Date file NY Edition: The Professor

March 2019

So the St. Patrick’s parade was meh.  The lawyer was nice, but the sex was meh…. And so on actual St. Patrick’s day (a Sunday) I was just kinda feeling meh.

I actually don’t remember much of what we did that day, but given that it was a Sunday, sister was not interested in going out for the evening.  She told me, “you do you, boo” and so I chatted up a guy from Ireland. He suggested an Irish bar (how appropriate). It was pretty early in the evening, so I figured it wouldn’t be too crowded.  I thought there had to be something lucky in kissing an Irish guy in an Irish bar on St. Patrick’s Day.

Now, I don’t know if you can tell or not, but I give zero fucks about doing things alone.  I went to the bar, grabbed a seat that had an empty one on either side of it, and ordered a beer.  As I was drinking and scrolling through the various dating apps, I realize he’s at least 10 minutes late.  He makes an excuse but insists that he’s coming. Whatever, I’m from out of town, and I’m still talking to other dudes on these apps.

I get hungry and order a burger and another beer.  Continue talking to other dudes. Realize 30 minutes have gone by.  But he’s still texting me saying he’s coming.  

Hmmm.  Fine, I’ll stuff my face while you do or don’t come.

Finally after I finish my food, I think, “fuck you, man” and unmatch from him.

All the while I’ve been talking to this guy who’s a professor at a local university.  He finally asks me what I’m doing tonight.

“Well, I was going to grab a drink with someone, but I believe I’ve been stood up”

“What?!  On St. Patrick’s Day?  You’re alone in a bar on St. Patrick’s day.”

“It appears so, yeah.  So I’m gonna go back to my sister’s”

“Wait!  Where are you?”

I give him the deets.

“I can be there in 15 minutes.”

“Dude, I’ve already been here for over an hour by myself”

“No, I promise, I’ll be there soon.”

“Ugh… ok fine.”

He shows up.  He’s wearing a crisp, black suit with a black tie and freshly shined shoes. He’s got on a thick wool pea coat and scarf that looks like it’s made of cashmere.  He’s bald (not usually my type), but the intentional bald and he pulls it off.  

“Well, I feel like a schmuck.  Where did you just come from?”

“I had a donor’s dinner I had to attend”

“Oh well aren’t you fancy?!”

And he gives me some sort of exaggerated eye roll and I can already tell we’re going to have fun banter.

As I get to know him more, I find out just how fucking brilliant he is.  Two PhDs. We have a lot of common interests in psychology and higher education.  He’s one of the few men I’ve been on a date with who I can tell is clearly smarter than me.  I ask more about him and his education, bc he’s truly fascinating to me, and he gives me shit, asking if he’s on some type of interview and if he should have prepped his CV before coming over.

Smartass.

I give him my whole backstory of the cheating husband and being fired from my job and just enjoying being single.  He doesn’t want to hear about the husband. He doesn’t want to hear about the job. He just wants to talk about fun things.  Not in a “fuck off, I don’t want to hear your sad story” kind of way, but in a “let’s enjoy this moment here” way. I can tell he wants to just be flirty and fun, but also takes himself quite seriously, so I keep drinking and become more playful.  I lean in to kiss him and he stiffens up.

“Not here. That looks sloppy”

“OH!?  Well you’re the one talking about anal sex in a bar!”

“SHHHHH What is wrong with you?!”

“Just saying, I think it’s interesting you’re willing to ask me about pegging in a bar, but I can’t give you a kiss.”

“I want to take you back to my place.”

“K.”

He orders us an uber and takes me to his apartment.  I can tell how irritated PDA makes him, so I do it as much as possible just to give him shit.  It’s a new building, and there’s still a lot of construction. He quietly says hello to the concierge, and I say in my thickest Southern accent, “well, HEY THERE!  How’s your evening goin’??”

The professor shoots me a dirty look and pulls me into the elevator as I giggle.

