The End: Part III

After only 2 weeks of dating my parents happen to be coming to town. Oops. A lot of pressure on a new relationship, but what the hell? It goes without saying my parents immediately love Derek. When he goes to buy a round of beers later that night, my dad turns to me and says “now there’s the kind of man you marry.” My dad has never said this about any of the men I’ve dated. EVER.  

Derek and I have spent almost every day together since our first marathon date. The way he cared for me after my shoulder surgery gave me the confidence he was in it for the good times and the bad. I’ve never let anyone (besides my mom) care for me like that. The truth is, I almost married a person I never trusted to actually be there for me. Joseph showed me on many occasions that I would have to fend for myself (or rely on my family to help). Now that I know what it feels like to have a true partner, I can’t believe I would’ve settled for less.

A year after our first date Derek proposes to me in front of the fountain where we had our first kiss. It is private and perfect – we spend the next hour just the two of us drinking whiskey and cuddling in a booth.  A year later we are married in front of our friends and family on a gorgeous farm in western Maryland.

Even though he’s an introvert and the thought of dancing in front of 150 people horrifies him, he learns a choreographed dance. ::swoooooooooon:: There's even a lift!

A month later we are whipping through the Scottish highlands on a motorcycle. Life is grand.

The End.

Haha. Just kidding. It’s just the beginning. We recently celebrated our two year anniversary and I have to say the whole marriage thing is pretty awesome. It’s not without its difficulties... there is no fairytale ending. Life is still confusing, people are still terrible sometimes and the world is nuts right now.

 

But to anyone reading this thinking you should settle because you’re “at that age” or you’ve been with the same person “for too long”, don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it. Don’t settle for the person who isn’t a true partner, doesn’t care for you when you’re sick or doesn’t make you feel comfortable in your home.  I’m on the other side and I can tell you it’s worth it. I hated my friends who told me “you’ll just know” when you meet the right person – I wanted to punch them in the face.

So now you’ll probably want to punch me in the face. Because I did “just know.” From the beginning it felt different and I’d say within 3 months I knew I wanted to spend my life with this man.

So that’s my story. From heartbreak to happily married. I will remind you that the path was not pretty and littered with jokers. But I survived it and so will you. Or you won't. And you'll adopt some old German shepherds who have aged out of their police duties or service-dog jobs and you'll spend your days caring for these magnificent creatures who gave so freely of themselves and they deserve to be pampered, damn it. The end.

The End: Part II

Fast forward to 2014 when (at a happy hour again, sheesh) Spencer attends my going away party from my job. I jokingly give him a hard time about never setting me up with nice guys when his eyes light up. “You know who’s single again? Derek.”

“C’mon, Spencer”, I say incredulously. “It’s been 3 years since that party… and I looked crazy that night. He doesn’t even know what I really look like. I had a blonde wig on!”

I pause. And then smile. Fuck it. “But whatever, show him a current picture of me and if he’s interested you can give him my number.”

At poker night soon thereafter, he shows Derek more recent pictures of me (He lets him stalk my facebook since he’s not on the facebook). I get a text from Spencer that simply says “Game on.” SCORE

He calls me. CALLS, people! He leaves a voicemail!! It’s super sweet and gives me the butterflies. Bad timing, though. I’m in California visiting my sister! Hmph.

So we did that thing where people actually talk on the phone. I call him while taking a walk and suddenly become very aware that I might be viciously attacked by mountain lions. Ha! (In case you’re curious, I am alive and well. No death by mountain lion) Our talks are easy. Comfortable. Fun.

I’m in California for Valentine’s Day and he sends me this:

So basically I have go go out with this guy. I mean... this is hilarious!

Once I get back Derek asks me to brunch. I remember what he looks like (and have pictures from the night we first met). But it’s been three years. Would I still think he’s cute?

I walk into Chadwicks where he’s sitting at the bar. The bartender nods in my direction and he turns around. My heart falls to the floor. He’s SO RIDICULOUSLY HANDSOME! All of the sudden I’m nervous and wondering if he thinks I’M cute as I walk upstairs to the table.

We are the obnoxious people who take 45 minutes to decide what to order since we’re too busy chatting. He finds ways throughout the meal to touch my arm and it’s like a jolt of electricity runs through me each time we touch. He puts me at ease telling me all of the bad things about him (an unfortunate middle name, some regrettable tattoos, etc). Says he just wants to get it all out in the open upfront. He’s handsome AND funny. ::Swoon::

That spark we both felt that first night is still there. Our brunch date at 11 am turns into an 8 hour adventure of looking at local art, walking around Old Town Alexandria and ending up at a Vietnamese restaurant for dinner.

There is a moment in front of a fountain; with the sun shining down on us that is absolutely perfect… His hazel eyes are staring deeply into mine and I get squirrelly and look away to break the tension. Just then a soft breeze blows my hair into my face. He pushes it back and gently kisses me. ::heart explodes:: 

The End: Part I

I’ve been meaning to write an ending for the Flingstress for a while now. As you can probably guess based on my absence, I am no longer flingstressing about. 

