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 NY Edition: The Irish Boy

March 2019

What does one do when they find themselves newly divorced and newly unemployed? Well, I don’t know about you, but I book a trip to New York City for a few days of hedonism.

Sister lives in the Big Apple at the top of Manhattan. Like, she’s practically in the Bronx. I fly in on a Wednesday afternoon and being a normal work day for all other humans, Sister is obviously doing her normal adult work life. Like many people in NYC, she is also a creative, so she has rehearsal or so other such thing that evening. So I’m left to my own devices for my first day-ish in the big city.

I make my way down to Sister’s work to let her know I got into town safely and to get the key to her apartment. I meet her boss who literally lives in an apartment overlooking Central Park. It’s like I’m in the Time Zone. Nothing makes sense. People are reminding others to pay the Chanel invoice, discussing how tired this other person is due to just finishing styling some A-list celebrity for the Oscars, and paying some Uber driver $500 dollars to drive back from Brooklyn to return the iPhone Boss Lady left in the backseat. It’s a totally alien environment.

All the while I’ve been chatting with a guy from Jersey who has the most fucking Irish name I’ve ever heard. I assume he’ll be going to the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

“Oh fuck no. I don’t go to that shit. I will be in the Poconos. My extended family throws the most ridiculous, multi-block St. Patrick’s Day party where they all pretended they are not raging alcoholics. I am leaving tomorrow morning before the weekend hits.”

“Oh. Well, I’m alone tonight. Shall we hang out?”

“Sure. Can you make it to Hoboken?”

“Uh….. sure….”

And then the SexySuburbMom becomes the LostIdiotGirl. If I can stick to the subway, I’m alright. But this involved a ferry and a bus. Eventually I found my way there. I knew I was in the right spot when I saw more white people in one place than I’d seen anywhere else in the city.

When I arrived in Hoboken, Irish guy was there to greet me. We walked over to a not insanely crowded bar as it was now happy hour and had a couple pints. We talked more about my situation and I learned more about him. We’d been talking for a couple days, but I got to know more about him and his life across the river from NYC. We talked about how shitty and stupid online dating was, but it was pretty cool for people just looking to meet up with other people in a new city. After a couple beers, I decided I didn’t want to get really wasted with a stranger in a strange city, so I asked for the check and said we should walk outside.

We decided to go walk along the waterfront. As we looked across the rive to the skyscrapers, I asked what it was like to live there on 9/11. He told me what it was like to watch the towers fall on his second day of his junior year of high school and have friends worried about their parents’ fates. I talked about my experience 1500 miles away and tried to relate. He convinced me I should visit the 9/11 Museum, but he had absolutely no desire to go there ever again.

As we were talking and walking, I eventually realized we had wandered into a more residential area of the city.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh, back to my place. Is… that ok?”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.”

“We can go somewhere else if you want. I was just going to grab my cigarettes”

“You smoke? Gross”

“Yeah, I know.”

When we walk into his apartment, I noticed a large tank in the corner. He tells me that’s his bearded dragon, Idris Elba.

“Why did you name him Idris Elba?”

“Why would you name a bearded dragon anything else?”

He smokes a cigarette outside and I play with his giant labrador. When he finishes, he pops a stick of gum and kisses me. He’s a good kisser, so I go along with it and we move our make out session into the kitchen. He lifts me onto the countertop and slides his hand up my shirt. I remember he mentioned a roommate, so I request we move to a more private place in case she returns. We make our way towards his room in the basement.

Now, in my part of the country, basements are rare. So this kinda freaked me out. And lets face it, I don’t really know this dude, so that kinda freaks me out. But I know how to take care of my own, so I choose not to freak out.

We have a good time. Better than I thought we would. Eventually he lets me know that a friend has to stop by to pick up something. Nothing to make you feel super awkward like meeting the friend of a stranger knowing that they most likely know we just had sex.

