Where Are They Now?

I know you are all waiting with bated breath, dying to know what on earth has happened to the 17 men I've bedded in the four years since this blog started.  Here is what these characters have been doing, in order from most to least recent:

17) "W" and I continue to not fall in love with each other while spending several nights a week together.  He still makes minimum wage.  He turned 36.

16) Crazy Chinatown Man got a job, moved out of his mother's home, quit opiates, and has been happy in his new relationship for about five months now.  We decided that we'll be friends when I move to Oregon, and his girlfriend has agreed to meet me because the three of us hanging out is going to be TOTALLY RAD AND NOT AWKWARD FOR ANYONE.

15) Crazy Colorado Man sends me texts like "I love your breasts and your body very much!" and "Come visit Colorado."  I have no plans to visit Colorado.

14) Engineer With a Houseboat is still with his girlfriend that he started dating when he took me to Vashon Island to hang out on a beach and drink wine and tell me about how excited he was to have met her.  Yay!  Love prevails!

13)  There was this lawyer who did yoga who got all pissy when I didn't want to keep dating him.  I told him we could be friends.  We're not.

12)  Alcoholic Apartment Building Neighbor and I run into each other about once a month and he says "We should catch up some time" and I say "Yes, I know!" and we never do.

11)  Photographer still photographs and is in an open relationship with a web-cam model who he met on Tinder.  For his 37th birthday, she presented him with her friend wrapped in a bow.  He's in love.

10)  Tech Dude Who I Screwed On His Birthday had another birthday this year.  His friend is my friend's ex-boyfriend, so I showed up to the birthday party of my friend's ex-boyfriend and some random guy I slept with two years ago.  What the hell was I thinking?!?!?

9)  Recovering Alcoholic has recovered and holds a job and a girlfriend.  He actually seems pretty stable and normal now.

8)  New York one night stand #3- I have no idea.

7)  New York one night stand #2- I have an idea, but I don't want to say it, because this guy was amazing and for once, I'd like to keep the sanctity of a connection between two people without sharing details with the internet.

6)  Anal Obsession Guy married a former lesbian.  I hear through mutual friends that they're going to build a second house on his property for her to live in so they both have their own space.  God bless.

5)  Alcoholic Who Stole My Sleeping Medication is my Facebook friend.  He posted this on Facebook 12 hours ago:

"The fuck. They tossed their technology into the sun and scattered throughout the continents 150 thousand years ago!?! The continents were fucking empty then; Africa was the only game in town. And half the people looking forward to some technology free farming found out it's always winter somewhere on this muthafucker. Y'all nerds need to stop talking up battlestar galactica; wasted my fucking holidays."

?????

4)  Social Worker Who Didn't Want To Date Me Because I'm White rode his bike past me on 12th Ave. a few weeks ago.  Missed connection.

3)  Patrick walked out of my apartment after sleeping with me on the second date.  He texted me a few minutes later, "I forgot my hat."  I brought it to the front door.  Neither one of us contacted the other again.

2)  New York one night stand #1 decided to move to Seattle to date me then cancelled his flight because he got a girlfriend.  The girlfriend became a wife who became the mother of his daughter.  They live happily ever after in Brooklyn.  The End.

1)  Crazy Lawyer Who Shook Me calmed down a ton.  After my first and only brush with dating violence, we're now friends.  He sometimes sends me drunk, weepy text messages.  I respond calmly.
 

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Contract signed, sealed, and delivered!  I took a job in Portland starting in February, and if all goes according to plan, I will never, EVER see a man wearing a tech badge again. 

I haven't been blogging because I've been committing to "W___" at the same time as I've uncommitted myself to Seattle.  "W____" and I are kind of boring together.  We do things like make dinner and hold hands.  We have normal sex in the missionary position while we're sober.  In the morning, we get dressed and then go to breakfast.  He sends me sweet texts, unprompted, that say things like "I had an awfully nice day today thanks to you."  My brother and sister-in-law adore him, and my friends are so relieved that I'm spending time with a man who doesn't say confusing things that cause me anxiety and turmoil, like "We should have a kid together" or "I'm doing the exclusive dating thing with her...  I love you".

It's all well and good, but it's not blogworthy.  It's also not going to last. "W____" is perfect for me on these rainy Seattle nights when I crave companionship and touch, but it's a good time- not love- and never will be.

So the blog's not over by any means.  I'm just going to take a bit of a break while I enjoy playing the role of girlfriend for a couple months, because it's kinda nice.

Apologies

Sorry for being all boring and emotional these last two months and not going on dates at all.  I'm pretty much checked out of Seattle and planning next steps for a big move to another state where, I am confident, I will reenter the dating scene and have more to blog about.

For the moment, I'm totally content hiking through the larches that are changing color in the central Cascades and coming home to my apartment to eat pumpkin soup and fall asleep in my bed alone.  When W____ comes back from illegally riding in freight train cars across the country, I'll involve him in those plans because he is nice company and makes me smile, which is a solid C+ or B- good enough.

But there will be no new dates for awhile, I suspect, as I make the transition from Seattle to Portland, from tech industry to no industry, from polyamory to more polyamory.

Lesson Learned?

Okay guys, this is a learning process, and I think I figured out something valuable:

When a man is high on opiates and drunk and you're outside a strip club smoking cigarettes together and he says something really sweet about having a baby with you, maybe don't take him seriously because he's high on opiates and drunk, even if he's hot and super charming and you're not high on opiates and want a baby.

Also, it should be a MAJOR RED FLAG when the man who says he wants to have a baby with you doesn't remember your first date because he was on antipsychotics after having a delusional breakdown from doing some bad meth.

Who am I kidding?  I'd do it all over again.

Promises

Losing J______, or Crazy Chinatown Man, to another smart, successful woman (because we are a dime a dozen), produced a special kind of pain.  It wasn't the heartbreaking suicidal insanity that caused me to lose twenty pounds and nearly drive my car into a river when my last relationship ended;  it was a calm resignation to the fact that I can't hold the attention of the men I want.  I felt hopeless, massively defeated, and beaten down to accept apathy for men I date as the best possible course of action.

To counter the pain I spent three nights in a row with W______, and I made the conscious decision to dive in.  For seven months I'd held back with him because I didn't want to waste my time or his, but at this point, as I'm looking for jobs in Oregon, the circumstances have changed.  My time in Seattle is limited, and I want to spend it with a man whose company I enjoy.  For the foreseeable future, I'm not looking for Mr. Right.  It's all about W_____, Mr. Right Now.

I lingered with W______ in the mornings, accepting his offer to make me tea and allowing myself to stay in bed with him until it was too late to possibly accomplish anything productive with my day.  At night we had sex by candlelight over and over again, as though neither of us had ever touched a naked body before.  I asked him questions that were long overdue, like "What makes you prefer to shoot black and white photography?" and "How did your father die?" and "Why did your last relationship end?"  It wasn't that I didn't care about the answers to these questions before; I just didn't want to walk through that emotional doorway.

But walk through it we did, hand in hand on his couch, as he opened up about his art, father's death, and past relationships.  It was a lovely three nights during which, for the first time in years, I wasn't nervous about the status of a relationship.  There's no need for it to go anywhere or to not go anywhere because I'm leaving Seattle as soon as I can.  W_____ and I can just be.

"Call me if you need me to bail you out of jail," I told him, as he was preparing for a month-long trip train-hopping across America.  "I'll get you anywhere in Washington state or Idaho."

"You'd bail me out of jail?," he seemed surprised.  "That's so nice of you!"

I filled up a grocery bag with grapes, chard, kale, and tomatoes from his garden, and he told me to come back any time to take vegetables while he's away, then I drove him to an overpass in South Seattle just above the railroad tracks, where I pulled over and we said our goodbyes.

"I want more of you," I said, as we kissed standing in the shoulder of the road.  "Promise me you won't get a train girlfriend in the next month."

"Promise me," he countered, "that you won't get a Seattle boyfriend in the next month."

Easiest promise ever.

We sealed our promises with a kiss before W______ hopped over the concrete barricade blocking the road to the train yard and disappeared into the bushes.  I got back in my car and drove away smiling,  excited to settle for a good time with a man who adores me and is on an adventure that might get him arrested.
 

Woot!

If you tell men that you hiked the PCT through Washington state, they buy you drinks (and dessert) in bars!

HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS BEFORE NOW?!?!?

It's not an engagement ring, but...

"I found a backpack on the side of the road, and when I looked inside it there were these women's running shoes, and I thought 'Oh, maybe R______ would want to wear these,' so I brought them back with me."

