Bourbon and Irish Whiskey

I’m writing this blog despite my better judgment. I said I wouldn’t write about this guy, but here we go.

I thought this one was different from the rest; and a small part of me still wants to believe that, but I’m not so sure anymore. I think I’ve given up on him.

It’s usually at this point that I assign the guy an assumed name, but I think that would be a little weird. He’s more real to me than the others and I can’t bring myself to do that.

I’ve known this guy for about six months now, granted we only see each other every now and then – usually Friday or Saturday nights. I met him just before Saint Patrick’s Day. I was out with a girlfriend. She was interested in his friend so she motioned them over. My friend and the prospective guy talked for a while. So naturally his friend and I chatted, too. That’s just the way it is, you make sacrifices for your friends.

This conversation, though, did not seem like a “sacrifice” at all. I recall he mentioned he liked Alabama’s car tag – “Stars Fell On…Alabama.” I wondered how he knew that.

The evening ended with him asking for my number. I was a little surprised. I didn’t think I was his type. What’s more is he didn’t seem like my type. He wasn’t very tall and he wore red, yes, red Converse sneakers. But there was something about him that had caught my attention. I could tell from our short conversation he was smart, and his reddish hair and countless freckles were, well, adorable.

We went out a few times…to dinner; a movie; walked to get some ice cream; met up to watch a hockey game with his friends. This guy made me laugh; he could carry on a conversation about something other than sports; and he was an incredible kisser. I even got butterflies thinking about the next time I’d get to kiss him. (Yes, I just admitted that.) But it all came to an abrupt end about a month later. I was supposed to meet up with him one Saturday night. To make a long story short he went home before I got around to seeing him. I didn’t understand why he didn’t let me know he was going home. What had I done? I got angry.

Let me tell you all I don’t handle rejection very well. It’s not because I think I’m so wonderful that no one should reject me. Rather, it stems from my childhood. Without getting into too much personal history…my mother was not around all the time. As a little girl I always wondered what I did…did she love me? Was it my fault that she left for weeks at a time? After lots of therapy I’ve discovered anger is my favorite mask to wear. In other words, it’s easier for me to be angry than handle the anxiety, pain or hurt feelings that comes along with rejection or potential rejection. Needless to say I’m working on that.

So I ended up yelling at this guy. Lord only knows what I said. It didn’t help that my boyfriend and I, of a year, recently had broken up. If you’ll recall he said he’d never loved me and wasn’t sure he ever would. MAJOR REJECTION So I wasn’t in the best place. I probably should not have gone out with the guy to begin with, but I liked him.

I still felt like he should have let me know he was going home, but that was neither here nor there anymore. Let’s just say I didn’t hear from him again – at least for a long while. I mean, who could blame him? (Plus, my puppy drove him nuts.)

I don’t recall who made first contact again. Maybe we saw each other out or texted. I don’t know. But somehow we started talking again. Let me say we don’t “talk.” We text. It’s his preferred means of communication – at least with me.

Anyway, we start this texting stuff. It has gone on practically all summer. He comes over sometimes on Friday or Saturday nights after he’s been out with his friends. Don’t get this wrong, readers…it’s nothing R-rated. Many women would scoff at the idea, never seeing him except after he’s been out, but, hey, I like the company. And a part of me kept hoping we’d actually go out and do something. Now, to his credit he did ask me to the movies – once. It was the night of a special election, though, and I had to work. A colleague persuaded me to ask him to a jazz concert at the zoo (I had free tickets). He said he couldn’t.

The texts continued. The Friday/Saturday night meet-ups kept on. Some of my girlfriends speculated there was a girlfriend; others said he was shy or lacking self-confidence. None of us could figure out what really was going on with him. But the situation was starting to wear on me. Either this guy liked me and wanted to take me out on a “real date,” or he didn’t. And if he didn’t I needed to move on to someone who did.

While having a drink with a girlfriend one night I decided to ask him to a movie. If he didn’t want to go then I was going to be done. I had had enough of the texting and meet-ups. To my surprise he said sure, he’d go.

