Once Upon A Time…

Consider this to be Sex and the City on The Juice….

For years my friends, both male and female, have been advising me to write about some of my dating exploits.  Word on the street is that I have some good stories as well as an interesting perspective on the dating world, as I have had full custody of a 12-year-old Drama Queen for 7 years now.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate.  I started out with a sweet 5-year-old who has slowly grown into the Queen.  Am I to blame for that?  Possibly.  Mom’s not around, so it’s not cool to blame her.  Some well-respected people tell me that drama queen mode is typical for a girl her age.  I don’t know.  You will find out as time goes on that I don’t always have a clue when it comes to chicks.

That brings me to my next point.  My language.  I’m not a sailor by any means, but I’m also not the quiet nerdy boy next door that uses proper language and terminology all the time.  I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, because I have the utmost respect for the female gender as a whole—though there are several exceptions to that rule.

So.   If I occasionally use the term “chick”, “girl” or “hottie” I mean nothing bad.  To me they are simply interchangeable words, much like “dude”, “bro” or “loser”.   I occasionally call people “douche” or “tool” on the radio.  The recipients pretty much always deserve it, but I have been known to be a little out of line once or twice.  All part of my mystique, I guess.

Over the years I’ve done quite a bit of online dating with only one pretty decent success story.  My daughter recently picked up a woman for me at Barnes and Nobel (another story for another day) and I’ve had a “fix-up” date or three along the way.  I don’t generally pick up women in bars or in other social settings because, well, I’m not entirely smooth.  It’s not to say that I couldn’t if I really wanted to, I just generally don’t feel like it.  If I’m gonna have a woman look me over, roll her eyes and say “whatever”, I think I would rather that she do it in cyber-space where I can at least pretend that she deleted the e-mail by accident!

As I tell the stories to my friends I make up names for the ladies in a very Seinfeldian way.  Eventually I had to start making the names a little more specific, since after a few “The Crazy Chick” stories I kept getting asked, “is this the same crazy chick as before or is this a new one?”  So now I have stories about “The-chick-who-invited-me-out-for-my-birthday-then stuck-me-with-a-really-huge-dinner-check”, The Yankee Fan” and one of my personal favorites, “The Period One”.

Not all stories are bad.  Some are good. Some are very good.  So good that they’re almost fairy tale-esque.  But then the fairy starts smoking crack and soon enough, it’s back to dating reality.

And finally, some notes on me.  I like to think I’m a good catch.  I have several female friends that have known me since “back in the day”.  They tell me that any woman would be lucky to have me. Of course, now that I think about it, these are the same ones that never dated me in high school, so maybe they just say it out of guilt.

I cook and I cook well.  I bake a little but generally with the help of Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines.  I’m not a clean freak but I know how to use my vacuum and a bottle of Windex is pretty self-explanatory.  I dress well.  Maybe not all the time, but my clothes are almost always clean.  I hate to iron, but I’ve done a few shirts in my day.  Pants too!  I’m occasionally funny, partially charming and even been called adorable a few times.

I’m not great looking.  Some women have told me that I’m handsome.  A few probably even meant it.  I mean, I’m not fugly or anything.  I’m just not George Clooney.

So that’s my dealio.  I’m a single, full-time dad who just wants to find love.  Is that so wrong?  I have some stories to tell you, but I will leave them for next time…

J.R.