Or in other words, W_____, the man I've been sleeping with for seven months, just gifted me used footwear.

 

The Breakup

He was never mine, and I was never his, but Crazy Chinatown Man and I did have a relationship that needed to be addressed.  We loved each other, I think, though he could only say it when intoxicated, and I couldn't say it at all.  What type of love we shared is up for debate, which I'm not willing to do, because the magic of this connection was we just felt it and didn't analyze.

I sensed him gradually fade me away as he continued to pursue the woman he's seeing, which I understood but resented.  I was plagued with thoughts of the "what-ifs."  What if he hadn't moved to Oregon and we'd had more time together?  Would I be the one he was pursuing instead?  Like three loves of my life before, I'd lost him to distance, and the what-could-have-been possibility was excruciatingly painful.

But the issue at hand was that I missed him and wanted his support, and he was not in a position to give it as freely as he had in the past.  I was annoyed at his unresponsiveness to text messages and wished he would just say what needed to be said: That I needed to disengage.  That he had moved on.

I spelled it out for him in an email so he didn't have to:  "Hey J______, it seems like you need more space?...  Would it be better for you if we didn't talk for awhile?"

"I guess maybe I do," was his response, adding that he and the woman were getting more serious.

It was nothing I didn't already know, but I had to hear him say it.

I was heartbroken, devastated, sick to my stomach, overwhelmingly lonely, and bitter- for about three hours.  Then I reminded myself that he had a choice, and he didn't choose me.  I know he cares about me, but he didn't choose me, and I want someone to choose me.  I deserve someone who chooses me.  I want a man to be all like "Fuck yeah, I'm choosing this girl because she's amazing! I will choose her over and over again!  I'm choosing her because she's independent and smart and crazy passionate about social justice and fixing the world!  I'm choosing her because she tries really hard to live ethically and treat people and the environment well!  I'm choosing her because she's hiking the Pacific Crest Trail by herself through Washington state, and she's lived in Korea and Guatemala, and she's traveled alone through Turkey, Panama, Poland, New Zealand, and Japan!  I'm choosing her because she will be an amazing wife and mother!"  I want a man to choose me for these reasons and more, and that's just not him.

So I put on my big girl panties and asked my friend A_____ to come over, where we finished off somewhere between 6-12 beers, ate a pizza, watched a Say Yes to the Dress marathon, and fell asleep together.

Then I woke up and texted W______, "Come over tonight,"  which was a command statement and not a question.  He responded "I'm looking forward to it."  And just like that, I decided to start the process of letting go of J______, or Crazy Chinatown Man, who is the only man I've really cared about since I moved back to Seattle, four long years ago.

Actual text message exchange with Photographer, who I slept with on and off over a year ago, who is my friend on Facebook and knows I'm hiking on the PCT

Photographer:  "So are your legs pretty solid after that hike?"

Me:  "Yes."

Photographer:  "And did you need me to rub arnica on them?"

Me:  "I don't know what arnica is.  Don't you have a girlfriend?  Or are you guys in one of those fucky fuck Seattle open relationships?"

Photographer:  "It's a natural muscle treatment.  And yes I do have a girlfriend and yes we do see other people."

Me:  "Well, I'm down to get a drink and catch up but try and avoid leg massages from men with girlfriends."

Photographer:  "Ha!  I'm ok with that."

Me:  "It's my friend's birthday dinner tonight so I can text when it's over and see what you're up to."

Photographer:  "Sounds good."

FOUR HOURS LATER

Me:  "Heading out in 20 minutes.  What's your status?"

No response.

I bet he would have responded had I consented to the arnica rub.  Just a hunch.
 

Still Got It!

You know that moment when you're limping down Broadway because your feet are blistered from hiking 300 miles, and the homeless guy with the pitbull sitting in the doorway to Casa del Rey says to you, as you walk by, "Keep looking as beautiful as you look tonight," and instead of ignoring him you turn around, giggle, toss your hair, and say "Thank you!" because you've been in the wilderness for so long that you're elated by male attention?

This is single and 33, motherf*&%ers!!!!

Gem

I got an OkCupid message from a self-described "vegan straight edge" who likes that I'm a vegetarian.

"I don't support zoos and aquariums. Hunters and fishers are the worst cowards on planet earth."

This guy sounds SUPER FUN.

Back to The Trail.

Part Three

Blistered and limping from the trail I felt physically vulnerable, which led to emotional vulnerability, which worsened when I got the I'm-seeing-someone-else-I-love-you email.  I was mad at the twists and turns in life and wanted to feel power in a situation, to be with a man who I could predict and who couldn't hurt me.

I texted "W____", who I went on two dates with in January.  Like several men before him, we'd slept together on the second date and I sent an "I'm not interested" text message a few days later, yet "W_____" was different in that I kind of liked him and he wasn't a douche.  I wasn't interested in moving forward with dating or a relationship, but as it turned out, I was very interested in seeing him 1-2 times a month and having sex.  Not so shockingly, he supported this interest as well.

He responded to my text immediately, as I knew he would, and I had a brief moment where I cringed at taking him for granted.  With W_____, as opposed to Crazy Chinatown Man, I'm the one who's flaky and unclear.  I cancel plans, I tease, I lead him on because I know I can.  He, on the other hand, is constant and loyal and most importantly, likes me more than I like him.  Even when he had a girlfriend a few months ago, the balance was in my favor.

On that night, feeling like shit about my physical and mental condition, I wanted nothing more than to be alone with him in his $500/month windowless basement apartment, drinking wine, and touching, which is exactly how we ended up.  He kissed the spots on my hips where my backpack chafed away my skin and said "You've been working hard.  It's sexy." 

"We can have sex in any position where there's no pressure on my knees," I explained, hoping he'd think that was sexy too. 

And we did.  Twice.

The next morning I woke up and wondered if I'd made a huge mistake by writing him off seven months ago.  Kind, calm, creative, supportive, humble, dependable, JEWISH are the adjectives I'd use to describe him.  Above average lover.  Above average cook.  Great body.  Previously arrested.

Zero intellectual chemistry.  Kind of boring.  Pothead.

Am I being too picky?
 

Part Two

Hands down, better than anyone I know, I RULE at maintaining messy relationships.  At this point in life I'm doubtful (with years of evidence to back up this assertion) that a normal love life is in the cards. 

My particular area of expertise is Distance. I am the reigning world champion at falling in love and maintaining drawn out relationships with men when we're doomed from the get-go, separated by states or entire countries.  It's a legitimate, deep fear of mine that men love me because they know we're not going anywhere.  There are no repercussions or obligations to our relationship; we love each other for as long as love lasts and never have the need to address commitment.  I am the perfect person to love because I have a time limit, and they have an easy out. 

It should come at no surprise to me that my best date in the last four years was a one-night-stand in New York and my best relationship- if you can call it that- is with Crazy Chinatown Man, who lives in Oregon.

But Crazy Chinatown Man has, for over a month now, been involved with a woman who he likes and has a potential future with because they live in the same city.  I have played this game so many times before, I already know the outcome:  No matter how much two people care about each other or have a history together, physical proximity wins.  Especially when you are a man.  Especially when she's smart and fun and pretty.

He told me in an email, as I'd asked him to, when they started seeing each other exclusively.  Then he also told me in the same email, as I'd never asked him to, "I'm proud of your toughness.  I love you.  I miss you."

Who else would like to uselessly overanalyze those three sentences?  I've been dating for four years, and I'm too tired to do it myself.

Enter the relationship mucky muck that I excel at!  It wouldn't be a bonafide romance of mine if a man didn't commit himself to another woman while expressing his love for me.  When this happened at ages 19, 26, and 28 respectively, I shrugged it off with the excuse that we were young, because we were, but to have the same scenario play out three days shy of my 33rd birthday, with a man who turns 41 next month, there has to be a different reason. 

It's not youthful inexperience.  It's more like circles of love, friendship, obligation, hopes for the future, realities of the present, and uncertainties of life all intersecting in a chaotic Venn diagram that Crazy Chinatown Man and I got stuck in because we both have a dislike of clear, linear patterns that don't cause confusion.  It's the reason we get along in the first place.

Part One

For 142 miles I hiked, during a record-breaking heat wave in Washington state, through the sweltering lowland forests up to the bare ridgelines of the Pacific Crest Trail, sweating profusely with a 40 pound pack and fantasizing about my next water source, which sometimes was a trickle of a stream dripping off moss ten miles away.  I forded two rivers with feet covered in blisters and a swollen knee.  At night in my tent, I reassured myself that the noises in the woods were just trees settling into the ground, that even if it was a bear they rarely attack.  I was filthier than I have ever been, dirt plastered to my legs and beneath my underwear, open sores on my hips where my pack rubbed. 

