Dont Mince Words

It’s that most wonderful time of the year….when single men realize they are alone.  Apparently when you combine that with home for the holidays, you have the formula for hot and horny.

About six months ago I was contacted by “Jack” because he was considering taking a job in Santa Barbara.  He was currently in West Hollywood and wanted to understand the social scene if he were to make the move.  I gave him the grim reality and he decided to take another job in Los Angeles.

I received a checkin email from him on the 23rd asking if I was still single and, if so, would I be interested in going out while he was home visiting his parents 30 miles south of me. I told him I was available and suggested we meet at a brewpub I wanted to try in his parents’ town.

His response is the reason why I stay home with my dog.  “You wouldn’t want to chose a place closer to you, just in case we feel like fooling around?”

While we did meet on a dating website, our communications have been totally career and relocation-related until this point.  Very buddy/platonic.  So, I played it off and told him I was flattered, but we should meet, have a drink and catchup.  As you would expect, I never heard from him to finalize the plan. When I used to go home for Christmas, I always tried to line up activities to get out of the house and away from my mother.  If the internet existed, I probably would have dated to dull the pain of being home too.

I just wish Jack had the balls to take me to his house to show me his trophies, varsity letter jacket, and twin bed.  That’s what I call coming home for the holidays.

On December 7th, I had a young coworker come to me about a Facebook post he saw.  “Hey Marna, am I an ass?  A friend just posted ‘Don’t Forget Pearl Harbor’ on his wall.  I just thought it was a little odd,” he stated.

I thought about it, knowing a lot of these kids today, have parents who have not served in any war.  So, I framed my response in the form of more questions.  “Does he have family that was there or maybe in an internment camp?”  No, that was the crazy thing, thought my coworker.  “And, get this – he just became a naturalized citizen two years ago!”  I suggested that he remembers his history well and he is very proud to be American.

Nine days later, I was at/on/around/in Pearl Harbor and I have to say after a long, emotional day of history, we should not forget Pearl Harbor.  And I’m not talking Tea Party crazy, gun raised, “get the Japs” kind of remember.  We have to remember how the act incited a nation, which was practicing isolationism, to support and protect our freedoms.  Our military became stronger, our industrialization got even better, and women worked and supported their families and the men at war any way they could.  Maybe it’s nostalgia, but we seemed like a cohesive nation back then.

When you go to Pearl Harbor, it’s a quiet and respectful experience.  I watched old folks in wheel chairs get pushed up the ramp at the same time as babies in strollers.  We all wanted to see and understand the vastness of this underwater grave and what it represented.

Remember Pearl Harbor, every hour, every day that we live
Remember Pearl Harbor, and the crime we can never forgive
Through the sweat and toil
Through the blood and tears
Keep this battle cry ringing in our ears
Remember Pearl Harbor, let this song keep us strong through the years

I will never forget Pearl Harbor.

Dating in Los Angeles is hard.  It’s hard all over.  But I know it is difficult when a man I went out with and wrote about in 2004 is pursuing me again, unknowingly, in Santa Barbara.  The difference is, while there has chronologically been eight years since our last date, his profile age is only one year older.  Oh, the joys of having a Hollywood age.

It took me about one minute after I read his email to register who he was…. “more fun than greased weasels” and a “culture vulture” with a lesbian friend who tells him what he needs and should be looking for.  Oh yeah.  Him.  He was the guy with a membership to Magic Castle.  After being in LA longer, I learned men with memberships to Magic Castle are like women with three cats – buyer beware.  But the funnier thing was he was my first blog troll.  Long before I enabled comments, he emailed me from a hotmail account and told me I was a bitch for not letting my date know he had something stuck in his teeth.  He emailed several times after that with negative trash talk, but since I didn’t respond, I guess he found another culture vulture to circle with.

Me?  I’m really eight years older, I still floss, and I have at least one reason a week why I’m thankful I don’t actively date anymore.