I Should Probably Wear a Helmet

So I guess I am still two weeks behind in filling you in on my boring life that only seems interesting because you are married and are surrounded by screaming children and you wish you could go on dates with guys who are pretending to like you just to see if they can get  in your pants.  I would be more motivated to update if I actually had anything pleasant to report.  But, there are some funny parts in my story, so I'm going to try to cover the last two weeks...

Jerkface told me to dress comfortably and come over around 7 last, last Thursday night.  So I put on my lululemon pants that make my butt look big and my Wonder Woman t-shirt for extra Amazon strength (and b/c it is tight on my boobs).  I show up, and once again Jerkface is sitting on the couch and tells me that the door is open.  Then he sees that it's locked and gets up to let me in.  So I am pissed from the get-go.  Again.  I brought over a nice bottle of wine and some tomatoes from my roommate's garden b/c he loves tomatoes.  (I hate tomatoes.  Just smelling them makes me ill.  And I had to pick them and regardless of how many times I scrubbed my hands, the tomato stench just wouldn't go away.  Picking tomatoes for someone is a fairly serious commitment for me.  It's akin to giving someone a kidney.) 

He opens the bottle of wine and wants to sit at his kitchen table and get caught up and just "enjoy each other's company."  I drain my glass of wine as he talks about himself.  I am buzzed.  Glancing around, I notice there are no pots going on the stove.  I ask what we're having for dinner.  Feigning surprise, he says that he was just going to eat some tomatoes and skip dinner altogether.  You know, because, it's weird that I would want to eat dinner.  I give him a dirty look.  He offers to make something gross that I don't want.  Another dirty look.  He offers to take me out, but does so with a pained expression.  I tell him not to bother.  He fills up my glass.  I sulk and complain that I would not have come down if I'd known heirloom tomatoes were the only thing on the menu.  He says that we will have to communicate more in the future.  I want to tell him that I know he is playing dumb on purpose and it has nothing to do with communication.  I'm pretty sure he suspects I am using him for free dinners. 

We move to the couch and he is excited to show me videos he took of him riding his bike in BC.  They were fun to watch.  I guess.  He states that he had so much fun he is probably going to go on another (solo) vacation soon.  I want to scream. And then he brings the weirdness - it's really not an official GPG post until the weirdness is broughted.  Taking a deep breath, he turns to me and says: "You know, I wanted to stop seeing you when you said you hated the mountains.  Hate is a very strong word, and I don't like when people use it.  I grew up in a multicultural neighborhood and a lot of people didn't get along.  So it really disturbed me when you used such a strong word so casually."

You read that right, folks.  He wanted to stop seeing me because I used the word hate, not in a malicious or hurtful or bigoted manner, but because like everyone else, he was persecuted for one thing or another during his childhood, and was now scarred so I must now censor myself.  Guess what?  I was called Medusa by every boy in the 4th grade who would then act like they turned to stone when I looked at them.  You don't see me avoiding Greek mythology.  Or snakes.  Or geologists.  AND I knew that the mountain comment was something I had probably said the first time I met him, just so he knew I would not be going on any ski trips because I HATE THE MOUNTAINS.  I do.  That is where Skeletor and Gargamel and all
other scary people lived on Saturday morning cartoons.  Mountains are fun to hike in the summer, but in the winter, they are full of cold and ice and long lines of weekend warriors trying to ski. 

I drained my second glass of wine while I tried to rein in the snark.  I told him that since I pretty much spent most of my adult life studying words and their power, I really didn't think he needed to get upset because I had used that word to convey feelings that I knew were out of the ordinary, especially since I had lived in Colorado and most people are amused by irony and my melodrama.  Okay, I didn't say the last part because he doesn't understand big words.  If I'd said I hate Catholics, or puppies, I could have understood his moral outrage.  I wanted to point out how ludicrous his statement was, but clearly there was something strange going on and I just didn't feel like dealing with it.  I also wanted to point out that if some offhand comment I made months prior was all he could find that was wrong with me, perhaps he should be a little more appreciative of my company.  Instead, I apologize for my insensitivity (he either ignores or doesn't notice the sarcasm), and seems relieved to have gotten that off his chest. 

I only let him pour me half a glass before I go back to complaining about how hungry I am.  Again he offers to make something or take me out.  I tell him that now I'm too full on wine to eat anything.  He acts like I am being a pain.  I guess I am, but it's warranted.  Right?  He puts some music on and lets me play dj for a bit.  That makes me happy.  He talks about how he loves to go out dancing.  This is one of the things that I liked about him in the beginning, because no straight white guys make a point of mentioning that they like to go out dancing.  And here we are, three months later, without any actual dancing having transpired. 

