And it was a Merry Christmas after all.

Yes, dear non-readers, the person who picked December 19, 2009 as the day I would get back in the game is the big winner. 

And it actually went extremely well. Perfect partner - an old theatre friend from college, danced on Broadway for a couple years, in town visiting, somebody I had been hot for forever, who actually flew out in part because she knew I was now divorced. I mean, wow! We had fun, lots of laughs, it was HOT, just all around tremendous.

Thank you baby Jesus!

It's amazing how one fun little night can reset things, change both the overall life outlook as well as my damaged confidence. I mean hell, it may be another 1000 days, but I really don't think so.

Mission Accomplished.

Happy Thursday, bitches! It's November! Mid-to-late November!

I don't really have much to say lately. I'm plugging along, just working, going home, working out (not as often as I should), getting into The Wire, enjoying the Trail Blazers, seeing the kids every couple days at the very least. All the divorce paperwork is done, the manditory "parenting after divorce" class taken, the paperwork refiled - TWICE - because the ex didn't bother to read her own lawyer's work.

Mistake one: they screwed up the child support. In my favor. Could have really helped the finances, but that's not how I roll. Not when the kids are involved. Mistake two: they put in a line to give the wife back her old name. Not a big deal to me. Except they moved to put her back to her LAST last name, which was the married name from go-round number 1. She didn't even catch it until I told her, a week after the papers were filed with the court.

"They wrote WHAT? And you knew? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I assumed you read the documents, and it's none of my business. It was your former professional name, so I figured you wanted to go back to it."

Oy.

So I should be divorced any time now. May even already be done. Yippee.

Line break. Random image placed to indicate a change in thought and/or tone.

Coolstory

So anyway, I won a couple tickets to a show at Doug Fir for Saturday night. Just sent in an email off their weekly newsletter, not even sure who the band is. And I decided - well shit. I'm free to be a grown up without kids until Sunday evening. And I don't have plans. And it was the end of the workday. And the girl from work, she of the shit-eat dilemma, was walking by, heading home. So I said goodnight to her, then called her into my office. And the conversation went something like this:

"Hey, do you have plans this wee..."
"Yes"

So. So much for that. It may have been the fastest rejection in the history of the world.

But for the first time in 15-20 years I made an attempt at asking somebody out. And despite the crushing rejection and the body shot to my already-damaged ego I feel ok about it, because I fucking TRIED. And for me that's a huge step. I'm still going to die alone with no human contact for the last 5 or 6 decades of my life, but at least I will have tried.

My new prediction

May still see the old friend this weekend, but really isn't looking like a hookup at all.

I post this only for those of you charting my sex life with charts and graphs and powerpoint presentations. No need to make any adjustments to your calculations.

and in the interim

Trying to decide to and/or get up the courage to ask out somebody...in the workplace.

She's a medical assistant in the neighboring department, 29. Very perky, petite, frankly kind of bug-eyed but cute in an unusual way. Seems younger than her age, which could be good or bad. Intellectually perhaps not a match (but I don't know that for sure). Very girly, but more Suicide Girl than Barbie.

But she's fun, has a great body and is always coming into my office to shoot the shit and joke around. I think she's single, or at least she hasn't taken the opportunity to declare any boyfriends (and I've tried to give her chances to talk about things like that).

This could of course cause a shit/eat conflict, which I'm leery of. Oh, and I haven't actually asked somebody out on an honest-to-god date since - and this is not hyperbole - 1989, when I took a girl from Lombard to see Rain Man. I don't count asking people to dances, nor do I count the women I wound up with through natural progression or whatever. I'm talking about "Would you like to do something with me Saturday night? Maybe dinner, a movie?"

The prospect terrifies me.

But this girl is cute, and fun. And I could use some of that.

Bloody hell

Attractive, interesting friend coming into town in a couple weeks. Possibly a hook up, maybe even probably.

Calendar check: it's a kid weekend.

supremely suitable sound.

As I head off

Heading out to have dinner at a friend's new place. Should be a nice time. Wine, giggles, maybe watch a movie.

But of course it will be a platonic evening. She's attractive, interesting, but boundaries were drawn long ago on this one.

I'm beginning to suspect that I'm going to have to really take a step out of my comfort zone if I ever hope to have a non-platonic relationship ever again.

regarding the pool and the diving.

The San Francisco Bay Area weekend summary:

• Night prior: 3.5 hours of sleep

• Early morning: PDX, A+ for Horizon Airlines. Seriously. SO easy.

