"Youth, and I Really Love Her Kid"

Whammy #2:

The Ex is engaged.  My third love and final heartbreak has committed to spend his life with the woman he preferred to be with because she was younger than me and had a child of his ethnic background.  The memory of him comparing me to her and explaining what she had over me, "youth, and I really love her kid," recurs every time I feel proud of an accomplishment.  Am I less likely to find love because of the successes I've earned?  I'd like to say I moved on, but it's three years later and here I am, occasionally stalking his Facebook profile.

My reaction was completely different from a few days before, when I found out Julio was engaged.  I didn't cry, wasn't angry, had no moments of bittersweet tenderness, and didn't even care that much.  I saw his recent engagement photos and my first thought was that I didn't find him attractive.  My second thought was that his small head and giant, toothy grin make him look stupid.  My third thought was that I never want engagement photos.  Waste of money!

Three years, still holding at 62 first dates.



 

Double Whammy

Whammy #1:

Julio- whose name I am comfortable disclosing because the odds of anyone reading this blog identifying him in Guatemala are slim- sent me an email saying he is getting married and expecting a child.

The first person you fall in love with helps you identify those feelings and sets the standard for future relationships.  The second person is special because they remind you that it can happen again.

I will always be grateful to Julio for being the second, for getting me out of a relationship with a man I wasn't in love with by helping me rediscover what it meant to connect to someone.  He taught me Spanish, a language that I speak every day at work.  He ignited my love for reggaeton music, clubbing, and drinking tequila.  We climbed to the top of Central America together and watched the sun rise at 13,845 feet.  It was a happy relationship that ended with the biggest dealbreaker I have ever encountered:

I wanted to go back to the United States and work in medicine, and he wanted to stay in Guatemala and become a Catholic priest.  In the tragic endings of my romantic relationships, it figured that I fell in love with the one Guatemalan who would turn down my offer to try for a US visa.

Obviously his goals from four years ago changed, and in the process, he met his fiancé who is Mayan, Catholic, and a much better life partner to him than I ever would have been.  I cried when he told me, not because I was sad or angry, but because his happiness overwhelmed me.  I want good things for him.

Yesterday, he sent me a message wishing me a Happy International Women's Day.  The United States doesn't observe the holiday, but Guatemala does, and he wants good things for me as well.

Blast from the Past

I am currently trying to figure out if I can have a functional relationship with the man I've been dating for the last few weeks.  It's rather unexciting.

SOOO, for the sake of keeping this blog alive while I sort out my thoughts about dating my fairly normal neighbor, let's go back to a blog post I took down a year ago, about the man I was dating who was, suffice it to say, significantly odder...

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The kink cards came out on the third date. We were making out for the first time on his couch and things were heating up. Shirts were off, pants were on, my ear was gently being nibbled when he started making a list: "I could cum in your pussy, in your mouth, on your face... I could cum in your ass."

 

 

EEEEEEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The kissing came to a screeching halt as I sought to clarify expectations. "You are NOT cumming in my ass." He didn't skip a beat. "Well, would you let me put a finger in your ass and cum on your tits?"

 

 

I agreed to that in the future if we got to know each other better. It sounded like the lesser of two evils. Then he laid me back down on his couch, kneeled over me, masturbated, and ejaculated all over my breasts. My ass was spared, and the third date ended.

 

 

The fourth date was a pleasant dinner with clothes on and PG-rated conversation. Aside from some manual below-the-belt stimulation, it was sexually uneventful. I was headed to Ohio for the weekend so we said we'd see each other the next week. I was planning on letting it rest for a few days but then I went to a wedding, drank four beers, and reached for my cell phone.
 

Me: I'm about to get real drunk and take full responsibility for any text messages I send.
 

Him: Bring it! Pictures are nice too.
 

Me: Can't you just fly to Ohio?
 

Him: No. But I can text you and tell you how much I liked your mouth on my cock.
 

The sexting was on full-force and several messages later, I found myself in a bathroom stall pulling down my dress to send a picture of my breasts to a man who I've been on four dates with.
 

Him: Keep getting me excited! What do you want to do to me? You know what I want to do to you.
 

 

I told him exactly what I wanted which was, to paraphrase, regular old in-and-out vaginal sex that most heterosexual couples are having by the 3rd to 6th date. He said he could do that, but I would have to beg... "Get you naked, hold my cock just up to your pussy... Wait... Wait... Not yet..."
 

I was at a wedding, and I looked around and saw love everywhere. The bride and groom, their families, my friends scattered across the country who traveled to rural Ohio in winter to reunite and celebrate love and commitment for a night. The entire room was dancing to polka music and drinking Bud Light. I was drunk and sappy, so I gave in to the thought on every single thirty year old woman's mind and texted, "I just want to get married. Why is this so hard?"
 

He didn't hesitate in his response: "For that, you will definitely need to give up your ass."

Four Dates, One Man

First dates hardly even count.  My friend and I have joked that when you're internet dating, you should really just meet on a street corner, introduce yourself, and exchange business cards so you can contact each other if you're interested.  Within ten seconds of meeting we know if there is a potential connection, and we could all save a lot of time by keeping the first interaction to a minimum.

