I’m and Idiot and You’re a Douche

Head Desk
[dropcap]I[/dropcap] had an inkling.  An irky suspicion.  A sense.  Foreshadowing.  A warning.  I had a gut feeling.  An Instinct.  A tiny voice of reason.  Kind of like a flashing yellow light, simply a suggestion but one you should take.

But I didn’t.  I ignored my instincts.  Which is really only the first of many connected things that makes me officially retarded.  Because the truth is.  I knew it from the beginning.  I knew we weren’t a good mesh.  I knew it wasn’t like with Intelligence Officer where our sense of humor was on the same page.  I knew I would have to work to create the chemistry (which I’m quite skilled at clearly).  I knew he wasn’t the kind of strong/manly/aggressive guy I like.  I knew he had way too much baggage and bullshit to be even close to the kind of person I would connect with.  And whether it makes me an Egotistical Edith or Delusional Debbie, I knew I was out of his league (minus the whole being officially retarded and all that).

He pursued and I resisted.  He pursued and I resisted.  He pursued again after reading the post about  Intelligence Officer (obviously) but I resisted.  But then there was no word from Intelligence Officer and other online boys were being dipshits, and I was having a shitty go of it with the new workout regime.  He was willing to listen.  And he was there.  Pursuing again.  Got his foot in the door.  This time I agreed.
And this kind of brings me to the second of many connected things that make me officially retarded.  Why would I even entertain dating someone I thought these things about?  And I have to tell you honestly.  It has a lot to do with the time crunch that is my dating summer, the sparseness that was my current online dating situation, general boredom and last but certainly not least, my theories about how Until I’m the Biggest Loser, I’ll Have to Settle for the Biggest Losers.But don’t get me wrong.  There were some good things.  I’m not going to talk about them here though.  Why Not?  Because I’ve already done more than enough of that already.  And that brings us to the third of many connected things that make me officially retarded.  The Blog.  My Blog.  So I’m pissed at myself for not only going out with someone who reads the blog, but in doing so, finding that I was compelled to give a different review than say, I did with all the other “Somethings”.  And we all know about me and science.  And there’s nothing less scientific than giving skewed data.  The truth of the matter is, that all those Twitter Guy posts were heavily drenched in sugarcoating and syrup.  Obviously.  I mean I was expecting to have contact again.  I wasn’t about to bash the guy.  And now I’m fucked.  Because if I do go back (or go forward looking back) in a revelatory manner (not to mention say all the funny hilarious things I didn’t get to).  I’m going to seem like a huge spiteful bitch.  (something I haven’t yet decided whether or not I care about…I’ll get back to you).

Detour.

I know I tend to ramble.  And I’m often confusing.  So I’m going to try to give the play by play as succinctly as possible.  With Twitter Guy.

.we went out once

.week one passes. busy with work he says.  good connection he says. ample opportunity to spit out the truth.  my interest waning

.week two passes.  busy with work he says.  friend going through a crisis he says.  ample opportunity to spit out the truth.  interest almost non-retrievable.

.week three passes.  I balls out say that he’s exactly like those boys he claimed he wasn’t.  he feels that’s unfair.  I point out facts.  he now agrees.  says there’s reasons he hasn’t been reaching out.  reasons that have nothing to do with me.  interest is completely done.  but my desire to know answers about dating and boys and a general curiousity keep me in contact with him.

.week four is in the midst.  I balls out (but nicely) ask about the reasons.  he says what reasons.  I remind him.  oh he says.

Aaaaah, right! Thanks for the reminder. Well, honestly, my dance card is really full. And work is being a super biatch to me these past few weeks. [ps what a fucking douche I mean spit it out bitch]

I’m like…lol I’m not entirely sure what that means…at best guess I’m thinking…you’re busy dating other people?

