That College Couple

He pissed the hell out of me in my freshman literature class by playing devil’s advocate and asking ridiculous questions. I don’t remember how we started talking. I think he bet me I wouldn’t do something. One way or another, we ended up having a long argument/flirtatious conversation via Facebook Wall (back in the good old days of FB) which ended in me going bowling with him and his friends, then smoking pot in the back of his friend’s car as we drove back to our preppy university.

We spent a couple blissful months together during the rest of the semester, culminating with me visiting him in Boston over the summer holiday. At first, things were fine. But then somewhere along the way we hit a kink. I think it was because of the pot. I was a goody two-shoes in high school and didn’t really party much in college, either. So when I set myself against his pot smoking (as any stubborn, innocent 19 year old would), it became a big point of contention between us.

Oh right, there was that

Oh yeah, I also lost my virginity. He was sweet about it, but pretty insistent, and looking back, I felt too rushed. When we were back at school, I tried to tell him I wanted to slow down, but he didn’t understand and became defensive. We had a huge argument about it and never really recovered. Being a 19 year old with very few sexual experiences, I didn’t know if I was being reasonable. And no one wanted to talk to me about it. My own boyfriend didn’t want to discuss it, why would anyone else? So I just accepted the status quo, and went back to him. But I was pretty miserable.

The following semester, he went abroad. And was dumb enough (or maybe egotistical enough) to post some of his sexual experiences while abroad in a public facebook group that was meant for his friends, but was not difficult for me to find. We had discussed how things would be when he went abroad and had concluded non-exclusivity (or I should say he concluded non-exclusivity).

Regretting non-action

I wish I had taken advantage of that semester at school without him. There was a guy that I had some interest in, who expressed mutual interest, but I passed over him because I was waiting for my ex to return. I did keep up a somewhat more-than-friendly relationship with that guy for a couple of years, though. It was a rather poetic relationship – mostly we just shared notes and letters and poems with each other, but it was never physical. Too bad he lives on the other side of the country now.

I had originally planned to go abroad in the Spring semester when my friends were going, but I decided at the last minute to go in the Fall so I could “get it over with” and be back at school with a year to spend with my boyfriend.

When I returned in the Spring, we hung out a couple of times (and hooked up, too), before it came out that he’d been hooking up with this other girl. I felt so humiliated and angry. I felt like I’d wasted my time waiting for him. I wished I’d stayed in France for the full year like I’d wanted to, instead of returning for his sake. I cried angry, frustrated tears more times than I care to remember. I completely distanced him, and hated him, and vowed never to go back to him.

First loves always take the longest to get over

I spent nearly 3 years getting over him. Even after I’d had another fantastic relationship that ended only because of graduation, he still affected me. Of course, I saw him once or twice since our “official break up” (in quotation marks because he claimed we’d only dated 6 months, which I understand why, but if you have no intention toward someone, why the constant correspondence? Why hook up with me when I returned?)

But the summer after I graduated (he was a year ahead of me, and our “official break up” was second semester my junior year), he sent me a long email. His grandfather had just passed away, and he’d just broken up with his girlfriend. We had gotten to a point where we were friendly with each other, but I still harbored so much anger and sadness towards him. For a while, he would correspond with me in some way approximately every 6 months. It was as if that was all he could take not hearing from me.

Then I went to Canada.

I spent a year there, and when I left, I drove around the northeast some to tour through the states I’d never seen. When I stopped in Boston, I almost didn’t contact him. I came back to my hostel slightly drunk (ok, pretty drunk) on my last night there, and I sent him a Facebook message to let him know I was in town (oh Facebook). He suggested we have lunch the next day.

A strange warmth

I got a little lost trying to find him (he was at work, so I had to pick him up on his lunch break), so when we finally made it to the deli, he couldn’t stay very long. But we made conversation easily, and I I sensed some regret – on both sides. At this point he had a steady girlfriend who seemed like a very good match for him. I had no plans to cause any kind of rift. For me, seeing him was like finally closing the book. I don’t know if our lunch did that for him. It was clear he felt some guilt about our relationship and its outcome, however, as he made an indirect apology for his conduct. I accepted it readily; it made closure so much easier for me.

When we parted, it was raining, so we were close under my tiny umbrella. We hugged, and there was a warmth there that I hadn’t expected. There was a sense of many things unsaid – not just then, but throughout the past as well. But it was what it had to be, and I have done my best to put him from my mind since then.

