Tag: bumble date

The Spaniard

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It started off much like every other Tinder/Bumble/Hinge/CoffeeMeetsBagel/OKCupid/Match/EHarmony/TheLeague romance story… We matched, we chatted for a day and we met in person. AAAAAHHH, modern romance!!! Again, I was less than hopeful and also, no longer excited to meet men from any dating apps or sites. I meet enough dicks day to day who think they’re hot shit. Why do I willingly enter into these “dating” situations anymore? For the love of dogs, someone help me.

His dating app name was Matt. I only learned later that he calls himself that on these apps instead of using his actual name, Marco, because American women are racist and think that people from foreign countries are “stupid” because they have accents since English is their second language. This was interesting to me since I find people who learn English, but are fluent in other languages, are more intelligent and educated than the vast majority of people born and raised in the United States who can barely properly formulate a sentence in their native tongue. If I see one more Trump-loving, trout-catching, Budweiser-loving, Nascar-watching, American flag-humping white dude on Tinder, I’m going to scream. They’re nearly as bad as the trust fund-having, pastel-wearing, finance major, frat boys who live in River North and hang out in the West Loop and have only traveled to Cancun or back to the burbs/Wisconsin/Nebraska/Iowa/Indiana to visit mom and dad. Basically, if you learned this crock of shit English language and have immersed yourself in a different country/culture, I find you more interesting than the American guys I usually meet when I go out.

Marco had only lived in Chicago a few months so our deal was, I pick the place and he pays since he doesn’t know a lot of places in the city. Many girls might be total assholes in this situation and pick Alinea for dinner and then The Aviary for a couple cocktails. I’m not that asshole. We just met at Aire for some drinks. It was the end of summer and still gorgeous, so we might as well take advantage of the weather and spend some time outside. I actually went home, showered and changed my clothes before this meeting, rather than coming straight from work, covered in hair, with smeared makeup. I slammed a glass of wine and took a Lyft down to meet him after I got ready. He was there before I arrived and he also made an attempt to look like a decent human being. He was tall and tan with a shaved head, wearing a blazer and a button-down with the top two buttons undone.

I broke my rule again and had three drinks with him instead of my “two drinks and bail” routine. He was fun. He was nice. He was a gentleman. He was smart. He was attractive. He also told me he’s only interested in meeting friends and is not wanting a relationship. I didn’t think I was wanting to meet anyone for anything serious either because what would happen to my blog if I met a boyfriend anyway!? Still, after hearing this, I felt less attracted to him. There wasn’t necessarily a wall between us after this; it was more like a screen. I put my guard up and definitely was not going to let this go further than a friendship but I was interested in hanging out with him again.

It was early and we wore out every view of Aire so we moved on to meet his friend at Untitled. His friend was from Minnesota but he was fluent in Spanish and had an accent like a native Argentinian apparently. My Spaniard paid at Aire so I bought a round for him, his friend and myself at Untitled. There was a blues band this night and they were killing it. We would have stayed longer than for one drink but this Minnesota youngster friend of his was poor and insisted we go somewhere closer to where he lived that was cheaper. Where, might you ask?? None other than Nisei Lounge. This was NOT my idea (I fucking swear!!) but he lived across the street and who am I to argue with going to the finest establishment in all of Wrigley?? Also, I want to know when I’m going to start getting paid by Nisei and Malort for all the promoting I do for them.

The three of us on a “date” now, took a car to the bar and decided playing a game of pool was in the cards for the night. My regular billiards pal happened to be there, highly intoxicated, as usual. He and I may or may not have drunkenly flirted and made out once or twice this summer so he felt especially inclined to cock block me from the Spaniard all night. He insisted that we be partners while playing, as we always were. This time I denied him and opted to pair up with Marco instead.

I couldn’t tell you which team won the game that night but it was entertaining to see two men fighting for my affection in a game of pool. Guys, if you think that’s the way to my heart or vagina, you’re sadly mistaken… I might be cheap and easy like McDonald’s but not THAT cheap and easy. Impress me with more than your pool stick, k?

I’m not sure if that’s what they were after or if it was just a battle of egos really. Sadly, I think they both lost in the end because I forced all three of the guys to do shots of Malort and none of them got laid. Lose, lose situation there unless you’re a Malort fan! Based on their Malort faces after the shots, I’d say I was the only one who won that night.

As the night was coming to an end, my regular make-out buddy and pool partner blacked out and disappeared and the young, poor, Minnesota boy peaced out too. It was just me and my Spaniard, who I would totally make out with but could never seriously date. He’s a gentleman so he walked me home and by “home” I mean the corner between my place and the bar, where we made out for an uncomfortably long time and he slipped his finger in my underwear. Drunk people were puking, pointing and yelling as they passed us and a police officer rolled up to shine his lights on us at one point, so I removed his finger and tongue from my body and said goodnight.

He left for Spain and Morocco for three weeks shortly after we met. We tried to hang out one more time before then but were unsuccessful. He sent me a text saying:

marco

(Recovering my throat was not in reference to what he did to it with his tongue. I lose my voice a lot by being loud and obnoxious and screaming a lot when I go out…Promise!)

Buena suerte y feliz viaje, amigo.

 

Know when to fold ’em

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I keep reading about “breadcrumbing”, which is apparently the latest “trend” in dating. Actually, I’m not seeking out information about breadcrumbing, people just won’t stop sending me links about it. It’s like they’re all trying to tell me something I don’t already know. Breadcrumbing is basically just a dick move of leading someone on for a period of time until they finally realize it and promptly fuck off like they should have a long time before. The breadcrumber might seem super into you for a bit and you feel a connection but then they disappear or seem uninterested. As soon as you are done and are ready to let them go, they do something to reel you back in.

