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Archive for the ‘Date from Hell’ Category

I hit the pause button. I didn’t delete my profile, I just deactivated it. The idea of dating right now is exhausting and NOT in that fun and thrilling kind of way. The slew of douche bags (hello fiscally conservative guy who feels put upon by the poor), Utopian seeking (hola neuro surfing Aussie who wants pretty smiles and hot kisses BUT no real life), frigid/fickle-tons (flirting in the last 5 seconds of the date and kissing me ONLY then and never touching me… if you like me, touch me, if you don’t, stop calling me…PLEASE), with crazy ex’s (turns out Virginia’s ex was the cause of his flake…and I thank him, as she might have boiled all of my neighbors pets in a Glenn Close move, had he and I actually successfully gone out again)…. has broken me. I’m broken.

With my stalled career, lack of true income, unresolved health issue, and general malaise regarding being 37 and farther behind than I feel I should…I just can’t fake the dating right now. All I have the energy for is the comfort of old dances and familiar hands, as much as you may disagree, it’s the one solace I have at the moment, and it’s good that it came around when it did, because this is what I need.

 

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I talked to him a couple times on line. Thought he seemed endearing, sorta like a puppy crossed with Anthony Edwards from the early ER era. So, I agreed to a last minute date with the Financier. Little did I know…

Well, let us see, he walks in wearing one of those “duster” over coats with the flaps, black, over a dress shirt and jeans with brown shoes and … a little black bowler hat that has a satin flower on it (should I tell him it’s a womans hat?). Then, he tells me that his ex girlfriend was ridiculous because she did homeopathy on her dog (!! yes, I ran a holistically minded sustainable pet business asshole). Then he says how dare poor people have access to subsidized housing because if HE can’t afford to live in a place that good, neither should they.

Then … oh, lets see, I think I stopped him from his constant talk of self long enough to say, so, are you fiscally conservative… and he said, of course… as if it is normal and EVERYONE is, to which I said, ” yeah, so I’m a socialist.”

THEN he says that he can tell on the profiles on line that women into sports are uneducated because they just “did some college and not advanced degrees” and that “women who haven’t done advanced degrees are more likely to be about plastic cups of beer and blue collar life than….”

Meanwhile my inner dialogue:

and oh yeah, BTW … I did not go to college asshole. So, I’m a socialist, former business owner, high class, design snob, well dressed and cared for homeopathic follower who waxes her pussy and you will NEVER get to see it because you are a short sighted judgemental fuck.

Bam, date over.

Ahem, so there is that.

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Friday night I called in a lifeline. I was having a drink with a date that I had already known walking in was a bad idea. Widowed less than 6 months ago by a depressive suicidal wife who took her own life, he was vulnerable,  awkward, and also the epitome of software nerd. This guy, I knew he wasn’t a match, but yet, how do you cancel on someone who’s wife od’d on vicodin just months earlier, leaving behind a confused man and two young boys? You don’t. You go.

So: In the hour I was with him, he didn’t notice, nor offer to go to the bar and get me a drink, as he absent mindeldy just drank his as I stood there without anything in MY hand. He didn’t ask me if/what I wanted. He just struggled for words to fill the spaces. He likes video games and PBS reality shows about pioneering. He awkwardly interjected and introduced himself into conversations with friends I’d run into before I had the opportunity to get to that point in the greeting.  We aren’t talking 5 minutes here. Maybe 45 seconds. He complimented me on my blouse and then asked WHERE I got it. Umm, where I got it? Are you really interested in WHERE I got it? And he can’t follow social cues on where a conversation is heading, instead he forces it into a place that he’s wanting it to live. Sigh. I couldn’t do it, it was painful, both to watch and be involved in, so I politely bailed out.

I then ran into a newish friend and we shared some Indian food and a few cocktails while chatting about men and their foibles.

The night before… I had a great date. Sandwiched between the Man-Child cancellation and the Awkward Widower was a brilliant handsome Aussie who surfs. We are heading out again tonight, a walk with the pup, then a bit of spaghetti western and cocktails. Perfect.

 

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I guess it is my fault for even considering him to begin with. There was something boyish and scruffy about him , something funny and snarky, something different, I guess. So, I made the date.

My first warning sign should have been the… You plan it and tell me when and where. Umm, no. You want to take me out… YOU plan it.

Then, in rapid succession came every reason and flaming red flag ever needed:

He works a job he isn’t passionate about yet he isn’t strategizing a next move. He’s content with mediocrity.