The movie was awful, but the company was nice. He’d mentioned I should tailgate with his friends the following week. I chose not to remind him he had already mentioned us watching the Bama/Virginia Tech game together, and he certainly didn’t bring it up.

One again, though, I would end up feeling totally rejected and humiliated. I decided to text him Thursday night to see if the tailgate plans were still on. He was going to the game with his dad, he said, but I could meet up with him later if I wanted. I declined.

Maybe I should have just taken what I could get and say no more. But that’s not me. I felt that had I not inquired about the tailgate he would not have contacted me at all, which I deemed rude. I understand we had not made hard plans, but he could have at least said something. I would have done that for my own friends.

I told him I didn’t think we should contact each other anymore. I mean, enough was enough. I was just someone he could meet-up with at his convenience, nothing more. His retort was, in so many words, he wasn’t giving up on me and that he hoped to see me Saturday. Really?

The truth soon came out, though…why he only texts me, why we never do anything other than hang late at night. (Granted it’s not all his fault. I have condoned and encouraged it.)

After an apology from him and many texts between us he comes over Saturday night. We discuss what happened. And I tell him I honestly don’t think he thinks beyond the tip of his nose, that he’s selfish. He agrees.

This is where the light bulb goes off.

He tells me he likes to be able to do his own thing…go when he wants to go, do what he wants to do…without having to worry about someone else.

Ding-ding-ding!!!!!

I finally got my answer. Oh my God, how could I have been so stupid? He doesn’t want to be tied down. He doesn’t even want to casually date. He just wants to have a little late night meet-up girl for his convenience, and that’s enough to satisfy him.
I wondered all day if I could handle being “that girl.” I mean, technically, I have been for a couple of months. But could I handle continuing to be “that girl”?

He texts me a few times Sunday...silly texts about lunch and a TV show.

The next day, I share with one of my girlfriends the revelation I’d had. She says it all makes sense to her now, too. I ask her, why then, doesn’t he leave me alone during the week if all he wants to do is meet-up on the weekends? (I ask her this in hopes she’ll offer up some kind of positive reasoning, some glimmer of hope that maybe he likes me for more than just a make-out partner on the weekends.) I should have just kept the question to myself. My girlfriend, who is very honest, says he texts me because he is bored. Not because he wants to stay in touch with me, but because he likes the attention. As she told me this my stomach turned. Really? Am I really that ignorant not to have known this? I never would have thought that. Maybe she’s right.

Maybe deep down I’ve known this all along, I just didn’t want to believe it.

I never wanted to take up all this guy’s time, though, or monopolize his life like he suggested. At one point I thought casually dating him would have been nice. Baby steps, you know? After all, I’m not really ready to jump feet first into something serious just yet after having gone through what I did with the ex, “Mark.” But I think I do deserve a little respect even if it is very casual – even over something as absurd as a tailgate invitation. The last incident, though, made me feel less than an afterthought to this guy, which was unsettling.

What’s worse is here I am taking the time to write about him. This seems almost along the line of being pathetic. What’s more is there’s the possibility he could read this. He knows about my blog. “Your blog makes me sad,” he once texted. “It makes me laugh,” I replied.

Although this post doesn’t make me laugh. This one makes me sad. It saddens me that someone could be so self-absorbed that they can’t, or won’t, I should say, let anyone else near their life for fear they’ll lose any or all say in it.

As much as I think I like this guy (and really enjoy his kisses), and as tempting as it will be to want to respond to his silly little texts, I have to stop. Otherwise it will keep dragging on. Texting, meeting up, texting, meeting up, texting, meeting up. What really is the point of that? I can’t see one, unfortunately.

Take A Break

First off, I want to say thank you to those of you who have taken the time to read my blog. For the single ladies out there, I hope it brought you some comfort...just to know you’re not alone in the world of dating. The rest of you, I hope you got a laugh or two out it. After all, my blog was meant for entertainment. For now, though, I'm taking a break - from my search.

