It started as a typical enough Thursday.


We were in port for a long weekend after two weeks underway for whatever exercise du jour was in the cards for our shortened workup cycle. As was our custom when I was in town, Thursday nights meant yoga, or “90 minutes, 26 poses, and 104 degrees of foreplay,” as her roommate referred to it after attending a class with us once. As was our custom, we each had to use every ounce of willpower we possessed to focus on the poses, the breathing, the technique, and find our centers, resisting the animal urges to indulge in the visual smorgasbords that were our bodies.
Even though we both took it seriously, I could feel the distracted energy emanating from her body as strongly as it must have been emitting from my own.

Finally, the class was over and she made a beeline for me as we quietly left the studio, wrapping her long arms around my chest from behind, and leaning in to coyly whisper in my ear,



"Let's hurry up and get out of here. I have some fun ideas for things to do tonight, since you don't have to work tomorrow..."



As I went to put my shirt back on, she stopped me, noticing the bruise on my side that was just starting to turn a dark shade of purple. Her eyes met mine as her fingers lightly traced around the edges of the mark.



"Rugby?" she asked, a vaguely amused look curling the corners of her mouth.



"Rugby." I confirmed, shrugging slightly and bracing for what was coming next.



"You boys and your silly macho games, always trying to show off for each other," she teased, her fingers now lightly tracing over the hard outlines of the muscles in my shoulders, my biceps, my pecs.



I snorted. "...says the girl who's idea of an awesome second date was a Bikram yoga class."



I wrapped an arm around her slender waist, pulling her to me until we were eye to eye.



"And don't even try to tell me that wasn't about showing off."



She batted her big green eyes at me playfully and hooked her hands behind my neck as my other arm naturally fell to also rest around the waist.



"Oh, that absolutely had nothing to do with showing off," she replied, her voice getting husky with seduction. "it was about seeing if you'd be able to keep up with me.'



"Plus," she added, giving me a quick peck on the lips, "I just wanted an excuse to see you without a shirt on."



"And...?"



"And what?"



"Did you like what you saw?" I pressed, squeezing her closer to me. I heard her breath catch in her throat in surprise, and through her thin sports bra and sweat soaked tank top, I could feel her heartbeat accelerating.



"If you get me home quickly enough, you might just find out for yourself," she replied, barely loud enough for me to hear.



Less than a minute later we were heading for the 805 Freeway as fast as I could negotiate my little red Prelude through the twisty canyon roads of eastern San Diego. Even though the temperature would soon begin to drop with the quickly gathering darkness, we had the sun roof open and the windows down, enjoying the unusually warm mid-October evening.



Our on-ramp for the freeway was coming up quickly, and I shot a wolfish grin in her direction. The gaze that met mine veritably combusted as one of her hands went for the door handle, the other went for the armrest, and she stretched those long, long, long, long legs out to brace in the footwell.



Faster than conscious thought I rolled onto the clutch, dove into the brakes, and downshifted to third. With a continuation of those motions, I rolled my heel back onto the throttle and eased off the clutch as I simultaneously cranked the wheel to the right. All 270 painstakingly massaged horsepower pushed us back into our seats as the meticulously tuned suspension bit into the curve. In the seat next to me, she squealed with delight as the little sports car rocketed up the ramp and onto the freeway.



Within a handful of adrenaline-fueled heartbeats I had us at a steady 75 as we picked our way through traffic, her long, dark brown, almost black hair blowing in the wind as we laughed and sang along to everything on the radio. Meanwhile, my right hand had inexplicably found her lap and was deliberately stroking her lean , muscular thigh . At the same time, her left hand had found its way up to the back of my head and was idly playing there, caressing my scalp and ears.



After what felt like an eternity, the exit to her condo came up, and with the same practiced ease I smoothly made the transition from freeway to surface streets.



Her hand found mine atop the gearshift knob.

"Have I mentioned recently how much it turns me on when you drive like that?"



