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Step #3 – Love is so close you can almost feel it!

Two fail dates and several conversations with POF “matches” later we come to fail date number three which is sadly not as interesting but probably the fail-y-est of fails.  He, as a person, I’m sure, is a very fine specimen of male…just not the specimen for me.

Fail Date Guy #3
To begin with I knew he wasn’t my type based on his pictures but, as I said in Step #1, I was trying to be more open minded and had not yet learned from my mistake in Step #1 so I wasn’t listening to the little voice in my head that kept erupting into paroxysms of laughter over my complete lack of dating competence.  Want to know the only reason I even answered his message on POF?  Because he was tall.  I swear.  That was the only reason.  Clearly this was doomed from the beginning.  I didn’t find him attractive, didn’t particularly like the conversations we had, and it took him a good three weeks to finally ask if I wanted to meet up.  Usually I get so fed up with carrying on in long conversations that I suggest meeting up after only a few exchanged messages; but for some reason, with him, I let it slide.  Okay, really!  Barely a paragraph into this and I already realize this was all my fault.  Poor guy…never stood a chance.  As Mr. Perfect pointed out to me in a recent discussion I am the bitch, the men are all fine.  I couldn’t deny that one, I knew it was the truth, but these still make for interesting reads.  And, honestly, who does that?  And by “that” I mean the things I pick out to share with you lucky readers!  Please, comment with corrections if I’m wrong, but what these guys do isn’t kosher, is it? (If you haven’t read Step #1 and Step #2 yet, please do and let me know because I am genuinely curious.  Am I just asking too much?  Is this in fact normal male behavior?)

So, three weeks and an uncomfortable amount of superficial conversation later, we have a date set up that we both agree will be very short.  He didn’t explain why he wouldn’t stay long but I knew I didn’t want it to go on for very long because of fail dates #1 and #2 – subtlety is not my strong suit and the longer I am around someone that I dislike the more difficult it becomes to hold on to the few tiny shreds of restraint I have remaining.  I become blunt with unfiltered speech which translates into being a royal, haughty bitch.  It’s actually quite impressive if you are used to my usual bubbly, affable self.  I can switch bitch mode on and off quickly, it’s a gift!

As soon as I got off work I headed to the meeting place that I had to come up with since, apparently, POF men are incapable of making decisions.  There I sat, alone at the bar, hoping that the hour I had to wait for him to get off work would pass swiftly and painlessly.  The bar began to fill up and soon I was not sitting alone and happy, I was instead flanked by one foul smelling gentleman and one obnoxious frat-tastic bachelor suffering a mid-life crisis.  Where before I had been content texting my soulmate and joking about how odd it must look for someone to be sitting alone and talking/laughing to themselves, I was now dealing with attempting to not overhear the crude comments coming from Mr. Mid-Life Crisis and practicing breathing through my mouth so I would be able to finish my beer without gagging off the stench emanating from the foul smelling gentleman.

Not soon enough my date informed me that he was finally off work and headed my way but asked how the bar was…how was the bar?  Well…how to put it?  I believe I responded with something like, “it was good when I got here but it is getting crowded.  I am no longer sitting alone!” Being the gentleman that he was he suggested switching venues and asked if I had any suggestions. Sure. Why not? Let me make another decision for you, dear sir.

I hadn’t planned on taking him to my bar knowing all that would occur was judgment from my friends but I was already fed up with him so I gave my suggestion. He agreed quickly enough but confessed he didn’t know where it was (even though he had already mentioned that he worked down the street from it…meaning he passed it every day) so he would still meet me where I was and then he would follow me to the final destination. (<– get it?!? okay, okay, I know. I’m a dork.)

As I continue to sit at the bar I shift my gaze between the bartender whose attention I am desperately attempting to capture and the door whose opening and closing could potentially mean time for a great escape from my none too pleasant neighbors. Twenty minutes later my tab is paid, my glass is empty, and I no longer care who is walking through the door because all I want to know is how it is taking him so long if he was actually where he said he was. And then my phone buzzes. It’s him. He is sitting in the parking lot waiting for me to come out.

What. The. Fuck?

The minute I open the door I see him in his champagne compact, idling across the way, staring at his phone. Feeling a tad creepy I walk up to his window and cough to get his attention. After pointing out my car and once again establishing that he would follow me, we make our exit. Unfortunately it was prime traffic time and what should have take five minutes took twenty and I had lost all patience by the time parking was completed.