He’s like…Oooookay! Things with the ex have been going well — we’ve been banging a lot with no strings attached. It’s a bad thing, I know, but it’s hot, and I’ve been pretty clear that we aren’t getting back together. So that’s one thing. Also, things have kinda taken up with another girl I started dating (think I told you about her ages ago) and so time has kinda disappeared what with being a dad and working and dating and all that other stuff. I’m basically being open with people and seeing how things go… and for the moment, it’s good. For the most part lol.

I’m like…Jesus TMI…a simple…yes I’m busy dating would have been sufficient. Why didn’t you just say that 3 weeks ago?

He’s like…This is all very recent, and you asked! Life has been very busy.
Back on Track.

So I am a firm believer in, you can’t dislike/be angry at someone just because they don’t like you.  So with that said, I feel the need to clarify WHY exactly Twitter Guy is a total fucking Douche (yeah that’s right…with a capital D lol).  The reasons Twitter Guy is a douche, are two-fold.

One, he’s a douche for being a moron.

I figure while he clearly didn’t have a major interest, he was likely attempting to keep me around in the stable in case it didn’t work out with either of the other ladies.  Which would have been completely fine, if he’d been upfront about his busy-ness level 3 weeks ago.  I would have likely been around when he found himself not so busy.  Convo goes like this.  Him.  Things with the ex are back on.  I’m also dating this other chick.  But you were cool.  Stick around?  Me.  Thanks for your honesty.  I won’t be waiting by the phone, but sure gimme a call if things don’t pan out and we’ll see what’s up.  Simple.  Effective.  Everybody is happy.  While I am easily willing to entertain the option of, he just didn’t like me in the slightest.  I assume he would have just stopped keeping contact.  I mean Christ, he posted on the blog yesterday.  If you don’t like someone…there’s a hard and fast rule I find always works at getting the point across…no contact.

Two, he’s a douche for being a dick (and wasting my time).

I let everybody know I’m not a patient person.  I let everybody know I’m upfront and honest about shit.  I insinuate.  I say it outloud.  If you don’t know that I’m impatient and like to know where I stand, you don’t know me at all.  The opportunities to tell me about the ex and the dating were endless.  Sort of like.  Ya know.  All those times he said he was busy with work.  Yeah.  Dick.  Those were the times to mention it.  Even now 4 weeks later.  It was like pulling teeth trying to get it out of him.  Which is ironic because then when he finally did spit it the fuck out…he vomitted all over the page.  I mean fuck.  Are you an idiot?  Why would you bother telling me all the extra stuff?  I’m too busy to date you would have sufficed.  I don’t like you would also have worked nicely.

Now to be fair.  While he is a douche, I am not without flaw.  I.  Am.  Retarded.  And here’s why.

While I won’t go back and unsugarcoat everything in the Twitter Guy posts.  I will fill in a gap that I had been purposely leaving out.  I no longer see the need to leave it out.  And frankly, if Twitter Guy hadn’t known about the blog, not only would I not have originally left it out, but it would still have been much more… honest harsh.  Hopefully I don’t come across as petty by doing so as I think it has value both for my readers (to help understand me, dating fiascos, and other bullshit) and for myself, in gaining perspective on what the fuck was I thinking *fist smacks forehead*   So…There is a distinct difference in how I have described the sex I’ve had recently.

With Intelligence Officer it’s always a rave review.  Everything was flawless.  To be clear, he is not without flaws.  This is specifically about the sex.  The perfect amount of this.  The right amount of that.  He ebbed and I flowed.  He flowed and I ebbed.  We tangoed.  I never had to ask for anything.  He never had to ask for anything.  He did.  I did.  We did.  It was everything I had wanted (and more).  He sensed everything I wanted.  It was hot.  It was wild.  It was passionate.  It was fucking amazing.  Honestly Top 3 ever.  And if you only knew the tally that’s saying a fucking lot.

With Twitter Guy.  It’s always described as just happening.  I skip past.  I quick mention.  We did it.  Moving on.  And here’s why.  I like aggressive guys.  I know this.  You, my readers, know this.  He knows this.  He is not this.  It was rushed.  It was fumbly.  He didn’t do any of the things I wanted.  It was quiet.  It was not hot.  It was definitely not wild.  I’m talking serious short-comings.