Out of the dozens of hikers I saw in the wilderness over ten days, there were only three solo female backpackers besides myself.

So what did I think, as I was limping on the last section of trail before I hit White Pass, about to encounter civilization for the first time in over a week?  Was I proud of myself for being a strong, independent, single woman?

No.  I was crying because I turn 33 next week and can't get myself into a functional relationship.  That's where my feminist, women's college educated mind went.

 

Time Out

Girl's gotta hike a trail.

Be back in 500 miles.

Since the end of February, when I went to Portland and saw Crazy Chinatown Man, we've been constants in each others' lives.  Hardly a day passes without communication between us. I text him funny stories from my work, he emails me pervy Craigslist ads from his housing search, we complain about the heat in the Pacific Northwest this summer and exchange selfies when we are hungover or sick.  I've known him for over two years now while he, having been in a psychotropic drug-induced haze on our first date that he can't remember, starts the count from our second date ten months ago.

It's the most time I've invested in a man since this blog started.  In our own weird, casual, fucky fuck way, we've formed a relationship that means something to both of us, which neither one can define.

I miss him often and for some reason, lying in bed last week, I wanted him to know. "I miss you," I texted, and immediately I felt vulnerable and teary.  The words are less weighty and political than "I love you," but they are intimate and come from a similar place.  Since my last boyfriend, he's the only man I've said them to.

I didn't think I would see him again unless I traveled to Oregon, but he wanted to come visit before I get down and dirty on the Pacific Crest Trail next weekend.  We ate, drank, played chess, sat on my rooftop, laid in bed until 11, nuzzled, kissed, sucked, sexed, were sober and not.  He'd lived in Seattle for two decades before he moved and upon seeing the worsening traffic, boxy condos, and pudgy men with tech badges, agreed that I need to leave as soon as possible.  It's not his scene any more, and it's not mine either.

He'd given me his phone to look something up when a text came in from a woman.  I'd heard her name and seen her picture before, and while he'd never offered information about their relationship, I knew intuitively they were dating.  I do my best to avoid drama, so I handed the phone back and said "K___ just texted you. I don't want to accidently read it."

He handled it perfectly, exited the text, gave me the phone back, and returned immediately to our conversation as though there had never been an interruption.

Then the same thing happened an hour or two later.

I wasn't mad or even annoyed.  How could I be?  We have no obligations to each other and live in different states.  Yet it still stung, and I had to know the status of their relationship because the uncertainty of not knowing was far worse than whatever he could possibly tell me.

I don't remember what he said exactly because I was trying hard not to cry, but I felt like he was respectful both to me and to her, which of course made me want to cry even more.  Anyone who has been through heartbreak knows the feeling I'm about to describe that has no word in English:

That feeling when you care about someone so much that you genuinely want what is best for them but you're devastated inside because what's best for them isn't you, and you say you're happy for them (because you are) but you're also just sad and bitter and resentful that she was born with genes that make her thin and attractive with no makeup on.

There should be a word for that.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom because the tears were about to start flowing, and once that happens I turn into a spigot that won't twist off.  Then I returned and continued on with the evening, trying to focus on the here and now, the him and me, the energy we have together that means something, regardless of his connection with another person.

That night when we were kissing, I was careful to avoid leaving any marks, any small bruises on his body that would indicate to her that I had been there, because I didn't want to be the cause of messing up a relationship he is trying to build.

If that's not caring, I don't know what is.

 

Clarification

It's not like I met the dude below on the internet, sexted him for two years, then met up with him when he came through Seattle.  That would be nuts.

We've known each other for sixteen years.  See March 29th post.

The Date Two Years in the Making (if it was, in fact, a date)

Two years and five months of sporadic dick pictures and requests for me to fly to Colorado culminated in my encounter with "D_____" on Tuesday evening, when he hitchhiked out of the North Cascades to Seattle to make his Wednesday flight to Denver.  We'd had plans to hang out that night, which he asked permission to alter:  "Do you want to hang out with just me or is it okay if we go to dinner with my friends too?"

I wasn't sure it mattered, which summed up my interest.

I rang the doorbell of a home in Greenwood and D____ answered with bloodshot eyes, a clear indication of the amount of marijuana he'd already consumed.  He asked if I wanted to see his climbing pictures on his phone, which I did, and as I was browsing through images a text came in from another woman:

"It's such a nice night here.  I wish you were around so we could watch the stars together."

I didn't even care.  Operation Get R____ Laid was in full force, so I turned a blind eye and passed the phone back, "Someone's texting you."  He'd already told me he wasn't seeing anyone, and I liked that theory better.

We went to a brewery with his friends and he continued to smoke, stating "I want to go to a Van Gogh art gallery right now," because we totally have those all over Seattle.  By the time we finished eating and went back to the Greenwood home, it was already 10:30.

"I have to get up at 6 and go to work tomorrow," I explained.  "What's your plan?  Are you staying here or are you coming back with me?"

"What do YOU want me to do?" he countered back, refusing to answer the basic question.

"I would like for you to come back, but I don't want you to feel like you have to."

He thought about it for a moment, then gave his answer.  "I mean, I'm not opposed to going back with you."

FUCK YEAH!!!!  "Not opposed" sounded like an enthusiastic "yes" to me!  We said goodbye to his friends and made our way to my apartment.

I did feel bad, because I could tell he was exhausted and stoned, so I wanted to clarify that there were no obligations:

"We can just go to sleep.  I know you're tired, and I don't want you to feel like we need to have sex just because we're in the same bed."

I undressed in a different room and put on pajamas.  He did the same.  We got into bed together on separate sides and I fully expected to fall asleep, but he started to touch me, and I responded.  He was tired but he was also a man, and tired men like sex too. 

I'd give it a solid 5 out of 10 stars, which I believe is as many stars possible for first time sex on a Tuesday night with a man who is completely baked and "not opposed."

I don't think it quite qualifies as a date, though, so I'm going to hold the count at 77 because, you know, I like to keep my numbers low.


 

Yes. The Answer Is Yes.

Details to come.

Am I Getting Laid on Tuesday?????

I am straight-up lonely, having no real desire to try and forge a meaningful relationship before I spend seven weeks hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail and then likely peace out of Seattle.  At night I have sex dreams and during the day I miss my exboyfriends (at least the good ones), but going on more dates to try and achieve romance seems like an epic waste of time.  We've established that my odds of finding any sort of connection are exceedingly low.  I'd rather work on my crossword puzzle book for now and eventually try my luck in a different state.

Then last week, Crazy Colorado Man (see March 29th post) sent me a text saying he'd be climbing a few hours away from Seattle over the holiday weekend, and he needed a place to stay Tuesday night before he flies home.  Could he crash with me?

"Yes," I responded immediately and wayyyy too soon if you believe in playing hard-to-get.  I realized my error as soon as I sent the text and consoled myself with the fact that at least I didn't punctuate with a string of exclamation points like "Yes!!!!!", or go further and capitalize the letters like "YES!!!!!", which most accurately would have conveyed my feelings.

So here I am, by myself in Seattle, with two and a half years of text messages with this man riding on a single Tuesday night.  If the stars align for an above-mediocre evening, it couldn't come at a better time.   Physical intimacy would be nice, but I'd happily settle for some nervous anticipation, easy conversation, a bit of sexual tension, and a drink with a man who I know I have things in common with because we actually met in real life.

It could alternatively be really frickin' awkward, and I may wish I was working on my crossword puzzles.

Pride

I know it's bad because my BYU-educated, Mitt Romney supporter, virgin-until-married, Mormon friend said this to me recently:

"Maybe you'd have better luck if you tried dating women."

Because times, they are a-changing.

Still Dating

I liked #77 immediately, without even having met him, because his photos on OkCupid were a series of selfies taken in a Safeway bathroom.  He had no pictures rock climbing, throwing fire, posing at the Taj Mahal, or playing a musical instrument.  Rather the 6th Avenue Safeway in Tacoma, he elaborated, best described his personality.  I was ready to roll.

We met up at a Tacoma café, and he was so cool!  He'd recently earned a PhD in Sociology and was faculty at a local university, teaching a class on Gender Studies to undergrads.  Intellectually, out of all the men I've been out with, I enjoyed talking with him the most.  We geeked out together about hate speech, race, social inequality, and the failure of trickle-down economics.  He asked me what I thought about the Affordable Care Act and genuinely seemed to care about my response.  I felt like we could effortlessly hang out all night; we shared a ton in common.