Upon finally picking out a booth and ordering our drinks I was able to fully observe (and, if I am being COMPLETELY honest, judge) my newest suitor. There was unfortunately nothing I found attractive about him. Generally beards give me a little happy feeling in my nether regions but this one was attached to a face that I couldn’t even invent any good will towards. He reminded of my moms best friend’s husband growing up. This is not good. Not good at all. You don’t want someone that reminds you of the father of your first ever crush (I was young and he was older and basically the only male I knew since I was home schooled and spend 90% of my time in the gym practicing gymnastics…it’s awkward, I know) in almost every way including the way his lips slowly moved across his disturbingly large teeth as he smiled. Or smirked. I honestly couldn’t distinguish.

I can’t say that the conversation was in any way lacking but what was lacking was his ability to show emotion. He had one face and he kept it on practically the whole time. The only effect alcohol had on him was to make his mouth open just a tad bit wider when he spoke as if the more he opened his mouth the funnier he would be because he seemed amused by himself when this would happen.  Somehow we made it so far in conversation that my Elf showed up to work and we ended up moving from the booth to the patio bar where she was working. At this point his charm really began to work its magic. You know that line that every bartender has heard more than once on a daily basis.  The one that makes everyone around the offending person it groan? The one that goes a little something like, “you don’t need a tip! You get to look at me!” The look Elf and I shared could have turned him to stone had we made better use of it.

You're an idiot...

You’re an idiot…

And then, after his knee slapper he throws his head back and lets out a high pitched cackle which I think was supposed to be a laugh but it was so disturbing that I immediately attempted to eliminate all memory of it. Clearly it didn’t work. I will never forget the sound that man made. I fear for my personal and physical safety. THIS is my dating life…

When I just couldn’t take any more, and we each had three shots and shared chips and queso, I decided to end the date. And then this happened:  I was given the honor of paying for everything that we had consumed both liquid and solid at the patio bar. I am one lucky girl. Can I tell you how much I enjoy paying for things that other people ordered for me? It tickles my fancy! Also, I wanted to kill him. Once again though, as with Fail dates #1 and #2, he did not get the hint. He texted me on the way home and said he had a great time and would love to do it again. I responded with, “I don’t really think so. Sorry.” And that was the night I decided I was done with dating. Period! Over it!

Until the next guy that came up to me at the bar *coughcough* I keep my word so well…

So, where does this leave us?

Step 3: When you feel absolutely no connection to the person and you can’t for the life of you pick out one redeeming quality about the person after an hour, go home. Don’t waste either one of your time. Quit while you’re ahead and admit defeat. It is much better than spending $60 dollars at the end of the night on a person who makes a pretty good doppelganger for every corporate America clone in existence. There is nothing wrong with admitting that you don’t like a person.

Now that I have proved that dating is not my cup of tea I think cutting my losses would be a good idea. That is until I meet this next guy that will bring me to fail date #4. He is the best one yet. Mr. Perfect LOVED this guy!! It was a mutual attraction.

-S

May your week be filled with blasphemous actions, sanguine expectations, and lost inhibitions.

We’ve Been Here Before. I Recognize That Tree…

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I feel empty. And I don’t want to talk about it. Not because I think it wouldn’t help but because I’m not sure I know what is wrong and I don’t want to bug any of my friends. Any of the people I want to open up to.  I feel as though I have lost all my friends…no, scratch that, I know I have.  Once I fall down I push everyone away, distance myself, make it easy to fall apart without feeling like I will hurt anyone.  Anyone other than myself.

Once my desperate desires turned into fears of possible follow through I began to realize that I wasn’t the person I had worked so hard to become.  The person I was.  The person I am.  Somewhere along the way I let myself go.  I lost who I was again and suddenly, without knowing when or how or why, I found myself back at the bottom of the mountain I had climbed up so carefully and tediously.  And the thing is, clawing your way back to the top is much more difficult than the tumble down is.  I see where I once was.  I can even see my damn footprints in the ground but reaching even that first step seems impossible from this far away.