My breadcrumber and I met after I left work and he and his friends left a Cub’s game early in the season. I walked in to a crowded Wrigley bar looking for a guy in a green shirt. That should be easy in a sea of red and Cubby blue. I spotted one heavier, older, aesthetically unpleasing gentleman in green on one side of the bar and a hottie in green at the other side. I quietly prayed to the dating gods (if they really are out there somewhere, looking down and punishing me) that the fat, old dude was not the guy I had planned to meet. The hottie shouted my name and waved me over. (Thank you this time, dating gods!) As I walked closer to him, his taller, very drunk friend grabbed my right buttcheek as I leaned in toward my green shirt-clad Tinder match for a hug. We hit it off and I got along well with all of his friends, including the buttcheek grabber. We ended up seeing each other 4 times out of 5 nights that week. It seemed like a lot to me but fuck it, we were having fun.

We both were divorced and from Detroit. He liked dive bars, cheap beer and Malort too. He was good looking with muscles and money and he liked to drink a lot. Clearly, he was just my type. He told me about his two little girls who were 4 and 6, selling his first company for 80 bajillion dollars when he was 34, and taking all of his friends out on his boat every weekend. He wanted me to immediately change my work schedule so it didn’t interfere with the boating routine, as he wanted me to accompany him every Wednesday and Saturday. He was the kind of guy who would bring his own liquor into a bar and leave his credit cards places for days at a time or lose his shoes after a night of partying. He would go out and binge drink 7 nights in a row but then was all business and sober Sally the next week for work and his daughters.

Bringing your own booze to dive bars and music venues is definitely frowned upon.

When a fuckboi is in his natural habitat, he may opt to remove his boat shoes and pastel, plaid ensemble for more comfortable attire.
 

 

Throughout the next month or so, we texted daily and updated each other on what we had going on. We didn’t see one another as often as that first week but we both had a lot going on. He had his daughters and some custody issues going on and I had work, a busy social life and the pending divorce and charges against my husband. Seeing him regularly was not vital to me so I didn’t see this as him being distant.

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The times we did see each other, our friends were usually around too. I liked this, as I rely heavily on my friends’ opinions of the men I date now. This is because after over 15 years of dating, I finally realize I’m pure shit at picking guys. I need someone to tell me, “Good, girl!” or “NO! Bad, Erin!” Train me in dating the way you train a two month old puppy. I received both words of praise and encouragement with this guy, along with some warning and reprimanding. It seems my friends were about 50/50 on my selection this time which confused the shit out of me. If I was actually a puppy I think I’d be pissing in my food bowl and eating the furniture. So confused.

I decided to just ride this out and see what was going to happen. Over the next 4 months we saw each other less and less. When we did see each other I didn’t even have fun and there was little affection. We talked about the most mundane, boring things. If there was any spark before, I was slowly realizing it was gone now. I still don’t know if that’s naturally what just happens in every relationship after a while or if that spark stays forever with certain people. Maybe there’s a spark that keeps coming and going. It fades slowly and then reignites after some time. Who fucking knows. I still continued talking to him, despite realizing we would never have the relationship I thought we might when I first met him.

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I think after about the fifth time you hang out with someone is when their true personality comes out. They get comfortable and forget to pretend to be someone they’re not. I started to realize he was, as one of my closest friends told me, “emotionally unavailable” and, as another friend eloquently stated, “he’s a selfish, narcissistic asshole.” Despite seeing this now, he kept reeling me back in by telling me, “I care about you so much. I hope you know that.” and “I always got your back, ya know?” I wondered why he’d bother talking to me still and saying things like that when we hadn’t seen each other in a month and hadn’t made any plans to change that any time soon. Still though, my dumb ass was willing to give it one last shot because I. Am. Not. A. Quitter.

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My birthday was coming up and he asked what I had planned. I told him that the weekend after my birthday I was inviting about 6,000 of my closest friends to a bar to celebrate my birthday, my divorce and the expensive new lumps I added to my chest. When he heard the party was the weekend after my birthday, he told me he had plans to be visiting his daughters in Hawaii that weekend and requested that I consider changing the date to the weekend before my birthday. It didn’t matter to me when it was and I hadn’t invited anyone yet so I switched the date.

The night before, I went to a wedding. If you know me at all, that means I showed up lookin’ like my best version of sexpot, queen of the universe, Sophia Loren, when she was in her prime. After the amount of wine and vodka I consumed at the wedding, I know I left feeling like a million bucks but I’m assuming I more closely resembled Gollum from Harry Potter if you were to put him in a wig and a dress, than Sophia on the red carpet. That didn’t stop me from inviting myself over to my breadcrumber’s house. Not shockingly, he let a drunk girl come over to his place at 1am after attending a wedding.

The next morning I tried to leave to get myself ready for my party but he kept asking me to stay while pulling me in toward him for hugs and forehead kisses. Before I left he ran down the back stairs to remind me to text him when I was getting a Lyft or Uber downtown so he could leave at the same time and get to the party when I did. In my head I just thought, “HA! He’s proving you wrong, 50% of my friends who think he sucks! HA!” I cleaned up and tried not to look like a hideous, dress and wig-clad Gollum, texted him, “heading to Hubbard Inn now” and headed to my party with my friend.