But like I said, to be fair I’m an idiot.

The Final Tally.

I’m an idiot because I could have saved myself the aggravation.
And Twitter Guy who wasn’t worth the aggravation.
Is a Douche because he could haved saved me the aggrevation.
I should have listened to my instincts in the beginning.
Again on the date.
Again after the sex.
Again in the weeks that followed.
And then of course, there’s right now.
Which is where I am.
Listening to my instincts.

Nota Bene:  Before my awesome and caring blog readers get concerned.  Time has passed since this all happened.  This happened on Tuesday.  I was enraged at myself for being so retarded.  Wednesday I wrote this.  I was half-way back to rainbows and sunshine, candy and awesome sauce.  It’s officially Thursday morning (12:15am lol and I’m still packing) and I’m completely back to my awesome sauce glass filled up self.  I’m about to go to an amazing friends wedding…four days of ridiculous girly fun…get to see a ton of ladies I haven’t seen in forever…get to be a part of my friends bliss…and honestly life is pretty freaking sweet.  Plus I can’t lie.  The silver lining in all this.  I learned a valuable lesson.  One I’ve never learned before.

The letter to my Ego helped, for those that missed it.

Dear Ego,

Could you please tone down the fucking dramatics.  You’re freaking people out.  Seriously.

Love,
The Rest of Me

Dear The Rest of Me,

Way to put me on blast.  As if I wasn’t bruised enough.  Don’t worry, you’ll get to write some funny shit about the rage and stupidity so chill the fuck out.  Plus, just in case you didn’t notice…New seasons of Entourage, Hung and Rescue Me just started back up so I don’t even know why you’re paying attention to me.

Love,
Ego

Dear Ego,

You’re right.  Aggressive Fireman.  With Wit.  And Humor.  *drool* *swoon* *falls off chair*  What were talking about again.

Love,
The Rest of Me

Vancouver Dating Blog: Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Twitter Guy: Breach of Contract

Dating Mistakes

Twitter Guy.

Tomorrow will make 3 weeks since our first date.

I can barely muster the enthusiasm to write this post (which is a bit of a spoiler alert to how things panned out).  But before I do.  I’d like to hit you all with a little recap of what this summer was/is supposed to be about…on the dating front.  The following is a little tidbit from my post about The Boys of Summer aka My Summer of Boys.  Please pay special attention to references of fun and laughter.

I want to have fun fun fun and nothing nothing nothing
but fun. I want to have first kisses and 6 hour dates.
I want ridiculously hilarious stories to ply my friends/blog
readers with. I want to juggle.  I want 4 dates a week.
I want to date multiple people at the same time.
 I want to have fun fun fun. I want to ride go karts
and shoot pool. I want to play darts and go bowling.
I want to play naked scrabble and go camping.
I want to laugh laugh laugh more than I’ve ever laughed
before. I want inside jokes and sexy banter, witty
repartee and have you been there? I want everything.
I want it now. I want it this summer.

 

So all of my issues aside.  It should be pretty clear what I want and don’t want.  And just to reiterate, it’s not like this is the one and only mention of fun, breeziness, what I want, etc.  So what is your point, SSD?  My point is this….

Detour.

Dating Intent Contract
Summer of Boys, 2010

To Potential Daters,

The Datee seeks to be dated in a timely summer fling like manner.  The Datee expects to have fun fun fun and to laugh laugh laugh during all interactions.  The Datee would like it clearly stated, that because of the nature of the “dating” being both time and emotionally constrained; the Daters will act in a swift fashion, pursuing dates quickly if they are to occurr at all, and will relegate any and all negativity, problems, need for support, and emotional baggage to interactions with their friends.  In lieu of emotional support, The Datee agrees to dress sexily, act lustily, and perform as often and enthusiastically as possible.  The Datee, while unwilling to committ to any kind of exclusivity, promises to be available at least one weekend night (when planned) or one weekend night (after midnight only, when unplanned), plus one week night per week.  The Dater should note that planning, while not required, is always generously rewarded.  Due to the required limiting of excuses, reasons, and explanations, The Dater is urged to act with precision and purpose.  The Datee understands that some of these requests seem controlling and unreasonable but since she is not asking for such acts as “hand-holding, introduction to friends, emotional support, gifts, dates to weddings, etc.” and instead offering a ready supply of sexy behavior and fun, finds the requests rational and easily adherable.  The Dater is free to disengage at anytime without anger or resentment however, failure to adhere to this contract will result in irritatibility and thus ends well for no one.

