Stripped Naked: Dating a Smarty Pants

Stripped Naked

 

After being lost for weeks (months? years?), adrift at sea, perpetually pounded by the waves of idiocy and boredom, I had met a man, the Scientist, who felt a bit like a life raft.

We had met on Thursday.

We had had a second date on Sunday.

I thanked him for having me over for dinner.

He said Glad you enjoyed.  Me too.  Thanks for coming.

For the next few days I would be busy preparing for, and then attending, a conference at Yale University, but, I suggested, Maybe when I get back from the conference I can make you dinner at my place?

He responded when are you leaving? and then Have lots of fun.

 

Okay.  Now, admittedly, I found it a tad off putting that the response wasn’t a resounding Yes, that sounds amazing you hot beautiful intelligent funny magnificent creature, you but I just assumed that it was an oversight and that responding at all in a manner that both asked a question and was considerate was good enough, no?

Five days later, home from the conference (and unfortunately having caught a cold from my travel mates), I texted him.

 

Hey 🙂 How’s it going?

Hi Victoria.  How was your trip?  I’m going crazy!  Deadlines for all postdoc fellowships are due in 10 days and I just started the whole process.

The trip was good (except the other two girls were sick with colds and now I am too – I’m really hoping it doesn’t last long.)  Yikes about the fellowship deadlines but I’m sure you’ll nail it 😉  What do you have to do for your applications?  Did you want to hang out again as soon as I’m feeling better?

Hi Victoria.  Sorry, I worked from 9 to 1am yesterday and I didn’t even look at my phone.  For my applications I have to do a million things, including writing a grant proposal, academic CV, etc.  It’s madness for me right now.  I hope I survive.  I can message you when the whole thing is over.  Glad you had a good trip.  Hope you feel better soon.

Sounds good, and good luck with all the applications 🙂

 

I mean, after all, it did sound good.  It would give me 10 days to relax and get better and he would be full of relief after completing the applications (which, as a fellow grad student, I 100% get the pressure and need to accumulate that funding).

But I will admit, I was feeling a tad, insecure.

I mean sure, our first and second dates had gone really well, hadn’t they?  And while logically, I understand putting school before…everything.  I mean hell, that’s basically the reason I hadn’t gone on a date in over a year until Skinny Jeans and then the Scientist.  Emotionally though, I’m an impatient petulant child who wants what I want when I want it.  That or I’ve just seen He’s Just Not That Into You too many times and bristle at even the slightest…slight.

I was talking about this on a phonecall to my mother, who then promptly told me You sound a bit clingy.  Hearing which set me straight within seconds.  The truth is, I think I was just so damn excited to finally be going out on dates with a man who didn’t think it appropriate and/or interesting to say things like hey hot tits and ask me questions and form full sentences and stuff, that I had gotten really wrapped up in it all.  But the moment my mom said those words, I immediately stopped checking his dating profile (after all, on OKCupid, the other person can see that shit and though I’d only done it twice, it was two times too many in my book, plus I didn’t need to know whether or not he was logging in or even if he was dating other people.  Just as I expect men to respect my freedom and privacy, I should respect theirs.  And thus I did).  I also just immediately relaxed.  It’s bizarre to think that a little bit of logic and reality can affect your emotional state so completely but in the space of a few seconds I’d gone from Eager Edith to Relaxed Regina.

 

 

He’d text or he wouldn’t, and in 10 days I would know.

 

 

 

And on the tenth day…I got this:

Rejection

 

 

And just like that it was over.  I was dumped.  My hopes of dating a smarty pants were stripped naked and thrust in the dirty hamper.  And the worst part, is that it took me awhile to see this as a full on blow off.

Upon first reading I took note of the length, the apologia, the confirmation of the pleasantries of meeting me, the well wishes.  But upon further inspection I’ve, sadly, come to see it for what it really is…a bullshit blowoff.

And because you know I can’t let a dating lesson go unmentioned, I have to say, yet again, to the rejectors, to the dumpers, and the kick ’em to the curbers…

It is 100% okay to not want to date someone

You are allowed to like or dislike anyone you want

You can make your own decisions, you don’t even need to justify your reasons

But FOR FUCK SAKES just rip the fucking bandaid like a goddamn grownup.

 

See, here’s the thing kiddo (and yes, this is me infantilizing you [in the universal form] for your infantile behavior), I don’t need your reassurance.  We went on two dates, I barely fucking know you.  I don’t need you to hold my hand, I won’t have a breakdown, no one is committing suicide on your watch.  So there’s no need to gloss it all up with how great it was to meet me or the well wishes etc.  Because while you think you’re being clear and concise, I’m thinking you’re just too polite and kind to suggest I wait around for two months to date you.

Short and sweet, rip it fast, rip it clear, be honest.

I don’t like you enough to keep going out with you.

I don’t feel a connection with you and don’t wish to go out again.

I’m no longer interested.

 

Anything along these lines works fine.  Don’t talk about friendship (unless you genuinely want it).  Don’t talk about how great they are.  Don’t wish them specific success, thus reminding them how much you were paying attention to their conversation.  Don’t give excuses (because those can so easily be excused).

Because instead of immediately going, yep, he definitely doesn’t like me, after reading that text my first thought was, oh, well maybe he’ll call in 2 months because at this rate I could potentially still be single then, or even perhaps he and I could be friends or something.

 

But he doesn’t want that.  He doesn’t want me.  And that’s totally fine.  Onto the next right?  right?  right?  hello?

 

*gets consumed by cloud of dating disappointment*

A New “Something”: Skinny Jeans

Dating Nosedive

 

The older I get, the less birthdays actually seem to matter.  That’s why, this year, when the opportunity to go on a first date fell squarely on my birthday, I didn’t really see it as a big deal.  It just seemed like another day in an already busy calendar, and after all, the time was finally right.  I had managed to find my way through a hard year of getting my bearings in grad school (read: I didn’t go on a single first date since France and The Comic), I had finally transferred over to the creative stream and excepting an academic conference in October, I was basically done with academia and ready to focus on the Creative Writing side of my degree (read: I was happy, I was less busy, life was ripe for the picking)

*cue raucous applause and several minutes of elated sighing*

Needless to say, your girl was ready to have some fun.  So when Skinny Jeans asked me out, I accepted.  Plus, I was planning to have my party the next night anyway so it wasn’t like I was some lonely singleton just trying not to spend my day of birth alone, I had a busy schedule of fun (and work) things, and Thursday night was just when I could fit him in.