When I responded past a text of his with two other flirty texts later in the day, his response was to ask if I had Verizon, because he doesn’t have unlimited texts. Way to respond to a hot girl text flirting with you buddy.

The night before our date it became clear that he hadn’t considered planning it when he said, so I’m thinking Chinese cause of your allergy. Um, I can’t do Chinese… Other than pizza and beer it’s one of the worst choices for me. Then he says, well, how about Mexican? To which I respond that it can sometimes be okay but that he should just pick a place and call them and ask whether they can accommodate my allergy. Then, as if he isn’t listening, I realized his third choice  showed the bigger issue motivating his picks, he’s cheap. He chose a vegan/veg place that is really only known for their pizzas. I mentioned that vegan places use gluten as their meat substitutes and rely on bread and pasta as mainstays in the meal. “So, eat vegetables then.” That’s what he said. Hey, way to show a girl a good time.

At 33, he lives with his parents and couldn’t answer the question regarding his exit timeline and strategy.

So, dread dread dread. I cancelled a few hours before, with an excuse regarding work, because I felt it was kinder than the truth. In the end, his response was brilliant, for a man-child.  “That’s too bad, because I was looking forward to our date.  You ruined my day and I’m mad at you for it.” IF I had actually been caught up at work, he just secured himself supportive asshole of the year award and no chance in hell of a redo.

He reminded me of that Chris Elliot show Get A Life when he was a 30 yr old paper boy living above his parent’s garage. Perhaps our date would have ended with my finding out that he stole his dad’s car and was actually unlicensed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQolt4lI4wM

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So, I am wondering about all of your dates that could have been potentially dangerous. Scenarios in which the men, or women, weren’t what they said. Either they were married, had criminal records, didn’t want to take no for an answer, etc. You can all answer anonymously, but I am curious because Type Geek is intent on calling me nuts and psychotic for running background checks.  Not financial histories mind you, just basic name, age and criminal record. The more friends and colleagues I run this by, the more women tell me horror stories and men are on the fence. The men say that they would feel violated, however, if you are telling the truth, where is the violation? If you aren’t, shouldn’t the woman feel violated? Type Geek’s response stinks of the old “blame the victim” game. 

So, please readers, I’m interested in your horror stories. By sharing, you may enlighten many people’s eyes out there.

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I’m in Boston. There, I admit it. Some of you have guessed, and over time, I have grown bored of hiding that fact. With that said, it hasn’t ever been a huge part of my blog, nor will it become so. I am fessing up however, because I was on my friend Bella’s radio show this evening and also met up with a new friend, who I met through my blog. Southie Single, as she is known, is awesome. Witty, attractive, intelligent, a great catch in a city full of douche bags. So, she and I decided to meet for a drink and commiserate over our dating woes.

Certain neighborhoods of our city are known for their residents interesting take on class and tradition. Southie Single and I sat at the bar of one such bistro, a place I adore, a brunch worth devouring, and cocktails so well-balanced that they feel as if they were without a creation, but that they just always were. So, here we are, sitting at this tiny bar in this tiny bistro in a quiet neighborhood of affluent bitchiness when a nice young gentleman approached and asked if he could sit in the empty seat between ourselves and an older woman to our right. All started politely. Us bloggers drank our cocktails and ate our salad and flourless chocolate cake while I eavesdropped on the conversations around us. The bartender made a comment about a dog and the solo gentleman commented that he didn’t have one, to which I chimed in that every man needs a dog. He said that his place was too small and felt that dogs didn’t belong in an apartment, to which my response was that there are so many dogs that live in kennels at the shelter, a small city apartment would be a far better alternative. Then the older woman started rambling on about how dogs do not belong in the city and how her neighbors have dogs  whom she would like to poison. POISON?!! She spoke with a contrived english accent, the type that seems to be crafted for the sole purpose of exaggerating her elitism.

Southie Single and I chuckled at the absurdity of the woman. Her beliefs in a true divided class made me delight in the idea of her departure from this planet. I know that is perhaps cruel, and I joke about it in a way in which I would never truly mean. I wish not for her death, truly, but perhaps for her to be maimed and lose her voice so she can no longer leave her home and spout her poisonous barbs.  At some point she got up to speak with some older men to the other side of Southie Single and I, perhaps in a hope that they followed her beliefs. We chatted up our solo diner and laughed in unison and solidarity over the nonsense that had occurred. We then said goodnight to him and I offered to walk Southie Single over to a department store for the winter hat she sorely needed since snow is predicted tomorrow.

