, desire. She smiles with dedicated hope that enlightens thought. She inspires; a muse to an artistic life. She is wonderful, she is beautiful; and yes, ladies and gentleman, I met her online.
What do you think?

I just think that he's some smart guy, pulling the wool over some naive girls' eyes. He knows that he has a flair for word and uses it to his advantage. No doubt he's cocky, self-assured...not necessarily looking for an easy lay. Most of those men tend to be rude and crude.
Then again, he could be just another sleazeball quoting words from an anonymous author, or one who is not well-known. A professional con-man. Oh, those poor girls!
But, I'm being stubborn. Maybe, you should ask someone who WANTS to fall in love. (Heh...as if you could.)