Reporting to you from the dating front

Well, it's a zoo out here. I've actually met some really nice fellows and I'm happy with the way things are going, but that's not funny. What's funny is these guys:

Pooch

So I'm supposed to meet this guy for coffee at one of the cool local coffee hangouts. They have wifi and lots of cozy tables where you can study or just hang out and read the paper if you want. I go in and get my coffee, a Quad Latte which is four shots of espresso and lots of milk. I case the inside to see if I see my date and I don't. I go outside and look to the left, no date; look to the right, no date. I choose a table right in front of the door to the patio, so he'll see me when he comes outside, and settle in. I have my iPod so I decide to watch an episode of Arrested Development until he gets here. When the credits roll I look up and around, still no date. Oh well. I've been stood up before. As I'm getting ready to get up, I see somebody out of the corner of my eye going inside and think it might be him. No problem - I'll email him that we missed each other. I go inside to drop off my empty glass and almost run right smack into him coming back outside from getting a refill. We recognize each other. I tell him that I've been sitting outside and that I've reached my limit, coffee-wise, but that we can still go chat if he wants. He tells me that "Pooch" is not his real name. I wait for him to tell me what his real name is, but he does not.

We sit at his table, which is around a corner in the back and invisible unless you go all the way to the back and to the left, where I didn't even know there were any tables. Not where I'd have sat waiting to meet someone. So he launches in talking and doesn't shut up for the next 45 minutes. He keeps referring to people as "sheeple" which I find mildly amusing the first time but by the eighth time I want to stab him in the thigh with a fork. He tells me that he's a Viet Nam vet which is no problem - my ex was a helicopter pilot in the war. He tells me he's a conspiracy freak, which is.

He has a "band" and is a "musician." He doesn't have a gig for South by Southwest (which he keeps referring to as South By, and I'm guessing I'm supposed to conclude that he's a real "insider" from this) but he does have a 30 minute spot on public access television during the festival time-frame. I'm thinking this doesn't count. I could probably get a 30 minute spot on public access television. I ask him what kind of music they play and instead of answering, he launches into a story about his drummer who was in jail (framed) and the substitute drummer they were using, and how the original drummer is now free, and about what they are doing with the interloper drummer. Later he mentions that they have been compared with Grateful Dead and that this surprises him. I now have all the information I need.

He hands me his business card. He tells me that he lives on disability income but that he is a plumber on the side. His motto is, "I'll work like a dog for you." Get it? Pooch, dog? Featured on the business card are two dog heads cut from photographs. One of them has a glowing solid green alien eye. He must not have Photoshop.

He lights up when I tell him that Zachary is into Frank Zappa and has a huge collection of bootleg concerts on CD. He wants to copy them! This is not gonna happen.

Dating blunder: I give this guy my business card as we are leaving. I'm still not sure why.

Since then he has sent me two emails. The one I got this morning tells me about his upcoming public access gig and tells me to "tape it if you can." I am tempted. His band is called "No Pedigree." Get it? No pedigree, pooch.

Fred

I should've known this was going to be a mess. The guy's personal ad is ALL IN CAPS. He also says he "won't last long" so ask him out while you still can.

We agree to meet at Starbucks. He doesn't tell me that he doesn't drink coffee and has never been to a Starbucks before. I see him waiting in line for his beverage (iced tea?) and go order mine. Once I pick it up he indicates that he'd like to sit outside, so we head for a table in front. When we've been sitting down for all of three seconds, he decides that it's too windy. I get up so we can go back inside, but he has a better idea. Let's go sit in his car. [Major dating red flag. Do not ignore this flag.]

I reluctantly join him in his car which is at least clean. I make sure to keep my right hand free and near the door handle, just in case. Also my purse handle is resting over my knee for a quick getaway grab if needed. Just the same, I'm very nervous. At one point he reaches over and turns the key and I just about bolt right out of the car, but it turns out he is just going to play me some of his Otis Redding cd.

He works in the cargo department at the airport. He proudly tells me that he barely works two hours of his eight-hour shift, that he spends his time watching Judge Judy and some other shows. I toy with the idea of finding out who I can report this to.

He tells me that I look like a hippie. I don't agree - if you're going to stick me in a category, I would think aging punk-rocker would be the category. Hippies don't have facial piercings as a general rule. Still, I've heard this before, so, hmmm.

After a while I tell him that I need to go home and cook dinner for tonight. He asks what I like to cook, and I tell him Indian, Thai, Mexican, I'm eclectic. He tells me that I have to cook him some enchiladas. Yeah, okay. Sure.

As I'm getting out of his car, he says, "Let me see your legs." And lifts up my dress to inspect my legs. It's all I can do to keep from breaking into a full-on run back to my car. I keep my eye out for his car behind me as I head out, and take the extra-circuitous route home.

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So I'm still out there meeting guys. I'll keep you posted.