He had messaged me on POF, nothing too thrilling, but he seemed normal.  He was pretty good looking: 5’10, black, English Speaking (a thing I’ve really come to find necessary with my ever failing ability to speak French), and he seemed cool enough.  We added each other on Facebook and everything was a go.  He lives in a sort-of-suburb of montreal and since he’s from here we figured it would be easiest if he came to my pace (don’t freak out, not my apartment, just picked me up downstairs, it’s a very busy place, no chance of being murdered etc.).

Thursday rolled around, he texted that he was here, and I went down to meet him.  I was already a ball of nerves for two reasons:

  1. I hadn’t gone on a date in over a year
  2. I hate first dates.  Well, not the whole date.  Once I meet the guy and he’s normal and we get along things are awesome, great, wonderful.  But the few hours before we meet, I’m near vomitting at all times.  I just hate it.  I don’t even totally know what I’m afraid of, but needless to say, I’m not calm and relaxed.

We greeted with a hug, and though I wasn’t super jazzed about his fitted pants, I was pleased.  He, however, may not have been.  He didn’t smile a whole lot in the beginning, though I’ve also met guys who didn’t smile a lot at first and then we’re all over it later so who knows, I’m probably too sensitive about the smiling.  But then again, this is my blog, and I’m trying to make dating better for everyone, so really what I’m saying is Boys, more smiling, smile right from the beginning, big warm welcoming smiles.  I get that you’re nervous but she is too and nothing quite says, I’m so pleased because you look exactly like you’re dating profile photos like a sunshine smile.  

We walked and talked for a few blocks until we came to a coffee shop.  We went inside, and that’s when things got awkward.  Well, for me.  He wanted to get something to eat and there was a really long counter so I kind of ended up ordering my own coffee and then paying for it.  And what I mean by awkward is really that internally I began a conversation whereby I attempted to defend the action of not paying but honestly…honestly…honestly?  We all know I’m not a fan.  But even more than not paying as a literal thing bothers me, it’s also what it says about him as a person, and most important of all, I think it says a lot about what he thinks of me (which if we’re being real here is that he doesn’t think spending time with me is worth $4.00).

But, not one to jump to conclusions (er…uh…at least not mid-date), I made the best of things and sat down for a chat.  We ended up talking for 2.5 hours, until the coffee shop was closing down.  I admit, I was a tad confused, this chatty behavior seeming very contradictory to the paying of coffee, and thus started to think maybe he had his own reasons for not paying and that maybe I should let it go.

We had been talking about a local pool place and suggested that maybe we could move on to there, at first he said yes but then followed it up quickly with oh, I can’t, I have to go set up for a video shoot tomorrow.  It made sense, after all, when we’d originally booked the date he’d asked for earlier rather than later.  But still.  But still.  I’m not a fan of being double booked on.  I get that there was a huge possibility that I could’ve been a dud, but still.

Nonetheless, he walked me home from the coffeeshop and then proceeded to chat with me for another 45 minutes outside of my apartment building.

Was he waiting for an invite up?

Was he just having a good time?

At some point I could tell what was happening.  I could feel it in the air.  I could see it in the way he was standing.  He was working out to a goodnight kiss and I guess all that chatter was a good way to fill the time.  Eventually he worked up to it and planted a big kiss on me.  It was nice.  I probably pulled away too soon but there were so many people around (it being a high traffic area) and I’m not a fan of PDA with new boys, with a boyfriend sure, but first kisses should happen in dark sexy places, not orange lit doorways with people coming and going.

Eventually we said goodbye.  And *spoiled alert* I won’t make you wait on this one for a second blog post, because it really was goodbye.  We texted back and forth a few times, but after a few messages it became clear he wasn’t interested.  He was a confident, aggressive fella and not asking for a second date was indication enough, if not the fact that his responses to texts were often only a few phrases.

Do I know what happened?  Nope.  Maybe he didn’t like how I looked or thought I was dull.

But why did he kiss me?  Honestly, no idea.  I don’t really understand sexual activity with someone you’re not at least interested in seeing again (not to be confused with drunk goggles etc. because we were both stone cold sober).  And it seems unlikely that the kissing wasn’t good or something because he went out of his way to mention that I was a good kisser.

Did something happen between the date and now?  Again, no idea.  Like I’ve said before, as much as I absolutely fucking hate not having any answers to dating questions, sometimes they just never come.  And you just have to be okay with that.  So I am.  This is me, being okay with it.  But then again, it might have something to do with the fact that a week later, I already had another first date booked 😉

**********

One final note about Skinny Jeans before I move on, because we all know I LOVE a teachable moment.  I know that guys are often worried about being an asshole when it comes to rejection and so I feel the need to point out how Skinny Jeans was, in fact, an asshole, and how he could’ve easily avoided it with little to no effort.

The key to rejecting a girl, besides all the obvious advice I’ve given before is clarity.  Don’t push and pull.  Don’t give and take.  Just reject.  Pick one line of attack and follow through.  With Skinny Jeans, the texting was…sporadic.  He responded on and off.  And when he responded, it was enthusiastic and then it wasn’t.  But not in a tapered off way, the attention was misleading.  What he should’ve done, assuming he wasn’t comfortable with just saying hey look, thanks for meeting me and stuff but I’m not interested so all the best, was to ignore all messages.  Just stop responding.  Girls aren’t idiots, we get the message.  When it becomes clear is when he responds to some messages and then nada.  And then texts, so I respond, and then there’s texting and then nada.  And the fact that hadn’t unfriended me on facebook was weird too.  Now obviously I got the message, after all, like I said, I’m not an idiot, but he could’ve saved me several days of excitement, and then several more of confusion, followed by the eventual disappointment, if he’d just be more clear (or more silent).

