Hate Mail Revival

(BIG YAWN.  STRETCH.  RUBBING EYES.)  Oh.  Hey.  Coming out of hibernation is something I don’t do everyday, so excuse the rough edges.  I had no idea that I would EVER be back here, but here I am.  How was everyone’s 2012?  And 2013?  Going well?

Things have been OK for me.  Quit my full-time job, wrote a one woman show (A musical, no less.), loved, lost, blah, blah, blah...  But I’m not here to talk about any of that.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to the following email that was sent ℅ my forgotten website:

my husband (just about the kindest and most gentle person on earth, never mind funny as fuck and crazy talented) came across your dating blog. you're wrong -- he looks nothing like michael chicklis.

it's cruel to make fun of him when he can't defend himself. he's also a dead ringer for augusten burroghs.

he was crushed by your characterization of him  and the "mercy" date.  i hope you enjoyed shitting all over a really lovely, kind and sensitive guy.

-the wife

OK.  This is obviously amazing on so many levels, to quote my friend Ash.  To recap, this is about Open Marriage.  You can find entries about him HERE and HERE.

When I read this email, my first thought was, “Wow.  The ‘contact me’ portion of my website works.  Good to know.”  The second was. “This woman is very angry about me not wanting to date her HUSBAND!”  And the third was, “Poor Michael Chiklis.”

At first, I thought I’d write the wife back, but then decided that I would prefer to communicate with Open Marriage since he’s the one I had the non-relationship with in the first place.  So here goes...

Dear OM-

I would like to start off by saying that it was certainly not my intention to hurt your feelings.  I’m sensitive myself, so I understand.  I will say; however, that I wrote this blog assuming every man I wrote about would read it, so I feel I was tame.  Perhaps I’m delusional, so I feel I need to break this down so you can see where I’m coming from.

I have a game I play with my friends called Who Would Play Him/Her in a Movie.  When we describe people, we pick an actor that would...  You catch my drift.  Michael Chiklis was the actor that popped in my head when I saw your pics in 2011.  Do you also resemble Augusten Burroughs?  Totally.  But I don’t think it’s too out there to say that Chiklis and Burroughs share a similar look.  Also, just because I am not attracted to this look does not mean that others aren’t.  My roommate finds Chiklis to be “hot as hell.”  (His words, not mine.)  I prefer hairy Mediterranean men, which is a mystery to many of my friends and my mother.  It’s just what I dig.  Nothing against men that lack copious amounts of hair in unsightly places or if their native tongue doesn’t require spitting.  I also understand how you feel.  I have been told that I look like a number of people that I don’t find to be attractive.  You see yourself differently and you wonder, “What in the HELL are you seeing in me?”  But then I remember, “Who gives a shit how someone else sees me.”  

I would also like to point out that we never met.  I don’t know what your hands look like.  What does your belly laugh sound like?  Do you have a weird tic?  Perhaps you put your hand to your chin when you’re REALLY thinking about something.  I’ll never know.  And that is why my opinion of you means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.  Hell, I don’t even have an opinion on YOU.  I just recorded my insane journey on this 30 date challenge from my point of view.  And let’s face it, it’s not everyday that you run into a person who is in a happy open marriage.  

I am fascinated by unconventional things.  This is true.  That’s why I was interested in meeting you, but then I realized that as innocent as I may think it to be, it would not be right to go on a date with you knowing the marriage thing wasn’t for me.  I did NOT go on a mercy date.  THAT IS THE POINT.  I didn’t do it.  If I had and then said, “Ugh.  What a mercy date,” then ouch.  I feel that I did the right thing by cancelling.  

I am sure you are kind, gentle, funny as fuck, etc.  I enjoyed our correspondence, even if you write too much for my taste.  Again, I don’t want this to upset you.  I was madly in LOVE with a man that would write Game of Thrones length emails to me, riddled with metaphors and allegories.  Yes, I scanned them, but I adored him nonetheless.