Fortunately for me I have done it before so I know I can do it again.  Unfortunately, it has once again become a task that seems impossible from this view.  I go through so many ups and downs through the day I am exhausted by the time I finally clock out at work thinking only of the comfort of my bed and dreaming of comfort food that I rarely crave let alone indulge in.  But right now I would like nothing more than to finish off a very large bag of Cheetos followed by a pint of strawberry ice cream not to be shown up by a bottle of white wine.

Sometimes you search for solace in a person you don’t even know; a person who needs you in that moment just as much as you need them.  A stranger who can take on all your troubles and you theirs because in the end you mean nothing more to each other than a fellow sufferer searching for any strand of a lifeline in this chaotic, unfeeling world of empty souls.  I used to be able to find those people in my times of need but this time…this time I know it won’t help.  I know exactly to whom I should be talking. To whom I need to talk, but it is more difficult than I ever imagined possible.

During my writing hiatus a lot has happened and I have wanted to share it with the world but every time I tried to sit down and write nothing came.  Sometimes I couldn’t even bring myself to sit in front of my computer because I knew my inability to put emotions and feelings into words, my inability to do what has always come so naturally to me, would lead to nothing more than a self loathing pity party that even I didn’t want to participate in.  I should know by now that once “writers block” sets in it means I have stopped connecting with myself; stopped taking time to do things I enjoy…basically stopped being myself.

So what happened?  How did I get here?  I was happy and making progress towards all my goals and trying new things and doing everything I had said I would do and then…what?  I met someone.  I met my future husband.  And things were wonderful.  At first.  After a few months I do what I always do; I stopped focusing on myself and focused solely on making him happy.  Why?  Why did I do this?  Because there is a very large part of me that believes I am not good enough and I have to make up for it somehow.  This very large part of me was a part I believed I had finally shut away for good…I believed incorrectly.

It came back with a vengeance and likes to remind me of all the hurt I have endured from other men and the nasty things they would blame me for regardless of the fact that I was not to blame.  I would like to believe that my devotion to making my man happy came from the fear of having him turn on me like the others in my past but that would be a lie.  The embarrassing truth is that I have always devoted myself to making my significant other happy while completely neglecting my own feelings.  It took me awhile to realize that my devotion was the exact thing that pushed the people I loved away and this time I was not going to let it happen.  This time was different.  This man was different.

And that, dear readers, is what finally hit me recently and knocked me out of my downward spiral.  I’m still down here, but I know what must be done.  I know that I need to talk to him.  I know that it will all be okay because, guess what?  This man loves me.  All of me.  For all the right reasons.  And I can claim that he doesn’t, I can try and convince myself that he is like the others, I can push and push and push against him, but in the end I know that I am just fooling myself.  In the end those wedding magazines are still sitting on my desk full of sticky notes marking desires and ideas.  In the end, he’s still the one.

******

So as not to completely deviate from my old ways I must end this post with a cyber smile since today is Texas’ “Icemaggeddon” and my company closed down their offices I have been having my own little version of a snow day and would like to wish you a day filled with spiked coffee, cozy blankets fully equipped with cuddle bitches, and naps where you dream of nothing but heat inducing activities with your partner…should you be so lucky to have one with you.

Sadly my man is over THERE and I am over HERE and the icy roads are screaming a resounding, “FUCK YOU!” to couples all throughout North Texas.  Thanks…we owe you.  And we ALWAYS repay our debts.

Love is…falling down but knowing you will get back up.

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When you fall down you never wonder about whether or not you will be able to get up, you just do it.  You pop back up and move on.  Maybe you have a few bumps and bruises but you are usually fine.  Personally, I love falling.  Falling down.  Falling in love.  Falling apart.  Falling behind.  Falling for a joke.  Unfortunately not all falling is as easy to recover from as falling down even though it is really the same basic concept.

Falling in love is especially difficult to recover from once you hit the ground.  You know you will be able to get up but you just aren’t sure how and it seems like an especially impossible feat when face meets asphalt after your first love disappears into the horizon and you are left there wondering how exactly the sun is now smirking at you from such an odd angle.  Soon you realize that the heat in your flushed cheeks is not, in fact, from this asphalt ground you picture yourself lying on; instead it is a mixture of anger, sadness, depression, confusion, desperation, anxiety, pain, agony, and a whole hodgepodge of unidentifiable emotions screaming through your head in delirium.  It’s an improbably painful fever broken only by the seemingly unattainable sanity of reality.  A reality that can only be seen through the eyes of a person whose entire being isn’t overwhelmed with daggers of pain and whose heart isn’t decorated with gaping holes where someone else used to live so comfortably.

