Steve Goes on a Date and Other Atrocities

One of the things that I actually enjoy about writing this blog is that there are a couple of people who read it who just seem to hate me... and yet they read the blog! I'm sure they haven't actually met me, because as Rasmus and Nic both pointed out, I'm a surprisingly nice guy in person, contrary to the persona that comes across electronically.

(Rasmus, btw... that parody has GOT to be a winner!)

Mediocre training and fpv

That's "freakish personal victory." Yesterday, I went out for what was supposed to be a longish run with some speedwork. At 4 miles, my heart rate monitor alarm went off, as it hit 192. My maximum is 184. Sometimes a monitor will misread if the band slips. Sometimes there's an irregular heartbeat. This was a steady number, at the top of a hill (at 5:50 per mile!) just as I dropped to my knees and fell forward, face in the mud.

I said I trained hard...

So, I'm "winning the workouts," which is not a smart way to train, but I felt good doing it and then I ran another four slow miles and spent two hours digging trees out of my garden.

So how's the personal life, Steve?

I met Amy on-line, which is about the only place I seem to meet anyone any more and where I can seem smart, witty and even charming at times. We bantered back and forth and discovered we're on opposite sides of town and it just seemed natural to continue the conversation at a coffeehouse (we'd both done the Google-stalker thing).

When I arrived, she gave me the once-over, which women usually do tactfully enough that guys don't notice - a talent guys either don't have or don't bother using, it seems - and I caught her looking at my shoes. That's the classic sign of: "I'm putting a dollar amount on everything." She then proceeded to ask financial questions at which IRS officials blush and moved on to my past dating history.

Honest and direct. Not bad qualities in themselves. Not attractive just then, though.

No, she didn't get to hear about Trailer Park Goth Girl, Supermodel Diva, Rub-On Tramp Stamp Victim or Little Miss Jailbait, the most recent women in my background. She wanted to know what my longest relationship has been: I've had a female friend for 25 years, had an off-and-on romantic relationship that lasted 4 years, a continuous one of 18 months and one that I can't quite classify for 2 1/2 years. In order: crazy, dead, crazy and dead, and evil.

Marsh mudmess

Like everyone else, my basketball brackets got ruined by Northern Iowa. But it reminded me of two former girlfriends, also not mentioned above. When I moved to Indiana, I had to learn basketball; it's a law. Mary Ann, who'd been hanging around my lab a lot after I snuck a TV into the boss's office, was watching the NCAA tournament with me. "Wanna mess around?" she asked. "If Duke loses, I can still win the pool," was my response. We'd been dancing around the subject of where the friendship (possibly more) was going. She took off her ever-present bulky sweater and I found myself saying, "Where'd THOSE come from?" I'd thought she always wore the ridiculously oversized sweaters to hide the fact that she was, well, heavy. Turns out she was hiding the largest breasts I'd ever seen. "You really aren't very observant, are you," she laughed, "Well, at least I know you actually like me, not them." Then another great comment from me: "Honestly, I'm not sure I'd know what to do with those."

"You're smart. You'll figure it out."

Duke won. Mary Ann ended up marrying a friend of mine a year later. I wasn't invited to the wedding. Who was I actually dating at the time? Sarah, the world's smallest pharmacist (4 foot 1 inch, 50 lbs.)

Indiana was one continuous sideshow. But I learned a lot about basketball. Still can't win a March madness pool, though.