I have many stories of how I met men whether it was online, playing music, on the dancefloor, at bars and even airplanes (seriously – I have met multiple men on airplanes). But nothing compares to this story. It was years in the making.

In 2011, I go to a friend’s 30^th birthday party with then-boyfriend (not yet fiancé) Joseph. But this isn’t just any old normal birthday party. Spencer encourages guests to dress in funeral garb as they are celebrating the death of his wife’s youth. Ha! Most people show up in black shirts or dresses… but I am not most people. I show up to the party wearing a red and black floor-length gown, black opera gloves and a short blonde wig complete with black veil.

As soon as I walk in, a handsome dark-haired man approaches me… much like moth to a flame. I know immediately he is feeling the vibe I was laying down so I quickly mention that I am at the party with my boyfriend. Boyfriend, boyfriend... did I mention I have a boyfriend?

Derek handles it well and I offer to serve as his wing woman to meet a cute gal at the party. He hangs out that night with me and my friends and even lets us dress him up in a big floppy hat and sunglasses. (He would later tell me I didn’t introduce him to a single girl that night)

After the party Derek asks Spencer what my deal is… “is the boyfriend serious?”  Spencer replies “yeah, they’re living together and will probably get engaged soon.” Spencer conveys this story to me later and I remember being flattered but that’s as far as it went - because I was in a serious relationship. And I’m not an asshole. 

Fast forward a few months and Joseph and I DO get engaged. And then disengaged. I run into Spencer at a happy hour a couple of months later and inquire about the cute math teacher from the party who was totally into me. “Oh man, he just started seeing someone,” Spencer says sadly. I then promptly forget about Derek and proceed on my manpage. 

Seduce a Man With Your Eyes. And Crutches.

April and I are going to a concert in Baltimore to see an artist she likes.  We decide to make a trip out of it so I rent a cool room through Airbnb (check it if you don't know what that is) in a funky Victorian row house.

We assume that the concert will be at a coffee shop or art gallery... from the website it looks smallish and hip. We follow the iphone to the venue's address. Nothing. It's a residential street. No cafes, coffee shops, etc in sight. Hmmmm... We park, get out and ask a cop nearby about the concert. He smiles and points to the large synagogue behind him. Ha!

Apparently the synagogue hosts a music series. I'm highly amused. April feels badly since this isn't the "vibe" we were hoping for but I'm totally on board for a strange basement synagogue experience. Let's get weird, people!

The artist we are here to see, Toby Lightman, is a kickass female singer/songwriter. She rules:  

We go inside and find seats in the second row! It's a mix of people... mostly older folks with a few teenage girls. April gets me situated (I'm still on crutches and majorly a gimp) and then runs off to buy wine - thank GOD they're selling adult beverages here.

I see him immediately. He saunters in alone. He's tall. Handsome. Swarthy. He takes a seat at the end of our row. I glance at him a few times during the concert and wonder what's his story. Who comes to a synagogue on a Saturday night to watch an acoustic jam? And alone? Intriguing, indeed.

At the end of the show we are waiting in line to talk to Toby. Tall man appears and he and I exchange a quick, flirty glance. April catches it and rolls her eyes. "Seriously? I can't take you anywhere." What? I'm just smiling. Sheesh. She goes to the bathroom and leaves me propped up against a pillar.

It's so ON. Swarthy man doesn't miss a beat. "I'm Levi." Well hello, Levi. He has intense blue eyes and a mop of curly black hair. Trouble with a capital T.

We chat for a few minutes and he's in the middle of telling me why it's a mitzvah to have sex on the Shabbat when April returns from the bathroom. She throws me a knowing look and says to Levi "I can't ever leave her alone."

Our conversation turns serious when he mentions he's recently divorced. Ah okay. Yes. This makes sense now. Handsome men don't just go to concerts by themselves and approach women on crutches to tell them about sexual laws in Judaism.

He asks if he can walk us to the car since we are in a questionable part of Baltimore. He helps me into the car and I know he wants to ask for my number. In a very un-Jamie-like fashion I say "okay, thanks! BYE!" and shut the door. April, wide-eyed, asks me what just happened. She quickly follows it by saying "don't get me wrong... that man is pure trouble. But I'm surprised you didn't go for it."

What can I say? I got a super naughty vibe from him (he was talking about sex IN the synagogue) and I don't want to be a recently divorced man's rebound.

Oh. But apparently it IS a mitzvah (command) for *married* couples to have sex on the sabbath. So Levi was right about that.

Screw You, Hindsight! You're the WORST.

It’s Saturday night. I’m tired. I’m still using a crutch after my soccer injury.  Even still, I’m not *quite* ready to go home after dinner with April. So I text my roommate, Vinny, and ask him if he wants to get ONE drink in Old Town. Famous last words, I know.

We head to Murphy’s and, because I’m still a gimp, we take a seat near the stage instead of posting up at the bar. The tables are close together and we soon make friends with the people sitting next to us. Brad and Carrie are a nice, slightly older couple (late 30s, early 40s maybe) from Texas. We chitchat about college football, their children, and their seething hatred of liberals. Um. Okay. Whatevs.