We make out.  We move to his ridculously small bed.  Things FINALLY go the way I want them to, although I am sure his neighbors will tell him to limit my wine intake in the future.  Then I fall off the bed.  I'm lying on the floor thinking maybe he hadn't noticed.  I plan to casually crawl back in bed, but he starts laughing and made some remark that I can't remember.  I grab my pillow in a huff and head out to the couch where it's quiet.  And then I can't sleep.  I lie there until five, and then I start to realize every girl's worst fear:  this guy is only pretending to like me so that he can have sexy times and I just became his midweek booty call who doesn't even rate high enough to take out to dinner.  And I had picked him tomatoes!  Mother effer!  So I pack up my things, making sure not to straighten anything or do anything considerate like turn any lights off, and I leave at 5:30.  I feel better.  More in control.  And a little crazy because I didn't really sleep or eat anything.

At 7 a.m. GPG texts me a pic of his cool car that looks just like the convertible in "Teenage Dream" that maybe I had pictured myself riding down to Mexico in for a beach party / surf trip at some point in the near future.  He wants to know why I left.  He calls at noon  and gets sent straight to voicemail.  I call my one friend who is always 100% honest and doesn't just tell me what I want to hear (everyone needs a bff like this), and she is on Jerkface's side and tells me that her husband has never opened the door for her in his life.  I said that I'm sure he did when they first started dating.  She wasn't so sure.  She says I need to call Jerkface and level with him and at least let him know that I'm not down with the being Thursday night booty call girl. I wait for him to call over the weekend and make some sort of grand gesture.  Doesn't happen.  I compose several mean texts, which may or may not have made fun of his "hate" issues, but never send them.  I call him on Monday morning with a well-rehearsed farewell voicemail message all ready to go.  I am a little bummed that the last time that he will ever see me was after I fell off the bed.




(How I did not spend my summer vacation)


Jerkface answers the phone, foiling my farewell plans.  I don't get it.  If you don't like me, don't answer the phone.  If you just want sexy times, go a different route with someone who isn't so prone to pouting and overanalyzing.  Jerkface is all, "Where'd you go?  You disappeared from the face of the earth this weekend."  As IF we ever hung out on the weekends.  I told him I was tired and HUNGRY so I had left early.  He was like "Uh huh, what else?"  I told him there was nothing else.  He continues to ask what was really wrong.  I told him I'd had a little freakout.  "Uh huh.  I figured that.  Why?"  "Uhm, because I don't want to be anyone's midweek booty call."  (Not entirely true - call me Paul Walker!!)  "Okay."  And that was it.  No "well sorry, but that's all I'm looking for right now."  No "well that will never happen again because I really like you; I just have a hard time expressing my true feelings."  Nada.

I bitch about him not opening the door.  He tells me I'm wrong and that he did get up.  I tell him that it doesn't count because the door was locked.  Then he starts to say how much he usually likes to go out, but how he just doesn't have the energy right now and how he likes to stay home.  And he apologizes for not making better plans for dinner, but WITHOUT ACKNOWLEDGING THAT HE AVOIDED MAKING CONCRETE PLANS because he wants to see how little effort he can put forth and still get away with it.  I tell him that I was pretty upfront about not being a homebody from the get-go, and that he shouldn't have pretended to enjoy going out if he really doesn't.  He maintains that he does like to go out, just not right now.  Then, for the first time ever, we have a prolonged awkward silence on the phone.  He starts to say something, but I interrupt and tell him I have to go.  I hang up.  We text a little bit (this was last Monday) throughout the day, but the texts are forced and unfun.  I figure that's that.  Go about putting the finishing touches on a website I've been working on for awhile and try not to think about what a chump I was with GPG.

I start to think about So-So Nice Guy (I think that will be the final version of his code name), but decided that only an evil person would call him after dropping him for GPG.  So-So Nice Guy calls me out of the blue on Friday and says that he misses me and thought I needed some space.  This makes me feel awful about myself.  SSNG wants to go out for dinner on Monday (yesterday).  He also wants to help with my website.  Again, this makes me feel awful.  I reason that maybe I can start to like him once he loosens up and stops being so nervous around me.  And let's face it people, I like the attention.  Especially after being dumped by someone that I was never seeing in the first place. 

The weekend comes and goes.  I underestimate my PMS and make the mistake of going to a restaurant with some friends on Saturday night.  It was fun, but it was also where GPG and I went on our first date.  Back when I was given a meal.  I remember how we were sitting at the bar and he just leaned in and stole a kiss.  And how mad I got at him for doing something so douchey.  But now, thanks to PMS and pinot, it made me miss Jerkface.  But this is the longest we'd gone without talking.  Sunday morning I decide that inviting GPG to come surf would be a nice gesture on my part.  And, he doesn't write back.  I have fun surfing until I do a faceplant on someone's board.  Then my head hurt and I think I suffered permanent hearing loss in my left ear.  I try to go to bed early after checking my phone for missed calls/texts at least 7,000 times. 

Monday morning brings the usual "I just got this text because football is an excuse for everything" text from GPG.  I decide that having expectations with GPG only makes me hostile toward him.  I force myself to not look for meaning with him, and hope that at some point I meet someone who brings the laughs and the attention.  In the meantime, I text GPG as I'm getting ready for my date with SSNG, feeling good b/c whether or not he knows it (and whether or not it's true), I feel as though I have the upper hand again with GPG.  SSNG and I have a nice date.  I give him a spark-less goodnight kiss and go to bed.  The end.