Yesterday was exactly three months since I set up my first online dating profile.
I’m over it.
I’m going to explain the events of last Friday night/Saturday morning, but this is pretty much a brain dump/rant. Feel free to ignore. I just need to get these words, this frustration, out. And this has been the only way I know to help me move on and get over things.
Warning. This post contains strong language not suitable for those under the age of whenever your mommy decides it’s okay for you.
Strong language aside, this post probably still isn’t suitable for you if you have ever been my mother and watched Lifetime movies with me in my adolescence. Because I’m pretty sure I spent some time yelling at the stupid girls making stupid decisions. And now I kind of am a stupid girl. So, basically, mom, I’m not sure you should be reading this.
So here goes…
I started talking with M (Note: I totally want to use his name. And post his photo. But that would be totally immature, right?) through OKCupid messages about a month ago. I really went against my better judgment even responding to his first message. He didn’t have much filled out in his profile, and that bothered me. But I was still kind of hurt that D stopped talking to me randomly, so it was nice to have the attention.
The messages turned flirty very quickly. It was fun. We started communicating via text message, basically because I hated having to log into OKCupid each time I wanted to read or reply to his messages. And I hate talking on the phone. So I wasn’t about to start voluntarily talking to someone on the phone.
We kept talking about meeting for dinner, lunch, something. But it just wasn’t working out. First, I went to the Bay Area for the weekend. Then, his work hours were just crazy. He didn’t go to work until 1:30pm and got home anywhere between 11pm and 3am (supposedly). He worked pretty much every day, except Sundays. But the one Sunday we thought we might be able to meet up, ended up being his mom’s birthday. I was getting frustrated with our schedules not meshing. He had one evening free, but I had late notice so I had no one to watch T. So we continued with the text messaging.
Last Thursday, he asked if I could do dinner. He’d taken the day off work, so his evening would be free. I couldn’t get someone to watch T, but T’s dad said he could take him Friday night. M said that could work, but it would have to be late because he wouldn’t be getting off work until 11:30pm.
Fine. I can deal with that. Grab a late dinner, hang out for a little bit, no big deal. I was looking forward to finally meeting this person I’d been talking to for a month.
So, Friday night arrives and I drop T at his dad’s. I send M a text message to let him know, and then I headed home to have some time to myself. What did I do with this time? I cleaned the house and did laundry. I know, stop me before my life gets too exciting for you.
M sends me a text message to say he got off early (it was like 9:30 I think), so I start getting ready. Hair, a little bit of makeup, casual outfit. Nothing too crazy. I’m almost ready when I get another text message from him. There was a spill at work so he has to go all the way back to work (he works in a city about 20 minutes away from the one we live in). He’s pissed off about it, but asks if I still want to meet up later. Considering I was expecting the date to be late anyway, I tell him it’s fine. I find Beetlejuice on TV and happily take the time to actually rest and enjoy the time by myself.
It was close to midnight when he told me the EPA finally showed up to check on the spill, so he can leave. He asks if we can change the location to somewhere on his side of town instead of my side. I tell him that it’s no problem. He says he’s almost back to town, so if I leave now we’ll get there about the same time. I tell him I’m leaving, and then I remind him to meet me out front. Because I hate walking into strange places by myself, especially to meet someone I’m not super familiar with. (I said it before, I don’t like the idea of walking up to some random person and asking, “Are you M?” It makes me uncomfortable.)
I get there, and I send him a message saying I’m there. He says he’s almost there. I tell him I’m in the parking lot. I watch a truck pull into the parking lot and the dark figure gets out and heads inside without even looking around. So I think, that must not be him. Because I asked him to meet me outside. I get a text a few minutes later, telling me he’s inside. I’m annoyed. So I tell him to meet me outside the front door. I’m not fucking walking in there when I’m uncomfortable. I head to the door and he meets me there.
First thing he does is hug me. Just like W did all those weeks ago. Weird. Then, he totally cops a feel of my ass. I make a joke about it, but really it bothers me. The night is not getting off to a great start.