Once again, her voice was dripping with desire and just a touch of urgency.



"Well then, I'll keep driving this way to get us back to your place as quickly as possible," I teased, squeezing her held hand as we jointly eased the transmission into fourth gear for the last bit of the sprint to her complex.



The race to find a parking space, grab our mats, water bottles, and towels, sprint for her condo, and wait for her shaky fingers to fumble for the right key seemed to take even longer than the drive down the 805.



After a brief struggle as our still sweaty bodies fell against the door and each other, her key slid smoothly into the lock, the knob was turned, and our tangle of limbs, lips, and hormones tumbled into the living room.



The two roommates who were home gave exaggerated rolls of their eyes as we continued our tumble through the living room, down the hallway, and to her bedroom.



Before the latch clicked shut she was peeling her skin tight tank top up her long, gently muscled torso, pulling it over her head before frantically throwing her hands around my neck, pulling her to me as hard as she could, and forcing her lips against mine. My own hands dropped to the gentle swell of her hips, then settled onto the firm, perfectly rounded cheeks of her perfectly heart-shaped ass. A soft moan escaped around the edges of her mouth as she forced her tongue between my slightly parted lips. Electric sparks of pure, unadulterated lust shot between us anywhere we touched each other, the room getting hotter with each passing heartbeat of our rapidly rising pulses.



I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, but she broke the kiss long enough shake her head slightly, her green eyes now a roaring inferno.



"Not yet," she teased.



"Shower?" I asked, my arousal sapping my brain of too much blood to allow for any responses more than a single word.



"I'm not ready for us to get clean yet. We're already dirty, and I have a pretty great idea for how we can get even dirtier."



With a sudden burst of strength, she turned us around, and with a hard push to my chest, sent me backwards onto her bed.



"Don't. Move." She ordered tersely, a surprisingly serious look crossing her face.



I knew better than to ignore it.





When she was satisfied I was taking her directions seriously, she sasheyed over to her desk, making sure I was taking in every flawless inch of her long, long, long, long legs.



Two presses on her computer's keyboard, and her favorite sexy time playlist picked up where we'd left off last night.







Throwing an impish glance over her shoulder at me, she rummaged through a drawer, pulling something out that she placed on top of her dresser, obscured behind her back as she turned to face to me. Her eyes locked on to mine and she bit her lip as she crossed her arms and hooked her fingers under her light gray sports bra. She swayed in time to the music, her body finding the rhythm instinctually. My own breath caught in my throat as I soaked in every detail of the impossibly salacious striptease that was beginning before me.

As I started getting ready to leave Charlotte and come home this afternoon, I began to realize that I wasn't looking forward to going home- not because I didn't want to leave my family- it definitely wasn't that- but because I wasn't really looking forward to getting home to K. As I fought my way through traffic up I-85, I came to the realization that I was actually dreading being back at home, because I suspected that I wouldn't exactly be welcomed home with arms wide open.

I texted K as I reached Raleigh city limits, telling her I was stopping for food, and asking if she wanted anything. No reply, and I found myself going way out of my way to get to the restaurant I'd decided to pick up takeout from. Finally I couldn't put off going home any longer, and parked in front of the house, not behind her car (so she could leave if she wanted to at any time), and walked inside. All the lights were off, the dog was in the crate, the cat was on the front step looking hungry, and the bedroom door was shut. I walked back to the bedroom and gently kissed her on the cheek, but she didn't so much as stir. I went and let the dog out of her crate, took her outside where she was eager to relieve herself and stretch her legs. We came back in after getting the mail, and I could immediately tell that her ear (it's been badly infected for a while, and I'd reminded K of this after the vet had expressed concern about it last week) was seriously bothering her again. The dog ran back to the bedroom, no doubt happy to be able to run around and wanting to go see her mom, and nosed open the door. K woke up, and was obviously immediately annoyed by the dog's nails on the wood floors. I took the dog into the office with me, but it was already too late. Between the nails on the wood floor, and her rolling on the floor rubbing her ear while I looked for the medicine, K had had enough, and left. I put the drops in Reagan's ears, and texted K that I had her calmed down.