• Mid morning: Long looping drive from OAK into SF. Over Golden Gate. Enjoyed.

• Late morning: San Rafael check in. Nap.

• Mid afternoon: Wedding party. Sweating. Drinking. Meeting lots of people recognized from facebook. Laughter.

• Late afternoon: Talking to cute woman in hot dress. Best chance for connection?

• Minutes later: Odd sense of humor not understood and/or appreciated. Fuck it.

• Evening: Hotel. Alone. Movie. Room Service.

• Mid morning: awake late. Stare at football game. Decide to not visit friends in the city. Too far, no time.

• Noon: Check out. Gigantic turkey sandwich consumed. 

• Afternoon: Back to friend's home/party location. Sit by lovely pool for hours. Enjoy view of golden hills. Blood orange soda mixed with pinot noir? Not my idea, but surprisingly not shitty. Relaxing: si.

• Mid afternoon: to OAK.

• Late afternoon: Zero TSA line. A- for Horizon Airlines.

• Flight: Old lady, why in the fucking hell did you decide that it was a good idea to bring really fragrant Chinese food on the airplane? I mean come ON. Eat your goddamned potsticker before sitting next to me on this tiny regional jet. I like Chinese, but this is too much. You're 11 inches away from me. Mind your chopsticks. 

• Night: Home. Quiet. Deeply unsatisfied. Also, a fish in the tank has died.

Nonspecific longing anticipated for the week ahead. Not for the fish. Although probably that, too.

the briefest of updates for the nobody observing this

I've written about 100 blog posts in my head since I last committed one to the screen. Not sure why they never made it this far. A chance to unleash creative energy and/or miserable blathering...lost.

Got served with divorce papers today. It wasn't a complete surprise. I mean she told me about 2.5 years ago that she had a lawyer. I moved out 7 months ago. I knew how this was going to end. The FE-W had warned me the papers were coming (she signed on 9/11...NEVER FORGET), and was kind enough to have her lawyer do it through the mail rather than serve me in person at work or some bullshit like that.

I'm so ready to be done with this thing, but I was still pissed off. It is a huge stack of paperwork. She has a lawyer, I can't really afford the multiple thousands it would take just to get one. We're playing nice, joint custody, no disputes over belongings. We gots us some ol' irreconcilable differences but we wish each other well. And she's being exceptionally reasonable. She even is asking for 25% less child support than she could in theory get based on the state calculator. She knows I'm giving pretty much everything I can within reason.

But to fill out the state-mandated worksheet on child support her lawyer used a salary that isn't accurate by...a lot. Starting this month I've been in my job for one year and my guaranteed salary is done. I work on production. See patients, get paid. See no patients, get no money. See more patients, get more money. I think the potential is there to make a fair bit more than my guarantee from year one (I've been above that threshold for a couple months) but it's really variable, especially in this economy, and I have no way to predict how much I'll really make. Past pay stubs don't accurately reflect my future earnings.

So even though our divorce agreement specifically states I'll be paying less than I could, I'm afraid that the salary they used on the final paperwork could come back to haunt me years down the line if she asks for more.

"But I don't have more"
"But the divorce paperwork you signed says you do"

So I need some legal advice. Cheap, preferably free. A friend's mother is a paralegal, apparently a good one, and I called my friend to find out what exactly a paralegal does and if one would be useful in looking over the paperwork to  make sure I'm not walking into a trap. And then her mom offered to take a look at the documents. Mighty kind of her, truly. I didn't make the call for that purpose. I feel like I'm getting back just a little good karma. Not sure if I deserve any good karma, but I'm not opposed to it just the same.

In other news, going to the Bay Area this weekend to celebrate the wedding of a good friend. Going solo. To a wedding party. In another, romantic city. Where everyone else will be coupled. I love my friend dearly, because otherwise I wouldn't be doing this to myself. Sigh. I'm feeling so ready to move on. Just have to wait 180 days to make it official. But in the meantime I could go for some romance. Some excitement. Some anything. I'm ready to ease back into the pool.  

insomnia delirium

For one glorious week I'm living back in Portland, getting to actually play full-time working dad while the fe-w jaunts off to Europe on a business trip. It's great being with the kids daily, although I'm having trouble sleeping and my eyes itch in a way they didn't when I moved out of this house 5 months ago. Did I lose my cat dander tolerance? Some new cleaning product? Something in bloom here that doesn't extend its reach north of the Columbia River?

