“No Thanks”
I have been wearing the same pajama pants since Friday. I only took them off to shower, and I only showered because my hair was so dirty it hurt.
I’ve worn 4 pairs of fuzzy socks (you have to change them when they lose their fluff).
My hoodie has a stain trail down the front of the soup and cheese I’ve been eating for 3 days straight, but why change and dirty another hoodie?
I watched 2 entire netflix series and more episodes of Greys and Sex and the City than I can count, and I stayed up late, and I slept in until 11 snuggled by furballs.
This is my happy place. Don’t ever leave me Jonas.
Guy: Soooo you’re super beautiful. Interested in chatting? Hope to hear from you soon! 🙂
Me: Thanks! So where is X town? Note: this is a town of 8,000 residents. Not London.
Guy: It’s about 20 minutes north of Philly.
Guy: Don’t get out much lolol? Note: so tickled by his own joke he laughed out loud, out loud
Me: I don’t go north much.
Guy: wow, you live in a bubble…i’ve been all over america and the world. i hope you get a chance to get out and go outside of your dirty crime ridden old rusted city (and instead visit the Wal Mart in your suburb?)…bye close minded bitch
Who are these people who are panicked by having to stay inside for 90 minutes? By 11am on the news people were being interviewed saying they had to go out because they were stir crazy. People are at the gym at 3 trying to relieve cabin fever.
Not going outside all day is called Saturday for me.
I actually probably went out more than normal because I had to keep shoveling.
Is it that scary for people to be alone with their thoughts for a few hours?
Apparently the rest of the world is also getting a lot more action than me as desperation to avoid 24 hours without sex kicks in too.
Just enjoy the chance to stay inside, relax, and catch up on entertainment/netflix (Reconstruction documentaries) and chill (reading biographies).
I am facing an epidemic of p-word men. Men are not supposed to be high maintenance. Go drink your scotch and grunt somewhere. I have enough time keeping myself together, I can’t worry about stroking your ego.
The past week has featured two separate p-word situations. I’m sitting back and observing, because I am not going to jeopardize my content solo life surrounded by pets and pillows if I’m expected to put in work before the first date even happens.
Scene #1: OkCupid
Message exchanges begins and goes very well. Witty, casual, shared interests. Without fail, responds within 15 minutes of every message, but reliable is nice sometimes.
Then comes: “Not sure if this is too forward, but I thought maybe you might be open to chatting on text. Here is my number if that’s ok with you.”
You’re not asking for a kidney. Just exchange the numbers and carry on.*
Accidentally on purpose I text a few days later.
“Oh it’s so great to hear from you. I assumed I had been too forward and felt bad for giving you my number.”
If he feels bad about giving me a phone number can you imagine the trauma if he was late to dinner one night?
Needless to say, he has not mustered the courage to schedule a date. He has referenced his diet and the gym on more than one occasion. I even know where his gym is located. And I know what he bought at the grocery store to “keep it tight. Girls don’t want any roundness.” I was not aware of that but fine.
He has referenced things we could do on a date:
What kind of food do you like? If we went on a date, I’d need to know.
Yet, no dates. And I’m neither holding my breath nor keeping it tight in anticipation. I’m keeping it cheese.
Scene #2: I didn’t meet this guy online.
I repeat: I DID NOT MEET THIS GUY ON LINE.
Automatic first place. A real person interesting enough in real life to exchange numbers/accept my number thrust at him.*
Except then the multiple texts by the time I got home from the bar.
“I’m so grateful we talked. I’m just kicking myself for not having the courage to come up to you myself and talk”
(Pro-tip: Avoid revealing weakness and lack of self-confidence in the first text. Really, withhold all emotions until the 6 month mark, and even then save the gratitude for things like pizza.)
He did manage to set up a date relatively soon, and follow up without assuming my scheduling issues were an outright rejection. Unfortunately the actual planning of the date involved multiple messages requiring multiple 3/3 screens worth of text. No restaurant in the zip code was left unsuggested. I seriously almost cancelled, nervous he would pee his pants when I walked in the door.
Once we met up we really had a nice time. No sarcasm. He was gentlemanly, easy to talk to, and lighthearted. A red flag or two but a good time. He went along with petty bar theft and wanted to bet on football. He wins and his prize was a 2nd date with me. Adorbs! Flirtation AND Gambling.
Get home and again a text from him. This time assuring me that he wants a second date but he wants me to know I don’t really have to follow through with the bet if I don’t want to because I shouldn’t ever have to do anything I don’t want to do but it would be really nice to go out again because (^&@&^#$%*&)^$@()!*&^#$.
I assured him I’d be happy to go out.
Few days later I ask how the rest of his weekend was.
…
…
“Saturday was the highlight. I had sweet dreams all night after meeting a wonderful lady: you! I hope to be able to relive the night.
And no date request since then.