"It is truly ridiculous that you think that she's the problem."

Nice. Welcome home, indeed. Just as I feared.

"Oh that's right, because when I'm not around, everything's perfect for you, right?"
I deleted my first reply after thinking for half a second.

"Of course she's not. After all, before I got home, she was in her crate scratching her ear on the other side of the house from the bedroom."

"hope that made you feel better."

Nice. Real nice. Especially since she wants another dog, when she can barely stand her own most of the time. You don't just order a dog who's been locked in a crate all day to lie down, especially not and old dog to lie down on a wooden floor- it's hard for her to get back up again.

I'd had enough and left myself, after she got home and greeted me with an icy glare. Driving around aimlessly for a while, I finally ended up at Dorothea Dix park, overlooking downtown Raleigh. We'd gone up there for New Years Eve a couple of years ago, when K didn't want to go out to a party or anywhere else to celebrate. There, I finally let out all the frustrations I've been cooping up the last couple of weeks- the utter lack of affection, the constant feeling like I'm more of an annoyance than anything else, the nagging suspicion that we're not even going to make it a full year, the questioning whether or not I *want* us to make it a year...

It's too much. I'm looking at therapists, but aside from that, I really, really need somebody else to talk to, but I don't know who yet. I just know I can't keep going on like this- I'm feeling lonelier with every passing week of us not doing anything.

"You seem to spend a lot of time reliving your glory days instead of facing the fact that you're not 24 years old any more."

I bit my tongue, nodding, and told her, "yes, you're probably right."

I resisted the urge to say what I was really thinking:
"because we don't do much adventuring or anything fun now. Or if I'm doing it, it's because you don't feel like going out, and then I feel guilty about having fun without you."

This was last night. The husband of one of the minister at our church is a drummer in a local band, and he'd invited us to this show, opening for one of the better known local bands, several months ago. As a bonus, his wife had a babysitter for the night for their year old son and would be able to join us. I'd reminded Katie about this via text while we were at work yesterday, and wasn't honestly very surprised when she replied back a bit later in the day that she wasn't feeling like going out, but apologized.

History repeats itself. In all fairness though, she was planning on leaving early for a conference she's due to attend for several days in Myrtle Beach. Still, I'm getting more and more used to coming up with excuses for why I'm appearing solo when I go to meet with my friends.

The show was great- my friend's band, only playing their third show together, were very good, and the main band was amazing. It was about 2/3 of the way through the headliner's set that I spotted her.

I wasn't even really looking around to see if she was there, though I should have suspected she might be. I'd found out earlier that the guitarist for the headlining band was also the guitarist for her band- the music scene in the Raleigh area is really a small, tightly-knit community- and I'd already seen the violinist from her band.

As for "her," I'll call her "K" for now. That all started maybe four years ago, not long after I'd moved to Raleigh and started at State. She'd found me on my old OKCupid account and there had been a bit of flirting back and forth. Nothing happened for a few months, because let's face it, musicians can be flakes. Especially young ones who are just out of college and still finding their place in the world. Still, I was intrigued, and hoped that our paths would eventually cross.

It was a graduation party after friends of mine finished their Master's program at State, and we ended up at one of the better known hipster dance clubs in downtown. It took me a while to put two and two together, but there she was at the bar- tall, gorgeous, and apparently holding court with other local artsy hipster types- some of whom I recognized, one of whom I'd dated briefly- and definitely standing out to the point that everybody in the group I was with commented on her presence. And as a fellow alpha who tends to hold crowds, I was mesmerized. Eye contact was made, shy smiles were exchanged, but as I was still sort of seeing another musician at the time, nothing else happened.