The news

But when I read the news today, my stomach dropped, and my heart pounded uncomfortably in my chest. I was so afraid for him. He was a fitness buff, so I knew he’d be running in the marathon, and he’d always been the type to take unnecessary risks for the thrill of it. I was terrified he’d have put himself in harm’s way.

A quick glance at his Facebook wall (oh Facebook) told me he was safe and sound. I breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing I’d been holding it in. But suddenly my eyes filled with tears. Why was I so upset? I know I still hold a place for him in my heart, but I don’t know if I realized the depth of my feeling until he was in potential danger. I truly had put our past to rest in my heart after our lunch. He had apologized, and I had forgiven him. And I have moved on. But have I really? I don’t even know what to think anymore.


Here’s a typical story for ya

After Belgium dumped me, he said he still wanted to be friends. Ok, sure, I’m down…I guess. Besides, he still has one of my favorite books that I lent him.

So a few days after we called it quits, I texted him. It was some innocuous text about this club that was trying to get me to join (and pay their massive membership fee). I’d gone to a party at the club a few months beforehand, and they sent me a pair of *free lunch tickets*. I invited B to lunch (turned out to be a “meet and greet” with the PR person and a tour of the club culminating in signing membership docs. Needless to say, we didn’t go). But when I received yet another email from them, I took the opportunity to extend a hand of friendship/”let’s not be awkward about it” to B.

He responded in record time

When we were “into each other”, it took B hours, sometimes a day, to respond to my text messages (and I’m not the type of girl to incessantly text message someone. I’d message him maybe once or twice a day. This after we’d made a habit of talking and hanging out regularly, and I’d stayed over at his place already).

Suddenly, B is responding within minutes of receiving my texts. We had a short, friendly conversation about the club, and that was it. I recall thinking, “Maybe I can be friends with him.” Or at least friendly.

Can a girl be any more wrong?

Two days later, the day before Valentine’s Day, he texts me. “I really like that engineering book you gave me. Nice work…How was your match date?”

Alright, nice of him to compliment me on my gift-giving abilities, but why does he want to know about my date? Course, I was feeling a little self-indulgent, and thought I’d let him know just how well everything’s going on my side (maybe instill in him a little self-doubt about his decision to call it quits) so I told him I had a good time and we were planning to hang out again soon. Which is true. But it was also true that I found Readsalot to be more of a friend type. I decided not to mention that part.

B went on to inquire what we did on our date. I told him we walked on the boardwalk, then said I had another date lined up for that evening. He wrote, “Hah wow, I wouldn’t expect any different though. That’s awesome.”

Successful. Dating. Pursuits.

Then he said, “Sometimes I feel like I need a stress relief which hasn’t happened, and I’m trying to separate that from my dating pursuits. Which I’ve been successful at.”

Dating pursuits. As in, career pursuits, sporting pursuits, academic pursuits, dating pursuits. As in, “let me check that off my grocery list”.

I told him he needed to stop giving himself such a hard time and take a vacation. He agreed with me. Then he asked me where I was going on my next date. I told him, and he said, “should be fun. I mean it’s no blues club but ya know…” OK. That’s not very fair, comparing my new dating activities to the dates the two of us went on. After all, he broke it off with me. He can’t come trying to sabotage my new dates when he’s already told me he’s not interested.

So I did a photoshoot

One of my good friends is a photographer, and he wanted to mess around with some different lighting techniques, so I agreed to model for him. The modeling sesh was mostly implied nude. I’d told B I was shooting, so he asked “Did you get your pics back from the shoot the other day? You photograph really well. I’m excited to see them.”

The pics were totally classy – not even close to trashy or flashy. Very artistic and interesting to look at. But they also showed a significant amount of skin. Considering how much interest in my dates B had shown, I thought I’d mess with him a little and send him some of those pics. It was probably a poor decision.

He responded with, “Those are beautiful. Thank you for sharing. Any more that are more risque?”

To which I said, “Are you trying to get me to send you nudie photos : P”

“You caught me 🙂 yes I am,” he wrote. I sent him a couple more. “Those are amazing also,” he said, “You’re getting closer :)”

I wrote, “Well tough nuggets, that’s all you get.”

He said, “Well next time I see you, if you’re comfortable with it I’d really like to see those other [more revealing ones] too.”