Somehow though, after living in your own comfortable bubble of darkness for days, weeks, or months, someone finally penetrates the bubble and starts to let light back in.  Lends you a hand you are finally willing to accept and hold on to for dear life as you start your slow return from the supine position you had previously believed you would assume for the rest of your unlovable existence.  Because at some point you realize that you have been festering – dwelling on the same hurt and pain, regurgitating the same false beliefs that your irrational brain has set to repeat, playing them over and over until you are so brainwashed and numb that you begin to believe up is down and left is right.  As an aside, it was around this time that I decided that I would repeat this gem to myself: left is always right, except of course when it’s wrong.  I figured if my brain was going to fuck up my thinking I might as well try to fuck up my whole world while I was at it…except now it’s kind of my motto since it basically makes no sense to anybody who isn’t as psychotic as me.

Once you start to get your thoughts and feelings sorted back out and stop letting the irrational beat out the rational things begin to look up again, albeit very slowly.  Positivity is easy to put out into the world but it is quite another thing to be on the receiving end of.  Accepting the bright side after falling down into a deep abyss of loneliness and pain is almost an affront.  How dare people think we should be happy again after such debilitating pain!  Fuckers.  But, as we all know, just like falling down, we must get back up.  We must continue onward.  And this is why I love falling, because each time you do it, getting back up becomes easier.  Figuring out how to stand on your own again begins to become second nature.  You start to believe that not only will you be okay, but you will love again.  You will.  Because love is out there.  It’s in you.  It’s everywhere.  You just have to find it.

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I could love anyone. Love is easy. You can find something to love inside everyone and I think everybody deserves to be loved.  However, just because I could love anybody doesn’t mean I should.  As seen in my fail date posts 1 and 2 (3 and 4 are currently in draft form) I’m not always the best at picking people with which I am compatible.  I am rather terrible at it, to be truthful.  When I am proactive about dating I always go for the wrong people because I want to give everybody a chance but when I am not really trying I can find someone perfect for me…perfect for me but at the most incredibly wrong time.  A dilemma I am fairly certain we have all come face to face with on more than one occasion.  For the longest time I told myself that this was a sign proving to me that I would be alone forever, but now I am convinced that it means at one point I will meet the right guy at the right time and everything will work out.  Until then I will remain firm in my faith and my hope because I have learned that when I lose both of those I go back to my old ways of going after the person that I know will hurt me most.

Going back to someone who hurts us is a common denominator among all human beings who have experienced love.  I think the reason we do it is because we like the pain.  We think the pain is part of the love.  We believe that love, without pain, is no love at all!  We have to take the good with the bad, right?  Wrong.  True, there will always be difficult times but I can tell you now that they will never be as difficult as whatever that person continues to put you through.  Just because you love them doesn’t mean they hold the same caliber of affection for you.  Learning that you deserve better and then forcing yourself to let go of the bad and go for what you deserve is probably more difficult than getting off that ground once you have fallen.  I still have trouble believing that I deserve anything.  I fall into the trap of thinking that nobody will want me around for very long because I’m not pretty enough or smart enough or skinny enough or rich enough or kind enough or stable enough.  I have flaws and therefore nobody will love me – that is a thought that likes to resurface quite often and pushing it back down is not as easy as I thought it would be.  But I am trying.  Every day.  Because I have hope that at some point I will find someone who really sees me and realizes that they can never let me go.  When I really see who a person is that’s how I feel, but I usually have to settle for just being friends but at least I get to keep them in my life.

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So always remember that when you fall, you can get back up.  You will know when you meet the right person because you will see them and they will see you inside and out. They will know you and you will know them and together you will make sense.  And this person?  This person will be right beside you every time you fall, catching you before you can hit the ground.

-S

P.S. As always I feel the need to sign off in a very me kind of way so…

May your week be filled with random glitter bombs thrown at coworkers, may your mornings be spiked with coffee and rock and roll, and may your Friday begin and end with a break-for-dance moment.

Step #2 on the way to finding your true love.