Fast forward to January of last year. My youngest brother Chris was in town for a few days to hang out over his winter break, and a coworker's wife is the lead singer of a band here in the area. I was familiar with them, and already knew that K was in this one- her name had been blowing up in local projects all over the area for close to a year at this point- but I wasn't expecting any interaction, instead, after her set, here she comes towards me. Thankfully, I was by myself on the way to the bar as she said hello, introduced herself, and asked how I enjoyed the set. We chatted for a few minutes, then hew brow crinkled up.

"You look really, really familiar from somewhere. Have we ever...?"

Her voice rose in a playful tone. I stammered something in reply about being at shows for her previous band, deciding to spare the awkward conversation that could result from saying something like,

"oh yeah, we totally matched at around 94% on OKCupid about 3 and a half years ago."

Better part of valor and all that. Besides, I'd seen her boyfriend (at least that was my assumption) come up behind her while we were talking. Still, during the following band's set, she turned around to look back at me several times, always with a smile.


The next time we crossed paths was the entry I wrote about back in August, going to see Nora Jane Struthers with a friend and being the only one there without somebody to dance with. No more needs to be said about that, though.


And then last night. I caught sight of K about 2/3 of the way through the headliner's set, and a few minutes later she started walking towards my direction, heading back towards the bar. She got close- inside personal space close even- as she passed. Eye contact was made. Shy smiles were exchanged. *something* started to happen- I'm not sure exactly what still, but at that point my pulse was pounding in my ears and my chest. Then she suddenly drew back, and was past me. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath as I exhaled deeply.

I'm still more than a little confused by the whole exchange, and by how to feel about it.

So, here I am now, and not sure of what to make of it.

In the past, I had a large circle of friends eager to go out and do things, take in shows, take weekend trips, and otherwise seek adventure at the drop of a hat.

In the present, I'm unfulfilled on a physical level pretty much constantly, most of my friends have drawn back (either because my wife flat out doesn't like them or doesn't want to get to know them better, or because I've flaked on them too many times making excuses for why we (she) can't go out), and when I do go out and do things, I feel guilty having fun without her- and I'm constantly reminded that there are couples out there who go out, do things, and have fun together- on a regular basis.

What does the future hold? I can't say yet. A lot of our engagement I found myself repeating in my head, "it'll get better after school is done/ the house is done/ she gets a new job/ I get a job." I'm still waiting for it to consistently be better. The question is, how long can I wait? A year? Two? Five?

On a somewhat related note, every night for at least the last week, my dreams have been haunted by pretty much the same tall, athletic dark haired mystery woman. Who she is, I have no clue. I just pray I'm not talking out loud in my sleep.

Seven weeks since we last had sex, and counting.
Six weeks since she last kissed me, or initiated any kind of physical
contact.
Eleven weeks since the wedding.
We had sex on the night of the wedding, in our suite. Once, on the
honeymoon- the first full night in Reykjavik. And once when we got home
from Iceland.

And that's been it.

As I've mentioned in a previous post, Katie's been carrying a lot of
anxiety about a lot of things, and also not feeling attractive. It's been
an ongoing series of cycles where that manifests itself in her pushing me
away, physically, and emotionally. Pretty much completely. That's the point
where we start instead of being a couple, it's more of a feeling of being
housemates who often sleep in the same bed, but without touching. And that
phase of the cycle takes several days, or weeks, to very slowly and
gradually move out of, depending on how she's feeling about me, herself,
and us in general. It's gotten to the point where I've pretty much given up
trying to initiate any kind of physical contact, flirting, or showing
affection.

And it's killing me.

Seriously, that part hurts more than the lack of sex. I'm a naturally
affectionate person, as is pretty much all of my family, and the example
that I always saw of marriage when I was growing up were the obvious
displays of affection my parents shared (and still share) on a regular
basis. That's honestly how I've always pictured married life would be for
me too, and to that end, every single relationship I've been in before this
one has involved a lot of affection, on my part and also that of whoever I
was with.

