Scuba Johnny (John #3)

August now - fresh from an emotional thrashing courtesy of John #2 (John of the North). Enter - Johnny (oy! another one that keeps the kiddy nickname!). Not too attractive, not too ugly - a good antidote for John #2, I thought. The pretty ones are always trouble. Always. But dammit those are the ones I'm drawn to....but I digress. Johnny had an uber-respectable job: city planner of a local, wealthy city (city name not revealed to protect the innocent). A smidge younger (-2 years), educated, well-travelled, variety of interests (soccer, scuba, travel, food) and local - always a bonus. His choice of meeting place scored him major points - lunch at a lovely new resort in Palos Verdes - Terranea. We sat outside - it was a glorious day - and had a nice lunch. He was a little pudgy, but tall. His looks were doable. More points were awarded for chivalry as he offered me his jacket when we walked after lunch and a chilly wind kicked up. He had some funny yet alarming travel stories - about being chased by a small mob in Morocco, for example. He seemed to revel in being perceived as a trouble-maker. He was delighted that I had my PADI certification and decided that our next date would be a scuba-date. "Fun", I thought. I had only gone diving in tropical climes before - local seemed intriguing.

We arranged to meet the Friday evening before to get fitted for a wetsuit rental (for me) and all the other equipment. We met at the dive shop. It was time to try on a wetsuit. Now, I'm not a skinny girl - I am decidedly "curvy" (translation: big ass, big boobs=hard to fit). I was mortified when the wetsuit given to me wouldn't zip past my boobs. Even more mortifying was the assistance I required getting into the next size up. Kinda unorthodox to be sweating like crazy and having your push-up bra oozing out of a wetsuit while your date is struggling to zip you up. But hey - unorthodox is how I roll. Johnny generously paid for my rental equipment and we decided to go for a drink after "the fitting". We had a nice chat that evening but I wasn't able to stay out too long. He picked me up at 9:00 the next morning where we would return to Terranea - which happen to be a decent launching point for a dive. When we got there, we took two long trips dragging all the gear down the cliff, to the beach. I was trying to be a good sport but, I suddenly realized the appeal of resort diving (you don't have to carry shit!). So we dragged our tanks, wetsuits and gear all the way down only to discover that the conditions were less than ideal. The few divers we encountered coming out of the water said it was lousy. Johnny had a few alternate sites so - again with two trips, we hauled all of our stuff back up the cliff and set out for destination #2. I was exhausted and ready to go home for a nap. We drove further down the coast to alternate locale #1. It sucked as well (but at least we didn't have to schlep anything around to discover that). Alternate locale #2 was this beach in San Pedro (Pt. Fermin?) Not the most ideal, but the conditions were better plus - big bonus for me - it was level entry (no cliffs!). We suited up - he was obviously knowledgeable and extremely helpful and patient. I didn't have gloves or booties to go with my full body wetsuit(with hood!) I knew nothing of this kind of gear because the few times I dove before, a bathing suit was all you needed. He warned me it would be cold. That was a gross understatement. I entered the water gloveless and with improvised foot protection: his gym socks inside my crocs, wedged inside my flippers. It did not suffice. The water was SO FUCKING COLD. I wanted to be a sport - I refrained from whining....at first. We swam breathlessly to the distant buoy. It was horrible. I vacillated between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. But again - I wanted to be a trooper so, I kept my whimpering to a minimum. Finally we arrived at the buoy and it was time to descend. I nearly had a heart attack when the ice cold water covered my face. I had an instant, blinding headache. We continued to descend - probably about 20 ft. or so to the floor. The visibility was bupkes. Nada. Zippo. I signaled that I had enough and we went back up. He agreed that it was miserable. I unleashed my whining. My feet and hands were numb, my face blue and my head pounding. I think that even my tongue was cold. It seemed like an eternity to get back to shore - but I was so grateful to be there. We rinsed our stuff and defrosted inside his pigpen of a car. We instituted Plan B: tapas and sangria in Long Beach. Now we're talkin'. Screw this scuba bullshit... I noticed on the drive, Johnny would drive aggressively and yell obscenities out the window at offending drivers. Maybe a little high-strung, I told myself. We had a lovely afternoon chowing down and drinking and people watching on Pine Ave. He talked about his fellow Mensa member ex-wife. He seemed a little hostile, but I was a tipsy land-lubber - so I couldn't give a crap about his ex. We enjoyed a nice kiss when he dropped me off. Though to be honest, I had so much sangria in me I would have enjoyed a nice kiss with my mom's dachshund, Penny.

