On one hand, canceling plans IS my favorite. Very little in life is better — dogs, sure, but not much else.
On the other hand, meeting dudes at my friends’ huge parties has been the only successful route to nookie I’ve had in recent memory, and I’m kinda pissed I’m too sick to go prowlin’, because I am cute as fuck in Christmas garb.
Plus there’s definitely a dog there.
Fuck you and your betrayin’ ass, Body. This is NOT the bed I want to be in.🖕🏼
I never recapped the first date with New Guy last weekend, but it ended with a pleasant goodbye kiss and plans for a second date, which happened yesterday.
So.
I was actually happy when my period started a few days prior, because then when I went to his house to watch movies, we both knew second-date sex wasn’t an option. No need to worry about things moving too fast, or for me to get bonus therapy beforehand for being all “Insane in my Slut Shame” — it just ain’t happ’nin’.
Um, yeah… Turns out my period doesn’t stop me from stripping down to just panties and then blowing him.
Whoops.
But also, godDAMN, I’d missed doing that. (He seemed pretty happy about it, too.)
And at least so far, no shame to speak of. I like him. I think we’d be friends if we weren’t dating. Even if it ends up just being casual or short-term or whatever, I already know I didn’t blow a boring idiot. So…you know…progress.
P.S. He said he owes me oral once my body isn’t made of betrayal, so if you hear about a woman exploding with years of pent-up tension in South Philly this weekend, it’s been fun knowing y’all.
P.P.S. He also called my body “fucking hot,” even though I suddenly have 10-15 extra pounds on me that I’m working on getting rid of. Pay attention, gentlemen — that’s the kinda game that gets your dick wet.
Male BFF: “Where do you want to go for drinks tomorrow night? Something low-key like Barcade, or something more involved like dancing at a gay bar where you’ll be fondled by beautiful gay men and I will have an experience in the men’s room that leaves me questioning some very fundamental things about myself?
Me: “Any place I can get drunk and find a dude or two to make out with, but that is also magically not crowded/won’t have a wait on a Saturday night.”
(If y’all ever have the chance, being horny, lazy, AND socially anxious is, like, the BEST.)
Followup email: “Also, if I’m going to get fondled, I think I’d prefer hetero. I’m not sure I could convince a gay man to put his hand up my dress. But hey, dare to dream.”
I think My Default Bar wins—they offer bacon-y cheese pretzels, froofy cocktails, and cake. Throw a unicorn* and some books in that joint and I’ll be set for life.
*Please don’t really throw unicorns. They’ll fuck you up. Little known fact: Unicorns are actually total assholes.
I almost forgot to report that Waffles Guy texted me Sunday morning asking when we could get together again. And that is my fault. I did let him kiss me, and let him leave the last date thinking there’d be another. So…my bad. I did want to kiss him, and I’ll admit I didn’t have the balls to a) stop him from kissing ME, or b) sack up and say to his face that there wouldn’t be a third date.
I let the text sit for a day because I was busy and didn’t have time to think about a response. He texted again yesterday morning, asking if I’d gotten the FIRST text. I apologized for the delay, told him I had, but that: “I actually don’t think we should get together again. I had a nice time, but I don’t see it going further.”
I said essentially the same thing to Elbows Guy, and he was cool with it, so… brilliant, right? I’ve created The Line? Kind, but clear? I AM a real writer!
Yeah, no. Waffles Guy texted back and said, “Why, what happened?”
And for as much of a snarky asshat as I was when recounting what happened on that date…nothing really “happened.” It was all MY preferences and issues. There’s gotta be a woman who’d find him charming…no woman *I* know, but surely someone.
So I told him nothing specific happened, but I didn’t think we had “anything in common except for George Carlin. :),” and he responded, “Didn’t get together enough to really find that out…oh well…good luck :)”
…Um, how much more time do YOU need? I knew 30 minutes into the second date. Do your stories about diverticulitis or shopping for shirts get better?