Brad seems to have that quality that few married men possess – the ability to be complimentary toward other women without being skeevy. He makes a few comments in front of his wife about how pretty I am. And because his wife is sitting right there, I don’t get a creepy vibe at all. Let’s call this EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT 1.

I get on stage to sing a song with the Irish musician and I notice that Brad has his phone out and is taking a video of my performance. Weird. But still – Carrie is sitting there unperturbed so again, I don’t think anything of it. Enter into EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT B.

Vinny is bored and wants a more lively crowd. Married folks and manly marines aren’t cutting it for him. We decide to go to the Bayou Room. It’s the late-night dance spot in Old Town, Alexandria. My other roommate, Padraig, described it as “the drain at the bottom of the bathtub that is Old Town… all of the scum eventually ends up there.” Carrie and Brad ask to join us… and hey, why not?  

Carrie walks with Vinny out ahead and Brad stays back to help me as I gimp along. Huh. That’s awfully nice of him. For your consideration, EVIDENCE: EXHIBIT C.

As soon as we walk into the Bayou Room Vinny heads to the bathroom and Carrie bounces off to the bar. A split second later Brad’s hands are everywhere. HOLY SHIT: EXHIBIT D. What. The. Fuck. I’m confused.  A couple of thoughts run through my head. “Ewww” “Wait – you’re married!” “Your wife is tall and buxom and I’m on a crutch… I can’t run away from her.” As soon as Vinny returns I tell him quickly that we’re leaving. The urgency in my voice means he doesn’t stop to question me. We leave.

My awesome roommate says he’ll go get the car so I don’t have to hobble myself the 10 blocks there.  Brad and Carrie emerge and I stiffen. Yikes. They get into a cab. Whew. But the cab doesn’t leave. And then a second later Brad gets back out.

I am not upset that they asked. I can’t judge – they are both obviously into it. Arguably she is more interested than he is. Everything else aside, I get angry after he asks the second time. I’m alone. On a crutch. Waiting for my roommate to come get me. Brad says “Oh Vinny? He’s not coming back for you… he said he was heading home.” SERIOUSLY?! You think my only options are a. wait for my roommate or b. go home with swingers? I’m sorry, buddy, but there are MANY options besides those two. And now I’m just pissed off.  

As they drive off I wonder how I could be so naive. I swear to you I didn’t see this coming. That’s why hindsight is a motherfucker. Did I accidentally stumble onto an obscure word that swingers use? Was it because I mentioned playing ice hockey in college? Did my offer to babysit imply some darker, deviant behavior?

Vinny is even more upset than I am when I tell him about our swinging friends. “What the hell? I wasn’t part of the package? What am I… chopped liver?” Don’t get me wrong – Vinny didn’t want to go to the party either. But he would’ve at least appreciated an invite.

Men - A Biological Clock: You Has One.

This is a Public Service Announcement brought to you by the Flingstress.

Friends, recently I learned, to my amazement, that men also have a biological clock. And that mother fucker is ticking.  

Let’s look for a moment at the section just before men hit the big 4-0. Washington, DC is one of the drunkest cities in the country. Our happy hour culture is unrivaled. So men (and admittedly women) booze their way through their 20s and 30s. It’s uncommon to know people under the age of 25 who are married in DC. Your 30s are touted as your 20s only with money. So now you have the ability to buy bottle service, top shelf liquor and wine older than you are. BAM.

Something happens, though. At some point it inevitably hits you. Maybe it’s the nieces and nephews that start appearing or the last single buddy getting hitched or the receding hairline that unfailingly greets you in the morning.  Oh shit. I’m 40. Time to get serious! And you still have time, right? If you date a woman under the age of 35?

You sign up for online dating. You write to women in their late 20s and early 30s saying that you’re “young at heart” and “still looking to start a family.” You unfortunately use the term late bloomer a little too often.
 

Here’s the thing… Men looking for love over the age of 40 is NOT the problem. I applaud you. HOWEVER, if you are only willing to date a woman MUCH younger than you, I perceive that as unjust.  One way I preserve my sanity is by only dating men who are willing to date a woman their own age. Men think, erroneously, that they do NOT have an expiration date because “hey, that one dude had kids when he was 65.” It is my duty, folks, to inform you otherwise. Anything less would be irresponsible.

Check out my reputable resources:

The Biological Clock, Ticking for Men Too

 

http://www.nytimes.com/ref/health/healthguide/esn-maleinfertility-expert.html

“For men over 40, there’s almost a six-fold increase in autism disorders in their children compared with men under 25.”

The Best Age to Have Kids

 

http://www.menshealth.com/health/when-should-you-have-kids

“Once you hit 30, he says, testosterone levels begin to drop by one percent each year. By your mid-30s, mutations begin to occur within the DNA.” 

THIS is what happens as you age. That’s right. Your sperm is DYING!!!  

So guys, if you don’t care about decomposing sperm or DNA mutation-riddled children, by all means… continue fucking around. But don’t say you weren't warned.

