Accidental Tourist

I had an experience yesterday that left me with a sour taste in my mouth. One of my coworker's noticed a gentleman standing outside my workplace ringing the doorbell. "Who's that?" she asked, commenting, "He looks weird," before she retreated without answering the door. My boss ignored the ringing bell and kept on with her task at hand. So I went to answer the door.

Sure enough, there was a man, oddly dressed in a striped polo shirt and overalls, carrying a huge duffel bag and a pastel multicolored child's backpack, both stuffed to such a dangerous degree that I expected the contents to spontaneously erupt. "Can you help me?" he asked, pointing to a crumpled copied map. "I have address..."

I let him in and looked at his map and paper and quickly ascertained that he'd been dropped off on the wrong street. After a 2 day bus ride from New Orleans, Paolo, an Italian tourist, had hitched a ride to Windfern Rd. and not Windfern Forest, a mistake which landed him in my office with all his earthly possessions, and not 6 miles away at the house of his aunt, for whom he'd come to Texas, "just for a kiss on the cheek." A sentiment so sweet, it could make you cry.

Try as I might, though, I couldn't get his aunt on the phone and internet searches weren't fruitful either. As I racked my brain looking for a way to get him to his destination, he kept asking me questions.

"Where is the bus or subway?" Houston, inside the city limits, does have bus service. But my school is in the suburbs outside the city limits. We can Park & Ride from certain destinations and go downtown, but Metro bus was not an option to help a stranded tourist.

"Where is a police department?" Good question, Paolo. There used to be a "storefront" location in a nearby shopping center, but not anymore. After much pondering, I realize the closest Sheriff's department is over 5 miles away, probably closer to 10.

"They wrong me! They wrong me!" Paolo kept saying in reference to the people who gave him his ride from the bus station. "The bus driver told me keep going straight," he told me as he pointed to his map.

Houston, the nations 5th largest city, is not tourist or walker friendly. You must have a car in this city or live close to your work, unlike New York, where a car is optional and the subway can get you anywhere, and unlike European cities and countries that have buses and trains available for citizens and tourists alike. I felt embarassed that this poor man landed in Houston with the expectation of being able to navigate the city on his own. Instead he was stranded, lost and afraid, not knowing where to go or who to turn to for help.

I tried calling the sheriff's department but couldn't get through. I tried calling a Houston police officer who is next door to my school but noone was home. I tried calling my uncle, who used to work for the Refugee Alliance but he had no sympathy, telling me to marry Paolo and make him a citizen so he could stay here. Paolo and I both pleaded with my boss and coworkers but despite it being lunch hour for most of them, noone would give the man a ride. I carpool to work each day and didn't have a vehicle at my disposal and was unable to help either.

It was quite a shock to see so many "Christian" people unwilling to help this man, so far from home and with noone to call for help. It put an ugly end to the vacation of a lifetime for Paolo. He got to see San Francisco, Las Vegas, Phoenix and New Orleans, all without a hitch. But his last 48 hours in America were spent wandering the streets of Houston treated like an undesirable.

When he left my school, which he'd turned to for help because his sister teaches in an elementary in Italy, he was on his way "to the King Burger. Maybe they will help me call the police." I know he had money and plans to stay at a hotel before flying home Saturday morning, but I've worried about this man who briefly came into my world. I hope he got his kiss from his aunt and I hope his good memories of the US out weigh his experiences here in Houston.

A city who is unable to provide transportation for one Italian tourist certainly has no right bidding for the Olympics, which will bring an influx of thousands of tourists and athletes, all of whom will expect to get from point A to point B.

To those who turned away from Paolo, Christian is as Christian does. In turning away from this lost soul, they turned away from Christ, and in refusing him aid, they refused Christ. I know that at some time, they too will find themselves lost and helpless. Maybe at that time, they'll remember Paolo and beg his forgiveness.

And to Paolo and the Monteleore family, in the US and Italy, on behalf of the city of Houston, I apologize for Paolo's exasperating and frightening time here. I hope and pray that he not only reached his aunt but made his flight and returned home safely. Paolo, if you're reading, I hope you'll keep in touch.

Unmatchable?

Way back when the Ex lost his ever lovin' mind and decided the way for him to find happiness was with the Other Woman, I decided to give online dating another try. (In case you haven't figured it out yet, I've met most of my gentlemen friends on the internet.) One free site I used to use had merged with another site and went for profit, and yahoo personals was where I met the Ex, so I was looking for something new.

That's when I first found the link to my current dating site....the one you hear about on tv and radio. What the hell, I thought I'd fill out the profile, take the little test and see what they had to offer. The little test, was actually lots of little tests and it took me most of an hour to complete the whole thing. But I got to read all about my dysfunctional? personality and what I look for in relationships, and what a small percentage of the male population is looking for a woman like me.
(If I'm remembering correctly, it's something like 3-8%). And if that's not depressing enough, I then hit the "match me" button.

There was a delay, but I thought, all the people that have signed up, it'll take a little while to crank out my 3-8%. But no.

The official response from the service promising love for all the right reasons was, "We're sorry but you are unmatchable at this time."

At such a critical time in my emotional development, I was mourning the loss of a 2 year relationship and I was rejected not only by the Ex but by the single's scene in general. If that isn't enough to give a girl a complex and drive her to cheesecake-oreo ice cream cones from Marble Slab, I just don't know what is.

Editor's Pick

As I sat at home after work tonight, wondering what flavor of take out would be my dinner, my friend Susie called, "Congratulations!"

Huh?

"You're editor's pick on Blogs by Women. Have you seen them?"

Have I seen them? Nasty Little Thoughts is one of the Blogs by Women, and if you haven't visited them yet, you should.

