I’m and Idiot and You’re a Douche

[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

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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.