“Oh, you f*cking dirty little slut.... mhmm, yeah.... oh my god, yeah. I know you want me.”
The tv was off, light jazz playing on the speaker. Fluorescent lights drowning me in bad blue saturation. This was not romantic. He talked where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do, everything he knew. He talked a lot. This was not sweet.
I could tell by his taste he was drunk. One quick kiss and then he kept that up for the rest of the night. Or just long enough for me to get myself the hell out of there. Boy, was this a story to tell. Another terrible date in the books.
Don’t get me wrong, there were other various factors that I felt we would not meld well—like how he did not meet me at the door but sent a text message. Or how he talked about how much he made annually and where I would be when we got married. Or how he knew so much more about the things I might have known—like parenting (which is hard to do if you’re not a parent to my children). Or the simple fact that he could not respect me and what I wanted but pushed and pushed, and ultimately pushed me right out of the door.
And don’t get me wrong, I am willing to give you a chance (…or seven, if you look at my track record) but I’m tired of other people’s bullshit. And the saying goes, “when you know, you know.”
“but people are oceans, she shrugged, you cannot know them by their surface.”
-- Beau Taplin
Since being online and trying to do this “dating” thing, I’ve had a lot of trouble sticking the landing—it’s like I’m floating along the ocean of the inter web and getting ridiculously sea sick. I find myself older and looking for something to work for my life: an island to land on, a something I want to dedicate my time and energy in, without losing it. I want someone that wants the same things as me.
2 AM and I didn’t want to close my eyes, because then I would be afraid to never see you again.
The doorbell rang.
My very first date away from the five years I’ve known and I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know what to wear. I didn’t know what to expect or what I was getting myself into. After nearly a month of trying to coordinate our schedules and distribute our time— a month of shameless selfies & goofy gifs and light hearted talk, he was driving down to meet me for dinner and drinks. My heart fluttered as the bell rang. I’m not one to be nervous... but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.
He met me at my door. Took my hand as he opened his passenger car door to guide me in. We enjoyed a hot & humid summer night by the waterfront for dinner and drinks. The bar was quiet; the waitress was sweet and attentive. The lighting was warm and he was genuine and sweet. He told me his stories. How much he loved his family and friends. We had so much in common. We laughed. After putting up a fight, and putting down my card, he paid the bill.
A touch on the shoulder. A squeeze of the thigh. Supple, sweet and tender kisses…Of course, I’d find myself in this perfect situation. What a story. What an amazing date with a perfect man.
That was the problem. He was put on a pedestal. It’s hard to walk next to someone when you’re reeling in this idea of a perfect, hard-working, handsome and charismatic man when you’re learning to stand on your own two feet. It’s hard to invest when the timing isn’t right or when you're caught in the past, present and the future.
Sometimes, it just doesn’t work out for you because the stars won’t allow it to--maybe because there is something else in your plan.
Dating is now-a-days is just plain hard.
I want to be courted the old fashioned way. The less crowded, busy and instantly gratified way. I want to fall in love with the little everyday things. I want to fight and not have to worry that you’ll find someone else to fill my position as fast as a swipe to the left or to the right. I want to trust you are only looking for my attention. I want to trust that I have yours. I want to not worry about having that stupid “exclusivity” talk. I want to fall utterly in love and not have to compete with another person you could or could not be meeting up with or face-timing or sending the same selfies to. I want to be able to talk to you and to communicate with honesty and respect. I want it to work for me. I don’t want to be some shadow. I don’t want to be filler. I want to love and I want to be loved.
From the crazy dating apps, like Tinder, which is now just a hook-up app; to Bumble, which is just awkward because you just never know what to say & because I’m just the epitome of awkward sometimes; to the ghosting. Also, there are a lot of fish, pictures of dogs & puppies, and so many army or uniform pictures. It’s all so hard.
1. the appearance of a ghost or secondary image on a television or other display screen.
2. the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.
"I thought ghosting was a horrible dating habit reserved for casual flings"
Now, I will be the first to admit, I’ve done a lot of “ghosting.” I’ve always found it so difficult to simply say what I do not want or that I am just not interested. I never think it is polite to just communicate it as simply as it could be said, and if you know me, you’d know that I hate hurting people’s feelings.
There is something to be said about the complexity of this “ghosting” thing. How someone can go from talking to you everyday to nothing. You get nothing.
And maybe it was because they just knew. Because “when you know, you know.”
Yours, xo, p.