So here’s the latest:

I made plans earlier this week with a man, “Steve,” from Cincinnati. I was matched with “Steve” on the “pay for love” site. I wanted to meet him, but I didn’t. I was on the fence about it really, but we made plans to go to a local minor league baseball game. All of my sweet girl friends kept being positive, "Go! You might have fun!"

“Steve” texted yesterday that he had purchased the tickets and he wanted to know where to park, where we could eat…blah, blah, blah.

I texted him this afternoon to let him know I’d be ready around five-ish. Thirty minutes or so later he called.

“I hate to do this to you but can we do something tomorrow?” he asked.

I mouth to my friends, who came over to help me move a TV that my ex so graciously left sitting in the middle of my living room floor ten months ago, “he’s canceling.”

“WHAT?” they mouth back.

"Steve" proceeded to tell me he went out with friends last night and thinks he may have gotten some “bad food.” He’s been sick all day.

“I’m trying to stomach some pop right now,” he said pathetically.

“Tomorrow doesn’t work for me. I have plans,” I lied.

“I’m really not trying to blow you off. I mean I bought the tickets and everything,” he said.

“Uh huh,” I said.

“I really was excited about meeting you,” he said.

“Well, feel better soon,” I said in the fakest way possible.

“OK.”

I snapped the phone shut.

“What the f—k,” my girl friend shouted.

“He canceled,” I said.

I'd like to believe he got some "bad food", but I don't think that's what happened. He either got cold feet about meeting me, or he went out and had too much to drink with his buddies and feels like shit today. I’m leaning toward the latter.

Who does that when they know they have to drive two hours the next day…for a first date mind you? Even though I wasn't crazy about going I still stayed in Friday night and got a good night's sleep so I'd at least be able to hold a conversation and MAYBE have a good time. I told my friends he’s probably the type of guy who would go out the night before his wedding and get trashed, then be hung over when he says his vows. Nice.

Ding-dong, my phone beeps. 1 NEW MSG

“I’m soo sorry,” the message read.

He went on to say he’d call me next week..blah, blah, blah.

I didn’t reply.

You know, I’ve been pretty resilient through all of this: rotting roots; ticking biological clocks; lying, old men. A girl can only take so much, though. I think this was the straw that broke the camel’s back…at least for a while.

This dating stuff is not healthy for me. It’s making me very jaded – and that’s not me. My job as a journalist makes me cynical enough; I don’t need any help from men.

I’m not closing myself off to the idea of dating entirely, but I’m definitely tabling the active search for the time being.

It’s going to take a really special guy…

What You See Is What You Get - Or Not

Yes, I’m 27. I’m 5’8”, oh, absolutely! That picture of me with a great tan? Yeah, it was taken just last week. Oh, and I’m voluptuous, too!

Those of you who are at least acquainted with me know none of these are true. You all know I’m 29. OK, 31. I’m only 5’7” if I stand up really straight. I’m quite fair, and I would never describe myself as voluptuous.

For some reason, though, men on these dating sites tend to stretch the truth. So let me start with a lie that is quite easily debunked: body type. As I mentioned earlier, I would never put down my body type as “voluptuous.” Don’t get me wrong, I have some curves, but I’m no Marilyn Monroe. I’m more on the thin side. So it boggles my mind when men describe themselves as “athletic” or “average” when, clearly by their pictures, they are more on the “few extra pounds” side. I’ve dated men who were a little out of shape, and that’s OK. I certainly could stand to do a thousand or so squats every night. What I don’t understand is why someone would fib about this kind of characteristic when one can simply look at the picture and tell the reality. (Frankly, I don’t know why the sites have a body type category anyway.) Maybe these men have not accepted they’re not in college anymore, and don’t realize their bodies have morphed into something different over the past eight to ten years. I mean, I’m not 23 anymore, and I’m most certainly aware of that.

Self awareness, people, self awareness.

Moving on to a more appalling lie: age. If anyone is more likely to lie about their age it’s a woman. As long as I can remember women have shaved a couple or five years off their age, but men? Today, I logged on to the “free love” site to see who had viewed my profile. A man who looked to be at least 45 had taken a peek. His listed age: 35. My girl friend at work agreed, “There’s no way this guy is 35.” He was not a bad looking man, but he had passed 35 years ago. I’m hoping he accidentally logged the wrong birth year.