We sit at the bar, he orders me a beer, and we start talking. It’s all getting a little more comfortable. I nurse my beer, and he teases me about it. He keeps asking me to take a shot, but I won’t do it. I know how alcohol affects me. I can drink a few beers and be noticeably more outgoing, but still be in control of myself. I take one shot with the beer, and I’m done for the night. So we’re talking and laughing, I’m getting more comfortable with him. I don’t even mind when he puts his hand on my thigh.
Then we’re on the topic of my nail polish (seriously, I don’t know how we got there). I say it’s blue; he says it’s green. We need a third party. So he invites the bartender over. It’s already been established that M frequents this bar. The bartender knows him. I’m pretty sure they are friends outside the bar. M says that if I’m wrong, I have to let him kiss me. I don’t entirely agree to it, but he asks the bartender, who says it’s turquoise. Now we have to hit up the internet. Turquoise is a blueish tone of green, so M wins. He kisses me.
Fine. No big deal. Seriously. If I had a problem with it, I would have said something.
I’m on beer three. He’s on five (I think. I really wasn’t paying that much attention.). He is getting a little more frisky with his hands, whispering in my ear, grabbing me once to kiss me again. Too much tongue this time. But I’m drunker than I thought I would have been. The mugs of beer are a lot bigger than I’m used to. I should have taken that into account, but I’m trying to just relax.
Fast forward just a little bit, and I’m drunk enough to be tired. I’m pretty sure I’m making all the decisions I never would have made if I had been more in control of myself. I’m already feeling like an idiot. I just don’t do shit like this. The events that follow are based on the decisions I made that night. I accept responsibility for my actions, my decisions. But there was a second person involved (possibly a third). I do not accept responsibility for his actions or his decisions.
I’m drunk. I can’t drive myself home. I am aware of this. He tells me the bartender (remember, his friend) gave him the keys to his place so we can go sleep off the alcohol’s affect. I inform him, for the first of several times as I recall, that I will not be having sex with him. He tells me he doesn’t expect me to. So I go. Because I’m an idiot, I guess.
When we get into his truck, I start to think this is dangerous. He’s had at least 5 beers to drink. He’s not noticeably drunk like I am, but that doesn’t mean shit. This should be unacceptable. But do I say anything? No. Because I’m an idiot.
The drive doesn’t seem very long. We pull into an apartment complex. We go into an apartment. I head straight for the bathroom. Because, by this time, I’m drunk enough that I am become overwhelmingly emotional. I pee, and then I stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself for a while. Maybe it was a minute. Maybe it was 10. I have no idea how long I was standing there, staring at myself. Trying to figure out who I was. I don’t want to date. I don’t want to put myself in situations like this. I don’t want to be here, in this strange apartment, that may or may not be the bartender’s, with this guy who I really don’t know at all. I wanted to date because I wanted it to be fun. This is not fun. I splash water on my face and exit. Knowing that my eyes are still red and puffy because when I cry, the effects remain for a long time after.
He asks me if I’m okay, and I tell him I’m fine. I wander around the small kitchen and I see an ultrasound picture on the fridge. I ask him who it is and he says he doesn’t know. They he grabs me and kisses me. I push him away and walk around the apartment a little more. He stays behind for a moment. Then he approaches me again and kisses me. More forcefully. I push him away and stare into his eyes.
I don’t remember my exact words. But I know it had something to do with, “If you do that again I am either going to punch you in the face or I’ll castrate you.”
He stepped back, and the anger in his face was intense. He looked at me for a moment and then said, “I don’t want you in here.”
So I picked up my shoes (I’d taken them off in the bathroom) and walked to the door. He said he’d take me back to the bar, to my car. Fine. We get in the truck and he speeds off in the apartment complex. It’s fucking dangerous already, but now he’s speeding. I say, “M, please slow down.”
He says something to effect of, “Fuck off bitch, I’ll drive however I want.” Again, not the exact words. But pretty much. I tell him to let me out of the truck. He says no. But then I see a gate and I get it. He wants me out of the complex. As soon as he’s outside the gate, he stops. I exit the truck, and he speeds off. I put my shoes back on and look around me.
Thank goodness for smartphones, huh?
Except, I try to locate where I am with my nifty Google Maps app, and Google isn’t quite sure where I am. I get a blue dot on the map, and I can see where the freeway is, but there is no street name. I try to get directions back to the bar, but Google isn’t quite sure where I should be going.
