Creeper. Not Keeper.

Repetition is powerful. When several, similar “happenings” just happen to happen in a short period of time... it’s hard not to take notice. And though most of the time it’s when I’m due for a whirlwind of character development, this most recent trend is quite perplexing. It's like when you pray for patience and the whole week you master the light grid to get all reds and your computer seems to run at turtle speed. Well... I’m just not so sure what the heck to do with it, but i'm hoping it's not indicative of my future.

You see, I seem to be attracting men. Yes. Men. But, hold on to your knickers my friends... no need to jump for joy just yet. While most women would not consider such a problem... these aren’t the kind of men I’m really looking for. However to some, at this point, I should just take whatever I can get.

Let me explain.

When a newspaper sales man greets you from across the gas station parking with, “Hey there pretty girl,” it’s kind of freaky. If he’d been in a windowless, unmarked, white van, I probably would have run. And if there were an alternative entrance into the gas station, I probably would have made a discrete b-line to another door. You see, I don’t usually make small talk with the fellows pumping gas.... and not too often do I strike up a conversation with strange men in parking lots. Call it rude. To me, its seems common sense. But, in Sarah kind, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and smiled. Since this man seemed to have a non- traditional-woman-snatching job—selling newspapers—I disregarded the creepy one-liner and thought it’d be safe to say a quick good morning, pick up a paper, and head on my way. Oh contrare! Intentions were dually noted when regardless of the multiple conversation diverters I attempted, he persistently commented on my “pretty eyes” and how “he doesn’t usually pick up on younger women like this.” When he continued to ask my age and the age range of men I typically date I gave my adieus and hit the road. Man #1 we’ll call Creeper. Negatory on the keeper.

Man #2. The gosh darn sun. You know when you’re talking to someone and the sun is right behind their head and you can’t really see their face? All you can really see is the silhouette of their head? Well let’s just say the stars were perfectly aligned for this second story and I met the non-man-of-my-dreams number two.

I stopped at Starbucks for a cup of coffee. All I wanted was a cup of coffee. You know those times when you go to Starbucks hoping that some cute lad will be sitting in the corner reading a book you could make an intelligent comment about? You’ll hit it off and the rest is history? (Just me? Oh, sad.)
Well... this wasn’t one of those days. I really just wanted coffee... and even if there was a cute lad I probably wouldn’t have gone for it. (Actually I probably would have, but for the drama of this story I’ll say I was on a strict mission to get some coffee.)
Coffee in hand I walk over to the condiment bar to find a uniformed man doctoring his own cup o’ jo. We exchanged good mornings and as he passed me the half-n- half I look up to make eye contact. At this point the sun is right behind his head, magnifying as it makes its way through the glass, and is literally blinding me. I make a witty comment about bright lights and apologize for squinting to see him. I literally cannot see his face. Actually at this point, I really can’t see anything because the short glance into the direct sunlight has marred my eyes. I do catch him giving me a quick one over and he proceeds to tell me he likes it because “at this angle, it makes my eyes look pretty.” Don’t know if swanky can be used to describe speech, but if it can that’s how he talked. Creeper status.
He seemed like a nice guy so I disregard the body scan and creepy, swanky voice, and quickly stirred and lid-ed my coffee. The conversation continued and because I didn’t want to be rude, I kind of move around and shaded my eyes from the sun so I could see his face, and to hopefully protect him from awful, distorted faces I’ve been making at him—compliments of the sun.
He was like 50. And a cop. A fifty year old cop.
Cops are fine. Fifty? Seriously? Not the cute lad I had in mind. Not even close.
The conversation continued and ended at the “Oh, I’d give my money to those eyes,” comment.
I chuckled awkwardly. Smiled and headed toward the door. Offering wishes of a “good one”.
And somehow he got away with my business card.
When does that ever happen? I cannot deny the stars were aligned... but seriously. Fifty? Come on man!

Man #3. I sometimes will take my lunch to a local coffee shop, buy a diet coke, and enjoy my sack lunch on the patio. Today I did the same and I met a man named Matt.
Let’s just say I met Matt inside the coffee shop and he followed me outside to the patio. I entertained the break from my reading and talked to him for a while. He was a nice guy. Just wanted to talk to someone. I could do that! He expressed interest in the Untied Way and volunteering (note to self- remove name tag when you go to lunch), so I gave him my card and told him to check out our website! After a while of talking I said goodbye and headed to my truck. He stopped me mid-parking lot and told me “You know, there aren’t too many single, Christian women in the high desert.” I affirmed him, not really knowing what to say to that, and he continued to tell me how his pastor told him there were “more demons in the valley than any where else.” I thanked him for talking and encouraged him again to check out the United Way and headed back to work. Laughing once again at the kind of men I seem to attract.
About an hour later I heard some commotion in our front lobby. My boss has crossed paths with a man as she’s leaving the office. She’s having trouble understanding him but makes out that he’s asking for Sarah.
Matt followed me to work. To give me his business card. He goes on to tell me, “You’re a California girl. With blonde hair and blue eyes.” And that he’s, “a beach boy.” I try to divert the conversation to volunteering with the United Way and thank him for bringing by his cards. And though met with some resistance I tell him I have to get back to work and thank him again for stopping by. Matt is a nice man. I appreciate his persistence, but there’s a line. Following a girl to work is a little creepy and crosses that line.
I later leave for a meeting and return to find I’ve missed a call from Matt. He wants me to call him back. He left his cell phone number.

My conclusion is this: I’m either in the wrong place at the wrong time and too nice to the wrong people, God has an awful sense of humor, or I’m a bloody magnet for crisis-bound middle-life aged men. Mom always said I’d marry an older man... but I’m hoping older does presume the creeper, the stalker, and infertile.

holy moly! i need to get out of the desert!