Spent some time with a friend over the weekend who is encouraging me to set up an online dating profile on thePortland Mercury. I haven't committed to that yet, mainly because...I don't know. It's too depressing. And another friend that has used that site did not have many good things to say about her experiences. But at friend #1's request I did start looking around. Mostly it's a crushing waste of time. There are a staggering number of hipsters who just wouldn't go for my type. But there are just enough intriguing women (well, 2) that I can't help but wonder if it would be worth the effort and potential public embarrassment. One is even my age.

But how can I sell myself? There's an awful lot of surface baggage to wade through before someone would buy into the concept of me. How's this for a intro line: "recently separated, father of two, Vancouver resident and bastard love child of Ethan Hawke and Charlie Brown wants to hear all about your bowel habits because that's what he does for a fucking LIVING"

Now I think if I can get somebody past those tremendous hurdles that I'm a reasonable fella. But how do you do that on a static web page?

Grumble. I may have too many self-doubts to pull this off. I'm afraid my last chance for romance... 

WOAH!!!! DANCE BREAK! 

Oh, I need you, by me,
Beside me, to guide me,
To hold me, to scold me,
cause when I'm bad
I'm so, so bad

So lets dance, the last dance
Lets dance, the last dance
Lets dance, this last dance tonight!

Yeah, anyway, I'm afraid that my only hope is going to be an inside job. It's going to have to be somebody that gets to know me first THEN decides I'm a reasonable fella. Only time can overcome the deadly trio of hair loss, recent marital destruction and gastroenterology. How I wish it wasn't true. The funny/sad thing is that I'M actually doing a pretty good job of overcoming these obstacles. Just wish I knew how to get others to come on and ride the train.

WOAH!!!! DANCE BREAK! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_Zi-YSW3aQ&feature=player_embedded

What I admit only to myself.

I wish I was on your radar.

Blunt.

I am not responsible for your alcoholism. Don't even begin to go there.

I feel the same stress of our break up, and no, I'm not comfortable being around you or in your house anymore either. But it's your biochemistry, psychology and genetics that puts you in the situation where you crave a drink. That's not my doing, and I fully reject any claims otherwise, especially when I have made it abundantly clear that I am in full support of your AA efforts and will do whatever I can to allow you to achieve sobriety.

Argh.

what price independence (day)

Well, I think the readership has dried up, and that's probably ok. That's what you get for moving to the quietest corner of the intarweb tubes.

So. Just you and me and the coyotes, son. The occasional tumbleweed. I think I saw a field mouse in the claws of a redtail.

But the solitude gives us a chance to talk about what we're doing about the soon and the now.

Coming up on the long 4th of July weekend. Get a bonus day off 7/3 that I didn't know about and didn't expect. This coming off a slow work week that found me at home early, often napping. Highly productive. But much like Memorial Day weekend the kids are off somewhere else. The luck of the alternating weekends has not favored me. I've been invited to join them on the 4th itself up at a Mt. Hood cabin but think I'll decline. It would be with a group of other folks, all people that we were social with as a couple. This includes, oddly, one of my ex's former lovers from the time of her 1st marriage's decline. He's been married (happily?) for many years now, but there has always been some speculation that he was not pleased about my arrival in the picture way back when.

So no, I'll skip it. Nobody needs that kind of nervous tension, the unease of marital breakdown, on America's birthday.

But what to do with myself? My social network here in Portland is so small and the few usual players are not immediately around. It appears I'll be solo all weekend. I have a bag full of fireworks and alas, nobody to share them with. I'm enjoying the time to myself, but I get a lot of it during the week, and despite my occasional social phobias I'm realizing that I need to have more human contact than I am getting now. I guess I'm lonely? Is it really that simple? I hesitate to say it because I think that term immediately smacks of desperation, and that's not the way I feel. I don't feel like I'm clinging to whoever I come in contact with. I just want some company. Quality company. The last couple times I've been out I've had that and it's been really wonderful and refreshing. Is it wrong to want more?

***REGRETTABLE AND POORLY-CONCEIVED SIMILE ALERT.
PLEASE SET HOMELAND SECURITY THREAT LEVEL TO ORANGE***

I, like America, have independence. And that's good. I'm doing more with it than I did the last time this came around in my early 20s. I'm making positive life changes, dumping my spiritual tea in my Boston Harbor, voting my psychological GWBushes out of office, freeing my emotional slaves.

Yes, I went there. Sorry. 

