Dating Delusion

Some people do everything they can to make a relationship work. They get hurt, wind up alone, and we feel sorry for them. I’m not one of those people.

A recent conversation with a friend got me thinking about relationships past and how I’ve gotten to where I am. I’ve been less than a saint, played the martyr, and taken a few good hits along the way. Who knows what truth exists, but I fully believe in relationship karma; what I do to someone will directly effect what the next person does to me. 

Let’s rewind several years to the time when I was dating The Mormon (I could go farther back, but then love gets involved. No reason to make things messy.). The Mormon was a genuinely nice guy; a breed I am afraid of ruining now. We only dated for three months, my friends liked him and some even still talk to him, but I was bored. Any good gay gets bored when things go well; I just needed help from a stranger to figure out that I was bored. One late night in a bar I met, The Trainer. 

I confused the grabbing of my arm for a friend and stopped, surprised by the attractive guy in front of me on the dance floor. Long story short, I told him I wouldn’t go home with him, but gave him my number and told him to give me a call. I refuse to cheat on a boyfriend; that is one line I don’t cross. When The Trainer called and invited me over the next day I accepted and dumped The Mormon an hour before leaving to meet him. Does this make me a dick? Of course!

There must always be punishment where pleasure is involved. I fell hard for The Trainer, but he was only looking for a cheap thrill. I spent the next several months being nothing more than an easy piece of ass. That finally ended when I was driving over one night and he text to say I should stay home. Obviously I was curious as to why. Another short text informed me he had started dating a guy he’d been waiting for. I screwed The Mormon and because of that The Trainer screwed me.

We are forced to fast-forward in time because I had several nothing flings along the way before my next boyfriend. I started dating Biker Boy. Oh Lord, Biker Boy. Another great guy, other than his pencil dick, it was just too much. The reason you sleep with them on the first date is so you don’t get a disturbing surprise later. It was a foot long and as wide as a penny, disgusting. We dated almost four months, but two months in I started getting presents. 

I had broken the port where the charger connected to my laptop and Biker Boy offered to fix it. The result was the total destruction of my computer. Christmas arrived and Biker Boy gave me a brand new laptop, aided by my manipulation. I knew that he was head over heals for me; I just had to play him right. I did, I got exactly what I wanted. Not only did I get that, but also I managed to furnish an entire apartment on his credit card. Let me tell you how good I am at manipulation. So good, we never had sex the entire time we were dating. One hand job about two weeks into dating and I was done. What he had was something I didn’t want, except for that other little thing with the Visa symbol. I’m kind of proud of this in a sick way, of course, I know I shouldn’t be, but I think it’s impressive.

I assume anyone that has read my older posts can guess what my punishment for Biker Boy was. Ding, ding, ding; The Devil. Overview: Taking back I love you’s, mind games, open relationship, several dramatic break-ups. No need for the details we all already know. I would say I sufficiently paid for what I did to Biker Boy. I may have even paid for it twice from what happened in my last relationship. 

The point of all this: Have I learned anything? I have learned a few things, but I’m afraid they’ve turned me into an unapproachable monster. There are the Newbies and Italians out there that make an effort to date me and I discard them right away. Most of this is arising because I’m getting that itch to date again, but I am trying to understand the point of dating. Can we date without games and motives? That is the question I can’t answer.

Remember December

When you’re a teenager having a crush is cute. When you’re in your twenties, it’s somewhere between desperate and pathetic. 

Now and then it happens; feelings creep up from behind, leaving you in a state of disarray. I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised by what’s been going on in my head lately. Over the past few weeks I’ve developed a massive crush. Probably to be expected considering the length of time I’ve gone without dating, etc. The strange part isn’t so much the crush, but the person it’s formed around. 

There’s no new dick in my life, unless you count the pervy old man that made dirty gestures to me through the ATM window. As of late I have been very into Newbie. (Did anyone expect that?) My dilemma stems from him having learned his lesson from the first go around. I don’t consider the time we were hanging out to be dating, but I’m pretty sure he did. I acted like a little bitch, pretty standard, drove him away and we both went about our lives. What is this resurgence of interest? Usually I only remain interested in the guys that behave as assholes; look how last year ended and this year started.

I got drunk a while ago and around six in the morning it seemed like a good idea to text Newbie. Short and sweet, I mentioned I wanted to get together. It was a day or so later that he asked me to go with him to a bar. This is where the fuzzy enters. We both paid for our own drinks and food, which suggests we were there as friends. However, we were sitting on a couch and he had his arm wrapped around me, suggesting maybe it was more of a date. I can’t decipher if the arm was a move or a reaction. I had mentioned I was cold, we were right below the air conditioner, and he could have just been doing the polite thing.

Newbie was a horn-ball; that is probably his most memorable trait from earlier blog entries. He didn’t even attempt to come home with me after the bar and the boy was drunk. I asked The Animator for advice and he suggested that maybe he didn’t think there was an invitation. That’s possible, considering I was a frigid bitch when it came to sex. The Animator also suggested that I just tell Newbie I’m crushing on him. Doesn’t that break the first rule of dating: Never admit what you’re feeling.

