He called me a bitch. Sort of.

I went on (yet another) Tinderdate last week. He’d been nice to chat to, but a day before our date, confessed to me he was still living with his ex, and asked if that put me off. I told him that it depended on the situation, but for now, no. To be honest, normally that would definitely put me off, but I told myself that it would only be an issue if I ended up liking him. And, given my track record, that’s what probably would not happen.

He came, through the storm, and we went for a drink. Immediately when he walked into the bar, I knew. Nah. I wouldn’t be interested. He looked a bit older than his pictures, was bald (though I should have known since he wore hats in all of his pictures) and while he looked friendly in those pictures, I found him to be quite harsh. He had strong opinions about everything. His job. The people in it, people around him. He asked me loads of questions, I in return, did not ask him about his ex. He wasn’t interesting to me and I knew I wasn’t going to see him again, so there was no point in collecting that sort of information.

Somehow we got to talk about differences between men and women, how they fight, and then he asked me if I was one of ‘those unreasonable women’. I sure am. ‘So you’re kind of a bitch then?’ I think my eyebrows touched my hairline, and he knew he’d gone too far as he physically moved back a few inches. In all fairness, if it comes with a good joke I wouldn’t mind much, but he was dead serious. Not cool.

I ended it shortly after, using the getting up early for work excuse, and saw him off. And deleted him shortly after.

So, another unsuccessful date. I have to admit I’m getting a little tired of the dating. I like meeting new people, I don’t mind spending money on a drink here and there, but at the same time it is discouraging. At the moment, I’ve got nothing in the pipeline, and that’s ok. It’s a scary thing to admit, because I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone for thirty one years (give or take a few short lasted flings) and I don’t want to die alone. But all of my effort is not paying off.

It always makes me think of my (in my mind) almost fifty year old flute teacher when I was twelve. She was probably a lot younger. But, she was single, and lived alone. In my twelve year old mind, that was a horrible, sad, lonely thing. And to this day, I tell myself I don’t want to be like her. But I’m getting there, and that freaks me out.

New dawn, new year

And so here we have it; another year spent single went by. So so many dates have come and gone I can’t even keep track. None of them have stuck. Well, for the long run that is. I’ve met a few men that rocked my world for a little while, but nothing lasted. There’s been quite a few fellow bloggers that got engaged or even married, and in real life people are finding their soul mates left and right. Dating has never been easier with apps like Tinder, and yet, after a year of full on dating, I haven’t managed to find someone. As I told someone else earlier this week; I am the only constant. There were men that were into me, I believe that I could have been settled by now and yet, I refuse anything less than a hundred percent. Maybe by the end of this year I’ll look at it differently, maybe I’m looking in the wrong places.

But enough of that; here is the yearly list:

Number of weddings attended: one (my younger brother)

Number of funerals attended: none

Number of babies born: one (I’m an aunt!)

Number of dates I went on: countless

Number of sex partners I had: six

As for the regular updates; I went on a second date with the guy I saw the day before New Year’s Eve. When I texted him to ask if he was interested, he jumped on it and wanted to see me the next day. That wasn’t gonna happen, so we settled on Sunday. After a lot of back and forth, I went to his place. I had proposed drinks, but all of a sudden he wanted a day date, wanted to come to my town but after I told him there’s nothing here on a Sunday, he said he had to be back home by nine anyway, and he just wanted to spend an afternoon cocooning. Alright then. I decided to go to his instead, for some reason I did not want him in my house yet. So off I went through the storm. When I got to his place he greeted me with a kiss, made me tea and made small talk. Like last time, he was very calm and quiet. I was a little disappointed, I’d hoped he’d be a bit more alive. We  hung around on the couch for a bit, made out and he quickly wanted to move things to the bedroom. Literally within twenty minutes of me getting there. While I’m happy to report the sex was a bit better, he still didn’t last very long. We got naked pretty quickly, and before I’d even touched him he provided me with an orgasm with his fingers. I could tell he was ready to go but I wasn’t gonna have another super speedy session. But when I went down on him, I literally bobbed up and down twice, maybe thrice before he told me to stop or he would come. I obliged, stalled him a little longer, but then he made an attempt to go for it without condom. That wasn’t happening. He got the message, found one, and did me in missionary until he came, which didn’t take very long and happened in silence. It wasn’t weird, or particularly bad, but I like my men a bit more active, a little less vanilla and to last a bit longer. I don’t know if he takes a long time getting used to someone, or if this is as good as it gets.

He went to prepare dinner, and I took a long time dressing. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt. Yes I knew what he’d wanted, but it was the first time I didn’t really feel good about it. Was this really what I wanted? When I got myself together he was cooking, and I finished my tea, which was (mind you) still warm. Lukewarm, but still. He didn’t say much. I didn’t say much. It wasn’t terribly awkward, it was more a calm, serene thing and he might be the type that doesn’t mind sharing his personal space. It was like we’d been married for ten years. And so we had dinner, I helped him pick up a lamp for his bedroom, and he wanted to watch a movie, some action flick I wasn’t really interested in, but okay. I wondered if I should leave. I didn’t. I waited until the end. We had a glass of wine, and he still wasn’t very talkative. I’ve never had such a weird date. He’s attractive, has his shit together, I’m sure he’s got plenty stuff to talk about, but whenever we talked, his answers weren’t very elaborate, and not getting anything in return, you kind of give up. I finished my wine and told him I was gonna go. He saw me out with a kiss, and I left pretty abruptly. On my way home I couldn’t help myself but text him I hoped for his travel buddies he was gonna be a bit more talkative, or if he reserved that just for me. He texted back the next day saying sorry, he had been tired, and had had a really good time. Really? doesn’t take a lot more than sex I guess. He’s gone on a skiing trip now, and I hope he gets over that fatigue of him. Weird shit.