But I get it.  It’s not fun to read about yourself on the Internet.  Especially when you don’t agree with it.  One time, a dude commented on a YouTube video of mine, "What was your name when you were a man?"  (He’s a fool.  Shelby is clearly a uni-sex name.)  It didn’t feel great, but then I realized, this man doesn’t know me at all.  SO WHO CARES?

And that is ultimately what I’m trying to say here.  If calling you Michael Chiklis (not an ugly man) and refusing to go on a date that I’m ultimately not interested in going on are the 2 things that bummed you out, then I am TRULY and DEEPLY apologetic.  Seriously.  I hang out with comics.  We say way worse things about each other before breakfast, so I must be desensitized.  

For retribution, I will share a humiliating moment with you and the 45 other people reading this old ass blog.

Not too long ago, I was enamored with this fellow.  Really dug his chili.  After we broke up, his best friend told me that he was "in love with his ex the whole time he was dating me."  OUCH.  But it doesn’t end there.  He also said that my ex thought of me as "a pile of dirt that he would occasionally come around and piss on."  This is a man I knew BIBLICALLY.  But I got over it.

Again, apologies for any uneasy feelings.

-Shelby

PS- Your wife has balls of steel and loves you dearly.  But to quote my friend Amy, I “dodged a bullet because she would be a really mean first sister wife.”

So, In Conclusion...

I have learned a lot from this little experiment.  Most of the lessons learned were about me.  Men are men, and although interesting creatures, I can't say I drew some amazing conclusion on the hairier sex.

Here is a breakdown of lessons learned, from my perspective:

1.  Internet dating sucks.
2.  Apparently dating ex boyfriends is better than dating new guys from the Internet.  (Who knew?)
3.  Stay away from plentyoffish.com.  Far, far away.
4.  Coffee dates are counterproductive.
5.  On a first date, if you're not into him/her, don't stay longer than an hour.
6.  Keep it to 2 alcoholic beverages, and that is IT.
7.  Married guys are on these sites looking for girlfriends.  Marriage seems to suck.  Don't worry gays, you'll find out soon enough.
8.  There are still good men out there.
9.  Flirting is fun.  Reality is disappointing.
10.  The French are very intuitive.

The truth is, before ending the blog with UFB, I was very cynical about men.  This blog had become a project, and dating was a chore.  I wanted to enjoy it, and at first I did, but then I detested it.  I just wanted to finish this project, prop my feet up on the coffee table, read a fashion magazine, and never date again.

But getting to spend time with UFB reminded me that there are men out there that I enjoy talking to and laughing with, that I also I want to do grown-up things with.  I needed that reminder, and the timing was perfect.

The flip side of the coin is I'm protective of UFB and, therefore, a bit more cryptic with posts that include him.  Again, a reminder that there are just some things that should remain sacred.

I also learned that my reserved nature, while appealing at first, will do nobody any good at the end of the day.  It's time for me to practice opening up to others.

I leave this blog with high hopes of finding a man that makes me laugh, challenges me, and supports my dreams and endeavors.  He has to be out there somewhere.  If you think you're him, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a little bit of downtime to recompose myself.  But after a few weeks pass, maybe you should contact me.  I've learned so much about myself and need to put these lessons to the test.

Since this thing is over, I feel I should out myself.  Many of my Regulars know me, but for you in Malaysia, and those people in Russia, and shout out to Israel...  This is me.

Dates 29 & 30 (I cannot believe it.)

First I'd like to address something that has been brought to my attention.  Kibbutz and Ash said that they thought it was unfair to use UFB as dates.  Do you know what I say to that?  (This is when I wish I could flatulate on cue like my college boyfriend used to do when he didn't agree with me on something.)  Yeah, maybe it's not as exciting and titillating than meeting a stranger on the Internet, but this is going down and that's the way it goes.  This is MY blog and only I make the rules here.  UFB counts.  And personally, I could not have asked for a better way to end this blog.  This will be discussed in my conclusion blog.  (So Regulars, at least one more blog we get to share together!)

Date 29
It's Friday night and I'm ready to trip the night FANTASTIC!  I put on my slinky black dress, head to UFB's, and pop open a bottle of white wine.  Let's DO this.

