Vol. 3, Post #101 Oh, don't mind me...

I just eye-rolled so hard that I can see my own ass. My weekly sex tips for girls (or folks who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds (people with readers).

OK — before we begin, who remembers those SNL skits where Bill Hader loses his shit and spits out whatever he is drinking all over his co-star? Many of them were based around a bit they did called “Hollywood Dish,” whereas BH and Kristen Wiig are co-hosts of some “Access Hollywood” knockoff, utterly vapid and ridiculous from the get-go. When their guest says something that they perceive as outrageous, like, “Oh, I don’t watch Reality TV,” Hader SPEWS whatever he’s drinking all over Kristen. Coffee, smoothie, water, it doesn’t matter. It’s hilarious and I cannot stop. Keep this in mind as we begin to unpack what happened this week in “The Dating Chronicles, Part III.”

I just looked back; we haven’t had a Dating Chronicles update since August 2024, so we’re Waaaaaaaay overdue. Lemme see if I can stop gasping for air and actually type, hold on. Also, I’ll repost some of my favorite spit-takes in this post. I am simply undone. It’s like an eyeroll, but BETTER!

So, back to the subject at hand: Dating and my current eyeroll. Last week, I told you, Dear Readers, that I’m seeing a few men, and as part of this, assessing Green, Yellow, and Red Flags. Because, as noted, I have one of each color flag in my coterie. Guess which one made me spew chunks (well, break out in peals of laughter)? Yup, Mr. Green Flag.

Mr. Green Flag and I had a light-hearted exchange about the band Faith No More on our first date and, again, as discussed last week, he is a fan of the second singer, Mike Patton. I am a fan of the OG singer Chuck Mosley. This should not matter a whit to you or to anybody. It sure as hell doesn’t matter to me.

Except that after our date (and we had a nice one, hours long, even though both of us expected it to be just a coffee), Greenie seemingly felt compelled to send me not one, not two, but THREE different articles about why Mike Patton is amazing.

Minute 3:10 if you need to get down immediately with this.

And whilst speaking/texting to me about Mike Patton? Lots of language like “And so that you can understand where all of the top male vocalists fare in terms of their range, well here’s the comprehensive list...”

Because, apparently, I can’t understand. Maybe because I’m a woman?

I just dropped the topic. Well, I dropped it after Acacia and I laughed our asses off about it because she no likee Mike Patton either, so in her mind, there was not going to be a second date with Greenie based on this alone, but…BUT…I was being more open-minded about the entire thing.

And then the Phish-splaining started.

Hold on — let’s be sure that my bandmate Jason F is reading along, since he’s my Number One Phish Friend, and I love giving him shit about my distinct LACK of love for the band. Thing is, Jason F doesn’t care. He still adores me and vice versa.

So, after I purposely stopped chatting Faith No More with Greenie, as well as ignoring some other topics that hold zero appeal, I was sort of siding with Acacia, thinking, “Yeah…nope. I don’t think I want to go on a second date with this guy.” And then, he brought it all home…with Phish.

My pal Susan was visiting me this past weekend, and we went to a concert at Levon Helm Studios AKA The Barn, which is a Woodstock, NY treasure and a simply gorgeous venue for a show (acoustically, it’s also like a temple of sound. Levon built the studio with no metal of any kind, even using wooden pegs, so there is no “white noise” interference with the music. It’s heavenly.). While we were at the show, Greenie was texting me about the one time he went to Levon’s, and it was (again) not a short story, nor was it a very interesting one. Susan rolled her eyes at me and told me to put my phone away.

Minute 3:24, people…

All joking aside, I was giving this more than just a little bit of thought. Greenie and I had plans for a second date but every time he popped up in my phone, I felt distinctly underwhelmed and, honestly? A bit “icked out” at the thought of what he’d be telling me next. And not just WHAT he was telling me, but HOW HE WAS SAYING IT.

“He is mansplaining to me!” I finally realized, and remarked to a few people, incredulously. This had never happened to me. I know that seems unbelievable but, as someone who also (miraculously) does not have a #metoo story, it’s true. I guess I just know a better caliber of men. This guy was insufferable.

There he was, sending over links and videos, “reminding me” that so-and-so was a lauded performer, “daring” me to not find something appealing in a clip, all of it. It was making my dick limp. It was making me just not want to respond in general. And it was making me MAD.

I sat with this for a few days, and decided that I was being a cunt, and that I should keep our second date and see how I felt after that. And then…Greenie started Phishing…

“I know you said you don’t like Phish, but I challenge anyone to see this video and not think it’s masterful. One song can change everything for you, you know,” he basically said in a text earlier this week, sending along a clip of Phish doing a Led Zeppelin song, after we had been discussing how some of my favorite local pals had formed a Zepp cover band.

Minute 3:21 and you’re welcome.

I stared at my phone, not actually believing that this guy had sent me ANOTHER video, as an attempt to get me to appreciate something I said I had tried, and failed, to enjoy on multiple occasions. I picked up MY phone and sent him a voice memo. I didn’t feel like calling him, but it was time to follow my FAITHful heart and stop PHISHing for a connection that did not exist, and that wasn’t going to be a text. I wanted him to hear my voice. He text responded. We had a short exchange. No second date is happening. All good, and who knows? Maybe we’ll just be friends — and never speak about music again.

In case you still can’t get enough, this is a highlights reel.

“Hey Abbe, what happened with Misters Yellow Flag and Red Flag? Are they still in the mix? I mean, all this Bill Hader silliness aside, you said this was ‘The Dating Chronicles, Part III,’ and so far, all I’m hearing about is some dude’s strange obsession with converting your musical tastes to mirror his own, or apparently, you get the hose.”

Ah, so…

Mr. Yellow Flag, aka Kris Kristofferson, has me smitten. S-M-I-T-T-E-N. We’ve been comfortably engaged, texting and phoning, since our first coffee; we have another date on the books and at this point, I’d sort of give up on the rest of the menfolk experiment happening now and just let this one breathe, but at the same time, KK runs a NFP (not for profit) and I also need to be mindful about seeing a man who routinely works till well after midnight when, as an example, Fuckface and his band of evil idiots attempt to cut funding to his project. This happened last night while we were chatting so he had to bolt. I get it, but still not sure how this will shake out for us seeing each other, because we are both busy as hell and I like that in theory but it makes things slightly more uphill. But the other reason I am staying the course on this one? I look at KK and I see a man who is attractive, and not entirely my type. I see a man who is roughly my height (I usually go for taller) and leaner than I prefer. But I also see a man who has the greatest smile ever and that makes me melt. Yeah, like that.

Now, Mr. Red Flag turned out to be just the opposite. Remember I said he was Black 007? He sure is. He’s also charming, interesting, asks great questions, treated the waitstaff at the restaurant where we had drinks with the utmost consideration (that is a love language for me) AND we had a tasty little make out sesh. I (wrongly) worried that for such a fashion plate, he might show up wearing a lot of cologne. He did not. And he has soft lips. We are going out again too.

But back to Kris Kristofferson for a minute and that smile of his…do you know how sometimes you just have a…feeling…about someone? I have a feeling about him. In my bones. So I’m gonna move extremely slow and gentle here and let the river just take my rowboat wherever the current leads me, as it were. Yes, I know I’m mixing metaphors and all, but Kris Kristofferson has me thinking things I haven’t truly allowed myself to consider in some time. That river is calling me, you know?

(That couldn’t be helped.)