Smooth Operator

I hope I've got a tune going through your head because this is the background music to this post which has everything to do with my smooth ways with the boys. Heh. Because that background music is a record playing and each time the song starts there is that point, kind of near the beginning, where someone dramatically yanks the needle and so, you are singing along all "smooooth opera[sccraaatcch]." And you never get to the ending. That's my theme.

The next paragraph is just band chatter before the song starts, setting up the song so Johnny Six String can go find his guitar pick because he keeps giving them to the ladies. So don't sing that song yet!

This tangent all started because Mav has this t-shirt that says “smooth operator” and she wore it this weekend so that song has been mulling around in my head needing immediate release. And this is how it is done. But Sade and I go way back. It all started with a dream. Because I once dreamed that Sade was my mom and she didn’t like me playing in the backyard because the alligators could eat me. That Sade was a good ma. My own ma could care less if I played with the alligators. But luckily for her and the child protection services evasion, ducks were more my speed. I kid you not, my sister and I adopted the neighborhood ducks and Tuna actually gave birth in our front yard. I would have walked them on a leash if I could. Y'all it's Florida, we lived on a swamp so there really was an alligator out back but he didn't bother anybody. Not even the dog. Because once Lady the Dog got out - she was a wee little shnauzer poodle (a poozer?) - who sometime sported a pink tube top or a pink ribbon around her neck - depending on the weather. Well, one time we saw Lady on the other side of the pond (sans tube top!) - remember it's Florida and it's flat and there are no trees (i.e., an ugly place except for the sandy beaches). And I'm telling you that alligator didn't want her. Because she should have been dinner what with putting her little meaty self out there. So we had good alligators, Sade just didn't know any better.

Cue music:
"Smooth operator.....Smooth operator....."

First, like I said there was a ringing of the phone bells from this guy however I got WAY ahead of myself. WAY. As in call the wedding announcement off, bride-nowhere-to-be.

See the music is playing along nicely as this text conversation transpires. [Note: In the interest of brevity and anonymity and my own damn privacy you will not got the verbatim transcript of the convo, just the gist of it.]

Him: Hey you! A question. Btw, this is Pompadour…we met at….
Me: Hey there! The answer. Now my question.
Him: The answer.
Me: Acknowledge the answer. Mention the evil drink. Then mention an inside joke.
Him: Acknowledge inside joke. Asks what is evil drink?
Me: Tasty beverage with shots floating on top…it’s trouble…better you didn’t find that.

And then the needle is yanked from the record because THAT WAS IT. He didn’t follow that up with, uh, anything. But why would he have even called to begin with? Oh, I'll tell you why. It took some sleuthing but now I have to tell you this other thing which I really didn't want to tell anyone about because, why boa why? See, long story, but the punchline is: I opened my profile on that online dating service thingie for a 72-hour trial period/research - I needed to feel loved. Well, I just finished my research and shut down my profile this morning but went in and looked at the "who's viewed you and then spit you out because you are not worthy of their wink" and - big AND here - Pompadour opened up my profile! BEFORE he sent the text.

I'll tell you why he called:

He is one of those online trolls (my apologies to you online guys to whom this not apply-no one). So he only called (i.e., texted) when he realized he opened my profile so knew that I would see that and then be like, "Jerk, why he no call, Jerry?" So he looks like a good guy by calling like he said he would and then he can just drop the ball and continue trolling the hotties online hoping for the bigger fish. He's an Shopper: I'll put you in the cart but I might put you back if I find something better.

Turned off by THAT GUY now.

Then Wednesday night Dear Prudence and I headed out on the town. Why we left the comfort of air conditioning, is anyone’s guess. We went to open mic night, then hit another bar and saw Couching Tiger – on a date – so had to exit. This is where you get a story within a story because inquiring minds are like who is Couching Tiger and what relevance does he have to Smooth Operator. Because you are still singing along, right?

Well, I can’t claim him. But DP can as she went out with him a few times – few as in maybe two times and he was already “I want to be your boyfriend. Don't take that job in Philly. I want to be your boyfriend!” And DP was like “Can I just have my earrings back?” So she had to go out with him a third time just to get the earrings. Easy tiger.

