I can’t write. Things are happening, not just boring work things. The blog was created when I was bored at work and a bit at loose ends. Many things have changed. I’m not bored at work. My work is challenging and interesting, but I’m seriously pursuing alternate employment for the first time ever. I still want to write and I’m at loose ends about that. I could try and make the blog the “write a certain amount every day” place—and start working on a story or a novel or SOMETHING. But, I have to admit, I hate blogs like that. I don’t want to read your half-formed fiction and tell you how great it is. I could start a new blog and use it for fiction. Or…I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the way I am—always a little bit at loose ends. Always a bit lazy about some things while quite driven in other respects. Able to sit and watch movies and knit for an almost infinite amount of time, but not able to decide what to do with my life, while that life just goes on and on.
Let me tell you about my bad date the other night. I know, I’ve spoiled the surprise. Sorry.
This was an internet guy. We flirted a bit online, with some short vaguely suggestive emails. He seemed good looking in his pictures but they only showed his face so I half wondered if there were any surprises lurking (as it turned out, none were—at least about his physique). He’d made a point to tell me how attractive he thought I was. I was pleased to hear it and yet…I don’t know, it’s not really enough. I’d say finding me attractive is a necessary but not sufficient condition for getting together. I’m trying to figure this out because I am more open to non-boyfriend-potential situations than ever, yet, I find that I still have to like the guy. Even if I’m not going to spend a ton of time with you, if that time is going to be “intimate” I need to like you. I need to trust you. Otherwise, as much as I’m feeling lonely and unloved, it’s not worth the trouble. I have friends, the cat, the knitting, books to reads, video to watch—I am shockingly content on my own. I know I’ve become a bit complacent about all this. It’s not that I don’t have desires and would really like to have a man in my life—I still have crushes and longings. I even occasionally notice an admirer, I’m just not willing to make a huge effort when I could be doing something else that I enjoy more than sitting at bar trying to make eye contact with someone. Sigh.
Anyway. The dude. We met outside the metro on a very wet day. When he approached, my gaydar started pinging like crazy. I asked Diego about that and he said that sometimes when something is odd it can trigger the gaydar. Regardless, the dude was all over me. He put his face right close to mine. At the bar, I sat and he stood and he pressed himself into me, rubbed his hand down my arm, all the way to my ass. When the hand made contact with my rear I picked up his and moved it away from my body and said, “You have to stop doing that.” He stopped.
He wasn’t a great conversationalist and had a tendency to critique what I said. When I ordered my beer he expressed disappointment. Later, I told him part (only part!) of a long sad story. I remarked that it wasn’t a fun situation, but at least I got a funny story out of it. He said, “the story wasn’t that funny.” He said several semi-sexist things—just brushing up to that line. He kept very close and it was clear he was interested. I wasn’t interested. The thought crossed my mind that needing to find people attractive makes dating a real challenge.
I’m just going to go right out there and say when a creepy guy tells you you’re attractive, it doesn’t feel flattering at all. It’s like getting praise from my most disliked supervisor. I don’t respect her so her praise is meaningless. Same with this dude—I didn’t care for him at all, thus hearing that he found me sexy didn’t mean anything to me. Also, I’ll say that my intelligence and my basic attractiveness are just plain facts. I am smart. I am pretty. Now, not everyone will find me quite their cup of tea, looks-wise, but I am pretty sure that I’m objectively good looking. It’s just the luck of the draw—like being smart. I can’t’ help that I’m smart—but I can build on it. I guess I could have built on my looks too, but I’ve never tried (much). I haven’t tried to stay slim-ish (I was never skinny and now I’m definitely NOT SKINNY). I have never worn make up regularly. I don’t dye my hair. I don’t wear heels. I don’t wear “sexy” clothing. I do brush my hair, wash my face put on sunscreen and moisturizer. I bite my nails, but I keep them filed and smooth. I wear flattering clothing that fits properly. I like to look good and attractive. But I’m not going to work at—it’s not my style. Undeniably, though, I benefit from having a pretty face and a good complexion. It means people are nicer to me, that men flirt with me, and etc.
So, some random creepy guy’s opinion of my body isn’t really needed to make me feel ok about myself. Some random guy who I found attractive and who I got along with—I’d like to hear from HIM that he finds me attractive. That is someone whose opinion I would value slightly more.
Damn. Ramble much? Anyway. The beer drinking portion of the evening ended and he walked me to the bus stop. We stood and talked while I waited for the bus. He stood very close to me and told me he really liked me. But he could tell I wasn’t interested. Funny how that works! I kept backing off and he kept moving towards me. I couldn’t escape him! I said, “you’re invading my personal space.” He seemed taken aback—shocked, really. He tried to deny that he was standing too close to me. He said, “wow, that’s…that really says a lot about you.” He said, “That’s too bad, that you’re like this, because I really like you.” I pointed out that I’m the way I am, so he probably didn’t really like me. I think he got that, but was still regretful. He also said, “you’re really perfect for DC—so guarded and distant.” That had me agog. I said, “If you think that, you don’t know me at all.”
Then the bus came and I ran away. A few minutes later, he texted me, “[Jamy], you crushed me! O well, such is life.” I said I was sorry, it wasn’t my intention. He texted again, “I was very attracted to you. :(”
Jesus. When I will stop letting creepiness get in the way of my potential sex life? I think we all know the answer to that!
Last, I found it astonishing that in practically the same day I was accused of being temperamental in the extreme (to the point that bosses feared me and that it was questionable if I could ever be happy with any boss) and then later on told I was distant and guarded and perfect for DC. How can both descriptions be of the same person? I guess that is the wonder and mystery of me.
Grateful for: the good stories.