And before you all get up in arms in his defense, let me say this…we are all assholes sometimes.  Doing something assholey doesn’t make you a monster, but that doesn’t mean we should pretend you aren’t a jerk for doing something that causes another person distress (AND COULD BE AVOIDED).  Learning is good.  Self-awareness is good.  So ya know, go out there and date up a storm, but try and be considerate of the time and feelings of others along the way.  That’s a cool thing to do too.

10 Easy Ways to Get Over a Breakup

How to get over a breakup

 

Break-up got you down?

3 dates and he ditched?

Ego bruised and beaten?

Pride battered and fried?

Mmmm fried.

 

Here’s a couple easy ideas for when your love troubles have you putting on your ice-cream-eating-pants.

 

1.  Donate blood.  What?!?!  Who just became a super philanthropic amazing person that the whole world should worship for her selfless deeds???  You did!  Okay okay so you took 6 cookies and shoved them in your purse before asking for a second juice box but times are tough and since you no longer have a man to buy you dinners you’re going to have to get creative with your funds.  Nobody can blame you for being thrifty.

 

2.  Find a good cause to support.  And yes, getting a super high calorie coffee beverage and sitting outside your local firehouse to smile at the pretty fireman (and thus brightening their day) is totally supporting them.  It would obviously be best if you could raise some funds for burn victims or something but either way…we know you’re doing your best.  You’re practically Erin Brockovich!

 

3.  Go for a run.  And yes running from the cops definitely counts.  We get it.  You’re broke.  You’ve got nothing to lose.  And you were just joking when you told that bank teller to (and I quote) “Give me all your money lady!!!” (and pointed your fake gun at her)…how were you supposed to know she wouldn’t get your sarcasm.  It’s not your fault she handed over that big stack of 50s!  So go ahead and get your jog on…all that exercise will release some endorphins.  So will using that money to buy heroin but I would suggest using it for a gym membership instead.  Just a thought.  Run Forest Run!

 

4.  Make a voodoo doll.  Don’t freak out, it won’t actually work but handicrafts are a good use of your post-heartbreak time.  They build hand-eye coordination, give you something to focus on, and most importantly allow you to pretend you’re not all alone (what’s that debbie daisy doll?  no I don’t mean you…you are excellent company for me on a Saturday night…I love spending time with you…I just meant for this poor loser…she’ll need a doll…you and me are friends…you’re totally real)

 

5.  Bake a cake.  Obviously I mean BUY a cake.  Eat it.  Isn’t that delicious.  Mmmmm…now go throw it up because you won’t be able to do number 6 if you keep eating all these cakes, fatty.  Hahaha just kidding!! You’re beautiful just the way you are and you know who is going to appreciate that???  All the hot guys who want to sleep (I mean value) you. 

 

6.  Sleep with a hot guy.  Take pictures.  (As souvenirs, not to send to your ex, that would be pathetic and creepy).  If you can’t get a hot guy, sleep with a funny guy.  If you can’t get that, sleep with a moderately good looking guy with average intelligence.  Still can’t get one of those???  Okay well just try to fill one of the 4 major requirements.  Hot.  Funny.  Smart.  Rich.  Anything else and you’re just settling.  But that’s okay too.  Hurray for settling.  Is there any cake left???

 

7.  Find a wingchick.  They can be hotter or funnier than you but not both.  And make sure they can say….”haaaaavvvvvvveeeee you met *insert your name*?” convincingly and with pizzazz.  If they need training, make them watch videos of How I Met Your Mother over and over again with you until they get it.  Make her aware that she’s Barney and YOU’RE TED.  She can get laid on her own time!  If she’s funnier than you, drink only diet sodas and eat fruit.  If she’s hotter than you go ahead and eat chocolate.  It’ll level the playing field.  

 

8.  Join an online dating site.  Puh-leeeze!  As if you’re not already on one!  Everybody is on one these days.  And that’s as it fucking should be. Now start searching more specifically for your next date.  In the career field type in “counsellor” or “psychologist” or if you really want to shoot for the moon “psychiatrist” (they can prescribe the good drugs).  Either way you’ll now be able to both date and save money on therapy.  Additionally, if you ever pay for any of the dates you can put the expense under “health care” on your taxes.  That’s totally legit.  I swear.

 

9.  Cease all contact.  No stalking on facebook.  Don’t look at his Twitterfeed.  No googling.  No username searching.  Just.  Let.  Him.  Fade.  From.  Memory.  Sure the first day or two will be hard but before you know it you’ll be back to cruising the guy who sells hot dogs on the corner and asking for yours “extra plump” and Mr.what’s-his-face won’t even be a second thought…not even when you see those tiny little cocktail weenies being served at an office party.

 

10.  Read every single Something She Dated post all the way from the beginning.  I’m telling you…nothing says ‘your troubles ain’t so bad’ like reading about the time I dated a garbage man and he tried to talk about meat while we were making out.  Or that time I made out with a Trucker.  Who then had sore balls.  And then…well…I won’t spoil it for you.  But trust me.  I take the cake.  No seriously.  Gimme the fucking cake *points fake bank robbing gun at you* GIVE IT HERE BITCH!!!!

…And Then He Left, Like All The Rest

Dating Mistakes

 

He Pressed His Chest Against My Breast…And Then He Left, Like All The Rest.

Okay.  Before your heart starts crying on my behalf…bear in mind my love of a good title, so take this one with a grain of salt.  It’s not nearly as tragic and dramatic as it sounds.  But it rhymes, like a boss.

The morning after our sexy romp, France texted.  It was sweet, it was cute, it was usual.

And throughout the week that followed there was lots of texting.  And yet…it never really seemed to go anywhere.  Which was unfortunate given that I was raring to go.  But I’m not a girl that can’t take hints (all evidence to the contrary in this blog, I know).  Nonetheless, hints are not facts and since he continued to communicate as frequently as before, it was hard to believe things had just fallen off.

Not one to mince words or worry about fucking things up with someone I didn’t care about in any meaningful way, I finally just asked him one night.  I went balls to the wall.  Because what did I have to lose?  Either he was already not interested and this was my chance at certainty or he was interested and this would be his chance to step things up.  Plus, honestly, with school starting in a few days I wanted to know sooner rather than later and skip all the stress and uncertainty.