“Hah, I don’t think so, sorry,” I responded.

“Haha ok. Prude ; )” he wrote.

“I’m not a prude, I’m just not going to share nudes with someone I’m not sleeping with.”

He chose to ignore that comment and we moved on to talk about this book I’ve been reading called The Four Hour Body. There is a component in the book about having better sex. And of course we talked about that for a while. I learned that he is into “anal stimulation” (his words, not mine). Course, I’d kinda picked that up when I’d stayed over that one time…

Eventually, we signed off and went to sleep.

A happy Valentine’s Day indeed

The next day was Valentine’s Day. I intended not to message him since I didn’t think it would be entirely appropriate, considering how we “weren’t interested in each other anymore”. He, however, had other ideas.

Around 10:30 that night he wrote “Hello…Happy valentine’s day to you. How did drinks go last night?”

Completely fed up with his ambiguity and his interest in my match dates, coupled with the fact that he had the audacity to message me on Valentine’s Day, I responded, “Why are you so curious about my dates?”

He took about ten minutes to respond, but eventually wrote, “Won’t make that mistake again.”

I said, “Listen, I want to be friendly with you, but I just don’t want you comparing every date I go on to the ones you and I went on. Capiche?”

And I haven’t heard from him since.

So bizarre. So. Bizarre.

So we were snuggling on the couch

The pizza man had arrived in record time, the Ravens were winning, and all was right with the world. And then the power went out in New Orleans. B & and I were already yawning, and B took this opportunity to kiss me.

It got a little intense – clothes coming off and all that, so he grabbed my hand and led me back to his bedroom.

We got down to our underwear in record time

When suddenly he says in an oddly serious voice, “Hey, look at me.” I looked at him. He has big beautiful blue eyes, and at that moment they were very intent on mine. “This is as far as we go tonight, OK?”

“Umm…OK,” I said, a little taken aback. We resumed our activity. At one point he said (in between dry humping) “You know -” pause “I’ve been thinking about you -” pause “a lot today.”

“Oh yeah?” pause “What have you been thinking?”

“Oh, you know -” pause “You challenge me -” pause “mentally, I mean -” pause “and you stimulate me -” pause “intellectually.” Touching, but maybe not the best time to be having a discussion about our compatibility, B. 

Say my name

We moved on from B’s untimely praise, and later he went down on me. In the middle of it, he said to me, “Say my name.” Now, I don’t know if I mentioned this, but this guy is Belgian. I mean, he’s just as American as I am (he moved here at age 3), but he has a Belgian name…ie difficult to pronounce.

So here he is with his mouth at my crotch and telling me to say his name. His name that I don’t know how to pronounce. I thought frantically. Should I ask him how to say it? No, that would ruin the mood. Should I ignore his request? No, then he might just ask again.

So I ended up just saying it how I thought it was pronounced, but kind of mumbled it, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He didn’t say anything, but the rest of the night he did keep referring to himself in third person. Talk about awkward.

Do you want to sleep over?

So it was getting late, and he lives a good ways from my place, so he asked if I wanted to sleep over. “Do you want me to?” I asked. “Yes. Yes, I do,” he said. “Alright,” I said.

After the Ravens had won the ball on a turnover in the last 3 minutes of the Super Bowl and it was clear the game was over, we retired to his room. Conveniently, I still had my soap and toothbrush and stuff from when I stayed at my parents. We washed ourselves up, got in bed, fooled around a bit, then went to sleep.

I’m not gonna be jerked around

There are so many things you learn about someone when you share a bed with them. I learned that B likes being the little spoon, loves physical contact (he’s really into cuddling) and is a very light sleeper.

A few hours after we went to bed, I had finally slipped into a deep sleep. B and I were back to back. All of a sudden, he bumps me hard with his bum, turns over to face me and says, “Oh, c’mon!”

I jerked awake and tried to turn and cuddle him, “What? What did I do?” I asked, very confused.

“Oh please, I’m not gonna be jerked around like that. I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I protested, “I was sleeping!” I turned over to look him in the eyes, “What did you ask?” We looked at each other for a second. Then he finally backed down.

“I could have sworn you’d heard me,” he said, looking down.

“What did you ask?” I said again.

He considered me for a second, then said, “Nothing. I think I was half-asleep, too.” Then he turned over and went back to sleep.

