self employed/auto sales/business investor/pro musician

Before the important post-date update, let me introduce you to my latest winning match...and I do mean Charlie Sheen style winning.  He's a "self employed/auto sales/business investor/pro musician."  Now you don't meet those often.

So far I've been on two dates and I've already been called Goldilocks.  The first one was too old and the second might be too young.  Seriously, though - is it important that I know that your house has two two car garages?  Do we need to talk about having kids on the first date?  Most painful might have been hearing that my date hadn't heard of Family Ties.  Really?  People don't know Alex P. Keaton?  Wow I'm old.

Going on the dates just led to what I would like to call careful thinking.  Others may say obsessive compulsive analysis, but they aren't writing this, are they?

First - what to wear?!?!  I believe I planned 14 outfits for the first date.  I hereby apologize to everyone who had to listen to me plan.  It's not like one outfit made me suddenly look like a size 2, so did it really matter?  I was convinced that if I didn't make exactly the right decision, Tampa Boy (names changed to protect the innocent) would run away screaming in disgust.

Next issue?  Where to meet?  And for what?  Coffee seemed to be the top suggestion, but I can't leap outside of my comfort zone stone cold sober!  I didn't win this round...coffee was scheduled as date 1.

Panic time!  Standing outside the restaurant waiting for Tampa Boy was quite possibly the most unpleasant 5 hours (or 5 minutes - I lost count) of my recent life.  My heart nearly beat out of my chest and it was all I could do to keep my morning Diet Coke down.  What a sexy start to the date!

Coffee turned into dinner, which seemed to be a good sign, but things went off track somewhere between the two two car garages and my museum attendance.  The derailment could have been due to my discomfort as I couldn't figure out how I was at dinner with such an attractive guy and I had to figure out what was wrong with him.  Clearly he was planning to kill me in the parking lot.  Note to self - there's probably a limit to the number of times one can make the serial killer joke.  The evening ended with "yeah, let's talk soon."  Uh huh.

I thought I was home free after surviving the date itself.  Wrong!  Then came the really obsessive thinking - did I do something wrong?  Did I care if I did something wrong?  Should I thank him for the evening?  We split costs, so the best I could think was that I should thank him for letting me live.  Not so hot.  Luckily I had a backup waiting in the wings.

I'm not sure what's going to happen with the backup, but I can say he is a definite step up from my ex.  Oh - and highly important - he isn't Roman Catholic and cross wearing.  Not that there's anything wrong with it, per se, but I'm really not interested in being smacked in the face by Jesus on a cross during intimate moments again.