Three hours. We spent three hours there and he never showed up. He never texted. He didn’t call. He didn’t do a thing. Before we left I texted, “I take it you’re not coming?” No response. I had the best time with my friends and went to two more places after leaving that venue. I couldn’t be more thankful that I had so many people around me that night that I love so much but I couldn’t get him out of my head. After the Malort shots kicked in and kicked my ass, my friends walked me home and I passed out gracefully and beautifully like the sweet princess I am. When I woke up in the morning, still moderately intoxicated, I sent him, what he likes to call a “nastygram”. Any time I called him out on his bullshit he claimed I “nastygrammed” him. “You really just enjoy fucking with me, don’t you,” was my nastygram to him this time. Within a minute he responded and explained that he got “a little drunk” that afternoon because the Lions won. He also said that he decided he didn’t really want to show up anyway because I mentioned that some of my friends were not fans of the way he treated me all summer. He “didn’t want to be in a room with a bunch of haters.”

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That was it. He proved the other 50% right. They could smell the bullshittery on him from the second they met him in his pink, plaid shorts and Sperrys. He was an overgrown, 39 year old, frat boy and they called it immediately. I got played for months by a guy who wears. Pink. Fucking. Plaid. I couldn’t roll my eyes hard enough after reading his last message. I was done. I knew I didn’t even like him that much. It was all about the cat and mouse game and I just don’t like losing. I also don’t like being wrong and I wanted those “haters” of his to have read him wrong; not me. I lost though. I should have folded after the first time he did something that disappointed me but I kept betting with a losing hand. This time, I promptly fucked off like I should have done months ago. 

 

Fuckboi, bye!
“Delete contact”

 

Introduction to “breadcrumbing”

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How do you know when you’re in an exclusive relationship and should stop going on shit dates with other guys? Do you really have to have the conversation or pass the note like in 8th grade? ” Do you like me? Circle one: Yes or No.” Or, do you just know? What if you’ve been seeing someone for over four months and are still clueless about what’s going on? One week you talk daily and see each other once or twice. The next week you barely hear from the guy and all of a sudden you haven’t seen each other in weeks. At what point do you just say, “Fuck it,” and forget about him? It’s hard when the times you’re actually together are so awesome. Not a wild, intense, passionate time, but fun and comfortable and exciting. If you have to ask, “what are we” or “where is this going”, the answers are, “nothing” and “nowhere.”

It took me almost five months to realize things were going nowhere with the guy I was “dating”. If you’re that into him or he’s that into you, there should be no question. You shouldn’t have to practically beg for this person to come see you on a Saturday night. If it is a good thing, you’d have plans already and it would not be an impromptu meeting with his friends and yours. If you have to contact him first or invite him anywhere, he’s not feeling it. He’s more into himself and his friends than he is to you. Sorry to say it. Sorry you have to read it here first. Sorry I experienced it and let it go on so long when I knew all along that all my friends were right and I was holding on to an illusion. It’s awkward and embarrassing when you realize it. It fucking sucks actually.

Sometimes though, you just create a scenario in your own head. You think things are going well.  You think you might be great partners. You talk yourself into liking him because of a lot of factors but you don’t stop and think about all the things wrong with the “relationship”. You ignore your friends who don’t like him because “they don’t understand your relationship” with him. You found something fun and good at first but over the next few months they deteriorate because he got what he wanted and he’s over it. He temporarily put on a front to get you and then he got bored. You sit and dwell on the beginning and make excuses for what’s happening now. You don’t want to see it because you’ve painted a masterpiece in your head and it won’t change. I can’t even be mad. I’ve done it a ton of times to people. You try them on and realize they don’t fit and rather than admit that to them, you let it drag on and grow distant. That’s what he did to me.

Unfortunately, no one else saw this masterpiece you painted. Not even the person you created it for. It was never real. You never put the paint to the canvas. It was all just an idea. No truth. Never actually happened and it never actually will. You got fucking breadcrumbed for months. Don’t know what that is? Google that shit. We’ll talk about it later in further detail another time.

Is it necessarily your fault for falling into this head first? I don’t think so. People, as grown adults at this point, should have no problem talking one on one to say how they feel, I think. Unfortunately, That’s not how it is. It’s rare to find someone open and honest and upfront. You have to play games and beg and pry for information on their thoughts and feelings oftentimes. Even then, you don’t always get answers. Grown ups are like little clams or turtles who close up when you try and get them to open up. Children behave more the way you’d expect adults to be with their feelings. They hide nothing. They hold nothing back. I’m no longer looking for guys in their late 30’s or early 40’s. My next boyfriend will be an 8 year old.*

*Disclaimer: I’m kidding. That’s disgusting but, fucking damn it, if it’s not refreshing to talk to someone brutally honest.

You can make a living in midget wrestling

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I started talking with a guy who seemed ambitious and fun. His job description on his profile said “entrepreneur” which could mean he’s successful in his business endeavors, he’s a jobless loser, or he’s just a drug dealer. This guy, among having other sources of income, runs a midget wrestling company. I’m not lying. I don’t know why my curiosity and love for the strange possess me to meet people like this. I can’t explain the attraction. I wanted to meet this freak show of a guy.

We met on a Sunday afternoon at George Street Pub. He had been to brunch with friends hours before and got a little buzzed from drinking morning beers. I figured the buzz would have worn off by the time we met up. I was wrong. He was wasted. I didn’t realize this right away though. I’m not the quickest or best judge of people and their behaviors. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt, unfortunately. He bragged nonstop about how successful he was. He bragged about people thinking he’s from Europe because he dresses so well. He did not dress so well and his half British accent was so forced and fake, I was distracted by that and barely heard him bragging about his awesomeness and all the people he knows who are “REAL big deals”. I was also distracted by his big, brown, dead tooth.

