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Wednesday, February 22, 2012

“Real Time Blog; Real Time WTF?!”

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater

Dearest Readers, what do you do when one blog story meets another potential blog story by chance?  If you’re Miss-Adventures, you write about it, of course!  I know I’ve said this a million times in a million different ways, but online dating is so fucking strange.

A couple of months ago, I met a lovely lady from my favorite dating website.  She’s kind, classy, interesting, fun and we happen to live in the same neighborhood.  We had a coffee date which was pleasant and easy and really mostly uneventful.  I mean, she’s lovely, I’m lovely, the coffee was lovely and we became friends.  We still occasionally hang out, we get together and do fun things or have dinner in our neighborhood.  What else can one say about that?  It’s all so perfectly normal (go figure!), so I never really intended to write about her.  That is, until last Sunday night while dining in the ‘hood …

Friend: “I went out with a foreigner recently.”
Me: “Oh really?  Where were they from?”
Friend: “No, I went out with The Foreigner … from your blog.”
Me: “WHAT?!  Are you kidding?  How did that happen?  Wait.  How did you figure it out?  I don’t use anyone’s names!”

Evidently, they had had their own online date and got to talking about and sharing their own experiences with online dating.  (How can you not, really?  It is so strange and surreal – you have the oddest encounters with people online!)  And The Foreigner mentioned that she had gone out with a girl a few times who started writing a blog about her own weird online dating experiences.  Well, I guess there are only SO many of us bloggers out there writing about this very same subject and my friend asked, “Is her name, [insert Miss-Adventures' non-superhero name here]?

Okay, first of all, can I just say that it pleases me to no end that former dates and friends are following the blog?  Much, MUCH love and appreciation to you both for being regular readers!  And second, aww shucks that you guys are out there spreading the word about my little passion project!  I’m flattered beyond all words, written or otherwise.

But more to the point … WHAT IN GAY HELL?!  How in the name of the sweet baby jesus did this happen?  For someone who has gone Out. Of. Her. Way. to avoid dating within her own social circle (until very, very recently ... but more on that tidbit another time), this was NEVER supposed to happen!  I guess there’s no getting around it: the queer dating scene is a small, weird, incestuous pool that we’re all wading in.

So now I’m scared shitless to go on another online date!  I mean, I’ve been on A LOT of dates with a lot of different people.  I really hope this doesn’t happen too often.  I don’t know if I can handle it!

Admittedly, I sent an email to “Helen of Troy” (who recently ended our very brief romance) this weekend telling her of the same story.  My greatest fear would be if she began dating The One Who Got Ran Away.  Then my eternal destruction would be complete and my whole fucking world would come crashing down around me.

“The One That Ran Away” (Part Five)

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater
And so we come to the conclusion of “The One That Got Ran Away”.  Miss-Adventures reveals her mistakes, her needy vulnerability and her fractured heart.  I do so reluctantly, of course, because it’s difficult enough admitting my own mistakes, my character flaws and my vulnerability to myself (I’m a terminal perfectionist) but even more difficult in such a public forum.  But to gloss over it, deny my foibles to you all and present only a façade of who I really am would be dishonest.  I’m in this for real catharsis.  I’m not perfect (though I always strive to be, to my own detriment), I’m not always strong (though I do my best to appear so) and I’m not always so full of wisdom (though I have my occasional moments of wisdom but mostly moments of wise-ass). 

After my break-up phone call with The One That Got Ran Away, I reflected, thought about, obsessed and processed everything she said.  I played the entire conversation over and over in my head on a continuous loop (as someone very dear to me dubbed so appropriately, as “Snakes in the Brain” [thank you, “Helen of Troy”, for that ever-so-perfectly descriptive phrase]).  As per my usual, after processing the conversation, I had more I needed to say.

I always do that – I never get out everything I need to say all at once.  I’m not one who’s quick to react (which is both a blessing and a curse).  I process, reflect, mull over the minutiae, analyze, shake up the contents of every moment: side to side, top to bottom and then shake the entire contents out of the box only to carefully put them back in the box one item at a time, and then slowly, eventually, finally respond later.

So I did what I do best: I wrote.  I wrote to her and I explained everything that I had failed to explain while we dated and that I failed to explain when she broke up with me over the phone just hours before.

I told her that while I loved my ex wife and always would, it was a platonic and familial love.  I explained that while our break-up seemed from the outside perspective so fresh and recent, we had spent months breaking up before we officially ended our marriage and that, as hard as it was to admit that the marriage was over, that I had failed, and that it was time to move on, it was the best decision for both of us because we had just simply fallen out of love and were making each other unhappy.

I told her that the “look on my face” that she saw at my house was one of panic.  Panic that it was too soon for an ex wife introduction, panic that I would no longer be able to protect our fledgling romance, panic that my ex wife would say something to embarrass me, and panic that she would bolt if my reality slapped her in the face.