Signed Datee   Something She Dated
Signed Dater    ______________________

The Tie In.

So now I bring you back to the tale of Twitter Guy.  Which has not gone well.  For those of you that missed the post or need a refresher you can read all about the date with Twitter Guy Here.  Because I honestly barely want to bother writing this post, I’ve narrowed what I can down to just point form events.  Most of which I shouldn’t have bothered with.  Most of which involve my misguided attempt to be open (and simply opened myself up to being a loser…ugh…something I really despise).  By the end of the whole thing, not only does it not work out the way I had hoped, but somehow I managed to show my whole hand and may have even ended up throwing my shirt into the pot.  Basically super loser city.  Ugh.  Basically not a good look for me.  Note to self:  must look cooler with next dater.

– The next day, I emailed a funny video (that I had said I would on the date).  I shouldn’t have emailed him.

– The following monday I texted, “How was your weekend” (he responded pleasantly).  I shouldn’t have texted him.

– He messaged me when he saw I was about to start posting all the stuff about him.  He thought me posting was good.  I clarified it was not.  I shouldn’t have bothered talking to him.

– At some point along the way he did convey that he thought we had a good connection, he had a good time, and obviously I’m hot.  He thanked me for a job well done on the posting (a good mix of revealing and privacy, a smart lady)  He seemed quite please with my blog opinion of him.

– I felt compelled to set him straight that while he was doing things right then…he was not doing so awesome at present.  I shouldn’t have bothered.

– I conveyed my disappointment that he turned out to be exactly like all the other boys he claimed he was so unlike (which honestly was the reason I went out with him to begin with).  I shouldn’t have bothered talking to him.

– He felt that that was unfair but that I was entitled to my opinion.

– I explained it wasn’t my opinion, it was an assessment of facts.  The email went on so long I began to feel bitchy and judgemental, not to mention a bit like I was coming across like I was trying to convince him to date me.  I said as much.  I said that my interest was correlationally related to time passed.  I shouldn’t have bothered.

– He emailed back

I agree with everything you just said. And I don’t have a problem with
your conclusions, either! You are right about me not reaching out.
There’s a couple of reasons for that (none of which relate to you) and
maybe we can have a Diet Coke next week to discuss and catch up.
You’re not being bitchy or judgmental, and you’re not trying to convince
me to date you: You’re letting me know how you feel and that is
perfectly valid.

Sidebar:  Ugh.

– I had a double header that night so I don’t respond right away.  I spent thursday considering it.  Do I really want to pursue this further?  Am I really interested in hearing reasons?  Isn’t my position regarding this summer essentially that I am not interested in excuses or reasons (keep that shit for your friends) I just want the fun parts?  But I do like the fact that while I think I’m being completely insane by even having these conversations at all, he is either fine with it or doesn’t notice.  Either option is good.  So I think, just go for it.  So on Friday morning, I email back.  Sure, sounds good.  I shouldn’t have.

– It’s now Tuesday.  and nothing.  no response.  no setting time and place.  not even a okay, glad you still want to.  and I could even be as ridiculous as to spot him the weekend (being father’s day weekend and all that) but ya know what…he’s been on Twitter…and it’s Tuesday.

So ladies and gentleman.  It’s been 3 weeks since our first date.  No dates made.  No plans set.  Barely any interest expressed.

And I’m out.

