Involuntarily her shoulder meets her ear in a reflex reaction to the echoing in her head. It starts slow, idling in the background until suddenly the bullet train rips her down a dark tunnel dull lights passing in and out of focus as the train speeds along faster faster faster the words hitting her getting heavier and heavier more insistent until all she can hear is a jarring rendition of all her insecurities pushing and tearing through her an involuntary passenger on a train of relentless falsities masquerading as truths until…nothing. Her body aches, her lids heavy with unshed tears, as reality comes flickering back into focus one frame at a time.
Shoulder meets ear.
“Go away.” She whispers.
Shoulder meets ear.
A cold tingling river starts in her head trickling down her neck, her arms, her torso, down her legs, reaching her feet, stretching to her toes.
Shoulder meets ear.
Worthless. Disappointment. Unattractive. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible.
She knows depression lies. It feeds on insecurities and lays in wait, festering, gobbling up any nuance and waiting for its opportunity to regurgitate it with a vengeance.
“What’s wrong?” People ask, seeing the fear in her eyes they mistake as anger.
“Nothing.” She pleads with her eyes. “I’m fine.” She lies.
Sometimes I want to run away. In the middle of the night. Under the cloak of darkness. Because sometimes it hurts too much. It hurts too much and I want so desperately to reach out and tell someone but I think only of how much of a burden I have been in my life and how little I want to continue being a burden. Most often I don’t even see what’s going on until it’s too late and I…I hurt myself…in one form or fashion, in the end. My mind moves at the speed of light and my anxiety and depression shoulder devils, whisper sweet nothings into my ears that befuddle my already confusing thoughts.
The worst part is that I should know how to do this by now. I should know how to calm myself down at 3:45 a.m. when I wake up crying with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me curl up into a ball for fear my insides will tear open from the pain that may or may not even exist inside me. I should be able to dispel these thoughts and feelings and the raw, nagging insistence that I will never amount to anything because I have nothing to show for my life thus far and probably never will. I should. Should, should, should. There are a lot of things I should do and people will tell me to “just do them.” People will tell me that my thoughts are silly and I should just get over them. And I will. I promise. I always do. But now, right now, I don’t feel that way. I KNOW I will get past this, but I don’t FEEL like I will. Even that is exhausting – battling with yourself over what you know versus what you feel. Especially when what you think you know isn’t always right.
My thoughts are filled with lies but I’m not always sure what is a lie and what is a truth. I tell myself lies all the time: you’re not good enough, you’re not smart enough, you’re not pretty enough, you’re not witty enough, you’re not funny enough, you’re not enough. A freight train rumbles through my brain, clattering around, billowing out steam, ripping through sanity and rationality, leaving behind chaos and destruction, getting louder and louder as the thoughts become worse and worse until……silence. Nothing. No more noise, no more anything. A void so vast and incomprehensible suddenly appears blanketed with dark, glistening, beautiful lies. So beautiful and enticing that the darkness almost becomes comforting. I enshroud myself in words that are not true. Hiding behind the lies that comfort me. But they don’t really feel like lies. They feel like truths. And maybe, deep down, on a good day, I KNOW they are lies; I just have trouble sifting through those to get through to what is true.
I’m old enough now, I should have this figured out. I shouldn’t have to talk about it anymore. I should be better. Until then, I’ll be just fine. F.I.N.E.
Also, I’m going to go stand outside. Where I will be outstanding. Because that joke is stupid and makes me laugh and feel a twinge better.
May your day start with stupid jokes, be filled with unexpected surprises, and end with tacos. All the tacos. Happy Tuesday, ya’ll.
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.
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.
May your week be filled with blasphemous actions, sanguine expectations, and lost inhibitions.
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.
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:
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. 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!
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.
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!