I reminded her that if she changed her mind about us, that I would never make her regret it but if she didn’t, then I would pick my heart up off the floor, wish her well and not beg her to stay.

No reply.  Not that I asked for one, mind you, but there was no acknowledgement whatsoever of the heart and soul I poured into my email.  No “thanks but no thanks” reply.  Nothing.  Just radio silence.

The next day, she removed me from her Facebook friends list.  Now, I don’t usually put a lot of stock into the “friends” list.  I periodically go through a purge of “friends” when I fail to see a real-life friendship continuing.  But her unfriending me from Facebook actually stung like a motherfucker.  It was a clear sign – we’re not friends, we’re not anything to each other any longer.  Ouch!

I let it go.  I would be fine.  C’est la vie.  (Okay, maybe not.)

A few days later, the anniversary of her mother’s death had arrived.  I had known that she was struggling with the upcoming anniversary.  I’m a lucky girl, both of my parents are still with me.  I sometimes think about what will happen if I lose one or both of my parents – I can’t help it, they both have their share of health concerns that worry me.  So naturally, my heart broke a little for The One That Got Ran Away as she faced the two-year anniversary of her mother’s passing.  I decided to send her an email with the caveat that there was no pressure and no need to reply.  I just simply wanted to let her know that I was thinking about her during this time and that no matter what, I still cared and was wishing her well while she coped with the emotional toll this time of year took on her.  I didn’t hear back from her, and honest to god, I was totally okay with that.  I only wanted to express sympathy and support (should she need or want it).  I never had expectations or hopes that she would come running back into my arms.  I won’t lie, though: had she come running back into my arms, I would have opened them wide and welcomed her back. 

It had been less than a week since she ended things with me and I still had visions of John Cusack holding a boom box high over his head in attempt to win back his ladylove.  I wouldn’t have done it, of course, but I certainly had fantasies of doing so.  And I carried those thoughts with me well into the following weekend.  (I clearly have seen one too many romantic dramas.  No wonder I’m so hopeless!)

Out on a Saturday night with friends and about ten days after the break-up, I had a couple of Goose & Tonics in me (which is enough to severely impair my judgment) and was feeling sad and lonely at a club full of hot dancing lesbians … What did I do?  What any lonely, desperate and half-drunk girl would do: I drunk texted The One That Got Ran Away.

Oh good lord, no!  Say it isn’t so!  Yep.  I sure did.  (Even a terminal perfectionist does perfectly stupid things every now and then.)

Now, a smarter girl would have drunk texted someone more appropriate.  The possibilities are endless: a smarter girl could have drunk texted a friend for a down and dirty booty call, or a friend for emotional support, or her ex wife to belligerently blame her for letting the marriage die, or someone she had dated not quite so recently.  OR, a smarter girl would have left her fucking iPhone at home where she wouldn’t have the opportunity to behave so goddamned foolishly.  But I’m not that girl.  Clearly.

Text Message 1 (sent while very, very tipsy): “Are you coming to [insert bar name here] tonight?

Text Message 2 (sent an hour later when I realized what an idiot I was being but still very, very tipsy): “Please disregard.  This wasn’t meant for you.

Text Message 3 (sent a few hours after the first text when I was at home, stone sober and had fully realized what an idiot I had been): “I’m embarrassed for sending you that text.  It was meant for someone else.  I think of and miss you often.  I hope you’re well.

That was it.  I think as far as doing dumb shit goes, this was pretty minor, right?  Hello…?  No?  Ah, shit.  Okay, you’re right, it was really dumb shit.

Not long after my third text to The One That Got Ran Away, I received a text back:  “You don’t know me.  Delete my number.  You’re being creepy.

I was gutted.  I felt sick.  I felt kicked in the stomach, stomped on my heart and punched in the ladybits.  In my entire life, I had never been accused of being “creepy”.  It hit me so hard that I actually had to self-reflect and consider the accusation.  To this day, those words still rattle around in my brain when I date someone new.  I’m so cautious and careful to avoid “creepy” behavior that that act in itself must appear creepy to anyone new.  There are no words to describe how badly I was hurt.  So I pulled myself together with every ounce of dignity I could possibly muster and replied:

My apologies.  Your number has been deleted.  It will never happen again.

Right then and there, I deleted her number, every text message and email she ever sent, and all of her contact information to ensure that it, in fact, NEVER happened again.  I clearly couldn’t trust my drunken self.  The next morning, I called my old therapist and asked if she would be able to start seeing me again.

