Welcome to the Jungle

This Independence Day, my thoughts naturally turned to what I was doing last year at this time.  It was the beginning of the end for XBF and me and I realized that it's been almost a solid year since we broke up.  A year of hilarious adventures in dating.  I think most people, including myself, look back and reflect on New Year's Eve/Day.  For me, as heartbreaking as it was at the time, my new year began once I was single again.

Prior to creepy Condo Guy and Buzz, there were four guys that I dipped my toes in the water with...so may God strike me dead, I am kissing and telling.  Given some of these situations though, I don't feel so bad.

FINISH HER!!!

I will never forget kissing someone for the first time after XBF and I broke up - I felt like I was cheating.  What was so funny is that it wasn't like we were in a Ross and Rachel from Friends situation and "we were on a break."  This was much more akin to Mortal Kombat and someone's skeleton had been ripped out of their body.  We were definitely over.

Enter cute Irish Catholic guy, closet film junkie, pretty eyes - I'll refer to him as Pac Man.  Innocent flirting led to a night out together with friends.  Totally non-threatening.  He knew all the right things to say to swoop in on the carrion post-breakup.  He "understood" if I "needed to take things slow" and he "just wanted to spend time with me and get to know me better" since he thought I'd been "under-appreciated."  I don't think it was his first time at the rodeo.

After some aww-isn't-he-so-thoughtful texts and calls, he was going to California for a wedding for a week and wanted to see me before he left.  Problem was, the only time that worked for both of us was right then, and it was getting late and I was on the couch in sweatpants and a cami clearing out my DVR.  But it felt so nice to have a cute guy want to be so sweet and see me before he left, so I gave in and said something to the effect of:  "I'm just hanging out in my sweats watching tv if you want to come snuggle up with me."

Side note:  I have come to realize that other women were either taught things or handed some sort of manual that I wasn't.  Other women apparently do a really great job of playing the ever-so-seductive game of cat and mouse.  They dangle the carrot and pull it back.  Then dangle and allow for a nibble.  I, on the other hand, am far too literal [awesome, honest, non-manipulative, and logical like a guy when it comes to this stuff which is probably reason number eleventy billion why I'm single] and say pretty much what's on my mind.  That means if I say:  "snuggle" I mean snuggle.  If I say something along the lines of:  "I want you now" - no mixed messages there.

He came over looking better than cute, and he smelled absolutely delicious.  [In retrospect, I think he's the kind of guy who keeps cologne in his car, which aside from being a good way to ruin cologne, is also probably an indicator of his "dating" style.]

How YOU doin'?

The episode of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia on my tv [I sometimes feel guilty watching that show, the characters really have no souls] was quality background noise to flirty curl up on the couch together time.  I always enjoy getting out and trying new things, but I absolutely love curl up on the couch together time.  Then he kissed me.  After thinking I was going to be kissing one person for the rest of my life, kissing someone new was weird to say the least.  It was like always doing my cartwheels left-handed and suddenly doing them right hand first.

The lululemon manifesto (I read it online while I was looking up their yoga classes) says something about how we all grew up in different homes where different words had different meanings and we need to remember and appreciate that.  I had no idea what "snuggle" meant in Pac Man's world.  Yes, it was getting late that night, but does time of day completely undermine any words I use and simply equate to "let's fuck"?!?!  Perhaps if this is a repeat offense I can agree with that contention, but not if that line hasn't even come close to being crossed.  I digress.

I found out what "snuggle" meant to him as he put my hand on his crotch.  Dude, I'm a big girl.  I know what I'm doing.  If I want my hand to be somewhere, trust me, it'll be there.  I moved my hand away.  One life left, Pac Man.

His kisses continued down my neck, down my collarbone, down my stomach...and kept going...  Now I moved him away.  For crying out loud, the guy had better odds of winning the lottery.  What I loved most, though, was his response.

Pac Man:  "But I just want to make you feel good."
Me:  "I feel awesome."

Tactically speaking, not a bad angle, but given the circumstances and timing, fail.

