Yeeeeah.

So The Texter never made it to a second date. I feel like I saw this coming, but I was sort of enjoying the attention for once, for a brief, darling period. Then I realized it was too much attention. Holy crap.

Here's the deal: he is a really sweet guy, and damn but if he isn't the cutest stinkin' thing. Maybe, though, a little too sweet. A lot too sweet? Too much, just... too much.

True story.

If you have any sense of self worth, you're probably recognizing the flaws of that statement. Indeed, I am literally beginning to question if there is something deeply skewed in my idea of romance at this point. I'm pretty sure I get a bigger thrill from cancelling a date than going on one because if I put on my good make-up and the date doesn't go well, I legitimately feel cheated because that shit ain't cheap.

Even my best friend was on this guy's side. He just likes me. A lot. That's something to pity, not fear.

Okay, but...

The day after our date, he bought me a stuffed animal. Not like he won it at a fair in my honor, but still. I tried to tell myself it was a cute gesture, but you know what I really don't need at this point in my life? Stuffed animals. I have like 60 real ones shedding on my bed and pooping right as I'm about to eat. What I really need is someone to take animals from me.

Then there was the texting. So, so much texting. Again, I reminded myself that, while in a long-distance relationship, texting was extremely important to me. If he wasn't texting me, I assumed that he was probably flirting with someone thinner and prettier and with lower moral standards (Side note: I have since been reassured by others suffering through long-distance relationships that this is, unfortunately, normal behavior). So shouldn't I be grateful that this man was making a serious effort to keep in touch with me at all moments of the day including when he knows I am asleep?

Okay, but Texter lives like... 30 minutes away, tops. I don't really know him so I don't really care what he's doing.... but isn't he at work? What the hell -- 7 missed alerts? And that funny picture is sort of racist.

I was going to respond but I took a nap instead.

Additionally, he wanted to plan a second date as soon as possible... Okay, not a bad thing. He liked me a lot and he wants to spend time with me.The issue came when I wouldn't commit to scheduling a third date as well. No, I am not planning my week around seeing you as much as possible. We hung out once.

I hedged my way out of that one without having to blatantly tell him it was more of my time than I was willing to give to someone I barely know. He did, after all, remind me a few times he has been off the dating scene for a while, and was rusty. He would gently remind me of this when I started to seem irritated, which was kind of a lot, and I would take a deep breath and remember that I am kind of a nutcase and should be sympathetic to other awkward daters.

But the next incident pushed me over the edge.

Since I was sick and couldn't hang out, he asked me to help him decide what to do on his day off.

I'm not sure why this annoyed me so much. I guess I feel like people who are pushing thirty should be able to make their own decisions about what to do with their free time. Again--I don't know you. I don't know what you like to do, and honestly, if I'm not involved, I couldn't give a rat's ass. If a decision in any way involves my happiness, please just assume that I will make it. Lay the options before me and accept that we'll be doing whatever it is that suits me best and that it probably involves cocktails... but if I'm not participating, I could not possibly care less how you're spending your day. Now leave me alone so I can watch this Psych marathon.

But he couldn't just let that go. He was insistent that, as a writer, as an adventurer, and as a woman and thus by nature opinionated, I should be jumping to make choices for him. Strange that now I'm taking the damn reins, whereas previously, I was "needy" and cute like a little animal for being sick.

I can be your mommy or your kid, dude, I can't be both... and also that's disgusting and I don't want to be either.

Somewhere along the lines he threw in a Princess Bride "As you wish," which maybe I am taking way too literally as a Princess Bride fan but did you just tell me that you love me?

Oh. Um... 

So, I told Texter that I think we are looking for different things in a partner. I was informed, very quickly, that I had misinterpreted his intentions, and he was just looking for a friend.

I've gotten this one before. It seems to be a knee-jerk reaction to rejection. I once had a man try to give me a fifteen minute talk on why, when he asked to buy me a drink at the bar and I told him I wasn't interested, I should be open to accepting friendship from strangers and less inclined to assume a man asking to buy me a drink at a bar is a romantic (sexual) overture... and did I have some animosity issues toward men?

Strangers.

Really? Just friends. Then why don't you go and buy that dude over there a drink? Let's just say frankly that your odds of going home with him are way more promising.

