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:




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*

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, 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 Reject Someone (so that you don’t give them PTSD)


[dropcap]O[/dropcap]ne of the more fascinating outcomes of sex, dating and relationship blogging is people believing you to be an expert of some kind. Seriously. In the two and a half years that I’ve been spilling detailed beans about my own foibles, faux pas’ and triumphs people have started treating me like a sexual swami or something. Co-workers have been known to stop by my desk to get my opinion on their latest dating mishap, friends call at all hours to get my point of view and virtual strangers corner me at dinner parties to ask my thoughts on polyamory.

People don’t stop to consider that I’m only different because of my willingness to share my dating stories, victories and defeats, like ribs at barbecue; we all pick at it until nothing’s left but the bones. And then I take those bones and make stock. Which then becomes soup. Or gravy. And in case you’ve lost track somewhere along the way, my life is like the ribs and my blog is like the barbecue and…who cares but the point of this oh so laborious metaphor is that I’m shameless with the details of my life. Not anymore of an expert than anyone else. Just shameless.

Why the preamble?

Well, I kind of have advice to share. And I want you all to listen. Or read. But I also want you to take it all with a grain of salt. After all, I’m probably not any smarter or wiser than any of you.

However, there is one thing I do know better than most: How to reject someone. I know this neither because I’m well versed in the art of letting someone down easy nor because I’ve been beating them off with a stick so long I know all the tricks of the trade. No, I know how to reject someone because I’ve been rejected. Often. And I know how horrible it can feel. And I think it goes without saying that if you have any dating experience at all you’ve dealt with rejection. Actually, the only thing that goes without saying is the saying “it goes without saying” but I just couldn’t avoid the cliché.

Anyway, next time you find yourself considering rejecting someone, please keep the following in mind:

KEEP IT SIMPLE: don’t offer me grandiose stories about having just come out of a relationship and needing a little “me” time right now. For many that just translates to you’re not attractive enough, or not tall enough or too bald or too fat or too….something. It’s always something. Something we are not or worse, something we are. And that sucks. A simple I’m not interested will do.

DON’T BE AFRAID TO LIE: I’m all for honesty. If there were such a thing as the patron saint of relationship/dating truth telling then I would be it. Men and women alike would wear jewellery carved in my image, churches would be adorned with my likeness and cheaters would have to say three Hail Marys and a Sam Sharpe to repent for their sins.

But sometimes the guy at the club is just too pushy and won’t take no for an answer. Sometimes the girl in accounting just can’t take a hint when you tell her that you’re booked until 2021. Sometimes you just have to say something like you’ve taken a vow of chastity.

Oh, and ladies, if a pushy stranger offers to buy you a drink, just politely decline. And don’t say you’re not thirsty, or you don’t feel like drinking (THEN WHY ARE. YOU. AT. THE. BAR????). Considering the context those aren’t effective lies. Feel free to say something like “I’ve had one drink already and I have to drive home” or “I’m a Lesbian” or “I have herpes” or “I haven’t fully completed my transition yet” to get the really pushy ones off your back.

THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD: I was at a dance one evening with friends when the DJ decided to play a slow-jam set. Not surprisingly some people paired up and the rest of us poor souls receded to the margins alone though united by our common sense of slow dance unworthiness. I spotted a young lady hovering near the edge of the dance floor. I decided I would ask her to dance.

I walked over, said something like “would you like to dance” and watched in horror as she looked me up and down, then wordlessly walked away. The whole thing lasted maybe five seconds but felt like an eon. It felt as if the whole world was laughing at me. They probably weren’t but all these years later it still smarts. I used to love slow jams. Now they make me twitchy. I’m probably still suffering from a low grade form of post traumatic stress syndrome brought on by my slow jam rejection. If I’m ever getting married, the first dance might have to be some up-tempo choreographed Michael Jackson-esque number. Either that or we’ll do the group/line dance thing. Like in Footloose. Anything to avoid a slow dance.

Anyway, the point is, have a little compassion. Rejecting someone is not the time to be working through your own emotional dramas and melodramas. No need to exact some form of psychic revenge on the pour soul who chats you up at the barbecue. No need to be rude. Try to remember how horrible rejection feels and try not to visit that feeling upon someone else.

I don’t know what was happening in that young lady’s life. I don’t know what kind of day she had. But all she had to do was say no thank you. She wouldn’t have been forced to dance with someone she deemed undesirable. And I would have still have my dignity.

In closing, allow me to share an anecdote. Years ago I was introduced to a woman at a party. It became clear very early that she was interested in moi. The feeling was not mutual. I had a choice to make. I could reject this woman in grandiose fashion. Or I could be polite. I chose the latter.

We ended up becoming friends, very good friends. Also turns out that she knows a lot of women, a lot of attractive women in fact. As it turns out, some of these very attractive women happened to find me attractive too. As fate would have it, a few of these women wanted to have sex with me.

It pays to be polite people. It pays to be polite.

Sam Sharpe is one of the luxuriously sexy writers over at MetAnotherFrog who I hope to one day cover in baby oil and take pictures of before doing all kinds of inappropriate things and is always enlightening with his sexual wisdom.  He is a real connoisseur of my sex drive of sexual knowledge and experience.  Drool.  He says things.  I listen.  Nuff said.  Pics.

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.


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.

You around?
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.

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