Wild John – The Retirement

Certain mind-control techniques and a massive amount of charm need to attributed to Wild John because I hopped right back on his motorcycle, almost perished once again on the return trip over the West Seattle Bridge and even agreed to keep seeing him. Looking back I can almost be impressed by the web he wove and the spells he cast but I am also baffled that I fell for it. It is not an experience I am incredibly proud of, falling for a 47-year-old, swaggering liar but such is the fun that is internet dating.

Wild John spent our next few dates keeping me distracted. He took me to some of his favorite dive bars on Capitol Hill and made me homemade meatballs. We laughed while we struggled to carry the massive painting of Charles Bukowski that he impulsively bought at a gallery up three flights of stairs in his house. We watched the sun set from his balcony while we sipped mojitos made with mint he grew in his garden.  There was so much that was charming and likeable about Wild John but along with that main course of cool was a big side of psychotic.

One of the first signs I saw of the dark side of Wild John was at one of his favorite bars in Seattle. He introduced me, just as his friend, to both the owner and his wife. We sat at the bar, ordered a couple of cocktails and then Wild John left to use the restroom. After about twenty-five minutes went by and he still hadn’t returned, I wondered if I needed to send out a search party. I craned my head to look to the back of the bar and there, standing chatting with the owner, was Wild John. What the hell? He did remember that he was there with me and that our drinks weren’t getting any colder, right? Another ten minutes went by but I didn’t want to give up our seats because the place was packed and…what the hell? Where was my date? I noticed a guy a few stools down looking my way and, next thing I knew, he was sitting down on Wild John’s stool trying to start up a little chat about the band we were all there to see. I had said about two sentences to the guy when I felt Wild John right at my back, addressing my new friend. “Hey, partner, you trying to steal my drink or my girl?” The guy looked justifiably horrified, stood up and walked away.

I started to say something to Wild John about making me a bar widow when I noticed he looked pissed. “What were you doing talking to that guy? Didn’t you tell him you were here with me? Didn’t you tell him you were my girlfriend?” What, what, what? His girlfriend? And, sorry, he wasn’t the one that left me totally stranded, dude. I am not a fan of public drama and a scene was imminent so I handed Wild John his drink and told him he should be flattered, his date being hit on by another guy and all. I almost made myself gag but Wild John fell for it.

The rest of the evening actually went well. We enjoyed the band and he didn’t randomly disappear again for an extended period of time. Things went south, though, when we got back to his house. We were looking at the lights over the water when Wild John said, “Just so we are clear, I am not going to support you. I know a lot of girls are looking for a meal ticket but I am not that guy. Just so you know. I want to be up front about that.” I racked my brain trying to think of the time in conversation that I had even remotely hinted about wanting a sugar daddy but, nope, I had said nothing of the sort because that wasn’t what I was looking for. I guess a guy as old as Wild John has to be concerned about his retirement funds but I had reached my crazy guy threshold for the evening. It was time to get out of Wild John’s trap.

Luck was on my side because Wild John left for a business trip to Chicago a day later. I wanted some time to think about what exactly I was doing with this guy. I got a call from him right after he landed while he waited for his baggage. “You will never believe who I just saw. Barack Obama.” A presidential candidate! How exciting! Was he by himself or were there a ton of men with guns creating a human shield? Was Michelle there? I was full of questions but I soon noticed there was dead silence at the other end of the line. “Are you there?” I asked. I thought our cell connection had been dropped but no. “Oh, yeah, I am here but you wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I am just waiting for you to, uh, simmer down. I mean, why don’t you just officially freak out? I mean, really.”

Congratulations to Wild John were in order. He had officially been upgraded to ‘Grade A’ asshole. Giving me grief for being too engaged in a story he was telling? Enough, that was enough of Wild John’s controlling, manipulating, cocky ways. He called me when he got back into Seattle but I didn’t answer and instead wrote him an email the next day telling him that I didn’t think that we were a good match. I wanted to write that I was not looking for a narcissistic, jerk of a guy but I held my tongue because, really, someone had to be the adult in the conversation.  You would think it would be the guy that was old enough to be my dad, but, well that was not the case.  I got several emails from Wild John accusing me of being wishy-washy, immature and a ‘cocktease’ but I just didn’t reply. It seemed I would have to look elsewhere for a sugar daddy. Daddy. How appropriate.

Published in: Uncategorized on November 22, 2010 at 6:21 am  Comments (1)  

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  1. Kate – Have read your blog – and have to say – that your experiences are sad at best for internet dating but can;t wait for you to be in your 40’s and maybe still single – or not – and where you call someone who is 47 “geriatric” and “guy that was old enough to be my dad.” You have NO clue!

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