So I asked.

Point blank.

In a text message.  (don’t judge, when there’s a language barrier, talking on the phone seems near impossible and just plain awkward).

Okay well actually first I just said Hey.  (this time I left off the cutie).

And he returned with Hi.  (leaving off the sweet of usual).

I knew it was over.  It seems small and insignificant, the use of pet names.  But still, I knew.  We bantered for a minute and then I asked, point blank, if he was still trying to hang out.

His answer not really.  BOOM!

And I could’ve left it at that.  But this was my opportunity.  We’ve been through this before, dear readers, you know I love a good answer though people rarely get them in dating.  And so I asked.

No worries I texted, Do you mind if I ask why or what changed?

I was hoping I was asking nicely enough that he would feel comfortable enough delivering whatever brutal truth he had without fear that I’d become hysterical or suicidal or whatever the reason is that boys pull the fade instead of just manning up and spitting it out.

And then I went one step further and added and btw thanks for being honest, I really appreciate that 🙂

I was worried it seemed a bit kiss ass but they didn’t come up with that adage about catching more bees with honey than vinegar for nothing and I wanted to make sure he felt he could be completely honest.  Which he was.

His answer (unedited):  im honest so i tell u, i dont like the time we get sex And u take toys. that Not fair for a men the first times, for me is nothing i dont care. But next dont do it. Because for me that mind he cant give u plaisir natural and u need toys for that. I for me, blowjob is more important then sex. And u not do it. And im really not patience for nothing.

His answer (edited):  I’m honest so I will tell you.  I don’t like that you used a vibrator when we had sex.  That’s not fair for the first time with a guy.  For me it’s not a big deal but with the next guy don’t do it because, to me, that means he can’t give you pleasure naturally and you need a sex toy for that.  Also, for me, a blowjob is more important than sex and you didn’t give me a one and I’m not patient enough to wait around.

His answer (edited with translation):  I’m honest so I will tell you.  I’m a misogynistic dick.  Your pleasure doesn’t mean anything to me and only matters in as much as I can be the man giving it to you.  Your pleasure is merely a reflection of the big-dick-swinging man that I am.  And given that I don’t care about you as a woman, let alone as a human being, I would prefer that you acted according to my desires and my needs and hid your own sexuality (along with that terrifying vibrator) back under the bed.  I am insecure about my abilities.  I don’t understand anatomy.  And mostly I don’t give a shit what you desire or need to make the experience the most pleasurable for you.  That being said, for me, I need blowjobs and not so much sex which is a totally valid desire and though I incorrectly assumed you weren’t into that (given that you haven’t represented your blowjob hubris on any scale to me), that is where my understanding lies and so I must discontinue our relationship as I don’t have the patience to find out if my assumptions are right, which is my prerogative.

The good  news:  I’m not a dud.  Hooray!!!

The bad news:  And that’s the end of that.

Except technically…well…I guess…we’re still sort of friends.  And I use the term “friends” very loosely.  But not in the sexual way that people normally would.  We’re friends in the sense that normally, from what I can gather, he doesn’t keep women that haven’t worked out, in his life.  But, I guess, it seems he’s keeping me.  Which at first flattered me, but comes with two inherent problems.

1.  Guys always say let’s stay friends.  Now, this comes on the back of one of THE MOST HONEST (admittedly jackassy, but still…he was fucking honest) explanations of why a guy wasn’t interested in me, so it would seem that I could take him at his word.

2.  Did I actually want to be friends with this dude?  I mean, let’s be honest.  This escapade had an expiry date from the beginning.  And while, in general, I hope the best for him, in the same way I do for every human being, there was no emotional attachment and there likely never would be.  We didn’t have the same values, interests, language…or, to be brutally honest (and sound like a bit of an asshole myself), have a comparable intellect.  While I’m open to the possibility in romantic comedies it’s rare that a Graduate Student and a Fitness Trainer are going to be compatible in any real sense.  Not to mention the whole misogyny thing.  That being said, beggars can’t be choosers in a town without friends…at least until I meet some (note from the future: I will meet some great ones ;).  So I said, sure…and we’re still facebook buddies.  And hey, who knows, maybe we do become friends and somewhere along the way I illuminate the error of his views and some lovely lady can benefit from this enlightenment in the future.  Look at that, changing minds,  changing lives right?!?

So I guess that’s it with France.  *Disappointment ensues*

And as usual, I was disappointed because things hadn’t worked out like I had fantasized as they would, at least a few months maybe a year of hot amazing sex that was only ever a couple blocks away and maybe a movie or a conversation or two.  Blargh.

The irony of the whole thing, which I kept to myself because I didn’t want him to think I was bitter and/or that he still stood a shot at getting one was that I had been totally preparing to give him the beej of his life, perhaps a few of them and that in actuality it was him not cashing in not my hesitance that kept him from getting the blowjobs he so desperately sought.  Irony, ain’t she a bitch.  But like I said, I kept this info to myself.  Unless he ever asks, because after all, I’m honest too.

How to Handle Getting Stood Up by Never Wasting an Evening

Guest Post

 

[colored_box color=”red”]”If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.” – Oscar Wilde[/colored_box]

When SSDated first approached us over at Met Another Frog for our stories of dates gone wrong, I was hesitant. Not to write for her, that is an honour I was most grateful for, but to find an original story of woe in the dating life I have catalogued so fully over the years.

I am Elizabeth Rose, and I write tales of slutty adventures and humour with my fellow defenders of the filth at metanotherfrog.com, and it is the case that much I have to tell has already been told. But it occurred to me there are several stories, or non-dates I have yet to share with anyone…

Those of wasted evenings and ill-fated nights of being stood up.

I think it might be the worst of any dating experience, that slow realisation you aren’t going anywhere. That this night will never be a tale to tell your girlfriends over cocktails or your grandchildren over cake frosting.