Throughout our encounter he was getting more and more uncomfortable and drunk and angry. Apparently I have a “don’t give a fuck” attitude and my casual confidence was mistaken as aggressive cockiness. I’ve found, yet another, insecure little man who is intimidated by an independent and assertive woman. At one point he became so upset with something I said that he put his hands inches from my face and said, “Shut the fuck up when I’m talking to you.” Since he joked so much when we chatted on the phone and online, I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or being serious. I sat there shocked and confused when a man sitting next to us stepped in and told him, “If you talk like that to her one more time, I’m going to have some things to say to you that you really won’t like.” My date had a look of shock and disgust on his face over this comment. “Was that weird, or what,” he asked me. At this point I think everything is “weird, or what” so I just nod and sip my beer.

The man next to us left and the entrepreneur’s alcohol was really kicking in. He decided now was a good time to make a crude joke and aggressively grab me and squeeze me until he left bruises on my arms when I didn’t laugh. It hurt and I yelled at him to chill out which made him laugh and say, “Cunt bitches like you need to be taught lessons. I want to bend you over my knee to teach you.” At this point I’m planning my escape. Many of my friends have asked why I didn’t get up and storm out immediately. I’ve had far too many experiences with aggressive and violent men. I’ve gotten to the point, sadly, where I know how to play the game so I can safely get away instead of letting an already heated situation get worse.

I let him ramble on and on about how great he is for a bit longer. I asked questions about his dating past and he went on to tell me about two past restraining orders he had against him from “dumb whores.” I tell him I had to go take my dogs for a walk before it got dark so he went to pay our tab while I went to the restroom. When I came back he was signing the check. He told me more about how I should worship him and I said it was time for me to leave. He leaned over the bar and screamed at the bartender that he wanted to pay the tab. I tried to interject and let him know he had already done that when he shoved me away and informed me that HE was the man and was going to pay for us. The bartender then reminded him that we were all paid up. I said goodbye and walked out.

When I was about 15 feet from the door I noticed he was right behind me, insisting that he was going to get me a car and pay for me to go home. I saw a cab turn the corner near us and insisted it was for me and I was going to just take that home. The last thing I wanted was for this guy to know where I lived. I already have one restraining order on someone and didn’t want the hassle of going to get another one. The domestic violence courthouse is not a fun place and lately it’s begun to feel like it’s my second home. He leaned in to drunkenly suck my face off I’m assuming and I firmly pushed him away. It was then that I learned that “it’s unattractive when a little bitch doesn’t want to kiss back.” He also let me know that he wasn’t “feeling this” all night and we would likely never meet again. Through my obvious sadness, I said goodbye and went home. I saw him duck back into the bar, presumably to pay our tab again.

Within two minutes he started texting me and calling me. I ignored the calls and most of the texts but this went on for hours. The first message said, “You left??” He followed up with, “Where are you?? I’ll meet you.” After that I got, “Fuck thanks. We need to jhang our. lol, I can’t your. Those. Type. Hahaha. Yes or no?” These messages were all after repeated phone calls that I ignored. I finally replied and said that I was home and not leaving again. Rather than give up, he said, “Come over. To my house. I’m going there now. No worries. You should come over. Lol Call me. Call me. It’s only 8. You’re a fucking dick. What the fuck. So lame. Good hanging out.” The next string of texts and phone calls came later when he said, “It’s only 9. Legs go out. Let’s. Lol. Ugh you’re such a dick. I won’t call you again.” I responded this time with, “Good!”

He lied though. He called several more times and sent texts until 11pm. Finally I thought he was done for good. Twelve hours later I got a message from him saying that he was having a rough day and not getting much work done but thankfully he could force his peasants (employees) to do the work for him. I can’t say I was at all surprised by any of that. I know you’re all shocked, but I did not respond to that last text either. Finally the entrepreneur got the subtle hints I dropped and the messages and calls stopped.

Why do some guys get so angry and intimidated by girls? Why can’t they handle rejection? Why do they lash out if you don’t act the way they want you to or you voice your opinion? Why is there a need to control a girl or try to be dominant? Where does this anger or violence or possessiveness come from? Why are we “bitches” or “cunts” for not falling in line with what men want us to do?

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month and since so many “men” have abused me personally one way or another, whether it was sexually, physically, or verbally, I think this is a good time to share some places to get help if you’re ever put in abusive situations. With the “me too” hashtag popping up all over social media lately, I know I’m not the only one who has experienced abuse in dating and relationships. It seems it’s more likely that women have dealt with abuse than not.

After my soon-to-be ex-husband beat me and tried to kill me, I speak up more now and have never felt such a strong need to be transparent and open about everything from my experiences to my feelings on any topic. Call it a “don’t give a fuck attitude” if you want but we’re not here for long and you never know how quickly situations could escalate or who could hear your messages and stories and make changes to remove themselves from violence.

If you need help in Illinois:

Information, Options, Counseling, Legal and Shelter Services

Toll-Free. 24-hour. Confidential. Multilingual.

Phone: 1.877.863.6338

National Domestic Violence Hotline:

1(800) 779-7233

The Meatball

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Now most people ask if I have “must own a boat and invest in cryptocurrencies” as requirements on my Bumble and Tinder profiles. Not the case. I’ve just accidentally met a lot of guys who do one or both of those things. This time though, I swiped right because of the boat pictures. This guy was cute but not my normal style. My normal kind of guy is ridiculously gorgeous with a super hot bod. I could go for cute-ish and chubby though if he has a boat. We agreed to meet at RPM Italian for dinner and drinks, despite the fact that I told him I’d skip the carbs from pasta and just drink a couple Manhattans or tequila cocktails with him.

