Prioritizing in 2015

As you know, I haven’t been doing enough writing lately. And it isn’t just here–my YA career has suffered as well. Be that as it may, I wanted to give one last update before closing the year out and letting you in on a key resolution for 2015.

Anyway, here’s the Reader’s Digest condensed version of the rest of 2014:

Date 37 – Seven dates in the space of two weeks. I really thought he might have been “The One.” He told me he wanted me to pick out a house with him, where he wanted to get married, and where he wanted to be buried. And then he went MIA. When I drunk-texted him a month later, saying basically, Look–just tell me what I did wrong so I don’t make the same mistake with the next guy, he replied, You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just moving too fast. Seven months later, I found out this peach of a guy had (most likely) given me HSV-2.

Date 38 – I can’t write about him. For one thing, I’m pretty sure he’s psychically intuited that I’ve written about my love life online and is defensive about it. And for another, I fell in love with him hard. Our relationship lasted four months, ending back in July, but I’m still not over him. The story doesn’t seem to have completely wrapped with Date 38, though. In fact, we’re texting back and forth right now, as I type this. But maybe I’m just fooling myself. Probably. Although his cat really likes me, which I find amusing. Last time I was there, about a week ago, he kept giving me kitty-nose kisses (and he’s normally pretty antisocial with everyone except Date 38 himself).

And then there are the rest. Date 5 is still a friend with benefits (great benefits, as you know ;). Date 31 wants to steer clear of me and my HSV, so I haven’t seen him since some random angry-at-Date-38 sex back in June. Date 39 thought I was too nice for him to date (joke’s on him!). I’m still seeing Date 42, who’s actually famous in a geeky-cool sort of way (seriously–dude has almost 5000 friends on facebook; he holds a world’s record in his profession/sport), but I’m concerned he might share some key traits with my ex, so I’m not letting myself get too attached. Date 43 was another contender (a 50-something partner in the-profession-that-must-not-be-named who I was totally smitten with), but he turned out to be a bit enigmatic in ways I wasn’t so thrilled about. As in, is he mega-possessive or just bipolar? Couldn’t figure the guy out, but it’s over now anyway, so I need to just forget the way he took me all night, not asking permission, no matter how fulfilling it felt.

The rest aren’t really worth mentioning. Suffice it to say, I’m still struggling to find a guy who doesn’t want to have kids (one guy I met even told me he had embryos frozen in a local fertility clinic, ready to go!). Frighteningly enough, I can picture having a child with Date 38, and I’ve told him so. Can’t help but think that nugget of info has been rattling around in his brain since July, but yikes! God forgive me for even thinking such things!

Anyway, this is it. I’m saying goodbye and sailing (or, rather, flying) off into the sunset. It’s time to get more serious about my “real” writing again, since I need to sell another book in the traditional arena. As soon as I finish typing here, I’m going to pull my e-book off Amazon. A few months from now, this blog will disappear as well.

Thanks for reading and sharing in my journey. I wish you all well.

xo

Context: Dates 31.6-8, 35.1-2, and 14.4

Before I get to telling you about Date 37, who deserves a solo entry, just a quick update on where I was at in the dating arena. As you might recall, Date 31 was the sadistic nice Jewish boy who loves country music (and the way I give head). He would be so appalled if he knew I was writing this! Hehe. Anyway, he and I fall into the friends-with-benefits category since we love having sex but know we’re not right for each other based on where each of us is in life (i.e., he wants kids/I *don’t* want any more kids).That said, like me and Date 5 (whom you might recall has porn-star-worthy anatomy), Date 31 and I have an understanding that if we find someone we think is a serious contender, the benefits part of our friendship will be put on hold (hopefully indefinitely, but, you know…this isn’t our first rodeo).

Anyway, here’s the sequence of my dates just prior to meeting Date 37:

Date 31.6–He comes over to my place in his work clothes because he has client meetings afterward. All I can say is, yum! I love seeing a hot man (especially one I know is going to give it to me and hard) in a suit. Have I mentioned that Date 31 is a financial adviser? Well, he is. He works for a nationally known investment-banking conglomerate, so we always chat about the market and such. So there we are, on the clock, at my place. He’s hot, I’m hot for him, and he spanks the living daylights out of me until my ass is various shades of black, blue, and red. Which means I’m out of commission for at least a week with anyone else if I don’t want them to know what a slutty freak I am.