It’s a nothing of a night, where no new connection is made, no new story to be told, nothingness. It’s a bleak feeling. I think the worst of it is that ownership, the feeling of blame, of rejection. A bad date can always be their fault, not mine. There will always be some character flaws to assassinate endlessly at dinner parties to entertain the coupled guests. To be stood up is to be denied that, there are no what-ifs, no stories, no amusing recollections. It is an ending without a beginning and as such leaves me feeling most piqued at such a slight.

The worst feeling, however, is knowing that I’ve done this to others, that there have been gentlemen sitting in restaurants, pubs and bars waiting for Ms Rose, who will never appear. In the moments when you realise they aren’t late, that they aren’t coming, that’s one of the few times I feel any empathy for the men I date. I share with them the sense of betrayal – that this other person has betrayed our possibility, ended us without beginning. I always feel a moment’s remorse to previous slights I have committed. I even sulk briefly, wondering if this is karma, or what of the multitude of possible excuses he might have, that this wasn’t intended.

At the end of it all, my ego and libido will right themselves (they have always been naturally buoyant). I find rather than skulking away with a look of rejection, that leaving with the cute waiter/bar man / innocent bystander, has a way of making me feel better. After all, the worst thing to do with an evening is to end it without at least a small fumble.

 

Ms. Elizabeth Rose is one part of the fabulously indomitable crew over at MetAnotherFrog who regularly widens my eyes with her sexual honesty, genuine support, hilarious wit, and let’s be real…general fucking awesomeness.

How to Handle Rejection by Getting Rejected: a Not-a-Love-Story by the Urban Dater

Guest Post

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]’m a sucker for punishment, which is why I like it rough and tend to date women who take lots of steroids or participate in Mixed Martial Arts (or MMA to you educated and in-the-know types). If they kicks me in the beans, that’s cool; if they call me dirty names like pencil dick or Susan I’m also fine with that. The more demeaning the mo’ betta, in my opinion.

However, being a sucker for punishment comes at a cost, sometimes. Sometimes it’s hard to know when to give in and walk away. What I’m referring to is fighting the good fight to win a special someone over. Sometimes that special someone thinks you’re a good for nuthin’, nobody, ass-face. And that’s it. There’s very little one can do to turn the tide of that opinion. So what does one do, when handling rejection? Well, children of the corn, I’ll help you with that.

There was this gal I was in to. I found her on a dating site. We went out for a date, had a reasonably good time and when I drove her back to her car, I tried to kiss her only to find her cheek. The one on her face, unfortunately. I was let down obviously, but she replied “Hey, look, I had a lot of fun, let’s do this again.” I said that sounded like a good idea.  However, I was going to leave the ball in her court. If she really wanted to hang out with me, then she could make a move. And make a move she did.

We went out for dinner, just the two of us and then we met up with a couple of her friends for drinks afterward. I met one friend of hers that night, a very nice gal, who insisted that this girl I was going out with (let’s call her Wilma) was very much into me and that I had to keep on trying. That was interesting, I thought. As we pull up to Wilma’s apartment, I tried again for a kiss, what I got was a quick one-armed hug and she said “later man, I’ll call you this week.” Hmmmm. Thus far, I’m batting 0 for 2. No bueno.

It would take some time for me to try at romancing this girl again. Several months actually. During that time I dated other gals and what have you. It was one night out with Wilma and her bestie that I was again told “Dude, wtf? Why haven’t you made a move on Wilma? She REALLY likes you!!!” Well, that was news to me because that’s not the vibe I got. However, by this time, I was so wrapped up in this woman that I needed a definitive answer; I needed to know and I could no longer wait, otherwise, I was going to cut something off of my body and send it to her.

That day of reckoning came a week later. We went out for a drink and that’s when I “manned-up” and told the woman how I felt and that I needed to know where she was at… So let me give you the following options for what may have happened, and you choose which one you think it was:

  • She sat there silent for a few minutes and finished her pint of Guinness in two gulps
  • She grabbed my hand and said, “I was wondering when you were going to tell me that!”
  • She told me to fuck off and called me a loser dick faced platypus.

If you guessed the first option, you’d have been right. If you guessed that I’d rather she went with option three, that would also be correct.

I got a non-answer from her; and that, my friends, was that. I tried and I didn’t succeed. But I was satisfied with that because there would be no guessing that this girl liked me or not. She didn’t like me in that way. Period. But at least I tried. And you know what? I rarely thought about it, only recalling what happened in my stories of failure. Heh. That was about five years ago. Last, year, at a party, a good buddy of mine, who was close to that situation confided to me that Wilma told him something in confidence. What he revealed was that she liked me as a friend, but just didn’t like me “in that way.” By that time, it didn’t matter; but it was good to get something of an “official” reason.

Long story short: The best way to handle rejection, is to get rejected. Most never try and, thus, never get rejected.

Alex, over at the Urban Dater, is a man that lives in Southern California, and in the dreams of women everywhere if they know what’s good for them!  His use of inappropriate jokes and ridiculous innuendo have found in me a love I never thought I could bear, but bear it I shall.  Wait.  What?!  This bio is supposed to be about him, my bad.  Alex is rad.  I saw it in the dictionary.  Just try and prove me wrong.

Dating Mistakes: And THAT’S Why You’re a Dick

Head Desk

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o Kevin Bacon and I had had 3 dates.  He thought I was into him.  And when I asked him about where we stood…his response was silence.  Not one to accept silence (hey!…I’m a dating blogger…who is no longer interested…obvs I’m going to pry the truth out of you…though one day I hope it would just happen organically).  And so I DMed him on Twitter Should I be taking your silence to mean that not only are you not interested in dating but you’re not interested in friendship either?  His response?  I didn’t have anything to say.  Sorry.  Busy last night and working now.  But pressing the issue, I think you’re not what I’m looking for dating-wise.  I hope we can still be friends.

Now here’s the thing of the thing.  On our first date, Kevin Bacon had asked me why I blogged.  I told him that in the beginning I had started simply because I was tired of telling the same story over and over to my different girlfriends since none of them were really friends with each other.  But I said as it progressed [the blog] became more about sharing my experiences, including what I was learning in the hopes that it might help others.  But not in the misery-loves-company-commiseration-type way but in the learn-about-the-missteps-you-me-they-we’ve-all-been-taking-and-work-to-correct-them-type way.  