I was at a concert last night- the wife of one of the engineers I work with
is the lead singer of a local band called New Reveille. Once upon a time,
shortly after I first moved back there was a very, very near miss situation
involving a girl who is now their cellist (but that's a story for another
time). They opened for Nora Jane Struthers and Party Line, whom I'd heard
of, but never seen in concert. As it was at the back room at Cat's Cradle,
I already knew it was going to be a very, very small show, and knowing
Katie's interests in bands, was seriously hoping she'd want to go, but not
so much.

There were maybe two dozen people in the audience total, about what I was
guessing, and it would've been perfect for her to be able to enjoy, without
being surrounded by large crowds. The vast majority of the audience were
also couples, which made going with a single former classmate of mine a
little bit more odd- especially when Nora Jane did an amazingly sweet
Everly Brothers duet with her fiance (who also happens to be the banjo/
violin/ slide guitar player for her band), and the love and adoration they
shared was absolutely magical. It got much more awkward when, on the next
song, she gave everybody a quick primer on how to do the Tennessee Two
Step, and declared that everybody should find a partner to dance with. Nick
and I quietly faded into the walls for that one, and I couldn't help but
enjoy watching every single couple in the place as they danced. And feel a
little bit lonely, and wistful- it's been a long, long time since I've been
with somebody who would dance without either lots of alcohol, or lots of
coaxing and begging.

I spend a lot of time in my own head, which is part of the reason why I've
resurrected this Livejournal. Situations like this are very, very bad for
people with my personality type- at the very least, we start pondering on
and obsessing about all the things we must be doing wrong, what we should
be doing differently, and thinking of every little mistake, misspoken word,
or even slightly inconsiderate act, and how that could be affecting things.

At the very worst, we start wondering if we've made some sort of terrible
mistake, or if the universe has decreed that we have some sort of penance
to pay, and then start trying to pinpoint exactly when things went wrong,
and once again, what we did and should be doing differently.

I swing between both those extremes, as well as the full spectrum in
between, at least weekly. The worst part of that, again with my personality
type, is not being able to talk to anybody about it. So instead it gets
bottled up, and I continue to keep a smile on my face and talk about how
married life is going just dandy fine and wonderfully full of house
remodeling projects and fun.

That last part, in turn, is having a serious impact on my relationships
with friends, family, and my usual social circle. I really, really hate
lying about that, hate constantly going out with my friends (most of whom
haven't seen Katie in months at least, if they've even met her) without
her, and doing fun things while she stays home. I'm especially guarded now
in situations where alcohol, the opposite sex, or both are involved. I'm
terrified that I'll slip up if I'm not extremely careful, extra guarded,
and constantly checking up on myself. And. It's. Exhausting. I've skipped
out on many, many outings, social functions, and chances to socialize
because of the above, and I hate it.

I miss flirting. I miss the furtive glances back and forth that only the
two of you share, the work to catch a girl's eye from across a crowded
room, the excitement, anticipation, and rush of initiating and engaging in
a witty banter or repartee with a skilled opposite. I miss the feeling of
the accidental and not- so- accidental brushes of hands and bodies against
each other, the feel of a woman's waist nestled in the crook of my arm. I
miss the sound of her breath catching in her throat the first time I brush
my lips against hers. Watching her eyelids flutter as she surrenders
herself to that kiss. The inevitable escalation as temptation, hormones and
inhibitions duel. The contact, the intensity, the passion, the building
anticipation, the high, the afterglow. I miss waking up, satisfied and
excited, my body pressed up against warmth and curves. Sharing a sleeping
greeting kiss, each daring the other to reenact the previous night. The
promise and anticipation of identical future kisses shared in that moment.

And I hate most of all that I can't dare tell Katie about any of this,
because the last thing she needs is to put more pressure on herself than
she already does. She knows I'm not happy with our current situation, but I
don't think she could handle knowing the full extent.

lj-mood: meh

Raise your hand if you didn't have sex on your birthday.

Keep it up if this is the second year in a row.

Keep it up if this is the third year in a row.

