Overstock.com must have had a run on Italian men. Or maybe it’s because I secretly wished for the passion that seemed to be missing in my life and it’s always a sure way to share my love of red wine.

So I agree to meet a guy from Italianpeoplemeet.com. Yes, that is really the name of the dating site even though not all of the participants are of Mediterranean descent. I smile as I say it with my best Italian accent, “Italian-a-people-a-meet-a.” He lives a few hours away, so I wonder why he picked me, but he tells me that he has a sales territory here. Hmmm. My mind immediately goes to the old “port in the storm” theory. But I’m a curious cookie nonetheless.

He shares my passion for wine, incredible seafood, and arm-in-arm, pretend-we-have-known-each-other-for-years strolls on the wharf. He gets kudos for being a really good dancer and has the gift of gab. But hey, he’s a salesman (and a fisherman). A port in the storm becomes literal as he informs me that he has a boat and often docks it in the Monterey Bay (I’ll bet).

But a visit once every six weeks or so does not a relationship make. Vino rosso and great fun aside, this isn’t a guy who I can hang my hat on. Or anything else for that matter.
Here is how one of our conversations went.

ME: “I don’t take you seriously.” (Translation: “I’m not going to sleep with you.”)

HIM: “I want you to take me seriously.” (Translation: “I want to sleep with you.”)

Intelligent, handsome, dresses well, has a killer sense of humor, and tears it up on the dance floor? All pluses. He even joined my Mom and I for dinner one evening and although he did try to charm her, she pulled me aside later and whispered, “Honey, this one isn’t for you.”

But he’s landed in my boat and I make my decision. I call it like I see it. Catch and release. I’m a pretty good fisherwoman too (wink). By the way, I did inform this gentleman that I would be featuring him in a story and he told me that he was jumping back in my boat. (Translation: “I still want to sleep with you.”)

So a week or so later, along comes bachelor Italiano number two, a pleasant-looking guy with a good personality. (Translation: “Nice, but no cigar.”) He works for a well-known winery, so I really am going to get my red wine fix after all. Better than that though, when he finds out that I’m a published writer, he asks me to write a story about a new wine that will be coming out soon. It is a private and rather secretive venture and as the details unfold (the bottle handle would be designed as the trigger of a gun), I’m definitely realizing that I’m more interested in the story than I am the man.

I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest.

“We’ll send a car for you,” he said.

I had visions of being blindfolded on the drive to my unknown destination. I would soon be traveling to write an exclusive story about a new wine whose creators had a colorful and somewhat criminal past. As I made the sign of the cross, thanked God for my Italian heritage and prayed that it would count for something, I took a deep breath and agreed to meet the three mysterious winemakers. I would never know their real names, but I was sure that one of them would resemble James Gandolfini.

In the midst of all the excitement, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be fitted with size seven-and-a-half cement shoes. I guess good journalism has its price and I was certainly ready to meet the “family,” but I just wasn’t quite prepared to meet my maker. So after I came to my senses, I asked my new friend to pick me up (after secretly sending his name, photos, and contact info out to multiple friends just in case I didn’t come home).

Interestingly enough, he offered up all sorts of reasons why he couldn’t do that, which made me squirm even more. It was too far, he had other things going on, it was a holiday weekend, there would be too much traffic, and so on. So I declined and mi amico disappeared in a wine vapor trail.

This was either my year of living dangerously or I had just avoided the latest shot of Killer Red, pun intended. Ah, what we won’t do for love (or a little passion and excitement in my case).

Copyright 2008 Robyn Justo

Dating in Monterey county must be a growing concern if the latest local singles’ convention came with a guarantee (find your mate in 2008 or your money back). It brought a lot of folks out of their homes in hopes of snagging their soul mate on a leap year Friday night in February. So either spring has sprung and love is in the air or those moth pheromones are working overtime on us.

Although I really don’t want or need to know where you’ve had sex and how many partners you’ve had, I always welcome comments and hopefully humorous stories that you can’t wait to share with me (and the rest of the world.) Be brave, people. Interviews are free and confidential and the coffee is on me.

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Robyn Justo is a freelance writer who is living, breathing, and learning the new rules of dating over 40. Experienced, but by no means an expert, she shares the frustrations, triumphs, and general hysteria of single life on the Monterey Peninsula. “The Expiration Date” addresses the lighter side of dating later in life. The names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty). Robyn also occasionally hosts local social events for those brave-hearted single folks who actually have the courage to come out of the house.