Learning to Drive Stick: Creepy Smellers, Irene, and Paté
Okay, I went out with this guy on Friday night. We shared the same musical tastes and had some commonality with other interests. He was tall, handsome, metro.. what wasn’t to like?
The first thing he did when I arrived at the café was offer me 5 different types of candy. Candy?! Maybe some people would consider that endearing, but it turned me off. I don’t want to date teenagers at 36; I want to date men. So, beyond the candy, what I found out next was that he was a workaholic for the wrong reasons, money and status. He mentioned twice that his jeans cost over $500. Let’s call him $500 Jean Guy. At 32, he had two divorces behind him, one wedding that cost him $80,000, which he felt relevant to tell me. The other, the most recent, resulted in his 4-year-old daughter and a contemptuous relationship with her mother, a woman, whom he informed me, before our first cocktail, within 20 minutes of meeting, that she was bipolar and abusive and that she is costing him enough money to afford her nice tropical vacations. All this before a cocktail!
Shortly after that admission we wandered out of the for some drinks and oysters. I needed a cocktail the way this was headed. We finally made out way into a little place in Harvard Square, and given a corner booth, he proceeded to sit a little too closely, keep offering me candy, telling me to look at him and slurping his oysters with sound effects. Eww. I like oysters, love them in fact, but you are supposed to let them slide down, not slurp slurp suck. Eww, as I write this I suddenly imagine that he probably has sound gross effects during oral sex. Eww.
We finished up at that restaurant and I found myself unnerved and in need of another cocktail to deal with him, so we wander to my local go to and sit at the bar. My date-saving waitress comes by and helps distract several times. The bartender offers great drinks, and a shot. The $500 Jean Guy? Well, he starts sniffing me, telling me that I smell sweet, like candy, and then asks me if I think he smells nice. I never ask a date this, I just assume I do. If they don’t like my parfum, they won’t go out with me again. I give big eyes to my waitress friend, who “happens to need to talk to the bartender” and $500 Jean Guy then proceeds to tell her how nice I smell, and how I smell like candy. Suddenly a co-worker of mine appears after spotting me from across the bar and he tells her too… how I smell like candy, as he starts to eat from his bag of candy he bought earlier this evening.
He walks with me for a bit until our paths, luckily, part, and then proceeds to text me and let me know that when I am over my ex and ready for something less than casual, that I can call him. He also informs me that I should have kissed him. No, no, really. Ok, umm, he was weird. Creepy weird. Something also reminded me of Brooklyn , maybe it was a similar body build, facial thing, propensity to just stare at me weirdly. When I met Brooklyn, I thought it was flattering; in retrospect, once I really got to know Brooklyn, from beginning to end, his intensity towards me was just uncomfortable and weird. How many times did I just say weird? I can’t help it because weird, creepy, and unnerving are the only words that match.
So, what does any frustrated girl do after such a date? She walks past the 24 hour grocery store and buys two different types of ice cream, because she can’t decide: cheesecake bites, raisin toast, yogurt raisins and cereal. I rarely buy any of those items. My heart wanted sugar and carbs to usher in the Hurricane that was coming.
So, I spent Saturday in torrential rain pours, feet soaked, dog soaked, body swollen from carb overload and heart heavy from missing TypeGeek. I had texted him throughout the day to remind him of things to do, just in case, like garage his car, secure any plants in pots outside, watch for odd behavior from his cat, etc. At one point, after he mentioned that he was at a party, I mentioned that I was drinking cab and eating pâté, and potentially by the 3rd glass, I would probably be thinking inappropriately naughty things about him.
He responded with a … “pâté, ewww, gross”.
I made fun of him, told him he was 4 and mentioned that I find it funny how he can eat the muscles but not the organs. He came back with a ,”still gross”.
To which I playfully remarked… ” lucky for you , I never had an issue putting organs in my mouth “.
Silence for a bit, and then “yeah, that’s very nice”.
“I would take TypeGeek over Country Pork any day”, I retorted.
“I’d take a blowjob any day over pâté” TypeGeek said
and so… I responded that ” all you ever need to do is ask”
With that comment said, I went silent for the rest of the evening. We then texted a bit on Sunday as he sneered at the lack of impact the storm had on his neighborhood, while I tried to get the 8 feet of fence that fell in my yard to stand back up and told him to shut it. Then for about 5 minutes on Monday. It’s no mystery or great secret that I want Type Geek and I don’t want to walk away. It’s also no great secret that he doesn’t really want me to go away, or he would not engage in conversations with me about oral sex. I want him back in my bed by his birthday. Sigh.
Meanwhile, I conversed with a couple of men on OkCupid, I didn’t sit and dwell and mope. I also touched base with my friend on Google+ who is going through a divorce after far too many years, and my old Kiwi friend who needs girl advice because he has met someone who sends him ass over tea kettle. It’s been a full week. I’m looking forward to a Thursday Night free without any dates or plans. I think I need a little time with just my dog, my bed and a book. Hope you all made it through the storm safely. Speak to you soon!
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