… escape a bad date:
Stop the guy as you’re walking to a concert together and tell him the following: ‘it’s too hot to continue this date. SO….. I think I’m just going to Uber home.’
Stand and watch him walk away from you until you’re sure he’s not going to look back, and run in the opposite direction (I’m too cheap to actually take that Uber).
Yes, I have my life together!
So I tried to sign up for a ‘new’ dating website (new as in, I haven’t used it in a few years) over the weekend just to mix things up a bit. Almost immediately I was reminded why I hate dating and online dating in particular, when I got a message from naked poetry pie guy. Yup, three years later and he’s still trolling. I just can’t.
That awkward moment when you bump into that guy at the gym who you went on a date with ages ago and who never texted back. Also you see him on the regular at the coffee shop he works at. No eye contact!
That convoluted moment when you realize that one of the latest followers on your semi-secret OTHER Instagram account is the ex-wife of that dude you were texting with last year who asked you on a date and then flaked on you. Hmm.
Thursday nights are for watching guerrilla activist street bands play in the middle of your neighborhood square. Oh and for dates. That too. But mainly, the street bands.
Two plus years ago I fell for a boy, and I fell fast and hard. Then he ghosted me. I had no idea what had happened to him– did he die, did he meet someone else, did he fall out of like (or lust) with me, was he abducted by aliens…? The answer was inconclusive.
A few months after this fellow neatly removed himself from my life, I ended up moving to an apartment a few blocks away from where he lived. I was sure– absolutely, without a doubt SURE– that I would bump into him on the street one day (this actually happens to me quite regularly, so it was not out of the realm of possibility).
I used to think about his look of shock at seeing me, and how he would feel so guilty and bad about himself. I’d map out my declaration of disgust and how I would throw his rude behavior in his face. My speech was full of ‘how DARE you’s’ and lots of devastating digs. There may have even been a scene that involved a face slap. It was a whole routine that I created in my mind, and it was very comforting to me. Don’t we all wish for a second chance to take an old enemy down a few rungs?
In any case, I never ran into him and my little fantasy faded away, as time and other boys and other instances of ghosting replaced it. I figured that this particular guy might have moved, or expired. He was gone.
Last weekend I ran into him.
At first I didn’t even recognize him– two years later version of him was puffy, pale, and quite lacking that magnetism that had drawn me to him in the first place. I passed him by without a flash of recognition on either of our parts. But all of a sudden I realized who that puffball sucking on a sweating glass of iced coffee was– my fantasy was about to become reality– I turned, I confirmed it was him, I took in his entire person in a glance, and
and I let him go. I watched him walk away from me. Although I’m sure I must have looked a little strange to anyone watching this scene play out on the street, it (oddly) made me smile. Surprisingly, I was glad I ran into him and even though the drama of my fantasy would have been really fun to enact at long last, I realized that I didn’t need that drama. This ghost was not worth the effort. I was better than all that. And to top it off, even though I was wearing a maxi dress from Target with the hem taped up, flip flops, sunglasses from CVS and last night’s drunken-night-out frizzy hair, I STILL looked amazing. And I felt good and at peace with who I was.
So I smiled, and went about my Saturday. Sometimes fantasies don’t quite match up with realities, and that is not always a bad thing.
As we enter into the long dark days of winter 2015, the dating scene is not looking any better. Here’s a note I recently received. Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to meet this guy on any bridges… (I can swim I swear, but that shouldn’t be a first date condition).
“Benjamin from the Internet” (his words, not mine) sent me this enticing note. Good bye, singlehood!