Diary of a Network Geek

She made me pie.
I mentioned off the top of my head the other day that I liked apple pie. I explained how my sister used to make me apple pie for my birthday every year when I was in college because she was the only family near me at my birthday and I loved apple pie. So tonight, when she came over just to hang out before going out of town, she made me an apple pie. Crust from scratch with stars on it and covered in course sugar and as sweet as anything can make it.

We just sat with the television on, though we didn't watch it really. Mainly, we looked at each other. Somehow in two days I'd forgotten how beautiful she is. How captivating her eyes are as they shift from blue to green like precious gems from a lost kingdom swallowed by the encroaching jungle. Her deep, throaty laugh makes me want to be wittier and more charming than I have a right to expect to be. I'm learning to smile and say thank you when she tells me how handsome I am. I don't see it myself, but, then, I've never seen my good qualities as clearly as those around me, so I'm learning to internalize it.
Hilda, of course, was jealous. Oh, she was put off for a bit by the treats that came with the pie, but we both knew it wouldn't last forever. Doc was around early on, but made himself scarce when it was so obvious that we were going to end up ignoring him anyway, poor guy. But, honestly, who could compete with an almost six-foot, blue-eyed blonde that makes me apple pie from scratch?

Oh, one small note, though, she found the blog. She admitted it to me this evening with a guilty red-faced look. Apparently, she'd been Googleing my name and, well, up it popped. She read some, but felt guilty and stopped. But, she fessed up right away, so I told her to go ahead and read. After all, it's nothing but sunshine and light right now anyway. Besides, she said she liked my writing...

Surprise!
I'm sure many of you are fully expecting me to say that my alleged date on Saturday was, in fact, a very elaborate April Fool's Day joke. It was not. It was, in fact, not only quite real, but quite good.
Saturday afternoon, I got a haircut and the $100 detailing done on the car, which took longer than I'd thought it would, so I just barely had time to scoot home, wash up and change before going to church. I opted for a high level of casual in relaxed-fit Gap khakis with a white DKNY, long-sleeved shirt, lightly starched. After some debate and a check with Matt for spiritual guidance on my choice of shoes, I opted for black cowboy boots instead of the Cole Haans. My date is an inch, or so, taller than I am, so I figured the extra height couldn't hurt. I cleansed my car of all heavy metal and replaced it with Sting, Bonnie Rait and some other mellow favorites. No Sade or Nina Simone, though, per the helpful suggestions or my gentle readers.
So, at church everyone was asking about my plans. In fact, I had a veritable legion of folks who seemed to know what I was up to that night. Matt checked me over to make sure I'd done okay, as did J.'s new girl L. The general consensus of opinion was a thumbs-up. I have no idea what went on during the service because, honestly, I was beside myself with nerves. First date in over ten years makes a guy a little nervous, you know?
So, with Sting's Brand New Day in the CD player, I raced over to her place as soon as church was over. She lives over by Minute Maid Park, so there was a bit of traffic, due to the Astro's exhibition game, but it wasn't too bad. What was bad, however, were the directions that I got via Yahoo!Maps. They were fine right up to that one, illegal, left-turn onto Franklin. Thankfully, I've driven all over Chicago during construction season, so circling wide and around to get where I actually wanted to be was not a big stretch for me. Also, I called her to get pointed back in the right direction. I parked in a loading dock at her building, per her instructions, and met her out front as she was walking her dogs. The first thing that caught my attention was how blonde she was. I spotted that two blocks away. The other thing was how tall five-foot eleven was when you got up close. Yeah, she's an inch taller than I am,when I stand up straight. Still, she was at least as good looking in person as she was in her pictures, so, all was well. (She said more or less the same about me, later, so, don't think I was the only one worried about that!)
We took her dogs up to her apartment and I got the nickel tour. She runs her business out of her home, so she had an industrial oven, a bunch of baking racks, and assorted high-end cooking gear all over. Naturally, she had an enormous kitchen. She actually lives in a loft in a building that, except for the nice, wide halls, reminded me of places I'd been in Chicago. In fact, that was one of the reasons she like this building, because she used to live in Chicago and it sort of reminded her of there. So, yes, she lived in Chicago for nine years, working in catering, mainly, and she knew the edges of my old stomping grounds. In fact, she said that would be the only part of the country that she'd consider moving to again. Oh, did I mention that she took me by surprise with a kiss when I met her?
Anyway, after that it was off to La Vista, a little Italian place that she knew. It's quaint and used to have a strictly BYOB policy, and they maintain that even though you can get wine there now. Apparently, it was run by a friend of hers from high school and was more wildly successful than he'd ever imagined it being. Who knew? But, here is where it got interesting. At this restaurant I noticed the difference between this one and everyone I've ever gone out with before. We ordered our dinners and I ordered a glass of iced tea. Well, our salads came, but my tea didn't. I was willing to quietly ignore that, as long as it didn't end up on the bill, but she caught our waiter and told him to get it for me. Honest to God, no one has ever been that attentive to me before, ever, much less on a first date. I thanked her, of course, then told her that I'd been willing to let it slide. And how thoughtful it was of her to catch that for me. Dinner was, of course, wonderful. Sadly, if we'd had dessert we'd be too late to catch a movie, so we skipped that and were off to the giant Edwards MarqE to catch a late show.
We got tickets to the 10:30PM showing of Ice Age: Meltdown, but we were cutting it close. The lines were too long at the candy stand, so, while she ran into the ladies room, I hit the quarter vending machines to feed her self-confessed sweet tooth. Generic Sweet Tarts and plain M&Ms for a buck's not a bad deal at the theater, so I carefully filled my hand and waited for her by the door to the ladies room, feeling rather like a pervert. She came out and saw what I had in my hand and started giggling like a little girl. She grabbed my free hand and gobbled a couple of the candies while dragging me into the theater. She hesitantly lets me choose where to sit in the darkened movie house and I quickly point to two seats in the middle of the row in front of the main aisle. When she sighed with relief and called me a man after her own heart, I knew I'd done good. She hates climbing up to the higher reaches of seats as much as I do. Cool. I automatically lifted the middle arm between the two seats, because, well, just because. That, too, met with her instant approval. We dropped into our seats just as the last preview was ending and the main feature was starting. Perfect timing!
I won't review the movie, but Ice Age Meltdown was hilarious. We laughed the whole way through. Great first date movie.
After that, it was back to her place for some mellow music, more talking and, well, stuff. It was at this point in the evening that I found out she was a published poet and a very accomplished photographer. Her black and white photos of Paris looked like they could have been hung in a gallery. I also got to know her geriatric basset hound and her two miniature Dachshunds. When I finally left, she sent me out into the world laden with her gourmet dog biscuits as a peace offering to my own dog. Also, she figured a bribe might get me back into the house.