Then the damn conversation about where we're going to eat.  Why is this conversation so difficult?  People are starving, For Christ Sake, on the streets of our very own country.  We go back and forth about it anyway.

He wants a burger but if we (I) want to feel fabulous for the evening's revelries, it's going to have to be a bit lighter than that.  Compromise made.  Moving on.

The rest of the night was like a dance.  We sat at the bar (my favorite) and had a great meal.  A friend of UFB stopped to say hello.  He was ridiculously good-looking.  I wondered what it must feel like to have both men and women think that you're ridiculously good-looking.  We met 2 girls from Los Feliz that are in the toy industry (random).  I exchanged phone numbers with one, and we have decided to be friends.  We changed locations and met another friend.  We went home.

Who can ask for anything more?

Date 30
It's the next day, and I swear to God I could have chewed my arm off, I was so hungry.  I know what to do.  Today is a day date to get that BURGER.  I pitch the idea to UFB, and he agrees.  It's 10am and surly the place will open at 11am.  Try again.  Not until noon.  NOON.  I'm dying.  My stomach is growling, I feel faint, I need to consume calories.

But guess what, ladies and gentlemen.  I toughed it out.  Took it like a man.  Cowboyed up.  Oh, we had that burger.  We ate it like savaged beasts.  There was little talk involved, as well.  We'd just occasionally look up at each other and nod.

And that's 30 freaking dates.  Concluding statements, future predictions, and closing thoughts to follow.

Dates 27 & 28

DATE 27

UFB and I have hectic and busy schedules, so some time had passed with little communication.  We finally figured it all out on Friday night.

After my show and his business dinner, UFB picked me up and we went to a local watering hole.  A gaggle of my friends were present, and UFB invited one of his buddies also.  What a festive time.  Libations, laughter, witty banter...  All of the things that make up an enchanting evening.

UFB and I had not seen each other in a while, so it's only natural that we'd be a bit more touchy feely than normal.  Perhaps we went a bit too far, as my friend, Ash, approached towards the end of the night and interrupted by saying, "Gross.  We're leaving."

She left.  Shortly after, UFB retreated as well to take the PDA into a more private setting.

DATE 28

I meet UFB at his place and we go out to eat.  We both overeat.  What is wrong with us?  Now we're sloth-like but still manage to make it out for an after dinner drink.  UFB's friend calls and asks us to come by, so we do.  We finish the evening there and head back to his place.

We're tired, but not ready to go to sleep, so we order part 2 of the Woody Allen documentary and fall asleep within 10 minutes.  It was the complete antithesis of the night before, but perfect.

5150

Well, I gotta say, I'm a little surprised this didn't happen sooner.  The tide has turned with Frenchman.  I thought all was well.  We had an amiable exchange about the blog, he commented on a few with which he agreed, and the night ended happily.

A few days go by, and I haven't heard from Frenchman.  That's fine.  I'm busy.  He's busy.  Neither of us made mention of communicating again.

And then Sunday night happened.

I need to give you the Reader's Digest version on this one because it's laborious, and he's reading.  (Bonjour, monsieur.)

He's mad.  Full on pissed.  He matched up dates of our text exchanges with blogs (WHY??), and now he's all bent out of shape.  I tried to explain that he and I are not in a relationship and were just communicating; therefore, both of us are able to do whatever with whomever (I didn't use these words, but...), and there is no reason to be upset.

Well, that didn't go over too well, and it's all downhill from there.  Apparently, I'm an awful woman.  He even went so far as to say that he can't find a woman spirit in me at all.  I'm not exactly sure what that means, but the word "cold-hearted" comes to mind.

I mean, it goes on forever.  Text, after text, after text about how awful I am.  I'm culturally insensitive for nicknaming people for their nationality, and then he blames it on the fact that I'm from Texas.  (He made a couple of derogatory statements about my being from Texas.  I will not do that to you France!  I love you too much.)

I'm going to have to defend myself on this one.  I am no xenophobe.  I adore people from other countries. Also 1) I named my Israeli friend Kibbutz because he lived on a freaking Kibbutz 2) I didn't name the Lebanese Parisian, Lebanese Parisian.  I called him by his given name.  Sammy 3) I named an American Le Lysee.  That's right.  Described an American with a French word.

