Well, I’ve been dumped. In truly record time. Again. Karma, though: I totally deserve it considering how often I do the same thing. I feel that if there’s anything the internet-facilitated hyper speed of our communications these days is good for, it’s dumping someone super quick. And deciding they needed to be dumped in the first place. I’ve gone on record recently stating my preference for the time-honored fade-away (I think there are 2 or three girls using this method on me RIGHT NOW, and God love ’em), and this recent experience affirms it. For oh so many reasons. Continue reading In Which the Cad Gets a Taste
Today is the day I realized something is WRONG. I’m such a sensitive ball of indecision and self-questioning these days I can’t move forward on anything. I got a “I’m erasing your contact info” email from this girl I hooked up with recently. Because I’m “not into communicating.” Nicely done, psycho.
What happened there? Well it’s actually a pretty funny story if you’re on the outside of it. Here we go:
So I have a friendquaintance™ who works in my industry. Did I tell this story already? Who cares, you’re gonna read it again. My part of the business usually pays for his part, so he got his bosses to let him take me to lunch. After a couple of weeks of rescheduling and dancing around actually doing it, we met up one Friday afternoon at a really interesting old “nice” restaurant near Union Square. It’s apparently famous for being the “first” “fine dining” “restaurant” to “allow” it’s customers to dress casually. Note the quotes? I love sarcasm. I love irony. Do whatever you want with the implications of those quotes.
So during lunch he asks me if I’m going to this party he’d heard one of our mutual friendquaintances was throwing at her apartment. I responded, “Why of course not, I only ever hear about those parties AFTER they happen. And by ‘hear about’ I mean ‘see the amazing fun in picture form on facebook’.” He apologized sheepishly and confessed to also not really being invited. Seems he had run into this girl randomly a few days before and she had mentioned a party, with few details.
So I returned to work, determined to find out about and actually attend this party. Because I’m a newly super social amazingly positive guy now. I really amn’t. How did I accomplish my mission? Well through a combination of subterfuge and direct confrontation, of course. I gchatted a friend I knew would most certainly have been invited to this shindig, if it existed, and asked him if he was “going to the party.” He was like, “yes, of course, are you?” To which I appropriately replied, “HAHAHA I fooled you! I didn’t even know for sure there WAS a party!!!”
Wow my stories are long. We haven’t even gotten to the girl yet, have we? Ok, I met her at this party. A few weeks later we met up for drinks, and it was great but also weird. She kept freaking out at random moments. I noticed that the freak-out was generally at the same time as I was making gestures of affection. Like with my hands. You know. Gestures. Anyway she would tense up, back away and actually express that she was suddenly freaked out. She would go on to say that she knew it was weird to freak out and that she apologized and it would pass. I would later find out that at those moments I had done something to make her think that I was gay. As in homosexual. Never mind that she took me home that night (no sex).
All this she confessed the next time we met. We had drinks, she told me she wasn’t sure I was straight, and that night i went home alone because come on. A guy can only take it up the ass so often, right? Anyway, we still made out a little, but the cracks were there in the newly molded relationship. Big cracks with red flags peeping out. I don’t think I’m cut out to be with the type of girl who interprets a guy brushing hair out of her face as a declaration of gayness. It’s affection, for fuck’s sake.
Fast forward to having sex at my place. That night we had gotten drinks, and then food, and then despite my protests of a super seriously tense workday and my insisting that I would be really stressed out all night, she guilted me into going to her place. And then when I just couldn’t relax, we went to my place. We got there super late, and I was super nervous about not getting enough sleep. But of course at that stage of a relationship, a guy is expected to only think and feel with his dick. We all know this. We all know that sometimes it’s just not going to happen, though. Am I strange? I’m an adult with a heavy dose of being rational, I was crazy tired, feeling a little pressured to perform, and all I could think about was how unprepared I was for the deadline looming the next day. So. We made out, we went to bed, we had sex, it was bland and I was not super into it. I stopped. We made out a little and then she was like “I want to do it again.” I took a deep look inside me and decided I didn’t have it in me to get it up again with the current level of weirdness between us, her lack of wiggliness and aversion to the expression of passion (at one point she told me I was making too much noise… real turn-on), and my intensely tired state (it was now 2:30). I said, sorry, I can’t. She said, “Oh my god you really ARE gay!” To the naked man with his arms around her in bed, post sex. Really good move.
And now I’m the asshole. She just emailed me to tell me she’s deleting my contact info and she has unfriended me on facebook. There was more weirdness that sort of pushed me away in the days following the sex debacle, but the point is I’ve been ignoring her.
The point is today sucks. Saturday. My day to unwind. Instead I’m getting dumped AGAIN and staring at the computer. Not eating. Not cleaning. Not writing (this doesn’t count). Not calling this freelance gig back. GUH. Something’s wrong!