She's braving my house for pizza and a movie Tuesday night before heading out of town for a trade show. Next week, the Saturday before Easter, she's going to come to Mercy Street with me. Apparently, she wants to meet the man who gave me spiritual advice about my shoes.
In short, I think I've got a winner. Now, if I can just get used to being fawned over for a change, and learn to take her compliments without a skeptical side-long glance, everything will work out just fine.

I'm starting to get a little nervous here.
Tomorrow night I will go on the first date I've been on in over ten years. I know, it's like riding a bicycle, right? Funny thing about that, when I was learning to ride a bike, I wiped out once and took a handlebar to the gut. I don't know how long I rolled around on the sidewalk gasping for air before someone helped me out. I hope that's not how tomorrow night goes.
Per instructions, I have purged the car of all metal music of any kind. I will add the dulcet tones of Sting, in abundance, but also have Bowling for Soup, Spoon, Elvis Costello, Warren Zevon, and Frank Sinatra, among others. And, before you critisize me about Blue Eyes, she said she likes Frankie. I won't put it in myself, but it will be available for her if she so chooses. Tomorrow, I'll go get my hair cut and the car cleaned inside and out. I've already got directions to her place ready.
So, that just leaves what I'm going to wear... We agreed to keep it casual, but she texted me telling me that she was getting a manicure. *gulp* So, I was thinking black jeans, a white button-down shirt and my black cowboy boots, freshly polished, since she's taller than I am and they give me a good two inches of height. Not that I care personally, but I know some women get uncomfortable with that stuff. On the other hand, maybe just a nice golf shirt and regular jeans. But the black jeans fit so well...
Oh, and do you buy flowers for a first date? Or bring something other than yourself?
Right, obsessive-complusive disorder in action. So, suggestions?

