Bad Dating: Part… Eleventy Seven

Sadly, I have lost count of my bad dates at this point. I would wave the white flag if I truly believed that I was done dating, but I know that I am not. I want to experience a life long partnership and love; I know that it is not a necessity to survival, but alone sucks sometimes. Really. I don’t NEED a man. I KNOW that much, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want one around every once in a while (read: fairly often)… and therein lies the problem. Whether I am in pursuit or laying low, I keep meeting men that I wouldn’t mind getting to know. I keep agreeing to dates, but I swear that the dates just get more ridiculous. No matter how I meet these man-boys, no matter what “type” they are, they all wind up proving my theory correct… that my type is “jerk.”

Let me be clear, I am not calling the men jerks because they didn’t stick around to pursue a relationship with me. I do not resort to name calling because it makes me feel better about myself. I say, with sincerity, that the guys I find myself attracted to and involved with are inevitably the biggest jerks on the planet. Whatever pheromones I’m putting out in the universe attract the bottom feeders of the dating pool and I somehow cannot break the cycle. I took the entire month of April off of dating, but that didn’t seem to turn my luck around.

This past week I met up with a girl friend for dinner, but while waiting for her, I made eye contact with a kind of cute guy across the bar. He later sauntered over and offered to buy us drinks, got my number and told me that he would like to take me out the following evening for dinner. Physically, he was not what I would would go for, but the interaction at the bar, albeit brief, wasn’t forced or awkward… it was organic. I was feeling it. I have been more open minded about dating men that don’t fit any particular mold outside of “seemingly nice” lately. Since he seemed sweet and I had nothing better planned, I agreed to meet him.

As much as I hate to admit it, dinner went… fabulously. Conversation flowed easily; he was smart, witty and charming. At the end of the evening, he was not pushy or expectant. He didn’t show the typical signs of a “traveling man.” He simply kissed me goodnight and told me that he would be back in town very soon and looked forward to seeing me again if I was interested. I responded in kind, but I had mentally prepared myself to believe that one dinner was all it was ever going to be. Set the expectations low and let him surprise me if he so desired, but it wasn’t required. I had a really good time and that’s where it was meant to end. It was one of those dates that would restore my faith in dating; it was EXACTLY what I needed at that moment. I didn’t need anything else. I truly believed that I would not hear from him again and I was absolutely, completely OK with that fact.

Needless to say, I was surprised to hear from him several days later. Maybe I was a little happy to hear from him, but my happiness/surprise was very short lived. He was not calling to see how my week had turned out. He was calling because he felt guilty for lying to me and felt that he owed it to me to be honest… about having a girlfriend. Well, shucks mister. Thanks so much for considering ME in that conscience clearing, but, you know, it’d be a whole lot cooler if you a) had just left me the fuck alone in the first place, or b) had at least just disappeared like a decent fucking jerk does. Gah… a jerk can’t even get being a jerk right. I swear.


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