As if nothing ever happened

We got up the next morning and it was as if nothing had happened. We got ready to leave (he had work super early, so it was still dark out), and I kissed him goodbye and got in my car.

Later that day, I got a text message from him. “…Just got home, crashing and calling it a night! I vaguely remember sleep talking last night by the way.”

I then explained what had happened, and he claimed not to remember any of it. Except he must have since he brought it up! Now it seems like he is avoiding me. He’s been bad about returning my texts (it always takes him a few hours), and he made an excuse not to hang out on Wednesday. We haven’t talked on the phone either. It’s getting a little weird.

So I might be going out with Readsalot soon after all…

Round 2: Sushi and Blues with Belgium

For Round 1

He picked me up from my apartment a few minutes past 6:30. As soon as he knocked on the door, my roommate’s dog started barking its head off. I know he is not fond of dogs, and I didn’t feel like dealing with the dog jumping on him, so I peeked my head out the door and said “Just a sec!” Then closed the door in his face. Whoops.

I grabbed my purse and sweater. I was wearing this clingy sweater-dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a nice scarf and knee-length Anthro knit sweater. I’d debated wearing heels, but decided against it as I didn’t want to look too dressed up for the dive-y blues bar we were going to later.

I opened the door. He was standing there patiently. I was very nervous; tried not to let my hand shake as I locked the door. He looked good. Wearing a black jacket and collared shirt with jeans. Pretty much what I’d imagined he’d wear. Except a dark pair of jeans would have looked nicer, but I’d gathered from the sweatshirt he’d worn to our first date that he wasn’t huge into fashion. But it’s not like I want to date a dandy, so I’m not concerned.

The Drive

He drives some sort of sedan (I’m not huge into cars, so I don’t remember the make, although he did mention something about “buying American” so I assume it was a Dodge or something). Regardless, it was a manual. I find it so attractive when a man drives a stick shift. Just saying.

At one point, we got stuck behind a turning van, and he zipped around it on the right. “Geez, you couldn’t wait?” I said, before I could stop myself. He chuckled, “That’s how we drive up north.”

The rest of the drive passed in relative discomfort until we got to the restaurant.

The Date: Part I

I don’t really remember what all we talked about at the beginning of our meal. But I do recall thinking maybe this guy isn’t as interesting as I first thought… I felt like he was beginning to feel the same thing about me. Then he asked me about my faith.

I put this bit in my Match profile about not needing to be “saved”. Mostly because I’m tired of people infringing on my beliefs by trying to convince me that I should believe whatever it is that they believe. So he asked me about that, and that got me started.

Turns out we have similar backgrounds. We’re both the “black sheep” of our conservative, relatively religious families, we both had bad experiences at youth group, and we’re both doing our best to avoid church altogether.

Maybe it was the sake, but after that we seemed to get along a lot better than before. As we left the restaurant, he asked if I wanted to take a walk. “Sure,” I said. Obviously guy code for “let’s go find a quiet spot to make out.”

We headed down to the waterfront, holding hands, but halfway there, he seemed to have a sudden change of mind and took us back to the car to head over to the blues bar. Probably because there was a show being filmed down there, and I kind of wanted to check out the costume truck. Also, he’d told me on our first date that he’d kind of been talking to this other girl a while ago who was also a costumer. Perhaps he was afraid he’d run into her. Either way, we headed back to the car sans a make-out sesh.

The Date: Part II

We got to the blues place and headed over to the bar to grab a drink. He got Gin & Water (“a weird drink, I know,” he said), and I got a G&T. Even though I hadn’t worn heels, I still felt a little overdressed. No matter, though, I’d already accepted that we’d be the attractive young couple at the place filled with middle aged and older casually dressed patrons. There was a lot of jean going on. And not just pants, either.

We sat down at a table and sipped our gin, trying to hear each other talk. We were facing each other, and I had my legs crossed, so he’d occasionally rest a hand on my calf. At one point he leaned in closely and said, “Your legs are so soft.” If I hadn’t been into him, it would have been creepy. But I was totally into him. So yeah.

I also found out that he’d put a lot of thought into his outfit for that evening. He said that since he knew I work in costuming and have a pretty good sense of style, he was nervous about picking out something to wear. “So I settled on my tried-and-true blue collared shirt. I figured, old blue can’t fail me.” It was genuinely adorable. You know, that he’d really thought about what to wear.

