Post Breakup Part ‘Em Depression and Booty Calls

886706_88791559 “Have you experienced The Insane Weekend yet?”  he asked.  He was a person I’d brushed digital shoulders with some time back, nearly two years now, on a social networking (not dating) site.  While he lives locally, sort of, we’ve never met. We chat online every now and then. this was one of those now-and-then times.  Over the last two years, I’d become his outlet to rant about his latest relationship that didn’t pan out.  Since he’s also an FB friend, he knew something of the demise of the romance between Oz and I. He was trying to be helpful and commiserate.  Seems he’d just broken up with someone he’d intended to marry.  His situation, like my own, began in a gradual downward spiral and ended up plummeting to a disastrous end.

“The Insane Weekend?”  I typed back.  We’ve also never talked on the phone, only IM’d sporadically. 

“Yeah, the weekend where you cry your eyes out, want to die, don’t want the end of the relationship to be reality but it is.  I wept for two days and even prayed on my knees to a God I don’t believe in that He would take this reality from me. You act insane and you feel you’re going out of your mind with pain. You know, the insane weekend.”

I sighed.  Yeah, I thought.  Since 20 of October I’ve had plenty of those. 

“Yeah, I’ve had a few of those, I think,” I messaged.

We went on to talk about the breakup and healing process.  The pain when you finally realize conclusively that the someone you’d painted into your present and your future is erasing themselves out.  Decisively.  Finally. 

The pain that comes in spite of the fact that you also had very real concerns about the other person and their “stick-ability”, especially after the recent events.

The sense of rejection you feel.  The sense of loss.  The very real experiences associated with the death of anything, anyone significant, important, cherished. 

The fear that comes with envisioning a future by yourself, when it only days ago appeared to be filled with incredibly fulfilling companionship, love and hope.

The realization and the sickening dread that your current loneliness may well be your lot in life.

All these feelings we IM’d about and shared. 

He related the pain and confusion of breakup sex and the back and forth situation he was still dealing with. 

I was grateful that option is not possible for me, especially not now, since, as suspected The Wizard magically disappeared in a way that is convenient to do when you are 12,000 miles away and can simply unfriend a person, delete a contact and refuse to answer any email.  At least I am not in the place where the breakup sex and the subsequent delay of the inevitable is possible. I’m realizing, as I usually do in situations like this, that things are working out, or they eventually will, for the better.  In the meantime I’ve learned a lot about myself.  Good to know. The Insane Weekends are over.  Moving on.

Eventually, the IMing evolved to texting, since I had to get off the computer.  Still battling a cold/flu and feeling very weak after my first week back to work I really could only take so much sitting up and squinting at the small computer print.

By this time our conversation had turned from dealing with what we regretted and had lost, to thinking about the present and the future.  We both recognize that though our pain now seems to overwhelm us at points, it is not a permanent thing.  We began bantering about his upcoming plans to spend some time eating sushi on his brother’s dime the next weekend.  The conversation was gradually tapering to an end.

125199_4068 In the midst of this, I received a booty call. Well, it really was a booty text.

“You still up?”  the text said.

“Yeah, just heading to bed.”  It was almost nine o’clock.

“I’m not one to beat around the bush,” the Booty Texter replied.  “Want company?”

I almost laughed out loud. 

“I think I just got a booty text”, I texted to my other friend.

“I am in my pj’s, look like bat guano and can’t breathe.  I won’t be great company,” I texted Booty Texter.  “Wait!”  I went on, “Was that a booty call and I just missed it?”

Booty Texter didn’t deny it and he wasn’t giving up that easily.  He went on to mention that he was was also in his p.j.’s and could just slip on his slippers and come over.  He then mentioned his CPR skills. 

Really?!  Are you kidding me?!  What part of any of this is supposed to make me feel special, desirable and like he’s really into me? (None of it, that’s my point!) This also from a guy in earlier exchanges who said “he really liked me, but didn’t know about getting involved with someone with kids”.  Yeah, he should have just said, “Let’s be f*** buddies”, after all, he wasn’t “one to beat around the bush”.   As far as Booty Texter is concerned all I can say is, “Good to know his real intentions now rather than later”.  He’s clearly into no one but himself.  Good to know.

This booty call strategy must work for guys because they try it.  Apparently they’re getting rewarded for it enough to make it worth the effort.  Seems like a completely degrading place to go for a few seconds of gratification…if you could call it that.

The guy had to be totally desperate to want to get it on with an ill, snot oozing, barely breathing babe like me.  Add to this that I’d already470334_41429338 refused to go out with him once that evening when he invited me “over to his place for dinner”.  Right.  He was hard up enough to take rejection twice from the same person?  And don’t even tell me any of that is because “maybe he really likes you”.  Excuse me while the tears from my recent breakup turn into gales of hilarious laughter. 

