Mr. Big and tales of woe dating, mr.big 11:59 am
Sometimes shit happens. Bad shit. And as much as you’d like to explain the details to everyone, you just can’t be bothered to rehash it like that. So let’s do it like this.
I overestimated Mr. Big. It was a clear mistake and I won’t do it again. It’s time for me to start exercising the open ended nature of this arrangement and date again. That’s the salient point here. Now all I need is someone to date.
Mr. Big controlling, dating, difficult, hormones, mr.big, pain in the ass 11:17 am
I have been riding the hormone express, so I was sparing you all the gory details. I know this saddens some of you as the hormone express can be funny to watch. But it is not funny if you are indeed trapped on the ride. And I am highly mockable even when sane, so I just didn’t need the help.
At it’s most glorious moment this past weekend, I was determined I had to dump Mr. Big. I had just decided he was truly only interested in me if I had no clothing and was gearing myself up for the big conversation. Mostly because he had gone dark for a weekend and I hadn’t heard from him. Two seconds into an IM conversation with me, he knew something was horribly wrong. But I hadn’t quite gotten myself set to share my big revelation so I was dodging. (How can someone know in one line of text that there is something wrong with me anyway. HOW???) Anyhow, he pushed until I admitted I was unhappy and gave some reasons for the cause. (His silence, his silence, and oh….. his silence.) Rational thought was restored soon after you will be pleased to know. And we are still…. well…. whaever we ever are.
But at the peak of the crazy talking, I somehow managed to reveal that I am afraid to tell him things sometimes because I don’t want him to think I’m a pain in the ass, or hard to deal with, or difficult, or whatever words guys use to describe chicks who make them batty in a bad way. I was already flailing around and sobbing on the couch because, you know, the end was nigh. And then he said it. He said one of the sweetest things a man has ever said to me. It wasn’t that he loved me or would never leave me or that I’m beautiful or anything. No…. he told me I’m not difficult. I’m not hard to deal with. And further more, I’m too hard on myself. He doesn’t understand why I think those things about myself, but they’re unjustified. According to him.
Well gentle readers, I cried even harder. Because in that moment I realized something horrible about the past…. oh, let’s say 15 years. Ever major male figure in my life for the past 15 years has told me what a pain in the ass I am. From my closest friends, to both my husbands, to my father himself. I’m difficult. I’m controlling. I’m “no shrinking violet”. I’m hard to deal with. I’m the reason my marriages went so rotten. I’m a bitch. Over and over and over they all say these things. And repetition is wearing. Eventually it sinks in. I believe I’m a giant pain in the ass.
So, for the first time in 15 years, a man who is important to me said I’m not any of those things. I’m not difficult. I’m not hard to deal with. I’m not a pain in the ass. He doesn’t think badly of me. I can tell him how I feel or when I’m unhappy because he’s not going to think less of me. And what’s even better, he thinks I’m am unnecessarily harsh with myself.
No one has ever said that to me before. It stopped me dead in my tracks. And after the tears cleared, it made me smile again. I’m still smiling.
okc and tragic sundae dating, okc, pathetic, tragic sundae 3:36 pm
I logged onto the site with my stealthy, top secret, invisible, no profile account again this afternoon. I hadn’t logged on for a while so all my preferences had been wiped, including the one where the instant messenger defaulted to being off. I didn’t notice. In a matter of minutes, our old friend Tragic Sundae had IMed me. I rejected it and turned the messenger off. Then, to ease his tragedy a little, I dashed him a note saying it shouldn’t have been on and didn’t work with my computer. (A truth, actually.)
Tragic Sundae is persistent. He emailed back right away to ask if I’d call him if he gave me his phone number. Now remember, I’ve already told him I’m not trying to meet people here. And yet, he tragically persists. I could see a heavier hand was necessary. Here’s my reply:
I think maybe I wasn’t direct enough with you before. I did want to help you, and I hope something good came of that.
But the reason my profile isn’t filled out is because I’m not looking to meet people. So no, I won’t call. It’s not about you, I’m just not looking for anything here.
Poor little Tragic Sundae with his cherry on top. I hope he goes away now and does not start to melt on my fabulous shoes.
advice and okc and tragic sundae dating, okc, online dating, profile, tragic, tragic sundae, virgin, whining 7:51 am
Every good One Date Wonder has a few sneaky tricks up her sleeve. In my case, more than a few really. I have some big sleeves, ok? Anyway, I usually wouldn’t give them away to the entire internets, but his is just too good of a story to pass up. So here is just one of my little tricks: I have a secret account on OKCupid that I use to scope people out without them knowing I’m doing it. Sounds juvenile, but it has serious benefits. I can browse anonymously. I can look at people I know. And no one ever has to know I’m doing it.
