Here We Go Again

After Mr. Patient turned into the former boy and flaming a**, I quietly decided to go on strike. Initially, I updated my online dating profile and was ready to forge ahead without giving it a second thought. Then, I was being cyber-stalked (long story) which lead to some very bitter and hateful email exchanges. I realized I was really very sad and angry about the whole thing. And the strike began.

The first two weeks I let myself stay angry. I had to, if I didn't I was going to be sad and pathetic. The second two weeks I left the country. I wish I could say it was a spontaneous break-up related thing, but it had already been planned. And now I'm ready. I'm neither sad, nor angry, but also not indifferent. I would say more annoyed and disappointed than anything. More about his behavior, post-breakup, than the actual ending of things. If you only knew how many times I have said "If I only knew..." over the last month. The silver lining in all of it is; now I know that I do want to be in a grown-up relationship and I'm not as scared of that as I have been in the past. So I'm not giving up, and the strike is over.

There are currently four potentials in the dating queue. All have stated they would like to get together. One is incredibly grammatically-challenged, I'm not sure if the OCD-tendencies in me can handle that, but he's super tall and that always gets a first date. The shoulders are brushed off and away we go...

Blind Date, Ahoy!

Earlier this year, CarrieLives went on a blind date with a gentleman (documented for prosperity in Mystery Date). Even though she was described as "stimulating" and "well-proportioned," alas, it was not meant to be.

Now, apparently, it is my turn.

A well-meaning newspaper in the area sets up strangers based on their responses in a questionnaire and then sends them out to a restaurant for a date. I decided to fill out said questionnaire at 3AM on a Friday night during a dating slump, oh, several months ago. I may or may not have been a little tipsy. I also may or may not have sent in the snarkiest questionnaire possible.

So, they now want to send me on a date next Tuesday. And, I'm going to go.

I'm on about date 4 with nerdy guy numero dos from More Than Slightly Demented. It's been really fun so far and I quite like him. That said, I think he is fully on the rebound from his recently ended relationship. (And, every girl knows the worst possible things is to spend your time helping a guy heal his wounded heart and wings to then watch him fly on back to his original nest.)

So, blind date it is for me. If anything, it's free dinner and a funny story.

Have you every been on a blind date? What happened?

Do I know you from somewhere?

The message was innocent enough:

Hey, I'm XXXX... how are you? I'd love to talk some time.. learn more about you. How is okcupid treating you? Any interesting characters.. or meetings?

So I start looking at photos. And I realize the guy looks familiar. And that I'm pretty sure I've met him before. And then I realize I've done more than meet him, we've gone out before. Five years ago.

And one of those times definitely ended with some drunk groping and whatnot. *headdesk*

So...how does one handle this, exactly? Ignore him? See if he's any different than five years ago? Point it out? This is just odd.

"I'm Really A Nice Guy." Yeah? You Seem Like an Asshole to Me.

Message 1:

Hey baby! I’m like milk. I do a body good.

(No response. Look at profile)

Asshole’s Self Summary:

“It really smells like sausage in here. If you're fat and/or ugly, YAY for you. welcome to this FRAT party bitches. you probably have a false sense of ego/self-esteem, but you wonder why guys leave right after they fuck you slut, make sure to get herpes on this website ;) I mean there are like 10 sausages for every pair of buns...makes me sick”

(What the...? Is this real? Then I promptly receive an IM from said Asshole)

Asshole: Uhh, don’t read that…you should stalk me on facebook sometime if you desire :) I think that someone hacked my profile :(

Me (because I think everyone needs a living/learning lesson sometime): Then why don't you change it? Also, I was just stalking you because I was AMAZED at the level of douchiness one paragraph could contain.

Asshole: lmao, thanks hun :) I appreciate it lmao You like a good girl; What are you doing w/ your life?

(After looking as his Facebook profile as he suggested. His profile included such gems as “To all you sluts….keep dreamin’!”and “So let's get it over and just get naked, I wanna give everything I got.”)

(WTF?)

Me (after reading his bio): “Seductively handsome,” huh?

Asshole: Damn right.

Me: AND “livin’ the dream?” Wow, making sure you live out those clichés to the fullest, huh?

Asshole: Uhhh, kinda. LOL. You’re ripping me apart. I like it. So when are you going to call me?

Me: Hmm, never. I do not associate with men who refer to women as "sluts."