But America can't do it on its own, nor can I. I could use someone else in my life. A Canada. A Mexico. Perhaps in a pinch, a Honduras. A goddamned NATO would be just fine by me, too.
------------------------------------------
off-topic: here's what I'm listening to lately. It's a downright summer jam from an otherwise confusing and challenging art rock band. I'd spend my 4th of July seeing them @ Holocene but I missed the sale. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMPF6lpM0XM&feature=player_embedded

my, it sure has been a decade.

Today is - technically speaking as we're still married - my 10th wedding anniversary.

Oops. Forgot to send flowers.

and here's the pitch

This is juvenile. Petty. Ridiculous. Beneath me.

And still, when I get a call from her to coordinate a pick up time for this evening, and I hear that they're at a baseball game, it bothers me. She's not a sports fan, especially not baseball, whereas I am The Only Sports Fan I Know in Portland™ and an avid fan of the game. It's one of the sure-fire Dad-kids bonding activities. And somehow I feel that for her to take them to a game is encroaching upon my territory.

Don't misunderstand - moms can take kids to sporting events. It's not about sex or gender roles, it's about interest, and she doesn't have any. It's never been part of her relationship with with the kids, but it is most certainly part of mine. I've been sitting here, alone all weekend having a spectacularly bad time and she's out engaging in just the kind of thing I'd love to be doing with them. It stings. It feels like a slap in the face, and just the kind of thing she knows would bother me. It's made worse by the fact that I had to take her to the last ticketed activity we went to so she would feel included, even had ask an old friend to get me an extra comp for my future-ex, who then didn't even show up on time for the extra-special added bonus the old friend arranged. It was bloody awkward.

I think the other part of this is that I've been planning to take them back to Chicago in late July. Going to a friend's wedding (my daughter's godfather, actually), seeing all my family that the kids really don't know. We haven't been back since 2004. They have a ton of aunts, uncles, cousins there. It's been hard to plan financially, and my parents are helping out. The kids were getting excited about it. A plane trip, family - cool! And then last week she booked a trip to fucking Florida - for the week before I take them to Chicago. Chicago's a great town, but it's hard to compete with the beach. They'll be exhausted from the red eye flights she booked, get one day off in Portland and then back on a plane for another cross country journey. Thanks, hon, for undermining my efforts. Much obliged. 

I'm sorry. I know this post takes the blog down a couple levels, maybe a lot of levels, on the sympathy meter. I needed to put it out there to help myself understand what was bugging me. Go about your business, don't mind me.

odd/end

It's Friday, Memorial Day weekend. Get the kids Sunday night for 24 hours so she can have a "me day", which I suspect actually means go out on a date. And that's ok with me. I'm thrilled to have an extra day with mah chitlins, and her dating doesn't bother me. Really. She's made some recent very positive decisions regarding her health and well-being that I support, and if she needs new or improved social circles to make those changes stick I sure as hell won't get in the way. It's a non-issue as long as she doesn't date a guy (or gal) who in any way harms my kids, is a complete douchebag or flip-flop wearing smelly hippie. Because the mother of my children needs to have standards.

But it's Friday, Memorial Day weekend. The first major holiday, the weather is supposed to be sublime and I'm off work! YES! Yes. yes...and while everybody else goes to/on picnics/hikes/outings/parties/BBQs/drive-ins/double dates/bike rides/killing sprees I have nothing planned. No social calendar, precious few friends around PDX and none particularly close these days. I'm feeling horribly isolated and distant today. Well, tonight. Not truly alone, no, but lonely. I long for a spark, some interesting anything to come along. Would I like to be dating? Maybe. Yes. I can't decide. I do enjoy the space I have and I can't even innocently semi-flirt online with an old aquaintance without feeling kind of creepy and broken and wanting to print an apologetic retraction. It's really stupid. I wonder if I'm in too tenuous a place. Bruised ego. Regrettable haircut. Lost weight returned. Bad trifecta.

The worst part is that I don't know if any of these wonderings and assumptions are true or if it's self-fulfilling prophecy - there's no way to test the waters because I have no way to meet people and have no idea how to go about it. Online dating is off because I'm just not sure if I SHOULD be dating. I don't want to put out a false front. In my head every potential move smacks of desperation.

Ugh. I'm a mess tonight. My thinking is wrong, I know this. Better tomorrow, that's the way these things go.

In other news I started doing yoga at home. Found a great online video workout. It's hard right now, but I like it. Reminds me a lot of my old dance classes in college (especially modern) where we didn't dance so much as spend the whole class relaxing, breathing, stretching. I also wrenched the shit out of my back on day #2, I think going into cobra pose. Spectacular effort, yogi.