I’ll go out with him again, despite risk of barfing. But a 44 year old needs to figure out on his own how to ask for a 2nd date without reciting a sonnet.
I don’t do high maintenance. No one should have to. Sexist or not, you need to man up.
*Just ask for my number. Seriously. Don’t make me do the work!!
Another 2nd date, another borderline sexual assault.
I’m probably exaggerating. Or internalizing the norms of the patriarchy. But I was uncomfortable.
So the date ends with what I thought was an obvious kicking out and my texting some friends “um, this just happened, no way I’m talking to that guy again.”
And I don’t, until a few days later when he asks me out again.
I muster up all the assertiveness my little introverted brain has and respond: “Actually, I felt really uncomfortable with you and the way you treated me the other night and it’s best if we don’t see each other again.”
Yes it was just a text, I didn’t have to say this face to face, but I still was super proud to stand up for myself and not just ignore him or make up an excuse.
His response?
“No worries! Good luck :)”
…
Today’s episode: Holiday Triggers
Holiday fun! Visiting your childhood home and helping parents clean.
Parent: “Daughter, are you sure you want to keep these boxes of your favorite toys? They say not to put things into storage, if you don’t need it now you never will…”
Daughter: “Yes I want them!!!”
[For my children someday. Except someday looks farther and farther away. Am I ever even going to have kids? One day I’ll be 70 cleaning out my house and wondering why I kept all those toys and cleaning by myself because I wouldn’t have had any children that would be there helping me. If I wasn’t alone and had just had a kid by now we wouldn’t be worrying about this. I just want a baby and my things!] Cue tears.
I always think that I’m not a feminist because I am not offended by people catcalling or appalled that a woman would choose to stay home with her children instead of work. Feminism is almost a bad word, conjuring ideas of radicalism and hairy armpits. However these days it’s becoming harder and harder not to be a feminist. I think the Internet has allowed so many people access to a forum to share their thoughts anonymously that sexism is everywhere and it’s not just garden-variety “men are better than women,” it is aggressive frightening exposure of women to constant male aggression. It’s a sad state of affairs when increased access to expression means increased nastiness but I guess that’s what we see everywhere from Twitter trolls to Internet comment boards. Maybe people are worse than before or maybe it’s just that any jerk face in his basement can share his thoughts where as before it was hidden.
Either way this comes to mind because I was sitting in class today checking my Tinder (which I guess you can argue is inappropriate in the first place…) and the first thing that appeared to me was a dick pic someone put in their Tinder moments with the caption “come on over.” I’m faced with this once a week or so. I report the inappropriate picture and feel like a schoolmarm tattling, but I’m sorry, it’s not cool.Here’s this picture of his male parts that is an attack on me. I’m innocently checking my phone and someone is forcing me to see that without any forewarning or any choice. A swipe is not a request for an assault on my eyes, but apparently just by being a woman I’m supposed to deal with that and presumably enjoy it.
Same thing on a date when you turn around and there it is. It’s not a slice of pizza! No one is hoping to turn around and see that, but guys act all proud like a cat bringing you a dead mouse.
Guys. We don’t enjoy it. Stop.
Tinder removed moments just days after this happened and I’m going to pretend it was to protect subscribers from this rather than it just being a lame idea.
no no no no no
why is this a thing! and why is this not the first time I’ve gotten a message like this!?
I tend to plunge into despair after a bad date.
I don’t go on a lot of them.
I tend to accept invitations judiciously.
I don’t meet people out and about because it’s tough enough to get out of the bed in the morning on a regular day, let alone spend a day at work, come home, and leave the house again to mingle with stranger(s).
Perhaps this is another insight into my single-hood?
Regardless, when I do accept a date and it goes badly (again), it’s hard to see any hope of a date that will actually go well.
But this post isn’t about complaining about dates, for once.
It’s Thanksgiving time so of course everyone is looking for new angles on turkey or thanks, and I’ve seen/heard many discussions on gratitude of late. Happens every year. However, this year, I’ve been in more than one meeting/class/gathering where someone has mentioned a gratitude journal and its scientifically validated effect on brains. Since, in theory, I’d like to not be a miserable lump of complaints, I’ve always thought I should keep track of my blessings, but time and again tv and cheese get in the way. Somehow though these multiple encounters within a few days might really have me committing.
I’m going to do my best to record 3 things I’m grateful for every night until Christmas at least. (Pretty convenient timing there.) Supposedly by then my brain will change and I will be an energized, enthusiastic person minus the crippling anxiety. Worse case scenario, I use some of the journals people think I like so much as gifts. I’ll report back my findings as the miracles occur.
One miracle already: I decided yesterday to commit to this journal, and I’m singing my little heart out alone in my office when someone stops by and says “I was wondering who had such a beautiful voice and it’s you!” Basically my number one wish ever, being complimented on my skill at “Part of Your World.” It’s working already! #blessed
The Couch Monologues 