Date 35.1–Coffee date with a guy I met online. Even though I’d sworn off dating Hispanic men, since my many friends who are married to them consistently deal with all sorts of jealousy and possessiveness issues, Date 35 was super hot, over six feet tall, already had kids (boys–which are my theoretical stepkids of choice), and worked in lucrative field (yet another guy from the profession that must not be named, actually), so I made an exception. After meeting him in person, however, I was on the fence. I detected an angry undertone to Date 35’s words–especially regarding his ex-wife–but he was definitely hot and I couldn’t help wondering how the sex would be with him. Being that I was still all bruised up from Date 31.6, though, I knew I’d have to take things slow with this guy if they were going to go there, giving my ass time to look innocent. But what do I do? Instead of taking my vitamins and laying low, the next day…

Date 31.7–On my way to meet a romance-writer friend (of the sweet, chaste variety–yes, there is such a thing!) to attend a literary event, there was just enough time to meet Date 31 for a quickie. Right beforehand, he sent me this text: I’ll leave the door unlocked. Please lock it behind you. I’ll be naked in bed waiting when you arrive at 4:45. Please don’t say a word. Simply take off your clothes and start sucking my dick. After sucking it GOOD for a little while, ask me nicely if I am ready to fuck you. If I say yes, just turn over in the doggie-style position and wait for me to whip and fuck you. See you soon!

Oy. What can I say? I think Date 31 liked the idea of resetting my clock on getting close to anyone else. But that didn’t stop me from going out on a second date with Date 35, since I figured I’d be waiting until at least the third date with him anyway, but…

Date 35.2–When Date 35 showed up in his luxury SUV at my place to pick me up to go out for a sushi dinner, I was wearing a skirt, high-heeled sandals, a dressy top, and a very pretty cardigan (no, guys aren’t that far off base when they say I’ve got a “librarian thing” going on). Date 35, however, was wearing nylon gym shorts, shower shoes, and a grungy T-shirt. I almost didn’t get in the car. “Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed upon seeing me all dolled up. “I should have told you–because I have to wear a suit all week for work, I don’t dress up on weekends. At all.” No shit, I wanted to say, since he’d looked really nice when we’d met for coffee. “Want to go up and change?” he asked. I hesitated, wondering if I should just call the whole thing off, but honestly, I hadn’t had sushi in a long time, and I was super craving it. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll just be five minutes.”

Mistake!!! To make a long story short, the sushi was great, but the conversation was questionable. Date 35’s deep-seated anger became more and more apparent as the night wore on, but at the same time, he kept ordering drinks for us and touching me in ways that were turning me on, despite my better judgment. After dinner, he said he needed to sit in the car for awhile before he felt like he could drive responsibly. Now, the right thing to do would have been to tell him to walk me home, since the sushi restaurant was reasonably close to my place. Instead, I said okay and hung out with him in his car, where he proceeded to maul me like a sex-starved teenager. No, I didn’t have sex with him, but he got way too up close and personal with my business. Luckily, it was dark, though, so he didn’t see why I was fighting so hard not to remove my clothes. In the days afterward, he texted me incessantly, wanting to take me out again. Because of his angry attitude, I hesitated to say no right away, kind of giving him the run around, but within a week, I manned up and told him sorry, I just wasn’t feeling it, and he left me alone.

Date 31.8–Knowing I was about to have oral surgery and my dick-sucking prowess would be impaired for at least a few weeks, Date 31 made a special late-night visit to my place mere hours before I was slated to show up at the periodontist’s office. It was the third time I had seen him in ten days, and I have to say, even though we were clear on not being serious with each other, it felt way too comfortable, like if we did ever decide to take things to the next level, we’d actually be pretty happy together. We talked about pre-nups, my kids, the stock market, after-hours trading, and whatnot. He ate my leftover Chinese food, then devoured a bunch of my homemade oatmeal-craisin cookies, exclaiming how fat he’d be if we were married. But what can I say? Different goals. At any rate, we parted on a good note.