Asshole: I'm really a nice guy

Me: I also do not associate with men who definitely got the short stick when it came to intelligence. And, sweetie, "nice guys" do not call women "sluts."

Asshole: 7” is not short...

Me: Yes, but I can buy 7" of battery operated fun. The best part? It's not attached to an asshole.

Asshole: Haha, nice. So what's your number?

Asshole: Call me.

Me: So, really, does this ever work for you?

(Peruse his Facebook profile out of curiosity. Find he has posted tons of pictures of naked girls who obviously did not know their picture has been taken or had sent him pictures privately. Also found several photos of, uh, crotch shots. Status updates included things such as Asshole “hates this Fat bitch so bad he hopes she gets stuffed with black dicks (not small ones) until she explodes like a piñata and children collect the blubber.")

(QUEUE HORRIFIED LOOK ON FACE. Oh. My. God. I didn’t think people like this really existed.)

Asshole: Only w/ you ;) So call me.

Me: You are officially blocked from this point on…I reported your photos on Facebook as porn. I have also reported you on this site. Even if this is some elaborate joke, you are sick.

Asshole: get a life ;)

Me: Get a clue.

WHAT THE HELL?!

AHHHHH!

More Than Slightly Demented

I am a planner. I like to plan. It is what I do. In fact, as I sit here, I am planning my blog entry.

Short, witty beginning. Unexpected transition to relevant topic. Paragraph detailing week’s current neurosis. Reference to beginning humorous statement. Self-depreciating sign-off. The end.

Suffice to say, the unknown makes me nervous. Even when spontaneous events occur, I am most likely silently going through an action plan in my head, developing several different scenarios. Luckily, I’m not normally pessimistic so these are rarely worst case scenarios, but rather tend to be happily fanciful. (Except when I’m worrying about being hit and killed by an embarrassingly small car as I cross the street. Anyone who knows me realizes though that this has more to do with having a shameful obituary.)

“Hit and killed by a Ford Fiesta coasting along at 14.25 MPH, the Queen of Spades is survived by her family, three houseplants, blue ukulele and family’s flatulent French bulldog.”

I’ve recently been on two admirable first dates. I went on a fairly epic date with the peppy, slightly deranged man of the Dating Action Plan. We tourist watched. We drank beer at an Irish pub. We walked along the water. We ate overpriced Italian food. We let a clog salesman from Minnesota buy us drinks after correctly answering questions about the Prime Ministers of China and Canada. (Yes, this actually did happen.)

Date number two was with an equally obscure-trivia-spouting, dog-loving romantic interest. It included cheap Mexican food, a walk along a river, a glass of accidentally ordered champagne and an awkward kiss good-night. (I have come to conclusion that I am perpetually 12 as it always shocks me that anyone wants to kiss me. It usually goes somethin’ a-like this: “Oh hey, look! Something shiny! I had a good time toni-mwhwhwakahaaa(smooch)...Oh. (pause) I have no game.”) Awkward moment aside, I was really excited about this date and I thought it went really well. Both men asked me out again.

Wait. Continue waiting. Impatiently wait. Tap fingers. Ponder what happens between “Let’s go out again” and the subsequent lack of communication. Whip self into a pitiful frenzy about how one is going to die alone. Fabricate elaborate ruse in which one convinces landlord that you have to take your dearly departed aunt’s cat in order to have a feline companion in life of solitude.

Suffice to say, with my penchant for planning everything, the unknown in dating makes me extremely nervous and more than slightly demented. In the midst of my self-pitying frenzy of crazy last night in which I had convinced myself that both men had completely lost interest and disappeared, lo, an email. Oh, and an IM. Oh hey, a text. Oh. Wait, is that a missed call? Date number one wants to go on a grand date on Friday. And, I forgot date two was out of town, HELPING HIS GRANDPARENTS MOVE, for a couple days. He wants to go out again when he gets back.

Oh.

Well, damn. So, I am an unhinged control freak who doesn’t deal well with the concept of rejection. Let’s not even talk of actual rejection. Though it seems like letting myself off easy, puffy eyes and a headache of death will have to be punishment enough for my utter lameness. Post crazy tantrum, I had a moment of clarity about my bad dating habits and the cycle of insecurity I get myself into every time I start anew with this whole love business. So, I’ve managed to calm down a bit, promising myself I won’t talk myself down into the pit of despair again. I will also not try to over-plan and over-analyze everything.

Man, I suck at this.