Second dates are made to seal the attraction.  If two people aren't picturing each other naked, it's best to cut the two date loss of time and move along.

Third dates are for getting naked.  Often it ends there.

By the time two people agree to a fourth date, things are moving along.  The fourth date doesn't imply a relationship, but it allows the right to claim "I've been dating someone," which is a pretty big deal in my world.  Four dates in, hot topics have already been covered: religion, past relationships, drug use, whether or not you want a family...  Two people know they like each other, so potential dealbreakers are laid on the table.  The only thing left to do with four dates under your belt is to try to answer the question, with each subsequent interaction, "Do I want a relationship with this person?"

On that account, I am still undecided.  It's only been four dates for crying out loud!  But I'm interested enough to give it an honest shot and see where this apartment building romance goes.

For the first time since May 2011, I deactivated my OkCupid account.






 

Photographer

Photographer and I slept together for about six weeks, and he grew on me.  While we never technically went on a second "date," we would spend the night at each other's homes and developed a nice level of intimacy.  I felt comfortable with him, and I think he felt the same about me.  We both led our own lives and went about our routines independently.  We did not invite the other out on Saturday nights, but we knew that we'd be there for each other when we were drunk at 1 am and wanted company.  He cared enough about me to drive me home the next morning but not enough to make breakfast together.  I couldn't tell if our arrangement relieved or disappointed us.  We both deserved more, but did we want it from each other?

Above all, I loved that he was drama-free.  He didn't care if I dated other people, didn't bombard me with text messages, didn't smother me.  He has a friendly relationship with his child's mother and pays his child support without complaining.  When I think about what I want in a partner, this essential quality comes to mind.

So when I sent him a Facebook message tonight letting him know that I met someone else who I'm going to pursue, I started crying.  I was certain it was fine to end our non-relationship booty calls over social media, but I was shocked at how much it upset me.  I'm sure he was a little disappointed, but shedding tears?  Highly doubtful.

True to his character, he was understanding and avoided drama.

"Oh no worries at all. Thanks for letting me know. We should absolutely keep in touch! Don't be a stranger if I see you around."

It made me miss him more.  Great guy, just not the one for me.
 

The First Date

The man who I met on Superbowl Sunday showed up to our first date wearing flannel, bearded, AND sporting a brand new nasal fracture that he acquired while overzealously celebrating the Seahawks' victory.  And you know what?  I didn't even care.  It was a damn. good. time.

Conversation was easy from the beginning, and I wasn't awkwardly looking at the time on my phone or planning my escape route.  He was smart, funny, outdoorsy, and creative, and while I've never cared much about the educational background of my dates, having a degree from an Ivy League college certainly doesn't hurt.

I couldn't believe how well the date was going, and I thanked God for giving me the drunken courage to ask strangers ridiculous questions about sports games.  Then in the middle of the date, he asked me where I lived in the neighborhood.

"On 13th, in between Republican and Harrison."

His eyes popped open.  "What building?"

That was when we discovered that my best first date EVER in Seattle has lived one floor below me in my building ever since I moved here in 2011.

That's right.  Three years, sixty two first dates, and hundreds of hours wasted on boring-as-fuck men culminated in a fantastic date with my downstairs neighbor who I met at a bar.  I don't believe in fate, but WOW does the world work in mysterious ways. 

"Pinky swear," he said as he offered his little finger, "that whatever happens we'll still be cool if we see each other in the building." 

We pinky shook.

The decision to walk me home was easy, and going up the hill to our apartments he stopped in the sidewalk, held my hand, and kissed me.   It was the first date I've always wanted in Seattle: the chemistry, the conversation, the passion, the possibility that something might actually develop, that I could stop blogging and be content in a meaningful relationship for the first time in so long.

We ended up in his apartment making out, talking, watching Olympics, and making out some more.  Then I walked upstairs- fifteen seconds- to my own bed and fell asleep.

And they lived happily ever after???
 

Still Seattle, Still Awkward

Meanwhile, in OkCupidland, the men are still totally weird and socially inept.  I walked past my date who I just went out with 2 weeks ago (Bar Sue has the best gin and tonic ever!!!) and would have said hello if he hadn't gone out of his way to avoid all eye contact and pretend that he was completely fascinated by the scenery in the opposite direction. 

Okay, you hated the date with me.  I get it.  Now want to be an adult and say "hi" since we live in the same neighborhood and might run into each other occasionally? 

Then even better, I got a message from a man who I went out with in June.  I'd had what I would describe as an above average time- no clear sparks but I would have gone out again had he asked.  I never heard from him again, that is, until this week, when I got the following message:

"I super wanted to make out with your sexy self ages ago, then we lost contact. What happened?"

 

I responded by stating exactly what happened:

 

"I sent you a text message saying I had a fun time, then I never heard from you again so I assumed you weren't interested. Should I have interpreted the lack of followup as you wanting to make out with me? 

Anyways, I'd be down to hang out again if you want."

He never responded and promptly disabled his OkCupid account.

Will the man who I met on Superbowl Sunday put an end to this madness?  First date tomorrow!