The Gentle (?) Letdown.

My wild weekend of dating turned out to be somewhat of a bust. First the cancellation from the mistaken racist, and then a cancellation (blamed on a change of work schedule) by the second, who I would say I was most interested in meeting with (and not just because he's a bartender... only mostly because he's a bartender).

My third and only date remained steady, bless his little heart. We met for coffee today-- I arrived early and bought my own, because I am frankly feeling on the bitchy edge of anti-social off and on the past few weeks (I'm blaming a serious amount of stress all  at once, including a death in the family) and the thought of going through the "who will pay" dance made me cringe. I didn't think I could muster up enough fake gratitude for a cup of coffee to make it worthwhile.

He was nice, and he liked to talk, which worked out well for me since I've been more in the mood to glare and fester, but of course, as usual, there was no real interest on my part. The only thing I could arrange any enthusiasm for was our discussion of "Game of Thrones," which is my new obsession and a nice change from my conversations revolving around mutant sharks. I didn't even go into detail about my multitude of pets when he asked me, which is usually the topic of conversation that turns me into a warm-hearted tiny white Oprah.

And this picture is from when I gave him a bath! 

It was, as my friend termed it, the "Snore Date."

No rudeness on his part, just a general lack of compatibility. I was glad he talked, because unless my coffee magically transformed into a frosty brew, I didn't have the energy for feigning interest in the things he enjoys, and he didn't seem especially enamored of my own likes and dislikes, and was only lukewarm when I showed him a slideshow of my cats.

An hour into it, I was confident nothing was going to happen, and also hungry (bitchiness level: high), so I excused myself to go home and eat ( + sweatpants). The poor man checked his phone for the time.

"Oh, it's only been an hour? Feels like longer!"

Yes, it really did, but thanks for that flattering reminder. This earned its appropriate response from me... something between a sneer and a look of disgust, along with an acerbic concern I had bored him.

So, yeah...

I wasn't sure I'd hear from him after all of that, but I did a few hours later, thanking me for the date and asking to grab a drink another time.

I set my phone aside. I pondered. I forgot about it and watched "True Blood." I remembered. I worried. I watched more television and did laundry.

While most agree I am perfection (statistics show), one criticism I do get from those that know me and know of my dating routines is that I avoid letting men down in the worst possible way.

To me, this is utter kindness, with only a strong dash of cowardice.

"Wouldn't you want to know?" My friend says.

NO. I would not want to know. Absolutely not. I've touched on this before and I reiterate it. In casual dating situations (exceptions may exist based on how "casual" I consider the situation), I would rather assume (and hope) that the man in question died a tragic death on the way home from our date--possibly running his car into the river because he was lost in thought about how marvelous I am and didn't see that a freak storm had washed the bridge out, yonder--rather than that he found some part of me lacking.

Especially on such short acquaintance, when I work so hard for them to not notice all the Crazy I've swept under the rug. On first dates, I'm at my best. I'm charming, more or less. I'm pretending to care about your job and your interests.

I showered.

So what is the problem? Is it my crooked smile? Is it that one of my jokes came off wrong? Is it that I blurt out things before I can consider them? Do you not like an in-depth critical analysis of "Sharktopus?"

*eye twitch*

We've all got our tragic flaw, and mine is that I want that to be good enough... for everyone. I can't become prettier, or more interesting, or pretend to enjoy things I don't.

It is what it is.

But I like it, and if someone else doesn't... well, honestly, I don't want to know about it. Let's just gradually lose touch and pretend we don't know each other when we see one another on the street. That was I can go on thinking the problem is your sexual confusion, and nothing to do with me.

When I consider rejection of another, all I can think is of how I would feel in their place... how I am reducing them to a shivering glob of insecurity by my cold, heartless disinterest.

I spoke with them, I looked at them, and I found them lacking, or unappealing.

 How dare I? Who the fuck do I think I am? I DON'T GOT TO CHANGE FOR NOBODY!!

Apparently, though, this is not how the rest of the world thinks. Not everyone is on my level of defiant desperation. General consensus is: if you don't want to go out with a guy again... he should probably know that.

I can only change my phone number so many times. The kind thing to do is to cut ties, move on, and get a new phone in case they drunk text and make me feel bad.

So tonight I made the effort to man up. After a few hours of putting it off (fantasies of "how could you, you bitch? I loved you!" popping up on my screen), I had my first experience with gently rejecting someone I had gone on a date with.

I'm gonna need a bigger mug.

I did the best I could, using honesty and smiley faces and every other method of kindness I can portray via text. I told him I had a good time. I told him I just didn't feel the specific (nearly unobtainable) connection I was looking for... which was totally my fault, fer shor I'm practically dead inside. I told him I'd love to hang out as friends, which is true (he has all the DVD seasons of "Game of Thrones"). I threw in some more emoticons.

I have not heard back yet, so I assume he has killed himself.