I'll Meet You at the Dragon's Lair, M'lord

Promise not to judge. I meet Biff on Hinge. It’s not quite as bad as Tinder (the dating app that’s known for hookups) but it’s almost as bad. Hinge operates like this: You have facebook. Your friends have facebook. Some of those friends are single. Hinge shows me YOUR friend’s picture and not much else. I click “yes” or “no.” If he also clicks “yes” then BAM. Game on. Guess what? You may be unknowingly hooking your friends up. So thanks!

We meet and he seems nice. Normal. Goes to church. Loves horses and America too. Wait. That’s a Tom Petty song. But mostly correct. In an extremely un-Jamie-like-fashion I invite him to join me and my friends at the Renaissance Faire the following day.

He asks if I’ll be in costume. I respond with “I refuse to answer such a preposterous question!” (Of COURSE I dress up and am in full renaissance attire. Duh.) Biff comes in a t-shirt. And shorts. LAME. But whatever. Not everyone wants to be a fun person. He brings his roommate and another chick. They don’t bring much to this story so I won’t go into further detail about them.

We are having a grand ol’ time drinking beer out of leather mugs, eating steak on a stick and watching an angry wench meet an unfortunate fate in the “drench a wench” or “soak a bloke” dunk tank. Then we head to the Dragon’s Lair. Let me say this…  it’s not for the faint of heart. The Dragon’s Lair is where all of the serious Renn Faire goers gather. It’s a place to see and be seen.  It’s filled with people who spend thousands of dollars on their costumes and have only time-period appropriate clothes, hats and accessories. Strangely enough, it’s also where all of the bikers go. You read that right. Motorcycle-driving, leather-jacket-wearing, I-love-mom-tattoo-showing, big-black-boot-sporting  bikers. For some reason bikers LOVE the Renn Faire. Irrelevant? Perhaps.

We are in line for more grog when I strike up a conversation with the middle-aged man in front of us.

WTF?! Who is this guy? And better question: why am I here with him? Thank goodness that this kind soul has the ability to respond graciously to big, bad bully Biff and his awfulness. I am fuming. In a queen's veil. It's not a pleasant sight.

Biff is on extremely thin ice when religion comes up. Oh great. I am starting to zone out when he mentions that homosexuals are like criminals. Sigh.

I learn an important lesson from Biff.  Someone may check off your “boxes,” but it does NOT mean they are a good match. Similarly, just because someone goes to church on Sundays doesn't mean they treat people with the golden rule. Sorry dude, but Jesus would NOT have been a jerk to nerds at the Renn Faire. No way in HE double hockey sticks.

Actual Match.com Emails

For those lucky souls who've never been subjected to the horror that is online dating, let me entertain you with some actual emails from Match.com. 

The one with two words:

Holla mamasita

The one I don’t understand:

Hey there. Do you get out much?

What does that even mean? Like.. am I living in an insane asylum and do they let me out regularly?

The one who uses hyperbole:

You could easily make me the happiest man on earth by simply writing me ;)

I doubt you would be the happiest man on earth. That seems extreme AND impossible to empirically prove.

The one with way-too-long-stream-of-consciousness:

You mention so many great things that I almost don't know where to start. Well, I don't know if this matters, but I also love to play guitar, and I've even played some open mike nights. If you sing, I'll happily play rhythm ( ... I'm not too sure about my singing). Of course, you can play the guitar solos if you like. What songs do you like to play? It sounds like you rock some Mumford & Sons. And I have to admit that I'm jealous of the fact that you lived in Brazil. How long ago was that? Did you live in Rio? I so want to see Rio, especially during Carnaval. But I'd also love to visit Ireland. Did you get to see the incredible cliffs? Those looks magical. Actually, my favorite country is Italy. Have you ever spent some time there? You're Italian too, so you must have. And if we compromise between those two places, I think that's someplace in France, which isn't too bad either. Oh, one other thing, cannoli. It doesn't get any better than that. I'm not even kidding. Well, I still want to ask you a bunch of things, but it may be best if I stop here. I hope that you're having a great weekend. Enjoy the sunshine. And you quote Metallica ... you are legendary

How would you ever have a conversation with this person? Does he pause to breathe? 

The one who is absolutely ugly/hunchbacked/married:

It is so hard getting responses here because I don't post a picture. I had identity theft issues in the past and I'm more careful what I put online. One woman just informed me I must be fat because I don't have a picture. hahahaha My name is soccerman81 on here. How many overweight soccer players have you seen lately? I thought it was funny and had to share.

The one who can’t be bothered to type intelligently:

Hi Jamie. Just wanted to say hi b4 falling a sleep. I'd like to get to know u.

::shudder:: Why?! This isn't a text. It doesn't take THAT much more effort to type "you."

The one who is 52:

How are you? I had to laugh because when I clicked on your profile, Match told me that we're both "fine wine connoisseurs." (Does yours say that, too?)

P.S. I know I'm a bit outside your distance and age range, but I travel a lot and definitely don't feel (or act!) my age, for what it's worth. :) I'm also still looking to start a family. (Guess I'm just a late bloomer.)

Yes, you are *slightly* out of my age range.  