The day after the Fail Date #1 just so happened to be Valentines Day.  Now, personally, I am a huge fan of this particular day.  Not because it means chocolate and roses and oh-my-god-kill-me sappiness, but because, when actually in a relationship, it gives me an excuse to buy super elaborate lingere in my favorite colors of red and pink.  Don’t get me wrong, I tend to do this Valentines Day or not but not the “excuse” part.  HOWEVER! when I am single it is almost depressing but not quite because it’s a made up holiday so, basically, you can all go fuck yourselves.

Don’t look at me like that…you know you’ll enjoy it.

All day I was debating whether or not I would go out because my father informed me earlier in the week that I always go out on Thursdays…leave it to him to know my schedule better than I know it myself.  By one in the afternoon I decided that I would ask the opinion of my trusty sidekick, Brain.  She and I were in the same position – we both kind of wanted to go out and kind of didn’t.  But it’s us which means that no matter what we do or where we go we have a damn good time so the decision was made to go to my bar.  It made sense because we both knew there would be absolutely no good looking men there so we wouldn’t have the desire to make ourselves feel any worse than we already did by flirting with uninterested men.

Once we are settled and happily sipping on our drinks the conversation unsurprisingly turns to men.  Brain had joined that lovely dating site we all love to make fun of but are secretly on, Plenty of Fish, and was at that very moment texting with a match that had some potential.  He was also, potentially, going to be joining us since he recently informed her of his close proximity to our bar.  After a picture taken, texts exchanged, and decisions made, he came over with one of the friends he had been out with.  He was instructed to bring along someone smart that I would be able to have an intelligent conversation with who was also my caliber.  Who does he bring with him?  Fucking Pony Boy.  Don’t worry, this wasn’t his actual name but when POF Guy showed up I could have sworn he introduced him as “Trotter.”  My mind jumped to trot which made me think of horses but this kid was so skinny and boyish that I knew he was no horse.  He was still a pony.  Once my brain comes up with a name for you, you are stuck with it for life.  For example, to anyone who reads this and knows me in person, please call my sister Mud Butt next time you see her.  That’d be great, thanks!

In all honesty, I didn’t give Pony Boy a shot in hell. I happened to be sitting in a spot that allowed me to view the window through which you can see people as they approach the front door and, having seen a picture of POF Guy that Brain showed me, I was fairly certain that I saw them walking in and I was horrified.  Pony Boy was roughly half the size of POF Guy in girth and a good foot shorter. Word to the wise, if you are trying to bring along a friend to impress a girl with, don’t bring someone that you can snap in two like a toothpick. It doesn’t make you or him look good. You look like an ass for bringing the a guy that makes you look amazing, and he basically doesn’t hold a candle to you since he could stand in your shadow and disappear. Lose/lose buddy. Good job!

I imagine that I had a looked a little like this when I extended my hand for handshakes:

Disgusted Pony

Pony. Pony Boy. Get it?
I’m so funny…

Bitch Sara had come out.  And trust me…you don’t want to deal with B.S.  Ever. I didn’t say anything but in my head I was screaming, “REALLY?!? YOU HAD NO OTHER OPTIONS?!?” I mean hell, I could have snapped him in half. No woman wants a man that is smaller than her. But, with a look from Brain, I attempted to be nice since we were moving from the bar to a table and I was forced to sit next to him.  Unfortunately, I found POF Guy rather attractive and couldn’t shake the feeling that I had met him before so most of the rest of my night there was spent looking at him and trying to figure out why I thought I knew him/avoiding any contact with Pony Boy.  At one point Pony Boy and Brain started arguing about sports…which is not something you do.  Make sure you note this: never argue with Brain, especially not about sports.  So, while Pony Boy was getting his ass verbally kicked, I did what I could to break it up and threw out the most random thing that came to mind, “I think unicorns exist!”  I yelled out at large.  Unfazed the sports argument continued but POF Guy picked it up and we had a conversation about the existence (or lack there of) of unicorns which sadly made me like him even more because I am slightly obsessed with unicorns.  After that I stayed as long as I could possibly handle it and practically bolted when I felt I had been there long enough.  But, of course, not before informing POF Guy that he had fucked up majorly with Pony Boy.  No, seriously.  Pony Boy went to the bar to get another drink and I looked POF Guy in the eye and said, “you fucked up.”  No reason to sugar coat such idiocy.