When we get to his apartment, he immediately starts to take off my clothes.  I’m still trying to get oriented to the space. New York is so weird. He clearly is pretty successful, and he has basically an efficiency apartment.  All one large room. Kinda like an extended stay hotel room. Apparently I say some comment to myself in a snarky manner and he again gets offended by my observation of having an efficiency apartment.  I tell him not to get his panties in a twist and chill TF out.

The sex is pretty great.  Our banter has made good foreplay and apparently he loves to eat some pussy, so he sits me on his face.  As I grind down on him we both moan and when he comes up for air he says, “What is wrong with your husband?? I cannot believe that fool left you!”

And suddenly it’s like someone threw me into a frozen lake.

I’m trying hard to not let the words shake me or prevent me from having my fun.  I can’t even remember if we finish. The next thing I remember is getting dressed, trying hard to push back tears.  Him asking me what was wrong. Me trying to lie, badly. 

He knows he hit a nerve.  I’m sure he was just trying to be complimentary.  To tell me how great I am in the sack, and that my husband doesn’t know what good he threw away.  But it just stings. Because it just makes me feel like no matter how good I could have been (at anything, not just sex), it wasn’t ever going to be good enough for him.

When I’m done getting dressed, he asks me how long I’m going to be in town for.  One more night. He tells me he wants to see me again tomorrow if I’m free. I think I’m free?  I’m not sure.

He calls me an Uber and I go home.  The next day, we chat a little bit, but we can’t make our schedules coalesce.  So I never see him again.

Date File NY Edition: The Lawyer

March 2019

Y’all, life has been keeping me busy. So I apologize for the delay in writing… hopefully I’ll have a few things to say tonight and we can keep moving…

So if you’ll recall, I was in NY for a last minute I-feel-sorry-for-myself-because-I-just-moved-out-then-got-unfairly-fired trip. When I booked it, I really had no idea that I had booked it over St. Patrick’s Day. So being in the city, without children, and single during a major party weekend made my college hedonistic self come out to play.

I met a lovely lawyer on Bumble. We kept the conversation going and he said that he was game to go to meet my sister and I at the parade. Now, where I’m from, St. Patrick’s day is really just Green Mardi Gras. LOTS of drinking, beads, and general debauchery, but only wearing green. Came to find out in NYC, it’s legit about Irish pride. Who knew?! So after a chalking up our hair green and putting on every green garment we could fine, my sister and I headed out and watched Irish clubs with their banners waving, high school marching bands playing, and little Irish dancing girls in their Irish costumes. I didn’t really see any floats or people falling all over each other drunk, or any of the other bullshit I typically see at my local parade. Whatever. So the lawyer texts me and finds where we are. He also had never been to the parade and seemed about as lukewarm about it as we did. Afterwards though, he recommended a nearby Irish bar.

Approximately half the city was there.

We squeezed through the patrons and he bought me some cider. When we talked we had to touch because of how many people there were and how loud it was. As we drank, everyone got louder, and we stood closer, our lips touching each others’ ears when we talked.

Sister was very tolerant of it all.

We all eventually decided we were legit hungry, so we left that Irish pub for something with real food. Weirdly, we found a German restaurant nearby that was also crowded, but we could at least get a seat and food with our adult beverages. We ate delicious German food and talked about travel (my sister had lived in Germany for a year) and drank more beer. The restaurant began to fill with New York’s finest, and I got to wear one of their white caps while I continued to become inebriated. The lawyer picked up the tab (again… he got it at the bar too), and then we tried to find another venue for some dessert.

We came upon a 50s style joint and ordered adult milkshakes. We split it and the lawyer and I continued to get cozy. At this point my sister “had a headache” and said she was going to head out. She told me to be safe and text when I was on my way home.

As soon as she left, the lawyer leaned in and we began to kiss in the restaurant. A few minutes later he asked if I’d like to go back to his apartment downtown.

Um, yes please, Mr. Successful Lawyer. I’d love to see your high rise downtown NYC apartment.