Happy Friday, Memorial Day weekend.

Advice on the perils of modern love.

If you have the great opportunity and wonderful fortune to stumble upon your soon-ex's online dating profile, don't linger over it, even for the dull, faint and pathetic pleasure of seeing that they are lying to the world about their age and you - YOU ALONE! - know the truth. Because there's nothing good that can come of it.

Also, try to avoid reading facebook news items and posts from mutual friends, because if the ex already posted a comment a follow-up by you will just cause awkwardness. This is particularly true regarding birthday wishes to one of your closest friends if the ex happens to leave a perky greeting from themselves AND your children but leaves your name off the list. What are you supposed to do? Chime in with a separate greeting? That just draws attention away from the birthday and onto the break up. Or perhaps you could tag a comment on saying something like, "Oh hi! I think you forgot me in that list of names, and that's weird since you wouldn't even know the person in question who is having a birthday except that I, your ex, went to college with said birthday person."

No.

You cannot win.

but...no...let me just say...butiwannatakeitback!

Quick correction from my last blog effort: I now feel lifeless. Energy low. Bloated. Back to work after a week away, and I just couldn't get interested. Don't know, and don't care. Sorry, folks!

I thought for a while that I was just tired. Poor sleep, late nights staring at the walls, etc. But by 3pm I knew the truth: I think I'm just depressed. Fuck.

Perhaps it's just a back-to-work Monday thing. Better tomorrow? Please? I need to get moving. Get a goal and do it. Unfortunately I'm not big on goals.

Ok. Goal #1: get a goal.

Wish me luck.

While you wait breathlessly for me to achieve my first goal, please enjoy this short, totally unrelated video. At least it made me laugh.

Surprisingly (comma)

I don't feel depressed.

And yet there is not a single aspect of my life that is giving me the slightest bit of satisfaction. Not a one.

Kids? Yes, but I see them only rarely. And the every-other-Sunday-night heartbreak of dropping them off at their mom's house is still new and hasn't become acceptable pain yet.

Home? I have the freedom to do what I want with my sudden vast assortment of time yet I have no idea what to do with my sudden vast assortment of time. Thus, precious little gets done. I have a decent enough apartment but it's in the wasteland of the suburbs. My office is an easy 2 miles away. I have great access to grocery stores, fast food emporiums, Target/WalMart and 2 freeways. Yip-ih-dee-doo! Ok, there's a Trader Joe's close by and it's empty and easy to navigate compared to the packed Portland counterparts. That IS a cool thing. But satisfaction is not dictated by Trader Joe's.

Trader Joe's palak paneer? A little runny. The cheese not quite firm enough. Recommended with reservations.

Socialityness? I went to a bunch of shows there for a while, but that's now ended. My circle of friends in town is tiny (despite the excellent and truly heroic and kind efforts of one Petunia). Oddly, I don't feel lonely (most of the time) but I do feel alone and disconnected. Not even sure how to start fixing it. I've met at least one new person who's company I really enjoy and with whom I think there is lasting connection and friendship possible, but even with them in person I feel awkward. Quiet. Uncertain. That's short-term acceptable as we were introduced to have a forum to air such post-divorce awkwardness. But long term it's not sustainable.

Work? It vaguely pays the bills but does not pay me in passion. And that's ok. I'm accepting. I've come to realize that I will never find a job in any field I'm really excited about, short of winning the lottery and being able to pursue acting full time WITHOUT having to deal with the nightmare rejection fiesta party that is auditioning. I'm not much on self-promotion. Could you tell?

Love? Yeah...um...no. Let's set aside the fact that I'm one month out from nearly a decade of marriage. Let's pretend that there can be no doubt that I'm open and ready for a relationship, whether it be short term super happy awesome fun or long term deeply satisfying good time fun/work. Ok? Are we pretending? Good. Now the inescapable fact: I'm functionally retarded. I can't flirt, I'm useless in bars, pick up lines are not my thing and they never will be. One person I do find attractive was recently complaining about not having guys hit on her. I told her flat out: look, you're attractive, I have interest, but I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to pursue you. And I think for most women in that situation functionally retarded just ain't gonna cut it. I'm fucking Cyrano de Bergerac. So...um...no.

I'd take satisfaction in any of the above areas. Single satisfaction would be fine. But I ain't got none of it.

Whine whine bitch moan patheticness. Pardon my dust while we remodel to serve you better.