Date 14.4–Have I mentioned that I’m a sucker for men in golf clothes? Not sure what it is, but I can’t help it–I get totally wet when I see hot guys in polo shirts, visors, and golf shorts or pants. Date 14, who was still 27 at the time, works for a major golf-equipment manufacturer and golfs a lot as part of his job. I was probably way too loopy from the painkillers I was on after my surgery, but for whatever reason, when he texted asking if he could stop by for a little while, I said okay, sure. When he showed up still wearing his golf clothes, however, I was like, right on!!!

What a mess. So, all that to say, I’m somewhat lacking in the self-control department. Both Date 31 and Date 5 had been telling me forever that if I liked a guy, I needed to NOT sleep with him right away, instead making him wait a bit. With that bit of wisdom in my pocket and my recent experiences–which proved I was going nowhere fast in the relationship department with how I was behaving–a couple days later, I went on a first date with a new guy: Date 37.

Where I’ve Been Lately

March-April: Bought a condo. Loan application was an exercise in futility given the new mortgage laws that took effect in January. Despite having an 800+ credit score and owning real property in my home state of California since early 1994, when I was 23, I was summarily rejected everywhere I applied, necessitating a tax-unsavvy raid of my IRA in order to pay cash for said condo. Because my divorce wasn’t yet final, I couldn’t even qualify for a home equity loan in order to repay the kitty (even though I owned the property outright and it appraised for $10K over my purchase price!). Ridiculous amounts of time were spent emailing financial documents all over the place, all to no avail. But whatever–I love my new place and it’s already gone up $50K in value, so suck it, mortgage industry.

April-October: Remodeled my condo’s kitchen and bathroom. I should have a Ph.D. in complaining by now. Very tempted to say some horrible things about a certain large home-improvement store and a pricey cabinet maker also known for manufacturing furniture. What I will say, however, is that next time I do any remodeling, I’ll check out Ikea, instead, or explore having a guy from Mexico custom-make my cabinetry.

July: The indie bookstore I was working at (of five part-time jobs, my main gig) was in danger (even more than usual) of closing their doors. The store owners warned me I should look for other employment, since August might be their final month. Taking them very seriously, since it appeared that the property manager was attempting to force them out with strong-arm tactics, I decided to give applying for flight-attendant jobs another shot. Yes, this might sound random since I’m an author who worked in the publishing industry for years, but I grew up in an airline family. Don’t laugh, but my dad and stepmom worked for PSA back in the day. As a kid, I used to wonder, Why don’t all airplanes have smiles on them? But even as a child, I knew those PSA uniforms were something else with their bright-orange go-go boots and mega-short skirts. Anyway, every time my dad went to work for a long trip, my mom was like, “Come on, girls–let’s go!” and we’d be off to Northern and Central California to visit her friends. That said, I’ve flown a lot, and I always loved it, so the thought of working as a flight attendant myself sounded kind of cool.

This time around (I had applied at various airlines when I first left my ex, but with no luck), I decided to list my various volunteer leadership positions on my job history when I applied. Not to sully anyone’s organizational name, but I’ve been a prominent member in all three scouting communities (laugh all you want, but after 15+ collective years as a scout leader, I know how to politely boss around unruly kids–and their parents). And guess what? It worked! I got multiple interviews and job offers!!! I chose the airline with the base easiest to commute to and from my home town (since no way I’m giving up my sweet condo I fought so hard to get/improve), which also happened to be based where my mother and stepfather currently live.

Now, I’m not going to say which airline, since I love the job and don’t want to risk being fired, but I’ll give you two clues, since these won’t come up in search engines: (1) like PSA’s, our planes are “fun,” with unique pictures on them; and (2) we were recently in national news for a certain worldwide-panic-level-virus-infected passenger we transported.