But this was supposed to be a date, not a liberal powwow, and I couldn't tell if either of us was feeling it.  I liked him sooooo much as a human being, yet as he described to me trends in worker job satisfaction since the 1970s, I tried to tune him out and focus on the question at hand:

"Could I picture us sleeping together?"

Try as I did, the answer was No.

I'd had such a good time, I made myself promise that if he asked me out again I would give it another shot and see if maybe, with more alcohol in our systems, we could create some chemistry together.  My friends in loving relationships tell me I need to give men chances, that romance can take time to develop, and while this theory has never worked for me in the past, I continue to take their advice.

Then we parted on a street corner.  "I hope you have a safe drive home," he said, and I could tell by his tone that the feeling was mutual. 

He'd never been arrested.  That was our problem.
 

Rum and Cola

When I returned to OkCupid this time around, I made it very clear on my profile that I have a type.  "Have you been arrested or charged with a misdemeanor?  I'd probably like you."  I've decided not to beat around the bush any more:  I like criminals.  It's kind of a dealbreaker.

So when I got a message from a man who told me immediately that he was arrested in a high-speed chase, I thought "Sweet!  Let's go out and try to fall in love with each other," because that's as good a reason as any.  He had a beard but said he worked in politics, so I took a gamble and told myself I could overlook the facial hair as long as he wasn't in the tech sector.

It was a gorgeous night in Seattle to meet at a patio bar for a drink, and I was feeling quite hopeful.  There was no way I was going to have a bad time, I reassured myself, because he's been arrested.  I'd arrived at lucky number 76, and I was optimistic he was the one.

Then we met...  He was about three inches shorter than his stated height, wearing a too-tight white shirt with a button popped open, hair greasy and matted as though he'd been wearing a baseball cap for several days straight.  Nothing about him seemed fun or even remotely criminal.  I wanted to turn around and run, but that would had been rude, so I asked the bartender for the strongest beer possible and without waiting for my date to order, I paid for my drink in cash.  I was 100% uninterested; we were not starting a tab together.

He ordered a "rum and cola," and I rolled my eyes, deciding on a fundamental level that we had nothing in common as human beings.  It's obviously Rum and Coke.  He was lame.

Then he told me about his job in politics:  "I actually am the only IT guy for the ____ court in Seattle, so I keep all the systems running."  

If working in politics means you do IT, then I work in Mexico because my patients are Hispanic.

I'm not sure what happened for the rest of the date because I was quite focused on my beer.  It was delicious- medium-bodied and a bit citrusy while not too bitter.  My date kept talking and I pleasantly agreed, "Uhhuh...  Yeah...  That's really cool... Wow..", over and over again for about ninety minutes.

He stopped and asked me how I was doing. 

"I actually have to get up really early tomorrow so I should get going."

We left the bar and awkwardly hugged on the street corner (it wouldn't be a proper first date if we didn't).  He made a vague suggestion to hang out again, and I responded with an equally vague "Have a good night!", which didn't address the offer of hanging out whatsoever.  Passive aggressive Seattle style.  That's the way I do.

Oh Yeah, So Glad to be Back

First sentence from a man who is an 89% match to me:

"I am 43 but look younger, 6'2", 210 lbs., no kids/baby safe, D/D free, drink a little (usually socially or weekends), nonsmoker, 420 friendly (rarely use), divorced (ex is now a lesbian and we are good friends), and live alone on Capitol Hill in my condo with two cats."

Sign.  Me.  Up.

Breaking News!!!

I'm back on OkCupid! 

I'm still planning on getting the fuck out of Seattle, but loneliness kicked in, so I took the plunge.

Because really, how is it possible that in the entire city of Seattle there is not a kick-ass, liberal, tree-hugging, mountain-climbing man that I might get along with?

Everyone Is Looking for Something

There is a greater chance that I will randomly run into a man who I went on a first date with than go on a second date with him.  It's true; I have counted.

This past Sunday, however, I ran into a man who I went on multiple dates with in January.  On the second date we slept together, and I was handed the awkward but necessary task of sending him an "I'm not interested" text message a few days later.  We settled on a friends-with-benefits type relationship and continued to hang out casually, a few times a month, until he landed himself a girlfriend a few weeks ago.  I was bummed to lose my hookup buddy in Seattle, but I was genuinely happy for him.

"Things are going great," he told me, as we caught up briefly on his lunch break.  "She's got a lot of connections in the art world in Seattle and she's gonna try and get my art shown at events.  And she's really nice- like, she put a jar next to my bed and will drop coins in it so I can save up for art supplies or we can go away together.  And she likes trains too!"  He train hops.  It was a match made in heaven.

"That's great!", I said, "I'm glad things are going so well!"

"There's just one thing I wish I could change about her," he started off.  Uh oh... 

"I wish she would lose some weight.  I mean, I feel like a jerk, but attraction is a really important part of a relationship!  Don't judge me."

I didn't judge him.

"Also, she talks a lot.  A few nights ago she talked for fifteen minutes straight, and I was kind of annoyed.  Then she stopped talking and asked me if I thought she talked a lot, and I said yes, and then she started crying!  I felt really bad."

I started to judge him.

"Another weird thing is she suggested that we should move in together, and we've only been dating for three weeks."

I was full-on judging.

"So," I clarified, "What you like about her is she has art connections and gives you money and likes trains?!?"

 I then gave him some love advice, because I totally know what I'm talking about.

"I just feel like three weeks in you should be all like 'Fuck Yeah!!!' about this girl, and you don't seem like you're thinking that.  So I think you should tell her."

And this is why I am single.

Lesson Learned

 

If you're going to have the kind of sex that leaves a gigantic bruise on your shoulder, you should probably make sure you don't have to stand up in a strapless bridesmaid dress at your brother's wedding any time soon.

 

 

 

 

What Happens in Oregon Stays in Oregon

On a mission to find a new place to call home, I drove to Bend, Oregon last weekend and picked up Crazy Chinatown Man along the way.  He had been off of opiates for over two weeks and warned me that he might be quiet and/or strange.  If High-On-Opiates was his baseline, I was curious to see Sober.

I didn't find him any odder than usual until it was time to go to sleep and we undressed, got into bed, cuddled, and didn't kiss.  He a naked man and I a naked woman, yet we lay there with virtually no contact.  I tried a bit, but he didn't seem interested.  We went to sleep.

My neuroses flared up as I fired off all the reasons in my mind that he wasn't interested in sex, with the following being the most logical:

He thinks I'm fat. 

-Closely followed by He doesn't think I'm pretty.
 
The next morning we woke up- still not touching- got dressed, and decided to spend some time hiking for the day.  It was about 4 in the afternoon when we returned after grabbing something to eat, and I'd resigned myself to the fact that we were probably just going to hang out as friends.  We'd spent over 24 hours together by that point with minimal physical intimacy, and I decided he just wasn't feeling it.  I was disappointed but not upset with the change of pace, and I realized that I liked spending time with him- sexual or not- which is more than I can say for most men I've slept with.  I would have preferred to have sex, yet I was still enjoying his company without it.

Then fresh out of the shower with a towel around his waist, he pulled me toward him and kissed me suddenly.  "I want to have sex with you,"  he said, and pinned me against the wall.  The sex was great, as it always has been- so good that I didn't notice he'd bit my shoulder hard enough to cause a bruise until I saw myself in the mirror.

We went back to not touching, and the neuroses set in again.  All I wanted to do was ask him lots of questions that I'm certain he didn't want to answer:  Why didn't you want to have sex with me last night?  How can you seem completely uninterested and then have sex with the intensity that causes black and blue contusions?  Do you just see me as a friend who you fuck?  Will you ever see me as anything more?  Do you like me?  On a scale of 1-10, how much do you like me?  Did you only like me because you were high on approximately 20-40 mg of oxycodone a day?  Remember when you said we should have kids together and we named them?  Was that because you were high on approximately 20-40 mg of oxycodone a day?  Because I WASN'T AND YOU SHOULDN'T FUCK WITH A 32 YEAR OLD WOMAN'S BIOLOGIC CLOCK LIKE THAT!!!!!!  Do you think I'm fat?  Do you think I'm pretty?

There are some questions in dating that are so pointless they should never be said out loud, and all of the above fall into that category.  At a future juncture I may need to ask some of them- or all of them- but the moment is not now, when we live in different states, when our individual trajectories are uncertain, when all there is to do is hang out and enjoy each other's company if the opportunity arises. 

I've historically formed my best relationships with men when we both know it can't go anywhere, and I can't help thinking that's why Crazy Chinatown Man and I get along so well.