As we left, I thought that maybe he’d kiss me in the parking lot before we got back into the car, but there was a group of people milling around out there, so he just opened my door and then headed over to his side.

So then we went back to my apartment…

“Do you want to come in?” I asked him. “Yes, absolutely,” he responded. As soon as we had the door shut behind us, I was kissing him, and not soon after, he slammed me up against said door. I think he said something about kissing his neck not being a good idea, but that was also right before he asked if he could “de-scarf me” (I was still wearing a scarf at this point).

As he tossed the scarf onto a chair in the living room, my OCD kicked in, and I grabbed it to take back to my room, dragging him along behind me, not really considering the implications of taking him to my bedroom.

But I’d hardly laid my scarf down before we were on the bed, and he was pulling my dress over my head. Course, I’d worn these tummy-tucking pantyhose that went to just above my knees, so that was a little embarrassing to have him see. “This is the secret to being a woman,” I said, gesturing to the pantyhose. He just chuckled and asked if he could take them off since he “wanted to see my panties”.

In any case, I just so happened to be on my period, which I made perfectly clear to him from the moment we landed on my bed…ie, you’re not gettin any tonight, buddy. I didn’t really want to get naked, and I told him to leave his pants on, but he was being very sweet and gentle, asking me where I liked to be touched, etc. Somehow we ended up in our underwear, him spooning me. “Where did you come from?” I asked him, incredulously. “Belgium,” he said.

Next up: Date 3 with Belgium

…this is happening tomorrow.

It’s Saturday night after our department dinner, and we’re all walking back to our cars. Friday was my last day on the show, so I wanted to stay out and celebrate, but no one else seemed keen on having a late night.

“Fancy seeing you here”

As I’m walking by the downtown pizza place, I’m stopped mid-stride by one of the transpo guys on the film. “It’s my 10th anniversary!” He announced, swaying a little. Following close behind him were two women who looked to be about my age or a little older. One was his wife. The other one was my leasing agent at my apartment complex. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised to see her there.

“You have to come in and hang out,” she said, mentioning that a couple of the PAs from the film were there, too. One of the PAs, she said, “is so in love with you. You have to come in for a little while at least!”

Well that’s an interesting tidbit of info I didn’t foresee. This guy (we’ll call him Medi because he looks kind of Mediterranean) was the one guy on set that I didn’t think had any interest in me. Either my leasing agent is making shit up, or Medi is very good at hiding his feelings. To everyone but me. Because why else would my leasing agent know?

So of course I hung out for a bit

I wasn’t particularly interested in Medi, but I did feel like making a night of it, and I thought I might run into this guy later so I stuck around at the pizza place and watched transpo guy show us the same magic trick 14 times until they were all ready to move on to the next location.

As we walked out, transpo guy and his wife said their goodbyes, then my leasing agent and her boyfriend split off from us with the other PA, leaving me alone with Medi. Wtf, I smell a ploy. My leasing agent seemed simultaneously concerned and excited for me. I didn’t know how I felt about the whole ordeal, but I figured I’d let it play out. Probs not my wisest of choices.

“Oh, so you’re the wife?”

Medi and I walked up to the bar and immediately ran into someone from the show who then introduced us to his girlfriend. “Oh so you’re the wife?” she asked me. Uh, no. I ain’t nobody’s wife. And I’m definitely not this guy’s wife. I corrected her – perhaps a little too abruptly – then turned to Medi and said, “I just got mistaken as your wife.”

The girl’s boyfriend said to her, “No no, it’s [the other PA] who has a wife.” Then he turned to Medi and said, “So it’s you she likes? I thought it was [the other PA].” Umm, hello? I’m standing right here. Just because I’m female doesn’t mean I can’t hear you. Also, who started that rumor? Truth is, I never had romantic thoughts towards either of them.

Bad art and a loud bar

I’m not exactly a bar-hoppin kinda girl. I’m much more of a find a favorite bar and go there. All the time. As you may have noticed if you’ve read any of my previous posts. And my favorite bar isn’t exactly in the thick of things, so I’m pretty out-of-the-loop when it comes to going downtown. So, needless to say, I wasn’t sure what to expect from this bar.

As we walked into the bar, we were greeted by migraine-inducingly loud music and an array of bad art. Then we ran into two accountants from the show and I decided to get a drink.

