A Series of Unfortunate Events in Dating (Part Three)

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] know what you’re thinking For the love of God!!! When is this disaster with Kevin Bacon going to end and MY GOD do I feel your pain.  In the interest of authenticity I’ve included the whole story up to this far but honestly I’ve been bored with it since before it even ended because the truth of the matter is, we were a horrible fit.  Higher education and love of Social Media aside, we had nothing in common.  And our personalities were definitely not in sync.  Chalk it up to yet another instance of SSDated wears rose-colored glasses for the sake of dating and blogging.  Though to be fair, I rarely notice I’ve got the tinted specs on till after it’s all crashed and burned.  Hindsight being 20/20 and all that.  But I digress.  There’s one final part to the whole saga.  Well two really.  The final meeting and the kiss off.

ICYMI here’s part One and part Two of this dating saga…

It was the Saturday following the two dates (2nd with The Vampire and 3rd with Kevin Bacon).  To say that I was feeling meh would be an extraordinary understatement.  Things with KevinBacon had really gone sour.  Things with The Vampire were uncertain…because of the blog.  Or perhaps that wasn’t it at all.  I was moving in less than a week.  4th year of my 2nd degree was about to start.  I had to to start thinking about classes, and exams, reference letters, applications, CVs, writing papers, etc. etc. etc.  Or maybe I was just feeling chubby.  Or having an off day.  I honestly don’t know.  But I was not feeling IT.  So much so that I acted like a dick and bailed on the first party I was supposed to go.  My rationale?  If I don’t have your phone number (aka we’re friends of friends of friends), I’m allowed to bail if I’m not feeling it.  And thus I did.

The 2nd party was a little more tricky.  It was for a Twitter friend’s birthday.  I changed my outfit 3 times.  Antsy doesn’t even cover it.  And then I couldn’t get ahold of the only other person I really knew who was going to be at the party.  I had an inkling it was a car accident.  And it was.  But I went to the party anyway.  Birthdays are important and that’s just what you do.

I showed up.  It was a country bar.  In Gastown.  Bizarre.  But I carried on.  The lineup was massive.  The list was over at 1030 apparently.  Fuck.  Me.  Are you alone?  asked the bouncer.  Sure am I smiled.  And that was that.  Inside I went.  But before I’d even pulled out my wallet to pay the cover charge who should come over???

Why it’s motherfucking Kevin Bacon!?!?!  Fuck.  Me.  (are you starting to see where the pseudonym comes from?)  And he’s all smiles and Hellos and How do you know the birthday girl?s and I’m all awkward and taken aback and don’t tell anyone we know each other.  To which he promptly tells me oh I already told them.  I don’t remember if he told them we had met or were friends or had dated.  The truth was my blood pressure was already rising.  Why didn’t this dude know how to keep his fucking mouth shut yo?!?!?!  Ugh.  Let’s press on.

I spend the rest of the evening trying to be less awkward and mostly just trying to make sure the birthday girl got nice and shittered.  Because that’s what you do.  I chatted with some boys.  I chatted with some girls.  I met some people from Twitter and chatted with them.  All in all the night wasn’t half bad.  Minus the awkward that comes with pretending.

And I know it all sounds clear and obvious now.  But back then.  A that time.  I was still uncertain about Kevin Bacon.  Though there had been no kiss there had been a lot of other things that made me assume it was possible he dug me.  Whether or not I dug him.  Well.  That too was uncertain.  Because here’s the thing of the thing.  With the right pair of rose colored glasses on, anyone can look, at the very least, ‘dateable’. and I was wearing mine round the clock.

That being said.  I was started to get the clear indication that Kevin Bacon had his eye on another lady.  Regardless of what he said of her to me prior.  Eventually the clock struck midnight (or ya know…130ish) and it was time for this Cinderella to hit the bricks.  Birthday party or not, when you’re sober, you’re sober and there’s only so long I can put up with a hot sweaty club of tweens (or something close to them, yet legal).  And so I went home.

 

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Victoria Young

Writer. Dater. Masturbator. Stop ruining my jokes by believing the self-deprecation. I am far greater than your boner will ever know.