Our next date was another first - a soccer game: the L.A. Galaxy vs. Kansas City(?) at the Home Depot Center in Carson. We "tailgated" prior to the game. He had no less than 8 beers while we leaned on his car in the parking lot. I was alarmed at his capacity to drink so much in such a short time while seeming unaffected. Once seated he went and got me a margarita and he got himself a giant (40 oz.??) beer. We had good corner seats. I was eagerly looking around - this was my first live soccer game and I was still a little randy after watching all those studly Spaniards in the World Cup the month before (meow!). Some children paraded through the stadium prior to start of the game. There was no one sitting in front or to the side of us. Suddenly, this couple came and stood directly in front of us to frantically wave to their child on the field. This was extremely annoying. If they had just moved a few feet in either direction, they wouldn't be in front of anyone - but no. I would have said something like "excuse me, could you please move to the side?" But no. Johnny said, "hey - do you mind? you see your kid every day." Oh my. Granted - their rudeness - intentional or not - probably deserved this kind of wise-ass remark. But I am a peace-loving Libra. We just don't do that shit. I was mortified. The parents scuffled away, their feathers a little ruffled. I sat silent as Johnny realized that I did not approve. We sat near a group of hooligans(?) - soccer groupies that have their chants and outfits, etc. I learned that Johnny chose our seats to be near them. Johnny downed his beer and went for another. As the game progressed, I was privy to classy hooligan chants that contained phrases like, "...fuck your mother.." I was not impressed. Johnny shouted along with them as I sat silently. Not all the chants were so foul, but the impression had been made. After the game, we went back to his car where he drank 3 more beers. It now appeared that he was drunk. I insisted on driving his car, to drop me off. He assured me he was okay to drive home. He gave me a sloppy kiss good night and we parted ways. I texted him to make sure he made it home okay, which he did. I thanked him for a lovely evening.

Adios John #3

John of the North (John #2)

Some of my stories are funny, some are not. This one is not. This one stung more than just a little. So much so that it has taken me 6 months to be able to write about it. But since he’s a John, he must be included in my tales of the John’s.

About the same time I met Johnny (the pasty, picky, unemployed recycler) I started corresponding with John. Not sure how it started, I think I saw that he was looking at my profile and he was so attractive, I looked at his. His profile was witty and snarky and full of funny little wise observations about life and dating. I think I wrote him first, just to make a comment on it. I didn’t expect him to write back, but he did. He was really quite attractive and I knew the second I saw his picture, that he was trouble. Not the kind of trouble that would land one in jail, the heart-breaking kind. Something in the eyes… Well, we seemed to ignore the physical distance (he lived near Sacramento, I live in L.A.) and exchanged daily, funny emails. We had been writing for about 2 weeks when, like I mentioned in the Recycler Johnny post, I had a vacation planned to Mexico. (My Johns overlap, naturally) He wanted to speak on the phone before I left so, we chatted nicely (for almost 2 hours!) the night before I left. As expected, he was funny, charming, smart, witty, confident-cool. In other words: TROUBLE. He texted me early the next morning, knowing I would be at the airport. He said to make sure I called him when I got back.