Her words were cruel.  I know that.  I know that they were meant to hurt and meant to push me away.  And it worked; I NEVER contacted her again.  This wounded cat scampered off with her tail between her legs, limping and bleeding.  That is not to say that I don’t accept my fair share of responsibility.  If I had had any sense at all, I would have quit after two unanswered emails.  I know now that I shouldn’t have sent the text messages.  Still, there’s no denying that her words were delivered with the intention of wounding me and pushing me away permanently and irrevocably.  Yep, that one knew how to deliver a blow straight to the heart.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

“The One That Ran Away” (Part Four)

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater
For someone as intuitively challenged as I am, every now and then, I surprise myself when I have a gut feeling that turns out to be right on target.  It doesn’t happen often but on rare occasions, I do get premonitions, gut feelings, instincts, intuitions and whispers from my subconscious.  They’re usually right and they’re never good.  (Why can't I get an intuition about winning lottery numbers for a change?)

When I left The One That Got Ran Away at home the night we played poker at my house, nothing about our goodbye felt off.  Everything seemed just fine and right with the world.  We had shared a lovely evening, despite the brief and awkward hiccup that was the ex wife reality-check, we talked about our strong and mutual feelings for each other, we shared lots of kisses and talked about her desire to “put down roots”.  The next morning, however, I awoke with a small sense of dread in my stomach.  Why would that be?  Why on earth would everything feel so right one moment and all wrong just eight hours later?  I’ll never know but my Spidey Senses were screaming at me when I woke up the next morning.  (“…I can’t date you … I can’t date you … I can’t date you…”)

Despite feeling angsty and very uneasy, I waited several hours that morning before I sent my girl an “I’m thinking about you” text.  I didn’t want to appear needy, despite feeling so.  No reply.  No reply for hours and hours.  I kept my cool (on the surface) and left her alone.

I had plans to hang out with Nugget (my little "Apocalyptic Pony") and some friends that evening to watch a football game at a local watering hole.  They must’ve wanted to strangle me for behaving like such a neurotic nightmare.  (Just picture Edvard Munch's "The Scream".)  Despite wanting to chill out with my friends while watching a football game, I was a big ball of nerves.  I was waiting on pins and needles and couldn’t understand why she hadn’t texted me back for so long.  She was ordinarily pretty responsive. 

Finally, a couple of drinks and three quarters of a football game later, I finally heard from The One That Got Ran Away.  It was a short text of no consequence at all and it didn’t do much to quiet the Spidey Senses but at least I had heard from her.

The next day, I wasn’t feeling any better.  Something felt … off.  Indescribably … off.  (“I can’t date you … I can’t date you … I can’t date you.”)  Still, I didn’t want to appear needy or to alarm my girl (needy is a most undesirable trait.) but I wanted to reach out.  So I sent her an email suggesting that since she was kind enough to let me teach her to play poker, that it would only be fair to let her teach me something new too.  It was playful, flirty and without any pressure, right?  And she replied, “That’s cute.  Let’s talk tonight.”

By the time she called me that evening, I already knew it was coming.  My instincts, gut, intuition, Spidey Senses, whatever you want to call it, were sounding the alarm bells and waving giant red flags.  I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that was hanging over my head.

And so she began to explain that, while she cared for me, she had to trust her own instincts for once in her life.  She felt something was off when I heard my ex wife’s voice.  She thought she saw something on my face that she couldn’t ignore.  She believed that it was too soon for me to begin a new relationship and I would never be able to fully love her because she would only ever be a rebound relationship.

I was devastated.  Utterly devastated.

I listened to her speak and not just to her words, I listened to her feelings.  I could hear in her voice that she had made up her mind and there would be no changing it.  I asked her if these were the sole reasons for wanting to end our relationship.  I asked her if there was something about me personally that made her want to end it.  She said that it wasn’t me.  It was timing.

Timing.  My eternal nemesis.

Look, I’m not the kind of girl who’s going to beg anyone to stay with me, even if I felt like begging (and I did, sadly).  I know enough to know that begging (like neediness) is a most undesirable quality and, quite frankly, if I have to beg anyone to stay, then it’s all wrong anyway.  I want a lover, not an emotional captive.  I want a partner, not a hostage to pity.  So I told her, “I’m not going to try to convince you to change your mind.  You either want me or you don’t.  But if you change your mind, I’ll never make you regret it.  I also told her that I was disappointed because for the first time in several months, I felt like there was something and someone to look forward to.

And she said, “I do want you and I do want to be with you but I just have to trust my instincts for once.  And who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other again by chance and things will have changed and our timing will be better.”

And I replied, “You know that’s bullshit.  Life doesn’t work that way.  That kind of thing only happens in bad romantic comedies.  But I will tell you that I’ll miss you and I’ll think of you often.”

And then she said something that I’ll never forget, it was the coldest sentence ever spoken aloud, with absolutely no emotion and no heart:

You don’t even know me.

What the hell did that mean?

We take a break from our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this...