I Was Promised Single Men

I was promised single men at the barbeque I went to yesterday, and they were there, all White and working in tech, which is to be expected at any party I go to in Seattle these days.  The most attractive had a huge beard: "He's growing it as part of a competition".  I think they all are.

My friend's boyfriend, the host of the party, pulled me aside and said "I know you don't like men in tech, but we're not all bad.  These are nice guys."  I gave it an honest shot, and holy fuck was it painful.

"Seattle's so expensive now we're all gonna have to buy homes in the Black neighborhoods" was the gem of the evening.  There was a point in my life when I would have responded fiercely, but the tide has turned against me and I'm tired, so I just got another beer.

I heard the words "operating system" repeated frequently as well as the acronym "CSV," and I sat in a yard chair smiling and trying to look engaged.  A man made a joke about being in a good position to see up my skirt- because god-forbid you should try and look at body parts above my neck when talking to me.  I twisted my legs in the other direction.

One of the men mentioned how he didn't like dating in Seattle because "I tell a girl I work in tech and it's automatic points against me."  I couldn't argue.  I feel bad for my prejudice but also note that I've had sexual relationships with an unemployed opiate addict, a man working minimum wage in the Whole Foods deli, several alcoholics, and a single father/pot dealer because they were a better time than anyone I went out with who could fix my computer.  (Of notable exception is Engineer with the Houseboat, but HE LIVED ON A HOUSEBOAT, so how could I not?)

 

Snippets

You know that moment when Crazy Colorado Man sends you a text message that says, "Are you horny?" and you respond with "I'm eating frozen yogurt with my friend and her niece, so no."

**********************************************************************************

Added to my 11/2/13 blog post about classy things men say when you're in their arms after sex:

"If you got pregnant, would you get an abortion?"


 **********************************************************************************

Added to my 8/3/14 blog post about classy things men say when they take you to Vashon Island to break up with you:

"R__________, I'm not saying I'm never going to have sex with you again.  I'm saying I'm TEMPORARILY not going to have sex with you."

**********************************************************************************
 

Arachnophobia

There is a spider in my apartment, I believe, hiding in a pile of shoes near my door.  I have called every female friend and their boyfriends within a 2 mile radius, and they share the same fear that I do.

THE ONLY POSSIBLE OPTION I HAVE is to call some guy I've slept with and get him to come over and remove the spider, but then I'd probably have to fuck him.

#whathappenswhenyoudon'thaveaboyfriendatage32

 

Hold Up

I can't get a prescription drug addict to fall in love with me, and I have full prescriptive authority.

FML.  Hard.

Where Things are At

The only thing clear to me in my near future is that I will be leaving Seattle.  I wanted this city to work- I really, really did.  I grew up smoking cigarettes in the old Bauhaus and studying calculus while drinking hot chocolate at B&O Café.  When I was sixteen I went to a feminist conference for teens at Nova High School where a hundred adolescent girls attended an "Enjoying Sex" workshop, sat in a circle, and gave each other back massages to practice how to instruct future partners about the kind of touch we liked.  I got stoned for the first time in a parking garage outside Seattle Center then walked across the street where I crowd-surfed at Bumbershoot, when the music festival cost $21 for the entire weekend.  Thrift shops were my way of life.  I wanted nothing more than to meet an amazing man, fall in love, make children, feed them sprouted tofu, and send them off to smoke cigarettes, crowd-surf, buy used jeans, and have good sex in their adolescence.

As Seattle has become wealthier and more corporate, the men have as well, and so I must go, if I have any hope of patching together a love life.  Where to?  I'm not certain.  Oregon and Alaska top the list and living abroad again is a possibility, but regardless, I signed off of OkCupid.  I can't invest any more time looking for love in a city that I no longer am in love with.

I spent all of last weekend in Portland with Crazy Chinatown Man who drove up from Eugene to meet me.  No one else seems to get why, out of 75 first dates, I like him the most.  Living with his mother?  Check.  Unemployed?  Check.  He popped a Vicodin in his mouth within the first five minutes of hanging out, and within twenty we were having sex.  Physical chemistry doesn't hurt, but it's not why I'm drawn to him.  I think my attraction, to sum it up, is that he lived in Seattle before 1995.

Sounds perfect, right?  75 first dates, and I finally found a man who I think I'd be happy with!  I'd have to move to Portland, but for the possibility of love and family, I'd frickin' move to Egypt at this point.  Yet romance, of course, is two-sided, and just because most men I've been out with have been interested in pursuing a relationship with me doesn't mean that this man feels the same way.

We were drinking and talking about love, my last failed relationship and his, and I had a painful realization culminating from the discussion:

"It's just that, I really, really like you.  And you're never going to fall in love with me."  I started crying.  Because men like that.

He looked sad and held my hand without confirming or denying, which by default confirmed.  "R_______, you don't want to be with me.  I'm homeless, I'm unemployed, I don't have a car, I have drug issues, I have ex-girlfriend issues..."  

Yesssss, but- and maybe I'm a total idiot- so what?   Here's what I need from a man that I can't find:  I want my partner to be able to sit in the waiting room of my clinic with the addict who lost an arm to heroin, the Spanish-speaking grandma, the morbidly obese woman with an oxygen tank reeking of cigarette smoke, the 17 year old who got chlamydia from her 40 year old Craiglist boyfriend...  I want him to be able to sit there, smile at them, and have a normal conversation.

Crazy Chinatown Man is kind of a shit-show, but he is a really, really good and caring person.  That morbidly obese woman with the oxygen tank reeking of cigarette smoke?  He'd probably offer her a cigarette.

So I will drift with him into the murky waters of  not love, great sex, similar values, easy companionship, a clear connection, different states, maybe-I'll-move-to-Portland-maybe-I-won't, solid friendship, spooning naked, games of chess, whiskey shots, and possible children together- if this all works out.

Funny side note?  He worked for Amazon in 1998.








 

Happy Anniversary!

Today I'm celebrating the four year anniversary of the end of my last relationship.  Remember that douchebag I was in love with who spent months lying to me and fucking around with other women and then left me for the part-time tattoo artist because what she had- in comparison to me- was "youth, and I really love her kid."?

I'm glad that didn't work out.

Four years and 75 first dates later, I am useless for relationship insight.  But advice about dating in Seattle as a woman?  Sit down, young disciples, and let me tell you what I've learned...

1)  You're dating in the wrong city.  Go to New York.

2)  Don't "meet up for a drink" on the first date because odds are, the man you go out with is socially clueless and will down three pints of beer while you nurse a seltzer water.  I recommend, instead, an Asian restaurant for speedy service.

3)  Find a birth control method that is more secure than Prayer followed by Plan B.  Men don't like condoms.

4)  Or just use condoms anyways because they keep you safe, and who the hell cares about what these men like?

5)  Don't go out with a man just because he has a sailboat.  It will be one of the most boring first dates of your life and when he asks you to go on his sailboat for your second date, you'll realize that sitting at home eating Spaghetti-O's in sweatpants sounds like more fun and thus the whole endeavor was a complete waste of time.

6)  If you work in a profession that makes you occasionally wear a pager, break that sucker out!  It's a great conversation starter at concerts and clubs ("Why do you have a pager?!?") and will get you out of shitty dates ("I'm so sorry- my pager just went off and I have to take this.")

7)  If you're going out for the night- even if it's with girlfriends- shave and wear nice underwear.  You never know.

8)  Don't do Amazon, Microsoft, or start-ups.  Just don't.  Boeing engineers are okay if they live on a houseboat.

9)  "Polyamorous" is code for "I'm not very attractive and neither are the people I sleep with."

10)  Relationships take effort, but good dates shouldn't.  The moments leading up to a relationship should be full of rainbows and happiness and kisses and sweet whispers.  Don't try and force a connection that isn't there; falling in love should be the easy part.  Once you've got that, the work begins.  That's someone else's blog to write.
 

On Second Thought

Am I the crazy one because I'm turning down a potential romance with a hot Jewish physician assistant who was an ex-Rainier climbing guide?!?!?!?  Because if I EVER had a type, he would be it.  Did I mention he's Jewish?  Did I mention it?

The Date Two Years in the Making that Hasn't Happened

"D" and I met half a lifetime ago in Jerusalem, during a high school study abroad program.  He was hot and I was not, and he had a girlfriend the entire time.  We reconnected through Facebook, then two years ago we met up twice for dinner when his rotation in physician assistant school took him from Arizona to Seattle.

He was still hot, and this time around he was single.  We also had a ton in common: outdoorsy, medical workers, JEWISH.  Both evenings that we saw each other I had a good time.  There was no clear romantic chemistry, but we weren't dating and there didn't need to be.  We were old friends with similar interests catching up with each other.