On New Year’s eve, I went clubbing with a few girlfriends. Nothing interesting there, but I did receive a few texts from the poker player. During the day where he wanted to say happy new year and we had a little catch up, and then he texted me in the middle of the night, calling me hot stuff and all. Kinda made my night, how pathetic.

Also, Couch guy asked to go on a second date. I told him I’d be busy for a few weeks and would have to let him know. Really don’t know about him, and I’d say I’ve had my fair share of weirdness.

I’ve got a few more dates lined up this week and so help me God I am telling myself sex is not an option. Though, the fact I closed and started the year sex wise with the same guy, should hopefully be a good omen. Or something.

Mediocrity

I had been meaning to write a final post before the year ended, but the truth is I spent the last two weeks either drunk or hungover. I don’t work between Christmas and New Year’s, so naturally it was spent socializing. I’m paying the price for it today! Sick and back to work tomorrow. Anyway. I normally write one post per date, but wanting to wrap it up I will include all three I had over the last fourteen days.

The first date I had was with a guy from Tinder (of course). We met for drinks and got along fairly well, and while he ticked all my physical appearance boxes, hipster beard, undercut, tall, I hated his smile. That sounds terrible, but when he smiled, he looked like a six year old boy. He was much more attractive when he put his serious face on. He’d been married at the age of twenty five and divorced by twenty eight, and has a history of depression. All things I could live with, though the depression part would worry me. It was getting pretty late, and he said I could sleep on his couch if need be. The prospect of sex still sounded pretty good to me, so I agreed. When we got to his place, I was thoroughly impressed. He lived right downtown but away from the noise, and had a very stylish masculine apartment. Very industrial, but with a few cool touches like a rope swing in the living room. Impeccable taste. And then he said ‘I will go get a pillow and covers for you.’ I stood there, utterly flabbergasted. What guy lets a women he brings home sleep on the couch?! When he got back into the room, he looked at me and kind of seemed at loss for what to do or say. But by that point, I was angry and done. I have an excellent, expensive bed at home and somehow I got suck on this guy’s couch. I told him to go to sleep, got out my phone and ignored him. He left. I typed out the story to my friend so she’d have something fun to read when she’d wake up, and I settled on the couch. Then ten minutes later, he comes back into the room, scurries around, grabs my coat and goes to the balcony to smoke. I pretended to be asleep. He’d missed his window of opportunity. Before I fell asleep, I decided to sneak out in the morning. When I woke up at nine, he was still sound asleep in the bedroom. But when I picked up my phone, I saw he had sent me a message saying he’d had a good time half an hour after we’d gone to sleep. I mean. for fuck’s sake. He’s sleeping ten meters away in the other room and he sent me a fucking text?? So I snuck out. Hours later he messaged me he hadn’t noticed my leaving. I pretty rudely replied that that had been my intent, and that no one had ever made me sleep on the couch, ever. He confessed he never meant for me to accept the couch, but he was too drunk to turn that situation around. A man that is not assertive enough to get a woman to sleep in the same bed with him is a no go for me.

Date number two was with a musician, one that actually looked like my musician ex as well. He came to my town for drinks and when I saw him, I thought he was alright, but another one of those too sweet. The night was alright, he ended up missing his train so came home with me. We were both ridiculously drunk. As in when we got home, we had to sit on the floor and try to drink water. We tried to have sex. As in, he tried, but had had too much to drink to get it up. He did a stellar job in sixty-nine so I’ll forgive him for it, but the next morning I wanted him to leave. He told me what a great time he’d had about four times. Don’t like that. I’m not here to validate you. Also, once is enough. It creeps me out. Thankfully he left at nine, texted me again to say the same thing and did it again on Tinder(!) the next day. I let him down gently a few days later.

Date number three was on the day before New Year’s eve. It was a spontaneous one, I was being challenged on my being impulsive, so I had to prove it. I went to his city for drinks, and when I walked in I was relieved that this one was finally attractive to me. He seemed to be a bit awkward in the beginning, but he had a good smile and was eloquent. We went on to the next bar, and I found out he lives in one of the fanciest areas, has paid off his apartment in full, has quit his job and money wise, is able to sit on his ass for the next year. He’s thirty two. I was impressed. As the night went on, I caught him on a few yawns. After about an hour of that, I told him I was gonna go home. Either he was tired or bored. He was tired, but promised to switch to water because he didn’t want me to go. So we had a few more drinks, and eventually went home. We hadn’t even made out. His apartment was huge. And fancy. He gave me champagne. Eventually we made out on the couch and took it to the bedroom. We fooled around for a bit and before I knew it, he’d put on a condom. Not even sure if he was fully hard but before I knew it, it was over. I think it lasted shorter than ten minutes. He took care of me afterwards, but I was a little surprised, though I hid it. I hope the alcohol was to blame, and I also thought I smelled a hint of weed on his beard. We fell asleep, or he did, and I found out he’s the cuddling kind. Yay. The next morning I made the mistake of going to the bathroom and when I came back, he was dressing. No morning sex. Crap. It was a little awkward, so I didn’t stay for breakfast, though we’ve been texting a bit, so he might be a little interested. I might go and find out this week.

So that’s how I wrapped up the year. I’d say having sex on the last day of it would be a good omen for this year, but at the same time I am done with mediocre dates and worse, mediocre sex.

And then let’s not forget about my poker player. He’s still on my mind. A lot. We texted a bit two weeks ago, I asked him how his move was going, he replied with a photo essay including a photo of his dad. I should probably, at some point, tell him he’s on my mind. Just casual like that. I’d like him to come back, I want to see him again. I want to know if he thinks of me.