Well, readers, I know it's not my usual pattern to bring the blog into real time.  As most of you know, I'm catching up to present day with all of my insane dating stories and heartbreaks and am still a few months back.  But I wanted to take a break from the pattern, from our regularly scheduled programming to ask you this simple question: Why is the universe fucking with me?

Ok, maybe that's just a tad over-dramatic.  What I mean to say is, when we're experiencing a minor heartache, does the universe intentionally bring things into our lives that force us to feel it over and over again, or are we subconsciously reading messages into everything that comes our way?  I tend to believe in the latter because I’m not a big believer in fate, gods, metaphysics, etc., but there are times when I wonder…

This morning, as I was driving into work, I was listening to my iPhone on shuffle.  Now, I have a fairly eclectic mix of music on my iPhone and a random song shuffle of my music is enough to make a perfectly sane person feel like a schizophrenic.  I don’t know what that says about me when I choose to listen to my music on shuffle, but that’s neither here nor there.  The point is this: I have two versions of the same song on my iPhone (because I love both recording artists and because I love the song so much) and they BOTH played on my fifteen minute commute to work.  I have over four thousand songs on my iPhone and these two songs played within minutes of each other.  And because my heart is feeling ever-so bruised and heavy, AND because this song can reduce me to tears even when I’m having a good day, the universe decides to pick on me and play that song not once, but twice in the span of fifteen minutes.  And yes, I was reduced to tears BOTH times.  While driving.  To work.

Thanks a lot, Universe.  You suck.  Now will you please leave me alone?

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Celebrating 1000 Views of The Blog!

Miss-Adventures would like to especially thank you all, dear readers, for helping me to achieve over 1000 views of my blog.  I have loved every single one of your comments, FB "likes" and feedback - honestly, it fuels the writing entirely.  I wouldn't do it if it weren't for you all cheering me on.  So please, continue to comment here, comment on FB, tweet me, text me, whip me, beat me... oh wait, scratch those last two.

Anyway, thank you all. And much love to you on this unholiest and wretched of days from this single gal.  I hope you all get the moonlight, roses and chocolates you all deserve.  I'll be burying my head in a pint of Ben & Jerry's while snuggling with the ferocious felines and nursing my eternally bruised heart.  And if you've been reading religiously, you know that that's just par for the course.

Happy Valentine's Day, my lovelies.

Affectionately and lovingly yours,

The One That Ran Away (Part Three)

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater

Hey, did you know that a mild dose of real-life reality can kill a perfectly beautiful fledgling romance?  Yeah, you probably did.  My readers are much smarter and more perceptive than I am.  Me?  Not so much.  The trap was set, the bait there for the taking and I walked right into it, heart on sleeve and WHAMMO!  Broken. Fucking. Heart.
The One That Got Ran Away proposed a lovely idea one afternoon: ‘Let’s spend a quiet evening together tonight at your place playing cards and drinking wine.  (Yay!  Two of my favorite activities!  Yes, please.)

Poor naïve, silly, stupid Miss-Adventures.  You know, I was more concerned with the fact that I had no sofa to sit on in my brand new apartment than the fact that my new ladyfriend’s chief concern (namely my ex wife) lived Just. Up. Stairs.  I mean, honest to god, I knew she was somewhat concerned about my “very recent” break-up and with the fact that my ex and I were neighbors and learning to become friends again, but I really didn’t think it was such a big deal.  Hindsight really is a motherfucker.

So the evening began with my picking up my date all the way across town on my motorcycle.  I kissed her hello, helped her with her helmet and we headed straight to my place on my bike.  I took the scenic route to my house: we drove along the marina docs, passed the world’s most magnificent bridge, zig-zagged through the redwood and eucalyptus trees and along the shoreline to my apartment.  You cannot possibly make that drive and not fall in love with this city over and over again.

When we arrived at my house, I had to apologize for my lack of seating.  In place of a sofa, I had an air mattress placed on the living room floor.  Super sexy, right?  Actually, it was … but more on that later.

In the absence of living room furniture, we set ourselves up at the dining room table.  Wine, bread, cheese and a game of poker with a girl who had never played before.  It was fun, easy and a great way to keep talking and getting to know each other.  We occasionally broke for a cigarette on my back deck.  We cuddled, kissed and smoked.  It felt so comfortable, sweet, romantic, safe and sexy.  How wrong I was to assume it would all be fine…

After several hours of wine drinking and poker lessons, we stepped outside for another cigarette and another cuddle on the back deck.  As we were standing on my deck in an embrace, we heard my ex wife’s voice directly above us both.

Cue awkward silence and passing glances.

Feeling so very helpless and panicked, I asked my girl what she wanted to do.  Do you want to go back inside?  Do you want me to introduce you?  Do you want to escape and finish our cigarettes somewhere else?  The panic we both shared was palpable.