So I got online ASAP and sure enough, I am editor's pick, which is the first recognition Nasty Little Thoughts has received. Thanks Blogs by Women for giving this little blog a nudge out of obscurity, and thanks Susie for the discreet little artwork.

It is reassuring to know that you are reading my Nasty Little Thoughts.

Hippie T

My uncle has the prestigious honor of having recurring brushes with fame. He's a gospel singer/songwriter and is well known in church circles. He was, in fact, the first drummer to play in a church. But that's not what's so fascinating.

When I was about 7 or 8, my uncle was asked to play drums for a gospel band. He turned the offer down because he had just gotten married. My uncle figured constant performing and recording would interfere with his new marriage and he was totally in love. You might have heard of the band, though, since they went mainstream forever ago. My uncle, who goes by the nickname Hippie, was almost one of the Oakridge Boys.

Having passed up the chance for fame and fortune, Hippie had to support his family in another way, so he went to work spooling cable. He takes great pride in whatever he does, and has won contests for doing whatever it is that he does. Being so successful and having a great reputation within his industry, he is in great demand to train others, and has had offers worldwide.

But Hippie doesn't give a rat's ass about seeing the world. He's an American. In his words, "If you want to learn American stuff, come to America." He repeatedly turned down opportunites to go to Singapore, China, the middle East, and even England.

At one point, his boss, a transplanted Englishman, was totally dead set on my uncle going to England to train his fellow countrymen on the finer arts of "slinging" cable. "But DH, I don't want to go to England."

"What would it take for you to go to England?" his boss countered.

"A phone call from the Queen."

Now usually, such an outrageous request would end the argument. But DH said, "You don't know who I am; do you?"

"Well of course I do. You're DH."

"You don't know who I played with." DH teased, apparently dropping the issue.

Things went back to normal in the world of cable spooling and slinging. And a couple weeks later the phone rang in Hippie's office. When he answered, he was greeted with a message:

Please hold for the royal line.

DH, standing over Hippie's shoulder, smiled and told him, "Hang up or talk to the Queen."

Click.

Yes, my uncle hung up on Queen Elizabeth II. I'm sure he won't be receiving any further offers to visit jolly old England.

But it gets better.

Last year, in the midst of the presidential campaigning, my uncle found himself in the office covered in grease, while lots of people stood around for no apparent reason. You'd think this would be a clue that something was up. When the phone rang, again Hippie answered.

"Hippie? This is Dick Cheney."

"Yessir. What can I do for you?"

"I don't think you understand. This is Dick Cheney."

"Yes, Mr. Cheney, what can I do for you?" All the extras in the office were snickering by this point.

"You just don't get it, do you? This is Dick Cheney, the Vice President of the United States."

Oooooohhhhhhhh. "I'm sorry Mr. Cheney. I didn't recognize your voice." By now everyone was about to pee themselves. It had been common knowledge for 3 days that this phone call would be taking place. Common knowledge for everyone except Hippie.

Apparently, Mr. Cheney has a clause in his affiliation with Halliburton that he must perform one business deal each year. And my uncle was that deal.

My uncle is a family loving, God loving, drum playing, song writing, proud to be an American. He stands his ground, and refuses to be pushed around, not even by a Queen. He says, "This is my life." No one owns Hippie.

And he's my uncle Rikry.

Creepy, Stalker, Mother F*#@er

It's official. I have a stalker.

Apparently he "recognized" my screenname on yahoo, which is similar but NOT identical to the screenname I use on the dating sites. I'm not sure how you can just happen to recognize a screenname on yahoo, when you have to physically type it in to search for the profile. At any rate, I get this email from creepy stalker MF, complete with link to my dating profile and a link to his:

Hi Trisa!

If you dig around on the internet long enough it's amazing what you can find.

I signed up on DATINGSITE as creepystalkermf. This is also my screenname in yahoo
and on aol. If these links actually work, it'll be a miracle.
LinkToMyProfile LinkToHIsProfile

What the fuck? I remember getting winked at by this person, multiple times, like 15 times an hour several nights in a row. I also remember he didn't have a profile that I could check out and he wouldn't respond to my requests to chat or answer any emails. I figured he was a sick twisted psycho (every dating service has them) and started ignoring anything he sent my way.

Now, a month later, when I've been on internet hiatus with a bad modem, he writes me at my real life, personal email address and it's just a coincidence? I don't fucking think so.

I checked out the links and they were legit. Seems Creepy went and posted a profile in my absence. Maybe he realized he wasn't being taken seriously without one. I dunno. But I'm perplexed because this particular site runs criminal history checks on everyone, and I think this guy fell through the cracks.

His profile says he's a law student. If so, he should know better than to stalk people! Creepy mf.
His profile is half in spanish, really really bad spanish, and you all know I read spanish fluently. What was he trying to prove? How did he know I could read spanish? Why is this 43 year old man, who wants to meet friends and women to "date only" writing to me, when I am looking strictly for a long term relationship?

Shit...after 5 years meeting people online, I finally get a fucking stalker. Now what do I do?

Touchy, Feely

So I'm new again to the dating scene and I'm finding myself out of touch much like Tom Hanks in "Sleepless in Seattle". When did it become okay to grope your date on the first date?
Two of my two newest dates both decided to get overly friendly before we even knew each other. Not that they'll be getting to know me now, mind you.

When I've known a gentleman for less than 2 hours, it is NOT okay for him to run his fingers up and down my back or to sit with his arm around me like some guard dog protecting his territory.
If I am holding someone's hand that doesn't give him license to caress my leg or to get within inches of my special parts. If I hug him at the end of a date, I am not necessarily asking to lock lips or play tonsil hockey.

It's a safe bet that if a man is too friendly or pushy, he will not get a second date. So all you guys I may meet in the future, give me a little space at the beginning cuz there's plenty of time to get up close and personal after we know more than just each other's screennames.