Now, keep it up if you've been in the same relationship for all three of
those birthdays.

Nobody else? Just me then, I guess.

Aside from the lack of any sort of physical contact that is the typical
norm for our relationship, it was a fairly good birthday. My friends at the
office took me out for lunch, which is always fun, and despite their best
efforts, were trying to get me drinking. If we weren't all swamped with
work...

Katie bought me several workout-related things that she knew I'd been
needing, and seriously wanting. A big part of me is hoping that this new
push to get back into shape that we're both embarking on will help provide
some spark in the physical part of the relationship. I'm shooting for being
back at fighting weight by the time my 35th birthday rolls around, and I
think that's doable. Hopefully Katie working out and training with me will
help her feel more secure and comfortable with her own body (since I know
that at least part of the reason why she won't let me touch her is because
she's not comfortable with how she looks- though that doesn't matter to
me). Hopefully it'll also help address some of the issues I know she's been
having with having very little energy, and the constant headaches and
migraines. I know that hasn't done our relationship any favors, and no
matter how many times I ask, plead, and gently prod, she still hasn't gone
to see her doctor about this.

As for the dream I was having the other night before I woke up, as is
always the case, the more you try to hold on to the details, the more seem
to slip out the other side of memory.

This took place in the past- maybe 11, 12 years ago- that much I'm certain
about based on who was there with me- some of my old Navy buddies from the
Reagan whom I haven't seen in almost a decade now. We were at a music
festival- not Coachella, there was too many trees and wildlife. I don't
remember who was playing, but there were several bands there I was excited
to see, as were my old Navy friends who also had excellent taste in music.
Shame, because I'm really curious to place where/ when this was, as well as
what brought it up.

As for "her:" I honestly don't remember how or where I knew her from, just
that we were at least familiar as aquaintances, and were sleeping in the
same cabin as other friends of mine, in bunk beds.

I don't remember a name, but I remember details. The long, fiery red hair.
The hazel eyes. The freckled, heart-shaped face. The long, muscular legs
supporting a lean, athletic frame.

In other words, pretty much every single one of the traits I find most
desirable combined into one package. Ain't the brain a funny thing?

The other part I remember, as usual, is the emotions. Excitement.
Anticipation. The thrill of obviously being desired. The rush of trading
verbal jabs in the beginning phases of flirtation. Emotions I haven't felt
in a very, very long time, even before we were married. Once upon a time
these feelings were all commonplace in our relationship, but I can scarcely
remember when that was.

...Because I feel like I've come back from the dead. The last year and a half (shit, the last two or three years) have been more challenging than a lot of the rest of my life, but like a phoenix, I feel like I've emerged from the flames, reborn.

Daddy's back. :)

Seriously, the last month or so have been truly pivotal for me. After the hellish week that was finals, life has started to return to a somewhat normal pace. I started running again the week after Christmas, I've started eating healthier again, and I've been rediscovering exactly what it means to have a social life. After this past semester, I'd almost forgotten. I feel awesome, I know I look awesome, and most importantly, I know that it's showing.

The dating front has been another interesting series of stories as well. I'm not sure if it's a case of women making New Year's resolutions to dump their douchebag boyfriends, or if it's just that 2011 is truly supposed to be my year, but even that part has started to pick up. New Year's Eve was awesome- Team Two Thousand Ted ended up going out to Blue Foot in Northpark, and even though I didn't end up having anybody to kiss at midnight (which is probably a good thing, all things considered), it was still a great night. 

I've been getting much more traffic on my OKCupid profile that last couple of weeks or so, and it's been fun having women actually respond and <gasp> actually want to go out with me.

There are stories to tell, but they'll have to wait a little bit. ;)

I can't really talk about it now, but hopefully it will be served sooner than later. It's looking like that will be the case. In the meantime, why do unpleasant memories seem to rear their ugly heads at the worst possible times?