So with that being said.  Let’s take a look at Kevin Bacon’s response and examine it for what it’s worth (the exact value of learning lessons and sharing perspectives on dating).

 

I didn’t have anything to say. Sorry. Busy last night and working now.  

 

So this.  This right here.  Makes him a Dick.  Claiming you don’t have anything to say when someone asks you a direct question is a cop out.  Now that’s every person’s right to cop out on whatever the fuck they want…because let’s face it…people can do whatever the fuck they want whenever they want.  But.  And this is the key point here.  That rationale doesn’t excuse you from being categorized as a Dick.  Additionally, people who apologize and don’t mean it.  Ugh.  Weaker than weak.  Words are bond, son.  And throwing words you don’t mean into the world gives an air of in-authenticity and well…gross.  Finally, being busy and working is an excuse when someone wants a researched and typed 10 page report on the mating habits of Pandas not when the answer to the question is…I’m not interested in you.

Now I know some of you may be thinking wow, she’s being really harsh and picky with this guy but how are we all supposed to learn if I don’t dissect it.  I’m not saying Kevin Bacon is a horrible person and should cease to experience happiness…on the contrary…I wish him all the best.  We could substitute any name into this situation and my arguments would be the same.  I simply want to illustrate what about this response was so icky and aggravating in the hopes that something can be learned.

 

But pressing the issue, I think you’re not what I’m looking for dating-wise.  

 

This is perfect.  It’s a little bit weirdly-worded ‘dating-wise’ and all but nonetheless it’s clear and makes it’s point.  He wasn’t interested in further dating.  Simple.  Precise.  And closure inducing.  Boys, take note.  Good job, KevinBacon.

 

I hope we can still be friends.  

 

Aww fuck.  He was so close, that Kevin Bacon.  Sure he fucked it up royally in the beginning with the Dickishness and the in-authenticity but then he brought it back, salvaged it all really, with the cut-and-dry approach to the truth.  And then there’s this.  I hope we can still be friends.  See the thing of the thing is, this would be fine if he meant it.  But he didn’t.

If Kevin Bacon had wanted to be friends he would’ve been more careful with my time.  There wouldn’t have been questions about my calendar of future dating, there wouldn’t have been the week of waiting to find out he wasn’t interested in me, and most importantly there would have been this douchey response that was like pulling teeth just to get.  If a guy wants to remain friends, like actually remain friends, he respects your time, he’s empathetic of your feelings, he…well…ya know…acts like a friend.

And while it’s perfectly fine not to remain friends with someone you dated, it’s not so perfectly fine to be misleading about it.  Because while I’ll admit, I was well aware Kevin Bacon didn’t want to be friends (and the feeling was pretty obviously mutual) there have been other boys….on TV and in movies…in my life…in the lives of my friends…who have acted this exact same in-authentic way.  And if your word is all you really ever have.  What does it say about a person who throws words like they’re feathers when they know damn well they’re stones?  It says you’re a fucking Dick.

So back to the response.  Now I personally would’ve just said nothing.  In future posts I’ll be talking more about why it’s okay to just throw up the deuces and walk off the stage.  But for now I’m going to answer this question for those of you that can’t stand to live with an awkward moment.  For those of you who have to have the last word.  For those of you who can’t end a sentence without a pleasantry.

While Kevin Bacon said I hope we can still be friends what he should’ve said was I hope we can still be friendly.  And yes.  A couple of letters really does make that huge of a difference.  Because while one of these sentences makes a badly formed counterfeit of a good person…the other is clear and honest and allows for closure.  Easy Peasy Light and Breezy.

Rip the Bandaid, Bitch! (Part Two)

Head Desk

So like I was saying.  I had hoped he would call.  After whatever blah blah excuse he had given me.  But he didn’t.  At least.  Not that night.  The next morning however.  I was woken up by a text.  Well more exactly I was woken up by Alice Cooper blaring
 ♫ Poison, You’re poison running through my veins, You’re poison, I don’t wanna break these chains ♫ 
And in case you’re not a long time reader.  This is where I have to mention again.  I have the cell phone from hell.  I live in the Bermuda fucking triangle.  This is NOT an exaggeration.  I have THE worst luck with cell phones and reliable service.  So it is not uncommon to miss text messages.  To get them long after they were sent.  To get them in indecipherable pieces.  Just Sayin’.

This morning was unlikely to be any different.  When there it was.  Showing up.  Coming through.  The piece of a puzzle of messages.  Only.  Something like the middle.  That’s it.  Fuck.

Easy to say, especially when you 
care for someone.  Then as I 
delayed it, it became harder and 
harder to call.  I’m spending.

What.  The.  Fuck.  This is obviously only a piece of the message.  So I text back saying as much.  Either to resend or call.  He calls.  FUCK.  I answer.  It’s a bit awkward.  Plus it’s also a bit hazy.  It’s fucking like 8:20am and I’m a student.  Plus just in general not a morning person.

The gist of what he says is this.

He thinks I’m awesome.
There’s just something missing.
Like chemistry I ask?
But he can’t describe it
He doesn’t know what he wants
blah blah blah
He wants to be friends.
I should give him a call….

and then I interrupt him.  Ahh.  I’m going to leave that in your court buddy.  After all you’re the one who just said he didn’t like me enough lol.  No way am I going to spend more being concerned about whether or not I should call someone.  Though I say this in a somewhat less bitchy fashion.  We chatter on a bit more.  NYE is mentioned.  I say MegaLove is coming up to spend it with me.  I offer no further details.  We end the call.  I send a quick text thanking him for letting me know.  Not because I felt he deserved it.  But if I’m going to be a big proponent of people being honest with each other and ripping the fucking bandaid off, I can’t turn around and be all bitter.  I have to keep it going.  Word of mouth advertising.

Rip the bandaid, bitch! 

By the way.  Almost as soon as the call was over.  Suddenly my phone blows up with text messages.  Out of order no less.  But I’m not retarded.  I know how to piece a puzzle together.  And here is.  The bandaid ripping (sort of) puzzle.