This is my future?  I wondered. Wasting time with freaks like this to find out what?  They hope to get something for nothing? 

“Yep” I texted to my first friend.  “It’s a booty call and he’s not giving up easily.”

I texted a firm no to Booty Texter and he, like all the others before him, who’ve tried the same futile tact, ended the conversation in a huff but not before he’d put in his last “you’re really missing out” digs.

I’m pretty sure I’ll never hear from him again. 

I’m pretty sure I don’t care.

I let my friend know that the booty text episode had ended and shortly after that we concluded our own lighthearted and delightfully non-sexual banter and said our own good-byes, encouraging each other to keep our proverbial relational chins up.

It is times like these, that I am grateful, for the humor of life.  It is these times tlolhat make me wonder what I was so worried about a future alone for?  It is times like these that sitting at home alone by the fire with my one guard dog and two cats is really all I want or need.  No demands.  No pressure.  No pain.  Just lots of good old fashioned contentment mixed in with a bit of joy because I know I’m going to be okay, come what may. It is also at these times, interestingly enough, that my own internal focus and vision for my future become much clearer and more defined.

I’m done with The Insane Weekends. I’m done with online dating. I’m actually even feeling like I might be done with being sick. That’s the best part. 

I might even be done with “dating” per se for a while.  I just am really tired of the games, the dance, the eventual disappointment.  Not that there would always be a disappointment, but quite honestly, more and more I’m becoming convinced that if I just go about my life…if there even is someone out there for me…then he’ll appear when the time is right.  It will be more authentic and less artificial and staged.  I’m not saying I won’t ever date, but I’m not going to worry about filling my weekend social calendar either.  It somehow seems to do that anyway without much effort on my part. 

In the meantime, I have better things to do with my emotional energy than waste my sorrows on those who clearly are uninterested and unworthy.  I have far better things to with my time than sort through Booty Call Boys and Disappearing Acts in the hopes of finding Prince Charming. 

After all, in every scenario, Prince Charming went seeking Cinderella, not the other way around. 

Cinderella mourned the loss of her shoe but went on dusting in her rags till the dude showed up. And if he hadn’t shown up, something else interesting and magnificent would have happened to Cinderella. I’m certain of it. 

I have far more interesting things to do than read fake profiles, go out for coffee only to find it’s a no, go back to the drawing board again, and so on. 

Besides, it is far more likely I’m probably going to  bump into him at one of those classes I’ll be taking at The Home Depot on how to install sprinkler systems, lay tile, concrete walkways, or prune my trees because that is where I’m going to be spending my time anyway. 

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Boredom Busters

Have you ever kept someone in your life, listed on your cell phone, written in your little black book so to speak, that you have no intention of ever getting serious with?  They aren’t really a friend, they aren’t a love interest, they are nothing, but you keep them around because, well, when you have nothing better to do they are something to do.  They are your own personal boredom buster.  I’m not even talking a friends with benefits thing here.  I’m talking simply someone you contact when there is no one else available to contact.  You do it because you are alone, you are bored, you don’t want to be alone and you’d rather be bored with someone else nearby, anyone else, than be bored by yourself. 

Personally, I don’t operate this way, but I know there are others who do.  It’s especially humorous, when I discover that someone has placed me on their own personal Boredom Buster register. This happened to me a couple of nights ago when someone I met nearly a year ago on one of those sleazy free dating sites contacted me out of the blue through a text message.  Now, this was someone who initially contacted me.  They always contact me. I never initiate contact ever. We corresponded a bit but since he never asked me out, we never met.  I’m not much into digital dating so I moved on and dismissed him as a real contender for Date of the Year Award. 

He would text me (he never called) every so often.  Sometimes I responded, most of the time I did not.  He still kept contacting me.  One night many months ago, we agreed to meet.  He was never a serious interest and I happened to be out with the girls at a trendy little pub in a trendier little community.  He contacted me wanted to know if I wanted to get together for drinks.  I told him I was already out, if he wanted to come by I’d be there for another hour or so. 

He showed up in a t-shirt and a baseball cap.

He didn’t look at all like his pictures.

I was even less impressed than before and it didn’t help that I found out he’s separated, not divorced and “due to finances” not getting divorced any time soon.

Wrong answer!  Thank you for playin’! 

I finished up my drink and went home. 

He never called and then a month later he texts me, again on a Friday night to see what I’m up to.

I didn’t respond.

Seriously, girls, do not get into the last minute habit here with a guy.  You’ll have no life.

He texted me a month later same deal, no response from me and then he went silent.

A couple of nights ago he texted me out of the blue and this coversation transpired:

He: Now that my ribs are healed, I’d sure love to get together again with you.