I saw this link earlier today, and had to share it- way too good to pass up. So since my dry spell has officially passed the six month mark with no apparent end in sight, I'm thinking maybe I need to start looking for these kinds of tattoos on girls in PB?

Wow, just wow.

My good friend bkmichele has to stay at work all weekend as the on-duty manager or something like that, so I dropped in to have dinner with her last night at the hotel's restaurant. Hey, I'm never too good to pass up free food, and I still had to bring her up to date on the adventures in North Carolina (to be chronicled in the other blog), and my newest dating mishaps (to be chronicled...somewhere).

For the time being, we're both doing the OKCupid thing, since from our combined observation there seems to be a disturbing lack of worthwhile single people in our respective work/ life circles; Michele works with a bunch of older married guys in the hotel industry, and I'm going to school with a bunch of virginal 20 year olds and mid 20-somethings in long-term relationships. Not exactly the best place for either of us to meet people, and the folks typically encountered a the bar scenes in either one of our neighborhoods are about as appetizing as a peanut butter and Brussels Sprout sandwich.

I've also been doing the Plentyoffish thing (discovered that thanks to Amy several years ago, and encouraged by my friend Kat), and have been having pretty much the same results both places:

I'll message women that seem to be saying they're looking for exactly everything I have to offer, and who should typically find me interesting or intriguing, and while I'll get a glance or two at my profile, I won't get any responses. Or, the only girls that will initiate contact with me are the same kind that would typically come up and grab my ass at a bar out here- trashy, disgusting, and usually with a couple of kids already. Notice that I said "out here." Yes, I did notice a difference back east last week. Chalk another one up to why Southern California blows.

OK, I know I'm not the slimmest guy in San Diego (although I'm working hard at getting back to pornstar body status), and I realize that everybody in Southern California is obsessed with physical appearance, income level, etc but damn. Granted, I also wish there was a class available, like an "Online Dating for Dummies" type thing, because this shit is hard. I can ask five different girls that I'm friends with for advice on how to make my profile more likely to get hits, which pictures to upload, and what to say in first messages sent out, and I'll get five different opinions. But of course, isn't that how it works with women in general anyway?

So getting back to my original point- are girls in California really that deluded to think they're going to find some gorgeous multimillionaire artist/ architect/ self-employed guru that's 7' tall, deadlifts 300 pounds, and is going to whisk them all over the world at the drop of a hat? Maybe. But then I went and found the following study, and interview, that I think helps explain at least part of the reason why I've been having virtually no success with this whole online dating experiment.

The ugly truth

In addition, I also found this interview that one of the site's founders did with NPR last year. And yes, I thought the date of the interview was hilariously coincidental as well.

Why I'm screwed

So they pretty much speak for themselves, but I'll do the cliffnotes because I know some folks won't bother reading the full articles: basically as a guy, if you're not white, you're not going to get many responses, or messages from folks, unless you're sending messages to black females. And apparently white people are the least likely to want to date outside of their race.

The last wedding I went to was in Charlotte last July, when my good friend capt_hornblower was tying the knot with his lovely bride Julie. The Ex and I had flown out for the weekend, as I've already missed way too many weddings and other events in the lives of my friends while I've been on the wrong coast.

As the happy couple walked back down the aisle at the end of the ceremony, Gerin caught my eye, pointed at me emphatically, and with a wicked grin on his face, mouthed the words, "you're next!"

Funny the difference a few months makes, huh? Over the last eight months I've done a pretty good job avoiding most gatherings of happy couples in love. Or I've done a really damn good job keeping my mouth shut. Well, aside from that one time. It was early December, and my old neighbor Kristin was in town from the Bay Area to celebrate her birthday PB style (read: get ridiculously hammered drunk). I don't have any recollection of this, but apparently on the drunken stumble home we passed a wedding at the Zlac Rowing club on the bay, and I managed to shout out a couple of things about how horrible weddings are, how much love sucks, etc before anybody dragged me away.

