Oh the guy with the wife

Never fear, intrepid daters.  Despite my brief sabbatical (I have no excuse, really) I am here to regale you with my adventures in moving to Boston.

So here I am, moving to Boston, still single.  There was an ill-fated dating experience a few months ago, which I'm sure will be featured here eventually.  In honesty, it had been about 3-4 months since my last actual date when I got here.  I feel like my dating repertoire gets a little rusty if I haven't used it.  So I can't say I was the pickiest I've ever been.

Cue guy from mutual internet forum.  Again, site withheld to protect the guilty.  This is a forum and not technically a dating site, and his profile says he is "looking for friends".  We email back and forth, he seems great!  Turns out, he's also in medicine.  Single good dudes in medicine are few and far between, plus someone who may understand my life is a bonus.

After a while, we decide to meet for brunch.  We're meeting as friends, it's good to get to know people in the area.  Brunch is good, there is plenty to talk about.  He's from India, and I'm learning about his training and his culture.  We highly enjoyed ourselves, and weren't quite ready to say goodbye at the end of the meal.
Somehow we end up spending the REST OF THE DAY together, touring the harborfront, getting some cocktails, enjoying a beautiful summer day.  He holds my hand - suddenly this has turned in to a marathon date which neither of us expected.

At the end of the day, we're walking towards the T to go our separate ways.  Suddenly he looks frantic.  He sits me down and says...dun dun dun..."I have something to tell you"
Can I tell you how much I hate that phrase?  NOTHING good ever follows that phrase.

Turns out - after he moved from India his (ex)-wife followed him!  She is also in medicine, but came here without the promise of a residency, a fellowship, a job, nothing.  Now...because he is a NICE guy, she is living with him.  They are LIVING TOGETHER in a 1-bedroom apartment!

I have many questions about this.  I'm sure, so do you.
Such as
1) Are you together?
2) Where does she think you are?
3) WHERE DOES SHE SLEEP??!!

Now, in our profession, we are trained to take whack-a-doo information in stride, stay stone faced and absorb it.  So here I am, having no reaction to this craziness and he takes it as a sign of approval.  Which clearly means he needs to GO ON.  Yes friends, there's more.

The reason he got suckered in to letting her live with him is because, you guessed it, she brought their son with her!  Now, I can't be mad.  I can't even be a bit upset.  He's a great person for providing for his son and wanting to be with him.  ARE YOU SERIOUS?  I can't even be upset about this nonsense?!!  I.  am.  irrationally.  livid.
Only I would end up dating a married guy with a kid, and end up feeling like I'm the one at fault for it!
Truly, this is par for the course.

Stay tuned, dear daters.  I can promise you there will be more.

What?!?! I can't pack my instruments of war?

I am very slowly preparing for my move. Today I will have a phone survey, in which I will describe everything I own over the phone to a "professional surveyor" who will then estimate a weight. Then next Wednesday I will have my "pack'n'load" in which all my worldly goods will be packed onto the first truck. Yes, the first truck. My things will then be transferred to another truck and driven to Seattle, where they will be transferred to a steamship and barged up to Anchorage, where they will be transferred to a plane and air-freighted out to Bethel, where an apparently lovely gentleman named Bethel Bob will deliver and unpack everything.

My head is about to explode.

Speaking of explosions, here is a list of my favorite explosives that I am not allowed to bring:

Explosives
-black powder
-dynamite
-spear guns having a charged head (Am I allowed spear guns with an uncharged or previously discharged head?)
-aircraft engine compartment fire extinguishers
-explosive auto alarms (Do these things exist? Wouldn't that be counter-productive?)
-instruments of war (A little vague, don't you think?)

Mostly the movers have been very professional. They sent me a checklist full of helpful information like "don't pack your plane tickets" and a treatise on why I should dissemble my Ikea furniture. This has already led to several Wrath-of-Khan-like moments of howling, "IKEAAAAAAAAA!!" amidst screwdrivers and partially dissembled, now broken, furniture.