I haven't seen him since our second dinner in February of 2013, but about a week after we said goodbye and hugged in the parking lot of a Thai restaurant, when he was back in graduate school in Arizona, the texts started.

"You're more attractive than I remember in high school...  Why didn't we sleep together when I was in Seattle?"

I was stunned.  He'd given no indication during our two meals that he had any interest in sleeping with me but here he was, describing through detailed text messages the way he wanted to touch me, how he would enter my body, where he would ejaculate.  He asked me if I'd let him cum inside my ass without a condom on and I said yes because hey- it's just phone sex!- and condomless anal phone sex is the safest sex you could have.

That was two years ago and for some reason- likely a combination of both of us being kind of lonely and kind of crazy- the conversation picks up and continues every few months.  We both work in medicine so he will send a text in the middle of a Tuesday like this:

"Do you treat herpes zoster with steroids?"

"Herpes zoster," for readers outside of healthcare, is the medical term for shingles, and "No," I tell him, "I don't."

We text back and forth for a few minutes about when I use oral steroids in practice, and then he says:

"Come visit me.  I want to hang out with you and lick your nipples and have fun and eat good food."

If you ever wondered what your healthcare provider is doing at work when not seeing patients, you now have your answer.

"D" lives in Colorado now and has begged me to visit him there several times, but I've been holding back.  Why, you may ask, is The Queen of Bad Decisions practicing restraint?  The answer is simple, and it's that flying to Boulder to have first-time sex with a man who I've never kissed might make for a really awkward long weekend and would cost about $400 for a plane ticket. 

"But what are you waiting for?  We're both Jews, smart, into the same things..."

"Yes, but we live in different states."  Occasionally I am quite logical.

"So you are not really open to me or us?"

This is where I get confused because WE HAVE NEVER HAD A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP.  How did two platonic dinners and a couple years of intermittent sexting turn into a serious conversation about "us"?  Is it possible, I wondered, that he is even crazier than Crazy Chinatown Man?  If so, it's a level of crazy that I don't think I can handle.

"I am open to anything," I responded, which sums up my philosophy about life and relationships.  "But right now I'm preoccupied with someone else.  There are no guarantees with him, but I can't take time to visit Colorado now and I don't want to visit with the pressure to have a sexual relationship."

"There is no pressure," he texted back, immediately followed by "Can we have phone sex tonight with pics?"

I was annoyed and stated what I felt was obvious.  "When you ask me to send pics, I feel pressure to have a sexual relationship."  Duh.

He backtracked. "Yes sweet lady.  You should know that I am fond of you and respect you in many ways.  I would love to chat more.  FYI."

So if things don't work out with Crazy Chinatown Man, Crazy Colorado Man is my backup plan.  At least he's Jewish. 

Macvae

Macvae and I met three months ago when I was wasted, dancing with my 24 year old coworkers at Tia Lou's- the trashiest club in Belltown.  I was on my way out when he introduced himself and asked me if I did drugs.

"Ecstasy and shrooms," I lied, having done neither in my life.  I lied some more and told him I was 24 years old.

"Really?  You look younger."

Was he lying too? 

He invited me back to his place in Renton to do acid, and I agreed to go, having absolutely no intention of going back to his place in Renton to do acid.  We exchanged numbers and I said I would be right back after I got food outside.

I left Tia Lou's and never returned, drunk enough to meander to The Hurricane** by myself at 2 am and inhale a stack of pancakes, but still with enough intact judgment to ignore his repeated phone calls and messages.

Today I deleted Macvae's number from my phone. 

Moral of this story?

I sometimes make excellent decisions.

** This amazing, 24 hour diner opened in 1994 and closed on the first day of 2015, after Amazon purchased the land it was on to expand their headquarters.  I miss The Hurricane.

Rain

This week was hard- like, really, really hard for me.  Freelance Journalist from Bushwick wanted to see me again, and I couldn't decide what to do.  I didn't want to see him again, but I didn't NOT want to see him again, which I took as a sign that I should give it another shot.  I'd had a good time, and if I hadn't met him immediately after having a better time with Crazy Chinatown Man, I might have been more excited.

I reminded myself that, logically speaking, it is a bad idea to hang hopes and dreams for a future family on a man with a proven track record of impulsivity who lives in a different state, and I begrudgingly consented to a second date after Freelance Journalist tried several times.  He asked Friday night ("I'm with friends"), Saturday day ("I have so many errands to run, and I need to do my taxes") then again Sunday evening, which I agreed to if we could meet after 7:30 so I could go to my 6 pm yoga class.  This plan stuck until he was running late and wanted to meet half and hour later, and I saw my opportunity to cancel.  "I have to go to bed at 9:30.  Would another night be better for you?"   "Yes," he said, and I was so relieved.

Again, it's not that I didn't want to see him.  I just wanted to do other things more- like sleeping and errands and working out and MY TAXES.  Jesus.

Then I had to send a second rejection text to the man who I'd sent a first rejection text to two months ago and continued to spend the night with casually for a month.  Incidentally also a stoner transplanted from Bushwick, he had been asking to see me for several weeks and I kept cancelling plans.  My feelings for him were similar.  I had a nice time with him and I didn't have any strong objection to hanging out and having sex, but I'd rather sleep and run errands and work out and do my taxes.  I told him that "I'm juggling a lot right now and am thinking I should take a break from physical intimacy for the time being."  He seemed disappointed but understanding and courteous.  "Maybe in the future," I said.  "I just need to work through some stuff and don't want to string you along while I do that."  It was a true statement.

Which brought me to this weekend, spent almost entirely by myself sleeping and running errands and working out and doing taxes, with the hum of the heater and pitter-patter of Seattle rain outside my window.  It was a lonely weekend made lonelier by declining the company of two men who both would have gladly curled up with me in my bed and listened to the rain, but my mind was elsewhere, and I just couldn't.



 

75. 75. 75.

I was sitting by myself at The Hopvine, drinking an IPA and reading The Stranger, when the man to my left struck up a conversation:

"What are you reading?"

I could tell he didn't care about what I was reading. 

I could also tell he wasn't from Seattle.  He was clean-shaven with round frame glasses and a corduroy jacket, and HE TALKED TO A WOMAN AT A BAR.  I guessed he was a recent transplant via another hipster enclave.

"I just came to Seattle last week.  I was living in New York."

"Which part?"

"Bushwick."

I'm soooo good.

We chatted for ten minutes, and he asked me what my plans for the weekend were.  Hiking, I explained to him.  Always hiking.

"Do you want to go to the Olympic Peninsula instead?  I really want to go to Cape Flattery."

I was torn.  I didn't want to go to the Olympic Peninsula, but driving a total of nine hours on a first date with a guy I'd known for ten minutes sounded like a damn good blog story, so I committed.  He walked me home, pulled me close, and tried to kiss me.  I- not being fond of making out with drunk men who I've just met- turned my head so his lips met my cheek.  Because I'm not awkward.

The next day he changed his mind, citing the distance as the problem.  "Do you have hiking shoes?" I asked, with the North Cascades on my mind.

He texted back, "I don't need hiking boots.  I like to go barefoot."

I rolled my eyes into my flip phone.  "It's muddy and cold."  I was not about to hike 10 miles with a barefoot Brooklyn hipster who, I suspected, had never hiked barefoot in his life.

In the end I went hiking by myself and we agreed to meet up later in the week yet truthfully, the guy was hanging on by a small thread.  I was not impressed with his barefoot hiking aspirations (nor by his attempt to make out with me after knowing me for ten minutes), but he had several things going for him.

1)  He asked me out in person. 

2)  He was a journalist.  If I ignored the words "part-time," "freelance," and "finance" that prefaced his job title, it sounded interesting.

3)  He had a flip phone.

4)  Corduroys.  Motherfucking corduroys.  They get me every time.

We met to watch the sun set in Volunteer Park and sat on the hill above the reservoir.  "I think your eyes are the same color as the water," he commented. 

I looked right back into his eyes. His pupils were dilated, and he wasn't blinking. "What drugs are you on right now?" I wondered out loud.

"I've smoked weed every day for the last four years."

I'd had my money on hallucinogens.  Can't always be right.

The date continued, and I concluded I was having a nice time overall.  He was easy to talk to, as most stoners are, and I felt comfortable.  We discussed love and family and careers, detachment from objects and age and Buddhist philosophy, books, travel.  He lived in Buenos Aires for a year and could carry a conversation in Spanish.  There were a lot of things I really, really liked about him, PLUS there was attraction.  This was a date that would have had me legitimately excited at one point in my dating career, but there was a problem:

I spent most of the time wishing I was in Portland with Crazy Chinatown Man.  Wanting to be with someone else on a date is a Big. Red. Flag.