After a few minutes in the store I was able to convince her to join me on Bella’s radio show, as the station was around the corner. The topic was bloggers and dating sites and while Southie Single originally felt she wouldn’t say much, eventually she opened up. The hilarity that occurred however was in she and I realizing that I had met and ALMOST gone out with her worst date in history. A man who felt porn was an instruction manual for dating and while he had a beautiful voice and was a great replicator of others music, he was, an utter self-centered incredible douche bag. Not at all deserving in any woman baring herself for him, as he was unfairly critical and had beyond what are appropriate levels of self-confidence. He considered himself a teacher, when he had so much more to learn. All I needed to do was write down one name as she was talking about him and she started to laugh hysterically as we realized that in fact we were thinking of the same man.

Moments like that make me thankful for Type Geek. He may be a lot of things, including 15oo miles away in the snowy mountains of Wyoming with the boys on a big wilderness trip, but he isn’t an utter douchebag. He is, however, an adorably scrumptious package of tush…and I haven’t gotten laid in a while due to logistics with our schedules. That MUST happen within hours of his return or I am afraid that my clit, the bitch that she is, will atrophy and fall off. I don’t think my insurance covers that.

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The last few days have been rather interesting. If you have been reading chronologically, you already know that I finally got laid. Well, Mr. Bratty McLawyer is worse than any goddamn lesbian I ever dated. We had sex Wednesday night, Thursday I had errands and at one point he texted me and asked what I was doing, I explained that I was at a specialty grocery store. Now, just because this store is in his neighborhood, does NOT mean he should come and surprise me. Maybe he was so enamored by our mutual lack of orgasms that he needed to see me again, less than 12 hours from when he dropped me off at my home. So, he surprised me by turning a corner and appearing. Cute-ish, I guess. Now, the next day, I spent several hours consoling my ex girlfriend who is in an AWFUL relationship. After such an exhausting conversation with her there was a great need for a relaxing bath and the huge macaroon I had bought the night before. Stripped down, I stepped in. Within 45 seconds of settling into the tub and shoving a huge piece of the macaroon into my mouth, a text message came through.  Bratty McL was checking in, wondering what I was doing. Just stepped into a nice relaxing hot bath I replied. What are YOU doing, I asked back. His response aggravated the living hell out of me. “About to join you in the bath” he replied. Umm, wtf? Huh? THEN my buzzer rang. Are you fucking kidding me? Who comes over without an invitation?! I ended up getting out of the tub, dressing, and walking over to a local bar for a cocktail. Now, aside from the fact that he showed up uninvited, and pulled me from a relaxing soak, when the bill came, he had me chip in for my one cocktail.  Hmm, you think you might be able to buy me an $8 cocktail when you inconvenience me? Maybe? Grrr. Finally I get to go home…alone. Hours late, and not in the mood, he shows up on-line and starts instant messaging me. I had considered going out to a huge arts event that night, but after feeling run down and bombarded by other peoples psychic drama, the idea of a large group of strangers was less than appealing. I was bored though, so I strolled the online sites and found a deadly handsome man, who had just relocated from Barcelona, to chat with. He looked like a cross between Bradley Cooper and Ralph Fiennes and was utterly charming. As Mr. Cooper Fiennes and I were discussing meeting up the following day, I was trying to end my chat with Bratty McLawyer. I told him I was going to bed, he then asked to call me, so that he could say hear me say goodnight. Ugh, GAG. I told him that my phone was charging in the other room and that I was unable to call him at the moment, so a virtual goodnight would have to do. I could hear his whining tone in the way he typed his disappointed, “fine, okay, goodnight then.”  He is needy AND annoying. The self-righteous and condescending attitude hasn’t disappeared. After knowing that I love trip hop AND that I have numerous friends who are DJ’s, he suggested that surely I don’t really like DJ’s, since I appreciate serious musicians like Pat Methany? I must be joking.  Ok, now you must go away. Really?! So, electronic music ISN’T music now?! Really? Goodnight Bratty.