As he continued his previous advances, "But I want to give you something to remember me by."

Thanks for playing!

I walked him to the door.  I'm no prude, but you've got to be fucking kidding me.  I certainly will remember him, just probably not for the reasons he was hoping.

For the next three, I have to swallow my pride big time and admit something that only four people know.  [Deep breath.]  I went on match.com for the three day free trial.  I felt like it had been long enough and I needed to get back out there.  My three day dalliance was overall quite frightening, but I left the world of online dating with three potential suitors:  Science Guy, Young Paul Bunyan, and The Russian.

Science guy was 34, worked in a lab, and was finishing his PhD.  As if being super smart wasn't sexy enough, he was very easy on the eyes, classically good looking.  Everything went downhill from there.  We met up at a nice sports bar where he drank one beer and dominated the appetizer we ordered.  At least offer me a chance at the last tuna and avocado roll!  Talking with him was painful.  Monotone.  We were at a sports bar and he's a guy, so I shifted the conversation to sports.  I am a ginormous sports fan and he was saying how he couldn't understand how people got so into it.  Granted, we live in a college town where our football team is practically a religion, but he had no desire to ever even go to a game and preferred to spend his Saturdays in the lab.  No professional soccer games?  No AAA baseball games?  Nothing.  Add to this the fact that he was pretty much dressed like my 50-something father with his braided belt and tucked in polo.  I think our server was either completely negligent or misconstrued my carrying the conversation for us having a good time, and what should have lasted maybe two hours was an excruciating three and a half hour long teeth-pulling session.  I actually had a headache when it was over.

Next was the Young Paul Bunyan.  Minnesota native, Northwestern grad, super outdoorsy, super cute.  I branched out and went on a date with someone younger.  He was 25.  Yikes!  He was adorable [I use that specific word intentionally] and we had a lovely time at dinner and grabbed a couple beers afterward.  I don't know whether it was his age, the fact that he is incredibly sweet and mild-mannered, or what, but to me he was adorable in the way that puppies are adorable.  There is no kind of adorable that makes me want to grab someone and passionately kiss them.

Then there was the Russian.  Criminal defense attorney, 29, Jewish.  A guy who I could talk to all day long, and we did for over a month.  He was someone who appreciated my outspokenness and shared my love of trying new things.  Two problems:  even though he said he wasn't, he was still very much into the club scene, and I wasn't really super physically attracted to him.  The latter was compensated for by the fact that I am very much a personality person when it comes to dating, not everyone is Jake Gyllenhaal, and he had a great personality.  But the club thing...  So we went on a couple of fun dates and I told him that while I used to be more into that lifestyle [when I was 20-23 and in college] it really had no appeal to me anymore.  He swore that he only went occasionally because they were clients and old friends and urged me to come with him one night and see for myself that it wasn't so bad.  So I went with an open mind.  [Tried to keep that open mind as I saw several members of my college's football team there who may or may not have been sporting tattoos and driving vehicles that later contributed to their entering the draft early.]  I couldn't do it.  I drank my free Goose to the point where I woke up in the Russian's bed.  Fully clothed.  Not just fully clothed, I mean, coat, scarf, heels, tights, dress, jewelry, the whole shebang.  How do I put this delicately?  If I've been dating someone for over a month, get drunk with them and wake up in their bed, I shouldn't still be wearing my coat.

I have spent the past year dating people who have turned out to be all kinds of wrong for me, but I'm glad I've put myself out there again.  I feel like I've learned a lot about myself, what I want out of a relationship, and reiterated the fact that dammit, blue-eyed, intelligent men are like kryptonite to me.  XBF called me to tell me he misses me and that he hasn't really seen anyone since we broke up and marriage/kids just might not be in the cards for him.  It made me sad for him, but it was a great reminder of why we should never be together.  No matter how crazy this past year has been, I still haven't given up hope that my future partner in crime is out there.  Hell, if Lil Wayne can release a ballad as a single, anything is possible.

Pretty good year.