I thought I was being open-minded, but I was really being stupid. Purposely going for guys painfully out of my type did nothing but reinforce my type. Intellectuals are a must! I don't care if they have adventurous hobbies or tales of being deployed all over the green and blue globe. Attraction is a necessity I've been ignoring in the guys I've entertained dating. I don't mean entertained on day dreams while shooting whiskey at the bar, I mean guys I've actually poured effort into getting to know. I kept trying to push personality and be open-minded. It was if I was exploring creativity in seeking love in a town that feels rotten to me. But, then it hit me; I didn't know what I wanted. I was just picking up pebbles along the way to passing time. One pebble on a disk golf course, one at church, one at the cinema, one over cheese fries, and one in a pedicab. At the end of the day they all ended things with me. It left me dissatisfied either way. So I finally checked out of the app; like that book which under your bed, it was long overdue. Although I hope not to look back for at least a couple months or so, I still I had a few leads that exchange information with before deleting it.
2 Comments
You peeled open the pages with poise.
Turned one after the other with very little noise. Forward-thinking and forward flipping. Easy to crinkle when your grip was slipping. Second chapter, you creased the binding. Loyalty to the author — a scarce finding. Closing time: pages pressed like agendas. Colorful pages concealed and tossed on a credenza. Undressed expectations and critic-strung words. Loose leaf emotional intelligence took off like birds. The hardback harbors settled after settled dust. Caked with self-righteous, masking true disgust. Pride prevented prying open promised prints. Until seasons rolled back around, But then the narrative couldn’t be found. So you slapped the pages furiously past, In realization that not all good things last. Blank pages you’re disgruntled to fill, Best wishes finding another protagonist to spill. Our first date was at a neighborhood restaurant, just blocks from my second place of residence in Pensacola (I'm currently in my third). There was live jazz playing and a steady conversation. We closed the restaurant down and then went for a stroll around the neighborhood, all the way to downtown. Talking about God knows what in the thick humid air, he kept his distance. Even after the clock stroke 12, he kept distance. I went for a hug, but it was more awkward than I would have liked to hope. Kind of like one of those ones where abrasive aunt forces a hug on you: I was that aunt. Date number two, we met at a sushi place where his sarcasm really surfaced. Rolling in laughter and fresh tuna, we chatted away the evening and then headed to Best Buy for a battery adventure. I could tell he didn't want the night to end because then he suggested we go to Starbucks for a chai tea latte. We proceeded to close down Starbucks as well. Still not a single hand-hold, a flirty tap on the shoulder, nothing. I understand respect and guys wanting to avoid the whole me-too movement... But personal touch is one of my love languages... And I only have two. Come on Mac Hammer! I would like a number one with extra passion. Date number three was his birthday. He hinted that he had no real plans since he preferred doing them with a significant other. I asked what kind of adventure he wanted to get into for his birthday and he said a simple Sushi dinner in his hometown. Milton is Pensacola asleep. Which is saying something, because Pensacola always seems like it's sleeping to me. Even the traffic can not be classified as traffic. 30 cars? That's all you got? Okay. Come back to me when you're on Dallas or Austin level. Or Charleston when one of the bridges was out. You know I'm feeling pessimistic about a place when I complain about not having traffic. At this date, I realized he wasn't going to touch me. It started to make me feel a little self-conscious, and then I stopped. If I've learned anything since my dating in Pensacola, it's that rejection is not you. Everyone's got something specific they're looking for or looking to avoid, and I can't help that I'm not it. So, I paid for his birthday dinner, we went to his home and he showed me a couple videos. Then, I left unkissed and untouched. On his birthday. Didn't they make a song about this? Or at least a birthday kissTwo weeks later, I caught a glimpse of him in the mall while we're both on other days. Mr. MC Hammer must have sang to her "Can't Touch This," cuz she too was keeping her distance as they made their stroll past the half empty stores. At least he wasn't touching her either?