The one who sends the same email to everyone:

How are you doing? I read your profile I really liked it. Anyway I am a really great guy and I would like to get to know you as person. I am constantly trying to better myself. I used to be a combat medic in the marines and now I work at a hospital in the ER. Some of my interests are sports, the outdoors, exercising, cooking, baking, TV, DVDs, reading, medicine, science, history, and just learning in general. What are your interests? What do you like in a guy? I'd like to see if we have anything in common and maybe go from there. Feel free to ask me anything. Also, I want you to know that I think you are very beautiful.

I hope to hear from you soon,

Guys, this doesn't work. We can tell you copy and paste the same thing to every woman.

The one who uses humor:
I deeply regret that it is my unfortunate duty to bring it to your attention that you are above and beyond our maximum standards for looks. You are clearly a 10/10 we only allow 6/10 maximum. Your account will be CLOSED unless you reply to this message with your favorite flower and if you prefer Chinese or Italian cuisine. :)

Okay, so this could also be copied and pasted to many women. But at least this is funny.

The one who takes rejection like a champ:

Jamie, perhaps you suck at basketball but I doubt that you suck at dating. For instance that was the nicest rejection I have ever gotten in my life. It was like I like talking to one guy but that guy isn't you ;). Anyway good luck to you as well my little match heart breaker hehe.

The one that’s angry:

People answer emails on here and disappear like a fart in the wind. I don't favorite or just talk to anyone on here, my subscription ends this week actually. I have interest in you because i thought you were beautiful and you had special love for music as much as i did and I thought you seemed like you had a personality. Most of all your occupation is amazing and admirable. Judging me based on a crappy profile and not asking your own questions isn't getting to know anyone. Match can easily bring the shallowist out of anyone. I find it immature how people respond on here and after a few innocent messages and disappear without any explanation, it's just a big fat fuck you.

He he. He said "fart in the wind." Seriously though. This is online dating. And we had only sent a few messages back and forth. Welcome to the jungle of SORROW.

The normal one I responded to:

Hi Jamie,

I just got back from a bike ride to a couple breweries in NE DC with a friend who’s a graduate of The Ohio State University, which I find fun to say. Have you been to Port City? Congrats on the win today by the way, it was a close one…

So where do you do these open mics? Looks fun. Have a good weekend.
.............................................................................................................................................................

Do you have any good online dating emails? If so, feel free to share the pain and post them in the comments.  

29 versus 31

I turned 31 recently. When I started this blog I was 29. Two years doesn't seem like such a huge difference, right? Here's a video that I stumbled on when I was 29. Somehow, it's less amusing now.

Men seem to sense this reality. They know that if a woman wants a family... she is staring down the 35 ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE deadline. Time is TICKING, people! Eggs are shriveling! Dying! NAY screaming as we speak!

I experience this firsthand not too long ago. I met Jim when I was 29. We only went on one date because ummmm... he forgot to mention he has two daughters (ages 9 and 11). Oops. "Didn't I mention that?" No. No you did not. I politely explain to him that I just "am not in the place in my life where I'm able to date someone with children."

Fast forward two years. I run into him at the gym.

He knows it. I know it. The day when I will have to entertain dating someone with kids is nigh. I'm not *quite* there yet.

The older I get I AM much more open to dating someone who is divorced, disengaged, etc. because let's face it. The older we get, the more baggage we accumulate. And that's okay. I can honestly say that if I met someone I connected with (in person), it might not matter if they had been married before.

But that's the danger of online dating. I get to eliminate you because you're not my "ideal" match. You have children. You're divorced. You didn't finish college. You're not at least 5'8. You don't play accordion.  I'm not saying you shouldn't have standards. But what I'm saying is that it's possible to "filter out" some great people because they carry extra baggage. I'm being filtered out now, in some cases, because I'm 31.

Where to draw the line, then? With Jim I didn't feel enough of a connection to deal with his baggage. Like I said: Check back with me in 5 years, buddy.

God Has a Sense of Humor Or...

... I'm going to be struck down by a bolt of lightening for this comic. I interrupt our normal dating dilemmas to bring you an observation I had recently.

I find myself filled with murderous rage driving around DC. People are just AWFUL. Why?! What happened? Did we all collectively decide to be horrible, selfish bastards? Have we become so jaded by horrendous traffic that even the nicest people REFUSE to let someone into their lane? Just out of spite?

I, for one, have attempted to maintain my Midwestern driving sensibilities. I let people in. I wave when someone lets me in. HOWEVER I will admit to have given the middle finger on numerous occasions to people who have absolutely deserved it.

Part of me wonders if it would help the situation if we all had a "sorry, my bad" light that we could utilize for when we screw up. The kind that would be on your bumper... and you could press a button (next to your horn when you wanted to say "oops" to the person behind you).

E.g.: Sorry I was looking at my phone! Sorry my GPS recalculated! Sorry I didn't get over and wait in line like everyone else. Sorry I'm late for work and that means I can cut you off. Sorry I was jamming to my favorite song on the radio.  Sorry I'm a moron who hates everything and everyone.