Personally, I wasn’t up for an awkward introduction.  My ex and I were still just figuring out how to be friends again and things still felt unsettled.  My ex, being the jokester she is, would have likely tried to say something crass to embarrass me or my ladyfriend.  I felt protective of The One That Got Ran Away and wanted to keep what we had sacred and private for just a little longer.  What I wanted was to sneak quietly back into my place and forget that that moment had ever occurred.  Unfortunately, though we did manage to sneak back into my place undetected, forgetting the awkward awkwardness was just not possible.  The damage was done.  And as soon as we walked back inside and sat down at the table, she uttered the phrase that no one ever wants to hear:  “I can’t date you.”

Mother. Fucker.

Me: “What?  Why?”
Her: “You still have feelings.”
Me: “Of course I have feelings.  Feelings of regret.  Feelings of failure.  Feelings of sadness.  But not feelings of love.”
Her: “I can see it in your face.”

So we talked about it for a while.  I asked her to not give up on us so soon.  She proposed that we take a six-month break and see where we’re at then.  I flat out said, “no.”  When she asked why, I told her that a six-month break can change everything and that if this is our window of opportunity, then we should take it and not let it pass us by.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all of this dating madness, it’s that timing is everything.

Eventually, she agreed.  She agreed that it would be stupid to bail so soon before even getting this relationship off the ground.  It was a bad idea to let something so good and so powerful go.

After talking it out, we moved into the living room and made ourselves comfortable on my in-lieu-of-a-sofa, very sexy indeed, air mattress (appropriately named “Spanish Fly”).  We cuddled up, listened to music, held each other in a somewhat state of undress and kissed for hours.  I was no angel, but I did obey my girl’s one-month no consummation probationary rule.  It was both torture and heaven all at the same time. 

At around three in the morning, I drove The One That Got Ran Away home.  We stood outside her building talking.  She spoke about how much she cared for me.  She spoke about wanting to put down roots for once in her life.  And she wished me a good night.  I kissed her deeply and passionately, and then made the long, lonely drive back home, completely unaware that everything would change in just a few short hours.

Friday, February 10, 2012

“The One That Ran Away” (Part Two)

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater

Establishing dating/courtship/wooing rules in any new relationship is important.  I get that.  Personally, I’m not one to establish rules right off; I tend to be very go with the flow and let’s see what happens when I begin to date someone I really like.  Do I wonder where things may eventually go?  Yeah, absolutely.  Do I wonder where the boundaries lie for getting to know someone new?  Of course.  Do I wonder if the person I’m seeing at that moment has long-term potential?  Most definitely.  But I prefer to live in and enjoy the moment.  Sure, I’m looking for ‘Ms. Right’ but I’ve learned enough to know that ‘Ms. Right’ may not forever be ‘Ms. Right’.  So what’s more important: ‘Ms. Right Forever’ or ‘Ms. Right Now’?  And more to the point: could they not be one in the same?  We won’t know unless we choose to live in the moment, go with the flow and just see what happens.

All this is not to say that I let anyone walk all over me or dictate to me exactly how our new relationship will be conducted.  Quite the contrary.  I’m very easy going but I’m also a participant, not a puppy.  When I have needs, I express them.  When I have boundaries, I establish them firmly.  If something isn’t working for me, I’ll step up and communicate that.  But I like to wait and see what develops and address those needs and boundaries as they come up for me.  I like to make the rules as I go along, rather than hand a new ladyfriend a list of do’s and don’ts on the first date or two.  But that’s just me.

The One That Got Ran Away had rules right out of the gate.  Contrary to my own modus operandi, I respect the hell out of that.  I know that everyone operates differently and I don’t expect anyone to follow my lead.  Oh and how I do love a girl who possesses enough maturity, wherewithal and confidence to say, ‘this is what I need to get close to you’.  Strength, confidence, self-awareness and character … these, to me, are very sexy traits.

One night, The One That Got Ran Away and I chose to spend our date together in the good old fashioned American way: dinner and a movie.  The weather outside was just horrid.  Rain and wind turned into flooding and downed tree branches.  There would be no motorcycle riding and no making out on a beautiful vista.  My date and I planned to see a movie at my favorite theater.  This theater has an incredible “Over-21 Only” balcony section which serves wine and cocktails.  The chairs are comfy and are seated two by two with tables dividing each pair of seats.  The arm rests lift up and out of the way for in-movie snuggling.  I mean, seriously, if you’re going to have a movie date, this is the place to do it.

Ten minutes into the movie and we were already sitting close enough to probably make other movie goers a little uncomfortable.  Now, don’t get the wrong idea: there was no funny business happening.  We behaved in a perfectly respectable manner (damn it) but there was close snuggling, flirty touching, hand-holding and little whispers in each other’s ears.  So much so, that I had no fucking clue as to which movie we were actually supposed to be watching.  I was so thoroughly distracted by the way this girl kept lightly fingering the palm of my hand.  I swear to god – the movie couldn’t end soon enough … and this is coming from a very serious film lover!  (Don’t you love that phase in any new relationship when every touch, innocent or not, drives you absolutely wild?  When every look, sound and touch is so delicious?  Sorry, I digress.)

