99.99999% of the time in Seattle dating, I feel like the men are, objectively speaking, the fuckups: too socially clueless or offensive, irritatingly passive and poorly groomed. But sometimes, sometimes I'm the one who is a hot dating mess. Blame it on the feminist club I joined in my Pacific Northwest high school, or the women's college, or two years of malelessness nursing school. Find my parents guilty for refusing to let their only daughter play with Barbies or shave her legs. Hold accountable Planned Parenthood, for keeping me baby-free into my early 30s. Here we go...
I like Crazy Chinatown man more each time I see him, and with that I get nervous. Adding to my insecurity is an inherent, cultural power dynamic between a 40 year old man and a 32 year old woman that I have a hard time overcoming. Not to mention he's had one relationship that lasted eight years and another six years, while my longest functioning relationship (defined by two people in love living in the same state) is a whopping five months. If I broaden my definition of "functioning" to include a transnational romance with a man who subsequently joined the Catholic priesthood or a live-in boyfriend who I had ZERO sex with, I get two years. To sum it up, I'm dating him with my defensive instincts immediately set up, which led to a problem.
We'd had a nice evening together, and by the time we'd had sex and cuddled, it was midnight and I needed to head home. My car was parked on the street, and he said he would walk me there from his third floor apartment.
I've been single nearly my entire life, and I'm used to a high level of independence.
"No, it's okay, I can walk myself."
"This area can get weird at night, I'd feel better if I just walked you down."
"No really, it's fine. You don't have to put your clothes on."
He insisted one more time as he went through his closet, and I freaked out. I wanted control. I wanted to leave his apartment and walk to my car on my own, as I have done every other time I've had sex with a man.
"No! You don't have to come with me! I just feel really uncomfortable with gender roles and I can walk to my car on my own! I feel weird when men try and help me out, and I'll be fine! I lived in this neighborhood for a year and never had any problems!"
He continued to get dressed.
"Please don't! I went to a women's college and I'm not used to this! I'm freaking out right now! I just can't handle anything that falls along gender lines! I don't ever want an engagement ring!"
I mentioned an engagement ring. WHY THE FUCK DID I MENTION AN ENGAGEMENT RING?!?!?
"R_______... I'm just trying to walk you to your car."
I was unnecessarily jittery, hastily thanked him for a nice time, said I could walk by myself, and ran out the door.
He followed me into the hallway, and I disappeared into the elevator, hitting the 1* button repeatedly until the doors closed. They finally opened and I ran out into the apartment lobby, only to find him waiting there for me.
At that point I gave up and he walked me to my car.
"If there's one thing you should know about me," he said, "it's that I do what I want."
"I do too."
"And that's why we're both here."
The next day, I realized what a disaster I was. He didn't contact me and my heart sank, believing that I completely ruined one of the most promising series of dates I've had in 3.5 years.
"Do you still want to date me?", I sent a desperate text message the next evening.
He responded an excruciating twelve minutes later:
"Oh, this is a really bad day for serious text chatting. I'm under the impression we're people in hanging out mode and not like dating, put perhaps I blacked something out? I didn't sleep at all, got near dead at crossfit today, and am really worked up that these two fucking people still haven't paid me for jobs, and probably chemically and emotionally a bit out of whack for having drank the entire week before my birthday then stopping. So that's all where I am today."
FUCKKKKKKKKKKK. Not good. I assumed I was done with. Then two days later, I got another text:
"When you write your blog, do you include parts where somebody wants to walk you to your car after hanging out and having sex, and you shriek a bunch of things really quickly about gender roles, women's colleges, and freaking out, then run out the front door and sprint to the elevator, or are these entries usually other-person centric?"
The answer is, I include it all.
We saw each other again, had another fun evening, and are still communicating. Fingers crossed. Thank God we both love the crazies.
I like Crazy Chinatown man more each time I see him, and with that I get nervous. Adding to my insecurity is an inherent, cultural power dynamic between a 40 year old man and a 32 year old woman that I have a hard time overcoming. Not to mention he's had one relationship that lasted eight years and another six years, while my longest functioning relationship (defined by two people in love living in the same state) is a whopping five months. If I broaden my definition of "functioning" to include a transnational romance with a man who subsequently joined the Catholic priesthood or a live-in boyfriend who I had ZERO sex with, I get two years. To sum it up, I'm dating him with my defensive instincts immediately set up, which led to a problem.
We'd had a nice evening together, and by the time we'd had sex and cuddled, it was midnight and I needed to head home. My car was parked on the street, and he said he would walk me there from his third floor apartment.
I've been single nearly my entire life, and I'm used to a high level of independence.
"No, it's okay, I can walk myself."
"This area can get weird at night, I'd feel better if I just walked you down."
"No really, it's fine. You don't have to put your clothes on."
He insisted one more time as he went through his closet, and I freaked out. I wanted control. I wanted to leave his apartment and walk to my car on my own, as I have done every other time I've had sex with a man.
"No! You don't have to come with me! I just feel really uncomfortable with gender roles and I can walk to my car on my own! I feel weird when men try and help me out, and I'll be fine! I lived in this neighborhood for a year and never had any problems!"
He continued to get dressed.
"Please don't! I went to a women's college and I'm not used to this! I'm freaking out right now! I just can't handle anything that falls along gender lines! I don't ever want an engagement ring!"
I mentioned an engagement ring. WHY THE FUCK DID I MENTION AN ENGAGEMENT RING?!?!?
"R_______... I'm just trying to walk you to your car."
I was unnecessarily jittery, hastily thanked him for a nice time, said I could walk by myself, and ran out the door.
He followed me into the hallway, and I disappeared into the elevator, hitting the 1* button repeatedly until the doors closed. They finally opened and I ran out into the apartment lobby, only to find him waiting there for me.
At that point I gave up and he walked me to my car.
"If there's one thing you should know about me," he said, "it's that I do what I want."
"I do too."
"And that's why we're both here."
The next day, I realized what a disaster I was. He didn't contact me and my heart sank, believing that I completely ruined one of the most promising series of dates I've had in 3.5 years.
"Do you still want to date me?", I sent a desperate text message the next evening.
He responded an excruciating twelve minutes later:
"Oh, this is a really bad day for serious text chatting. I'm under the impression we're people in hanging out mode and not like dating, put perhaps I blacked something out? I didn't sleep at all, got near dead at crossfit today, and am really worked up that these two fucking people still haven't paid me for jobs, and probably chemically and emotionally a bit out of whack for having drank the entire week before my birthday then stopping. So that's all where I am today."
FUCKKKKKKKKKKK. Not good. I assumed I was done with. Then two days later, I got another text:
"When you write your blog, do you include parts where somebody wants to walk you to your car after hanging out and having sex, and you shriek a bunch of things really quickly about gender roles, women's colleges, and freaking out, then run out the front door and sprint to the elevator, or are these entries usually other-person centric?"
The answer is, I include it all.
We saw each other again, had another fun evening, and are still communicating. Fingers crossed. Thank God we both love the crazies.
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