And then there is the couch part of the story. Remember I was moving a few months back (ugh-a-bug) and I was getting rid of any furniture that was not pretty (i.e., a muted color or floral) because I was going to create Girl Pad 2006: Dark Colors Are For Boys And Puppy Dog Tails. As it turned out, Couching Tiger needed some furniture as he just moved in the neighborhood from Seattle. (Remember Seattle, it's relevant.) So DP hooked us up and well, I was going to sell the shit on craig’s list and take a few bucks for it or not deal with that and have salvation army pick it up and get the tax write-off. Because I'm an Itemizer now, woo-hoo. (Take the standard deduction and shove it up your ass Uncle Sam!) So he took the couch which was in great condition by the way. Fabulous condition it just happned to be moss green and didn't go with Girl Pad's color scheme. I also gave him a mission-style coffee table and another end table of some sort.

And then we had this conversation:

CT: Do you want any money for this stuff?
Me: Well, I was going to ask for a couple hundred on Craigs list but then I was just going to give to the Salvation Army. So I don’t know what price to put on it.
CT: Great! Hey, do you like coffee?
Me: [Thinking we are into small talk now.] No. I’m a tea drinker. Oh you are from Seattle. I bet you like good coffee.
CT: Yep. Bye!

And he didn’t give me anything. After talking to DP he had asked her if he should get me a gift certificate to Starbucks. I guess by me saying I don't like coffee he didn't feel the need to offer me anything. Dude, I drink the Chai and eat the pound cake. Couching Tiger, Hidden Wallet (with a nice couch and coffee table).

Back to the pick-up of last night.

I had been making eye contact with this guy all night – he was with two buddies and they had that we-just-got-off-the-golf-course look. Polos, khaki shorts, and flip flops. I actually have a thing for Mr. Preppy (oh, and guys with pompadours, depends what mood I'm in I guess).

So this other group of young guys (we'll call them The Kids) start chatting us up and they were nice and I always say kudos to boldness. But the Golfsters start to pay their tab so here's my chance. I went up to the one I had been eyeballing and said this:

[Smooth operator....smooth operator.....]

"Do I know you from somewhere? Er, I mean, you look familiar to me. Do I look familiar to you? Oh hell, what's your sign?"

I wooed the friends at least. I think I was wooing him because I then said after a few rounds of small talk, "So you guys were getting ready to leave." And he answers, "No, things are looking more promising now. We are staying." So more rounds were ordered.

[Smooth operator....smooth operator....]

Anyways things are going pretty well. And they are going well for DP as she is really connecting with Potato Chip. I have a good feeling about those two. [So special to DP: When you are married to Potato Chip, remember I called it here.] But then the music snob in me was disturbed by this conversation.

Someone: Who sings this song?
DP: Depeche Mode!
The Third Guy: I thought it was Flock of Seagulls.
Me: Wh-wh-what? How do you make that disconnect?
My guy: Who is the Flock of Seagulls?

How many shades of wrong is that to a girl who likes her 80's college radio. People, it's what Duwop was to our parents. You were schooled on it, if you are in your 30's and, well, we were the exact same age. Hence, his nickname now is Don't Feed The Seagulls.

But then he got my attention when I learned he was The Jock (and I'm equal opportunity in that I like the rock star and the preppy jock) and he is a really good golfer (I like when my guy kicks the other guy's asses in Guyville) and so alright I’ll date the quarterback. If I must.

But we may be too different. He is not geographically desireable in that he doesn't fall within my 5-mile dating radius (hey, I'm not single for nothing, I bet you're thinking); he didn't believe that my tan is only from 3 weekends at the beach (really I am not that tan, he should have seen me this time last year but are we already dealing with trust issues?); and he thought my shoe straps on my wedges were band-aids (but he was concerned for my feet, so that is sweet, right?)

Anyway he did ask for my digits and I gave him my business card and said, “But don’t fax me. The fax number is wrong.” And he even took out a pen and crossed out my fax number. I like!

What is going to happen with Don't Feed The Seagulls and The Pompadour?

Sade?

Casey Kasum?

Hey, who turned the music off?