Mystery solved

Medi and I had planned on meeting up with more people from the show, so I wasn’t too concerned about being stuck with him the whole night. I never thought I’d voluntarily put myself in that position. But as I was chatting with the accountants, this guy walked up to the group. And on his arm was the puniest little giggly thing I’ve ever seen in club attire.

So maybe I was predisposed to be annoyed at her because of who she was with, but she seemed like the kind of person I make a habit of avoiding. I’m sure you know the type – black club-y dress, metallic 4 inch heels, 5 feet tall and double-zero waist with long hair overly flat-ironed. I don’t think I heard her say a single word; she just giggled. A lot.

I’m starting to notice a pattern here. Guys who give me the angry stare are attached. This could mean one of two things: A) they’re annoyed that they’re attracted to me and their annoyance translates to anger or B) they think I’m into them and they want to keep me at arm’s length

Either way, angry stare guy was otherwise occupied. I noticed Medi standing by himself a little ways away, and I excused myself from the group and went over to chat with him.

So you like Picasso?

Somehow I found myself in an argument with Medi over the bad art that was on display all over the bar. Sometimes I think I form very deep opinions on things that should simply be disregarded. This was one of those times. I think I am too bull-headed for my own good. Maybe that’s why I’m single.

Anyway, it was kind of cute how Medi tried to impress me with this art talk, even going so far as looking up a specific painting online. In the middle of our discussion, giggly girl came over and tapped Medi on the shoulder to wave goodbye. She giggled as she pranced off.

We ended up on bar stools at a corner of the bar discussing who knows what until the bar closed. Quite frankly, I think I was enjoying it because he was so interested in learning about me. Everything I said or did impressed him, and there’s a certain bizarre enjoyment in being admired, even by someone you’re not particularly interested in yourself.

I need to learn to make decisions faster

Usually I am the queen of snap decisions, but when it comes to my love life I have a tendency to vacillate. So when Medi asked me if he could come back to my apartment my brain weighed the pros and cons: I’m not very attracted to him, but he’s a nice guy, but I’m not very attracted to him, but I haven’t been laid in 8 months, but I’m not very attracted to him, but there’s beer in the fridge…and on it went until he asked again and I sort of said, “well…” and then we walked back to my car and drove home.

So are you gonna make a move?

So we got back to my apartment and…nothing happened. We sat around listening to music and chatting for a couple hours, until Medi announced he was going to sleep. And, if I didn’t mind, he was going to sleep in my bed. “umm…” another one of those hesitating moments. “Is that OK?” he pressed. “Uh…I guess…” Then he spotted my guitar and started playing for a few minutes. I lay down on the bed and just listened, wondering how I’d gotten to this point – with this strange man on my bed playing my guitar.

Eventually, he put the guitar away, took off his shoes and crawled into bed in his jeans. “Can I turn that light out?” he asked me. I hesitated again. “Well I’m going to turn this light out,” he said, getting up and turning it out. As soon as he lay down, I said, “well alright then. I’m going to put on my PJs.” I deliberately left the light on in my closet as I changed clothes, back to him. Then I crawled in bed and kissed him.

Awkward hand jobs

“You know, I really thought you would have just gone to sleep in my bed without ever making a move,” I said to him after a minute.

“Did you really think that?” he asked.


The rest of the episode involved too much awkward hand action, him getting my clothes off as soon as he could (which I never find to be a turn on – when a guy is too eager to see the clothes fly…maybe I just don’t like it because it makes me feel vulnerable and not in-control), bad breath, and him saying “I may not come.” That was kind of the last straw for me. I gave him a look and then rolled over and put my back to him.

What now

After a minute, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I got up, put on some clothes and then went in the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Conveniently, my roommate moved out early, so there was another room with another bed in it. After I left the bathroom, I walked to the other room and slept in there.

When the sun came up (only a few hours later) I heard Medi talking on the phone, and he appeared moments later to tell me that his ride was there to pick him up. I had already gotten up and was pretending to make tea to try and lessen the awkwardness of me sleeping in the other room.

He didn’t seem to notice considering he asked for my phone number before leaving. I avoided kissing him when he left by giving him a hug instead. He called me an hour later, and I ignored it.

