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.
She was once a beautiful butterfly who wore her vibrant colors without shame. She spent her days with all the beautiful flowers and spoke with all the wonderful creatures. She was happy. But she always knew something was missing. Knew there was more. But she was willing to wait; to wait for what was missing to come around.
And one day he did. And he loved her. And she loved him.
He loved her so much he had to put her in a cage, he said.
“Why?” She asked. “Why do I need a cage?”
“Because you are so beautiful and wonderful. Someone might steal you.”
He cares about me, she thought. He worries someone might hurt me. He loves me.
“May I leave the cage?” She asked.
“No,” he told her. “You might not come back.”
“I will!” She promised. “I love you.” She reminded him.
And after many promises and weeks of convincing, he let her out. But her flowers were no longer there and the creatures were upset with her.
“Where did you go?” One asked.
“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” Wondered another.
“We thought we were your friends?”
Ashamed she returned to her cage. To the man who loved her. Her heart was broken but she knew he would still be there. He would still love her. And love her he did. So much so that he refused to let her leave because he didn’t want her to get hurt again.
“Aren’t I enough for you?” He asked. “Why do you need to leave me? You have a perfect home here.”
But she wanted to fly again. She missed the sun and the flowers and the creatures. She loved him but she loved flying, too. What is a butterfly without flight? She was beginning to lose her color, this she knew. And if she wasn’t as beautiful surely he wouldn’t love her. And he must love her, for who else did she have now?
Seeing that she was sad he gave her a gift. It smelled of flowers and the flame danced around throwing shadows around the cage, ghosts of the friends she once shared her days with. So she filled her days with shadow play while he was away. And he was always away. Soon the flame became her only friend.
As her colors faded the flame grew brighter. And soon the days were colder and she got closer and closer to the flame until one day she got too close. And when he finally came back she was gone.
She had gone where everyone has wings and the colors were more vibrant than she ever imagined. And she would remember how to be happy again.
I was part of his atmosphere before I knew where my feet were taking me. We stood there. Silent. Our only communication had ever been through exchanged glances. First of curiosity, then of desire, finally of mutual understanding. Months would pass between each steady hold of each others eyes but the energy was palpable always causing the hairs on the back of my neck to raise up as though a shock of electricity was shooting through the room.
He was who he was and I? I was with someone. My heart promised to a man I barely knew but couldn’t let go. Yet here I was, so close to him that I could see the tiny beads of sweat breaking out over his skin. We had never been this close before and neither of us knew what to do. So we continued to stand. Silent. Our senses electrified by our proximity. Never had I felt so passionately about anything that I could put no name to. What was this? My heart threatened to beat so wildly out of my chest that it almost met with his. Suddenly I was a fawn just learning to walk and he was the only thing keeping me upright, yet also the one causing me to be so weak and disoriented. I close my eyes and for a moment and the entire world consists of just us two. Our hearts beat in unison, a sound so loud it muted out the cacophony of the room and I can no longer tell where I begin and he ends.
You fill your life with lies that you convince yourself are truths and you shroud yourself in them, wearing them proudly, pretending to bear your soul to the world through a diaphanous curtain of lies perfectly sculpted into illusions of truth. No matter which direction you look at them from you are tricked into seeing something that isn’t there. You convince yourself so thoroughly of love that you can’t decipher what it is hiding. What is your illusion obscuring from you? What is it that is pulling at your heart? What is it that is causing a glint of truth to shine through and dance off of all the rough corners of your lies that you believed to have hidden so well?
“You can’t.” He whispers almost imperceptibly to the point that I wonder if he actually said anything.
But that was it, wasn’t it? That was the reason we wear our lies so comfortably; because all we need is one ray of truth to shine its beauty onto our rough cut lies and dazzle us as it dances across our bodies hiding the imperfections and alighting all the wonderfully manufactured “truths”. For so long I had desired to rid myself of my shroud and as I stood there, completely encased by his warmth, I knew this was my moment.
My eyes open and, breathlessly, I kiss him. An almost imperceptible moan betrays him, letting years of built up wonder escape into the time we can’t occupy. The life we will never have. The love we so long to have but will never be able to hold on to. I continue the kiss for as long as I can but what still feels like no time at all. As soon as our lips part my ears are assaulted by the raucousness of the room. His face fills my vision as my shroud falls down around us, shards of lies and truths shattering onto the floor, glinting in the light – a beauty so vicious you don’t realize the pain until you have been released from it.
I stand there naked as his face disappears into the crowd; from behind I hear my name called. I turn around, a single tear escaping to join the ruins on the floor. With one single glance he saw me. He finally saw me. And before I even had time to take one step he, too, was gone.
Naked and alone I left. I left behind everything I had worked so hard to make myself in to; I left behind the only person who had ever seen me; and I left behind a love that was so superficial I often wondered if I was simply making it up. And now the world could see me. Every part of me. Broken free by the kiss of the one who knew the forbidden freedom of loving yourself. Because loving yourself was the most forbidden love of them all.
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.
There is no better misery than that felt in love.
The desire to be hated becomes almost as strong as the desire to be loved.
Hate me. Love me. Feel something. Anything. But please, don’t be indifferent. I need to feel something from you. I don’t care what.
Our unspoken words fill the rooms. Pushing in around us. I can’t breathe. Choking on my own thoughts.
You left the words behind. Walked away as I drowned in an ocean of broken words. You looked back unseeing; moved forward unfeeling.
There remain things to be said that will forever stay safely tucked away in the folds of our insecurities. Hidden by lies we tell ourselves.
Your name is still etched upon my heart, beating out its own tattoo along with my own heartbeat. Everywhere I go, there you are. I can feel you. You bring a smile to my soul with every warm memory – the ocean of pain washed away into the dark chasm of my past. Gone but never forgotten.
My broken heart still looks for you in everyone. Finding you everywhere. Comforted by the reminder of the pain I felt. The hurt that covered me like a warm familiar blanket.
I go in deep and suddenly there you are again. Still attached to my heart, finding everything I hated about you in every new love. But my heart must let you go, for my brain has finally carried the message to my heart, “you deserve better” it whispers.
And slowly the scars in my depths will fade.