I told a friend about this and she said, “You didn’t need to give him any response, but seriously, was he hoping you’d say, ‘Never mind. You’re right. We should date some more?'”
I gave him a, “Thanks, you too!” and called it a day.
Waffles Guy, we hardly knew ye.
So here’s a thing a purportedly adult man decided it’d be perfectly acceptable to say to a woman in a first OkCupid message on a Saturday morning:
“Hiya. Would you be interested in getting great oral? Or at least a great make our session?”
A few things:
1. I can’t decide if he remembers he sent me the FIRST intro message 2 weeks ago and said only, “Hiya. LOL @ a relatively decent command of the English language. That’s not asking much!” (Response to bit of my profile.)
Is this supposed to be a followup after that went unanswered, like maybe he’s just switching up his game? Or does my profile somehow convey that half the reason I’m dating is because I can’t go down on myself, and he’s like, “My direct approach will swiftly lead to this woman sitting on my face?”
2. You went with “hiya,” huh? Twice? Right. *nod*
3. Assuming you could spell “make out”…we’re 40. Really? I’m gonna get Date Pretty for a “make out session?” Would this be before or after your mom drives us to take the SATs? “Naw, man. Naw. Shit, naw, man. I believe you’d get your ass kicked sayin’ somethin’ like that.”
4. Can you even go down on a woman when you’re obviously made entirely of balls?
I’m going with a basic list for last night’s date recap (Waffles Guy, date 2), because no storytelling would be better than just throwing it all out there:
1. He really likes Triumph the Insult Comic. He was surprised I didn’t, because it’s “such similar humor to George Carlin’s.”
THAT is when I should’ve left. BUT…
2. He ordered Bud Light Lime. On purpose. And paid for it. With money.
3. He mocked Rhonda Rousey for saying she was depressed after a loss, because “she just didn’t get her way,” and “male fighters would never say something like that — they’d say, ‘OK, I’ll get back to the gym, work harder.'”
So… You can’t be depressed but ALSO plan to improve? But “that’s not what a champion says.”
He actually seemed pretty dismissive about mental health issues in general, which is odd because he works in a facility that treats addicts and people with psych issues. But fuck you, dude — I’m only moderately crazy (“dysthymic,” I believe is the word), and therapy and meds have helped me a lot. And I know at least two people who’d probably be dead if they hadn’t sought help.
4. There’s “gentleman,” which I enjoy, and then there’s repeatedly insisting I put your coat over my shoulders even when I’ve said I’m not cold. Dude, it’s 65 degrees out, and I am a grown-ass woman who can determine when she needs a coat.
5. Related: While walking, he told me he was switching sides with me on the sidewalk so I wasn’t walking closest to the street.
I forgot that was a THING.
I don’t usually get feminist-tweaked until you start treating me like a child, and then suddenly you’re staring down the barrel of 40 years of family issues. I know when I need a coat, and it’s our second date, so… you’re gonna, what, get hit by an out-of-control car so I don’t? Way to volunteer as Tribute.
6. Discussing movies:
Him: “I never saw Lord of the Rings. Is that the one with the kid with the glasses?”
Me: *blink*”…No. That’s Harry Potter.”
Him:”Oh, right! I’ve never seen those movies, either.”
I don’t care if he didn’t see them. But how the actual balls do you confuse the two?
7. He said Breaking Bad was “just OK,” and that Better Call Saul is better. I hope someone gives you Stevia. (Kidding.)
8. Audible eater. (Of FOOD, shut up.)
9. While not as disgusting or graphic as I would’ve thought, hearing how diverticulitis presents in an adult male is still pretty boring.
10. When I asked if he was a Trump voter: “There are two things I don’t talk about in public: religion and politics. One I know far too much about, one I know nothing about. I won’t tell you which is which, but I will say I went to Catholic school for 12 years.”
Wow. I am in awe of the enigma of you.