No, not me!
Prisoners! First there was Prison Blues, the tough-as-nails clothing company with instant street cred. (Which, incidentally, was an idea I had for years before I saw it on the news.) And, now, there's Big House Choppers, a custom motorcycle company run by the prison in Carson City, Nevada, according to this article on MSNBC.com. Billing themselves as the ultimate "outlaw" bike manufacturer, I'd imagine these folks have a certain built-in fan base. Especially with the kind of folks that would really dig Prison Blues. Somehow, that authentic outlaw feeling must just seep into these babies as the convicts work on them. In fact, these "choppers" will have actual prison bars worked into the body and a certificate proving that fact. You can see an example of their work here. And while I am tattooed, I am not a motorcycle owner or rider, but, I still have to say, this is a fine looking piece of machinery.

Speaking of music...
Some time ago, I mentioned buying a bunch of CDs at my favorite bookstore. Several of them were "local" talent, though, I think that covers a pretty broad geographic area. Anyway, I've finally listened to them enough to get a good feel for their sound and I'm totally ready to give you all a review. Or, at least, as ready as I'll ever be.
The four CDs are To the Afterglow by SiennaBlu , Dance Cry Swing by Eileen Faxas, and The Storms Inside and A Little Gun Shy, both by Brian Douglas.

SiennaBlu reminds me of an unholy cross between Bon Jovi, REM and a high-school garage band. Though, they're not bad at all, they do sound very raw and unpolished. There's a lot of heart in their music, but, well, not much else. Don't pay full price.

Dance Cry Swing by Eileen Faxas, though, is pretty good. This looks to be her first CD, but, if she keeps at it, she could be the Texas version of Gloria Estefan. No, really, her work has the same kind of sound and rythym. It's not all that remarkable at this stage, but, you can see the potential here.

Of all these four, though, the two by Brian Douglas are my favorites. I have to admit, when I first got them, I didn't realize they were the same guy. I purchased the second one, A Little Gun Shy, days after the first and just didn't make the connection, until I heard the music. Douglas has a really personal sound, reminds me of Aqualung, a little bit, but with a lot heavier American influence. Mainly a balladeer, at least on these two CDs, his voice grabs hold of you and drags you down the paths of his memories, painful and joyful alike.

Whoops!
Okay folks, the little problem has been corrected. It seems that someone or something managed to inject a little extra PHP code into my WordPress plugins. I think they were trying to add links to websites to improve their Googlerank, but it just caused an error on the blog. Anyway, I think I got all the offending code.

My iPod arrived tonight. I'll be loading it with music over the next several days.

As a total red herring, though, I have a date Saturday night with an actual woman. Not a girl, but a real, full-grown, self-supporting woman. She has her own business and her own very busy life. She used to live in Chicago, but she's from here and moved back just two years ago. The pictures I've seen of her are, well, let's just say she took my breath away. I'd imagine that she could pretty well have her pick of guys. In fact, she doesn't need me at all.
But, tonight on the phone, she wouldn't hang up until I promised to call her in the morning.

Oh, there'll be time enough to sleep when I'm dead.
Up until 2:30AM on the phone with the fascinating woman from Match.com. She knows my part of Chicago. She loves dogs and what she does for a living. She has no time for bullshit. She's in therapy, too. She spent seven unhappy years with an Australian she met in a bar in Chicago before she moved back to Houston a little over two years ago. Oh, and there's more and more and more and more...
And, yes, I told her too much. She asked about the ex-wife, so I answered her truthfully and honestly. And spent half the night explaining and justifying my poor choices and why it's okay now. The rest of the time, of course, I spent asking her the same thing. I mean, an Australian in a bar? What was she thinking?
It ended with her telling me, "It's okay to call me again."
"Is it? Is it okay if I call you?" I'm sure she could hear me laughing at her subtlety.
"Like tomorrow. Yeah, that would be good."
"Would it?"
"Yeah, it would."
"Well, I guess I'll call tomorrow night then."