That’s the crappy part of that side of town. A lot of it is really new. Google isn’t quite up to date.
But I can hear where the freeway is, and the map shows me about where I am. So I start walking.
It’s cold. I’m grateful I wore leggings under my skirt. And that I have a jacket. But my fingers are ice cubes and I have no pockets.
I keep walking in the direction he sped off. I notate street signs. One street sounds familiar, so I turn on it. I keep walking, keeping track of landmarks and street names, and keeping track of where the freeway is.
I’ve been walking for what I think is about half an hour. I am surprised that I am not drowning in tears. I am just angry. I am angry at him. I am angry at myself. I am running a list of my friends through my head. Who should I call? Who is it okay to look like a fucking idiot in front of?
Jamie lives the closest. I feel really guilty, so I put off the call until I feel I am literally lost. I feel like I’m heading in the wrong direction. I don’t recognize anything except the athletic center. But even that I’ve only seen while driving by on the freeway. And I’m not walking on the freeway, so I’m lost.
A truck passes me. I can’t remember what his truck looks like, so I am instantly paranoid.
I partially hide behind a bush and make the call to Jamie. I’m surprised to see that it’s 5 in the morning. I am in tears by the time I start talking to her. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking, but I tell her to pick me up at the athletic center. I’ll head back there and wait for her.
I make it back to the athletic center, comforted by the lights in the parking lot, but another truck drove by while I was walking. So I hide myself behind the sign out front. I am hyper alert, watching my surroundings. When Jamie’s car pulls into the parking lot, I want to run as fast I can to the door.
Her car feels safe. Warm.
I feel like an idiot as I babble about what happened.
I am grateful I was not harmed. I am grateful he let me leave. I am grateful he stopped the truck. I am grateful she rescued me. I am grateful that I am safe.
We drive past the bar, and realize I was walking in the right direction. I didn’t have that much farther to go. But Jamie is worried about me, so she invites me to just crash at her house. When she leaves me on her couch, she offers to stay with me for a little while. But I let her go back to bed. I just want to sleep.
I can’t do this anymore.
I have been on a total of 5 dates in the last 3 months, with 3 different guys. Each one was very different. There was the single father, the young college student, and M. I’m not even sure who he was. I thought he was just a single 30-year-old with a good job. But now? I’m not even sure what really happened. Was that his apartment? I remember seeing photo-booth pictures of a couple on the fridge. Was that him? The picture is blurry in my memory. Now I’m paranoid. Was that his wife’s/girlfriend’s ultrasound? Was that the bartender’s apartment? Was this all a setup to get me in bed? Why did he get so angry at me?
I can speculate all I want, but I will never know the answers. And that’s why I had to write this. To help myself let it go. It’s okay that I don’t know the answers. All I know, is that night could have gone so much worse. I am grateful for how it ended.
But what is happening? The single father and I had a great first date. We had discussed a second date a few days later. Then, he stopped talking to me. The young college student and I went on a few dates, but he stopped talking to me too. I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something wrong.
So I’ve deleted my dating profiles. There were only 2 of them. But they are gone. I’m over it. I do want to date, but not like this.
Interesting note: when I went to delete one of my profiles, I checked the new messages first. Just curiosity. The last read message was from M. His profile was gone. He’s already deleted his profile.
So many more questions. So many more answers I’ll never get.
Can I be okay with that? I really don’t have a choice, do I?
P.S. Rehashing the events, I know all of the mistakes I made. I don’t need anybody telling me. I see the warning signs. Some of them, I knew were warning signs. For whatever reason, I ignored them. I get it. Let’s move past the whole, Rox was acting like those idiot girls in the Lifetime movies thing. Okay? Thanks.
Also: I have a lot more thoughts concerning these events. But I’m sure this post has been long enough to make your eyes cross. I’ll probably do a second part tomorrow. Or not. We shall see.
And one more thing: I have been having problems with comments for quite some time. I kind of intended to disable comments on this post, to avoid everyone calling me an idiot (thought I doubt that’s the response I’ll get). But now I can’t figure out what’s going on with my comments. If they are enabled, you are only allowed to leave me nice comments. If you want to insult me, just email me: roxanne[@]unintentionally-brilliant[.]com.