He hails us a cab, and we continue to make out the whole way to his place. I realize how drunk I am and that I really have no idea where I am. I snap a picture of the address when we pull up, and send it to my sister as he’s paying the cabbie.

We fly up to the 17th floor and he takes me to his apartment. I walk in and am awestruck at the view. The sky scrapers glitter in the darkness, and I snap another picture to send to my sister while he’s in the bathroom.

I realize there are several doors. That’s when he lets me know that he has roommates.

Ah, of course. He’s only like 29. Doubtful he’s got a view like that in an apartment by himself. Even with his fancy-pants job.

He takes me into his bedroom and we quickly get down to business. Something about the way this is all happening just feels… off. He’s not creepy, or rude… I’m just not really feeling this vibe.

I get off (because I always do) and then find that no matter what trick I try, he doesn’t seem to be able to go. Eventually I become too dry for things to be comfortable, and we give up. He insists it’s fine. I’m less thrilled by the final outcome.

He looks tired. I say that I should probably get home to my sister and ask where the nearest subway stop is. He looks at me like I’m crazy.

“You’re not taking the subway home, alone, with all that shit going on in the city. Especially because your sister lives at the top of the island. It’ll take forever for you to get there. I’m calling you an Uber.”

He takes me back down to the lobby, waits with me for the Uber, kisses me goodbye, and that’s the last I see of him.

Date file: Zombie – Part 3

February/March 2019

So I move into my house on a Friday. I sleep with Der Alma Mater on Saturday. And, I shit you not, I am fired from my day job on Monday. Out of the blue.

I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me.

I immediately start trying to get my house in order (literally and figuratively). I file for unemployment, find a low cost clinic to see to get my maintenance medications written, find a prescription club to buy those medications at a decent cost, and update my resume. I call my sister and tell her what happen. She’s shocked. I call my coworkers and tell them what happen. They are shocked. My whole world has been rocked.

The week goes by in a blur. I make plans to go visit my sister in NYC in a few weeks because what the fuck else am I going to do with my time. I continue to organize my new house and try to figure out how long I can live off my savings until I find a new job… or try to finally start my own business that I’ve been saying for a decade I would actually do.

Friday night rolls around and it’s the first time the kids will spend the night in my new place. I’ve worked all week trying to get their rooms organized enough where they won’t have to sleep in chaos. They manage to go down pretty quickly, and I just decide to watch TV alone in my living room, wondering what the fuck to do next.

Then I hear the WhatsApp notification.

Zombie: Hey beautiful, congrats on the house.

What fresh hell…. he’s unghosting me??

Me: Oh hey there stranger.

Zombie: How’s the new place?

Me: Oh it’s beautiful….. and I got fired on Monday.

Zombie:…. you did not. I am so sorry to hear that!

Me: Yeah well I think it’ll work out better in the end. Are you back in town?

Zombie: Yeah, just got back from Utah. I had the best time with my best friend! But I hate telling you that knowing your current situation…. I feel like an ass.

Me: Don’t feel bad for having a good time with your bestie because I’m having a shit time.

Zombie: Well, thanks but I still do. I think I need to make it up to you.

Me: Yeah? And what’s that look like?

Zombie: Well, how about starting with a hug and then deeply kissing you?

Me: Well, do you wanna come over?

Zombie: Tonight?!

Me: I mean, we’re clearly both awake. And I’m sorry I was a fucking basket case.

Zombie: Don’t apologize. I would love to see you. I’m sorry for just going silent. That was not fair to you.

Me: What happened?

Zombie: I’d rather explain in person….

So he comes over. He immediately starts kissing me and holding me tightly. I enjoy it for a moment then ask him what happened. He says that my whole situation was just too overwhelming for him. He didn’t know what to do and it was fucked up of him to just disappear and he was really sorry. I tell him that he can’t ghost me again. He says he won’t.