If someone cuts you off but then presses their "sorry, my bad" sign... maybe we wouldn't want them to die a excruciating, fiery death and be condemned to the depths of hell. Just a thought.                                      

I Lead An Awkward Life Interrupted By Moments Of Normalcy

You know who said that? Mr. Sparkly Vampire himself.  Edward errr Robert Pattinson.  Can’t help but admit I dig the quote. What? YOU go and try to find quotes about being awkward.  I also stumbled across this one that I particularly liked: “The awkward moment when you spell something so horribly wrong that even spell-check is like ‘sorry man, I got nothing.”

This blog post might be summed up by the following :The awkward moment when you meet a cute guitar player at open mic and he thinks you’re cute too and then he follows you to your car where he talks nervously for 20 minutes before trying to kiss you but you duck out the way because you’re feeling squirrelly and don’t understand where he would’ve gotten the wrong idea but you DO like him and feel sorry that he feels dumb now. Yeah.  

Ughhhhhh… Who am I? The poor guy! He looks like he wants to run away and die. Or at least hide underneath the earth in a pool of molten lava. I feel TERRIBLE and I have no clue what’s wrong with me!! He’s nice! He’s funny! He sings like a rockstar and plays guitar magnificently. All of the ingredients for success.  

We stick around making small talk and avoiding the fact I just rejected him hardcore. He gets into his car and drives away. I stand there watching his car disappear and I don’t know that I’ll ever see him again. 

Something has changed. I don’t want random DFMs. (see http://flingstress.blogspot.com/2011/12/return-of-dance-floor-makeout.html ) I want to get to know someone before they get to make out with me. I had a joker recently text me asking if I wanted to “hang out” with him.

Ha. At least he's honest. That's better than some guys who will say what you want to hear and then peace out. 

It’s a constant struggle for many people. The struggle between what our heads/hearts/bodies want. I miss the affection of a relationship but I won't find it in a random person. I don't want false intimacy. It just feels empty. 

As Mumford and Sons so eloquently put it:“Now I’ll be bold as well as strong… and use my head alongside my heart.” And wait until it feels right to kiss someone again. Oh. Wait. They didn't write that in their song. But they could've  should've. 

My Heart's Aflame, My Body's Strained But God I Like It

I meet Eddie at Tiffany Tavern - he's a guitar player (well and a dobro player, a mandolin player, harmonica player, banjo player... you get the picture). Basically a walking bluegrass band. He's scruffy in all of the good ways. Longish dark hair, manly beard and heavenly green eyes? HELLS YEAH.

The night we meet I am having a bout of hypochondria. I even make my poor roommate Bethany feel the bump on my leg before I leave the house. I have convinced myself that this bump is actually deep vein thrombosis (DVT ain't no laughing matter!) and I am going to die of a blood clot at any moment. A hockey bruise, you say? Preposterous! DEFINITELY a life-threatening clot.

Eddie is not scared away by my hypochondria and thinks we should jam sometime. Purely a musical collaboration. ::insert smithers' fingers:: Exxxxxxxxxcellent.

He comes over on a Saturday afternoon after I've already had a few drinks at brunch and I offer him a beer. He declines. Well hmph. I bring a Magic Hat back for myself and he says "oh, I didn't realize you meant good beer. Then yes, I'll take one." Ha!

We intended to just play a few songs but fast forward four hours and he's still at my apartment. He loiters by the door on his way out... It’s obvious that we have both enjoyed each other's company immensely. He mentions that he'll be in Old Town later that night for an open-bar birthday party. Open bar, eh? Interesting. Interesting indeed. But I tell him I already have plans to go to a friend's party. "Text me later if you happen to be around" he says as he walks out.

Well guess what! I just happen to "be around" so I ask him if he's still there. His response: “Yes. Come. Here. Now. Whiskey. Is. Plentiful.”  SCORE.

I walk in and he's playing pool with his friends. I flit around, chat with random people, eat a chicken/waffle slider and challenge his friends to shuffle board. The whiskey is flowing at this point and he and I are unabashedly flirting. I tell him I can't drive home - so can we walk to a diner for a cup of coffee? ::bat eyelashes:: He agrees.

We are walking... singing songs and laughing when, all of the sudden, something comes over me. I don't know what exactly but let's just say I can't help myself.

 

 

The push up against the tree is forceful (BTW SUPER HOT) but the kiss is slow and soft. I melt on the spot. FUCK YES!!

The next few hours are a blur... kissing, more drinking, dancing to a grunge band in a dive bar, laughing, more singing, more kissing.

"This is a terrible, awful idea" Eddie says. "There goes the band!" he laments.  

Amendment: I commissioned this comic before I knew Eddie very well.  I struggled with whether or not to include him on this blog… because he was absolutely in no way, shape or form a “fling.” We dated for about six months and I fell in love with him. It felt good to love again. To be loved. I don’t regret letting him into my life even though our break-up was by far the most painful one I've ever been through. Eddie is, in many ways, the antithesis of Joseph. He is not materialistic or superficial. He is exceedingly loyal, highly introverted, deliciously tattooed and hails from West Virginia… His devil-may-care attitude means he doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks about him. It was refreshing to say the least.

I recently heard a spot-on analogy of dating. We are all little porcupines that are outside shivering in the cold. We want to huddle together for warmth and safety, but as we get closer… we end up stabbing each other with our quills. Well #*&%^! That’s not fair, man! So basically the more intimate and vulnerable you are with someone, the greater the likelihood you’ll be left bloodied and mangled. Great. AWESOME. 