In all fairness I feel the need to include my final possible shouldn’t have bothered though I’m not totally convinced, because honestly I still hope he replies back to it.  With info.  Because he’s the first of the “Somethings” that I can even ask for a review and frankly with science and dating I’m bloody well interested.  So yesterday, before I had totallly decided that I was out, I emailed this:

Hey 🙂

So it just occurred to me that you are an untapped resource in my quest for dating research (aka becoming the world’s most awesome dater, yes? no?)

So since you got to read your critique (positives and negatives) I think it’s only fair 😉 that you share a little of that info back to me lol. Things that you didn’t like? Things that you did? Things I could have done better? Things I shouldn’t have done at all? Things I should have? What would have made me more awesome?…you get the idea 🙂 So yeah…fill me in because I’m all about knowledge leading to improvement and who doesn’t want to say that he had a hand in molding the world’s most awesome dater right?

Perhaps I shouldn’t have.  Perhaps he will respond and it’ll end up being useful.  Technically he doesn’t know that I’m out.  But honestly, with his reponse time I’m not sure I need to even say, I’m out.  Clearly his interest is lacking.  And well.  Frankly, finding out here is just as good.  If he’s even interested at all.  So there ya go.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Twitter Guy: The Date Stage

Dating

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o yesterday we left off when Twitter Guy had the forethought to see the impending rain clouds hanging over Vancouver, the logic to think my game might be cancelled and the make-shit-happen-ness to arrange some date plans.

And HERE is where we rejoin Twitter Guy and Something She Dated…at Stage Three…the moment when Twitter Guy at the very least becomes inducted into the category of “Something” She Dated.

8pm.  He gets there before me.  Finds a booth.  I arrive.  Hair straightened.  Wearing the magic jeans.  Which he laters mocks me for.  Being that they were what I wore with Intelligence Officer.  I recognize him right away.  Geek Chic.  For those paying attention he was way way closer to picture 3 (the good one).

The booth is kinda weird.  It’s like a corner and we’re looking like straight at other people.  I move past it.  He is an excellent conversationalist.  For once I don’t have to do so much work.  Which is good because I’m fairly nervous.  Unfortunately I think it’s very obvious that I am.  There are a couple of reasons why.

Detour.

I like to compartmentalize the people in my life.  He even mentions this at some point on the date.  Very perceptive.  In one compartment there are boys of “dating” (Garbage Man fell into this category).  In another there are the boys I’m just having sex with aka the booty call (Intelligence Officer etc.).  As of this moment I have absolutely no idea which category I’m supposed to put Twitter Guy in.  So even on this first date, I feel a bit weird about not knowing how to approach things.  I decide to stick with the friendly vibe.  This in turn means not worrying so much about which topics are okay to talk about, which stories to tell etc.etc.etc.

I think I tell a few too many stories about the waaay back.  I may have come off as a bit random, a bit tawdry, a bit ridiculous.

The Tie In.

He appears not to worry about it too much.  The conversation is good.  A little heavy with innuendo and sexy topics but nature of the beast I think.  Either way, I’m having a good time.  I’m laughing.  Plus he manage to poke holes in my argument that men and women can’t really be just friends.  I like that.  He’s smart.  I like that he’s geeky and techy.  I like that I could talk about Google Analytics and he would know what I’m talking about.  You’d be shocked how difficult it is to talk about anything even remotely related to this blog with my real life people.

Detour.

Foreshadowing.  Do I look like I like to makeout in public?  I was recently at dinner with some friends and one of them was regaling us with her current dating situation.  She’s been on two dates with a guy.  They’ve held hands.  He hasn’t even tried for a first kiss yet.  And I’m just thinking.

What.  The.  Fuck.

I’m lucky if I can get the guys to wait till we leave location one of the date before they’re puckering up.  Do I give off the vibe that says.  I’d like you to kiss me in public?  Is it that I’m just so damn sexy they can’t control themselves?  Are they concerned that I’ll be a horrible kisser and before they risk it going any further they better damn well make sure I pass?  Seriously.  This isn’t rhetorical.  I’m asking you blog readers.