His friend is very normal and quite nice and jokes around for a bit before leaving. I realize the sun is setting and I should make my way back to the top of Manhattan. While I’m starting to gather my things that I had left in the kitchen, he kisses me from behind. Before I know it he’s fucking me from behind on top of his dining room table with my panties around my ankles. We go quickly, because we still don’t know when the roommate will walk in. Once we’re finished, he walks me to the end of the block and I tell him I can make my way back to the subway on my own. I tell him to have a good time in the Poconos and he tells me to be safe partying in the city. 10 minutes later he texts me to let me know that we narrowly missed his roommate walking into the house.

To my surprise, he continues to text me throughout the weekend despite knowing we can’t really hang out at all. He’s funny and easy to talk to. We try to get together one more time before I head back home, but the stars don’t align. He asks me to let him know the next time I’m in NY, but I let him know I will have a child in tow. I tell him not to hedge his bets on me, but if we can make it work, that’d be cool.

Over the next few months, he texts me randomly and I text him randomly. He kinda turns into a confidante of sorts, and I am for him too.

Recently, I’ve met someone. It’s honestly the main reason I haven’t written in a while. A few days after I met him, Irish guy texts me. I tell him I’ve met someone.

“Then why the fuck are you texting me back, crazy face?! Go be with him!”

“Ha, fair point. Thanks, Irish Guy. You’re a good dude.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind talking with him still because I’m the kind of person who can have a sexual thing with someone and if it doesn’t turn into something more, I can flip it into a platonic relationship and never look back. But maybe he’s not. And that’s ok.

A rose by any other name

Hey guys. It’s been a hot minute. But I’ve been busy with stuff. So there’s my lame-ass non-apology apology.

So, when playing the online dating game, one can run into MANY different people. How to keep them all straight? Especially when you take your talking to the next level by moving them over to text. I know some guys would ask me for a picture of me so that would pop up when I called/texted, but I did better with words that would help me remember the guy. So I thought I’d share them with you.

*Note – even though these are pet names, I’ve still changed the first name to protect the (mostly) innocent*

Adam DILF

Andrew Meat Head

Alex Marketing

Aaron Model

Allen NY Lawyer

Andy Firefighter

Adam Seattle

Anthony Cuddles Bouncer

Brad Photographer

Billy Married with 3 Kids

Blake Jersey Boy

Bobby McFunnyFace

Brent Beard No Strings

Clint Utah Baseball

Chris Old School Gangster

Davis 6’5″ Weirdo

Dean Twins

Jared NY Dinosaur

John Paul Tattoo

Joe Frenchie

Jason Sapiosexual

Justin Soup

Kendall Travel and Swear

Kennedy Finland Douchebag

Liam PhD NY

Luke Corporate Wellness

Marc Realtor

Martin Austin

Matt NY Ginger

Michael Firefighter

Mike Jacket

Marty NoFx

Nate Beard

Nathan Nurse

Nick Nuclear Hockey

Nick Oil

Paul Video Games

Patrick Smile Tongue God

Phil Aetna

Rob Realtor Drunkass

Robert Bumble

Ryan ENTP

Ryan NY Boyfriend

Ryan Jersey McHotAbs

Ryan Tacos

Sam Cutie

Skyler Soccer Schizo

Steve Handsome

Simon British

Taylor Doctor

Travis Detroit

Tom Conductor Sad Dick

Tom Doctor

Todd Probably Autism

Tyler NY

Vince Mechanic

William Mambo Taxis

William Counselor

Zack No Kids

So as you can see some were just enough to remember what they did occupationally speaking, and some got pseudonyms based on what they did to me (good or bad).

Any other options for keeping these creeps straight?

Date file: The PhD

December 2018

I had had a good time with the traveling salesman, but he had now flown back home and who knew when or if I would see him again. Exhusband and I had already planned to be in separate places for the weekend, with him taking the kids and me going to an all girls Christmas party. Which meant I also had a lot of additional free time on my hands. So off to Bumble I went to see if anyone wanted to help me occupy my time.

I am a sapsiosexual. In case you don’t know what that is, it means I’m turned on by intelligence. I don’t care how hot a guy is, if he’s as dumb as a box of rocks, I can’t fuck him much less date him. Same goes for Republicans (sorry not sorry).

