Elbows Guy: The Final Chapter…I think… 

Email to a female friend, subject: “Be proud.”

Me: “When I wrote the email telling Elbows Guy I don’t want a second date, I revised a few different ways, but each time made myself remove the words ‘I’m sorry.'”

Friend: “I am VERY proud of you. Well done.”

Me: “I didn’t even lie and say I met someone. I just said I didn’t want to.”

I ran the email past a male friend first to get a man’s perspective, to ensure it wasn’t douchey but didn’t leave room for debate. He said the email would be fine for a normal guy, but told me with this dude, I may get asked for an explanation.

Five minutes after I sent the email, I got a text from the Bitches Get Shit Done group: “You will survive being uncomfortable. You may even be better off for it.” Kelly Sue DeConnick is the aunt I’ve always wanted.

P.S. I just saw that he looked at my LinkedIn profile yesterday, which is not at all disconcerting. I think it’s locked down to just my network, though… Probably…

P.P.S. I underestimated him. He replied politely and even thanked me for NOT doing The Fadeaway. I mean, he said it in a way that made it sound as if all women do that (and maybe they do, to him), but I’ll still give him a point for it. Only one, though — he’d lost 50 points for heckling my dry elbow skin while all the moisture he needed was IN MY VAGINA, so he’s still netting out at -49.

The 40-Year-Old Fadeaway

I just realized turning down a second date (Elbows Guy asked) is completely outside my skill set. Apparently even with someone I don’t think likes me very much, what with my hideous dry elbow skin and my terrible grammar and my relationship projection issues. Wait, why DOES he want a second date? I must be an amazing kisser. [/ego trip]

Have I REALLY never done this before? If I have, it’s been about 13 years. And why do I care about being polite?

I’m trying not to be a big, fat coward who does The Fadeaway, but it’s hard to argue its lifelong proven efficacy. And I don’t want to bitch out and say I met someone else. Even if it would make it easier, it’s not true.

“I’m going to pass on a second outing. I had a nice time until I realized I don’t like you. And you don’t like ME apart from my shortness, the fondling, and your superiority. I don’t want to waste our time or my makeup, and I certainly don’t want to get your douche all over me, you Summer Rain motherfucker…”

On casual dating, STIs, and “Chandlering.”

I may have to cancel my other date, because as it turns out, I may not be sexually frustrated ENOUGH to hook up with an open-married man with herpes simplex 1 (the cold sore kind).

Womp, womp.

I’m actually bummed about this. He was my first online dating spark and I was looking forward to meeting, kissing, and eventually sleeping with him. Understand how MUCH I was looking forward to it, because I’m actually debating, “What are the odds I already have/will get this?”If this were any other guy, it’d be a Fadeaway tout suite. But Dude was willing to go out to dinner with me, fuck me, then LEAVE, and he’s not an idiot. THAT’S THE DREAM.

Obviously I’m glad he told me, and I’m going to get my own full STI screen. Who the hell knows, maybe I already have it — you can get it a million different (non-sexual) ways and never show symptoms. If I DO…well, the bright side is that sex is on. But if I don’t, I don’t want to go through the rest of my life disclosing this to potential partners and boyfriends because I had casual sex with a married guy.

It’s interesting: I polled a few friends about this and got divided responses. Some people said, “Eh. No big deal, everyone has it,” and others were like, “No. That’s some soulmate shit, not something you want to get from a married fling.”

One friend said I was “Chandlering,” a nod to Chandler Bing from Friends, who used reasons like “mascara goop” and giant heads as excuses not to date women because he was afraid. I AM afraid, but truly believe I haven’t rejected anyone for the male equivalent of “mascara goop.” I’m waiting for a decent bit of chemistry, someone worth shaving my legs for, and genuinely haven’t had it until now. Also, Chandler’s romantic issues ended with one of the top 5 best marriage proposals in TV history, so if I AM Chandler, I’ll take it.

In researching this, I’ve learned a lot of places don’t screen for herpes as part of a routine STI test — you can add it to the standard test, or you can test for it separately. So I’ve had “an STI test,” but I think the woman said those screen only for chlamydia, gonorrhea, and HIV. So… “The more you know… *brrrrring*

I’ve also learned that Googling “herpes” will make you never want to have sex again, and that getting tested for STIs is a tremendous pain in the balls: my insurance won’t cover testing at Planned Parenthood, and I can’t get a gyno appointment until April. Can’t they add this to CVS’s Minute Clinic services? It seems pretty important.

Also, it is not at all weird that my personal Facebook, not connected to OkCupid in any way, suggested I add Hot Married Guy as a friend. But damn, he’s cute… Goddammit…

Dating, waiting, baiting, mating, masturbating, sating, procrastinating…

Today I saw my psychiatrist (ie, my Drug Czar, not Talky Therapist — it takes a village, y’all). And she thinks I should start dating again, before I “get used to being alone.”

Um… How ’bout “Shut up and give me my drugs?” You’re not the boss of me. Talky Therapist is. (Though, um, Talky Therapist also thinks I should.)

You’re shrinks. Shouldn’t I be OK being alone? Shouldn’t I be happy with myself before I bring in a Crazy copilot? Did you HEAR me tell you about the last times I tried dating?

“Well, you can just date casually. You don’t have to sleep with them.”

Well, no, I don’t HAVE to. But if history is any indication, I WILL. If I kiss (and I really NEED to kiss), I will tease, and then the man will end up touching the “on” switch on my neck, then I will lose my tenuous-at-best “lady” decorum, and then suddenly we’re post-coital, and he wants me to spend Christmas with him or leave a toothbrush at his place, and then I’m hyperventilating and doing The Fadeaway because I am a big fat coward.

I don’t feel like dating right now. I’m not cute in the winter, all shrouded in big bulky sweaters and corduroy pants. (Though, it’s supposed to be fucking 74 degrees in Philadelphia on Thursday, so I guess that’s not a valid defense right now.) But generally, sundresses are more my wheelhouse.

And by the way? I LIKE being alone. I’m pretty rad. That’s how I’ll know when I’m ready to deal with a relationship — if I wouldn’t rather be alone than with the guy. This almost never happens. Normally it’s “UGH, I have to…TALK to someone? And…shave things? This will not stand!”

*sigh*

On one hand, I don’t think it’s fair to potential dates that I would be comparing them at least a little to these previous relationships. But Talky Therapist tells me that’s actually a good thing, because I know what I want and what I don’t. Also, I do understand it’s not doing me any good to sit and wallow about any man who, perhaps over-simplistically, doesn’t want to be with me. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go check out OkCupid again. (I’m not going to meet anyone in a bar, that’s not my scene. I wanna get with a dude who steps to me in a Barnes & Noble — instead of sending me a drink from across a bar, he can send his favorite book and preferably a scone.)

If nothing else, attempting to date will give me good stories here. So here’s to 2016 being the year I finally get some. (And blah blah blah, true love, soulmates, rainbows — FINE. If I happen to find that while rubbing up against people, then yay for me.)

Do unto others, unless you’re an asshole.

I probably have no right to be pissed at a friend for ending the friendship by ignoring me when I’m doing the same to my “friend with benefits.”

Of course, I naively thought friendship was more meaningful than some sex you had and then grew bored with. But I should probably sack up and talk to my dalliance regardless. Thanks, Universe. Lessons learned.