 

Thank goodness my humor is in tact. Otherwise I'd drown my sorrows in Irish whiskey and Ben and Jerry's. Oh wait.

That's all I have to say about that.

 

 

I Would Walk 500 Miles (Nope, Not Really)

April and I are out in Old Town and meet two guys at Murphy's Irish pub. They're fun dudes and when the bar closes we are all headed to the King Street metro. Ryan ("my dude") is interesting. He's a bit on the young side (27) but acts older. He went to Penn State so we have the Big 10 connection and he speaks Spanish, having spent some time volunteering in Mexico. Score.

I hear from him off and on but I get the sense he's just looking for a good time. (He only texts when he's already out, after he's had a few beers, etc.) I'm coming back from the holidays when he asks me to meet him for a drink. I just drove 7 hours from Ohio and am exhausted.

Umm... really? I told him "No, no.. nevermind. I'm just going to go home." Now mind you, the bar I suggested, Samuel Becketts, is 5 minutes from where this man lives. So it's not as if I'm suggesting he drive 45 minutes somewhere. Who swears at a girl over text message anyway?

Unsurprisingly, I don't hear from him. About a week later April and I are out in Old Town and we end up at Murphy's. Again. Not only do I run into some old soccer friends (including Amir: So Not A Date Movie He looks happy, by the way, and is there with a pretty girl) But guess who is there. Ryan.

He's smiling at me and trying to flirt with me. I'm acting aloof toward him but I'm not bothered - I just know he's not the guy for me. I go up on stage to sing with the guitar player and after singing a rowdy rendition of Wild Rover, Ryan pulls me aside.

Sorry I'm not sorry, buddy. I know what I'm looking for and how I want to be treated. You don't get to swear at me.  I don't want a man who complains when he has to drive 10 minutes to come see me. And yes, I just dropped some Proclaimers on you - Scottish men obviously know what's up!

My friend told me a story about how her grandfather used to walk her grandmother home after dances in Manhattan back in the day... and how he lived in the Bronx and it would take him literally hours to make sure his lady got home safely. He walked miles and miles... and never ever complained. 

Shit. Nowadays men complain if they live in the District and have to come into Arlington to see you. Good luck if you live in Maryland. You're NEVER going to be able to date anyone. 

Accent Goggles: Far Worse Than Beer Goggles

Why, you ask? Well, because beer eventually wears off, you see... whereas someone's accent is permanent. And continues to cloud your judgment with its alluring, tantalizing lilt.

I meet Welsh man on the interwebs and we go on a few dates (pre-dating cleanse). I know from his profile that he is Welsh and it *might* be a *tiny* reason why I decide to go out with him. Not because I don't find him attractive... but his profile is sparse - I'm fairly certain he was banking on the fact women love foreign accents.

He's smart. He's ambitious (He mentions that he wants to be POTUS someday - I don't mention the *wee* requirement of being a natural-born citizen).  He's very manly. All good things. He also says things that kill me like "I'll ring you tonight." Ring! He says "ring" instead of "call"! He says "I'll give you a text later" instead of "I'll text you later." And "isn't she called April?" instead of "isn't her name April?" Sigh.

On our second date we go to an Irish pub and he orders a guinness. I order a Bushmills on the rocks - good ol' Irish whiskey - and he immediately changes his order to a whiskey AND a guinness. Can't get out-manned by a girl! 

He makes it undoubtedly clear what he wants from me.. and apparently from the other girls he's also seeing. How very European of him. At least he's honest about it. So I'm honest with him. "I don't see this happening," I say. 

DANG. That's some cojones there, Welsh man! "You don't want to date me... but how about a one-off ?" Ha. Makes perfect sense. 

My friend, Padraig, called me out recently on the fact I've pretty much ended things with every potential guy by the third date.  In some cases the reasons weren't particularly compelling. (However, in this case - regardless of aforementioned glorious accent - I made the right call) Padraig says that eventually I'm going to have to let someone in.

And that scares the shit out of me.

To Answer The Question: Yes. This Happens.

A guy recently seemed incredulous when I told him that men ask women out on the same night they'd like to see them. "No WAY any guy does that!" he said with full sincerity.

Why yes. Yes they do. Even after gently telling this man that your schedule is quite robust. AND after multiple (failed) attempts to try to see you on the same day. Do men actually want a puppy dog? Someone that is waiting around... just in case he calls and wants to see you? Let me keep my schedule wide open because at 6:30 pm you might decide you want to see me. Pshhhhhhhaaaaahhhhh.



I know I should have just said something mature like "My schedule isn't such that you can ask me same day..." or "It works better if I have a little notice" or "I'm on a dating hiatus right now from men - especially men like you." Instead I went for the Wayne's World reply. Apparently I have the humor of a 13 year old boy.

The fact he didn't understand my Wayne's World speak only further validates that he's not the guy for me. It also shows he's not the quickest in reading social cues and dealing with social situations. He told me on our first - and only- date (months ago now) that he only dates women with big tits. ::shudder:: He used the word "tits." WHY? Why would you say this to a woman you've just met? Scratch that. Why would you say that ever? Even if it's true.... it's one of those things you can keep to yourself. And keep that word to yourself, too. Barf.

