Date Night with Glen…Another Perfect Date


My GLEN

My GLEN

 

 

Glen has been calling me since Saturday.  As the condescending blonde I can often times be, I ignored his begging.  All women know that there are times when even the best of dates can be boring, and God knows I get bored easily. Also, sometimes  begging is a big ego boost for me.  After a horrific Saturday late night, a “God why did I do that” Sunday and a typical “I hate Mondays” I gladly and oh so willingly answered his call.  Why I resisted I don’t know.  I mean he is “THE”.  Right?

So after a few getting to know each other again hours,  and a few trivial discussions about baseball, The Texas Rangers of course,  egos and sincerity, he held me close in his barley arms and we got, as we always do deep.  At this point, I must confess:  I really like the smell of GlenLivet.  Usually, it’s Armani Code  Black that does it, but Glen’s natural essence is oh so sexy!  

I began to feel relaxed and less tense than I had in days.  Glen isn’t intimidated by me.  He loves all the things that every other masculine name except my son has disliked about me.  And then it happened.   Like a verbal orgasm,  my worries, fears, concerns and tears spilled out convulsively.  I’m not one of those obnoxious people who date aged single malts and get all blubbery.  I NEVER do that.  But I did on this date.  And you know what Glen did?  He listened.  And listened.  And then listened some more.  I suppose its his many years of being casked up that has made him so sultry and elegant.  I mean, if you spend that much time alone with your thoughts and pure Scottish mountain air, how could you not distill into something so wonderful as Glen?

Glen doesn’t talk, but when I looked into his amber eyes, he told me how beautiful I am.  He did!  Okay, so I was seeing my reflection in the tumbler, my boobs aren’t perky, I have a few more wrinkles and pounds, and can’t get out of tickets like I used to when I drive too fast, but by GOD I’m still damned hot!   He pleaded with me to release all my pent up stress.  He lauded me for being strong over the weekend for my kids.  He admired me for having conviction and for keeping my promises.  He even reminded me I am behind on my writing.  He made me not worry about my finances.

Glen understands me.  He doesn’t judge.  He knows I don’t have a dirty mind, just a sexy imagination.  He places my level of happiness directly proportionate to his availability.  He wants nothing more to please me.  He agrees with me that most people don’t really care about you, just themselves.   And when our fluids mingle and we become one, its warm, then hot, then free. And its that good kind of freedom, you know the one I mean?  The total freedom to say, do, feel the way you want without worry that you’re hurting someone’s feelings, sensibilities or security.  The freedom to uncover that smallest Russian doll that lives within us.  I don’t let many people see mine.  In fact, the last one I did ended badly and now I don’t know that I have it in me to do it again.  I need a strong person in my life. I also need and miss my Aristotle.

Glen knows these things about me.  I love him for that.  Unfortunately, his strength is a bit much for some and they become addicted to him.  Or maybe its just they become addicted to the fact he unlocks their inner doors and forces them to look at their earlier selves.  I don’t share him with people I know can’t handle his allure.  I don’t share him with people who aren’t ready to unlock when they’re not under his or any of his lesser cousins’ influence.  I told you I could be a condescending blonde at times.  I can be pushy and sneaky too.  Glen didn’t tell anyone when my batteries ran out and I stole one from the television remote and forgot to replace it.

Glenlivet keeps really good secrets.  It’s me that shares them.

 

 

 

 

Mental Reminder: This is Why I Hate Dating


Ahhhh romance!  Ahhh, the newness of meeting someone you might really like.  Ahh, the lessons you learn when it doesn’t work out!!!!  Why do we not catch on faster to the speedbumps lying in wait to tip over the relationship?  Why do we overthink, overreact,  but never overcome those redlights that are blinking madly at you through your rose colored glasses?  Is it romance?  Is it the courtship?  Is it the budding realization that there really are sincere people in the world and they haven’t all gone attention-greedy mad?

I don’t know.

I’ve had my fair share of romance.  A man once wrote me a song.  Okay, it wasn’t the greatest song, it was more like a song that would have been on the Beverly Hillbillies Soundtrack, but it was written for me.  And the man hired a band to play it and cut a few hundred copies of it for….I guess me.

Another man courted me with quotes from Shakespeare and Greek tragedy and unbelievable sex.  We were electric.  We were in sync.  He begged me to be Penelope to his Odysseus.  Of course, Odysseus had multiple affairs while Penelope waited patiently for him to grow up and come home.  You know the story.  And you can guess how mine ended.

The last romance I had was again, electric.  This man was  (in my mind) an intellectual without a degree.  A man with a large Italian family but no home.  A rebel with many causes.  And he wrote poetry.  Lovely, heartachingly beautiful poetry.  A few he wrote for me.  He was much younger (which bothered me greatly) and had HUGE emotional issues, but I believed that “love would overcome”.  He didn’t.  He believed in Sugar Mammas.  The feminist side of me thought it okay.  I mean come on, there are many women who get involved with older, rich guys so why shouldn’t a man?   The problem was I was older, but not that rich.  Okay, not rich at all.   And the true part of me thought getting involved with another strictly for mercenary reasons quite crass.   And so the story ended.

Here we go again.

I went out last weekend for the second time with a nice gentleman.  Before yesterday, I thought of him as romantic, intelligent and a little spontaneous: all things I truly appreciate.  He filled my emails with thoughts, book excerpts, poetry I should read, interesting stories and he sent me sweet texts throughout the week.  (do you see a pattern here?)  On our first date he drank more wine than I.  On the second date, he moved on to Scotch.  Not that it bothers me, Glenlivet is a dear friend of mine.  But I noticed he was quite, let’s say, dependent on having a drink in front of him before he could converse with me.  Am I that scary?  Does my mere presence push men to drink?   There I go overanalyzing again.  But it’s one of those character flaws (or plusses) I own.  Overanalyzing is my way of making sense of the whole relationship thing, heck, of the world!  So I overanalyzed, then stopped and mentally berated myself for being so neurotic.

Then I got this text:

“Gayle, I heard this today and it made me think of you”

Attached was the the following video.  Listen to the lyrics carefully.

I guess he does have a drinking problem. I guess he does think this is romantic (um….it’s not!) and I guess this is why I hate dating.  I won’t be seeing him again.