After the movie, we walked to the nearest convenience store to again buy a pack of “throat-raping” cigarettes.  (Man, when Miss-Adventures falls off the wagon, she falls with a giant thud!)  And as we walked, The One That Got Ran Away began to speak about her “rules”, what she wanted in the future and how she felt about me. 

I already knew and could feel that something special was developing between us.  We had only just met but there was a strange and unidentifiable connection that completely caught me off guard.  The One That Got Ran Away told me that she had initially set out to date casually, wanted to take her time, meet lots of people and not rush into anything with anyone (boy, can I relate!).  She told me that she wanted to take her time getting to know me before we consummated our fledgling relationship (she actually put me on a month-long probationary period!  Wait.  Seriously?).  And she told me that she was struggling with the idea of resisting a relationship with me because from the moment we met, she no longer had any interest in seeing, meeting or getting to know anyone new.  Oddly enough, it was exactly what I had been struggling with too.  It was so lovely to hear her describe the feelings she was experiencing and knowing that I was feeling exactly the same way. 

I’m going to be honest here: If the attraction is already there, I’m not a great fan of “waiting to consummate”.  (Does that make me sound trampy?  Shit, I think it does.)  What I mean to say is that, while I respect those who do like to take their time to get to know their lovers before they become lovers, when I’m attracted to someone, I don’t worry about timing or getting to know someone so intimately before sex.  (Oh god, why do I feel like I’m digging my own slutty grave here?)  What I mean to say is that we’re grown-ups.  If the chemistry is there and we’re both responsible adults, why the fuck should we wait a month before we begin to enjoy each other?  Let’s just do what feels right and sort the rest out as we go! 

(Why am I so worried now that “go-with-the-flow” sounds more like “nice to meet ya, now get yer clothes off!”?  That is NOT what I’m trying to say.  Oh god … I really need to move on.  This tombstone already has my name written on it.)

But I did agree with The One That Got Ran Away on one thing: from the day we met, I knew I no longer had any interest in seeing, meeting or getting to know anyone else.  I had found my short skirt/long jacket.  Anyone else would have paled in comparison.

The One That Got Ran Away then began to express concerns.  My ex wife and I had only been separated for 4 months up to that point.  It was “so soon”.  She was scared to invest in a relationship only to find out down the road and hopelessly heartbroken that she was “just a rebound”.  I listened.  I nodded.  And then I explained as best I could, that, “Yes, I realize it seems soon.  No, I don’t have any guarantees for you, but can you offer any guarantees to me in return?  I know what I feel right now and it feels amazing and I’d like to continue to see where this goes.

And so, having just gotten our first “relationship conversation” out of the way, the evening continued in the most lovely fashion.  We walked back from the convenience store, stood outside in the rain, smoked and shared the sexiest of cigarette kisses.

Afterward, I drove my ladyfriend home.  Neither of us wanted the evening to end and so she suggested that we pick up a bottle of wine and spend more time together.  The only hitch was that her roommate had a weird rule about letting “strangers in her home”, so we would have to sit with our bottle of wine on the community balcony of her apartment complex … under an overhang … in the rain.  Well, it’s obviously not my first choice, but drinking wine and kissing in the rain beats going home early and alone any day.

So with our bottle of wine, two glasses and a pack of cigarettes, we made ourselves as comfortable as we could under the overhang on the community balcony.  We drank, we smoked, we talked, we laughed, we kissed and we … got very, very drunk.  Or rather, I got very, very drunk.  (The phrase “lightweight” doesn’t even begin to describe Miss-Adventures.)

As my date sat high on a countertop, I stood between her legs and kissed her madly.  And just when I was starting to feel a bit more confident in my dating prowess, the balcony began to spin .... and it spun violently in the only way it can when one has had too much wine.  And at that very moment, I realized, ohmyfuckinggod, I’m about to throw up!  So I tried my best to remain calm, cool and collected; I looked straight into my date’s eyes and said, “you’re making my head spin.”  (Smooth, right?  Yeah, I thought so too.)  I took a drag from my cigarette and then it began: I could feel my stomach begin to contract.  So I took a deep, calming breath.  Out of the absolute terror that I might just upchuck all over my date and while also trying to remain cool and collected, I turned around while still standing between her legs, took her hands and wrapped them around my waist and stood in a sort of back-facing hug.  I took another deep breath and I could feel my stomach contract again.  I was fighting this down with every ounce of strength and pride I had left inside of me.  I WILL NOT BARF ON MY DATE!  I WILL NOT BARF ON MY DATE!  I WILL NOT BARF ON MY DATE!

