the 2008 Dating Experiment: the Russian

I honestly can not remember the general order in which some of these memorable men came in to my life, albeit so briefly. The fact that I still remember them is a dubious honor for them, since the stories don't represent them fondly. I can't resist; I have to tell you just a few little experiments that happened as a result of Match.com and eharmony.com. As to not slander or libel (I really don't have time for lawerly like people), I am going to stay shush about who is who. I actually met only two out of four of these people through those sites and one from a bar late at night when I was tired and bored; the remaining guy (yes, yes...I am going to have to keep you all guessing) was a mutual aquaintance. I may throw in another one or two from the year if they come up. Seriously, it does not really matter, does it? I am glad I can laugh about it now. At the time, I knew that I seriously had a defective frog issue. There was not a single frog I kissed that didn't just belch in my face, basically saying "can you still not tell in your late 30's who is who? You still are kissing the toads and not even an eligible frog!!". I could have sworn that, until December 5, 2008, the entiretry of 2008 was a colossal dating nightmare. Maybe thats why one of my wedding songs was Peter Gabriel's Kiss that Frog. But I digress.

So, down Memory Lane, I finally met a guy who was not huge or drunk sounding on the phone and he was decent looking and was not trying to pose for the profile pictures. ...So you are probably thinking this was a dating site. You are probably right. He was the Russian. He had a baseball hat on and a teeshirt in his picture; he wasn't smiling, but looked pleasant enough anyway. This whole bit of baseball hat and lack of teeth (I know I am not buying a horse, but still) should have been a red flag. But no, I gave him a chance; my 2003 dating year was the year for slumming it, 2008 was going to be much better. So he finally called as I felt okay giving my phone number out with a sufficient number of email exchanges.

We met at a coffee shop nearby and I had plans to hang out with my friend Steve later on and I told Steve "please please call me when you are near by as I may need to leave this date". I get there and see a guy that's just a few sizes larger than previously represented, but not huge (this reminds me of a poor case of a 2006 date that was obsessed about BMI since he was skinny in so many areas except his stomach and was looking for an overall percentage). The Russian was carrying a caramel macchiato type drink (very large) to the table. Then he smiled. Then I didn't (smile) so much. His teeth were horrid. They were grey. They were uneven. Some were missing. Please, can I get a break this year? Please? Yes? NO! The answer is a resounding NO as evidenced by the subsequent dates of 2008. ANYWAY, not only were his teeth damaged, but he has literally admitted that he does not care about fixing his teeth as he loves his sweet drinks and the diabetes doesn't help, so why fix it? WHY FIX IT? Hello?? So, his obesity and teeth have now been explained by things other than, but not excluding , caramel macchiatos. So as I completed the initial physical assessment, he provided me with his very own in-depth psychoanalysis. He told me about his ex who took a few of their chidren "somewhere". Something happened to the children when he and the ex went to jail and did some drugs. I was fuzzy on the details while his Russian accent was yammering on. Please say these children were safe somewhere. I did not dare ask. I was really starting to lose patience until he exposed his arms. Then I lost the rest of my patience. Right there. On the spot. So, you ask, did he have tattoos all over his arms? No. not really. As I have tattoos, that would not have really bothered me, other than the objectionable nature of such tattoos. But, he revealed no tattoos at all; the Russian displayed an unhealthy quantity of hash marks all over his arms. Yes, arms is plural; he told me the winter before (approximately 9 months maximum), he attempted suicide. "I am taking Prozac and I am all better". Yes, did you hear that? All better. Ithinknot. He proceeded to tell me how it was everyone else's fault as to how he got this way ("I had to quit drinking and quit the crack," said the Russsian.). Jesus. I would say honestly, when I thought I could not take it any longer, Steve called. Saved by the bell, literally. I thanked the Russian for his time. "So do you want me to call you tonight when you get home?"NO, really, that won't be necessary.