I was running early and he was running late. I popped into Ema to have a drink before he arrived. Two cocktails later, he still wasn’t there but said he was a few minutes away. I decided to walk over and grab our table at the restaurant so I asked what name the reservation was under. He didn’t make one. How the hell did he think we could casually walk into RPM Italian and get a table like it’s a fucking Applebee’s?! I did a walk-through of the bar area to see if any seats were available. Booked as hell. I told him I’d be standing outside on the corner like a prostitute waiting for him since we would have to go somewhere else. Moments later I heard some man screaming my name. I spotted him in his brand new Mercedes waving at me to come over. I hopped in the car and my nostrils were assaulted by an overwhelming dose of cologne. My date was about 30-40 pounds heavier than in his pictures and missed the top three buttons on his shirt, exposing his bushy chest hair and gold chain and giant cross. His hair was shaved on the sides and the top was long but cemented down with heavy duty, super strong hold hair gel. On his profile he said he was 31 but in person he looked like he was closer to 50. He started driving, never apologized for being almost an hour late and just repeatedly asked me where I wanted to go. Everything he said, he repeated 3 times in the strongest Jersey Shore accent I’ve ever heard. It was good that he did repeat everything multiple times because his accent was so strong I definitely couldn’t understand him the first time so it saved me the trouble of asking him “what” over and over.

We ended up heading to the rooftop at the Godfrey. He rudely chucked his keys at the valet guy’s chest and we continued to the elevator to the rooftop bar. While I was looking at the cocktail list, I heard him order a pitcher of strawberry mojitos from the bartender, despite telling me earlier he was avoiding sugary drinks so he could drop 10 pounds (or 30). I couldn’t believe he ordered for us without consulting me first. The bartender started to walk away and I put my menu down and this guy called the bartender back over saying, “Get mah lady’s ordah!” I asked for a Maker’s Manhattan up and was thoroughly confused as to why this guy needed 5 full strawberry mojitos to himself on a Tuesday night but I am not one to judge, especially on alcohol consumption.

He explains to me that he’s an only child, a momma’s boy and VERY Italian. I didn’t know you could be more than just plain old Italian so I was obviously intrigued. The reason he was late to our date (and not sorry about it in the least) was because his momma made him some meatballs and spaghetti. He tried to leave after one plate but she made him have another. His mother, the love of his VERY Italian life, is controlling everything in his life, but mostly his waistline it seems. Within about 20 minutes of this date, he tells me he wants me to meet his mother and she would love me. She loves a good, pretty Italian girl. I’m 6% Italian according Ancestry DNA but I didn’t tell him that. Let him create his own weird fantasies. Who am I to tell the truth? A bad move on a first date is to talk about the girl you just met meeting your mother. My boner was gone in a heartbeat.

Besides talking about being VERY Italian and a momma’s boy, he had a ton of other interesting topics of conversation. He loved talking about his money and his family’s money. Also fun, was talking about his friends’ money. We talked about his boat and expensive, fast cars. We talked about clubs and bottle service. My mind was so stimulated I could have exploded. This guy was dreamy. Listening to all of this coming from a guy with the accent of Pauly D or The Situation and the body of a slightly elongated Danny DeVito, was beyond my wildest fantasies. This was my guy. This was my next future ex husband.

I finished my second Manhattan and was pretty buzzed after the two drinks I had at Ema and because we never actually ate dinner. He offered to drive me home and I accepted because I’ve become stuck up as hell and would rather choke on my own vomit than take public transportation when I’ve been drinking. It wasn’t until the check came that I noticed he consumed two pitchers of strawberry mojitos. It wasn’t until I thought about the date the next day that I realized he drove me home after 10 cocktails and that was probably bad.

He insisted on walking me to my door, which was nice but, of course, after 10 cocktails, he had the balls to try and stick his tongue down my throat. That was gross. Momma’s spaghetti and meatballs were probably still in his teeth. We said goodnight and I went inside to my couch and my dogs. He sent me a few texts when he got home saying that he wished I was with him in his bed. I responded as I think most nice Italian girls would, by saying, “ha, thanks. nite.”

I’ll never understand how people can’t read body language, facial expressions or tone of voice. I don’t get how you can’t tell when you’re not connecting with someone. Maybe 10 mojitos had something to do with it. I don’t know. The Meatball and I will likely never see one another again. That’s what I get for swiping right for boats. No good can ever come of it.

 

 

Flushing the goldfish

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Of course it wasn’t going to last!! No one is surprised here. Once an asshole, always an asshole! Come on! After the goldfish made his return, we hung out three more times that same week. That Sunday we woke up at my place and popped open my last bottle of champagne from my wedding. We walked my dogs and then got brunch on a patio. I apologized to the woman and her daughter next to us because my dogs were begging for their food. Luckily, they were dog lovers and didn’t mind at all. He and I playfully argued and teased each other and finally the woman next to us said, “You two are just the cutest couple.” Right away I informed her that we were absolutely not a couple because he dumped me months ago so this was his probationary period. Definitely NOT a couple. He’s an asshole. She and her daughter thought this was hilarious and all through brunch they were eavesdropping on our conversations and laughing when we roasted each other. I let him pay and reminded him that he needs to redeem himself for his behavior earlier this year. The woman patted my hand and told us that she sees us living a long and happy life together. GROSS! Ick! Yuck! No! Again they laughed at my reaction and wished us good luck after petting and saying goodbye to the dogs.

The rest of the week went well. I didn’t see him but we talked everyday. Thursday came around and we were talking about You’re the Worst again because I was finishing up the last few episodes of the latest season. I mentioned that my friend Zack was also a fan of the show. This is when all fucking hell broke loose. He already seemed to be in sort of a bad mood that night but when I mentioned another guy’s name he flipped completely. I asked what his problem was and he said he can’t keep track of all of the guys I’ve introduced him to and he doesn’t care about the opinions of any of them anyway. “Why the FUCK would you text me what you’re talking about with other guys in the first place,” was actually what he said. He also told me it’s extremely rude to mention another man’s name to him.

