Trial & Error

I’m sure you’ve been on pins and needles wondering how my date went. Right?
Yeah, I didn’t think so, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.

That particular date, and the few that followed have gone extremely well. We met for drinks last Friday, talked non-stop, had dinner and drinks that Sunday, he cooked me a HelloFresh dinner on Wednesday, we went to the Greek Festival on Friday and we played with Baby goats at a local farm and tasted mead on Sunday. He’s very pleasant company… and extremely interesting. However, I’m just not that into him. ūüė¶

Side Note: I read that book a long time ago when “ghosting” first became the norm. Looking back, I can’t believe I thought I needed a book to help me crack the guy code. If they were any more transparent, they’d be windows.

Looking back on the lists I gave my matchmaker (the list of desirable qualities and the list of deal-breakers) I can totally understand why this guy was selected. He’s done some stuff. He’s lived. And he’s a RockStar at his very interesting and technical job (Drone Scientist). At 39, he’s been married, lived all over the country, has 3 kids, was a “Boylesque” (think male burlesque) dancer, a roller derby racer (evidently they let guys do that too in some places), does Crossfit and is excited about his upcoming participation in the Spartan Race. This seems to only be the tip of the iceberg. When I told her I wanted to meet someone “Interesting,” she hit the nail on the head.

Problem is, I’m starting to wonder how much of this crazy narrative is actually true.

Of course there’s more. I only find myself physically attracted to him after I’ve had a few cocktails. This is probably the biggest issue. And although I owe him nothing, I feel awful about it. While he sends me texts saying “I think you are amazing” I’m on the other end, full of doubt and fear.

Last night I told him he was sweet, because he is. This was his response, “Sweet is good… but what about sexy?” I froze. For a second I thought about what I found sexy… what people I found sexy and why. It occurred to me that when a guy referred to me as sexy, he clearly wanted to have sex with me. I was so far away from that thought, I had no idea how to respond.

I had a panic attack the day we’d planned to go to the Greek Festival. I felt suffocated and couldn’t slow my heartbeat no matter how I tried. But I let him pick me up regardless, because he was so excited to go.

I noticed that after I got in the car, when I said anything, he would either try to finish my sentences or talk over me. It was like he was so nervous around me that he needed Ritalin. It was exhausting and I’d already had a tiring week. I tried to explain what was going on in my head, but all that came out was, “Sometimes, you’re a bit much.” I immediately beat myself up internally for being such a bitch.

He sends me a thank you text after every date and wants to spend more time with me than I have. It isn’t long after one date ends that he starts asking for another. Then the panic sets in. It struck me that if I was as enthusiastic about him as he was about me, this wouldn’t be problematic.

It hasn’t been long, but after the first weekend, I began to question myself. I think it’s important when you’re uncomfortable in any situation to ask yourself why… and what you can do about it.

That first weekend, he texted me NON-STOP… so much so that everything I did was interrupted, if not spoiled by the constant messaging. I started to feel the walls closing in. By that Monday, I didn’t want to be around people at all. I told him “the constant texting is problematic.” He slowed it to a crawl. It was a few days before I felt comforable again.

I couldn’t sleep last night and today I’m having another panic attack. I’m finally hearing what my body is telling me. It always sucks when you know you’re going to hurt someone, but it’s always better to rip off the band-aid quickly and just be honest. Even though the message is unpleasant, the receiver will respect you more for being forthcoming.

In this process I asked myself the toughest question of all, “Is it me?” “Is there something wrong with me?” I’m sure the list is long, but most likely a lot shorter than most. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with me, and I think that’s the crux of it. I don’t need a guy. If I meet someone who complements or adds to my life, THAT‘s when I’ll know it’s right. It’s not selfish to do what you need to do for yourself.

So I will.

(to be continued)

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Excerpts from Guyvile

I once dated a guy who told me that his mother would ask him what was wrong with me if he told her I’d never been married at my age… instead of taking into account the fact that he lived in a small, sterile apartment with walls covered in photographs or artwork of nude or partially nude women. In lieu of a sofa, he had an over-sized bean bag chair that he insisted I run in and jump on as soon as I walked in the door. I refused. This was probably another¬†strike against me. The place was so sterile that I was almost afraid to touch or move anything. Seriously. It was “serial killer sterile.” No clutter, no stray hairs, no implements left in plan view, not even a remote control or a fruit bowl, only the most pristine of surfaces… In hindsight, I probably should have checked the freezer for severed heads on my way out.

He was a programmer of some sort and a freelance photographer. As you could guess, his preference was to separate women from their clothing before photographing them. This, among so many other things, didn’t sit well with me. Walking into an apartment with walls covered in¬†naked bodies is as intimidating for a grownup as walking¬†into a dorm room strewn with¬†centerfolds is for a co-ed.