Earlier this summer I chatted with a man for a few weeks. “Rob,” who said he was 36, had nice pictures. He was funny. Finally we decided to meet up for a drink. I arrived to the bar a couple of minutes late hoping he would be there already. And he was. He stood as I walked in, recognizing me immediately. (That’s because I actually look like the pictures on my profile.) I remember walking toward him thinking he looks like his pictures…then I got a little closer. I sat down and instantly realized this guy had posted pictures from at least a decade ago. Oh, he favored the pictures; he just looked, well, old-er: bags under the eyes, more crow’s feet and he appeared exhausted. Despite all of this he was still a fairly attractive older guy. I was pissed, though, that he had lied. I was even angrier that he thought he could pull off the lie. I had a glass of wine and was ready to leave.

Before I left, though, I asked him, (more or less stated) “You’re not 36 are you.”

“No,” he said hesitantly.

“You’re…”

“38,” he answered.

“Really?” I looked at him unconvinced.

He stuck with 38, but I swear he was in his early 40s. I asked him why he would lie about his age. He said he wasn’t sure.

We never saw each other again.

Later that month, I met a guy for lunch. I walked into the almost empty restaurant and looked around. He had just texted me he was already seated, so where was he? Then I saw an arm waving me over. Oh, Lord, I thought.

I would not have recognized this guy if I had had my computer on me with his profile pulled up. Let me tell you he looked NOTHING like his profile picture. N-o-t-h-i-n-g. I don’t think the pictures were even from years past. I don’t think they were even HIM.

I sat through lunch, unhappy to say the least. I managed to force something that resembled a smile every now and then. Once again I had been duped.

I looked up from my salad, at one point, to find him grinning, his eyes all googly.

Normally when the bill comes I offer to pay my half. This time, though, I didn’t make a peep when the server slid the tab on the table. I let him get it. It was the only way at that very moment I could retaliate. Some payback, huh? Oh, well.

Someone told me once you can’t believe everything you read – or in this case see on a dating website.

Revolving Door

We’ve all heard of the saying “what goes around comes around.” I considered using the term karma. However, Karma is a Buddhist theory, and since I’m not Buddhist I do not want to misuse the term. I think everyone gets the gist, though.

This is not the first time I’ve considered this explanation for why I have yet to have a successful relationship. Of course, successful is subjective. Nevertheless, I’ve been told over and over by friends and family my theory is bunk. I, though, am not so sure.

Let me say I don’t go around breaking hearts or anything of that nature, although I have had my fair share of heartbreak. When I was 20 years old I became engaged. He was a wonderful man, but I was young. Looking back on things I realize I was more in love with the idea of being married rather than the man I was supposed to marry. Please do not misunderstand me; I loved him, but there were so many things I had yet to experience. I ended our engagement shortly thereafter. Some may consider my choice selfish, but in hindsight it was likely the best decision I ever could have made for myself. I likely would not have gone on to finish college or become a journalist.

The man I was engaged to married a few years later, and by all accounts he’s happy. I think he has a little boy. I’m really glad for him. He deserves to be happy.
Although he probably never would admit it, I hurt him those many years ago. I’m sure he didn’t pine over me for long, but I know it hurt him some.

So this brings me to my theory… I keep having my heart broken and bad luck with men because I hurt my fiancé many years ago. I am being punished for the pain I caused someone else.

Is this possible? Maybe.

I’ve always heard the pain you cause someone else comes back to you tenfold. Considering all the heartbreak I’ve endured over the years I’d say I’ve met my quota.

Despite the preposterousness of my theory, it does cross my mind on occasion.

Want Some Bubbly?

Another date and another disappointment – what’s new?

I meet “Len” while enjoying a couple of drinks with a girlfriend one evening. It would be difficult for “Len” to be inconspicuous anywhere because this guy is tall. Coincidentally my girlfriend and I just had discussed the abundance of vertically challenged men in Columbus. Without warning, my friend taps this guy on the shoulder and inquires about his height.