I realize some of this is just me being an asshole. But… I mean, the valid points are REALLY valid. (It also hit a lot of my big-issue nerves, but that’s ME, not him, so I’ll get into that later.)
P.S. I let him kiss me because I was still curious after he didn’t on the first date, and I’ll give him credit: Solid kiss, one hand around my waist, one hand in my hair. Good work, sir. A little too much moaning for me personally, but overall, good for you.
You guys, Waffles Guy is trying to cocktease me! We’re going out again tomorrow, and I’ve been flirting, but he’s all “We’ll see,” and “Time will tell.”
Oh! Oh, honey! That’s adorable! But…hm, how can I phrase this politely…?
I look like Tina Fey’s and Zooey Deschanel’s chubby love child. (I call it “Fey-schanel.”) I have big boobs and bigger daddy issues. I’m pretty sure I can catch a dick anytime I want.
That’s not bragging, because it would be the wrong dick — there’s no ego trip in knowing a random dude would shove himself into me halfheartedly in a townie bar’s restroom. But I believe it’s within my scope of feminine wiles if I were so inclined. (Even better, lemme take my cleavage to Comic-Con and quote “Firefly.” I’ll be married by the end of the day.)
Besides, I’m not hinting at SEX, Presumpty Dumpty. I would just enjoy some kissing. I’m actually terrified to have sex, because it’s been so long I’m worried I’ll be terrible at it, or freak out mentally. So I’m perfectly happy to put off intercourse, but it’s pretty important I know I turn you on, and that your hand gets in my panties pretty soon, ‘kay?
Good talk. I’d high-five you, but I shouldn’t be able to, because WHERE have we just decided your hands should be…?
So, Friday night I had a first date — waffles! — with an OkCupid guy. After waffles, we walked around New Hope, and he seems nice and likes standup comedy. I didn’t feel a huge spark, but he’s cute, and…like…he’s fine. He’s a dude. *shrug*
He walked me to my car and we agreed to a second date later this week. Then for the goodbye, I thought he was just aiming for a hug, so I leaned my face toward his shoulder, but then he kissed my cheek while I did that, so I thought, “Crap, did I just dodge a kiss on my mouth? I didn’t mean to do that. I like kissing.”
So because I’m a dipshit, I texted him at a light on my way home and said, “Don’t know if I inadvertently dodged the kiss or if you’re just a gentleman, but next time…”
And his response was, “First and foremost a gentleman.”
You guys? You know how I know he’s too nice for me? Because after he said that, my brain thought, “Aw, that’s sweet,” and then my ladyparts were all, “We would fuck him senseless right this minute.”
Even just from a hug, I keep smelling him faintly on me. GOD, I love that.
I don’t think I’ve ever NOT kissed a guy on a first date. So before Friday, I’d officially gotten my ass spanked in a Ford Focus on a first date more times than I’ve not kissed someone. (That is to say, once. And also, shut up.)
But again, I texted my friends after the date and said, “I’ll go out with him one more time, but from his texts and this first encounter… I don’t know, I don’t think he’s One of Us.”
I know I don’t want a relationship just yet, but it’s not terribly promising if I don’t think we even click well enough to be friends. But we’ll try one more time. At a minimum, I must kiss.
OK, this post is long, but a guy I was kissing after a first date took a timeout to mention the dry skin on my elbows, so I think it merits further analysis…
We’re at the end of a decent first date. We’re kissing. It’s not great, but not bad. I like kissing. I like being against a man, even it wasn’t quite the physical fit I enjoy. (Ever just FIT with someone? Isn’t that the best? It’s like two really dirty puzzle pieces.)
I’m wearing a tank top, so he’s been touching my neck and shoulders. His hands go under my shirt (because I put them there), and graze the curve between my ribs and hips. He’d mentioned that’s one of his favorite parts of a woman, and it happens to be one of my favorite/best physical features.