He said, “I don’t care about your other dates and the guys you hang out with. It came across as ‘I’m dating soooooo many other guys and here’s what they’re all saying. Deal with it.’ Sarah likes rainbows. I don’t tell you that because why would you care about Sarah or her opinion on rainbows!? Tiffany and Jenni are happy. You want to get to do whatever you want without ever thinking of the other person. You don’t care about people. You’re rude and don’t care about…ME!! You wanted me to be jealous.”

Holy rant! After reading it all I told him to reread all of our messages when he’s sober. Then came the sarcasm…

“You win. You’re right. You couldn’t have done it any differently. It’s all my fault. I should have been intrigued with strange men’s comments. My bad. Think about all of this when you’re not so fucking selfish! Maybe I actually like you which is why I care so much about this. I said that you’re rude though but if you’re above hearing that and think you’re too good for that comment, I apologize. You don’t see it and you refuse to think about it! You were soooo polite it’s impossible to wonder why there was an issue. You could NEVER be wrong.”

Throughout all of this I repeatedly had to explain myself and remind him that Zack is my friend and he shouldn’t be so jealous and angry about me having friends who are guys because I have a lot of them and that won’t ever change. Finally I decided we were done for the night since this had gone on for hours. We could talk about it in the morning. The next day though, he was no different. I asked how he felt after reading the conversation when he was sober. “I have words. You won’t like them. Truce.” That’s all he had to say for himself after acting out and having a temper tantrum like a fucking spoiled child who didn’t get his way. I wished him good luck in life and dating and thought that was the end of it. He responded though and took everything I said the night before and twisted it. He said that I said, “Do you know who I am!? I’m better than you and my friends all hate you.” Now come on, even if that’s true I think we all know I’d have a much more creative way of saying it!

I was done though. I’ve dated too many jealous and insecure guys. I can’t tolerate guys who are intimidated by someone who is strong and independent and resilient. I won’t be with someone possessive and who twists my words and tries to mind fuck me. His behavior when we dated the first time all made sense now. I couldn’t figure out why he started fights with me and insulted me all the time. He was insecure and wanted to knock me down a little so he felt like he had more control over me. That’s some toxic bullshit and I fell for it when I was younger, more than once. I’m not going down that road again though.

Good luck to you, you sweaty bastard! You’re dead to me.

 

They always come back

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Maybe there’s an intensely powerful pheromone that your body releases that causes ex boyfriends or guys you’ve dated to reach out and find you via text, email, Facebook, carrier pigeon or any other means possible. I can’t explain why it happens but it always does and they all do it at the same time. Sometimes I swear they all have a group chat going and they plan who will reach out and when and they place bets on what my reaction to each of them will be. That all seems more likely than it being a strange coincidence every so often.

Recently this happened. I got five of them this time. Five. Five sad, pathetic, desperate assholes that I have gone on dates with or dated exclusively. Five sad, pathetic mistakes. Why do they do this though!? It’s over. It has ended. Whatever we had is done. Why reach out again? Why pick that scab? Slap some Neosporin on that shit and hope it doesn’t leave a scar after it heals. Forget about it. But no. No, no, no. They like picking at shit and watching it bleed. Sickos.

One of the guys to reach out recently was the goldfish which I wrote about last week. Stay tuned for part two of his return. I also received a Facebook friend request from the 6’4″, fat, 40 something, ginger I dated a few years ago for a couple months. He drinks like a 21 year old frat boy and likes wearing women’s panties. I did not accept his request. Another reached out via text to just say, “hey.” It’s been five years, dickwad. Come up with something more creative if you want to get my attention. Also, did you forget that the last time we saw each other was when you were breaking into my apartment and I had to repeatedly slam your hand in my door until you dropped the secret set of keys you made? The police were called. Move along, psycho. Another ex boyfriend sent me a long email (since I blocked him from all social media besides LinkedIn maybe) and he had love song after love song attached in the email. We saw each other for three months. Three. Three mother fucking months. There were eight songs in the email. Calm down, homie. It was not that serious. Plus, you cheated on me with girls you met on sex hookup websites regularly. Guilty. Case closed. Last, but not the least creepy or annoying, was the guy who would never call me his girlfriend. We dated on and off, long distance for years but he never wanted a girlfriend. The day I let him go and stopped trying, I swear it flipped a switch in brain that told him to cling to me and mate for eternity. He slid into my DM’s asking when he can come stay with me now that I’m single. Never. The answer is fucking NEVER. Ever. This is not Hotel Erin. I do not run an Airbnb. Also, my dogs don’t like you and they like everyone, just like Justin Bieber’s momma.

To all ladies and gentlemen readi… Scratch that.

To all you assholes male, female or other, if you think it’s a good idea to reach back out to someone you used to date, stop and think about why you stopped dating. I want you to REALLY think about it. All aspects of it. How was it great? How was it bad? Why did it end? How did you feel? Were police involved? Was there blood or broken bones? Was anything on fire? Did you get an STD? Once you ask yourself every question about the relationship you had, I think you’ll realize that reaching out to pick that fucking scab again is a bad, bad, BAD idea. Erase it from your mind. Forget about that scab and keep moving forward. No turning back. Ever.

If you love someone, let them go. If they return, they were always yours. If they don’t, they never were. Or, if you love someone let them go. If they return, no one else wanted them. Better yet, just let everyone go and sit at home between your dogs, drinking wine and blogging. Dating fucking sucks.