Due to the top secret nature of said account, the profile isn’t filled in and no one ever messages it. Or no one did, until last week. I already knew there must have been some desperation involved as this person had sent a message to someone who had zero personal information of any kind, no basic stats, and no picture. I’m not even sure how he found the profile, to be honest. But whatever, he did. The message was a little sad but being the sick voyeur I am, I went to look at the profile.
It was even sadder. He is 36, tragically short, and whines throughout the entire profile about how no one ever answers him. It was revolting. And then for the cherry on our little tragic sundae, he announces that he’s a virgin. A short, whiny, lonely, 36 year old virgin. And we wonder why no one responds?
At first I just laughed. Okay, I’m mean. I actually went back a few times to laugh. It was sort of funny, you know? Then I thought, maybe he really doesn’t know. I mean, he can’t help being short. And depending on beliefs (and availability) he can’t really just run out and lose his virginity. But he can stop the incessant whining, and not announce the lack of experience up front. He’d be a little less pathetic then, you know? Of course you know. Apparently everyone knew but him!
So…. I told him. Yep. I wrote back and told him. I sweetly announced that I was going to try to help out and I told him how unattractive the desperation was and how perhaps he should not declare his virginity right up in the front like that. I almost regretted it when I hit send, but then…. well…. I didn’t. Didn’t regret it, that is. I totally hit send.
He, of course, wrote back. He actually accepted the constructive criticism and changed his profile up according to my suggestions. Don’t misunderstand me, I still find it to be a rather tragic sundae. But at least it lacks whipped cream and a cherry on top, you know? I mean someone less savvy than myself might be fooled. Not you, dear reader. Of course not you. But, you know, someone. Anyway, he wrote back to say he had taken all the suggestions and then took a shot at me by pointing out that the advice was a bit rich coming from someone who hadn’t bothered to fill out their own profile. I almost let it go, but I figured I would nip the whole thing in the bud right there. I told him I wasn’t looking for responses. Different goals call for different tactics.
I figured that would be it. He had gotten his helpful advice and I had clearly just told him I didn’t want responses. But no. Of course not. The tragedy continued. Next I got an email saying that was a fair enough assessment… and asking me about my hobbies. That’s right, the short whiny virgin was trying to chat me up. After I specifically said I was not interested in anything. I think I can actually smell the desperation from here.
I have not answered. I think I just will not. I have made the dating site a little bit better and perhaps taught a tragic little man a bit about how to write a profile. Or perhaps not. But I’m not sticking around to find out.
Mr. Big and random and zombie guy booze, cat, leftovers, Mr. Big, random, thoughts, zombie guy 11:48 am
It is just a random Saturday morning in my mind. Naturally, I’m inviting you all to visit for a bit.
See? My mind is a scary place to be.
possible prince and tales of woe dating, possible prince 7:55 am
Initially, the princess started to become impressed by the possible prince. After the first round of contact, he hung in. He chatted on IM, sent a few emails, and even called once more. The second phone call was even a bit longer than the first and much laughter was had. The princess thought he was quite possibly a prince after all.
On that last phone call, the princess started to feel around, to see if the possible prince would ever ask her out. After a couple delicate princess-like hints, our possible prince indicated a definite interest. But, seeing as both kingdoms were celebrating their mothers, the queens, on the coming weekend, it was agreed that actually scheduling something would have to wait. The princess felt better though, knowing the interest was there and the date would be forthcoming. Or so she thought.
As it turned out, after that our possible prince fell silent. All news from his kingdom stopped all together. The princess pondered the situation, but her kingdom had been in a flurry of activity lately, so she didnt have the time or energy to devote to determining if she wanted to work on the problem. As more days slipped by, our princess slowly stopped caring if the possible prince was going to bother again.
This morning, when the princess woke up, she realized it had been at least a week since she had heard from her possible prince. In her mind, this quite possibly made him not a prince at all, and indicated a strong possibility that their kingdoms were never meant to merge. Our princess pondered possibly sending a squire to tell the possible prince that the time had come to shit or get off the pot. But she couldn’t decide if such a message was even worth the squire’s time. Especially given the other activities currently going on in her kingdom.
Our princess was torn. Before the dust settled on the kingdom’s current state, she thought she’d like to try out one more possible prince… just to see if she was happy with some decisions she’d been making lately. And while she still could. But our possible prince was proving to quite possibly not be a prince at all, and frankly the princess wasn’t sure he was worth the effort and the squire it would take. And so her dilemma wore on, meanwhile no messages were being sent between the kingdoms.
What should she do? Should our princess walk away? Or should she try one last time to contact the possible prince, just to see? Is he really worth the effort? Your humble narrator would advise you to stay tuned, but I fear this tale will end quietly. With the not-so-possible prince fading into royal oblivion as the princess can simply no longer to be bothered to even care. But she may change her mind. Still, my advice is not to hold your royal breath.