Is noon too early to have a drink?

The Cheese Stands Alone

People keep asking me what I'm doing to get ready for Alaska. I always reply with the most logical answer that comes to mind: I'm making cheese. Inspired by an old childhood friend (whose other suggestion was that I learn to fly), I bought a book and a kit and started learning about MILK. I mean - MILK, man! Milk.

It is possible that I am a bit bored in my unemployed/between-jobs state.

Anyway, I made feta. The adventure began on Thursday when I spent the afternoon at Whole Foods reading labels and hearing, "Can we help you, ma'am? Are you sure? Well, we'll be over here if you change your mind..." over and over and over. I guess their typical customers don't spend half an hour in the dairy section...or 20 minutes looking for extra rennet in the supplements section. (Turns out - rennet is only available online!) I came home with more milk than my lactose-intolerant-self typically drinks in a year.

Saturday was the big day. I sterilized everything and fantasized about breaking into the OR supply room to steal sterile kits to save time. Then I improvised a water bath in my kitchen sink and heated the milk...and let it sit. I added the culture...and let it sit and "ripen." I added rennet...and let it sit to "coagulate." I cut the curds...and let them sit. I heated the curds slooooooooowly...and let them sit. I drained the curds...and let them sit. As you can imagine, my ADD self does not do well with tasks requiring patience.

Now, three days later, I have a Tupperware full of feta awaiting consumption. I haven't tried it yet, but it's sitting on my counter looking at me.

I'm afraid.

Oh, The Guy With The Gun

So many of you know that I was in a very long relationship.  At the end of this relationship, I actually felt a little excited to get back out into the dating world.  I mean, c'mon!  I'm older, wiser, significantly more confident about myself...this can only be fun, right?!  Right?!

As a female living in a very small place in a very small state with essentially only female and attached friend from residency, I turned to the vast interwebs to find these dates.  In short, I have been through numerous dating websites, all of which shall remain nameless to protect the guilty.

Some of you have heard this one.  Others haven't.  But to start this blog right, let's begin with the scariest of online dating stories!  AKA - The Guy With The Gun

GWTG and I found each other through the magic of the internet.  We chatted over multiple messages.  He was very complimentary, seemed nice, attractive in his photo.  He mentioned having been in the Navy and now was out, working over the border in PA.

We met at a local hangout, just for a drink.  We sat at the bar, and on a Tuesday night they were playing bingo (which trust me, is more fun than it sounds).
The bingo was fun, the drink was good, but GWTG could ONLY talk about himself, how cool he was in the Navy, and I'm pretty sure was breaking some kind of military code by telling me about his "top secret" operations.
For example - I have met a man who is PERSONALLY responsible for securing an Iraqi village and saving a US base.  Ya know, he had no help or anything.  Ooh...ahhh.

Color me unimpressed.

He continued to talk about how he now works for the FBI or some such, pulls out his badge (no, I don't know why he's wearing it on a date either) which I read and states he is a "fugitive recovery agent".

Think it through.

GWTG is a bounty hunter!
Despite my horror, he launches into multiple stories which place him in the dark, in a shady neighborhood, breaking down doors and going in to a bad guy's lair, guns a-blazing.
I successfully resisted the urge to call him Dog for the rest of the night.  I deserve a cookie for that.  We make it through a significantly awkward night and he walks me to my car.  We hug.

At that point I bumped a firm object at the small of his back.  I hope I was polite when I asked what it was...and this is why we are calling him GWTG.  I can't even make it up when I tell you he is carrying a concealed weapon!  Which he states he has at all times.  I guess now I understand the need for the badge.

Holy smokes.  Despite a future call, I will never see GWTG again.

But don't worry folks.  Internet dating has not beaten me with this story.  For your sake (and mine, why not) I will live to see another date.  Stay tuned for future misadventures!