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.

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.

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

 

Answers in Dating Trilogy: Friendship and For Reference

Head Desk

[dropcap]So,[/dropcap]  I had just blurted it outI have a blog…which you’re in obviously.  And you know me.  Go hard or go home right?  So while trying to explain to him how to find the blog and all that.  I just added.  No worries.  I’ll just facebook you.  Like no biggie.  Just like that.  No biggie.  I’ll facebook you.  And he seemed pretty cool with it all.  Seemed pretty relaxed to hear that I had been writing about him this whole time.

And don’t think I just threw this info out there.  Without a thought.  I mean.  I’ve written the blog.  I know what I’ve said about him.  And I know that he comes off well.  I told him this.  I knew it would be okay for him to read it.  If he wanted to.  Honestly.  I wasn’t that sure he’d even be interested.  And to be real.  To be quite honest.  I think the whole thing was a bit of a knee-jerk reaction.  Me telling him I mean.  Like flipping a switch.  And I can see him. Like on the end of a little crane.  Getting picked up.  Right out of that swoony.  Dating.  Lusty.  Boy category.  And shuffled over.  To that friend.  Category.  Only.  It’s weird.  Because.  Well.  I don’t have male friends.

But back to the scene of this event.  Back to me and him.  Sitting on the couch.  At his place.  Cards on the table.  And we talk.  About his ex.  About Mega Love.  He asks if I went to see Mega Love when I went shopping in Seattle.  I tell him yes.  I tell him I also saw him in July.  Before that.  We talk about dates.  The dates I’ve been on since meeting him (not in detail…just that I’ve had them).  He tells me he’s had none.  We talk about breakups.  He thinks that Mega Love and I might not really be completely broken up.  Because we keep seeing each other.  We talk about boys.  Honestly it’s all a bit of a blur.  I was actually pretty excited to be able to talk about this stuff.  To tell him about my blog.  It was all pretty fun.  Any disappointment I feel *spoiler alert* wouldn’t sink in for a few days.  But basically the important stuff.  Like how awesome he thought I was.  And how much he enjoyed hanging out with me.  That came across.

At one point.  I couldn’t stop myself though.  I said something.  Likely.  Pretty douchey.  But I was joking.  Mostly.  (try to remember I’m a on a starving student budget).  And as I walked into the kitchen for a glass of water I said So…does this mean I’m going to have to start paying for stuff *giggles*.  And no lie.  Trucker Joe hit it out of the park.  No he says friends do that stuff too.  And at the time I was thinking…not so much.  But it’s true.  We do.  TheHell was having a rough day today.  So I brought her Starbucks.  Another friend was having moola issues a couple days ago.  So I picked up the tab at Sushi.  So he was right in that sense.

Eventually it was time for the night to end.  Afterall.  No reason for everybody not to get a good night’s rest.  With no sex or shenanigans on the horizon.  And as we were walking to the door.  I made a comment about.  Could you imagine me as a ProfessorEspecially now? (As in, how awesome would that be).  And he said something about me becoming famous long before that…for writing a column in a newspaper or something (and this was just from our conversations…he hadn’t read the blog yet).  And then he walked me to my car.  And we were both all smiles.  Like who knew.  Dating turned friending might just work out awesome afterall.

As we hugged goodbye.  I said.  So I guess just gimme a call if you want to hang out.  To which he responded Oh…I’ll definitely be harassing you to hang out.  And that was it.  I drove home.  Still all smiles.  I wasn’t faking.  I was actually really excited.  I mean sure.  It’s always an ego hit when someone isn’t attracted to you.  I mean shit.  Even though logic tells me it would have nothing to do with me.  If a guy I was dating was suddenly like.  I’m gay.  I’d still be a little.  aw…you mean I wasn’t hot enough to turn you straight?  Which for reference I know is ridiculous being that I think people are born gay so it’s not even an option.  But I’m just saying.  Sometimes things are irrational.  Just the way it is.  And I could be fine with that.

So the night ended.  With a smile on my face.  A Friendship on the horizon.  And a person to add on Facebook.  And it’s a week later now.  And I still have a bit more to say on the subject.  Like what happened with me.  Like what happened with me and him.  In that week that’s passed.  But that’s a whole other post.  Coming soon.  But for today.  I have to say this.

I feel a bit.  As though I may have let you down.  My readers.  My dear, dear readers.  Because For Reference. These are not the posts I wanted to write. For Reference.  I wanted to tell you about kissing. That makes my knees weak. Laughter that carries across lakes. Giving it up in the back of a pickup truck like a hicktown babe or a city girl gone summer vacay. For Reference.  I want to insinuate the passion between sheets. Electricity between fingertips. I want to tell you how a boy’s soft tongue tastes in my memory the day after. I want you to swoon with me. Let’s talk magic. Let’s talk romance. But romance in that summer fling kinda way. Without all that heavy for the rest of our lives is-he-the-one bullshit. I want to regale you with a tale of romance the way I want it told. From the mind of a 28 year old working her body like an 18 year old full of lust and freedom in the heart of a 14 year old who doesn’t yet know better.  Only knowing better.  I didn’t need it to be perfect. I wasn’t trying on slippers. No one was looking for that perfect fit. But for a moment.  For this one moment. This. Very. Moment. Right here. Right now. I didn’t want hilarity. And you almost never hear me say that. I just wanted. A summer romance. But here we are. And summer is almost over.  And I’ve got no summer romance.  No silky legs sliding about on silky sheets.  No soft lips to brush mine up against.  No hand on my ass.  Marking some territory.  If only for one night.  One date.  One summer romance.  For Reference.  I’ll make it up to you.

 

 

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