Then he runs his hands down my bare arms and says, “Your skin is so soft… Well, except your elbows.”
*blink*…Sorry, what?
I pull away from him, gesture up and down at my body, carefully outfitted in form-fitting jeans, low-cut tank top with subtle but effective cleavage, lacy bra peeking out if I shifted the right way (which I did…often), and I say, “Really? Allllll this, and you’re gonna heckle my ELBOWS?!”
He’s not a moron, so he quickly says he was joking, and we get back to kissing after a few minutes of me being Cool-Girl-pseudo-outraged and teasing. But it stuck in my brain.
I mean, he’s not wrong. I could stand to loofah. But…
A. Who the fuck thinks of ELBOWS in ANY situation, particularly THIS one? Is this yet another part of my body I’m supposed to angst over and tend to? Should I add this to the list that already includes more extensive maintenance than my fucking car?
B. That’s your choice on a first date? A woman is giving your hands free reign all over her body while she makes little noises near your ear so you feel all manly and virile, and you pause to say that out loud? So if we’re ever naked together, are you going to point out that I don’t wax? That I have cellulite? That I basically have no ass?
Related: Is every inch of YOU gonna be all Beyoncé “Flawless?”
C. Oh, sorry, I must’ve left “dry elbow skin” off my OkCupid profile. Much like YOU left out that you’re 5’6″ only if I don’t understand how rulers work — I’m 5′, and when I raised to tiptoe out of habit to kiss you, I noticed I didn’t need to. Do you exaggerate size often…?
D. If you have enough blood in your brain to notice and form comments about imperfections while your hands and mouth are roaming a woman’s neck, shoulders, and waist — all of which, by the way, are naturally soft and smooth like a baby’s ass — we have bigger issues.
Too bad, too, because up until that point, you had plenty of moisture where it mattered.
I didn’t realize in the moment how much it bugged me, but…no. I mentioned today, briefly and nicely among other topics in my response to his most recent email, that I may have taken it too seriously, so I’ll see what he says.
The beauty of this is, I really don’t care if some dude I’ve met once thinks I’m crazy, especially since we seemed kind of “Eh…you’ll do for now” about each other.
And I know I’m overreacting, but consider The Elbow Heckle in the grand scheme — FIRST date, you not only have a negative thought about my body, you tell me? Am I going to have to bring my A++ game EVERY time I see you or you’ll point out my “flaws?” (Yes, I did just extrapolate a likely innocuous comment into a portent of future emotional abuse… What, like you’ve never?)
I’m not Perfect Girl, sir. I DO have dry skin. I use lotion on my hands and legs, but apparently skip my elbows, and my feet. I also have a pudgy belly, enough thigh fat to make another pair of thighs, and if you spank my ass during sex, you’ll see reverb. My forehead is showing signs of early-onset Worf syndrome. I have pale, weak eyebrows if don’t fill them in with pencil, and you’ll know it’s time for me to go back to the hair salon when you see glints of gray growing in.
If you’re expecting perfection in any aspect, you’re not getting it from me. Go hit on Gisele. No, really. I BEG you to let me know how that goes.
I have dates. Two dates, with two different guys. Dates I probably won’t end up canceling when I find out the guy has an STD or wants to take out his fake teeth before he goes down on me.
As I told Therapist and my friends, I understand this is a good thing. Aside from just testing my capability for interaction on a date, the last person I kissed was during The Year of Poor Life Choices (2013), so it’s been FAR too long. Therapist tells me if I end up kissing one of these dudes, that may be good, because maybe I’ll no longer be giving Bad-Life-Choice Guy mental significance as “the last person I kissed.”
But Jesus Christ… DATES…Plural…
You can die of anxiety, right? ‘Cause I’m going to. Just so you know. Kissing won’t be an issue if I have a heart attack. Hopefully the kissing will come first.
If I die, it’s been a pleasure writing silliness for you all.
Smug Singleton 