Squirrelboy sent me the following messages after hanging out:
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Squirrel Genealogy
I take complete responsibility for the failure of Date #80. In retrospect, I was distracted online by the fact that he was a lifelong Oregon resident and filmmaker who wants to have children, so I ignored the obvious mega red flag that Game of Thrones is his favorite tv show. Such a dumb mistake- and one that I never would have made in Seattle. I am out of practice, folks!
He wrote on his internet profile, "I raised a baby squirrel, she lived with me for a year and a half. Her babies still come to visit me.", which would have been a great reason to hit the "back" button and move on with my life had I thought the situation through. But again- filmmaker who wants children! Did I really want to take issue with a domesticated jumping rodent?
Always take issue with a domesticated jumping rodent.
We met in Southeast Portland at the vegan bar Sweet Hereafter. He said he was a bit late because he had dropped off his mail-in ballot.
"So did you vote for Trump or Cruz?", I joked.
He looked horrified. "Sanders, obviously."
There was one thing that could save this date, and that, my friends, was a ten minute lesson on squirrel genealogy. It started with "Sneakers," who he fed from a medicine dropper as an infant. When Sneakers came of squirrel age, she had a suitor, "Al," who would visit her in the window and rub his nose against hers in the pane. They went on to have their first litter of squirrels, most of which survived. Sadly, none of the second litter made it. Sneakers died while giving birth to the third litter. It was the same week that my date's grandma passed away, and the combination of the two events was "really hard." Thankfully, Sneaker's offspring, "Mark" and "Anna" come to visit frequently.
"Wow, you must know a lot about squirrel behavior," was the only thing I could think of to say.
"I kind of do, but I know more about their behavior when raised by humans. Mark would do a little dance before he knew I was going to give him a peanut, and then he taught Anna to do the same thing. But that's not universal squirrel behavior, that's just what they do with me."
#notintech
He wrote on his internet profile, "I raised a baby squirrel, she lived with me for a year and a half. Her babies still come to visit me.", which would have been a great reason to hit the "back" button and move on with my life had I thought the situation through. But again- filmmaker who wants children! Did I really want to take issue with a domesticated jumping rodent?
Always take issue with a domesticated jumping rodent.
We met in Southeast Portland at the vegan bar Sweet Hereafter. He said he was a bit late because he had dropped off his mail-in ballot.
"So did you vote for Trump or Cruz?", I joked.
He looked horrified. "Sanders, obviously."
There was one thing that could save this date, and that, my friends, was a ten minute lesson on squirrel genealogy. It started with "Sneakers," who he fed from a medicine dropper as an infant. When Sneakers came of squirrel age, she had a suitor, "Al," who would visit her in the window and rub his nose against hers in the pane. They went on to have their first litter of squirrels, most of which survived. Sadly, none of the second litter made it. Sneakers died while giving birth to the third litter. It was the same week that my date's grandma passed away, and the combination of the two events was "really hard." Thankfully, Sneaker's offspring, "Mark" and "Anna" come to visit frequently.
"Wow, you must know a lot about squirrel behavior," was the only thing I could think of to say.
"I kind of do, but I know more about their behavior when raised by humans. Mark would do a little dance before he knew I was going to give him a peanut, and then he taught Anna to do the same thing. But that's not universal squirrel behavior, that's just what they do with me."
#notintech
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Dating Gen X
I met a friend for happy hour and had two vodka sodas on board even before I headed out to meet Mr. 47-year-old-who-doesn't-want-more-children for our second date. We met up at Alberta Street Pub with a couple of his friends, where I had a third vodka soda *just in case I wasn't feeling the first two*, and I quickly became drunker than anyone should reasonably be on a Sunday night. An hour or two later, after finishing drink #4 (a glass of red wine), we had sex on my NOTair mattress. It was nice. He left. I fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning with a raging headache and called in sick to work, but it felt less like a bad decision hangover and more like a "Welcome to dating in Portland!" hangover, an oddly reassuring omen that this city might work out. He doesn't want more kids, but so what? He has a career, owns a home, and isn't in an open relationship looking to add me on as a mistress. Seems pretty normal to me!
Then I got the following text late on a Saturday night:
"I was just thinking that I'm your daddy now and if you do something bad I'll just pin you down and fuck you good."
How could I have been so stupid as to overestimate the level of normalcy of a Pacific Northwest man in his late 40s?!?
Moreover, how should I respond?!?
I decided that the least awkward course of action was to play along, and I responded with the kinkiest text I could muster that fell along daddy-daughter lines: "I could use some adult guidance."
"You seem to be a bit of a handful," he wrote back.
"I think you can handle me just fine ;-)"
And with that, the nature of our relationship appeared to be established. The next time we had sex, aided by a glass of wine, I dug as deep as possible into the depths of my ability to talk dirty and called a partner "daddy" for the first time. I tried not to overanalyze it because it's just a word, and words are better than anal. As far as kinks go, this one seemed relatively harmless.
The real problem came after sex, when we went out to eat, because I had to talk with my newfound "daddy" about a variety of topics- science, travel, family, finance- while trying to ignore the sexual power dynamic I'd played into just moments before. I paid for dinner, mostly to prove my independence and make a financial "you don't own me" statement. I wasn't sure where I stood with him, exactly. "Baby girl" or woman? Sex kitten or legitimate date? Am I around to make him feel younger?
Does it matter, as long as two people are having fun?
I woke up the next morning with a raging headache and called in sick to work, but it felt less like a bad decision hangover and more like a "Welcome to dating in Portland!" hangover, an oddly reassuring omen that this city might work out. He doesn't want more kids, but so what? He has a career, owns a home, and isn't in an open relationship looking to add me on as a mistress. Seems pretty normal to me!
Then I got the following text late on a Saturday night:
"I was just thinking that I'm your daddy now and if you do something bad I'll just pin you down and fuck you good."
How could I have been so stupid as to overestimate the level of normalcy of a Pacific Northwest man in his late 40s?!?
Moreover, how should I respond?!?
I decided that the least awkward course of action was to play along, and I responded with the kinkiest text I could muster that fell along daddy-daughter lines: "I could use some adult guidance."
"You seem to be a bit of a handful," he wrote back.
"I think you can handle me just fine ;-)"
And with that, the nature of our relationship appeared to be established. The next time we had sex, aided by a glass of wine, I dug as deep as possible into the depths of my ability to talk dirty and called a partner "daddy" for the first time. I tried not to overanalyze it because it's just a word, and words are better than anal. As far as kinks go, this one seemed relatively harmless.
The real problem came after sex, when we went out to eat, because I had to talk with my newfound "daddy" about a variety of topics- science, travel, family, finance- while trying to ignore the sexual power dynamic I'd played into just moments before. I paid for dinner, mostly to prove my independence and make a financial "you don't own me" statement. I wasn't sure where I stood with him, exactly. "Baby girl" or woman? Sex kitten or legitimate date? Am I around to make him feel younger?
Does it matter, as long as two people are having fun?
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