He’s concerned that there are kids in the house. I trained my children to sleep hard, and I just tell him that all parents have to fuck on the DL, we just need to keep quiet.

We go back to my room and can’t keep our hands off each other. We breathlessly tell one another that all we’ve been thinking about the past two weeks is fucking the other one, and as soon as we’re done with round 1, we lay there staring at the ceiling with goofy grins on both our faces. We talk about various other topics like his week skiing, my bullshit firing, and he hears me sing for the first time. He fills me in on his pregnant sister and how crazy his work has been lately. We drink wine and screw around some more. He tells me he wants to spend the night fucking me and have endless morning sex….. but I’ve got the kids.

Finally around 5 in the morning, he decides to leave. And 2 hours later, I’m woken up by my kids.

The next day he’s slated to see his best friend, but asks if he can see me Sunday or Monday. My sister has decided to come into town given how my life suddenly unraveled, so I’m occupied. We realized our schedules align for lunch on Thursday, so we make plans for that. Wednesday night rolls around and he tells me that his boss scheduled meetings back to back all day Thursday, so we’ll have to push to Friday. So that’s fine. We agree upon 11:30, and also agree to order in because we plan on being naked together the whole time. :::insert lots of witty sexual banter:::

Friday arrives. Around 10 AM, I text him to make sure 11:30 still works.

He reads it.

And looks at it.

And looks at it.

And looks at it.

And then, he’s gone.

His picture disappears. I send a text. One grey check mark. Sent, but not delivered.

I have been blocked.

Six weeks of talking, going out, sex, and general fun (8 weeks if you count the 2 weeks of silence) and he is gone. And not just gone. Blocked me on WhatsApp.

I text him from Hangouts, “did you just block me?! I thought we were cool now??”

I realize he’s also blocked me from IG… which like, I asked to follow him on several weeks back and he just never approved.

Fuck it hurts. It hurts SO MUCH. Why? Why did he do that? Why did he ghost, then reappear, and then disappear AGAIN?? And not just disappear, but BLOCK ME. What did I do wrong??

I feel erased.

I try SnapChatting him. He doesn’t approve my friend request. I deleted it after a day of being unanswered. A few weeks go by and I still think about him every day. I try FB messenger. But then I remember that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really do FB, and it’s kinda wonky about letting strangers send you messages, so I delete that too.

Finally after a month, I unmatch from him on Bumble and Tinder. To my surprise, he didn’t do it to me, but I felt like I had to detach.

Two more weeks go by. I send another friend request via SnapChat. Never is approved.

I cry more over this weirdness than I did the demise of my divorce. I feel silly and stupid and wonder why this is so fucking painful. I wonder what I did to deserve this. Why I spooked him. Why I can’t stop thinking about him.

What the actual fuck.

I research online to try to provide some answers.

“What’s worse than ghosting? The new trend in online dating – zombies”

Holy fucking shit. That is totally what happened. He ghosted me, then came back from the dead, and now he’s gone again. But I still can’t get over that he BLOCKED ME.

“New cruel online dating move – cloaking. Pretending you never existed by blocking you on all your social media.”

I have a hard time accepting this. He was different. He made me feel things because he was empathetic and emotionally intelligent. I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that he would do something SO assinine and hurtful.

But it appears he did. And it appears I’ll never know why.

Outcomes:

2nd date: We saw each other several times

Sex: LOTS

Ghosting: Worse – Zombied and Cloaked.

Date file: Der Alma Mater

February 2019

I’m still trying to play the field. I’m not doing a great job at it.

Well… I guess it depends on how you define a good job at that. I can talk to anyone – I’m a great conversationalist if I do say so myself – so picking people up on Bumble/Tinder/Hinge and keeping a conversation going for longer than a few exchanges is super easy for me. People like talking to me for the most part. So I start talking to a guy who likes my profile description. We start out by talking about our favorite curse words. He seems witty and he seems to think I’m witty too.

