the Google Plus Familia - simone4king

Sunday, January 16, 2011

wrongStrongman

One monotonous evening while I was college, glued to the computer because it was a Graphic Design diploma I was after, I became possessed by the Goddess of Online Dating. She took over my body and forced me to create a profile on Plenty of Fish. It was great at first. My first date was with a Spanish scientist who traveled back and forth. I thought it went well. He never wanted to see me again.

It sounds harsh, but I'm a realist and can assure you that he simply was not interested in ever seeing me again. I was once a gal who rarely dated. I tried 'dating' in my 20s and realized that it would make my life a lot easier, if I only had drinks or dinner, went to plays, or danced with men I hoped to eventually spend a lot of time with. To date just to find out if he was someone I could date again. It just takes too flippin' long. And when I decided not to date a guy after five dates, too often they believed I was their girlfriend. Those break ups were so embarrassing for both of us, I think. I stopped. And I became sneaky. I got to know people a bit when I passed them on the street. I'd talk to them at parties, bars, events. And I knew if I was meant to date someone when I was attracted to him chemically, and began to see him everywhere. That was my scientific approach to falling in love.

So what am I doing online? Clicking on pictures? I have no idea. Mostly I'm cruising without danger of having to follow through after staring at some guy for fifteen minutes. It's kind of safe, right. Well that's what I thought. The opposite was confirmed on my series of date with candidate number one million six hundred thousand and forty three.

I met a man who pretended to be an Albanian refugee so that he could travel to North America. It took him a few tries, but it finally worked. We had a date on New Years Eve that lasted twenty minutes because he was fifteen minutes late and I had plans.

I thought he was sexy and actually, he had one of my fantasy body types. You know those guys who throw really big logs for competition. (This isn't him below. Just a visual. Just giving you a visual.)




I was in awe and imagined quite a delightful future. But alas.

One evening, after he was kind enough to pick me up from a thing I had in North Toronto so I wouldn't have to take the transit, I suggested we go out for a coffee. He parked the car, we got out and walked towards the café. In conversation about his ex-wife and kids etc., he casually slipped in that he had to beat his wife a couple of times. He said it like this,"I beat her too a couple of times, you know." I always imagine in these situations that the language difference or the background noise affected my perception so that he didn't say that at all.

But there I am, with my bag in his car, thinking I may be in danger right now. Thank God I have some acting experience. I played the role of the strong woman interviewing a sane man for the part of boyfriend. And I just listened to him tell me the story of his past.

For the details, you'll have to read my book. I'll probably call it 'cyberlove' unless some bastard steals the title, or I come up with something better. Basically, the wife beater was arrested, given a restraining order, put in jail for a day, and then released because he was coached not to admit guilt. He told me he said he was guilty and the judge told him not to tell her that. That's Canada, baby. Justice sometimes in some cases where the accused threatens that section of society that's running things. So then what happens? I get to meet him.

So I broke up with him in a voice mail. It's really the best way in that situation. He called back, emailed, asked for an explanation. I gave him one.

I will never date a man who has ever hit a woman for any reason.

I replied to his query with that one sentence. Make it your mantra. He told me he was drunk and hadn't had a drink since. But I said that he wasn't hearing me, because that was his reason. And no reason was acceptable.

Because for those of you who know me well, if a guy uses violence to make a point... let's just say, I ain't pretending to be 'Easy Like Sunday Morning'. I piss people off. Not on purpose usually, but often.

He still didn't get it so I had to tell him to stop calling, stop emailing and to just move on. No mincing words, no further explanation required. No opportunity to appear normal. None of it. Just an ending that saves me a ton of future grief.

Please ladies! Always do this! And men too! I've seen it get too ugly too often and there is always a sign with abusers. And the sign is not subtle either.

This random situation has inspired me to make an effort to socialize the old fashioned way... out in the world.

(Easy Like Sunday Morning by Lionel Ritchie... live)

and so we go...

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Teddy Pendergrass - The Whole Town's Laughing At Me (1977)

I was having wine and yes, smoking cigarettes indoors -- yes, indoors -- with a good friend last night. We were listening to music and exclaiming at the same songs.

I was trying to remember this one. I kept getting the title mixed up with, Used to Be My Girl by the O'Jays because of what the songs were about. Totally different feeling as you know in terms of musicality. They take me to two different places.

So she didn't get the point I was making, which was -- where did that spirit go? I don't hear songs like this so much anymore but then I usually listen to jazz. So raw, so that I believe the person who wrote it meant it, that Teddy meant it. I must go on a search to find new artist who sing with this much soul.

So, I share this video with you which is not visually my favourite editing style. :) There is a live version when Teddy was younger. It's a better visual, but this is the one. This is the one I remember loving from the start. This, after a rough day and a decision not to drink again tonight 'cuz I do have a day job.



and so we go...