So I decided to take my leave from the comforting arms of my ladyfriend and sit down.  I explained to her, “I’m feeling a little drunk and very light-headed.  She followed me over to my seat and gently stroked my hair as I breathed deeply.  A few minutes and several calming breaths later, and my stomach finally settled.  Whew!  Crisis averted!  Thank the sweet baby jesus!  I don’t think I could have ever gotten over the humiliation of having literally thrown up all over the girl I was beginning to fall so madly for.

Once I fully recovered, my ladyfriend and I went straight back to the kissing and heavy groping we had been so enjoying before the wine-induced nausea.  And then it occurred to me: I can see inside at least twenty neighboring apartments.  And if I can see them mulling about inside their apartments, then they can certainly see me and my hopelessly wandery hands!  (“Wandery” is my word; you keep your ‘typo’ and ‘proper grammar’ comments to yourselves.)  I’m happy to report that we were both still fully clothed (though mildly disheveled) but I can’t say that our spectacle was suitable for public viewing. 

Realizing that the scene on the balcony could have easily slipped from ‘somewhat inappropriate’ to ‘down-right obscene’, and wanting to obey my ladyfriend’s rules, I mustered all the strength and will power I had to respectfully pry myself away from her tempting body and I politely told my date that I really needed to get home.  I kissed her goodbye and made my way back to the other, more lonely, side of town.

After my long drive home, I crawled into bed at nearly three in the morning.  Three o’clock turned to four … and four turned to five … and, well, you know the story: girl crush insomnia had its very firm grip on Miss-Adventures. 

Monday, February 6, 2012

"The One That Ran Away"

Miss-Adventures: A Hapless Helpless Hopeless Dater

You never really know what you’re going to get when you meet people online.  It’s been my experience that more often than not, great on paper doesn’t often translate to great in real life.  By the same token, those least likely to grab your attention can sometimes surprise the ever-loving shit out of you.

The One That Got Ran Away was just that girl.  I thought she was somewhat interesting when I saw her profile.  She was well traveled, had lived everywhere and spoke several languages.  Her photos were seriously nerdy, but anyone who knows me knows that as far as I’m concerned: Nerdy is the new Sexy.  She didn’t fully grab my attention right away but I thought she could be interesting to talk to.  The One That Got Ran Away was ok on paper.

She must’ve noticed that I had visited her profile because not a day had passed and she sent me an e-mail.  It was rather cute; she was humble and a bit shy but obviously confident enough to say right off the bat that she didn’t know what she was doing or how to go about online dating.  And because I can relate to that so very well, I e-mailed her back right away.

So we messaged back and forth a few times and I got to see all of the great qualities that she failed to recognize in herself and flaunt on her profile for the world to see.  She was utterly brilliant, witty, sarcastic, confident and flirty.  Also, she had a thing for chicks who ride motorcycles.  (I really don’t thank my father often enough for teaching me to ride.  Those extra sexy points really DO come in handy once in a while.)

So after a few e-mails back and forth, I gave her my number and told her to text me anytime.  She was attentive and responsive; she was clever and she always brought her flirty A-Game to the party.  (I tend to crush hard on flirty girls.)  After about a week, I was really beginning to like this girl. 

The One That Got Ran Away is one of the few that asked for a “voice verification”.  She wanted to speak on the phone to make sure that I wasn’t “some dude posing as a pretty lesbian”.  Well … shucks … alright … but only because you said I was pretty.  (Shameless Cat.)  As previously mentioned in an older post, I hate talking on the phone.  HATE. IT.  I would rather text, e-mail or see you in person for good conversation but please don’t make me sit on the phone and talk to you (unless, of course, that phone call involves some heavy breathing on both of our ends … *ehem* … But I digress).  So when The One That Got Ran Away called, I was praying that five minutes of conversation would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.  Five minutes on the phone turned into two hours of really interesting conversation!  I actually didn’t want to hang up with her.  Not so much as an awkward pause or a joke that fell flat; she was a delight to speak with on the phone.  So we scheduled our first date.

Date number one was in the middle of the week straight after work.  Leading up to our date, I was a giant potato sack of jitters!  I was so terribly wracked with nerves that I spent several work hours chatting with Nugget and begging her to talk me down off the ledge.  Ordinarily, I’m a very confident girl.  Sure, I get more excited about some dates than others, but this one was starting to feel like it could be of the “oh shit, this might actually be something” variety.  Miss-Adventures was a Nervous. Fucking. Wreck.