So, I'm about to call Match.com a bust, right?
I mean, I'm getting nothing, even with the rewritten profile. Zlich. Hardly even a returned e-mail for pity's sake! Then, suddenly, I've spent hours on the phone with someone and I'm promising to call her back tonight, after my walk with Hilda and my weekly chat with the parental units. Never know, do you?
She's nice. Has her own business making dog biscuits. Has three dogs, but no kids. Older than me by almost two years. Taller than me, not that it matters. Blonde, blue-eyed. Self-sufficient, self-sustaining and self-supporting. In short, nothing at all like my ex-wife. I'm waiting to find out what's wrong with her, honestly. Must be something there that doesn't add up, right? I mean, could I have hit a jackpot here?
She said she's tired of the "players" on Match.com. I laughed. I'm about as un-player as they come. Tragically unhip, disturbingly upfront and with very little left to hide. (Hey, even a priest has a past, kids. Mine just involves two tattoos and an ex-wife.) So, we'll take it slow and see what happens next.
I expect it not to work out, eventually, but, then, I've been a bit of a pessimist lately, haven't I? Though, realistically, I expect this process of getting out into the dating world will involve a lot of failure before I start to get a little traction. Comes with the territory.

Okay, so I didn't make it quite as early this morning.
I made it through yesterday on caffeine and gumption, but I did make it through to almost 1:00AM before dropping off. So, I figure that hitting the blog before hitting the road at about 7:00AM isn't too bad for starting some new habits. Right? Hilda seemed more eager, at least. So, when I finish my Monster energy drink, I'll grab a cup of fancy joe and get out walking again. Then, I have those palm trees to dig up and that ugly-ass hedge to rip out. I still haven't decided on a fruit tree, but I don't think mangoes will work. Thanks to a friend, though, I now have some choices. He sent me a link to the Garden of Delights, which is a totally cool site that sells unusual fruiting plants. I might get one of their non-ornamental banana trees. I definitely want to get some of their coffee plants. I might not ever actually brew my own, home-grown coffee, but just the idea cranks me up. Either way, though, the ugly stuff comes out today.
I also just sent an e-mail to a totally cool, interesting chick on Match.com. Not unusual in and of itself, but this lady started her own dog biscuit company. How cool is that? I'm hoping that we might be able to hook up so, at the very least, I can pump her for how she got her business going. Hoffman's Holistic Canine Cookies might become a reality yet! Hell, I wouldn't even mind being a subcompany of her's. Or even just a brand that collects some royalties!!
Oh, and one last thing before I go. I hope to have a new reader soon. I sat and talked with one of my ministers yesterday afternoon and told him about this blog. Now, understand, I'm used to being hit up for something when a minister wants to get together for a cup of coffee. I'm not used to a guy who just is interested in me and wants to get to know me. Very strange feeling for me. And, before you think it, no he's not gay. Happily married with two kids and totally straight. He's also very cool. Didn't even flinch when we drove over to the Fourbucks in my Black Beast listening to Sehnsucht by Rammstein or when I showed him my tattoos. Way cool minister and a heck of a preacher. (You can check that out for yourself at Mercy Street.) We'll see if he's brave enough to comment. ;)
Well, time for my walk. Later!

I'm up at an un-Godly hour today.
Why? Well, simple. I want to be in better shape and get more done with my life. How does that relate to being up before the Sun on a Saturday? Well, I got this crazy idea that running would help me be in better shape. I think it comes from the fact that all the really hot people, men and women, I've seen lately seem to be runners. Lean, mean, running machines. So, when do they find the time? Before that balefull, red-gold, burning eye in the sky can look down on them and sear their flesh. Or, so it seems. I mean, people blog about how the early morning light hurts their eyes before they run, then people comment on those posts about how to be a "morning person".
So, I set my alarms and got up. My dog squinted at me in the unfamiliar Saturday light as if to say, "What the hell are you doing? Why are you waking me up, Dummy?" It was, I assure you, adorable. I pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans and a ball cap, then stumbled my way into the kitchen to start the coffee. While I listened to it brew, I read my morning devotional and slurped down a Full Throttle engery drink. Now, it's a quick cup of joe, my new running shoes and out with the dog for my first, early-morning, high-speed shuffle. When I work it up to a run, I'll let you all know.
Maybe Hilda and I will bump into the new, improved, healthier me out there in the dark. Here's hoping.