So I’m back to my online tricks to force myself out into the dating world. Don’t ask what site(s) because it has been a difficult mess in which to wade. Frankly, UNLIKE LAST TIME, I don’t want someone spying out my profile, right clicking and saving my pictures and emailing them to everyone they know saying, “Hey, this is Velvet.” Fucking psycho. Yeah, I know you did that. Bitch.
Back to me.
Clearly I just care less right now than I have been known to in the past. Let’s start (and end with) the hair. I tied it up for work on Friday. When I took it out of it’s cage at the end of the day, it was a little stringy. My first thought: “Shit, I have a date tonight,” was quickly followed by my second thought: “Who cares.” And, I don’t. See, it is this kind of thinking that is going to get me in trouble. Because I will walk into a date with some stud and I’ll have stringy hair and spinach in my teeth because I didn’t care enough to try. And he will probably find it charming. Then I’ll morph into who I really am and he won’t like me because I’m not the same “real” girl he first met. But if I go looking good and being all charming and witty, then I’ll never get rid of them because odds are that 99% of these guys I won’t want to see again. Ever. See? I’ve got myself set up for anxiety AND failure at the same time. A psychologist’s dream I am. Yes siree.
The first date back out there I wanted to be with someone totally not my type. It was my “practice date.” I haven’t been out with anyone in six months. Anyway, the chap who asked me out first was quite aggressive over email, and I just figured I would use the “oh, my poor broken heart, I guess I’m just not ready to date anyone” line if he tried to pursue things. Then we shared some texts and he was mildly rude in some, accusing me of bailing when I gave NO indication at all that I was waffling. I wasn’t. I needed “Practice Date.” We finally agreed on a time and place, and I texted back and ask if he’s done with work and ready. He replies ten minutes before we’re supposed to meet that he’s still tied up with work. I text back to just let me know when he’s ready. Then? Nothing. Zip. Aah, the magic. The man spent the last 24 hours accusing me of bailing, only to effectively bail. And because I am in the “not caring” mode, I remained unmoved, in sweats, ratty hair in a ponytail, no makeup. I knew he was going to bail all along so I never even got up to get ready. HA! So, that’s for you, shitwipe.
Of course the management lesson here applies, that people are always guilty of what they constantly accuse you. The boyfriend who nags his girlfriend about cheating is usually the one who is screwing around. The old boss I had who was so sure everyone was taking money out of his pocket, was in effect, cheating and stealing from others. The guy who accuses me of bailing – will be the one who bails. I sniffed it out and that’s why I never took off the sweatpants.
Sixes and Sevens tried to convince me to come to Local 16, but I hopped on IM with some Greek guy, then got a call from someone else who wanted to meet for a drink. I know, I’m quick. I ain’t fucking around anymore. It’s the year of first dates. Or something like that. And the naming system this year includes a number at the end. Much easier to keep track. So, on Friday night I met BillGates1, so named for his involvement in computers. He’s been into computers since way way way before many of us hit high school. He knows some pretty big names in the Geek Kingdom, and told me who some of his friends are. He’s started a handful of companies, but finds his work boring to discuss. We had a couple drinks, I chowed some mozzy sticks, and he walked me home. No chemistry, but it was pleasant enough and I agreed to go out with him again. Besides, even if it doesn’t work out, I could use a friend like him. Must surround myself with smart people.
I swear, when I got in my elevator, I jumped up and down, not for the sheer excitedness of the date, but because all I could say to myself was, “I WENT OUT WITH SOMEONE OTHER THAN SHERLOCK!!!”
Saturday, I had an impromptu run-in with the adorable etcetera at the Pet Store. Sammy and Thora barreled into the place and I heard someone say, “Is that Sammy and Thora?” Then we identified each other, by blog name, in front of the clerk. Yeah, we’re geeks. And I feel like Sammy and Thora are famous! Hooray! Now if I can just get them modeling contracts…I’d be the greatest pageant mom evah! Oh but etcetera, I wouldn’t wear the get up I wore to the store, I looked like hell. Ick. Moving right along…
In the evening, after I downloaded some much needed 80’s rock, (Helloooo Billy Squier,) I met FreckledK at um, a bar. I have to stop saying names of bars because then “people” end up showing up there. I convinced another suitor I’m speaking to, via text, to come from his bar to my bar. So, he arrives. And he’s not as cute as I had thought. Oops. Then we had a great conversation and he said, “How forward can I be?” I said, “Go ahead.” He said, “Will you get embarrassed?” I said, “Probably. Text it to me.” So he gets his phone and texts something about um, wanting to lick me all over. Yeah. All righty. I took off for the bathroom, but not before he put his hands all over me. And the slide up the back of the shirt, ugh. Then he tried to kiss me. Code RED Code RED! Gotta pee! Disaster averted. Dude, don’t try that again or you might find my fist in your face. I’m so unprepared for the dating world.
I found Sixes and Sevens humping a man by the bathroom. Awesome. Then we caught up on what we had done since we last saw each other a few hours earlier. I went back to my, um, date, who is now known as HandUpTheBack2, and she took off. When I sat down again, the hands were ALL OVER me and he was saying things about how great I looked and blah blah blah. Don’t men realize when you are recoiling and not into their advances? I said something to him when he acted all weird, “I’m totally not out here looking for sex.” Ugh. I have to say, it all made me sick, then it made me think of Sherlock. Damn him for entering my mind. FreckledK invented an excuse about being tired, which was so lame because he knew we were bailing, and we ran out of there so fast I am now officially embarrassed for my entire gender.
Velvet: What’s today? January 6th? Great. 359 days left in the year and what, at this rate, 240 more dates?
FreckledK: Do you like him?
Velvet: I did until he put his hands on me. Then it made me miss Sherlock. And damn me for saying that. It just felt weird to me, like I was doing something wrong.
FreckledK: I know EXACTLY what you are talking about.
Then. I swear. Ask her if you don’t believe me. Sherlock texted me. Right at that moment. 2 a.m. Said he was just thinking about me. I replied, “Me too.” We talked for a bit, but it was so strained. Mostly because I’m a freak. We have not been speaking a whole hell of a lot these days. I suppose he was drunk. But I brought FreckledK home and returned home to man the email. I need an assistant to help me weed through these men. Though, I’m not being picky, I’m just trying to get “back out there.” So I’ll pretty much go out with anyone who isn’t married or a serial killer. Not that I would even know either of those things until it is too late.
HandUpTheBack2 texted a couple times when I was driving FreckledK home, and then this morning at 9 a.m. (WTF??) to ask if he got a second chance. I didn’t respond, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. He sent an email saying something about being sorry it got so weird, and he was drunk and blah. Whatever. And…out!
I was supposed to have a date tonight, but he just emailed about it getting late or something, and there’s the rain, and my having just woken up from a nap so I’m not feeling charming at all. Several others on deck. I’ll keep you posted. And hopefully this nagging feeling that I’m doing something wrong by dating again will go away.