Mind you, last time I saw this dude was over the holidays, maybe as late as February.  I mean really?  Who shows up at a trendy pub with the intent of meeting a hot chick in a baseball cap and a t-shirt?  Not someone who is serious about impressing said  hot chick that’s for sure. My thought was, “Wow! Wonder what he looks like when he’s just hanging out at home?”  It wasn’t a good visual.

Back to the bizarre conversation at hand… 

Me: What happened with your ribs?  (Duh!  Like I really cared, but I suspected it had the makings of a great blog post!)

He:  (I deleted this message but it said something like…”I didnt’ tell you what happened?  OMG!  I thought I did.” Then he made some nondescript statement about really wanting to date me but about being “shy” of all things.

Me: Yeah.  You’ve kept in such close contact I’m absolutely certain you are into me…NOT! 😉

He: Wow…you’re tough…well I would like to take you out for drinks…dinner…both…when are you free?

Me: Seriously? Thought you were playing me. I moved on.  

I never actually considered this guy for a minute.  At one point, I told him directly that since he was not moving in the direction of finalizing his divorce, I was uninterested in getting to know him in any other capacity than purely platonic friends without benefits. What I didn’t tell him was I’m not really even interested in getting to know him as friends.

He: Ok…I really am sorry I did not contact you more.  I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you.  You were the 1st interesting conversation I had in months (yeah, that’s what they all say and then they don’t call…if I only had a dollar…LOL!)

Me: Well, thank you.  I enjoyed meeting you too, but in the down time someone captured my interest and imagination and I just feel I can’t give anyone else a fair hearing while he’s a contender.  It might not go anywhere and that’s okay, but until I know that for certain, no one is stacking up.

Now who would pursue someone after that?  Yet, he comes back for more…

He: Fair enough and for love’s sake I hope things work out for you.  You deserve to be happy. (Darn straight I do…and so does he…but he’s not getting anything with that level of effort. And, wait…what’s he talking about?  I’m already happy.  LOL! ) I will check in at a later date. 🙂

I did not respond to this.  I mean what could I say? I probably shouldn’t have engaged in the conversation with him to begin with.  It is clear I am simply a boredom buster for him.  He’s not legally available and is merely looking for a distraction. I am not willing to be that distraction.  I’ve been very clear with him that I am not interested in a friends with benefits situation nor am I into dating someone who is emotionally or legally unavailable.  I met him for drinks once after meager correspondence of no substance for six months, when I was already out with my girlfriends.  It was nice, not great and I didn’t even shake his hand upon leaving.

Sometimes I don’t understand human behavior.  Isn’t it better to be alone with your own thoughts than to continue to put yourself in social situations that end up unhappily?  I mean, it just seems like he’s intentionally setting himself up for failure. I guess some people just can’t stand being alone with themselves and anything, anyone will do to help stave off the lonliness, pain, emptiness, disappointment and boredom.  Or…am I simply missing the point here?

Now, while I’m making this little anecdotal record out to be humorous, and while it does have it’s humorous elements, the real emotion I feel at the end of the telling is sadness.  Not for myself, necessarily.  I am pretty content with myself and I can handle tons of time in solitude and silence.  In fact, solitary confinement would never be a punishment for me it would be a relief.  But for him and the many, many people like him who seem trapped, alone, lost and unable to really take control of their lives for themselves (and I do know how taking control is frightening and difficult) I feel very, very sad.

In the end, it all just seems he’s living a life of quiet self imposed desperation.

Match Games

I’ve admitted before that I used to be an online dating junkie of sorts.  I was.  Note the use of the past tense here.  Shortly before my divorce was final and for some months after it was final, I decided, out of boredom and curiosity, to find out if dating in 40+ World was as dismal as I’d always thoguht it would be and as horrifying as I heard it was. 

It was both as bad as I thought and the horror stories were real.  I did meet many of what I call NGBs (Nice Guys, But….).  I met many men who were real jerks and after about a year of this exhausting, disappointing and discouraging routine, I gave it up.  That was sometime last summer.  I took my profiles down and cancelled all memberships and took the summer off.

Sometime around August, near the end of August, I decided to put my profile up on a free site, just out of curiosity.  I also put my profile up and paid for one month at my favorite paid dating site (NOT eHarmony –villains!).  I do not know why I did this.  It was just as I was heading back to school for the fall and the worst possible time for me to even think about dating.  Well, I got enough interest from decent people this time around to last me for six more months of something to do besides be alone on the weekends when my kids are at their dads.  During this time I actually had two almost relationships, meaning they started out great and almost took off, but didn’t.   I recently took my profiles down off all sites after The Beau mentioned he wanted to date exclusively.  I was okay with this anyway since I was pretty much tired of the whole  Online Meetup thing anyway.   Now that The Beau made his grand exit, I am not going to go restore my profiles.  At least, I didn’t think I would.