And then the goldfish returned…

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I was just starting my Sunday Funday when I got a text from him. “You’re the worst,” is all it said. Of course I assumed he was expressing his disdain for me. How was I supposed to know he was stating the name of a television show?! In case you forgot or didn’t read my previous posts about this guy, we had a couple weeks this summer of intense dating before he dumped me after I fell asleep drunk on my toilet. I was planning on dumping him because he got on my nerves so badly but he beat me to it. So disappointing. He was surprised that I even responded to the seemingly rude text he sent me but then asked if I wanted to grab a drink with him sometime. Of course I said no and we continued exchanging messages for over two hours. He was mostly apologetic and tried to remind me of our “crazy chemistry” while I was a typical bitch, reminding him of how he dumped me and giving him all the reasons I hate him. It ended there.

Until I got bored about 4 days later…

I was watching Girlfriend’s Guide to Divorce on Netflix and doing a coding course online. My brain started to hurt so I took a Facebook and text break. I basically told him, “Drinks. tomorrow. 7:30. J9 Wine Bar. Be there.” I left out the, “Or else” but I think it was clear that it was implied. Why was I doing this when I was going to dump him anyway earlier in the summer? I ask myself why I do most things on a daily basis. I rarely have answers to this question. This time I think I was just bored. I’m like a little kid who kicks a hornet nest even though she knows it’s potentially dangerous. She just wants some excitement and to see what would happen.

I was actually really looking forward to seeing him again and I was dying for a good Manhattan. This place had them. I was expecting our usual incessant teasing of one another and then I assumed he’d start to really get on my nerves and my eyeballs would start hurting from rolling them back in my head so often and I’d cuss him out again before taking a Lyft home.

I was wrong. He was calm and not nearly as irritating as usual. The bartender came over and said it was so good to see me again and asked if I wanted my usual Manhattan up. I saw the shock and confusion on his face and admitted that I’ve taken three other dates to this place after he introduced it to me early in the summer and befriended the owner and bartender. He also had taken dates there after he dumped me but he’s not nearly as fun and personable as I am so the staff doesn’t recognize him. We exchanged stories of our dates at J9 and then headed to a dive across the street to play Pop-a-Shot. Admittedly, I am fucking awful at sports. I was a dancer and a cheerleader. Sports that involve balls are not my thing. I averaged about 10 baskets per round in this game and was wildly impressed with myself. He was pretty good but then some guys came over and wanted to play too. They might as well have been professional basketball players. They never missed.

We both decided we had embarrassed ourselves enough so we went to the back bar to watch the band. He was unusually affectionate, gently touching my hair and my neck. I enjoyed it for a second and then I got freaked the fuck out. It was bed time anyway so we left. Before going to sleep though we texted and sort of made plans to hang out again the next week just for a movie and shitty pizza at my place.

I had no idea what I was doing. My initial plan was to see him for a couple drinks, we’d fight and I’d toss a drink in his face like they do in old movies and we’d never see each other again after I stormed out angrily and he stood there, dripping in whisky and in shock. Nothing ever goes as planned in my life though. I change my path abruptly just to shock myself I think. Always looking for the next adventure. I know ahead of time that I’m just going to leave him anyway but I might as well have some fun stories in the meantime.

Reel big fish

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Sometimes you’re in the dating sea, practically choking on the available fish to date and sometimes you’re in the dating desert, searching for an oasis. When you’re swimming in dates and have a few guys constantly contacting you, who all seem to be interesting and attractive, you’re on top of the world. Very suddenly though, those things can all change. That’s when the knights in shining armor turn into the losers in aluminum foil and you actively avoid them at all costs. It happens suddenly with no reason.

This is when you take a step back and reevaluate your life choices. Or maybe just your dating choices. I find that I’m constantly drawn to similar types of men. My sister says I like “bad boys”. I don’t see them as bad. I see them as exciting, interesting, eccentric, or mysterious. Then when I get to know them better, I see them as assholes, losers, scumbags and douchebags.

How the hell do you break the cycle though? I recently met a guy who is the polar opposite of anyone I ever date but he is exactly what I want in a guy. Definitely the knight in shining armour in a world of trolls. He’s kind and friendly, open-minded, liberal, a feminist, a good cook, well-educated, good looking, attentive, generous, thoughtful and already has a child so there’s no pressure on me to get knocked up, get fat and go through the hell of child birth. What’s the problem then? It’s all too soon after leaving my ex husband, first of all. I don’t want the perfect guy right now. I want to date everyone who is wrong for me and do everything that is bad for me. This guy is life-partner material. I have to go through several more months of self-destruction and regressing to my early 20’s before I’m ready for him. Why did I have to meet him now??

Secondly, he’s too nice and it’s too easy. He already worships the ground I walk on. There is no challenge at all. He thinks I’m beautiful and smart and the strongest woman he’s ever met. All of this is true, by the way. I swear he’s not blind and he absolutely is entirely sane. I don’t know how he got these ideas in his head. I swear I didn’t plant them. He’s my biggest cheerleader through the drama of my divorce. He asks me questions about what’s going on all the time which most people actively avoid. No one wants to hear about it because it makes them uncomfortable. Not too many guys can hear you say that your soon-to-be ex-husband strangled you until you passed out and broke another woman’s legs and then still carry on a conversation about the situation. Typically I find people say how sorry they are to hear that and abruptly change the topic of conversation. I haven’t scared him off with the horror stories or with the idea that my ex-husband might be lurking in the bushes while we hang out, ready to attack and murder both of us. Go ahead and laugh, but that’s a very likely scenario.

Why do I have such a hard time letting this nice guy in though? My only guess, besides it being too soon, is that there is no challenge. I don’t need someone to worship me. I need someone to challenge me and introduce me to new things and experiences. I don’t need someone to rely on me to be the guide and make all of the decisions. There needs to be a balance and a sharing of those responsibilities. Although having someone adore you is great, having someone who adores you and can still call you out on your shit and ask you questions that make you think a little more deeply, introduce you to new things and challenge you, would be more desirable to me.