“Len” and I talk for about 30 minutes, and the conversation closes with the recitation of my phone number.

My phone rings a couple of days later. Dinner plans are made for later in the week.
I have to admit I was a little impressed with “Len." The conversation we had the night we met was actually interesting. He even knew about current events!

We walk to a local restaurant and have a drink while waiting for a table. “Len” pulls out my chair for me both at the bar and at our table. Being a Southern girl I was slightly enamored with his manners.

I think to myself, “This is going well so far.”

Hahaha…never speak too soon.

“Len” confesses to me he does not date very much. He says the “hot girls usually don’t have brains," and admits he was excited about our date.

I am flattered. "Len" proceeds to talk about to healthcare reform.

Our waitress, bless her heart, stops by four times to see if we’re ready to order. That’s how long “Len” rants about the issue – well until we order…then it’s back to politics.

I, for some reason, am not in the mood to debate healthcare or any hot button issue for that matter. I mean, I’m trying to get to know him. I’m curious about what he does for fun, his job, his childhood. I’m not ready to delve into his thoughts on the proposed healthcare overhaul. I tactfully try to change the subject several times, but to no avail. He somehow turns it back to healthcare.

I nod a lot. At one point my contacts become so dry from staring off into space that one nearly pops right out of my eye. I ferociously blink to get it moist again and back into place.

Finally, dinner arrives. Thank God.

The discussion finally lends itself to other topics, which I greatly welcome.

After dinner he suggests a night cap. It’s 10 o’clock, but I agree.

We head into a local wine bar, even though he doesn’t drink wine. Hoping to find something he likes I ask if he drinks champagne. He does. So I suggest ordering a glass. He suggests a BOTTLE. “No,” I say. Is this guy crazy? Good Lord, it’s a weeknight!

(It’s about an-hour-and-a-half later that I discover why he wants to order a bottle.)

A glass of mediocre champagne later we’re ready to leave. He walks me to the door. I can sense he’s not ready for the night to be over. For some reason I’m not sure what to say to him. I don’t really know how to get him to go away. So I say, “Well, I gotta take out Jasper really quick.” (Jasper is my dog. I shan’t change his name since he’s committed no wrongdoing.)

I go inside. He follows. I get Jasper and head outside. He seems to like the little guy so I do not object to him throwing the tennis ball with him for a minute. The minute turns into 11:30.

Finally I say, “Well, hun, I have to get some sleep. It’s past my bedtime.”

"Len" hops up, goes to the kitchen counter, “You want these leftovers?”

“No, you can have them, hun,” I say.

He walks to the door, opens it. I had thanked him earlier for dinner, so I guess that is enough for him. “Len” doesn’t shake my hand, give me a hug, tell me he had a nice time hanging out. He just opens the door and walks out. Over his shoulder he calls out, “I’ll leave it up to you if you want to talk again.”

I think I may have mumbled, “OK.”

I close the door and twist the lock. I stand there for a moment and wonder what just happened here?

I wash my face, put on my pajamas and crawl into bed.

By the next morning the only thing I can figure out is that "Len" thought he was going to get laid. Other than a night of healthcare discussion he seemed fairly interested (and interesting).

Then I think back to his wanting to order a BOTTLE of champagne, his lingering around, and then a total attitude change when I politely tell him it’s time to go.

A little part of me thinks he may text or something that day. After all, he had texted me every day until our date. The day of our date he texted multiple times. “12 hours to go” one text reads. “I have the scanner on…no emergencies” another text reads. (This text is in response to an earlier caveat I gave him that the news is unpredictable and I could have to cancel at the last minute.)

But no text. No phone call. Nothing.

Either this guy faked enjoying the date until the moment I asked him to leave, or he was pissed because he had expected something from me – something more than a thank you.

My girlfriends confirm my suspicions.

I’ll never know for sure if that’s what caused his sudden temperature change that night. After all, he left it up to me to call him again, and I have no intentions to do so.