Mr. Big dating, moving in, Mr. Big 7:21 am
So last month Mr. Big and I had a spontaneous conversation about the possibility of a relationship someday. I got stunned and worked up, he backed away quickly, and then I was all filled with sadness and panic. I’m fun like that, right? Anyway, it brought up some of my flight instincts, stirred up some of my discontent, and also showed me that under all of that I kind of wanted this man anyway.
This month, the conversation has been slower. And more serious. This month we are having a leisurely and real chat about all of those things again. This month Mr. Big and I are discussing moving in together. Not in a nebulous maybe someday kind of way either. It would be in late summer.
We have discussed where his stuff would go, where some of mine would have to move to, how finances and chores would work, and how we would have to dissolve it if it went south. We’ve talked about when he would move. We’ve talked about what personal freedoms we’d expect to give up and which ones we’d expect to keep. We’ve talked about how it would affect our current relationship.
This is not hypothetical. This is not a vague thing that maybe someday we could do. This is something we are considering for late summer, depending on how we make it through the beginning of summer. This would mean an honest relationship for us, with exclusivity and closing off of all the open ends. We have both agreed to the terms. This is real.
I am startled. I am thrilled. I am scared. Actually, I am terrified. I am letting myself relax around him. I am letting him in. I am eyeing the exit door, which is still open. I am telling myself to go through it and not to all at once. I am quietly rejoicing even as I freak out. I am a walking happy contradiction. I am especially afraid of the happy part.
I am analyzing our future now. I am deciding where this could go. I am telling myself that is ridiculous as I have no hope of knowing the answer right now. I can only see by moving forward, by getting closer to the target. But each step I take is another chance to get hurt. And oh, I’ve been hurt so much already. And I wasn’t alone very long, and shouldn’t I be on my own for longer? But why? What good will that do? Why not take the step? Why not trust a little? Why not let someone in? I know why not. Because I could get hurt. Because there is danger. But every step we take in life runs those risks. There is always hurt. There is always danger. I have never stood still because of it before. And where did that get me? Look at my past… how well did that theory really work? But oh…. the possibilities. And I can’t be scared forever.
That’s the bottom line. I can’t be scared forever. Can I?
Mr. Big carrie bradshaw, dating, Mr. Big, sex and the city 11:15 am
Clearly all names in this blog have been changed to protect the guilty. Coming up with aliases for friends and dates and other assorted people is sometimes easy and sometimes not. And now I’m learning that it is sometimes prophetic.
When I named Mr.Big it was for reasons that had nothing to do with Carrie Bradshaw. It was actually something else all together that made me giggle even as I typed it that first time. I know that’s not what everyone expects, but it’s true. But recently I’m finding that Mr. Big’s alias may just be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
At night as I drift off to sleep, I tend to watch Sex and The City since it’s on cable now. Yes, I am just that girly. And the other night I was watching the episode where Carrie goes on her book tour to San Francisco and meets Mr. Big again for what she hopes will be a night of hot passion. Except he has read her book and is suddenly disturbed at how badly he’s hurt her. He never knew, he said.
And I stopped and thought about all the times Carrie went back to him. And all the times he unknowingly hurt her. And all the pain he caused her through the length of that TV series. And for about the 100th time that day, I started to cry.
I cried because I’ve been hurting for a while and I haven’t been acknowledging it. I cried because I thought I should leave my own Mr. Big but I also knew I lacked the courage to walk away right now. I cried because I knew I loved him and I didn’t know how he felt at all. I cried because I let it get this far.
And then I cried some more. I cried because at the end of that seven year TV series, in the very last episode, Carrie gets her Mr. Big. They end up together. And I cried because that gives me a twisted sense of prophetic hope. Then I cried because of how stupid that all is.
Mr. Big is truly my Mr. Big. I know that. What I don’t know is if we have the happy ending in store for us. And I can’t decide if I have the strength to wait and see. But right now I lack the strength to walk away.
What I didn’t know as I laid there crying is that things are on the verge of change for us. There is more to come in this story. But that is for another entry.
philosopher and tales of woe and yahoo personals abortion, booty calls, dating, sex, the philiosopher 8:17 am
Over the coming weeks, The Philosopher would text message me randomly before disappearing again. Mostly the conversations degraded quickly into some kind of sexy talk and I would try to redirect, deflect, or just terminate the conversation all together. It was clear what the Philosopher wanted and it definitely wasn’t more than a roll in the hay. He spent much time trying to convince me our next date should be at my place, in front of my fireplace. I knew that was badly disguised code for “I’m not going out with you again unless you give up the goods.” I agreed to nothing.
He came back in town about a month after that first date. I had had my limit of the sexy talk and the blatant goal setting he was attempting to do. I bluntly asked him why he was so determined. He bluntly answered why not. I rather bluntly told him it wasn’t ever going to happen. Alas, this story would not be so long if I’d stuck to my guns.
Twitter me!