Whoops. Obviously still a little bit sore about all of that. As if I'd needed another reminder. So needless to say, I've been quite gun-shy about those sorts of things since then, which I know is having a huge effect on my social life, or almost complete lack thereof. There's no guide or benchmark that I've found for "being better" and it's been an ongoing process. I'm doing better than I was even two months ago, but at the same time, I don't want to put myself into scenarios that will test just how "ok" I really am.

Fast forward to three weeks ago. An old friend of mine from the Reagan, Victoria or Vicki, called me and asked if I'd be her date for a wedding she had to go to. Great. Even better? The wedding was at the Admiral Kidd Club. This was a potential problem for several reasons:

1) Naval Recruiting District San Diego's headquarters is literally right around the corner- I was less than 200 yards from my old job.
2) The Ex and I had looked at having our ceremony and reception at the AKC.
3) The catering company that runs and provides the food for AKC is the same one that does for the OceanView Room, where we'd planned to have our ceremony.
4) Did I mention that I basically got left at the altar just a few months ago?

Vicki knew my history, and made me swear up and down that I wouldn't drink to excess, that I wouldn't go ruining the day for anybody else, and that I would be on my best behavior. As if that wasn't enough, several other of my friends, as soon as they found out I was going to a wedding, made me promise the same thing. Nice to know folks were looking out for me. So Vicki came down from LA Friday morning, and away we went to the Admiral Kidd Club for her friend's wedding.

I'd like to say the wedding was super easy to get through and I didn't feel a damn thing except happy for the bride and groom, but that would be a lie. The weather was perfect- sunny, warm without being too hot, and just enough breeze kicked up to keep the air moving without causing too much havoc. The kind of weather we'd hoped and prayed we'd have for our own wedding. Although, in a deliciously ironic twist of fate, October 18, 2009 was gray, cloudy, and decidedly cold. But I digress...

It was a beautiful ceremony- my first Jewish wedding- but for me it was just surreal. When the wireless audio for the Rabbi started cutting out, I sort of smiled to myself; our DJ had told us that he used wired mics on the military bases on Point Loma specifically because that sort of thing happens regularly. I saw the photographer walking around taking pictures, and I could JUST imagine it was Gabrielle Fox, our photographer, running around getting pictures. And wondering who was the better photographer. There ceremony was very nice, short, and fairly easy to understand- the same I would have liked my dad to do- but probably not quite like ours would have been. After all, it's no secret where I get my big mouth from. :) Seeing the happy couple, so obviously and completely in love with each other, share their first kiss was the hardest part- I had to swallow hard a few times to keep from welling up. For just the tiniest fraction of a second, I remembered what that felt like.

After surviving the ceremony, the reception was something else altogether. I thought that Roman Catholic Italians knew how to party, but I'd honestly have to say that all the Petruzzelli family gatherings I'd attended (which granted didn't include any weddings) had nothing on being at a Jewish wedding. I stuck to my promise, and aside from a taste of some rather vile Margarita punch (which we'd opted not to go for), and the obligatory glass of Champagne for the toasts, I didn't touch any more of the drinks. As an added bonus, one of my old former deppers from my time in Orange County was also at the wedding- she'd been friends with the bride for a couple of years, apparently.- so we had a good time catching up, even though I refused to talk about my breakup until after the wedding and we were back out here at the beach.

All in all it was pretty much a success- until I started drinking. Some of us at the wedding had talked about going out afterwards (including a couple of the single bridesmaids that were there), but nothing really came of it, and I ended up going out with the neighbors while Vicki and Veronica passed out here at the house, tired from the early morning drives down from LA and OC, respectively. I vaguely remember getting hit on by a trio of attractive married 40 year olds (again- I think this was the 3rd or 4th time that's happened in the last 6 months), and forgetting some girl's name that  I was talking to. And unsteadily walking back home, only to fall in bed alone, again, and sleep like the dead until I had to be up this morning to go to Balboa Park for the Golden Pyramid Award ceremony. Yep, nice to know I've still got it.