My sister is going to want to kick my ass over this and she might tell me I’m stupid for not going for this guy 110%. That’s fine. She might be right. We’ll see one of these days. For now, I’ll keep him at arm’s length while I swim around in the dating sea. One fish, two fish, perfect fish, douchefish.

 

 

 

Bobcat Returns

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If you told me I’d see this guy again after he kicked me out of his hotel room, I’d tell you you’re out of your mind. For some reason we continued texting each other for the next month almost every single day. I finally agreed to hang out with him again with the promise that he wouldn’t do anything stupid to fuck it up. We decided to meet for dinner the next Friday. He made reservations for 10pm. I work Saturday mornings and told him it wouldn’t work. He fucked it up. We tried again later and met up at a rooftop before heading to a street festival. I warned the hostesses when I walked in that I might storm out in a few minutes if he did something to piss me off. Luckily, that didn’t happen. We actually had a lot of fun.

After a drink or two, he asked me about my blog, which he had done before via text and I thought it was odd. I asked why he was so interested in my blog and he laughed for a second and then told me that he reads it. He then explained to me that when I posted something on Snapchat about it, he charged a separate phone so he could replay the snap, take a picture of it, look up the blog online, start a new email account and become a follower. That’s some next level sneaky, stalker ass shit and I thought it was awesome. I like this creep. If he read all the shit I posted about him and still wants to talk to me and hang out, there is probably something wrong with him but I don’t even care. There are lots of things wrong with him but that’s what makes him interesting. He also has an idea for a YouTube channel so I can be like Jenna Marbles or Nicole Arbour. He has a great plan for a TV show called Ghost Busters where I crash dates of people who have ghosted other people and call them out on it. Brilliant. Weird but brilliant. His pitch to me went like this:

When you get ghosted, who you gonna call? Erin and her crackpot team of degenerates have women who get ghosted contact you. You (and me, if you want my PI help), track down the guy, preferably when he’s on a date with the next girl he swiped right with, and we confront him and ask why he ghosted her!

We still have some kinks to work out but I’m into it.

We left the rooftop and I reassured the hostesses that he didn’t totally suck before we hopped in a cab to head to the fest. We drank some beers and took an Adderall while listening to music. He dared me to get a picture with some eccentric older gentleman. Since I can’t say no to a dare, I started dancing with this guy and asked if we could take a picture together. He tells me he’s Jimmy Buffett and I almost believed him. It turns out, his name is Rick and he has a large collection of hats that are all from Miami. Interesting. The Bobcat and I hung out near him while listening to 16 Candles for a while.

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When the festival was over, we headed over to Concrete Cowboy for another drink. It was there that The Bobcat told me he had molly. The last time I did molly, I was in college. This was my summer of ‘YES’ though so I was down. I’ve said yes to everything since I left my ex, besides offers from friends to break his legs or have him killed. Always say no to violence and say ‘hell motherfucking yeah’ to everything else.

We headed downstairs to Spybar and took over a table in the back corner that was occupied by a very intoxicated man named Tony who could barely sit up. He ended up sleeping in the corner while we hung out. After becoming friends with the bartenders, we did a couple shots. This is where my memories are all a blur. I don’t know how much time went by. I don’t know what I said or who I was talking to. At one point I was calling Bobcat and my friend who owns the club while they were standing right in front of me. I knew when I was talking I wasn’t making any sense and that just made me laugh. Finally we decided to get out of there. Probably for the best since by the end of the night, I had the bartenders hating me.

In our Uber back to his place, the driver offered us beers which he was charging $5 for. Of course we bought them. When we got back, we apparently made out in his kitchen. I also apparently answered my phone at 5:30am and talked to my friend for a few minutes while she stood in the alley behind my house requesting that I bring her alley wine. I explained to her that I was at a gentleman caller’s house and was unable to deliver. Finally I got into his bed and immediately, when I fell into it, became one with it and started to pass out. Despite his attempt to be romantic with wine and cocaine, I pushed him away and passed out.

I woke up hours later, spread out like a starfish in his bed and was so confused. I went into his living room and found him and his dogs hanging out on the couch. I went with my typical M.O. and bolted right away. I felt like death and needed a shower. Throughout the day he helped me piece our night together because his memory of the night was far less foggy than mine.

I still talk to him everyday whether it’s geeky shit about trading cryptocurrency or talking about our pending divorces. For some reason I tell this guy more than I tell my closest friends. Maybe it’s because he seems more interested in the random garbage I have to say than my friends do. I texted him WHILE getting my IUD put in. He’s completely honest which is refreshing and tells the truth brutally with no sugar-coating. Not a lot of people are like that but I am that way too so it’s refreshing. Have I forgiven him for kicking me out of the hotel room that night? Yeah, but I’m not forgetting about it. That shit was awful and hilarious and I’ll bring it up every chance I get it.

People oftentimes come into your life for a reason. You don’t know what the reason is right away but you learn eventually. Why do I willingly spend time with someone who admits to cheating on his soon-to-be ex-wife repeatedly? Why does he hang out with me still, knowing that my soon-to-be ex-husband is dangerous and puts every woman he’s met in the hospital? My sister would tell me it’s because I can’t stay away from risky situations. Maybe she’s right. Life without risks seems really boring though. We’ve all got baggage and we have demons to battle. I have no idea why the Bobcat is still around but we’ll all find out eventually. The reason better not be to teach me lessons about going to random men’s hotel rooms after just meeting them.