The Mothership Should've Warned Me About This One

So, what do you wear when it's about 95 degrees and tropically humid? Apparently the man I was meeting for drinks hadn't heard about summer. I knew it was going to suck when he came over to me wearing black wool pants and a black wool sweater on one of the hottest days of the year. In all fairness, it was clear that he wasn't completely thrilled with what he saw either, since I swear to god that he sneered at me.

For some reason, we didn't just end it there. I decided to overlook the sweated-out underarms of his wool sweater. He apparently decided to overlook my general distastefulness. We ordered glasses of wine and sat down on a couch in the lounge.

He immediately started telling me how super awesome he is. He's a Civil War re-enactor. On the Confederate Side. Fine, but when you're African-American, why is that your hobby? Also, he is an avid fencer. As in "en garde!" And he's very, very smart because he reads about physics.

As I listen to him drone on and on about nothing I want to know, I start to rub behind my ear. It's just a little tick I have -- it's unconscious and seems to relax me. I'm thinking about graceful exit strategies. Anything to get out of there. But I'm a nice girl, I don't want to do the "I'm going to the bathroom" thing and then leave.

He stops and asks me if I'm ok. I realize he's saying this because I'm rubbing my head like I have a migraine. This, my friends, is suddenly my exit strategy. But do I go with the whole "migraine" thing? No. Instead I say: "Oh....yeah, there's a ringing in my head. It happens ever since I got this implant."

He looks at me and asks, "What?" And not in a kind, understanding tone.

I'm in kind of deep now. It's all or nothing. I look him straight in the eye and tell him "The aliens put it in me. When I was abducted about a year ago. Sometimes when it's humid like this, it buzzes." And miraculously with this, I keep a totally straight face and lean into him. I say "Here, want to feel. You can feel the little bump where the implant is."

He declines -- which I suppose is good since I really don't have an alien implant behind my ear, so there wouldn't be anything to feel. Instead he suddenly remembers a really important meeting on the other side of town. On a Sunday afternoon. He puts down a $20 and walks out.

Good riddance. I get in my car, drive past him in his car -- talking on his cell phone, no doubt telling his friends about the freak he just met -- and head back to the refuge of my apartment.

Another man down. Only about a million more out there.

My Hot New Relationship

I'm sleeping with a new man. Because my parents might read this, let me be a little more specific -- I'm sleeping with his books. My hot new relationship is with the books written by Greg Iles. We -- the books and I -- take baths together, curl up on the couch during thunderstorms, we've even traveled together. Clearly this means we get along pretty well.

For those who like fast-moving thriller/mysteries, these are can't-put-downable books. The ones I've read all basically take place in Natchez, Mississippi. As an avowed Yankee, the deep South has always been a curiosity to me. And these books seem to really paint a picture of the region and the people and issues that occupy it.

So far, I've burned through Dead Sleep, Turning Angel, The Quiet Game and Sleep No More. They all have twists and turns -- but stay totally believable. I'm going to say my favorite so far -- the one I recommend most quickly -- was Turning Angel. It was the first one I read and the one that got me hooked on Mr. Iles.

In the book, a popular high school student named Kate is found dead near the Mississippi River. Penn Cage, an attorney-turned-author, gets a call from an old friend with some pretty big secrets -- and it's off to the races. Every so often in his books, Iles touches on a taboo -- not in a sensational way, but in a way where you can understand how something not-so-right might happen. In this one, it is about high school girls and much older men. It gets a little steamy, but not tawdry.

All in all -- it'll get you through more than one crappy date.

They Made Me Do It...

I'm 37. I've been dating for almost 20 years. Over those 20 years, I've had more than my fair share of crappy dates -- the upside is that many of them end up being good stories. So good, in fact, that after these dates my friends say "Oh God...you have to write a book." I settled on a blog, instead.

And to make it look like I do something besides go on bad dates, I figured I'd share a little of what keeps me sane -- good books. Consider my mini-reviews a little direction on licking your wounds after yet another few hours of your life you'll never get back.

To be perfectly clear, I don't hate men. I like a lot of them -- and as a whole, I think they are pretty good to have around. That is why I have dedicated so many years to finding one to keep around for a little while. And that's why I do sometimes put down the book, put on the high heels, and go give another man another chance...

I hope you enjoy reading this -- here's to a good read and finding a good man!