Maybe I'm speaking for myself here but do women do that?

If I hit on you and you reject me, I'm not going to pretend I wasn't hitting on you while mentally naming our future children. I'm just going to call you a dick and resent you. No big deal.

How about in a month or two? I can wait. 

Oh, and tell the story to my closest friends who will also act shocked at your horrible dickish behavior and offer me possibly reasoning for his decision.

Such as: He wants to love me... but it scares him how much better that him I am!
My beauty is really intimidating.
No, the girl with him in that picture is in no way more attractive than me; he is just covering his regret. Also she's a whore.

Yes, thank you, I would like more wine while you come up with more totally true statements.

So after that, I guess I'll probably Facebook stalk for a week waiting for any sign of a change of heart, and finally when that fails, I'll just resume my desperate love for celebrities who can never hurt or disappoint me and thus make the ideal crush. Like you're so great. If I'm a bird he will be a fucking bird too.

And isn't that the mature way to handle things?

So, anyway. The good news is that I deal with romantical disappointment by becoming immediately more thrilled that I am single and completely independent.

I go for a run. I admire myself in the mirror and applaud myself for being a strong, intelligent woman who knows her own mind. I have a glass (bottle) of wine and consider texting men I know do NOT want to hear from me. I cry over a few Jane Austen movies. I remind myself that the best revenge is living well-- as in, being more successful than the people you hate so you can rub it into their stupid faces. I dwell on that one guy I met in Indianapolis I was convinced was my soul mate and will never see again (Because I stalked him and he found out).

Whoops.

Thus, I return to the loving fleece-lined embrace of my sweatpants, and life is good again.

The bow tie makes this class out the ass.

Long story short

This will be a very short blog post, and so I shall make the font very large so you do not feel cheated. 

I went out with the Texter for a movie and drinks (Do NOT see "Admission," as a side note. Longest seven hours of my life), and you know what? It went well. I had a good time. 

He is, shockingly enough, just as cute as his pictures (super duper cute). 

He is funny in person, and less button-pushy (this is where facial expressions come in handy. When I make a face... stop that joke, quickly change subject). 

Any strangeness or awkwardness I think could easily be attributed to first date jitters, rather than a deep personality flaw. 

His compliments were really unique and said in a very genuine manner that I found refreshing. Also, I love compliments. Lay 'em on.

He was also terrified of "Ernest Scared Stupid." I don't want to use the term "soulmate," but... damn.

My mother called twice and texted twice, concerned because for once I had not rushed home after a date. We both admitted that neither one of us had actually expected to have a good time. What a pleasant surprise. 

I had a good enough time with him that we are planning to go out again soon. Like real planning, not where I say I had a good time and then just gradually start ignoring his texts until he takes the hint (which has NOT worked on HugsnKissez, who texted me out of the blue again today even after I apparently broke his heart).  

Therefore, no very detailed blog post, I'm afraid. Let's see if he makes it past date two (he'll be the groundbreaker!) first. 

I'm also very tired, because cute men suck the energy out of me like you wouldn't believe. I used up all my clever. It's hard work being charming and maintaining your most flattering angle for hours on end while your every shy-girl instinct is telling you to run away and put your hair back in a ponytail where it belongs.

G'night. <3

Well played. Let's see how you do on round two, Guy Who Texts Me A Lot...

Utter Disappointments

I haven't updated in a while, for which I apologize. In my defense I think I have officially hit the scummy bottom of the barrel... and it stinks like dead dreams and illiteracy. 

Seriously. If you ever want to feel bad about yourself.... like scrubbing-with-bleach-while-you cry-in-the-shower-knowing-any-sense-of-feeling-clean-again-is-a-futile-endeavor disgusting... join Plenty of Fish. 

Last week I officially deleted my profile. 

The first few offer for sex, threesomes, or other various, more unique perverted escapades were rather funny. However, the sheer amount of horror coming into my inbox by this time has caused my ovaries to shrivel up in self defense. My vagina has hung up the "Closed For Business" sign and is rocking in the corner with a Bible.

Things stopped being funny, and just became insulting, disgusting, and intentionally rude. 

For example: lose interest in a guy you've talked to a few times because he, say, proposed marriage? He'll just bombard your inbox, and when you don't respond, start sending you messages I can only describe as "rapey." 