And as if that weren’t enough, he had this¬†tendon on his jaw that¬†attached to his eyelid. This meant that when you were sitting directly across from him at a table, he could be looking down at his food and simultaneously looking AT YOU. The tendon would pull his eye open and closed as he chewed. It was the epitome of creepy. Since our breakup, I now refer to him (not so affectionately) as “Poe.”

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture –a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees –very gradually –I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
– Edgar Allan Poe “The Tell-Tale Heart”


Flash-forward to just last week.

Drag-Makeup Guy was a problematic over-texter. I probably set an unfair precedent by responding fairly quickly, so when I turned my attention to anything other than him, he started to ask what was wrong when I didn’t respond immediately. This only increased my lag time.

He also liked to use really big words. Usually I very much appreciate this in a counterpart, HOWEVER, he did it CONSTANTLY. This, coupled with his I-know-more-big-words-than-you-nyah-nyah attitude ended up sabotaging him more often than not since he lacked the skill of properly using most of his large vocabulary in a sentence.

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The weekend of our ONE DATE, I had stayed out late on a Sunday (which I very seldom do) to catch a concert. I was dead on my feet the next day and couldn’t wait to get home to rest. He couldn’t stop texting. But in the subtext of the texts he seemed to be scolding me for being out on a school night in the first place. I’d only known him a few days at best, so I found this odd and decided to mention my discomfort. He didn’t take this well. We exchanged a few text pleasantries in the days that followed and then the texts stopped altogether… for about 2 weeks. I turned my attention to all the things that needed doing and did them, not giving him a second thought.

That Monday was the beginning of a very busy week. Out of the blue he texted “You still alive?” I didn’t respond. I was fighting a cold, cooking dinner for my parents 3 nights that week, squeezing in an exercise class and attending the citizen’s police academy. He could wait.

Evidently he couldn’t.

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And evidently my auto-correct likes to change TIME to THE ME when I fat-finger something similar in a text message. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Besides, he deleted me anyway. What a relief!


My friend Lisa attempted to set me up with a guy she knows. It appears that she thought highly of him because he passed himself off as a big time music promoter and all-around hot shot. In real life, he lives with his mom, works in a furniture store, and thinks so highly of himself that he throws himself a birthday party each year and hires¬†mildly successful bands just so he can charge admission and call it the “Social Event of the Year.” It isn’t. In fact, I’d never even heard of it… or him for that matter. The crowd he runs in is rife with leathery, weather-beaten ex-rocker types determined to recapture whatever glory they can siphon¬†from their hard-rockin youth. He’s right at home at the center of this, still living out his big hair 80’s dream complete with¬†bedazzled jeans and Ed Hardy shirts.

I’m not exactly sure why Lisa¬†thought this would work out.

He was very tall, long legs and a short torso that carried a large beer belly. If you asked me his body shape, I’d say “Lollipop?” He made a point of telling me that he had Diabetes right up front, which is no laughing matter, but he seemed to not take it seriously. Then he made a point of telling me that he could control it if he wanted to, but for now he’s just taking daily insulin shots because he doesn’t have time to deal with it. When he told me he drank sweet tea and ate donuts for breakfast and mostly only had time for fast food, I tried to educate him about the importance of protein & how easy it would be to substitute a protein bar or shake. He turned up his nose like a small child at the idea.

We went on one good date, on Valentine’s Day, to which he wore an old sweater that reeked of body odor and bad cologne with really worn-out jeans. (Did I mention that he took me to a really nice restaurant which was only serving prix fixe? He said he’d brought a suit with him, but he arrived too late to change into it. *Insert audible groan here*) The date was brief and pleasant, which most first dates are.

Then we went on one bad date, but because since he was Lisa’s friend I was really trying to see some redeeming qualities in him. However, in the meantime, he would text me so furiously that I hardly had time for anything else. (Now you see why I’m not fond of over-texters.)

We were NOT a match. The way he saw the world and the way I saw the world were such opposite perspectives. But it was difficult to get rid of someone who kept driving 2 hours to see you. When our last date ended rather abruptly, I was just relieved it was over. A few hours later the barrage of texts began again and I blocked him. No point in beating a dead horse. Move on Buddy.

A few weeks later, Lisa told me to unblock him on my phone and social media because he wanted to apologize. I figured I’d never hear the end of it until I did, so…

He texted, apologized, then went around and around baiting me for an apology. I responded, “Sincere apologies expect nothing in return.” What followed was the absolute meanest text vomit I have ever received in my life.

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I save those¬†for days when I’m feeling just a little too big for my britches and need to be knocked down a few pegs.

I think it’s time to just delete all of it now.

chill-homie