I’m somewhere between a cock and a hard place. I’m not doodling his name on notepads, but I am thinking about him. I still don’t believe there can be a hello without a goodbye, but I suppose it’s still worth trying to get past the hello to see what’s between the two.

Shallow B

There are certain things that we look for in other people. Especially when we’re looking for someone we want to play with. I started thinking about this a day or so ago when I was asked what my type was. I’m not entirely sure what my type is, considering I never seem to date the guys that fit my mold.

Teeth: The single most important feature, for me, has to be teeth. I want them straight above all else. When there’s a snaggel tooth jolting out, I cover my eyes in an effort to not lose one of them. Having been a victim of braces, I hate crooked teeth. When I talk to a guy with wacked out teeth it’s the only thing I think about. Fresh breath is something you would think people would be aware of, but there are a number of guys running around gagging us as they introduce themselves. Just throwing that out there.

Body: We all like a nice body. Don’t lie! I don’t think it’s sexy when you have one “big ab.” Don’t try and pass your beer belly off as something sexy. I shouldn’t be leaving impressions of myself in your flesh when I pull away. I much rather those impressions be left on your mind as you learn what a dating disaster I can be. Arms, chest, and belly are the key factors I’m looking for here. Personally I’m not looking for a big… you know. I leave that area to the dick-sucking whores that need them. I’m too lazy as it is to be getting down on my knees, not to mention my knees are as bad as an eighty-year-old woman’s.

Humor: When you tell a joke, especially an obvious one, the other person should understand. The worst thing is when you have to explain yourself over and over. That reminds me of The Photog. 90% of our text messages are him asking me what I’m talking about. He’s brunette, what is wrong with that boy? I like my serious with a side of funny, so I need someone that can keep up, otherwise I’ll drag you along in my comical wake.

Obedience: We all want to get our way, but I like a challenge. I want to get my way, but you can’t just give it to me immediately. Make me work for it a little; yes I know this is a game. I can’t keep myself from playing; I may as well know the rules.

Not to say I’m a picnic myself. I’m probably the most difficult person when it comes to dating. I’ve yet to understand why I force opposition with everything, but I can’t help myself. I take this beyond the ordinary game and turn it into an art. Everything you say and do I’ll turn against you. Not that it brings me much pleasure; I’ve just always been that way. Perhaps a deep-rooted problem I’m overlooking? I figure I’m set as far as looks. I may not be the hottest of the boys, but I’m vain enough that I won’t skip a day at the gym. 

I’ve been asked why I’m not dating anyone. My response: What I really want is me, and I’ve already got that. Plus, I already have a wife and several girlfriends, what more do I need?

Hold My Hair

“You wake up in your bra and your make-up. I’m such a hot mess with you.” -Ashley Tisdale

That says a mouthful right there. B. Brown and I are a hot mess duo of doom. Together we offer a semi-controlled amount of exaggerated fun. Apart we offer mild chaos to everyone that crosses us. We’ve been flying solo for about two months now and I’m not sure which of us takes the cake for number one disaster.

My recent adventure took me to Mr. Black’s with PETA, pretty standard for my bi-weekly outing. The rarity here was that I had not intended to go out, staying in to drink and work. Once I was coaxed out of my hole, I was feeling buzzed to the point I considered turning back. I got it together, put on my retail face and got my ass in the door of the club. 

Pre-drinking is economical. I only had to purchase two drinks once we were in the club. Even at the point of stupid drunk I won’t stop, why should I? The bartender decided to contribute to my night by telling me he thought I was cute and doing shots with me. I’m not a shot guy; I know my limits. On a side note, I decided to keep my number from the bartender, considering he was serving in a jock strap. I’m not about to go home with that. My limits were surpassed later when PETA hot boxed me. Why I think I’ve earned my hot mess title: I spent the 12 hours after I got home puking my guts out. I didn’t manage to get myself together until 7:00 p.m. the following day.

B. Brown was pretty good about not drinking for a month or so, but she couldn’t remain boring forever. She has the gift of blacking out, forgetting all of the bad from the night before. The danger in that; you forget what you’ve. Kind of how I forgot I made out with some guy a few weeks ago when I went out with PETA and then gave him my number. I was a tad surprised when he started texting to hang out. One of those, ‘who the hell are you’ moments. B. Brown may rival me for the title of hottest mess mostly because she turns into a hitter. An angry drunk is way scarier than a vomiting drunk, unless you’re sitting near by.

My messes are spread far and wide. Of course my wife could put a claim to the title. Having just finished a healthy “revenge fuck” as she calls it. The guy she was dating decided he wasn’t ready for anything because he wasn’t yet over his ex. Sadly, his ex is over him. She already has a new guy. Perhaps that means he shouldn’t have tattooed her name on his arm (lesson to be learned here). Can someone please kill the ex excuse? It’s easier to just tell someone you don’t want to dip your stick in him or her every night, rather than use this worn out line. 

I think the three of us may be toxic for each other, even when we are thousands of miles apart. However, I would rather have incredible messes for friends than the boring stick-up-your-ass people that some of my friends hang around. If nothing else, we make for an interesting read.