I believe we should all be proud of where we're from.  I love my country, and if you want to call me The American, then go ahead.  I'll hold my head up high and sing the National Anthem AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS!  And you should too, everyone from other places.  We all should.

I eventually had to go to sleep and woke up the next morning to 20 verbally abusive texts.  Is this frightening?  A bit.  But this is why it's good to have cops and lawyers as friends.  Harassment is against the law.  Thank God.

When a girl gets all crazy on a guy, it can be a bit entertaining.  I'm convinced some men even dig that behavior.  It boggles my mind, but it's true.  When men do it, it's Lifetime movie-esque.  Don't bully girls!

I don't want to put any more energy into this than I already have.  Communication is over and it's time to move on.  I want to spend the rest of the time on this blog with someone who understands and accepts me more, so let's finish it out with UFB.

Cold Busted

Well, well, well.  Seems I got a little too big for my britches.  Just as I was sliding into home, not a care in the world, over this blog, onto the next, in fact, I get busted by a suitor.

Frenchman found the blog and found it quickly.  I don't think his date was up for more than 24 hours before he found it.  Weird, huh?  Here is a breakdown of what went down:

• My Israeli male friend (whom we'll call Kibbutz as he's private) came over while I made egg salad.
• My phone made the sound it makes when indicating that I have a text.
• Frenchman said he was reading the blog, and don't ask how he found it, but he's very "intuitive."
• I have a minor freak-out as Kibbutz laughed his ass off.
• Frenchman seemed upset, but then proceeded to read the entire blog and enjoyed it.  (He didn't say he loved it, but he also doesn't seem angry.)
• As the night continued, I occasionally received texts from Frenchman commenting on certain entries.  Also, as a former psychoanalytic student, he may be worried about my mental health.

Here are the theories:

• Frenchman always knew about the blog, and I've been bamboozled.
• He's not even French, and I've REALLY been taken for a ride.
• Someone has a lot of time to peruse search engines as my full name isn't on this thing.  (Thankfully, for him,  it was before the SOPA/PIPA fiasco.)
• I have accidentally befriended him on a social network.
• I'm not as smart as I think I am.  (This one is a given.)

The part that confuses me is the intuitive comment.  During my 2 Proseccos and witty banter, how did I subconsciously deliver, "I have a blog called www.30dates30blogs.blogspot.com and you're in it?"  How does intuition play a factor in this at all?  Thank God there isn't an intuitive event in the Olympics, because the French would kick our asses ladies and gentlemen.

As you have probably surmised, Frenchman is also reading this entry.  I told him, and I will tell you all too, I think Frenchman is a lovely person.  It is not my intention to hurt anyone's feelings.  As a matter of fact, it is the last thing I want to do.  Well, the last thing I want to do is kill someone.  Or accidentally get pregnant at my age, as I'd have to keep it.  But hurting feelings is definitely in the top 5 things I don't want to do.  Ever.  But alas, I am a journalist and must journal.  Peace be with you all, and let's get this blog over with now that my cover has been blown.  

Senioritis Blues

I've been so busy running around town like a 29 year old that I haven't really had the time to stop and think about the fact that this blog is coming to a close.  I only have 4 more dates.  True, I could stretch it out another 2 months or so, but I feel like the project should end when it's supposed to end, and that end is drawing near.  But what will become of me after this?

It's going to be a bit odd to no longer have a project, a reason to write.  I mean, there are other reasons to write, but I'm a little addicted to this experiment model.  After a short hiatus, I have to start a new blog.  But what?  My trainer suggested gain 30 lbs. and then lose it.  Obviously I'm not a big fan of that.  I guess things come to mind out of the blue, so I won't force it.

Although we're not completely done, nothing truly amazing came out of this.  I didn't fall in love (surprise).  Nobody's life was saved.  That whole cancer thing still seems to be an issue.  Ultimately, I have nothing of real value.

But...

I did get to kiss on some random guys here and there.  That's worth something.