Friday, night, my daughter and I spent the night together.  She had taken a few minutes and was playing with her toys in her room and I was checking out my blog stats and emails  from all three of my admiring fans.  My phone buzzed.  I noted a text from my friend and colleague, a 36 y.o. single mother of two. 

“I just checked my Yahoo account and the father of one of my students is one of my matches,” the text read.

“Cool!” I texted back.  It took me hours to get that much texted. Before I could hit send she pinged me back with “He’s really hot and very nice too.  His son was in my class last year too.” 

“Really, cool.  Here’s one you should check out on Match.”  I told her and gave her the username of someone I knew who I think is totally hot.  Sadly, he lives too far away.  She looked him up and texted me back, “LOL!! He’s got 4 children! Shouldn’t already be out?” 

“Nope.  The kids are the easy part,” I clumsily texted back.  Before I could hit “send” on that message, she was texting me back with “The parent is on Match.  Look up his user.”  She gave me his user and School Dad was indeed cute.  I suggested she get our mutual friend who happens to be this guy’s neighbor to introduce us. 

“LMAO!  Threesome, nice!” she responded. Then she texted me back saying “Oh my you have to go look up ______________!”  and she gave me another user to look up. 

“Why?”  I texted back.

“Because he’s HOT!” she texted me. 

Now, I really did not want to go on Match and begin looking.  I’d only gone there to look at the one profile a friend of mine had asked me to check out for him as he began his dating adventures.  He’s hot!  If he doesn’t get great dates with lots of pretty 30-something’s there is just something wrong with female America.  But still, I was a bit of a junkie and curiosity got the best of me. 

It was at this point I texted her back saying, ” Okay, I’ll play.  But we have to both agree to blog about the experience afterward.”

“Deal” came the lightning fast response.  I pulled up the user name of the guy she gave me and there was a man in his mid 50’s with a mowhawk and tattoos head to toe.  He looked a bit like Ray Bradbury’s Illustrated Man.  I choked on my wine as his profile loaded.  Surprisingly, the man was very well written and apparently had two degrees in Art and History. 

“Well, the Mohawk guy at least had the sense enough to get someone to write his profile for him,”  I quipped.  I did a quick search for men ages 39-49 in our area.  Sixteen measly pages loaded.  I texted her about it.  “I bet I’ve dated them all too,”  I added. Scrolling quickly through them I noted that I had indeed either dated most of the men or decided against dating them.  I then sent her the name of someone whose picture seriously looked like George Clooney, Jr.  and whose highest age for a match was 42, effectively cancelling me out. 

“He’s way HOT!”  she texted me.  Then she sent me the name of another candidate, once again far too young for me but just right for her.  We went at it like this for about ten minutes with her getting off ten texts to my feeble one.  Then I got a swift idea.  “Hey!”  I texted.  “Give me a random Portland zip code”.  She did.  I searched within 75 miles of the zip code using the same ages I’d used for my local area.  32+ pages loaded.  I groaned.   I texted her my results. 

“LMAO!”  came the reply.

“LMAO?  It’s not funny!  I’m living in the freaking wrong part of the state!”

“ROFLMAO!”  was all she texted back.

I scrolled through about 4 pages of wonderfully available and attractive, professional, well-written, educated, well-adjusted, non-redneck men, just my age and finally just gave up.  It was torture.

A few minutes later, my fun search texting whatever banter with my friend ended as she had to deal with her kids and I, now completely depressed about the likelihood of romance ever striking in my podunk neck of the woods, had to go have fun with my own daughter.

The next morning I got up and, as though possessed by demons, I created a profile on Match, but did not subscribe.  Why did I do this?  Stupid, foolish, woman that I am!

This morning, I checked my email and in less than 24 hours I have 40 views, 7 messages and some number of winks.  I logged on to Match and, of course, since I am not a subscriber I cannot see who emailed me but I can view the profiles of those who simply winked.  I now really like it when men wink!  Match has a design flaw here.  They should let you at least see who messaged you, but not see what they said.  It might make us desperate sorts feel even more desperate and then we’ll part with our hard earned cash and subscribe. 

Not me though.  I’d have to wait till payday anyway and judging from the winks I got, there’s just nothing new in my hometown.   I really am so living in the wrong place right now at least where romance is concerned.  Doesn’t anybody out there listen to something besides the Jugg Sisters and the Stetson Brothers?  Oh, and you’ll love this.  Turns out Mohawk Man, you know, the Illustrated Man, is one of the ones who winked at me.  Wait till my friend gets wind of that!!!!!