I drove him home and this time, when he tried to kiss me, I didn't turn my head.  We made out in my car,  and he inched his hand up my inner thigh.

"Whoa, you're wearing a seatbelt."  He paused then laughed.  "You should keep it on.  It's protecting you."

I made a mental note to not smoke marijuana every day for four years.

That makes 75.







 

Feelings (I have them!)

Before last weekend vanishes into the haze of memory and gets lost in dozens upon dozens of encounters with the male kind, let me state, for the record, that my favorite part of time with Crazy Chinatown Man was when we were both sober.

Throughout the night and into the late morning we held each other, alternating the roles of Big Spoon and Little Spoon until he ended up inside of me all over the apartment I'd rented.  On the bed, the couch, the kitchen chair, and up against the window, we had the kind of sex I crave- sex where I'm present in the moment, thinking about the person I'm with and not imagining he's someone else.  With him, unlike others, I felt comfortable making eye contact.

I liked him in public, too.  We did normal, boring things with our Saturday, like walk and eat and look in a bookstore.  Nothing about the activities stood out, but the day as a whole did.  He put his hand on the back of my neck and played with my curls, and I felt exactly the way I'm supposed to feel.  I wish I knew the secret to connection, why sometimes the stars align and without knowing someone that well, having no understanding of their life's traumas and joys that brought them to the present moment, you feel, when walking down the street, that their fingers belong in your hair, that putting their hand anywhere else in the world would be a complete violation of natural order.  I don't know what it was about this man, but the entire day was easy.

Our time together ended as it does with nearly all men I've cared about in life, with me crying outside a mode of transportation.  I've shed tears into men's shoulders in the Oakland airport, the Antigua, Guatemala bus station, Grand Central Terminal, the Atlanta JetBlue ticket counter, and the side of a dusty desert highway in the Columbia Gorge while waiting for a Craigslist rideshare pickup.  This time it was outside my car parked on a street in Portland, Oregon.  "You're not good with goodbyes, are you?" he said.  It was more of a statement than a question.  "No," I responded, thinking in my head that I might be better at them if I hadn't lost every meaningful relationship I've had with a man because we lived too far apart.

"I want you to know," he said, "that I'm not saying a lot because the way I deal with things is I just go off and process it on my own."  He paused and reiterated,  "I wanted you to know that."

I offered to give him a ride, but he said he preferred to "disappear into the ether," and he did.  I sat in my car for a few minutes collecting myself, feeling stupid and embarrassed for crying in front of a man I hardly know, then feeling really happy because I CRIED, which means I felt something, which is always nice.  I used to hate crying over men because it happened all the time, like a reflex.  Now, crying reassures me that I'm feeling what I should be, which is feeling anything at all.

We're either never going to see each other again, or we're going to have children together.  It's the closure I needed.

Bringing Back the Crazy

With every vintage store closure and new condo construction, it becomes clearer to me that the city that grew this feminist, vegetarian, tree-hugger has changed and isn't going back.  I face the question, "Even if I were in love and planning on starting a family, would I want to do this in Seattle?"  For the first time in my life, I feel like an outsider in my hometown.

So I look to the north and the south, specifically Alaska and Portland, as locations where I might feel more at peace.  I need mountains and independent coffee shops to sustain me- the rest is negotiable.

Which is why, this past weekend, I planned a trip to Portland to see if it's a city I could live in.   And coincidentally, who else should live in Oregon?  Crazy Chinatown Man. 

See blog posts September 14 through October 9 for those who don't remember how this charming, intermittently psychotic man broke through my tough exterior and caused my biggest nervous breakdown with dating in the previous four years.  It was such a meltdown that I worried about contacting him to let him know I'd be in his area for the weekend.  I wanted to see him, but reaching out put myself on the line.  Would he respond?  If he didn't (or did), would I be setting myself up for emotional turmoil?

When I sent a text to let him know I'd be in town, he seemed happy.  We made tentative plans to hang out, which he cancelled abruptly about an hour before I arrived in Portland.

"Sorry, had a huge blowout with my dad, packed shit up and roaming around figuring out whether to go to Eugene, LA, or wherever right now...  I probably can't hang given my current state of affairs.  Sorry."

The truth is, I'd kind of expected this.  Advanced planning is not his strong suit, and if there were a medal for impulsive decisions, he would win.  I had made plans to stay in Portland over a month prior regardless of whether or not I saw him, but I wasn't going down without a fight.

"I don't like that answer, try again?  I will be in Portland in 1 hour and have Xanax."

One hour passed.

"When you in town?"

If you are in Portland and you are hanging out with Crazy Chinatown Man, THE ONLY acceptable plan for the evening is to go to a strip club.  At 6:30 pm. With his best friend who wants to discuss feminist theory AND how he wants a submissive life-partner to participate in consensual bondage and servitude.  Did I ever think I would be on a date at a strip club with a man and his friend?  Nope, but did I ever think I would be single for four years?

From 6:30 pm until 1 am there were drinks, conversations with naked women named Eros and Bella, pole dances under red mood lighting, and many, many dollar bills thrown onto the stage.  We were feeling lovey- and not just because gorgeous breasts and buttocks were being thrown in our faces.  We both liked each other and clearly enjoyed the other's company.  I could have a great time with him, I thought, not only at a strip club but also in a shopping mall or grocery store.  The setting helped the mood, but it was our companionship that drove the energy.

We switched clubs and his friend took off, so we stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. 

"We should have a kid together," he said.

"I have an IUD, so that would be hard."

"I don't mean tonight but at some point.  I think it would be nice."

I smiled and thought it would be nice too, so we discussed it further. 

"If it's a girl I get to name it," I said.  "I've had my girl name picked out for years."

"Okay," he agreed, "but I get to name a boy."

"What name would you choose?"

"James." 

I had no strong objection.  So far, so good.

"I could live in Portland," I volunteered.  "Or Eugene.  There's a clinic in Eugene I'd like to work at."

His face lit up when I mentioned his hometown.  "I'd live in Eugene for you!"

This discussion was going so well!!! 

"You're just saying this because you're drunk," I worried.  "You're not going to think this tomorrow."

"No, I will want this tomorrow too.  You can ask me again when I'm sober and I'll say the same thing."

Crazy Chinatown Man is unemployed (again), technically homeless and moving in with his mom (again), addicted to painkillers but planning on quitting (again), and forty years old.  But he's also sweet and caring and tries really, really hard to be a decent person.  He wouldn't be the most organized father, but he would be a loving and devoted one.  And in the event that a legal partnership split up- as half of them do- I believe he would be a respectful co-parent.  Most importantly, he is FUN, and when I think about the reality of having a screaming child with an ear infection who keeps me up all night before I have to go into work and deal with other people's screaming children with ear infections,  I realize that I'm going to need a partner who will be cool with hiring a babysitter so we can get drunk and go to a strip club together.

So I'm pretty sure nothing could go wrong in this situation because how else should a child be brought into the world, if not starting with a discussion between a man and a woman outside a strip club at 1 am?  That, my friends, would be a very loved baby.

"What's your last name again?"





 

Hymie The Robot

If you're aiming to be 100% certain that I will never respond to a message you send me on OkCupid, you should probably make your screen name HymieTheRobot.  Is this a pop culture reference?  A tribute to your favorite engineer?  I don't know, and I SOOOO don't care.

Then, write this:

"It makes me so happy to see someone looking at a flip phone, good for you.

A couple of line breaks should be segue enough. I was wondering, would you care to join me for cocktails? I'll get the first round or two."

A couple of line breaks should be segue enough?!?  You are socially awkward, and you are a shitty writer.

Also, in your profile, when you write "I'm no braggart, but if I have the mind to get good at something I usually do," you are bragging, and you are still a shitty writer.

If there was any doubt in my mind that I made a mistake by passing up the opportunity for you to buy me 1-2 drinks, it was completely erased when you put up a picture of you and your (all male) Xbox One design team on launch day.

Usually a person's lack of response to a request for a date is a pretty good indicator that he or she isn't interested, but not in your self-entitled Microsoft world!  JUST IN CASE I was thinking it over and needed an extra push to get you to buy me those cocktails, you had to send one more message, a day later:

"I bet we'd have fun; not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty good at showing a good time."

I believe that counts as bragging, Shitty Writer.

 

We Had IPAs at Third Place Books

#74 was just as amazing as I thought he'd be- and by "amazing," I mean he was totally normal and attractive and could hold a conversation.