He apparently didn’t think anything was wrong

Judging by the fact that he asked me out to dinner before he left and then via text later that day, he apparently didn’t see anything strange in my behavior towards him. After he asked me to hang out the second time, I wrote, “Hey, I had a good time, but I think I need to spend some time by myself right now.”

I’m still not sure if I got the message across. At least he hasn’t tried to contact me since then.

Sadness is an emotion I have no use for. It’s the unfortunate by-product of working too much and sleeping too little. Being sexually frustrated also doesn’t help. Nor does listening to Jewel.

The worst part about my job is that a lot of it is spent driving places or waiting on things…i.e. I have a lot of time to dwell on things that should really be stowed away somewhere for a rainy day. Or for never. And because of my current singular situation (I guess I should be used to it by now) I end up thinking about all the instances where my confidence failed me, and I didn’t say or do something I wanted to, and all I can do now is wonder what would have happened if I had done something different.

The perfect couple

So this past week, my roommate’s girlfriend visited. They’re the kind of couple that you don’t mind hanging out with. They don’t make you feel like a third wheel. They’re funny and engaging, and they’re not obnoxiously touchy-feely with each other. But every now and then, they’d share a glance or a smile, and I’d get a look at their incredibly true relationship and feel this pang of jealousy. You could practically touch the love between the two of them.

Hard questions

It’s hard not to be whiny and ask (to whom I have no idea), “When’s my turn? When will I find someone with whom I can share a similar bond? Will he just appear out of nowhere, like a wraith, or do I have to actively search for him? And what about the time in between? What about my libido? Should I just sleep around? (and how does one go about doing that by the way?) Should I be chaste? (and how does one go about doing that by the way?)”.

Course, there’s no escaping happy couples. They’re everywhere. They’re sharing a quick kiss at the stoplight in the car in front of me, or holding hands walking down the sidewalk downtown. They’re my parents, who still flirt playfully with each other after 35 years of marriage. They’re my two married sisters and my brother who just celebrated one year dating his girlfriend.

So then comes the next set of questions: “What’s wrong with me? Am I too picky? Am I too stand-offish? Am I intimidating?” Or maybe I’m just shooting myself in the foot with my inability to communicate my interest to guys and my natural inclination to hide any evidence of my preference.

So what now?

Should I just get in my car and track down every guy I’ve ever had a crush on and didn’t say something to? Or should I continue my search here in town (on a 6-day week work schedule)? Maybe I should buy myself a better vibrator. Or just stop listening to sad love songs. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, my dream guy will just appear on my door step in a brown paper package tied up with string. But I suppose in the meantime, I’m going to look into buying a better vibrator.

So. Welcome to my brand new blog.

Please pardon me for a minute as I take five to come to terms with the realization that my favorite celebrity crush, David Tennant, is married with two kids. As of December 30th 2011.

I guess you could say that ship has sailed (or shall we say that TARDIS). But enough about David Tennant.


I am starting this blog as an attempt to make sense of my love life (or lack thereof) and to provide some inspiration and funny stories for the folks at home. You see, I am a single 20-something female college graduate who is physically fit and living in a hip coastal town. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be dating the heck out of this place, right? I mean, it’s that time in my life. To go out there and experience a bunch of shit.

Everyone’s getting married. Wtf?

My oldest sister got married at 25. My other sister at 23. My parents at 22. According to my family’s record, I should be married by now. Or at least in six months. To be fair, I’m aware this is not the norm. But I’m meeting more and more people that are married and have been for several years by now, and it’s wigging me the fuck out. I am simultaneously terrified of losing my freedom and of ending up alone.

The Sex Factor

Here’s the deal, I think I could handle the whole being alone forever thing (or at least stomach it a little better) if it weren’t for sex. After I recently complained to a friend about my pathetic sex life, she said, “It sucks the first couple of months, but once you get over the hump, it doesn’t seem to be a big deal anymore.” Well guess what, I’m at like 8 months. And it’s still killing me. So this blog is going to be as much about getting some booty as getting some dates.

The First Challenge

Tomorrow (slash later today) I am going to a show. My challenge for myself is to come home with at least one guy’s phone number. This is my challenge, and I choose to accept it. You will know if I was successful. You’ll know.

Sit back and enjoy the ride

Welcome to my blog. Feel free to comment, or just to lurk, that’s cool too. Whatevs. But be prepared for a bumpy road ahead. I’m definitely fastening my seat belt.

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