Tag Archives: dating

Wednesday night

21 Feb

It’s 78 degrees on a hump day. Home from the gym and sitting on the porch. When I’m not taking a sip from my massive glass of wine (defeating the whole purpose of going to the gym), I’m busy swiping – typically left – on Tinder and responding to me text messages.

Must restrict my wine intake or may end up sending the right text message to the wrong guy.

I like to call this screenshot “Wednesday in February”. This has been going on since this morning. It’s been a rad fucking day.

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Let me leave you with this…

21 Feb

Home from my date with #6. I’ll leave you with 2 things: 1, was pleasantly surprised with the date. 2, think he was too.

Bare witness to our riveting text exchange!!

Help a sister out

20 Feb

Date #6 tonight.  Don’t have high hopes, talking to him is a bit like pulling teeth.  Feels like I’m doing all the work.  I ask him questions, he responds.  Ask him more questions, he responds again. Not a whole lot of back and forth.  I can only imagine what tonight will be like.  If it’s like the exchange in email, guessing tonight I will pretend I’m a professional interviewer and will get him to just tell me some good stories.

Assuming actually has good stories…Bit of a wet noodle maybe?

Know what would be amazing?  If date #6 turned into date #sex.  Hey-o!  I made a lolz.  Because six and sex sound similar.  You chuckled.  Admit it.

Anyway, bought him the birthday card – a benign card that wouldn’t be over the top.  So what should I write in it?  Help a sister out and put your thoughts in the comments.  Don’t leave me hanging, yo.

 

Strike or strike out?

19 Feb

Welcome to Monday night.  Date night with eligible bachelor #5. I’m rolling in men.  ROLLING IN THEM!  Unfortunately, not rolling around with any of them.

Let’s first talk about my banging date outfit.  BANGING!  Rocked out the best dress ever.  The right amount of cleavage, hem a little above the knee, opaque black tights, super hot ankle booties.  Mascara.  On dates, we wear eye make up and mascara.  We dress like ultra sexy versions of ourselves – but not so sexy our dates assume we’ll end up on our backs at the end of the date. We do not dress like sluts and we do not show off everything we have, we merely hint at what might be on offer at some point.  The outfit was on the money.  So on the money, in fact, that I’d wear it AGAIN tomorrow if it wasn’t going to be so warm.

On my way to my date, after sending a quick text to #4, I popped into the shop to pick up a birthday card for date #6 which is tomorrow night.  Most of you who voted in the previous post approved of the idea.  If the date tomorrow goes south, it’s totally your fault.  If he doesn’t like the card, then he is a dick and can go fuck himself.

As per usual, I was the first one at the restaurant.  The creepy host/waiter sat me in a crowded part of the restaurant and proceeded to enjoy the view down my dress.  He was a creep.  #5 showed up a few minutes later.  He walked in the door and BAM absolutely nothing.  No spark, no disappointment, no nothing.  Okay, fine.  Let’s settle in and get ready for some wine.  He was nervous, I could tell, not like a hot mess nervous, just a bit awkward which kind of made me nervous a little and we tripped over words for a few minutes.  Exceptionally awesome since every fucking table around us probably knew exactly what was going on and was dropping eaves on this awkward exchanged.

We ordered our wine, and seemed to settle in, and then nothing.  Really not much to report after that.  It was fine.  It was kind of like a plain roast chicken breast.  Bland, and forgettable.  Like jackasses we ordered some super messy turkey wings (which were stupid messy).  Although I wasn’t feeling anything I decided that when it came time to walk to the bathroom that I was going to strut everything I had so he could watch me walk away from and to him.  Obviously I rocked his world.

He paid for dinner.  The host/waiter came back to thank us, extended his hand to shake mine, and stared right down my dress.  Because he’s a creep and because my rack looked amazing.  My date offered to drive/walk me home, I passed.

I’ve heard from him already.  I’m going to pass again.

Not disappointed at tonight’s outcome.  Maybe a bit confused.  I guess maybe a bit disappointed – more so because I’m left with these questions about myself and these strange signals I must be sending off and why it’s so hard to find someone with whom I’m compatible.

Here’s the big question floating around in mind: why do the ones I want not want me back, and the ones who want me I don’t want back?  What is the messed up thing that goes on in my brain where I send these jacked up signals that say, “come hither” to those I’d rather wander off, and “retreat!” to the ones who I want to come nearer?  Why am I attracted to the ones I can’t really have?  Is that some jacked up defense mechanism?

The date outfit was definitely a strike, and every single interaction I’ve ever had with a man is a strike out.  I don’t understand men.  Sometimes, I don’t understand myself either.

 

Do I, or Don’t I?

19 Feb

Okay, people, now’s your chance to give me a bit of advice here.

Found out today is the birthday of the guy I’m going to go out with tomorrow.  Should I get him a birthday card?  Like a funny one?

 

Line them up and knock them down

19 Feb

I’m the absolute worst at bowling.  Guaranteed to get a gutter ball at least 90% of the time, unless I can talk the people I’m playing with to let me use the bumper guards that fill up the gutters.  Then what happens is the bowling ball will hit the bumper guard and still manage to knock down jack shit.  I’m the asshole that has to swing the ball between her legs, granny style, and still manages to only get a few of the damned pins.  It’s embarrassing.