August-present: Training/working/commuting. I’m down to four jobs now, the airline one being full-time, but that hasn’t left much time for blogging (or writing, truth be told). Also, I cleaned up my act a bit on the dating front (yes–that’s a relative qualification, because I’m still scandalously dirty with my love life) and went through a series of more serious romantic prospects. But, oh! The more serious, the worse the heartache! I’ve learned a lot this year about trust and human nature. I was going to say “unfortunately,” but it’s better to know and watch out, moving forward, than be naive, right? At least that’s how I’m spinning it in my mind.

So here we go again!

Date 27.4: So Am I a MILF or a Cougar?

The exclusive friends with benefits thing? Not real practical. Especially when your “friend” goes MIA for ten days. Maybe it was a cheap move, but I texted Date 31, asking when I was going to see him again because Date 27 (who’s 27) had renewed his texting campaign. Date 31 didn’t make any plans with me, so I got a little pissy and told Date 27 he could come over.

Super tall, super built, and blond (and only 27!), Date 27 is a tasty package. Sex-wise, he’s a little on the vanilla side, but what he lacks in creativity he makes up for in stamina and resilience, so there’s that. Also, Date 27 is a genuinely nice guy. Maybe it’s sex-driven, but he texts me regularly throughout the week, wishing me a good day and such. As you may or may not recall, he’s one of the only guys who remembered both my birthday and Mother’s Day without having to be reminded. Okay–maybe it’s a little creepy that he so handily remembered Mother’s Day, but whatever–the sentiment was appreciated.

Anyway, super horny, I invited Date 27 over to my place for a morning sex date that wound up lasting four hours. Later that day, at book club (have I mentioned the fact that I’m one of the only white girls in an all-black book club? If not, my preacher’s-daughter friend is the leader, for reference), I solicited my girlfriends’ opinions on the situation, since I was feeling a little guilty about “cheating” on Date 31. “Should I tell him?” I asked them outright.

“Hell, no!” came the unanimous response, along with a bevy of stories about how they had kept their guys waiting and wondering in order to keep them interested. Shockingly (to me, anyway), lying seemed to be an accepted practice when it came to the game of love. Now, call me old-fashioned or whatever, but while I get the point (and definitely the motivation), this still didn’t sit well with me. I’d rather be in a relationship with someone with whom I could be totally honest and not feel the need to hide or lie about anything. Yeah, I declared inwardly, I’m going to take the high road. There’s no need for dishonesty.

Approximately four seconds after that thought crossed my mind, my phone rang with a voice call (not a text!) from Date 31. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember very well being mega-nervous as I spoke with him, and feeling mega-guilty. I told him I was still in the middle of book club (even though it was pretty much over and there were only three of us left at that point) so I couldn’t really talk. So much for honesty, because we all know that offering half-truths is just a kinder, gentler means of lying.

As I thought about it, though, I was like, you know what? I’m not going to feel guilty about this! Because here was a guy who was stringing me along, trying to monopolize my sex without really giving me anything in return. And maybe I’m not a supermodel, but I do have a few key things going for me. I like to exercise, so my body is reasonably decent, I’m aging better than most, so people tend to be shocked when I tell them I’m 43, I’m an excellent cook (and an even better baker), I’m a published author, and, last but certainly not least, I’ve come to the conclusion (based on comments by ALL the guys I’ve slept with since dumping my ex) that I have a sexual superpower: when I’m excited, I get unbelievably wet.

Yeah, that last bit was probably TMI, but it’s relevant, since it boosts my self-esteem and makes me think that someday, some guy is going to realize I’m a decent catch. He’ll put a ring on my finger, buy me a Range Rover, and we’ll live happily ever after in the Ranch. Until then, I’ll just keep doing my best trying not to get my heart broken.

