Tag: dating stories

Sex and the City the movie, part 12

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Every now and then, I need to re-watch Sex and the City from beginning to end. I get sick to my stomach with anxiety during all of season 3 when Carrie is secretly having an affair with Big while he’s married to Natasha and she is in a committed relationship with, the perfect, Aidan. I’m currently nearing the end of season 4 after Aidan proposes to Carrie and she needs “more time”. I instantly felt nausea watching these episodes, listening to her reasons for not being excited about her marriage and watching Charlotte tell her that she just had cold feet while Carrie was wearing the engagement ring on a necklace instead of her finger. I related when Carrie threw up after seeing the initial engagement ring Aidan was going to give her. I remember wishing I could hide my beautiful engagement ring every time a cute (or even not-so-cute) guy seemed even slightly  interested in me.

I’d say more than half of the people in my life were not surprised when they heard I left my husband last year. Several of my friends and clients commented that I never liked to talk about my wedding, or my ex, and I would always change the subject when they asked me about any of it. I never got excited over my wedding and got bored or angry when people brought up “him”. It was an event that I was planning. That’s it. I had to get things booked and paid for but there was no emotional attachment to any of it. I also thought maybe I just didn’t have the “bride gene”. I never pictured my dress. Never dreamt of a wedding. Hell, I never imagined myself being married at all. I remember more often than not, when someone asked me my plans for the future or my wants and desires, my response was, “I want to take over the world.” There is no ring or man or dress or ceremony involved with that and thinking back on my response now, I honestly have no idea what is involved in taking over the world. Who did I think I was? Hitler?!

Do I hate Carrie for cheating on Aidan with Big and then accepting his marriage proposal, just to tell him she’s not ready?? Yeah…kinda… At least she gave back the ring though. Aidan is THE. FREAKING. BEST. I mean, could he BE any more manly, generous and sweet!? Big, on the other hand, had never given Carrie what she needed. He fucked with her heart and dragged her along. He pushed her and pulled her in different directions and screwed up her relationship with Aidan too many times. He was a selfish asshole. Who can stand him besides Carrie?! His only appeal? Money. Yeah, he was cultured and well-traveled but what else did he really have to offer her? He was “emotionally unavailable”; the term I’ve learned this past year from dating very similar men. He was a selfish, narcissistic prick. We can’t just make him seem like a great guy because after a year or so of being a dickhole, he throws some money or gifts at her and calls her “kid” with his stupid, fugly smirk.

Looking back now though, as much as I can relate to Carrie’s feelings about not being the “marrying type” or having cold feet, my situation had its similarities and its differences. I too felt sick to my stomach when I thought about the wedding and the future of FOREVER with a person…THAT person. I, unfortunately, did not call it off when I should have, like she did, when I realized I didn’t want that life. When I realized he made me want to vomit. When I hated the sound of his chewing or watched him licking a plate when he was finished eating. When he had me by my throat against a wall and my dogs were shrieking in fear. I should have called it all off when I knew but we had planned and paid for so much. Maybe some of my friends were right and it was just a feeling every bride-to-be gets. I couldn’t take back everything and cancel now, right? Looking back, I know better. Looking back now, I know to trust my gut.

What appeal did my “was-band” have? He might have been a loser who had a mattress on the floor and only owned furniture that were garbage from his family members. He might have only worked three nights a week at a jazz club and was content making enough to pay the bills and not think about the future at the age of 42. He might have been a violent drunk but he went to counseling and made me a promise he had changed forever! Plus, he had a super hot body. Lookin’ like a Chinese/Irish god with that bod… He was a tricky son-of-a-bitch though, as most narcissists are. They are so confident in their greatness, they can trick you into thinking they are great too! He would buy me beautiful dresses and shoes and jewelry and knew exactly my size in every brand. He would take me to operas and ballets and concerts in the park. We’d go to the nicest, old-school Chicago places. He faked all of the money and culture that Big had and flaunted with Carrie. It was easy to get caught up in the show and let those things be a distraction to reality. For a while at least…

I clearly remember one afternoon after I ordered a dry-erase wall calendar, he insisted he’d hang it on the wall, despite the fact that I was in the middle of doing it myself, since I’m I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, do you know what that means?! For over an hour, I sat in another room while this giant man-child screamed profanities and pounded and drilled holes in my rented wall. I kept listening as my security deposit dwindled. I could have had this handled myself with 3M Command Strips in MINUTES!

As days and months and years went by and he became less and less appealing and attractive to me, I also started to slow down and think about my own happiness for once instead of doing what I thought I was supposed to do and trying to make everyone else around me happy. (That’s a Libra trait…or curse.) At least Big had a sense of humor and they had a sex life. My old man was dry, negative and boring and couldn’t even get a boner. So, like…Ok, Carrie. I can’t hate on you. I’ve made my mistakes too but I am fixing them! I think we need ANOTHER Sex and the City movie where Carrie realizes her fuck ups and Aidan never REALLY had a baby with someone else and Carrie dumps Big and he dies sad and alone, thinking about what a twat he always was. Then, Carrie and Aidan pick RIGHT up where they left off after he proposed with that gorgeous ring. Why don’t you marry the sexy, manly, self-made, nice guy instead of the Big?? Or, stay alone and “fabulous” forever?

That’s what I’m working on now. I met the Greek version of Aidan after dumping the angry, knock-off, Chinese version of Big. Just like most knock-offs from China, this one didn’t fit properly and I kind of want my money back but it’s a total pain in the ass. Like Carrie says though, it’s time to let go of my marriage past, to get on with my dating future. I’ll give the sexy, manly, nice guy a shot for once and actually be myself instead of people-pleasing and getting caught up and tricked by smoke and mirrors. Unfortunately for this guy, I’m learning that I can be kind of an asshole. I’m working on that though. I’m learning from Carrie’s mistakes.

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.