Admittedly a random post - I apologize. But it's an effort to show that I'm no longer tolerating jokers. I'll close with some gems in case you haven't seen the movie in a while:

"Garth, marriage is punishment for shoplifting in some countries."

"If it's a severed head, I'm going to be very upset."

"A gun rack... a gun rack?! I don't even own *a* gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack. What am I gonna do with a gun rack?"

"She will be mine. Oh, yes - she will be mine."

"Ribbed for her pleasure. Ewww."

"Did you ever find Bugs Bunny attractive when he put on a dress and played a girl bunny?"

"No Stairway. Denied!"

Nothing Good Happens After 2 AM

It’s only been a few days since I decided to go on my hiatus from dating. It’s Friday night and I’m at the hockey rink –where else? After the games all of the teams head to Rock Bottom for beers.

For the past few weeks, someone has been sending me drinks anonymously. The second time it happens I ask the bartender coyly “Darlin’, are you sure it isn't YOU who’s sending me these drinks?” He smiles and says that it’s a guy who comes down regularly on Fridays who is sending them. I suggest that he communicate to my unidentified benefactor that a. my drink is actually Irish whiskey on the rocks and b. I’m not that scary – he should just talk to me.

After more than a few beers (and another mystery drink) I’m headed home when I get a text from Joe. Remember Joe?http://flingstress.blogspot.com/2012/03/sinners-you-are-all-sinners.html He and I have stayed in touch and still communicate once in a while. He says that he wants me to come shoot pool with him and his buddy at his house. In Reston. WHAT? I tell him I’m in no shape to drive to Reston. He says “I’ll pay for your cab – just come hang out with us!” Well, hmph.

I go inside, drop my hockey equipment and rummage around in the bathroom to make myself presentable. My roommate wakes up (it’s 2 am at this point) and says “roomie, where the hell are you going?” I look at her and don’t know how to answer. I sheepishly tell her that I’m going to hang out with Joe – no big deal. Incredulously she says “At 2 am? Yeah right. What are you thinking?” She’s right. I know she is. I dial Red Top to cancel the cab.

BUT at that same moment I get a text message saying my cab is waiting outside. Shit. I decide that if the cab is there, it means that I’m supposed to go. I walk outside. The cab is waiting.

I get in and I’m thinking about what I’m doing. Why am I going to Reston at 2 am? I hate playing pool. And Joe is kind of a jerk. I know he’s only interested in one thing. These thoughts are running through my head when all of the sudden I’m *literally* jarred back to reality. Syed (the cabbie) hit the median! I’m as pale as can be… it scared me half to death and the poor guy is apologizing profusely. THEN. Thump. Thump. Thump thump thump... You guessed it.  Flat tire.

I’ve ridden in a lot of cabs. I’ve NEVER had a flat tire in one before.  Seriously?! How many signs do I need to let me know this is a terrible idea?  Joe is texting me like crazy telling me to hurry up and actually wants to speak to Syed. “Tell him your boyfriend wants to talk to him.” Umm. Weird. But whatever. I hand Syed the phone. I have no idea what Joe says to him but when I get back on the phone he tells me to hurry my ass up.

We get back on the road. I close my eyes and think “No, I’m not doing this.” At the last moment – right before Syed is about to get on the freeway – I say…

I truly believe that God is working in my life. When I didn't listen to my roommate (who normally sleeps through my late night entrances), God put yet another roadblock in my way. I made a conscious decision to stop dating so that I could clear my head and my heart. And here I am jumping into a cab to hang out with a guy who treats me poorly. It was a powerful moment. A liberating one. Joe was pissed – but guess who doesn't care? THIS girl. Sorry I’m not sorry, buddy.

I’m done. Done with players and idiots. Done with man-children and emotionally-stunted men.  I’m ready for more. I’m ready to find “him.” Well, after my dating hiatus, of course.

Thank you, Syed, my guardian angel cabbie, wherever you may be.

The Flingstress... Going On Hiatus

I am taking a deliberate break from dating.  I have a few reasons for the break so let me see if I can explain.

When Joseph broke up with me it was a HUGE rejection.  The person who was supposed to love me forever walked away. Seemingly without much difficulty. It's embarrassing to admit but I desperately needed male attention. A LOT of male attention. I recognize that I needed the affirmation and confirmation that men still liked me. Still wanted me.  That Joseph was wrong. That I was still desirable and worthy of love.

I no longer feel that overwhelming need. I feel more settled. Stronger. Happier.

At the same time, I don’t know exactly what I want at the moment. I never saw myself staying in DC this long. Being in Ireland made me realize that DC isn’t home. And I’m not sure it ever will be. Ultimately I either need to make it home or I need to leave.

So I decided to take a break from dating. A dating cleanse, if you will. A man-page turned man-fast. At first I thought maybe I’d do it until 2013.  Now I’m unsure when I’ll return to dating. When it feels right, I suppose.

Flingstress out. For the moment, at least.