A sweet text awaited me the day before I returned. I called him the night I got back and from then on, it was “on like Donkey Kong”: texting throughout the day, exchanging funny pictures and stories, IM’ing at night – every day. We talked about meeting and I offered to drive half way (which would be the charming town of Bakersfield). Instead, he suggested Pismo Beach (slightly closer to me and infinitely more romantic than Bakersfield). I think he misinterpreted my comment that I would make a weekend trip of it and camp there at the campground. (I was trying to alleviate the concern that I would drive “all that way” for a date.) Somehow it got misconstrued by him thinking that I was suggesting that he and I camp together. I can only assume this because he then mentioned that his friends had a place and we could stay there. Oops. Now, for our first date – we’re spending the weekend together. Double oops. Erring on the wrong side of prudence, I didn’t disagree. I was operating under the influence of being smitten. I was smited. I was smote. Frankly, it’s fair to say that he was too. We met exactly 2 weeks after I returned from vacation. In the meantime, we texted, talked, IM’d and emailed frantically, sweetly.

So came the big day. I set out – estimating that it would take me about 2 ½ - 3 hours (the longest I’ve ever travelled for a first date). My stomach was full of butterflies. I followed his directions and pulled in behind his parked motorcycle. I wasn’t all the way out of my car yet when he appeared at the door. There’s a strange feeling when you see someone (that you’ve been getting to know remotely) for the first time. You’ve seen each other’s pictures and approve. You like each other’s personalities. You know each other’s voices. The final missing piece of the puzzle is meeting face to face. His eyes are alarmingly green and the first time he cast his gaze on me I was shaken (and stirred – deeply). We locked eyes and smiled and then hugged and laughed. We exchanged unexpected gifts (talk about being on the same wave-length): I got him a second-hand copy of a book I thought he’d like: Jupiter’s Travels. He brought me a little Matchbox car of an MGB (he remembered I told him how much I liked them). We decided to go walk into town and have lunch. I relaxed a bit as we talked and I was now able to complete the person that only existed in fragments before. We ate, laughed, walked, talked. Previously, I had told him on the phone that I love napping on weekends so, seeing an opportunity I suppose, he suggested we go back to “our place” (yes, he said that) and relax. Oh Lord, I knew where this was going…and I didn’t mind at all. We were getting along swimmingly. We cleared the bed and lay down – fully clothed. We talked for a bit and then closed our eyes. He actually dozed off for a bit. Not me. No fucking way. He woke up again and we shifted around. Then I laid with my back to him and he moved in for the “spoon”. Oh yeah. I was so excited I damned near passed out. You can imagine that not too soon after it turned into kissing. Then it turned into kissing and fondling. Then it turned into some of the most intense lovemaking I’ve ever experienced. He was very “giving” and treated my body like it was a buffet and he was a starving man. He was slow and deliberate. He stared deep into my eyes. Those damned green eyes burned right through my skull. He was skilled and caring and was able to go on and on. After, we showered and then lay down for a real nap this time. Of course, I couldn’t sleep a wink. In a while, we dressed and went for a walk on the beach, and dinner. He was determined to find me a Sand Dollar (Pismo is famous for them). We walked hand in hand, the entire length of the beach. I was swooning. He never let go of my hand for too long and would kiss my forehead and hair. It was getting late, and we had walked far so, we went to eat. Waiting to be seated he had his arm around me. I put my head on his chest (I was so tired). Lazily we ate and then sauntered back to “our place”. Of course, we made love again and it was oh-so-lovely. After a sleepless night (for me), we made love in the morning. We spent more of the weekend horizontal than vertical. I knew he had to leave early (he told me a few days before) so, we quickly dressed, cleaned up the place and went for breakfast. After, we went back to say “good bye”. We hugged and kissed. He watched me (longingly?) as I pulled out and until I was out of sight. Throughout the previous day, he peppered our conversations with references to returning to “our place” again (i.e. “…next time we’re here we’ll…”, “there’s the pool for next time”). There wasn’t a reason for me to believe that I wouldn’t see him again but, I just knew.