https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/10119/hamburger-cookies/ The thin mint symbolizes the refreshing relief that it diffused naturally and no feelings were hurt in making these "MC-Hamburgers"The traveler in me was indulged by this tall bottle of water. He was so skinny, I possibly could have broke him in half, but never gave the impression that I was too big for him. Which, if you've kept up with my Pensacola experience so far, you know that that's genuinely been a problem. It all started because he flirtily invited himself to a beach date that I had, through messaging in the app. Honest as a nun and with a habit of serial dating, I stated that he would have been intruding on a date. "Oh so I have competition," he fired back. His interest was instantly engaged. "Well, I'll have to Razzle Dazzle you." Rolling my eyes at such a wild proposal, I couldn't help but think of all the other letdowns and boys that just used words with no action. I'll be damned if this guy did not follow through. "Let's go somewhere," he pleaded. Don't threaten me with a good time! I listed off the cities in closest proximity of Pensacola and he practically yawned through text. "Okay," I said. Time to test this fool, I thought. "New Orleans is 3 hours and Atlanta is 5." "New Orleans," he replied and retrieved my phone number. After receiving some drunk texts and a few missed calls Friday night from Mr. Roadtrip Rascal, I assumed we wouldn't be making the venture. Saturday morning at 9 a.m., I texted him and said, "where you at? Are we doing this thing?" He must have shot out of bed, because I'll be damned if he didn't show up at my house in the next 20 minutes. Like the horse races, we were off! We joked about both of our friends hoping the other wasn't a Natural Born Killer. We talked about family, our common religion, our plans to get out of this town... I swear it was like a freaking country song. Then in Mobile, the one hour mark, we went into the tunnel and several cars on all sides of us began honking their horns. For no reason. But, then it seemed like it was playful. So he honked back a melody that required a an answer of two honks. We cackled and then made our way to Chipotle. Yeah, fun fact: Pensacola has absolutely no Chipotle's. WTF?! The city makes no sense. Anywho, we walked in and ordered; I tried to pay and he practically threw my credit card on the other side of the restaurant. Once we made our way to the parking lot, I thanked him excessively and he kissed me. Towering over me, he smiled and then he grabbed my car door. Then, when we stopped along the way for gas, again, I fought to pay the bill since he took his car and was taking me on this trip, but her refused, kissing me again. We rode the rest of the way to New Orleans with grins on our faces, his right hand nestled inside the beginning of my left thigh, just above my freckled kneecap. He booked us a Marriott room, just blocks athwart from the French Quarter, which was quite a treat for me, because anytime I stay in town, it's with family away from downtown. We explored like tourists and flirted like teenagers. Then, when the sun went down is when we really went out to play. We ate dinner off Bourbon St. at this delicious place and had Bloody Mary's since the vodka was marinating a picture of okra, celery, creole tomatoes, pearl onions, and I believe bell peppers. We picked up a buzz in a few tunes as we bar hopped to Frenchmen Street. The date was going well, really well. A sharp annoyance hit me when I made a comment about how we both were making Snapchat posts, yet neither one of us added the other as a friend. "Oh, well I only have family on my Snapchat." Okay.... I thought. Yet oh, I didn't believe him. All the posts he was making were of one drink, scenes of the street, and one plate. I noticed how careful he was do not capture the edge of my drink or plate. I've been there. According to my mom, I "invented sneaky" and this boy was being sneaky. When I returned from the bathroom at the alternative rock bar, I saw a young blonde video snapping him, which he quickly clicked away when I walked up. And I’m supposed to believe that’s family? I scoffed to myself. I understand he just met me, but don’t lie to me. I’m talking to other people too, but gosh. It bothered me like a charley-horse and a couple more vodka sodas brought it out of me. He brushed off that it was his buddy’s wife. Yet, his buddy obviously isn’t family either. I just don’t understand the point of lying. That’s fine that you don’t want to be my friend on Snapchat, but you did take me on a date to another state... So why is social media such a big deal? I played nice and continued on with the night. At one of the last bars we ventured to for our night on Frenchmen Street, while jamming to another live band, he went up to get us our 18th drink (kidding…kind of). While he was gone, a short, harmless tan-skinned Arabian approached me. Engaging in conversation about a country I’ve never been to, I smiled as we talked. Moments later, my date returned on a mission. “Do you think my wife’s hot?” Wait a minute, I thought to myself. I went from not being worthy to being on your Snapchat to your wife in a jealous show? Instantly I decided this was blog-worthy. Then my out-of-country friend said yes! I was dying and slightly flattered. In a strange way, I kind of need a man that’s a little tiny bit jealous. In a twisted way it makes me feel wanted. Then again, I’m a little jealous myself. I haven’t had an opportunity be jealous since I haven’t had anyone that’s mine in a while… with the right person will bring it out of me…in the most innocent of ways *adjusts halo.* When I really care about someone, I value their time and understand that other people find them attractive cuz obviously that’s one of the reasons I’m there… so hey! At least I knew homeboy found me attractive. Stephanie called him homeboy! That only means one thing..... skip.Homeboy (n): name for a guy that holds a temporary place in your life and will not amount to anything romantically. There are infinite reasons why he isn't "the one" and just "this one." He most likely will or has already thrown a cheap shot at your heart. Did I make it home?
|
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
Categories
All
|