The next day I found out that POF Guy ended up being an asshole which made me sad since I thought he seemed like a pretty good guy aside from his serious lack of matchmaking skills.  I know, I know…I’m kind of a terrible person for being attracted to my friends potential match but I told you I was B.S. and I felt like I knew him.  Something drew me to him.  (That, and I’m a dumbass.  Mostly an ass….selectively dumb.)  So, after seeing the kind of man a person could find on POF I decided to create my own account!

Fast forward a week and Brain and I back at my bar talking about, what else?, men.  She had a new guy and I…had too many fucking men to count.  But if one more person messaged me with “your sexy” I was going to scream.  I wanted to respond with, “my sexy what?” but I knew they would actually reply and that would drive me even more insane so delete them I did, even if they did have yummy perfectly sculpted bodies.  Honestly, they would make me feel fat anyway so there would really be no point to ever meet them.  Anywhodaway, somehow the conversation landed on POF Guy and I told her how upset I was that he was a douche turd because I had felt like I knew him and felt a connection blah, idiocy, blah, stupidity, blah, I’m an asshole, blah.  She then gave me her blessing to seek him out and talk to him because, being the nice person that she is, figured that if she didn’t want him why not let me have him.  Since, as she knows quite well, I love assholes and apparently he was one.

After two days of texting and lots of disgustingly cute conversations about how we both felt like we had met/knew each other/maybe were together in another life, we decided to meet up on Saturday.  Now, I know good and well that I had already said that I felt like I had met him, but on Friday afternoon he kind of creeped me out by saying that he kept having this thought that felt more like a memory than an idea.  When I asked him what it was he said something along the lines of, “I picture you giving me a big hug, wrapping your legs around me, and squeezing tight like you want to mold yourself into me so that we become one.”  A little voice in my head spit out it’s shot (it was Friday, my brain was already at the bar), gagged a little, and screamed, “RUUUUNNNN!!!!”  I, of course, didn’t listen.  Instead I laughed it off and replied with the only response that didn’t imply being horrified: “like you said, maybe in another life.”  Is it just me (probably), or does that go a little above and beyond?  We had been conversing for less than 48 hours.  We had met briefly the week before when he was inebriated.  Also, I should remind you now, we were in a conveniently and strategically dimly lit bar.

Never.  Trust.  Bar lighting.  Why?  Well, on Saturday when I got to his place and watched as his face appeared around the door that little voice came back.  For a split second I almost listened to it and ran but thought that would be hella rude.  Especially after what I did to Dog Park…Mr. Perfect said it was pretty damn bitchy and, since he’s always right, it must be true.  I’m a bitch.  Sue me.

I’m not quite sure how the person I thought I saw at the bar resembled anything close to the guy standing behind the door. archerr-meme-generator-you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me-be02f5 I was completely nonplussed.  When I met him I was still nursing my first cranberry and vodka so I couldn’t blame it on beer goggles and I knew the lighting was dim but I swear to all that is good and great in my life, this was a completely different man.  Maybe I had been projecting my idea of what I thought POF Guy should look like when I met him.  If so, I have a fucking phenomenal imagination.  Honestly, I should get paid for this shit!

After he gave me a hug hello and I deftly avoided eye contact (since I could tell he was attempting to lean in for a kiss) we left to head to the Greek restaurant that, wait for it!……he had a Groupon for.  A Groupon.  As I have previously stated, I am a bitch, so you will have no problem believing that I found it a little odd and slightly annoying that he would use a coupon for a first date.  Generally, I love coupons.  I, in fact, use them all the time!  I admit to being a coupon clipper and penny pincher but… it was a first date.  On top of that he had never been to the place and didn’t even know where it was or the quality of the food.  Good plan, man.  Good plan.  A painful forty five minute drive and two u-turns later we arrived in the ghetto…I mean…at the restaurant.  Which was empty.  And dark.  They took us to a semi-circular table that he made me scoot into in an incredibly un-ladylike manner and then had to sit through more painful conversation about how we were soulmates.  Soulmates?  Really?  I already have a soulmate.  My soul is taken.  Get your own.