One-Hit Wonders: Dates 33.1, 34.1, 36.1, & 40.1

As I think I’ve mentioned, because Date 31 and I knew we weren’t ideal for each other, we had an understanding that we’d date other people but only sleep with each other. As a result, I went on a succession of Internet dates. First dates tend to be so fleeting, I’ve come to think of them in terms of cocktail-party conversation. Namely, I keep it light, keep it moving, and try to learn something in the process. That said, here’s the lowdown on how I fared in January:

Date 33.1 – An intelligent, handsome (but short–he barely cleared my height) gentleman in his late 50s, Date 33 took me out to dinner for our first meeting. Our conversation was lively and interesting the whole date through, and I found myself fascinated with this guy. At the conclusion of our date, he asked if I’d like to go out with him again and I said yes, hopeful he’d ask me to go sailing with him on his 45-foot boat. He kept touching me throughout our date (casually and appropriately, but also very intentionally), so I’m pretty sure he was attracted to me, but then he never called for that second date. Honestly, I don’t think I did anything wrong, since all the trappings of a successful first date were in place, so I have to chalk this one up to being about him, not me. Anyway, onward!

Date 34.1 – I had my doubts about Date 34 when I agreed to meeting him, since he lived over an hour away, but he seemed really nice, so I figured I’d give him a shot since he was in my area for work one day and asked if I’d like to join him for lunch. But here’s the thing: my instincts were correct. I hate to say this, but the area he lived in is kind of remote, and the fact that this didn’t bother him meant we weren’t a match. Not to mention the fact that he showed up looking ten years older than his pictures (this may equal laziness, rather than dishonesty, but either way, it equals both, which goes down as a minus in the date-evaluation process). Also, he was wearing a gold chain under his polo shirt. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve got to say it again: Guys, tread lightly when it comes to man-jewelry; we chicks don’t dig it unless it’s an expensive watch or your wedding ring (and you’re married to us!). Date 34 was a sweet guy, but like I said–we weren’t a match, so I declined when he came asking for a second date.

Date 36.1 – Surprisingly, Date 36 was the first Asian guy I went out with (surprisingly, because some of the worst crushes I’ve ever had have been on Asian guys; in fact, I lost my virginity to an Asian guy I had it really bad for back in high school). Super handsome and mega-smart (like I’ve mentioned, I go for brainiacs), Date 36 did not disappoint when I met him in person for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. But here’s the thing: he was mega-Zen, like the type of guy who surfs every morning and nothing can rattle him because he’s so perpetually blissed out from spending so much time in the water. I, on the other hand, have always secretly wanted the T-shirt Booger sported in the movie Revenge of the Nerds that read HIGH ON STRESS, since it so accurately reflects my personality. Plus, Date 36 went to Berkeley, while I went to UCLA. Now, the fact that we both went to top UC schools might seem like an argument in favor of compatibility, and it is in some respects since they’re both esteemed California public universities with student populations of similar sizes, but here’s the thing: Bay Area people tend to have something against us SoCal-ers. They’re smarter, but we’ve got prettier people and better weather, and they can’t seem to forgive us for it. Don’t believe me? Check out the local news any weeknight on one of the San Francisco Bay Area’s television stations. Any stories about Los Angeles inevitably portray the city (which is actually full of way more courteous, wonderful, hard-working people than the douchebag bubblehead types who populate the tabloids) as seedy and inherently evil. Plus there’s this level of pretension even former Bay Area folk sometimes carry with them. An example of how this plays out in its natural habitat is found at the Barnes & Noble closest to Berkeley, where they have a section labeled Thesauri. I mean, really? Can’t just lump them in with Reference, now, can we? Some of my closest friends are from the Bay Area and aren’t at all like this, but they also don’t plan on moving back north. Others, well, they’re going to remain acquaintances rather than friends, because we Southern Californians may seem laid back and simple, but we know when we’re being looked down on, and the snobs aren’t invited to the next party. Anyway, I could tell Date 36 thought I was a ditz and wouldn’t be asking for a second date. Turned out I was right. See? We SoCal blondes aren’t so dumb after all!

