Back in the Game

Wow. It's been awhile. I tried to think of a creative way to tell you all where I've been for the last 2 months...Suffice it to say, it was a combination of a U-turn and a strike while trying to recover from said U-turn. The strike is officially over and I went on a real date over the weekend. My first real date since March.

Details: We met on match.com, he has a job, owns a house, has a car, is attractive and his emails were hilarious. The majority of the date went well. He was friendly, talkative and their were no awkward silences, which is always a plus. However, about 3 hours in he started asking a lot of questions about my most recent relationship. I tried to keep it vague: We broke up a year and a half ago, together on and off for 5 years, he's not in my life for a reason, blah blah blah. However, he kept asking questions about it and frankly I got so fed up I finally thought to myself "Fuck it, I'm just going to answer the damn questions and stop being avoidant." So I told him a good portion of the Jerry Springer relationship I was in.

Now, I know talking about exes is gererally a no-no on a first date, but at this point I'm annoyed that he kept asking and knew he would keep going until he would understand why I just didn't want to talk about it. I also have a certain level of understanding that it is a very crazy story and people are generally intrigued by it, so whatever...I told him. Upon hearing the story his response was: "Wow. Well now you make sense to me, I thought you were hard to read...I should probably tell you about my last relationship." Surprisingly enough, he says he's interested in going out again, so I guess the Jerry Springer story didn't freak him out too much. And while the last hour was torture, I am willing to see him again.

Then we come to all of the underlying issues that keep me from dating in the first place. Right now, my head is kind of spinning with the following:
Do I really have the time and energy for a relationship?
What if he gets to know me and hates me?
I am not "smitten" by him, shouldn't I be? (I have movies and television to thank for that one)
I hate getting to know people, I just want the comfort of already knowing someone.

So that's my story...we'll see what happens.

Have a mentioned my ovaries and uterus having been screaming at me to do something about my love life??

xx NB

Dilemma-nade

So it's been five dates. And it's mostly been fun. But there's this one problem.

He's always trying to make out with me and...I don't really care to, much. Yeah, I know. Me. Me, saying, "No thanks, I'll pass on the physical contact." And when we do, inside my head, there's this:

"Well, this is...OK. I mean, it's not BAD. It's not great either but...it's OK. I'll probably grow to really enjoy it, eventually."

Well, no. I probably won't. Boy, do I feel like I SHOULD, because after all, he's very nice. Nothing but nice. But I'm realizing that I can't magically make myself enjoy the time we spend together. So now I am trying to figure out how to end it...and I'm wondering, which is better? To end it over the phone, which seems so insensitive, or to end it in person, which seems more adult but would also be awkward, in the vein of "Hey, I invited you on date #6 just to ditch you! Peace out!"

What say you, readers? How would you want to hear the news?

You: Nice; Me: Totally not sure what to do with you.

It had been long enough, I figured. Not that I had any major grief from which to recover this time, but I guess I figured it had been long enough since my last date because I was getting bored. And when I get bored, the internets come a-callin'.

I decided to experiment with a different site than last time, and I found a few interesting folks. And so I found myself meeting one such person last Monday for Indian food. We had a good time- good enough, in fact, that we were out waaaaay past my bedtime because we had so much to talk about. But it was during the second date that I figured out who I was dealing with, so to speak. You see, ladies, he's a Nice Guy.

He listens. He pays attention. He's respectful of women. Crap, he might actually qualify as a feminist. And here I am, alternately thinking, "I didn't think you EXISTED!" and, "Oh...gee. You're nice. I don't know what to do with nice."

We'll see if NG stays that way- as you know, I've met quite a few men these past few months who went from nice to psycho or coward in less time than it just took me to finish my chai latte. For the time being I'll try to pace myself and learn to enjoy the nice.

Tiramisu

“I’m sorry if I taste like puke.”

“Don’t worry. You taste like tiramisu, sweet with a little bit of alcohol.”

A little bit of alcohol being the understatement of the century.

I have been on complete and utter dating strike since my last minute cancelation on the neuroscientist quite a while ago. He understandably guilt-tripped me as he was frantically ironing his shirt when I canceled just two hours prior to our date. I told him I’d rather be watching Glee and eating guacamole in my sweat pants. Perhaps that was a tad too truthful a response.

Since that uneventful moment several months ago, I have been greatly uninspired in the world of love. I have been completely without any flirtation, crushes, interest. Mind you, not to the detriment of my life as I am quite content currently. However, I can feel the ghost of love life future hovering over my head, chanting “crazy cat lady, crazy cat lady, an entire container of frosting never hurt a crazy cat lady!”

I have at least had the time to become much more Zen about the whole ex-boyfriend-proposing-to-his- girlfriend-of-two- months-then-blocking-me-from-contacting-him-once-I-voiced-my-astonishment debacle. I’ve also managed to break the cycle of craziness somewhat with My Favorite Mistake as now 3 out of 5 conversations actually end on a civil note. Okay, maybe 2 out of 5, but it’s still a vast improvement since our fiery showdown of destruction.

Queue Halloween and everything it entails for someone in their mid-twenties. House parties. Bargain basement costumes prominently featuring sequin leopard print leggings and a matching exposed bra. Too much alcohol, not enough dignity, and just enough inhibition to let the first two come together with disastrous results. In summary, I got really drunk. Freshman in college drunk. Should know better by now drunk. Drunk enough to be witty and snarky…and yet have to recollection of said comments. Drunk enough that when said comments are related back to me I want to ask, “Ha, who said that…Oh, that was me…Uh…sorry?” Drunk enough to call My Favorite Mistake and ask him to come over to the party I did not invite him to because I needed someone to hold my hair back as I embraced the porcelain throne.

More surprisingly, he did. He rode his little scooter cross town to come bring me water and rub my back while I blubbered like a toddler who had been asked to share their favorite toy for the first time. I lurched about, fell off my bed, and even in the midst of this made a pack with god that I was never going to drink again. I then pretty much attacked FM (post brushing teeth thankfully) and he was still gracious enough to tell me that my kisses tasted sweet but a little drunken.

I woke up the next morning and he was gone. He had tucked me in and left in the middle of the night after slipping a note under my door. He told me to pretend it was a dream and to not apologize in the morning. Burrowing in bed for a few more hours, I finally made it to a standing position. I took him out to lunch (as if moderately priced Greek food could be apology enough) and we watched a scary movie later that afternoon. I dropped him off at home later. We said good-bye.

And, oddly enough, we seem to be okay now. We’re not together or apart. We do not expect anything for each other besides showing up when it really matters and maybe a partner to see scary movies. It seems like both an end and a beginning, a little bit sweet and a little bit right.

-Queen of Spades