While we waited for the waitress to go run his credit card for our free meal (I honestly don’t understand why this was done) we discussed what we should be done next.  If you have ever met one of those guys who self-proclaims to be good at everything, then you have met POF Guy and you probably dislike his arrogance as much as I did.  Darts, pool, and bowling were thrown out there and I said I wasn’t opposed to the idea of bowling since I possess so little talent for it that the only thing to be derived from a round of my bowling is pure, unadulterated amusement.  Sounds good, right?  No.  No, he wanted us to be on equal footing.  What would put us on equal footing?  According to him, that would be golf.  Yeah.  Top Golf. At no point did I intend to inform him of my ten years of golf experience.  Noooope!  This was going to be fun.

Of course, it would be fun after the hour and a half wait.  Coffee, ooey gooey chocolate chip cookies, ice cream, and strawberries were consumed during this waiting period.  If I had been with someone I found remotely attractive or intriguing this would have been the perfect date…but it wasn’t.  At all.  And then, to top off the most awkward and drawn out date in the history of my dating career a very large group of his friends showed up, all of whom I got to meet knowing full and well that would be the first and last time I would ever see them.  The best part?  One of them offered me a writing job.  I am not shitting you here.  That actually happened.  The strangest part was that I had no problem turning it down flat.  Damn my new found happiness and contentment with life! (not really, I’m completely in love with it.  It’s amazing!)

Two hours later we are at our stall and he “allows” me to go first.  I won’t go into details, I’ll just show you pictures!

Game 1:

I did take a picture of his score but it seems to have gone missing, I do however remember that it was 48.  Technically he didn’t do too terrible, but, basically he sucked balls compared to me.  Not that sucking balls is a bad thing per se, you just shouldn’t do it in golf…or as a straight male.  That just goes against…it’s just wrong.

Top Golf Game 1

Me! To be fair…I have never done this well at Top Golf. I have also not played golf in over a year. This translates into: I’M FREAKIN AWESOME!!

Game 2:

Top Golf Game 2 Bad

This picture I kept. I mean really!

Top Golf Game 2

In three shots I had him beat for the whole game. I would call that being demolished.

He had paid for three games but after two my hand was protesting and I felt I had subjected myself to enough torture for the day so I suggested we leave.  Also, I wasn’t sure I could avoid contact with him for much longer.  He had been drinking and kept trying to scoot his way into my bubble; a bubble that I had made sure to expand for the day.  I made sure to float just shy of four feet away from him at all times.  I think he was beginning to notice.  He asked me why I didn’t help him with his swing since I let slip that I used to teach and I responded with all I could think of: “You didn’t ask.”  The truth might have been a bit harsh.  Nobody wants to hear that they inspire so much revulsion in a person the term “makes my skin crawl” doesn’t even begin to touch on it.

On the thirty minute drive back to his place I remained silent and he decided to point out how our being able to be comfortable in silence “meant something.”  He was right.  It meant I was counting down the seconds until I got to get in my car and leave so fast that my tires squeal so I couldn’t really bother myself with polite conversation.  When we finally reached the point where I could stop counting I told him I was just going to go home knowing good and well that he thought I would be coming in with him to…whatever.  Once again I had to say, “I’m gonna go now” because he kept drawing out the goodbye.  And the hug. Fucktard.  GET OFF ME! So I squealed my pretty little tires out of there and wondered once again how I could be so inept at dating.

Where does this story land us?

Step 2: Always trust that little voice in the back of your head!  When it tells you that something is wrong just listen.  Even if it is rude to leave – do it.  It’s alright to be a bitch every once in awhile, especially if it means you are listening to your intuition.

I thought, “hey, two fail dates must mean a good one is on the way. Right?”

Wrong.  So very, very wrong.  Just wait, it gets better!

-S

It’s not a date!, Pinky and The Brain do Pizza, and Boy Band – no s

My week thus far has been interesting…ish.  On Sunday I met up with a guy I had met at the dog park during my week of dog sitting and I think I did something wrong.  See, when I met Mr. Dog Park it was at night and he was wearing a hat so I didn’t really pay much attention to what he looked like figuring I would never see him again but of course, at the end of the night, he asked for my number because he is semi new to the area and wanted me to show him around Dallas.  So we were going to the gun range and possibly food afterwards but come Sunday I didn’t feel like doing either so I reluctantly dragged myself to the range thinking shooting something might alter my mood.  I ended up walking in first and was about to text Dog Park when he walked in because I heard, “behind you.”  When I turned around I thought I was facing the doppleganger for Andre from The League.  A younger version of him but him none the less.  In all honesty he kind of talked like him too.  It was weird.