What.  The.  Fuck.

And here’s the thing.  Like I would get it if they were trying for kisses with other girls and the girls turned their cheeks or something and the boys just continued on with the date undeterred.  But it just seems like.  My “somethings” they’re reading for my juicy lips at any moment.  Out in public? who cares!  Date not over? who cares!  Give Us A Kiss They Say.

The Tie In.

So I don’t remember exactly how it happened.  We were well into our date.  I’m sure he’d been laying the plans since he “let” me have the corner seat [psizzle…I heart the corner seat.  In a booth.  On a sectional.  I’m just sayin’.  good move].  He looked at me…and kiss.  I remember thinking…mmm…so that’s a good sign.

Detour.

I’m not sure I’ve ever spilled the whole beans on the nickname/persona Tin Man that I used to operate with and honestly I’m not going to here, especially because that’s not totally who I am anymore.  Mega Love changed all that.  But I’m also not totally the girl I was, when I was with Mega Love.  I’m somewhere in between.  Though I’m way closer to Tin Man than say Charlotte from SATC.  That being said.  I’m definitely a bit dysfunctional with the A of PDA (reference Garbage Man and hand holding on first date…and he was all like rubbing my inner forearm and being like does that feel nice…and I was all awkward and just like, “uh…I guess…but that’s just cause you’re touching me…not like that part of arm is special or something…uh…yeah”).  But it’s not just that.  I’m even more uncomfortable with the PD or PDA.

Try and remember.  I’m not drunk.  I’m not 21.  I’m not Charlotte.  And I CAN be connected to anyone in Vancouver within Six Degrees.

The Tie In.

I swallow my dysfunction and carry on because afterall I’m having fun.  I mention something about my love of shooting pool (even though I’m not very good) and he immediately suggests we go play.  Awesome.  Shows Action.  Shows up for anything.  Shows fun.  Top Notch.  I suggest this sports bar ; I love (you can rent pool tables, play mini-golf around the bar, get yummy food, play video golf and other arcade games, plus it’s inside a casino, what’s not to love?) which while awesome turns out to be almost totally empty on a wednesday night (for reference).  So we decide to go there.  On our way to our separate cars.  He kisses me again.  It’s both mmm (kisses) and eek (public display).  We get in our cars and drive to the casino.

TheHell coincidentally calls at this exact moment.

Detour.

No I’m not lying about the coincidentally.  This is not like the text messages she often sends me on other first dates…you know…to make me look super cool and popular.  Yes I know that’s lame.  Yes we think it’s totally awesome.  No we don’t care that you think it’s lame.  But seriously though, it wasn’t like that because since Twitter Guy reads the blog, I figured he would already know about that and that WOULD then make it lame.  She just called for my advice about Vegas hotels (10 plus trips gives you a little perspective on what hotels are better).

The Tie In.

So yeah.  I don’t have hands free.  So I speakerphone it and hope for the best.  Right away I have to hit her with a definite too much information situation.  She’s okay with it lol.  God, friends are great.  Readers, however, I’m not sure we’re tight like that.  So I’m just going to say that I relayed to her that though Twitter Guy was very much NOT my suspected type…I was feeling a lot of “chemistry”.  I ask TheHell for advice on how far I should let the evening progress.  She’s wondering why we’re not banging already given the “chemistry” I’ve just mentioned.  Then I’m parking at the casino and he pulls up beside me.  In some sort of spastic motion I get flustered, yell goodbye and slam the phone shut.  Wouldn’t want him to think I was talking to a friend about the date would I?  Oh, wait.  Isn’t he going to read….oh fuck.