Sorry for being so distant.  I’m just not feeling it and don’t want waste your time, plus go any further physically.  I should have called but it’s not that easy to say, especially when you care for someone.  Then as I delayed it, it became harder and harder to call.  I’m spending the day with DaughtersName, and leaving town later on today.  Take care!


Ouch.  For reference I find the care about someone bit to be fucked up retarded like and the go any further physically to mean that he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.  So there ya go.  Fuck Me.  Or not I guess.  Exit stage left.

 

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

Rip the Bandaid, Bitch! (Part One)

Dating Mistakes

Maybe I’ve dissected it a thousand times.  Maybe I barely paid attention when it was happening.  Maybe just too much time has passed.  Maybe the continuous over-analyzation of the details was like metaphorically pulling at the thread of my memory sweater.  I pulled too hard.  I pulled too fast.  And it all fucking fell apart.  My memory that is.  Because I swear to you people.  If it wasn’t for text messaging as some sort of tangible record of the events.  I might not be able to tell this story.  Poof!  Like it never even happened.  But lucky (or not so lucky) for us all, I do indeed have the tangible words that bring this tale to a……well just let me tell you.

So The Nick Name and I had had our 2nd Date.  I’d been the dirty slut sexy vixen you all know and love me as.  And things were great.  Except.  Well.  Ya know how some chicks dissect every fucking detail?  See I only do that when things are negative.  When things have a positive result.  I skip along.  Tra la la la.  Like everything is draped in cotton candy and sugar coated in icing.  Tra la la la.  Skip.  Skip.  Hop.  Only the thing is.  When I retell these stories to you.  Some of the icing sugar has shaken off.  And I feel a bit retarded if I don’t point out the things I know should have been obvious.  Like somehow I need to prove to you guys I’m not totally retarded.  Just naively hopeful.

So the thing is.  Even though after we were finished messing around so to speak.  There was what I would call cuddling.  Not spooning.  Because it was more like face to face.  Well actually more like I was on my stomach and he was beside me on his side.  And we were just kind of curled up kiss kiss wrapped around each other kiss kiss just lying there.  Eyes closed.  Honestly trying not to fall asleep.  And as super pathetic as this is going to sound.  I kind of wanted to keep laying there.  But I could feel it.  Feel something.  Feel him.  Dude wanted to go to sleep.  Now don’t get me wrong he didn’t do anything douchey or awful.  But I could just tell.  And so I got up to go.  He got up with me.  Talked about our date for the coming Wednesday still being on.  And walked me to the door.

And there.  Right in that moment.  I knew.  Not good.  Not good at all.  Because the thing of the thing is.  He didn’t walk me to my car.  And bee tee dub.  It was late.  It was dark.  It was fucking New Westminster.  A more residential than sketchy area but please.  And the thing that allowed me at the time to discount this.  Ignore it.  Move along.  Was the fact that up until this dating foray that is my 2010 experience, I wouldn’t have expected a boy to walk me to my car.  Sure on the first date.  But after that.  Not really.  The door and seal it with a kiss?? obviously.  But put your shoes on come out to my car?  Not really.  But the thing is.  I’m not 21 anymore.  And I’m certainly not dating 21 year olds.  These boys are damn near 40 and they know what’s up.  They know what being a gentleman means.  And not feeling desireous/compelled to walk me to my car?  a bad sign.  That I ignored.

Sidebar.  The logic behind WHY I ignored all this will come in a wholly separate post (yes it’s that lengthy and complex lol) so just bee tee dub.

But it’s whatevs.  I had fun.  I’m ignoring the one bad sign in favor of all the good ones.  Carrying on.  Boxing day rolls in.  There is texting.  I’m italics.

4:00pm

Hey 🙂 How’s your day going?
Humming along!  And yours?
Great! lots of catching up with friends and then just getting ready for Seattle/McChord AFB tomorrow.

Radio Silence.


6:45pm
You around?
7:29pm
I’m at my buddies for dinner and the game.  Call you later!
Is it just me or are those exclamations getting irritating.  Doesn’t he know that there is a big difference between call you later.  call you later?  and call you later!  Stop it.  Girl over-analyzing.  Fuck me.  Stop.

Sounds good.


10:18pm
Hey cutie just a heads up I’m going to bed pretty soon, getting up at 6am tomorrow 🙂
In my defense.  My cell phone doesn’t work while I’m in the states…which is where I was planning to be for about 24 hours.  And he didn’t know that.  So while I realize this seems overzealous texting.  I had wanted to talk to him before I went so I could tell him.  Plus in all honesty.  If he liked me it wouldn’t seem so overzealous.

Radio Silence.


Dec. 27th.  I wake up with bells on and head down to Seattle.  Which I’ll tell you all about.  New friends.  MegaLove.  Etcetera.  But in another post.  This  post is all about TheNickName.  So let’s get back to it.  I arrive home from Seattle in the wee morning hours of the 28th.  And when I turn my phone back on.  Obviously expecting it to be blown up with…Hey and then hello? and then further you arounds? and perhaps even are you ignoring me?s.  Only it doesn’t.  Silence.  Okay well not total silence.  Texts from friends etc.  But from TheNickName.  Silence.  I mean.  What.  The.  Fuck.  I go to sleep.


Later in the day…I get a text from him (me in italics again).  Fucking weak ass shit.

How is or was Seattle?  I have to bail on tomorrow, I’m going out of town tomorrow after work for the weekend! Sorry!
Fucking exclamation marks!!!!!!!! Sorry!???? It’s like he’s yelling or something.  Too many exclamation marks especially when they don’t belong is like SOMEONE TYPING IN ALL CAPS!!!! WHO ARE YOU YELLING AT?!?!?!

Okay…do you have time to talk?



Pathetic I know.  But in my defense.  This was sort of me trying to decipher if he really was bailing for last minute out town pl….fuck…even as I type it…it sounds too stupid.  Fuck it was just pathetic. We all slip.  Lots.  Don’t judge.  People in glass houses and all that.