Dating has been a lot like bowling.  A whole lot of effort and I’ve barely scored (LOLZ, I cracked myself up).  The Tutor has been dismissed #4 is seducing me via text message, and I’ve got a whole lot of time on my hands.  What to do with so many free evenings?  Sure, I can hang out with Mr. Bojangles and clear out my Neflix queue, or I can go out with strangers and have awkward conversation over drinks.  Well, kids, guess who just lined up dates #5 and #6 for tonight AND tomorrow night?  Yours truly.

I enjoy the light banter with #5.  He has a son, knows a ton of languages, likes to travel, and loves the same kind of wine I do.  Win!  We’re going out for wine tonight.  If all else fails, at least I’ll be drinking wine on a Monday night.

Here’s what I know about #6: not a whole heck of a lot.  His profile is somewhat lean: he works in some kind of sales, isn’t married and doesn’t have kids, loves to cook, loves to be outdoors (like every single fucking guy who has an online profile), and he has a nice smile.  That’s about it.  We’ve got plans to go to a pretty nice restaurant, so if all else fails at least the food will be good.

Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised.  Maybe it will be horrifying.  You’ll have to stay tuned to find out!

Schooling The Tutor

18 Feb

Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile know that I’m dead inside. I don’t like feelings.  I like to repress them or eat them (or write to you about them).  I don’t like to express them and I abhor talking about them.  What I dislike even more is dealing with a guy who has more feelings than I have.  Deep down inside, I’m a horrible person.  There comes a point where someone expresses too many feelings and my cold dead heart gets super annoyed.  A guy wanting to talk about his feelings ad nauseam brings out my inner bitch.  No likey the low self esteem.  Yes, I totally suffer from low self esteem. I also have the common decency to not talk about it at the early stages of a relationship.  It’s not cute.  As it turns out, The Tutor is someone who suffers from Sensitive Guy Syndrome.

Earlier in the week I’d been messaging back and forth with him.  He had some questions for me, and was dancing around.  The dancing around was a bit annoying. I could tell he was interested in hearing about my past, but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.  Just ask the damn questions.  As far as I’m concerned, the past is in the past.  Based on the conversation we had, I discovered he is not a bonafide sex god.  The Tutor is less experienced than I am, which is a bummer when the other option is #4 who would choke me if I let him.  Whatever.  He asked when was the last time I had kissed someone else, and the hot make out sesh with #4 on Monday night (still swooning even though he’s a douche bag) immediately popped into my head.  “Within the last 2 weeks,” I responded.  Technically this is true.  He asked if I was still in touch with the guy, and I said yes. If you meet someone on the interwebs, more than likely they’re seeing other people – that’s the point.  Then The Tutor asked me to do him a favor, if I decided that I was going to go out with #4 again to let him know because he’d probably tap out. I promised I would.

Friday night I went out with The Tutor for a 3rd time.  He has a thing for airplanes so we decided it would be fun to meet at the airport for drinks.  Because, why not?  As I’ve previously mentioned, he’s a nice guy.  One that I wasn’t deeply attracted to.  He reminded me a bit of Disney who I used to work with at Investments r Us.  Disney was my work husband for a few years, and totally not someone I’d ever want to bang.  Like, ever.  So the fact that The Tutor reminded me of him should have probably served as a red flag, but obviously it didn’t.  The Tutor shows up in faded jeans that were too big for him and a leather jacket that could have fit the Incredible Hulk, I’ve never seen so much room in the arms of jacket before.  He kind of looked like he was a little kid who had borrowed his dad’s clothes to play dress up.  In the back of mind I said to myself, “I can work on the styling – don’t write him off for that.”

As we were having our drinks and dinner, he brought up how he was disappointed his life hadn’t turned out the way he thought it would.  He had wanted a marriage, family, and a job he loved, and he had none of those things.  He felt like somewhat of a failure and time was running out for him.  I told him that I too had had a different vision of what my life would be, and that though it hadn’t, I was still able to find the joy in what I did have.  He said he didn’t have any of that.  We then spent half an hour talking about how he hated his job, how little money he made, and how he didn’t think he’d be making a career change any time soon.

I felt so sorry for him.  Like so sad for him.  He was basically stuck, without seeing a way out.  Rather than thinking about the first steps he wanted to take to change his situation, he wallowed in it.  He said that it was too hard to change.  That’s a shitty place to be right there.  Open to therapy?  No, he’s not.  One of my annoying habits is finding a silver lining to everything.  Being with someone who spends most of their time being miserable is too draining, they suck the joy out of me.  That vortex of darkness, so to speak, is also not a place where you want to start a relationship.

AND THEN when the check came, we went dutch.  Date 3 was a 3 hour therapy session where I had to contribute to the payment to the therapist (me).  Are you feeling your ovaries and heart beating right now?  You thinking you might want to jump on him?  Because I sure wasn’t.  I would classify the evening as a relationship boner killer.

Kissing him at the end of the date was abysmal. Partly because of the technique, and partly because the whole night had been such of a downer.

My inner bitch thought about ghosting him, but I decided that was too cruel.  I was a mature human being about it – there’s a first time for everything.  Knowing suffers from Sensitive Guy Syndrome I thought long and hard of what to say, packed together a nice message, and off it went.  I told him I didn’t want to waste his time and that I didn’t think I wanted the same things he did, and he still had time to find them.  Go get ’em, Tiger.  I’m sure the right person is out there for him.  It’s just not going to be me.

The time has come to wish The Tutor fare thee well.  On to the next one…