The next day I had an appointment across the river. I texted Cooper Fiennes to let him know that I would be out of my meeting by 2:30, if he was interested in grabbing a coffee then. The weather was amazing and the idea of great conversation on a patio with an attractive man was splendid. We met outside Starbucks. First impression in person… even sexier than he looks on-line. He is working in medicine, plays music, has great taste in music, including electronic acts, is stunning…with the type of bone structure that takes your breath away. So HOT. Always a pleasant surprise when the date is hotter than their pictures, especially when their pics are already pretty goddamn good! We walked around, laughed, talked music, talked business…both his and mine, talked art and his soon to be ex-wife. Amicable split, still good friends. Is he looking for love? Not particularly. He is in town for a residency fellowship and, in 6 months, he may move back to Spain. Hot summer fling with a sexy guy from Barcelona until then? Why the hell not?! We spent 4 hours together and I suddenly realized it was 6 pm. I was supposed to be back in the same neighborhood at 8 for my drinks and movie with Type Geek. I had to get home, wax, walk and feed the dog, change and get back to the same place I was at that very moment…in 2 hours. I bid adieu to Cooper Fiennes and hustled home.

I realized upon arriving home that not only did I NOT have enough time to wax, but that even if I did… my skin wouldn’t be relaxed anytime that evening. So, my “Just in case we end up making out hot and heavy” wax turned into a bathtub soak and …shudder…. shave. EEEK. I made it out the door and back to meet Type Geek around 8:15. Not too bad! Now, Type Geek has been rather shy with me. Interested, I have presumed, but shy. Not very physically aggressive. Granted, I haven’t been fully falling at his feet, but I have been leaving him openings. On our last date, I finally kissed him. I then told him that he didn’t need to wait for me to kiss him next time. He promised he wouldn’t. So, I was curious what would happen this evening.

He popped the wine and began making some snacks for us. We sat and chatted at the kitchen table, drinking wine, listening to music, occasionally googling something that came up in conversation…but never discussing the movie. I touched his arm or back or chest or head…several times, no moves. Sigh. Ok. FINE. Hours ticked by. We scrolled his iTunes library and laughed at some of the old school tunes he had, like stuff from Anthrax, whom I loved as a teenager. I’m standing 5 inches away from him. Is he just interested in me as a friend? If so, that’s fine… but what is going on here? At 1:5o am, roughly 5.5 hours since he picked me up at the train, I consider that all hope is lost. I resign myself to this. We joke about his unmanly amounts of shoes and he tells me of a pair that are so ghastly, his friends ridiculed him the only 2 times he wore them, so now, they live in the closet. I asked to see them and he retreated to the bedroom closet to find them. A minute goes by and I followed after. I climbed onto the bed and started petting his cat while he dug out the shoes. When they appeared, I agreed with the response of his friends. Just then, his cat runs off. I stay sprawled out on the bed. I am tired and the bed is really cozy… there is not incentive to leave. We keep chatting and then he begins picking cat hair off my shirt. In my mind I think, yeah, friends. He is picking cat hair off my shirt…not kissing me and here I am laying on his bed. 5 minutes of cat hair picking and he finally decides to kiss me. Bravo Type Geek!

He doesn’t stop at kissing me though… and I decide to go with it. He’s a really nice guy and a great kisser so I decide to ignore the physical road blocks I do have and just enjoy whatever is going to happen. Is he shooting for 2nd or 3rd base tonight? Within a half hour, I am mostly nude. Within an hour, I am singing the praises of all the great things he can do with his mouth and within an hour and a half… I am having sex again. Whoa. nothing for 6 months and then….2 men in 4 days?! EEEK! Ok, feeling a LITTLE trashy, but I will get over it. Especially since McBratty Lawyer is NOT getting anymore sex from me. The sun is coming up when we finish and we sleep for a few hours. His cat wakes me up by burrowing into the back of my thighs and overheating me from the sheer amount of warmth coming off its furry little body. Half awake but sleepy, I shuffle away from the cat and cozied into Type Geek’s chest, absent-mindedly petting his bare skin with my free hand as I laid there. Eventually the petting became mutual, and less absent-minded. After 2 hours of lazy but intense foreplay we went for a 2nd go around. Sunday morning sex truly is great, not having to get up and be anywhere, laying in bed naked for hours afterwards… what a relaxing way to spend a morning. We finally gave in and got out of bed. I needed to get home to my pooch and we both desperately needed some coffee so we got dressed, ran to the Whole Foods, grabbed some coffee and then he gave me a ride home before venturing out for his afternoon bike ride with friends.

I honestly did not think that Type Geek would come through last night. I especially did NOT think he would venture towards sex, since we hadn’t even had a hot and heavy frustrating make out session yet. Above both of those however, I had never considered that HE would be so good in bed or that I would go to bed with him since there were a couple things I was on the fence about with him. Well, damn, if you can push my buttons and get me to curl up in a ball and laugh out loud, you have done a fine job. Type Geek had me laughing my ass off. He done good.

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