After a few back and forth exchanges, we find out we actually went to high school together. He was a senior when I was a freshman, and we have no recollection of each other. I also find out that he’s bilingual… in German. Makes sense. He looks very stereotypic German (hell, so do I). Apparently his mother is from Germany and he lived there for a while.

He confesses he’s never done online dating before. It seems very backwards to him. I tell him it’s been 15 years for me, so this is all kinda new to me too. But because of this, he asks to talk to me on the phone. I’m a kid of the 90’s so of course I’m ok with this. We have easy conversations and they’re intellectually stimulating.

He’s well aware of my situation. He’s a kind ear when shit is hitting the fan. He asks when he can take me out, and I advise that we just wait until after I move out, because going out is proving to be more and more difficult (and let’s be honest, if I’m going out, I want to go out with Zombie).

Originally he says he’d like to take me out the weekend I move out. At first I say no – I will probably be too emotionally drained to want to be around anyone. But as the day comes closer, and the dread sets in, I realize the last thing I need to do is be alone that weekend. So I agree to get dinner and drinks with him on the Saturday night I move out.

That Saturday night rolls around and my mind has been in a million places the last 24 hours. At this point, Zombie has ghosted. No word from him in almost 10 days. I figure he’s gone for good.

Der Alma Mater shows up to my house and gives me a hug. I forget how tall he is (6’5″). He takes me to a German food restaurant, which I love, and he is pleasantly surprised by how authentic it is. We have a good time and have easy conversation. We then go to a bar down the street from my new house and drink – a lot. He goes in to kiss me while at the bar. I don’t stop him. He’s a good kisser.

We stay until last call, and we walk back to his car. He opens the door for me to get in, just like he’s done all night. I can’t remember the last time a man did that for me each and every time I got in their car, be he did.

He drives me the half mile back to my place. I realize it’s past two in the morning, we’ve both had a lot to drink, and he lives almost an hour from me. I feel like a dick if I send him home, so I invite him in.

We have decent sex, but its only as good as it can be being completely wasted. We go to sleep and freeze because it’s still February and I don’t know how to work my damn new AC/Heater. In the morning he wakes me up and I have morning sex for the first time in I can’t remember when.

It’s amazing.

We try a position I’ve never been able to do before I guess due to the way exHusband and I would fit together, but it hits just the right spot and I orgasm again, and again, and again. We fall asleep again for another hour or so, then finally get up and get dressed to grab some brunch. He buys and we just kinda chill. He takes me back home afterward, kisses me goodbye, and leaves.

Hm. That was pleasant.

We go out a couple weeks later, and then one more time. We don’t do anything especially interesting. Getting food. Talking. Fucking. Watch TV.

And here we are… almost in May. We still chat from time to time. He wants to take me out again.

And while I enjoy his company, and he’s nice…. I feel no real spark.

I need to tell him. I’m not sure how. I hate this part of dating. I don’t like being the bad guy, especially if no one’s been a dick. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s kind and considerate and pretty chill. I just don’t find myself getting butterflies when he texts me. At this point, because I know what I need to do and haven’t brought myself to do it, I just feel dread when he texts me, and that’s through no fault of his own. It’s due to my own cowardice.

And it’s not fair to him. But I need to do this. Soon.

Outcomes:

2nd Date: Yes, 3, actually

Sex: Yes, pretty good sex too.

Ghosted: No, but I have to end this soon.

Look at my dead fish

Ok guys, let’s have a discussion about your dating profile pictures.

So. Many. Problems.

I’m going to list a few problems that I notice, in no particular order, of things that seem to be prolific in the online dating profiles.