Paul Scheer

Turned out that shooting did nothing to change my mood.  Maybe because I hate indoor ranged or maybe because I prefer rifles but I was done after a few shots and ready to leave. When I told Dog Park I was done he seemed bemused and looked at me like I had just spoken in a different language.  I left the range and sat inside to wait for him to finish feeling only slightly bad that I had wasted his time.  Before I had left for the range Mr. Perfect told me that it was a date but I was quite adamant in informing him that it was most definitely not since we were just going to hang out.  But since Sunday I have not heard from Dog Park and I am thinking Mr. Perfect might have been right about the whole date thing.  In which case I am a complete bitch.  But whatever, I can’t ALWAYS be perfect.  Although, apparently Mr. Perfect is always right.  It’s fucking annoying.

So the rest of Sunday was spent relaxing and dreading work the next morning.  Unfortunately, upon getting up when I didn’t want to, making myself presentable when makeup seemed like a time-wasting enemy, and driving all the way there when I suddenly had a personal vendetta towards everyone on the road, I arrived in the parking lot only to find out that – lucky me – work was closed.  President’s Day and all that. If only someone had informed me of this, that would have been nice because I don’t know about you, but I absolutely live for getting up early when there is no need for it as well as wasting gas.  It is on my list of top ten favorite activities, right up there with getting paper cuts, ending a relationship, and having bacon grease pop in my eye.  Though I suppose if I am going to do all those things I don’t want to finding out that you have the day off is probably the best pot of gold you could find at the end of that shit rainbow.

After being completely lazy the rest of the day Brain invited me to come over for wine, pizza, and a movie where I got to have some seriously good girl talk with a girl that I am seriously glad I met! You know those people in your life that you meet almost by accident and, after a spell, realize that you aren’t quite sure how you have lived so long without them?  She is one of those people.  We are similar in all the right ways and always have something to talk about.  We both practice tolerance towards people with differing opinions and care about sports more than normal and it is pretty awesome, we should all have friends like this.

We chose to watch The Perks of Being a Wallflower which was better than I ever imagined.  I know I liked the book but the movie may have been better.  And when the movie was almost over and I was wondering what I would do after I got a message from a friend who I hadn’t seen in awhile asking if I wanted to hang out, which I most definitely did.  We met at my bar and my entrance was poetic.  Since it was my bar I knew several people there, most of whom I hadn’t seen in quite awhile so I went around and said hi and hugged everyone before making a proper greeting to the friend I had actually come to see.  I felt cool. But I am most decidedly not.  This made me happy.

So…my friend…He had boy band hair without even trying. It was beyond fantastic. I touched it and I promise you there was no product in it, or at least it didn’t feel like it. I wanted to take a picture with him and post it on Facebook and just caption it, “OMG! GUESS WHO I MET!” just to see how many people would try and guess some random person.  I wouldn’t admit it out loud but I have a love for boy bands because I was, after all, once a teeny-bopper and couldn’t help but be obsessed with NSYNC and Backstreet Boys. Even now I love/hate boy bands. Mostly hate because…well…they are boy bands and generally make me want to pierce my eardrums with blunt pencils…repeatedly. But I can’t help loving One Direction for the simple fact that when I was sad and felt unattractive post-breakup with HIM my soulmate would always randomly send me lyrics to “What Makes You Beautiful” and now every time I hear that song I have to turn it up and belt it out. No matter what mood I’m in it will instantly make me happy. If Boy Band had broke out into that song I would have taken him at the bar! I’m just kidding…I would have at least taken it out to the parking lot.  I’m classy like that.

I went onto YouTube just now to get the video and post it here for those of you unlucky people who have never experienced the horrifying greatness of this song and realized that I had never watched the video.  Now…there is so much fun to be made about the video but I won’t start.  I know you will do enough of that for yourself.  It is so bad that, had my soulmate not given me a reason to love it, I would completely hate it. There is one good thing that came from watching this, it reminded me that when I brought up One Direction to Boy Band that he mentioned their being English.  HE brought it up.  I had no idea.  Maybe we have a One Direction connection!

Until next time, remember to stay popular, always assume it’s a date, and never underestimate the power of your hair.  And may your week be stocked with liquor, filled with friends, and ended with madness.

-S

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