Date 40.1 – This date actually happened just recently, in May, but it’s of the same ilk, so I’m adding it to this list. That said, on paper, Date 40 seemed to have all the boxes checked: tall, handsome, well-dressed, good job, responsible homeowner. Conversation between us was lively as well. But there was an edge to Date 40, like he might have been a little bit mean, and like what he was really after was getting laid, not going out to dinner. I might have mentioned this before, but I have kind of a good-girl schtick going for me. Some guys (cads!) can see right through it, but most of the guys I’ve dated traditionally (if you can call online dating traditional, but you know what I mean–as opposed to bar-pickup/hookup dates) see me as a squeaky-clean, bookish, church-going mom-type. And I am all that! But I also very well might be a sex addict, so it’s kind of funny to me when guys dismiss me as too straight-laced or whatever and move on without seeing where things might lead given a couple glasses of wine and a tasty dinner. Anyway, Date 40 was one of those. Because he’s so tall and has money, I’m sure he has a vast selection of women at his disposal. Chances are, I dodged a bullet by letting him think I’m all prim and proper.

Such is life, right?

 

Dates 31.3-31.5: The Sweet Spot

From the beginning, it was pretty clear that Date 31 and I had it bad for each other in terms of sex. Starting with Date 31.3, however, I realized it was more than that, which was a problem. Basically, Date 31 wants to have kids, while I don’t. He also wants someone ten years younger than him, but I’m two years older than he is. Add to these two dealbreakers the fact that I’ll never be as perfect as his dead 29-year-old former fiancee and that I have both an ex-husband and three kids from my prior marriage, while Date 31 wants a girl with a clean slate, and you can imagine how my being so taken with him is more of a liability than an asset.

ANYWAY, Date 31.3 was the first time I went over to Date 31’s place. Granted, his best friend from Long Island was about to arrive from the airport, so I’m sure Date 31 had worked hard to clean up, but here were the first things I noticed: (1) a shoe rack by the front door, meaning he cares about keeping his place tidy; (2) real (as opposed to particle-board) furniture, showing me he either appreciates living amongst comfort and beauty or his dead fiancee had great taste and he still has the same stuff; and (3) a mix of tasteful (again, dead GF’s picks?) and comics-oriented kitschy artwork (most likely his), showing me that he truly does have a golly-gee sense of humor that’s surprisingly squeaky clean, despite his mad sadistic streak and penchant for dirty talk in the bedroom.

The other thing I couldn’t help noticing was that his apartment was directly above the complex’s pool. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon (Santa Ana condition, making it in the 80s in January), and Date 31 lives in the same suburb as I do (which is known for its schools), so it sounded like there were about forty kids in the pool, all screaming and splashing and generally having a great time. I complimented Date 31 on his place as he showed me around, noting how nice the floor plan was and such. He thanked me, then said (in total seriousness), “Yeah, the other thing I love about this place is how quiet it is.”

I started laughing. “Really?” I asked.

“It’s like there’s never anyone around,” he said. “Always so quiet.”

I pointed toward the balcony overlooking the pool. “You don’t hear that?”

A chorus of shouting pre-pubescent voices wafted upward: “Marco!” “Polo!” “Mom! Jaden’s splashing me!” Etc.

He shrugged.

“Seems like there might be a lot of kids in this complex,” I said.

Date 31 laughed, conceding I had a point. “That’s funny,” he said. “I never really noticed.”

I could tell he was being honest–he truly hadn’t noticed. Basically, I chalked up his acceptance of kid noise to the fact that he wanted kids of his own so badly, which made me doubly nervous. Because what if I got super attached to him? What if he talked me into giving a shot, having one for the road. Even though I’ve had a hysterectomy, I have eggs. Lots of couples in their forties are using surrogates these days, so it wasn’t like it was beyond the realm of possibility–but it wasn’t a future I envisioned for myself when I left my ex-husband.

Before we headed to the bedroom, the last stop on my tour of his place was the kitchen, where there were five piles of goodies laid out on the counter, with a nice variety of all the junk-food groups represented: salty, sweet, gooey, greasy, and crunchy.

“I bought snacks for the game for each of my buddies,” he explained.

I know it may sound silly, but I was almost moved to tears. Because, what a sweet guy!!! From his thank-you texts, I had suspected he was a considerate man, but now I had proof.