-------------------------------------

(to clarify: I'm not having sex with Cyrano de Bergerac. I was merely comparing myself to him, only with awkwardness instead of a giant nose. I'm good in written form, except maybe on this page. And I don't mean to say that Cyrano isn't fuckable. On the contrary. I'm sure he would put the nose to good use. I need to stop typing now)

77,760,000 seconds.

***Fair warning: this post may contain too much information. You've been warned fairly.***

"A crumbling marriage leads to no booty
And the mind turns to unclean thoughts of ass."

--Wm. Shakespeare, As You Like It Because You're Naughty, Oh Yes You Are, III, 2.

And in truth it has been a long LONG time. Years before I moved out, really. By my rough figuring and the magic of internet calculators, I believe it has been an even 900 days since I last walked with a woman.

To say my confidence is lacking is accurate. And yet I'm confronted with the reality that at some point in the future I may actually...you know...get it on again. Something about being alone this week has made that point clear. All of the sudden my radar has turned on and I'm seeing women differently than last week. A couple weeks ago it was just an awareness of women. Then it was an awareness of female Jesus freaks. But it's shifted. It's not lascivious - I'm not going to head out there and troll the bars looking for a hook up. That's just not my style. It's just a sudden realization that people do in fact have sex. The really cute checker at my new Trader Joe's? My god - she may be a sex-having person! The really cute girl who works in my apt complex? I think she may have been awkwardly humped by some douchebag at some point in the near past!

It's all made worse by the unexpected appearance of former lovers on other social networking sites. In particular there is one who I had forged a pretty strong connection with just prior to moving to CA to be with my future ex-wife. Ok, yes, things happened. She was also about to dive into a serious, likely marital relationship. And of course that fell apart and she's also now divorced/single. And she looks THE SAME, which is to say she looks great. And I don't. I've made about as dramatic a transition over the last 10 years as one can make.

Saturday night - the night I moved out, Valentine's Day - I went to a show with a friend. It was a tough, tough emotionally challenging day. But I enjoyed the show and the mental respite of the music. And my friend asked my advice about her own love life, which seemed like an odd choice but I was flattered that she thought I was worth asking. After the show she took me across the street to a bar where a large group of her friends was gathered for a birthday party. A birthday party for a 23-year-old. There were cute 20-somethings all over the place (I bet they have had sex, too, now that I think about it). And it was too much. Just too much. I felt too old, too worn out, too out of place, too grown up and surrounded by people who didn't have the same issues, too much the old man with kids, too much thirtysomething in High School Musical. I had to leave and leave fast. My friend was offended, so she said. She just wanted me to let go and have fun. But I couldn't. Not that night. Not to that degree. 

It's all just a reminder that at some point soon I'm going to have to start being a functional human being again. I had game back in the day. I had energy. I was compelling if goofy. How do people do it? How do they manage being single? 

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm spending my Valentine's Day leaving my wife and children and moving to a new state.

Fuck you, Hallmark Card Corporation. Fuck you Jared and Kay Jewelers.

Have a great one! I love you!

God God Jesus God

Ever since it became clear that I was going to have to be single in the Portland-Vancouver metroplex I have started to become aware of single women. It's been mostly a distant, purely observational process. Just assessing the extreme bleakness of the matter.

And here's what I've seen: there are a fair amount of attractive, apparently single women out there. And they seem to fall into two categories:

1. So hip, be-tatted, and involved in things  as to be entirely uninterested in the divorced medical guy with 2 kids who has to look relatively conservative for his job.
2. Smart, funny, interesting, but religious. Not the perfectly reasonable "I'm into spiritual growth, and sometimes I meditate, and I'm kind of Buddhist" or "I go to church for the community connection" or "I go to church/synagogue on the big holidays". I'm talking about "I am living for the glory of Jesus and I am very involved in my church and ministry and I am WAY socially conservative and I ♥ christian rock."

Seriously, what the hell? Why? Why are there so many smoking hot Jesus freaks? It's a total deal breaker for me, because I just don't believe the Jesus myth. I just can't go there. I've thought about it, I've listened, and decided that I'm a non-believer.

Look, this is not some John Fitzgerald Page thing. I don't think I'm somehow superior (oh my, no). I'm not, he says with Noel-Coward-like wit, holier-than-thou. I'm not some crazy sinner. I'm a decent person. The devil probably won't drag me under by the sharp lapel of my checkered coat. I just know that I am not compatible with the saved. I'm gonna be Left Behind, and so I need to be with people who also will be stuck on this earthly realm when God and Son get hella pissed and turn on the taps. 

Grumble.