So when I come across the blonde haired blue-eyed PhD in mathmatics candidate at the premier university in my city, my heart beat started to speed up.

We match and immediately hit it off. To my suprise he wants to actually talk to me on the phone (people still do that??). So I give him my number and we chat and shamelessly flirst and he doesn’t keep me on the phone past half an hour because he says he wants to have more to talk to me about when he takes me out tomorrow.

The next day we meet at a Mexican restaurant that has a fancy rooftop bar and fabulous margaritas. I plan on heading to my girls Christmas party right after, so I’m a little extra festive looking. I have on a slouchy sparkly black sweater and bright red lipstick. As soon as I see him I feel tingly all over. I basically want to jump on him at the bar. We quickly drink two drinks each and keep inching closer and closer together. I admit that I a drunk and shouldn’t drive. We both agree that we are done being at the bar, so one of us (I honestly don’t remember who) suggests we go back to his place. We casually chat the whole way there in his car and while we walk across his apartment complex. His apartment is modest and giant textbooks litter the floor. He has one small string of Christmas lights around his patio door. I comment on his festive decorations and he leans in to kiss me.

And in less than 90 seconds we are both naked as jaybirds writhing on top of each other on his couch.

PhD: Bedroom?
Me: Yes, please.

This is the third man I sleep with post divorce. It is the first penis that is noticeably different than the others.

While I was married, I forgot that my husband was rather well endowed. He was the 10th man I slept with, so I had some experience with others, but not like I had seen a ton in person. And I figure porn is a poor representation because it’s primarily all fantasy anyway. I doubt they higher many porn stars with average pensises.

Anyway, I digress.

PhD is not as long, but boy does he make up for it in girth.

He makes my body do things I didn’t know it could do. I soak the sheets he makes me so wet. He comments on my vocalizations (they ALL do). We fuck so hard, we fuck the sheets completely off the bed. We go three rounds and eventually we realize it’s dark outside. My party started well over an hour and a half ago.

He looks to see if his face is covered in my lipstick. It’s not, but his neck has about 20 hickeys all over it. Oops.

He drives me back to my car, and kisses me until we have to pull away from each other. He asks when he can see me again. I tell him I have to look at my schedule, but I think I can see him in 4 days.

When I arrive at my party, it’s practically over. And I realize my sweater is on backwards.

Four days later he and I have been continuously texting back and forth. I’m trying to play it cool because I actually like him. I try to make sure he initiates the conversations to know that he is genuinely interested in me. When the day of potential sex arrives, I text to confirm we’re still going to meet up.

PhD: So… about that… I don’t know if I can
Me: Oh, did something come up?
PhD: No, I just… I know this sounds weird, but I kinda have a hard time being ok with random, unattached sex.
Me: Oh. Well… I literally just got divorced so….
PhD: Yeah, no, I know, I’m not asking for anything more but I just like… I think I need some more time before we do this again.
Me: But you want to fuck me again?
PhD: Yes, absolutely.

So we wait a litte longer. We continue to flirt and sext and generally keep each other updated about various on goings in our day to day lives. About a week later, he says he’s ready for another round. We look at our schedules and find a date and time. When the date arrives, I text him again asking where he wants to meet.

PhD: So, I’m really sorry, but I can’t do this.
Me: I thought you were cool now?
PhD: Yeah, but…. I just don’t think I’m that into you.

I feel heat wash over me and my face flush. I’m at work. I will not cry at work. I can think of almost nothing more embarrassing.

Me: You don’t even want to be fuck buddies?
PhD: You would still want to even after I told you I’m not that into you?
Me: I mean… we had great sex
PhD: Yes, we did…
Me: So maybe we can… you know what. No. It’s fine.
PhD: It’s fine?
Me: Yes. It’s fine. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to convince people to like me and if you don’t, then you don’t. So. Yeah. It’s fine. Thank you for your honesty.

And I go out to my car and cry.

Outcomes:
2nd date: No
Sex: Yes
Ghosting: No, but he essentially “broke up” with me, for lack of a better term

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.