Don't hate the player...

So a mechanic, a salesman and a well digger all walk into a bar. What do they have in common? They each had a date with me this weekend.

Date #1 was Thursday night (it's all a weekend to me now) with the salesman. We'll call him P as he's a former punk rocker. Nice guy, our second date. We went to the local farmer's market (which took all of 10 minutes) then to a Mexican restaurant for some cervezas and chips and salsa. Conversation was good and fun times were had. Our senses of humor work well together. We then walked over to a local dive bar I had been wanting to check out - The Red Caboose. Yes, folks, it's as good as it sounds. Leave it to me to find the spot where the parolees and tweakers congregate. Still, they had Sierra Nevada on tap, an ex-con was convinced I was his public defender (although no mention of my being a lawyer was made) and the bartender was from Humboldt County. We hung out a while, having fun, chatting with the other patrons, and just blabbing in general. When it was time to go P walked me back to my truck. We loitered for that awkward moment where you're contemplating a first kiss but can't seem to get to it so you keep standing there making small talk looking stupid because you both know what needs to happen. So we had a small kiss, appropriate for a second date, but not the ravishing kind you save for the night you're going to close the deal.

Pleasant enough, right? This is where you're supposed to part ways and go home and ponder things about the other person, act all stupid, and let things develop. Oh, but you forget, P is a man and a man always knows just the right thing to say to a girl once he's made a reasonably good impression: "So are you going to invite me back to your place?"

It threw me for a moment as I hadn't sent out the 'I want you now' vibe so I replied with a firm "Uh, no." and tried to make light of the request. Then he dug the hole deeper and said something to the effect of, "But I'm sure you have a nice bed with nice sheets". He pressed the issue for a couple more minutes until he gave up with an "I'll call you." Note to men: The best way to turn a girl off is to presume she wants to take you home and actually say it out loud. You can think it all you want, but don't say it. It's a moment killer. We'll let you know.

With that I hopped in my truck and headed home. Of course, this led to me overthinking the whole situation, as any creature with ovaries is prone to do. I realize men are from some planet and women are from another, and dating is confusing and generally sucks, and that communication is a fragile thing when in the first stages of getting to know someone. Still, it bugged me that he made the presumption that I'd take him home that night and that he'd be willing to just go home with someone he hasn't met but knows has an arsenal of crow-beaning weapons just waiting on the coffee table. So I wrote him off. Just like that. No three strikes, no warnings, just a simple muttered-to-myself "thanks for playing". He called to possibly go out again and I haven't returned the call. I should because we had a good time and I didn't tell him where it took a turn and I should, so he knows in the future. Or maybe not, as it seems to have worked for him before. And I decided this time around to listen to that little voice that I always ignore. In this case, that little voice tells me P's a Tehachapi-rated player and, believe it or not, I'm kind of hoping to get out of the game for a while.

The next date was Friday with R, a mechanic I met at a local property owners association meeting. Again, a nice guy. We met for a late lunch under the guise of him wanting help with some copyright matters handled for his fledgling music production company. Two hours later we knew eachother's life histories and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was smitten. He's nice and polite and most certainly would never presume to be invited to my house, but he's a stoner and I'm just no good with stoners. I love 'em, have fun with 'em, but if you're 37 years old and still toking on a daily basis, I doubt we have similar goals. He too left a message about going out again. Again, I'm taking note of that little voice, my general lack of attraction, and his puppy dog look. I'll call him back but keep things casual.

Finally, it was date #3 with a well driller, who we'll call Ken Doll (that's what he looks like). A younger man, 29, jawline like Buzz Lightyear, polite, intelligent, a bit of a recluse, former Army officer, now in the family business with his dad. I wasn't going to go out with him again as the first two dates were fun but he is very shy and I had decided he might not be able to handle a gal like me without serious therapy down the road. And I don't want my truffle profits going to my future ex-husband's therapist. But for some reason I didn't call to cancel and we headed to a local karaoke bar to watch large women belt out Bonnie Raitt songs all night. Conversation was strained at first but got easier once he told me he let his dog sleep with him after I had chided him for being an evil pet owner. We talked water rights, Desert Storm I vs. II, heavy equipment operation, and about the state of dating in Kern County - which is nill. He was impressed with my crow-hunting techniques and laughed at the story of P. He told me he only signed up for the internet dating thing to send me a message because every other single woman in the County is either unemployed, uneducated, a single mother, has serious baggage, or all of the above. We ended with a slightly awkward moment and a hug outside my truck. I'm still a little confused as to his intentions with me - just friends or ??? but it's fun trying to figure it out.

And on the seventh day I rested. And had a dream featuring a cameo by my crush. Go figure.