So we head inside.  I hit the bathroom on our way in.  Christ I’ve been drinking diet cokes all night what do you want from me.  When I come back he’s got the table all set up.  And.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

He’s already got me a diet coke.  And yes I know it sure doesn’t take much to impress me.  But I thought it was very nice/suave/showed forethought.  So we play pool.  The sexual innuendo is uncontainable.  Fuck.  I.  Mean.  Seriously.  It’s a game based on sticks, balls and holes.  What did I expect would happen.  Just Sayin’.  So like I said, we play pool.  At first we’re fairly evenly matched.  Then, as can sometimes happen when I play pool, I suddenly get rather good/lucky.  I win 3 out of the 4 games.  Remember how I said previously that he was competitive.  Yeah.  That becomes really obvious.  I’m sure it’s all in good fun.  But I have to say I think he was legitimately upset that he wasn’t playing like a pro.  I tried to not let it bother me. Plus truth be told I credit my dashing good looks for the wins.  No?  You think I just got lucky?  Really?  Can’t even just gimme this one huh?

Detour.

I don’t like competitive people.  Okay well not totally true.  I don’t like competitive people who let their competitiveness outshine the fun.  Fun is always paramount.  Fun is always what’s most important.  Fun is always number one.  You may not believe me (given all the Tin Man stuff) or you may be like, “yeah no that sounds exactly right” but I’m actually quite sensitive. So if someone else gets upset. It’s kind of like a Tsunami. I can feel it coming. I often can’t put up the levvies before it washes all up over me. But I digress, I’m making it sound way more serious than it was…back on topic.

The Tie In.

Okay wow.  This post is starting to get really long.  So it’s time to start speed-blogging.  We’re finished with pool.  There’s more PD of whatever.  We decide to leave.  But what now?  We decide to go over to his place.  It takes a fair amount of time.  But that says more about where we started from because all things considered his place is the closest of all the “somethings” dated thus far to my house.  woohoo!

At his place.  He’s still moving in.  He seems rather embarassed about there being boxes and things being unpacked.  I couldn’t care less.  Didn’t bother me in the slightest.  The lighting was amazing.  I’m talking very conducive to activities.  However.  There was no white noise.  No TV.  No Music.  I know, he was just moving in and hadn’t unpacked everything but this problem wasn’t novel.  Intelligence Officer wasn’t prepared either.  Neither was Garbage Man.  But this is a whole other blog post.

We chat.  We makeout.  Things are getting frisky.  I can’t lie.  Up to this point I had actually just decided I was going to end the night about here.  Clothes still on.  Mystery still intact.  But I digress.  I’m Slutterific.  I’m Slutastic.  I’m Slatabulous.  I’m Slutsational.  I’m Slutmazing.  I’m Slutzilla.  I’m slut fucking awesome.

Detour.

All linked Slutcabulary are different links to articles on metanotherfrog for their celebration of women and our general slutty awesomeness.  True Story.

The Tie In.

So unfortunately, like with Intelligence Officer.  This is where I leave you.  As the privilege of knowing what my sex is like is privvy only to those that take part in it.  Well almost.  I mean in order of privvy.  It goes.

Me.
Sexy Partners.
Girlfriends.
Blog Readers.
The rest of the world.

But.

Wait.

Detour.

See I kinda feel weird not saying any more.  But I also said I wouldn’t say anymore.  He didn’t ask me not to say more.  He might not even care if I say more.  But I said I wouldn’t say more.  I know fuck me and my exclaimers remorse.  Always saying things I won’t later want to mean.  But my word is my bond so I won’t.

The Tie In.
So yeah.  I think my exit from his place and the scenario could have left a great deal to be desired.  What can I say.  I’m awkward.  Even more awkward when I’m not certain of how things stand.  I think I said something like, “Well I hate to hit and split,” reached over and kissed him, “but I gotta dash.”  And then it was a quick get dressed, fix my hair in the mirror, grab my stuff and I’m out.  I honestly didn’t mean to be so abrupt but like I said, I’m awkward when it comes to uncertainty.  Not to mention that thing…that I can’t mention…of the random and ridiculous nature…left me feeling even more awkward.

And THAT my loyal co-conspirators…is the end of the Date stage…also sometimes coinciding with the sex stage depending on your stance regarding total slutamonium!

 

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