When the work day concluded, I drove over on my bike to pick up my date.  Through the visor of my helmet, I saw her standing and waiting … and she was one-hundred times more attractive than her photos suggested.  Her profile photos were like some sort of nerdy false advertising!  My heart started to pound quicker and louder with every step she took towards me.  I hopped off my bike, took of my helmet, did my best sexy hair toss (it works! don’t judge me for using shameless tricks!) and as I approached to greet her with a friendly hug, I realized … she’s so tall ...  thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump … Ohmygod, she’s nearly as tall as me!  thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump … big blue eyes … thump-thump …long, thick sandy blonde hair … thump-thump … a seriously mischievous smile … thump-thump … and a very warm and lingering hug … beeeeeeep! 

I pulled myself together, grabbed my date’s helmet and helped her to put it on.  It’s actually one of my favorite things about riding with pretty girls – they ALWAYS need help with their helmets and it gives me the perfect excuse to get up close, personal and stare them directly in their gorgeous faces without looking like an over-zealous perverted creep.  A minor act of intimacy with major sexual subtext … Thank you, State of California for requiring motorcycle safety gear!

Every new motorcycle passenger has some trepidation about where to place their hands and how to hold onto their driver.  Where do I hold onto you?  Can I grip your shoulders?  No?  Can I lightly place my hands on your waist?  No?  I actually have to wrap my arms around you?  Yes.  Yes you do.  I don’t bite (unless requested, of course); please don’t be afraid.  And no, I won’t just naturally assume that you want to jump my bones if you bear hug me.

So my date climbed onto the back of my bike and as I started to pull away from the curb, I felt her squeeze her thighs together as tightly as she possible could.  This is how she planned to ride tonight? 

No.  Just … No. 

First, no matter how strong her thighs were (and they were strong, god bless her!), that method is NOT going to keep her safe if we found ourselves in a precarious situation.  And second, I am FAR TOO DISTRACTED with a stream of filthy and inappropriate thoughts about those thighs to continue driving safely.  So at the next stop light, I grabbed her hands, wrapped them around my waist and told her to hold on and relax.  (Driving a motorcycle totally ups my sexy game, clearly.)

Over a couple of cocktails, we talked travel, politics, film, our upbringings and family.  She flirted with and teased me mercilessly, and she quizzed me on my political knowledge in the Middle East (luckily, I knew just barely enough to get by and pass her test!).  As we talked, and flirted, and laughed, it suddenly occurred to me: SHIT! She’s a short skirt/long jacket.  Oh. My. God.

After our drinks, we walked through the neighborhood looking for a great spot for dinner and as we walked and talked, I slipped my arm in hers and she squeezed her arm in close which let me know that my arm was welcome where it was.  So sweet.  So simple.  So romantic.

We had dinner at a lovely restaurant nearby and we talked and laughed and flirted some more.  We were having dinner when my date and I realized that we had both been staring longingly at the cigarette ads in the convenience store window across the street.  We had both very recently quit smoking and we talked about what a tough time we had been having with our cigarette addiction.  So what did we do as soon as we finished dinner?  Yep, we walked across the street and bought a pack of my favorite cigarettes.  Despite her distaste for my favorites (“like having your throat raped”, as she described them), we sat and smoked my American Spirit Blues together, inhaling not just the smoke but the deeply satisfying moment we were sharing.

Afterward, we rode our way up to one of the finest views our city has to offer.  On a clear night, on top of a hill, you can look down on the lights, water, bridges, buildings and over-all romance of this spectacular city.  We walked, we stood appreciating the beauty, shared a few more cigarettes and talked some more.  As the wind kicked up furiously, we started to freeze.  So we discussed where to take the evening next and then I realized at that moment, we were standing AWFULLY close.  And as she focused her intense gaze into my eyes, my mind totally blanked.  So I told her that I couldn’t possibly think of any place to go because I was so distracted by her stare.  And as she began to turn her face away from mine to let me concentrate, I lightly touched her cheek, turned her face back towards mine and went in all the way for a very sexy kiss.  No lean this time.  No room for refusal or rejection.  She was getting kissed come hell or high water!  Fortunately for me, this kiss was one-hundred percent reciprocated and in the freezing wind, on top of a hill and in front of at least a dozen tourists, we made out for over an hour.  So. Fucking. Sexy.

When the wind and cold became unbearable, I drove my date home.  She lived on the far side of town and I savored every minute of our drive with her arms wrapped around me and her thighs pressed tightly into my hips (thankyougod!).  When we arrived at her place, she invited me into the community game room of her apartment complex for a friendly game of foosball.  And she slaughtered me!  It was a crushing and humiliating defeat for someone as competitive as Miss-Adventures.  But, being the graceful sportswoman that I am, I rewarded her victory with another half hour of steamy kisses right there in the game room.

I drove myself home that night in a state of delirious eroticism.  And as I crawled into bed after one o’clock in the morning, I began to replay every minute of our night over and over again on a continuous loop.  One o’clock turned to two o’clock.  Two o’clock turned to three o’clock and there it was again: my old friend, “Girl Crush Insomnia”.  I didn’t get a single wink of sleep that night.