  1. Dead fish – wtf, guys. I know you are super proud of your “big catch.” It is not a metaphor for you being able to catch women. It’s just you with a big dead fish. IDGAF about it. If you’re using that to impress people, we women folk do not care. Maybe other dudes out there think your ability to catch a fish is fuckin’ sweet, but I’m pretty sure you’re trying to get WOMEN. So stop with all those goddamn dead fish.
  2. Dead deer – see above. Apply to deer.
  3. Nothing but group photos – ESPECIALLY as the first one. I do not want to have to dig through all your photos to try to figure out who the same face is in all the photos. Automatic swipe left if you make me work too hard to figure out what you fucking look like.
  4. Gym selfies – you just look like a douche, man. I’d rather you put a hot pic of yourself in a nice suit or if you HAVE to show some skin, you out at the pool with friends or something.
  5. Only photos with you wearing sunglasses/hats – Your eyes are super important. If I can’t see them, that’s going to vastly impact how hot I think you are (or not). Also, if you only post pictures of you in hats/your head covered, I’m going to assume you’re hiding your balding head. Swipe left (not because bald, bc you are insecure about it).
  6. You getting shitfaced – bc I’m a grown ass woman, and posting drunk pictures of yourself stopped being cool in 2005. Sorry you missed that memo.
  7. Golfing – I don’t care about your alignment or your golf swing or any of that shit. Your body is contorted so I can’t really tell what’s going on anyway. If you really want me to know you like golf, put it in your profile blurb.
  8. Landscapes… without you in them – so you went on vacation recently. Cool story, bro. But if I really want to see a picture of a sunset, I’ll Google that shit. I want to see YOU.
  9. One picture only – especially if it’s only of your chest. Or worst, something other random-ass picture that has nothing to do with your physical appearance.
  10. Pictures with no smiles – bc I don’t want to go out with Debbie Downers. It doesn’t make you look cool, it just makes you look like an asshole.

So please don’t do these things. Please primarily post pics of you smiling, alone, in a variety of settings, some of which include a full body shot, and don’t have your eyes or head totally obscured. If you’re a decent looking dude, and you’re not getting great matches, it may just be because your pics suck. You don’t suck, but we’re visual, and if your pictures are garbage, girls are gonna think you’re garbage too. Right, wrong, or indifferent.

Date file: The Zombie – Part 2

January/February 2019

So if you’ll recall, I had left my house under false pretenses of going to the drugstore to get something for my aching throat when in actuality I left to go fuck Zombie.

I wake up the next morning and instantly know I have strep.

Me: Please don’t hate me.

Him: Why would I hate you?!

Me: I gave you strep.

Him: nooooooooo. Well I haven’t had strep in years…. although we were going at it pretty hard and heavy last night.

The next day he has strep. The rest of the week is lost to us being ill. He gets a respiratory infection on top of the strep so he’s more of a mess than I am and ends up being sick well into the following week. We still chat the whole time and make each other hot and laugh, but we agree to rest and recover until we need it.

At the end of the following week, he tells me he’ll be going to Colorado to visit his family for his sister’s baby shower. He wants to see me before he leaves. I happily find an excuse to be gone for the evening from my house and make my way over to his apartment. It’s a mess (because he’s been so sick) and he apologizes. At least I know he has been legit sick this whole week plus the previous week. I have a problem trusting people, especially men, given how much they’ve lied to me in my life. But he’s still slightly congested and has other evidence of being under the weather.

We drink wine and fuck and watch TV and talk about whatever. Eventually I realize I need to go home and he tells me he’ll let me know when he arrived in Colorado, as he will be driving. He does so and then sends me pictures of him and his baby niece playing together, pictures of dinner he’s made, and just generally telling me about how awesome it was to be at the shower and watch his sister cry. It’s regular life and he’s charming and sweet and I feel more feelings that I’m unprepared to feel.

I ask when he’s going to be back and he says he’s going to stay a little longer because his other sister is ill and has asked their mom to watch the baby, so he’s going to stay and help out. Bummer, I was looking forward to him coming back. He asks what my schedule looks like because he’ll try to adjust his flight to work with my craziness.

Me: You’ll change your flight to see me?

Him: Yes! At least I’ll try to!

