Omega (3)...now with shameless camwhore!!Submitted by Sage at 2009-10-29 21:46:44 EDT
Rating: 0.78 on 58 ratings (58 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I am, against my better judgment, browsing through the online profiles of myriad 27-30 year old men in my area. I see your profile. You’re pretty good looking, and despite the grammatical errors polluting your profile…despite the near-insatiable urge to hold this against you, I email you. Maybe because we were paired up by The System; maybe because you showed the first indicator of interest…maybe because I am realizing that my fears are reality and that there is no stopping the present. Perhaps I just want to be distracted again, although I know I’m not ready for this step and don’t know when I will be. But I email you regardless. And the next day I have a bright shiny reply, from none other than you, waiting for me in my inbox.
Reminiscent of your profile, your email is plagued with grammatical errors and “txt spk” and as I wade through this bullshit…every turn of phrase similar to “so, u like going 2 the movies?” it’s all I can do to not convulsively twitch and compulsively roll my eyes…gritting my teeth and sighing in annoyance. In spite of myself, I am cheery and polite in my response to you. Our banter is mediocre at best. You’re far from intelligent, that’s for damn sure. You’re not very interesting, either. But I guess I like that you’re athletic, and you seem to have your shit together…you’re a homeowner, and you have a steady career you seem content with.
I suppose you’re holding my interest enough to keep the emails going back and forth for a few weeks, until you pose the inevitable question I would have never asked: “so, when do u wanna meet up?” I offer a couple of evenings the next week, when I know I may or may not get asked to hang out by Him, hoping you’ll pick the one He’ll most likely ask me to come over, just so that I can tell Him I have plans. Luckily for me, you respond the next day with “Thursday works best 4 me since I’ll b in Chicago 4 work until then.” Thursday it is.
We agree to meet, at lucky fucking seven o’clock in the evening, at a local bar I used to frequent but no longer do due to the shitty service and whack rules they’ve only recently implemented. Not to mention there’s a bartender that works there, an ex of His, who hates me. She gives me a look upon my entry, as a matter of fact, I attempt to wave hello and smile but she rolls her eyes and looks away. Fucking of course…what a bitch. Moving on…to this…the first date. God, I hate these situations. We actually have interesting conversation over spin dip and tortilla chips and beer (oh my)…and by interesting conversation, I mean we talk sports. Shit, that’s almost all we talked about over email. At least he likes the same football team as I do, I guess. But to be honest, I like the back and forth of smack talking another’s team. His team.
You notice that I’m only have one beer…I tell you it’s because I’m too hungover from the night before to drink much. I leave out the “why”. As far as you’re concerned, it’s irrelevant, but it’s been infecting my mind since the night before last, when He…well, when it all came to an end between us. It’s still on my mind…an uninterrupted, maddening sliver of a thought. But we’re here to focus…to make an effort, to give a chance. And it works, briefly; superficially, at least. This is supposed to be a salve; a much needed lull in the hot race of getting over Him. So we agree to meet again. And I’m actually kind of looking forward to it.
Dinner and a movie on Wednesday at 7ish? Sure, why the hell not. Oh, and you’re picking me up? What a gentleman! This is different from what I’m accustomed to, and I could certainly get used to this treatment. You look handsome and smell good, and I’m surprised at how attracted to you I am. I’m shocked that I was looking forward to this date, and that I even took the extra time to primp beforehand. You pay for my meal and let me grab your arm during the scary parts of the movie, and I’m looking forward to our next…third…date on Friday, just two short days away. You call, email, and text when you say you will, and you seem interested in me…and in spite of myself, I’m actually pretty interested in you, too. I actually kiss you goodnight as I tell you I had a fantastic time and declare I’m so excited to meet your friends and go to this surprise party we’re planning to attend.
You pick me up again, my…this is nice. We make light conversation as you drive to your friend’s house downtown. Your friend and his girlfriend are cool enough, and so are the others that meet up with us later. But this is where you start to shit the bed; this is where you begin to fail me. Drink after drink after drink has you putting your arm around me…telling me how lucky you are that you met me…trying to kiss me in front of everyone, trying to get me to dance I front of people I don’t know…just altogether making me uncomfortable with your now evident, weak ass signs of desperation. I keep looking at my phone, hoping He’ll text or call to see what I’m up to.
God, when the hell is this party going to end? I didn’t drive, I just want to get the hell out of here but because you drove me, I feel obligated to stay. We didn’t even drive to the party, we got a ride from someone who’s not even here. 12am, 1am, 2am, 3am…they all drag out as my sleepiness grows in opposite proportion to my patience. Finally, I convince you that it’s a good idea to leave…you call a cab, and we wait outside. You tell me again how lucky you are, how beautiful I am…that it’s probably too soon to say this…but…you’re not seeing anyone else. I don’t respond. You look at me, expecting something…anything. I mumble something about not seeing others either, because at the moment, it’s the truth. But it’s not necessarily going to be. Why did I say that? Ugh.
After a seeming eternity the cab arrives. I ramble on to the cab driver about politics, you pass out in a drunken stupor. We arrive at my house, and a kiss at the door stoop isn’t sufficient. You want to escort me inside, and give me another kiss. This is ridiculous. Too much, too soon. This is the alpha of the omega, friend, you’ve reached it.
I suppose at least now I know my limit. I got further with you than I did with any of the other suckers; I suppose that’s a step in the right direction. I actually appreciated the fact that you treated me well, at least initially. I thoroughly enjoyed your company, at least for the first two and a half dates. These are the thoughts that dawn on me as the night goes to rest and the sun rubs the sleep out of its eyes.
Tired, I ready myself for bed, all too aware of the fact that none of them will ever be Him…no, not one. I crawl into bed and allow myself to rest in peaceful acceptance of that fact. Tomorrow I’ll take another step, the next day another, and the day after that…yet another. He told me to walk away, He told me to leave. So I suppose all that’s left to do is keep walking.
I break hearts not faces.jpg