I’m at a buddies, watching the Canada game.  I will try to call you after its over!
No worries.


At some point it gets late.  I’m going to bed.  Fuck this noise.  All of me understands he’s not swooning over me.  Most of me understands he’s not dying to spend time with me.  Some of me understands that he probably doesn’t even like me enough to continue seeing each other (this behavior being evidence).  But none of me can grasp how someone I took it slow…but not too slow…with…and have cute conversations with…can go from…good to go and super cute and totally into me….to…total blow off.  Now to be clear.  I understand it happens.  I get it in theory that sometimes people just don’t like either people.  But at this exact moment in my defense (I’ve had to say that a lot this post….damn…exclamation point!)…I couldn’t quite make the logic fit…the illogicality of people and emotions and behaviors and whatever the fuck was going on with this dude.  So I made one last pathetic attempt.  Because the truth is.  Me and him.  We were better on the phone.  Just Sayin’
Really hope you get a chance to call before you leave town cause I’m feeling pretty weird about you cancelling again and we seem to be better on the phone.


To Be Continued….Here:  Rip the Bandaid, Bitch! (Part Two)

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

 

Wax On Wax Off, Date’s On Date’s Off

Dating Mistakes


Dates On.

Sunday was the first date with The Nick Name.  Monday we text.  Chatter.  What have you.  I was still technically in school and working on two papers.  Children’s Lit and Shakespeare.  I hate Shakespeare at this point.  But that’s another matter entirely.  Tuesday we text.  Chatter.  He’s not feeling great.  Possibly getting sick.  I’m exhausted from school.  It’s whatever.  Wednesday.  He’s sick.  No mention of cancelling Thursday.  We text.  We chatter.  I’m deep into paper writing mode.  But still.  I’m not fucking clueless.  I can sense it coming.  I mean.  People don’t get better overnight.  I mean.  I still have the occasional residual coughing from a BRUTAL cough/cold/flu I had in September. Just Sayin’.

And here’s the thing of the thing.  I’m the queen of expectations.  In that I expect people not to be retarded and spit it the fuck out, say it like it is, I don’t have all day.  But I’m an optimist.  If I weren’t I wouldn’t keep letting those damn expectations get the best of me.  So even though I know I have a “cancel” coming my way.  I have this little hope.  A hope of a hope.  That I’m not going to be disappointed.  That this second date I’m hoping for is going to happen.

Date’s Off.

But it doesn’t.  Thursday morning rolls around.  And there is a text.  On my phone.  About how sick he is.  And blah blah blah.  And I know what you’re thinking.  I’m sure he was super apologetic.  I’m sure he likes you.  Only I wasn’t so sure.  Because there was no I’m so sorry.  It was mostly a boys pity party.


Detour.  I know boys are babies.  When they get sick.  I was in a 6 year relationship after all.  And I have married friends to tell me all about it.  We’ve all seen it.  We can attest to it.  Boys are the biggest pansies when they get sick.  And just a Dear Boys, for you boys…nobody likes a pans.  Just Sayin’.

Back on Track.  So I’m kind of upset (partly just at the situation [him being sick and date being cancelled] and partly at the fact that he knew he was sick…should’ve cancelled earlier).  But…I also get what it is to be sick.  And I fucking hate being sick.  So I get it.  Being sick sucks.  We barely know each other.  Not sweating it.

Okay I’m lying.  I’m not sweating it to him.  But I’ll tell you guys the truth.  I was Major cranky pants.  Sergeant super irritaed.  Colonel “this sucks” hissy fits McGee.  Mostly I’m just pissed because while the lack of apology would’ve be fine on the one hand.  His text.  Conveys mostly a concern that he might be too sick  to go to his work Xmas party on the Friday night and a friend’s Xmas party on the Saturday.  But it’s whatever.  I realize we barely know each other.  And but of course Xmas parties come but once a year.  So basically I’m just telling you guys this so you understand how I was irrationally feeling though I am FULL ON aware of the irrationality of feeling those feelings in the first place.  So obvs. I keep the feelings ick to myself.  And to my friends lol.

***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***
****BOYS MAY WANT TO TURN AWAY****BOYS MAY WANT TO TURN AWAY****
So I have to tell you now.  That I was harsh PMSing.  And to be clear.  I’m not some moody teenager who doesn’t know when they’re acting ridiculous.  BUUUUTTT.  When it’s almost my “Lady Time” (I don’t care what you people say…it’s my favorite way to allude to it and I’m keeping it!) I can become…to put it nicely…hysterical.  Now I’ll be aware that I’m being hysterical.  And I’ll know that at some point…say within a week.  I’ll return to normal.  But that doesn’t mean I can necessarily turn it off.  So in my defense.  In my irrational feelings defense.  I blame mother nature.  And that bitch who visits me every month.  And such is life.  You gotta accept the good with the bad.  But I just needed you guys to know.  I needed a preface.  I needed to explain why I felt so hysterical when we all know I’m an advocate of not being too intense in the beginning.  Being.  Breezy.  If you will.

Date’s On.

So the weekend comes and goes.  He goes to the parties like a champ.  And oddly enough he seems to be feeling better.  Perhaps it was his optimism.  Perhaps he’s one of those lucky people who if they can get enough rest are feeling tip top within a day or two.  I can barely understand this concept since I’m usually sick for weeks at a time.  But there ya go.  Who am I to question optimism and health right?  So through all this time we’re texting and occasionally calling.  He suggests we hang out Sunday night.  But alas.  I have my first final exam of this session 830am Monday morning.  So that’s a no go.  Monday night? and it’s on.  Date’s on.  We have plans for Monday night.

Monday morning I get up at the crack of dawn.  Who am I kidding.  I was up well before dawn.  In fact dawn had barely broken by the time I was parking at UBC.  When I get a text from him.  TheNickName.  Something super cute about wishing me good luck and about how I was going to kill it! and to call him when I’m done.


Which I did.  In both respects.  And that’s when I heard it.  In his tone.  In his voice.  In his cough.  The cancel was coming.  He was sick again (or still) whatever.  So we were back to square one.  Sick.  Date cancelled.

Date’s Off.

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