According to his profile he works in law enforcement, so that's comforting knowledge.

Dear Every Guy I Know...

What really put me over the edge was yet another offer to "go down on me." I'm not really sure why guys make this offer thinking women are going to leap up and down with delight over it. They dole them out like they're doing us a favor... because they want to do us a favor. 

Dude: If you need practice, go to the farmer's market and buy yourself some soft fruits. I don't want to be involved on the low level of your learning curve.

Anyway. By the time I've read this message, I've had about three head-shakers, and I'm done. I sharply inform him that if he had bothered to read my profile (which has a pretty strongly worded recommendation that people only looking for a hook-up should look elsewhere), he would know that I am not interested in him putting his mouth or anything else anywhere near my poor, protesting lady bits. 

Well, he had looked at my profile, he told me, with smugness that does not have any place coming from a boy with that ugly a mug. But it is a unique offer, he added, and I had seemed like I was reasonable enough to accept it. 

Are you. Fucking kidding me. 

I let off a little steam informing this toity sonofabitch about how "unreasonable" I really am (muthafuckah!), and deleted my profile.

So I've been doing some reading on this phenomena called "negging," that is in no way new but has recently been given a cool wacky moniker so apparently it's mainstream now. Is this what has been going on? 

Respect, Reshpleckt. More Scotch!

For sure it's been used on me multiple times, and I can see where it can be effective. Because it makes you feel like crap. And when you feel like crap you want to desperately seek out that man and FORCE HIM TO ADORE YOU because otherwise, you're not really as pretty or drunkly hilarious as you thought you were, despite everyone else at the party insisting you're a delight.

But, even if it makes me feel fucking terrible (what's so wrong with meeee??), I'm not a shy 18 year old wandering a frat party while some dude tells my my friend is hot but I'm just "eh," so do I want to take a ride on his motorcycle? True story. 

I won't even go into a feminist rant about how much this annoys me, but I had multiple Women's Studies discussions that boiled down to this same situation... which I now know goes by the hideous term of "negging" (Probably named thus because it sounds like "leggings," and thus girls will think it's cute and want to wear it with Uggs and a Northface jacket tee hee!). 

Ladies, please do not ever fall for this cheap-ass douchebag crap. By his logic, you're too physically attractive for him, so he needs to make you feel uglier. We already have the popular media for that. This is like giving a dog a treat for biting you.

Bring booze!

Anyway, to resume. 

I switched back over to OKC, because the boys may be less attractive but no one has asked when he can put it in my booty, so I figure that's an improvement. 

Currently, I am on the fence about the latest interest. He's super duper cute, and we had a great conversation, but when it switched to text, things got iffy. Mostly because he doesn't just send me one text... he sends me four. I put the phone down to pee and I've got like seven pages of missed texts to wade through... though, to be fair I do take forever to pee.

......... g2g ttyl.

His sense of humor borders on immature, as does every sense of humor on every man I've even considered dating as of late. At least once in a while he'll throw something out that impresses me, so I know that he has the full capacity to be clever... but he'd rather try to think of a funny nickname for me despite my telling him, no, never ever give me a nickname. 

Again, it is the confusing conundrum of Boymen--they look like men, but they want to give you a purple nurple (HAHA BOOBIES) and stay out all weekend binge drinking and smoking weed around the coffee table. 

I'm 26 years old, dammit. I do my binge drinking inside, in the basement, like every other normal adult.

Summary: At the rate things have been going, I'm pretty content being single. 

-No one is telling me not to get more cats. I can get as many damn cats as I want, and no one can stop me except city ordinance if a noise complaint is received. 

-I can eat the entire bag of stir-fry "dinner for two" from the supermarket all by meself. That bag does not feed two people. That bag is lunch and I'm still hungry I do NOT WANT TO SHARE.

-I can watch "The Nanny" for seven hours a day without complaints, and no one can stop me except city ordinance if a noise complaint is received. 

-The highlight of my month can be that the sweatpants I wanted went on clearance at Meijer, and it's only sad if I make it sad. 

-When I wake myself up in the middle of the night with farting, no one else is disturbed. Except the cats.

-I no longer need to subject myself to the irritation that is eyebrow tweezing.  

And I feel pretty darn good about myself!