He ends up staying the whole week in Colorado. It sucks, but at the same time, I respect him wanting to help his family. During that time we keep chatting, and I confess that I really like him and that really freaks me out. He says he likes me too, and we can take things as slow as I need to given my situation.

Cue more feelings.

As February progresses, it’s getting closer to time for me to move out of my house. Which also means it’s almost time to tell our children that we are divorcing and mommy is moving to a different house. I confide in Zombie how I’m dreading it, and it’s totally overwhelming for me. He tries to be supportive, but after he returns from Colorado, he’s had to go into the office and has become less responsive. As my situation intensifies, he gets less responsive. Some days we don’t speak at all, but other days we text for hours.

The day before Valentines, we’re supposed to see each other. A kid I work with makes me a Valentine and I send him a picture of it. He says, “1) that’s adorable 2) back off, kid, that’s my hot mom.”

I kill time that evening waiting for him to tell me when he’s done with work… and the text never comes. At this point, I’m very frustrated. He’s become less responsive and I don’t know what’s going on. My life is spiraling out of control. We continue the rest of that week with very little communication and by the end of the weekend I call him out on pulling away.

He insists that he’s just been busy.

“Yeah ok, but I can see when you check my WhatsApp messages…. or worse, when I see you using the app, but you’re purposefully ignoring my messages.”

And he ignores that. I’m crushed.

The next day, I rally and say, “look, I know I sound clingy, and my life is just a big fucking mess right now, and if I didn’t fuck everything up beyond all repair, hit me up at the end of next week once I’ve moved in and you come back from your ski trip with your best friend.”

And I’m still met with silence. I think that I will never hear from him again, and I ran him off… I turned him into a ghost.

But apparently I was wrong….

Date file: Detroit

January 2019

Things were getting way too real, way too fast with the insurance guy (Zombie). I’m not ready for this. I need to slow this train down.

Enter Detroit. A guy who was from… well, Detroit. He was nice enough. My company I worked for at the time happened to be HQ’d in Detroit, and I had been up there recently. He was nice enough, very complimentary, and made me laugh. We had about the same level of cursing, and chatted easily throughout the day. I was very preoccupied with Zombie, but I was trying to keep my options open. After all, I had been divorced for less than a month and should not be getting feelings for anyone. I wasn’t going to do that to myself.

So one day I decided to go ahead and go on a date with Detroit. We met at a bar, he bought me my drinks, we had a good enough time. He was cute, and was definitely feeling me. At one point in the conversation, I brought up that one of my coworkers had said that Detroit was like “Chicago’s little bother.”

Holy. Shit. You would have thought I called his baby ugly.

He became irrationally angry, viscerally so. I’m a nervous laugher, so I laughed at him at first, thinking he was putting on a show.

He was not.

Once he calmed down, I thought, “well that was weird.” But left it at that because I had a mission – distract myself from Zombie. So we continued to chat, I continued to drink, and soon I felt warm and fuzzy and the lines of things around me began to blur. He had regained his composure to be charming again and invited me back to his place for me to sober up (ok, yeah, whatever).

So we ended up sleeping together – shocking, I know.

The sex wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.

But all I did was think about Zombie. And how I wish it was him I was with and not this dude that had so much irrational pride for a city that he no longer lived in.

I sobered up and went home. On the drive home, I found myself feeling guilty for sleeping with someone else. Guilt is not an emotion I typically entertain. Why do I feel like this? We’ve not had any discussions about being exclusive. I’ve only slept with him a few times. More importantly, I just got divorced. I’m not ready for anything serious. I need to play the field.

But I find myself not wanting to.

I chat with Detroit a few more times over the next week or two. I slowly become less responsive, and he becomes less proactive. I find myself being rubbed more the wrong way the more I think about his outburst and anger concerning a city. And eventually he just fades away.

Outcomes:

2nd date: No

Sex: Yes… but I was thinking about Zombie the whole time.

Ghosting: No. Just a natural fade out.