[Side note: Have I mentioned The Five Love Languages, by Gary Chapman? If not, it’s a book that describes how each of us has a way we most often express love and enjoy having love expressed back to us. The five “languages” are Physical Touch, Gift Giving, Quality Time, Acts of Service, and Words of Affirmation. All these are great, but the one that really gets my heart racing is Acts of Service. Like, want to *really* impress me? Wash my car, or fix the little piece that fell off the valance to the living-room blinds. Load the dishwasher, or bring in the trash cans (without being asked!). Diamonds, flowers, and massages are awesome, but it’s these little day-to-day efforts that truly make me feel loved and cared for.]

All that said, I knew I had found an amazing guy. Was he perfect? No. Over the course of Dates 31.3, 31.4, and 31.5, I learned that he enjoys country music–the pop kind–because “it’s just so happy.” Also, the TV in Date 31’s bedroom is taller than I am (and I’m 5’6″). Yeah, I’m sure it’s cool to watch movies on, but he likes to leave it going (with the volume silenced) while we’re having sex. Not to rain on anyone’s parade, but the flashing lights from having a TV on are kind of distracting. Also, isn’t that kind of a waste of electricity? If the sex hadn’t been so consistently stellar, I’d suspect him of watching TV while we were going at it, but he wasn’t, so I was left wondering, Why???

No matter, though–I was hooked. I couldn’t get enough of Date 31, and he seemed to be pretty taken with me, as well. We texted each other on a daily basis, constantly on the lookout for opportunities to steal a few moments from our respective busy schedules to spend together. Our first five dates spanned eleven days, if that gives you an idea of how caught up in each other we were.

And the sex? Good Lord!!! Date 31 loved to do all the nasty things I fantasize about but am too shy to voice. He used his belt, I used my mouth, and the things he said to me? Makes me blush just to think about it! So incredible, I found myself thinking, Yeah, I’d have another kid (and enjoy raising him/her) if it meant making this guy happy!

Which was right about when I realized, Oh, shit. Right after I almost blurted the words I love you.

In a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation, I didn’t tell Date 31 about my near slip-up in person, but I did admit to it via text a couple days later. The result? We didn’t see each other again for a week and a half. Could have been longer, but I’ll get to that in a later post. At any rate, the damage was done: I was supposed to be playing it casually, but I liked Date 31 too much to lie to him about the nature of my feelings. For better or worse, I knew I had to tell him the truth–even if it wound up costing me.

 

Date 32.1: Hit & Run

Feeling satisfied that I had a steady supply of sex on the horizon, I proceeded to date a succession of new guys, the first of whom was Date 32. Now, online, Date 32 looked gorgeous. His photos showed a tall, lanky, blond surfer guy with a nice smile and a kind of earthy disposition. Plus, in his messages back and forth with me, he was very nice. We had a phone call, too, but I was distracted by the fact that Date 31 was on his way over to my place, so I wound up cutting things short (and yes, I realize how very wrong that was of me).

Anyway, here’s the thing: when I went to meet Date 32 in person, I knew right away that he wasn’t for me. “Earthy” actually meant “poor,” and the laid-back surfer I was imaging actually turned out to be more of a beach bum, complete with a skeezy mustache and crooked teeth. Not wanting to be superficial, however, I said hello and shared appetizers with Date 32, since you never know–could be, my instincts were wrong. But it turned out they weren’t.

The longer I sat there, making conversation, the more convinced I was that I had to get out of there and never see this guy again. The stories he told me about his kids had me siding with his ex-wives (note the plural), and the way he looked kind of reminded me of one of my uncles, which wasn’t a turn-on. Not caring if you’re going to impress or offend someone, though, is a powerful thing. It tends to lead to blatant honesty, for better or worse, so this guy got to hear all about my faith, my church, my ex, and my struggles with my kids.

Did I know those are forbidden date topics? You betcha! Maybe I’m wrong, but I think being overly honest in an attempt to scare someone away is better than flat-out saying “No,” and then walking away, or taking a covert look at a date and then bailing (both of which have happened to friends of mine!). Maybe the over-honesty is a scare tactic, sure, but it’s also a last-ditch effort to give the person a chance. Because what if you get to talking about all those touchy subjects and then learn that you actually have some rapport with the unlikely match? Could happen. In this case, though, it didn’t.

Date 32 never called, texted, or messaged me again. Guess neither one of us was feeling it.