I was completely overwhelmed driving home. I wanted to stop into my favorite town, Los Olivos on the way home but, I was simply too jacked up. I was exhausted (no sleep, lots of sex) and my emotional blender was set on “frappe”. I just drove straight through and collapsed at home.
The next morning I was elated when he texted me. I had made it through the one-(morning/noon/night)-stand curse! He wanted to make sure I made it home all right. The next days he sent me a couple of pictures he took that weekend on the beach (me with a sandcastle) but the tone of his contact had changed. His emails we short and…detached. Perhaps the curse was real. I tried not to appear needy and I let him initiate contact. I mirrored his tone and sentiment, being careful not to appear like I was now expecting marriage. Over the course of the next 2 weeks, the contact dwindled to every 3 days or so. I let it be for a few days of torment. Then I broke down and emailed him a simple, pleasant “thinking of you” email. He responded politely, right away. The next day, he texted me that he would be in my area with his niece the next day for her water polo tournament. He said that maybe we could meet for lunch. My heart jumped. We arranged a time and place. On the way into work, he texted me again with an ominous “uh oh”. It seems the coach was having his niece play an extra game and he couldn’t get away. That was it. No customary, “sorry”. No, “let’s make a plan”. Nada. I went from the top of the roller coaster to crashing at the bottom. I was looking forward to seeing him so much I could hardly breathe. The thought of just holding him again made me tremble.

The next weeks after that I decided to let him orchestrate ALL contact. I chase after no man. He IM’d me a couple of times. The conversations were even more distant and strained. Yet he continued to contact me, maybe twice a week this way – perhaps motivated by a combination of obligation and boredom.

I was sleeping poorly, crying often. I wrote and wrote in my journal. I composed email after email – never to be sent. One day, I took the day off and went to the beach on a particularly glorious Southern California day. As I lay there on the beach, I felt completely miserable. I had a sense of unfinished business. Now, some women would just scoop up what was left of their pride and walk away. But I have always been of the “need for closure” school. I simply need a chapter to have a tidy ending in order to move to the next one. I don’t do dangling ends. I mustered the courage to send him an email for real this time. I wrote:
John,
Such a beautiful day today. So beautiful that I took the day off to go to the beach. And I've done some thinking. It seems that our weekend meant more to me than it did to you. As much as I'd like to play the "cool girl" that can settle for just being friends/penpals after being intimate, I just can't. It hurts me too much. I don't throw my affections around so easily. If you don't want to see me again, please let me be.

He responded a couple of hours later:
Understood. Take care.

In the words of Forrest Gump, “that’s all I’ve got to say about that”.

7 Months, 7 Johns (John #1)

Now...I realize that John/Jon is a common name but - what are the odds of me dating 7 men named John/Jon in the last 7 month period? Seriously! It's not like I got out that often...au contraire...it's kinda been a slow season. I’ve always had bad luck with men named John. Though, the last set were spread out over a few years – and there were only three. The first one was after college. I started dating him but he never made a move on me. He was super-tall and super-cute. We always went to the movies and just hung out in general. He explained after about a month, that he recently had discovered a suppressed memory of being molested by his father! Oh my! I was patient and did not make a solitary assertive move. Finally, after 3 months of going this way, he kissed me one night after watching a video at me house. It was so sweet, I was so glad. A week later, he broke up with me saying he started seeing a girl at work! Asshole! The second John was actually a Juan, but he went by John and I met him on Match in 2003. He was so odd looking –not very attractive at all – but I was ga-ga about him. He told me from the beginning that he didn’t want a relationship but, in my mind, I thought I could change his mind. Over the course of 3 months, we saw each other frequently and I fell deeper and deeper into hopeless infatuation. I’m sure he sensed this and dumped me over the phone. The next John was an online date too. He was tall and cute (I love tall and cute!) and with a son my son’s age. We went out a few times, then we went for a kind of play date with his son and mine. We went to the park and then to Soup Plantation for lunch. We were like a cute little family. He IM’d me the next day to tell me how much fun he had, then I never heard from him again.
So, suffice it to say, I’m leery of men named John. They’re trouble. At least for me. These next seven pretty much sealed that deal. Of course, being the eternal optimist, I would still go out with 50 more John’s knowing that this John curse is superstitious nonsense. But I just know that the first John I turn away because of his name might be the ONE!! Oy. It’s not easy being me.
Since I'm anal about organizing things in a chronological way, I'll start with:

"Johnny of June" (John #1)
The only thing that irks me more than men that have short arms are adult men who add a "y" to the end of their name. To me, if you're older than 5, you need to stop being "Mikey" and grow up to "Mike". Maybe I'm just funny like that. So anyhow...Johnny kinda had a dorky smile, but seemed to be a nice, polite, educated white boy from Palos Verdes - what my father would call "well bred". We decided to meet at the "Whale & Ale" in San Pedro. To my delight, he looked like his pictures! That is to say, not like a heavier, older version of himself. He was tall, had a nice smile and looked like a GAP add - wearing khakis, a button down shirt and flip flops. We sat, we ate, we drank. Conversation was easy - not forced - and things appeared to be going well. He was actually from New York, originally. He was telling me about his cousins: Bobby, Mikey and Timmy, and his brother, Jimmy. I started to think that the infantile nicknames was perhaps a NY thing(?). Anyway, he was out of work - which a lot of people seem to be nowadays. I felt guilty when he insisted on paying. I thought it was oddly cute that he used a coupon and insisted on taking home our bottles for recycling. We exchanged pleasantries and hugged each other good night. It was a satisfactory date.

A few days later we decided to go on a hike in Palos Verdes. We met at the Trump Golf Course and took a nice hike/walk down the cliffs to the beach. We laughed, we talked, we picked up litter from the beach. I felt fairly certain that he liked me and I kinda liked him too. At my car, we again hugged good bye. This was acceptable because it was still daylight (still, a kiss on the cheek wouldn't have killed me...)

A couple days after that (yes! three dates in one week!) we went to P.F. Changs - at my suggestion since I had a gift card and he had no job. It was then that I learned how picky of an eater he was: no mushrooms, broccoli, asparagus, onions, shrimp, pork, beef. Picky eaters annoy me because (to me) it represents narrowmindedness. It also puts a "hitch yer gitalong" when you're sharing plates at a Chinese place. We enjoyed our unadventurous chicken entrees and brown rice (white rice was also a no-no). He picked me up this time so I felt certain he would lean in for a smooch when dropping me off but no, we did the whole sitting-in-the-car-hug thing. Hm...I started to think that maybe he just wanted me as a friend. My friend Maggie was delighted that things were going so slowly - she felt that it was "right". I guess I'm used to something a little more by then but, perhaps I'm getting a little jaded.

Now, I had a vacation planned at this time so, I bid Johnny "adieu" for 2 weeks while I went gallivanting around the Yucatan. When I returned, I gave Johnny a call and invited him to come to my mountain cabin with me for the weekend. I needed help cleaning up around the property and I wanted to take advantage of a free garbage drop off day. He worked diligently by my side, schlepping construction debris, the old barbecue, paint cans, book shelves, etc, etc, into the truck. I was pleased at the progress. Once able to relax, I got to learn more about him while up on the balcony. I was laying in the sun while he appeared to be hiding from it. He told me that he feared skin cancer - he was constantly slathering on 85 spf sunscreen. I thought this was overkill but, whatever. When I asked him how his job hunting was going, he said that he hadn't started looking yet (!). He was after all, staying with his parents - what's the rush? That evening, we went out to Lake Arrowhead for dinner (naturally, I paid - he worked so hard that day). I was unhampered by his dietary "needs" this time and ordered my own entree. After, he held my hand in the parking lot. To be honest, Johnny had lost my interest. His pasty skin, high-maintenance eating habits and cavalier attitude about finding a job left me limp as a wet noodle. The rest of the weekend I had to watch him sort through my trash as he separated recyclables - to the extent of grabbing empty sugar packets and used napkins - and putting them in a bag to take back to Palos Verdes for recycling.

After a long, quiet drive back to the South Bay, we parted ways. I thanked him profusely for helping with the clean up. That was last I heard of Johnny.

Next: John of Northern California