Unfortunately, I seemed to disappoint him.  We had a nice, intelligent conversation, but I could tell from the moment we met that it just wasn't there for him and therefore, it wasn't there for me either.  "Am I appropriately representing myself online?", I second-guessed.  All of my pictures are from the last two years, but maybe they could use an update?  I don't know where I went wrong, but I sensed that he felt he'd wasted his time.  I could see him going through the same motions that I do when I'm not into my date, trying to find meaning in an encounter that would otherwise be meaningless.  He wanted to learn about the Affordable Care Act and taking the ferry to Alaska, yet less because he cared about me and my experiences and more because he was using the date as an opportunity to get information.  I would feel worse about that except I have wasted my time on so many dates that I reason I owe payback to the men of Seattle.

"Did he have a good time?" is a less relevant question at this point in my dating career than "Did I have a good time?"  I did, so that's that.

Be Hopeful!!!

... I have to remind myself.  Always, always have hope.

So, I'm gonna totally psych myself up for my date this weekend with a History PhD professor who hiked the Appalachian Trail and, according to his OKC profile, spends his time thinking about justice.

Chemistry gods, rain down on me because this guy seems amazing.
 

12th Avenue

Seattle is being overrun by some horrible, horrible men and living on Capitol Hill, I seem to be caught in the middle of them.  They gather in herds in the bars and on the streets on weekend nights, ages 22-28, mostly White, obviously Northwest newbies, almost certainly working in tech.  My feelings towards them are hostile at best, and it has nothing to do with The Seattle Freeze.  I just want my city back.

I was walking home from my gym at 9 pm on a Thursday, red-faced and sweaty, eager to shower.  As I approached Chavez- the latest ridiculously overpriced restaurant with giant windows and an industrial aesthetic- I saw two men in plaid collared shirts standing outside, clearly eyeing me.  One of them struck up a conversation as I passed by, "Have you been here before?"

"No, I haven't." I responded somewhat cautiously, knowing there was a catch.

"Well, do you want to get a drink?"

"No," I answered, firmly this time around.  "I just finished working out and I'd like to go home and shower and sleep."  I'd also like to be able to walk down a street in my neighborhood wearing workout clothes without being ogled, but I kept that part to myself.

"Hey, no problem," he said, although I knew he didn't really care.  He was tipsy enough that he'd forget his rejection within a minute.  Then a man walked out of the restaurant and, within hearing range, Drunk 20-Something Year Old Tech Man pointed to him and said to me, "He's Black."

Way to fucking go!!!  Within the span of 30 seconds, in a historically gay neighborhood, you managed to be both sexist and racist to two complete strangers! 

The Black man and I gave each other "Did that just happen?!?" looks, and I responded with the first thing that came to mind.  "Yes, yes he is.  That's a weird thing to say."  In retrospect I should have released my feminist anthropology major wrath, but I was exhausted and sweaty and not expecting to- you know- have an argument about race and gender while making my way home for the evening. 

Thank you White Male Privilege, and thank you to the companies that are bringing the privileged white males to Seattle.


 

Didn't See This Coming

It was Saturday night at 10 pm, and I was with the man I'd sent a rejection text to a week ago.  Casual, we'd agreed, which meant that he hadn't been part of my weekend plans until a few hours beforehand, when I'd decided I wanted male company.

We walked through the open gate to Discovery Park and as far as I could tell, had all 534 acres to ourselves.  At 40 degrees and cloudy it was a typical January night in Seattle.  I'd never been to Discovery Park after sundown, and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw the silhouettes of bare trees against the hazy sky.  We slid down a sandy bluff 150 feet to the beach.  The tide was low.  No one was around.

Together we searched for branches and he lit a fire.  For two hours we sat on a log bundled in our jackets, drinking wine from the bottle, watching the tide come in and the ferries shuttle back and forth across Puget Sound.  He talked about how his mom read him The Little Prince as a child and ignited his love of books.  After his father passed away she had a few boyfriends, but none of them worked out because "she's high maintenance."

"What do you mean?"  

"Well, one of them bought her a new washer, and she was upset because it was too big of a gift."

I liked his mom already.

I liked him too, more than I did the first two times we went out.  We shared a core value of simplicity that I'm having a hard time finding in men...  I will never be wooed with gifts, fancy meals, or explanations of an amazing corporate benefits package.  Let's lay outside, drink wine, and share stories.

The sex that night and the next morning felt easy and comfortable.  We stayed in bed talking until noon, and his honesty and kindness impressed me.  I, of course, made a completely inappropriate comment about how if we ever had kids their curly hair would be amazing, and he didn't totally freak out because I talked about our hypothetical offspring.  "Did I just mention children that we're never going to have together to a man I've been out with three times?", I mused out loud.  "Yes," he said, "but you're right.  That would be some crazy hair."

I know that what I need from a relationship isn't there, but when I dropped him off at his south Beacon Hill home and missed him the rest of the day, I had a smile on my face because I felt something.  If love is a continuum, a little bit grew.

Did It

I felt particularly awful about having to send an "I'm not interested" text message because he was so nice.  I'd gone out with him twice, and he'd done nothing but be kind and unassuming.  There have been men who argued with me when I said I didn't want to see them again, and I knew he wouldn't be one of them.  He was going to be surprised and a little sad, but he would be courteous.

 

For several hours before the text went out, I ran potential versions past my friends.  "At the end of the day," they pointed out, "you guys had a good time together and he got laid, so I wouldn't worry about it that much." Excellent point, yet I still worried.  It had been only two dates but he'd made it clear that he liked me, and I hate being the cause of someone else's hurt. 

 

"Hey W_____, I wanted to follow up with you because I feel like my interests are aligning elsewhere, and the last thing I would want to do is lead you on.  I had a really fun time, and I wanted you to know."  I kept it intentionally simple; I didn’t want to patronize.
 

Over two hours passed before I heard back, and I knew he put thought into his choice of words because his previous responses had been immediate.

"I was disappointed to receive your last message.  You are great company.  I hope you find the person you're looking for."
 

It was the most gracious response to a breakup text I've gotten from a man, and I was sad because he was great company too.  But I want something else, and it would have been cruel to lead him on.

"That was a hard message for me to send because I think you're great company as well. I'm not looking for anything serious, but if you want to hang out and you're okay with casual, let me know."

I was drinking with friends when I sent the second text, and they all yelled at me.  "NO! Now you're leading this guy on and he's going to keep developing feelings for you!  The kinder thing would be to cut him off and not see him again."

I disagree.  I laid my cards on the table, and he is a rationale 35 year old adult.  If there is one thing I've learned in four years, it's that two people can stave off loneliness and enjoy each other's company without getting too attached, as long as intentions are clear.
 

Also, I'm kick-ass at casual sex- like, really, really good at it for having double X chromosomes.  It's an acquired skill.
 

"Yes, I would like to see you again.  I'm not looking for anything serious, and I'm okay with casual," he responded.

Everyone gets laid.  Everyone gets held.  Everyone wins.  Right?

 

 

:-(

Let's return to the issue at hand, which is that I had sex with a man who I'm just not that into.  This is recurring theme in my dating life that I earnestly tried to correct over the last few months, but I'M LONELY.  I am coming up on four years of not being in a relationship and while some encounters have had more meaning than others, I am partially sustained by the late-night caresses and soft conversations with men who I'm "meh" about.

I made my peace with casual sex awhile ago, but I prefer it to go both ways.  Gender stereotypes suggest that men are the jackass fuck machines, yet this hasn't (generally) been my experience.  Most of the men I sleep with seem to want more, and I hate having to tell them where I stand.  I don't feel guilty about the sex; I feel guilty about leading people on.

If you were to ask me how to communicate lack of interest to a man you'd slept with, I would advise that honesty is the best policy and to do it in a text message.   So with that in mind, I have been coming up with possible excuses to text the last man I slept with that will cause no more than minimal hurt.  They all start with "Hey W____, I wanted to let you know I had a really nice time the other night..."

... I recently have been having some medical issues and need to concentrate on my health for the moment.
... I actually just found out I was pregnant (not yours- don't worry!) and it's not a good time for me to be dating.
... I've been seeing this other guy for a few months and we just decided to make it exclusive.
... My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer last week and my family is my priority right now.

So... the honesty part is really, really hard.  But writing "Hey W____, I wanted to let you know I had a really nice time the other night.  I feel like dating-wise my interests are elsewhere, but I wish you the best" makes me feel like a horrible person.

Particularly when, within twelve hours of leaving my apartment in the morning, this man texted "Although I was tired today, I was in an exceptionally good mood thanks to you."

Ugh.